#Office Cleaning Gloucester | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

freebooter4ever · 3 years

Text

Living in close quarters for months on end with a bunch of men his own age doesn't bother Snafu a bit. It's the one part of the Marines Corps he actually enjoys. Like living on an island full of eye candy. Snafu became mostly numb to the sheer number of naked butts by the end of his second day on Pavuvu. With the heat and the sun, the men need very little provocation to strip their clothing off. It was distracting for about an hour and then it became commonplace.

Later, after Gloucester, after living for three straight weeks in rain and misery, under the constant threat of violent death, and then returning once more to Pavuvu, Snafu becomes numb to everything....

He's never been one for carousing - a trait his peers in high school picked up on pretty quick. He's been compensating ever since. Packing on the innuendo and flirtation, and studying how other men act towards women and amplifying it in his own behavior.

So even before the numbness set in, Snafu isn't sure he ever actually felt anything like what others seem to describe. Even though Snafu admires his daily fill of half dressed fellow Marines wandering around camp, he does it in a detached sort of way that makes him feel more like an observer than participant. And it's good, because while there are whispers and rumors about certain guys who will take a man into the woods and show him a good time, Snafu doesn't need to get involved. He gets himself into enough trouble without adding a court martial onto it.

A few days after Gloucester an envelope arrives. There's no letter, simply a newspaper clipping slipped inside and stamped. The clipping is from his hometown newspaper and the article is about their hometown hero - brave Merriell Shelton - who shot up the enemy with his 'mortar gun'.

It's truly amazing how in a small town such as his, one can go from being the delinquent orphan son of impoverished half crazed parents easily forgotten by polite society, to being a hometown hero in the span of one battle.

Everyone in K company teases him about the article, especially about the 'mortar gun' bit. Snafu enjoys it immensely. He takes pride in his notoriety. It adds to his carefully cultivated mystique. No one wants to fuck with the fast talking, mean Merriell Shelton, war hero.

In actuality, Snafu is no hero. He fights for one reason, and that's the fifty dollars a month being sent home to his kid sister. He doesn't want her saddled with being a burden to her adopted family. Not like Snafu was with their own parents.

Overall, aside from the numbness, everything about Snafu's time in the Marine Corps is going well. He has respect, he has the looming potential of death and relief, and he has a steady diet of filling if questionable food. He thinks he's got a handle on things.

Till his downfall arrives a few days after the envelope.

Eugene Sledge looks like a fool from the minute he steps into Snafu's tent. Something about him irritates the hell out of Snafu. To try and figure out what about Sledge bothers him so much, Snafu goes out of his way to run into the guy. But no dice. Nothing works.

It doesn't click until Snafu accidentally runs into Sledge in the showers. Normally Snafu showers on off times to avoid any accidents. But after one particularly disgusting round of coconut duty, Snafu is stuck washing the gritty stickiness off in the middle of the day.

At first there's just him and Pops in the showers. A typical sight - Gunney Haney is obsessively clean. Snafu ignores him, and ignores the new Boots who join them halfway through. Snafu requires single minded focus to fish out all the coconut pieces that mysteriously found their way into his hair.

Once finished, Snafu turns around and bends his head back under the stream of water to rinse. He opens his eyes after the worst of the suds are gone, and spots Eugene Sledge in the group of new recruits. They are huddled around the shower heads in the opposite corner as far away from Snafu and Pops as they can get. Snafu smirks at them as a greeting.

It's kinda fun being intimidating.

Except they aren't paying attention to him. Sledge's eyes are transfixed on Haney as the man scrubs his dick.

Admittedly, for the uninitiated, seeing Haney shower is quite a sight. The man uses a bristly GI brush. The working theory is that he's been doing it so long and he's so old that his skin is pickled enough to be as thick and tough as leather. Everyone stares and winces in pain when they first witness Haney washing his junk.

However, Sledge is unusually engrossed. Snafu feels a strange prickle at the back of his neck and a spike of annoyance over this.

Jealousy - a word Snafu's never related to before.

Once he recognizes the feeling, though, he starts seeing it everywhere. Sledge is genuinely kind, and cares about everyone in a way that would stretch Snafu thin enough to break. Sledge is the best sharpshooter in the company, beating Snafu's considerable score by almost an entire point. Sledge takes every work duty thrown at him without complaint and with stubborn pride. Sledge takes everything thrown at him without complaint, including Snafu's own malice.

And all Snafu wants is for Sledge to just fucking look at him.

The tipping point comes after Sledge's little buddy Philips rotates home without warning. The despondency Sledge sinks into for a few days makes Snafu ache with frustration. Sledge starts disappearing whenever the replacements get an hour or two off. Snafu makes it his mission to find him.

He eventually does. Turns out Sledge is running off to a secluded beach, but he never goes in the water. Instead he sits crosslegged in the sand and stares at crabs. Snafu shimmies up a palm tree and scoots across the rough bark until he's nearly hanging over the oblivious Sledge.

In Sledge's lap is a dog-eared notebook, probably a moonlight requisition from the officer's tents. Sledge hunches over the page, his hand scribbling furiously and Snafu cranes his neck till he can see what Sledge is working on.

It's drawings of crabs. Countless pages of them. Snafu straddles the uncomfortable palm tree for almost an hour, watching in disbelief as Sledge makes study after study of crab anatomy.

Instead of killing the damn invasive creatures with a shovel and burying them in the sand, Sledge draws them.

If Snafu could draw, maybe he'd finally be free of this strange fascination that's taken hold of him. The image of Sledge that one afternoon - showering, naked and lean and glowing in the midafternoon sun - burned itself in Snafu's brain. He doesn't know how to purge himself of it. At the time, he didn't even realize he'd been looking that closely at Sledge while they were in the showers, but afterwards his brain pieced the scraps of memory together and gave him a picture more vivid than what he thought he saw.

And now he sees it whenever he looks at Sledge.

Even on Peleliu, after everything's gone to shit, but somehow they got off the beach and somehow they're not dead yet, his mind drifts to Sledge. The boy strips off his shoes in the midst of battle. Snafu stops him, shoving Sledge's boots back into his chest with force.

It's the first time he lays hands on Sledge and he doesn't even register it because he's too busy being worried about the damn idiot being caught with his pants down and shoes off.

Sledge is a distraction. That's all he is.

Until Sledge fucking picks Snafu up off the ground even when Snafu is pretty sure he's already dead. Sledge drags Snafu out of his shock and out of danger, and proves he can keep his cool during battle. Cooler even than Snafu, who still runs hot whenever Sledge gets too close.

Naive little Sledgehammer grew up quick, but unlike Snafu, he did not grow up mean - he still saves worthless things fallen helpless in the sand and dirt. From that minute on, Snafu makes it his personal mission to preserve Eugene's goodness.

He doesn't anticipate Sledgehammer accepting Snafu's newfound loyalty so readily.

Burgie calls Snafu out on it teasingly during their ship ride back to dreaded Pavuvu. A painful bout of seasickness causes Snafu to lose track of Sledgehammer for a few hours aboard ship, and Snafu spends the time wandering the decks in search of him.

"Since when did you appoint yourself as his shadow, Snaf?" Burgie retorts when Snafu asks if he's seen the 'Hammer'.

"Just need to collect on my bet about him smoking by the end of his first battle," Snafu shrugs.

"Every nonsmoker smokes by the end of their first battle, Snafu. You already knew that," Burgie says, "Leave him be."

"No way," Snafu argues, "Someone needs to teach that rich boy that he don't know everything."

"And of course you'd be the one to do it," Burgie sighs.

Ironically, Sledge is the one to find Snafu in a random ship compartment instead of the other way around. Snafu is lying prone, trying to keep his half digested meal from rolling around.

"Here," Sledge says, shoving a small box at Snafu as hard as Snafu shoved Eugene's boots.

"What is it?" Snafu asks, feigning disinterest.

"Crackers. They'll help with the stomach," Sledge replies, "C'mon, let's get you topside."

"How the hell'd you get crackers on a ship short of rations?" Snafu asks. He obediently follows Eugene through the ship to the deck. Like a damn shadow.

"I sweet talked one of the swabbies," Sledge explains casually.

That news roils Snafu's gut. Jealousy again. It's lucky they made it to the deck. He staggers to the rail and pukes overboard.

"The swabby liked my accent," Eugene says and leans beside Snafu, "Think he was from northern Alabama. I told him how us southern boys have the best aim in the Marines."

Snafu finishes vomiting up the last of his afternoon chow.

Sledge sighs and places his hand on Snafu's upper back.

Snafu's glad no one else is around on this part of the deck to see his shame. He hangs on the rail and feels miserable.

"Get it all out?" Sledge asks, and passes Snafu his canteen.

Snafu takes a sip, swishes it around his mouth, and spits into the sea. And then guzzles as much water as he thinks he can keep down. He sticks his tongue out at the disgusting aftertaste and hands the canteen back.

Sledge runs his hand down from Snafu's back to his arm. Before Snafu knows what's happening Eugene is gently taking Snafu's hand and leading him away from the rail. Sledge sits on the deck and leans against the ship's wall. He tugs on Snafu's hand for him to sit next to him.

"Better to go down to one of the cabins," Snafu resists.

"You don't want to know how bad it smells down there," Sledge warns, "Trust me. Fresh air is best."

Snafu gives in and collapses next to Eugene. He tilts his head back against the cold metal and closes his eyes.

Sledge takes the box of saltines from Snafu's hands and Snafu hears rustling as Sledge opens the package. Sledge then nudges Snafu's elbow with the box.

"Eat," Sledge says.

Snafu groans and leans his head on Sledgehammer's shoulder instead. He doesn't want any ill-gotten flirtation crackers. It's a lot easier to close his eyes and pretend to sleep.

Sledge seems to not mind Snafu sleeping on him. He doesn't move away, at least. So Snafu uses it as an excuse to shuffle closer. Which is when he realizes Eugene never let go of his hand. He's still holding on. Tight.

"Snafu?" Sledge prompts. He uses Snafu's nickname like they're best buds, though they've hardly ever spoken.

Snafu grunts.

"On that airfield…" Sledge says, "Don't you ever dare do that again, allright?"

"Whatever you say, Sledgehammer," Snafu drawls, "Don't even know what I did."

"You just...lay there," Sledge says quietly, "Like you were...."

"Waiting?" Snafu tries to remember his own state of mind in that moment.

"Gone," Sledge says sharply.

"Same damn thing," Snafu gives up on sleeping and lights a cigarette.

"If you're not around who'll tell me what I'm doing wrong?" Sledge asks.

"Shit, Sledge," Snafu drawls with a grin, "practically anybody who's not you could do that."

Sledge actually chuckles. That's the thing about Eugene. He's not stuck up or prissy like Snafu'd expect him to be. He's humble, and willing to laugh at his own inexpertise.

"I'd rather it be you," Eugene adds quietly with a small smile.

Snafu sucks on his bottom lip and refuses to respond to that.

"So no dying," Eugene finishes, as if such a conclusion were a choice.

Snafu does fall asleep and when he wakes up a few hours later, Sledge's head is tipped on top of Snafu's. Sledge's long nose is in Snafu's hair and he's snoring loud enough to wake the enemy a thousand miles away. Snafu can feel Eugene's snores blowing his hair around.

Despite these annoyances, Snafu tries to freeze in place and jostle Eugene as little as possible.

Their hands are still linked together. Sledge's hand is wrapped tight around Snafu's. Snafu lifts Sledge's hand to examine his delicate fingers - long and gentle, but not dainty. Eugene has the calluses of an expert marksman, and painfully short fingernails. Snafu picks at the boy's ring curiously.

Sledge shifts and turns farther in towards Snafu's body. He draws his arm away from Snafu's fiddling and instead places his hand on Snafu's soft belly. "Stop moving," he mumbles.

"You stop snoring," Snafu complains. He bumps his head intentionally into Sledge's big nose to make his point.

Sledge ignores him and slumps more of his weight onto Snafu's shoulder.

Snafu accepts his fate and reaches over Sledge's body to steal the saltines. He opens the cracker package and starts snacking.

"Must you, with the crunching?" Sledge snarls after a few minutes.

"Got hungry, Sledgehammer," Snafu, "If you're gonna be using me as a pillow, I'm gonna need to generate extra padding."

Sledge sighs and holds his hand out, "Give me one."

Snafu complies, "If you get crumbs in my hair, I'll kill ya."

"Wouldn't be the worst thing in your hair right now, Snafu," Sledge gripes.

"Yeah? What else is up there? Pick it out for me," Snafu grins.

"Smells like you took a nap in seawater," Sledge says, "Or smoke."

"Get your long nose out of my hair then," Snafu quips.

"Once you get past the brine smell it's not so bad," Sledge mutters and doesn't move

"Yeah, well your shoulder smells like…" Snafu starts, and then cuts off when he realizes Eugene's shoulder doesn't smell like anything Snafu finds unpleasant. "Did you change your shirt?"

"Traded it for the saltines," Sledge explains, "The swabby wanted a souvenir that saw battle. I gave it to him. Stole this one off a supply crate."

