Steel Ocean

The sky burned red.

Jolyne's lungs ached, every breath sharp as she forced herself forward, feet pounding against the ruined concrete of the launch site.

Pucci stood ahead, a silhouette against the chaos—his white priest's robes stained with blood, his face eerily calm despite the destruction around them.

Made in Heaven was accelerating time.

Everything was falling apart.

Jolyne could barely keep up.

She had already lost too much.

And she wasn't losing Isabella, too.

Through the blur of movement, Jolyne caught a glimpse of Isabella, barely holding herself upright.

Blood dripped from her temple, staining the fabric of her torn prison uniform, her breath ragged as she forced herself to stay standing.

But she was alive.

And as long as she was alive—Jolyne was still in this fight.

Pucci moved.

Jolyne barely had time to react before he was in front of her, fist arcing toward her skull faster than she could process.

But before the blow could land—

A crack of lightning split the air.

Jolyne's breath hitched.

Isabella was there.

Thunderstruck's magnetic field pulled Jolyne back, just enough to avoid the impact—just enough to keep her alive.

Isabella's voice—hoarse, strained—cut through the chaos.

"You're not dying today, Cujoh."

Jolyne's pulse roared in her ears.

Not today.

Not ever.

Jolyne didn't hesitate.

Didn't stop to think.

She launched forward.

Stone Free unraveled, threads whipping through the accelerating time like a bullet.

Pucci's eyes widened—just barely.

And then—

Her fist connected.

It was everything.

Everything they had lost.

Everything she had suffered for.

Everything they had fought to protect.

Pucci staggered.

And Jolyne didn't let up.

One blow.

Then another.

Then another—until Pucci was on his knees, his body cracking under the force of her rage, her desperation, her will to survive.

And then—finally—

He collapsed.

Made in Heaven crumbled.

Time shuddered.

And the world—for the first time in what felt like an eternity—

stilled.

The city stretched out before her, neon lights flickering against the glass as Isabella stood by the window, arms loosely folded.

For once, her mind wasn't racing. She wasn't thinking about Stand battles, prison politics, or the countless times she'd nearly died in the past few months.

She was just existing.

Her name had been cleared. The false allegations against her and her family's company wiped clean. And now? The same people who had dropped her like a bad habit—who hadn't so much as called when she was rotting in a prison cell—were suddenly crawling back, apologies in hand.

It was almost funny.

They hadn't cared when she was branded a criminal. But now that she was free? Now that she had walked through hell and survived? They expected her to forgive and forget.

She hadn't. She wouldn't.

She'd cut them off without a second thought. No explanations. No dramatics. Just silence.

They had made their choice.

And so had she.

A faint reflection moved in the glass, and Isabella didn't need to turn to know it was Jolyne.

She exhaled, letting the tension slip from her shoulders. Maybe the past couldn't be erased. Maybe some wounds never fully healed.

But at least she knew who actually stood by her.

And that? That was enough.

The smell of eggs and toast filled the kitchen as Jolyne flipped something in the pan, glancing over her shoulder at Isabella, who was lazily nursing a cup of coffee at the counter.

"So," Jolyne started, stirring the conversation as easily as she stirred the eggs. "What exactly do your initials stand for? E. O. must mean something."

Isabella, still half-asleep, raised a brow over the rim of her mug. "Babe, they're just letters," she said, voice smooth, patient.

Jolyne wasn't buying it. "Yeah, no. Nobody just has initials for no reason. You got some kinda triple-barrel surname or something?"

Isabella smirked, setting down her coffee. "Maybe I'm just trying to keep an air of mystery. Keep you guessing."

Jolyne shot her a look. "You do realize that just makes me want to dig more, right?"

Isabella chuckled, stretching lazily. "And here I thought you liked me for my charm and badassery, not my government name."

Jolyne rolled her eyes, plating the food. "Oh, I do. But now I also like you for the challenge."

Isabella hummed, amused. "You're relentless, Cujoh."

"And you're avoiding the question, Speedwagon."

They locked eyes for a beat before Isabella, grinning, finally reached for her plate.

"Eat your damn breakfast, babe."

Jolyne narrowed her eyes but didn't argue. This wasn't over.

Not by a long shot.

