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aurorafables · 9 months ago

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From the Grey, Chapter 2.

First of all, thank you for the likes and reblogging 😊 you just made my day when I saw any activity on my post. The story will be more than 20 chapters, so it's time for the second part. Enjoy! 😉

Pairing: Noah Sebastian X Nicholas Ruffilo

Warnings: 18+, Explicit, Angst, Past character death, Suicidal thoughts

Tags: M/M, Slow burn, Childhood friends, Friends to lovers, Family drama, Band fic

Word Count: 3.7k

Cross-posted: AO3

All four of us hated interviews, and no matter how much we tried to take some of the burden off Noah's shoulders, as the main lyricist and music writer, as well as the lead singer of the band, most of the time it fell to him to answer the questions. Over the years, he got better at it, and he took the hurdles more easily from interview to interview. He could dissolve in a few minutes, and if asked about the process of creation, he could talk for hours.

We were in one of our label's offices between two concerts. Noah was called from a magazine, and they were talking on video call, and I, out of the picture, stretched out in the mustard yellow faux leather armchair with my cell phone. I was only half paying attention to the conversation, but sometimes I got lost in Noah's soothing voice while I was replying to my girlfriend's messages. When the possible connection between his lyrics and his experiences came up, I looked at him a little worried. I could only half see his face from behind his laptop screen, but I waited with bated breath for an answer. Noah thought for a moment, then revealed as much as he could, but gave as vague an answer as possible. “ … I'm trying to find the limit so that everyone can relate to what they’re going through, at least for the most part. And I also think it’s kind of corny sometimes to be like too specific and… it takes out the fun of it, the whole thing loses its effect and its poetry. In addition, I don't like to express my life and personal experiences too much through the lyrics. I want them to talk about my music, not me.” I was damn proud of him, and I think it was written on my face, because he glanced over at me and gave me a thumbs up under the table where only I could see. I was afraid that he would be put in an uncomfortable situation, that things he didn't want to talk about would be taken out of him, but he solved it professionally and then steered the conversation to slightly lighter topics. I remembered the moment when he was afraid and pushed the little notebook in front of me that hid the pieces of his soul.

We were both at the tattoo parlor trying to pass the time until closing time. Noah had finished a nice bathroom cleaning that I had done when I was a newbie, and was sitting on the corner sofa, holding a notebook that I've seen him carry a lot lately. I looked up from my sketch and watched him bite his lip as he wrote something down. Then he drew out a line, brushed a strand of hair that hung in his face behind his ear, and resumed writing. It was always good to spend time together, even if we were just sitting in the same room and lost in our own things. The silence was also pleasant with him. I really realized this when Noah spent the night with someone else a few days earlier. I had a hard time falling asleep, and even when I did, I woke up an hour later. It was five in the morning when I checked my phone for the umpteenth time and put it back on the windowsill in frustration because he hadn't texted me. I mentally forbade myself to ask him if he was okay, but it cost me to wake up the next morning as a zombie and go to work. It wasn't until the next night - as I listened to Noah breathe softly on the mattress - that I realized that I was missing it. The sound of his breathing. I glanced at the clock—we still had at least twenty minutes—then closed the sketchbook, stretched out, and sat down next to Noah on the couch. The corner of his mouth turned up as he realized I was there, but otherwise he didn't bother, continued to write, only looking up again when he seemed to have reached the end. Whatever he was doing. I didn't know him as someone who writes a diary, so my first guess would have been song lyrics. But I didn't really have to grope in the dark for long, because he opened his notebook and handed it to me. I raised my eyebrows questioningly, but took it from him without a word. I detected a slight nervousness in his dark brown eyes, and he added to it when he started biting his lower lip. I knew it was a big deal that was happening and I just felt I was the first to read into his notebook. Noah pulled up one leg, rested his chin on his knee, and looked at me as I began to read between the transcribed, drawn out lines.

"I see through you I know what you are I've seen the Devil more than I've seen God And when he has you by your neck I hope you choke on every fucking word you said" "You've dug your grave and you have no one but yourself to blame I see the world in black and white Because true color always fades under the right lights"*

“Wow,” I said with a big sigh, and staring in front of me, I tried to process what the lines were saying. I guessed who it might be about, it wasn't hard to figure out who he was so angry with, because these words almost oozed hatred. Then when I got over it, I could finally appreciate it all. "Noah, that's pretty good," I looked at him, and I can only hope that he saw in my eyes how sincerely I said this. Because in my opinion there was no trace of bias, only admiration. “Why don't you show it to your band?” Noah snorted and took the notebook back. “I'm not even seventeen, Nick. Why would they listen to me? Why would they want anything to do with a kid's lyrics?” “Because it's fucking good?” I asked back in disbelief. “No,” he shook his head and threw the notebook and pen into his bag. “It wouldn't make any sense if someone else sang it.” I watched as he quickly packed up and sullenly sank into the soft couch with folded arms. Oh…he never mentioned that. “Do you want to sing, doe?” I asked him with a smile. Noah rolled his eyes at the nickname I had given him a few years ago when he suddenly grew and was all legs and arms. “Why would I want to, when it looks like we'll soon get our first record deal as guitarists?” “Because you are young, full of dreams,” I whispered to him while I leaned my head on his shoulder. “You can be anything else. Just imagine… the audience standing at your feet and singing along with you word for word the songs you wrote.” Noah didn't answer right away, I'm sure he was toying with the idea of what it would be like if… "Nick, you are crazy," he finally said, laughing in confusion. “I'm just fucking tired,” I defended myself, during a yawn. “But I still mean what I said.” I pulled away from him, and Noah just shook his head in disbelief. In the four years we've known each other, I've noticed that he reacts strangely when I tell him he can do something big. It hurts to think that the reason for this could be that in his childhood he was constantly trying to destroy him to such an extent that he simply cannot deal with encouragement. It's like he expects me to laugh at him after that and tell him to forget it, he'll never be able to do that. And yes, it still hurt a little that he assumed that about me, but I understood it was unfortunately coded into his DNA. Words and their amazing power… However, there is something more here: his desire to prove himself, his determination and perseverance. “I hate so much that I can't put these in her face anymore,” he spoke after a while, almost muttering. It's like he's tired of all this a long time ago. Our eyes met and without a word I slid closer to hug him. "I know… I know," I whispered into his hair, then kissed his head. His dreams trumped everything, which makes me very proud of him. He started to build his life nicely, and before our first album was completely finished, our song Glass Houses also received the last touches and expansions on the text, just to make it all round:

"You said I'd never make it You said I'd make a mistake But now I'm right where I belong and you've got nothing to say"*

Noah founded a new band that was all his own, he started singing, and the audience is already singing along. And his mother has been rotting in a cemetery ever since, but perhaps not so deep that if thousands of people were shouting at the same time, she wouldn't hear the message intended for her.

We stepped out of the air-conditioned office into the Californian heat and the hustle and bustle of the street. I put on my sunglasses and waited for Noah to find his before we hit the road. People went to lunch, and at that time they poured out of the offices, and although we didn't fit in with the figures in suits and costumes, we still tried to remain invisible. Jolly and Folio were waiting for us at a Mexican restaurant just a few blocks from the Sumerian Records office. We stopped at a red light, and as the asphalt almost steamed from the heat, I regretted not tying my hair before we left the office. I ran my hands under my thick curls and lifted my hair a little. Noah looked at me and smiled. "There are advantages to having short hair, you know," he remarked, and I just stuck out my tongue. “Maybe some people can do whatever he want with his hairstyle, but I think my magic lies in my hair,” I answered him. “I can't believe that. When I met you, your hair was still short, and even then…” he began, but the light turned green, so we set off in the rushing crowd. “What then?” I asked him when we got through. Noah glanced at me from behind his glasses and shrugged. “Even then, you were you.” I furrowed my brows at his answer, but did not pursue the matter further. We were approaching a Starbucks, and I had already guessed that we would have a stop there. I was right, because Noah touched my arm and motioned with his head towards the entrance. I followed him, and I didn't mind that there were a few ahead of us, because at least we could cool down in there. "I'm getting the key to Steven's lake cottage next week," Noah said unexpectedly, while I squinted at the list of iced drinks on the wall behind the counter. Then I turned to him and waited for him to continue. “If you think so, of course, only if you want to… it would be great if you could join me.” Noah had pushed his sunglasses up on top of his head, I could see his eyes full of hope. I don't even remember the last time we went somewhere without the boys. "The thing is…" Noah continued while I was lost in my thoughts, "I miss you. Since I've been living in California with the others, we don't hang out much outside of the band.” He spoke my thoughts out loud in their entirety. We had another concert on Saturday this week, then two weeks of rest, which I would have liked to have spent with him, but then something came up to my mind. “I promised to come to Maya's mom's birthday party next week.” Storm clouds appeared on Noah's face. As fast as being doused with a bucket of ice water. He's always had a hard time with rejection…and besides, he's never waited to find out if it really was rejection. “Then…” “I have to be at the party organized by my girlfriend. But that doesn't mean I have to stay with them for the second week,” I told him with a small smile as I ran my palm over his forearm. “So yes, you can count on me, along with a dozen mosquitos.” Noah finally smiled genuinely, flashing his white teeth as his eyes narrowed and his small laugh lines deepened. I was instantly euphoric, but the thought that I would still have done anything to see him happy was terrifying. It was soon our turn to order, but for some reason I got really stuck studying his face. I watched him speak — I couldn't even remember what I ordered in the end — and I thought to myself what a strange coincidence that Maya is Asian. Until now, I didn't even pay much attention to this, but then our tour in Japan a few years ago popped into my mind.

