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sciencespies · 4 years ago

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What Neuroscientists Are Discovering About Stuttering

https://sciencespies.com/nature/what-neuroscientists-are-discovering-about-stuttering/

What Neuroscientists Are Discovering About Stuttering

Gerald Maguire has stuttered since childhood, but you might not guess it from talking to him. For the past 25 years, Maguire — a psychiatrist at the University of California, Riverside — has been treating his disorder with antipsychotic medications not officially approved for the condition. Only with careful attention might you discern his occasional stumble on multisyllabic words like “statistically” and “pharmaceutical.”

Maguire has plenty of company: More than 70 million people worldwide, including about 3 million Americans, stutter — that is, they have difficulty with the starting and timing of speech, resulting in halting and repetition. That number includes approximately 5 percent of children, many of whom outgrow the condition, and 1 percent of adults. Their numbers include presidential candidate Joe Biden, deep-voiced actor James Earl Jones and actress Emily Blunt. Though those people and many others, including Maguire, have achieved career success, stuttering can contribute to social anxiety and draw ridicule or discrimination by others.

Maguire has been treating people who stutter, and researching potential treatments, for decades. He receives daily emails from people who want to try medications, join his trials, or even donate their brains to his university when they die. He’s now embarking on a clinical trial of a new medication, called ecopipam, that streamlined speech and improved quality of life in a small pilot study in 2019.

Many famous people have a stutter or did so as a child, including (left to right) presidential candidate Joe Biden, actor James Earl Jones and actor Emily Blunt.

(Left to Right: Michael Stokes; U.S. Embassy photo by S.J. Mayhew; Gage Skidmore)

Others, meanwhile, are delving into the root causes of stuttering, which also may point to novel treatments. In past decades, therapists mistakenly attributed stuttering to defects of the tongue and voice box, to anxiety, trauma or even poor parenting — and some still do. Yet others have long suspected that neurological problems might underlie stuttering, says J. Scott Yaruss, a speech-language pathologist at Michigan State University in East Lansing. The first data to back up that hunch came in 1991, Yaruss says, when researchers reported altered blood flow in the brains of people who stuttered. Over the past two decades, continuing research has made it more apparent that stuttering is all in the brain.

“We are in the middle of an absolute explosion of knowledge being developed about stuttering,” Yaruss says.

There’s still a lot to figure out, though. Neuroscientists have observed subtle differences in the brains of people who stutter, but they can’t be certain if those differences are the cause or a result of the stutter. Geneticists are identifying variations in certain genes that predispose a person to stutter, but the genes themselves are puzzling: Only recently have their links to brain anatomy become apparent.

Maguire, meanwhile, is pursuing treatments based on dopamine, a chemical messenger in the brain that helps to regulate emotions and movement (precise muscle movements, of course, are needed for intelligible speech). Scientists are just beginning to braid these disparate threads together, even as they forge ahead with early testing for treatments based on their discoveries.

Slowed circuitry

Looking at a standard brain scan of someone who stutters, a radiologist won’t notice anything amiss. It’s only when experts look closely, with specialized technology that shows the brain’s in-depth structure and activity during speech, that subtle differences between groups who do and don’t stutter become apparent.

The problem isn’t confined to one part of the brain. Rather, it’s all about connections between different parts, says speech-language pathologist and neuroscientist Soo-Eun Chang of the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor. For example, in the brain’s left hemisphere, people who stutter often appear to have slightly weaker connections between the areas responsible for hearing and for the movements that generate speech. Chang has also observed structural differences in the corpus callosum, the big bundle of nerve fibers that links the left and right hemispheres of the brain.

These findings hint that stuttering might result from slight delays in communication between parts of the brain. Speech, Chang suggests, would be particularly susceptible to such delays because it must be coordinated at lightning speed.

Chang has been trying to understand why about 80 percent of kids who stutter grow up to have normal speech patterns, while the other 20 percent continue to stutter into adulthood. Stuttering typically begins when children first start stringing words together into simple sentences, around age 2. Chang studies children for up to four years, starting as early as possible, looking for changing patterns in brain scans.

It’s no easy feat to convince such young children to hold still in a giant, thumping, brain-imaging machine. The team has embellished the scanner with decorations that hide all the scary parts. (“It looks like an ocean adventure,” Chang says.) In kids who lose their stutter, Chang’s team has observed that the connections between areas involved in hearing and ones involved in speech movements get stronger over time. But that doesn’t happen in children who continue to stutter.

In another study, Chang’s group looked at how the different parts of the brain work simultaneously, or don’t, using blood flow as a proxy for activity. They found a link between stuttering and a brain circuit called the default mode network, which has roles in ruminating over one’s past or future activities, as well as daydreaming. In children who stutter, the default mode network seems to insert itself — like a third person butting in on a romantic date — into the conversation between networks responsible for focusing attention and creating movements. That could also slow speech production, she says.

These changes to brain development or structure might be rooted in a person’s genes, but an understanding of this part of the problem has also taken time to mature.

All in the family

In early 2001, geneticist Dennis Drayna received a surprising email: “I am from Cameroon, West Africa. My father was a chief. He had three wives and I have 21 full and half siblings. Almost all of us stutter,” Drayna recalls it saying. “Do you suppose there could be something genetic in my family?”

Drayna, who worked at the National Institute on Deafness and Other Communication Disorders, already had a longstanding interest in the inheritance of stuttering. His uncle and elder brother stuttered, and his twin sons did so as children. But he was reluctant to make a transatlantic journey based on an email, and wary that his clinical skills weren’t up to analyzing the family’s symptoms. He mentioned the email to current National Institutes of Health director Francis Collins (director of the National Human Genome Research Institute at that time), who encouraged him to check it out, so he booked a ticket to Africa. He has also traveled to Pakistan, where intermarriage of cousins can reveal gene variants linked to genetic disorders in their children.

Even with those families, finding the genes was slow going: Stuttering isn’t inherited in simple patterns like blood types or freckles are. But eventually, Drayna’s team identified mutations in four genes — GNPTAB, GNPTG and NAGPA from the Pakistan studies, and AP4E1 from the clan in Cameroon — that he estimates may underlie as many as one in five cases of stuttering.

Oddly, none of the genes that Drayna identified have an obvious connection to speech. Rather, they all are involved in sending cellular materials to the waste-recycling compartment called the lysosome. It took more work before Drayna’s team linked the genes to brain activity.

They started by engineering mice to have one of the mutations they’d observed in people, in the mouse version of GNPTAB, to see if it affected the mice’s vocalizations . Mice can be quite chatty, but much of their conversation takes place in an ultrasonic range that people can’t hear. Recording the ultrasonic calls of pups, the team observed patterns similar to human stuttering. “They have all these gaps and pauses in their train of vocalizations,” says Drayna, who cowrote an overview of genetics research on speech and language disorders for the Annual Review of Genomics and Human Genetics.

Still, the team struggled to spot any clear defect in the animals’ brains — until one determined researcher found that there were fewer of the cells called astrocytes in the corpus callosum. Astrocytes do big jobs that are essential for nerve activity: providing the nerves with fuel, for example, and collecting wastes. Perhaps, Drayna muses, the limited astrocyte population slows down communication between the brain hemispheres by a tiny bit, only noticeable in speech.

Researchers created mice with a mutation in a gene that, in people, is linked to stuttering. The mutant mice vocalized haltingly, with longer pauses between syllables, similar to what’s seen in human stuttering.

(Adapted from T.D. Barnes et al./Current Biology 2016; T.Han et al./PNAS 2019; Knowable Magazine)

Drayna’s research has received mixed reviews. “It’s really been the pioneering work in the field,” says Angela Morgan, a speech-language pathologist at the University of Melbourne and Murdoch Children’s Research Institute in Australia. On the other hand, Maguire has long doubted that mutations in such important genes, used in nearly all cells, could cause defects only in the corpus callosum, and only in speech. He also finds it difficult to compare mouse squeaks to human speech. “That’s a bit of a stretch,” he says.

Scientists are sure there are more stuttering genes to find. Drayna has retired, but Morgan and collaborators are initiating a large-scale study in the hopes of identifying additional genetic contributors in more than 10,000 people.

The dopamine connection

Maguire has been tackling stuttering from a very different angle: investigating the role of dopamine, a key signaling molecule in the brain. Dopamine can ramp up or down the activity of neurons, depending on the brain location and the nerve receptors it sticks to. There are five different dopamine receptors (named D1, D2, and so on) that pick up the signal and respond.

During the 1990s, Maguire and colleagues were among the first to use a certain kind of brain scan, positron emission tomography, on people who stutter. They found too much dopamine activity in these people’s brains. That extra dopamine seems to stifle the activity of some of the brain regions that Chang and others have linked to stuttering.

Backing up the dopamine connection, other researchers reported in 2009 that people with a certain version of the D2 receptor gene, one that indirectly enhances dopamine activity, are more likely to stutter.

So Maguire wondered: Could blocking dopamine be the answer? Conveniently, antipsychotic drugs do just that. Over the years, Maguire has conducted small, successful clinical studies with these medications including risperidone, olanzapine and lurasidone. (Personally, he prefers the last because it doesn’t cause as much weight gain as the others.) The result: “Your stuttering won’t completely go away, but we can treat it,” he says.

None of those medications are approved for stuttering by the US Food and Drug Administration, and they can cause unpleasant side effects, not just weight gain but also muscle stiffness and impaired movement. In part, that’s because they act on the D2 version of the dopamine receptor. Maguire’s new medication, ecopipam, works on the D1 version, which he expects will diminish some side effects — though he’ll have to watch for others, such as weight loss and depression.

In a small study of 10 volunteers, Maguire, Yaruss and colleagues found that people who took ecopipam stuttered less than they did pre-treatment. Quality-of-life scores, related to feelings such as helplessness or acceptance of their stutter, also improved for some participants.

Ten adult volunteers who stuttered were given ecopipam, a drug that blocks one version of the dopamine receptor, for 8 weeks. They stuttered significantly less when they were on the drug than they had before the treatment.

(G.A. Maguire et al./Annals of Clinical Psychiatry 2019/Knowable Magazine)

Ecopipam isn’t the only treatment under consideration. Back in Michigan, Chang hopes that stimulation of specific parts of the brain during speech could improve fluency. The team uses electrodes on the scalp to gently stimulate a segment of the hearing area, aiming to strengthen connections between that spot and the one that manages speech movements. (This causes a brief tickle sensation before fading, Chang says.) The researchers stimulate the brain while the person undergoes traditional speech therapy, hoping to enhance the therapy’s effects. Because of the Covid-19 pandemic, the team had to stop the study with 24 subjects out of a planned 50. They’re analyzing the data now.

Connecting the dots

Dopamine, cellular waste disposal, neural connectivity — how do they fit together? Chang notes that one of the brain’s circuits involved in stuttering includes two areas that make and use dopamine, which might help explain why dopamine is important in the disorder.

She hopes that neuroimaging can unite the different ideas. As a first stab, she and collaborators compared the problem areas identified by her brain scans to maps of where various genes are active in the brain. Two of Drayna’s genes, GNPTG and NAGPA, were active at high levels in the speech and hearing network in the brains of non-stutterers, she saw. That suggests those genes are really needed in those areas, bolstering Drayna’s hypothesis that defects in the genes would interfere with speech.

The team also observed something novel: Genes involved in energy processing were active in the speech and hearing areas. There’s a big rise in brain activity during the preschool years, when stuttering tends to start, Chang says. Perhaps, she theorizes, those speech-processing regions don’t get all the energy they need at a time when they really need to be cranking at maximum power. With that in mind, she plans to look for mutations in those energy-control genes in children who stutter. “There are obviously a lot of dots that need to be connected,” she says.

Maguire is also connecting dots: He says he’s working on a theory to unite his work with Drayna’s genetic findings. Meanwhile, after struggling through med school interviews and choosing a career in talk therapy despite his difficulties with speech, he’s hopeful about ecopipam: With colleagues, he’s starting a new study that will compare 34 people on ecopipam with 34 on placebo. If that treatment ever becomes part of the standard stuttering tool kit, he will have realized a lifelong dream.

Knowable Magazine is an independent journalistic endeavor from Annual Reviews.

#Nature

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concussed-to-pieces · 6 years ago

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I Want It All

Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure

Pairing: Jean Pierre Polnareff/Female Reader

Rating: Holy shit M

AN: Hello my broskis, and welcome back to more of my indulgence! This takes place during the Stardust Crusaders arc (and also is an 'everyone lives' AU because I am nothing if not an indulgent bastard.) Enjoy, and thank you for reading!

[!WARNING!: For my attempts at French, it has been...many years since my lessons. Forgive my lingual sins.]

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: For canon-typical gore, blood and violence. Stay safe!]

...

"I am only speaking the truth!" Polnareff protested, blue eyes wide in feigned hurt.

"You, Jean Pierre Polnareff, couldn't speak the truth if your life depended on it!" You shot back, halfway between laughter and fury. "You expect me to believe everything that comes out of your mouth? I wasn't born yesterday, big fella'."

"But it's true! Your eyes light up so wonderfully when you're annoyed or put out--just like they are right now!" The Frenchman was obviously trying hard to butter you up. "You and Jotaro both have such expressive eyes, it's tres bien to see the two of you hot under the collar."

"What the hell did you just say?" Jotaro growled. "You tryin' to tell me you've been this obnoxious because you like how it makes people look? You're such a damn handful Polnareff."

"I agree!" You huffed, crossing your arms and glaring at the menace in front of you.

Polnareff just laughed it off, throwing an arm around your shoulders. "You are so lovely when you're upset."

"You're just as lovely when you're being obnoxious, you gravy-sucking--"

"Ah ah, such language!" Jean interrupted, tilting his chin pointedly in Anne's direction. "Little ears don't need to hear rough speech."

"You've gotta' be joking, she could probably teach you some new curse words!" You teased, laughing outright when Anne nodded enthusiastically and started rambling down a list of incredibly colorful phrases.

Amidst Polnareff's wailing about how unladylike it was that Anne had an impressive repertoire, you felt his eyes on you. Ever since you had collapsed it had been this way, Jean Pierre hovering like a nervous parent. It was infuriating! You weren't some helpless child. Your Stand may consume your energy at an exponential rate, but it made up for the increased strain with impressive damage output. You didn't need anyone coddling you, and you did your best to make sure that the group knew that. Joseph was the only one who seemed to 'forget' aside from Polnareff; he was also a parent and prone to worrying so you tried to let it slide.