"Fuck, Eugene, I thought you flirted your way into the galley," Snafu grumbles.

"Who says taking off my shirt wasn't a part of that?"

Snafu can't see it with his head on Sledge's shoulder but he swears Gene is smirking at him. "Should have just given him your pin," Snafu argues.

"Can't," Eugene replies, "Sid says they're good luck."

Snafu rolls his eyes at the mention of stupid Sid and settles back comfortably to sleep.

Eugene hooks a thumb in between Snafu's button holes in his shirt to keep his hand on Snafu's stomach. His fingertips barely brush Snafu's bare skin, and suddenly Snafu is no longer interested in sleeping.

And then Eugene's wandering fingers hit Snafu's shrapnel wound.

His response is immediate and a little shocking, "What the fuck, Snafu?" Without asking Eugene starts popping open all of Snafu's shirt buttons.

"What the hell, Sledge?" Snafu tries to back away from him.

"My father's a physician, let me look at you," Eugene orders. He manhandles Snafu's hips forward away from the wall to stretch him out on the deck. Snafu's thin wound runs from right beside his belly button to right over his hip. "Jesus, Snaf, that could turn infected."

Snafu is still trying to process the feel of Eugene's long hands gripping his hips, there is no room in his brain for worrying about infections right now.

"You're gonna need to lie down," Eugene tells him, "Here…" Sledge takes off his shirt and folds it up so Snafu doesn't have to rest his head on the floor.

"Thanks," Snafu says blankly.

"I thought it didn't hit you, you idiot?" Eugene asks.

"Naw, it hit me," Snafu smiles, "just didn't kill me."

"Wait here, I need a kit," Sledge gets up and walks off, leaving Snafu on his own.

Snaf uncomfortably folds his open shirt closed and crosses his arms over his chest self-consciously. He hopes no one will accidentally walk past this part of the ship while Snafu is stuck laying here like a patient. It takes far too long for Sledge to return.

When Eugene does finally return, he's holding a big medic kit that definitely is going to be missed somewhere.

"What'd you have to take off to get that?" Snafu asks, his voice mean, "Your pants?"

"I'll return it when I'm done," Sledge tells him in a no nonsense tone. He sets the kit down and flips it open. "I'll need to open the waist of your pants though, do you mind?"

Snafu looks to the sky to avoid Sledge's concerned gaze. "Don't care," Snafu says as nonchalantly as he is able. He wets his lips and squeezes his eyes shut.

Sledge gently uncrosses Snafu's arms and moves them to the side. When Sledge unbuttons Snafu's pants, Snafu takes a deep breath. His stomach constricts, and he knows his bones are poking out embarrassingly far. Sledge's hands are warm and surprisingly soft. Cleaning everything, and putting a tiny amount of stitches near Snafu's waistband area doesn't take Sledge long at all. Before Snafu even gets to fully enjoy the feeling of Eugene's fingers sliding over his most sensitive area, Eugene is already buttoning Snafu's pants back up and smoothing his shirt down. Snafu flicks the shirt back off, deciding if he's already indecent he might as well continue that way.

Snafu moves to sit up, but Sledge puts a hand on his shoulder.

"Stay down for a bit," Sledge says, "I want my shirt back though. Here." He scoots next to the wall at Snafu's head and then helps Snafu lean forward enough that Sledge can reclaim his stolen shirt. Sledge throws the shirt on and then scoots closer again, beckoning Snafu to lay back down.

Having his head in Sledge's lap is about a thousand times more distracting than Eugene touching his skin. There was a medical excuse for that. There's no goddamn excuse for this.

As if reading Snafu's mind, Sledge decides to up the ante and he runs his hand along the clean skin beside Snafu's wound. Sledge's hand continues up to Snafu's chest and then stops. Sledge picks at a brown spot of dried mud below Snafu's sternum till it pops off and he can flick it away onto the deck. He then massages away the sting and leaves his hand resting there.

Snafu daringly rests his own hand on top of Sledge's. He doesn't breathe even once till they're both settled and Eugene doesn't pull away.

"You need a shower, Snafu," Sledge comments.

"You gonna give me one?" Snafu lolls his head so he can see Sledge's face.

"Only way to do that now would be to toss you off the ship," Sledge says seriously.

"That a no?" Snafu guesses.

Sledge glances down at Snafu with his signature 'I know better than you, but I am also amused' expression, and then stares blankly out towards the sea. He sighs, "Sleep off the seasickness. I promise I won't snore."

Snafu silently watches Eugene's profile for a while before he finally closes his eyes.

Sledge keeps his promise. He doesn't fall asleep once during the entire time Snafu is out. Sledge does, however, eventually remove his hand from atop Snafu's chest and that wakes Snafu up instantly.

Snafu stays perfectly still, and tries to breathe as even as possible. He doesn't want Sledge to notice he's awake and kick Snafu out of his lap.

Snafu carefully peeks one eye open, and sees two hands hovering above his head holding a book and pencil.

"Writing again?" Snafu accuses.

"Hmmm," Sledge says.

"What about?" Snafu asks.

"You," Sledge responds.

Snafu smiles. He knows Sledge is just being obtuse and not actually writing about him, but still, "Tell me."

"No," Sledge refuses.

Snafu eyes Sledge's hands and attempts to determine how much force it would take for him to grab the book away.

"If you take this bible from me, I'll never let you sleep on me again," Sledge warns.

"What makes you think that's a threat?" Snafu teases. He sits up and tries to lean over to read Sledge's writing.

"Because you slept like a baby during your nap," Sledge says. He angles the book away from Snafu's prying eyes.

"Plenty of other guys in the company more comfortable than you to sleep on, Sledgehammer," Snafu says.

Sledge looks Snafu straight in the eye and dares him, "Then why don't you go find them?"

Snafu holds his gaze for a few breaths. And then wordlessly puts his head back in Eugene's lap.

Sledge calmly sets down his pencil and book, and threads his hand into Snafu's hair instead. "You know what I miss?" Sledge idly scratches Snafu's head as he talks, "Having an inexhaustible supply of blank paper."

"I still don't understand how you've managed to hold onto that one pencil nub for so long," Snafu comments. If talking means Sledge will massage his head, Snafu will do anything to carry this conversation.

"Writing in my bible is well and good, but nothing compares to a fresh blank sheet," Sledge states, "I can't believe that in school I used to tear pages up, or throw them away if I made even one typewriter mistake."

"We should find you a new pencil," Snafu continues his own train of thought, "Or maybe a couple."

"What a waste," Sledge sighs over his stupid crumpled typewriter pages.

"I bet the officers' tent in camp has pencils," Snafu muses.

"You need to borrow a pencil?" Sledge asks, "Sorry, I wasn't listening for a minute. Here, take mine." He hands Snafu the tiny nubby remains.

"Thanks, Sledgehammer," Snafu says and sticks the pencil behind his ear to remind himself later.

The first thing Snafu does on Pavuvu is go scrounging for paper. The constant stream of people coming in and out of the officer's tents makes it particularly easy to search. Snafu gets five pencils on only one run. He doesn't dare take the brand new stacks of paper. It would be too obviously missed. Instead he hunts through trash bins around the camp, and pulls out anything that looks clean and innocuous.

Snafu figures any important classified documents are being shredded or burned immediately anyway. No chance of him accidentally picking up something he shouldn't.

It takes a few days, but finally Snafu hits the jackpot. An entire stack of half used blank sheet notebooks. They're spiral bound, and the edges are dirty, and the covers don't look particularly pretty. But the pages inside are clean. Snafu takes his stack behind the mess tent and scrubs off some of the dirt stains.

A few of the notebooks are too gross to be salvageable. For these he carefully cleans his knife, and cuts out the crisp pages individually.

When he's finished he leaves his collection on Sledge's cot with the pencils resting on top of everything. Satisfied, Snafu takes a step back and surveys his work. Then realizes he can't let it look like he is doing Gene any favors. He sticks his hands out and musses the papers completely so the stacks are no longer neat and the pages aren't ordered by type. But he leaves the pencils on top. He doesn't want them to get lost or sat on.

At first Sledge doesn't say anything about Snafu's gift. The next time Snafu stops by the empty tent, the paper and notebooks are neatly stacked on a high shelf to keep it out of the way of crabs and vermin. It warms Snafu to see how organized the messy pile he left became. Even the pencils are safe and snug wrapped in a little handmade pouch.

Snafu takes the warm feeling with him to chow that evening.

"Did you wake up on the right side of the bed for once, Snaf?" Burgie asks.

Snafu brushes his comments off with a smile and sarcastic look.

Sledge looks up the minute he realizes Snafu is sitting down. "Hey," he says eloquently.

"Hey," Snafu says back. He sets his tray down and pulls out his cigarettes.

"I swear you smoke more than you eat," Sledge observes. He eyes Snafu's still mostly full and cooling plate of food.

"I only put things in my mouth if it's worth the bother," Snafu tells him, smirking.

"Are you saying warm mush isn't worth it?" Bill jokes as he polishes off his own bowl heartily.

Snafu laughs at Bill's graceless eating, till he realizes Eugene is staring. Not at Bill, but at Snafu. And looking very mournful for some reason. Unable to stand seeing Eugene looking that way, Snafu anxiously extends his hand to touch Sledge's knuckles, and then offers him a smoke.

"No thanks, Snafu," Sledge says, very unfriendly and possibly looking to start a fight, "I prefer to eat my meals."

"Has anyone gotten any letters from home yet?" Burgie changes the subject brightly.

Bill shakes his head.

"Nothing but my mother's usual package," Sledge says. He notices Snafu staring at him with quiet interest and adds with a sigh, "Yes, Snafu, I saved you your favorite jar."

Snafu smiles, "See, always worth it to wait." He grabs his unused spoon off the table and slips it into his pants for later.

"Sid still hasn't written to tell me if he made it home okay," Sledge says with a worried frown.

"I'm sure he did," Burgie says kindly.

"What about you, Burg?" Snafu interrupts, "You hear anything from Florence lately?"

"She's written, yes," Burgie says and turns as red as the canned beets Sledge's mother mailed last week.

Snafu whistles, Leyden begs Burgie to read any exciting bits aloud, and Sledge politely asks who Florence is.

"Burgie's girl he met in Australia after Gloucester," Snafu explains.

"I knew she liked me because she was the only girl not flocking around Snaf," Burgie jokes.

"Like flies to shit?" Bill snaps, "Snafu being the shit 'n ass."

"Don't think he slept in the stadium bunks with the rest of us even once," Jay laughs.

"I had more worthwhile places to go," Snafu says and eyes Sledge to gauge his reaction. He lazily takes a drag on his cigarette.

"Think we'll be given liberty in Australia again sometime?" Sledge asks. He holds Snafu's gaze steady.

"Don't care," Snafu shrugs.

"Unfortunately no," Burgie says, "I suspect we'll be run ragged till this war is over."

"At least she writes you," Bill interjects, "You'll just have to skip over thataway and pick her up before going home at the end of all this."

"Not sure how I'll manage that," Burgie takes a deep breath, "But it's true, I think she felt as strongly as I did. She expresses it well in her letters."

Bill whines that Burgie is holding out on his buddies by not divulging the content of said letters. He and Burgie get into a heated discussion that mostly consists of Bill begging and wallowing in self pity over not having any sweethearts.

Snafu and Eugene ignore them. Once Sledge finishes his meal, Snafu offers his cigarette again, and Sledge accepts. They pass it back and forth as they watch the sunset over the beach in the distance. Snafu wallows in every single touch of their fingers during each exchange.

"Speaking of mail," Sledge starts, "Snafu, did you leave paper on my bunk?"

"Why would I leave paper on your bunk?" Snafu scoffs.

"I thought maybe you were writing a letter and forgot it, or something?" Sledge asks, as though he isn't smart enough to put two and two together. No one accidentally leaves a jumble of notebooks lying around. Not when they're such a hard commodity to find.

Bill barks a laugh "Snafu writing? Can you imagine...that'd be the day."

"The only paper I ever concern myself with is asswipe," Snafu taunts. He dangles his cigarette out of his mouth and smirks at Leyden. Snafu throws one cautious glance over to Sledge and immediately regrets it.

Instead of being grateful, Sledge is annoyed. He snatches the cigarette straight out of Snafu's mouth. Sledge's fingers press into Snafu's lips briefly before he steals the smoke away, almost like a gentle punch. The unexpected touch and Sledge's deadly serious glare turns Snafu hot down to his toes.

Sledge finishes the cigarette in dead silence, and rather than stub it into the ashtray, he takes the nub and sticks it back between Snafu's lips. Sledge abruptly stands, grabs his tray, and stalks off without another word.

Leyden awkwardly coughs and gives Snafu a sympathetic look.

"Did you dump a bunch of papers on Eugene's bed?" Burgie asks Snafu for clarification.

"Fuck no," Snafu lies. They know he's lying. He grinds the cigarette into dust on the ashtray.

"Maybe I should have mentioned the Australian guys were buzzing around you, too," Jay suggests to Snafu, "Except there were less of them thanks to the war."

