#Merriell Shelton fanfiction
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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
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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
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thanks @ep6bastogne @hellofanidea @lewis-winters @lamialamia @merriell-allesandro-shelton @footprintsinthesxnd and @heystovepipeboys for tagging me in this!
WIP Ask Game
RULES: post the names of all of the files in your WIP folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it.
eddie jones made it home from the war (andy did not)
notes for thing
the ballroom extravaganza
i know i won't stop searching for the moment when the world stopped for you (tbe notes)
how does it feel to be alive again?
hbowar f1 zoom zoomies
gay pirates in space
babe got a tamagotchi!!!
harry welsh punk band frontman!!! spin off? prequel?
what if i wrote a football au for hbo war where the different shows are different teams in the same league?
the adventures of campbell and owens
giving nix a hot mess of a boyfriend (oliver)
tommy monet loml
ronnix apocalypse au
what if eddie jones was in the strokes (kind of) and andy haldane booked acts for new york music venues
oh no i think i'm writing bradnate
TENNIS
something something nate vomiting caterpillar
stupid bondi rescue au for the pacific what r u doing stop typing
jjk au for hbo war i might go feral idk
no i'm not writing fanfiction about the two gay lib dems from the thick of it look away i hate myself
i think everyone on this entire website has done this already so i don't think there's anyone left for me to tag, but if you haven't already, then feel free to consider yourself tagged here!
#this is a mix of my scrivener files and my notes app files where i put a lot of my initial ideas#also i would have loved to have sent asks in about all your wips but i feel like everyone has already asked about everything#since i missed it all due to being inactive bc of work#julian did a tag game#julian's ask games#julian writes#my wips
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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
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Count On It
Summary: Evie has another run-in with her beautiful stranger at work. Jonny remains uncooperative
Previous Part: Kismet
Word Count: 5691
Warnings: Language, Mentions of nonconsensual advances.
Taglist: @ramilicious, @txmel, @edteche2, @gloriousdarkangelsworld, @diasimar, @xmxisxforxmaybe
(Let me know if I missed you, or if you would like to be added to the tag list)
A/N: Happy Halloween!!!!!! What's everyone going as? I, myself was a pirate for the tricker treaters yesterday, and today I will be galavanting around Ohio Renfaire as a witch. Anyway, on to the chapter. I actually managed to have time to edit this like I normally do (unlike the last part) which I have no idea how I managed that--life has been insane for me. Not a whole lot happens in this chapter, it introduces a new character and sets up the next part. If you didn't know, I'm making character moodborads for all the key players, so look for Birdie Ibott to be added sometime on Monday or Tuesday! Those can be found on this series' master page. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this part as a little treat for Halloween.
Also: HUGE shout out to my girl @freebooter4ever for making the actual drawing Evie sketches out in this chapter. Her doodles sort of played a hand in the creation of this series, so it meant so so much to me that she took the time to do that. You rock!
For four days, Merriell Shelton was a stranger.
Four days of unexpected longing. Four days of Evie choosing not to read them as the universe telling her the encounter she'd had with Mr. Shelton was nothing more than a whim. Four long days of nothing but work, and Jonny Doyle to occupy the hours of her life.
Maybe Merriell was to remain a mysterious stranger. Perhaps the only role he had to play was that of a kind soul who could aid her in a time of need—a brief gust of hopefulness to keep her heart appeased. If that was true, why did his absence leave such a significant hole inside of her?
If fate intended to have Merriell's purpose in her life remain something so fleeting and insignificant, then Evie knew she should have been at peace with never seeing him again. But, as the days dragged on without any sign of him, that wonderful tingle his company lent began to once again feel like the void she’d been running from.
It was absurd—she knew that—how entranced she'd allowed herself to be with Merriell: a man who was little more than a stranger. Cynthia would have been furious to find her brooding over a man she'd only just met. Her best friend had always favored reason over intuition. Both had their merits, which made reason a difficult thing to argue when her friend cast it upon her, but Evie always tried. Being away from her for the particular quandary of missing Merriell Shelton would save Evie several lectures.
Work proved to be a good distraction. For a few hours, she found a reprieve from that strange gnawing in her gut that begged her to ignore reason. The routine at the old general store was hackneyed but perfect for keeping her wandering mind occupied. Birdie helped too. Her warmth and charm were similar to Merriell’s, which helped pacify the yearning. Whenever shifts slowed, the two of them would talk and laugh; the older Cajun woman was bursting with wisdom and stories that she seemed to pass around like sweet candies for all to savor.
The comfort of work, however, was never strong enough to combat the anxiety of returning to Jonny's. Even when she returned to an empty house, she knew it was only a matter of time before he came raging through the door, drunk and angry with the world. She'd learned quickly it was best to pretend she was already in bed to avoid his tirade, although, that didn't always work.
The night Merriell had come for dinner Jonny spent the rest of the evening visibly upset. Evie couldn't tell if his anger stemmed from the alcohol still in his system or the sense of jealousy he harbored towards her. He’d stayed silent, but his expression remained a scowl until he finally had gone to bed.
One of the only reasons Evie had agreed to accompany Jonny to Louisiana was his declared understanding that she only intended to stay in his spare room until she could get a place of her own. She made it clear before she stepped foot in the train station over a year ago that the two of them were not, and never would be a couple. Jonny had nodded and promised he only wanted a familiar face moving south with him.
Maybe he did mean to keep his promise. Maybe it was his dependence on alcohol that caused him to break his vow. Or perhaps it had all been a charade to put her at ease until he could persuade her into his bed. Whatever his reasoning for letting her stay with him, it was not long before Jonny felt he was owed something for his alleged kindness.
On several occasions, Jonny had wandered into her room—reeking of liquor—speaking his lewd desires, and she would forcefully escort him to his room with a foray of threats. It worked for a while. Then it turned into a game—something for him to win. Not every night, but most of the ones he came home far past his limit, he’d make his move and Evie would always put him to bed. Sometimes she’d have to do it several times before she got her point across and he stayed in his room. Sometimes she’d leave him on the sofa and just go to bed. That was always easier.
The worst was the night when he'd stumbled in, working off his belt and pants as he crawled into her bed. Never could she remember ever moving faster; she jumped out from under her covers, not even bothering to fight, she just ran. That night she spent locked in the bathroom, sobbing on the floor, too afraid to sleep.
Of course, Jonny swore the next morning he had no recollection of trying to force himself on her, but Evie didn't care. It was just an excuse—one he offered without the benefit of an apology or an inkling of remorse. To him, her anger with the entire situation made him the victim.
After that, Evie never slept without making sure her door was locked.
***
Sleep was elusive; Evie laid wide awake, blinking up at the cracks in the ceiling, waiting helplessly for the sandman to pay a visit. Her mind, was in no way accommodating to the idea of sleep. In fact, her head was fraught with too many thoughts to find rest even though her body craved its sweet reprieve. It was as though there was a huge weight inside of her skull, vibrating with a mess of every tiny detail or notion of her life. Thoughts of her past lingered to haunt her, thoughts of her present felt meek and devoid of even simple joys. However, it was thoughts of her feature that swirled almost maddeningly in her head—vague but hopeful. It was there her mind dwelled, so easily choking out the prospect of sleep.
She stayed in her bed, desperate and irritated by sleep's apparent lack of willingness to hold her in its grasp until, finally, she embraced the wakefulness she could not seem to shake.
