#also when it's not in french I have to have the VO + the translation

[agendabymooner]

melody || lh44 x ofc (1)

Summary: With her sharp eyes focused on her audience, a burlesque performer who went under the name of Melody returned to Rythme Romantique, an entertainment lounge which exclusively caters to the wealthiest people of Monaco — or in this case, to the people with a status that are recognized by all. Her three exclusive performances were meant to be a closure for her connections in the principality. Still, a certain Formula One driver saw it as an opportunity to reconnect with his former flame after two years of her absence. Felicity Vos learned that this was a rich man’s world and that he could do whatever he wanted, but she also realized that the agreement they settled on years ago was corrupted the moment he expressed his love for her. 

Content warning: Age gap, use of explicit language, possible mature content (not in this chapter), mentions of past sugar daddy/baby gone romantic relationship, possessive!asshole!Lewis mentioned, burlesque (2010) movie vibes, really shitty French-translated dialogue. 

Note: I have not watched Burlesque for a good while but I listen to shitloads of songs that give performer/singer/showgirl vibes??? I hope this works out lol. Enjoy xx

masterlist

i. million dollar man

"you're screwed up and brilliant look like a million dollar man. so why is my heart broke?"

Felicity Vos couldn’t remember the last time she made her presence known in the principality. She lived in Monaco for years as a nobody — she was just some 24-year-old woman who hoped to get through the day before she put on her best costume and makeup for work. She only performed to put money in her pocket. Living in Monaco wasn’t cheap, after all. She did everything she could to maintain her private space, working at the lounge every night to get the biggest tips from the wealthiest people in Monaco.

Nothing more, nothing less. 

She couldn’t remember the last time she was a nobody in Monaco. Had it been for her natural beauty and the typical streetwear of the principality, she would’ve stood out already, and everyone would know that Formula One’s mysterious “lady seducer” made her return to Monaco. 

She hadn’t wanted to gather that much attention now. It was bad enough that her three nights coincided with the Monaco Grand Prix weekend. She couldn’t bear the thought of being hounded by journalists curious about her absence/being for the past two years. 

I was just a nobody, she told herself. She wasn’t even anyone’s ex-girlfriend. She couldn’t remember the last time she had a stable relationship with a man. 

But everyone in the F1 community knew that she was something. That was for sure. The man's popularity and their agreement pulled her away from the anonymity she craved after ending things with him.

2019

The first thing that the bartender, her friend René, had spewed out just as she finished her performance had something to do with the beehive hairstyle she sported and how it coincided with ‘Fuck Me Pumps’ by Amy Winehouse, whose iconic style included the mentioned hairstyle. 

René told her Melody was the complete opposite of Amy Winehouse with her tattooless skin, bright blonde hair, and wide-set eyes. But Melody’s voice, René told her, was meant to sing about the men who’d fuck women over. 

Then her attention turned away from him when a server approached the speaking young adults, leaning over to tell them both about a lone man sitting on an empty booth, asking for Melody’s company as they all peered at the dimly lit corner booth. They couldn’t see if he was looking in their direction, but Felicity (Melody) could tell he was attractive. 

It wasn’t unusual for clients or audience members to request a sit-down time with the singer of the night, so Melody merely asked her coworker to serve them some drinks before walking in his direction.

His genuine smile and curiosity certainly pulled her closer if you were to ask her. She knew who he was. Lewis Hamilton. This place was Monaco, after all. What kind of a caveman would you have to be to not know who Lewis Hamilton was? Even the Neanderthals would ask for an autograph should they see him pass by.

She sat with him and asked how he was liking his stay in Monaco after the new year. In exchange, he provided answers and asked her certain questions. 

Is your name really Melody? Mmm… such an in-depth question for a stranger, don’t you think? 

Do you just sing Amy Winehouse? She was my inspiration, after all. This is how I pay tribute. Do you have a request? Perhaps I can sing it next time you visit— not that a man like you would be dead seen entering such a place.

How about you? How are you liking Monaco? Whoever said that this place was for easy living would be a liar. I get paid more than I used to, but university and rent still beg for more. 

How long have you been doing this? Four years. Singing and dancing at the same time takes a lot of practice. 

She was thankful to have been the performer to put on the middle show of the night. She hadn’t needed to worry about being the performer of the night, and her conversation with him seemed to have lasted until the end of the show. 

She expected him to not return after that night, with him leaving her two hundred euros in cash and tipping the servers the same amount— she would’ve expected him to hand this as a form of a farewell gift. 

But he offered those as a welcoming gift. Because by the next night, Melody’s eyes shifted to where he sat, only to find him leaning back against the booth seat. His head was slightly bobbing as musicians hit those 4/4 beats. He sat there while she sang beautifully, her hair teased into a beehive hairstyle, and her body wrapped around loose strings of pearls and rhinestones. 

He returned the night after that… then after… he returned for days. Apparently, Monaco had been so boring for him that he chose to spend his time listening to the beautiful voice of Melody. He later confessed that he couldn’t seem to get away from her. 

But instead of offering a date, he offered to fly her to Australia for the first round of the racing season. Fuck that. He offered to pay and give her everything— in exchange, she travels around with him during his races as a “partner.” He said it would benefit both of them if they entered this agreement. She would get the money, and he would have an increase of positivity in his image. 

Her mouth quickly slipped out the word “yes,” the next thing she knew, she was saying goodbye to her coworkers of four years. She was always welcome to perform should she decide to, and would pay her good money for her rare performances. 

Then her flat was fully paid for the next six months. Right after that, she was driven to a department store to find some clothes and bags to pack for her endless trips. She had gowns tailored and altered for her in case she needed to be in attendance for his formal and black tie events. 

She was only meant to be there as an eye candy, one that would hold hands with Lewis as he made his way down the paddock to the Mercedes garage. She had no name besides Melody. She was only Melody, and she was alright with that— she wanted to keep the privacy that she had left, after all. 

She was good at avoiding journalists and their questions about Lewis’ past relationships and his title as the Mercedes playboy. She often stayed put and kept her attention trained on him as he raced or Roscoe, who had grown dearly in her heart. She had never gone as far as sharing a conversation with his coworkers, only offering them a small smile before she walked off with a refresher in hand. The only one she seemed to have a good conversation with besides Toto Wolff was his teammate, Valtteri Bottas. But even then, she could feel his body radiate in possessiveness that she didn’t know he had. He’d always hold her close. 

He hadn’t even realized that Melody shifted from a nobody to a somebody despite not having a surname. It was quite a shame she had to embrace someone’s fame and be under scrutiny for it. 

PRESENT

“Am I seeing things, or is it really the woman who brought the glory in the Ryhtme Romantique?” Felicity shook herself out of her thoughts as she turned around and grinned, watching as René outstretched his arms. She squealed at the sight of him and jumped into his arms, earning a grunt from him as he said, “Mon dieu, ma fille, is this how Zurich and New York had treated you?” 

“This is how I greet people I miss,” Felicity exclaimed. “Not that you feel the same towards me, arsehole.” 

“Such language,” René scoffed mockingly. “I know I haven’t heard you speak like that before.” They both fell silent before laughing at the joke. She seduced like a siren, yet she swore like a sailor, René once told her. 

The 28-year-old woman waved it off, “Tell me you haven’t picked me up in Nice just so you can bring up my lack of manners? Otherwise, I’m walking away.” 

“Gah, and who’ll pick you up?” René grinned, now grabbing her suitcase and pulling it next to him. “Besides, you wouldn’t want to go to Monte Carlo knowing that they’ll hound you when alone. People aren't that subtle when it comes to you.”

“That right?” Felicity asked. She'd only performed once throughout those two years of her “relationship” with a Formula One driver. She freelanced because of how much she had missed it. She remembered having to convince him to allow her to do it for once, and she swore she never craved for something more than the lounge's music and atmosphere. 

“Yes,” René answered her, “you made your character known by everyone. Everyone knew Melody, not Felicity. Melody became a household name after her one-night appearance when everyone learned about her from Formula One. Wealthy people saw talent… and yeah. Now they’re eager to spend much money just to see you.”

This helped her grow a backbone, somehow. She continued to press on the topic, “And by that…?”

“It will be a full house,” René had already placed her suitcase in the car trunk before he stood with his chest puffed out. “One hour of you and Amy Winehouse on the stage in three nights is worth my mortgage for my house in North America.” 

Felicity chuckled and shook her head, making herself comfortable in his passenger seat with the seatbelt buckle snapping. 

“So,” Felicity leaned back against her seat before turning to the man beside her, “what did I miss in Monaco?” 

“I thought you didn’t miss Monaco?” René laughed, starting up his vehicle. 

Felicity scoffed at the comment, “I missed Monaco.” 

She just didn’t miss the man that she met in the principality. After all, she would have remained as nothing if he didn’t treat her like she was the only one. She preferred her life before she met him. She liked the way of living she had in Monaco before him.

2019

She probably should have settled for less, but what should she do? It was the only dress that he liked on her. She felt she would impose the mermaid white dress with the intricate baroque style and pearl details, but his praise and encouragement told her otherwise.

Besides, with her making a bet that lasted for an entire season, she really couldn’t chicken out of it now that Lewis got his 6th world championship. She really couldn’t disappoint him like that. 

So she became the woman of the awarding night. Wrapped around her neck was a layered pearl choker, letter L carved into gold with three teardrop-shaped pearls dangling off it, much like Anne Boleyn’s. 

Unlike the first time she appeared at the paddock, she walked into the event hall with her smile dazzling the crowd— even those photographers who seemed eager to capture the moments of the couple arriving hand in hand. She didn’t feel discomfort at all, not after all those months of feeling lost in the paddock while she tried finding her way around the Mercedes area. Angela Cullen had never worked this hard to guide someone, but she never saw Melody as an obligation or responsibility. She loved the girl, in fact. 

She was known to be quiet by the drivers in the grid. She didn’t feel comfortable speaking to everyone during the entire season as she saw how most of them looked at her. Nobody even knew who the fuck she was, just her first name- her stage name. Sebastian Vettel was kind enough to walk up close and introduce himself to her as if she hadn’t known him already. He was the closest thing she had to a comfort zone that wasn’t just Bottas, talking to him here and there whenever they passed by one another in the paddock. 

If she was being honest, she felt as if nobody knew what her job entailed as “Lewis’ partner.” Sebastian understood at the very beginning what she was to the Mercedes driver but had said nothing against nor about it. She already didn’t feel comfortable with the other drivers staring, so if he was to say anything about her relationship was just another level of friendship he’d have to reach. 

The only thing that Sebastian had offered her was, “If you’d like to have a friend that isn’t just Roscoe, I’ll be at my motorhome. Feel free to stop by anytime!” 

So by the time she arrived at the awarding with Lewis, her eyes brightened at the sight of the German driver. Sebastian waved at them, making the girl wave back eagerly. 

Lewis chuckled quietly, “I didn’t know you and Seb were friends.” 

Melody giggled in the same volume, “He considers me his best friend as of this moment. I suppose that happens when you’re not being looked at or linked to Sir Lewis Hamilton.” 

“Cheeky girl,” Lewis grinned, his touch feeling familiar to her skin as he held her soft hand. Pulling her closer, Lewis greeted everyone they’d passed by. Melody merely nodded in their direction while her smile didn’t reach her ears, barely looking away from Lewis as if he was the only man she could focus on. 

She probably should have settled for less, but Lewis wanted her to shine as much as he did that night. He was a 6-time world champion, after all. If he was shining, he made sure that she was, too.

PRESENT

With her embellished leotard and shoes sparkling under the spotlight and her face coated with confidence and seductiveness, her eyes zeroed in on the men who had just walked into the intimate environment of Rythme Romantique with a sultry smile. Some of them nearly recoiled at the expression she gave them. 

“Formula One driver had reserved tables for tonight,” René told her earlier today, “some might come back tomorrow and Sunday after their race. Their managers told Lita about you and how they’ve wanted to see you perform since they learned about you from the Mercedes team.” 

It wasn’t anything fearsome if you were to ask Melody. She only offered them a welcoming (yet seductive) smile, but perhaps they considered it quite daunting and intimidating. It wasn’t as if she was inviting them to her bed. 

She supposed that it was because of the fact that they’d stepped into her turf. She was in their place once— being in the paddock and feeling out of business? Yeah, she understood what they felt. Somehow. 

“Oh my,” she purred, eyes trained on each driver as some of them visibly gulped at the sight of her. This Dolce & Gabbana did wonders on every man she had encountered at the beginning of her performance. She was only halfway through the hour, and from what she had counted— there should be about eight men who were nervous at her presence. 

Her eyes shifted from the Ken-esque man (with his blond hair, blue eyes and pretty face) to the pair of green eyes that stared right at her and her figure. She crouched down to get to their level seeing as she was a stage higher than them. 

She did a headcount for a moment. She could see familiar faces— but most of them were older. A grin on the man behind Ken told her that it was Daniel Ricciardo. And the man next to Ricciardo was Max Verstappen. The 2021 World Champion. 

“Isn’t this a sight to see,” she chuckled almost breathlessly, her breath softly nearing her bedazzled microphone. She stared at the green eyes ahead of her, “Première fois?” First time? 

The man nodded and replied, “Oui.” 

“Et tes amis? Ont-ils déjà été ici?” How about your friends? Have they been here before? She asked, looking at the men behind him. 

“Certains d'entre eux vivent ici,” some of them live here. The man replied. 

“Est-ce que c'est oui?” Is that a yes? Melody asked with a raised eyebrow, leaving the audience to laugh. 

“Peut-être,” maybe. Charles Leclerc shrugged with a smile. She let out a giggle for a moment before nodding.

“Bienvenu,” Welcome. Melody winked. They all found their seats, but she couldn’t find the one she was looking for as she was doing a repeated headcount. Then she remembered that the corner booth had been changed to a reserved area when she left. She could only imagine who sat there. It was a seat reserved for the man who only came to the lounge to speak with her. 

Her eyes flickered at the table before turning at the drivers, “Welcome to Rythme Romantique. I hope this show eases the tension of tomorrow’s qualifying race.” 

“And I hope you’re not offended by the end of this show,” she giggled quietly, “because I’ve had men walk out of shows because of Amy Winehouse.” 

“What kind of fuckery are we?” She sang, her hips swaying as she gestured at the drivers with her gemstone-covered gloves, “Nowadays, you don’t mean dick to me.”

Her blonde hair swung as she looked toward the corner booth, “I might let you make it up to me.” 

“Who’s playing Saturday?” She winked at the drivers, hearing as the men cheered and pointed at themselves. “One of you better get a pole this time.” 

“Mr. Destiny, nine and 14. Nobody stands in between me and my man. 'Cause it's me and Mr. Jones…” 

“Me and Mr. Jones…” 

The live band had put on an end to the song and her show, every man and woman standing to applaud her. She took a deep breath before letting out a sultry smile, taking in her audience's applause and whistles. Her painted lips puckered up, and she blew a kiss to the audience, her foot picking up the fur coat that she discarded at the beginning of her show to put it on. She offered the drivers one more ‘good luck’ before walking off and heading to the bar. 

She hadn’t felt this good about performing at the Monaco Lounge since the last time she appeared in 2020. That extravagant entertainment hall at Hotel Ritz didn’t make her as happy as it should have. The richest of the richest gave her the attention and money she dreamt of when she became an adult, but something about this place made her… happier. Or rather, better about herself. 

