qu'est ce c'est

Sunday, May 22: My first grammar post for those who asked for it!!

Difference between Quel, Qu'est-ce que, Quoi, Que, and Qu'est-ce qui(:

Sorry I haven’t posted in a while, I’ve been trying to get myself together for upcoming finals and my teaching exam at dance😁

Let me know if you like this kind of post/would like to see more!! (Or not)

-Kalena :)

So this is thanks to @wheeloffortune-design’s art/AU proposal about a world where Jack doesn’t play hockey and is a chubby history nerd. I got thinking about him as Bitty’s French tutor who got dragged unwillingly into a Youtube series, and @udnoestaaqui proposed that the series’ viewers had trouble figuring out if it were fiction or reality, and well…. (Thanks to Talhi for help with the French!)


You really can’t blame them for wondering. Jack Zimmermann has an online photography portfolio that says he’s doing a minor in Fine Arts at Samwell, and he (along with Larissa Duan) is listed as a camera operator for fellow Samwell student B. Knight’s self-produced documentary Patriarchy In/Action. Fans can point out that there are camera angles and tricks he seems to enjoy in his photography that are used in Cuisiner en Français but have never been seen before in Check Please!  It would make sense if a long-time Youtuber like Bitty had teamed up with a fellow Samwell student and budding auteur and tried to make the next social media sensation.

Not to mention? It’s so meta. It works on so many levels.

Keep reading

Something (lafayette x reader)

summary : its laffy taffy birthday and u cook him somin and he duznt kno u speak french 

warnings : crappy french & fluff,, cussing?? and mumbaiya hindi- basically the slang of hindhi which is the only hindhi i ever learned,, fite me 

992 words m8 thats so little but f1t3 m3

a/n : i wrote this during math class bc i already know all this shit so excuse me if its bad. 


It was laf’s birthday. he was out with the boys celebrating, so you had decided that try to cook for him. He’d be back in 4 hours, so you decided to call your grandma in france. Laf was your best friend, so close you lived together, but you had managed to keep the fact you spoke french a secret from him. Laf muttered under his breath and talked to Alex in French, and never realized you could understand everything they were saying. You remembered last week, when you had overheard the most peculiar thing. 

“Je n'aime pas la façon dont elle regarde John” he muttered to Alex. (I do not like the way she looks at John)

“Qui voulez-vous dire, notre John?” Alex replied (Who do you mean, John?)

“Oui, bien sûr, notre John” (Yes, of course, our John)

“Que fait-il?” (What is he doing?)

“Regardez-les, tous amoureux, c'est dégueulasse” (Look at them, all love, it’s disgusting)

you snorted at this, and Lafayette turned red. “Connait-elle le français???” he practically screamed. (Does she know French ???) you looked away, hoping he didnt notice. Alex shook his head. “I don’t think so” he replied in English. 

“Don’t think what?” you asked, innocently. 

“Laf here was wondering if you speak french?”

“Oiu Oiu Baguette?” You laughed, trying to butcher the word and visibly seeing Laf cringe made you laugh harder. 

But you couldnt get the thought out of your head. Did Laf like you?


you were with your grandmother, cooking a wonderful smelling broth. she had recently moved to the city to help your mother get back on her feet after her recent run in with cancer. since you did not eat meat, she was cooking the chicken while you prepared the desserts and broth the meat was to rest in. 

you tossed in the potatoes and carrots, adding a bit of indian spices from your fathers side to spicen it up. 

“Vous faites tout cela pour un garçon?” she asked you. (Do you do all this for a boy?)

“Alors, que faire si?” (So, what if?)

“Rien, rien, juste vous deux peuvent vraiment avoir quelque chose de spécial” (Nothing, nothing, just you two can really have something special) she winked suggestively. 

“Amama(hindi)! Nous ne sommes plus que des amis” (Grandma! We are only friends)

“Est-il un garçon français?” (Is he a french boy?)

“Peut-être” (perhaps)

“Ensuite, j'approuve” (Then I approve). 

“Amama,Est-ce que je peux te dire quelque chose” (Grandma, can i tell you something?)

“Oui chérie, qu'est-ce que c'est” (yes, darling what is it)

“Je ne pense pas que je suis amoureux, mais je veux que nous soyons plus que des amis” (I do not think I am in love, but I do want us to be more than friends)

You heard a loud choking noise from the door and you turned to see Lafayette, mouth agape, red in the face. 

“Ye wala he?” your grandmother asked in hindi, knowing he could speak french. (Its this guy?) 

“hanjee. ye mera dost he” (Yes ma'am, this is my friend).

“both acha dekte” she winked. (He looks very good)

“merku malum. usku malum. sab malum” (i know, he knows, everyone knows)

“uska baal merku both acha lakte” (I like his hair a lot)

“me too” you said in English, laughing slightly at his confused face, then frowning. 

“wait- how long were you standing there?” 

“I just came- you speak french? what? wait?” he stuttered out. 

