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11 juillet 2010 7 11 /07 /juillet /2010 14:34

Et voilà un nouvel OS d'inspiration indochochinoise, mai sen anglais cette fois-ci! x)

 

 

 

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Title: Electrastar
Author: foolbutsane (c'est moi ^^)
Beta-reader: Foui_the_brave
Genre: songfic
Main characters: Martin/Ola, Mattias (OC), and Leari and Jepson do a very short apparition. (Ils font tous parti de The Ark.)
Rating: G
Summary: The story happens many years away in the future. It could be the continuation of Valentine's Day. Quite sad.
Disclaimer: This story never happened (and I hope it would not happen) and it’s all lies. I don’t own Martin, Ola, Jepson, nor Leari: they belong to themselves. I don’t own the song, Electrastar: it belongs to Indochine. I just own Mattias and the story. Tell me if you want to copy it.
A/N: I change of idea many times before writing this fic. At the beginning, there was much more action, and it wasn’t so sad. And it wasn’t a songfic. I don’t know if I did the good choice, cause I feel quite… unsure about this story. So tell me what you think about it.
Thanks to Foui_the_brave, Indochine, and The Ark.




The last rays of the sun lighted the floor of the living room. Our living room. Well, maybe it's better to say my living room, since you left several months ago. I didn't want you to leave. You must believe me. I really didn't want you to leave our flat. But I had to do this. For your own good. The sun is now hiding behind some clouds. The room is suddenly darker, and so are my thoughts. The last events between us are coming to my mind and I'm feeling worse and worse. But the sky, in its greatness, makes the wind blow and the clouds move. And the sun re-appears and lights up both the room and my mind: it's not the last events that I remember now, but our best moments.

***   ***   ***

-Martin!
-Yes?
-It's the summer! he shouted, very happy.
-I know Ola, it's July. So it's quite obvious that's it's summer, I answered a bit dry.
-I know, I'm not stupid. What I mean, it's that today is the first sunny day for a long time. It's been raining for weeks. It was even raining during Midsommar.

Realizing that I was not really listening, he came closer to me. I suddenly felt his hands round my waist and his breath on my ear.

-Martin, tell me what's worrying you.
-I want Mattias to have real holidays… I mean not staying all the time in Malmö. But we can't take any vacation now with the prep for the tour and so on. And I don't know what to do. I promised him, you understand? I said, ready to cry.
-Ssssch, I don't want to see any tears in your eyes. It's nothing to worry about, really.
-Huh?
-I phoned my parents earlier today and they would be really happy if Mattias could spend a week or more with them. You know how crazy about their grandson they are.

He laughed softly, certainly reminded of how his parents acted every time they saw our son. The sound of his laugh calmed me down a bit and I smiled.

-So we just have to send him to Rottne, he concluded before kissing my earlobe.

His hands moved until reaching my belt while his lips were moving to my neck and then to my shoulders. His fingers quickly opened my jeans and began to… when a boy's shout stopped us. We both smiled.

-Daddies! I finished my painting!

***   ***   ***

I give a jump and look around. I'm quite sure I heard Mattias shouting, even if I know it's impossible: he's at Jepson's house. But it seemed so real. So maybe everything was just a big dream, or better said, a big nightmare, and Mattias is playing in his room, and Ola is in front of the piano, thinking of a new song. I'm leaving the living room: I just want to see if it's true or not. If Ola is still here or not. I know he isn't but… but… I can't help myself good hoping. Just when I'm about to open the door of the piano room, the phone rings. I don't know what to do: enter or not enter the room, answer or not answer the phone. I know that both of them will bring me back to reality so I decide to answer: at least the guy who's calling won't have to dial my phone number again.

-Hi Martin! It's Jepson.
-Hi, what are you calling for? A problem with Mattias? I ask, seriously worried.
-Sort of. He misses you. I tried to explain him the whole thing but he refused to understand. He's just crying and shouting after you… you and Ola.
-… Sorry, I can't come, I say with a low voice.
-Please Martin. Your son needs you, you have to come. You haven't gone out for weeks and the summer is sunny and warm. I'm sure you'll feel better if you go out for a walk over here.
-Jepson… I can't leave the flat… I just can't.

I looked at the door and hang up. Should I go out or not? Jepson's words are twirling around in my head. I walk slowly towards it and stared during, I don't know, maybe ten minutes. Finally I turn the key inside the door: I'm much better locked up in the flat.