"Don't think that would've helped, Jay," Burgie says.

"Yeah?" Snafu says. He climbs over the mess hut wall and walks off.

#Sledgefu #Pining #Demisexual snafu #Bad germs

35 notes · View notes

dailyunsolvedmysteries · 3 years

Text

Fred West: a victim’s body has been found?

Police are searching a Gloucester cafe in connection with the disappearance of a teenage girl suspected to have been murdered by serial killer Fred West. Mary Bastholm vanished in 1968 aged just 15 and her body has never been found. West, who died in prison in 1995 aged 53, was previously suspected over her disappearance.

Officers from Gloucestershire Police were called to the Clean Plate cafe in Southgate Street by a production company filming a documentary there. The company had reported it had found possible evidence to suggest a body could be buried within the property.

(mary)

Fred is known to have committed at least two murders on his own. In 1994 he admitted murdering his daughter Heather, while Rose is known to have murdered Fred's stepdaughter, Charmaine. The couple were apprehended and charged in 1994. But Fred took his own life while awaiting the murder trial the following year.

Gloucestershire Police said its major crime investigation team has deemed further assessments are required at the cafe in order to determine whether an excavation is necessary. A white tent was erected outside, with police officers stationed at the front of the building and a police van parked nearby. Other officers were seen carrying evidence bags out. Family liaison officers have now been put in place to provide support and updates to Mary's family. A statement from them said: "We are aware of the ongoing developments around Mary's disappearance and are being kept up-to-date. On the basis of the information provided to us, we consider this to be new and potentially important evidence in the case of Mary Bastholm, however further detailed assessments will take place over the following few days to determine the extent of excavation needed.”

#fred west #serial killers #Mary Bastholm #true crime #murder #post

51 notes · View notes

iturbide · 3 years

Text

Hanneman’s lab in Garreg Mach had become delightfully lively in the years after the war. It had begun quietly enough with Linhardt, who had renounced his noble title and returned to the Officer’s Academy -- ostensibly to teach, though he frequently lost himself so deeply in Crest research that he arrived late to his classes. Then came Lysithea, who had come to aid his Crest research in hopes of removing her dual Crests and extending her life again, and later adopted the mantle of his heir and successor. And finally Annette, who had taken up a teaching position at the Royal School of Sorcery in Fhirdiad, but made increasingly frequent trips to consult on magical theory and practice with her old professor. There were others, too, who made routine visits to the scholar’s humble lab: Dorothea, when she had the occasional break from opera performances, often dropped in to check on Linhardt and her favorite magic instructor; Mercedes, when she had a moment to spare in her busy routine at the orphanage, would visit to share her latest treats with Annette; Lorenz, on the rare occasions he had business in the area, made a point of stopping by to deliver the finest sweets the Alliance had to offer to appease Lysithea’s legendary sweet tooth. Their research was ever fruitful, the days frequently eventful, and the company always delightful.

With the start of the Great Tree Moon, Annette had begun a frenzied cleaning spree of their shared workspace; Lysithea had joined in without much need for encouragement, and the two together had eventually bullied Linhardt into pulling his weight, since a not insignificant portion of the book clutter was because of his studies, both in progress and abandoned. Hanneman himself did what he could, but the years had finally begun to catch up to him, and though spring had finally arrived its warmth had yet to catch up; after a bit of arthritic hobbling about doing his share, the ladies released him from his duties (in spite of the very vocal complaints from their belligerent fellow scholar), and he settled into a more advisory role, directing the shelving and reorganizing of several bookcases worth of research material that had been pulled for study in the preceding months.

Afternoon gave way to evening, and the sun had just barely dipped below the horizon when there came a knock outside. As the only one with his hands free, Hanneman creaked to his feet, picking his way through the yet-unattended stacks of equipment. “Coming, coming!” he called when the sound came again, rather more tentative this time. “Just a moment, now...ah, here we are.” Unlocking the door, he pushed it carefully open, adjusting his spectacles and squinting at the shadows figures outside, regretting that he’d not brought a lamp with him…

“Greetings, Professor Hanneman.”

“It’s good to see you again, Professor.”

He recognized the voices in an instant, and a smile broke across his face. “Lorenz! Dorothea! How wonderful to see you both again.”

“Who is it, Professor?” Annette called from somewhere behind him.

“Whoever it is, can they come back later?” Lysithea added.

“Do pardon the mess,” he chuckled, shuffling out of the doorway to invite them inside. “We’re doing a bit of spring cleaning.”

“Goodness, it looks like you have your work cut out for you,” the diva giggled, linking her arm with Hanneman’s and helping him through the clutter. “I hope we’re not in the way.”

“Gracious, no!” the professor laughed. “It’s always a treat to have you visit -- and both of you, at that! What a marvelous coincidence...I wonder if it might be a property of the Crest of Gloucester? Such coincidences do seem to follow Lysithea...”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Lorenz chuckled.

“Oh, don’t be that way!” Dorothea teased. “I think it sounds wonderful. You should look into it and tell me all about it next time.”

As they emerged from the hall, the three former students turned from their work to see who had happened by...and promptly abandoned it in favor of greeting their unexpected guests. “Dorothea! Welcome back,” Annette giggled, skirting around the teetering stack of books she’d been organizing. “How was the latest opera? Another smashing success?”

“Sold out performances, every one,” the diva agreed. “There wasn’t even standing room at the last show.”

“It’s nice to see you again, Lorenz,” Lysithea said, sidling up beside him to eye the box he carried. “Those wouldn’t happen to be more of those honey cakes, would they?”

“Perhaps,” he smiled, holding the prize up and well out of her reach. “But I insist that we have tea with it, so you simply have to be patient.”

“Tea, is it?” Hanneman piped up. “I’ll see to that, then--”

“Oh, no, please, no need to trouble yourself,” the nobleman insisted. “I would be happy to see to it, Professor.”

“Well, then, by all means,” he chuckled, settling comfortably into his favorite armchair while the others scattered between the overstuffed and well-worn couches around the scuffled tea table. Wisely choosing to take the box of sweets with him, to Lysithea’s clear dismay, Lorenz wove his way through the clutter toward the kitchen space tucked away in a far corner of the lab and swiftly vanished from sight.

Sprawling across the arm of the couch, Linhardt cast a sidelong glance at the diva sitting beside him. “So what brings you here? I thought the latest opera wasn’t set to close for another month.”

Dorothea smiled, lacing her fingers beneath her chin. “Here I thought you didn’t pay attention to the opera, Lin.”

“Normally I don’t,” he yawned, “but it’s always four months between your visits, give or take, since you only ever come after a show ends its run. It’s only been three months since you were here last.”

“Aw, Lin, I didn’t know you cared so much.”

“Did something happen?” Lysithea pressed. .

“Well...yes,” Dorothea agreed. “It’s actually why I’m here: I have big news to share with you.”

“You’re not quitting the opera, are you?” Annette asked worriedly, scooting to the edge of her seat.

“Right now I’m just on leave, but...this is going to be my last show, yes.”

“Oh, no! And I never even got to hear you perform!”

“If that’s all you’re worried about, I can see about getting a special seat reserved for you at one of the shows,” the diva giggled.

“It seems a rather sudden change,” Hanneman offered gently. “What brings this on?”

“Well, that’s the real news,” Dorothea beamed. “I’m getting married.”

A moment passed while the news sank in, varying looks of surprise, elation, and confusion crossing each face.

“Married?” Annette squeaked.

“Since when?” Lysithea pressed.

“To who?” Linhardt added.

“Oh, we came together,” the diva replied. “I’m sure he’ll be here momentarily, he just had something to do first.”

All eyes turned toward the door of the lab, waiting for another knock to break the stillness. Dorothea hummed to herself, a half-familiar tune from somewhere no one could quite recall…

“Here we are,” Lorenz announced, returning with a lavish tea tray. “Sweet-apple blend and honey cakes direct from the finest patissier in the Alliance.”

“My favorite!” Dorothea giggled. “How sweet of you.”

In an instant, everyone in the room turned to Lorenz, pouring tea for each of them and idly humming the same melody the diva had while she waited.

“HIM!?”

Lorenz jumped at the collective shout, clutching the teapot protecitvely as he looked between the mages...and then turning to Dorothea. “I thought we were going to tell them together.”

“I’m sorry,” she giggled, wiping her eyes and struggling to hold back more laughter. “I just had to see the look on their faces when they realized.”

“My goodness, what a surprise this is,” Hanneman chuckled. “I must confess, this is quite possibly the last thing I’d expected.”

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright, Dorothea?” Linhardt asked.

“I thought you two weren’t even on speaking terms!” Annette pointed out, clearly trying to keep the nobleman from hearing while he delivered a slice of cake and a cup of tea to the professor.

“What did he do?” Lysithea pressed.

“Is he blackmailing you?” Linhardt ventured.

“We’ll give him what-for if you need us to,” Annette agreed, rolling up her sleeve in preparation for a brawl.

The diva was very clearly losing her battle, muffling her laughter in her sleeve rather than try to hold it in any longer. “There’s no need for that, really,” she insisted.

“He just wants to marry you because you’re a famous opera star, doesn’t he,” Lysithea muttered, shooting a sidelong glare at the nobleman in question.

“Well, to be fair, back in the Academy I was just looking for a nobleman so I could marry into wealth,” Dorothea pointed out. “I couldn’t really hold it against him for wanting a bride with status, since that’s all I wanted, myself. But no, this isn’t just about me being an opera diva.”

“Then how did it happen?” Annette whispered, leaning in conspiratorially. “How did someone like Lorenz win you over?”

The diva smiled, cupping her chin in one hand. “He’s not the man I thought he was.”

“You’re making a mistake,” Linhardt warned.

“Maybe,” Dorothea shrugged. “But I’m still willing to see where it goes.”

“You’re sure about this?” Lysithea asked. “It is Lorenz, after all…”

The diva grinned, canting her head toward the nobleman. “Lorenz,” she called, “everyone’s just dying to know how you won a prize like me.”

Tearing his attention away from the tea service, Lorenz squared his shoulders. “What utter nonsense! A prize?”

Linhardt glowered at him from his place on the far side of the couch; across from him, Annette rolled up her other sleeve while sparks began to dance between Lysithea’s fingers. But the nobleman paid them no mind at all, setting the teapot aside and offering his hand to Dorothea instead. “All I did was state my intentions and my feelings; she is the one who gave me a chance to make good upon them. For that, I am not only fortunate, but profoundly grateful to her.”

Dorothea raised her free hand, and the nobleman caught it without hesitation, brushing a kiss across her knuckles; casting a sidelong grin at the mages across the table, she saw both Annette and Lysithea gaping in astonishment at the display.

While Lorenz resumed slicing the cake, Hanneman chuckled and sipped his tea. “I imagine there’s a story behind this.”

“You have to tell us how this happened,” Lysithea agreed, taking the offered cup and dessert.

“Did he make some big public speech at the opera?” Annette asked eagerly as she accepted her own.

“Oh, nothing so grand as that,” Lorenz chuckled. “While I like to think of myself as a romantic, I’m afraid this would not make for a timeless love story.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that -- I think it could make for a lovely opera, myself,” the diva giggled. “Two people with similar goals divided by status, thinking the worst of each other but drawn inexorably closer until they at last break free of the confines imposed by their birth…”

“Just hurry up and tell us already,” Linhardt groaned.

“Oh, Lin, you have no sense of drama whatsoever,” Dorothea sighed. “But fine, have it your way.”

Taking the cup and saucer Lorenz offered, the diva turned a warm smile on him, watching a trace of color bloom across his high cheekbones as he returned it in kind. “Alright,” she began, “it happened at the opera a few weeks ago…”

#fire emblem: three houses #fanfiction #april fool's #lorenz x dorothea #gunhorse do not read #i'm serious #you're not going to like it #happy belated april fool's everyone #the joke is that i'm completely serious about this ship #forgive typos and the like i finished at 5am and sleep is good #i'll go back over it tomorrow

6 notes · View notes

hippomanblog · 5 years

Text

Three Houses Characters, Ranked On Their Likelihood To Dab: Part III: Golden Deer and Church

Everyone, I have done it. They tried to hunt me down, planted explosives in my dab lab and bees in my car, but I escaped the bombs and befriended the bees and now I’m here, here to present you with the final installment in my magnum opus, a comprehensive ranking of how likely each playable character in FE3H is to perform The Dab. Perhaps you thought I would stop at the Leicester Alliance and its students, surely finishing on the upbeat note of lighthearted Claude and pals, but much like von Riegan himself, von Hippoman has a scheme. Like a [SPOILER REDACTED] fired from [SPOILER REDACTED], I’m gonna blow your minds with all the Church of Seiros aligned characters too. Because you deserve to know. Let’s save Fodlan together.

Minor Spoilers For Post-Timeskip Will Follow!

The list, as always, is Canon. Thank you.

