#Snafu fanfiction

[lovewriting-5]

A group of nurses and I were on two small planes with medical gear and supplies for the U.S. Marines stationed in Okinawa. When we got off the planes, the men were happy to see something other than their fellow Marines.

The men catcalled and gawked at us as we walked to our nurses station. Men in uniform were always a turn on. I wasn’t going to lie a lot of them looked really good. Some of the nurses liked the attention while others kept their cool. I wasn’t sure how to take it. Friends warned me to be careful before jumping on the opportunity to help. We got to our tent where we began setting up. I help set up check in tables while others set up check up stations with white curtains.

We were able to get through a quarter of the Marines when we were able to take a break. Some of the nurses went down to the beach while me and nurse Anne picked up some food from the mess tent and found a makeshift bench. We were sitting there talking when she stopped mid-sentence and watched behind me. I ask her “What are you looking at?” She tells me “Coming this way are two handsome Marines.” I spin my head to see what she was talking about. Walking our way was a Marine with brown hair, wearing a light brown shirt and Navy green pants. He was handsome but right behind him was a dark, curly haired Marine who wasn’t wearing a shirt. The second guy, I could see was a little muscular with his dog tags knocking against his bare stomach. As they walk past us, we make eye contact. My breath hitches as he winks. I look away quickly hiding my smile. Once they are out of sight, nurse Anne notices. She asks me “Were you just checking out that Marine?” I tell her in hopes that she buys it, “What? I was not checking out any Marine. Plus, this is our first day here...there are a lot of good looking guys.” She says “But none like that one.” I smirk. She adds “I could tell by the look he gave you that he likes what he sees.” I tell her “We should probably be getting back. Plus...I could bandage the scratches on his ribs.” She says “I knew you were checking him out.” We both laugh as I gave her a light push back to the station.

When all the nurses got back from their breaks, we had to finish up the day of check ups. While we were making sure we had our supplies for the next group, the nurses were talking about the men that came up to them. That’s when Nurse Anne says “(Y/N) might have found herself a Marine to have some fun with.” The other nurses gasped with excitement, they knew I wasn’t here for that reason. One nurse asked “What was his name?” I tell her “He didn’t tell me his name.” She asked “What do you mean he didn’t tell you his name?” I tell her “All he did was walk by.” Anne says “And she was liking what she saw.” I tell them “Okay...maybe a little bit.” The two of them giggled. The nurse turns to Anne, says “We’ll get the name for her. If he shows up let me know.” Anne tells her “She’ll get it before we do.” I roll my eyes with a smile. I walk back to the table where I check them in and send them off to a nurse.

As the men were going through the line, they would say “Why don’t you and I find some place private.” I said “Tempting but no.” When they go behind the curtain, a couple times I heard “Hello gorgeous, I’m ready for my full body check.” A few nurses flirted back. A dark, curly haired Marine appeared in line and in a Louisiana accent, asks “Hey, aren’t you the pretty nurse I saw earlier?” I look up from my list and saw that it was him. I tell him “Maybe. There are a lot of nurses around here.” He says “No, I’m sure I would remember you. How about you and me go back to my tent and you can give me a private check up?” The two nurses next to me, giggle.

“Your name?” I ask. He tells me “Corporal Merriell Shelton, but you can just call me Snafu.” I check him in and say “Corporal Shelton, you’ll go with nurse Beth.” He leans in close and says “Alright but I’ll be thinking of you the entire time.” I stifle a smile. He goes with Beth. I hear “Well...aren’t you the most beautiful nurse I have seen.” I huff.

The nurses were done for the day. We had the rest of the time to ourselves. Some of the nurses went to go find Marines to flirt with. Nurse Beth and I head down to the beach. We sat down in the sand, removed our shoes along with hats. As we look out to the ocean, she tells me “That Corporal had a lot to say about you.” I look down at the sand, begin drawing little circles and ask her “Which one was that?” She looks at me and raises an eyebrow.

Beth looks over my shoulder to behind me and says “You know exactly who I’m talking about. He is coming this way.” I look behind to see and I feel myself go a little red. Walking in the sand toward us was Snafu along with a light red haired, Marine. Loudly, Snafu says “Well, look here Sledge, we got two beautiful women waiting on the beach for us.” I ask “Oh, are you talking about us or two other women?” The red haired man, says “Come on, Snafu, they’re not interested.” Snafu tells him, “They are Seldge. They just don’t know it yet.” I say “You know I was just telling Beth here, that we were looking for two Marines to sweep us off our feet.” A small smile spread across Snafu’s face.

Beth asks “I was just about to go for a swim then get a drink. Sledge, was it? Would you care to join me?” I say “That sounds like a good idea. I’ll join you.” Beth says “No, you should stay here. Sledge?” Snafu nudges his ribs. He says as he rubs his ribs, “Uhhhh...yeah, I’ll join you.” Beth says “Great, let’s go.” They walk off toward the water. Snafu sits down next to me and says “Feisty, I like that in a woman.” I say “Really? I thought you went for looks.” He takes off his boots and begins making small talk. I said as minimal as I could. Out of curiosity, I asked “Why do they call you ‘Snafu’?” He tells me “There is no reason. One day the nickname just stuck and now it follows.”

We got up and walked down to the water. He told me about his family in Louisiana and I told him about mine. The two of us began flirting with each other more than earlier. We spent hours talking and hanging out. It’s hard to say but I’m think I was falling for his Southern charm. I ask him “Do you really think Beth is the most beautiful nurse you have ever seen?” He smirks. He says “I only did, cause you turned me down.” I ask him “Are you talking about your offer?” Snafu nods. I tell him “I didn’t exactly deny you, Snafu. I was on duty.” He perks up and asks “So, this means?” I tell him “It’s getting kind of late. I should probably be getting back to my tent.” He says “With the enemy out there...it can be pretty dangerous.”

I look out to the horizon. I say “Claire is staying with Anne tonight in her tent which means I’ll have the tent all to myself. So...if your offer still stands?” His face lights up. We pick up our shoes and my hat then make our way to my tent. We get to my tent and he says “I remember saying my tent.” I ask him “Do you want the private check up or not?” Snafu doesn’t say anything, he just follows me into the tent.

The door closes. He steps to me, places hands on my waist and kisses me. After 15 minutes, I begin breathlessly “So...about...this...check up....” I take one of his hands and lead him to the cot. I place a hand just below his ear then lean in and kiss him. He places a hand on my waist again and lowers me to the cot. With his help, I move to my side as he lays down next to me. While barely breaking the kiss, we spend the night together until the break of light.

#Snafu imagines #Snafu Shelton imagines #Snafu x reader #Snafu Shelton x reader #Snafu fanfiction #Snafu Shelton fanfiction #Rami Malek imagines #Rami Malek x reader #Rami Malek fanfiction #Rami Malek

[theywhowriteandknowthings]

Look at this amazing commission @littledozerdraws created for me.

SNAFU Frankie in his human and shifter forms 🥺🫶🏻

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #fanfic #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier fanart #dozerdraws #commission #fanart #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanart #shifter #shifters #snafu #triple frontier au #shifter au #francisco catfish morales #Frankie morales #Francisco morales #catfish morales #francisco morales x you #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x ofc #Frankie x IQ #art #artists on tumblr

[theweirdgoodbyes]

never asked me once about the wrong i did: chapter 2

tw: depictions of child ab*se, general Catholic suffering

Llewelyn gets his girl in trouble two years later, and poor Mama damn near dies of shame. She finds out when the girl’s daddy comes to the door hootin’ and hollerin’, demanding that Llewelyn make her honest.

They had all just gotten home from supper at Granmere’s, bellies full of etouffee, and were stripping out of their church clothes when all the hullabaloo began. Granmere had been real quiet that night, not even making her usual concerned comments about Merriell. She just sat in her rocking chair and rubbed her cross while they peeled crawfish, only stopping to touch that old thing to her forehead before going back to rocking. Mama always said she did that when she was praying real hard about something, something only she and God knew about. Sometimes Merriell feels like Granmere isn’t human like the rest of them, she’s something else from the other side, old as time itself, sent by God to see into his soul and spy on all his thoughts. Maybe that’s why she doesn’t love him as much as the other grandchildren; that him killing Vernon was just the precipice of the sins he’s committed, all of which can be laid out before her with just one glance. He still steals candy, still waits for Mr. Leconte to come home each night with bated breath, skips school now. At least he’s stopped chasing the poor cat, but Merriell isn’t sure that will save him from damnation.

None of them felt bold enough to open the bedroom door even a crack once they hear all the yelling, but curiosity has Merriell flat on his belly to peek under it, able to just make out Mama’s stockinged feet and an unfamiliar pair of shoes across the house. Daddy had run back to the docks quick after supper, leaving Mama alone to deal with this angry stranger. His brothers take turns pressing their ear to the door above him, quieter than they’d ever been as they try to piece together what the fuss is about. Llewelyn just paces the floor of their shared bedroom, biting at his nails.

“Oh, Llew, you one dead man,” Willard whispers when it’s his turn to listen, “Ain’t you know how to pull out?”

“Shut up,” Llewelyn says, still chomping away at his nails. Merriell’s never seen him look so scared, and it’s a fear he feels seeping into his own bloodstream. This is the worst thing any of them have ever done, far worse than stealing candy. He sees Mama’s feet begin walking towards the door, and scrambles back with a quick warning before there’s a sharp rap.

“Llewelyn,” Mama sounds as mad as a wet cat, “get out here, boy.”

Even though it’s Sunday, and Daddy doesn’t drink today, Merriell watches him beat Llewelyn harder than he’s ever seen when he gets home. Mama, who usually stays out of Daddy’s hair when he’s wailing on them so she doesn’t get hit herself, has to eventually throw her frying pan into the mix. She wacks Daddy hard on the back until he gets off Llewelyn, leaving him a blubbering blood-soaked mess on the kitchen floor. Despite how damn mean Llewelyn can be, Merriell has to stop himself from running over and trying to help his big brother. He stays at his spot huddled in the corner of the kitchen, unblinking eyes counting the spots of blood on the ground, easier to focus on the myriad of specks on the tile than his brothers shaking and sobbing body.

“You think that poor girl’s gon’ marry him with no damn teeth, John?”

Daddy relents, storming out of the house mumbling something about needing a drink, and slams the door behind him. At Mama’s command, Willard and Francis carry Llewelyn back to Granmere’s to get fixed up. She’s a traiteur, as good as any doctor they can find in these parts. She had been there at each of their births, helping Mama through the labors when Daddy was nowhere to be found. She had even been the one to dig the hole for Vernon, chanting in Creole and praying for his soul the whole time.

Merriell helps Mama clean the floor, pretending he can’t hear her cry as they scrub away all the blood. She doesn’t cry much, life and Daddy having made her hard. It breaks his heart to hear her but there’s nothing he can do, nothing any of them can do, to stop Daddy from being such a mean son of a bitch. Sometimes Merriell wishes him dead, and adds that to the list of evil thoughts Granmere and God can hear him think. When Mama goes to empty out the bucket of water and soap, he finds one of Llewelyn’s teeth on the ground, knocked straight out of his mouth and under the kitchen table. Without thinking, he stuffs it into his pocket before Mama can see. Long after the blood has been cleaned up and Daddy has stumbled home, Merriell lays in the bed he shares with Arthur and looks at the tooth. It’s a small, yellow thing and the jagged edges poke at his finger tips like a knife. He doesn’t know why he kept it, but finds some small comfort in rubbing it between his fingers. His own teeth have started to fall out and be replaced, and he feels bad for Llewelyn who won’t grow this tooth back. He presses it to his forehead, closing his eyes and praying to God like Granmere might.

Dear God, please forgive Llewelyn for his sins. Please forgive Daddy. Please forgive me. Amen.