“enough to get by.”

“it is her second language” your grandmother adds. “hindhi being her first”. he can only nod slightly in response. 

“Merde, ma vie est un mensonge. Je ne peux pas y croire. Comment parle-t-elle le français? Elle le sait tout, n'est-ce pas?” he muttered angrily under his breath. You were only able to catch a few words. 

“Je suis désolé de ne pas vous le dire. Je voulais que ce soit mon petit secret” (Im sorry I did not tell you, I wanted it to be my little secret)

“its fine. I just- wow. wow. you speak french thats really… hot. did i say that aloud? I mean like its just cool like i can bitch about john to you and-” he stopped himself. 

“you’re cooking for me?” 

“yessiree. coq au vin and tarte tatin. i asked amama to come over to help prepare the meat. we are almost done. take a seat, Lafayette, its your birthday.” you say, pulling out a seat for him to watch you two cook. 


your grandma was telling laf embarrassing stories of your past. you laughed at the both of them, fluently talking in french, as you added the finishing touches. 

“dive in!” you exclaim, setting down the meal in front of him. he smiled as he finished it in one go. “reminds me of my ma’s cooking. la magnifique!” he laughs. you look at his eyes, twinkling with happiness. then you heard someone clear their throat behind you. 

“tera pedas or kya ne” she laughed. (your sweets or what not). you nodded and pulled it out, handing it to Laf. 

“Happy Birthday to my favorite boy ever!” you exclaimed, watching him almost moan at the flavor. Your grandmother slipped outside and onto her motorcycle, speeding away. what a badass. 

“so. about earlier” you knew exactly what he was talking about. 

“I’m sorry- i didnt mean it just,” you took a deep breath. “fuck it. I fell in love with you. or something like that. I noticed it the first time you punched Jefferson in the face for calling Alex’s mother a whore. Something fluttered inside me and its been growing. I don’t know if its love Laf- I just feel something, here” you say, and point to his heart. He looks at you, studying the lines of your smile and your hopeful eyes and realizes you needed an answer. 

“you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear that” he said, and brought his lips up to you. It wasn’t movie fairytale firework explosive everywhere kissing, but it was goddamn something. it felt good, and thats all you needed to validate this feeling. you pushed the dessert out of the way, and jumped onto the table, Laf continuing to makeup with you. His eyes were closed in bliss, and his hands made his way up your shirt. 

“Je veux vous baiser si bien” he growled and attacked your neck.  (google translate it its too vulgar for my innocent eyes)

Avant le long week-end de Pâques, il y a eu un apéro avec des collègues et pleins de gens de différents appartenances travaillant aussi sous le compte de la ville. Bref, on trouvait autant les cantoniers que le gratin de la hiérarchie.

J’ai eu un écho comme quoi un de mes collègues serait aller parler de moi à une de ses secrétaires, pis vu que cette dame à pas la langue dans sa poche… voilà. Heureusement c’était en bien! Mais c’est GÊNANT, bordel!

Comme quoi la personne encore inconnue aurait dit qu’il plaignait la personne qui me ferait du mal parce qu’autant mon beau-père serait de la partie pour lui faire bouffer la racine, mais quand plus y aurait pas mal de collègues qui seraient derrière.

On m’apprécie. PUTAIN. ON APPRÉCIE VRAIMENT.

aimer
qu'est-ce que c'est, vraiment ?
est-ce que c'est penser tout le temps à l'autre quand on regarde un film par exemple quand on mange un chocolat quand on lit un livre quand on regarde la télévision quand on sourit
est-ce que c'est vouloir que l'autre soit près de soi quand on regarde un film par exemple quand on mange un chocolat quand on lit un livre quand on regarde la télévision quand on sourit
et si toutes ces choses sont faites avec l'autre, et que l'autre nous manque quand même ? s'il n'est jamais assez près même si ses lèvres sont contre notre cou, sa langue contre la notre ?
est-ce que c'est ça aimer ?

Nobody's Perfect!

Prompt: Waking up after staying over at their house for the first time (after the fist fight with the mob), and trying to sneak out to avoid embarrassment. You end up getting caught and interacting with them. 1000% fluff

Pairing: Poly!Hamilsquad

TW: Spicy language, moderately bad French, reference to bruising due to fighting, ADORABLE FLUFF AND BAD MEMES

A/N: you don’t have to read the previous fic for this to make sense, but here it is if you’re into that: https://hamilkilo.tumblr.com/post/159215378999/brawl-in-the-streets Anyways, thank you for reading, as always. Thank you for all the support and kindness y'all have shown me on my previous posts! I love you! Also, If you want me to tag anything, let me know! I want you to feel safe when reading my work! Please enjoy!