The dark made it difficult for her to see exactly what time she gave up the notion of slumber, but by the heavy darkness out her window and the muffled—yet somehow still shrill—cry of insects outside, Evie knew that morning was a good way off. With an annoyed huff, she tossed her quilt aside and sat up with a stretch wondering how best to busy her already busy mind.
There were several things she could do around the old cottage. The kitchen was in need of a good deep clean, and most of the drapes would've benefited from a wash or two. But, venturing into other parts of the house risked crossing paths with her impetuous roommate. Even if he was in his room, his nosey disposition would surely coax him into the open, most likely to complain that she was making too much noise for him to sleep. It was difficult to keep a frown from turning on her face as she played out each of those scenarios in her head: every outcome ending in some baseless argument.
Evie sighed again knowing counting the cracks in the ceiling was far more beneficial than any chore she would complete when the risk of Jonny interrupting was so high.
As her eyes adjusted to the darkness of her room, her mind drifted in search of a thought that did not plague her—one free of fear, or grief, or annoyance, or Jonny. She yearned to cling to something warm and blissful, released from all those irritating notions.
Something like her beautiful stranger.
Slowly, Evelyn's frown worked into a light smile feeling the butterflies flitting in her stomach at the thought of the man who had charmed his way into her mind. There, he was able to combat some of the shadows that dwelled in her memory, somehow able to curb the grief with the swirl of color he'd brought back into her life.
Any rational person would strive to find something else to fixate on; a part of her wished he was not so ingrained into her memory. Yet, a larger part of her thrived with Merriell in the forefront of her mind. And soon, as she sat in the dark of her room, the only thing filling her head was him.
Evie's smile pulled a little tighter, her heart warm and her fingers buzzing with inspiration.
With sleep so far out of reach, Evie tugged gently on the pull-chain of the lamp next to her bed, illuminating one side of her room in a soft yellow glow.
When she'd packed her art supplies away to find a job, something kept her from packing everythingcompletely out of sight. Under her bed, she'd tucked away a well-used pad of paper and an assortment of her favorite drawing utensils in case of a creative emergency. Muse’s were fickle beasts, after all. One had to catch them as often as one could.
Evie easily found the box of necessities and situated herself against a stack of pillows, eager to ride the coat-tails of inspiration before it left much too hastily as it often did. With the pad of paper propped against the angle of her legs, Evie began to draw with hope and whimsy to guide her fingers.
The slight grit of the artist's paper instilled her with surgical focus as she raked the chunk of charcoal across the page. She felt brazen diving into a piece with no plan, kindling a hint of foolish confidence. Charcoal was a messy medium to work with, though she preferred it to graphite; the shading was always so much more substantial and dramatic than what could be done with pencil. Graphite was an excellent crutch, and she often used it to lightly sketch out a piece before filling it in. Yet, as she worked with only memory and no guide, Evie had never felt more adept in her skill.
Time seemed to stand still as she worked. And when the soft tendrils of morning light were slowly devouring the shine of the stars out her window, she had finished.
To the naked eye, the piece would look flawless. Evie though could pinpoint each tiny error. Still, she smiled at the image shear impulse had created.
The figure sat at the counter alone—smoke from those around him a halo above his curls—his finger absently tracing the rim of the glass in front of him. The stranger's face was handsome, but beneath his beauty, a peculiar sadness dwelled to darken his sharp features. He was lost somewhere, in his thoughts or his memories, unable to combat them without a vice to help chase them away.
The narrative of the figure she'd drawn stirred a hint of mystery and melancholy—who was the man sitting alone with only his drink as company? What tragedy had stolen the joy from his handsome features?
One day I'll know… Evie promised herself smiling gently at the man in her drawing.
She dated the bottom corner and began to write Merriell's name on the back until she stopped a moment before titling the piece Beautiful Stranger #01, instead.
Before long, a yawn overtook Evie's pleasant expression making the notion of rest finally tangible. Sketching had settled her mind, as it usually did, and she carefully tucked all her supplies away before reaching for the pull chain on her bedside lamp. She hesitated, fingers barely touching the cool metal as her eyes wandered over to the latch on her bedroom door.
It was locked; Jonny could not hurt her that night.
As she had hoped, sleep was restful and empty, yet those hours of slumber managed to feel like a blip. When she woke, Evie did so with a jolt, knowing without the aid of a clock, she had overslept.
"No no no no no…" She panicked, almost rolling out of bed and onto the floor in her haste.
She dressed in a whirlwind, pinning her hair out of her face with so little time to braid it properly. Two and a half blocks were all that stood between her and the bus stop, which on any other day Evie would have easily walked to catch a ride into town. But, the morning stop was well past its pick up; the bus would only return in the evening to drop everyone else back off. Birdie's general store was several miles away, nestled in the heart of Bridge City. And as a seasoned New Yorker, Evie knew she could walk the distance without getting winded, but time was her enemy. She needed to get to work as soon as possible, which meant her only choice was to borrow Jonny's car.
Unsurprisingly, he was still asleep when she worked up the nerve to tip-toe into his messy chamber. There was a foul stench in his room that smelled of alcohol mixed with body odor. She'd stopped doing his laundry when she told him she was going to go find a job (something she shouldn't have started to do in the first place), and it seemed as though he'd stopped doing it too.
"Jonny…" she whispered forcefully in an attempt to wake him easily.
He did little more than shift and groan in response, making Evie frown. She did not have time to coddle him.
"Jonny!"
That time his grown sounded irritated, and he frowned, refusing to open his eyes.
"What?!"
He was already pissed.
"I'm late for work, could I borrow the car?"
"No," he said without hesitation. "I need the car later to go into town."
Jonny rolled over, away from Evelyn, seeming to go back to sleep. His sheer lack of humility and motivation set Evie's teeth against each other as annoyance seeped into every trace of her expression and demeanor.
"Then you have to give me a ride," she said sternly.
Jonny rolled onto his back, red-faced and angry.
"Jesus, Evelyn! Can't you take the fucking bus? I've got a headache!"
Evie's eyes narrowed, and she stomped forward to the edge of his bed, fire burning.
"No. I can't take the fucking bus, Jonny. I missed the pickup. So I am either taking the car, or you are giving me a ride because I am not walking five miles into town when you won't even do your own damn laundry! Heaven forbid you get a job!"
"Fine! Fine!...Christ, woman. Shut up…" He held up his hands, waving them in an attempt to put an end to her shouting. "Lemme get dressed."
"Quickly," she warned, stomping out of his room so she could take a breath out of the toxicity of where he slept.
He was not quick.
No doubt, Jonny, as a form of retaliation, purposely took his time. And as alluring a notion it was to storm in and start another spat, Evie knew it was better to let him be. He was going to take her to work, that was all she needed—she'd won that round.
With a sigh, she made herself a cup of coffee and sipped as she leaned against the counter, ready to abandon her mug on a moment's notice, knowing if she wasn't following him the moment he trudged out of his room, he'd turn every shade of red and start screaming again. How anyone could harness so much hostility was beyond Evie's ability to comprehend. It seemed tiring, for one. But who willingly acted the way Jonny did thinking it was right? Even sober his temper took little to irritate. Meanness was in his soul, and Evie couldn't even pity him.