Sharing a conversation with René hadn’t lasted long enough when a new server walked up to them to let the two know about the guest in the corner booth. 

René looked at Felicity with worry as he said, “You really don’t have to go, City.” 

“No, no,” Felicity waved off his concern, “he paid to speak and see me. I can’t really disappoint Lita now, can’t I?” 

“You’d really let your heart break like that again?” René asked her, “What if he’s actually got a girl this time?” 

Felicity merely stared at him, indifference written all over her face. Quite a facade, her face covered. René sighed exasperatedly, “Alright. I’ll get you the rum and coke. Felicity, you can back out anytime.”

“I know,” Felicity nodded, adjusting her corset with a sigh. “I’ll walk out if I want to. He lost me once, and I’ll make sure he knows he can lose me again.” 

No amount of alcohol could make her feel as relaxed as she wanted, so she settled for one glass of rum and coke only. There were a lot of things that could have happened within two years, and that didn’t exclude him. 

But god, his face remained as young as it was four years ago. It didn’t age as the years went on. 

She sat across him, the marble table the only thing separating them. He watched as she made herself as comfortable as she could be. She could tell that a smile threatened to show on his face, keeping his composure as much as an ex-lover could when they met their former flame for the first time in years. 

“Lewis,” she nodded curtly, her eyes trained on him before it shifted to the server who dropped off her drink and his. Felicity offered the server a grateful smile before it disappeared just as the younger woman left the booth.

He grabbed his drink and spoke, “Mel.”

She nearly winced at the nickname. Nobody called her Mel but him.

“When did you fly back?” Lewis Hamilton was known for many things - and being civil to anyone was one of them. She remembered how he always had to keep a straight face in the same room as his former best friend. Nico Rosberg had a fairly long history with him that ended poorly, so for him to show indifference? It was a Lewis Hamilton signature. It didn’t surprise her that he’d ask this as if he hadn’t broken their agreement long before she did. 

“Just earlier today,” Felicity answered, her voice was equally indifferent. “I flew to Nice and was picked up. I couldn’t miss the ride at the French Riviera.”

“You’ve always liked the scenery,” Lewis chuckled, sipping his drink before setting it on the table. “You did amazing.”

“Thank you,” Felicity nodded.

“Like you always did,” Lewis continued, not even caring about the small expression that eventually fell off as he spoke.

“Hm, really?” Felicity almost scoffed with a shake of her head. “Last time we were together, I wasn’t even allowed to be near a stage.”

“You were with me,” Lewis pointed out, “flying worldwide. As you wanted and had agreed on.”

“I had to get drunk enough to get up the bar counter and sing my arse off just so you’d have no control of it,” Felicity reminisced, grinning at herself when she recalled the moment. 

Silverstone GP afterparty, the year 2020. She wasn’t as drunk as he was, but she grew enough backbone to ask for a microphone and Christina Aguilera’s Candyman on the bar’s speakers – max volume. She remembered her feet moving like they were all swing dancing and being hoisted off the bar counter by Daniel Ricciardo while they all drank and her voice hit the falsetto. The drivers were rather impressed regardless of the amount of alcohol they consumed. Lewis wasn’t as impressed as the others. He’d seen it before. He hadn’t appreciated how easily she made friends with the men around her – so seeing her shy away from them the next race was a win for him. 

“I couldn’t stop you even if I did,” Lewis laughed as if it was a normal conversation. “Everyone’s way into it.”

Felicity almost laughed at his face. He stopped her when she agreed to become his company, practically handing her her year’s worth of rent and salary just as she nodded. He stopped her rhythm from flowing, but she allowed it as she wanted to live an easier life. One where she didn’t have to be taunted by her family’s constant words of discouragement. It turned out that being someone’s pretty young thing wasn’t as easy if you fell for the unattached man. 

He leaned back, observing the sight before him before asking, “Did Switzerland and America treat you right?”

Her head shot up at the question before asking in return, “Do you want the truth?”

“Yes, please,” Lewis answered genuinely. He hadn’t expected to last an hour in the bar, let alone thirty minutes in the same booth as her. He could remember how his lack of commitment and false confessions destroyed her, and he wasn’t sure he could see her in that place anymore. But he stayed in his seat, watching as she practically inhaled her spiked drink before she settled it on the table. 

Crossing her legs, she wrapped her coat tightly around her body as the temperature at the booth decreased. She replied, “I was more than surprised that you found someone who could immediately fly me to another country just so I can sing far from the principality.” 

Felicity could remember the email sent to her by some management in Zurich and New York. They were interested in meeting with her because of a recommendation from a musician who had seen her perform more than twice. It didn’t take her long to realize it was Lewis’ doing. She had ended whatever it was a week before the email was sent, so it was his doing. But rather than fuming at the thought that he was more than willing to send her away from Monaco, she immediately contacted them and took whatever they had to offer. 

“I lived here for four years,” she scoffed, “before I even met you. This was my home. I can’t even consider my flat in New York as such.”

“What’s your plan then?” Lewis asked. “Are you planning to return to Monaco then?”

“And return to this lounge? Where most drivers would probably frequent in when they learn that Melody’s back in town?” Felicity snorted, “I’d rather not.”

“Why not?” He asked, “You love this place.”

“I do,” she stood up, noticing how his eyes became more cautious as she cleared her throat, “I am tired of the chasing I had to do, though. It’s not always me who has to work on it. Sometimes, they have to chase the woman, too. It’s not a one-way street for me anymore. Good luck tomorrow–”

“Wait,” her goosebumps rose when she felt his hand touching her skin, turning back when he pulled on her wrist as she watched him stand. He pulled out an envelope, leaving the package in her hand as she gripped it lightly. Lewis nearly stammered, “Invite whoever you want.”

“I’m not going, Hamilton,” she couldn’t even shove it back to him as he held her wrist, squeezing it lightly as a sign of plea. Just be there tomorrow. And Sunday.

“It’ll only be two days,” his voice might’ve shown nothing of desperation, but his eyes pleaded with her. “Two days of racing and your shows.”

She sighed exasperatedly. She was already exhausted from having to pretend that this was okay. She really hadn’t wanted to see him. But this was Monaco, and this weekend was the principality’s race weekend, so she could have at least prepared herself mentally.

“I’ll see what I can do,” was all she muttered before pulling away from him as she walked out of the booth with a murmur of, “Good night.” 

She was certain that this jetlag of hers wouldn’t wear out. Not when this weekend was a case of clusterfuck that was going to leave her restless. She wasn’t excited to know what would come her way at the very end of this week.

PS. what did you think? Send me an ask!

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[nevis-the-skeleton]

Accents of my characters in my AU TFP

For a long time I thought about the accents and particularities of the languages ​​of each City-State in my AU: "The Polar Star". Because, yes, like on our very dear planet Earth, the Cybertronians, as well as the Colonies of the Transformers all have a different language, as well as different pronunciations.

And when the Autobots or the Decepticons ended up on Earth, even though they use a universal translator to communicate with humans, they don't use it to pronounce names. It's therefore often in these moments that we can hear their accents, even if they are subtle ;).

*

Vos: Vossian

In Vos they have a rolled "R" (like in spanish), and an almost mute "F". This means that when a Vossian speaks in another language, he can have a fairly pronounced accent even if it's very soft. The rolled "R" is difficult to reproduce for those learning Vossian, and the almost silent "F" can lead to confusion for certain names.

Example of how Starscream says the names of certain characters:

Rrra(f)

Rrratchet

(F)owlerrr

*

Praxus: Prax

In Praxus, the City between Vos and Iacon, the language is closer to Ia (the language of Iacon), but one of the particularities is that the "K" is pronounced "Ki". This makes a rather cute sound, but also difficult for some names.

Example of how Smokescreen says the names of certain characters:

Mikio

Bulkiead

*

Iacon : Ia

In Iacon, the "R" is an "R" that sounds like in English. On the other hand, the accent is placed on the penultimate syllable. For a two-syllable name the accent is on the first syllable, but is sure the penultimate when the name is three or more syllables long.

Example of how Optimus says the names of certain characters ([…] where the accent is placed):

[Star]scream

Bum[ble]bee

Ultra [Ma]gnus

*

Kaon: The Kaos

The "R" in Kaos is very pronounced (like the R in German). On the other hand, the "V" is very soft, posed and a little longer. A name with a "V" then always sounds sweeter than a name with a "R". So, in Kaos, if you want your child to have a strong character, custom dictates that you give him a name with a "R". On the other hand, if you wish him to be calm, his name will necessarily have a "V".

Example of how Megatron says the names of certain characters:

StaRscReam

Soundwavve

*

Velocitron: Delt (this is the most used language on Velocitron)

At Velocitron, regardless of the language used, the "R" very often sounds like a French "R" (less pronounced than in German but still hard to say for the uninitiated). The "A" is long, it's the only long vowel, all the others are rather short.

Example of how KnockOut says the names of certain characters:

Staarscream

Breakdown

*

Delphi: Delphia

In Delphia, the "J" is pronounced "JJ" not "(D)J" (it's hard to explain but look for "J" in French on google trad and compare in English). The "C" is said to be "S", and it is always pronounced

Example of how Ratchet says the names of certain characters:

Jjask = (d)Jack

Starssream = Starscream

*

Caminus: Kalius (this is the most used language on Caminus)

In Kalius, the vowels are short which can make it sound fast. On the other hand, when a consonant is at the end, they accentuate it, which makes it sound louder than the rest of the sentence.

Example of how Arcee says the names of certain characters:

JacK

RaF

*

Anecdote of the accents in TPS (Transformers the Polar Star):

Ratchet has long called Jack: Jjask. And Jack took a while to figure out that was him Ratchet was talking about

Everyone thinks Smokescreen's accent is cute, which tends to annoy Smokescreen, who argues that he's not cute.

Starscream first called Fowler: Lower, then Flower. Not understanding the difference. Fowler was sure Starscream was doing it on purpose.

Starscream never managed to do Kaon's "R", which is too hard to pronounce for him. Megatron can't roll the "R" like in Vos, he tried, but it quickly annoyed him.

When Arcee before called Jack or Raf, they were sure she was scolding them because of the accent on the last consonant

When KnockOut called Starscream, the fact that he made a long "A" disturbed Starscream a lot. He long believed that KnockOut couldn't help but be flirty even when calling out to someone.

The tone on the penultimate syllable in Ia may be surprising to the uninitiated.

Smokescreen had a hard time pronouncing his own name when he was young, because Smokiescreen is not easy to say. His Creator had done it on purpose, because he didn't want Smokescreen to speak Prax but Ia. He considered that Prax was a "formless dialect".

When Megatron calls out to Soundwave when he's angry, the soft "V" sounds like Megatron isn't angry anymore.

Shockwave doesn't really have an accent, he speaks several languages, and knows how to speak them all perfectly. This plays on the fact that after his empurata he forgot which language he spoke, so he learned them all (in doubt).

#tfp #transformers prime #transformers #au #my au #my au transformers #au transformers #étoile polaire #polar star #langage #cybertron #starscream #megatron #optimus #ratchet #shockwave #soundwave #arcee #smokescreen #miko nakadai #jack darby #raf esquivel #maccadam

[nerflufser]

J'adore votre art, avez-vous des conseils pour les débutants ?

merci beaucoup!! en ce qui concerne les conseils mhmm... amusez-vous avec si vous voulez commencer à pratiquer professionnellement, je dirais d'aller sur Pinterest pour les références. Quand j'apprenais l'anatomie pour la première fois, j'ai juste pris une pose de référence photo sur Pinterest, je l'ai tracée, puis j'ai essayé de la reproduire sur une toile vierge. mais si vous êtes traditionnel, je dirais simplement de faire de votre mieux pour essayer d'obtenir une bonne anatomie. aussi MESS AUTOUR AVEC DES COULEURS ET DES FILTRES !! ceux-ci vous aideront certainement au maximum à faire ressortir votre art !! aussi les couleurs complémentaires SONT VOS BFFES (meilleurs amis pour JAMAIS) et euh skdjdk ig amusez-vous simplement :))

(sorry I'm not too good at French so I did check a lot of words out in Google translate ;-; but hopefully you understand)

(for non French speaking people !)

ASK: I love your art, do you have any tips for beginners?

Awnser: thank you so much!! as for tips mhmm... just have fun with it if you want to start practicing professionally i would say go onto Pinterest for references. when i first was learning anatomy i just took a photo reference pose from Pinterest and traced it over and then tried to re-replicate it on a blank canvas. but if you're traditional i would just say try your best trying to get anatomy right. also MESS AROUND WITH COLORS AND FILTERS !! those will definitely help you the most making your art pop !! also complementary colors ARE YOUR BFFES (best friends for EVER) and uhh skdjdk ig just have fun :))

#sorry im still learning 😭 #artists on tumblr #answered asks #french #quEI Quei #art tips #txt

[sibelin]

💕 🔑 📖 !!!

hey thank you!!

💕 Your two top fave fictional characters

i'm still standing by my choice so first one is Dale Cooper from Twin Peaks. he's just the most endearing character ever. and he's so unique too? i don't think i've ever found another character both so human and absolutely weird and extraterrestrial in how he acts. in brief, i am not immune to Kyle Maclachlan.

number two is, to no one surprise, Death from Sandman! it's just a beautiful and sweet depiction of death and she made me realize a lot of things about myself and about the meaning of life when i needed it the most. idk how to explain. such a precious character. maybe i want to be like her.

🔑 Key to your heart

be nice to me twice and you already have it 😭 no but fr, it's kindness and attention like with most people i think..... if it doesn't work try cheese and records, apparently it's a hit for me.

📖 Fave book

also a hard question!! there's this book called La Horde du Contrevent that has made a very good impression on me back when i picked up reading again. it's a french science fiction novel set in a world devastated by winds where a group of people are trained from their childhood to go through the hostile and stalker-like landscapes in order to find the source of the wind. the story is quite simple yet the lore, the characters and the way everything is written is absolutely incredible. each character has they're own languages and personnalities, from argotic and vulgar to pure poetic expressions. it's like discovering a whole other planet with its own culture and vocabulary. it's beautiful and poetic and harsh. i wish there was a translation in english so i could share a quote or two, but there's only the french version. here you go anyway:

N'acceptez pas que l'on fixe, ni qui vous êtes, ni où rester. Ma couche est à l'air libre. Je choisis mon vin, mes lèvres sont ma vigne. Soyez complices du crime de vivre et fuyez! Sans rien fuir, avec vos armes de jet et la main large, prête à s'unir, sobre à punir. Mêlez-vous à qui ne vous regarde, car lointaine est parfois la couleur qui fera votre blason

#thank you alyssa! #i hope your sunday is going great ♥ #ask game

[maddiesbookshelves]

Today's queer manga doesn't have an official English translation so I'm giving you the German title:

There is no future in this love, by Morihashi Bingo

Original title: Kono Koi ni Mirai wa nai / この恋に未来はない

Genres: Drama, Romance, Slice of Life

Themes: Love, Homosexuality, Society, Trans Identity, Secrets

Japanese volumes: 2 (Finished)

Tokyo, 1980's. Yuji Manase is a student. However, he hides two secrets he has never told to anyone: the first is his feelings towards his long-time friend Masaki Matsunaga, the other is the discomfort he feels towards his body. One day, Yuji holds a dress his sister left at his appartment, not knowing this action would change his life...