It was certainly a bunch of misfits you had taken up with. You had your own reasons for wanting to beat Dio's face in, noble or otherwise, and it seemed like your best chance to get close was to engage in the Joestar's crusade. Though the Strength Stand was a bit of a wakeup call.

You had only passed out twice in the span that you had been fighting alongside the Crusaders. You had grown leaps and bounds as a Stand user, able to keep your Stand active for longer and longer periods of time. Sure, your Stand was no Star Platinum, but you were far from the weakling you had been.

To let Jean Pierre hold you back felt like admitting defeat, and so you railed against his supposed 'well-meaning' concern with all your might. It led to heated disagreements between you, the Frenchman insisting on keeping you behind the bulk of his body and Silver Chariot's defensive saber during battles.

He nicknamed you Le Canon De Verre, The Glass Cannon, after one such tangle with enemy Stand users. "Destructive, beautiful when the sunlight hits you just right, and entirely reckless!" The backhanded compliment had only served to infuriate you further, as had his jovial laughter after the fact. You nearly dislocated his shoulder with your Stand's punch, startling him into silence.

"You're so-!" You bit your tongue, unwilling to get yourself thrown out of the group because you couldn't take his teasing. "Mean, Polnareff, that's what you are!" You had snapped finally. "You can't just say things like that to me, okay? I'm trying so hard! Stop making fun of me already!"

"I'm not...I-I apologize, I did not intend to hurt your feelings. In this group we tend to go at one another for sport. I assumed you would join in." The large man had continued to hold his shoulder, grimacing. "I thought you wanted to, anyway."

"I don't want to be hazed or initiated, if that's what you're getting at. I'd rather be an outlier if I'm going to have to engage in a dick-waving contest." You had replied firmly.

Polnareff looked thoughtful, which was rare. "I understand. I will ah, 'ease up'. Can you forgive me?"

"Will you stop pouting if I do?"

"Perhaps. Unless, of course, you find me more attractive when I pout?"

"No." His crestfallen expression had made you laugh harder than you wanted to admit.

...

Finding out Jean Pierre Polnareff had a penchant for dirty talk in the bedroom was like finding out that the sky was the same shade of blue as the previous day.

Utterly unsurprising.

He loved to hear himself talk so damn much you were fairly certain that he got off on it, whether his partners did or not.

Joseph laughed boisterously when Polnareff proudly stated his enjoyment of such activities during a rowdy night of drinking, the older man slapping him on the back. "I'll drink to that, my chatty friend! I feel your pain. I remember when Caesar and I were training, I had to wear a mask to regulate my breathing and…" Joseph paused, the sparkle in his green eyes dimming. "He was a wonderful friend, was Caesar." He murmured instead of continuing his story.

Jotaro looked about as interested as you had ever seen him, the stoic teen studying his grandfather. "Was he now."

"A phenomenal fighter and a total pain in the ass. Always trying to one-up me." Joseph dashed away a tear. You shifted closer to him beside the fire, touching your shoulder to his. On his other side Polnareff did the same, effectively sandwiching the older man between the two of you. "He was incredibly brave and incredibly dumb, almost as dumb as I was." Joseph dug around in one of the pockets on his cargo pants, drawing out a thin strip of cloth with a triangular pattern on it. "This is all that I have to remember him by."

Avdol shook his head, resting his hands on Joseph's shoulders from his place behind him. "You have the many, many memories of the two of you as well, Mr. Joestar."

"True! I'm sorry kids, I get so melancholic around campfires. I doubt the drinking helps." Joseph wound the strip of cloth between the fingers of his mechanical hand absentmindedly, the fabric frayed like he had done it many times before.

"Mr. Joestar, would you tell us some stories about Caesar?" Kakyoin requested softly. "You shouldn't have to shoulder the burden of his memory alone."

Jotaro grunted in affirmation, getting up and moving across the clearing to slouch beside his grandfather. "Spare us no detail, old man. I want to know about the guy that could kick your ass."

"He couldn't-! That's an awful lot to assume, Jotaro!" Joseph huffed indignantly, his bleak mood seeming to vanish once his pride was poked at. "He used Hamon to trap me in a bubble! Can you even imagine being that insecure?!"

You caught Jean looking at you over the top of Joseph's head as he rambled (no small feat considering the size of the elder Joestar). Polnareff glanced at Joseph, then back at you. Both of you nodded after a moment, coming to a silent agreement.

Jean Pierre would take a step back in battle to allow you a step forward, and you would be more cautious.

...

From that point on, things smoothed out a little between the two of you. You didn't feel so stifled, like every move was watched. Chariot was ready and willing to work together with your Stand, the rapier-wielding chevalier helping to increase your own admittedly-lacking range. It was surreal how well you and Jean could control the battlefield now that you weren't at each other's throats.

Jean's motions when he was fighting were one with Chariot's. Often it was difficult to tell where Stand ended and man began, Chariot a literal extension of his own body. He moved with a savage finesse that was a treat to watch, something you hadn't been able to appreciate when he was trapping you behind him. Now that you could operate on even footing however, it was a different story. There was ample time to watch him fight, ample time to hear him taunt the enemy in both French and English, or a jumbled mess of the two. Perhaps a little too much time, if you were being honest. Jean Pierre was an incorrigible show off.

Somewhere along the way you had also gained a new nickname.

"Did you see that, mon coeur?" The silver-haired young man would often exclaim after you two managed to do something impressive, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "They didn't stand a chance!"

You wanted to hate yourself for enjoying his enthusiasm when it came to fighting. After all, you were on a very important quest. Now wasn't the time to be entertaining such thoughts, like fun and what will happen after all of this? Now wasn't the time to wonder about Polnareff's multitude of lovers, the wistful wife no doubt waiting for him at home in France.

"What will you do?" You asked him the night after his agonizing encounter with the copies of Avdol and his dearly departed sister. "When all of this is over, I mean."

"I...I don't really know." He had been in a thoughtful mood the entire day, more forlorn than you had ever seen him. It broke your heart, just a little. "I'd like to see more of the world, I think." His voice was so soft, as if he didn't want to say anything at all.

"What places do you want to visit?"

"I'd like to see Niagara Falls." You knew you had him then, watching his body perk up ever so slightly. "I've heard so much about Canada. I have distant relations there as well. And then, I want to go to Florida!" Jean gushed. "No wait, perhaps Mexico or South America first, trek the Amazon and then make my way up the East Coast. Yes, that will do. But California, the vineyards, I must...how will I decide?!"

You were so thrilled at the return of his dramatic nature that you laughed aloud and threw your arms around his neck. "There you are. Thought I'd lost you for a minute." You murmured against Polnareff's jaw, the gesture oddly intimate for you. You heard Jean swallow convulsively and then he embraced you, holding you to his chest.

"Your friendship is such a precious gift, mon coeur." The large man whispered, his voice sounding slightly choked. "Whatever comes of us, know that this crusade will not be the end. I, Jean Pierre Polnareff, promise you that. We will see the world as it should be."

"A promise of such weight demands the proper gesture." You pulled back slightly and hooked your left pinky around his own. "The pinky promise of Polnareff shall not be broken easily, I warn you. If we don't travel the world, there will be hell to pay."

You didn't exactly have confidence in the fact that you would be returning from the tangle with Dio, so the promise was both simple and hard for you to make. Jean's smile in reply warmed you from head to toe, the sensation strange but not unwelcome. "I would have it no other way." He swore sincerely.

…

Your Stand vanished under the blow and you clutched the heavily-bleeding stump of your left wrist, all that was left where your hand had once been. You dimly heard Jean Pierre screaming (in what was hopefully rage, it was difficult to tell sometimes).

Despite he and Avdol's insistence that this fight was every man for himself, you couldn't just stand by and let Jean die to gain an opening at Dio. It was better this way, you reasoned while your Stand had flung Polnareff out of the range of the fiendish Cream Stand and into the range of Iggy's Stand. Polnareff has a better chance at getting Dio than I do, so I should make this count.

Your eyes had met Jean's seconds before Cream's void reached him, and you shot the tall man a shaky, battered smile. It'll be okay, you wanted to tell him, it'll all be fine. Iggy's Stand enveloped him, sand barely holding together as the small dog draped over your arm struggled to breathe.

Cream's void touch obliterated your Stand's left hand and you felt the pain down to your soul, dropping to your knees and almost immediately emptying the contents of your stomach.

Consciousness didn't stick around for much longer, the blood loss too rapid for you to staunch effectively on your own. You prayed that you had been useful even as your senses dimmed.

...

You didn't really expect to wake up, so realizing that sunlight was beating down on your eyelids was bizarre.

You tried to open your eyes, but gave up after a few moments and simply basked in the warm haze. This is actually kind of nice.

Your brow furrowed as you tried to recall what led to this. You were drawing a blank. Unconcerned, you hummed out a breath and shifted slightly on the soft surface you rested upon. Your left hand felt odd, heavier than you remembered and sluggish. But then again, your whole body felt heavy and sluggish. I wonder where I am, you mused, not exactly motivated to find out. It was as though thinking was a struggle.

A deep voice reached your ears, the words incomprehensible but soothing all the same. Someone seemed to be speaking in an area adjacent to your own. Were you in a hospital?

Curiosity started to penetrate the haze, and with it came the thrum of distant pain and a soft, insistent beeping. Maybe you had been in an accident of some kind, you must be in a hospital. That mystery solved, you tried to open your eyes again. You flexed your hands, first left, then right. Your left hand was definitely slower.

After a final, Herculean effort, you pried your eyes open and immediately summoned your Stand. It looked gaunt and frail when it appeared, as though a gust of wind might blow it away. The relief you felt at the familiar sight was short-lived as your gaze trailed down to the Stand's left hand. Or rather, where it had been. It seemed wrong, twisted in a strange way.

Egypt. Dio. The Joestar Crusade. Recollections poured back into your mind like a torrent, making your whole body go stiff. Your Stand touched their forehead to your own, making their customary sound as if to reassure you that they were alright.

"Where's…" Your words were muffled by the oxygen mask you wore. Where is everyone?

Your Stand, appearing thrilled to be out and about once again, practically lunged towards the door of your room. You had to close your eyes to fight the nausea at the abrupt motion, biting the inside of your cheek to choke back the bile.

You felt when your Stand reached the edge of your range and then, something careened past it heading in your direction. You sensed the displacement of the air and the door to your room suddenly burst open.

"Oh my God, you finally woke up!" It was none other than Joseph Joestar, his eyes brimming with tears. "We weren't sure if you were...I'm so happy!" He bolted towards the bed with the vigor of a man a quarter of his age, nearly crushing you in a tight hug. "The others need to know, I have to-"

The door to the room was having quite a busy day as two more bodies made their way through it. Both Kakyoin and Jotaro looked somewhat worse for wear (Kakyoin was so covered in bandages he bore a striking resemblance to a mummy) but at the familiar irate grunt of "Good grief," from the taller young man currently pushing the redhead's wheelchair, you got the feeling that they would be just fine.

Avdol sauntered in with Iggy slung over one shoulder, the black and white dog glancing at you and then yawning widely as if to say, "my work here is done."

"You're okay." Your voice was barely a whisper, tears welling up in your eyes. "B-But Avdol, I thought…am I dead? Did we all die?"

"I mean, the old man tried pretty hard to die on me but I wasn't going to let him get away with that shit." Jotaro growled.

"It is a bit of a miracle, the survival of Iggy and myself. All thanks to you and Polnareff, my friend. Due to your quick intervention, Jean Pierre managed to land the killing blow on Vanilla Ice and drag most of my body back from the abyss of his Stand." Avdol held up his gloved hands, showing you his arms bandaged to the shoulder. "My body has yet to reject the prosthetics, so with some luck I'll make a full recovery."

"Where is Jean Pierre?" You asked faintly, your strength waning. As if to answer, there was a loud crash from the hallway and someone was abruptly swearing a blue streak in French.

"He's not entirely used to the crutches, but he refused our help." Kakyoin explained hastily. "He should be here any second now."

"Speaking of prosthetics, how does your hand feel?" Joseph asked curiously. "Any pain? My hand took some getting used to."

"It's totally gone, isn't it." At the older man's nod you giggled, a little hysterical. "I'm scared to look. I don't want to see how much I've changed. My poor Stand…"

Polnareff interrupted your rambling by all but flopping through the doorway, half-supported by a weakened-looking Chariot. Both Stand and man lit up upon seeing you awake, Chariot waving wildly, and without thinking you raised your left hand to wave back.

You caught sight of smooth metal fingers responding jerkily to your brain's stimulus and that was all it took to make you go gray at the edges.

Does a pinky promise still count if the pinky that you promised it with is gone?

"Mon coeur, open your eyes! Please, I promise it's not so bad!" Polnareff's imploring words met your ears when you regained consciousness moments later.

"Five more minutes, have mercy on me." You groaned, not opening your eyes just yet. "Fuck. How long has it been since the fight?"

"Almost three weeks."

"Fuck. Did we win at least?"

"Holly is going to make a full recovery." Joseph said. You could hear the smile in his words and that gave you the courage you needed to open your eyes and finally look down at your hand.

"Fuck that's sore." You winced, the pain vibrant now as you moved your fingers individually. "I think I liked being out cold better."

"You were the last to wake up. We've all been so worried!" Kakyoin said, sounding relieved.

"Even Jotaro?" You teased, laughing when the aforementioned boy grumbled something in reply and Star Platinum appeared to loudly Ora!, as if contradicting the stone-faced teen.

Jean Pierre slotted himself into the space between your bed and the wall, his large frame almost too big to fit. Chariot chirruped at you while their user reached out slowly, so slowly to cradle your new hand in his own. For all his size and strength he was surprisingly delicate, his fingers feeling strangely warm to your overly-sensitive appendage. "As you may recall," He began quietly, glancing up at you before ducking his head again. "I made a promise. Once you are entirely well, we will...we have a lot of traveling to do if you would accompany me."

"I don't know if that promise still counts." You said before you could think, more than a little shocked that he had even remembered that promise. You wiggled your fingers haphazardly.

"We can make a new one if you wish." Polnareff was as serious as you had ever seen him, those blue eyes boring into your own. He raised your hand to his lips and kissed your bandaged wrist, the look on his face daring you to stop him.