As they strolled through the streets of Jolyne's hometown, their steps fell into sync, shoulders brushing every now and then. Jolyne, ever persistent, was still trying to crack the mystery of Isabella's initials.

"Eleanor Ophelia," she guessed, taking a sip of her coffee.

Isabella smirked, unfazed. "Creative. Still wrong."

Jolyne groaned dramatically. "One day, Speedwagon, I swear—"

But her words trailed off as they reached the main road, where a parade passed by in a wave of color and sound.

Isabella took a slow sip of her coffee, watching the crowd. The energy was electric—flags waving, music blasting, strangers laughing and embracing like they'd known each other forever. She took it all in, but she didn't feel the need to participate. She'd never been the type to wave a flag just to make a point.

Her sexuality had never been some grand declaration, never a eureka moment in her teenage years. No sudden epiphanies, no dramatic self-reckoning. Just an understanding, a quiet truth: some days, men were attractive. Other days, women were. And that was that.

She suspected her father had always known. But he'd never asked, never treated her differently. Just as he never would have if she'd preferred blondes over brunettes, or coffee over tea.

It was just a part of her. Nothing more, nothing less.

Beside her, Jolyne nudged her with her elbow, pulling her back to the present. "You good?"

Isabella blinked, then smirked, tilting her head. "Yeah. Just enjoying the view."

Jolyne arched a brow, smirking back. "Of the parade or me?"

Isabella took another slow sip of her coffee, eyes never leaving Jolyne's.

"Both."

Jolyne took another sip of her coffee, side-eyeing Isabella as they walked. "Eleanor Octavia."

Isabella sighed, shaking her head with an amused smirk. "Greenpeace, they're just initials."

Jolyne scoffed. "Yeah, yeah. But whose initials? I'm starting to think you don't even know."

Isabella chuckled, taking a slow sip of her own coffee. "Maybe I don't. Maybe my parents just pulled random letters out of a hat."

Jolyne narrowed her eyes. "Liar."

"Obsessive."

They walked in silence for a few beats before Jolyne hummed in thought.

"...Estelle Olympia?"

Isabella huffed a laugh, shaking her head. "You're relentless."

"And you suck at giving straight answers," Jolyne shot back, smirking.

Isabella smirked right back. "Good thing I'm not straight, then."

Jolyne choked on her coffee.

Isabella just kept walking. 

Jolyne barely managed to recover from her coughing fit, still feeling the heat creeping up her neck. She refused to let Isabella get away with that one.

"Isabella Speedwagon, get back here now!" she called, voice half-indignant, half-exasperated.

A few steps ahead, Isabella simply leaned against a wall, arms crossed, coffee in hand, smirking like she had all the time in the world.

She tilted her head slightly, eyes gleaming with amusement. "I'm right here, Jolyne Kujo," she said smoothly, voice almost lazy—like a damn Cheshire Cat who had just backed its prey into a corner.

Jolyne scowled, marching over. "Don't pull that mysterious, smooth shit on me—"

"Mysterious? Babe, I just told you I'm not straight. That's the opposite of mysterious."

Jolyne groaned, dragging a hand down her face. "I hate you."

Isabella grinned. "No, you don't."

Jolyne glared at her for a long moment. Then, finally, she huffed, rolling her eyes and shoving Isabella's shoulder as she walked past.

Isabella just laughed, effortlessly falling into step beside her again.

Yeah. This was fun.

The shopping center buzzed with life as Isabella and Jolyne weaved through stores, arms already weighed down with bags of new clothes. Jolyne had insisted they hit a few different places, and Isabella—despite some initial grumbling—had gone along with it.

But the moment they stepped into a thrift store, Isabella raised a brow.

"What's wrong with how I dress, Kujo?" she asked, watching as Jolyne casually flipped through a rack of jackets.

Jolyne smirked. "Let's just say you stepped out of a punk concert and never looked back. Not that I'm not into punk, but..."

Isabella crossed her arms. "It's functional."

Jolyne pulled out a particularly spiked leather vest, holding it up with a deadpan expression. "Yeah. Real practical."

Isabella rolled her eyes. "And your primary colors consist of chartreuse and various shades of blue. Hardly a subtle palette."

Jolyne scoffed, stuffing the vest back into the rack. "At least I have range."