Noah was lounging in a towel in front of the bathroom mirror, drying his hair. I sat on the bed in his hotel room and waited for him to finish, because we had to go to the rehearsal. I fumbled with my phone when I found a picture from the day before with both of us tagged. When we went sightseeing, some fans came up to us and we took a picture with them. Back then, it was still rare to be recognized on the street. I grinned and got up to go to the bathroom to show the picture to Noah as he had been in a weird mood all day and I expected it to cheer him up a bit. I raised my cell phone in front of his face. Noah stopped brushing his hair and put the hairbrush on the counter, then took the phone from me. He looked at the photo with critical eyes, then looked into the mirror, where our eyes met. He returned the mobile and said nothing. He turned on the hotel's hair dryer and began the operation with complete resignation, and I stood beside him, confused. “Is something wrong?” I asked in the loud noise. “What did you say?” he asked back after turning off the hair dryer. I sighed and leaned against the counter. "I thought you'd like it here," I admitted. ”It's a big adventure that we got this far with the band, and besides, hey, we're in Japan!” I spread my arms in confusion. Noah looked at me silently, his eyes shining darkly, then finally just shook his head. “Should I get more excited because we are in the birthplace of Manga and Anime?” he asked cynically. I wanted so badly to understand… I wanted to know what was going through his mind. I wasn't satisfied with that answer. "Your roots lead back here," I said quietly. Noah snorted and ran the brush over his hair again. “I have no roots. I'm just going with the flow.” “Do you mean you hate Japan?” “Why should I love it? Nothing binds me here except my mother's devil plan to not rest until she gives birth to a half-breed child.” I've heard this story before, and since then I haven't been able to understand what kind of person is, who is able to wade through all emotions and reason for the sake of a fixation. “This place… it just confirms to me that I don't fit in completely here either.” I remembered the bullying he received at school for being different from the others, which must have contributed to his dropping out of education at the age of fifteen. The blue bruise on his cheekbone and how he wouldn't even admit to me that one of his idiot classmates had laid a hand on him. Things got a little better when he started hanging out with us, the graduates who were three years older, but after graduation I couldn't protect him anymore. Freak, bastard, mix, little girl because of his long hair, fag… and these are just the adjectives he told me, who knows what words were thrown at his head. I have already received some of these, but it hurt much more to know that Noah had to face this every day. I looked up at him, because he was already half a head taller than me, and I only spoke when he was finally paying attention to me. “I don't know how much my opinion matters, but I think your mother's only good decision is that you exist.” I turned away and left him alone in the bath. Let his rage some more if he felt he needed to, but first I wanted to let him know how important he was to me. The next day, when we were in Nara, the city of deers, Noah finally smiled after a week. Indeed, his whole face brightened and he fed the animals as happily as a small child. As he sunk his teeth into his bottom lip and tried to hold back a burst of laughter as he idly watched me being torn apart by some naughty deers for a few morsels of food, I realized that digging into things the day before had been worth it.

Noah was a step ahead of me, checking on his phone if we were going in the right direction, and I was behind him sipping my shake, which turned out to be chocolate flavored after the first taste. My gaze drifted to his broad shoulders, then to his tattooed biceps, which tensed slightly as he gestured with his iced coffee towards a street where we had to turn. I would have bet that none of his old classmates would have dared to bully him again. The others were already sitting at the table when we arrived. Jolly noted that he was already starting to starve, which didn't seem like much of a problem since the appetizer was already on the table. Noah immediately threw himself on some roasted, spicy peppers while I browsed the drink menu. “How was the interview?” asked Folio, his cold beer in hand. I glanced up at them from behind the little notebook. “The usual," Noah shrugged, then licked his finger. “Don't worry, it wasn't mentioned that you fell on your ass on the way down the stairs at the last concert,” he added with an evil grin, for which our drummer punched him on the shoulder in return. We all started laughing. I remembered walking off the stage two days ago, exhausted, Folio coming after me, and then after a big thump - which I could hear clearly even through the loud shouting of the audience - I looked back and thought he was gone, but then I saw him sitting on the metal steps. Fortunately, he was not harmed. “I thought I would rest a bit,” Folio defended himself. “Some people hold only one microphone the whole time, and I am the one who trains hard on stage for an hour and a half. You should try it sometime, Noah.” “I'm still perfect the way I’m,” Noah looked at me and we smiled at each other. “You don't want to hear my drumming skill,” he added horrified. "Personally, I don't want to hear Folio sing," I interjected, and the others laughed and nodded in agreement. “Great, then everything will remain as it was,” concluded Jolly. The waiter came out and took our order. Noah asked for half the menu because he wanted to try everything, so I only ordered a burrito. I felt that I would have leftovers from his order.

“And what are your plans for the break?” Folio asked. "I'm meeting Maya," I answered. “I am going home to the family in Sweden,” said Jolly. “I have to record some vocals, then I will rest,” Noah answered. “With Karin?” Folio asked back. The mood at the table suddenly became frosty. Noah snorted but didn't say anything, just poked at the napkin. I felt that somehow I had to save him from this unpleasant situation. "That wouldn't be about rest," I said, the first thing that came to mind. It seemed like a good idea to play it off with a joke, but when Noah turned his head toward me, he looked at me like he couldn't believe I just said that. I already regretted speaking. "I'll be right back, guys," Noah said, still staring at me like I'd grown a second head. He headed for the bathrooms and I was so damn tempted to follow him and find out what was wrong, but I couldn't. I didn't want to run after him in front of our friends like I was his puppy, so I sighed and put my hands on my knees as if I could hold my legs back from the walk. "It would be good to neglect this Karin subject, Folio," said Jolly, then turned to me. “Don't feel bad about it. We didn't know we couldn't even joke with him.” I actually felt bad because I didn't know… I had no idea what was going on between Noah and the girl, so I didn't even think about hurting my best friend. Noah acted like I didn't exist that day. He quickly finished his lunch and said he had work to do and had to go. I stayed there with the boys and a pile of food. The tension eased a bit for our weekend concert, but it was still fucked up.

Suddenly, I found myself on the plane home, still not sure what happened at the restaurant. I've regretted a thousand times that I didn't go and find out what was wrong. I could only hope that we would be able to discuss it next week, and that was only one of the reasons why I couldn't wait to fly back to him in California.

*Bad Omens - Glass Houses

#bad omens fic #bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian #nick ruffilo #nicholas ruffilo #jolly karlsson #nick folio #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian fic #bad omens band #bad omens smut

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roosterbox · 1 year ago

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Fic Rec Friday 3/1/2024

Title: not everything becomes bullshit (not with you)

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen, M/M

Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016)

Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington

Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley

Additional Tags: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Trauma, Eddie Munson Lives, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, theyre a mess, Miscommunication, ya know the bullshit thing?, yeah - Freeform, that, thats the trauma, along with his damn parents, Healing, Cuddling

Summary: bullshit: n - stupid or untrue talk or writing; nonsense.

The thing with Nancy comes up with Eddie during an argument and Steve cannot seem to handle it.

———

For this, the last fic rec Friday (of this particular batch anyway), let’s take it back to the start. Back to the beginning of my newest obsession. So here you go - the first Steddie fic I ever bookmarked.

I went into this with next to no knowledge of the context surrounding it. I didn’t know about the whole bullshit thing, didn’t know shit about Family Video, or Vecna, or anything. Heck, I didn’t even know what their voices sounds like (almost still don’t in Eddie’s case - I’ll get to S4 eventually!). But the emotions, man. The emotions just drew me in. The dynamics. Even from this story, going in like 90% blind, I got the sense that I would latch on to Steve Harrington like a dog with a favored toy, and would never let go. Ever. Welp, here I am over a year later, still not letting go of my babygirl.

This fic easily established for me one of my favorite Steddie dynamics. That being emotional wreck!Steve and comforting!Eddie. Everything I’ve seen canonically makes Eddie seem like a great source of comfort. He looks like he’d give great hugs, you know? And Steve just deserves to be able to let himself go, emotionally speaking. That boy has been through A Lot in three or so years - either let him get therapy, or let him cry. Maybe both.

There aren’t very many other characters in this, other than Robin of course. Which is kind of as it should be. And that’s another aspect that I had no context for (still don’t, technically; S3 will continue! Soon!) - her platonic with a capital P relationship with Steve. There’s only a few crumbs of it here, but they are delicious. Also, yet another Steddie fic trope I love pops up here: Robin being extremely protective of Steve when she thinks that Eddie might have wronged him. It’s subtler here than I’ve seen in other stories, but that girl would go feral on a motherfucker for Steve’s sake. I adore that about her.