You extended your metal pinky with a wince, letting him be the one to loop his finger around your own this time. The feeling of metal on metal startled you momentarily, but you recalled that he had lost two fingers to Cream himself. "I pinky promise. It'll give me something to look forward to while we're all recovering."

Recover you did, with a speed that you attributed to spite against Dio. The sooner you were healed, the sooner you would be able to leave that vampiric fiend in the dust he had become.

The sooner you would be able to journey with Polnareff, your brain felt the need to chime in gleefully. It made you flush more often than not, the idea of being legitimately alone with the large man. You couldn't recall a time during the entire adventure that the two of you had been alone, and you weren't certain why but it filled you with an odd trepidation.

Jean Pierre was not one to let simple things like the doctor said you need to be careful get in his way, the large man determined to recover as quickly as he could. His hand and thigh were healing up well it seemed, but his foot was slower going. They had been traumatic injuries and you tried to reason with him that it was expected, though it didn't seem to penetrate his thick skull. The doctors of the Speedwagon Foundation clearly had the patience of Job.

Polnareff lavishly praised your own recovery progress; his thrilled exclamation of Magnifique! when you managed to open a jar during physical therapy almost made all the pain and frustration worth it. You could only imagine how obnoxious it must be for someone as self-sufficient as Jean to be unable to walk without help, so you did your best to be just as encouraging to him when he seemed weary. Your terrible rendition of Hail The Conquering Hero never failed to put a smile on his face even while he slouched in a chair at your bedside.

"The worst part is how bone-tired I am." He admitted one evening. "All my energy is going towards healing and learning how to redistribute my weight and it is...difficult to stay positive when I truly feel how heavy my body is." Jean gave you a half-smile. "Who would have thought being the tallest and most muscular of the group would be detrimental to me in the long run, eh mon coeur?"

"Hey at least you've got that going for you. It took me a good week to be able to flex my hand enough to flip someone off again!" You complained, trying to get him to laugh. Jean took your metal hand, his expression unreadable. The doctors had been fine tuning the receptors in your fingers and palm, so his touch was no longer scorching. You wished that your face had gotten the memo.

"Don't think that I'll ever forget what you did for me." Jean's voice was soft, yet firm. It added a strange weight to the conversation. "I know you wanted to kill Dio as much as the rest of us, and you gave up your chance...no, your damn hand, to save me instead. I owe a debt I doubt I can repay and I will never forget that, mon coeur." He sighed, "So many debts to focus on! First Avdol, then Iggy, and now you. My life is forfeit I suppose."

"W-What does that mean?" You stammered, blurting out the first thing you could think of.

"What does what mean?"

"What you call me, mon kyar or something. I assume it's French?"

"It is."

"So...what does it mean?" You pressed after he was silent for several seconds. "You gonna' tell me?"

A knock on the doorframe interrupted the conversation, the nurse with your usual tray of food arriving right on time as ever. Jean Pierre was in such a hurry to leave he nearly bowled the poor man over, mumbling an apology as he hobbled past.

What the hell was that all about? You wondered as you ate your meal. If he believed he could avoid your question like that, he was dumber than you thought. What if it was a swear or an insult? You froze, thinking back to your original glass cannon nickname. The fork in your metal hand was bent nearly in half before you could stop yourself, and you spent several panicky seconds trying to flatten it back out.

…

Niagara Falls was first on the list of attractions. It was a poorly-designed list, of course, but you were still excited to see more of the world.

You supposed you were a hopeless optimist for believing that nothing untoward would happen to the two of you while embarking on your grand tour.

"Pose by the railing! I want to take your picture with that backdrop of the falls." Jean urged, laughing when you stuck your tongue out and curved your back into a weird-looking, hunched stance.

"How's this?" You asked, striking an even stranger pose afterwards and laughing along when his composure entirely dissolved. He staggered over to lean on your shoulder, still cackling, then his fingers wrapped around your non-metallic wrist.

"I need you to move with me." The mirth was abruptly gone from Jean's face though his smile stayed; his broad shoulders tensed like he was bracing for impact. "Don't make a scene. We're taking two steps back from the railing."

You giggled to keep up the illusion that the two of you were just sharing an intimate chat, nodding once and waiting for him to give you the go ahead.

A hulking, metallic Stand suddenly appeared overhead and plummeted downwards. Jean summoned Chariot without so much as blinking, your own Stand not far behind. The two of you sidestepped the enemy Stand's crushing attempt and launched yourselves back into the crowd of tourists, your smaller size allowing you to more easily make your way through throngs of people. Jean struggled to keep up and you grabbed onto his hand, no worry for propriety on your mind while you wove between the sightseers.

Someone's outstretched leg was almost your downfall but Jean heaved you bodily up into his arms and kept moving, setting you back on your feet without so much as breaking stride.

"I imagine they're still following us." He hissed, seeming annoyed. It had been overcast all day but now it started to drizzle. The crowd began to thin and you could feel Jean getting more and more anxious, trying to stick with groups that kept dwindling. He started swearing under his breath, his eyes darting around as he tried to locate the enemy Stand user.

Your own eyes landed on a corridor that led back into the visitor's center, and just inside the mouth of the corridor was a door beside a pay phone. No doubt it led to a maintenance closet or area of some kind, but it was cover all the same.

You opened your mouth to tell Jean your plan but before you could utter a word he grabbed your shoulder, ripping you backwards. The enemy Stand slammed into the ground where you had been standing, whirring loudly as it attempted to free itself from the cement.

Polnareff was actually shaking, the large man maintaining a death grip on your hand and making a mad dash for the door you had noticed. Chariot's blade nimbly took care of the lock.

The space was entirely too small.

Jean Pierre's chest heaved against yours, the Frenchman still panting for air from your headlong dash. Overhead Silver Chariot made sounds of distress, pressing their helm to your forehead while your Stand hovered worriedly.

"Ch-Chariot!" Polnareff scolded, waving his Stand back. "Non, Chariot."

His arms wrapped around you suddenly at the sound of running footsteps outside the door, and you felt the muscles of his thighs tense in preparation to flee. Your metal fingers dug into his shoulder and he winced, letting out a strangled noise.

"Sorry, sorry." You hissed, sure that you had accidentally left a bruise. Who would have expected Stand users to attack you even after the defeat of Dio?!

The footsteps paused outside the door and Jean Pierre's hold tightened even further, threatening to crush the breath out of your lungs. Whoever they were, the person appeared to be making a phone call with the pay phone on the wall by the closet.

"I don't know where they went. It's like them and their Stands turned the corner and disappeared into the rain." The individual said, sounding dejected. "Yeah, I'll head back."

Jean cautiously slid you down his body to rest on the floor, then pointed silently at the doorknob. The handle jiggled as the person on the other side began turning it, no doubt trying to be thorough before returning to whatever hole they crawled out of.

They didn't expect the enormous silver-haired Stand user to be the one behind the door, as evidenced by their horrified yelp. Polnareff slapped a hand over the man's mouth and dragged him into the closet, where both of your Stands were eagerly waiting to dispose of him.

...

Your damp clothes stuck to your body like they were vacuum sealed and you groaned, fidgeting with your jeans. Jean Pierre was in the same boat, soaked to the skin and doing his best to try and wring out his already-tight tank top. "It's no use, mon coeur. Let's find a hotel and see about getting dry." He said with a defeated sigh, offering you his arm.

It served you right for trying to do some sightseeing during a peak tourist season. Not a hotel in the entire damn city had a double room available, or even a twin and sleeper sofa combo! You wanted to scold Jean for his lackadaisical planning, but you figured from his deflated expression that he hadn't taken into account the fact that everyone else in the world was also on vacation.

"The best I can do for you is a room with one queen. I'm really sorry, sir, but with the summer traffic-"

"Non, do not apologize!" Jean hastily interrupted the woman behind the counter. "My companion and I appreciate whatever hospitality you can extend to us, and we thank you for your time. The fact that you found us a room at all is more than enough." He shook her hand while she went bright red and you barely choked back your giggle. Jean Pierre was a handful normally so he was entirely outrageous when he laid the charm on thick.

The room was small but the bed was clean, and that was really all that mattered to you. Polnareff began rummaging through his bag for a dry change of clothes and you took the opportunity to bolt for the shower. The air conditioning in the hotel lobby, while pleasant at first, ended up chilling you through your wet clothes. A nice hot shower would rectify that.

"Bath or shower?" Jean called through the door. In response, you turned on the showerhead.

You emerged ten minutes later, warm and sleepy from the long and strenuous day. Jean Pierre was waiting beside the bed, clothes neatly folded on the floor.

"You look radiant, mon coeur!" He teased, getting to his feet and chucking you under the chin. "Can you tuck yourself in? You seem ready to sleep standing up."

"Oh hush." You grumbled, batting his hand away and trotting over to your own bag. He laughed softly and you heard the bathroom door close behind you. You quickly dropped your towel and rummaged through your bag for a loose shirt and some clean panties, struggling into the garments as sleep dragged at your limbs. The bed felt heavenly when you finally stripped back the covers and climbed in, and even with the lamp on in the room your eyes grew heavy.

You snuggled a pillow to your chest and drifted off, stirring when you felt someone lay down beside you. Lips touched your forehead and Jean Pierre murmured, "only me, mon coeur. Go back to sleep."

You abandoned your pillow and slotted yourself into his arms, mumbling some gibberish while you buried your face in his chest. He was wonderfully shirtless and you took advantage of your drowsy, carefree state, uncharacteristically bold in your cuddling.

You felt more than heard his breath hitch, and then he was urging your chin up so that you would make eye contact. "Are you awake?" He whispered. "You are acting strange." You whined in reply and a breathless little chuckle left his lips. "So sulky! I will not deprive you of any more rest. Sleep well, mon coeur."

You dropped your head back onto his chest, his heartbeat thudding loudly in your ear. It was almost loud enough to drown him out when he spoke next.

"I could have lost you today, mon coeur." Jean breathed. "That Stand...it would have left you as a stain on the pavement. What a terrible thought." His arms wrapped around you and his chest expanded with a heartfelt sigh. "Unbearable, even. My heart stopped for just that second. I wasn't sure I would be able to move you in time. I wished for Jotaro's power then! What a ridiculous thing to do in the heat of the moment, no?"

Jean's hands were shaking, fingers rubbing light circles on your back.

"I couldn't breathe. I was trembling. Me! The idea of me fearing anything is preposterous. But I did. I...I feared for your life. I feared that I would lose you." He chuckled, the noise a little ragged. "What selfish fears I have, mon coeur."

…

After that, it was easier to find accommodations. The two of you could share more than a battlefield without killing each other, it seemed. It was only slightly mortifying to disentangle yourself from his grasp in the morning, seeing as you were always the first one awake. But it did offer you ample time to study his face all flushed and relaxed, so you decided that you could live with the embarrassment of knowing that you cuddled up to him in your sleep.

Or maybe it was vice versa? You usually went to sleep on the far side of the bed, and yet you always woke up with him holding you in his arms. As if he was seeking out your body heat in his sleep. It was almost enough to make you suspicious if you didn't secretly relish the lazy mornings before you were fully awake, just luxuriating in being held.

Jean Pierre was an enthusiastic if not entirely capable tour guide no matter where you went, though half the time he could be caught with notes written in Kakyoin's hand detailing the areas you were visiting. It would seem that the younger man had been essentially everywhere and had whipped up a few cheat sheets for Polnareff.

So the two of you saw all the sights you could cram in and then some, resulting in long days and sleeping like the dead.

Until one night. A fateful night, like the stories always said.

Your metal hand had been acting up through the day due to a changing weather system and it left you tense and anxious, unable to relax. You were plagued with the fear that you might have already broken your new hardware. The idea of having to cut your trip short due to your appendage not 'playing nice' soured your mood even further.

Jean Pierre seemed to sense your discomfort but not the source, the large man cautiously asking over dinner at a local cafe whether he had done something to upset you.

"Mon coeur, your eyes have lost that mischievous shine. Was it something I said?" He queried with a fair amount of concern. From their spot beside him Chariot reached out their saber, as if to also inquire. The Stand's mannerisms never ceased to be charming to you; they displayed a blunt inquisitiveness that was such an obvious facet of Jean Pierre it made you want to tease him. Their rapier rested delicately on the table, just to the left of your fingers.

"I just want things to keep working." You couldn't keep the annoyance out of your voice. Your hand twitched involuntarily, bumping Chariot's rapier, and you swore under your breath.

Jean Pierre definitely noticed that. "Your hand as well? My foot and hand have been ah, cantankerous all day. I thought I was the only one." He laughed a little self-consciously, rubbing the back of his neck. "You know you can tell me about things like that, right?"

"I don't want to bug you." You grumbled, startled when his finger hooked under your chin and tilted your face up. He looked oddly serious.

"We've been traveling together long enough for you to know that you're never bugging me, mon coeur." Things had taken a strange turn. Were you blushing?!

"P-People always say stuff like that, but they never actually mean it." You floundered to answer him, the retort devoid of your usual wit.

"I mean it."

"Well I uh, I guess you're the exception to the rule, Polnareff. And the logical height restriction for hair, as always." Jean's expression was unimpressed. You went on to insist, "Look, it's not fair that you should have to listen to me whine just because you made a pinky promise."

"The only thing I've heard is genuine concerns. Perhaps it is your assumptions that need to change, mon coeur." Jean suggested, leaning forward just a little. "Who else have you engaged with? Who made you so willing to shoulder the burden of your fears and wave off help from anyone else?"

"No one, that's just how I've always been. I don't like bothering anyone."

"Bother me, I dare you."

"What if my hand never gets back to full speed? What if I'm stuck with a fidgety hunk of metal like Joseph, what if I can't fight anymore?!" You exploded, slamming your left fist down on the table. "What if I'm useless, Jean? What then?"

"Is that your chief grievance?" He was weirdly calm. Normally he was the one to get worked up and you were the one to rationalize him back down to Earth. You shook your head and Jean got to his feet, taking your metal hand after he paid the bill for the evening. "Come with me, mon coeur."

...

Once the two of you were back in your hotel room, Jean Pierre left you to sit on the bed and disappeared into the bathroom for a short period of time. When he reemerged, he urged you into the smaller room and you were faced with a bathtub full of bubbles.