Isabella smirked, grabbing a completely ridiculous neon-green cowboy hat from a shelf and plopping it onto Jolyne's head.

"There. Now you've got range, Greenpeace."

Jolyne stared at her through the brim of the hat, unimpressed. Then, slowly, she reached for a hot-pink sequined blazer.

Isabella's smirk faltered.

Jolyne grinned. "Your turn, babe."

What had started as a simple shopping trip—just a few new outfits, nothing too crazy—had somehow spiraled into a massive haul.

Bags filled the trunk of the car, and Jolyne was still trying to figure out how the hell she'd been roped into this.

She eyed the red hair dye and the Bisexual Pride Flag Kiss Hollow Out Twist Bodycon Dress sitting at the top of the pile, side-eyeing Isabella, who looked way too pleased with herself.

"This is payback, isn't it?" Jolyne accused, arms crossed.

Isabella smirked, tossing her keys into the air and catching them effortlessly. "For what, babe? You looked great in that dress."

Jolyne groaned, rubbing her temples. "I hate you."

Isabella slung an arm around her shoulder as they walked toward the car. "Nah. You love me. And, lucky for you, I paid for everything."

Jolyne huffed, but she didn't push her away. "You're impossible."

Isabella just grinned. "And yet, you're still here."

Jolyne muttered something under her breath, but the faintest hint of a smirk tugged at her lips.

Yeah. This was definitely payback.

Back at their apartment, the bathroom was warm and fogged from the steam of the shower. Isabella worked her fingers through Jolyne's hair, washing out the last traces of green. The dye swirled down the drain, vanishing in ribbons of color, leaving behind strands of gold.

Jolyne sat still, eyes closed, letting Isabella's touch ground her. It felt... strange. Not bad, just different.

When it was done, she stood up and wiped the condensation off the mirror.

At first, she didn't recognize herself.

Blonde. All blonde.

Her fingers brushed against her damp hair, trailing down to her face. The face of someone who had been betrayed. Someone who had been thrown into hell and forced to claw her way out. Someone who had fought and bled and survived.

She had come out stronger.

She had come out different.

Behind her, Isabella leaned against the counter, watching her reaction. Giving her space.

After a beat, she spoke, her voice softer than usual.

"Why not stay like that for a while?" she murmured. "You're much more than that dumb stereotype."

Jolyne blinked, still running her fingers through her hair.

Then, Isabella leaned in, pressing a kiss to her cheek before stepping back, like she wasn't pushing for an answer—just letting the words settle.

Jolyne exhaled, meeting her own gaze in the mirror.

For the first time in a long time... she didn't hate what she saw.

Jolyne had decided to take Isabella's advice.

For the first time in years, she let herself be blonde. No dye, no neon streaks—just her natural hair.

At first, every time she caught her reflection, she had to pause. She had to convince herself that the person staring back was still her.

Because that girl in the mirror? She wasn't the same person who had walked into Green Dolphin Street Prison.

That girl had been reckless, naïve. That girl had trusted the wrong people. That girl had thought she was invincible—until the world proved her wrong.

This girl—the one with scars, with hardened eyes, with survival written into her bones—was someone else entirely.

And yet, Isabella never looked at her like she was different.

"You still overthinking it?" Isabella asked one night, watching as Jolyne ran her fingers through her hair again, studying herself in the bathroom mirror.

Jolyne huffed. "It's weird. Feels like I'm looking at a stranger."

Isabella stepped behind her, meeting her gaze through the mirror.

"You're not," she said simply, resting a hand on Jolyne's hip. "You're just finally looking at you."

Jolyne swallowed, her fingers stilling.

It would take time. But maybe, just maybe... Isabella was right. 

Jolyne stood in front of the mirror, fingers tangled in her blonde strands, brows furrowed like she was staring at a stranger.

Isabella watched from the doorway for a moment before stepping forward, wrapping her arms around Jolyne's waist and resting her chin lightly on her shoulder.

"Jo, what's wrong?" she murmured.

Jolyne exhaled sharply, gripping the counter. "This can't be me," she said, almost to herself. "The blonde girl from before—"

"That was you," Isabella interrupted gently. She tightened her hold just slightly, grounding her. "You've changed since then, right?"