Je reste enfermé chez moi et je ne sors pas [I stay locked up at home and I don’t go out]
J'attends comme la fin du monde et je ne sais pas [I wait like the end of the world and I don’t know]
Combien de temps ça prendra mais je ne l'oublie pas [How long it would take but I don’t forget]
Parfois la nuit on s'ennuie et ça ne plait pas [Sometimes, the night, we’re bored and we don't like it]
Non ça ne vous plait pas [No you don’t like it]
oh oh oh
oh oh oh




I'm laying on our bed… well my bed. I really must learn to talk in the first person singular, not plural. We're not together any longer. I'm staring at the ceiling. It's white, totally white, totally innocent… not like me, not like you. But even if we were guilty of certain things, I don't think we deserved what happened to us. I close my eyes: this ceiling is really too white and it hurts: I should paint it. Now that I'm temporary blind, I let my brain do what it wants, imagine what it can. But it seems that it can't imagine anything, cause it brings back some memories. Memories I had forgotten, or hidden, I don't know. Memories of us. Last summer. When we had sent Mattias to Rottne.

***   ***   ***

I was laying on the same bed, staring at the same ceiling, but not thinking of the same things. I don't remember what I was thinking about, probably the autumn tour, or maybe you, or both. The thing is that I was thinking when I heard some piano notes through the silent flat. You were playing some new song, and from time to time I could hear your voice. I decided to spy on you a bit. I knew that you didn't like someone watching you while you were composing, but I so loved watching you play. So that's why I slowly opened the door of the piano room and spent almost half-an-hour watching you. Finally, you noticed me and looked at me with accusing eyes. But you were smiling. And so was I. You came closer to me, slowly, very slowly and at the end, your lips touched mine. We began to kiss softly, gently, and then more and more fierily, more and more passionately. Your hands were touching every part of my body as if they were discovering it. When you stopped the kiss, I tried to kiss you another time, cause I already missed your lips. But you had decided something else and started to lick my ear, my face, my neck… I was groaning louder and louder and with a satisfied look, you kissed me again. Very softly this time. I pushed your head to make it deeper but you refused. Instead, you kissed my shoulders through my T-shirt. While doing this, you coughed a bit. I didn't notice it at the moment, I didn't ask you if everything was all right. I should have. And I just forgot it. I shouldn't: it was the first sign.

The evening, when I woke up after hours of love with you, I took all our clothes and put them in the machine. I noticed some blood on my T-shirt. I didn't really care: I just wondered how I had done it. And I didn't see that the blood marks were exactly where you coughed some hours before. The second sign. And I missed it. Again. I will never forgive myself.

***   ***   ***

I open my eyes. The white ceiling is still here, staring at me. Maybe I should paint your eyes on it. So instead of a white ceiling, it will be your dark eyes which will stare back at me. The phone is ringing. Again! Can't they leave me in peace? Can't they understand that I need to be alone? This time I look at the number: it’s our manager. I don't want to talk with him. What is he going to say? That he understands that I need to rest. But that I can't forget the band, that we have some prom to do, for our live album and DVD. You know what? Fuck the prom, fuck the band, and fuck the Ark! I would do anything to call this flat our flat once again… anything… I miss you so Ola. Please come back! Forget what I said. I don't fuck the band, I don't fuck The Ark, and I fuck the prom just a little (you know: I can't stand those kind of things). I feel some tears on my cheeks. I think I'm crying. I hope the pain I feel now will go away with the tears. It really hurts. I miss you.



Je voudrais te revoir [I want to see you again]
Briller d'electrastar [Shine with electrastar]
J'ai envie de te voir [I would like to see you]
Et cracher sur la gloire [And spit on fame]




All my tears are gone and the pain is less than before. I remember something you said a while after you began to figure out what was happening. When I forced you to stay at the hospital to be treated.

"Tears won't help me Martin. And seeing you cry in front of me just make me sad. So please, don't cry."

You said it with a smile and I smiled back, cause I could never resist your smile. I tried to stop crying and sniffled a few times. You thought I wasn't listening, or that there was too much noise around and that I couldn't hear, but I heard what you whispered. You whispered a sentence I'll never forget.

"Just let me go. Please."

When I asked what you had said, you said something totally different.

"Let's enjoy the time we have without thinking about the end."

And I’m crying again. It seems that I have an endless stock of tears.