"Get in, get comfortable, and call me once you're settled." His demands brooked no argument and you grudgingly stripped to get into the tub once he exited the bathroom. The bubbles were actually thick enough that they kept you from feeling too exposed and you blinked back tears at the realization that he had planned it that way.

"You can come back in, I'm decent." You announced after climbing into the small mountain of bubbles.

Jean returned with one of the folding chairs from beside the bed. He sat down, rested his chin in his palm, and fixed you with a stern look. "Speak."

"Just like that?" You huffed. Jean inclined his head, raising an eyebrow and simply waiting. "I'm scared, okay? I'm a big, scared, useless baby. I'm tired and I'm scared."

"What are you scared of?"

"The future, I guess. Nothing will be the same. A lot of times I wish I could go back…" You paused. "You would think after everything that we went through, I wouldn't be scared anymore. But I still am." You curled up with your knees to your chest. "I almost miss the Crusader tunnel vision, y'know? We didn't have the luxury to focus on anything besides Dio."

Jean sighed heavily. "If you had said something sooner, I...we all feel that way, you know that, yes? The rest of us were conscious and recovering while you were still wrestling with Morpheus. I would say we got a bit of a head start. Though Kakyoin and myself in particular struggled immensely, mon coeur. Kakyoin did not believe he was going to survive the battle with Dio. His wounds were...devastating." Polnareff glanced up at you, his eyes a troubled, stormy blue. "I, on the other hand, did not want to continue living with my survival built upon the sacrifice of my friends."

"Jean..."

"Avdol's arms. Iggy and Kakyoin's entire bodies, mangled and broken. Your hand. These were all prices I consider too high to pay and yet each one of you did what you needed to do without a second thought. It is...humbling." Jean chuckled mirthlessly. "Jotaro spoke with me at length about stopping his own heart in order to trick Dio into thinking he was dead."

"He did what?!"

"He had Star Platinum literally grab hold of his heart and stop it." Jean Pierre shook his head. "He's insane. Listen, the point is that we're all scared of the future. I didn't even think that I would have one, didn't dare to hope for one! I've been struggling adrift, trying to decide what I wish to do with my life now that the length of it stretches before me like so many miles of untread country road. Granted, the generous patronage of the Joestars and their Speedwagon Foundation has eased the difficulty somewhat. None of us will want for anything in this transitional period, I'm sure."

"Jean, I...I guess I got so into my own head I didn't think that anyone else could be having the same problems as me." You didn't apologize, and he didn't seem to expect you to.

"We were selfish as well, mon coeur, you cannot take the blame. I assumed Joseph would discuss things with you in private, but he must have been preoccupied with Holly's recovery." Jean's hands now rested on his thighs and you watched his metal pinky and ring finger jitter independently for several silent minutes.

"Thanks, Jean. For everything." You finally said quietly. Chariot appeared with a sound of glee, the Stand's deadly rapier raised in front of them in a perfect salute. "You too Chariot, of course!" You continued, laughing when the Stand began to preen. "I would never leave you out."

Polnareff had gone bright red at the enthusiastic antics of his Silver Chariot, the poor man sputtering in a way that was far too endearing, "Chariot, please!"

"Are you actually embarrassed, Jean Pierre? I never thought I would see the day." You teased. "You look dashing in red, I have to admit."

"You are so cruel!" He whined.

"Ha! After your little kink reveal during our quest, it's so funny to see you lose your cool over something this inconsequential."

"Kink?! Dirty talk is just...it's standard procedure in the bedroom! I hardly count it as a kink-"

"Surprise, you nerd, it's a kink." You carried on ribbing him, a massive grin on your face. "Not every kink has to be super weird or niche, you know. As long as it gets you off, it can be anything."

"How on Earth-" Jean Pierre began heatedly, his hands fisting in the fabric of his pants as he shifted forwards into 'debate position'.

"I mean, some people like when people dirty talk to them, but could never do it themselves. Or vice versa. People love that filthy stream-of-consciousness ramble. You've got the added bonus of being bilingual, so you could say a whole bunch of random words in French and I bet your partner would still be swooning!" You pointed out, unable to stifle your giggles at the flabbergasted expression on his face. "Do you like when people talk dirty to you in reply? Or are you always the one doing the talking?"

"I...I've never had anyone talk dirty to me." Jean's voice hitched slightly. "I do not...I'm rather large. With that comes the assumptions, you know."

"Well you do have a commanding presence, for better or for worse." The shake in his words threw you off just a tad. Was he upset with you? "Hey, I'm only joking around. If I went too far, tell me and I'll stop."

"Non! No, no, I just never thought about it." He admitted. "I mean, the process is…" Jean lapsed into muttering under his breath in French and your laughter returned with a vengeance. "Hush you! Laughing while I'm in crisis!" He complained, the wry grin on his face belying his words as he gave your exposed shoulder a gentle shove.

"You're so sweet, Jean Pierre. Under all that bravado, anyway."

"Sweet?! I am not--I am precise and fierce! Deadly, even!" He jumped to his feet, Chariot at the ready as he tried to pace in the tiny area. "I am a man of great skill and charisma and-"

"And you drew a bubble bath for someone so they would talk to you. Face it, you're sweet."

"I would...whenever she had a difficult day at school, I would run Sherry a bath and then sit and listen." At the mention of his late sister, your heart squeezed in your chest. You of course knew his whole sad story, but the reverent way he spoke about her never failed to spark a sympathetic reaction. She had been incredibly dear to him and, while he had dispatched her killer, it was obvious that the pain was still there. "It's a tactic that's served me well, though getting Jotaro in the tub is easier said than done." Jean tried to joke.

"You're ridiculous." You extended your metal pinky to him and he wrapped his own around it after a moment of hesitation. "You're also a good man, Jean Pierre. I envy the person you share your heart with in the future."

He stared down at you with his brow furrowed, then looked at your joined fingers. His mouth opened as if he was going to say something, but he simply sighed after a moment. His shoulders drooped. "Yes, of course. The future." He mused thoughtfully.

After you had gotten dressed for bed, Jean beckoned you close.

"Please, just let me hold you." His voice cracked at the end of his request. "No more talking." Confused at the vulnerability he was displaying, you obediently settled yourself into his loose embrace. Nothing about how he was touching you was improper, but you still felt a flush of heat on your face. Jean Pierre stared at the space over your head in silence for what felt like hours, his eyes distant and suspiciously glassy.

You brushed your fingers against his jaw and he flinched. "Hey." You whispered, "just me."

"Oui, it always has been." He replied cryptically, placing a kiss on your forehead. "I'll be alright. Thank you for letting me hold you."

"Trust me, the pleasure's all mine."

"You like being held, mon coeur?" He sounded startled.

"Only when you do it." You yawned, snuggling closer. "Anybody else'll get their ass kicked."

His hand was trembling when he cupped the back of your head and you felt the breath leave his body in a long, shuddering exhale. "Bonne nuit, mon coeur."

…

You woke before him, as ever, but this time you didn't leave Jean's arms. You just studied him from your vantage point, taking in every tiny detail. So involved were you in the play of shadows on his collarbone, it took him clearing his throat to realize that you too were being watched.

His eyes were barely open, still heavy with sleep, and you prayed that he wouldn't remember catching you ogling him. Jean didn't say anything, instead resituating you in his arms to better press your body to his own and burying his face in your neck. One powerful thigh slid between your legs and you were startled by the rush of heat you felt from such an innocuous motion.

That was nothing compared to when he groaned, his voice deeper than usual with sleep, "Tu es si jolie mon coeur." Large hands carded through your hair blindly. "Tu es si précieux pour moi."

"Jean?" You murmured.

There was a sharp inhale right next to your ear and then he drew back, looking befuddled. "I...what?" He asked drowsily. "G'morning, 'allo."

"Good morning. How do you feel?"

"Warm. Still tired." He tucked his face back into your neck, sighing. "Shh. Sleep."

"Jean, I-"

His body shifted as he stretched, pressing the rigid muscle of his thigh up in between your legs. You squeaked and that definitely got his attention. Blue eyes met your own, confusion evident on his face. Those eyes traveled down to the sheet over the two of you, and then they widened in comprehension. His own undignified yelp made you start to laugh hysterically, burying your face in his chest in a losing effort to contain your mirth.

After several tense seconds he started laughing too, peppering your cheeks and nose with playful kisses. "What a wake up call! I could get used to that." He chuckled, leaning in to kiss your nose again.

You tilted your chin at the last second and Jean's mouth landed on your own. He gasped against your lips, obviously startled but not recoiling. Hope flickered in your chest as his mouth stayed where it was, like he was frozen.

"If you want me to stop, tell me." He breathed finally. "I would like to give you a real kiss. I'm going to do so unless you tell me to stop."

"Why would I tell you to stop?" You whispered.

Jean's hands cupped your face, one thumb rubbing your cheek while he searched your eyes. You glared back at him defiantly and he looked torn between laughter and tears, finally closing the distance once more.

His 'real kiss' left you reeling, gripping his upper arms for support while he ravaged you with his mouth. Jean Pierre Polnareff always gave his all in everything he did, so you shouldn't have been so surprised. It was different when it was focused on you, though. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that, mon coeur." He murmured after he decided it was time for you to breathe again. "Feeling your body react to me is...it's incredible. Intoxicating."

"Holy shit," You said weakly in reply, "I guess you aren't all talk."

"The talk is the best part of me, mon coeur." His mouth brushed over your ear, making your whole body break out in goosebumps. "Everything else is just window dressing." You snorted and you felt him smile against your neck. "I love it when you do that."

"What, when I mock your attempts at being suave?"

"Non, can you really still call it nothing but an attempt when I can feel how your heart pounds in your chest?" Jean teased you, making you smile broadly and giggle with more than a touch of nerves. "I meant when you smile or laugh at something I've said. It makes me happy, knowing that I did this." He continued sincerely, brushing his index finger over your lips. "Knowing that I put this enchanting expression on your face...there's no greater prize for me, mon coeur."

You ducked your face into his chest, thoroughly flustered and mumbling denials. Jean pressed light, tender kisses to the crown of your head, letting you work up some resolve. Quickly, so that you wouldn't have time to panic and rethink your bold move, you darted up and planted a kiss squarely on his lips. Jean made a delighted noise, his fingers back to combing through your hair while the two of you shared a heated exchange.

"I feel like the luckiest man in the world." Polnareff's voice was nothing but a heartfelt sigh, his forehead touching your own. His smile was so wide it looked like it hurt, his joy barely contained. You smiled shyly up at him, your metal fingers curled into a loose fist on his chest. "Stay with me, mon coeur? I cannot guarantee you an easy or safe life, this much you know. I am selfish and headstrong and entirely full of myself, but I will do everything in my power to make sure that the burden of the power we share is a light one." He promised solemnly, his thumb rubbing over the knuckles of your metal hand.

You bit your lip in thought, looking down at your joined hands. His metal pinky hooked around your own in a sort of playful, teasing gesture. Remember when, it seemed to say. It made you smile again and you felt the tension go out of his body when you tipped your face back up and kissed the underside of his jaw. "I guess I could be persuaded to stick around for a little while." You allowed.

"Only a little while? Isn't there anything I could do to get your...attention for just a touch longer?" Jean asked hopefully, his hands starting to wander a little lower on your body.

You straddled his hips and sat up, cupping his face to keep his eyes focused on your own. "What does mon coeur mean, Jean Pierre?" You queried, your tone saccharine-sweet.

The large man actually squirmed, his face going bright red as you put him on the spot. It was quite possibly the cutest thing you had ever seen. "It is, er...it's a term of endearment." He choked out finally.

"Yes, but what does it mean?"

"I...It means…listen, I don't know if it's too early to be saying these kinds of things. Are you positive you want to…?" Jean's question seemed to die in his throat at the rapid nod of your head and the man heaved a long sigh, dramatically covering his face with his hands so you couldn't see his expression. "It means 'my heart'. Because I...I have loved you for a very long time. You have my heart--non, you are my heart. It is so silly, but I-"

"Oh thank God!" You erupted, probably startling him judging from his incredulous look. "I've been so worried it was another shitty nickname like Le Canon De Verre, you have no idea."

"Merde, of course not! I learned my lesson. You are...you are not upset that I have been calling you my heart, are you?" Jean mumbled awkwardly. "It is a common term, I can come up with something el-"

"Shut up. It's perfect." You took a deep, bracing breath. "I love you too, Jean."

"Are...you are serious, yes? If you are not, you don't need to say it back. I am a grown man, I can handle a little rejection." He insisted bravely.

"Yes, I mean it. God Jean." His embrace crushed the air from your lungs and you wheezed out a chuckle, smacking his shoulder. "Easy on the goods, Pol." Jean ran his fingers through your hair, tears in his eyes. "Don't cry Jean, c'mon." You chided with a grin.

"I can't help it! This is the happiest moment of my life!" He announced tearfully. "I love you so much! I have loved you since before you got angry with me! Maybe it was love at first sight?!"

"Maybe for you. Weirdo." You teased, rumpling his hair (much to his indignation).

…

He danced around the topic of being physically intimate for what felt like months. If the kissing sessions got too hot and heavy, Jean was always the one to calm things back down. At first it was mildly entertaining to be soothed and cooled off by such an irreconcilable flirt, but soon you began to wonder.

Does he actually love me or was that a bunch of talk? Does he regret the choice? Is he just trying to let me down easy? Does he feel indebted to me?

You would get your answer in due time. As with all things related to Jean Pierre, he demanded the perfect setup.

"I've been thinking." You started carefully one evening. "About us."

Jean immediately glanced up from his guidebook, looking almost guilty. Almost. "Yes?"

"I...Jean, you do love me, right?" All your tact went out the window, your confidence soon following. You just stood there, twisting the hem of your sleeping shirt while you tried to stop your lower lip from quivering and your words kept pouring out, "I just wanted to know whether you...um. Whether you want me. As in...well, sexually, I guess. We kiss and hold each other a lot but it seems like every time we would be getting to that point, you put the brakes on." Your fingers threatened to tear a hole in the thin cloth of your shirt. "I mean, it's okay if you don't! It's okay if you want to go back to the way things were. I promise I'll get over it. I don't want to lose you, even if it's only as a friend."