Word Count: 2792

The morning after you fist fought the protestors, you woke up in a ton of pain. Everything hurt. In retrospect, you wished you had eaten four or five dozen eggs as a child so that you could’ve been as large as Gaston, but you didn’t. You barely even knew how to fight. Your face showed that.
You groaned as you sat up, feeling your pulse in your face. You knew it was going to be a swollen mess. Your mouth felt full of cotton, and your head was pounding. You looked over at the nightstand to see that the digital clock read 5:14. You groaned again. You were awake with pain, and you knew you wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. You figured it was for the best. This way, you could sneak out like it was a one night stand, only a lot worse.
You got up, wincing and cursing the entire way, and limped your way over to your clothes, wallet, and phone on the love seat. They really did have a nice guest room. Come to think of it though, you don’t remember their house being all that big. Did they each have their own rooms, or did they share rooms and have bunk beds? You guessed it didn’t matter. You quickly, well, as quickly as one in your condition could, changed and crept to the door. The room was fairly dark, but due to the open blinds, the moonlight spilled on the floor. You pulled the door open slowly, and thanked the universe for the fact that it did not squeak on its hinges. You tiptoed and groped your way down the dark hallway, then frowned when you saw dim light coming from the living room. You moved slowly, trying not to give yourself away to whatever, or whoever, was in there. You slowly peaked around the corner and saw Alex sitting on the couch, typing away on his laptop. There was a small burrito of John curled up against him and out like a light. A kid’s show played on the TV in the background. Maybe, if you were lucky, you’d be able to make it to the door without being detected. The couch was forward far enough that you’d be able to go behind it to reach the exit. You began to ninja your way towards the door, crawling on your hands and knees behind the couch when a floorboard creaked, and the typing stopped.
“Laf?” Alex’s voice was soft and raspy from how tired he was. You were frozen in your position, holding your breath. After a moment of silence, he returned to typing, and you let out a sigh of relief. You began to move again, your muscles tight and sore. You bit your lip to hold back the pain, desperate to get out of this awkward situation.
“Hey, Alex?” You heard a groggy voice from the couch. Shit. John must’ve woken up. You really picked a shitty time for your escape.
“Dearest?” If you weren’t in so much pain, you would’ve cooed out loud at how adorable they were.
“It’s late; we should go to bed,” John mumbled before he yawned, and without warning, he began to stretch, and he managed to bap you in the face. You cried out in surprise and pain, causing both of the boys to leap off the couch.
“Y/N?!” Alex was incredulous. He couldn’t fathom why you’d be behind the couch.
“Mornin’,” you greeted them both sheepishly. So much for a stealth escape.
“What are you doing up?” John asked as he came around the couch to stand in front of you. He squatted down beside you and gently grabbed your chin. “I didn’t hurt you, did I? Jeez, I’m so sorry! I’m such a klutz!”
You blushed and picked yourself up, stumbling in the process. John steadied you and held onto your arm. “No, no. I’m fine. I was… uh… just going for my morning stroll!”
He frowned at you, “Do I look like an idiot?”
You bit your lip to keep from giving him a sassy response, and instead, you shook your head. “I was actually going to go home. I’ve caused y'all enough trouble lately-”
“Nonsense!” Alex interrupted you. He had joined the two of you behind the couch and grabbed your hand in his. These two were turning out to be very touch oriented. “You threw rocks at bigots! That’s iconic! And, now you’ve been in a fight! You’re bad ass, Y/N!”
“Alex, shhh,” John shushed him since he was getting excited. He didn’t want to wake the others.
“Right,” Alex gave you an apologetic grin, “Anyways. Do you want some coffee?”
You shook your head in bewilderment. “It’s like five thirty in the morning on a Saturday…”
“Exactly!” He looked at you like you’d just stated that the sky was blue. “I do my best work when I stay up all night.”
“That’s arguable,” John grumbled, and you giggled. “Your typo count goes up when you don’t sleep. Your writing starts to sound paranoid and-”
“Everyone’s a critic!” He scoffed, and John rolled his eyes.
“Come on, you go to bed, and I’ll get Y/N some coffee,” John offered, and Alex scoffed this time.
“Do you even know me?” He demanded, throwing his hands on his hips. This was like the opera, only better. So much drama. And for free!
“Alexander, don’t you sass me!” John scolded him. Then he leaned forward and put his lips by his ear. In a voice you could barely hear, he growled lowly, “If you go to bed right now, I’ll do that thing you like later tonight.”