A week later, Merriell finds himself back in church on a quiet Tuesday. They had all risen early that morning, been allowed to skip school but made to scrub their faces and underarms while Mama pulls a comb through their messy curls. She dons her best dress, a light purple number with a hat to match and does her best to keep a smile on her face.

“What a lovely day the Lord gave us,” she kept saying, fanning herself with her hand as they walked to the rickety old church. Daddy and Llewelyn walked ahead of them, Daddy with his hand firm on his son’s shoulder, either out of comfort or to keep him from running. Merriell wonders what they’re talking about, realizing he knows little about the man he calls his father. He can count on one hand the amount of times he’s had a conversation with him, finding that hiding away was his safest option. Daddy didn’t do much else aside from work, drink, and beat them silly; never much time for talking between those events. Mama did all of the childrearing, firm but loving while she did her best to keep them alive and out of trouble. His brothers accuse him of being a mama’s boy but Merriell doesn’t mind. He holds her other hand tight and has to take big steps to keep up with her hurried stride.

“It’s hot, Mama,” Robert complains, kicking at a rock.

“Hush. People pray for days like today,” Mama reminds them. “And don’t kick no rocks, boy, you gon’ scuff those shoes.” They continue their walk towards Llewelyn’s fate in silence, the Louisiana sun beating down hard like the fists of God.

“Ain’t this a crock o’ shit,” Willard mutters under his breath next to him as the ceremony progresses, pulling at the collar of his shirt. It’s a sweltering day in August and Mama’s rule of keeping their church shirts tidy has disappeared in favor of marrying off her son as soon as possible.

Merriell feels hot and sweaty all over, the sparsely filled church somehow stuffier than outside, shirt clinging to his back as he leans forward against the pews. Mama is up front with Daddy and Granmere, far enough where she can’t scold him for not sitting proper.

Merriell watches his eldest brother’s solemn face, still peppered with yellowing bruises, as he stands with his betrothed at the altar. She ain’t ugly, and Merriell thinks real hard to try to find something he finds attractive about her. She’s Creole like them, which is a blessing since Daddy would have surely killed Llewelyn if he knocked up a white girl, and has curly brown hair hidden under her veil. Merriell can see the curve of her belly poking out from her white dress, and wrinkles his nose thinking about how that baby got in there. He’s not ignorant to how babies are made, seen their cat go after more females than he can count and heard Willard and Victor gloat about their escapades. He just doesn’t understand what the fuss is about. He’s still young, he tries to convince himself, more concerned with fishing and helping Mama than girls and what they’ve got going on under their skirts. When he’s older, he’ll want to touch a girl the way his brothers brag about. He knows it.

“They in love?” He finds himself asking.

“You gotta be a damn fool if you think they in love,” Willard snorts, shaking his head, “Llewelyn love that she ain’t never say no to him. Look at him now.”

Merriell wonders what it’s like to be in love. He doesn’t think Mama and Daddy are in love; how could Mama love him with all the bad he does? Auntie Maude and Uncle Ed, little Eugene’s mama and daddy, might be in love; they’re real sweet on each other and steal kisses in Granmere’s kitchen when they think no one is looking. Merriell then wonders what it would be like to get married, now knowing that being in love doesn’t have anything to do with it. What it would be like to be kneeling up at the altar, in front of Mama and Daddy and God, binding yourself to another until the day you die. But when he thinks about who he might marry, as hard as he tries, none of the girls in his class come to mind. All he can see is Mr. Leconte’s face, hand pushing red hair away from his brow with a quick wink. The thought makes something in Merriell’s belly twist tight, and he squeezes his eyes shut to will the image away. He tries to trick himself into thinking he wishes Mr. Leconte was his daddy, someone nice and loving who kissed him goodnight, and that’s why he waits for him each night. The idea of a goodnight kiss brings that twisting feeling back, and he pinches his arm through his sweat-soaked shirt. Punishment for his thoughts, in God’s house of all places. When he opens his eyes again, he looks up to the windows and counts the stained glass panes until thoughts of Mr. Leconte and the heaving feeling in his heart fade away, replaced by the ringing of church bells marking the beginning of his brother’s loveless marriage.

Thanks for reading! I’m thinking this story will probably end up being around 5 or 6 chapters, depending on some ideas I have. I’ve been wanting to dive into snafus psychology and why he is the way he is (war trauma aside) so this chapter is pretty headcanon indulgent heehee

#hbo war #hbo the pacific #the pacific #fanfic #the pacific fanfic #the pacific fanfiction #sledgefu #snafu shelton #merriell shelton #eugene sledge #next chapter will be a time jump of about ten years! #Maddie writes

[malarkgirlypop]

LEMONADE Chapter 1 (Eugene Sledge x Fem!OC)

Hello! This is the first chapter to my new OC story. I hope you all enjoy! I love the Pacific and especially Eugene! Stay tuned for more chapters to come, I have some ideas of how I want this story to play out. I hope you all enjoy! This is based on the HBO show and the actors who portray the characters no hate to anyone involved.

“Something sweet?” I ask, handing out cool lemonade to the weary marines who pass by the table. The nurse beside me fills the cups, as I hand them out to the men. I make sure I smile and look them in the eye like Ellie had told me beforehand, “You can’t look at the ground Hazel, you have to look happy to be there!”. I was always shy in school, keeping my friends to girls. Boys scared me too much with their rough and tumble. I always liked to be neat and tidy, however the boys at my school were chaotic and dirty. My older sister seemed to be the same, until one day when she was 18, she arrived at the house with a man on her arm and declared him her true love, and that they were to be wed. They had come for my father’s blessing. I still remember the day vividly. 

I set the china down on the table with the knives and forks, the front door left open to let the cool breeze pass through the stuffy house. My father lounged in his chair, puffing on his pipe and reading the newspaper. As my mother fussed in the kitchen over the roast she had done. 

“Will Liesl be here for dinner Haze?” My father called from the lounge.

“She said she was going to Anna's house to see her new dog, she didn’t say when she would be home.” I called back as I straightened the forks. 

“Well she best be here quick, dinner is ready.” My mother chirped as she pulled the chicken out of the oven in a cloud of steam. The savoury smell filling the house. I put glasses on the table filling mine with cool water, my parents with wine. I heard the front gate’s signature squeak as it opened, I cast my eyes to the open front door. To my surprise my sister Liesl proudly marched up the front path with a man on her arm. Liesl walked with her head held high, I couldn’t say the same for the man she dragged along with her. His face was flushed, a sheen of perspiration on his brow. He sheepishly ducked his head as they entered the house. My mother appeared behind me holding a platter in her hands to put on the table. 

“Mother!” Liesl said proudly, “This is James, and I am going to marry him.” My eyes widened at her bold statement, I glanced back at my mother who had gone as white as a sheet. I could hear the grunt of my father getting out of his recliner. He ambled into the dining room. 

“Liesl, what on earth are you talking about?” My father inquired. 

“Sir!” James said, reaching forward to shake my father’s hand. He looked down at the outstretched hand in front of him and turned his gaze back towards my sister. James dropped his hand as he awkwardly put it back by his side, fidgeting with the suit jacket he wore. No wonder he was sweating. It was so hot today and that woollen blazer looked thick. I said nothing my eyes darting from one face to another, my sister look firm, James looked like he was about to faint, same as my mother, who had managed to put the chicken down on the table without dropping it from pure shock, my father wore a deep frown, one he mostly used when he was about to giving us a talking to. I flicked my gaze back to Liesl, to see what she was going to do next. 

“I came to ask for your blessing, Father. But I will still marry him even if you do not approve of it.” Liesl asserted, James cringed beside her looking rather uncomfortable. 

“Liesel, you cannot march into this house with a man we have never met and demand us to bless the marriage!” My father boomed in rage, I shrunk down even though I was not the one who was being told off. 

“How did you even meet? When did you meet? Who is he?” My mother blurted questions, as my father nodded in agreement. 

“We met a couple of months ago at the dance. He had moved from across the state and we knew it was love.” My sister answered the questions. 

“My god Liesl you cannot marry someone you met a couple of months ago!” My father said in outrage. 

“Father, I love him and he loves me!” Liesl screeched in anger.

“I do love your daughter dearly.” James interjected. 

“Pipe down blazer!” My father shut him down quickly. James’ mouth snapped shut. 

“Father, please I love him. I want to marry him!” Liesl begged my father who huffed in frustration. He turned towards my mother to gauge her opinion. Liesl gave her best big puppy dog eyes, that she knew my father had a hard time saying no to. He was soft for his sweet daughters, he loved us ever so much. Another sigh left his lips as he rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingers, trying to ease the headache that had come with the ordeal.

“Fine.” He said curtly. We all paused in shock, no of us even breathed. 

“Really?” Liesl beamed. A wide grin spread across her face as she rushed forward to hug our father, giving him a big kiss on his cheek. He shook his head, but he couldn’t stop the small smile that graced his lips. 

“Hazel, put out another plate for…” My father said, looking at James to help him finish his sentence.

“James White, but everyone calls me Jamie.” He said stepping forward, again reaching out for my father’s hand. He took Jamie’s hand giving it a firm squeeze as they shook. I’m sure it was meant as a silent warning. 

By the next weekend they had been wed, Jamie was a good man and loved my sister very much. They made a splendid couple, I don’t think I have ever seen my sister so smitten. But not long after the war had broken out. Jamie had enlisted and much to my sisters dismay he was shipped off with the Marines to the Pacific to fight the Japanese. After he had left my sister moved back in with my parents, not wanting to be alone. She cried herself to sleep every night, I heard her muffled sobs through the walls. Whenever she had received a letter from him she would read it back to front, enough times she could recite every word with her eyes closed. Then one day she had received a letter, but it was a letter you dread to see. It was from the military itself. She and I sat on the front steps together as she stared at the unopened envelope. 

“Do you want me to read it, Liesl?” I asked gently, bumping into her with my shoulder. She nodded wordlessly handing me the paper. I tore into the letter, pulling it from its sleeve. 

“Do you want me to read it out loud to you?” I asked again, not having opened the folded over paper, scared as to what it was going to say. My stomach knotted, as she nodded again. I flattened out the paper so I could read it. 

“We regret to inform you.” I started, as my eyes scanned the letter. My heart clenched, I took a deep breath. “That your husband James White was killed in action.” The words fell off my tongue. I didn’t bother to read the rest of the letter, not that it would be heard anyway. The howls from my heart broken sister filled the air. Tears welled in my eyes as I watched her rock back and forward screaming in agony. My mother was quick to appear from the kitchen. Wrapping her in her arms and stroking my hair as Liesl wailed. I let the tears from my eyes fall as I watched the scene unfold. My father stood in the doorway with his own red rimmed eyes. 

But that was years ago now. After Jamie had died Liesl wanted a job, anything to distract her from her grief. She applied to be a nurse, to help in the war and had dragged me with her. I was then freshly 18 but they were taking anyone who applied really. Liesl after her training, got moved to one of the basecamps where the men trained before they were shipped out. I, on the other hand, was put through more in depth training. Due to my bright nature I moved quickly through the classes they had for the nurses. The girls I was with were to be shipped off to the Pacific as well. To be based on an island where the men could be treated first, so that they didn’t have to send all of the injured people home.

#the pacific x oc #eugene sledge #snafu #ack ack #hbowar #I hope everyone likes it #Let me know what you think #thank you for reading #my OC #fanfiction #fanfic

[beefrobeefcal]

@theywhowriteandknowthings

merry christmas, knowy!

#merry crimas #bear pope meme #snafu fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal tummy #Santiago Pope Garcia is a bear #🥩

[caffeinated-fan]

Oh, look! It's that fanfic I talked about like four months ago, then never mentioned again! YAY!

Finally got this done, and I'm pretty proud of it? I'm way more comfortable writing stuff like this than ship/xreader.