And let’s not forget that this fic features something else that I adore but rarely see in angsty fics - COMMUNICATION. A huge part of adding drama to relationships in fiction (in RL too let’s be real) is a distinct lack of communication. People keep secrets or dance around what they mean, when just SAYING SOMETHING straight up would solve so many fucking problems, lol. And while this may start out with typical miscommunication shenanigans, the shift when they realize that, no, we need to actually talk about this, is just too good. There’s even a line in the narration that says “communication is key and all that jazz, right?” YES, BOYS. YES. Talk to each other.

Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, the COMFORT in this emotional hurt/comfort story, is out of this world. I can deal with my Stevie baby being put through an emotional wringer as long as someone, preferably Eddie or Robin, is there to comfort him in the end. To remind him that, yes, he is loved beyond measure, and that he deserves said love. How lucky for me (and him) that this fic has comfort in it from both of them?

Just a beautiful, simple little h/c gem of a fic. Steve needs a hug, and he gets several of them. Perfect.

———

Next Week: Nothing! Zip! Nada! Null! This is, officially, the last of these fic recs I’m doing.

FOR NOW

Thanks so much for reading this, and for reading the fic if you do!

#fic rec friday #Steddie #writer: plusultrachaos #hurt/comfort #emotional hurt/comfort #angst #these boys #they need each other #(also therapy)#(lol)

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iamnicodemus · 2 years ago

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I was supposed to have reblogged this ages ago wtf, I'm sorry 😭

This story was an absolute treat. How you can call yourself a mediocre writer while writing the things you do is a mystery a thousand Wednesdays couldn't solve.

Like, look at this:

With her came a sense of foreboding, like storm clouds on the horizon. You would’ve sworn she was also a cryomancer with the way she seemed to chill the atmosphere around her.

Students parted like the Red Sea when she walked through the halls, determined to avoid her wrath.

You write Wednesday with such presence and I swear it radiates from the text. She dictates the vibe everywhere she goes, as she should lol

A short, but statuesque figure with eyes like black ice and a constellation of freckles scattered across her cheeks that put the stars to shame.

Fucking gorgeous writing. What a damn description!

You knew that, once you exhausted your welcome, she would likely discard you, but until then you’d just sit back and enjoy the ride with her.

Cryomancer girl is just like me fr fr.

So much so that Wednesday had to tell you to calm down because you were freezing the rain around you into snow and leaving icy footprints

Love how her power expresses itself in these moments. A neat detail that makes the ability feel that much more a part of her.

she ended up being responsible for the worst years of your life.

Do.... do I need to square up with Mary?

There was a flurry of movement, a sharp crack, and even now you swore you could feel the sting of the impact on your cheek.

She hated you, and you could still see remnants of that hatred now, even from across the street.

FUCK MARY ALL MY HOMIES HATE MARY

And now comes one of my favorite scenes from any Wednesday fic I've ever read.

The pain in your chest intensified, drawing your limbs in to try and relieve the ache. It felt as if your body was trying to collapse in on itself, like a dying star.

They crouched before you, their face coming into view and familiar dark orbs stared at you in a way you’d never seen before.

“Identify five things that you can see. You don’t have to say them out loud,” she instructed you, slowly and firmly.

I've only quoted these bits, but believe me when I say I am so tempted to quote the entire thing.

The entire panic attack. Wednesday helping Cryo use the 5-4-3-2-1 technique to soothe herself...

God... what Cryo is going through is so, so superbly described. And Wednesday turning up to help her, and doing so in the exact manner that she did, through it is one of the most heartwarming, sweetest things I've ever seen Wednesday do in a fic, and that moment of compassion feels so very like her. It caught me by surprise and felt entirely in-character for her to do it for someone she cares about.

So dark that they appear black in most settings, but under direct sunlight they reveal themselves to be the most beautiful shade of brown you’ve ever seen. Second was her hair, the way her wet fringe clumped together, forming short tendrils on her forehead.

“The Jericho high school band doesn’t need me. You do. Weems will get over it.”

SHE'S SUCH A SWEETHEART (in her own way)

An explosion in the distance made you jump.

“Wednesday, what did you do?”

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with,” she replied easily, lips quirking at the screams of terror that arose from the town square.

Wednesday's the embodiment of this meme:

“Get changed and get some rest. I will return in a few hours after I deal with something,” she said, eyeing you as she edged back toward the door.

At this point, I already knew what she was going to do (well, not the exact thing she did, but still) and when I tell you Wednesday is one of the best friends you could ever have-

“I was told to give this to you.” She extended an envelope in your direction.

Like she didn't just torture this lady into writing the damn thing 💀💀

Under the body of text, her name was written in a red ink so dark, you’d think that it was blood… And there was a smudge of crimson at the bottom of the page. As if the ink had been crudely spilled onto the paper.

“Is it to your liking?” she asked, jaw set in determination.

For just a moment, her eyes flicked downward, the movement so fast it was nearly imperceptible.

Nearly.

"I see what's happening here," - Maui

You are an incredible writer. Factual. Confirmed. Unarguable.

Reverie

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x cryomancer!reader

Summary: In the midst of investigating, a figure from your past returns, sending you into a panic. Wednesday is there to help pick up the pieces (and maybe get some revenge too).

Warnings: panic attack, implied abuse and violence, blood, reader is a Simp, it gets a bit morbid near the end lol, abrupt ending

Word count: 5.5k (sigh)

Notes: this fic made me realize just how much i struggle with character descriptions… but anyways this is a long request for literally the nicest anon ever, whoever you are i hope you enjoy this!

Part 2

Silence was something that you cherished.

Keep reading

#wednesday x reader #wednesday x fem reader #wednesday imagine #netflix wednesday #wednesday series #wednesday x you #fanfic #fanfiction #wednesday fanfic #wednesday addams x fem!reader #cryomancer

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gukyi · 4 years ago

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the love project | jjk

summary: from running to mcdonald’s at 3am after a halloween party where the two of you dressed up as the teletubbies to timing how long it takes for him to drink a cup of monster mixed with mountain dew and iced coffee and then do fifty push-ups, you’re used to your best friend jungkook asking you to do all sorts of crazy things. but, of all the shit the two of you do, letting him follow you around for a week with a camera and take candid photos of you for a photography assignment might just be the craziest of them all.

{college!au, friends to lovers!au}

pairing: jeon jungkook x female reader genre: fluff, comedy word count: 12k warnings: college antics, hopeless pining, slow burn a/n: me: this fic will be 10k max! also me: actually nevermind on par for the course of this blog, i hope you enjoy this fic! it was so much fun to write and it definitely got me back into the ~writing mood~. more fics coming soon!

These days, the weeks pass you by like trains on a platform. They whiz past you, the only discernible features being the beginning and the end of them, with the middle nothing but a blur.

At least, that’s how it feels when you’re in college, and the days bleed into weeks bleed into months, and suddenly you’re one year closer to graduating, one year closer to figuring out what next to do with your life, even if you’re still missing that one general education requirement you forgot to take in your first year so now you’re trying to cram it into your schedule at the last minute.

Okay, you’ll admit it. Introduction to Astronomy is kicking your ass. That’s what you get for putting it off until junior year, when you’re supposed to have reached the point in your History major career where you don’t have to look at numbers anymore and the idea of doing basic math is absolutely unfathomable. History majors don’t do math. They just don’t. It vanished from your academic arsenal long before now, alongside your ability to interpret word problems and understand science textbooks.

Perhaps in another universe, you would have actually retained those skills past high school, but that universe is not this one, and so your problem sets can solve themselves or not be solved at all.

Your best friend would have to disagree.

“It’s not even calculus!” Jungkook exclaims over a mouthful of a Starbucks tomato and pesto panini, pointing to your laptop in exasperation, as if the answer has been staring you in the face for the past fifteen minutes. “It’s just algebra! All you’re doing is plugging the numbers into the formula and finding the missing variable!”

“Easy for you to say,” you huff, furiously erasing at the notebook in front of you as you get yet another incorrect answer. Who knew math could be so difficult? Oh, that’s right. You did. “You took that advanced differential equations class for fun last year. It’s not even required for your major. You’re just a masochist.”

“Says the person who convinced their advisor to let them take seven classes because they, and I quote, ‘all seemed so interesting’ and you ‘didn’t want to miss out.’” Jungkook rebukes pointedly. “Because your life would be so terrible if you didn’t take Economic History of Pre-Industrialized Europe.”

He’s got you there. Seven classes is a lot. In your defense, Economic History of Pre-Industrialized Europe was very interesting and you got a 4.0 that semester. So who is he to judge? Jungkook’s favorite pastime is pretending that taking three different computer science classes in a single semester isn’t going to single-handedly kill him.

Jungkook watches you struggle for a few moments more before he sighs, like he can’t take looking at someone so mathematically incompetent any longer. He stuffs the remaining third of his Starbucks panini into his mouth all at once like the ravenous beast he is before he reaches over the tiny table you’re sat at to look at your problem set himself. He turns your laptop towards him and grabs hold of your notebook, furrowing his eyebrows as he enters Work Jungkook Mode.