"Let's go. Now!" Jonny grumbled as he sped through the house, snatching his keys from their hook on his way out the door.
He didn't even bother casting her a glance and Evie could do nothing but frown as she placed her half-drunk mug of coffee in the sink, following him over the threshold. It was mornings such as that when Evelyn wished she'd stayed in New York City. She missed friendly faces who greeted her in the early hours of the day: the smell of her mother making breakfast while her father drank his coffee reading the paper. But all that happiness had soured; there were more ghosts back home than there were friendly faces, and Evie was not strong enough to weather them.
The ride into town was mostly quiet—uncomfortable—but quiet.
That was until Jonny felt brave enough to comment on how irresponsible she'd been for oversleeping.
"I'm irresponsible?" Evie glared, dumbfounded. "At least I have a job to be late for, Jonny!"
His face turned one of those alarming shades of red Evie was so insufferably used to.
"It's hard for me to work with my arm all fucked up!"
Her eyes narrowed, "You and I both know that's a load of bull—you were not discharged from the Army because you took shrapnel."
Jonny's jaw was set tight, and his knuckles were white on the steering wheel. It was obvious he wanted to argue, but he knew he was cornered.
"You're just lazy, Jonny. And you don't take orders." Evie continued. "You can tell everyone your sob story from the war, but you are not fooling me."
The interior of the car was silent again, and while the air was definitely cumbersome, Evie felt a tingle of righteousness trickle through her. Perhaps she had been irresponsible for missing the bus that morning, but she was trying, which was far more than Jonny had done.
It was so easy for veterans to get jobs; over a year ago, places were hiring women in droves. In 1947, Evie was lucky to have found a job. With the war over everyone wanted a soldier working for them—a young man who was hardworking and trustworthy—a man who could take orders and would not bite back at authority. Jonny had never been that kind of soldier, thus he would never be that kind of worker.
As for whether or not he'd taken shrapnel during the war remained to be seen. It was possible, but Jonny lied all the time, especially when he could get something from doing so. The notion of his alleged injury only came up when he needed a crutch to get out of something, or a way for some unknowing kind soul to shower him with pity. Not once had he complained about a bad arm when it didn't benefit him.
Nevertheless, that was the story he'd told everyone when he'd returned home in '43. He thrived on the attention and pity the sob story rendered, and in the beginning, Evie'd been one of them until she'd found his discharge papers during the chaos of moving.
According to the documentation, not only was he insubordinate for the duration of his time in the service, he'd also threatened a member of his platoon at gunpoint while under the influence. The only reason he wasn't court-martialed was that he never fired his weapon. Why she'd been surprised to learn of the matter of his removal, Evie wasn't sure. But after living with him for eighteen months it was not a difficult conclusion to figure.
"I'll pick you up at five," Jonny mumbled when he pulled up to the curb outside the general store.
Even if she had wanted to, Evie didn’t have time to offer any thanks before Johnny sped away–the passenger door slamming shut from the force. She stood in awe, a heavy sigh parting her lips, head shaking, as she watched his reckless vehicle speed down main street and out of sight. He would be in a rotten mood all day, something Evie was almost certain would come to haunt her before the day was over. And while the notion of enduring whatever fit Jonny’s temper cooked up just for her, she decided not to dwell on it. There was too little good in her life to let the threat of a “could be” situation ruin a day in Birdie’s company. She would make the most of what she could. She had to.
Thankfully, the interior of the general store was quiet when Evie crossed the stepped inside. Instantly, the warm atmosphere and rich scents of old lumber and barrels of coffee beans put to rest the remaining ire left in her system, bringing a soft, contented smile to her lips.
Evie placed her bag behind the counter and reached for her navy apron hanging on the hook by the window.
“Birdie?” She called, hearing the older woman’s soft humming coming from somewhere in the building.
“Back here, dearie.” She answered. “Come an’ gimmie a hand, would ya?”
Evie followed the sound of her boss’ voice, finding the old woman in the farthest part of the store, stocking the shelves with jars of preserves. Birdie tossed her a welcome smile over her shoulder.
“Mornin’, Evie.”
“Morning—sorry I’m late, Birdie.”
The old woman’s brows knit together, and she searched her store for a clock with a glance.
“Are ya?” She shrugged. “Coulda fooled me. Just help me with this, yeah?”
“Okay, sure. No problem.” Evie nodded, smiling at the woman’s nonchalance.
Birdie patted her on the back and continued to place jars on the shelf, humming.
Work that afternoon was not profoundly exciting, but what it lacked in thrill it made up for in repose. The routine was relaxed and, despite the doldrums, the hours ticked by. She spent her morning placing the new inventory and making sure everything was priced how it should be, then she would finish her shift at the counter, ringing out customers while Birdie made lists of what needed to be ordered in the future.
Evie liked her time at the front the best. Most of the patrons who stopped in were friends of Birdie’s or her late husband Cecil, and the old woman would regularly introduce Evie with a smile. Chatting with those friendly strangers always helped bring some light into Evelyn's life, and little by little the residents of Bridge City were beginning to make her feel at home.
It was nearing closing time when Evie found herself in the far corner of the store sweeping the floors. How fitting it was to begin and end her shift in the same area of the building—a thought that made her smile as she focused on the movement of bristles against the wood. That fleeting tickle of jovial musings waned as the usual bought of melancholy that accompanied the end of another shift hit without mercy. Knowing she was to leave the serenity of the old general store to endure another evening of loneliness or Jonny—an angry Jonny—always twisted sickly in her stomach and made her frown.
If she was lucky, his frustration would heed a night of debauchery in New Orleans with his group of friends, leaving her alone in the old cottage for the majority of the night. Even then, she’d be left in the quiet to contemplate the grief in her heart; either way, there was no winning.
“Hiya, Birdie.” Came the sound of a familiar thick accent. “Got any smokes?”
Evie perked up instantly, suddenly hearing only the muffled beat of her heart in her ears. Excitement felt like fire in her veins, and all at once she was light-headed—Evie had never felt more ridiculous.
In an attempt not to seem obvious, she began working her pile of dust to the front of the store, eager to investigate the voice.
“There she is!” Birdie grinned causing Evie to look up with a nervous smile.
Merriell was leaning against the counter, his expression holding that charming smirk he seemed to wear with pride. His jeans were ratty—a hole at each knee—the blue denim blackened with grease stains here and there. The white shirt he wore was just as dirty but was free of any visible tears. It did, however, hug his lean frame in such a way Evie had a difficult time not staring.
“Evelyn, dearie. Ya never mentioned ya knew Merry!”
Mer made a sour face, but his smile remained.
“Oof,” he cringed. “Birdie, ain’t no one called me Merry since I was eight!”
The older woman’s eyes narrowed as she placed her hand on her hip with enough sass to shake the very foundation of the old general store.
“Merry Shelton, I’ve known you since you was toddlin’ ‘round here in nuthin’ but ya birthday suit. ‘Cause ya mama—try as she might—could not keep ya in ya clothes. All of which entitles me ta call ya whatevah the hell I damn well please!”
Merriell chuckled and leaned over the counter to plant a kiss on Birdie’s cheek.
“Guess I can’t argue with that.”
As the two of them laughed, the depth of their loving history caused Evie to smile. She was glad that Merriell had Birdie, and that Birdie had him. Whatever their stories were, whether light or darkness trailed behind them, at least they had one another.