This one is short but packs a punch. Even though the story focuses on Yuji, we meet all these different people who all have their own struggles (family, love, money, sexuality...) and they mix together to paint a touching portrait.

The moment when Yuji finds out that there are other people like her* and that there's a place she can be her true self and be safe made me very emotional, it's a beautiful moment.

Anyways, it's a beautiful story but I wasn't able to find an official English version, which is a shame. You can still find it online of course, but you can't buy it to support the creator... unless you speak Japanese, French or German.

*I'm using she/her here because Yuji is a trans woman. The summary uses he/him because this is something she realises during the story.

Note: As this series is a bit more "serious" and focused on queer identities and strugles, I feel like I should probably give some content warning so you can avoid getting triggered if that's something you're scared of. Take care of yourself 🌈

Content Warning: gender dysphoria, blood and self harm. Also, this is about a trans woman who decides to keep living as a man for the sake of her own safety, if it's not something you want to read, then don't.

French version under the cut

Titre VF : Celle que je suis

Titre original : Kono Koi ni Mirai wa nai / この恋に未来はない

Genres : Drame, Romance, Slice of Life

Thèmes : Amour, Homosexualité, Société, Transidentité, Secrets

Volumes VO : 2 (Terminé)

Années 80, Tokyo. Yûji Manase est étudiant. Mais il vit au quotidien avec deux secrets qu'il n'a jamais révélé à personne : d'une part, les sentiments qu'il éprouve pour son ami de longue date Masaki Matsunaga, et de l'autre, le malaise qu'il ressent vis-à-vis de son corps. Un jour, Yûji pose la main sur une robe que sa sœur a laissée dans son appartement, sans savoir que cet acte allait bouleverser sa vie...

Celui-là est court mais costaud. Même si l'historie se concentre sur Yuji, on rencontre toutes ces personnes qui ont chacune leurs propres problèmes (famille, amour, argent, sexualité...) et elles se mélangent pour peindre un portrait touchant.

Le moment où Yuji réalise qu'il existe d'autres personnes comme elle*, un endroit où elle peut être elle-même en toute sécurité m'a vraiment ému, c'était un moment très beau.

Bref, c'est une jolie histoire.

*j'utilise elle ici parce que Yuji est une femme trans. Le résumé utilise il parce que c'est quelque chose dont elle se rend compte au cours de l'histoire.

Note: Comme cette série est un peu plus "sérieuse" et se concentre sur les identités et problèmes de la communauté queer, je pense que c'est mieux si je donne une liste de content warning pour éviter de réveiller des traumatismes chez certain.es. Prenez soin de vous 🌈

Content Warning : dysphorie de genre, sang et automutilation. Aussi, cette histoire est à propos d'une femme trans qui décide de continuer de vivre en tant qu'homme pour sa propre sécurité, si c'est quelque chose que vous ne voulez pas lire, ne le faites pas.

#there is no future in this love #kono koi ni mirai wa nai #celle que je suis #morihashi bingo #manga #manga recommendation #manga recs #books #book recs #queer manga #happy pride 🌈

[bethansfandoms]

Beth on Instagram asked for one where “Sirius knows Latin (bc Black family is extra) and basically for all of their Hogwarts time he’s been telling Remus he loves him in Latin but he’s so oblivious and eventually he figures it out and one day says it back”

“Do you know what your name means in Latin?” Sirius asked, suddenly.

It was dark in the common room and Remus was curled up in bed, Sirius next to him. The storm had triggered Remus’ nightmares and so Sirius had come into his bed and woken him from it. “If it’s wolf, I swear—”

“Ha, no, it isn’t. It’s oar. As in... the thing you row a boat with. The word for it in Latin is Remus.”

Remus smiled at the pronunciation of the word resembling his name. “Teach me something in Latin.”

“Uh... James sit irrumatus. It means he’s a dick but I’ve been telling him it means he’s the best.”

“Mean,” Remus laughed. “Thank you, for... talking to me and stuff. I hate storms they just— it was stormy the night I was bitten...” He trailed off.

Sirius’ hand gently brush his shoulder and Remus felt his breath hitch. “Don’t apologise. Te amo.”

“What does that mean?”

“Learn Latin, find out.”

“Was it an insult?”

Sirius chuckled and lay down properly, bringing the duvet around him. “Goodnight, Remus.”

There were books on ancient languages that existed in the library, it was just that Remus hadn’t ever thought to borrow them before.

Sirius had learnt both French and Latin growing up and a little bit of Greek. He never used them much because they reminded him of his family. Recently, however, Remus had heard him speaking the languages more often than usual.

He figured it was probably Sirius’ new way of telling people the honest truth without them understanding. That scared Remus a little bit. The idea that Sirius had things he wanted to say to Remus but didn’t. At least not in English.

That was why Remus didn’t tell Sirius he’d taken out the book on Latin. If he did, Sirius would probably just switch to French or Greek and Remus really did not have time to learn multiple languages for the sake of understanding what Sirius was saying.

The book stayed under his bed for almost a week before he decided to take a look at it. The moment he opened the book he realised why the library had it in the first place.

There were a list of spells in the front, all of them Latin for English words. Accio meant ‘summon’, expecto patronum meant ‘I await a guardian’, crucio meant ‘I torture.’ That, Remus thought, is why Sirius always had the best pronunciation. They were all just words he already knew.

He flicked through the book some more. The language was confusing and the grammar was harder. He read over the pages but none of it stuck. This, he realised, wasn’t a small task.

There were sections on pronouns, tenses, feelings, opinions. It suddenly seemed a miracle that Sirius not only knew this language but three others. He flicked to the opinions pages, maybe some of what Sirius said would be there.

There were a list of phrases that seemed somewhat useful. Like how ‘I hate’ was ‘odio’ or how ‘I like’ was ‘me delectat’ or how ‘I love’ was ‘amo.’

Remus paused. Amo. He recognised that word. He flicked back a few pages and read about pronouns and tense change. It was all so confusing.

He skipped forward, then, to a subsection on feelings. ‘I oderunt vos’ meant ‘I hate you,’ ‘te amo’ meant... ‘I love you.’

Te amo. He’d heard it whispered to him in the darkness as they lay side by side after a nightmare. He’d heard it after telling a joke that Sirius had laughed at. He’d heard it after coming up with an idea for a prank or when he did well in an exam or after a full moon. He’d heard it on the train station platform at the end of their sixth year. He’d heard it on the train as they started their seventh.

I love you. Sirius loved him. ‘I love you too,’ he whispered. He repeated it over and over until he heard the signature footsteps approaching and shoved the book under the bed.

Sirius, James, and Peter all walked through the door. “McGonagall is a cruel woman,” Sirius announced, flopping down on Remus’ bed. “She made us clean the trophies without magic!”

“I thought my back was going to give out,” Peter whined, curling up under his duvet.

“I told you, if you’d taken the left turn she wouldn’t have seen you. And then, like me, you could’ve stayed here all night,” Remus said smugly.

“Yes, Moony, oh wise one,” Sirius sighed. “You were right. Te amo.” Remus’ heart skipped a beat.

“Latin!” James announced. “James sit irrumatus!” he said proudly.

Sirius sniggered, “He said he’s a dick,” he whispered to Remus. “He hasn’t caught on yet.”

“Okay, I’m going to bed,” James said. Peter hummed in agreement. “I’m shattered and I never want to see a trophy again.”

“Strong words from the quidditch captain,” Sirius muttered, climbing off of Remus’ bed.

“Wait, Sirius,” Remus said, grabbing his wrist. He saw Sirius’ breathing stop, he felt his do the same. “I have a homework question for you.”

Sirius shrugged and sat on Remus’ bed. Remus drew the curtains and cast a silencing spell. “What can I help you with?”

“I don’t actually have a question about homework. It’s about Latin.”

Sirius smirked, “Learning?”

“Maybe one day. How do you say too? As in... likewise, as well.”

“Uhh, probably quoque. You could also use etiam.”

“Where does it go in a sentence? Before or after the verb, I mean.”

“Before.”

“Okay... so te quoque amo would mean...”

“I love you too, yeah, good.” He smiled and then quickly stiffened. “Hang on...”

“Te amo, that, uh, that’s what you say to me. Isn’t it?”

Sirius gulped, “Well I— you know?”

“There’s books in the library. I looked at one today.”

“I’m sorry,” Sirius said quickly, eyes wide, “I didn’t think you’d—”

“Didn’t you listen to me? Te quoque amo. I love you too.”

“You do?” Sirius asked, a smile spreading on his face. Remus nodded. “Merlin, Remus. Te amo. Te amo. I love you. I’m sorry I— I’ve wanted to say it for so long I didn’t know how.”

“Can you teach me one more thing?” Sirius smiled and waited for Remus to continue. “How do you say... can I kiss you?”

Sirius smile turned into a full grin, “Et deosculer te, potest.”

“Et... damn it, that’s way harder than I anticipated. Can you repeat it for me?”

“Et deosculer te, potest.”

“Right, uh, and what’s yes?”

Sirius laughed, “Just... kiss me, please.”

Remus didn’t need him to ask again. He cupped Sirius’ face and closed the space between their lips. They were both smiling too much and the angle was a little off as they were both sat cross legged a little too far away. Remus didn’t care. It was perfect.

“Te amo,” Sirius whispered, his smile still prominent.

“Te quoque amo.”

A/N yeah so my school was not good enough to have Latin in the language department. I used google translates. If you speak Latin and it takes away your enjoyment of this because it’s riddled with errors... that’s on you for learning a dead language come on now :)) (I’m joking. I apologise.)

#wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #wolfstar fanfic #wolfstar fanfiction #marauders #remus lupin x sirius black #sirius black x remus lupin #wolfstar fluff #wolfstar headcannon #wolfstar oneshot

[nordleuchten]

Napoléon and La Fayette in 1791

I have gone through all of the 15 volumes of Napoléon Bonaparte - Correspondance générale, published by the Fondation Napoléon in search of any letter related to La Fayette - I think I found Napoléon’s first every reference to La Fayette. In a letter to Matteo Buttafoco, dated January 25, 1791 he wrote:

Un roi qui ne désire jamais que le bonheur de ses compatriotes, éclairé par M. La Fayette, ce constant ami de la liberté, put dissiper les intrigues d’un ministre perfide que la vengeance inspira toujours à vous nuire.

My translation:

A king who desires nothing but the happiness of his compatriots, enlightened by M. La Fayette, the constant friend of liberty, was able to dispel the intrigues of a perfidious minister whom revenge always inspired to harm one.

And, still in the same letter but a bit further down:

Ô Lameth! Ô Robespierre! Ô Pétion! Ô Volney! Ô Mirabeau! Ô Barnave! Ô Bailly! Ô La Fayette! voilà l’homme qui ose s’asseoir à côté de vous! Tout dégouttant du sang de ses frères, souillé par des crimes de toute espèce, il se présente avec confiance sous une veste de général, inique récompense de ses forfaits! Il ose se dire représentant de la nation, lui qui la vendit, et vous le souffrez! Il ose lever les yeux, prêter les oreilles à vos discours et vos le souffrez!

My translation:

O Lameth! O Robespierre! O Pétion! O Volney! O Mirabeau! O Barnave! O Bailly! O La Fayette! here is the man [Pascal/Pasquale Paoli] who dares to sit next to you all! All dripping with the blood of his brothers, soiled by crimes of all kinds, he presents himself confidently under a general's jacket, iniquitous reward for his crimes! He dares to call himself a representative of the nation, he who sold it, and you suffer it! He dares to raise his eyes, lend his ears to your speeches and your suffer it!

A little bit of background to this letter. It was written in early 1791 - La Fayette’s popularity had lessened a bit after its peak at the Fête de la Fédération but we also have not yet reached the bottom-mark after the Champ de Mars massacres. Napoléon called La Fayette a “constant friend of liberty” and generally expressed a great deal of respect and admiration for the Marquis. Ironically, it was exactly this love for liberty that would set La Fayette and Napoléon at odds with each other later on. It would not be too long until this friendly tone would cease.

Pasquale Paoli was a Corsican politician and military leader. He was later forced to go into exile in England where he became seriously pro-British and even received a pension from George III. When an amnesty was passed during the French Revolution, he returned to Corsica and participated again in the islands politics. He was greatly admired because nobody really knew about his pro-British sentiments. He participated in the French Revolution and sided with the Royalists. Still, he was greatly admired. When Napoléon attempted to write the history of Corsica, he reached out to Paoli to get his help and opinion. The differences between the two men became quickly obvious. Paoli would later part from the Revolution after the trial of the King, would manipulate the war between Britain and France in favour of the British and finally go into a second exile in England. The recipient of the letter, Matteo Buttafoco, was one of Paoli’s greatest political opponents.

#lafayette #la fayette #marquis de lafayette #general lafayette #historical lafayette #napoleon #napoleon bonaparte #1791 #french revolution #french history #england #france #british history #history #pasquale paoli #matteo buttafoco #corsica #george iii #letters

[hopetofantasy]

Translated interview: ‘The career dream of Nora Dari’

Three years ago she first appeared in the Finnish-Belgian thriller series 'Bullets', in 2019 she walked the red carpet in Cannes, and today your teenager knows her as Yasmina from ‘wtFOCK’. Nora Dari (19) is ready to conquer the world. But first, successfully completing her ‘Marketing and Communication’ bachelor at the University college ‘PXL’.

Three years ago, Nora went to a trial drama class at the Genk academy and that immediately left her wanting more. Her teacher saw potential and about 60 trial lessons later, she was on the film set of ‘Patser’, the third full-length film by Adil El Arbi and Bilall Fallah. “I was an extra in 2 short clips, so you see me for about 1.3 milliseconds, which was quite a lot for me at the time. I remember when people looked down on me for becoming an actor, as if I had nothing better to do. I also had nothing better to do in my head than to be on a film set and get a taste of what life on set 'can be'. On set, I met Mathias Sourbron, the casting director at OiMundo. On the ‘Patser’-set, he was coördinator for extras and that's how we got to talking. A month later, I received an email asking if I wanted to audition for the Scandinavian series 'Bullets'. I did that, got the part and I think that from there the ball started rolling.”