The boys who died in the hills (4258 words) by Caffeinated_fan Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Pacific (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Eugene Sledge, Merriell "Snafu" Shelton, Andrew A. "Ack-Ack" Haldane, Edward "Hillbilly" Jones, R. V. Burgin, Bill Leyden Additional Tags: Death, Minor Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Thoughts of death, non suicidal thoughts of death, Whump, canon-typical whump

#caffe writes #the pacific #eugene sledge #merriell shelton #snafu shelton #the pacific fanfiction

[antigonenikk]

do i dare//disturb the universe?

words: 1621

chapter 1/?

pairing: eugene sledge/john “bucky” egan

summary: Eugene Sledge and John Egan are both adrift in the wake of the War. They find each other in a small bar in a small corner of Chinatown. And the rest, as they say, is history.

also posted on my ao3: @wintersangels69

"And indeed there will be time

To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”

Time to turn back and descend the stair,

With a bald spot in the middle of my hair —

(They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”)

My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,

My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin —

(They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”)

Do I dare

Disturb the universe?

In a minute there is time

For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse."

-The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

—————————————————————

There were certain things he couldn’t do anymore. Certain things he couldn’t take. And one of them was sitting still. After- well, after, there had been talk of sending him back stateside. Buck had headed back to Wyoming soon as V-E Day and went, and Bucky was right behind him. That was, before the goddamned Docs put a stop to it. As they so helpfully pointed out, Buck had had time to recover. Had been fed and watered and was back to looking like a real human being in between his rescue and his transfer back to East Anglia. Not so with Bucky. According to medical personal on base, Bucky wasn’t going to be able to go anywhere for at least six months. See, Bucky was down to 125 lbs, half his teeth had rotted out somewhere between Bremen and Berlin, he had sores all on his feet infected and peeling from frostbite, and to top it all off he had what the Docs were calling “mono-nueropathy of the upper limb” which really just meant that his left arm kept fucking twitching. Wouldn’t goddamn stay still. All of this combined meant that Bucky himself would have to stay still. And for a long time.

It was killing him, honest to God. Buck had given him a sort of sympathetic look before he was set to leave, standing awkward by his bedside. Like he was asking John for forgiveness. For what, he couldn’t be quite sure. For leaving maybe. But it seemed lately like Buck was always leaving. Those last few months marching from one camp to the next, he had started to forget Buck’s face. The color of his eyes. The way his eyebrow would twitch when he thought something was especially funny. All he could remember was the back of his head, gleaming and golden and leaving him. Always, always leaving. But that’s how it was, wasn’t it? With people like him. Unnatural, too loud, too brash, cloying and clinging and desperate for an ounce of human touch or feeling. It never worked. No matter what he did. Whether he was loud or quiet, strong or weak, joyful or stoic. He’d made himself into a million different men between the time of his birth and the time of his discharge from the military hospital, and none of them had ever warranted anything but the back of some poor fucker’s head. He’d had a lot of time to think on that, while recovering. He’d heard the boys in the middle of the night cry out, and he’d try and pace with his stupid fucking feet, and he’d stare out the windows as the nurses fussed over him, and he’d think. About Buck. About Leaving. About Home. About what any of it all meant now that he’d survived. What were you supposed to do, after you had spent years sure you would die, trying desperately to do anything you could to survive? What did it mean to live after all of that? It seemed to Bucky like everyone around him had it figured out. Everyone but him.

He wasn’t pathetic enough to follow Gale to Wyoming. He’d had a letter delivered two weeks before his release about the wedding. And that was great. Real great. He wanted to be angry, but he knew he wouldn’t have come to the thing even if he’d been able to, even if the wedding had been held off until he could walk on his own two feet. They were young, and in love, Gale and Marge, like two fucking little Dresden Dolls, perfect happy life perfect happy family. He would have ruined it anyways. And now there was no place for him. All those nights, the soft brush of a hand in his hair, whispering, love you, Buck, love you, and never once hearing it in return. There was no place for him there. They discharged him in April 1946, after months of grueling recovery and only a handful of letters, and he headed out for somewhere. Somewhere else.

From the top deck of the boat, crowded on all sides, he could feel the breeze in his hair, and it didn’t feel like freedom should have. It just felt like more nothing.

—————————————————————

He was back on Peleliu in the dream, for some reason. Sid was above him, blood leaking from his open mouth. He hadn’t known what to do. He tried to call for a Corpsman, but the words wouldn’t come. He couldn’t move his arms couldn’t move his legs just the oppressive heat drowning him. And then he’d felt fingers in his mouth, and he’d looked up, and there was Merriell, his glacier blue eyes wide with unhinged glee, a knife in hand, tearing out his back molar. He tried to scream, tried to tell him. It’s me. It’s me. But the image shifted. And instead of Merriell it was him, Eugene, grinning at him beneath the pelting rain. He pulled out his own teeth, one by one, his face in an approximation of a smile, laughing, and then-

He woke up silently. He couldn’t help it if he tried. The memory of that noise, the shovel hitting the poor fucker whose name he never learnt, the memory wouldn’t let him ever get to anything but a choked out whine in his sleep. No matter how bad the dreams got. His mind knew, vaguely, that he was back home. But his body was still on that airfield, in the middle of a warm wet hell, saying, “It was him or us.”

He wasn’t gonna be able to sleep. So instead he wandered downstairs, watching the sun rise through the curtains. College, of course, had been a bust. He was technically on break and set to return in the fall, but he knew deep down he wasn’t going back. Couldn’t stand to look in the eyes of people his age and see souls lurking back there. The resentment within him bubbled up each time he saw souls that still lived and breathed and hadn’t been left back with a crying baby in Okinawa. And besides, he couldn't stand their smug indifference, as if any of them knew what it had been like in the thick of it. Half of them hadn’t even served, and the other half kept talking about the European Theatre like it meant something to him. They’d been back home for a year before he’d had an inkling of returning to the waking world, and it showed. While they celebrated Hitler’s defeat he was in a foxhole being shot at, losing his humanity inch by inch.

Part of him wanted to go to New Orleans. To ask why. Why. Why wasn’t he good enough for Merriell? Why did he leave him there, sleeping, on that train bound for Alabama? Part of him wanted to run down the street to Sid and Mary’s house and start screaming at the both of them. “I used to fuck your husband! I used to fuck him! And he left me there without saying fucking goodbye! He didn’t warn me!”

He didn’t warn me. And now it was all too late. He wouldn’t go back to school. And he’d been trying to survive for so long he couldn’t kill himself. And he couldn’t stand the thought of New Orleans and the rejection he’d find there. And going to Sid’s was really just a funny little fantasy, something to indulge in when he was feeling real low and wanted to cry for the sake of crying. There was nowhere left to go, nowhere really. And he couldn’t stay here.

The urge to flee came inside of him and started tapping at the walls of his chest. He had to get out of Mobile. He had to leave, now.

In his room he spent an hour packing the essentials. His Bible from the War tucked into his back pocket. A few changes of clothes. Soap and a razor and a second pair of shoes. A book by Eliot. It was funny. Before the war, he always thought Eliot was a real sop. Could never get into the lilting rhymes. But now, it seemed reading Four Quartets or Alfred Prufrock was the only thing that could get him to calm down when the noise reached unbearable levels inside his own head.

There was only one thing for it, really. New York. The idea called to him, deep in his bones. He could feel it. He could belong in New York. He could be as inverted as he wanted to be and no one would bat an eye if he picked the right neighborhood. He could hide among the faces of strangers and forget that the word sledgehammer existed in the English dictionary. It would be like Peking. Which he had learned to love so dearly. The noise and the beautiful tonal language, the bright lights and the rickshaws. Maybe he’d move to Chinatown even. He knew the language alright, and he’d never felt as at home as when he was dining with one of the host families last winter. Yes. Yes. This would be good. This would be a fresh start.

He left a letter to his parents. He didn’t want to give it more thought than it needed. A swift separation was for the best. It was only a matter of time before they too got sick of him, and sent him to the hospital, having seen the weakness and the black ooze at the heart of him.

By noon he was on a train headed due North, set to run into the open embrace of a new city. Set to run straight into the back of one John Egan.

#fanfiction #cranked this bad boy out at 4am lmaoooo #im dedicated to this crossover pairing now so beware!!!!! #john bucky egan #john egan #eugene sledge #the pacific #masters of the air #post canon au #i love u buck i love u snafu i love u sid but u guys r not in this one !! #i decided to singlehandedly END the yearning train #yearning js out being madly in love with ur boyfriend in new york is IN #they should have been at the club and so im writing them at the club!!! in the next chapter lmao #its going to be giving scudder maurice vibes ok its going to be giving second chance at love love at first sight vibes #i promise ill finish this fic it wont be like my stranger things one

[raccoonskoodilypoopdungeon]

My Duel Academy Life is Wrong as I Expected Chapter 3 - Azaleas Do Not Bloom At Night No Matter How Beautiful the Moonlight 

Fandom: My Teen Romantic Comedy SNAFU, Yu-Gi-Oh!

Series Summary: Having zero passion for Dueling or even Duel Monsters, Hachiman Hikigaya is the last person you would expect to even attempt to enter the most elite high school for upcoming Pro-Duelists and Card Designers in Japan and yet here he is. Wielding an Ojama Deck, this loser loner is forced to butt into the lives of other students after his dorm Resident Advisor, Professor Hiratsuka Shizuka, forces him to join the Service Club along with Yukino Yukinoshita, the Ice Queen of Obelisk Blue. Together, their clashing personalities and viewpoints must compromise as they attempt to solve problems around Duel Academy Island.

Chapter Summary: Yukino Yukinoshita and Hachiman Hikigaya are meeting alone on a beautiful moonlit night. Of course, romantic comedies don't exist in reality. They're simply meeting up to Duel and see whether a Slifer Red really can intrude himself into an Obelisk Blue's life.

AO3 Link

Excerpt:

“I draw for turn,” I declared. 

“Well, what miracle card have you drawn?” she asked, smirking and crossing her arms.

“Harpie’s Feather Duster,” I told her, activating the card. 

“Response!” Yukinoshita said. “I chain Sky Striker Mecha – Shark Cannon! I target Ojama Blue in your GY.”

“No effect to chain,” I responded.

“Chain resolution will occur,” she declared. “Sky Striker Mecha – Shark Cannon banishes the Ojama Blue in your GY.”  Raye, in her Shizuku outfit, brought her fists together and produced a black, two pronged cannon which blasted a yellow sonic wave towards me.

“Then Duster will resolve.” A large, green feather duster appeared and swept Yukinoshita’s backrow, destroying them.

“Relying on those kinds of cards,” she said. 

“Hm? Is there something wrong with staples?”

“Of course.” She smirked. “Cards not part of an archetype, deliberately designed to be slottable in any Deck. Well, put simply, these cards are only used by weak Decks because the strong have no need for them.”

I clicked my tongue.

“Or perhaps you need to be refreshed of the first lesson you learn as a Duelist: not all Decks are created equal.”

“So every card in your Deck is part of the Sky Striker archetype?”

“Naturally.” She flicked her hair back. “A strong Deck and a good Duelist have no need for such cheap tricks.”

“Then I’ll continue with my turn with cheap tricks.”

“Please do.”

#yahari ore no seishun rabu come wa machigatteiru #yahari ore no seishun love come wa machigatteiru #yahari ore no seishun rabukome wa machigatteiru #my teen romantic comedy snafu #my teen romantic comedy is wrong as i expected #yugioh #yu-gi-oh #ygo #fanfic #fanfiction #fan fiction #ao3 works #ao3 link #ao3 fic #ao3 fanfic #crossover

[alottanothing]

The Beginning of Us

Summary: Mer and Evie's relationship blossoms amidst the charm of the New Orleans backdrop.

Previous Part: The Favor

Word Count: 5890

Warnings: none really, just a bit of language

Tag List: @ramilicious, @txmel, @edteche2, @gloriousdarkangelsworld, @diasimar, @freebooter4ever, @itswormtrain  (Let me know if I missed you, or if you would like to be added to the tag list)

Make a request for this series!