“Ev, darlin’. Tell me how it was ya came ta know my handsome, Merry.”
“Her car broke down a few days back,” Mer cut in before Evie could gather her words. “She came in ta Doc’s askin’ ta use the phone ta call a mechanic.”
Birdie’s smile grew, something mischievous twinkling in her eyes as she passed a glance between the two of them. All at once, she was greatly intrigued with the two of them.
“Did ya fix it for her?”
“Sho did,” Merriell grinned smugly. “An’ as a thank you, I got me the best Italian home-cookin' I evah had.”
Birdie’s smile turned to Evie, her salt and pepper brow raised with query.
“Are ya Italian?”
Evie shook her head, “Irish, actually. But my ma lived across the hall from an Italian family after moving to the states when she was 18. They were kind enough to pass along a few recipes.”
“Oh, that’s nice. An’ I shoulda guessed you is Irish—all that red hair an freckles, gives it right way.” Birdie shook her head, seemingly disappointed in herself.
Evie smiled gently at the old woman’s reaction before turning back to Merriell.
“Thank you again for what you did.”
“Nah, thank you…” A shade of darkness flashed in his eyes, but he glanced away too quickly for Evie to gauge it properly.
It was as though he had something else to say, but thought better of it at the last moment, casting his glance around for some way to steer the conversation elsewhere. Finally, his wayward eyes came back to her, focusing on the broom in her hand.
“So…you enjoyin’ the job? Birdie’s bein’ nice, ain’t she?”
The old woman cast him a heavy frown, muttering a curse as she gave his arm a solid punch before snatching the broom from Evie and wandering into the store.
“She’s great,” Evie told him, leaving out the bit where Birdie was the only good thing consistent in her day-to-day life. “And I like it, it’s better than sitting at home.” Dealing with Jonny.
Mer nodded but said nothing else.
He never looked away from her though, his glance attentive and tender. He looked at her almost in—not quite awe—but something in that ballpark. It wasn’t something Evie was used to.
“So…why did you come in so close closing?” She asked in an attempt to thwart the blush his watchfulness began to stir.
His eyes pointed to a row of packaged cigarettes displayed on the counter.
“Birdie lets me bum smokes every time I fix somethin’ for her—or change a light bulb." Mer reached behind her for a pack, and Evie couldn’t help but watch the movement of his fingers as he opened the box and lit up.
“Do you always trade your skills for goods or services instead of cash?”
The corners of his mouth quirked into a small grin before he blew a stream of smoke out his nostrils.
“Sometimes a favah is the best currency ta have. Ya nevah know when ya gonna need a helpin’ hand.”
His expression softened from its usual wit to a guise brimming with compassion, something almost vulnerable. “I don’ eveah expect anything back though, helpin’ people’s just good for ya soul—money don’t mean nothin’ next ta that.”
All at once, some profound feeling worked through Evelyn’s body she didn’t quite understand. It was warm like every other feeling she’d reveled in on behalf of Mer’s presence. But suddenly it was so much stronger. Every part of her tingled; she was overcome with happiness and a sense of security.
Merriell's inherit generosity was a beacon she wanted nothing more than to cling to; the embodiment of southern hospitality. He was nothing like the New York indifference she was accustomed to.
“I suppose you’re right,” Evie said finally.
“‘Course I am,” Mer grinned, that hint of vulnerability swallowed by his arrogance.
“Does that mean you’re too good to have a real job like the rest of us shmucks?”
Merriell chuckled, flicking ashes from his cigarette into the tray beside the register before taking a long drag.
“Nah, I’m a workin’ shmuck too—necessary evil.”
“Ah…” Evie nodded, trying to match just a fraction of his charm. “Unfortunately so.”
As she watched him inhale a few more drags from his cigarette, a million questions began swimming about in her mind. Merriell was like a wayward summer breeze blowing in during the deepest part of winter—warm and whimsical but mysterious. There were a thousand things in his smile that made her yearn to know him at an intimate level, and a thousand more in the melancholy he held when he thought no one was looking.
There were so many layers to her beautiful stranger, each one harder than the last to uncover. But Evie was prepared to wait, to help him blossom, if he wanted.
Birdie returned to the front of the store with the broom and a full dustpan, dumping the trash into the bin beside the counter.
“Well, anothah day ovah. I prolly won’t be needin’ ya till ‘bout noon or one o’clock tomorrow, Evie. Sunday’s always slow before church lets out.”
“You sure?” Evie asked, beginning to untie her apron. “I don’t mind coming in early if you need me.”
Birdie shook her head, “I been running this place for a long time, it’s always run like clockwork—just like the folks that live here. Sunday mornin’ is for the lord, ain’t no one gonna be stoppin’ in ta buy nothin’ till they done prayin’.”
“I take it you’re not the church-going type?” Evie asked, brow raised.
Her mother had been raised Catholic, and as such, Aileen Clarke, raised Evelyn and James to be devout Catholics as well. She’d hoped at least. Evie admired the sense of community the church offered, but she never felt connected to it; her soul was too wild. Unlike so many, Evie didn’t judge a person for how or where they spent their Sundays.
“Oh, child. I got too many vices ta ask God for his forgiveness every week. We ain’t been on speakin’ terms for quite a while.”
Evie nodded, curious, but said nothing.
“Shelton’s feel the same way,” Mer added, speaking with his cigarette between his lips.
“Clarke’s too,” Evie said, feeling obliged. “What’s left of us at least…”
The space was quiet for a moment, her statement hanging somewhat awkwardly, and Evie quickly sought to remedy the cumbersome atmosphere.
“Okay, so noon tomorrow?”
Birdie nodded.
“You—uh…” Mer stood up a little straighter scratching the back of his head as his cigarette clung precariously to his bottom lip. “You need a ride home? I’d be happy ta take ya.”
The smile on Evelyn's face barely had time to form when Jonny’s voice broke the levity in the atmosphere.
“I’m her ride home.”
In his hand, he held a mediocre bouquet which he shoved into Evie’s grasp after pushing past Merriell.
Immediately confusion twisted onto her features as she glanced at the flowers.
“Jonny, what are these f—“
“I’m sorry I was a dick this morning.” He huffed without an ounce of any real sincerity. “I thought I’d make it up to you.”
A lump formed in the back of Evie’s throat she struggled to swallow, feeling uncomfortable with what his gift implied. She looked to Merriell, finding him watchful again, concern weighing on his brow.
“You didn’t have to get me flowers, Jonny. An apology would have been enough,” she said finally, looking back to her roommate.
Redness swelled on his face, his scowl growing deep as the onslaught of rage began to brew behind his eyes.
“Thanks though!” Evie said quickly in an attempt to keep his temper at bay.
He sighed, already irritated just from being there. “Are you ready to go?”
Jonny eyed Merriell maliciously, but once more Mer stood his ground unfazed.
“I want to talk to you about something,” Jonny added, his tone sounding darker.
All at once, alarm twisted her gut into anxious knots and every nerve in her body screamed out in warning not to follow Jonny home. And while everything inside begged her not to go, Evie did not want to cause a scene.
“Yeah,” she said finally. “Let me just get my…”
Birdie handed her the bag she carried into work, her dark eyes conveying an air of caution. “I’ll be seein’ ya tomorrow, dearie.”
“Yeah, tomorrow—have a good night Birdie,” Evie said.