A year later, you were on the red carpet in Cannes for the film 'Ghost Tropic' by filmmaker Bart Devos. What kind of feeling does that give you? “I’ll never forget that feeling in my life. That’s something no one can take away from me anymore. Cannes was a far-fetched dream for me at the age of 17, so when I actually experienced it, it still felt like a dream. Until I got back home and thought 'holy shit', I did that. I will always be grateful to Bas de Vos and Maaike Neuville, she treated me like family back then and I will always hold them very close for that.” In the beginning you were not allowed to act by your parents. What made them change their minds? “I'm going to be very honest, when I say that this question really annoys me (laughs)... This is the most frequently asked question I get, since I started acting. Because I immediately have the feeling that I’m seen as 'Nora Dari, Moroccan-Belgian actress' instead of 'Nora Dari, actress'. But I'll answer very nicely, because it's you (laughs). When I said that I got the part in ‘Bullets’, my father was a bit surprised and had the train of thought: 'If they want Nora for an international series, she might be able to do something’. Once they saw the result, they were completely sold. But it was always very clear that school came before film and never the other way around. I had my own doubts about that, I must say. ”

Today you play in the series “WTF - What the fock” on television channel VIJF, which is mainly known among the youth. For those who haven’t seen it, can you explain what it’s about and what your role is? “wtFOCK is an internet drama series, produced by Sputnik Media and broadcasted by VIJF and Telenet. The series consists of individual videos that are broadcast in real time. At the end of the week, the videos will be merged into a full episode. Each season revolves around one character and his or her battles. My character is called Yasmina Ait Omar, a strong, smart and unconventional girl who will face some hot fires ... ” Can you combine it with your studies? “It was much easier in high school. And I just thought it was going to be easier now. Things are going well, I’m doing something that I love dearly, but I’m also certainly aware that I definitely want to obtain my degree in ‘Marketing and Communication’ for the things I want to achieve in the future. At university college PXL, they help me to combine those two worlds. They’re flexible in moving certain assignments depending on my shooting days. The fact that my university of applied sciences is behind me, helps enormously. ”

What’s your ultimate career dream? “This may sound wishy-washy, but my ultimate dream is to be able to participate in projects that help the world. I would also really like to write projects and ultimately also direct them. I think directors have a certain strength and power to bring people together, to sketch the world in a certain way. And in our beautiful Flanders, I think we’re doing better, but still not amazing. Roles for people with a different ethnicity? I find it strange that the same people are being cast again and again, because of their skin color or origin. Why aren’t there any stories being written about Mohammed diving into a toilet and discovering a new world... That's why French films interest me very much, they look beyond that. And the result that you get, is amazing. Being one of the ‘Shooting Stars’ at the ‘Berlinale’ is a goal for me at the moment. Names such as Marwan Kenzari, Matthias Schoenaerts, Alicia Vikander, ... have also been there. But if you ask me this question again in a year, I may suddenly want to become a surgeon.”

#wtfock #wtfam #nora dari

[royallyprincesslilly]

Kismet {10}

Henry Cavill x Famous OFC Aliya Taylor

Warning: Slow Burn, Mild Cursing, Dialogue Heavy, Small Time Jump, Mild Angst

Words: 5.8k

Summary: Aliya is a singer turned model turned actress. Since she was fifteen, she’s been creating her empire in the entertainment world. As the daughter of a famous fashion model/designer and Hollywood director, you’d think life is easy for her, but her past has been anything but easy. Due to past trauma, she’s forever changed and no longer trusts any man that is not in her family and a select few in her team. She’s sworn off love and serious relationships and has planned never to fall again, but love isn’t something that can be planned. It just happens when it’s meant to. Can Aliya outrun a love that seems hellbent on holding tight to her, a love that is Kismet?

Note: The chapter includes some French. I’ve added the translations best I could. Some from memory, but some from Google translate. If the translations are off, I apologize.

If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!! 😘  

As always, thank you so much for reading. ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Interactive***

Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 

It didn’t take long for you to realize you’d either offended him or hurt his feelings. It was clear from how stiff he was when he walked away from you. Everything about him was different. You’d wanted to call after him or chase him down the street to explain, but something kept your feet planted right where they were. What made you feel worse was that he didn’t switch up. He still called you to say good morning and wish you a safe flight again the next morning. When you’d landed back in LA, he’d picked up your call on the second ring. He didn’t speak like a man with a grudge or chip on his shoulder. He was the same, Henry.

 Over the next few days, he kept the same energy and consistency. It was something you didn’t expect, but it was something refreshing. You thought about him more and more, and every conversation you had, you wanted to apologize for your stark reaction, but every time you opened your mouth to, the right words never seemed to form. It also didn’t take you long to notice that he wasn’t asking again. You doubted he ever would.

 As the days ticked off and his departure date grew nearer and nearer, you could sense the disappointment in him, and that disappointment came across more and more like hurt. With each passing day, you felt more of an urgency in you that you couldn’t understand. You felt as if your time was dwindling, and you only had so much time to do what was right even though you didn’t know what that was. The day he called to let you know he was about to board his flight, you sat in your living room you wished him safe travels, then hung up, which left you just staring out for hours, wondering how big of a mistake you’d made.

 “What’s up with you?”

 Alicia’s voice beside you brought you out of your daze. You groaned, then dropped your head back onto the couch.

 “Henry asked me to go on vacation with him,” you blurted out, unable to hold it in anymore.

 It had been six days since your time together in London, and you hadn’t been able to get it off your mind or tell anyone. When Alicia didn’t respond right away, you looked to her to find a confused expression on her face.

 “Confused.”

 You groaned again then explained everything that happened in London to her. The only things you left out were the butterflies in your belly the entire night, the feeling of breathlessness every time he came close, the strong urge to touch him any and everywhere, and your impulses that went against everything you’d stood for the last few years.  So all in all, you told her everything.

 The huge smile on Alicia’s face was expected. You rolled your eyes. “Stop smiling.”

 “Okay.”

 Her smile remained pasted to her lips, and it was growing with every second. Annoyance flared up in you.

 “Stop!”

 “I can’t!”

 She began giggling.

 “You like him, like really, really like him,” Alicia accused, right on the money.

 “I do,” your let slip without thought. “I don’t know why or how. I’ve known him maybe two months tops, and we’ve only been out four or five times. I know nothing about him, nothing at all. I don’t know what I like. I don’t know if I like him or his looks and body,” you blurted as each revelation came to mind.

 “Oh, you definitely like his looks and body, but I think this is something different, something you’ve never experienced before,” Alicia revealed.

 You rolled your eyes again, then stared at the ceiling. She made perfect sense, you thought.

 “You’ve heard about love at first sight.”

 You sprang up looking at her like she was bat shit crazy.

 “Bite your heathenous tongue.”

 Alicia busted out laughing then. You remained silent. This was no laughing matter. Especially when the “L” word was waved around willy nilly.

 “Oh god, that was not funny,” you said.

 “Stop being so dramatic. Look, I know neither of us has ever experienced it; hell, I said it was a fucking bullshit, but--.”

 “Don’t Leece,” you cautioned, not ready to remotely go anywhere near that landmine.

 “Okay, look,” she began scooting closer to you. “This is what I know. You have these ridiculous rules.”

 You glared at her, but she didn’t back down. Before she opened her mouth to speak again, you stood and walked off toward the kitchen, knowing she’d follow. Once in the kitchen, you dug in the fridge for a can of ginger ale, hoping it would settle your stomach, and like clockwork, Alicia reached in also to retrieve one for herself. As she opened the can and took a seat at the island, she continued.

 “So your ridiculous rules. I know they’ve kept assholes away this long and has made it possible for you to keep your head above water. I get it, and I’m all for self-perseverance. You know I am. But--,” she smacked her lips as if she was getting ready to tell you off.

 “Your rules—honey--,” she sighed. “They’re bullshit, and they are keeping you from developing something substantial, something real, something—true. Now I get that was the point in them in the first place. However, Mr. Blue eyes and British accent,” she finished reading you like an open book.

 You gulped the soda, ignoring the burn of the acid on your tongue. It was a trick for the brain. Give it something else to focus on, so you got a moment of quiet. It always worked, but it was only temporary. When you lowered the can, you hissed.

 “Fuck!”

 “I like him. Amaya likes him. I don’t think he has ulterior motives, and I’m an excellent judge of character. I never liked Evan for a reason.”

 You scoffed and closed your eyes, trying to get your brain to quiet down.

 “So what do I do?”

 “You know what to do. Lucky for you, it’s what you really wanna do anyway.”

 “He’s on vacation,” you said.

 “Yep, he’s on vacation,” Alicia reiterated.

 “I don’t know where.”

 “It’s a good and lucky thing you’re a member of a royal family no matter how much you like to denounce it. You can find him.”

 A lightbulb went off in your head and giving you your big ah-ha moment. You ran out of the kitchen to the living room where you’d left your phone. You sat then debated what you were about to do. You’d never gone to lengths like this for anyone. It took almost two minutes for you to make the call, and as you did, you wondered if this was a little wrong. It took two minutes to make the call and another two minutes before you had the information you needed. Once you ended the call, Leece was sitting on the arm of the couch with an expectant look on her face.

 “So, where is he?”

 “Bandol, France,” you answered.

 “Ooh, so luxurious. Go get him.”

 You stood then hugged her. You didn’t know how she wasn’t tired of your ass after all the years of knowing you and being the one to talk you down off your ledges or up on your horse.

 “Do me a favor, best friend.”

 “What?”

 “Turn him black, so he never goes back!”

 You snorted so hard that it hurt. Your laugh was so powerful that your stomach hurt after just seconds.

 “Shut up, oh my god.”

 For the next hour or so, Alicia helped you pack while you made the call to your manager to let him know you were planning to take some time off. When you said the words, he even laughed, finding it hard to believe you. It took some convincing to let him know you were serious, but once he got it, he was quick to help, saying you needed a vacation. Turns out he’d been trying to find the right time to bring it up. You had a quick meeting where he assured you he’d tie off all your loose ends for the next two weeks to start. By the end of the call, you were halfway to the airport to get to your waiting private plane.

 Nervousness was the least of what you felt. Anxiousness, fear, doubt, and nauseousness were right up there. After an hour in the air, it had only grown. You kept worrying if you were doing the right thing or if he’d think you were absolutely insane to fly across the world without a technical invitation. The more you thought about it, the more you doubted what you were doing.

By the time you landed in France, your nerves had pretty much mellowed out, for the most part. The beautiful scenery alone should have worked to calm you and give you a sense that you were on vacation, but it didn’t. Using the email you’d gotten from the family’s security services, you gave the taxi driver the address to where Henry was. As you drove through the town, you marveled at the views and tried to enjoy the warm breeze. When the car stopped in front of an impressive villa, your jaw dropped. He sure didn’t go low key, you thought.

 “Mademoiselle Mlle serait -vous que je apporter vos sacs à l'intérieur? {Miss, would you like me to bring your bags inside?}

 You contemplated Pierre, the driver’s question for a few seconds.

“Eh bien, ce n'est pas chez moi, si je le faisais, je serais trespassing. {Well this is not my home and if I did that it would be trespassing.}

 That realization had you making a face that said you knew it was questionable.

 “Comme un homme que je ne serais pas fâché de trouver un ange comme toi-même dans ma maison. {As a man I would not be angry to find an angel such as you in my home}, he said with a wide grin.

 Such a sweet talker, you thought as you laughed. I smile. 

 “Voilà monsieur douce. Je vais attendre ici. {That is sweet sir, but I will wait here}

 “Ici, sur les étapes ? Seul? {Here, on the steps. Alone?}

 He sounded like it was something he’d never heard of. You got out of the car then looked around for the best spot to sit and wait.

 Oui, je vais bien. Merci de votre aide. {Yes, I will be fine, thank you for your help.}

 Pierre came around the car then opened the trunk to take your bags out. One by one, he brought them to the steps of the villa. Once he finished, you dug into your purse and handed him four hundred dollar bills, and pressed them into his palm. He looked shocked but appreciative. After thanking him, he drove off, leaving you there with the seaside cliff view as your company.

 You texted Alicia and Amaya, letting them know you’d gotten there but knew they probably wouldn’t see it right away, thanks to the time difference. You sat for a few minutes only to get up and pace back and forth for another few minutes. Then you switched and did it over and over. Your brain made it feel like it was an eternity that passed, but you knew that couldn’t have been true. You heard a motorcycle approaching and watched as a silverish white one pulled up. You couldn’t tell if it were him, but you had a feeling it was. Once he’d turned the engine off, his movements slowed, and you knew he’d seen you.

 He threw his large leg over the bike then peeled off his helmet, revealing curly hair and a scruffy beard. You gulped. That’s how damn good he looked.

 “Damn.”

 Henry approached you with a confused but cautious look on his face. It did nothing to assure you that you hadn’t made a colossal mistake. Unable to hold his gaze, you looked over what he wore, preppy sky blue shorts and a white polo shirt that was unbuttoned, showing off sprigs of chest hair. You’d imagined he had chest hair, and this was your answer.

 “Aliya?”

 “H—hi,” you stuttered.

 Henry looked around like he was wondering how the hell you got there.

 “What’re you doing here?”

 “In France?”

 “On my doorsteps,” Henry clarified.

 “Oh, um—right. I can see how this would—look. Strange, alarming even. I promise there is an explanation.”

 Nervousness overtook you, making you giggle. Henry stood there patiently waiting for said explanation, but the look of bewilderment didn’t go away.

 “How did you know where I was, first of all?”

 Damn it, you thought, trying to find your voice. “Eh-em, well—I called in a favor and—had your cellphone tracked.

 His eyes widened, and you braced yourself for the freak-out you suspected was coming.

 “What!?”

 With your face scrunched, you decided to face it head-on and nodded. “Yeah. Saying that out loud now, I can understand how it sounds and even how it looks.”

 “So, you know people who will just track a phone?”

 Uh-oh, you thought, trying to find an answer that wouldn’t give anything away.

 “I do,” you slowly answered.

 Henry stared at you, and you knew he was weighing his options on whether to call the cops to get your ass out of there or listen to more. It was hard to read him, harder than it had been the last few times you'd been together.

 “You’re freaking out. Look, I’m not crazy; I promise I’m not. I just—I had to find you.”

 “Why? You made yourself perfectly clear a week ago,” Henry threw in your face.

 “I did,” you began, groaning from exhaustion. You sat down on one of the steps and sighed.

 “God, I have lived with a set of rules for the last three years. These rules have helped me tremendously. They’ve helped me keep people at arm’s length and have helped me protect myself from everyone, whether they meant ill or good. I’ve lived with these rules and have never broken any of them—not one. Then here you come.”

 You dropped your head into your hands and released a heavy breath before you continued.

 “Here you come, and within less than a month, I’d broken three, and that alarmed the shit out of me. I wasn’t prepared and didn’t know how to deal with it. Then you go asking me to go away on vacation with you and—that would have broken another rule, and that would have led to me breaking all of them on this vacation,” you blurted out.

 Henry stood there, staring at you with yet another unreadable expression plastered across his face. Your head said shut up, but your lips kept moving.

 “I couldn’t accept, then this last week I realized that I didn’t want to be anywhere but here—on this vacation—with you, and if it meant breaking another rule, then it would be broken. So here I am.”

 Henry sighed, “What are these rules?”

 Uh-oh, you thought again. You were sure after you told him he’d run for the hills. Even Amaya and Alicia made fun of your neurotic ass because of these obsessive rules. You chewed your bottom lip, reluctant to voice them. Henry didn’t look to be in any hurry, though; he just waited.

 Realizing he still hadn’t kicked your ass to the proverbial curb, you said a silent prayer, took a breath, and sang like a canary.

 “Um—in no particular order—one, no outings that have been labeled as a date, only hanging out is acceptable. Two, no back to back outings and or hanging out. Three, no hand-holding. Four, no one sees my house or how to get to my house. Five, No one comes to my house at all, not even to hang out and definitely not sleep. Six, I don’t hang out or sleep at anyone’s home. Seven, no kissing on the first date. Eight, no kissing on the second date. Nine, no kissing on the third date. Ten, no kissing with my eyes closed, period. Eleven, no PDA. Twelve, no gifts of any kind. Thirteen, no emotional intimacy. Fourteen, no vacations together. Fifteen, no sex with anyone you can see yourself with longer than three months. Sixteen, no meeting families or friends on either side. Seventeen, Never relinquish control.”