Jean snapped the book shut and lunged upright, his expression gone stony. With two strides he had crossed the room, opening his arms and enfolding you tightly in his embrace. "Mon coeur, my heart, my everything." He whispered into your hair as you sniffled. "I want to ravish you until I consume your every thought as you do mine." Your breath caught in your throat at his heated words. "I want to pin you down and give you everything, every last pitiful scrap of desire that I have for you. I didn't want to scare you, mon coeur, but I have such a voracious hunger for you and...and if you want me as well, you can have as much of me as you wish to take."

Jean pressed his forehead to your own and you took the liberty of mussing his hairstyle with glorious disregard, your fingers raking through his impeccably-styled tresses gleefully. "I want it all." You breathed. "The whole nine yards."

"God, I am so glad. I am so very, very glad." Jean said in reply, his voice sounding strangely thick. "I did not want to rush you. I am well aware that I have a reputation, and I do not know...how far is acceptable to you?" His hands hovered at the hem of your sleeping shirt.

Your answer was to untuck his tank top, gently easing the tight-fitting garment out of the waistband of his pants and shoving it upwards. Jean's body trembled at your touch, a sharp inhale leaving him when you boldly splayed your metal palm on his newly-bared abdomen. You stared up at him, loving how disheveled he looked with his hair askew and tank top hoisted up to his chest. "This is mine now." You said softly.

His moan and the helpless, adorable blush that accompanied his nod of confirmation was all you needed to continue urging him to shed his tank top. Jean did so hastily, clearly eager to show off more of his form. Distracted as you were by ogling him, you barely noticed his arms back around you until he lifted you up. Jean laughed aloud at your squeak, rubbing his nose against your own. "Wrap your legs around my hips, mon coeur." He purred. "Feel as much of me as you would like."

You were only too willing, greedily drawing your hands over his shoulder blades and pulling yourself as close as you dared.

Jean surged forward to close the space between you, nuzzling into your neck with an aching sweetness that was both foreign and familiar at the same time. "You are so beautiful." He said simply, making you flush and squirm a little under the attention. "I am so happy. So incredibly happy."

"Show me then." You replied with a mischievous grin, squealing a second later when he blew a raspberry against the skin of your neck.

Jean laughed again and moved to lay you on the bed, pulling away briefly to study you beneath him. "I can't believe that this is real." You wriggled out of your underwear when his fingers reached for the elastic band, already too excited to let him peel them off unaided. Jean lifted the hem of your shirt and touched it to his lips, the gesture reverent and teasing all at once. "Can I put my mouth on you, mon coeur? Will you permit me?" He asked softly.

"I am going to actually burst into flames if you don't." You admitted, getting the tall man to shoot you an unbearably cocky smirk. It was softened considerably by the wonder in his eyes, like you were the most incredible thing he had ever seen.

Jean urged your legs apart and settled between them, his smirk broadening further when he realized that your thighs were shaking slightly. You covered your face with your shirt, thoroughly embarrassed, but Jean tugged it back down. "Please, don't hide from me. Ne te cache pas de Jean, s'il te plaît." He implored you.

"You know I have no clue what you're saying." You replied breathlessly. Jean didn't bother to translate, lavishing the sensitive skin on the inside of your thighs with soft kisses and nips. You buried your fingers in his hair, none-too-subtly trying to guide his mouth to where you wanted it, but Jean wasn't budging. "Jean-"

The way your voice cracked seemed to fuel his fire, Polnareff glancing up at you with a dazed expression before he attacked your drenched folds with his skilled tongue. He was methodical and brutal, thumbing lightly at your clit while your body arched into the flat press of his tongue. Jean devoured you enthusiastically, making sounds you would have been embarrassed of at any other time had you not also been making highly embarrassing sounds.

"À toi, pour toujours." Jean gasped when you came apart beneath him, reaching up to fondle one of your breasts through your shirt. "Mon coeur, je suis amoureux."

"Y-You'd better not be saying something mean--" Your threat was ruined by how hard your breath was hitching, coming in shaky bursts as you rode out your orgasm.

Jean Pierre languidly shifted his weight until he knelt over you on the bed, pressing his fingertips to his mouth and then touching your lips. "I said, I'm yours forever, my heart, I'm in love." He replied, sounding a little breathless himself. "Too much, yes?"

"I said I wanted it all, didn't I?" Your rhetorical question hung in the heated air between your bodies for barely a split second, fingers already dragging at the buckle of his belt. Jean groaned low in his throat when you opened his zipper, revealing his cock trapped against his stomach by the waistband of his boxers.

"It seems to always be like this when I'm around you." He confessed, unable to meet your eyes and instead focusing on your hand rubbing him through his boxers. "Sleeping in particular is so difficult, mon coeur. Your body, warm and pressed against mine…but I am not some spoiled boy without an ounce of self-control. So I prayed for the dawn like a damned man. Prayed for the courage to tell you, the patience to wait." He chuckled ruefully. "To think you would outstrip me all the same."

"I think we've both waited long enough." You pointed out, feeling him rock down into your waiting palm.

Jean flushed a little, biting his lip as you slid his boxers out of the way and freed his cock. "Will you let me?"

"I keep telling you I want it all. I'm greedy for you, Jean, c'mon." You chided him, startled when he shook his head.

"It's not enough to say it."

"I guess I'll just show you I mean it then." Jean raised an eyebrow at your tone. You lunged up to kiss him, clinging to his waist as you ground your aching pussy against his cock. Jean actually growled, the sound reverberating in his chest while he eagerly reciprocated your grinding motion. "I want you, Jean. I want everything you can give me."

"Since you asked so nicely." Jean Pierre palmed your thighs and dragged you even closer to him, kissing you fiercely. His mouth dominated your own easily, your legs falling open for him as you welcomed him into your body.

Jean buried his face in your neck, panting for breath while you adjusted around him. Your calves quivered and jumped noticeably when he cupped them, shoving your knees up and over his shoulders to leave you entirely at his mercy. You whimpered helplessly, covering your face with your hands again.

"Mon coeur, my love, my everything, please don't hide from me." Jean begged, his voice ragged with desire. "Let me see you, let me know you."

"It's so good, I feel so embarrassed." You replied through your fingers, shaking your head.

"Why be embarrassed?"

"I...I don't know, really. I guess it's the way you look at me. Kind of like I'm being examined under a microscope." You mumbled.

Jean rolled his hips, settling his cock even deeper than it had been previously. Your lips popped open without your input, eyelids fluttering closed. "Do you want me to stop?" He whispered.

"You're so mean." You managed to sputter. "No, I definitely don't want you to stop."

"Are you not enjoying what I'm doing?"

"Oh my God, Jean-"

"There is nothing to be embarrassed about if you like what I'm doing, so what could it be?" Jean's smirk could have given the cat that ate the canary a run for its money, your continued pitiful attempts at indifference doing nothing but bolster his confidence. "Is it maybe...that you like what I'm doing, but you think you like it too much?"

"Polnareff-"

"My last name in bed, how formal of you!" He teased, coaxing an exasperated half-giggle out of you. "I have encountered this before, of course. I will tell you a secret." His lips barely touched your ear, eliciting a shiver. "No one else is here but us, mon coeur. Which means you are as free to enjoy me as I am to enjoy you. I understand that some moron before me has given you the impression that you should be silent or not enjoy this...delicious intimacy. Whoever they were, they were an inconsiderate, selfish liar."

"You are the first person to put your mouth on me. D-down there." You confessed.

He straightened up, looking absolutely scandalised and shrugging your legs off of his shoulders. "But you came so easily for me! Surely someone...no? No one?"

"Nope, not a one."

"Vile, inconsiderate selfish pigs." Jean lapsed back into French, grumbling under his breath and rolling his eyes. He then slid his arms beneath your shoulders, his large form effectively looming over you. You yelped when he picked you up bodily, hurrying to wrap your legs around his waist like you had earlier. "Relax, mon coeur. I won't let you fall." Jean promised, sounding amused. His cock twitched inside you, making you whine. "Oh, that's a lovely noise."

"You can't say stuff like th-at!" You tried to protest but your voice pitched higher as he settled you onto his hips, sheathing his cock to the hilt. He raised you slightly, then lowered you back down again. His careful, even pace was tortuous, your pubic mound pressed firmly to his abdomen while he slowly fucked his cock in and out of you.

"I will not go any faster unless you tell me how you would like it." Jean didn't even seem like he was struggling for breath. You, on the other hand, were gasping out with every thrust, your fingers digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks. "You have to tell me, mon coeur." You buried your face in his neck and he shuddered all over, laughing a little. "Is it too much? You are clinging to me so tightly."

"You are absolutely terrible." You muttered, taking a handful of his hair and roughly tugging his head to the side so you could mouth over his ear. Jean's breathing hitched when you finally bit his earlobe and shakily murmured, "please fuck me."

"Oh," Jean sighed, "I would love nothing more." When you arched against him he made a wrecked sound in the back of his throat, thrusting up to meet you halfway. "How could I ever not want you, mon coeur? Now that I've had a taste, I am drunk on you." He said it like it was normal, regular. Maybe to him it was. Maybe things like that came naturally to him.

You cupped his face, suddenly seized by a fierce tenderness that demanded to be expressed. "You're amazing." You choked out bluntly. Jean's eyebrows rose and he seemed genuinely surprised. "You're perfect. You make me feel incredible and you're so, so wonderful to me-"

Jean sputtered, now clearly bewildered. His flush reached the tips of his ears. He cradled you to his chest, helping you ride his cock even while he continued to silently color. "These things you are saying to me…" he breathed, sounding shattered. "You believe them?"

"Jean-!" You cried, resting your forehead against his. That appeared to be what he had been waiting for. You watched as his eyes narrowed and he bit his lip so hard the pink skin faded to white.

"You want it all? It's yours." Jean rutted up into you, stealing the breath from your body with the ferocity of his motions. "Every inch--every breath, every feeling I have, is yours. It's yours." His grip on your hips tightened when one of your legs slid down, the rough press of the large scar on his thigh grounding you.

"Thank you…" You barely had the presence of mind to speak, your brain hazy with ecstacy, but you forced the words out anyway. You laced your fingers through his hair and cried out again as the ache in your body blossomed, trying to come to fruition. "God Jean, I'm so close, please-!"

His laughter was a ragged, broken noise and he buried his face in your neck once more, feverishly pistoning his hips to bring you to climax. You raked your nails down his back when you finally came and Jean clumsily rushed to pull out, barely able to do so before he reached his own orgasm. Thick spurts of come landed on your abdomen, the large man's entire body trembling violently.

The two of you were all but gasping for breath, staring at each other while he tensed up and tried to stop shaking. "So…" you drawled after several awkward seconds. "That was phenomenal."

Jean lit up like a firework, quickly laying you down on the bed so he could lavish you with kisses. "Truly?!" He asked excitedly. "You're not just saying that, right? My feelings will not be hurt if I have room to improve, you understa-"

"Jean, I don't think I can move. My legs feel like I went on a hundred mile hike." You clapped a hand over the scar on his thigh. He was still trembling. "Are you okay? I know that must have been a lot of effort."

"I will be alright. I don't think I've ever come that hard." Jean admitted, grimacing as he slid a finger through the coating of his release on your stomach. "I'm afraid I've made a mess of…" He trailed off when you licked the substance from his index, his eyes darkening. "You accuse moi of teasing, mon coeur?"

"Well yeah, you're ridiculous." You stuck your tongue out at him, blowing a raspberry. Jean rolled his eyes and flopped down on top of you, making you wheeze for air. "Jean wait, you'll kill me-"

He raised himself back up on his elbows, one finger tracing a careful line down the bridge of your nose. "We should shower, no?" He suggested softly.

"We should shower, yes." You agreed.

"Come then, let's get cleaned up. And then we can sleep together. Wake up together." Jean's smile was beaming. "Like we should have been all these months, yes?"

You teared up a little at his sincerity, smiling back at him. "You got it, big fella'."

He didn't make a move to get off you though, continuing to study you. "You are so beautiful like this." It was almost as if he was talking to himself, his expression blissfully content. "I am truly the happiest man alive, even with my heart living outside of my chest."

"You are outrageous-"

"I cannot wait to outrage you every day for the rest of our lives, then. Though I may have to take it down a notch or two, at least until we've grown accustomed to one another." He kissed you, laughing into your mouth. "Your eyes are sparkling again, mon coeur. Are you exasperated with me?"

"Every second of every damn day." You huffed, trying and failing to fight your own smile.

"Wonderful. I would have it no other way."

#jean pierre polnareff #jean pierre polnareff/reader #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #Stardust Crusaders #holy cow #this got so long #I had a lot of fun #behold my indulgence #I love one (1) giant french man #title taken from Queen because shit it's JOJO I have to #everyone lives au #I'm barely on episode ten of Golden Wind and I'm having a great time #I love JoJo so much #stardust crusaders spoilers

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letitrainathousandflames-archive · 5 years ago

Text

drabble/ficlet yet to be organized

characters: Rex, Fives

Warnings: angst, grieving, suicide mention, umbara aftermath

Fives had been tending to his duties just fine that morning. Rex had given the men as much of a reprieve as he could manage to, but the war raged on and it didn’t care for the clone trooper’s grieving and trauma. They had to keep working, even while still swamped in paperwork from the massive casualties they had sustained.

Nine hells, it was the fifth time that morning that the fact that the Umbara assignment had been two days ago crossed Rex’s mind. It didn’t feel like time had passed at all. Every day up to now still felt like they had just finally set foot back in the base, some of them limping and being half-carried by their brothers because the medical staff couldn’t possibly handle any more patients, so anyone with less severe wounds had been cleared out until the medbay got less crowded.

Rex had no idea if Kix had even slept at all since, having last seen him with his gloved hands slathered with blood up to his elbows, eyes glazed and forehead drenched in sweat. Every hour or so Rex would be notified of yet another brother that hadn’t make it despite the medic’s efforts, and it would make him clench his jaw so hard his ears were ringing.

He had been watching Fives, heard him telling a particularly shaken brother that he would cover his shift, and that he should try and rest a while. Going against orders, but then again, this was Fives, and if Umbara had taught Rex anything, it was that Fives had trouble balancing his own personal code with his orders.

And then Rex notices the cadence of Fives’ words, and it downs on him. Rex stalks over to Fives, grabs him by the blue pauldron over his shoulder, and Fives spins around to be met with the captain staring at him.