She stopped in front of Merriell on her way out the door, meeting his gaze, finding his eyes fierce with concern.
“See ya around?” Evie asked as Jonny yanked her by the wrist towards the door.
“Count on it.”
It was that intensity in Merriell's eyes when he spoke that kept the fear at bay. And all Evie could do was hope it would help see her through whatever awaited her when she got home too.
#Beautiful Stranger Series#Merriell Shelton x Original Character#Merriell Shelton#Snafu Shelton#HBO War#The Pacific#The Pacifiic Fanfiction#Merriell Shelton Fanfiction#Snafu Fanfiction#Rami Malek Fanfiction
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I like honestly need some toothrotting fluff with snafu like 70% of the snafu content is just smut not that I'm complaining but I need doing basic ass things with snaf that don't lead to fucking like mention it sure but if the reader and snaf could keep it in there pants and do something fluffy for two seconds that would be much appreciated
I don’t think you’re yelling at me, lol, but I do acknowledge that the majority of my Snaf writing is smut. I guess we all just see Merriell “Snafu” Shelton as the sexbeast when it comes to the Ramigos 🙃
Anyway, kickin’ it out to the country for this one, and I hope it’s fluffy enough for you!
Your relationship with your parents was . . . complicated.
For as long as you could remember, your main goal had been to get as far away from the northeastern United States as possible, so when your ambitions took you deep into the south, you settled into your new life with ease. The oppressive weight of everything that was them, lifted, and you felt, for the first time, free.
Meeting Merriell Shelton only lightened matters. At first, he was a handsome, mysterious, brooding creature, but when he took a shine to you, you realized it was all a mask—a protective layer, much like your own that he had donned to shield himself from all the bad he had already known in the world. And once he let you in, there wasn’t a day that went by when he didn’t make you smile or when you didn’t have to clutch your stomach from laughing so hard it hurt.
Happiness, so soft and so sweet, flowed over you like a cleansing wave and life was good.
But one evening, when Merriell came home from work, he found you sitting quietly on the sofa, reading a message from your brother.
“What is it, darlin?”
“My folks—they . . . miss me.”
“But you don’t miss them, right?”
You looked up at Merriell, frowning. “I’m . . . not sure. A few years ago, my answer would’ve been a hell no. Now? I’m just not sure.”
“Time can do that to a person,” Mer said, raising his eyes and looking over your head and out the living room window.
“Would you—” you stopped, unsure if you really wanted to ask this of him.
“Would I?” he questioned, his green eyes flicking back to lock on yours, blazing with an intensity that told you he was listening, really listening.
You bit your lip, then asked, “Would you come home with me?”
Merriell was quiet for a moment, then he kneeled on the floor in front of you, careful to avoid staining the fabric of the couch with his grease-spotted work pants. “I’ll do whateva ya want,” he said, plucking one of your hands from your lap so he could gently kiss your palm before pressing it against his cheek.
“Thank you,” you said, your voice choked with emotion as you ran your thumb over the soft skin of his cheek.
* * * * *
As the tires crunched over the grass-disrupted gravel along the winding driveway to your parents’ farmhouse, you rolled down the window and breathed in the air of your childhood. The corn was growing in nicely, but Mer looked around and said, “That’s all the higha it is in July?”
“Knee-high by the fourth of July,” you sang with a little laugh. “Things grow a little slower up here.”
Merriell watched the corn pass suspiciously, but once the rows ended, you were met with yet another long stretch of driveway that led up to the house.
Situated on a hill in the midst of a decently sized yard that was then flanked by the woods, was your parents’ place. Everything was kept in pristine condition when you lived there, so you weren’t surprised that much hadn’t changed. Property was the one true pride of your folks.
Merriell pulled into a spot beside your daddy’s truck and cut the engine.
“Ya ready?”
You nodded before hopping out of your car, relishing in the freedom to stand and bounce on your toes, wiggling off the long drive.
Merriell stretched, groaning a little as his back popped when he lifted his arms high over his head.
You seized the opportunity and launched into his side, wrapping your arms tightly around his trim waist. You buried your face in his neck and inhaled as he brought his arms down around you.
For a few minutes, you just stood there, locked in a warm hug and wrapped in the most comforting presence you had ever known, both of you totally at peace. Although, you could feel Merriell’s eyeballs moving as they took everything in, knowing he’d have a million questions once the two of you were settled in for the night.
“All right. Let’s do this,” you said with a shaky conviction.
Mer chuckled into your ear and kissed your temple. “Not too late to jus’ high-tail it outta here.”
You smiled at him and shook your head, taking his hand in yours and leading him into the house.
* * * * *
As it turned out, Merriell was right. Time did have a way of changing things and the evening was pleasant. Your brother and your sister were there, asking Merriell a million questions about growing up in Cajun country, and your parents peppered you with questions about how you’d adjusted to life in the south.
By the time the crickets and the katydids were trying to outsing each other, your mouth was actually dry from talking. Your parents had gone to bed and your siblings had just left, so you poured what remained of the lemonade into two glasses, filled them with ice, and took Merriell to your favorite part of the house: the wrap-around, open, front porch.
You settled into a pair of matching, wooden Adirondack chairs that were connected by a small table, and settling your drinks there, you both let your eyes adjust to the dark.
“‘S kinda spooky out here,” Mer commented as he adjusted to the night noises of the north.
Your laughter was soft. “Give your eyes a minute. Keep watching the treeline.”
Mer complied, and in a few minutes he was leaning forward, his mouth popping open in the dark. You watched him first, then turned your eyes to the treeline as what seemed like millions of lightening bugs began their dance.
There were so many of the fiery little creatures, their lights blinking off and on so quickly that it looked like the trees were moving even though there wasn’t even a slight breeze. It was mesmerizing, and paired with the sounds of the crickets and the katydids, it was bliss.
“I missed this.”
“I’ve neva seen so many,” Merriell said with awe. “It looks like a, whatchamacallit? The thing with the bursts of color inside?”
“A kaleidoscope.”
“Mmhm.”
You smiled as you watched him watching the lightening bugs, his curls still neatly tamed and his crisp white t-shirt standing out against both the background of the night and the deep tan of his arms.
“Wanna catch a couple?”
Merriell turned to look at you like you were crazy, but once he saw the way your face was lit up in a wide smile, he couldn’t help but smile back. He stood up from his chair and you did, too, telling him to wait just a second.
Dashing into the house, you dug out one of your mom’s canning jars and grimaced as you poked holes in the lid with a kitchen knife. You didn’t even want to know how many jars met this fate when you were little because no one could ever remember where the lid went. It was like the holes made it invisible by the next time you needed it.
Merriell was still standing in the same spot, still watching the lightening bugs.
“They closer now.”
“Perfect for catching!” you said with a leap off the porch and into the yard, your shoes forgotten and the cool grass bringing back another wave of memories.
Except nothing from your childhood could compare to the feeling of Merriell deciding that you were going to be his first lightening bug. He caught you around the waist and spun you before settling you back on your feet.
“That’s not how this works,” you said through your laughter.
“Oh? Show me then,” he teased, his teeth a flash of white in the dark as he grinned.
“Come on!”
Tugging Merriell through the yard you stalked a lightening bug, waiting until it was just close enough to snatch out of the air.
“Got him!”
You shook the bug off into the jar and both of you watched as he blinked inside of his cage.