J'aurais pourtant tant aimé nous protéger [Yet I wanted so much to protect us]
Te voir tomber au combat moi je n'oublie pas [Seeing you fall at the fight I don’t forget]
Le temps s'est arrêté et tout a continué [Time stopped and everything went on]
Et ça fait mal [And it hurts]
Oui ça fait mal [Yes it hurts]
Oui ça fait mal [Yes it hurts]



Finally, the disease beat you. It was a few weeks ago, and now it’s the first summer without you. I don’t want to think about this. But everything reminds me that you’re not here. I can’t bear myself anymore. How could I let this happen? Why didn’t I react? I’m sure I could have done something, but I didn’t. I was too weak to protect you. So I just watched you die. I was just beside you, supporting you during your last moments. And I did nothing to help you. I hate myself.

Even though you’re not here, life still goes on. Is it possible? I don’t know. Since your last smile disappeared from your lips, I don’t know anything. I forget everything. I think I forget how to live. I’m just doing things automatically: eat, drink… My friends bring me some food and try to make me smile. But I hardly pay attention to them. The world is grey and I don’t like this color.



Je voudrais te revoir [I want to see you again]
Briller d'electrastar [Shine with electrastar]
J'ai envie de te voir [I would like to see you]
Et cracher sur la gloire [And spit on fame]
Tu vis ce que je vis [You live what I live]




I want to see you. I want to be with you. I want to give up everything. Do you think that if I drop everything: The Ark, fame, success…, God will accept my request? Will you live again? I’m pitiful, it’s awful how pitiful I am. Ask God!?! Pitiful, pitiful… I want to see you once more. Just a few seconds. Just once more. Please.



Stay... [Stay…]



-Martin…

You’re here! I’m not dreaming! You've come back and I smile. I know it’s just for a few seconds but I can’t stop smiling.

-Ola… Can I join you?



Je voudrais te revoir [I want to see you again]
Briller d'electrastar [Shine with electrastar]
J'ai envie de te voir [I would like to see you]
Et cracher sur la gloire [And spit on fame]
Tu vis ce que je vis [You live what I live]




-No. Stay here. For Mattias. For the others… I miss you.

The phone is ringing and Ola disappears. I open my eyes and answer after a while.

-Hum?
-Hi Martin! It’s Leari! We’re having a little party tonight. Do you want to come?
-… What time?

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14 février 2010 7 14 /02 /février /2010 16:22
Bonne Saint-Valentin à toutes et à tous! =D

Voici le premier article de la journée, en anglais. Mais je vous encourage à lire, ça réchauffera le cœur de tous, y compris des célibataires. Je n'en dis pas plus pour ne pas gâcher le suspens. ^^

Par contre, il s'agit d'une fanfic sur The Ark, et je me vois mal changer les prénoms. Alors quelques petites infos pour comprendre: Ola, le chanteur, est bisexuel et a les cheveux noirs avec une mèche blanche. Martin, le guitariste, est un grand blond aux cheveux longs. Ils vivent tous deux à Malmö. Je crois qu'il n'y a rien d'autre à savoir, sauf que j'emploie des noms suédois pour désigner certains mets typiquement du pays, alors ne vous étonnez pas de ne pas comprendre kannelbulle et autre kokosbollar. ;-)
La photo d'en-tête appartient à Rockfoto.nu.

La suite de Crampons et autres fantaisies hippiques arrive dans la soirée.

Bonne lecture! =D




Rockfoto.jpg


Title: Valentine’s Day
Author: Fool but Sane (Beta-reader: Foui_the_brave and my English teacher, Mr. Stone)
Genre: short story, slash
Main characters: Ola/Martin, Johanna (OC)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The story takes place the 14th of February 2008, in Malmö. About what can happen during the Valentine’s Day.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Ola, nor Martin: they belong to themselves. I just own Johanna (even if I don’t like her so much ^^). And this story is only fiction and never happened.
A/N: I thought I would write this fic within two days, but it took me more than a week! I hope it’s worth it. Anyway, it did a long time I didn’t write anything so it was really nice to make this fic.
Thanks to Foui to take time to read it and correct it. :) Thanks to Ola, Martin and my chemistry teacher, who gave me the idea of this fic. Comments and critics are very welcome.



     Ola got off the bus and after a while spotted the café where he was supposed to meet his girlfriend. It was a nice little café, with a light blue shopfront. Slowly, he pushed the door, which made a soft jingling. He looked around and saw Johanna, sitting at a table on the right side of the room. She was waiting for him. He quickly walked towards the table and sat down in front of her.