Work Jungkook Mode is the mode of him you see most often during finals week or the rare occasions where you meet up to actually try and get work done. Work Jungkook has tunnel vision for whatever assignment is currently in front of him, which he will do either in one sitting or die trying. Work Jungkook lets his coffee get cold and forgets to answer your text messages, even when you’re sat right across from him and you know that he can see the notification on his laptop. Work Jungkook refuses to turn in anything that he hasn’t devoted his entire being to, even if it’s something as simple as a discussion board post. Some of his other friends say that when Jungkook is in Work Jungkook Mode, they won’t even try to contact him, lest their messages get lost in the flurry of his coding assignments.

But you are not “some of his other friends.” You are his best friend. So rules do not apply to you. And Jungkook has long accepted that fact.

“Hey, don’t mess up my work—” You exclaim defensively, grabby hands reaching over the table to retrieve your notebook. “Wait, how did you do that?”

Jungkook scribbles something down in nearly-illegible font, determined to solve the problem in front of him. He thinks for a few more seconds before eventually jotting down an answer, circling it with his pencil. Holding the notebook out so both of you can see, he scoots his chair over to your side of the table, your shoulders pressed together in this tiny corner of the Starbucks, right by the bathroom, and explains, step by step, what he did.

He does that for the following two problems in your set, walking you through the kind of math he was doing in freshman year of high school like it’s nothing, answering all of your stupid questions and giving you tips on how to finesse the system by taking as many shortcuts as possible. Teaching you things you never learned, or possibly had just forgotten. Things that a professor would think is idiotic to re-teach to a junior in university. Things that Jungkook wants you to know because he just wants you to have a little more faith in yourself.

“Does that help?” He asks when he’s finished, still doubting his fantastic teaching abilities despite the fact that he just taught you more in the last thirty minutes than your professor has managed in a month and a half.

“It actually does,” you tell him, pleasantly surprised. Looking back down at your notebook, what was once a shapeless blur of numbers, letters, and formulas is suddenly a clear and organized outline of each and every step to follow. “I didn’t know it was that easy.”

“Anything can be easy if you just commit yourself to learning how to do it,” Jungkook says, one of those random sentences that are too wise for a college student surviving off of RedBull and Starbucks food, the ones that always make you think Jungkook is secretly an immortal sage with life experiences far beyond your own. “Except coding. Which is hard no matter how good you are at it.”

“Aw, you can do it,” you rally, reaching up to pinch his chin in between your fingers and squeeze it tight. “It’s also too late to change your major now, so you’re stuck.”

“Wow, thanks for the encouragement,” Jungkook chides, hand coming up to rub at where you held his jaw, rolling his eyes. “You should let me help you with your Astronomy work more often. Gives me a break from Python.”

“I would have made you help me whether you liked it or not,” you tell him pointedly, because he is your best friend and he doesn’t get out of things as easily as he thinks he can. “But thanks. I’ll definitely take you up on that.”

“Of course,” Jungkook says with a good-natured grin, always so selfless and kind and giving. He practically signed himself up for a semester’s worth of TA-ing for Introduction to Astronomy despite the constant mountain of work he has himself. Just because it’s you.

“My very own personal genius,” you muse, wrapping your hands around his arm and snuggling into his body, a whisper of a language only the two of you share. It’s something the two of you have long gotten used to, pressing your fingers all over each other’s bodies like it’s second nature. One of the things that makes you feel so certain about having Jungkook in your life. About wanting him to stay with you for the rest of time. “I’m never letting you go.”

Jungkook smiles, a warm hand coming to rest atop of your own. He breathes, in and out, chest rising beneath your touch. “Like I’d ever let you,” he says.

There is no question about it. Jungkook is one hundred percent, absolutely, undoubtedly, positively, indisputably smarter than you are. It’s something that the two of you used to jokingly fight about (because Jungkook claims that he’s a bad essay writer, even though he’s not), but at this point it’s cemented in stone—he’s a damn genius. A genius who is inexplicably good at everything. A double threat. Triple, if you count the fact that he’s built beyond belief and could probably chuck you into next week if you really, really ticked him off.

The truth is that, ninety percent of the time it is you who is going to Jungkook for help. Whether it be an assignment you need assistance on (namely Astronomy, because Jungkook probably couldn’t help you on your Mesopotamian artifact and primary source analyses despite his best intentions), a date that was a lot worse than you were hoping it would be, or even just the right coffee to order from that expensive place on the corner. Jungkook knows how to fix everything.

So when Jungkook slides into the seat across from you in the food court after his Mastering Photography class with that I’m in trouble look on his face, you know something is horribly wrong.

“Are you alright?” You ask, concerned as you watch him devour the sushi takeout in front of him, stuffing the spicy tuna rolls into his mouth like they’re Skittles. His camera hangs haphazardly out of his open backpack, like he barely had enough time to stuff it into the pocket while he was making his way here. There’s a worried expression written all over his face as he fumbles with the chopsticks in his hand, losing his grip on them every ten seconds.

It’s not until Jungkook has finished the container of spicy tuna rolls in front of them that he finally seems to work up the courage to answer you.

“My Photography class is gonna be the death of me,” Jungkook exclaims, exasperated.

“I thought you liked it,” you comment unhelpfully. Jungkook had been so excited to be enrolled in it, because you needed a recommendation from a different professor and you had to submit a portfolio in order to join the class, making it one of those exclusive (and thus, much better) courses. Not to mention the fact that Jungkook is basically already a professional photographer if his Instagram is anything to go by. He’s going to walk out of university with a Photography minor whether he realizes it or not.

“I do,” Jungkook insists, even if right now it sounds like the two of you both need convincing of that fact. “But this project is ridiculous. I don’t even know how my professor expects us to have the time to finish it.”

“What do you have to do?”

Jungkook sighs. Just thinking about it seems to stress him out. “I mean, it’s only really a week long. So I guess it’s not too bad. But we’re supposed to compile a portfolio of the same subject, taken over the course of the week, with them in all sorts of different poses and lighting and locations, to express a personal theme.”

You scrunch your nose up in confusion. “I might be wrong, but isn’t that what photography… is?” You ask cluelessly.

“Yes,” Jungkook argues, “but also no. Photography is taking pictures of things just for the hell of it. Not because they necessarily speak to a part of your soul. You just like the look of it. You want to capture the scene. That’s it.”

“Oh,” You say dumbly.

“And our subject can be whoever or whatever we want, but he recommended choosing a person because taking pictures of our water bottles in different places is boring,” Jungkook huffs, though his professor does have a point there. Modern history wasn’t made out of photographs of store windows and miscellaneous items. It was made out of people, out of events in their lives that shaped the rest of the world, out of personal experiences that changed their point of view. “But I don’t even know anybody who would be willing to let me photograph them for a whole week! I’d basically have to follow them around like paparazzi!”

“I’ll do it,” you suggest casually, because it seems like the most obvious choice to you. There’s no one Jungkook spends as much time with as you.

Jungkook’s eyes pop out of his head. “What?”

“I’m serious,” you insist. “Think about it. You need a subject for your project that you can photograph in a wide variety of places and over the course of a week. Who else do you spend that much time with, other than me?”

“Well..” Jungkook begins, trying to fight your reasons with his own. “Would you even be comfortable with something like that? I mean, I’m literally going to constantly be taking photos of you.”

“Like we don’t already do that on our phones,” you tease, having amassed quite the album of terrible Jungkook pictures over the years.

“A camera is different from a phone,” Jungkook protests weakly.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But I’m just saying. It won’t bother me,” you say with a shrug. Why is Jungkook being so… weird about your suggestion? You thought he would be jumping at the offer, especially considering it means he won’t have to go out of his way to find and photograph someone else for this assignment. But he’s being rather hesitant. You watch as he glares down at his empty sushi takeout box, eyebrows furrowed in that thick, nervous way. “But you don’t have to,” you backtrack. “It was just a suggestion.”

He breathes in and breathes out, expression solid. Even from here you can see the cogs whirring in his brain, placing each and every potential result into a pro and con list inside his mind, trying to work out whether the benefits will be greater than the cost.

Quite frankly, you don’t know what all the holdup is about.

“You’re… sure about this?” He asks, looking up at you, determined to ensure your comfort. As if that’s even an issue. “You’re cool with being photographed and everything?”

“Only because it’s you,” you tease lightheartedly, expecting some sort of equally cheesy response. Instead, it makes Jungkook do something weird. He freezes in place, darting his eyes away from your gaze for a split second, collecting thoughts you can’t see. “Yeah,” you say loudly, trying to bring him back. “I’m fine with it.”

He inhales, exhales, closes his eyes, and opens them. “Okay then. I guess it’s settled. You’ll be my subject,” he declares, an almost unnoticeable wobble to his voice. It’s probably nothing, so you don’t think too hard about it.

“Can you at least pretend to be a little more excited about this?” You ask, jabbing him in the chest with a wooden chopstick. “It’s the first time we’ve ever gotten to be part of a project together!”

“Yay,” Jungkook says, lifeless.

“How about a photo to commemorate it?” You suggest, reaching over to pull the camera out of his backpack, pushing it into his hands. “This can be the start of your portfolio.”