Alex’s eyes got wide, and he blushed deeply. You bit your lip to keep from squealing. Why didn’t you have a guy like that?
“Good night, John! Good night, Y/N! See you in the morning!” He rushed out, and he leaned over and pecked John on the lips, before he tensed like he caught himself in a mistake. Then, he turned to you and quickly pecked your lips, too. You didn’t move, you were too stunned. He quickly went off down the hallway, and you heard a door shut.
“Well,” John cleared his throat, ducking to hide his slight blush. “Let’s get you some breakfast, shall we?”
You held up your hands, “It’s fine, really-”
“No, I insist! It’s the least we can do. Come on!” He sounded almost offended, and you relented.
You followed him into the kitchen where he opened the cabinets. “What are we feeling today? Cereal? Waffles? Pancakes? Eggs? Tequila?”
John gave you a sly smirk on the last one, and you couldn’t help but giggle. “Cereal is fine.”
“Awesome. This one’s actually my favorite!” He pulled down a box of Lucky Charms and put it on the counter. He brought down two bowls for you, then he got the milk.
He poured you some cereal, and you grinned. “For some reason,” you began, “I feel like that Jefferson guy would be the kind to pour his milk first, then the cereal.”
John paused in pouring the milk, and you cringed. Why did you even speak? You probably offended him. Way to go. Then, he dropped the carton on the counter, milk sloshing out, and he began to absolutely cackle like he was losing his mind. You watched him in mild alarm as he gripped the edge to keep himself from falling over. Then, you found yourself laughing with him. You were being loud, you knew that, but his laugh was just so contagious.
“John! What’s going on? Are you okay?” Hercules came running into the kitchen, baseball bat in one hand (a/n low key considered putting “dildo in the other” but refrained, yw), teddy bear in the other. He let the bat drop down to his side when he saw the both of you rearing like hyenas.
“Y-y-y/N,” John stuttered between fits of laughter and gasps for breath, “Tell Herc what you told me!”
Herc looked at you in anticipation, and butterflies filled your stomach. You managed to stifle a nervous giggle, “Jefferson’s the guy that pours his milk before the cereal-”
“POURS HIS MILK BEFORE THE CEREAL! AHAHA!” John lost it again, and you followed suit. Herc just looked between the town of you in fear, then he chuckled to himself.
“You two are something else,” he said as he propped the bat against the counter.
“John,” you wheezed, hunched over the counter in another peel of laughter, “the cereal’s going to get soggy-”
“Just like JEFFERSON!” He hollered out, erupting at the end of the phrase again, and this time, Herc’s booming laugh followed.
“He probably indulges in soggy cereal!” Herc added, laughing with John and you.
“Qu'est-ce c'est?” You turned around to see Lafayette slowly approaching the kitchen, his hair up in pig tails as he rubbed sleep from his eyes.
“Um, comment est-ce tu dit… Jefferson aime le soggy cereal?” You managed to form half of a sentence in botched French, which, unknowingly to you, made it unbearably hilarious to Lafayette.
“Mon Dieu! Merde! C'est marrant!” And soon, the four of you were laughing your asses off in the kitchen, the cereal long forgotten. By some work of God, you’d managed to not wake up Alex. That kid could sleep like the dead.
After what seemed like forever, you had managed to calm down, and John dumped the soggy cereal in the sink.
“So, eggs?” He offered, and you smiled at him.
“Do you have hot sauce?” You questioned, and Hercules laughed before high fiving you.
“Bad ass!” He exclaimed, and you giggled again. For some reason, these boys just put you in such a good mood. You couldn’t believe that you’d tried to sneak out.
“Uh, tu aimes les omelettes?” Lafayette asked. You thought it was cute how French he was in the mornings.
“Don’t mind him,” Herc cut in, “He tends to slip back into French more when he’s tired. Besides, it’s hot as hell!”
You laughed, then turned to Lafayette. “Oui, je préfère les omelettes, mais j'aime les œufs. Et toi?” You knew it was sloppy and horribly mispronounced. It had been a while since your French class.
“Oui! Moi aussi! Tu es très adorable, mon ami!” He pulled you into his arms, squeezing you tightly, causing you to groan out in pain. He let you go quickly, muttering apologies in French.
“Sorry,” you admitted, “I’m not very good at French!”
“Non! C'est stupide! Ce n'est pas mal!” He ruffled your hair in response.
“Oui, oui, hon, hon, baguette, Eiffel Tower!” John exclaimed as he slid a plate with a cheese omelette to you. Hercules laughed and kissed John on the cheek before sliding the hot sauce to you. You couldn’t decide if they were all in a relationship together or if they were just really tight bros. Once again, you scolded yourself for sticking your nose into other people’s relationships.