“Betta find him a friend,” Merriell said, his eyes narrowing as he mimicked the way you had stalked and captured your bug—except he didn’t quite have the knack yet, so when he opened his hand a streak of dying phosphorescence was smeared across his palm.
“Oh no,” Merriell breathed.
You shook your head and couldn’t help but to quietly laugh at his genuine guilt.
“I had a cousin who used to smear them on like war paint—at least you didn’t do it on purpose,” you said, lifting his chin and giving him a consoling peck.
“Here,” you said softly. “Watch me again.”
Mer watched you so intently that you could feel his burning gaze of concentration as you caught the next bug. “More like an open-palmed snatch—and don’t close your fist the whole way.”
Merriell nodded and came back beaming with his living lightening bug cupped tenderly in his palm.
“Do I get a kiss for doin’ it right?”
“You can have a kiss for breathing if you want.”
Mer laughed and kissed you, his lips pressing into yours in a few quick successions before he pulled away and challenged you, insisting he could catch more lightening bugs than you.
For the next hour, the two of you darted through the yard like kids, laughing, occasionally stopping for hugs and sweet kisses until Mer’s challenge was completely forgotten and your jar was filled with blinking little treasures.
“I’m so thirsty,” you said, swiping at the little bit of sweat that had broken out along your brow.
Merriell took your hand and you walked back to the porch. He set the jar down beside your watered down lemonades and when you downed your drink in nearly one gulp, he offered you his.
“Wha’ we gonna do with them?” he asked, his finger lightly tapping on the glass as he leaned in to watch them crawl around the jar, their lights bright enough to reflect in his big eyes.
“Let them go,” you said with a wistful half-smile.
Mer looked up at you, then back down at the jar.
“They sure are beautiful.”
“Not as beautiful as you,” you replied, betting a hundred dollars that Merriell was blushing but it was too dark to see.
“Stop that,” he lightly scolded. “That’s ma line.”
“Oh, it’s a line, is it?”
He smiled. “No, darlin. Not with you. With you, it’s the truth.”
“That’s an even better line.”
You both tittered with laughter, both of your eyes lingering on each other before you reached for the jar.
“Let’s go free our little friends.”
Hand in hand with only a mason jar full of fireflies to guide you, you made your way toward the treeline.
#Merriell Shelton#merriell shelton x reader#gender neutral#Merriell Shelton fluff#fluff#rami malek character#Rami Malek fanfiction#Merriell Shelton fanfiction#snafu#snafu shelton#snafu shelton fanfiction#snafu x reader
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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
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Hohoho!
Looking for a Christmas Sledgefu fic to satisfy your thirst for season’s reading?
I have something just right for you!
The 4th chapter of ‘Unknown Number’ (the ‘text to wrong number’ AU I wrote one year ago) it’s all Christmas themed! Wild, right?
Happy holidays! 🎅 🎄🦌
#fanfiction#sledgefu#the pacific#eugene sledge#merriell 'snafu' shelton#unknown number#christmas fic#guess who's back#may also contain: phone sex
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Hi!! :) Spots to kiss + 24., Sledgefu please
I WAS GOING FOR A SOFT FIC NOT AN ANGST I SWEAR 😭😭😭
24. a kiss on the shoulder
Their room filled with light as lightning flashed through the sky. The crack of thunder startled Eugene out of his sleep. He sat up quickly, chest heaving as he tried to calm his racing heart. He hated thunderstorms, they reminded him too much of mortar barrages from the war. Eugene pressed the heel of his hands up to his closed eyes. He hated himself in these moments.
Eugene heard a rustle of fabric behind him and felt the bed move. He felt Merriell sit up and press a kiss against the freckles on his shoulders.
“Wha’s wrong?” Merriell drawled. Eugene knew his eyes were still shut.
“Don’t worry about it, it's nothing,” Eugene replied dismissively.
Merriell frowned against Eugene’s back. He snaked an arm around the red head’s waist and pulled him backwards onto the bed. Eugene let out a startled sound as he was pulled against Merriell’s chest.
“It ain’t nothin’ but we are home, in bed, tryin’ to sleep,” Merriell said sleepily as he pulled Eugene closer. Eugene looked up at the normally stoic man with a soft smile. Merriell may be prickly on the best of days, but he definitely knew how to ground Eugene on nights like this.
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Dad!Snafu he’d be such a great dad Maybe like morning cuddles or something with your child
OoOOoooOOOOOoooO… I’m loving this.. I haven’t written Snafu as a dad yet. I’m going to go with a kiddo that’s about a year old.
Sighing softly as you made your way into the bedroom trying not to wake your two precious boys. The night shift at the hospital had been absolute hell and you wanted nothing more than to have a quick shower and then a good cuddle with your two favorites boys before you drifted off to sleep for a few hours.
Standing in the doorway of the bedroom you had to stifle a soft giggle at the sight before you.
There was your gloriously beautiful husband sprawled out on his back, sheets clinging to his bare hips (yes he sleeps naked- and no he doesn’t care), with your almost year old son on the mattress next to him sprawled out in the exact same position.
You’d never noticed before but like father, like son.
Quietly you tiptoed into the bathroom and took your shower. You refused to kiss, snuggle, cuddle, or hug any of your family until after you’ve washed any potential lingering germs from your body.
Finishing your shower you were about to tiptoe out of the bathroom when you heard it. The sleepy, raspy southern voice saying “Good morning” and a soft giggle from your son.
You turn off the bathroom light, and crack the door open just slightly to watch the two for a minute.
You’d never tire of watching him interact with the baby.
Your son was now up on his knees, gurgling, and gently smacking his dad’s bare chest, while Mer just looked on wearing the dopiest of smiles.
“Hey little man, let’s go change your diaper and get breakfast started so we can feed your mama before she has to take a nap.”
Your son just cooed and slobbered all over your husbands chest while Mer giggled, he gently moved your son away so that he didn’t topple over, and then stood up allowing the sheet to fall away from his body.
He must have known you were watching but he didn’t care, he bends down to pick up his shorts from the floor, sliding them on and securing them at his hips.
He turns around and scoops your son off the bed, bouncing him around in his arms while softly humming a tune.
“C’mon little man, I bet you your mama is gonna be ready for some cuddles here real soon, so come help daddy make breakfast.”
Your son giggled and babbled all the way into the kitchen, drool dripping down Mer’s back. Merriell was so unphased and unbothered by that fact.