“Hello dear, I’m so…” he began.
“You’re late” she cut him off, but she didn’t sound angry.
“I know. I’m so sorry. I had planned everything to get here on time. But when I was leaving, Martin called. He was quite depressed so we talked for half-an-hour or so.”
“He was depressed?” asked Johanna. ”Why?”
“Because he doesn’t have a girlfriend. Usually, he doesn’t mind: he broke up four months ago and took it very well. But today… it must be hard to see everyone in the band with someone, while he’s alone.” Ola said with a sad voice.
“Maybe you should go and see him if he was so depressed. You know, we can…”
“No, no and no” Ola interrupted her. “It’s true that I feel sorry for Martin but I absolutely want to spend this day, our first Valentine’s day, with you Johanna.”
“But…”
“And,” he interrupted her once again, “I know for sure that he would feel guilty if I spent this day with him instead of you.”

She nodded and smiled sadly. But Ola didn’t notice it. He was looking for a waiter and admiring the nice and modern decoration at the same time. Finally, a young man came and Ola ordered two hot chocolates, a kanelbulle for Johanna and a kokosboll for himself. Then he looked at his girlfriend, whose face seemed to be happy again.

“This café is very nice. I love it, dear.” said Ola stressing on the words love and dear. “How did you find it?” he asked, smiling.
“My old boyfriend used to take me here” she answered naturally. “No, no, it’s a joke, Ola. Only a joke!” she added quickly when she saw how anger replaced the happiness and love on his face. “You’re really too jealous Ola. And too possessive.” she sighed.
“Am I? Really? How do you see that?” he asked with a big smile: he loved to tease her a bit like this.
“You became immediately angry when I talked about Erik. You were ready to leave and go to argue with him,” she replied, half-joking, half-serious.

Ola defended himself, laughing a bit, and the conversation went on. After about a hour of talking, there was a silence between them, that kind of silence where no one feels ill-at-ease. Ola was savouring that silence, when Johanna began to speak with a very low voice, not she used to.

“I’ve got to tell you something Ola. I can’t be with you anymore. I’m sorry.”
“Why?” Ola looked at her intensively and he felt as if someone was strangling him: she had many reasons to break up with him, but he was almost certain which one had made her take this decision.

“You’re a rock star Ola. You’ve been touring a lot since we began our affair and we haven’t had much time for us. Sssh, let me finish,” she said when Ola opened his mouth to talk. “I know that you’ve done the best you could. But that wasn’t enough for me. What's more, I don’t like when you show your chest to everyone on stage, how you move and so on. And most of all…”
“But you already knew all these things when you asked me…”
“Let me finish I said. And, most of all, I can’t stand that you’re bisexual. Every time I noticed you were talking with another man, it frightened me. More, it was disgust…” she stopped speaking when she saw Ola’s face, contorted by sadness and pain.
“But you… How do…? Why…?” Ola couldn’t find his words: he seemed to have lost all his self-confidence.
“I’m so sorry Ola. I thought I could accept your bisexuality, but finally I can’t,” she explained with a shaky voice. “So, good bye and have a nice day,” and she left.

Ola couldn’t move: her words had paralyzed him. Tears rolled down his cheeks and everything around him became blurred. Through his tears, he saw something, or someone, moving next to the table. He dried his eyes with the back of his hand and spotted a piece of paper: the bill. He was looking for his wallet when he noticed that it was ripped up. And there were some coins next to it: Johanna had paid for everything. So he put his wallet back in his pocket, stood up, took his jacket and left. He couldn’t stay here anymore.

He started walking without paying attention to which streets he was walking in. Anyway, he didn’t know where to go. He didn’t want to go home. He just wanted to forget everything. He looked up at the sky and saw the first snowflakes falling. It made him realize that he was freezing like Hell and didn’t have a clue of where he was. Suddenly, a taxi appeared at the end of the street. He waved at it and the taxi stopped. He got in the car and said the first address that came to his mind.



     A tall blond man answered the entry phone, and made a little noise of surprise when he heard the other man’s voice.

“What?”
“Nothing, it’s just that… Well forget it.”
“Are you going to let me in or do I have to smash down the door?”
“Oh yeah, of course, come up. Fourth floor.”
“I know Martin” and Ola pushed the door which had been opened.

Martin was waiting for Ola on the landing. As Ola was on the last steps, he started to talk.

“Shouldn’t you be with Johanna? I hope you’re not here because of the phone call.”

Ola shook his head and hugged him.

“Oh my god! You’re freezing! Come in, come in,” and Martin pushed him into the flat. “Do you want something to drink? I can make you some tea, coffee, hot chocolate… er… what do I have more?
“Whisky.”
“No, you know that you shouldn’t drink alcohol when you’re sad. So tea, coffee or hot chocolate?”
“Tea. Do you have that Russian tea I tasted last time?”
“Of course. And I have some pepparkakor to go with it. If you want, you can take one of my sweaters” he added when he saw Ola shivering.
“Thanks.”