You poured hot sauce on your omelette and ate it quickly, finding yourself ravenous. Lafayette rambled on about God only knows what in French, much too fast for you to comprehend any of it. You picked up on a few words, but none of them made sense in combination. You just smiled and nodded in between bites of eggs.
Once you had finished, the sun was starting to rise outside. “Thank you for the breakfast, but I’m afraid I really should be going.”
You didn’t want to overstay your welcome or take advantage of their hospitality, and you felt guilty for getting them all up so early.
“Hold on! Let me put on some shoes, and I’ll drive you to your car!” John offered, but Hercules stopped him.
“Nonsense, John. You didn’t go to bed last night. Go get some sleep, I’ll drive her,” He put his hand on John’s back and gently nudged him down the hall. How did Herc know that John hadn’t gone to bed? Whatever. John didn’t argue with Herc. Instead, he grabbed Lafayette by the wrist, Herc’s bear with his other hand, and walked off. Maybe they were room mates or something.
“Come on, Y/N,” Herc said as he took your hand and grabbed his keys from the counter. He was wearing loose, blue pajama bottoms and a navy shirt that said “Salty.” He led you out the door and opened the passenger door to the SUV. After you’d climbed in, he shut the door and started the car. He handed you the aux chord, and you froze. Oh no. You didn’t need this kind of pressure. He put his arm on your seat before he turned and looked out the back window, backing down the driveway.
“What do you want me to play?” You asked timidly, searching his face, almost like you were hoping his favorite band would just be scrawled across his forehead.
“Um, I don’t care. Surprise me! Whatever you like!” He glanced over at you with a laid back smile, and you gave him a weak one.
You scrolled through your low-charged phone, then threw all caution to the wind. If you embarrassed yourself, you never had to see these people again.
“Everybody makes mistakes, everybody has those days, one two three four!” Hannah Montana shouted over the radio, and you began to cackle. You had to do it. You just had to. Do it for the meme.
You looked over, expecting to see Herc giving you a look, but instead, he was grinning from ear to ear. He sang along to the next lyrics, “Everybody makes mistakes, everybody has those days, everybody knows what-what I’m talking about, everybody gets that way!”
You screamed in awe, causing him to look over at you with a dazzling smile.
“Betcha didn’t expect that, did ya, darlin’?” He drawled, and you shook your head.
“Okay, Mr. Big Shot, how about this one?” You switched the song to a different one, smiling down at your phone.
The intro played, then when the lyrics started, Herc, to your utter disbelief, nailed it. “Make it count, play it straight, don’t look back, don’t hesitate, when you go big time!”
You shrieked again, utterly delighted. You couldn’t believe it.
“What? I’m cultured in my memes, Y/N,” he teased you, and you grinned.
“I’m bringing the big guns,” you told him with a smirk, and he mirrored it.
“Do it!”
You were ashamed that you had this saved on your phone, but it didn’t matter in that moment.
The disco track started playing, and Herc cried out, the emotion unfathomable.
“We’re no strangers to love,” you both wailed, cackling and carrying on. Embarrassingly, you were both able to sing the entire song. On the final loop of the chorus, Herc pulled up beside your car and parked. He turned the radio down and gave you a small smile.
“So this is it, Y/N,” he sounded almost disappointed. “Thanks again for taking on the mob.”
You cringed at the memory, “I’m sorry for dragging y'all into that-”
“Don’t be! No worries! Besides, if you didn’t, I wouldn’t have gotten Rick Roll’d this morning!”
You laughed again, undoing your seatbelt. “Thanks for making sure I didn’t die in my sleep and for the ride to my car.”
“No problem! Hey, if you want, give me your number; I’m sure the guys would love to grab coffee with you!”
You smiled bashfully, amazed any of them would want to keep in contact with you, especially Herc, after you made the entire car ride a meme. You really were meme trash.
“You sure?” You mumbled, cheeks red.
“Yeah! You’re fun to be around! I’ve never seen John laugh that hard about anything in my life!”
You bit your lip and nodded. He gave you a grin before he unlocked his phone and handed it to you. You filled out the contact, putting hearts around your name. You loved yourself that much. Then, you passed his phone back.
“Hey, let us know if you need anything, ‘Kay? Like, even if it’s stupid, like you’re bored one night, and you want some drinking buddies. Let us know, and we’ll be there!” You glanced up at him to see him giving you a soft smile that caused your stomach to churn. You opened the door and got out, giving him a soft “okay”.
“Bye, Herc,” you called over your shoulder.
“Bye, darlin’!” He called as you shut the door.
He waited until you started your car before he left, wanting to make sure you would be able to get home. You plugged in your phone and played Taylor Swift’s “Enchanted” the entire way home. You smiled all day long.