“Sir!” Fives says through the filters of his helmet, white plastoid painted with the rishi eel over his head “Is there something wrong.”

“Helmet off.” Rex orders, eyes hidden by his own helmet; he hopes to be wrong about what he’s imagining, but he doesn’t expect to

“S-sir,” Fives stutters “in this area it’s procedure to-”

“This is a direct order, trooper. Helmet. Off.”

Hesitating, “Fives” removes his helmet, and Rex sighs heavily at the sight of the broad republic cog tattooed over the clone’s face.

“I can explain, sir.” Jesse says earnestly as Rex rips off his own helmet in frustration

“I don’t think you can, Jesse.” he says exhasperated “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Do you even know how many regulations you’re trampling over with this little stunt?”

“Sir-”

“If anyone ever needs to cover for anyone’s shift, I must get word of it beforehand.” Rex scolds him, weary from stress “You are not an ARC trooper and you are not fit for filling in for Fives’ duties. You’re putting this base and your brothers at risk. Do you understand this?”

Jesse just nods over and over, holding Fives’ helmet like it’s made of glass, faint blush spreading over his cheeks.

“...just wanted to help him.”

Rex is about to continue his rant, but stops dead on his tracks at the helplessness in Jesse’s voice. He runs a hand over his own face, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Where is he?”

Jesse lowers his eyes, setting his jaw. Rex shakes his head.

“Jesse, I promise that none of you will get in trouble. I get that everyone’s still shaken up after...” he trails off, chastises himself for it; he shouldn’t allow it to hurt him this much. “Where is he? Sleeping at the barracks?”

Jesse shakes his head.

“Uh, no, sir.”

“He’s at the mess?” another negative “Doing inventory work?” another negative, then another, then another “Stars damn it, Jesse, where is Fives?!”

Jesse swallows down, biting his lip.

“Out. He... left the base. Said he needed to clear his head.”

Rex just stares at Jesse, mouth dropping open and eyes going wide before he pulls his helmet back on his head. He spins on his heels, shock dissolving into anger, reaching for the comm button by the side of his helmet.

“Cody, I need you to issue a warn-”

Jesse grabs Rex’s wrist, tugging it down hard and cutting off his message.

“What the hell are you doing, sir?!” Jesse hisses, all his sheepish demeanor gone

Rex rips his arm from the trooper’s grasp, turning to face him.

“If Fives is AWOL, I must notify our superiors.”

“Are you out of your damn mind?!” Jesse is visibly trying to keep himself from screaming not to draw attention to the two of them “You saw how they didn’t even let us testify for Dogma before they locked him up! If you let anyone even think that a clone is going against orders after that mess, they’ll either just shoot him dead out there or arrest him to then decommission him without trial!” Jesse draws in a shaky breath “Rex. Rex, just find him and bring him back, quietly. Please.”

“Jesse-”

Jesse brings his hand to his mouth, and Rex notices how it shakes.

“Please, I can’t lose him too. We lost too much already. Please, Captain.”

Rex walks into the sleazy bar in lower Coruscant and all eyes immediately turn to him. He could tell that between the spice dealers, assassins, thieves and other kinds of criminals, no one in the place holds clone troopers in high regards.

Only one man doesn’t look up at him. The one that has the same face as Rex, aside for a goatee and a number five tattoo cleverly hidden under a black beanie. Rex walks up to him, hand casually swinging over the blasters on his hips should anyone have any funny ideas before he gets to his brother. He wonders when did Fives get the civilian clothes, a brown leather jacket over his blacks, zipped up over the republic’s cog that marks them, and dark grey pants. He’s still wearing the white boots under them though.

Rex sinks down on the booth at the very end of the bar, sitting in front of Fives. There are plenty of glasses and bottles littering the table, and Fives fidgets with a half-empty cup of a dark blue liquid. Slowly, very slowly, the chatter and clinking of glasses goes back to a level that would allow the two of them to speak with some privacy.

Fives’ voice is raspy at first, then he clears his throat.

“How’d you find me?”

Rex looks around one last time to make sure they’re safe and not being listened to, and he laces his fingers together over the wooden table.

“Wasn’t easy. I had to check almost all the bars up there before I decided to try my luck down here.”

A tiny smile tugs at the corner of Fives’ lips.

“How long did Jesse manage to fool you?”

“Honestly?” Rex shrugs “About five minutes.”

Fives tuts, smile disappearing.

“So much for having the same face and voice and everything.”

There is silence, and Rex stares intently at Fives, but the clone keeps his eyes low at his drink. The captain leans closer to the ARC trooper.

“And what in the nine hells do you think you’re doing?” Rex asks, uncharacteristic swearing bubbling up in his anger; Fives seems unfazed, bringing his drink to his lips “Abandoning your post? Leaving the base?”

Fives downs his drink, grabs a new bottle and cracks it open, pouring himself another glass.

“Want some?” he offers like they’re chatting in the mess hall “Kashyykian vodka. Tastes like shit at first, but then you get used to it.”

Rex sets his jaw. He hadn’t earned his rank by losing his temper at every undisciplined trooper, and even if the attitude from Fives is unexpected, he won’t allow the ARC to think he’s getting under his skin.

“You could’ve gotten Jesse in trouble if I hadn’t been the one to notice it. Did you think about that?” Fives, always so chatty is completely silent, tapping his finger to the side of his cup before taking another sip, and it unnerves Rex to a degree he hadn’t foreseen “Fives, you can’t just turn your back on every-”

Fives slams his glass on the table, hard enough to make a generous amount of the blue liquid spill over its rim. The ARC trooper raises his eyes to his superior, and they’re bloodshot and full of a quiet rage that seeps through his voice.

“I needed time. I told Jesse that, and he respected it. I thought you would too.”

Rex holds Fives’ gaze, brows knitted together.

“I can’t afford to give you time, Fives. Things are hectic back in the base. General Skywalker says we’ll be deployed for an assignment on Felucia next week, I need you to prep the men-”

“The ones that are still alive, you mean?” Fives cuts him, the anger in his eyes still burning brightly “How was the body count when you left? Because last I checked, Kix was running a morgue, not a medbay.”

At that, Rex clenches a fist and pounds it on the table softly enough not to draw attention, gritting his teeth.

“Kriffing hells, Fives, why are you acting like this now? You know the risks, you know the stakes. You know that sometimes we leave the battlefield with our numbers low. I know you do. You’re a damned ARC trooper, you know all that.”

Fives scowls, eyes swimming as he leans closer over the table and Rex wonders how many drinks he’s had because his words are slightly slurred and it’s hard not to notice the booze in his breath.

“Yeah? You know what else I know, Rex? I know that being an ARC trooper, I’m the next in line should anything happen to you. If you were incapacitated, I would be captain. That’s how high my rank is.”

Fives pauses to take another large gulp of his booze, and Rex doesn’t interrupt him. He wants to know what is Fives’ point, even against his will.

“Despite that, all it took was a word from that…” Fives scowls, eyes squinting at the distance, and Rex knows he, too, can’t bring himself to say Krell’s name “That demagolka and you gathered my bothers – my own brothers – to gun down Jesse and I like we were animals, after all we’ve done for our squad, after we had just watched Hardcase blow himself up to save us all.”

Rex shakes his head sharply.

“I had it under control, Fives, I knew they would never fire-”

Fives gives an exaggerated laugh that had no real joy in it.

“And you were willing to bet your life on it. Oh, no, wait. That was mine.”

Rex looks down at the table. He knows it was a risky bet. He knows how he feared to watch his own men shooting their own superior and a fellow trooper dead. He knows he’s responsible for Hardcase’s death, to a degree. He knows all that.

Fives runs a hand over the back of his head, groaning.

“What a nightmare. The whole thing, a nightmare, because you couldn’t take my word for what that lunatic was doing to us.”

And that makes Rex feel a sting of anger as he lifts his eyes up to Fives.

“And how in the moons was I supposed to know? Hm? Just because he was treating us like lesser people? That’s not exactly new to us, Fives.”

At that, Fives’ eyes focus on Rex like he’s only actually seeing his captain now, surprise easing up his tensed-up features. Rex sighs heavily, voice going softer.

“I know you’re tired. I know you’re tired, and angry, and grieving. But you need to come back home. You’re supposed to be better than that, you’re supposed to never abandon your duty.”

Fives pulls back at that, raising an eyebrow.

“How do you figure?”

“You know we were designed to withstand any kind of stress.”

Fives let out a laugh that sounds more like a growl, shaking his head.

“Yeah? Maybe you should tell that to the shiny that sobbed on my shoulder all the way back to base. Or the one Kix had to drag out of the medbay because he wouldn’t let go of his batcher’s body, pissed because he wouldn’t get a proper funeral. Or- or” and Fives jaw is shaking as much as the finger he points at Rex “Maybe you should tell that to the vod I found in a ‘fresher stall with a blaster in his hand and a hole burned through his skull!”

Fives slams a fist on the table hard enough to make the glasses there jump, one bottle tumbling down and rolling over to meet a glass with a loud clinking noise, and Rex swallows down thickly. Things had been difficult the last couple of days. About five of his troopers – six, counting the one Fives had just described – had decided to end their lives after Umbara. Cody was probably facing the same issues with his men as well.

Neither the Captain nor the Marshall Commander knew what to say to their men. In order to inhibit suicidal tendencies, you’re supposed to reassure a person about the value of their life. How was Rex supposed to do that, when all he and his men had ever been taught since birth was that they are expendable? Battle fodder. Meat droids. Living shields of the republic.

And what would Fives even be able to say to give a sense of hope to his vod’e? That they had something to look forward to? As far as they knew, they would live and die in war, their lifespan half of a regular human’s because they were never meant to age and experience life outside of a battlefield.

#should i make this a full fic?#idk #my fics

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keelywolfe · 6 years ago

Text

FIC: Beneath an Aurora Sky (Ch. 9)

Summary: The South Pole Station is equipped for research and Edge has always made sure things run smoothly for the inhabitants. His charges are meant to follow his rules and regulations, and in turn, he makes sure they survive in the arctic temperatures. It takes plenty of hard work and determination and Edge, along with his crew, can handle both.

He wasn’t counting on one of the newest researchers. He wasn’t expecting Rus.

Tags: Spicyhoney, First Time, Arctic AU, Hurt/Comfort

Notes: So, bourbon came up with an amazing AU and did some lovely art for it: please look at it and love it.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Read Chapter 9 on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

Walking back to the station was quiet, their boots crunching on the hard-packed snow. The sudden flare of a lighter in the darkness made Edge wince and look away, but the smell that wafted to him wasn't the harshness of the cigars his brother occasionally smoked. Only a hint of tobacco and some bitter spice, cloves, perhaps? The traces of it on the cold wind wasn't entirely unpleasant.

"Don't leave the butts on the ground," Edge cautioned. The lights around the station formed a series of linked rings, illuminating them as they stepped into one. From here they were close enough to see the mellow lights from the narrow windows. Most were darkened, covered in heavy curtains. The kitchen alone was brightly lit, shadows of Bonnie moving as she prepared the evening meal.

His cigarette glowed brighter as Rus took a long draw on it, exhaling smoke and steamy breath with words. "you seen a single one?"

"I haven't. But you'll need to excuse my caution. It's too cold here for decomposition. Any trash left out stays until someone picks it up."

Rus’s smile was unoffended, eye lights mostly hidden behind his goggles. "i know, edgelord, don't worry. i'll leave the chilly side of paradise as pretty as i found it. had problems in the past?” Rus shook his head, frowning unhappily even as he took another drag. “you'd think scientists of all people would know better."

"It's been my experience that they do know better,” Edge said, sourly. “They simply don’t care.” He’d been aghast to learn that truth after their very first session. Implementing a fine into the contracts helped somewhat; few of their researchers could afford to be casual litterbugs on top of what they were already paying. It still occurred with disturbing frequency and there was always a day scheduled after a session ended to search the station grounds and the various research posts for any carelessly left garbage.

"what do you guys do with the trash here, anyway?” Rus crouched and his cigarette sizzled out as he touched it to the snow. He took a small tin out of his pocket that used to hold mints and dropped the butt into it, then hurriedly pulled the mitten-tip back over his glove. “send it off on vacation with the next ship?"

Edge hesitated. Station functions weren't precisely secrets and yet— "It feeds into the Core. The power generated is minimal, but it absorbs without a pollutant affect. Trash, human waste products, there's little that it can't transfer into energy."

The next question would be why there weren't Core facilities on every street corner, why they weren't working to mass produce, to sell, sell, sell, and Edge braced himself to endure it.

But Rus only nodded. "cool."

The main station door was looming ahead. Before Edge could open it, Rus caught his arm, stopping him. He set down his gear, not quite haphazardly, gingerly reaching out to push Edge’s goggles up, then his own. "hey, wait. lemme try something?"

Edge waited, warily curious.

He did not expect a gloved hand beneath his chin, tilting his skull up. Nor did he expect the gently eager mouth against his own, though perhaps he should have, tasting cloves and underlying sweetness. Their drawn-up hoods almost met along the edges, creating a pocket of warmth, a private world where he could sigh softly and meet that mouth with his own. It should concern him, perhaps, how quickly he was growing accustomed to this, but instead he only accepted it greedily, meeting Rus’s eagerness, the damp, delicate touch of his carefully exploring tongue.

There was only the hush around them, the artificial light an island in the darkness. A low moan caught in Rus’s throat, dissolving into a shaky breath shared between them.

“there." Rus drew back with a satisfied sigh. "needed a refill. now, what do you need my help with?”

His soul was pounding and for a moment, Edge was tempted to lead him to his quarters and ask for favors of another sort. But no, his brother was long overdue to see Alphys and the machine, and he knew today Undyne wasn’t going to be at dinner, performing maintenance at one of the outer research posts. Red would be less wary if it was only him, or if he believed it was. "Come with me and I'll show you."

“c’mon, just tell me!” Rus tried, but he was starting to look visibly cold, blinking too hard, and teeth barely chattering. That was enough for Edge to hustle him through the door. Explanations could wait until they were out of the elements.

They stripped out of their gear and Rus was nearly as quick as Edge, shoving his feet into untied shoes while Edge finished lacing his own. By the time their coats and boots were properly stowed, Rus was vibrating with impatience.