Claude: 14/10: The Master Tactician, the Golden Deer, the Schemer, the Dabmaster. There are many challengers to the throne, but Claude von Riegan sits comfortably upon it, arm bent, face in elbow, unleashing the one and only God-Shattering Dab.

(gravityemblem314 suggested a ranking of 69/10 for Claude, but please, this is science,not NICE science. @camelpimp mentioned that Claude likely instituted a mandatory pre-battle dab for the Golden Deer, that’s also canon.)

Alois: 12/10: The kids...they love to dab. Alois wants to be hip and cool with the kids, and if his jokes aren’t enough to do it, surely his sweet dabs will do it! Especially if he mixes them together. He can frequently be seen in the dining hall, asking for some extra sauce on his meals. When the students ask how much, he replies “Oh, just a...DAB” and he JUST FUCKIN’ LETS LOOSE.

Hilda: 10/10: Claude’s faithful (if not dependable) sidekick and friend shares in his affinity for the dab, but not quite to the same degree. Claude’s sick dabs require a level of effort frankly beyond the Goneril scion, so she’s more into casual usage. That said, it’s A LOT of usage. Raphael: 9/10: The big man of the Golden Deer loves to dab. He’s absolutely jacked, so the sheer power contained in those moves could shatter stone, and once did, resulting in a renovation of Raph’s dorm room and a migraine for Seteth. Despite his enthusiasm, he’s very, very bad at them, but nobody wants to point it out. He’s just so happy.

Flayn: 8/10: Flayn is absolutely in for this. She is totally, 100%, definitely a Young Human after all and this is what Young Humans do, they dab. Flayn does it all the time, often in a big circle with Annette, Caspar, and Claude. Seteth is yearning for the sweet embrace of death.

Catherine: 7/10: She’s usually pretty jazzed about something, and all that excess energy has to go somewhere. One time she impaled a man with Thunderbrand mid-dab but she doesn’t like to talk about it.

Manuela: 7/10: Manuela is at a crossroads. On one hand, it’s not the classiest thing in the world, and she’s a pretty classy lady with some standards, you know? But on the other hand, the students love it and they do say it makes her look younger. The debate is meaningless because when she gets drunk she just lets loose anyway.

Leonie: 6/10: High energy Leonie is always ready for a challenge, and this counts. She’d never seen a “dab” before coming to Garreg Mach, but it’s so much more fun than the usual high society shit people try to foist on her so hey, why not? Plus, she heard from Byleth that Jeralt knows how to hit the dab too. He was just covering a cough, though. He can’t convince her of that.

(thanks to kokorikopi for assisting in this fascinating Eisner Family Trivia)

Ignatz: 5/10: Sure, Ignatz never really had any interest in dabbing. It seemed sorta silly to him. But Raphael kept begging him to try it, and he wasn’t going to turn down such a pleasant request. So he did, and wait a minute. You could do something artsy with this, right? Ignatz is in search of a dab that is truly effervescent, an aesthetically pleasing pose to delight the senses and advance the culture of Fodlan through its grace. Godspeed, you young visionary.

(Raphael and Ignatz ideas contributed by gardenvarietyfox!)

Seteth: 5/10: Seteth got caught sneezing by Caspar once and he started chanting “DAB SETETH DAB”. It became a monastery meme for a while and Seteth could not leave his office without being hounded to perform the accursed dance. Flayn likes it, though, so he doesn’t mind. Too much. Okay he minds a lot.

Lorenz: 4/10: At first Lorenz Hellman Gloucester would rather have been eviscerated by a weedwhacker than do something so base as dab. However, through his experiences with his classmates, he came to realize that the dab is a powerful diplomatic tool. It speaks much with little effort and helps to connect with commoners across Fodlan. He still sucks at it but he’s trying.

Cyril: 4/10: Cyril wasn’t born in Fodlan, and frankly he finds their trends weird and doesn’t really care for them. But they’ll usually start cheering and get out of his way to let him get to cleaning if he does it, so hey, when in Rome...

Lysithea: 3/10: Lysithea is already extremely short, meaning her arms have little dab power. Whenever she dabs, someone calls it “cute” and it absolutely infuriates her. So dabbing is for fools, obviously. That said...after defeating a certain mounted masked marauder...she may have let herself indulge a little bit. Don’t tell anyone.

Hanneman: 2/10: Ain’t no Crest of Dabbylad now is there?

Marianne: 2/10: Oh, poor Marianne. She’s having a bad day, and a bad week, and a pretty crummy year. She doesn’t feel like she has anything to dab about, and if she does, everyone will probably just laugh at her and point their fingers at the bad dabber. Thankfully, the other Deer are there for her, and they gave her time. Eventually, slowly and carefully, she did it. It was terrible, but only one person told her that. Hilda Goneril was later seen tossing a mysterious sack into the Garreg Mach pond.

Shamir: 1/10: Catherine won’t stop doing it. She just will not stop doing it, and she’s so absolutely sick of it. She’s this close to shooting an arrow through one of her partner’s arms the next time she does it. Seiros hasn’t done anything about it yet and that’s why Shamir is an atheist.

Gilbert: 1/10: Dab? What is that? Does my daughter do that? Hmm. Didn’t get it from me. I ABANDONED HER. And so we reach the end. Through a comprehensive knowledge of the cast’s dabability, surely they can find a way to put aside their differences and work together to make a brighter future for Fodlan. By reading these posts, you have unlocked the Golden Ending. I had it all along. Thank you and goodnight.

#fe3h #fe16 #three houses #fire emblem #fe #dabs #claude #hilda #marianne #lysithea #lorenz #raphael #ignatz #leonie #cyril #alois #catherine #shamir #seteth #flayn #gilbert #manuela #hanneman

264 notes · View notes

light-of-valentia · 5 years

Text

headcanons: what they do when they can’t sleep

AN: I currently don’t have a set list of characters I will and will not be writing for headcanons, so if you want more than what I do, please leave a note! I will start off doing the Golden Deer kiddos for this one. -Admin Belle

(all characters in this headcanon are pre-timeskip!)

Claude von Riegan

He sometimes stays awake at night not because he has too much physical energy, but because he has so many thoughts and ideas running through his head

If he is alone, he will probably read from his countless books on alchemy, flora + fauna, mythology, crests, and tactics. If he has managed to snag a book from Hanneman’s office about crests or a “forbidden” book that Seteth tried to toss out, you bet he will stay up as late as he can reading it. He will typically read until he passes out, book still in hand.

As one would expect, he also loves to explore the monastery, going anywhere that he knows Rhea, Seteth, and the knights won’t notice

His favorite places include behind the greenhouse, the Officer’s Academy, the gardens, and if he’s feeling bold enough, the library. Basically anywhere outside, not dangerously far from the dorms, and with places he could easily hide if needed.

If he knows that Professor Byleth is still awake, he will sneak down to her room to “get some extra studying done”.

He won’t admit it nor is it easy to tell, but he mostly does this because he gets lonely and he knows that Byleth has the same kind of rich inner world that contributes to interesting late-night conversations, assuming the conversation doesn’t consist of mostly him talking and her giving nonverbal responses.

Also flirting with Byleth while she’s tired is really fun, and he has no idea why she puts up with him at such ungodly hours.

On the very rare occasion that he somehow convinces Byleth to let him sleep over, he will definitely show up to class late the next morning because he can’t have anyone watching him leave from her room instead of his own.

Hilda Valentin Goneril

She doesn’t usually have problems sleeping, since she usually talks herself to tiredness during the daytime.

When she does, her first go-to is to get out an oil or scent like lavender or lilac to spritz across her pillow

Her parents definitely didn’t believe in aromatherapy like this, but after her first few sleepless nights at the academy and some conversations with Professor Manuela, she refuses to go anywhere that she knows she will be sleeping without a little bottle of lavender oil.

Every once in a while, she will also take the initiative to sort her jewelry and makeup into their proper homes, maybe playing with them a bit if she’s really restless.

If she knows that Marianne is still awake too, she will go to her dorm and braid her hair.

Hilda loves showing this quieter and gentler side of herself around Marianne, and when this happens, she will usually fall asleep before she remembers to go back to her own room.

Marianne usually likes being alone, but having the quiet company of a sleeping friend next to her brings her a sense of peace.

Marianne von Edmund

Lots of laying awake, staring at the wall or ceiling and worrying.

She will usually think about what she can do to be helpful on the following morning, and praying for forgiveness for whatever she feels that she has done wrong.

She actually struggles with insomnia, and after Byleth notices her trying not to nod off during lectures, she sends her to see Manuela, who gives her some sleeping medication with instructions to take from time to time

Sometimes she will use this, but other times she feels that using it is just a cop-out and that if the Goddess intended her to stay awake, then so be it

She Loves It when Hilda comes in to braid her hair

She feels so spoiled when it happens but she is usually too tired to tell Hilda that she doesn’t deserve her company

If and when all else fails, she will practice casting small healing cantrips until she feels tired enough to sleep.

Leonie Pinelli

Studying? Studying.

She would practice and train, but she knows that if she strays far past the dormitories that Seteth or Jeralt will lecture her the next morning after the knights catch her, and she would never want to disappoint Jeralt or Byleth.

She will usually study from whatever subject she feels that she is lacking in, or that will impress Jeralt or Byleth.

She tends to stay pretty in-the-loop about the wants and needs of other students, and she might stealthily try to run errands between rooms if requested, doing things like laundry and cleaning.

If she feels too tired to read, she will polish up whatever weapon is laying around that she found on the training grounds that needs some love, or she will do physical exercises like push-ups that she can do quietly in her room.

Bonus: One time while she was running errands or pacing around the dormitories, she spotted Claude slipping down off of the second floor balcony going to see Byleth. She confronted him about this, and while he never exactly told her his reasons, she now teases him occasionally for going to see the Professor at night, and uses his secret as blackmail to keep him in line when she can.

Lysithea von Ordelia

“Out of all the magic they teach me here at the academy, they don’t teach me a spell to make myself fall asleep.”

Sleep tends to come easy to her, but on the occasion that she is having issues, she will just quiz herself over cantrips and spells.

She wouldn’t dare leave her room past 10 or 11 unless she really needed to use the restrooms. Staying cooped up at night is much better than dealing with ghosts. Lysithea doesn’t have magic to deal with the incorporeal yet.

She likes to let her mind float between various things as she lays in bed, ranging from the dessert menu at the dining hall to how obnoxious Lorenz was yesterday.

She hides it under her bed during the day, but she also has a teddy bear from her father that she pulls out at night to fall asleep with.

Basically she is baby, and baby gets sleepy real quick.

Ignatz Victor

Usually if he is awake at night, it is worries and anxiety that are keeping him awake.

He likes to light a small candle under a lamp and watch it flicker, and right as he is about to fall asleep, he will instinctively reach over to put it out.

He isn’t afraid of the dark when he knows he is in his own room, but the artistic spirit inside of him loves watching the flickering tounge of a small flame and the way it ever so slightly lights up the room.

If he feels antsy, he will get out a somewhat larger candle, and use the light to draw out whatever catches his eye in chiaroscuro with some charcoal.

There is something about gliding his hand across a paper to produce the lights and shadows that puts him at ease, and once he feels like he has perfected his art as much as he can, he will fall right asleep.

If he is feeling particularly inspired, he will write a late-night poem about whatever floats through his mind. He rarely will willingly show this to anyone, but occasionally he will make paintings out of them if he finds himself with something overflowing with visual imagery.

Raphael Kirsten

Three words- late night snack.

He keeps a small stash of non-perishable snacks under his bed, like dried meats/jerky, bread, and whatever else he can get his hands on.

Very rarely he will sneak out with Claude to the kitchen, but he is less than stealthy and they’ve almost been caught once or twice.

Since he likes to make his awake-time useful, he tends to decide that he might as well look at his books and study a bit, but this usually bores him right to sleep.

Like Leonie, if he has extra physical energy to deal with, he might do push-ups on the floor of his room

If all else fails, he will sit on a ledge in front of his room and look at stars in the night sky

He’s a pretty relaxed dude, so it doesn’t take much to get him to sleep.

Lorenz Hellman Gloucester

When he finds himself unable to easily obtain his beauty sleep, he gets annoyed pretty fast.

Likes to study or take his irritation out by playing hall monitor

He will just sit on a window ledge in the hallway outside of his room, half looking at the stars and half waiting for some unsuspecting miscreant to walk past

He always groggily tells anyone who passes him about “the importance of the rules”, but most people just tell him that they were doing something legitimate

He likes to hope to catch Claude mucking about or doing something suspicious, but he never does, since when Claude leaves his room at night, he does so by window.