RE7 Characters ~ Before and After Infection:
  • Jack before: Loving pure pop-pop
  • Jack after: Literal nightmare fuel
  • Marguerite before: A good mother 9/10
  • Marguerite after: Wasp Crotch B'Gosh
  • Mia before: A pure bean
  • Mia after: Psycho killer, Qu'est-ce que c'est
  • Lucas before: Sort of a psychopath
  • Lucas after: Sort of a psychopath
7x11

I have now watched the episode twice so I thought I’d organize my thoughts and write a more logical post on my thoughts and things I noticed.

  • After seeing the board game, which looks insane by the way and so detailed, I am pretty convinced Lucas made it since we know he is an app developer now. This makes him, along with Jenna, two of A.D’s minions. I don’t think Lucas is Uber A.
  • Alison mentions she went to the doctor, alone, even though Emily offered to go with her. She replies, “It’s my nightmare not yours”, when Emily asks. It’s interesting that we don’t have any proof of Alison’s pregnancy. We didn’t see her take the test (or the result), and we sure didn’t hear what the doctor said to her in her appointment. We’re just supposed take her word for it? I don’t trust her just yet. I don’t see why we couldn’t have been shown that Ali is pregnant rather than her telling Emily unless… she may be lying.
  • Someone went to France, using Archer’ s passport. French references keeps coming up over and over again on the show and I recall the writers saying that connection is important seasons ago. Interestingly, Mona also says something in French, “qu'est ce que c'est”, when Hanna confronts her about giving Katherine the impression that she works for Mona.
  • So now we can assume that A.D. shot Spencer since the bullets from Jenna’s gun didn’t match. I wonder why she was shot. Something else that I cant work out is why A.D. dared Spencer to pay Toby a visit. What did A.D. get out of that?
  • We keep being reminded through characters how Alison used to be (and assumingly is, still), even after 7 seasons. Lines such as “if you thought you had to protect Alison from me well, you’re not paying attention” and “Who is she now? The kidnapped girl who never got kidnapped? The struggling teacher with a sister in a mental hospital? The poor wife abandoned by her conman husband? You ever noticed how she’s always the victim? Always the one who needs to be rescued?… Some people make a habit of getting rescued. Same way, other people make a habit out of jumping in after them.” It’s as if the show doesn’t want us to believe she really has changed else why would they keep bringing this up again and again?
  • The puzzle piece that was in the envelope containing Mary’ s letter, it reminded be of Bethany’s drawings, like it was a piece of one of her works. I would love if it after every truth/dare there is a piece that fits together with others to reveal something big at the end.
Sentence Meme: 102 Jack O’Neill Quotes

Some will be more easily applicable than others.

  • Unless he can survive a tactical nuclear warhead blown up in his face, positive.
  • Permission to beat the crap out of this man?
  • Oh, I adore you already.
  • Well i’m going to end up there some day, might as well check out the place
  • Never run with scissors.
  • I’ll tell you what. You look around and I’ll tell you if you’re getting warmer or colder, alright?
  • Talk about falling upwards.
  • Hey, come on! That salsa’s still good!
  • You know… I’d like to take this opportunity to say… that this is a very poorly designed bomb and I think we should say something to somebody when we get back.
  • If someone comes in here, you just bite him in the hand.
  • Yeah. Moonshine. As in booze. What are you teaching these kids?
  • Though a candle burn’s in my house no one’s home.
  • Dogs are my favourite people.
  • Yeah. I’m so proud.
  • It’s all fun and games ‘til someone breaks a nail.
  • There’s still something about you that puts me off my food.
  • Of course i dare mock you.
  • I could NEVER relive that again! Could you?
  • That’s gotta be a record.
  • Hot chocolate? Are you kidding?
  • And that information could save your life one day.
  • Well, they say the first one’s always the hardest.
  • I ask you… What could possibly be in my eye that would explain this?
  • Ah…yes…it all makes sense now!
  • But in the unlikely event you don’t fail miserably, you’re fired.
  • Something exploded.
  • For the record, I don’t care.
  • …I care
  • That just has a nice ring to it.
  • It’s my side arm, I swear!
  • Now see, I assume we still speak the same language, mostly.
  • Well I like to close my eyes and think of England.
  • It’s about flocking and togetherness.
  • I see you’re on that famous beer and mustard diet.
  • You’d think getting blasted out of orbit would have slowed the guy down.
  • For cryin’ out loud!
  • Well I was planning to retire, but man is that overrated.
  • Don’t judge a book by its cover.
  • No, but he plays one on T.V.
  • Holy Frozen Bad-guys!
  • Well I certainly understand what you’re talking about.
  • According to my calculations we are roughly in the middle of nowhere. Give or take.
  • Well, you know, it’s not like we don’t have everything totally under control here…
  • Damn… that was close!
  • I hope you diplomatically told him where to shove it.
  • Oh, I’ve already begun. This is the infamous tuna torture.
  • What? Meet my maker? Pay the piper? Reach the pearly gates? Start pushin’ up daisies here and there?
  • I’ve found that sticking your fingers in your ears and humming loudly solves a whole slew of problems.
  •  What could I possibly say after that? Back at ya.
  • Yeah, is that cinnamon?
  • Well, spank me rosy.
  • Apparently all desserts on base are in grave danger.
  • Oh, there’s not a chance in hell.
  • I forgot to tape the Simpsons!
  • Where’s the fanfare?
  • Hey, if you’d been listening, you’d know that Nintendos pass through everything.
  • What, you’re suddenly stumped?
  • He’s lost a few pounds…
  • Yes, you are what you eat.
  • You’re a friend of mine. Last year, you died.
  • Do you people practice being vague?
  • I’m gonna go eat some cake.
  • Somebody’s gotta teach that guy how to die.
  • ..and yet honesty IS the best policy.
  • Over my rotting corpse.
  • Well you do have a penchant for pulling brilliant ideas out of your butt - head. Out of your head, when we need them.
  • You and I are the only ones here. Trust me, the only thing you have to be afraid of around here is me.
  • All I’m sayin’, just for the record, this is the wackiest plan we’ve ever come up with.
  • I’ve seen this movie. It hits Paris.
  • I only understand about one percent of what she says half the time.
  • I would never say anything like that.
  • That is just wrong on so many levels..
  • Have you ever TRIED to find the bathroom in a pyramid?
  • If I have to say ‘what’ one more time, heads are gonna roll!
  • I think you suffered enough. Hell, I even got to shoot you.
  • Where I come from that’s called beatin’ the crap out of each other.
  • Y'know, I’ve already done that 'freezing to death’ thing, and it’s just not as enjoyable as it sounds.
  • Well, fancy that. We’re famous.
  • Qu'est-ce que c'est?
  • Sex, drugs, and rock and roll?
  • So it’s possible there’s an alternate version of myself out there that actually understands what the hell you’re talkin’ about?
  • I can be as diplomatic and open-minded as anyone.
  • I’m still pretty sure I’ll say: 'Bite Me’.
  • We came to Earth to hide among your people a long, long time ago.
  • You may have come to the right place.
  • Wasn’t I just killed? Killed as in… dead? Well, this is a surprise then.
  • She, uh, she tried to seduce me…
  • Hey! I’ll tell you what’s wrong. I just woke up, haven’t had coffee, let alone a pee in seven days…
  • I pride myself on my deductive reasoning skills.
  • You know me, I’m a huge fan of subtlety, but that’s downright encrypted!
  • You want sarcasm? Nice to meet you.
  • He really didn’t say anything but I could tell he was opposed to my actions by the way he cocked his head and sort of raised his eyebrow.
  • No one will know. We won’t tell.
  • Never, in the history of boredom, has anyone been as bored as I am, right now.
  • You ended a sentence with a preposition, bastard!
  • And? But? So? Therefore?
  • Which brings to mind an obvious question: How could you marry such a loser?
  • Actually, that overwhelming desire to shoot you has come back.
  • Oh, I’m [name], all right. That’s the one thing in this conversation I’m sure of.
  • You’re like, what… 140?
  • No, my leg’s definitely broken.
  • If I ever get the urge to help anybody again, feel free to give me a swift kick.