“You can leave your equipment here for the moment,” Edge unlocked one of the storage lockers and held it open, stowing the long telescope case. “Don’t get used to it, but it’s already close to dinner and I don’t want to miss our chance.”

“our chance for what?” Rus whined, hastily setting his bags into the locker. Normally, Edge would find that sort of tone grating, but somehow coupled with Rus’s obvious eagerness it was almost…adorable. If a seven-foot-tall skeleton could be adorable, something that Rus managed with surprising regularity.

Still, Edge waited until they were walking down the hallway, drawing out that impatience simply to enjoy it, before he finally said, low, “I need you to go into the dining hall and talk with Red.”

“that’s it?” Rus asked, his expression a comical mix of skepticism and disappointment. “you want me to get chatty with the sawtooth goblin, while you--?”

Edge forcibly did not smile at that description of his brother, but it was a close thing. They stopped outside of the door and he could hear the chatter from within, smell the hearty food that Bonnie was already dishing up. “There’s no way for me to go into the dining hall without him seeing me. Only two entrances, this one and the one from the kitchen and Red sits so that he can easily see both.”

Edge knew it was foolish to assume that just because Red didn’t appear to be looking, it somehow meant he wasn’t watching with that disturbing perception of his.

“guess you can't,” Rus said slowly, metaphorical wheels turning in his skull.

“So, what I need from you is a distraction. We’ll go in together, but I’m going to go speak with the two geologists about the equipment request they made yesterday. You go talk to Red. Tell him that one of the sno-cats was acting strangely, making odd sounds, something to that effect. If you can keep his attention, I may be able to get close to him without him noticing.”

“uh huh.” Rus crossed his arms and rocked on his heels. The thermal shirt he was wearing was one that Edge had given him, and Edge forced himself to look away before it became a distraction. “i get the plan, but you wanna tell me why we’re playing tag with red?”

Discussing his brother’s health issues with an outsider was out of the question, and yet, it was reasonable to ask. “Because he needs to pay a visit to Alphys and he’s proven reluctant to do so. Can you trust me on that?”

There wasn’t so much as a pause, no hesitation as Rus said, “yeah. i trust you.”

Simple words but they sent a tingle of odd warmth through him.

Carefully, Edge peered through the narrow window to pinpoint their targets without being seen. “All right, everyone is in place. Are you ready?”

“yeah, jason bourne, let’s do this.”

All heads rose when Edge pushed open the door and walked in, except his brother, whose stocking cap was pulled low on his skull where it was pillowed on his folded arms. Sunglasses were concealing his sockets, but they were likely tracking him as Edge walked over to the geologists, who were chatting softly while sharing a notebook between them.

The Humans’ eyes went wide as he walked up to them, their faces falling into lines of concern. Good. “Excuse me,” Edge said crisply, “I have a question about your equipment request for tomorrow.”

“Is there a problem?” the younger one asked anxiously, biting her lip and probably worrying about the hours they’d waste tomorrow trying to do without.

“Not at all,” he reassured them hastily. No need to panic them for his own selfish purposes. “I only wanted to confirm something.” They relaxed visibly, but out the corner of his socket, he watched Rus straddling the bench across from Red, knocking on the table with his knuckles. His brother didn’t raise his head so much as turn it slightly in Rus’s direction.

It didn’t stop Rus from launching into what was surely a convoluted explanation. They were too far away for him to hear, but he could see the moment Red caught interest in what Rus was saying. Rus was talking animatedly with his hands, those slim fingers flashing, and it was half simple gestures, half a jumble of signed words.

Such clever hands, how would they feel ghosting over bone, how would they look clenched into bedsheets while their owner moaned and—

“Boss?”

Edge blinked and looked back down at the perplexed scientists. “Never mind, everything should be fine. If you’ll excuse me?”

“But—”

He ignored the confused protest, walking around the table to skirt the wall as closely as he could get. As he approached, the conversation became clearer.

"…nah, not a rucka-ka-ka sound, it's more like a kachuga, kachuga, you know?"

"kachuga, got it.” Red steepled his fingers, pressing them to his teeth absently as he considered. “comin’ from underneath, you think, or the engine? ‘cause a tread coming loose is noisy as fuck but it's more of a, thunkita thunkita sound."

"yeah, no, it was seriously a kachuga.”

Ridiculous as their conversation was, it nearly worked. Edge was almost within reach when he saw Red’s eye lights flicker towards him through the side of the dark lenses, his sockets widening.

Fuck.

Edge lunged but Red was on his feet in a blur, already moving out of reach – and then squawking with outrage as he fell to the floor with a crash. It was enough of a delay for Edge to catch hold of his wrist, holding tightly, but Red made no attempt to squirm free. Instead, he rolled over, looking down in disbelief at his feet where his shoelaces were tied to the bench.

The collection of scientists standing on the other side of the table took in the scene with varying expression of mute awe, and Edge was close to the same. When had Rus possibly had a chance to…?

Only Rus was still sitting, helping himself to the breadbasket. He said unrepentantly around a mouthful of biscuit. “sorry, pal. the boss said he needed you.”

Slowly, Red reached out with his free hand to pick up his sunglasses. One lens was cracked from him breaking his fall with his face, and the frame was bent. Edge tightened his grip on his brother’s wrist but the sharp anger and outrage in his expression melted quickly into grudging admiration, “not bad, fashion victim.”

“i have my moments.”

“yeah,” Red licked his teeth obscenely and Edge would have given him a smack if he were able to let go of him, “and i bet my bro is enjoying a front row seat to ‘em.”

That made Rus pause mid-chew. “wait, you guys are brothers?”

“yeah, don’t ya see the resemblance?”

“weird,” Rus said almost under his breath, but he shook his head. “well, if edge had shared out some of the height when they were passing it out, i might’ve guessed. You both have the rugged look going, but last i knew, cracks weren’t hereditary.”

“they ain’t,” Red’s grin bordered on vicious, “how about i give you one to match—”

And that was quite enough of that; even if Red was annoyed about his sunglasses, he had several pairs.

“If we’re finished with the impromptu stand-up comedy?” Edge said, low. He reached down with one hand and plucked Red’s laces free, never letting go of him. “You need to go in for your treatment and you’re going now. You can walk and maintain what few shreds of dignity you have, or I can drag you through the station. I’ll leave the choice up to you.”

Red considered that, glancing where all the scientists were watching with great interest. Then he sagged back to the floor as if attempting to become one with the tiles. "you want me there, you can carry me." He paused, then drawled out deliberately, “boss.”

Of course his brother would choose the least dignified route. If he thought a few stares were going to stop Edge, then he was woefully mistaken. "I'll remind you that this was your choice.”

Edge crouched, scooping Red’s deadweight up with a grunt and let him flop loosely over his shoulder as Edge carried him from the room. The conversation swelled as the door swung shut, not that Edge cared. They could speculate all they wanted, none of them could possibly guess the truth.

Footsteps behind him made him pause and Edge looked sharply back to see Rus at their heels.

His grin was equal parts hopeful and pleading. “well, i’m invested now. how can i go on if i don’t see how the movie ends?”

He couldn’t see his brother’s face, but Red came to life from where he was hanging like a bag of dirty laundry, twisting so that one elbow dug painfully into Edge’s spine, and Edge could easily picture his scowl, “aw, no, no way, this ain’t no party and you can shove your investment up your—”

Edge turned around abruptly to face Rus, leaving Red swearing at the wall. Those pale eye lights begged silently, Rus bouncing lightly on his toes.

“All right,” Edge said at last and Rus’s little squeal was overshadowed by the sharp increase in volume from Red. He gave his brother a slap on the pelvis in retribution for a particularly vulgar turn of phrase. “Again, I’d like to remind you that I offered to let you walk.”

“fuck both of ya,” Red grumbled, but he subsided, hanging sullenly as Rus hastily moved to walk next to Edge instead of behind him. Probably a wise choice; with the way Red was swearing, he might catch fire.

“nah, i’ve only got so many fucks to give,” Rus said cheerily, “they don’t grow on trees, you know, can’t be sharing them with everybody.”

“bet you could find a few extras growing in my bro’s pa—ouch, damn it, boss! quit it before you add a broke pelvis to my list!”

“Both of you, be quiet,” Edge said tersely. Red muttered something beneath his breath and Rus mimed pulling a zipper across his teeth. But his grin was a sly one, his eye lights dipping to the front of Edge’s trousers as if in search of one of the extras his brother spoke about.

This was going to end up being a terrible mistake, Edge decided, but he’d made his bed, hadn’t he. His own eye lights strayed as Rus wandered a couple paces ahead of him. His pelvis was concealed beneath layers of clothes, but Edge could make out the outline as his hips swayed slightly with each step. When that had become such a temptation, he didn’t know, but it was and his hands itched to touch, to learn those gentle curves.

Not exactly thoughts he was comfortable having while carrying his brother. He strode on determinedly, putting Rus next to him again and shielding himself from that view. For now, anyway.

He’d made his bed, yes, but perhaps when he was finally forced to lie in it, he wouldn’t be alone.

-tbc-

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #beneath an aurora sky #arctic au

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nighttimepixels · 6 years ago

Note

Sorry for not being specific. I just want to learn all I can about Blade! Would you tell us how she would act realizing she has a crush on someone, how she would act comforting someone, and what personality/soul type she finds most attractive?

Oh, no worries at all! I just need something to pinpoint is all, I’d prefer to write things that are salient to your interests in this case is all X) That said, heck yes to these questions! Answers below the cut

Realizing she has a crush: Unless she's dead certain you like her back, she's not going to admit a damn thing. In fact, you might not notice anything change - she'd only develop a crush on someone she's already at least mildly close to, anyways (she may have quite the libido, but she's no 'love at first sight' type). At most, you might catch her staring at you a little more frequently, or seeking out your company in that casual way she has more often.

She'd have to catch some sort of clear-tell sign that you like her too before she does anything - it's not so much a suffering in silence thing as it is a 'I value this person too much to be willing to change what we have unless they would want that too'. Twist would likely be the only one to pick up on it, honestly. It happens because Blade will end up staring into the distance for a while, maybe with the occasional telling background sound of her texting - which she doesn't do all that often - before announcing she's gonna go hang out with the human. Twist won't tell, but she absolutely will start paying more attention to see if the human likes Blade back. She’ll wingwoman the heck outta her sister ;D

Comforting someone: She's not the greatest with people she doesn't know, truthfully, but she's surprisingly good with kids; not in the way that she's chatty with them, but she has a strange knack with them and a protective streak for the figurative (and literal) little guy that shines through. When it comes to being friends with her, she'll effectively be a great listener - she's not the type to keep pushing in and offering solutions. That actually makes her great to vent to when it really matters - and if you're really looking for it, at the very end she'll offer some of her own insight into the situation... and if you're close, you'll end up drawn into a quiet hug that makes you feel safer than you have in a long time, as her hand idly drifts through your hair, quiet and just... there.

If you're in a relationship, a lot of that is the same, only she'll likely end up also effectively nesting with you - if what's wrong isn't something that needs to be taken care of right this instant, she's going to end up drawing you into your established personal space, complete with all sorts of blankets and pillows and likely a fire nearby if it's even remotely cold out. She'll draw you against her, cuddling as she lets you just talk and/or cry it out, fingers tracing over your back and tangling in your hair as she listens.

Most attractive soul type/personality: There's no hard and fast rules for any of the girls, but most likely Blade finds herself more drawn to Perseverance, Kindness, and Patience type souls. Bravery isn't as up there, but it isn't bad, just a toss-up; Determination types however bring up bad memories, and Justice and Integrity have the possibility of coming off too... unyielding in their point of views. She's got a bad past, and knows how blurred the lines can become; if those soul types are the types to not understand or make peace with that, she's not going to resonate too deeply with them.

Generally, though, personality wise? She's open to a lot, but a sense of compassion without being pitying, a sense of humor that doesn't mind getting dark, being laidback but also at least motivated enough to not require babying/constant reassurance... those are things that will matter to her. The last one in particular doesn't imply that she can't be empathetic, but she knows herself well enough to know that she wouldn't be a good partner to someone too high maintenance; that said, if the person like her has trauma/depression issues/etc, she'll understand well. They just need to have at least some personal management/coping skills too, so the relationship can last even when things get rough. Outside of that, she likes physical affection once she's properly in a relationship - so ideally the person would enjoy that too. She can't regulate temperature well, so she really likes that sweet sweet soft human body heat.

Also, stars does she love it if you can make her laugh. She appreciates a good joke, and once you have her hard-earned loyalty, you've got someone who'll be there for you for life.

... Also also? Having a sense of mischief and a slightly... naughty streak is one hell of a spark ignited for her. She’d be extremely attracted to someone who'll be down for some good-natured shenanigans... especially under the cover of night ;)

#night answers #lilytale #lilytale asks #blade #lt blade #lt ht sans #lilytale blade #-clutches chest- stars do i love me some blade content #i'm so excited to share her intro tbh oTL #Anonymous

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renaroo · 8 years ago

Text

Jude

Disclaimer: Hetalia and associated characters are the creative property of Hidekaz Himaruya. Warnings: political/ethical topics, allusions to the Holocaust, Nazis, racism Rating: T Summary: Neutrality is not as simple as it seems.

A/N: This was originally published with my joint account I shared with @theeffar in 2011 for our Hetalia works, and in my unending need to cultivate and streamline my online works, I’m reposting some of the ones I’m still proud of here and on my AO3.

[Edits - 2017] A HUGE thank you to afleisher2938 for correcting some of the words and facts in this story and helping me improve it! I appreciate it so much

When she made her way into the parlor where her brother usually waited for her, Liechtenstein found that Switzerland was not there.

Instead there was a man she had only seen a few times before.

On previous encounters with the President he had not seemed as thinned. His balded head was darkly shadowed in the many holds of worry found on his brow. A slight arch had begun in his back where his shoulders seemed to buckle under the weight of air. Despite it all, the front of his face was pacifistic.

Tension gathered heavily as he stared through the parted curtains of the window and Liechtenstein nimbly ran her pinky finger around the contours of her dress bow.

Her mind had ground to a halt and she waited dumbly for her big brother to make his return and properly re-introduce the two of them.

“You are Miss Liechtenstein,” the man said in a hoarse voice. The words carried themselves thickly in the air and seemed to surround her with accusation.