While Martin was preparing the tea, Ola rummaged about in the cupboard and finally, after at least five minutes, put on a sweater. Martin smiled when he saw which one his friend had chosen. It was the one Ola had made him buy when they were in Paris during the tour. A black sweater with very nice but strange white drawings on. Even if it was a bit too big, it fitted Ola very well, repeating the colours of his hair. Martin brought two cups of tea and they both sat on the sofa. Ola drank a few gulps of his tea and then began to pour his heart out.

He didn’t understand why Johanna had decided to split up. They had been together for almost a year. They had fun. They had sex, sometimes even more than he wanted. They could talk about everything, of this and that, but also about politics and other serious issues. Ola suddenly laughed, remembering one of their conversations: they were preparing dinner: spaghettis and köttbullar. They had two kinds of pasta at home and Ola wanted one, Johanna the other one, saying it tasted better. They started to argue about it, each one defending his kind of pasta. After about ten minutes of arguing, the neighbour phoned and said that the pasta he made were the best one. Finally, they ate the neighbour’s pasta and agreed that it tasted very good.

Martin was smiling and Ola laughing loud, before bursting into tears. He didn’t understand, he kept repeating, they had done a lot of things together. Every time he had some free time, he was with her. But maybe it wasn’t enough for her, maybe she wanted someone… Martin replied before being interrupted by Ola.

“But she knew that!” he shouted and stood up. “She knew that I couldn’t dedicate much time to her, that The Ark was very important to me, and that I would spend a lot of time on it, on music. She knew all that before asking me to go out with her!” Ola was angrier than ever, but also sadder than ever, and Martin felt it.
“Calm down Ola. Please, calm down. It won’t do anything to get angry here and now, apart from making me sad” Martin said trying to make Ola sit on the sofa again. “So now, you can tell me everything: I’m here to listen to you. You can cry and do whatever you want, but not shout, ok?”

Ola nodded. He raised his eyes full of tears to Martin and smiled sadly. Martin smiled back and gave him his cup of tea, the best cure for sadness according to him. Ola didn’t drink it but kept it in his hands, ‘cause it was warm and nice. He looked at it, concentrating hard, as if he wanted to see through it.

“She said I was a rock star” he began. “I hate this word. I’m not a rock star, or a glam rock Jesus either, as some fans seem to think. I’m just a human being. Just me” he added with a weird little laugh. “I couldn’t be in two places at the same time to spend more time with her. And yet, you know how much I wished I could. I missed her so much during the tour. I miss her so,” he sobbed and Martin touched his arm, just to let him know that he wasn’t alone in this hardship. “But… even if she asked me, I can’t give up The Ark. It means so much to me: I made The Ark and The Ark made me. And the Ark means so much to a lot of fans: I can’t abandon them.”

Ola paused and drank some tea. He was sobbing harder than before, and some tears were dropping from his cheeks. Martin stayed silent: he felt that Ola hadn't said everything, and let him gather his thoughts.

“You know what she said? What she dared to say? That she couldn’t stand that I’m bisexual. She dared to say that, although she knew it long before going out with me. Although she says she’s tolerant. Is it being tolerant not to accept that your boyfriend is bisexual? I never cheated on her. I even never looked at another girl or boy. So, why? Is it wrong to be bisexual? Am I a freak?” he asked, raising his anxious and watery eyes towards Martin.
“No, you’re not,” he said shaking his head. “You’re a man, exactly like the others. So stop crying and watering down your tea with your tears.”

Ola smiled: Martin always knew what to tell sad people, and it wasn’t the first time he had consoled him. He sniffed in a not so elegant way and took the handkerchief Martin was holding out to him.

“You know what the funniest thing about this is? It’s that,” he went on as Martin was opening wide his questioning eyes, “I thought that our love had no end, and it ends precisely on the day of the lovers. Valentine’s Day. Ironic, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, but maybe not as much as you think. I mean, at the beginning, the 14th of February wasn’t the day of the lovers.”
“Huh? What do you mean with «it wasn’t the day of the lovers»?”
“It’s one of my chemistry teachers who told me that. In the Middle Ages, the king of all the animals was the bear. If you killed a bear, you became invincible. The Swedish and Danish dynasties even pretended that they were descended from the coupling of a woman with a bear. There was a real worship of the Bear all over Europe. And the Church thought it threatened them. So they decided to destroy that worship. And one of the ways they used to do that, apart from killing bears, was to put a Saint on the 14th of February!” he explained, quite proud of this anecdote.