He always has an herbal sleepy tea before bed, and his persistent belief that it works like magic convinces himself to fall asleep most of the time

141 notes · View notes

ecleaningltdlondon · 3 years

Text

E-Cleaning Ltd

Address: Monomark House, 27, Old Gloucester St London, WC1N 3AX, UK Phone: +442078801431 Business email: [email protected] Website URL: http://www.e-cleaningltd.co.uk/ Keywords: Commercial Cleaning, Covid Cleaning, Covid office preparation, Covid return to office risk assessments, Fogging, Enhanced Cleaning, Surface Cleaning, Co-19 cleaning, Deep Cleaning, Contracted Cleaning Description: We provide Commercial cleaning services for businesses. E-Cleaning Ltd Are Specialists in Commercial and Contract Cleaning, ensuring businesses are safe during the current climate is crucial and we pride ourselves on helping businesses get their premises deep cleaned for their staff and customers. Government guidelines are always changing, the latest advice being work from home if you can, but we are here to help whilst most of you are working from your homes, we can help to prepare your offices to get them ready for when you return. We provide COVID deep cleaning, fogging, signage and preparation, post COVID return to work risk assessments all included in our packages to suit your budget. With many years combined experience, you can be sure that we are experts at what we do always striving for highest standards and a high quality finish, and a wealth of happy customers including charities, offices and other organisations. Book now during the lockdown period for 40% off, we will work tirelessly through and after this hard time to ensure your businesses are prepped and ready for work again. Year founded: 2020 Number of employees: 4 direct plus 100 subcontractors Social Media Links: https://facebook.com/ecleaningltduk https://twitter.com/ECleaningLtd1 https://www.linkedin.com/company/e-cleaning-ltd

1 note · View note

gloscleansolutions · 17 days

Text

Gutter Cleaning Gloucester

Maintain the integrity of your property with our reliable gutter cleaning services in Gloucester. At Gloucester Cleaning Solutions, we understand the importance of clean gutters in preventing water damage and preserving the value of your home. Let our skilled team take care of your gutter cleaning needs. For more details visit https://gloscleansolutions.co.uk/commercial/gutter-cleaning/

#Gutter Cleaning Gloucester #Builders Cleaning Gloucester #Commercial Cleaning Gloucester #Pressure Washing Gloucester #Cleaning Services Gloucester #Office Cleaning Gloucester

0 notes

doctortreklock · 4 years

Text

AU-gust 12 - Crime AU

For this. On AO3.

“We’re going to need to burn Agra.”

John looked up from his laptop. “Agra? Why Agra? Didn’t that just get off the ground week before last?”

Sherlock huffed but didn’t look away from the window. “Moriarty’s caught on quicker than I thought. He’s already looking into the 1892 Livingstone fraud. He’ll be researching the Gloucester murders next, and then he’ll have figured it out. Better to cut it off now and have all the loose ends tidied up before he gets near.”

“I guess so,” John sighed. “You want me to--”

“No,” Sherlock dismissed. “Get Lestrade to do it. He might as well be useful, if he’s going to insist on sitting at the table.”

“He’s not going to like it,” John warned him. “You know how he got about that mess on Bedford Row.”

Sherlock snorted derisively and turned to stalk back across the flat. “That was his own fault. He can’t run a crew that manages to thoroughly botch such a simple job and then turn around and expect me to clean up after him.”

He vanished into the kitchen, and John could hear muted clanking as Sherlock put the kettle on. “Tea, John?” he called.

“Sure,” John answered. “I’ll take a cuppa.” He squinted at the text on his screen. Once you got past the unimaginative threats and even more unimaginative cursing, it seemed to be rather straightforward.

“Gregson thinks he’s got a line on a new avenue for international expansion, but he’s can’t get any more details with that Interpol agent sitting on him,” John said, raising his voice so Sherlock could hear him.

He got a hum in response.

“He sounds rather keen on her, really,” John admitted. “Thinks he might be able to flip her.”

That earned him a scoff, even audible over the kettle’s whistling. “Gregson is a hack,” Sherlock said as the whistling stopped, and John heard the sound of pouring water. “If Adler’s got him thinking she’d be willing, he’s a fool. Oh, she’ll play both sides happily, but it won’t ever benefit anyone but herself.”

“So what are we going to do now that Agra’s off the table?” John asked.

“Simple,” Sherlock said, reappearing in the doorway, two teacups in hand. “Here you are, John. We’re going to green light Scarlet.”

John clutched his teacup. “Scarlet?” he asked incredulously, forgetting to thank Sherlock. “You mean the same Scarlet that you dropped two years ago because Moriarty was this close to catching us red handed? That Scarlet?”

“The very same,” Sherlock said, sinking into the couch with his teacup and a self-satisfied smile.

“But...why?” John was at a loss for words. He reflexively took a sip of his tea. It was quite good; Sherlock always managed to steep it just long enough and add just the right amount of sugar.

“Because, John,” Sherlock said patiently. “That was two years ago and is thus a safe enough target for a limited run. Enough to make us at least 250 million pounds before he catches on.”

“I don’t understand,” John admitted.

“Moriarty is a mathematician, first and foremost,” Sherlock explained, taking a deep drink of his own tea. “He won’t rely on his gut instinct the way that many other officers would, partially because he has never cultivated such an instinct, and partially because he believes that the proper interpretation of mathematical models will always be able to derive the correct solution. If the correct solution has not been found, it does not mean that his models are incorrect, merely that they are incomplete.”

He smiled smugly. “And that is why we will always win. We need only stay four or five steps ahead. That way, when Moriarty believes himself to be three steps ahead of us, we still come out the victors.”

John nodded slowly. “And when he actually is three steps ahead of us?”

Sherlock’s smile grew wider and distinctly predatory. “Then the real fun begins.”

#AUgust 2020 #crime au #criminal empire #sherlock #sherlock holmes #john watson #no 1 henchman john watson #organized crime boss lestrade #interpol agent irene adler #criminal mastermind sherlock holmes

2 notes · View notes

goldguile · 4 years

Text

a small thought dump on godfrey von riegan:

an earnest, determined young man who wants nothing more to fix his father’s mistakes and redeem house riegan. he’s a diplomat at heart, prioritizing making peace and solving problems above all else, but he should not be underestimated because of that-- much like his nephew, he’s very talented at scheming and working around people.

the blue oni to his younger sister’s red oni, and very protective of her in certain circumstances; he knows she can take care of herself for the most part. this traces back to always being the one to get helena out of scrapes and arguments with their father when they were young, and it was his persuasion that allowed her to attend the officers academy alongside him.

major crest of riegan sits proudly on his right hand, and he has his sister’s and nephew’s bright green eyes.

an archer who wears glasses much like iggy, and i’m totally taking inspiration for his uniform from this edelgard art. he also has a talent in swords and riding, but a weakness in axes and heavy armour. he also has a budding talent in reason and would have the wind spells if he pursued it.

had a minor crush on the black eagles house leader of the year, but whether anything came of it is up for debate. he fell deeply in love with his eventual wife hermia, and was a very proud and loving father to amelia... even if she was born crestless.

initially didn’t really like lambert, finding his frat boy tendencies and enabling by rodrigue... rather annoying? once lambert begins dating helena and cleans up his act, godfrey’s opinion changes for the better.

a huge fan of the arts! a huge huge huge supporter of creators! ... this led to his downfall, as that love of art was exploited by count gloucester to lure him into a trap.

#✧﹙ooc.﹚❛ 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐫，𝐩𝐞𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐫，𝐩𝐞𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐫.#✧﹙headcanon.﹚❛ 𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐥 𝐮𝐩.#it's godfrey day apparently

8 notes · View notes

babysackville · 4 years

Text

Tuesday 5th August 1828

Bit last night by b-[bugs] yet slept well goodish motion after none yesterday obliged to mend my black petticoat a little - Down stairs to breakfast at 10 - breakfast in about ½ hour till 10 ¾ from about 10 ¾ to 1 ¾ wrote out the journal of yesterday - from 1 ¾ to 2 35/60 wrote out itinerary of yesterday and settled my accounts - great deal of rain fell during last night and early this morning - perpetual showers all the day - very heavy showers from 2 20/60 for ¼ hour - cleaned my [tables] went out at 3 ¼ - to the cathedral, close here - in castle street - afternoon service just began - never heard anyone read in so hurried and careless a manner and so ill as the senior minor-canon - only ½ the service chaunted - the minor-canons cannot chaunt the 4th and 5th verse of the 4th or 5th psalm sung as an anthem - very short - good organ - built 14 or 15 years ago - 1 of the boys has a good voice the service over at 4 40/60 -

Saw the cathedral - of the abbey and cloisters merely a few arches and bits of walls remaining walled up in the gardens or into the houses of the prebendaries along the other side of the cathedral - the ground here raised several feet - this part still called the abbey - entered by a castle like private gate opening into abbey street and shut by the deans and prebendaries at night - a prebend worth about £500 a year and deanery worth about £1000 a year - the deanery house an old battlemented goodish house but archdeacon Paley’s an old small indifferent house the brick addition built by him having a front of a door and 5 windows must have been necessary -

The choir of the cathedral built by Mr Rufus, perfect and handsome - its side-aisles quite plain - no old monuments - merely a few plain neat modern ones - 1 ditto for archdeacon Paley put up by his 2nd son - none during the lifetime of his eldest son nor even any inscription on the gravestone till it was done by a sister of the archdeacon’s from Yorkshire - the transept shabby - the south end paving given way a little on both sides on account of the weight of the great tower put on over the centre - great bare wall where the entrance to the nave should be, reminding one of the ruined Scotch churches in fact the nave (built before the conquest) all but 2 arches on each side, was destroyed by Cromwell, who built 3 grand houses in the town of the materials - 1 in the middle of the town (still standing) and 1 at each gate - the 2 gates and guard houses all swept away - these small part of the nave now serves as a parish church very large thick, round columns (something like those at Gloucester) 2 with very little wrought capitals and 2 with capitals not wrought at all saxon arches quite rude unornamented in any way -

Henry 1 erected this into a bishops seat - the old part of the nave, built of white imperishable stone - all the rest of red sandstone and worn away like that Chester Cathedral - the clerk who shewed me round remembered Archdeacon P-[aley]’s 1st wife Miss Hewitt, and her mother who was then with another person the only one in Carlisle who sold spirits by retail - Mrs P-[aley]’s sister married Mr Hudson (he called him) (Hodgson father of Miss H-[udson] I have met at Lightcliffe) a manufacturer of Dolstone (4 or 5 miles from here near the bishops palace) who was the 1st who introduced the cotton business here and would have done well but laid out too much money in building and was besides taken by a banker here who ruined himself and he died of a broken heart leaving very little behind him - Miss Grisdale now at Lowther castle - always goes while the family comes down - her father Dr G-[risdale] of the free grammar school - her father an inn keeper at Maryfort - he once expected to have been bishop of Carlisle thro’ the Lousdale interest - left his 3 daughters very little - 2 of them comfortably married and Lord Lousdale does not forget Miss G-[risdale] Dr G-[risdal] every warm in politics for the Lowthers - when Broughan was thrown out for Westmoreland, it was in fact a struggle between the Thanet and Lowther interest - the clerk not having the keys of the chapter house did not see it, as he said it was merely a large plain room, gothic roof, but lately done up - he shewed me Miss G-[risdale]’s small house (shut up) as we walked down castle street then pointed to the castle an left me -

Went to the castle - large pile of building - 3 great towers - a very large area walled in it within it modern erections for barracks and all the old buildings turned into barracks, armory, and storerooms - 4 companies of the 80th foot there and 8 artillerymen from the headquarters at Neurcastle - Col. Ross of the artillery commands the garrison - find view from the flagstaff tower - it was in this tower that Queen Mary was - stood a little while for the view over the town and country - too thick to see very far into the country - look on to the smooth race course and close to it the fine white stone 5 arch-bridge we passed last night over the Eden - 4 or 5 made up small arches and 1 open arch raise the road over the low ground as far as to the town - then walked all round under the castle wall and went and stood up the 3 arched red sandstone bridge (Caldew Bridge) over the rapid Caldew -

Then turned up and walked all round the sort of rampart wall round the outside of the town to the new jail - 1 of the turn keys shewed me over it - made no notes, for he wrongly told me these were the plans and an account of it published - Nixon, and Barber was it? architects - cost £50,000 - just finished - magnificent building - off red sandstone - very high wall encloses the whole - [HF] ½ round the foot of the wall (within) nice kitchen garden - calls for fellows male and female - ditto for debtors - ditto ditto for house of correction prison - hospital rooms - water closet to each ward - 2 condemned cells for men and 2 ditto for women and water closets belonging to them - hospital kitchen - general kitchen - laundry - wash house - work shops and every possible place that can be useful - goaler’s house in the middle - hexagon? the ground floor 26 smallish rooms - 2nd floor chapel and 22 rooms - the 3rd floor same as ground floor - goaler’s house so built for gentleman debtors to have separate rooms - iron balcony round the 2nd floor of goaler’s house with staircases from the 3?different divisions of the prison (3 divisions? i.e. felons, debtors, and house of correction prisoners) - as little wood used as possible - iron roofing - principal mullions of goaler’s house windows iron so that in case of fire as the light wood frame might be burnt - all the floor joists iron? all the prison rooms stone-arched above and below - hinges iron plate reservoir from Greenwich into that the treadmill (10 people will keep it going) to pump water to supply the prison and the whole town - the men on the treadmill 10 minutes then rest 5 minutes from 6 a.m. to 6 p.m. everyday - saw 10 upon the wheel - 30 or more might work at a time - a young soldier of the 80th in the house of correction for getting a girl with child - the commanding officer cannot resist his being imprisoned till some agreement is made with the parish officers -