“Fine,” he eventually caves, bringing it up to his eye as he turns it on, twisting the lens to perfect the focus. Even caught off guard like this, he looks like a professional, like someone who was born to be behind the camera. He’s a computer science major but you know that photography will always be something special to him.

You strike a dramatic pose, holding your chopsticks out, one in each hand, with a wide, excited smile on your face. “How do I look?” You ask, scrunching your eyes together.

Jungkook’s finger hovers over the silver button. “Perfect,” he tells you, voice soft and honest.

Click.

“So, how many photos are you supposed to take for this portfolio?” You ask as you flop around on Jungkook’s bed, pretending that the open tab on your laptop with your fifty-page reading doesn’t exist. You don’t even know why professors assign readings that long. Do they really expect you to read all of it?

From across his room, you can make out the top of Jungkook’s fluffy brown hair over his sleek gaming chair, one of the ones that look like high-tech airplane seats. “I don’t know,” he says. “He said at least twenty. And no more than fifty. Which really makes me wonder if someone once submitted like, one hundred photos for this project that he had to grade them on. But yeah.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” you say. When you’re around a cute animal, you can easily take twenty photographs. Granted, they aren’t exactly award-worthy photographs, but it’s not a physically demanding task.

“Yeah,” Jungkook says. “Hypothetically you could finish it in a day. But it looks really obvious.”

“Well, how many do you have now?”

It’s been a day and a half since Jungkook agreed to let you be his so-called muse, but already you’ve lost track of how many photos he’s taken of you. He loves his camera, you know that, but you didn’t realize exactly how much he loves his camera. And with you as the sole subject for his project, he’s practically letting it hang from his neck all day long, just waiting for the right time to snap a photo of you standing in line at the food court, frowning at your textbook, or waiting to meet up with him. Every time he sees you he snaps a picture, even if the lighting’s bad, even if you haven’t had your morning coffee yet, even if it’s midnight and you look like a zombie. In his mind, there are no bad pictures. Just memories.

You wonder what the hell he sees in you.

“A lot,” Jungkook answers unhelpfully, making no effort to elaborate on that statement.

“Have you counted?” You ask, getting off of his bed to join him at his desk.

Jungkook doesn’t seem to realize what you’re doing until you’re standing right next to him, placing a hand over his shoulders as you lean down next to him. He fumbles around for a second, the mouse slipping through his grip, and you catch a glimpse of one of the photos he’s taken of you, a sliver of your pursed lips, the wrinkles between your eyebrows.

It’s from the library yesterday. You didn’t even know Jungkook had taken a picture of you there. You had a stupid reading to complete last night, one that made no sense and was terribly-written, and you spent an hour just trying to figure out what the damn argument was, and Jungkook captured it. You were there for an hour and Jungkook was there too, watching you like it was nothing, waiting for the perfect moment. He was there, sitting across from you, camera at the ready. You didn’t even hear it click.

He closes it before you get a closer look at the photo, frantically hitting the little red dot at the top corner of the window before you have a chance to ask why.

“What, I’m not allowed to see?” You chide, a little bit hurt but more confused than anything else. Why is Jungkook being so secretive?

“No,” Jungkook spits quickly. making you raise an eyebrow in alarm. “I mean, it’s a surprise. You get to see when it’s finished. I still have to… uh, edit. And stuff.”

“Edit? You think I’m that ugly?” You tease, knowing that he probably means color correction but enjoying the way that he gets all flustered when he hears your voice.

Jungkook’s eyes widen at that, like he just realized he made a wrong turn and is desperately backtracking. “What, no! I don’t—I don’t think you’re ugly.”

You laugh, letting the sound of your voice ease the tension in his shoulders, reveling in the way his big doe eyes seem to soften when he realizes you were just teasing. He looks like a kid caught stealing a candy bar from a gas station, looks like one of those boyfriends in the viral videos where the girl reveals that she got him a present or something instead, all nervous and full of explanations.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” you assure him, rubbing up and down his arm to soothe him, calm his heart down. “You don’t have to show me. I’m just excited. No one’s ever taken photos of me like this before.”

“I would,” Jungkook speaks up softly. “If you asked. I would.”

“I know,” You say. You’re not sure if there’s a thing in this world Jungkook wouldn’t do for you, and you, him. If he asked, you would pluck the stars from the sky for him. Bring him back a piece of the moon. Stop time. Anything. Everything. Just for him. “I know.”

“What are you doing?” Jungkook asks, changing the topic as he whirls around in his gaming chair.

“Just another reading, like always,” you dismiss, because you’re positive the last thing Jungkook wants to hear about right now is your primary source reading on irrigation techniques in agrarian Europe. You don’t even want to hear about it. “But I could use some help on Astronomy.”

Without another word, Jungkook gets up from his desk and the two of you head over to his bed, where an untouched problem set waits on your computer. He grabs a notebook from his backpack along the way before sitting down next to you on the edge of his bed, bodies pressed together. Slowly, he begins to coach you through each problem, step by step, drawing pictures and diagrams if he has to, until you finish all ten problems.

The truth is, you didn’t really need help with this unit. Astronomy’s gotten a lot easier now that Jungkook has taught you the strategies to tackle it. But Jungkook sometimes feels like a ghost when he works, especially when he’s sitting at his desk, quiet and focused and almost invisible. And call you clingy, but you like it when you can look up and see his face instead of the back of a chair, a little tuft of wavy brown hair. You like it when he’s right beside you, in a place where you know you won’t lose him, where you can hold on if things get rough. Where you can see his stupid brown eyes and his goofy smile and know that he’ll always be there for you.

When he’s finished, Jungkook doesn’t get back up to sit at his desk. He flops down on his back, staring up at the white ceiling of his room, eyes tracing the cracks. You join him, side by side, pretending that there’s something there. Looking up at the sky would be nicer, but it doesn’t really matter, so long as you’re with him.

“I didn’t know you took so many photos,” you say.

“I never want to miss anything.”

“You should give me more warnings, next time. I feel like I look so ugly in some of them.”

“No, you don’t. Don’t say stuff like that.”

“You don’t think I’m ugly?” You ask him, for real this time. It’s not that you think he’s going to say that he does, it’s that you want to know what he really thinks. How he really sees you. You turn your head to him, back pressed against his comforter, barely a foot apart. And he turns back to you, and he’s right there, right there in front of you, big brown eyes wide and blinking. He’s right there, how could you miss him?

“No,” Jungkook says, honest and true. He looks at you, looks right at you, right into you, and he muses to himself, chuckling. “Why would I ever think that?”

At the end of the day, you can’t really be bothered to put on real pants in anticipation of Jungkook’s trigger-happy camera-taking tendencies. He’s seen you spill a boiling hot bowl of tomato soup all over yourself in the dining hall. He’s seen you at four in the morning in the library the night before finals begin, eyebags down to your knees and mismatched shoes on your feet. He’s seen you in the middle of a frat house, sweat dripping down your forehead and smelling of nothing but straight alcohol. Getting dressed up just for him would be antithetical to the very foundation of your friendship.

You have, however, become keenly more cognizant in the last few days of when Jungkook is about to take a photo of you. Mostly because you glance up at your surroundings every three seconds to make sure you aren’t getting sniped from across the food court. Nobody else needs to see a picture of you picking up three pieces of sushi with your chopsticks and stuffing them all into your mouth at once. And, from what you can tell, you’ve been pretty successful, which either means you’ve gotten better at telling when Jungkook might be taking a photo of you, or Jungkook’s gotten better at hiding it.

Either way, he’s got a lot more pictures of you reflexively flashing a peace-sign in his direction when you hear the telltale sound of his camera lens focusing, so you’re not really sure what that means for the fate of his portfolio.

Besides your newfound hyper-awareness of the sound of a camera lens adjusting, the strangest part of you and Jungkook’s little project is how quickly the rest of your friends adjusted to this brand new dynamic.

This is not to say this assignment is the weirdest thing you and Jungkook have done together, because there was once one week where you and Jungkook challenged each other to only eat bananas for every meal to see if anything would happen to either of you. Nothing did, but after that week you swore off bananas for the rest of your life and have had little appetite for them since.

It’s more that your other friends have just accepted the fact that ridiculous, extravagant shenanigans are a necessary part of you and Jungkook’s relationship and have simply chosen not to question them anymore. At least, most of them have.

“So, how’s you and Jungkook’s little photography fling going?” Maisie asks, and even through the phone you can hear the way she’s wiggling her eyebrows.

“It’s not a fling, and it’s fine,” you hiss back, trying to keep your voice down as you pack up your belongings, phone pressed between your ear and your shoulder. “Stop speaking so loudly, everyone else in the library can probably hear you.”

“Good, because they’ve all probably noticed the way Jungkook’s been following you around like an unrestrained fanboy for the past four days taking pictures of you,” Maisie says pointedly, voice so sharp it causes you to look around at the other tables to make sure no one’s listening in.

You frown, hoping your deadpan expression is audible through the phone. “It’s not like that and you know it.”