-Si c'était nous, se rencontrant pour la première fois, je referais tout. Tout. Les baises, les emmerdes. Tout. Je referais tout.
-Qu'est-ce que c'est supposé vouloir dire?
-Ça veut dire que jtaime encore.

2

Quand j’ai fini mon dossier et mon résumé et que la date butoir de mes articles a apparemment été repoussée 

the return

Ideally, this takes place right after 02x03…all errors in the French language are my own, despite the efforts of many to help me.


He was in Scotland – he was sure of it. Mud, and damp wool, and heather. Far from the rot and foul odors that permeated these Frenchmen – did they not ever wash those damned wigs?

Murtagh stood on the small hill right behind the broch – watching smoke curl up from the chimney at the house – three fresh rabbits hanging beside his sporran. Should make a nice addition to supper –

The hairs stood up on the back of his neck. Someone – something - was watching him. Slowly he reached for his dirk, and whirled to face the intruder…

…only to grab a fistful of bedclothes and elbow the interloper - standing beside the bed - somewhere in the soft parts.

“*Merde!*” Fergus exclaimed, doubling over in pain, clutching his privates.

“*Qu'est ce que c'est, mon petit hérisson?*” Suzette sleepily rolled over to face Murtagh, hair all wild from sleep – and from how they’d spent a few timeless hours in the deep night. “*C'est le voleur?*”

“Eh?” Murtagh sat up, scrubbing at his face, squinting at Fergus, who was still half-stunned by the blow. “What the devil are ye doing in here, ye wee baggage? Does a closed door mean an invitation to ye?”

“It’s late,” the boy gasped. “He - Milord – he’s not awake.”

“*Envoies-lui dehors!*” Suzette’s lovely, calloused hands skimmed Murtagh’s side. “*Á moins que tu veux qu'il nous regarde.*”

Murtagh lay a gentle hand on Suzette’s, but turned to the boy. “What do ye mean he’s no’ awake? It’s past dawn – he’s usually in the sitting room by now.”

Fergus straightened, grimacing. “The door to his and Milady’s bedchamber is locked, and there must be furniture up against it – I picked the lock and still the door will not open. He has not sent for the servants this morning, either.”

Suzette huffed. Murtagh kissed her fingers.

“All right – I’ll see if I can rouse him. Damn fool has probably taken ill, what with all the drinking and carrying on wi’ the daft Prince and these French fops in this filthy, stinking city…”

He continued muttering under his breath as he lay out his plaid, pleated it, rolled himself into it, and buckled it in place – to Fergus’ wide-eyed surprise and giggles from Suzette on the bed. He raised a bushy eyebrow at her in question.

“Can ye no’ cover yerself, *a leannan*?”

She shook her head and wrapped the sheet around her shoulders, still laughing.

“It is all right – I have seen many naked women before,” Fergus said softly, giving Murtagh a helping hand to stand upright.