Jolyne let out a hollow laugh. "Changed?" Her grip on the counter turned white-knuckled. "I fought for my life. Got framed by my ex. Survived Dio's bastards trying to wipe me off the face of the earth. That blonde girl? She didn't know any of that."

Isabella didn't let go.

She rested her forehead against the side of Jolyne's temple, voice steady. "Yeah. She didn't. But she's still you. And she's still here."

Jolyne swallowed hard. Her reflection blurred for a moment before coming back into focus.

She wasn't sure if she believed it yet.

But Isabella did.

And maybe, for now, that was enough.

Jolyne scoffed, shaking her head. "Honestly, I'm surprised you stuck by me after all that nonsense."

Isabella huffed a quiet laugh against her shoulder. "Jo, I'm a Speedwagon. We're not exactly known for making the best choices."

Jolyne raised a brow. "Didn't your father found the Speedwagon Foundation?"

"And yet," Isabella said smoothly, "I've never let my last name define me."

She loosened her hold just slightly, resting her chin on Jolyne's shoulder as she continued.

"Just because I was my old man's daughter, I wanted zero special treatment. If I was gonna make my mark, it would be as an operative, not as Robert's daughter."

Jolyne listened, quiet. This wasn't something Isabella talked about often.

"People assumed I was some charity case. That I was just riding off my father's name. But when they realized I don't do second chances?" Isabella smirked slightly. "They changed their tune real fast."

Jolyne exhaled, running a hand through her hair. "Yeah... I get that."

Isabella raised a brow, waiting.

Jolyne shrugged. "Being his kid? People think they know what I am before I even open my mouth."

Isabella didn't press—just nodded, like she already understood. "Annoying as hell, isn't it?"

Jolyne smirked. "You have no idea."

But Isabella just gave her a knowing look. "Oh, I think I do."

Jolyne huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. For once, she didn't feel the need to explain herself.

Isabella got it.

And somehow, that made all the difference.

Jolyne eyed the red hair dye like it had personally offended her.

She still didn't know why Isabella had bought it in the first place. Hell, she had half a mind to march back to the store, receipt in hand, and demand her usual shade of green.

But Isabella had given her that look—the one that was half challenge, half amusement—and suggested she try something new. "A variety of colors," she'd said, all smug and persuasive.

Now Jolyne was standing in the bathroom, arms crossed, glaring at the box like it had insulted her entire bloodline.

Behind her, Isabella leaned casually against the doorframe, arms folded, watching with barely contained amusement.

"So," she drawled, "what's going on in that head of yours, Joel?"

Jolyne barely flinched, but her scowl deepened. "Don't call me that."

Isabella smirked. "Noted. Now answer the question."

Jolyne exhaled sharply, still not looking away from the dye. "...Why this color?"

Isabella tilted her head, pretending to think. "Because pink would've been a bit much?"

Jolyne shot her a glare. "You know what I mean."

Isabella chuckled, stepping forward to pluck the box from Jolyne's hands. She turned it over in her palm before meeting Jolyne's gaze.

"Because red suits you, babe. Bold, loud, impossible to ignore." She shrugged. "Seemed fitting."

Jolyne stared at her for a long moment before sighing, rubbing her temples.

"Fine. But if it looks stupid, I'm shaving my head."

Isabella grinned. "Deal."

Jolyne groaned. The things she did for love.

Jolyne sat on the bathroom stool, arms crossed as Isabella worked the dye through her hair with practiced ease.

The scent of chemicals filled the air, and Jolyne wrinkled her nose. "I still don't get why you picked red."

Isabella smirked, fingers massaging the color in at the roots. "Because it suits you, babe. Plus, it'll turn heads."

Jolyne scoffed. "Like I don't do that already."

Isabella chuckled. "Exactly."

She twisted the dye bottle, tilting her head. "Though, if it were up to me? I would've chosen purple—"

"Fuck. No!" Jolyne cut in immediately, turning her head so fast Isabella had to grab her chin to keep her still.

Isabella laughed, shaking her head. "Relax, Greenpeace, it was just a thought."

Jolyne scowled. "Yeah, well, unthink it."

Isabella smirked, leaning in slightly. "Not a fan of royalty, huh?"

Jolyne groaned, rolling her eyes. "The things I do for love..."