 Hearing them out loud, you would have run in the other direction without looking back. He didn’t move, though, hell he didn’t even speak. He didn’t have to; his face was doing all the talking you needed. With bugged eyes, slightly parted lips, and his arms crossed over his chest, he looked the perfect picture of an outright terrified man.

 “Those are a lot of rules.”

 You nodded. “Yes, they are.”

 He took several moments before speaking again. “How do you keep them all in mind?”

 “Practice.”

 “Wow, I don’t—I don’t know what to--.”

 His words drifted off, and you watched him rub the back of his neck.

 “So you’re willingly going to break number six and thirteen.”

 He already had them memorized; you thought as you nodded. “Pretty much.”

 Henry studied you for several more moments and then breathed out before he walked up the front doorsteps. You watched him unlock it before he looked back at you.

 “Please come in.”

 You didn’t know if he was serious or not, so you didn’t move. He must have sensed it because he beckoned you over with an added smile. Sighing, you slowly walked up the steps toward him and the door.

 “I’ll get your bags,” he said before he walked back down the steps to gather your bags two by two.

On his second trip, you walked inside with him and looked around. It looked like a mix of Mediterranean, coastal, and traditional décor. The ceiling's wooden beams complemented the neutral colors of the furniture and the wood strewn around the foyer.

 “Make yourself at home,” Henry said before he walked out again for the remainder of your bags.

 You took a few more steps and looked at the art on the wall. They all were a mix of expressionist and abstract, and all made you feel relaxed. You could see him living here, and you wondered if he were renting this or if he owned it. A photograph on the sideboard resting against the wall caught your eye. It was of him and four other men all wearing athletic clothing, smiling widely and holding up medals. They all resembled each other, making you deduce they could have been his brothers. You walked further inside the home toward what looked like a living room and touched the white brick accent wall. It was a pleasing aesthetic that was set.

“Wow. This is--.”

 You didn’t know the right word. Henry approached and stood beside you as you continued looking around.

 “This is an architectural dream, and very different than I thought.”

 “You’ve thought about my home?”

 You paused with your hand on the back of one of the creamish, grey tufted couch and turned to look at him.

 “Um, the environment to which you lay your head,” you cautiously corrected. “They say someone’s home tells you everything you need to know about them.”

 “Is that so?”

 You nodded and continued walking around the living room. The view from the arched window was beautiful.

 “Let me give you a tour,” Henry offered, leading the way out of the living room.

 He walked around, showing you each room, and they all resembled one another. You could imagine him in each room. Sitting in the armchair by the big window sipping coffee or kicking his feet up while watching tv at night before going to bed. When he showed you the kitchen, you pictured him cooking shirtless, making some French dish. It all screamed him.

 “This is all yours?”

 “I bought it as a holiday home for my family. I wanted us to have a place where we could go on holiday either together or separately. That is why it’s so big. There are a lot of us.”

 “That’s nice,” you answered.

 You nodded and followed him outside the large French-style glass doors. As soon as you stepped out, you could help but gasp at the beauty.

 “Oh my god. Holy shit, this—this is—incredible. Wow.”

You gaped at the comfortable sitting area that was primed for dining outdoors. You went up the few steps and turned to the right, and marveled at the inground pool and the greenery of France.

“It is.”

 Smiling, you turned to him then scoffed. “Wow.”

 Henry smiled softly, then dipped his head. When he did, the smile fell.

 “I’ll show you where you’ll sleep,” he said before turning to walk back inside. You took one more look around and followed him.

 It wasn’t a quick walk by no means. You noted it was probably the other side of the house. When he stopped and opened a large, heavy wooden door, you walked in first. The room wasn’t obnoxiously large. It was comfortable and minimally decorated. You walked to the window and smiled. It was the perfect view of the cliffside.

 “Is it to your liking?”

 You spun while nodding your head. “Of course, thank you.”

 “No problem,” Henry replied. Your eyes locked for a few seconds, but he was the one to look away.

 “I’ll bring your bags.”

 He walked out, leaving you to admire the view some more and formulate a better plan. You’d only thought as far as finding him. You didn’t plan to tell him everything about your rules, and now you didn’t know how to proceed. You felt awkward.

 “God Aliya, stalker much?”

 Sighing, you began pacing the floor, hoping something would come to you while you tried not to imagine him thinking of you like some crazy chick. Your phone went off, and you were thankful for the distraction. You plopped into the chair beside the window and went through your emails and messages, answering the urgent work ones, quickly getting lost in them.

 “Here you go,” Henry began as he placed your bags on the far left side of the bedroom. You heard him come in, but being in the middle of an email, you didn’t look up, just mumbled a thank you.

 “I thought a vacation was supposed to mean no work.”

 Looking up at him, you released a breath. “I’m sorry, I—I got distracted, and I got sucked in.”

 Smiling, you put your phone down, hoping he would see it as a peace offering. He was leaned against the wall with one leg crossed over the other.

 “I understand. It happens to me too. I personally set everyone I work with, or for on a separate ring and alert sound, so I know not to answer or check it.”

 “Everyone? That has to be at least fifty people,” you said.

 “Try sixty-five, seventy.”

 “Wow. How long did that take you?”

 “Ha—hmm, about forty-five minutes maybe an hour,” Henry added.

 “Is that what you think I should do?”

He shrugged, then raked his fingers through his curly tousled hair, and you wondered if he’d even bothered using a comb or a brush this whole time. He didn’t look disheveled, though. He looked perfect like this.

“I can’t say. It’s up to you.”

 Again, your eyes locked, and you were just waiting, wishing for him to give you any hint at all that he wasn’t done with you and just being polite and hospitable.

 “Thank you for bringing my bags, Henry.”

 “You’re welcome.” He smiled then spoke again. “Out of curiosity, how long were you staying? You have enough bags to say a few weeks.”

 “Um—one thing you’ll learn about me, I overpack all the time. I can’t seem to, no matter how hard I try, but I’d rather have something I need rather than not have it when I need it,” you answered.

 He nodded, then uncrossed his legs before changing his position.

 “How—how long are you staying?”

 “I planned on being here for about a week, maybe.”

 You nodded, “Then?”

 “Not sure. I’m not making plans for the next three and a half weeks at least,” he answered.

 Tens of things flashed through your head to say, but you were still trying to read him and the situation. After a few seconds of silence, Henry spoke again.

 “You’re—uh—you’re welcome to tag along wherever the wind blows.”

 You didn’t like the sound of “welcome to,” but you also knew you’d already fucked the situation up, so you shouldn’t have any expectations. You sighed, then bit your bottom lip, trying to stop your lips from opening. You had the worst censor.

 “Welcome? Huh, somehow that sounds different than an—invitation.”

 Henry scoffed then nodded. “Last time I gave you an invitation, you didn’t really accept it or gracefully decline it.”

 Damn, you thought. He’d thrown that right at you with force. You deserved it. He was right, you hadn’t accepted the invite, and it was done in true Aliya fashion—avoidance.

 “Wow. Did you really just call me ungraceful?”

 You bit your bottom lip, fighting the smile.

 “You called yourself that,” Henry answered.

 Another long stretch of silence filled the room, and the longer it went on, the more nervous you got. Henry pushed off the wall.

 “I’ll make some lunch,” he said before he walked out.

 Once he was gone, you breathed out and tried to catch your breath. There was something about him that always gave off an overwhelming feeling. It wasn’t a feeling of you being afraid but in a heightened state. Of what? You were still trying to figure it out. You slowly began unpacking your things while setting all your contacts on an alert. You were going to try his strategy to see if you would actually be able to enjoy this vacation.

 About an hour later, you walked out of what was designated as your room and walked through the house, looking into rooms with open doors and around corners for where he could be. Following your nose and the delicious scent of roasted vegetables, you stepped into the kitchen expecting to see him, only to find it empty. Backtracking, you walked to the opened doors that led outside and saw him putting down a bottle of white wine on the rustic walnut table that had two place settings filled with the fruits of his labor.

 “Right on time. I was going to come knocking.”

 You smiled and tipped your head back to take in the wood and vines wrapped around the pergola.

 “No need. I cannot get over this view,” you said.

 “Do you come to France a lot?”

 “No. I come once in a while, usually for work.”

 “Ever Baldon?”

 You approached the table, sliding your finger along the Rattan chair that accompanied the table.

 “No.”

 “Nice, so you’re a tourist,” Henry said with a smile as he pulled out a chair for you.

 You returned his smile and sat down. “I am.”

 As he walked to his seat adjacent to yours, you took in the spread before you. “What do we have here?”

 “Avocado salad with mozzarella and roast beef sliders on Fiselle,” Henry explained as he pointed out everything he mentioned.

 You were impressed. “Wow. Did you make this?”

 His smile was wide; he looked proud. “I did. The roast beef was leftover from last night, and the avocado salad was quick. The bread was store-bought from the bakery in town, though.”

 It all looked delicious. “So you can cook.”

 “Yes, I can. My mother taught me; she taught all of us. She said it was her gift to our future significant others.”

 You chuckled, already liking his mother. Henry motioned for you to try something, and you wasted no time doing so. You placed a forkful of the salad into your mouth, your eyes instantly closing. You moaned at the avocado's buttery taste and how the flavors of the mozzarella and lemony but sweet vinaigrette complemented the tang of the vegetables.

 “This is good.”

 Henry’s smile widened as he picked up one of his sliders.

 “Thank you. Do you like French food?”

 “I do.”

 He nodded again as he finished chewing what was in his mouth. “Good, you’ll be eating a lot of it.

 You couldn’t help but smile because it sounded like he planned on cooking for you more often. You liked the sound of that and everything it meant. The two of you ate in relative silence, but it wasn’t an awkward one. You were enjoying the feel of the sun beaming down on you through the vines and the sound of the ocean, you guessed was only a few miles away. You could even smell the salt in the air from it. Henry did look to be in dire need of conversation either. He seemed happy to listen to the song of the birds and the rustling of the leaves. You were glad for it because it gave you the needed time to get your thoughts together.

 However, your thoughts only dwelled on one thing; the prospect of him hating that you were there.

 “Are you freaked out that I’m here?”

 Henry didn’t immediately speak. He lifted his glass and leisurely drank half of it before placing it back on the table. “All honesty, I’m just a little confused,” he began.

 The taste of the wine on your tongue told you there was more than grapes in it. You tasted pear and even strawberries. It tasted like France.

 “Yeah.”

 “I do find it interesting that to you, I’m worth tracking my phone.”

 You smiled and brought the glass back to your lips, using it more as a distraction than anything else.

 “So you don’t plan on calling the FBI and telling them what I did?”

 He snorted and leaned back in his chair. “Nah, you’re safe there.”

 “It’s not as hard as you think. You just need the person’s full name and phone number,” you matter of factly advised.

 “Also, a friend with the skill.”

 You nodded again, not wanting to give anything away. From the corner of your eye, you could see him smiling like a fool trying not to laugh out loud. It was too much for you, and you had to laugh out loud. In seconds, he joined in, and any tension between you melted away.

After lunch, Henry suggested a quick look around, so you hopped on the back of his Ducati, and he gave you the driving tour of the area. He pointed out the bakery that supplied him with all his baked goods, the local butcher where he got the best cuts of meat, and even the local winery. The town was beautiful, and the best part was that it was so close to the beach. It was everything that everyone thought of when they thought of a town on the Côte d'Azur—beautiful, quaint, luxurious, and a ten on the romantic potential scale.

 The entire time Henry remained the perfect gentleman. He kept his hands to himself, allowed you to go first, pulled out chairs, paid for all the small treats you sampled, and kept his language respectful. He was behaving so kind and professional it drove you crazy. The entire time you couldn’t ignore the magnetic pull you felt to him or the attraction that was growing by leaps and bounds thanks to the change of his appearance. He looked so good, and your body recognized it.

 Your eyes always found each other no matter the size of the crowd or how far you were from one another. When your eyes met, they lingered so long the butterflies in your belly swarmed wildly, making you feel as if you’d run a marathon. You could even tell by the way he looked at you that he might have been feeling the same attraction, but still, he stayed away.

By the time you took a break, the sun was gone, and it was dinner time. Henry chose a restaurant with the perfect ocean view and the sweetest breeze. There was nothing that could have been more perfect. As you sat at the table across from him, eating a classic seaside French meal—Bouillabaisse. As you ate, you listened to a story Henry told about his childhood and the reason why his parents had to put him and his brothers in different sports. It turned out their competitive natures was too much with all of them grouped together, the testosterone needed to be split up.

 It was nice getting a different viewpoint of him. Through his work, you got the professional view, and through the magazines and photoshoots the sex symbol view but hearing personal stories in the town where he’d chosen for holiday because of sentimental reasons at a restaurant he’d probably eaten at tens of times really made you want to get to know him better and give him a real chance. By the time you’d finished your dessert and began on your way back to the villa, you made the choice. Try.

 The house was quiet, and thanks to the windows and doors he’d left open, it smelled of sea salt, lemons, and the lavender that bathed the surrounding hills. It was a smell you’d gladly get used to.

 “Thank you for dinner,” you said once you were in the living room.

 “No need to thank me. You have to eat,” he replied with a polite smile that made you clench your jaw.

 “How um—how long have you been here?”

 “A few days.”

 You nodded but didn’t know what else to say. With the combination of the wine, the aphrodisiac oysters in the Bouillabaisse, and the smell of lavender, you felt a gentle lull of relaxation that made you feel ten times shier than you usually were. Henry didn’t speak though his eyes looked as if he had plenty to say. After a few minutes of silence, a confused look washed across his face before he looked down and sighed.

 “Good night, Aliya.”

 The words caught you off guard, but you nodded and hid it.

 “Good night, Henry.”

 It was a shaky whisper. You then watched Henry turn from you and walk off in the opposite direction than where your room was. You stood there for a few moments longer, debating with yourself on if you should follow him or not. When you thought to, you had no idea what you’d say when you did. When you finally decided just to call it a night, you’d stood in the dark living room for almost five minutes.

 After a quick shower, you laid in bed staring at the full moon through the window, hoping somehow sleep would claim you, but after forty minutes of tossing and turning, you gave up and watched the moon instead. For the first time in months, you didn’t feel the urge to work. All you felt was a stillness in you that was very new—but welcomed all the same.

 “Tomorrow is another day, Aliya. Make it right.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[historic-old-guard-lover]

Historically Booker’s native language would be Occitan and not French . He would also probably deeply resent standard / Parisian French since the government did their damnest to erase regional languages and still do it today .

Agreed! There was another post about this, but since I got an ask (I love you, anon) I’ll elaborate. Buckle up for a primer on the evolution of the French language with a brief aside for troubadours, traveling musician-poets you wish were still a career option. No, being a rock star is not quite the same.

In the early medieval period (as early as ~900CE), the country we now call France had a language divide between the northern and southern regions. In the north, they spoke langues d'oïl which is what eventually became modern standard French. In the south, they spoke Occitan or lenga d'òc and a modern form of this language is known as Provençal. Looking at the regional sub-dialects, the more northern Occitan begins to sound like a langue d’oil and the more southern dialects begin to sound like Spanish.