“Mmphmm.” Murtagh turned once more to face the bed – watched Suzette blow him a kiss – and grinned like a fool all the way down the hall from the servants’ quarters to the master bedroom, Fergus at his side.

It was just as the lad had said – the lock was open, but the door would not budge. He glanced to the clock on the mantle – dripping wi’ cherubs, what the hell had Jared been thinking? – and saw it was already half past eight. Very unusual – on nights when he stayed at home, Jamie was always up and dressed no later than seven.

“Do you think he is unwell?” Fergus asked quietly, nervously rocking back and forth.

“I hope not. He’s due to meet wi’ the prince again this afternoon - outside that damn brothel, for once.”

Murtagh banged on the door. Five hard knocks.

He waited. Looking over at Fergus, he saw the lad holding his breath in anticipation.

Nothing.

Five more knocks. “Jamie!”

Still nothing. Murtagh sighed. “Do ye think the butler is strong enough to break down this door?”

Fergus paused, thinking.

“Perhaps him *and* the coachman? The coachman actually uses his arms to earn his wages. The butler - he just chases the maids.”

Three more bangs. “Jamie, lad! Are ye all right?”

Now he was worrit. What if the lass had taken ill? Or - God forbid - the bairn inside her was having troubles? What if a burglar had pried open the windows overnight and killed them in their beds? What if an assassin had snuck through the house and slit their throats, for aiding the prince? What if -

“Listen!”

Murtagh blinked harshly at Fergus’ whisper. Sure enough, there were heavy footsteps on the other side of the door - the sound of chairs being pushed back - and suddenly the door opened.

Jamie Fraser, Lord Broch Tuarach, stood before them, panting, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, naked. Grinning like an idiot.

“Dinna fash, I’m no’ dead. Far from it.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Murtagh watched Fergus’ jaw drop in utter awe.

“Are you all right, milord?”

Jamie pushed his wild hair back from his face, scratching the side of his neck. Murtagh counted seven love bites blooming on his fair skin.

“Better than I’ve been in a long time, lad. Is someone asking for me?”

“Ye worrit him sick, sleeping in like one o’ those dandies.” Murtagh tried his best to admonish him - but couldn’t suppress a tiny smile at the thought that perhaps love had finally returned to the Fraser marriage bed. “It isna like ye to no’ be up at the crack o’ dawn, writing out yer letters.”

Jamie crossed his arms and leaned on the doorframe. “I had vera good reason this morning, Murtagh. And I’ll ask ye a wee favor.”

“Which is?”

“I need ye to send a letter to Duvernay’s secretary, telling him that I canna meet today. God knows I’ve waited on Charles many times before - I can take today to myself. He can wait on me today.”

“All o’ that? What should I tell him?”

Jamie smiled sweetly - Ellen’s smile. Murtagh was powerless to say no - and Jamie knew it.

“Tell him I’m indisposed.”

Claire suddenly emerged from the shadows, wrapped in Jamie’s plaid. She leaned against him and his arm automatically settled around her shoulders, nestling her against his side. She turned her face into his neck - and Fergus counted five love bites of her own.

“And then I’d like ye to ask the servants to bring us breakfast, but to leave it out in the sitting room. I willna be disturbed today. Can ye do that?”

Murtagh nodded, incredulous. “Anything else, then?”

“Can you please write Mother Hildegard that I won’t be going to l’Hôpital as planned today?” Claire’s voice was muffled against Jamie’s chest as he slowly, gently drew his fingers up and down her bare arm. “The baby - ”

“Aye, I understand. I’ll see to it.”

“Thank ye,” Jamie said quietly. “And take a bath, please, Fergus. I can smell ye from here.”

Fergus’ cheeks pinked, but he said nothing - mesmerized, as was Murtagh, by the simple sight of Milord and Milady so - in tune with each other.

Jamie nodded - and picked up Claire - and kicked the door shut. The heavy oak was not too thick to prevent their laughter from echoing through the sitting room.

“It is so different when the house is happy,” Fergus said quietly, absently tugging at a string on the sleeve of his shirt. “It is true laughter. At Maison Elise - there was a lot of laughter, but it was not - not real. Not from love.”

Murtagh lay a hand on the lad’s shoulder and gently steered him back to the servants’ quarters. “Aye, I understand. Let’s leave them, aye? Looks like we’re all in for a day of rest.”

He shooed Fergus downstairs to bathe with the stable lads - and quietly shut the door to Suzette’s room, watching her doze on the bed.

“*Viens,*” she said softly after a long moment, her long, pale arm extended in welcome.

He took her hand - and he did.

—–

Merde! — Shit!

Qu'est ce que c'est, mon petit hérisson? — What is it, my little hedgehog?

C'est le voleur? — Is it the pickpocket?

Envoies-lui dehors! — Send him out!

Á moins que tu veux qu'il nous regarde — Unless you want him to watch

Viens — Come