“Er, I still don’t understand.”
“It’s very simple. Middle Ages people used to celebrate the Bear twice a year: the 11th of November: it was the beginning of its hibernation, and the 14th of February: it was its end. And people were much more afraid during the second celebration than during the first one” he said laughing. “When the Church put the Saint Martin on the 11th of November, and the Saint Valentine on the 14th of February, people had to celebrate some Saints instead of the Bear."
“You mean that Valentine’s day is in fact the end of the bear’s hibernation’s day. So I’ve been dumped the day we should celebrate the waking up of the bear.”
“Yeah, exactly. Hey, what is it I'm seeing?” Martin said surprised, while Ola was weeping again. “It was meant to make you laugh, not cry. Dry your tears immediately” and he brought his hand close to Ola’s face and wiped some from his cheek.

Ola closed his eyes, letting himself be overwhelmed by the sensation of this hand on his cheek. When Martin took off his hand, Ola suddenly opened his eyes and caught the hand. He looked at him with his dark eyes where Martin could read pain, sadness and fright of being rejected. Where he lost himself for a few seconds. Ola blinked and Martin got his senses back.

“I said that you don’t have to cry anymore” he exclaimed with a reproachful but gentle tone. “I don’t like to see you weeping. It makes me sad too, and I don’t know what to do,” and with his free hand, he wiped Ola’s tears on his other cheek.

Once again, Ola closed his eyes and let him wipe his tears. But this time, the hand wasn’t taken away. It caressed the cheek, went up into the dark hair, and then down until the neck. Ola could hear Martin’s breathing heavier and closer to him. He finally felt a warm blow on his face. He smiled but didn’t open his eyes. He wanted to savour every second of it, every move Martin was making. After having contemplated this face which had regained its serenity, Martin kissed him very softly on the lips.

Then he whispered in Ola’s right ear: “Never cry again.” Ola answered by kissing Martin’s left ear and whispered: “You said I could do whatever I wanted” and then looked at him, smiling. Martin was a bit confused: he didn’t dare understand the hidden meaning of those words. But Ola didn’t give him time to think about it. He kissed him on the lips, then on each eye, and back to the mouth, while his hands were slipping into the blond hair. Martin let himself go and answered the kisses. He moved his hands under the sweat and felt how Ola quivered when the cold fingers touched his skin.

After a while kissing, touching and caressing each other, Ola leant over Martin and they found themselves leaning down one against the other. The cup of tea fell on the floor and broke into little pieces. But they didn’t care. Only the white carpet cared about it and the large brown mark of tea.
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19 janvier 2010 2 19 /01 /janvier /2010 20:35
J'avais pris comme bonne résolution 2010 de publier plus souvent sur mon blog. Je crois que ça commence mal. Mais pour ma (faible) défense, je viens de commencer mon stage en neuro, et l'ambiance est comme qui dirait... tendue. Je regrette la pneumo (où pourtant notre chef avait l'habitude de gueuler).

Bref, je vous mets un petit OS, en anglais. La traduction française arrivera plus tard. Dîtes-vous que ça vous fera améliorer l'anglais tout en y prenant du plaisir! ;-)

Il s'agit à l'origine d'une fanfic sur le groupe suédois The Ark, et plus précisément sur le chanteur, Ola Salo, qui est bisexuel. Et pour être encore plus précise, il s'agit d'une sonfic, sur la chanson "Le Manoir", d'Indochine. Je l'ai traduite en anglais, et je laisse les paroles traduites. Mais lisez en français, c'est mieux! XD Et puis, enclenchez la vidéo. La chanson est vraiment géniale. Une de mes préférées.

Comme j'ai publié cette fanfic sur une communauté, j'avais rempli tout un en-tête avec résumé, disclaimer, etc. Je le laisse, pour n'avaoir aucun problème d'aucune sorte. :-)

Bonne lecture! =D







Title: Le manoir [The manor]
Author: Fool but Sane (beta-reader : Foui_the_brave, and my English teacher, Mr. Stone)
Genre: Songfic, PWP
Main characters: Ola, Jonathan (fictional character)
Rating : PG-13
Summary: The story takes place when Ola was around 20 and was studying. Just a glimpse of what could have happened at that time.
Disclaimer: Ola belongs to himself, Jonathan belongs to me, and the song Le manoir [The Manor] belongs to Indochine (Nicola Sirkis/Nicola Sirkis-Olivier Gérard-Boris Jardel). This story is completely fictional and never happened. And please ask me before using it for something else.
A/N: It’s the first fanfic I’ve finished. I hope it’s not too bad. You’re very welcome to comment. And I would like to thank my official beta reader for the advices (merci merci merci), Indochine for inspiring me and Ola and The Ark of course.