As I touched upon in a previous post, this is because they all share similar roots as a romance language. Even though modern standard French is a langue d’oil, occitan managed to sneak a few things into the language. If you’ve learned French as a second language, you’ll know that when you respond yes (oui) to a negative question (you don’t like cheese? / tu n’aimes pas le fromage?) that you use a different yes (si). This is a skeleton of Occitan! 

The why of the invention of “standard French” is, as most “standard” things are, a detour into nationalism. In 1635, Cardinal Richelieu (under Louis XIII) founded the Académie Française (French Academy) which was tasked with standardizing the French language so that it could be exported to the rest of Europe and used to gain further prestige of the role of French philosophers during the Enlightenment. During the French Revolution, it was disregarded, but Napoleon Bonaparte restored it as part of the Institut de France (Institute of France) in 1803. To this day, the Académie is tasked with publishing the French dictionary and inventing new words for things such as “e-mails” so that the French needn’t stoop to using English loan-words.

Another part of this was the Toubon Law (August 1994) which required French (the standard French from the Académie) to be used in all official documents and advertising. It required all advertising to use French and even set a certain percentage of music on the radio that must be French. This law was literally the government going “let’s make the French french again.” If a school doesn’t instruct in French (modern, standard French of course), then they can’t receive government funds. The only exception is Breton-language schools (Breton is as north as it gets and is a langue d’oil so it still helps crush Occitan).

Since the previous paragraph probably made you mad as heck, let me give you some irony to laugh at: some French people refer to this as the loi Allgood (“law” Allgood). To explain this joke, it helps to know that Toubon is the last name of the Minister of Culture at the time the law was passed. If you break down his last name, it sounds like “tout bon” in French which translates to “all good.” People took this law saying make everything French, goddammit and replied, sure thing Minister All-Good. I love it.

Now, for the troubadours! I learned standard modern French in high school, but at university I came across Occitan because of those romantic poets. I’ll put this aside below the break so you can continue on with your day if for some reason you’re not interested in medieval French rock star-poets...

Let me begin by quoting the Wikipedia definition:

A troubadour was a composer and performer of Old Occitan lyric poetry during the High Middle Ages (1100–1350). Since the word troubadour is etymologically masculine, a female troubadour is usually called a trobairitz.

Right away you may notice a few things: 1) they wrote and sang in Occitan; 2) it was an equal-opportunity field (though it was rare for a woman to be one). The first Troubadours were mostly noblemen, but later ones could come from any social class. Yes, you read that correctly: egalitarian travelling poets! If that doesn’t sell you on these performers, I don’t know what will. The troubadours spread their tradition throughout Europe and the only thing that could stop them was the Black Plague.

As you’d expect, they mostly sang about love. A lot of their poems were about courtly love and chivalry, but they could also get bawdy. The especially good performers would be sought after by courts like famous painters. Troubadours are essentially the apex bards: romantic, witty, charming, talented, and able to make serious bank.

To finish this, I will leave you with one of the bawdiest troubadour poems I know of, Farai un vers, pos mi somelh (The Ladies with the Cat) by Guillem de Peiteus. It’s essentially the story of a dude who has sex with these women who pick up a knight on a pilgrimage (though it plays with reality and this guy’s fantasies). I’ll include it in the original Occitan, and then a translation by Robert Kehew (I believe), verse-by-verse. Forgive me for my commentary in between, but I just want you to understand how freaking clever this poem is!

Farei un vers, pos mi somelh Em vauc e m’estauc al solelh. Domnas i a de mal conselh,    E sai dir cals: Cellas c’amor de cavalier    Tornon a mals.

While sound asleep I’ll walk along In sunshine, making up my song. Some ladies get the rules all wrong;    I’ll tell you who: The ones that turn a knight’s love down    And scorn it, too.

The singer is establishing himself as a troubadour. The protagonist is dreaming, so we should be careful about what is real and imagined. He’s also invoking the trope of the philandering knight constantly falling in love and breaking his heart.

Domna fai gran pechat mortal Qe no ama cavalier leal; Mas si es monge o clergal,    Non a raizo: Per dreg la deuri’hom cremar    Ab un tezo.

Grave mortal sins such ladies make Who won’t make love for a knight’s sake; And they’re far worse, the ones who’ll take    A monk or priest-- They ought to get burned at the stake    At the very least.

The Middle Ages were not at all chaste; yes, monks and priests were having sex. This isn’t as sexist as it may come across on a first reading however. He’s not saying women shouldn’t have sex (he’s actually saying that it’s a sin not to being having sex), he’s just upset that women who are clearly willing to have sex are turning *him* down. He’s not going to get any awards for feminist of the year, but he’s not the worst. I’m sure this would rouse cheers from a tavern.

En Alvernhe, part Lemozi, M’en aniey totz sols a tapi: Trobei la moller d’en Guari    E d’en Bernart; Saluderon mi simplamentz    Per sant Launart.

Down in Auvergne, past Limousin, Out wandering on the sly I ran Into the wives of Sir Guarin    And Sir Bernard; They spoke a poper welcome then    By St. Leonard.

These are recognizable locations along a pilgrimage route. There’s a good chance that these names are replaceable (Bernard can be replaced with any last name that rhymes with a saint) and this song could be used to goad the audience. And no, he hasn’t had sex with these ladies yet. They’re just saying hello (for now).

La unam diz en son latin: “E Dieus vos salf, don pelerin; Mout mi semblatz de bel aizin,    Mon escient; Mas trop vezem anar pel mon    De folla gent.”

One said in her dialect, “Sir Pilgrim, may the Lord protect Men so sweet-manned, so correct,    With such fine ways; This whole world’s full of lunatics    And rogues, these days.”

I think most would agree that this is happening in the knight’s sex-dream because she’s just sweet talking him. The awesome part is that the “dialect” reflects the singer actually adopting a Northern French language (they’re mutually intelligible). Guillem didn’t have to go that hardcore, but he did.

Ar auzires qu’ai respondut; Anc no li diz bat ni but, Ni fer ni fust no ai mentaugut,    Mas sol aitan: “Barbariol, babariol,    Babarian.”

For my reply--I’ll swear to you I didn’t tell them Bah or Boo, I answered nothing false of true;    I just said, then, “Babario, babariew,    Babarian.”

This guy just mocks their accents as a reply. Wildin’.

So diz n’Agnes a n’Ermessen: “Trobat avem que anam queren. Sor, per amor Deu, l’alberguem,    Qe ben es mutz, E ja per lui nostre conselh    Non er saubutz.”

So Agnes said to Ermaline, “Let’s take him home, quick; don’t waste time. He’s just the thing we’d hoped to find:    Mute as a stone. No matter what we’ve got in mind,    It won’t get known.”

In this stanza we see two repeats and a new thing. First, the names are easy to replace (Agnes doesn’t even have to rhyme with anything) so that this can be done to call out a specific woman’s name. Second, the language skills are being flaunted again as this Occitan-speaker is just casually showcasing that he can sing about sex in other languages too, thankyouverymuch. Lastly, this is WOMEN voicing their desire, not men. The man is silent, they think he’s incapable of speech. This is two women in a poem/song getting to steer the story how they please. Stepping back, this is a guy’s sex-dream so you could argue he’s just got a kink for dominant women, but regardless that’s a pretty cool way to turn masculinity on its head.

La unam pres sotz son mantel Menet m’en sa cambra, al fornel. Sapchatz qu’a mi fo bon a bel,    El focs fo bos, Et eu calfei me volentiers    Als gros carbos.

Under her cloak, one let me hide; We slipped up to her room’s fireside. By now I thought one could abide    To play this role-- Right willingly I warmed myself    At their live coals.

Yes, this dude is saying he’s more than happy to let the women take charge. Don’t kink-shame him.

A manjar mi deron capos, E sapchatz agui mais de dos, E noi ac cog ni cogastros,    Mas sol nos tres, El pans fo blancs el vins fo bos    El pebr’ espes.

They served fat capons for our fare-- I didn’t stop at just one pair; We had no cook or cook’s boy there,    But just us three. The bread was white, the pepper hot,    The wine flowed free.

A capon is a castrated rooster, fattened for eating. He’s being fattened (and emasculated by letting them take control) before the women get down to their  fun with him.

“Sor, aquest hom es enginhos, E laissa lo parlar per nos: Nos aportem nostre gat ros    De mantenent, Qel fara parlar az estros,    Si de renz ment.”

N’Agnes anet per l’enujos, E fo granz et ac loncz guinhos: E eu, can lo vi entre nos,    Aig n’espavent, Q’a pauc non perdei la valor    E l’ardiment.

“Wait, sister, this could be a fake; He might play dumb just for our sake. See if our big red cat’s awake    And fetch him, quick. Right here’s one silence we should break    If it’s a trick.”

So Agnes brought that wicked beast, Mustachioed, huge, and full of yeast; To see him sitting at our feast--    Seemed less than good; I very nearly lost my nerve    And hardihood.

So yes, he’s joking about almost loosing his boner and there’s that language play again. The big part of the ending, however, is the imagery of the red cat. Cats are typically associated with women, and the color red tempts the mind into thinking of it as female passion or some kind of prowling sexuality (with undertones of evil). The subtext here is that they’re going to test him by letting this cat scratch him up to see if he’ll cry out. If he can keep his mouth shut and allow the womens’ passions, he can stay. If he can’t, he’s out. Ultimately, I’m going to say that this poem is subtly for women’s empowerment. Go scratch up your knights, ladies.

#the old guard #historic #reference #sebastien le livre #booker #french #nationalism #language standardization #occitan #troubadours #i wish i was as cool as troubadours #so underappreciated #asks #lovely anon

[ladyonfire28]

Were there any parts of the movie where you recall seeing the English subtitles and thought, wow this doesn’t really capture what they’re saying? I have the feeling the meaning doesn’t come through properly in some places (glad they are doing new ones next release).

Well yeah there are several moments when I thought the translation could be better. I don’t have all of them in mind though.

But for instance “but I also felt your absence” isn’t very accurate because in French Héloïse says “but I also felt like I missed you”, which is to me much stronger.

One that also bothers me a lot is “it explains all your looks”, which doesn’t really show all the disappointment of Héloïse. In French she says “c’était donc ça vos regards” which means something like “so that was the reason of your looks” or “so that was what your looks were about”. “C’était donc ça” expresses a form of disappointment that is lost in the subtitles imo. In French you can clearly understand from that sentence that Héloïse thought that Marianne was looking at her for another reason, she thought she was interested in her.

And sometimes it’s small things, like Céline use a lot the words “see” and all the vocabulary that is close to the look, the gaze, but in the subtitles they wouldn’t choose the same words. Like for instance when Marianne said to Héloïse she didn’t mean to hurt her, but in the subtitles she would say “yes I can tell”  but in French she said “yes I can see”

Or when Héloise says “you have my future husband in mind"», in French she says “you don’t lose sight of my future husband” . Again here there’s that sense of sight, of watching, seeing, when in English it’s lost. And it’s much more teasing and cheeky in French aha.

Another small thing I remember, it’s quite useless but I just don’t get why they translated “ne dors pas” as “don’t go to sleep” instead of “don’t sleep” for instance. Same for when she Marianne says “on a calmer day” when in French she says “maybe when the sea will be calmer”. And just after that she asks « do you swim ? » when in French she says “do you know how to swim ?”. It’s not changing the sense a lot, but it’s still not what Céline has written so it’s bothering me a little bit aha.

And the last one I have in mind is when Héloïse asks « when do we know it’s finished » and Marianne says “at one point we stop”, and then adds “finished”. I feel like the effect isn’t the same in French, because she says “c’est fini” which can mean “it’s over”, and here she talks about the painting but also about their time together. Their relationship is over. But when you read “finished” I think it’s harder to make a parallel with the relationship ? But maybe not, I’m not an English speaker aha.

Anyway there are a lot of other small things and I don’t have everything in mind. I know they sometimes have to shorten the sentences because otherwise you couldn’t have the time to read them, but sometimes I just didn’t get it aha. So yeah i hope the new translation will fix those things ! 

#ask #anon #sometimes i translate things #not sure if i should put it under that tag but whatever

[junosartsthetic]

I Know you like Polnareff alot so I'll request one .. can I get a Polnareff oneshot where the reader is part of the crew and knows french so she flirts with Pol. And no one else has a clue what's going on?

I used google translate for the French so R.I.P. to the accuracy. I’ll put what I was trying to say in brackets, however, and if anyone who actually speaks French wants to correct me they are more than welcome. Also this uhh... this is one of the longest things I’ve written in a while. Did someone say comfort character?

As soon as the frenchman spotted you getting off the bus, he flashed you a wide smile. It’d been a while since he’d last seen you, but he’d recognize your features anywhere.

The other crusaders looked on, waiting to see who the special person Pol called in to help was. All he said was that you were an old friend.

Your boots moved against the concrete elegantly as you tucked a stray hair out of your face. The light blouse and sleek pants you wore complimented your figure nicely.

You waved, blowing Pol a kiss when you spotted him. “Bonjour,” you said, the French rolling off your tongue as though it was your first language.

Polnareff opened his arms for a hug but you just clicked your tongue. “Oh, no. I’m still mad at you, Jean. Now, why did you make me come all the way out here? Where even is here? What country is this?” you shook your head. “God, it’s been such a long trip.”

You noticed Pol’s companions and shook hands with each, introducing yourself as you did so.

“So, you’re the old friend Polnareff has been mentioning,” the man who introduced himself as Avdol prompted.

You nodded. “Something like that. But I still don’t know why I’m here.” Joseph piped up. “We’re trying to defeat an enemy that goes way back. Polnareff said you could assist us.”

You glared at the silver-haired man who was currently distracting himself with his nails. “Oh, he just assumed I would, huh?” you huffed. “Well, I’m already here so I might as well.”

That was the start of your inclusion as part of the crusaders. As time went on, you got to know the others more, befriending them as best as you could. You still gave Jean the cold shoulder, however. The others weren’t sure why, but Jean knew what he did wrong. That’s for damn sure.

The others found out, eventually, though; over a dinner, in fact.

You sat next to Avdol, chatting about nothing in particular. Pol directly across from you, simply pouting.

Joseph looked between the two of you. “So, uhh, what’s your past together, really? I know you said not to bring it up but if we’re to defeat Dio together we should get along. All of us. And that means fixing whatever shit Polnareff did to make you mad at him.”

“Moi? Why do you assume it was ME that did something?” Polnareff spoke up, crossing his arms.

“Because it was you,” was your reply as you took a sip of your beverage.

His face flushed. “That was a long time ago.”

You glared at him. “But you never apologized.”

“Es-tu sérieux? Qu'ai-je fait de mal? [Are you serious? What did I do wrong?]”

“Tu veux vraiment y aller? Tu n'as même jamais dit au revoir! J'avais dix-huit ans à l'époque! Vous êtes parti sans un mot et je ne savais pas où vous étiez et vous m'appelez soudainement de nulle part et vous attendez à ce que je voyage des centaines de kilomètres pour vous aider? [Do you really wanna go there? You never even said goodbye! I was eighteen at the time! You left without a word and I didn't know where you were and then you suddenly call me up out of nowhere and expect me to travel hundreds of kilometers to help you?]”

“J'avais dix-huit ans aussi, au cas où tu aurais oublié! J'étais un enfant stupide! Tu étais mon ... tu sais ce que tu étais pour moi! Je ne voulais pas tout gâcher! [I was eighteen too, in case you forgot! I was a stupid kid! You were my... you know what you were to me! I didn't want to mess it up!]”