“Don’t you think it’s even a little strange that you’ve given Jungkook full permission to take photos of you like you’re a model and he’s some sort of weird, professional paparazzi?” You can practically see Maisie’s face in front of you, all wide eyes and raised eyebrows as she makes her point.

“No, it’s what we agreed on,” you remind her for the umpteenth time. There’s nothing weird about this. You’re helping him with a project, what more could it be? “Jungkook needed someone to take pictures of for his photography project and I thought it would be a good idea if I was that someone.”

“Hmm… wonder why…” Maisie trails off, deliberately vague and suggestive all at once.

“You’ve been going on about this ever since Jungkook and I met, Maise,” you say with a roll of your eyes, tossing your backpack over your shoulder. “You know that Jungkook and I are just friends. Like we have always been.”

“Friends that take candid photos of each other under the guise of a project,” Maisie adds, and you can see the air quotes around the word “project” right in front of you.

“Friends that help each other out because that’s what friends do,” you correct. “You’re just going to have to accept the fact that Jungkook and I are always going to be just friends and nothing more. No matter how much money you’ve bet on us getting together.”

Maisie gasps. “I have not bet money on such a thing! This is slander!”

“Don’t think I don’t see you and Jimin’s damn Venmo history.” You pull up to the front desk of the library to check out a primary source book needed for one of your classes. It’s the first edition, and it’s battered beyond belief, but it’s better than paying for it. “Just this, thanks.”

“The only way you could convince me that you and Jungkook are just friends is if you go on a date or something,” Maisie comments snidely. “I don’t think I’ve seen either of you romantically interested in someone else the entire time you’ve known each other. Isn’t that proof enough?”

“You want me to go on a date with someone?” You demand, determined to get Maisie to hop off your ass about this.

You and Jungkook are just friends. If swiping right with someone on Tinder and getting dinner and a movie with them is what will convince Maisie of that, then that is what you will do. It’s not as if being friends with Jungkook is mutually exclusive with you going out with other people. Should be easy, right?

The boy behind the counter tells you your book is due back at the end of the semester, and you nod your thanks before heading out of the library.

“Fine, I’ll go on a date with someone. If it’ll get you to stop trying to convince me that Jungkook and I are gonna get married and have babies,” you declare, pushing your body against the door handles as you leave, five minutes to spare before your next class begins.

“You guys would have really cute babies, I’m just saying,” Maisie points out like it’s nothing.

You roll your eyes, taking the phone away from your ear as your finger hovers over the red button. “See you, Maise.”

You’re barely three steps out of the library, still rolling your eyes at the Call Ended screen on your phone when a voice catches your attention.

“Y/N!”

You turn your head just in time to see Jungkook’s devilish grin disappear behind his camera, and you don’t even have time to blink before he begins snapping away, finger mashing the silver button at the top as your expression morphs from surprise to defeat, unable to counter his sniping abilities with a signature peace sign. Even from twenty feet away, you can hear Jungkook laughing as you take the opportunity to pose for a few moments, like you really are a model and he really is your personal photographer. The sound of his giggles fills the air, music to your ears, lingering between you like dandelion wisps, blown by the wind.

Another voice breaks you from your trance.

“And here we have our resident celebrity and her paparazzi,” Jimin says, motioning to the two of you as he speaks to an enormous tour group of potential applicants and their parents. Caught in front of them, the heat suddenly rushes to your cheeks as you instinctively cover your face, embarrassed to have been pointed out by Jimin, whose amicable, lovable personality is both a blessing and a curse when it comes to his part-time job as a tour guide.

The worst part is how some of the parents and students seem to believe him for a second, that you really are famous and that Jungkook really is your photographer, looking at the two of you inquisitively as you shrink beneath their gazes.

“I’m kidding,” Jimin quickly continues as Jungkook joins you where you stand, laughing at the way you look like a deer caught in headlights. “They’re just some friends of mine who we happened to catch outside the library, which is our next stop. But don’t they look so cute together?”

“Are you guys dating?” One of the students pipes up, asking what no one else dared to.

Your eyes widen at the notion, wondering if you and Jungkook really are cursed to always be mistaken for a couple when you two have never been, and most likely will never be one. Shaking your head, you force out a laugh, “No, we’re just friends.” Beside you, Jungkook is noticeably silent. You suppose he’s gotten just as sick of explaining as you.

“Bummer, right?” Jimin asks his group, earning a couple of disappointed nods from innocent high-schoolers that still believe in love. “But I’m working on that, so don’t worry. Anyway, this library will be your main destination for studying, book-reading, and everything in between, and is conveniently located two minutes away from the freshman dorms…”

The conversation finally drawn away from you and Jungkook, you let out a breath you hadn’t even realized you had been holding in. “Weird, right? Even high-schoolers think we’re together.”

Jungkook doesn’t meet your eyes, fiddling with the settings on his camera just to keep his hands busy. The quiet makes you wonder what is going on up inside his head, makes you wonder what it is he’s thinking about, what it is you’re not seeing. Lately, it’s felt like there’s something on Jungkook’s mind you wish he felt comfortable telling you.

“Hey, you alright?” You ask, giving him a little nudge with your side. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” Jungkook says, voice soft, barely audible. It doesn’t make you feel any better. “No, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Don’t you have class soon?”

“Oh, shit, you’re right, fuck,” you say, checking your phone only to find you have barely a minute to get to your next class. Guess you’ll be using one of your allotted absences today. “Thanks for reminding me. Dinner tonight?”

“I’ll text you,” Jungkook promises, and you nod your agreement as you dash off, determined to turn a five-minute walk into a one-minute one with the power of exercise. As you leave, you watch as Jungkook flounders outside the library, staring down at his camera and scrolling through his photos, and you still find yourself feeling like you’re missing something. What is Jungkook not telling you?

What do you not know?

By the time you reach your class, two minutes late and completely out of breath, tardiness is the last thing on your mind.

This project was just meant to be a friend helping out a friend. So why does it feel like you and Jungkook are losing each other?

Using Tinder is easy. Dangerously so.

You’re no expert in app design, but its simplified “yes or no” mechanic has you swiping through people like it’s an extreme sport, barely giving some of them a second glance if their Tinder profile description doesn’t make you laugh within the first sentence.

Tinder was, admittedly, not your first choice of potential date-finding methods. Call you old-fashioned, but whatever happened to asking someone in person if they wanted to get a meal with you? To showing up at their doorstep with a rose bouquet and a toothy white grin? Perhaps all of those old-timey movies you and Jungkook always watched have given you unrealistic expectations. But can you blame them?

Even if Tinder wasn’t your first choice, it was certainly the fastest. It takes a second to look at someone’s designated Tinder thumbnail, two to read their description, and three to decide if they’re worth a swipe right. Compare that to actively meeting up with someone, getting their contact information, and then continuing to dance around each other until you finally decide to get dinner together. That’s the sort of thing that could take weeks. Maybe months. And in some cases, years.

Besides, it’s not like you had very many options at your disposal. You don’t trust Maisie to set you up with someone because she’ll probably just choose one of the many boys from her management class and call it a day. Asking someone yourself is absolutely out of the question. And, for some strange, unknown reason, the idea of getting Jungkook to hook you up with one of his friends just doesn’t sit right with you.

So, Tinder it is. And as it turns out, chivalry isn’t dead. It’s just archaic.

An hour into your mindless swiping, you get a message notification. Two hours after that, you’ve got plans with a nice senior boy whom you’ve never met.

And for the first time in a very long time, there’s something to mark on your calendar for Saturday night.

The little blue block on your Google Calendar tab stares back at you from where your open laptop sits on your desk, the red line that signifies your current time slowly inching towards it as you fumble around in front of your mirror, more dressed up than you have been in weeks. Maisie was right. It’s been so long since you’ve gone out with someone that you’ve completely forgotten what the dress code is for something like this. A dress? Heels? Makeup?

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks you will anyway. What if he’s wearing a hoodie and sweats while you look like you’re about to attend the goddamn Academy Awards? Maybe the eyeshadow was a little too much.

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks it’s inevitable that you do. The door to your apartment swings open, and you can hear heavy footsteps making their way to your bedroom, that easy gait of his familiar as always.

“Hey, do you think we can just get some take-out and watch a stupid old noir movie, or something? I’ve had a day,” he shouts out, the sigh audible in his voice.

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks you definitely have when you turn around to see Jungkook standing right outside your bedroom in the floppiest sweater you’ve ever seen and jeans with holes in the knees, mouth agape as he stares straight at you. It’s impossible not to notice the way his eyes are blown wide at the sight of you, at the way they rake up and down your figure, like he can’t even believe what he’s seeing. It’s impossible not to notice how he seems to flounder at the sight of you.

The only thing that breaks the both of you out of your stupors, frozen in place like two criminals caught red-handed, is the sound of his hulking black backpack thudding to the floor.

“Whoa.”

“Do you think it’s too much?” You ask, voice wobbly. God, why are you so nervous? It’s just Jungkook.

“Too much for what?” Jungkook blinks, deliberate and slow, as if he’s determined to make sure his eyes aren’t deceiving him. “Where are you going?”