This is a request going out to my darling @diasimar! #76 on my list--“I notice when you stare at my lips, you know. You can just kiss me and get this awkward part out of the way.”

A/N: Okay, let me start by apologizing for how long it took me to get this part pumped out and posted. My life got crazy for a hot minute and as a result, my muse went kaput. I'm hoping it will stick around for a while as I've barely scratched the surface of this series. I've got lots outlined and planned, so be patient with me and you'll get it, I just don't know how often, unfortunately. That said, I hope this was worth the wait. I'm so grateful for those of you who continue to read, like, reblog and comment on my work. It truly means so much to me. Thank you. :)

It was a month before Merriell cashed in his I-Owe-You tokens and officially took Evelyn on a date. Despite her assurance she didn’t mind him sporting a few bumps and bruises on their evening out, Mer had his mind set that he needed to be in ‘tip-top shape’ before he took her anywhere. Evie argued—eager to spend a night on the town with Merriell—right up until he insisted on making sure none of the pain stole away a moment of their time together. That was difficult to argue, and while Evelyn understood his reasoning, those four weeks felt like an eternity.

Thankfully, during all that time, Evie had her hands full trying to juggle work, an art commission, and playing nurse to her injured host. And while Merriell didn’t play into his injuries like most of the men she knew, keeping him still was like trying to pull teeth.

As the doctor instructed the night she’d brought him home, the best road to recovery for bruised ribs and busted knuckles was rest, and keeping movements to a minimum—something Merriell was not keen on. Like a toddler, Mer grew antsy quickly. Nothing kept his attention like tinkering in his shed or working his magic in the kitchen; spending all day, all but chained to the sofa was akin to a prison sentence for Mer.  Evie felt bad for him, but she also couldn’t shake the idea of being responsible for his injuries, thus she did everything in her power to ensure he healed well and was as entertained as he could be.  Evie even went so far as to enlist the help of Mrs. Gates next door to stay with him while she was at work both to give Merriell some company while he was recovering and to make sure he didn’t sneak off to his shed and aggravate his condition.  

Admittedly, those first two weeks were the worst; however, Evelyn admired her own tenacity. Merriell was shameless: layering on the charm and tossing her those smiles as often as possible,  doing everything he could in a not so sly gambit to persuade her away from all of her caretaking and the rules she’d set for him. Every time he cast her a grin, coupled with a slow blink, Evie’s heart pounded and her stomach filled with butterflies but each time she held fast to her composure and refused to let him have his way.

By the end of the third week, Evelyn (and Merriell, for that matter) could breathe a little easier. His hand was healed, and the bruising on his ribs was starting to fade. Only then did Evie loosen the reins some, allowing him to venture back to his workshed but only when he was fiddling with something less complicated than his usual projects. He obliged to that request with no hesitation, happy, it seemed, to be seated back amidst the grease and grime of his workspace once more.

Some days he even followed her to work, spending the day chatting to patrons as though he’d known them his entire life, and perhaps maybe he had. Evie liked hearing the soft tones of his voice or his deep intoxicating chuckle resonating through the general store as she worked, it kept a smile on her face; one she would miss when he was well enough to return to his own work.

After a day at Birdie’s, Mer would tag along and watch her paint the mural, adoration beaming from his expression the entire time she worked.

The most surprising thing about those four weeks leading up to the date he was owed, was the fact that Merriell’s flirting never escalated past the usual wit and charm Evie was used to. After agreeing to the date he wanted, Evelyn expected all of his smirks and glances and comments to cross the line of friendly into something a tad lewder. However, Mer remained kind and respectable, something Evie felt to be new territory for him and somehow only made her want him all the more.

***

The day of their big date arrived with ample sunshine and a wave of customers who proved to be nearly too many for Evie and Birdie to handle.

It wasn’t uncommon for the little general store in the quiet township of Bridge City to welcome a steady influx of shoppers; that day, however, the people seemed endless. To make matters worse, Merriell had left her that morning with a bouquet of wildflowers, a quick kiss on her cheek, and a smile that had all but knocked her to her knees. Nothing—not even a surge of needy customers—was strong enough to combat the blinding fog of anticipatory fervor Mer’s charm had evoked that morning.

He'd rendered her utterly useless with only a smile.

Focusing on even the most menial tasks was impossible; her workday was plagued with daydreams, wrong change, and uncounted inventory. When she left early, feeling both a fool and a hindrance, Evie apologized to poor Birdie for being so scatterbrained. The old woman only laughed and smiled, waving her hand dismissively, claiming there was no reason to be apologizing.

“You two just have fun t’night, dearie.”

Evie had one foot out the door when she turned, blinking with her brows furrowed in Birdie’s direction.

“How’d you—”

“Merry told me.” She grinned—giddy to a degree. “You best be gittin’. That boy’ll be off in a few hours.”

Evelyn glanced at the clock, “Right—see ya, Birdie.”

Mer, being in his words “fit as a fiddle”, was back to work, and that morning he’d caught a ride with a colleague so Evie would have his truck to get home.  It was a beat-up old vehicle, but Mer’s constant upkeep had it running so smooth Evie always enjoyed being behind the wheel. On her way out of town, she made sure to stop by the grocery to let Jay Jr. know she wouldn’t be working on the mural that evening and he grinned, offering her a cheerful “You an’ Merriell enjoy yourselves!”.

She stopped, one foot out the door, again, with a peculiar smile on her face, still not used to the quirks of living in a small town: everyone knew everything. And while most would find such well-wishes an invasion of privacy, Evelyn felt heartened by the collective joy everyone seemed to throw their way. Strangely, she liked knowing that a handful of people were rooting for the two of them. The thought put the flitting butterflies in her stomach at ease as she drove through the southern countryside with the windows down and the wind whipping through the loose tendrils of her braided hair. Her heart was full, and her soul felt warm; her skin tingled and the smile on her face was well-rooted. The anxiety she felt was not some foreboding force but an intuition that she reveled in.

Nothing was going to keep her from venturing down the road Merriell had invited her to tread with him, and Evelyn hoped that path would lead her to a much-needed happiness they were both in need of finding.

The Shelton House, nestled prettily among the landscape was quiet when Evie parked the truck in its usual spot under the large oak, beams of sun filtering down to dance across the faded dash of the vehicle. A sigh parted her upturned lips as she took a moment to relish in the emotion, and the surrounding splendor before hopping out of the truck to make her way to the artsy corner of Mer’s workshed.

Merriell wouldn’t be home for a few hours, which meant she had time to kill in her makeshift studio. With inspiration buzzing in the tips of her fingers, Evie sat at her drawing table and began to sketch. Lately, the focus of her muse was the beautiful stranger who’d stolen her heart the day he’d fixed Jonny’s old car. Whether it was a simple, quick rendering of a smile Mer tossed her way, or a detailed, wannabe masterpiece of him lounging across the porch swing while the breeze tousled his curls, Evelyn could not keep from putting his spirit on some form of canvas.

However, as she sat alone, charcoal in hand, Evie found herself sketching remnants of him.

A still-life of sorts was beginning to take shape on the page in front of her: a depiction in gritty detail of his corner of the space they shared. From the soft, yet still grungy, textures of his shop towel—stained and ratty, slung haphazardly over his stool—to the tangle of mechanical parts strewn across his workbench, she captured it all. He’d left his coffee mug next to the ashtray where several stubbed cigarettes were left forgotten, to give the scene an even richer narrative.

To anyone else, it was nothing more than a mess of greasy barbels. But to Evie, everything held Merriell’s signature, and she smiled.

When her eyes wandered from her artwork to the dusty clock on the wall, she found that nearly two hours had flown by.

“Damn!” she cursed. Abandoning her tools, she bounded from her stool and raced inside.

Without taking the time to let the water heat up, Evie washed—mindful not to get her braid wet—and scrubbed away the toils of her workday along with the charcoal on her hands. By the time she heard Mer come home, she was already barricaded in her borrowed room, fretting over what to wear for the evening.

Never in her life had she ever been on an honest-to-god date. Most fella’s her age were shipped off to war before they properly entered the dating scene, and the ones that didn’t go to fight only had eyes for gals like her best friend—a beautiful blonde bombshell. The lucky girls found a man in high school—again, like Cynthia. Evie wasn’t envious; she'd had Charlie (Cyn’s brother) to fawn over in their school days, but the feelings she’d had for him couldn’t hold a candle to how she felt about Merriell.

Evelyn would always treasure the time she had with Charlie—always miss him—but looking back, he was nothing more than a dear friend.

As she stood at the wardrobe, mind full of bittersweet memories, Evie shook her head, feeling frustration slowly steep into her good mood. Mer made a point of keeping the details of their evening vague. All she knew was he planned to take her into New Orleans, and that he’d picked out “someplace nice” for dinner.

“Casual,” Evie mumbled to herself, weighing her options. “Elegant casual?”

She had no idea.

There weren’t a lot of options for her to choose from. Most of her wardrobe consisted of her mother’s hand-me-downs, none of which were rags by any means, but they had gone out of fashion nearly a decade ago.

She ran her fingers over the familiar fabrics, her mind brimming with memories of a not so far away past, knowing how much her mother would have loved Merriell. It made Evie’s heart ache to think she would never know him.

With a sigh, Evelyn drew a curtain to the thoughts of her family and chose a baby blue cotton dress from her own collection. The fit was just snug enough in all the right places to make Mer’s mouth water, a notion that pulled a smile onto her features.

She paired the dress with a pair of white pumps, adding a simple dash of makeup before untangling her braid. Evie did her best to work the waves into a pretty volume with a few brushes of her fingers, pinning it neatly where it needed until she felt confident in her appearance.

A content expression unfurled across her face as she glanced at her reflection; she almost looked as pretty as the women in all the cigarette ads. As she stood marveling and swaying—watching the movements of her skirt in the mirror—three gentle knocks tapped on her door.

Immediately Evie’s heart began to pound, a small gasp of excitement pushing past her lips. She was quick to the door, but her hand hovered over the brass doorknob long enough for her to take in a deep, calming breath before she pulled it open.

Without hesitation, Merriell’s eyes drank in the sight of her from head to toe, delight bursting on every corner of his face until he finally licked his lips and whistled softly.

“You sho are pretty…”

There was a slight hint of awe and disbelief in his tone, as though he couldn’t believe she was standing in the door way, ready to go on a date with him.

A blush rose to color Evie’s cheeks, and she let her gaze travel up and down his frame as well. There wasn’t a single trace of grease or dirt in sight. He smelled of rich cologne—not the cheap stuff he usually wore—a scent that tickled her senses delightfully. Even more alluring were his freshly shaven jaw and his slicked-back curls. She had never seen him look so much like a gentleman. He was entirely too handsome.

“You clean up pretty well yourself,” Evie said, batting her lashes and smiling.

Mer’s grin grew, her compliment lending him more confidence, making his posture grow prouder as he turned to offer his arm.

“You ready, darlin’?”

She was staring at the curl of his lips when she nodded,  fervor bursting in her heart as she linked her arm around his.

Walking arm in arm with Merriell felt effortless; it made her dizzy almost. She was eager but did her best to reign in some of the emotions, trying to match his glowing demeanor. She could tell Mer was just as excited as she was, but his joy—while not reserved, per se—was calm and enchanting. Still, Evie found it difficult to combat each charming smile he cast upon her; every innocent touch sought to melt her composed exterior.

Mer was blessedly free of his masks; the genuine upturned expression he wore never fell as he led her to his truck and helped her into the passenger seat. Even as he drove, the jovial look stayed fixated on his features the entire ride into town. Seeing him so at peace and happy in her presence only made Evie that much more thrilled to be with him. All the shadow that had clouded them both seemed so far away as they journeyed into the neighboring big city.

The sun was beginning its slow descent when the flourishing city of New Orleans sprouted around them, and immediately Evelyn felt a spasm of exhilaration shudder through her.