#The Pacific#Merriell Shelton#Merriell Snafu Shelton#Snafu Shelton#snafu x reader#snafu reader#Rami Malek#Rami Malek characters#Dad!Snafu#Snafu is a daddy in this one#Snafu Shelton Imagine#Snafu SHelton Blurb#Snafu Shelton HC#Rami Malek blurb#Rami Malek Imagine#Snafu Shelton fluff#fluff fic#snafu shelton fanfiction#snafu shelton fanfic
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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
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I wrote a Mandalorian AU story to go along with this!
https://archiveofourown.org/works/24006892/chapters/57753172
#may the fourth#may the fourth be with you#eugene sledge#snafu shelton#merriell shelton#snafu x sledge#sledgefu#star wars#the mandalorian#fanfiction#the pacific
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Rami Malek & Characters MasterList
*Last Updated April 17th, 2022*
*Links corrected on Sept 23, 2023*
Anything Marked With ** is NSFW
Rami Malek
Bad Days
Amantium
You Love Him Like This**
Tease**
Mine**
Sunday Morning**
Revved**
Aftermath**
Action**
Sledgefu (The Pacific)
His Only Dance Partner
Talk To Me **
Elliot Alderson (Mr.Robot)
Pushing The Limits**
Together
Lucky High**
Selfish**
Merriell Shelton (The Pacific)
Homecoming**
Valentines Day Bliss**
A Little Assistance**
Late Introductions
Doin’ Just Fine
A Whole Snack**
Bittersweet (Name Update)
~ Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four**, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven, Chapter Eight
Broken Promises
Aesthetics**
Baby Talk
You’re Going to be Okay
Countdown**
Sing For Me**
Thinkin’ Bout you**
Stoners**
Take It Out on Me**
Afterblunts**
Starving**
Louis Dega (Papillion)
Bien Pour Moi**
Finn (Need for Speed)
Elevated**
Josh Washington (Until Dawn)
Procrastination**
Fictober 2020
I told you so* (Merriell Shelton)
Watch me (Stoner!Snaf)
I Missed This** (Josh Washington)
You Better Leave Now (Finn)
Not Interested, Thank You* (Merriell Shelton)
I Never Wanted Anything Else (Merriell Shelton)
Give Me a Minute or an Hour* (Merriell Shelton)
You Don’t See it? (Josh Washington)
I Can’t Do This Anymore (Finn)
Did I ask?** (Merriell Shelton)
This, this makes it all worth it (Merriell Shelton)
And Neither Should You / Are You Kidding Me (Josh Washington)
Do We Have To?* (Josh Washington)
The Mistress** (Josh Washington)
#rami malek#rami malek smut#rami malek fic#rami/joe#mazlek#ben hardy/rami malek#sledgefu#sledgefu fanfiction#elliot alderson smut#Elliot Alderson#elliot alderson x reader#Merriell Shelton#Merriell Snafu Shelton#merriell shelton x reader#merriell shelton smut#merriell shelton/reader#snafu#Snafu Shelton#snafu x reader#snafu shelton x reader#louis dega#the pacific#papillon#finn#finn need for speed#need for speed#masterlist#fictober20
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My man @axton-blogs wrote this beauty!! Please love him and tell him he's awesome and a great writer!!
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Safin sits on the unfamiliar couch in the House. He glances at the glass of water on the table, looks to Elliot, then continues to look at the ground.
Elliot leans on the wall, arms crossed over his chest. He's given up asking questions, the man doesn't seem to want to talk. It's just the two of them in the House for now, until Snafu walks in and Safin looks up.
Snafu makes his way to Elliot, who fills him in on where he found him and how he found him, and Snafu decides to sit on the couch next to Safin, who scoots over more to give himself space.
"M'names Merriell Shelton, you can call me Snafu."
No response.
"Elliot tells me your name is Safin."
No response. He continues to look at the ground.
"There's more of us, you know? At some point, you're gonna have to talk about yourself, Cher."
No response.
"Hey, I've got scars just like you do." Snafu lifts his shirt to reveal a bullet wound on his hip with spiderweb-like scaring around it, which gets him a faint smile from Safin.
"How'd you get yours?"
Safin sits up straighter and looked to his hands.
"If you need to talk, I'm in the room next to Kenny, okay?"
Safin nods, and before Snafu is out of sight, he whispers, "Thank you."
Both Elliot and Snafu perk up and give him a nod.
It's gonna take a minute with this one.
#submission#axton-blogs#house of rami#elliot alderson#snafu#merriell shelton#safin#fanfiction#I love the approach you took Ax#they're beautiful
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Me writing Rami fanfics:
After I'm done writing:
Reading what I wrote:
#rami malek#elliot alderson#merriell shelton#snafu#rami malek x reader#snafu x reader#elliot alderson x reader#fanfic#fanfiction
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One Shot #1 | Josh x Reader : Side Effect
Title: Side Effect
Type: Fluff
Prompt: Josh stopped taking his meds, and surprisingly you might have something to do with it…
Pairing: Josh | Reader
Warning: Mental illness, Depression
“… I want your papers on my desk by next week, and please do me a favor by not using Wikipedia ‘cause I will know it… Have a nice day, next week we’ll talk about the NATO and if such an organization remains useful in a post- cold war world. Thank you for your attention.” Your teacher said, putting an end to a class you had barely paid attention to, your attention being fully caught by the empty seat at your left.
Not that Josh was a model student, but if he had gotten sick you would have heard him complain about it for an entire week and if he were to skip classes you would have been the first person to know as he would have spent the entire night trying to convince you to come with him to a Kubrick retrospective at the movie theater or whatever.
You smiled at that thought but a part of you kept telling you that there was something odd with Josh’s absence. Knowing that it would keep you from being fully focused on your other classes of the day you decided to call it a day and to check on Josh on your way home.
As you headed to your locker, you could feel Sam and Jessica’s eyes on you. In other circumstances, they would have been the first people you would have gone to, to have news about Josh, but things being what they were that wasn’t even an option. After what you called the “lodge incident”, few were still bothering with talking to Josh or even sitting next to him during lectures.
In fact, besides Chris and you, Josh had no one, and with Chris who had decided to move out of town only a few weeks after the incident, it was clear that their relationship would never go back to what it was. As to you, people just decided to rank you in the same category as Josh, floating in his orbit being a sufficient reason to be ranked as a notorious psycho. You didn’t care, a few whispers and looks in your direction when you walked in the college hallways seemed to you like a reasonable tribute to pay for Josh not to be alone.
...
In front of Josh’s house, it took you all your will not to flee. Maybe you were just overreacting, maybe you should let him some space, maybe your little infatuation for Josh was the one guiding you there instead of reason.
But before you could ponder about it further, the door opened leaving you there in front of Mr. Washington.
“Thank god, Y/N you’re here…” Josh’s father sighed at your sight.
“Yeah, I just… wanted to check on Josh as he wasn’t in class this morning”
“And I was about to call you to ask you if you could come over to check up on him, it's a small world, isn’t it?” He said, feinting a smile in a vain attempt to reassure you.
“How is he today?”
“Well… He hasn’t said a word all week-end, he barely eats and doesn’t want to go out of his bedroom… so his mother and I thought that maybe… he would want to talk with you. If you’re okay with it of course, we know we have already asked you a lot concerning Josh lately…” Mr. Washington explained, a concerned look on his face.
“Hey… That’s fine, I’m gonna see what I can do, okay?”
“Thank you Y/N, that’s reassuring to know that he can count on you.”
...
You took a deep breath before knocking on Josh’s door. You had already seen him in his bad days, many times in fact but a part of you knew that no matter the number of times you would lend yourself to the exercise it would never become easier.
You knocked so softly on the door that for a minute you thought he hadn’t heard you at all and as you pondered the idea of knocking again, he opened the door wide before going back to his spot on his window bench.
You had spent countless nights on that bench talking about everything from his favorite movies to how hard it was for him to cope with his sisters’ absence. How many hours had the two of you spent there on that bench talking, laughing, sometimes crying from the sunset until the sunrise? Sometimes the two of you would end falling asleep right there on that bench only to be woken up by the sun rays penetrating his bedroom at dawn.