You scoffed. “Gâcher? Et vous pensiez que me quitter après que nous ayons dormi ensemble pour la première fois n'était PAS une erreur? [Mess it up? And you thought leaving me after we slept together for the first time was NOT messing it up?]”

The others were simply looking back and forth in confusion. Obviously, you two had a rough past. Joseph cleared his throat awkwardly. Maybe he shouldn’t have brought it up…

Pol glanced down at his plate. “Je ... je suppose que c'était mal de moi. Je suis désolé. Je ... t'aime toujours, tu sais? Je n'ai jamais arrêté. [I ... I guess it was wrong of me. I am sorry. I... still love you, you know? I never stopped.]”

You began to cry.

Avdol put a comforting hand on your shoulder, though he didn’t know what to say.

“God damnit,” you muttered. “I still love you too, moron.”

There was silence. Though they understood only that, the other crusaders knew what went down between the two of you.

After that, everyone went to their rooms. Nothing else was spoken other than unmeaningful ‘good night’s and ‘see you tomorrow’s.

In the morning, you woke up with a newfound purpose in life. You knew how he felt, and he knew how you felt, but you were determined to grind his gears in revenge, anyway. He broke your heart so he deserved it. How to do it, however? You had a plan.

“Good morning, everyone,” you said as you walked into the breakfast area, your black silk robe still tied neatly against you. “I hope you all slept well. I have a feeling today is going to be a great day!”

“Uhh, yeah,” Kakyoin muttered, raising a brow. “You okay? You were… crying last night.”

You ruffled his hair. “Oh, don’t even worry about it, I’m great! More than great, actually.”

With that, you mozied off to grab a plate and start piling on breakfast items to eat. Luckily, the man you were looking for was right in front of you.

“Bonjour,” you said, tone light.

Pol shot you a look, but didn’t question your cheery attitude. “Salut.”

“Tu as l'air différent ce matin. Plus beau. Avez-vous fait quelque chose avec vos cheveux? Ou changer de tenue? [You look different this morning. More handsome. Did you do something with your hair? Or change your outfit?]”

“Non? Qu'est-ce que tu fais? [No? What are you up to?]”

You shrugged. “Je te donne juste un compliment. [Just giving you a compliment.]”

He finished stacking up his food and started to head back to the table, you following behind him.

As soon as you sat down, you began conversing once more. Running a hand lightly through his styled hair, you asked, “Êtes-vous sûr de n'avoir rien changé? [Are you sure you didn't change anything?]”

Jotaro let out a sigh, tilting his hat down. “Good grief. Here we go again.”

Pol shooed your hand away. “Oui. Maintenant mange. [Yes. Now eat.]”

This was the regular all day. Any chance you got, you’d pay him a compliment in French. The poor frenchman didn’t know what you were up to, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.

After dinner, when the ones who were old enough to drink went down to the bar, was when things really started heating up.

Avdol and Joseph sat beside you as you sat beside Pol. They were busy chatting when they noticed you start a conversation. Despite not understanding, they decided to listen in.

“Belle nuit, non? [Beautiful night, no?]” you said, leaning your head against his shoulder as you stirred your glass. 

You were right. It was beautiful.

“Oui [yes],” he agreed.

“Pas aussi beau que toi [not as beautiful as you],” you quipped, nudging him with your elbow.

He let out a sigh. He would love nothing more than to take the compliment as it was, but he knew not to. He felt stupid not knowing what you were up to, but he had a feeling it had to do with him falling for your scheme of compliments. His expression remained neutral, though you spotted color appearing on his cheeks. You smirked.

“Cette nuit n'était pas si mauvaise, non? C'est pour ça que tu es parti? Parce que je n'étais pas assez bon? Parce que je serais prêt à réessayer. Donnez-moi une autre chance et je jure que vous ne voudrez plus jamais quitter le lit. [That night wasn't so bad, was it? Is that why you left? Because I wasn't good enough? Because I'd be willing to try again. Give me another chance and I swear you'll never want to leave the bed.]” Your feet nudged his legs as you spoke.

You felt his shoulder tense underneath you.

“Ce n'est pas ça et tu le sais. [That's not it and you know it.]”

You began to trace the top of his hand with your nails, drawing little shapes. You noticed the hair on his arms stand up.

“Je ne te crois pas~~~~ [I don't believe you~~~~]”

Joseph leaned over to whisper to Avdol. “I think she might be flirting with ‘im.”

“Why would she do that if he broke her heart?”

Joseph shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never understood a woman’s true motives a day in my life, that’s why I was asking you what you think.”

“I’m a fortune teller, Mr, Joestar, not a mind-reader.”

Dismissing Avdol, Joseph tuned back into what was happening on the other side of him.

You now had one arm wrapped around his bicep, the other trailing a nail from his hand up to his shoulder and towards his neck.

“Rejoignez-moi dans ma chambre et convainquez-moi, n'est-ce pas? [Join me in my room and convince me there, won't you?]”

Polnareff gently grabbed your hand, stopping you from caressing his face. “Pourquoi fais-tu ça? Je sais que tu gardes toujours rancune. [Why are you doing this? I know you still hold a grudge.]”

You let out a weary sigh. “Oh chéri. S'il vous plaît. Arrêtons-nous avec les présentations et le bavardage. [Oh, love. Please. Let's just stop with the introductions and chit-chat.]”

With that, you stood up, moving to grasp his wrists and lead him away from the bar.

Joseph turned to Avdol but the Egyptian shook his head. “We’re not following them. Well, I’m not. I’ll be in the room. You’re welcome to do whatever, Mr. Joestar, but I’ll have no part.”

Avdol got up, moving towards the stairs.

Joseph scoffed. “Well, fine.” He ran after Avdol. “Wait for me!”

You let out a sigh of relief. You brought Pol out into the empty patio, and there was no sign of the other two following you. You breathed out, breath visible in the cool air.

“I think we’re alone now,” you said. “Finally.”

Polnareff turned to you, expression one that was commonly found on him present. Confusion. “What are you trying to accomplish? Just tell me.”

You said nothing, your hands tracing up both of his arms before resting against his cheeks. You used your thumb to caress his face. Fluttering your eyelashes, you gave him a look he recognized from way back in that hotel in France. You leaned up, getting on your tippy toes.

Despite the logical side of his brain telling him he shouldn’t, he slowly wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you in.

Your lips met, but before anything could happen, you pulled away suddenly. You were crying.

“I’m such an idiot,” you muttered. “Why did I think this was a good idea?” You backed away from his grasp. “I’m sorry.” Polnareff’s heart shattered. He hated seeing you in tears, especially since he didn’t know the reason. He assumed it was probably him. “What’s wrong?”

You bit your lip. “I was going to get revenge,” you said. “Do to you what you did to me. But I can’t. If… if I go up to your room and do what we did together when we were teens I could never convince myself to leave you. Because I’m still in love with you, and not just a little bit. A lot. So much that it hurts. And I don’t want you hurt, even though you hurt me. Because I’m stupid in love with you.”

For such a talkative man, he had nothing to say. 

You two just stood in silence, cold air freezing your skin as you rubbed your arms. You let out a shaky sigh, eyes closing. You felt like an idiot. A love-sick idiot.

Suddenly, a pair of arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you against a broad chest that smelled of French alcohol and cigarette smoke. You took in a breath.

“I should be the one apologizing, ma chérie,” he said, voice cracking with emotion. “You deserve the world and if I could go back I never would have left you in that room. I just-- you had such big plans. You were an exchange student from America who was studying things I couldn’t even pronounce. I was some dumb nobody scrounging and wallowing about with no real purpose.”

“You’re an idiot,” you mumbled, arms moving to wrap around his neck as you glanced up at him. “You’re such an idiot, Jean Pierre.”

“I know,” he said, giving you a small smile. His cheeks were pink. “I really do know.”

“But I’d like you to be MY idiot from now on, if that’s okay with you.”

He gave a chaste kiss to your forehead. “If you’re willing to take me back, even in this hell of a situation we’re in right now, then I’d love nothing more, ma chérie.”

Your response was in the form of a kiss. But this time, it wasn’t a short one.

What finally pulled you two apart was a familiar gruff voice from a few stories above. “I knew it! I knew it!”

You both looked up, shooting glares at the elderly Joestar. He gave you a quick smile before popping his head back inside his window.

You let out a giggle, Polnareff chuckling along.

“Oh my,” you sighed. “What have I gotten myself into?”

He grinned. “I have no idea, myself, ma chérie. But we’ll have a bizarre adventure finding out!”

That night, you two shared a bed, snuggled up against each other. There was nothing more than scattered kisses shared, but it was a pleasant night, nonetheless.

When morning came, however, and you were met with strong arms embracing you from behind as a familiar snore sounded in your ear, you felt better than you had in years. More specifically, since that night in France.

Letting out a hum, you turned to kiss his forehead. “God, I love you, you big French idiot,” you mumbled. And you meant it. 

Hope you enjoyed! <3

#yeah #I took a simple prompt #rewrote it like 5 times #ended up making it 2500 words #and ended up with something I could've made an entire novel out of #but anyway it helped me wind down from my anxiety attack so I mean whatever works #sir that is my emotional support polnareff #sir no you dont understand if i didn't write 2500 words of him I would've died #it was a tragic situation #but yeah never say fandoms dont help people #because this mans has gotten me through some shit #jjba #jjba x reader #jean pierre polnareff #polnareff #jojos bizarre adventure #jojos bizarre adventure stardust crusaders #jojo x reader #jojos x reader #fluff #fluffy #over 1000 words

[ariibees]

Amen

Mais c'est aussi en français !

I enjoyed doing Birth to My Creation and went ahead and translated Amen into French as well! I was more busy/distracted while doing this one and didn’t put as much effort into matching the syllables, mostly just translating something that vaguely worked (so it’s harder to sing along to), so don’t take this as a legitimate French version haha. But I had fun with it. Proper comments on the lyric/word choices at the bottom, and French lyrics and an English translation of those just under the cut!

French Lyrics:

PROFESSOR #1: Frankenstein, nous trouvons vos idées choquantes, dangereuses, et un affront à tout ce qui est moral et décent

PROFESSOR #2: C'est de l'insanité ! Seul un fou ou un hérétique oserait jouer avec la vie et la mort comme vous le proposez

PROFESSOR #3: Votre obsession avec les charlatans discrédités et leur science douteuse est une pure folie

PROFESSOR #4: L'université ne tolérera pas vos expériences bizarres et non autorisées

PROFESSOR #5: C'est de la folie totale !

ALL: C'est... SOTTISE... FOLIE... INSANITÉ !

PROFESSOR #1: Les morts n'ont rien à vous dire

CONDEMNED MAN: Je maudis le jour où je suis né Dans un monde noir de haine

Cette vie, je la quitterai En sachant que le ciel offrira La paix et non la peine

Je nierai pas que je suis un homme Et en tant que tel, j'ai du pécher Un Adam, j'ai mangé la pomme Mais mon sang innocent, vos mains, il va tacher

EXECUTIONER: Pour vos crimes contre le peuple-

MOB: Vous ne méritez que de mourir

EXECUTIONER: Le magistrat d'Ingolstadt vous condamne-

MOB: Votre âme, on peut pas la convertir

EXECUTIONER: Être pendu jusqu'à ce que mort s'ensuive-

MOB: Le diable va vous punir

EXECUTIONER: Le seizième jour de septembre, dix-sept cent et…

MOB: Vous ne méritez que de mourir

CONDEMNED MAN: Qui est mal ? Qui est bon ?

MOB: Votre âme, on peut pas la convertir

CONDEMNED MAN: Et qui répond ?

MOB: Le diable va vous punir

CONDEMNED MAN: Qui ose jouer à Dieu ?

MOB: Un homme n'oserait- Un homme n'oserait- Un homme n'oserait pas jouer à Dieu…

VICTOR: Une autre âme... une autre lumière... Une autre flamme s'est éteinte Un moment ici, après, parti Et un cœur bat, puis il finit La mort est si succincte

Un ancien mystère : qu'est-ce que la vie ? Qu'est-ce qu'il faut croire ? Une question de philosophie ? Ou peut-être de biologie ? Je suis le seul à savoir...

J'ai trouvé ce qui était impossible Cela va laisser tout le monde pantois Créer une vie, c'est faire l'impossible Et tout le monde... m'entendra !

MOB: Nous suivrons Dieu !

VICTOR: J'entends sa voix... le gantelet…

CONDEMNED MAN: Qui est mal ? Qui est bon ?

VICTOR: ...Crie les demandes du sort

MOB: Il mourra !

CONDEMNED MAN: Et qui répond ?

VICTOR: Le destin de l'humanité…

MOB: Finissez-en maintenant !

VICTOR: Cet esprit répond...

CONDEMNED MAN: Qui ose jouer à Dieu ?

VICTOR: ...Avec ces mains

MOB: Le jugement est ici!

CONDEMNED MAN: Oh mon créateur, écoute-moi Libérez-moi de ce cauchemar

Et si aucun homme ne me pleure Je suis à vous Amen

EXECUTIONER: Qui s'occupera le corps ? Je répète: qui réclame ce corps ?

VICTOR: Moi !

English Translation:

PROFESSOR #1: Frankenstein, we find your ideas shocking, dangerous, and an affront to all that is moral and decent

PROFESSOR #2: This is insanity! Only a madman or a heretic would dare to play with life and death as you propose

PROFESSOR #3: Your obsession with discredited charlatans and their dubious science is sheer madness

PROFESSOR #4: The university will not tolerate your bizarre and unauthorized experiments

PROFESSOR #5: It’s total madness!

ALL: It is foolishness...madness...insanity!

PROFESSOR #1: The dead have nothing to say to you

CONDEMNED MAN: I curse the day that I was born In a dark world of hatred

This life, I will leave it Knowing that heaven will offer Peace and not sorrow

I will not deny that I am a man And as such, I have sinned... An Adam, I ate the apple But my innocent blood, your hands it will stain

EXECUTIONER: For your crimes against the people-

MOB: You only deserve to die

EXECUTIONER: The magistrate of Ingolstadt condemns you-

MOB: Your soul, we can't save it

EXECUTIONER: To be hanged by the neck until dead-

MOB: The devil will punish you

EXECUTIONER: The sixteenth day of September, seventeen hundred and...

MOB: You only deserve to die

CONDEMNED MAN: Who is bad? Who is good?

MOB: Your soul, we can’t save it

CONDEMNED MAN: And who answers?

MOB: The devil will punish you

CONDEMNED MAN: Who dares to play God?

MOB: A man wouldn’t dare- A man wouldn’t dare- A man wouldn’t dare to play God…

VICTOR: Another soul... another light... Another flame has been extinguished One moment here, the next, gone And a heart beats, then it finishes Death is so succinct

An ancient mystery: what is life? What is to be believed? A question of philosophy? Or perhaps of biology? I am the only one to know...

I found that which was impossible It’s going to leave everybody stunned To create a life is to do the impossible And everyone will hear me!

MOB: We will follow God!

VICTOR: I hear its voice... the gauntlet...

CONDEMNED MAN: Who is bad? Who is good?

VICTOR: ...Crying the demands of fate

MOB: He will die!

CONDEMNED MAN: And who answers?

VICTOR: The fate of humanity...

MOB: Finish it now!