“I think we’ll have to do a raincheck for the noir movie and takeout,” you say sheepishly, pursing your lips together in fright as you force out a small, tense smile. “I’m… going out. With someone.”

“Like,” Jungkook begins, and even from here you can hear the way he stops himself, hear him breathe out every word, thick on his tongue. “On a date?”

“Yeah.”

It’s a one-syllable word and yet it takes nearly all of your willpower just to say it. Just to confirm what Jungkook’s already thinking. Just to tell him, your best friend, your ride or die, your number one, that you’re going out on a date.

“Oh.” Jungkook’s voice is lifeless. “Do I know them?”

“No, uh, it’s just some guy I met on Tinder. I don’t know, I just wanted to see what all the hype was about, I guess. And I haven’t really been on a date in a while, so I figured I might just take up the opportunity, so we’re probably just going to go out to a restaurant and maybe go to a club afterwards if we’re still in the mood, and—” You cut yourself off, so nervous that you’ve resorted to your terrible habit of rambling to try and ease the tension. “Why? Do you think it’s too much?”

“You use Tinder?” Jungkook asks instead. It sounds like he’s shocked to hear this.

“Yeah…” you trail off. “Why?”

Jungkook freezes at the question, but it’s not because it seems like he doesn’t have an answer. It’s because it seems like he does. Only it’s an answer he doesn’t want to share.

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” he eventually settles on, shaking his head. “You, uh, you look good.”

“You think? I feel like it’s a lot. I don’t know how to dress appropriately for stuff like this anymore,” you ask, palms sweaty as you furiously straighten out the skirt of your dress. “Should I change into pants, or anything?”

“No, no, I think that’s fine,” Jungkook says with an honest smile. “You look nice like this.”

“It’s probably been like, a year since you last saw me in a dress,” you comment mindlessly, turning back to face the mirror as you fiddle with your makeup, finger wiping away a bit of smudged lipstick or a stray bit of mascara. “I miss my sweats. Hey, whoa, wait, what are you doing—?”

You whip around to find Jungkook slowly fishing out the camera from his backpack, hand gripping it tightly as he brandishes it in front of you.

“I, um, I just wanted to see if I could maybe take a photo of you,” Jungkook says, a small, little grin decorating his features. “Since you’re all dressed up.”

“Seriously?” You ask in disbelief.

Jungkook nods, holding the camera out in front of him. “Just one.”

He looks so small, standing across your bedroom. He looks so small and delicate and intimate, body curled in on itself ever so slightly as he looks at you, the yellow glow of your ceiling light reflected in his hazelnut eyes, drowning beneath his clothes. He looks like he has never seen a moment more perfect, never seen an opportunity as clear, looks like he thinks that if he blinks he’ll miss it.

Looks as if a photo will be the only way to remember it.

And you nod. Because he is your best friend, and who are you to deny him of something so simple? Of a press of a button? It doesn’t feel like a project anymore. It just feels like a memory.

Jungkook brings the camera to his eye, and you smile at him, soft and gentle and warm. He grins back, focusing the camera lens before snapping away.

You wonder what he sees.

(You wonder if it’s as beautiful as what you see.)

“Have fun tonight, okay?” Jungkook asks of you as your Google Calendar notification sounds, letting you know you have approximately two minutes before he’s supposed to pick you up outside your apartment.

You nod. “I will. And if I don’t, then I’ll come over afterwards. And we can watch that stupid noir film.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Jungkook says with a roll of his eyes, a shrug of his shoulders.

“But I want to. So I will. Okay? I’ll text you,” you promise. “Don’t think I’ll forget about you.”

Jungkook smiles at your little tease, at the way you cup the side of his jaw with your hand as you head towards your front door.

“Wait, Y/N,” Jungkook sputters out, running after you. He reaches you right as you get to the door, hand grasping the doorknob. You turn to look at him, blinking. “I hope tonight is everything you dreamed of.”

There is something so distinctly sad in his voice. It makes you wonder who has broken his heart. Makes you wonder what you can do to fix it.

“Even if it’s not,” you say to him, taking his hand in your own and squeezing it tight, reminding him that, no matter what, you’re still here. “I know you’ll always be there to take care of me afterwards.”

Your phone buzzes with a message from your date, and you scurry out the door.

For some reason, there’s a part of you that wishes you never even left.

The date is okay. Not bad, but nothing to write home about. By the time you finished eating, it was obvious neither of you had any interest in continuing the night elsewhere, whether it be a club or a karaoke bar. He pays for your meal despite your insistence that you can handle the check perfectly fine on your own, thanks you for a nice night, and drops you right back at your apartment. And so goes your one and only Tinder experience, blowing away like a leaf in the wind.

You look down at your phone. It isn’t even nine o’clock yet.

[November 7th, 8:48PM]

You: you still game for that movie?

[November 7th, 8:50PM]

Jungkook: you finished your date already?

You: is that a yes or a no

Jungkook: my door is always open, you know that

You: you’re gonna get robbed one day and it’s gonna be by me You: i’m coming over

The walk from your apartment to Jungkook’s is six minutes and thirty seconds on a good day, and seven minutes and fifteen seconds on a bad day, which is usually dependent on if the traffic light over the main road has decided to be extra slow or not. You could walk the damn route in your sleep if you really wanted, having done it so many times in the last year and a half, ever since he moved out of on-campus housing and into his own place.

Tonight, it takes you nearly eight minutes to get to his apartment, but you mostly chalk that up to the heels you’re wearing. If you cared any less about your dignity, you’d probably take them off and walk barefoot like a defeated heroine in a romance movie, shoes dangling from your fingers as they hang low by your side.

But you aren’t defeated. You didn’t have the world’s most spectacular date, but the night isn’t over just yet.

Jungkook’s waiting at his front door by the time you arrive.

“Eight minutes, huh? You’re getting old,” he asks snidely, looking down at the invisible watch on his wrist.

“Your counting is just off,” you retort easily, falling into that same friendly rhythm, that familiar little beat that the two of you share. You push past him and into his apartment, instantly feeling more at home, shoulders sinking and heartbeat soothing as you soak in the scent of his room, of his home, of him.

“How’d it go?” Jungkook asks, eyes hopeful as they watch you tug off your heels. They were hardly three inches tall and yet you still want nothing to do with them.

You shrug. “Eh. It was okay.”

“Just okay?” Jungkook asks, sounding seriously upset for you. Upset that you didn’t have a good night even after you promised him that you would. Upset that it didn’t turn out to be everything you wanted.

“I don’t know,” you admit, looking over at him, dejected. “It just—I just had this feeling that it wasn’t going to work out.”

Jungkook scowls to himself, eyebrows furrowing like he’s trying to figure out what exactly you mean by that. And the truth is, you’re not sure either. The date was fine, and he was nice, but even when you first met it felt like you weren’t going to get what you wanted from him. Like you were just going on the date to go on the date. Like you already knew that it would mean nothing.

Jungkook was going to be waiting for you at the end of the night whether it went amazingly well or terribly bad. And knowing that, strangely enough, almost made you want the date to be horrible. Like it would make seeing Jungkook afterwards that much sweeter.

“Oh,” Jungkook says lamely. “Well, I’m sorry. It seemed like you were really looking forward to it.”

“It’s alright,” you assure him. “Can we just watch this movie now and make fun of how sexist it is? Please?”

To that, Jungkook easily agrees. As he’s queueing up the movie, you raid his closet for a hoodie and sweatpants, desperate to strip yourself of your dress and tights and cozy up in clothes that are much more appropriate for your comfort level. At this point in your friendship, Jungkook doesn’t even question it when he sees you march into his room, fishing through his closet and drawers for your favorite matching set of his, this grey pair that he’s worn so much it still smells like him even after it’s come right out of the wash.

He only stares back in awe when he sees you emerge from his bedroom wearing them.

“Ready?” You ask, breaking him from his resolve.

Jungkook blinks wildly from where he’s seated on his dinky old couch, as if to clear his vision. “What? Oh, yeah, I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Then hurry it up, Mister,” you demand, sitting down next to him and curling into his body. It’s instinctual, at this point, wanting to be close to him. To feel the warmth of his body radiate upon your own. To feel his chest beneath the palm of your hands, his arm wrapped around your side. “All good?” You ask, looking up at him.

Jungkook looks down at you, and you swear, you’ve never seen him more at home. “Always, when I’m with you.”

The movie is predictably good and predictably sexist, but your favorite part by far is when Jungkook reaches around on the coffee table in front of you for his camera, holding it up to his eye and snatching a picture of the television, the film grainy like an old polaroid, faded like an antique photograph. He clicks away at the scene in front of him before turning on you, the lens so close to your face you’re almost certain all he’ll manage to capture is your nose. You laugh, pushing yourself away from him as he snaps, and snaps, and snaps, image after image after image, until his camera battery has died and there’s no more room left on his card.

“Guess I’ll have to charge this thing, then,” Jungkook sighs as he declares his camera dead, screen black.

“You aren’t going to include any of those, are you?” You ask, an eyebrow raised.

Jungkook shrugs. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Don’t you have enough?” You deadpan, thinking back to the hundreds of photos Jungkook must have taken of you over the past week, and even more that you don’t know about. There’s certainly no shortage of them in his current camera inventory. That’s for sure.