She’d only been to the neighboring city once: the day the train dropped  her and Jonny into the bowels of the unknown. There’d been a naive sort of hope bursting in her heart that evening—one she would have to wait 18 long months to fully find—though, admittedly, she’d paid little attention to the beauty of the new metropolis around her. But as Mer wove the city streets with expertise, Evie was nothing short of enchanted.

A certain charm lingered in the atmosphere that most cities lacked; New Orleans sparkled with the grandeur of a thriving city akin to New York but held fast to the small-town  ambiance Bridge City harbored. There was color in every building, character, and old narratives that invited the creative soul Evelyn nurtured. Perhaps the magic only stemmed from the city’s newness. Even so, New Orleans felt like a dream she would not soon be ready to wake from.

“It’s so beautiful,” she mused, an awed smile on her face as she marveled out her window.

“Bienvenu dan le grand facile, charie.” [Welcome to the Big Easy, darling]

Suddenly, the view out her window lost some of its luster as she turned her spellbound expression to Merriell.

“You can speak French?” she gasped. Just when she thought he couldn’t be any more charming…

Mer beamed a proud grin that was oozing that arrogant charm she was so drawn to.

“Oui, tres bien.” [Yes, quite well] he said, smile growing. “Le faites vous?” [Do you?]

“Not well,” Evie confessed. “I know a few phrases—Pa was stationed in France during the Great War, so he tried to teach my brother and me, but it never stuck. You speak it beautifully.”

“Ah merci, mon cher.” [Ah thank you, my dear]

“Do you plan on speaking French all night?” Evie smirked, brow raised.

Honestly, she wouldn’t have minded, she just wished she’d had the foresight to pay more attention to her father all those years ago.

Merriell chuckled and shook his head.

“I ‘spose I shouldn’t, seems as how you wouldn’ understand mucha what it is I’m sayin’.”

Evie laughed too, caught up in a whirlwind brought on by the city, the setting sun, and Mer himself. Her face almost hurt from smiling, although she couldn’t be bothered. That was a pain she would be willing to endure any moment, for as long as she lived.

“Did you learn to speak it in the service?” she asked, finally feeling like it was okay to dip her toes into the pool of Merriell’s past.

His grin, however, lost a significant amount of its splendor—fighting off a mask from taking over his expression—before he shook his head.

“Nah—” he said vaguely. “My Momma’s maiden name was la Roux. Her family’s been in these parts forever, every one of ‘em spoke French. So she made damn sure my sistah and me spoke it too.”

Evie watched the corners of his mouth slowly quirk back into a soft grin as the thought of his time in the service became veiled by happy memories of his childhood.

“We was babblin’ in French as kids before we evah spoke a lick of English,” he mused before pulling the truck along the curb to park.

He was looking at her softly when Evie’s eyes met his, bestowing another look that seemed in awe somehow, never mind how reserved it was. For Merriell, actions spoke louder than words, and she could see in his eyes everything she felt inside of herself glittering in the green of his irises.

“This place okay?” he asked, looking pointedly out her window.

Evie followed his glance to find a quaint, but upscale bistro just past her window. The front patio was nestled among a garden of flowering plants and hanging ferns, each one seeming to glow from the flickering candles laid at the center of every table. Somewhere jazz music played, which served to make the glory of the corner eatery even brighter.

“This is perfect,” Evie murmured, struck nearly speechless with enchantment.

Merriell wasted no time springing from his place behind the wheel to her side of the vehicle to open her door and take her by the arm like a true southern gentleman. The only crack in his charade was that devilishly charming smile that reeked of rascally behavior.

The host seated them at a table on the patio—upon Mer’s request—that was far from many of the other patrons. Each empty table and the lush greenery surrounding them garnered the illusion of privacy which made the evening quiet and intimate. Evie’s heart was pounding as Mer graciously pulled out her chair, making her wonder how far he was going to take the whole Prince Charming act.

After weeks of living under the Shelton roof, she knew Merriell was happiest covered in grease, cursing like a battle-hardened Marine, smoking and drinking more than his share. And while he’d always been kind and respectful, Evie doubted he had a habit of performing so reverently with other women he courted. Under all that charm and pleasantness, he was a scoundrel, which, for Evie, only made him even more alluring.

In fact, Evelyn derived a hint of confidence from his supposed caution; he wanted to take his time with her. She was someone he wanted more from than a couple of nights of pleasure before moving on.

At least, Evie hoped that was the case…

When the waiter came to take their order, Mer asked for a bottle of wine: a French vintage with a name he articulated perfectly. The sound of his deep voice forming those foreign words prickled her skin with goose bumps and she felt silly for finding something so simple so beguiling. Neither of them said much right away, caught up in the magic and the nerves that were usual for a first date. Even when their food came the two said little more than how good their dinner tasted. It was strange to share a meal unaccompanied by a story or a joke: conversation always flowed for them so effortlessly. And yet as they sat tongue-tied before their entrée, the quiet was serene instead of awkward. There was more in the way Merriell smiled or the way he glanced at her from across the table than any words either of them could piece together. Neither one of them wanted to mess up.

By the time each of them had two glasses of wine, both seemed to once again find the conversation they were used to having.

“So,” Evie began emboldened by her drink. “Where is this elusive sister of yours whose bed I’ve been sleeping in?”

Her buzz fostered the confidence she needed, and ebbed the caution she usually held when it came to asking Mer personal questions. It helped that he’d taken the initiative to ask her on a date; she meant more to him than a simple friend, thus, Evie felt entitled to have a peek behind the curtain. She yearned to know more about him than his interest in mechanics and his ability to speak French.

“Mills?” The corners of his mouth quirked into a strong smile.

They’re close—she deduced: a thought that filled Evie with enveloping warmth.

“Millie got a scholarship ta one of those fancy schools up north on the coast—don’t ‘member which one.”

“A scholarship?” Evie’s brow hooked high, she was both impressed and intrigued.

Merriell nodded, “yup. Beat out a bucha fella’s for it too. She’s a brat, an’ a brainiac, but there ain’t a soul on earth more proud of her than I am.”

Seeing such genuine softness in the expression on his face made Evelyn’s heart swell.

“Soon as her schoolin’s done for the summah, she’ll be comin’ back till fall.”

“That’ll be nice,” Evie mused, her smile fading somewhat, jealous to a degree that he had family to still welcome home.

Both were quiet for a beat, his eyes watchful, and she wondered if he could read the grief that dwelled in her mind from the waning smile on her face.

“Can I ask you a question?” Mer spoke gently a moment later, his devil-may-care bravado taking on a serious tone.

“Of course.”

“Why the Hell did you come runnin’ so far south with a fella like Jonny?”

There was hesitance in his voice, but compassion as well. Curiosity drove his question, not anger or his want to lecture her on her foolish choices. Evie was thankful for that—more than tired of Cynthia’s endless scolding. Even so, she sighed, unsure where, or how to begin her answer.

“Well, that’s it—I ran away. Jonny was just my free ticket somewhere else that happened to come with some unfortunate fine print.”

“But why’d you run?” Mer asked, concern brimming in his expression. “I don’ mean to pry, an’ you don’ have ta tell me, but that’s an awful long way ta run.”

“It is…or was…” Evie agreed, eyes falling to where her fingers traced the bottom of her wine glass, taking a moment to work through her memories.

“I was close to my family—really close…and I lost them.” It felt good to talk about it, and flush out the wound. “My pa died fighting in Europe, and my brother went missing behind enemy lines not long after that. Ma got sick in the midst of it all—couldn’t shake it. But, I think it was losing my pa and my brother that got her in the end…almost got me too.”

Evie swiped at a tear before it could ruin her makeup.

“I ran because I couldn’t stand being in a place they weren’t in anymore.”

Mer reverently hung his head.

“I know what that’s like—I’m sorry you lost people you care about.”

“I’m sorry too,” Evie murmured, reaching to take his hand in hers across the table.

She squeezed his fingers, and Mer glanced up to meet her gaze before she spoke again.

“Birdie told me when you came home from fighting, everyone you grew up with—”

“Everyone’s got ghosts now—you ran from yours. I bottled mine up.”

He released her hand to take a long drink from his wine glass, downing almost half of it.

It was clear the war and his past were still a tender subject for him; they required a certain level of vulnerability he was still not keen on showing just yet.

“Do you think you’ll ever unbottle them?”

He shrugged, “I like ‘em bottled—helps me sleep at night.”

She nodded her understanding, deciding not to press him any further; the air was swiftly becoming a cumbersome impediment that sought to ruin an otherwise wonderful evening.

Evie’s eyes drifted back to the smooth bottom edge of her glass where her finger absently brushed back and forth while Mer fidgeted across from her: gnawing his bottom lip. Her periphery caught him as he ran his hand through his hair, disrupting the product enough for some of the volume to return to his curls. There was a furrow on his brow, but no anger on his face, just traces of emptiness and that sadness he only showed when he thought she couldn’t see him. Despite the wrinkle in his expression, Evelyn laid her focus on his freshly tousled hair. Somehow the softness of his boyish curls was powerful enough to combat the gloom—for her at least.

Evie let another moment pass, watching the line of Mer’s face fade incrementally before finishing her drink and clearing her throat.

“My brother used to send letters home,” she said, her tone soft.

If he was uncomfortable speaking openly about his experiences, then perhaps she could coax some out of him by talking about her own.

“He would touch on the horror he was seeing, but mostly he talked about the guys he was with. It was easy to tell in the way he wrote about them that they were like his own brothers.”

That line returned on Mer’s brow, the sparkle in his eyes glazing over as he fell back into memories of a time not so long ago. He shifted in his chair and swallowed thickly.

In her attempt to peel back one of his layers, it seemed she’d instead added another. The heaviness was back in the air, this time more ponderous.

“I was glad for it,” Evie added quickly hoping to steer the intent of her story down the path she’d meant. “I knew he wasn’t alone over there.”

He still wouldn’t look at her, but his head bobbed slowly in agreement.

The look on his face was far from the quiet serenity of their New Orleans setting; Mer was, instead, marching threw destroyed jungles, battling more than simply heat and exhaustion.

“Were you close to anyone in your division?”

Merriell reached for the bottle of wine and poured what was left into his glass before throwing it back with all the ease of a seasoned alcoholic.

“Sorry,” Evie’s focus fell away from him, the fervent rhythm of her heart loud in her ears. “We can talk about something else.”

He said nothing for a long while, taking a few deep breaths, then shook his head.

“No…it’s fine…”

Clearly, it wasn’t, but his voice was the opposite of his rigid posture—gentle but guarded. That part of the war he could stomach speaking about: people other than himself.

“I was close to a few of ‘em.” He murmured, still looking lost.

Some of the sullen air ebbed, and Evie’s own posture straightened a bit.

“Do you keep in touch?”

He shook his head, the glum expression more akin to disappointment instead of recounting thoughts of war. Merriell missed them, maybe only somewhat, but he missed them; Evie could see it so clearly.

“I ain’t heard a peep from anyone since I got off that train.”

Evie frowned—heart aching for him.

“You haven’t tried reaching out to any of them?”

Surely the bonds forged in war were among the strongest ever to be had. Fellow soldiers were not simple, fleeting, acquaintances; like her brother had all but written, they were brothers. And while Mer was reluctant to bring down any walls in regard to talk of battles fought, it was obvious he shared the same sentiment. He needed someone who knew his struggles firsthand; Evie knew she could never be that person for him. Nevertheless, she could always be there when he needed someone.

Mer shrugged, “Allah them fella’s live miles from here—Sledgehamma’s prolly the closest…”

Evie’s brows furrowed and she smiled gently, “Sledgehammer?”

Surprisingly, a faint, but fond smirk pulled at the corners of his mouth.

“Eugene Sledge—tough son of a bitch. Alabama boy.”

“You could write him, you know,” Evie suggested, seeing the levity begin to creep back into his features.

“’Spose I could…”

He wouldn’t. Evie knew that without question.