***    ***    ***    ***


Ola rang the doorbell several times. Finally, someone opened the door.

“Hi” Ola said with a smile.
“Hi ! How are you ?” the man answered. He was about 20 year-old, tall, slender, with short dark brown hair.
“Fine, thanks. And you Jonathan, not too tired after Sonja’s party ?” Ola said, laughing a bit.

Jonathan grinned : he had spent the whole party with his girlfriend and had hardly slept.

“Yeah, maybe a bit. But I’ll manage to stay awake until we finish our homework for tomorrow. And please, come in Ola.”

Ola stepped in and took a look at the house, wondering where they would work. The kitchen was just a big mess, and so was the living-room. Jonathan noticed Ola’s look and sighed.

“Let’s work in my bedroom. I’ll clean up this evening, before my father comes home. Come, it’s upstairs.”

 
Emmène-moi emmène-moi [Take me take me]

Dans un manoir [To a manor]

Enchaîne-moi enchaîne-moi [Chain me up chain me up]

Encore plus bas [Even lower]

Et puis entraîne-moi [And then drag me]

Entraîne-moi [Drag me]

Où le ciel n’existe pas [Where the heaven doesn’t exist]



They had been working for hours and were beginning to feel tired. Ola was trying to read a text written in very small letters, beneath the picture of a very serious man. Getting his face closer to the book, he started to see double and to have a headache.

“Jonathan, can you come and help me, please ? I can’t read something.”

Jonathan left his computer and sat on a chair beside Ola. He brought his face close to the book too. Their two heads were so close that Jonathan’s glasses touched Ola and were hurting him. But Ola couldn’t move, or maybe he didn’t want to.

 
Je crois [I believe]
Que tu sais [That you know]
L’effet que ça nous fait [What it does on us]
Délivre-moi [Deliver me]
Je vois [I see]
Que l’on sait [That we know]
Se brûler tous nos cerveaux [Burn ourselves all our brains]
Et redevenir des héros [And re-become heroes]



Jonathan tried to read the text, but he couldn’t focus on the text. He was disturbed by Ola’s presence. For the first time, deep inside him he was feeling Ola's nearness. He didn’t understand what was happening to him. His heart was beating faster and faster. He could barely breathe. He could only see Ola’s hand on the book. He could only hear Ola’s deep and calm breathing.


Je sais [I know]
Que l’on est [That we are]
Prêts à visiter nos vies [Ready to visit our lifes]
La chambre noire [The black room]
Je crois [I believe]
Que tu es [That you are]
Comme des flammes autour des croix [Like flames around crosses]
Et comme un ange [And like an angel]
Dans les nuages [In the clouds]



Jonathan moved his hand from the book to Ola’s hair, and started playing with it. Ola looked at him a bit surprised, and tried to figure out whether he was joking or not. But he wasn’t : Ola understood it as soon as he saw his eyes. Jonathan was as serious as it could possibly be.

He stopped playing with Ola’s hair and put his hand on his cheek. He came closer to Ola’s face, hesitated for a second, looked into his eyes, and started kissing him.

 
Emmène-moi emmène-moi [Take me take me]

Encore plus bas [Even lower]

Adore-moi adore-moi [Adore me adore me]

A travers bois [Through woods]

Et puis entraîne-moi [And then drag me]

Emmène-moi [Take me]

Où le ciel n’existe pas [Where the heaven doesn’t exist]

 

Ola answered to Jonathan’s kiss and started touching him : his face, his eyelids, his ears, his hair, his shoulders, his back, his chest… Jonathan was doing the same, and carrying on with kissing Ola, he dragged him on the floor. Suddenly, he stopped the kiss, to Ola’s surprise and disappointment. He got up and walked towards the door.

“Fucking asshole” Ola thought angrily “Can’t you accept what you did and what you are ? Can you only run away ?”

Jonathan closed the door and went back to Ola. He took off his T-shirt and smiled. Ola’s anger disappeared immediately and he started to kiss the naked chest.

 
Entraîne-moi emmène-moi [Drag me take me]

Dans le manoir [To the manor]

Car tu es comme moi [Because you are like me]

Tu es comme moi [You are like me]

Encore plus bas [Even lower]


 
***    ***    ***    ***


They were lying on the floor, naked, their clothes scattered around them. Jonathan had just woken up. Through the window, he could see the moon and the stars shining in the dark sky. On his left hand, he could feel Ola’s warmth. He looked at him and smiled : Ola really looked like an angel when he was sleeping.