VICTOR: This mind answers...

CONDEMNED MAN: Who dares to play god?

VICTOR: ...With these hands

MOB: Judgement is here!

CONDEMNED MAN: Oh my creator, listen to me Free me from this nightmare

And if no man mourns me I am yours Amen

EXECUTIONER: Who will take care of this body? I repeat: who claims this body?

VICTOR: Me!

Comments:

I made a bunch of unintentionally funny translation errors while writing this (and there are probably some more I haven’t caught) including writing “to fish” instead of “to sin” and referring to human remains as trash instead of a corpse.

When writing for some reason I thought that the “who dares to act as god” lines were supposed to rhyme with “what’s wrong, what’s right, does man decide” and ended up with something along the lines of “Qui est le Dieu des moribonds?” (who is the god of the dying?) to refer to Victor. Fun!

I did at least get to slip in more “Victor is god” fun through “Who answers?” “This mind answers.” Also, another biblical reference with Adam and the apple; that wasn’t originally intended, but it fit the rhyme I had going so I kept it. I also specifically chose “playing god” to sort of emphasize that Victor is never really a god, he only imagines himself to be; he’s instead still young and believes himself greater than he is.

I’m also aware that the formality/flowery-language level jumps all over the place here. At times I dropped “ne,” other times I kept it, the tense changes depending on the rhyme I needed, and so on. So, once again: don’t take this as a genuine translation lmao

#frankenstein #frankenstein: a new musical

[this-is-a-name-dont-worry]

i HATE that the verbs to say "éteindre" in english are things like "turn off" or "shut down". like. how do you want to translate the beauty of a sentence like "Je m'éteins quand vos matins s'allument" when the most direct translation to it is "I turn off when your mornings turn on"??? Also, in french "éteindre" means so many different things that the word just has a different feel than any of its translations! it means turn off, shut down, extinguish, extinct! when you say "éteindre" in a song, it can mean turning off like a light, but also going extinct! disappearing for good! Using it, even as just in relation to a light, has such an heavy background to it it's impossible to translate right in English!

i guess ill have to use disappear, not as subtle but at least looks better

#little rant #trying to translate songs is hard guys #language #translation #english #french #french to english #1789 les amants de la bastille #1789

[oh-boleyn]

languages 101

Okay!! I did it!! I wrote fluff!! This is for @six-gifts-exchanges, and I wrote it for @enough-love-stories and I hope you like this!

Have some fluff with Cleves and Parr 💖

words: 2069, language: english. cleves & parr (friendship)

When Henry died, only two of his six wives were alive.

His fourth wife, Anna of Cleves, who he had divorced years prior but maintained a cordial relationship, even inviting her to court and granting her a castle for her own. And Catherine Parr, his six and last wife, who practically acted as a nurse in the last years of his life.

When they reincarnated, the two quickly bonded over being the “survivors”, even if only the final wife had the official title. They enjoyed each other's company, even when things got hectic in the house, they had each other’s back. Being the most relaxed queens left them the ones in charge to act as judges when chaos broke in the group.

Anna was close to Katherine too, happy to see her alive again. The fourth and fifth queens spent much time together, alone or with other queens tagging along. Taking dance classes together, eating ice cream, tea with Jane and binge-watching sitcoms were on their weekly schedules.

Parr had similar close relationships with Anne, after getting through the initial hesitation they were now usually seen together, discussing in French or talking about science. Aragon was another queen really close to the survivor, being her godmother, she had taken the role to take care of the younger woman, taking her into random trips to museums or other not-as-intellectual outings.

But still, the relationship between the second divorcee and the last queen was special. They had breakfast together almost every day, a really special moment for them to share what was going on. They confide in each other, knowing all their secrets and fears, having inside jokes and how to make the other feel better. If either of them had a problem, no matter how close they might be with the other queens, the first person they’d trust would be the other.

Tonight, the house was found with only both of them inside, having both been covered by their alternates.

“Are you in a mood for a round of chess?” Catherine asked, taking away her eyes from the TV.

“Yes, I think.” Anna responds, looking down. “I was actually going to ask you for a favour.”

“Alright, what’s up?”

“Can you teach me Spanish?” she asks.

A bright smile passes across Cathy, already shining with the idea of how to teach her best friend a language that she holds so close to her heart.

“Of course! Do you want to start now?”

Anna nods, and proceeds to say: “I will look for a pen and you go for paper.”

“You know me.” Catherine laughs.

Five minutes later they are sitting at the kitchen table across from each other. Anna covers the table with different pens, including some highlighters and glitter pens that belong to Katherine. Cathy has some white paper sheets, plus a notebook.

“I haven’t used this one yet, I wanted to save it for something important,” she handles it to Anna, “today is the day.”

“Are you sure?” The German queen wonders.

“Yes, teaching for the first time in something like five hundred years is a big deal, and teaching my favourite language to my closest friend is even more important.”

Anna accepts it. It screams Catherine Parr anyway you see it. The blue coloured front is no more than just an advance of the light blue pages inside. It isn’t squared, nor is it lined paper, instead it has dots all over it. The fourth queen appreciates it, the notebook is almost perfect for her friend, but still she decided to give it to her.

“Okay, first things first, persons. First person is yo.”

Cleves writes it down, her letter messy and cursive.

“Second person is tu.” Catherine indicates.

“Isn’t it vos?” Anna wonders.

“I mean, yes, but vos is used in only some countries, you can add it if you want to though.” Parr explains.

The go over all the persons, vosotros, ella, el, ellos, ellas. Once that’s finished, they pass over some common verbs. Yo soy, tú eres, vosotros sois, ella es, él es, ellos son, ellas son. They go quickly over explaining what eñe means, and how to pronounce it, which leads to the word cumpleaños.

“Try to introduce yourself.” Catherine offers.

“It will be a mess; I still don’t know a lot.” Anna contradicts.

“C’mon! I’m so sure you know your name.” The survivor smirks.

“Yo me llamo Anna of Cleves.” The German says, not sure about the language. “Yo tengo quinientos cuatro años.”

“Really, Anna? I am five hundred and four years old? Show off.” Cathy mocks. “Still, it was great, but you know ‘of Cleves’ is in English, like ‘Von Kleve” is in German.”

“So how is it in Spanish?”

“Anna de Cleveris.”

“Are you kidding me? That sounds… so not serious.” Anna laughs. “I refuse to be named that.”

“Whatever you say, Cleveris.” Cathy responds, with a playful look. “You can not change your name if you don’t want to. Catherine still uses Catalina sometimes.”

“She doesn’t anymore, not since Anne found that website that said that Catalina means poop.” Cleves reminds her. “But I think I will stick with ‘of Cleves’, at least for now.”

“Alright, now we continue, with for example ‘like’?” Parr offers. “It’s ‘gustar’.”

Anna checks her notes and before asking: “Yo gusto?”

“Yes, perfect. What do you like? I can give you the translation just so you can add it to your presentation.”

“I like music. And nature.” She stays thoughtful for a while. “And dogs, mate, I love dogs.”

“You can say yo gusto de la naturaleza.” Cathy explains. “Mi animal favorito son los perros.”

“That sounds like English I think I can manage.”

She writes it down, knowing that probably she is confusing S and Z, V and B everywhere.

“What was ‘dogs’ again?” Anna asks.

“Perros.”

“How do you write it?”

Cathy laughs, making Anna chuckle. Learning a new language was harder than she remembered, and it couldn’t be helpful how different Spanish was from German. Luckily for her, Parr was there to help. Walking to her side, she wrote in her distinctly calligraphy –a cursive that was maybe way too curvy, and distinctly renaissance-like– the word, marking the double R.

“There you go, linda.” She smiled.

“What did you call me earlier? A show off?” She parodies her friend.

“Oh, shut up!” Catherine giggles. “Would you mind if we take a break? I’m hungry.”

“Yeah, no problem.” Anna agrees, carefully closing her new notebook. “Do you want something specifically?”

“I was planning to do something quick; you should keep studying!” Cathy insists. “Start exercising in Duolingo!”

“I refuse, to ever, in my life, use Duolingo.” Cleves says, with a death look.

“Then keep practicing verbs. I have a dictionary in my bedroom.”

“I think I’m fine for now, I need a little break.”

They fall into casual conversation, talking about how excited they were for spring to begin, and different ideas for a summer road trip. They discuss their favourite places from the tour, and where they would love to be back.

Talking with each other feels natural, normal. They know each other's humour, how to make the other laugh. Friendships were not something they were used to in their past lives, everyone having an ulterior motive. Allies were not friends, and in court everyone was just that, nothing more than a power relationship.

“What made you want to learn Spanish?” Catherine asks, already serving the food.

“I don’t know.” Anna answers, trying to play it cool.

“C’mon! I know you have a reason,” she insists, “but it’s okay if you don’t want to tell me.”

“It’s just a silly reason, Cathy.”

“If it was you would tell me!” Parr laughs. “I keep up with your silliness all the time.”

“Rude?” Anna mocks. “It’s just that I wanted to make you happy.”

Catherine stops for a moment, processing the information. Cleves takes the opportunity to continue.

“I know how much you love languages, and you love to teach. I just thought it would be a good way to spend our time together.” She smiles. “I also think it can be fun, plus I would like to also speak in Spanish with Aragon at some point, I know how much nostalgia she holds to it. But I also don’t want to overstep, if that’s something just between you and Aragon then that’s alright but-“

Catherine interrupts her: “It’s really thoughtful of you.”

She leaves the plates, to quickly embrace Anna into a hug.

“You think so?”

“Yes! Really, it’s just an amazing gift.” She breaks the hug. “I know I can be a lot to handle sometimes with my ranting about random things, so I’m more than happy for you to get interested in languages. Nonetheless, if you want to stop learning I won’t get mad.”

“You are never a lot to handle.” Anna insists. “You are my best friend. And I don’t think I will want to stop any time soon, I like learning. Plus, maybe I can teach you German one day.”

“Maybe not now, I already get too mixed with languages.”

Anna laughs, conscious of how many times she would drop a word in another language while trying to speak English.

They have dinner while watching a Spanish show –Anna wanted to watch some sitcom that had been sitting on her list, but Catherine insisted on watching this show about time travel, plus “you have to get used to the accents, Anna!”–, laughing at their commentary. Before they can finish the episode, the queens burst into the house, tired after the show.

“How did it go?” Cleves asks, taking her plate and Catherine’s to the dishwasher.

“Tiring.” Anne says simply, falling on the sofa. “I fell during the Megasix, now my whole being hurts.”

“I hope someone filmed it! I was singing and didn’t see her!” Katherine complains.

“I did, it was funny.” Aragon laughs.

“Mate!” Boleyn protests.

“Anyway, girls, how was your night off?” Jane wonders. “What’s up with all these pens and paper?”

“Nothing.” Anna quickly shouts from the kitchen.

“It’s just me writing stuff, Anna was helping.” Cathy explains. “Do you want ice for your butt, honey?”

“Funny.” The second queen mocks.

The six queens stay talking for a while, before finishing eating and excusing to their bedrooms. Cathy takes the notebook and pens, and takes them to her room, aware that Anna apparently wanted to keep the secret of their Spanish lessons.

She decides to give the notebook back to her friend once the rest of the queens are already in their bedrooms, going slowly up the stairs, mindful of not making too much noise. Cathy knocks the door twice, before getting it, not bothering to get Anna’s permission.

“This belongs to you.” The writer leaves the notebook on the fourth queen’s desk.

“Thank you,” Anna smiles, “I just want to get better at it, before telling the others. I don’t want to feel rushed into learning.”

“I get it, we can be a lot to handle.” Parr laughs. “I also wanted to say thank you again. It’s been so long since I taught and I haven’t realized how happy it makes me. I was afraid that it might make me remember bad moments, but I actually enjoyed it a lot.”

“You are a good teacher, maybe a bit of a jerk though.”

“We already knew that, Cleveris.”

“Whatever you say, tonta.” She playfully replies.

“How did you learn that word?” Cathy asks, confused.

“Oh, Aragon once called Anne that. Kitty and I looked it up on the internet, she also called her tarada, but I think that one is a tad more aggressive.” Cleves explains. “Also, who doesn’t know curse words? I think it’s like the first thing you learn about a language.”

“Really Anna? That’s how you learn languages?” Catherine inquires teasingly.

“Maybe.” She giggles. “What’s your favourite word in Spanish?”

The last queen thinks for a moment, before responding: “I don’t know if I have one. But there’s one I like because I don’t think there’s a real translation of it.”

“Which one?”

“Querer. It means want, but also it means loving. It’s like amar, but I like the idea of a word that is mostly directed to friendship. Friends are really important.”

“Yes, they are.” She hugs Parr. “Te quero?”

“Te quiero.” She corrects.

“Te quiero, Cathy.”

“Te quiero más, Anna.”

#six the musical #six fanfiction #six the musical fanfiction #anna of cleves (six) #catherine parr (six)

[dragonageconfessions]

Hi! I don’t know if you still need this, but I’ve provided a translation of the French confession below.In  couple of places a literal translation would have had different connotations, so I indicated the literal translation in square brackets next to the word I chose instead.There were also a couple of places where the sentence structure would have sounded slightly awkward in English, so I rearranged the clauses–I don’t believe that sacrificed any meaning. NB: I’m not a native French speaker, so any errors are my own. Also, to the confessor, it was a privilege to read such a beautiful and personal story in any language.

I would prefer to write in French–sorry.

I discovered Dragon Age: Orgins when I was 22 years old. Back then, I didn’t have any idea about my sexual orientation. My first playthrough, I played a woman who didn’t romance anyone. After that I wanted to play a man, and he romanced Zevran without my really thinking about it. When I played Dragona Age 2 my f/Hawke naturally romanced Isabela; and in Dragon Age Inquisition Cassandra broke my heart when my f/Inquisitor declared her love for her. I don’t know how to explain this, but playing Dragon Age let me live a different sexuality first with a man then with women and I realized as I went along that I am gay [homosexual] myself. Thank you Bioware for completely repressed people to experience [experiment with] non-straight sexualities in your games. Today, I am 28 years old and I can say that I am lesbian and finally live my life–and it’s partly thanks to Dragon Age. 

[J'ai découvert Dragon Age origins quand j'avais 22 ans. Je n'avais pas conscience de mon orientation sexuelle à cette époque. Ma première partie, j'ai joué une femme qui n'a romancé personne. Ensuite j'ai voulu jouer un homme, et sa romance était avec Zévran, sans que je réfléchisse plus que ça. Quand j'ai joué à Dragon Age 2 ma f/Hawke a naturellement romancé Isabela ; et dans Dragon Age inquisition, j'ai eu le coeur brisé par Cassandra quand ma f/Inquisitor lui a déclaré sa flamme. Je ne sais pas comment l'expliquer mais jouer à Dragon Age m'a permis de vivre une sexualité différente, d'abord avec un homme puis avec des femmes et j'ai pris conscience au fur et à mesure que je suis homosexuelle moi-même. Merci Bioware de permettre à des personnes qui refoulent complètement de pouvoir expérimenter des sexualités non hétéro dans vos jeux. Aujourd'hui j'ai 28 ans et je peux dire que je suis lesbienne et vivre enfin ma vie - et c'est en partie grâce à Dragon Age]

Credit: unabashedlyseveresandwich

#Thank you so much #submission