Then went to the court - the crown end in large round tower (battlemented - all the whole building battlemented and castle-like) in the same pile of building with the prison (above the workshops &c joining to the tower is the platform for hanging people) - handsome court room but seems rather small - on the opposite side the street is another handsome tower and pile of battlemented building is the [?] [?] court same plan and size as the crown court - at or round the end of the court is a small crescent of neat sand brick houses called (in the plan of the town court crescent and [?] row) citadel and leading to it is Lowther street - Lord Lousdale’s picturesque in a magnificent gilt frame is to ornament the grand jury room (large handsome plain rather Gothic room - very neat Gothic oak ceiling - good mod? - plain square compartments at top - the cornice being small drops as in Henry 7th chapel) Lawyers room - witnesses ditto - every possible convenience - near to the prison is the Bush Inn or Holmes’s hotel in English street the 1st Inn in the town and 2nd is that where I am, the Crown and Mitre, close to Castle Street - In returning down English street from the prison to the market cross (a column on high large ? with 3 steps round the bottom of it) went down Fisher Street, passed thro’ the Shambles - got some how into Finkle street and up Castle street home and came in at 6 25/60 English street and Castle street - good, handsome streets - the last census (the clerk told me, 16,000 - but now the population 200,000) -

Dinner at 6 ½ - afterwards will 9 wrote the above of today - vide line 4 of today the weather - very heavy thunder shower at 3 40/60 (while I was in the cathedral) and 3 or 4 loud peals of thunder and saw a flash or 2 of lightning - fair after this and fine evening - no box come at 5 this afternoon - the waiter says it cannot come till 10 ½ p.m. by the Independent coach -at 9 a military band playing past the window for a few minutes cherry ripe - somehow this tune (played on board the steamer as the L-[awton]’s?, and I sailed from Liverpool for the Menai bridge) always soothes me to melancholy - then settled accounts of the evening - and went to my room at 9 50/60 - sprinkled my bed with vinegar and rubbed over with it my face, neck, hands, arms and unluckily eyes - a little got in, smarted exceedingly and produced a great degree of inflammation that particularly in the right there was a mass of sort of moving jelly that completely enveloped the bloodshot eye - I had just got into wishing rather to have been bit by a hundred than taken such a remedy against them - when the box was announced - in despair to find they had sent the wrong one - desired boots to take me an inside place in the Independent at 3 ½ in the morning to go back to Dumfries in search of my box - got into bed again - could not sleep - afraid of not being awakened in time - called for a light - eight..

[Left margin: the public buildings red sandstone the houses of Carlisle brick]

(Diary reference: SH7MLE110042 & SH7MLE110043)

#1828 #august #scotland #carlisle #carlisle prison #treadmill #anne lister #anne lister code breaker

2 notes · View notes

withastolenlantern · 4 years

Text

youtube

The brown fields of the western midlands sped by in a near blur as the train left the Birmingham conurbation and passed into rural Herefordshire. It was mid-autumn now, and the harvests completed. The apple orchards had all been picked clean of their fall fruits and sent off to market or crushed and juiced into seasonal ciders. Small herds of sheep meandered in their pastures, grazing at grass now browned as the weather cooled towards winter, their coats grown out to guard against the chill.

The one thing she didn’t see much of was people. Britain proper was prosperous, of course; the pound sterling still traded at the world’s highest exchange rates. The UK parliament had balked at the prospect of a unified currency, and so the rand and various dollars had remained, although pegged at a fixed rate relative to the central denomination. But in due course, the farmers and farriers had all migrated away from the rural midlands and taken up new employment as merchants and marketers in the more urban centers. The land was still fertile here, for some time at least, but now it belonged to the machines. The drone tractors and tillers and threshers were all idled now under barn roofs or lean-tos, their summer works finished, as if resting before taking up winter duty as plows or salt-trucks come the snows. Prayers to Demeter or Aine had been replaced with swears at Deere and AGCO, although they often carried the same futility. Even the bees had been replaced, after the great dying; their tiny buzzing wings now traded for the low hum of rotors as their simulacra flitted about carrying pollen and confusing predatory birds.

As they passed Gloucester and into Wales, the River Severn emptied into Bristol Channel and she could see all the way out to the Atlantic. The seas had risen here too, of course, as no effort of man could yet hold back them back, but Britain was largely immune from the worst. London had been bulwarked for a thousand years against the flooding of the Thames, and the port cities all braced or barricaded against the advancing surf. Wind and tidal generators dotted the horizon all around the coast, turning Nature’s fury into man’s gain. Britannia rule the waves, indeed. Some seaside properties had moved; the poorer communities had to relocate inland, and the new littoral real estate was gobbled up and repurposed into pricy condominiums or resorts for upper class holidays. The ports, again as vital to commerce as ever in earlier centuries, had multiplied, their piers expanding out over the breakers like the long fingers of industry stretching over a swirled tumbler of gin.

The train pulled into Cardiff station and Chatham exited into the station, grabbing some take-away kebab and sitting down at a wrought-iron table to take stock of her situation. The meeting with her superiors had not gone well, and she replayed the events in her head as she considered her options.

DCI Ratnayaka was supportive, at least, but they were joined in his office by a liaison from the Home Office. Whoever he was, he’d been introduced by both name and title, but she couldn't be bothered. They were all interchangeable, the bureaucrats, at least in her experience. She'd been to Westminster once to receive her Military Cross; it reminded her of a giant ant colony in both form and function, and that was before she'd been paraded around like a prized crumb stolen from Grandmama’s biscuit cupboard. The fellow might as well have been Undersecretary for the Ministry of Peace for all it would matter to her; she wouldn’t waste the effort, and anyway she was sure the relevant details had already been transmitted to her mobile. Much like those ants, she was apt to find the bureaucracy exactly where she least wanted it.

She’d recounted the details as best she could recall, and explained her concerns given the situation she’d found below deck and the deadly potential. Clearly further investigation was needed, and the Lord Swansea should be called before a HeRMES inquiry panel.

The government’s man was unswayed. It was a time of great economic distress, his counter-argument had gone, and the Government was leaning heavily on major players like the Ross Consortium to assist them in navigating the increasingly new fiscal reality. Besides, His Majesty had a personal stake in the Ross board, and it would not do for Him to be associated with untoward activities, especially of a potentially terrorist nature. The tabloids would have a field day. No, MI5 could control the message via the social networks; better to leave it alone, and stick to the cover story, than risk what might become an… indelicate investigation.

“What about the lives of the men in the skiffs?” she asked, barely masking her contempt. “Or does their indelicacy not rate investigation?”

“The pirates and smugglers? Hardly,” the Home Office man replied. “Good riddance to bad rubbish.”

“And you’re not at all concerned about the fact that we found some kind of uncontrolled toxin in Ross crates?” she said.

“My concern, Detective,” he said, chewing on her title as if it were a crisp, “is that you and Leftenant Ayobe disabled terrorists carrying weapons and illicit drugs. The world is an increasingly dangerous place, but your brave actions represent the type of inter-service collaboration that His Majesty’s father envisioned when the Union was formed, God rest his soul.”

“Yes, and I’m sure The Old Ginger would be thrilled to know his progeny was using it for political gain.”

“Detective!” her superior snapped. “Decorum, please.”

Home Office waved him off. “Your concerns are not without merit. DCI Ratnayaka argued strongly for your character and your experience in certain… high profile investigations. Given that input, the Government will allow you to continue your investigation as it relates to stolen, and,” he paused for dramatic effect, “potentially hazardous Ross goods.”

Chatham started to object, but her governor raised an eyebrow from across the desk, beckoning her to remain seated.

“You will not mention terrorism to any party. You will forward any findings outside of your jurisdiction, which includes only crimes against His Majesty’s Government or its Citizens, directly to myself and MI6. And above all, you will be discrete,” the Government’s man said with finality, rising to leave the office.

“We’ve arranged for you to meet with Lord Swansea at the Ross headquarters tomorrow,” Ratnayaka said, hoping to defuse the situation.

“And one more thing, Detective – you and Leftenant Ayobe are to be honored for your service at a ceremony at the Ministry of Defense,” Home Office continued, “on the week-end. Obviously you will be on your best behavior,” he cautioned, before closing the office door behind him.

“Fokken idioot,” Chatham swore breathlessly towards the door. She blushed as she realized her superior was still sitting at his desk, glaring. “Sorry, sir.”

“What am I going to do with you?” he asked quietly, sighing.

“The same thing you’ve always done,” the detective replied, flashing a faux-smile.

“Be careful with this one, Detective. I’d advise you not cross the powers that be, but I know you likely won’t listen. I don’t know what it is that drives you to this disrespect for authority that you cultivate, but mark my words, one day it will get you into trouble that neither I nor your record will get you out of. I just pray it’s not the kind that comes staring down the barrel of a gun,” the chief inspector cautioned.

She gathered her things and stood to leave, lingering briefly in the doorway. “I’ve been shot before, gov,” she scoffed. “Can’t say I’d much like to relive that experience, either.”

She’d boarded the train then, straight away, to return back to Cardiff, where it had all begun. She still had no idea who had called in the tip about the gun-runners, but HeRMES had been investigating arms trafficking into the Subcontinent for several months, and when the informant had mentioned there’d been a possible theft of Ross property, her governors saw a fortuitous opportunity. She’d been stationed in Wales since mustering out of the SBS; having made her peace with her father’s untimely demise, she felt she owed it to him and herself to return to the other half of her ancestral homeland.

Her Welsh was terrible but she found the climate more amenable to her complexion, and the pace of life significantly slower than the crowded streets of Cape Town. HeRMES was happy to oblige, as they’d needed someone to take up the Welsh region; the office still carried a reputation as a “backwater” even though its economy had been carried forward with the rest of the Union’s. The British crown had claimed the Welsh marshes for nearly as long as it had existed, and even though they’d mined out all the coal years ago, the Union’s industrial backbone still ran through the Brecon Beacons, whether Westminster remembered it or not.

She missed her mother, some days, but the SAR was only a holo away, and she hadn’t left behind any real friends when she’d left. Not that she’d made any here, or in university, or the service. There’d been colleagues and workplace proximate acquaintances; of course she would have, and in fact had, taken a bullet for any of her fellow soldiers. Along the way there’d even been brief affairs and lovers, men and women and whatever in between, but none so serious as to tether her in time or space. No, she was alone here, just herself and the spectre of her father, when she let herself acknowledge it, and that was how she liked it.

Can’t be disappointed if there’s no one to disappoint you, she thought to herself, huddling in the doorway of the station as a light, cold rain fell onto the streets outside. Tightening her coat around her shoulders, she stepped out into the drizzle long enough to jump into the first empty black cab she saw. The detective spoke aloud the address and the cab sped off toward her flat, throwing gentle splashes across the pedestrian walks as it rumbled through the late afternoon storm.

She sat in the car and composed herself after the long day, smoothing the strands of her hair that had come free in the rain and loosening the tie on her uniform. The route from the station took the cab down the A432 passed the dockyards, and she could see several tall Ross crates and containers, the crimson R stenciled prominently, being maneuvered throughout the gantries by the drone lifts, and it gave her an idea. She paged through the contacts list on her mobile, laughing quietly to herself as a particular name scrolled past. Opening a text dialogue, she typed out a message of exactly the type Ratnayaka had cautioned her against. “Flynn: I need a favor.”

#these two things are linked strongly in my brain for whatever reason #in case you ever wondered what it's like inside that dark cavern of crazy #the world ocean #long post

1 note · View note

freebooter4ever · 4 years

Text

Here is the request, a beautiful heartwarming rendition of Eugene Sledge losing his virginity to Snafu, but set in the AU where Snaf and Sledge met before the war in Mobile while Snaf was working on the docks. Now, two years later they meet again on Pavuvu with Snaf a war-torn experienced marine and new replacement Sledge still very adorable and naive, and after after some brief hostility due to Snaf being an emotionally constipated dumbass, they work out their issues and have some fun. Thanks to @lieblinggs who really wanted to see them meet during the war in this AU and encouraged me.

Apologies in advance, I tried, I’m not sexy, my specialty is fluff and humor you guys....this is the last time anyone’s gonna ask me to write smut ever again lol. The secondhand embarrassment might be Hard with this one.

Snafu is a ghost after Gloucester. The rain washed away all traces of his personality entirely and left him with very little to work with. He spends his days on Pavuvu avoiding doing anything, and he watches the slow progress of the healing sores on his skin like it's the final lap of the Indy 500.

He doesn't think about the future, all he knows at camp is warmth, his soft pillow, and the food he gets three times a day. After weeks of exhaustion, aches, and cold, he is finally comfortable. There's nothing much else on his mind besides that.

Then Eugene Sledge walks into his tent.