In spite of her best efforts, Liechtenstein struggled to force the worlds out. They first had to stumble across her tongue at a time her mouth felt like it was full of cotton.

“Y-yes,” she said with a polite bow, her chin tucking into her chest in a vain attempt to curl into a ball until the encounter was over. “Good to meet… ehm… It is good to meet… good to see you again, Herr bundespräsident. Oh, ehm, that is… Herr… Bundespräsident Etter.”

The fumbling had passed only with the conclusion of her end of the conversation. Tiny embers seemed to burn behind her cheeks and a noticeable quiver made its way down into her hands.

Fortunately, as she looked up to once more meet the gaze of the President of the Confederation, she only received a kind twinkle behind dulled, tired eyes.

“You may call me Philipp, Miss Liechtenstein,” he said in a flat tone that was very similar to her big brother’s. “You, after all, are a sovereign entity. I am merely the servant to your neighbor.”

Again, her cheeks seemed to flare but, at least, this was for a much more comforting reason.

“I am still a country only because of Big Bruder,” she said in a tone muted by her endearment. After a moment of reflecting on this fact she glanced back to the president. “He thinks very much of you. He was eager to have you visit.”

The man nodded in near indifference before uncrossing his legs and leaning forward. His elbows sunk into the fabric over his knees as he stared intently at the young Nation. She felt her stomach leap in illogical horror.

“I am always proud to serve my country,” he reason quietly, his fingers lacing as their respective hands met in the center of his body. “But I have asked Switzerland to step out. My cause for visiting today is not to do with him directly.” His eyes seemed progressively less kind the more focused they became on her. “It is to do with you.”

Biting on her lip to keep from gaping, Liechtenstein merely stared at the man. She felt like crying. “I do not understand.”

“So long as Liechtenstein is a protectorate of the Swiss Confederation it is important for her to agree and cooperate with the decisions of the Swiss government,” he explained dryly.

“Yes, of course,” Liechtenstein murmured, still unsure of what she had done to cause doubt in her brother’s boss.

He studied her for a moment before rubbing his chin. “Fräulein, I must know where you stand with the Nazi party.”

Blinking with great caution, Liechtenstein had to think over the question in her mind. Nibbling on her lip like a rabbit, she wondered if perhaps she had heard the wrong thing because she and her Prince had sworn their neutrality in the current conflicts just as Switzerland had.

“I am neutral,” she said quietly, only hoping that it was the answer he was searching for.

“This I know,” he shot down her hopes. “But I understand there are sympathizers with the Nazi movement within your country. I also understand there are sympathizers with the Jewish population as well. Perhaps even your Princess. Is any of this accurate?”

Her fingers began to curl into the fabric of her dress. “Herr Prussia raised me. I understand what he and Bruder Deutsch are doing. I just… ehm, I do not agree. A-and I know Jews deserve a home, too, and Big Bruder says that if someone comes over the border I have to let them have friends…”

“These are conflicting things, Miss Liechtenstein,” the man responded plainly. “You cannot do anything with your citizens who have German sympathies. I understand. But as long as you are a protectorate of this country you must attempt to not complicate these things further,” he explained before a dark look came to his eyes. “Do not accept anymore Jewish immigrants. We will be regulating your borders but you must not allow the Nazis to have reason to send their Waffen-SS into your nation. This would be devastating to both you and Switzerland.”

Devastating her royal family or big brother were both out of the question.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I-I won’t anymore.”

The easiest way to overcome the situation was to not attempt to address it.

Liechtenstein instead attempts to remain calm and carry on with her daily routines. She followed her big brother through the towns and mingled with his people and occasionally her own people. They had tea in the afternoons and made cheese fondue when the prices were reasonable for the ingredients.

Her mind had completely closed itself off to the war, to the disappearance of Mr. Austria, and the sullen faced immigrant hopefuls who approached her door.

In her mind, as refugees were scattered across Europe, Liechtenstein told everyone You Are Welcome.

Rarely was it the case.

But she could not close herself off to all that was occurring within the possessed states of her former neighbors. Not completely. Not after Yehuda crossed her boarder.

On that day Liechtenstein had been visiting with the Prince and his family. Despite the hardships endured by the entirety of the country, the gracious princess had begun a small tea party and invited their Nation to join them. Liechtenstein obliged.

After some pomp and circumstance, however, Liechtenstein grew tired of the bland dining hall when there was none of her own to keep her company. She missed her brother.

This led to the young girl stepping out into the garden which was still beautiful and green in spite of depressions and wars. It was filled with natural beauty and warmed her heart, until she saw that someone else was sitting on the bench.

Pausing in mid stride, Liechtenstein looked at the man. His eyes were sunk into his sockets and his hair was dripping wet. He smelled like cabbage and was concave and angular. The only thing that Liechtenstein saw was the gold star sutured on his chest.

“You’re Jewish,” Liechtenstein whispered, more to herself than the man. Her teeth worked nervously at her lip.

He looked up, quiet and uncertain himself, before smiling softly. Then, in a language meant only for Nation’s ears, he responded, “In many ways, so is a part you.”

And that frightened her. Liechtenstein knew it was true.

In utter silence, Liechtenstein kneaded the hardening dough.

Cooking was something she often did at her brother’s home. Backing was something else entirely. It was usually reserved for when she and Switzerland could do it together and it was a very rare and quietly celebrated occasion when they did.

Sweets cost money, after all.

Right then, however, Switzerland was in the den with the black clad men who had come to his door. He was discussing something serious, judging by Switzerland’s tone.

Liechtenstein felt as though her stomach was being squeezed and twisted inside her.

In spite of herself, she accidentally eaves dropped as their talk continued.

“The Nations of the Axis would like to implore you to join in their alliance, Herr Switzerland,” the chatty officer said with little regard for Liechtenstein’s attempts to not listen. He was practically shouting. “Austria himself said you were quite the capable warrior.”

“If Austria had said that then he also would have told you that you would be wasting your time,” Switzerland said sternly. “I am not interested in how the East feels like bullying its neighbors. And I won’t be ran over like Belgium.”

Liechtenstein was incapable of pocketing the much pleased smile that crossed her face. Her big brother was so brave.

“Very well,” the same one responded thickly. There was a noticeable change in his tenor and Liechtenstein knew he was not happy. “And as for the manner we discussed at large earlier—”

“Neither the Swiss Confederation nor the Principality of Liechtenstein are harboring fugitives from the Third Reich,” the Nation said more boldly. “We are not accepting the mass immigrations in general. Must I remind you again that we have no interest in your war?”

For the first time since he had entered, the loud mouthed officer was as quiet as his companion.

“I believe we are done here. Thank you for your time, Herr Switzerland,” he said solemnly.

“I don’t believe I need to remind you of the way out,” her brother’s voice carried with the sound of shuffling feet and a scooting chair.

On instinct, Liechtenstein toed her way closer to the kitchen door, just as the front exit shut behind two Nazi uniforms. Switzerland stood between the door facing and Liechtenstein. She felt only slightly comforted by it.

“Ehm… Switzy,” she muttered lowly, receiving his full attention almost instantly. “I-I’m sorry for eaves dropping, but I could not help but overhear some things you said.” Her face began to fall. “Big Bruder, we’re not in danger are we?”

“No,” he said without hesitation. “But we have to keep control of the Nazis. No rallying in our countries. And we mustn’t give them reason to invade us. Not a single Jew is to cross either of our borders, Liechtenstein. Do you understand?”

She was scared. But she understood.

Yehuda returned over the border again. He looked worse than before, to the point that Liechtenstein teared up when she saw him.

He wore an even larger star, scribbled around the German lettering were heavy ink marks of Hebrew. Yehuda held his chest up with pride as he wore it and strolled to the counter.

Liechtenstein looked to her brother. Switzerland’s hawk-like eyes had never left the other nation nor had his pistol which was taking aim for the other’s chest. Or, was, until a woman and a child came in behind him. Similarly, they were marked with golden stars.

“Hello, Liechtenstein,” Yehuda said with unusual levity. It seemed unnatural to come from such a thinned person with graying skin.

She rubbed her fingers together nervously but did not forget her manners. “Hello,” she responded quietly.

“You are not welcome here, Yehuda,” Switzerland interrupted. There was a dangerous gleam to his eyes. “You may have people within our borders, but they are now considered our citizens. We care for them. Not you. If you enter our lands then you will be putting ourselves, our people, and the people that you claim for yourself at incredible risk. Do you understand that?”

The woman behind the Jewish nation began to cry, holding the child in her arms closer. Yehuda shushed them both before looking back to the two with a half broken smile.

“Hashem yevarech etchem,” he sighed before looking more emphatically to Liechtenstein. She had let out a small squeak in response.

She never wanted this responsibility in her hands. It was unfair. It wasn’t her fault.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I have to protect my own people. You must understand.”

He nodded solemnly. “Ulai,” was all Yehuda responded with before gathering the woman and child up best he could and heading out toward the Austrian border again.

Liechtenstein felt sick but a reassuring hand on her shoulder seemed to make it melt away.

“What we do is not easy,” Switzerland said with coolly collective eyes on her. “It is even selfish in nature. But our obligations are to our own people first, Liechtenstein. Not the world.”

It made sense.

Prussia’s visit was unannounced and slightly unwelcome.

Liechtenstein usually preferred staying with her big brother for that very reason.

The cottage home in her land’s countryside has always been treated with the sincere and often misplaced affection of a child’s fort. It always made Liechtenstein feel like its invisible walls and gates were real and lulled her into a foolish sense of security.

It was very much like Prussia himself, full of nostalgia and hidden danger.

“I’ve become a fan of coffee lately,” her Germanic brother said despite taking the offered tea.

Liechtenstein nodded courteously before taking her own seat across from him. Her eyes were trained on him, not willing to let a single movement past her senses. It was just as Switzerland had taught her.

“West drinks so much coffee he is going to pop like a tick,” Prussia explained with a bit of disdain in his voice. “I tell him there’s no sense in drinking beer if you’re going to wash it out with foreign beans. But he won’t listen to me, will he? I’ll answer that! Of course not. It’s always about what his Boss says. The bastard. They’re wanting to take on Russia, and West and I tried to say that it was a bad idea. Stupid idea. They don’t care. They’re still trying to make up for losing to that pussy lil’ island.”

It took a lot out of her patience, but Liechtenstein managed to remain composed in spite of the slew of curses.

Prussia sighed and looked into his tea. “They’re going to tear him apart if they’re not careful, Liechtenstein. Just mark my words. He can’t lose Berlin again. He’s just too stubborn. He doesn’t pay attention to anyone, especially me. He thinks he’ll be able to do this all on his own. Dumbass. Where did he get that from?”

Liechtenstein quietly observed how, in spite of his concerns, Prussia seemed perfectly comfortable in his Luftwaffen Fliegerbluse.

The pot of tea was finished in silence. Then Prussia left with a nod and a crude word or two thrown her way.

He said to pass it on to Switzerland, which she never did.

When she looked at the clock she realized it had been four hours. He had never asked her a question. Probably because he knew the answers. Maybe because he didn’t care.

When it was dark, and Liechtenstein had checked the property twice, she briskly closed the shutters of the cottage and opened the loose floorboards. The family beneath thanked her kindly.

She then asked them, very politely, to try to make it to the Swiss border and then on into France. She never heard from them again.

Her brother never asked her if the rumors were true. He never had to. Liechtenstein could see in his eyes that he knew the truth.

When she stayed at his house in the spring, it became commonplace for him to polish his guns and gaze quietly out the window. He was not intentionally ignoring her, it just so happened that he was lost in his thoughts.

She sat down beside him.

“Why?” he asked lowly, almost as if it was not to her at all. “Why, Liechtenstein? Why would they need a second war? It makes no sense.”

The corners of her mouth tightened into a straight little line and she glanced down to her knees. “I don’t know, Big Bruder,” she said honestly.

“And how many times will the Nazis knock on my door looking for ‘criminals of war?’” he asked, slightly annoyed. Liechtenstein felt the point of this question more directly.

She did not answer more than a meek, “I don’t know why, Big Bruder,” she whispered. “I just did what I thought was right.”

He hesitated before turning his eyes slowly toward her. Switzerland was utterly absorbed in her words.

“It wasn’t because I was trying to be a hero or anything,” she continued. “There are certain things we should expect all people to do.”

They were silent after that. It was long enough for Liechtenstein to think upon her words, her actions, and everything in between.

Then there was a knock at the door and neither said a word because they knew who it was.

Switzerland stared into Liechtenstein’s eyes and, to her credit, she did not back down. He then sighed and made his way to the door.

Quietly, he let in Yehuda.

[Notes] *During WWII, Liechtenstein received pressure from both Nazi-occupied Austria and neighboring Switzerland to not accept Jewish refugees. *Phillipp Etter was President of the Swiss Confederation in 1939, 1942, 1947 and 1953. *A full monarchy at the time, Liechtenstein was ruled by Prince Franz Josef II during the Second World War. In the study I read he was not painted in a great light for his actions during this time period. *Ashkenazim is the word for "German Jews," or Jews from central European descent. This is a large population of current Israeli Jews. *"Hashem yevarech otcha." Hebrew. "God bless you." (Please correct this translation if I'm wrong) *"U-lay." Hebrew. "Maybe." *Switzerland here is not a villain, but meant to raise the opposing moral/philosophical point. Is it the responsibility of the country/government to care for the benefit of foreigners over the protection of their own citizens? Or, morally, is it wrong regardless? Because it is a point that needed to be made in a time as scary and uncertain as this and I think it's important to see/understand that fact before making any conclusions about the actions of the governments/countries of Liechtenstein and Switzerland. *Prussia: It is nearing the end of the war and morale is very down for Germans. *In the end, reports conflict about the intake of Jewish refugees by Switzerland and Liechtenstein. It's estimated that 400 Jews found sanctuary in Liechtenstein while some 27,000 found it in Switzerland. However, it's important to note that just as many if not more were turned away. I think it does give testament to something, however, that Liechtenstein granted 144 Jews citizenship. *The conversation Switzerland and Liechtenstein have in the end is to mirror the dubbed talk on the last installment of "Liechtenstein and her Wonderful Big Brother" where Switzerland explained why he saved Liechtenstein.

And that's all I have to say.

#writing #hetalia fic #APH: Liechtenstein #APH: Sweden #APH: Prussia #nazism tw #world war ii tw #holocaust tw

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