“Cause he is” Jonathan thought. “He’s my angel. The one who saved me. The one who told me who I really am. The one who loves me.”

Jonathan was caressing Ola’s arm when he heard the entrance door being opened and closed, and a voice shouting :

“Hi son ! Guess who I met while I was on the way home ! Your girlfriend is here !”

 
Et tu verras qu’il nous faudra [And you’ll see that we’ll have]

Partir avant qu’on nous détruise [To go before they destroy us]

Se glisser de quoi dormir [To slip something to sleep]

Avant de se faner [Before fading ourselves]
Il n’y aura plus aucun secret [There will be no more secrets]

Tu sais entre toi et moi [You know between you and me]




bercyb19.jpg

Image de indo.fr
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2 avril 2009 4 02 /04 /avril /2009 16:06
I said I would publish some texts in English, so here we go for the first one. Very very short.

J'ai dit que je publierais des textes en anglais (sans traduction), donc voici le premier. Très très court.
Et désolé pour la longue absence. Normalement, à partir de maintenant, les mises à jour devraient être plus fréquentes. J'ai déjà une petit chapitre de
Crampons et autres fantaisies hippiques qui attend bien au chaud. ^^








- I promise : I'll save you ! Cause I love you. I'll always be there for you, to protect you.
- Why do you promise things you can't do?
- You don't know me. You don't know what I'm able to do when the woman I love is in danger or needs me.
- … I don't need your protection, and I don't need your help at all. I can take care of myself so leave me alone, she said brutally.
- Do you want me to go away, to leave you alone ?
- Yes, I do.
- You don't seem to like me very much. It doesn't matter. I love you : the simple fact of seeing you makes me happy. So I'll respect your wish. Good bye.


The man went out slowly. He looked one last time behind him and then shut the door.

The young woman's eyes well up with tears. She began to cry. She didn't know why. She didn't love the man who had just left.

The man she loved died a few months ago.

He had been killed by the man who loved her now.

How could she love him? She didn't want to know. She didn't want to admit that she was attracted by that man, that murderer. She was terrified thinking that she maybe loved him.

She only wanted to forget, to forget everything.

She poured a glass of water and emptied in it the white powder she had purchased months ago. She watched the powder disappear in the water. She felt calm, calmer than the last few weeks. Suddenly she took the glass and drank its content.

She smiled: "I'll join you".

She collapsed on the floor. The smile on her lips didn't disappear: death didn't seem so frightening.
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  • : Un blog où je vais publier mes écrits, avec des relations hétéro et homosexuelles explicites, donc ceux qui ne veulent pas lire, la croix rouge en haut à droite peut vous être utile. Aucun plagiat n'est accepté! Et aussi je vais un peu parler de ce qui influence mes écrits: musique, bouquins, etc.
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Les textes publiés sur ce blog sont de ma propre invention et sont écrits par moi, à moins que le contraire ne soit précisé en début d'article. Je vous demanderai donc de respecter mon travail et de ne pas plagier mes écrits.
Merci d'avance.

Certains textes peuvent contenir des relations hétéro ou homosexuelles explicites.
Les mineurs et tous ceux que ça dérange, vous connaissez la sortie: la petite croix rouge.
Tous les résumés et histoires à venir sont disponibles ici.
Si vous avez des questions ou autres, vous pouvez m'envoyer un mail ici.

Sökande

"Un écrivain ne confie tout ni à ses journaux intimes, ni à sa correspondance;
seules ses créatures racontent sa véritable histoire, celle qu'il n'a pas vécue, mais a souhaité vivre."

François Mauriac 

Andra saker ni kan se

lien-nan--19171a4

 
 

Vad som helst...



"Je ne suis pas homosexuel, même si certains semblent le croire."

Ola Salo





"Aime moi, alors je t'aimerai peut-être."
J. R.-P.





"Tout est une question de goût. Toi tu aimes les femmes, moi j'aime les hommes, et lui aime les deux. Où est le problème?"
J. R.-P.





"Ne plus rêver, c'est être à demi mort, c'est faire de la réalité sa seule loi."
Jean-Baptiste Pontalis





"Si tu sens que tu plafonnes, perce un trou dans le plafond."
Gilles Goddard

"Alors si tu sens l'angoisse de la page blanche, prends en une rose."
J. R.-P. 

Lyssna!