“Since when do you need to knock on my door before entering?” His voice stirred you out of your reverie. The only sound of his voice was enough for you to know that he was in a very bad episode. He wasn’t even looking at you, his eyes staring at nothing but the window, probably for you not to see his swollen eyes from crying.
“Since you decided to deprive me from your delightful jokes during international relationships classes.” You answered, sitting next to him and noticing a smile creeping onto his face.
After a few minutes of silence, he looked at you.
“Thank you. For… being here, Y/N.” Josh stated out of the blue before breaking down in tears in your arms.
“Shh… You’re gonna be okay… everything’s gonna be okay, I promise you.” You whispered, hugging him as tight as you could and desperately trying to fight back tears.
...
“There’s no way in the world Reservoir Dogs is better than Kill Bill.” You retorted, as Josh was giving you one of his usual laiuses about Tarantino’s genius. The two of you were lying on his bed as you talked about this and that.
At your words, he propped up on his elbow to look at you in the eye. His eyes were still a little swollen and red from the crying but you could see deep in the complex green shade of them a gleam of light, the one he had every time he talked about something he was deeply passionate about.
“I’m sorry Y/N but I’m gonna ask you to leave this room, such words won’t be tolerated here.”
“Come on, you know I’m right… Honestly you’re not gonna tell me you prefer a movie with six dudes that spend two hours in a weird warehouse to a bad ass woman slicing with her katana more heads that I can count.”
“That’s up for discussion but…” Josh started, only to be interrupted by his father knocking on the door.
“Hey, I just wanted to check on the two of you…” Josh’s father started before becoming silent at the sight of his son smiling. After a few seconds, he snapped out of his thoughts and smiled at you in a way to say thank you.
“Dad, do you mind if Y/N stays for dinner?” You heard Josh ask, catching you off guard as usual.
“No problem, your mother and I are going to try that new restaurant downtown by the way, you just have to order a pizza or whatever…” Josh’s father answered before heading out of the room.
“Oh and Josh, she’s right. Kill Bill is at all levels a better movie than Reservoir Dogs.” He added before leaving the room.
“Okay, that’s one for you, Y/N.” Josh admitted before crashing back in the bed next to you.
The two of you stayed there, silently, doing nothing but appreciating each other’s presence. The song playing in the background softly filled the silent room as Josh’s breathing was synchronizing with yours. This was all you needed, this was your definition of heaven and suddenly the idea of an afterlife seemed trivial almost boring. Why would you need a Garden of Eden, when everything that contributed to your happiness was down here?
Yet still, your mind kept coming back to something, a detail you had noticed the minute you entered Josh’s room. Confronting Josh about that ‘detail’ would have probably ruined the perfect moment the two of you were sharing but you were his friend, his only friend. You couldn’t act as if you had seen nothing in a selfish attempt to enjoy the moment a little longer.
“Josh…”
“Hmm?” He hummed, turning his head to the side a little to look at you. It took you all your will not to look at his green vibrant eyes, because you knew that the second you would dive into them you would forget until your own name.
“Y/N? Is everything okay?” Josh asked you, propping up on his elbow, a concerned look on his face.
“Yeah, it’s just that… I need to ask you something but you have to tell me the truth…”
“Hey Y/N, of course, you’re my best friend I would never lie to you, you know that, don’t you?” Your heart sank at his words, as it did every time he would refer to you as his ‘friend’. Still, you decided to put your bruised ego aside, sat against the bedhead and took a deep breath.
“How long you been off your meds?”
Josh didn’t even try to avoid your gaze. He ran his hand through his hair in anxiety, not wanting to lie to you but not wanting to admit the truth either.
“I’m so sorry, Y/N… it’s just that…” Josh started stuttering not knowing where to start nor where to stop.
“Hey… Josh… I’m not your mother, nor your therapist I’m not gonna be mad at you because of that… I just… I just want to understand and help you, that’s all I ever wanted.”
“How did you notice?” He asked you, hesitantly taking your hand in his as to gauge, in vain, how mad you were at him for doing such a stupid thing.
“You should have asked me to take you to the pharmacy to get a refill a week ago but there’s a full bottle of pills on your bedside table.” You softly explained while squeezing his hand with a reassuring smile.
“Thank you, Y/N… For… paying attention.” You heard him say as you got up to get him a glass of water.
You handed him the glass and a pill, before sitting back next to him.
“Josh, I’m not gonna force you to take it, you’re the only one deciding here, okay?” He nodded flipping nervously the pill in between his fingers.
“Good. Now I’m gonna need you to tell me why you decided not to take them anymore because… there’s no way I’m gonna be able to help you if you keep shutting me out.”
Josh took a deep breath, his eyes lingering on the wall for a minute as he pondered the pros and cons of being honest with you.
“Okay… Hum… You remember when you picked me up after my session with Dr. Hill two weeks ago?”
You nodded with a soft smile, inviting him to continue.
“… well, hum… He changed one of my meds and replaced it by another one…”
“The one that was keeping you from sleeping, isn’t it?” You asked him.
“Yeah, so now I get to sleep like a baby but… this new med has a side effect and… shit... that’s embarrassing…”
“Hey… Josh, it’s me, you can tell me everything remember? Just go ahead.” You encouraged him.
“Okay, well there’s that girl I’m into, like really into, since quite a long time actually and… Fuck, let’s simply say that this med isn’t gonna help me at taking our relationship to… the next level…” Josh hardly explained, every one of his word stabbing you in the heart.
And as you felt like if concrete was drying in your chest, you noticed the gleam of light in his eyes as he talked about her. The one he had when he talked about movies, his sisters or his dreams. You swallowed hard and snapped out of your thoughts at the sight of Josh handing you the pill bottle and waiting for you to take it.
You gave him nothing but a confused look in response not really understanding his point.
“There’s no way in the world I’m saying this out loud, especially in front of you.” He declared, inviting you to read the label on the small orange bottle.
“Fuck, you must find me ridiculous…” Josh sighed, avoiding your gaze.
“Josh, no, of course not. You’re just… so much smarter than that…”
He didn’t seem convinced by your words so you decided to be in turn honest.
“Josh, listen, you’re by far the best person I’ve ever met, you’re the most caring man I know, sometimes so caring that you even forget to take care of yourself, you find the strength to laugh even when life does everything to put you down and that’s just a tiny fraction of what makes you so special… And if that girl isn’t smart enough to see and appreciate that, then she doesn’t even deserve you to consider the idea of taking her to the bone zone.”
The words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop them, and despite the silence that followed your confession, you had to admit that it felt good, almost salutary.
Josh, him, stayed there, dead silent, smiling so widely that you couldn’t even remember the last time you had seen him smiling this way. Probably went back to before his sisters’ disappearance.
And in turn, you stayed there, unable to say anything as you watched him take his medicine and drinking his glass of water all at once.
And before you could say anything, he got closer.
“Oh trust me, she deserves it.” He whispered before capturing your lips into a passionate and exquisite kiss.
#rami malek#rami malek fic#rami malek imagine#rami malek x reader#ramimalek#joshua washington#josh washington#joshwashington#until dawn#fanfiction#the pacific#elliot alderson#mr robot#louis dega#papillon#snafu#Merriell Shelton#Ahkmenrah#benjamin twilight#fluff#fics#elliot alderson x reader#josh washington x reader#joshua washington x reader#oneshot#🖤#mywork#fluffjosh#myos
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