Merriell wasn’t the type to keep in touch; hell, he barely kept in touch with his own sister. He didn’t like to be a bother to anyone even if it came at his expense. Evie made a mental note to look into Mr. Sledge from somewhere in Alabama for Mer’s sake, and her curiosity.

“How ‘bout we go for a walk?” he asked suddenly, casting her a charming grin to help deter any more talk of war and loved ones lost forever. “New Orleans is magical unda the stars.”

Relief enveloped Evelyn hearing his want to continue their date after her failed attempt to peek into his past. She feared prying, ever so gently, would set them back several paces. It meant everything that he still wanted to share an evening with her.

Perhaps even more astonishing was the power of his smile and the gentle expression he held with it. The heavy air evaporated, and the majesty returned as though it was never there to scuttle their time together. Evie melted under that smile, and she found herself powerless to keep from smiling back.

“It’s probably gonna rain soon, so we bettah go now before the clouds swallow ‘em up.” He added tossing a glance to the heavens.

Evie’s eyes followed; he was right about the canvas of stars overhead being magical. As for the rain, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

“Sounds wonderful,” she said smiling at him.

Merriell stood fluidly, offering her his arm once more like a proper gentleman, and she eagerly linked herself to him, utterly intoxicated with adoration.

The melancholy of their conversation drifted far away, stolen by the spring breeze that—just as Mer had predicted—began to push clouds over head. Nevertheless, they paid the ominous sky little heed, too enthralled with the sights and sounds of New Orleans.

Artistry pumped life into the sleepy city along the Mississippi; New York felt almost sterile in comparison. The stately homes, gas lamps, and moss-covered trees were among the few captivating sights telling stories rich with history while radiating a kind of exuberance one could only find in the south. Evie never wanted to leave.

Time felt frozen as they strolled through the French Quarter, unable to surrender their soft smiles. Evie could feel Mer’s eyes on her, gentle and observant as he lived vicariously through her eyes, able to see all those familiar things for the first time again. They stopped for a while to listen to a musician on a street corner playing jazz on his well-loved saxophone, and those soulful melodies pulled Mer’s grin wider as he tossed several coins into the man’s open case before the two of them carried on.

As they neared the bistro, thunder tolled like the ring of church bells issuing a baleful warning that quickend their pace, but only slightly. Not even the threat of a storm was going to dampen what remained of their date. Others rushed around them in search of shelter and they alone seemed unbothered.

Only when Merriell’s truck came into view did the heavens open up.

“Shit!” Mer exclaimed, chuckling as he tugged Evie under a small overhang out of the rain. “We was so close!”

“Oh well,” she laughed.

The small cubby left them no choice but to huddle together: Mer’s back against the dry brick while Evie stood pressed to him, palms flat on his chest. She could feel his gaze on her, the beat of his heart under the tips of her fingers, the heat of his breath beating against her cheek. And before her eyes could even venture to meet his, they stopped at his lips abruptly aware of their proximity to her own.

All at once, her throat was dry, and she felt dizzy. Never had she been so close to him. Her heart was absolutely racing.

Slowly, she watched as his lips spread into the most devilish of all his smiles.

“I notice when you stare at my lips, ya know.”

The low bravado of his voice lit her senses up like fire, and the fog in her head grew impossibly denser.

“You could just kiss me an’ get this awkward part outta the way if ya wanted.”

Evie’s heart skipped and her breath caught, her eyes finally fixating on his. There was a delight in them so grand, and so overwhelmingly enchanting that his expression alone riddled her with want.

Despite the dubious charm and cocky comment, Merriell hesitated so she could make the first move: once again keeping a respectful pace so she felt comfortable. The notion settled warmly and the confidence it elicited made her lips curl into a matching smile.

Gently, and without breaking eye contact, Evelyn reached for the knot of his tie and pulled his lips to hers as she guided them back into the warm rain.

The moment he kissed her back, she knew she was done. Merriell owned her heart, body, and soul.

His lips were soft and perfect against hers, respectfully hesitant in their movements, yet still hungry enough to leave Evie yearning for more. And when the feel of his fingertips pressed into her hips, she was soaring on cloud nine.

When it was over, all either of them could do was stare in wonder, oblivious to the rain soaking them.

A slow, playfully arrogant smile worked onto Mer’s face, his styled curls ruined and clinging to his forehead as water dripped from his sharp features.

“You—uh—wanna do me a favor an’ run that by me again?”

With a smirk and a nod, Evie wrapped her arms around his neck, and his looped around her waist, pulling her snug.

“Gladly,” she murmured, kissing him deeper than before.

#Beautiful Stranger Series #Merriell Shelton x Original Character #The Pacific #Snafu Shelton #HBO War #Snafu #The Pacific Fanfiction #Rami Malek #Rami Malek Fanfiction #Merriell Shelton

[theywhowriteandknowthings]

Back to writing after a fun day out, SNAFU is on the way folks 🩵🐺

#pedro pascal #fanfic #pedro pascal characters #snafu #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales x ofc #francisco 'catfish' morales #francisco francisco “catfish” morales #francisco morales #francisco frankie morales #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales #frankie morales/ofc #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie morales fic #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier au #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier fic #triple frontier

[lewis-winters]

13?

13. worst blorboficiation

oh, this one's easy.

David Webster - not so much now (at least on my dashboard-- once again, the blessed block button protects) BUT OH MY GOD if ya'll were here 2016 - 2020? none of you would've survived.

Ronald Speirs - some characterizations of him make him so boring. this man is Ruthless, ok. in his mind, he has a clear path between point A and point B, and he stops at NOTHING, ok? allow him to make dubious choices. allow him to despise being vulnerable. allow him to go, go, go! who cares about who he tramples in the process? it frustrates me how boring some folks make him!! HE'S A FREAK!! ALLOW HIM TO BE A FREAK!!

Dick Winters - Let Dick Winters Say Fuck In Your Gay Fanfictions 2k24

Merriell "Snafu" Shelton - so many people are stuck on the Merriell we saw in war, that nobody wants to explore what he might be in peace. how he carries that trauma into civillian life. how he might act now that he isn't in danger 24/7 anymore. like. c'mon!! where is the transformative aspect in the transformative works??? make it fuuuunnn!!!

Sidney Philips - stop making him the villain in all your sledgefu fics I am begging you

#ask #ask game

[narukoibito]

CAT!HARRY SKDJDJSJFJJFNR

Cat!Harry!!! Thank you for choosing this one! It's a fun idea I can't stop laughing about when I think of it. This idea 100% came from reading Miraculous Ladybug fanfiction where Chat Noir/Adrien gets stuck as a real black cat.

In this universe, Harry and Ginny never got together in HBP, but he pined after her. It's after the war, and Harry is an Auror. He gets into a snafu while trying to capture some dark wizard potioneer, and he unwittingly gets doused by a potion that changes him into a cat. He escapes, injured, and gets rescued by a certain redhead who has no idea he's Harry Potter.

No one knows where he is, and while he tries to figure out how to get himself back to his human self, he gets to live out as Ginny's cat (some fun slice of life). Let's just say he's touchstarved and loves the cuddles. And I have ideas of him knocking stuff off tables and hissing at Ginny's neighbor who is clearly trying to put the moves on her. And he may or may not get to hear Ginny worry about a certain missing someone. 😂

Here is a snippet:

Harry jumped from the roof to the best his injured leg would let him. Thankfully his legs seemed to land quietly despite the pain that ripped through his side. He did his best to stifle his groan and pressed himself against the shadowed wall.

He heard rather than saw them continue looking for him as his pursuers leapt from roof to roof, seemingly unaware that he had slipped down into the alley. 

He waited on bated breath until it was quiet enough for him to feel safe. He slumped against the wall. The adrenaline was still pumping heavily through his veins, but it had lowered enough for the cold to begin to penetrate him. 

Shit, what was he going to do?

His head was spinning, partially from the blood loss, partially from whatever potion they had doused him with. He slid, and a part of him bumps into a tin, which rolls noisily down the back alley.

Harry reared back, the hair raising off his neck, when he sensed a long shadow drawn down the narrow path. He was defenseless, his hands pressed hard against the pavement, wandless. Footsteps slowly approached, making him edge away, a low hissing filling his ears.

The person stopped. He didn’t know what they were going to do, but while his nerves were strung high, he somehow knew they weren’t one of his original pursuers. They slowly crouched down, as if to make themselves smaller, and this somehow soothed some of anxiety. Harry struggled to focus his dazed eyes, only making out the wavering silhouette of a woman.

“Tck, tck, tck…” She made a low clicking noise and carefully reached out a hand.

The wind shifted, carrying with it something sweet and flowery. It strangely reminded him of summer and the Burrow, and his entire body seemed relax instinctually.

The last thing he remembered as he clung to consciousness was a warm hand brushing his hair from his face.

Feel free to send me asks on any of my WIPs!

#wip games #cat!harry #the things i think that entertain me endlessly #now if only i'd write it #thank you for the ask foreverginevra! #hinny #harry/ginny

[theweirdgoodbyes]

never asked me once about the wrong i did chapter 3

Merriell’s parents help Llewelyn buy a small house nearby and his poor wife spends the next decade pregnant and dragging her husband home from speakeasies and then newly reopened bars. The only Shelton boy who actually attended school, Willard goes off to some fancy college in Georgia thanks to scholarships and money he’s been sneaking from Daddy’s wallet for years. Mama makes him promise to visit but he never does, and settles down in Atlanta, sending the occasional letter home. Not long after, Victor and Francis get jobs working on the shrimp boats and only come home once a month lugging laundry for Mama to do. She never complains, just asks for a kiss on the cheek as payment. Merriell can’t stand the way they stink up the bedroom during the weekends they’re home, reeking of fish and gasoline, and keeps the window open to get the smell out no matter how cold it is outside. Robert joins the Navy, and Arthur gets locked up after he robs that same store Merriell steals candy from of all their money and a pack of smokes. By the time he’s fifteen, his brothers have scattered and Merriell is left alone. The once constant cacophony that came with the family of nine has mellowed into a soft hum, only spiking on the nights Daddy gets too drunk and finds a reason to slap Merriell around. 

Merriell misses his brothers more than he thought he would, so used to all seven of them shoved into one room from the time they were weaned. The first night he spends alone he barely sleeps, tossing and turning and imagining spooky things slipping out from the shadows of the once full room, the quiet reaching out to suffocate him. He finds himself longing for the comfort of Arthur next to him, the sound of Robert’s snoring, the rattling of the window late at night as the older boys snuck in and out. But times goes on, his brothers visit when they can, and Merriell finds himself eventually thankful for the space. He has enough room to stretch without kicking somebody, doesn’t have to step over scattered clothes on the floor on his way to the bathroom. Life without his brothers is lonely, but survivable. What almost kills him is when Mr. Leconte’s wife kicks him out during the summer of 1935.

It’s a hot night in June when Merriell’s world crumbles. He wakes up from an odd dream, something he immediately forgets but has left that uncomfortable feeling in his chest. He rolls to his side, eyes still half shut as he paws his bedside table for his watch. Holding it close to his face in the darkness he can see the small hand settled on the three. He kicks his sweaty blankets off and rolls over, planning on closing his eyes again when he hears a whisper.

“Merriell!” 

He sits up quickly with a gasp. 

“What the fuck,” he whispers to the dark. All those spooky things he had imagined months ago infiltrate his brain, monsters and demons threatening to sneak out and eat him up. Another whisper has him gripping his chest, fearful eyes trying to pinpoint their origin. 

“The window!” 

Merriell whips his head around to look towards the window he had cracked earlier to cool down his scalding room.

“Merriell!” The eyes staring in through the slit are identical to his own and the voice is now familiar. “Open the damn window!”

Merriell slips out of bed and sees Victor, lightly illuminated by the distant moon. Three other figures stand behind him and Merriell quickly recognizes Francis among them. He unlocks the window and pushes it up slowly, trying to avoid its tell-tale creaks. 