Isabella just grinned, pressing a quick kiss to Jolyne's cheek before going back to work.

Jolyne stared at her reflection, turning her head left, then right, examining herself from every angle.

She looked ridiculous.

Like she had two strawberries growing out of her head.

And the worst part? This wasn't some Stand ability warping reality—this was just Isabella's clear insanity.

She groaned, dragging a hand down her face. "I look like a goddamn fruit salad."

But even as she complained, she found herself hesitating, running a hand through the damp strands.

It wasn't just the color. It was the fact that, for the second time in such a short span of her life, she was looking at a stranger in the mirror.

She had already lost the green—already faced the reality that the girl who walked into Green Dolphin Street Prison wasn't the same one who walked out. This was just hair dye. Just another change.

And yet, it still unsettled her.

Behind her, Isabella leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching with way too much amusement.

"So," she drawled, "what do you think?"

Jolyne slowly turned to glare at her. "I think I should've gone back to the store for green."

Isabella grinned. "Too late now, babe. You're officially in your red era."

Jolyne groaned again. "The things I do for love..."

Isabella smirked, stepping forward and playfully flicking a damp strand of red hair. "C'mon, strawberry shortcake, it's growing on you."

Jolyne swatted her hand away, but her lips twitched—just slightly.

She hated when Isabella was right.

The café was quiet, save for the hum of conversation and the occasional clatter of dishes.

Jolyne, however, was not quiet.

She sipped her drink loudly, the obnoxious slurp filling the air as she leaned back in her chair, one hand laced with Isabella's beneath the table. Her hair—still strawberry red—felt like an extra act of rebellion as she sat across from her father, waiting.

Jotaro, as usual, was unreadable. Arms crossed, coffee untouched, his sharp gaze flicked between his daughter and Isabella with that same cold calculation he always carried.

Jolyne knew this day would come.

That at some point, her father would finally ask about that. About her and Isabella.

Not that she was ashamed—far from it. They'd been together for a year now, and if anyone had a problem with it, well... that was their issue.

But this wasn't just any confrontation. This was Jotaro Kujo. And to top it off, both she and Isabella weren't exactly the type to play nice.

They were two women with chips on their shoulders.

She took another obnoxiously loud sip, locking eyes with him over the rim of her cup.

"Well?" she finally said, tilting her head. "Go on. Say what you're dying to say."

Isabella smirked slightly, squeezing her hand beneath the table. Then, with the same unshakable confidence she always carried, she leaned forward slightly, voice smooth and measured.

"What's this about, Jotaro?" she asked, tone calm but firm. "You're not the type for social calls, and you know I make your daughter happy."

Jotaro's gaze flicked to Isabella, sharp and calculating. For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then, finally, he exhaled through his nose. "Tch."

Jolyne raised an eyebrow. "That's it? No interrogation? No Stand-related threats? You're losing your touch, old man."

Jotaro sighed, picking up his coffee at last. "I just want to know one thing."

Jolyne tensed. Isabella didn't move.

Jotaro took a slow sip, setting the cup down before fixing Isabella with that look.

"Are you in this for the long haul?"

Jolyne tensed beside her, fingers curling slightly around Isabella's hand. But Isabella? She didn't flinch, didn't shift, didn't hesitate.

She met his gaze head-on.

"I wouldn't be with your daughter otherwise, Jotaro," she stated firmly, her voice calm but absolute.

The air between them stilled for a moment—just long enough for a lesser person to squirm.

But Isabella didn't look away.

Jotaro held her stare for a beat longer, then exhaled through his nose. "Tch."

Jolyne, who had been bracing for some kind of bullshit, blinked. "Wait—that's it?"

Jotaro picked up his coffee again, taking another sip. "You answered my question."

Jolyne narrowed her eyes. "No follow-up? No 'if you hurt her, I'll throw you into the ocean'? Nothing?"

Jotaro glanced at her, unimpressed. "You'd break their jaw before I even got the chance."

Jolyne opened her mouth. Paused. Then huffed. "Yeah, okay. Fair point."

Isabella smirked, squeezing Jolyne's hand slightly. "Guess that means I pass the test, huh?"

Jotaro said nothing. Just took another sip of his coffee.

But he didn't argue.

And for Isabella, that was enough.