Eugene Sledge arrives on a ship, and with the ship comes the daily mail bags, and in the mail comes a newspaper clipping from Snafu's home town. As if one helping of guilt wasn't enough and he needs another to balance it. The article from home, delivered minutes before Eugene walked back into his life, only brings half-guilt though. It says nothing of Mairzy, who is probably still safe in Mobile. And instead says everything about Snafu. And his heroism on Gloucester.

That brings a little bit of pride which eases the sting of the guilt over leaving his sister behind.

He tries to focus on the letter and the newspaper clipping instead of the boy standing in his tent, with his crooked helmet hanging off his ginger hair. After Gloucester, Snafu can barely focus on anything at all. The five minutes when Eugene tries to claim a bunk in their tent is an outlier. Snafu's entire reason for being narrows in focus, and it becomes imperative that Eugene not live in the same space. He needs to convince Burgie of this, though Burgie unquestioningly plays along with the disdain Snafu started easily enough.

It's been two years since he saw Eugene Sledge. They did not part well. Snafu isn't so good with goodbyes.

"Understatement," Sledge mutters in the chow line behind Snafu later that day.

Snafu had just got done explaining all this history to Burgie while they waited for their flood, and Snafu hadn't even noticed Eugene was there, eavesdropping on them. Snafu's constant state of physical awareness must be slipping within the relative safety of Pavuvu.

Burgie takes one look at Sledge, and one look at Snafu. "I don't know what this is about and I don't care, but please make sure I still have an entire squad standing and in fighting fit by the end of it," he warns. And with that he collects his food and makes a run for it, leaving Snafu to face the music on his own.

Snafu turns around, and meets Eugene's eyes, and sees blank emptiness. Eugene isn't even angry. Snafu had hoped Eugene would be angry. That he would hate Snafu to the ends of the earth.

Neither of them say anything. They just engage in a silent stare down until someone behind them in line asks what's the hold up. Eugene turns around to apologize and Snafu ducks underneath the serving table and disappears behind the mess tent.

Snafu is in danger of saying something stupid. He can sense it, bubbling up in him like alka-seltzer in coke. One look in Eugene's damn eyes and he's falling in love all over again.

In retaliation for Eugene sneaking up on him, Snafu finds the skipper who always invents the worst work duties. Sure enough all it takes is some idle chitchat to convince the skipper that now is the time to clean out the oil barrels. Snafu offers to oversee the work, and suggests a couple new Boots to assign the task to, and the rest is history.

Eugene gets angry at him then. He glares prettily at Snafu from underneath his elbow while scrubbing drums. There's something else burning beneath that anger. Snafu can sense it in the way Eugene's gaze lingers on the movement of Snafu's hips - in how sometimes Snafu turns around only to catch Eugene looking away.

Otherwise Snafu avoids Sledge like the plague.

He does a pretty good job of it. Until the day Sledge disappears.

As Snafu walks by a tent he overhears one of the officers complaining that Sledge hasn't been seen since lunch. Apparently the boy skipped out on dinner and coconut detail. Which is an understandable thing to skip - nobody willingly subjects themselves to the smell and texture of rotten coconuts. Sledge's disappearance makes sense. Unless one knows Sledge, and knows he would never shirk duty no matter how unpleasant.

Snafu also knows something else the officer didn't consider and maybe Sledge didn't even know - certain members of How company were scheduled to rotate home this morning. As far as Snafu knew, their ship already left dock. So it doesn't take much to guess where Eugene might be.

He finds Eugene sitting on an empty cot in Phillip's old tent. Eugene is holding a book in his hands but he isn't reading it. His head hangs between his shoulders in defeat. He doesn't acknowledge Snafu when Snafu steps into the tent, even though Snafu's shadow falls over him with the harsh evening light so low in the sky.

Snafu hesitates to enter so he hovers in the doorway. There is a second cot across the room. But there is also a little sliver of space next to Eugene on the first cot that Snafu knows he could squeeze his butt onto if he tried.

"Left alone again?" Snafu asks. He tries to sound sympathetic.

Eugene looks up. He clearly did not expect the person in the doorway to be Snafu. And - oh! - Eugene's eyes are full of hope. Snafu makes his decision. He crosses the room and sits next to Eugene. They're so close there isn't an inch of space between them.

Snafu turns his head and rests his nose on Eugene's shoulder. He closes his eyes, and breathes.

He missed how Eugene smelled

"You'd think I'd be used to being the type to be left behind by now," Eugene gripes.

Snafu snorts. "It ain't you," he mumbles into Eugene's shoulder, "It's us. We're just dicks."

"Sidney is not a dick."

"But I am?"

"Jury's still out on that one"

Snafu grins. He turns his hips in towards Eugene so he can wrap his arms around his waist and press closer in a sort of half hug. "Guess it's a good thing you're fond of my dick, then." He kisses Eugene's neck, "You certainly felt me up enough times. Remember the day under the bridge by your house?"

Eugene sighs in exasperation and tilts his head back, "God, Merriell."

"Jury out on that one too? Cause if you need me to jog your memory…"

"Why didn't you say goodbye?" Eugene interrupts, "Why did I wake up one morning to find your house empty and Mairzy alone?"

Snafu holds Eugene and thinks about that one for a bit. He finally surmises, "You would have asked why I was enlisting."

"Why were you enlisting?" Eugene asks.

"For you," Snafu admits. He turns his face in towards Eugene's neck. Takes another deep breath. If he doesn't face Eugene, Snafu can pretend the man next to him is still the same boy who skipped class every day to bicycle down to the docks where Snafu worked, and kiss him behind the pilings.

"I would have stopped you," Eugene says.

"I know."

They sit in silence for another beat, and then Eugene asks a second question, "You fought in the same battle on Gloucester, you must have some insight. Why didn't Sid tell me goodbye?"

Snafu takes a deep breath and debates giving Eugene the real answer.

He doesn't think you're going to live. Keeping attachments is a hazard here.

"If you were at those same battles," Snafu concludes quietly, "You'd realize there's no room for thought, and no insight to be had."

Eugene nods, "Guess I'll learn." He sounds scared.

Snafu tightens his hold around Eugene's waist.

During another long silence Snafu works up the courage to ask a question he's been wondering for two years.

"Did you love him?"

The question seems to genuinely startle Eugene. And then the dots connect. "Sid?" Eugene asks, "Of course I loved him. He's my best and oldest friend in the whole world."

It's Snafu's turn to nod, resigned. He rests his forehead on Eugene's back.

"But also…" Eugene says quietly, "No. I didn't love him like I loved you. God Mer, I never loved anyone like I loved you."

Snafu sits up so he can look Eugene in the eye, "You loved me?"

"Yes," Eugene says, smiling back, "Not that you gave me much chance to."

Snafu grins.

"What about you?" Eugene asks, "Still carrying a torch for me or did you find some girl in Melbourne too?"

Snafu leans back, his smile widens, "Who said anything about girls?"

"Sid slept with some woman in Australia," Eugene says.

"You jealous?" Snafu asks.

Eugene ignores him. "Sid claims war is the opposite of that...the opposite of sex, he means. I guess. I wouldn't know anything about either," Eugene says. He sounds grumpy.

Snafu laughs, "Sex ain't all it's cracked up to be."

"You're saying it should be closer on the scale to war?"

"No, I'm saying some parts are great but there's a lot of bullshit that goes with it," Snafu explains, "I wouldn't use it as a benchmark."

"Did you sleep with someone in Melbourne?"

"I'm not a virgin, Eugene. Not now; not in melbourne; nor was I two years ago when I met you."

Eugene abruptly stands up from the cot. He wipes his hands on his pants. His palms are red and Snafu bets if he touches them, they'd be hot.

Snafu leans back on the cot and surveys Eugene.

"So what part's the bullshit, then?" Eugene demands, "In sex?"

Snafu shrugs nonchalantly, "You try growing up queer in New Orleans where the only men who'll fuck you are the older ones who insist you keep silent about it. Who treat you like the dirt you live in."

"Men who were ashamed of you?" Eugene asks, "Like you accused me of being?"

"Ashamed of me and of themselves," Snafu replies, "Don't care about anyone's pleasure except their own. Can make sex real unpleasant sometimes. And once it gets associated with pain, real hard to seperate it."

"Mer, why would you…?"

"Better than nothing. When you're alone," Snafu kicks his legs onto the cot and lies down with his hands behind his head, "Don't deserve better anyway. I can take the bullshit." He looks at the tent canvas and listens to the sound of the rainstorm pounding hard on the roof.

He can't see Eugene but Eugene doesn't stop watching him.

"So what's at your other end then?" Eugene asks, "For you, what is opposite war on the spectrum of human experience?"

Snafu contemplates quietly for a few minutes and then says, "Do you remember that night I got so drunk that you hunted me down, found me, took me home, and let me sleep in your bed? And you went to school and I stayed under your covers all day? And I didn't have to get up for nothing except to have food served at my door. Just laid in bed for hours and read all your journals."

"You read my journals?" Eugene says incredulously.

"They were enlightening," Snafu turns his head and lifts his chin to smirk at him.

"They were at least ninety percent about botany," Eugene protests, "Completely boring."

"And the other ten percent provided detailed descriptions of every handsome man who ever walked into your life," Snafu claims.

"Sometimes it's easier to describe what I see with words than draw," Eugene says defensively.

"Anyway," Snafu continues and looks back at the ceiling, "I laid around reading your horny thorny journals till you came home. And you crawled into bed with me. And you held me and kissed me. And introduced me to your parents. And they liked me, though I think they liked Mairzy better." He sighs and closes his eyes. He can still smell Eugene's room from that day. "That memory is what's on the other end," Snafu tells him.

"Mer…"

"Ain't ever loved anybody like I loved you," Snafu throws Eugene's own words back at him and smiles.

In a rush, Eugene bends down, grabs the lapels of Snafu's shirt, and kisses him passionately. Snafu barely has time to react.

"Shit, I forgot. " Too soon Eugene switches gears, wrenches his face away, and drops Snafu like a live grenade. Eugene lunges towards the tent door and knocks it shut. He peers through the mosquito netting before covering it with the canvas flap.

Snafu laughs. "Nobody's gonna be out in this storm. Nothing to be worried about," he says. He lolls his head back and resists rolling his eyes.

"Yeah and who knows how long the rain's gonna last," Eugene says as he unrolls the canvas covers of all the tent windows.

"It's gonna get hot in here if you do that," Snafu points out.

"Do you want to be court martialed?" Eugene asks.

"Depends," Snafu says, "What exactly will we be getting up to in here to merit it? Will it be worth my while?" He waggles his eyebrows.

Eugene finishes the last tent flap, steps over the debris and trash on the floor, and makes his way back to the cot to stand in front of Snafu.

"Before I go to war, I want to know what the other end of the spectrum is like," Eugene announces. He carefully places his hands on Snafu's shoulders, and then straddles his lap.

Snafu sits up, slides his hands over Eugene's hips and along his back.

"Besides, you've been teasing me since the minute I got here," Eugene accuses, "Time to follow through."

Snafu huffs.

"Are you telling me the oil barrels wasn't your idea?" Eugene asks, "And staying to watch me sweat? That was all on you."

"Ain't denying it," Snafu says, leaning in close, his eyes on Eugene's lips.

"So shut up and kiss me, then," Eugene says.

Every single bit of Snafu wants to. He runs his hands around to feel the flat of Eugene's stomach, no longer soft after all that bootcamp training. Slowly Snafu rucks Eugene's shirt up over his head. It gets tossed to the extra cot behind them.

Snafu keeps Eugene in his lap with a steadying hand on the small of his back. With his free hand he lifts the dog tags hanging around Eugene's neck.

"You got what you wanted," Snafu says. He runs his fingers over the name. First Marines. Bondurant.

Eugene smiles thinly and shakes his head, "You're a little behind on your intel." His hand closes around Snafu's hand holding the dog tags. He gently takes them away and swings the chain over his shoulder. "This is what I wanted," Eugene whispers right before he cradles Snafu's face and kisses him.

Snafu kisses back. He kisses back hard enough to drown out all his conflicted thoughts. If Eugene wants this, he can give it to him. And it feels good. He can add this to his list of comfort - warmth, sleep, food, and the feel of Eugene moving in his lap, Eugene's lips on his neck, Eugene's hands in his hair.

Oddly enough it's Eugene who breaks the kiss. Snafu moans as Eugene pulls away and climbs off Snafu's lap. Snafu tries to follow but he doesn't get far. Eugene gently places a hand on his shoulder to stop him. And then steps back.

Snafu watches as Eugene's hands undo his own belt and then the button of his dungarees. Eugene drops the pants to the ground and steps on them to pull them off his feet. He dips his fingers into the waistband of his underwear and slides them along the hem, looking nervous.

"We can stop," Snafu reassures him, "Or you can keep those on and go right back to kissing me. Don't gotta go any further than that."

Eugene silently thumbs the waistband and in one swoop, shoves them to the ground. When he tries to get his feet out of his clothes this time, he stumbles, and Snafu has to catch him before he falls over.

It's the first time Snafu touches Eugene's bare butt. And he can't help but giggle a little.