“What you doin’ here? You know what fuckin’ time it is?” Merriell hisses, moving out of the way as Victor climbs in. In what little light is offered, he looks like he’s actually showered and smells like cheap cologne and smoke instead of a boat. Francis follows, equally clean, and Merriell can now see that the two strangers about to climb in after them are girls. Those fuckers. 

“Sorry we ain’t bring you back one,” Victor whispers as he helps one girl through the window. She’s a pretty blonde thing with a skirt short enough to send Mama into prayer. Her heel gets caught on the sill and tips forward with a squeak of surprise. Victor and Merriell catch her before she hits the ground, “Girl, if you don’t hush up…”

“Mama’s gon’ kill you if she finds out,” Merrill warns, ignoring Victor’s comment. He helps Francis get the other girl though the window nevertheless, his loyalty to his brothers outweighing his fear of their mother. He really doesn’t want a girl brought back for him, and feels nothing but disgust imagining his hand slipping under some broad’s dress like Francis is doing to his girl the moment her feet hit the ground. “Then she gon’ kill you again because you didn’t tell her you were comin’ home.”

“I’m Gloria!” Victor’s blonde practically screams before Victor can reply, the smell of wine pouring from her lips. Victor quickly slaps a hand over her mouth and sits her on Merriell’s bed. She kicks her shoes off and flops back, making herself comfortable while she whispers hurried apologies. Merriell is about to tell her to beat it when Victor responds, settling on the bed next to her. 

“We just got the night. Figured we’d go down to LaRue’s and have some drinks. We met these lovely ladies and…” Victor gives him a smile thats half coy, half pity, “need a place to roost.”

“Take ‘em to the fuckin’ boat! Y’all got beds there,” Merriell whispers harshly. He watches the blonde begin to unbutton her blouse. He quickly looks away, convincing himself he’s being polite.

Francis pipes up from the other bed, lifting his head from the lips of the busty brunette he’s got sprawled under him, “Piss-stained cots is what we got. C’mon, Mer, be cool. Two hours.”

Like a petulant child, Merriell plants his bare feet on the ground and shoots nasty looks at his brothers. This isn’t the first time he’s been kicked out in favor of some airhead, and has learned over the years that looking for a bargain never hurts. 

“What’s in it for me?”

“I don’t beat you silly, boy, that’s what in it for you,” Francis says, sounding so much like Daddy its as if the words came out of their old man’s mouth, “Now get the fuck outta here.”

“This my room now, y’know.” Merriell mumbles, getting down on his knees to reach for a pair of shoes he has tucked under his bed.  He’s tired as all hell and wants nothing more than to reclaim his bed, but it’s not worth the fight, and God knows he doesn’t want stay for the show. He quickly slips the old shoes on and tries to tune out the sound of buckles being undone, avoiding looking back at the beds as he throws one leg out the window. He makes sure to grab his watch before the short drop to the ground and begins to walk towards the street.

“Mer!” The sharp whisper has him turning back to the window. He sees Victor hanging out of it, three cigarettes and a lighter in his extended hand. Merriell takes it, remembering why Victor has always been his favorite and feeling a bit better about his expulsion. 

“For the trouble,” Vic says with a wink before ducking back into the room and shutting the window.

Merriell meanders up their street, kicking rocks and savoring his gifted cigarettes. He lets his mind wander, thinking about everything and nothing while his feet drag down the dirt road. He’s used to being alone with his thoughts, never quite getting along with kids at school and often taking long walks like this to avoid Daddy’s beatings.  He checks his watch occasionally, counting the minutes until he can head back and crawl into bed. After an hour and a half he finally turns back in the direction of the house and allows himself to jog there. He was told two hours and two hours is all they’ll get. 

He gets home sooner than expected, his quick steps returning him home a bit before five. He plops himself down on the porch steps and decides to smoke his last cigarette before banging on his window to be let back in. He pictures his brothers curled up in the beds with their beaus, whispering sweet nothings to these girls they have no intention of ever seeing again. He closes his eyes and tries to picture himself next to that squeaky blonde or well-endowed brunette, his hands caressing their bodies, his hips flush to theirs. The thought is hard to conjure and he finds himself bored of it quickly. Female bodies warble and shift in his mind, resettling into focus with breasts replaced by a flat chest and Merriell’s imaginary hand reaches between strong legs to grip-

The sound of a door slamming startles him out of his fantasy. He searches for the sound, ready to throw his cigarette into the bushes if it’s Daddy coming to kick his ass. He’s thankful to see the door was not his own, seeing it is still shut tight behind him. Confusion replaces his relief when out of the corner of his eye he sees Mr. Leconte stomping down his own steps, a suitcase in each hand. Merriell watches him turn to yell something he can’t make out in the direction of his house, followed by a shrill and equally unintelligible reply. Mr. Leconte begins to storm down the street, moving past Merriell without his usual wink and wave. Merriell takes one last puff of his smoke before crushing it under his heel and getting up to follow his neighbor. 

It takes Merriell a minute to catch up with the older man’s fast stride and he has to catch his breath before asking, “Where you goin’, Mr. Leconte?” 

His voice a mix of anger and sadness, Mr Leconte replies, “Leaving, son. Missus is done with me.” 

Merriell almost trips over a rock he doesn’t see in his shock. He feels the blood rushing in his ears and his heart start to beat hard. Leaving? He has to have misheard. 

“Leaving? Leaving forever?”

“Yep. Leavin’ the house, the dog, leavin’ everythin’. That bitch can keep it all, ain’t worth shit anyway.” 

“But where you gon’ go?”

“Back to Shreveport, I reckon.” Merriell’s stomach drops to his knees and he feels like he could vomit right there onto his shoes. Shreveport is hours from their small town south of New Orleans. 

“That’s real far,” Merriell manages to say, feeling anxiety rise in his chest. He can’t take his eyes off Mr. Leconte, trying to memorize his face, his auburn locks, the determined set of his jaw. Petrified of the answer, he stills asks, “You gon’ come back?”

“Don’t reckon I will.”

Mr. Leconte stops for a moment and Merriell stops with him, feeling like he’s stepped back into a dream; a nightmare. The older man sets one suitcase down and reaches out to grip Merriell’s shoulder, dark eyes meeting green. Merriell barely registers that this is the first, the only, time Mr. Leconte has touched him and finds himself unable to revel in the pleasure of it. Not when he’s about to be gone, when this will be the last time they see each other. 

“Word of advice, Merriell,” Merriell’s heart betrays him by fluttering in his chest from Mr. Leconte saying his name, “don’t ever get married.”

How could I, Merriell doesn’t say, hardly dares to think, I only ever wanted to marry you.

With a smile and a wink, Mr. Leconte picks up his suitcase again and keeps walking. Merriell stays frozen in the middle of the road, unable to follow any further. He watches that head of red hair fade away as Mr. Leconte continues his walk to Shreveport, leaving his wife and his house and the bayou and Merriell behind him.

“I’ll miss you,” he says, so soft that it’s lost to the burgeoning dawn. If Mr. Leconte hears it, he doesn’t turn around. Merriell stays there and watches him until he’s gone from sight, unmoving until a car comes whizzing down the road. The driver lays on the horn and Merriell is finally freed from his self-imposed prison to jump out of the way. The driver yells out some insult in Creole as they fly by, something about dumbass kids. Usually Merriell would yell something back, accentuated by a couple of thrown rocks but he finds himself unable to do anything except turn around and run back to the house. He feels hot and shaky, unsure if he’s going to pass out or scream, and needs to be alone somewhere to process what has just happened. 

Merriell throws open the front door and hurries into the house, not caring about making noise, almost blind from the tears filling his eyes. He rushes past Mama standing in the kitchen. She must have just woken up, still in her nightgown and a cup of steaming tea in hand. She looks confused to see him, most likely wondering where he could be coming from at this hour. 

“Merriell?” 

He ignores her, moving as fast as he can without running until he’s in his bedroom. Blissfully, no one is there, only the smell of that cheap cologne left as evidence of his unwelcome guests. Victor and Francis must have snuck their girls out already and headed back to the docks. He scrambles to lock the door and presses his back to it, shaking hands reaching up to grip his hair. He ignores the sharp pain in his scalp as he clutches his curls tight.

“Don’t cry,” he says, a warning, a threat. “Don’t fuckin’ cry. Don’t fuckin cry. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry…”

He tries to steady his breathing and begins to search around the room for something to count, anything to keep him from exploding. He counts the wood panels on the wall, the cracks in the ceiling, the knobs on the dressers in rapid succession but it’s not enough. He even begins to count the wrinkles in the blankets on the beds his brothers have left unmade, but his vision continues to blur with tears begging to come out. Once he feels the first drop hit his cheek, it’s all over with. A sob rips from his chest, shaking his whole body with it. He tries to breathe in but can’t, only managing to choke on the next wail pouring out of him. He walks to his bed and doesn’t bother kicking his dirty shoes off before climbing in, caring about nothing else in the world except for the fact that Mr. Leconte was gone. He cries and cries like the little boy he once was, back when he could convince himself he only liked Mr. Leconte because he was kind; cries and cries and cries while the reality of his situation creeps up on him like a starving wolf stalking a lamb. I love him, the shameful thought alone wrenching another sob from his chest, and I’ll never see him again. He vows right then and there in his lonely room that he’ll never marry, never kiss anyone the way he wished Mr. Leconte had kissed him, never love again. Not if it hurts this much, not if he could just about curl up and die. He imagines Granmere digging his grave, praying for his sinful soul while those hands as old the heavens rifle through the dirt. Merriell holds his pillow tight and cries into it long after the sun has fully risen and set, long after Mama has given up knocking on the door, until sleep releases him from his heartbreak. 

1937

Francis and Victor come home for Christmas Eve, this time through the front door instead of Merriell’s bedroom window. Merriell barely hears them come in over the sound of Robert, home on leave, and Daddy arguing and Llewelyn’s screeching children. His wife’s pregnant again, like the four children they already have aren’t a handful and slowly driving them insane. Aside from the permanently sticky hands and never ending screaming, Merriell enjoys being an uncle and sits at the dinner table with little Ricky on his lap. The tot is gnawing on the turkey leg Merriell had just finished with, keeping a close eye on him so he doesn’t choke. He only looks up when Mama gasps and hurries from her spot at the table to greet her sons. 

“Ho, ho, ho!” Victor calls, wrapping Mama in a hug. They hadn’t told anyone they were coming, and Mama sings out thanks to the Lord and loving quips in Creole as she fusses over them. She released Victor to squeeze Francis, giving him a light slap on the cheek.

“Don’t y’all surprise me like that again! Oh, hug your mama.”

After shaking Daddy and Robert’s hands and kissing Llewelyn’s wife, Victor slides a pack of cigarettes towards Merriell with a sly wink. He quickly grabs it before little Ricky can shove it in his mouth and slides it into his shirt pocket, Victor once again claiming the title as his favorite brother. 

“Merry Christmas, petit frère.”

Before he can return the sentiment, Mama says, “Don’t be rude now, who this?”

Merriell was so distracted by the commotion and his gift that he hadn’t noticed a third person walk through the door behind his brothers. Francis tosses an arm over the stranger’s shoulder.

“Mama, this here is Tom.”

Merriell takes in Tom from his spot at table, plucking the turkey leg from little Ricky’s mouth since his attention is now elsewhere. Ricky cries out in protest until Merriell gives him a spoon to chew on instead, easily satisfied. This Tom is taller than Victor and Francis, which isn’t saying much since all Shelton boys are short. His hair is hidden under a hat, but when he takes it off to greet Mama there’s a shock of blonde atop his head. He’s got hooded brown eyes that take in their meager dining room, stopping when they reach Merriell. Merriell suddenly feels small, very small, under his gaze and turns his sights back to Ricky. He plops his elbow on the table and leans his cheek against his hand, hoping they aren’t turning as red as they feel. 