Eugene smiles too. He stands in front of Snafu and fidgets shyly. Snafu grabs Eugene's bouncing hand and tugs him closer. Closer till Snafu's nose bumps against Eugene's stomach.

"This ok?" Snafu asks. He tilts his head back to look at Eugene while he runs his hand up the inside of Eugene's thigh.

Eugene nods enthusiastically and mutters something under his breath.

"Sorry, couldn't hear that?" Snafu grins. He switches to touching Eugene's other leg - up the thigh and around his butt. Eugene's still got a death grip going on Snafu's right hand.

"Yes, Mer, it's more than okay. I thought you were old hat at this, do I have to spell it out for you or…? Oh!" Eugene shudders into silence.

Snafu's throat is unusually dry whether from anticipation or - dare he say it - nerves. Snafu has to swallow and lick his lips a few times to get everything to go smooth. He's never been nervous going down on someone before, but Eugene is...Eugene. Snafu wants this first time to be as perfect as Gene himself.

Eugene, for his part, is watching Snafu with heavy lidded awe and looking as if he's about to faint. He groans and starts to sag where he stands.

Snafu pulls off. He gets up and puts his arms around Eugene to stabilize him. "Why don't you lie down?" he suggests.

Instead Eugene kisses him. He grips Snafu's hips, brings them both together, and kisses him desperately until neither of them can breathe.

"Gene…" Snafu smiles, "Gene, lie down. I'll take care of you."

Eugene doesn't listen. He tugs Snafu's shirt off and makes quick work of the button on Snafu's dungarees. Snafu stumbles with his pants around his ankles and Eugene actually fucking lifts Snafu off the ground by his waist so he can kick his legs free.

"Eugene…!" Snafu almost laughs.

"I won't drop you," Eugene promises, still holding him tight. He gets an arm underneath Snafu's ass and hefts him higher.

They kiss again, with Snafu suspended in the air, naked against Gene's body like some dramatic movie ending where the music swells and everything fades to black.

If this was a movie, they could skip all the ugly parts and he and Gene could go home.

"Lie down, let me take care of you," Snafu repeats. He pulls away from their kiss and stares into Gene's pretty dark eyes and waits for him to listen. Eugene has a habit of giving way to Snafu's expertise.

Sure enough, Eugene reluctantly releases his hold on Snafu and stretches out on the cot. His hands immediately reattach themselves to Snafu's hips when Snafu straddles him. Eugene looks calm and his unfaltering trust is a lot of responsibility laid on Snafu's narrow shoulders.

It takes a minute to line everything up properly. When Snafu sinks down onto Eugene's lap, he screws his eyes shut from the pain, but he hears Gene moan in pleasure. Snafu breathes through it, and keeps going. Till Gene's warm hands interrupt by sliding gently around his waist. Eugene sits up and refuses to let Snafu sink down on him again, holding his body still.

"Mer, are you alright?" Eugene asks.

"'M fine," Snafu mumbles, "Just takes a bit to loosen up. Not a lot to work with here on Pavuvu. Let me go."

"You looked like you were in pain."

"A good kind.."

"No! Merriell...just...stop…I refuse to hurt you" Eugene kisses him tenderly.

Snafu squirms. "Hold on…" Snafu crawls off Gene's lap and staggers to his feet, feeling a little off balance, "You said this was How Company's bunk right?"

"Yeah?" Eugene says, confused.

"Had a buddy in here," Snafu says. He wanders around the tent, kicking at trash and opening boxes, "He might'a left something…"

"A buddy?" Eugene sounds unimpressed.

"Do you want to fuck me or not?" Snafu asks, lifting a small container triumphantly. He tosses it to Eugene who unscrews the lid and looks inside.

"I do," Eugene says.

"Then don't ask about buddys," Snafu replies, "None of them matter. Haven't been with anybody since Gloucester anyway."

"I guess I should be grateful you know what you're doing," Eugene says, handing him the container.

The container is mostly empty, but there's enough to make things slide easy. This time Eugene rolls Snafu over onto his back and settles between his legs. He fucks Snafu slowly, watching his face for the first long while, as if making sure Snafu isn't hiding pain from him again. And oh boy does it feel good now, in a leisurely, drawn out, intense kinda way. Snafu enjoys every minute of it.

To his surprise.

It used to be the opposite. With the other guys it was usually quick. The faster he gets this part over, the faster he can jerk himself off and be done with it. But Eugene keeps hitting parts inside him that Snafu did not even know existed. Fuck reading journals, Snafu wants to do this for hours in Eugene's bed instead. Luckily Eugene is in no rush.

He seems more focused on kissing Snafu than getting off. At one point Gene slips out and he hardly notices, too busy sucking on his face. It's up to Snafu, grinning stupidly, to break the kiss briefly and line him up again.

Snafu hasn't been this sensitive around his ass for ages. All it takes is for Eugene to push up against him even lightly and Snafu is goddamn writhing underneath him. It's ridiculous. Normally he keeps a safe disconnect between that general area and his brain.

But - oh!

Fuck.

Eugene is turning that disconnect into a thing of the past.

Snafu thinks he must have moaned or something because Eugene pauses briefly and holds himself over Snafu, smiling goofily.

"Why'd you stop?" Snafu pants.

"Wanted to watch you," Eugene grins back.

"Fuck, Eugene," Snafu complains, drawing Eugene's name out in a groan, his legs still moving even though Eugene is doing nothing but lying there like a hard slippery dense rock between them.

"I think Sid might be right," Eugene says.

"You are not talking about Sidney Fucking Philips right now…"

"This is the most amazing experience of my life," Eugene brags, leaning in to kiss Snafu's neck and running his hand down Snafu's side as Snafu arches up into the touch.

"Shut the fuck up, Sledge," Snafu gripes.

"Mmm, no, I won't," Eugene hums against Snafu's collarbone, "You love it. I've seen you now. I know."

"Fuck, Gene! Please."

Eugene's hand slides between their bodies and strokes Snafu's cock - fucking adoringly - if a hand job could even be adoring - and, fuck all it takes is one second before Snafu loses total control, and much to everyone's surprise, cum squirts high and shoots far enough to hit Gene in the chin.

Snafu stares at Eugene, wide eyed with shock, and maybe a little embarrassment.

Eugene laughs. He gathers Snafu up even tighter in his arms, buries his face in his hair, and whispers, "I love you," his voice full of delight.

Snafu is slowly drifting back to earth, though he can feel his mouth still gaping like a fish. "You ain't done yet."

"I got too distracted by you," Gene replies. He slowly starts rolling his hips into Snafu again.

Snafu rolls his eyes at the sentiment.

Eugene pistons into him erratically, like he's chasing a high he doesn't quite understand how to reach. Feeling a sudden burst of inspiration, Snafu maneuvers Eugene to where he can hold Gene's face in his hands, wipe off the cum dripping down his neck, and then asks, in a serious voice, "Sledge?"

"Yeah?" Eugene responds.

"Hammer me."

Eugene bites his lip to keep from laughing and he presses his forehead to Snafu's but he starts to go at it a little more rhythmically. Snafu keeps his eyes open to watch it happen. He sees when Sledge hits the tipping point and starts pounding into him desperately. And sees when Eugene finally climaxes in a series of moans and breathy whispers of Snafu's name.

They collapse together in a slippery mess.

As could be predicted, Eugene is a snuggler and he clings to Snafu like a long-limbed sloth. He even falls asleep. And snores. Snafu curls around him and wiggles his fingers through Gene's hair to smooth all the knots out. That takes him a good long while. Eventually the rain stops. Gene sleeps on.

Burgie accidentally steps into the tent for a brief second. After the initial moment of shocked staring, he pivots to face the wall and casts his eyes to the ceiling.

Snafu's fight or flight instinct kicks in because Burgie is not leaving. Despite Sledge's bare ass being on display between Snafu's very naked legs.

"Well, that's a relief," Burgie comments idly, "I take it this means we won't be having any more personal problems among our mortar squad?"

"Right as rain, Burgie," Snafu drawls.

"Good," Burgie nods at the wall, his tone is friendly, "I'll tell the skipper you're both indisposed tonight. See you in the morning, Snaf." And then he leaves, shutting the door tight behind him.

The sound wakes Eugene up, finally.

Gene squints, and looks around himself like he's lost. His eyes finally settle on Snafu and his whole expression goes soft. He melts over Snafu's body languidly and props his chin on Snafu's chest.

"Yeah, after this I'm gonna have to move my benchmark. Take this into consideration as the most amazing indescribable experience ever," Eugene says.

He's looking so full of himself and smiley that Snafu would be tempted to take him down a peg or two if Gene wasn't also so irresistible.

"You can journal about it," Snafu suggests.

Gene snorts a laugh. He kisses Snafu's sternum gently.

Snafu stretches, his body starting to ache from lying around so long. He tickles Eugene's neck till he rolls off him in a fit of giggles. "Gonna have to change my nickname," Snafu says, "SNAFO. Situation Normal All Fucked Out."

"That will never catch on," Eugene argues. His hand starts exploring Snafu's body and is awfully close to reaching between his thighs again.

"Gene!" Snafu laughs. He flexes his hips and hums when Eugege's delicate fingers rub him lightly. He's still soft, but honestly, with Eugene, it probably wouldn't take much. "That wasn't a challenge."

"You sure about that?" Eugene asks impishly, "Cause I'm prepared to take it as one."

Snafu rolls on top of him and sits up. He pins Eugene's arms over his head playfully.

"Least we got a new nickname for you outta this," Snafu points out.

'What's that?" Gene asks.

"Sledgehammer."

"If you dare…" Eugene starts in a mock serious tone, "...to call me that in front of any of the men...I'll...I'll…"

"You'll what?" Snafu taunts.

"I'll kiss you in public," Eugene says, "In full view of everybody."

"You won't," Snafu calls his bluff.

"Maybe not, but I'll want to," Eugene says, "Every time you call me that I'll want to."

"Sledgehammer," Snafu drawls, taunting.

Eugene smiles, pulls him into a kiss, and Eugene's 'first time' quickly transitions into his 'second time'.

Snafu doesn't push the boundaries of the nickname. He only uses it in private, when he can whisper in Eugene's ear and Eugene can bend down to kiss him silly.

They search out places they can be alone. It isn't too difficult to do but the farther they wander from civilization, the less hospitable the environment is. After a few days of discovering how uncomfortable sand can be in sensitive areas of the body, and a few 'times' of almost getting caught by fellow Marines less friendly than Burgin, Snafu comes up with the bright idea to borrow old tent material and use it as a blanket. They hike through the jungle to an isolated beach cove and stretch the stained canvas over the sand.

"Does it keep getting better every time?" Eugene asks Snafu afterwards.

They're lying on top of each other, still naked and sweaty. Snafu is itching for a smoke. He reaches for his pants, but Eugene, knowing exactly what he is going for, places a gentle hand on his shoulder to stop him.

Snafu grunts and shifts so he's nestled more snugly between Eugene's legs. He works out his craving on Eugene's neck, and takes great pleasure in sucking a hickey in a place Eugene can't possibly hide.

"I'm wondering how often I'll need to move that benchmark," Eugene continues.

"As if I'm the expert?" Snafu asks.

"You are the one with more experience here…" Eugene says.

"Not like this," Snafu lifts his head to stare into Gene's eyes, "Never had nothing like this, Sledgehammer."

There's a fire in Snafu and it's not lust. Or maybe partially, but another part, a deeply buried protective streak, desperately wants Eugene to keep this. This warm happy glow around sex. Cause Snafu's benchmark is moving too, in a direction he thought impossible, and the changes make him so dizzy he can barely keep up. Sometimes he forgets there was anything before this. That love and pleasure is as uncomplicated and joyous as Eugene believes it to be - completely unassociated with physical pain, with hatred. A total opposite to the carnage and destructive hell of war.

The thought of losing Eugene to war makes Snafu nauseous, and yet it's a constant awareness in the back of his mind, coloring everything they do. Eugene, meanwhile, remains blissfully unaware.

And fuck, that's gonna change, and Snafu is powerless to stop it.

They're going into battle tomorrow. This is the last chance he'll get to lay around and relish in the feel of Eugene's bare unblemished skin against his.

Possibly the last chance ever, if Eugene joins ranks with one of the many many statistics.

So he forgoes smoking and pours all his attention into making Eugene moan every chance he gets. Let Eugene have this. Let him hold onto this.

"Sledgehammer," Snafu says when he finds Eugene standing alone on the deck of the ship carrying them into battle. The sun is setting, and Eugene is beautiful.

Gene responds with a kiss intense enough to be worthy of their last kiss. Snafu promises to stick by Eugene's side during the entire campaign. They don't talk about any other possibility.

As it turns out, the first time Snafu uses Eugene's nickname in front of K Company happens after Eugene saves Snafu's life. The minute Snafu says "Sledgehammer" out loud, Eugene looks at him slyly. And in that single glance, Snafu knows they both understand.

tagging request @xmxisxforxmaybe

#sledgefu #bad germs

66 notes · View notes