“Welcome, Tom, welcome,” Mama says, brushing her hands on her apron before placing one on Tom’s arm. It’s not often they have guests but Mama is always a gracious host. She leads Tom to the table to introduce him to everyone. “This here my oldest Llewelyn, his wife Margaret…” Mama goes through the lineup, stopping at Merriell, “and thats my youngest Merriell with little Ricky.”

“Hi, Merriell,” Tom says in a voice that is so far from Louisiana it takes them all by surprise, “it’s nice to meet you all.”

“Hope you don’t mind him staying, Mama,” Francis says around a mouthful of bread, having settled at the table next to Daddy with a plate full of food, “we wasn’t supposed to get tonight off and Tom ain’t got family ‘round here.”

“Where you from, Tom? Sit, please, c’mon now,” Mama ushers Tom into the chair across from Merriell, much to his chargin, “Lemme make you a plate, I know you boys don’t eat good on that boat.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” This Tom is way too uppity to be working a boat with his brothers, Merriell thinks, all smooth edges where they should be rough. “I’m from Maine. Bar Harbor.”

“How you end up down here, boy?” Daddy asks, half interested, half in the bag already.

“My father is a fisherman. I’ve been on boats my whole life but got sick of the cold water,” Tom answers as Mama returns with a heaping plate to set before him. To Merriell it sounds rehearsed. “Thank you, ma’am. Came down to Louisiana for a fresh start.”

Merriell takes his eyes off Ricky to steal another glance at Tom but quickly has to look away when he sees Tom already gazing back. His family continues to ask Tom questions about his family, what it’s like up north, if he’s ever had a white Christmas. Merriell tunes as much of it out as he can and focuses on his nephew until the end of dinner, having mindlessly picked on what remains of his carrots and potatoes until the table was cleared. Daddy, his brothers, and Tom retreat to the living room to see what’s playing on the radio and Mama and Margaret begin to work on dishes in the kitchen. Merriell decides he needs a smoke, needs to be as far away from Tom as possible, and places Ricky down to toddle off somewhere and get into things he’s not supposed to. Once he’s on the porch he takes a deep breath of the cool air and closes his eyes. He lets the sounds of frogs and crickets singing sooth him, counting their chirps for a moment. It’s only for tonight, he assures himself, just tonight. Come morning they will all say goodbye to Tom when him and his brothers return to the boat. And hopefully that’ll be the last he sees of this disturbingly intriguing man. Merriell lights up a cigarette as he steps off the porch, moving into the shadows to prevent Mama seeing or smelling him. She’d always hated the stuff and asks if he wanted an early grave; Merriell doesn’t know how to tell her that sometimes he does.

“Hey.”

Merriell looks up from his cigarette. Through the dim light coming from the porch he can see Tom making his way down the steps and over to where Merriell stands. He stops next to him, far enough where they’re not touching but close enough to make something in Merriell’s gut flutter. 

“Look too young to be a smoker,” Tom adds, tipping his head. A strand of his blonde hair drops down from where it’s slicked back to lay on his forehead. Merriell wants to reach out and put it back where it belongs, taking his time to savor the motion. Instead he snorts and pulls the cigarette from his lips, blowing smoke in the direction of this interloper. 

“Ain’t you got your own family?” He asks, not knowing why his tone is so snippy, “Ain’t you itchin’ to get home?

Tom shrugs, reaching out a hand. Merriell looks at it for a moment before he hands his cigarette over. Tom takes a long pull, scrunching up his face like he’s thinking hard. Merriell can’t help but think it’s a handsome face, not as rugged as it should be for his line of work. He’s clean shaven and his skin looks impossibly soft, no blemishes or scars to be seen. It’s another part of Tom that Merriell wants to reach out and touch, see how it feels under his fingers, under his tongue. Instead he puts his mouth to his hand, biting at his fingernails to distract himself while his cigarette is occupied. “You want your own?” He asks around his nail, pulling the carton from his pocket with his free hand; might as well be in the Christmas spirit and give to the needy. Tom plucks the cigarette from his lips and blows smoke right back at him with a shake of his head. 

“I’m fine with this one. And I don’t talk to them.”

“What you do?”

Tom gives him a look, a look Merriell thinks he’s supposed to understand. He feels his cheeks grow hot under a gaze that he dares say is wanton, a look he’s seen his brothers give their girls. Tom takes another drag before answering and Merriell spends too long watching the way his lips wrap around the butt. 

“They weren’t a fan of my proclivities.” 

“You booze too much?”

“Something like that. So, how old are you gonna be? Vic says you have a birthday coming up.”

“Twenty-one,” the lie slips out so easy he almost believes it himself. Tom does not and gives him a toothy grin.

“Don’t you know lying is a sin?” Tom asks with a raised brow, handing the cigarette back to him. Merriell snatches it, trying to ignore the shiver that goes up his spine when their fingers briefly brush. He ignores the comment as well and looks down at his shoes while he takes his next drag. Lying is the least sinful in his catalogue of misdeeds and dirty thoughts. What he’s thinking about doing to Tom has to be at the top, marked and underlined in red ink for God and the Devil to read.

“Your proclivities so bad your own mama don’t want you ‘round on Christmas?”

“My mother isn’t the issue,” Tom explains, reaching out again to pull the cigarette right from Merriell’s mouth. Deft fingers touch his lips and Merriell nearly gasps at the sensation, almost not believing it happened. “My father is.”

“Well, we all got daddy’s who don’t love us,” Merriell says with a shrug. Tom laughs and Merriell can’t help but smile at the sound.

“Yeah…especially us.”

Tom hands the cigarette back to Merriell, and their fingers hold it together for a moment. Merriell looks into Tom’s dark eyes and sees something in them that almost resembles hope. 

“Merry Christmas, Merriell,” He says in a soft voice, tender, before retreating back into the house. Merriell stays outside and smokes through half of his new carton, trying to stave off the excitement and shame he feels growing deep within him. 

That night, long after everyone has returned from midnight mass and gone to bed, Merriell slips out of his bedroom and with feet that feel like lead makes his way to where Tom sleeps on the couch. Tom wakes up when Merriell slips under the blanket but doesn’t say a word, just wraps a strong arm around his waist and pulls him close.

After, when Tom tries to kiss him, Merriell turns away, feeling lips catch his chin.

“Merry Christmas, Tom.” 

He leaves the makeshift bed and returns to his own, rubbing the spot on his chin where unwelcome lips had briefly touched until he falls asleep. When he wakes up, Tom is gone, leaving a note saying heading back to the docks. He thanks the Sheltons for their hospitality and wishes them a happy new year. Merriell spends the day absently watching his nieces and nephews play with their new toys, sitting on the couch where he has committed his greatest atrocity yet while his family talks and argues and talks and argues around him. Eventually his eyes settle on the cross hanging above their radio and stares at the body of Christ hanging from it with unblinking eyes. He imagines the cross flying off the wall, pointed edge ramming itself into his chest; he pictures blood spurting from the wound and soaking the couch beneath him, masking the remains of his sin from the world around him. 

#this chapter almost took the life out of me it’s so so long but I feel necessary! #plz enjoy heehee #hbo war #the pacific #the pacific fanfiction #snafu shelton #merriell shelton #sledgefu #Eugene sledge (he will be coming soon!) #hbo war fanfic #Maddie writes

[nightingaleflow]

📓

Ok, you got it.

Working title: I Didn't

Through a paperwork snafu, Rock Lee and Sakura accidently end up married, and have to stay that way for a year before they can dissolve the marriage.

Obviously, Sakura is pissed. She's supposed to marry Sasuke and become Sakura Uchiha, not Sakura Lee. Rock Lee, meanwhile, is torn - on the one hand, yes, he wanted to marry Sakura at some point. But not like this. He wanted it to be her choice.

The year is full of challenges as they struggle to figure out how to make sense of everything. Fights happen. Bonds are forged. There are unfortunate incidents with laundry and shower times. And slowly, as the weeks turn into months, they might just find that this little accident might be the best thing that ever happened to them.

and then they fuck the end

~

Put “📓” or some other version of a book emoji into my inbox and I’ll explain the plot of a fanfiction that I haven’t written but daydream about.

#doing this makes me want to write all the things #I need to clone myself so I can write all these stories at once #Sakura #Rock Lee #nightingale writes #fanfiction #my writing #writing #sexy no jutsu #justmyownreality #minors dni #not sfw #ask box game

[nik0-l41]

Fanfic review: "The History Books Forgot About Us (And the Bible Didn't Mention Us)" by callmejude (Ao3)

english is not my first language, so if there's grammar mistakes / mistakes of any kind, please let me know.

Title: The History Books Forgot About Us (And the Bible Didn't Mention Us)

Author: callmejude

Fandom: The Pacific (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Words: 116.947

My first impression before reading this fanfic was that it was gonna be another "Eugene and Snafu fuck a lot, have feelings and that's it" kinda fanfic, with some-but-not-enough character exploration at most.

But this is the first fanfic that appears on the Sledgefu tag under the "most bookmarked" filter for a reason. And honestly, it deserves its place.

With 20 chapters and an Explicit tag certainly well-earned, I became enraptured quite quickly with the author's way of exploring Eugene and Snafu's relationship. The character development is beautifully done. The nature of their personalities was very spot on, and treated with care. Their decisions and thoughts were well expressed, and the author made it easy to emphasize with the characters.

The plot focuses on the exploration of Snafu's and Eugene's relationship, mainly during Okinawa and China, and their relationship's perception from the point of view of others. It is, esentially and without spoilers, what it says on the summary:

Things change between Eugene and Shelton after Hamm gets shot.

For me, the main theme or focus of this story is silence: the things left unsaid, the pregnant pauses on the dialogues (not only the ones exchanged between Snafu and Eugene, but also the ones with Eugene and Burgin). The power of silence, being louder than words, something that is shown beautifully during the sex scenes.

The sex portrayed in this fanfic is desperate and raw, filled with so much emotion (and kinks). The tags used for this story mostly center around this topic: from dom/sub undertones to biting, so there's a bit for everyone.

Even though it lacks an Angst tag (something that is usually a big "turn-off" for me, moreso when it's one of the main plot points), is not like you couldn't see it coming. If you check the other tags this story has (trauma, period-typical homophobia, among others) you get a general idea that this is not gonna be a walk in the park.

The pacing is very smooth. The events have a natural rhythm, evolving slowly when everything is peaceful and escalating quickly when there's anger, in a way that doesn't feel forced.

And I think this is where the charm of it fanfic lies: it lulls you inside, until you start to get slowly accustomed to the situation: then, it prods at your feelings, pushing to see how far you can go. Just like Eugene and Snafu do, in their relationship with each other and with their friends. I didn't expect the end, if I'm being honest. It even made me cry a little, but I don't think another ending would've been posible to this story, seeing the decisions Snafu and Eugene made, so I think it's a good conclusion for a good story.

(warning: spoiler of the last scene of the fanfic)

Reading Eugene and Snafu's goodbye, and the subsequent scene with Snafu crying alone, I could only think about this song, this lyric stuck in my head on a loop:

All by himself, sittin' alone I hope we're still friends, yeah, I hope you don't mind.

#fanfic review #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #the pacific #sledgefu #eugene sledge #snafu shelton #merriel snafu shelton

[comic-book-fan-us]

Comic Book SNAFU Issue 4 Page 20

#Comic Book SNAFU #Thunderbolts #Songbird #Poison Ivy #Ravager #Pied Piper #Captain Boomerang #Atlas #Man-Bat #Melissa Gold #Rose Wilson #Erik Josten #Hartley Rathaway #Owen Mercer #Abe Jenkins #Pamela Isely #Kirk Langstrom #Abner Jenkins #fanfic #fanfiction #fan comic #webcomic #crossover #marvel #marvel comics #marvel universe #dc #dcu #dc comics #dc universe