“Never,” Jungkook says wickedly. He stretches out an open arm, and you don’t have to think twice about falling into it, letting him wrap you up in his hold, curling into his body.

The black television screen crackles before you, DVD player waiting for Jungkook to turn it off. There’s no need for either of you to look up at each other. Not when you’re strung together like this. Not when you already know exactly where he is.

“It’s due on Monday, right?” You inquire softly, fatigue slowly overtaking you.

“Yeah. I’m almost finished, just have to do some curating and editing.”

“I want to see it.”

“What? My project?”

“What else?”

“It’s just a project, it’s not that exciting.”

You pull away from him at that, looking up at him with furrowed brows and scrunched-up nose. “What do you mean ‘it’s not that exciting’? It’s your photography project. You’ve spent a whole week working on it.”

“Yeah, but it’s just you, you know?” Jungkook objects. “Like, you know what you look like. It’s just going to be a bunch of photos of you, like I said it’d be.”

“That’s exactly why I want to see it,” you say like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You took pictures of me for a whole week. Don’t you want to share them with me?”

“If you really want some of the photos, I’ll send you some, but you don’t need to see the whole portfolio, you know? It’s just for my professor,” Jungkook says stiffly, surprisingly resistant. What’s the big deal? It’s not like there will suddenly be new information about you that you didn’t know before. You want to see what Jungkook has been working tirelessly on this entire week. Where’s the harm in that?

“Why are you getting so hung up on this? It’s just photos,” you say with a frown.

“Why are you getting so hung up on this?” Jungkook challenges back.

You sigh, sinking back into him, defeated. Even a little disagreement like that is enough to knock the wind out of the both of you, so you decide not to push it much further.

“Do you promise to show me eventually?” You ask, hopeful.

Jungkook pauses for a moment, and you almost expect him to say no, considering how protective of his work he’s being. “One day,” he declares. “One day, I will.”

And that’s good enough for you.

You lose track of how much time passes after that, feeling your eyelids getting heavy as the warmth of his body envelopes you, drowsiness settling in. There’s just something about this moment, right here, right now, that makes you want to fall asleep.

You’re on the verge of slumber when Jungkook’s voice breaks through.

“Why didn’t you think your date would work out?”

“I don’t know,” you respond sleepily, barely even opening your eyes. “It just felt wrong.”

“How do you know what feels right?”

Good question. Perhaps if you had the energy, you’d answer it. But right now, all you can think about is how cozy you feel in Jungkook’s hoodie and sweatpants, how the scent of him surrounds you, that indescribable, boyish aroma that can’t be replicated. Right now, all you can think about is how easily your body molds into his, like two pieces of a puzzle meant to fit together. Right now, all you can think about is him.

The worst part about each and every week is when it ends. Because the end of one week signifies the beginning of the next, and when you’re in university, the beginning of the next week means a whole new batch of assignments that you have to complete and a whole new batch of due dates to meet.

So, yeah. The weeks have been blurring together for you lately. But what else could you expect?

Sunday evening, as per usual, finds you right back where you always are: Jungkook’s apartment.

The two of you have been regularly getting together on Sundays to study, ever since you both realized you work significantly harder when motivated by the other, determined to finish all of your work on time so you can spend the rest of the night fooling around by mixing Monster with as many unhealthy drinks that you can possibly think of. And it’s been working out well for the both of you so far. Jungkook powers through his coding assignments and you whiz through your readings, intent on keeping up to date with your tasks so they don’t all come crashing down on you at the end of the semester.

Studying with Jungkook has always been easy, largely due to the fact that it’s the one allotted time during your friendship where the both of you deem it best to not speak to each other for the sake of your work. The moment one of you opens your mouth it’s over, so you sit on opposite ends of the room and pretend that the other person isn’t even there.

Jungkook told you earlier today that he had already finished his photography portfolio, so there would unfortunately be no sneaky glances over his shoulder to see if you can catch a glimpse of one of the pictures. Which is fine by you, you’re just a little embarrassed that Jungkook had told you this outright. Not that you were planning to do exactly that, but you were planning to do exactly that.

Part of you. more than anything, wants to know why Jungkook won’t just show you himself. Why he’s being so secretive, so protective of his photography project when you both know already exactly what’s in it. For God’s sake, he just spent the entire week taking photos of you non-stop. It’s like not as if any part of this is a mystery to either of you. What more could he have done?

Whatever. You aren’t going to force it if he doesn’t want you to. You suppose that maybe one day, far into the future, he’ll finally decide that the time is right.

“I’m so fucking tired,” Jungkook declares lifelessly as he gets up from where he’s sitting on your bed, dead inside. “I need a break.”

“Are you going to the kitchen? Can you make me some tea, please?” You ask him, looking up from the laptop on your desk.

Jungkook nods wordlessly before disappearing out of the room.

You and Jungkook’s best study practice to maximize productivity is the taking of each other’s cell phones so that the other cannot be tempted to look at it. It’s worked plenty of times before and will probably work plenty of times again, because as they say, out of sight, out of mind.

Unfortunately, it’s hard to pretend that your phone is out of sight when it’s been buzzing on your bedside table for the past five minutes, and your fingers have been itching to get over there and answer your damn notifications. So, while Jungkook is out of the room, you decide to cheat a little by dashing over there just to see what the heck is going on in the rest of the world.

As it turns out, nothing much. Just Maisie texting you as she binges yet another television show, giving spoiler-free updates anytime anything remotely dramatic happens. You have a couple of new emails as well.

The thing that actually catches your attention the most, is Jungkook’s laptop screen.

There’s just a Word document open on it, but a Word document is a far cry from his usual coding program or Photoshop. Because you can’t help yourself, you peer over to see what he’s written.

What did you learn about yourself through this assignment? How do you think you’ve changed?

Hard to say that I have. I don’t think I learned something about myself so much as I confirmed what I already knew, cementing it as a real thought in my brain, rather than just a daydream. Nothing changed in the way that my best friend and I interacted, and I can almost confirm that nothing changed in the way that she feels about me, just as nothing changed in the way I feel about her. I guess you could say I learned that I don’t think anything could ever change the way I feel about her.

What?

Do you think you’ll ever look back on this project, whether it be as a reference or a memory?

Yes. Not as a reference but to remind myself of this very moment in my life—a single week over the course of my life that I felt was worth saving. I imagine that there will come a time, far in the future, where my best friend and I have separated a little bit, found our own lives and created our own families with our own people. And when that happens, I will look back on this project to remind myself of who we used to be. How we used to feel about each other. Maybe, by that point in time, it won’t hurt as much as it does now.

This feels personal. Maybe you should stop reading. But there’s just one more question left on the page…

This assignment forced you to create an entire portfolio, from scratch, using a subject you would have to regularly schedule time with. It was demanding. But, that said, would you ever do this again?

Yes. If it meant getting to spend more time with her, take more photos of her, see her smile once more, I would do it a thousand times over.

“Y/N?”

You hadn’t even heard the kettle whistling.

“Jungkook,” you say, breathless, caught red-handed.

“What are you doing?” He asks, placing your steaming cup of tea down on the desk as he stares back at you in horror, in surprise, in worry, in something. Something that gives you this imminent sense of impending doom.

“Uh—”

“Were you reading my computer screen?”

It’s not like you could say you were doing anything else.

“I couldn’t help myself, I came over here to check my phone since it’s been buzzing like crazy and your computer was right there and I just…” you sputter out, thoughts swirling inside your head.

(I will look back on this project to remind myself of who we used to be. How we used to feel about each other. Maybe, by that point in time, it won’t hurt as much as it does now.

If it meant getting to see her smile once more, I would do it a thousand times over.

I guess you could say I learned that I don’t think anything could ever change the way I feel about her.)

“What do you mean, how you feel about me?” You ask, because you can’t help yourself. Because the sound of his voices echoes in your head like the beat of a drum, over and over and over. Because you’re staring back at him and even if he just caught you snooping through his computer you can never be worried when it comes to him. Because everything he has ever done puts you at ease.

“Y/N, that is private, why would you read something like that?” He asks, each word a sucker punch into your heart.

“Because I just had to know, okay?” You shout back. “I had to know what you were hiding from me.”

“So you decided to snoop through my computer to see if you could figure it out yourself?” He demands, storming over to you.

“So you are hiding something?”

“That’s not the point, the point is that—”

“What are you not telling me, Jungkook?” You cry out, watching as he approaches you, dark eyes piercing your gaze. “Why won’t you show me your goddamn portfolio? If there’s really nothing to be afraid of, why are you keeping it from me? I’m your best friend, I’m the fucking subject of your project? Don’t I deserve to see it? Why won’t you show me?”

“Because then you’d know!” Jungkook shouts back, leaving deafening silence in his wake. You look up at him, blinking. In front of you, Jungkook is out of breath, chest heaving.

He looks so strained. So tired. Like he’s been carrying around this secret for months now, maybe even years, and this is the final straw. This is what has sent the both of you crashing down upon each other. This stupid fucking project. You’ve known Jungkook ever since the beginning of your freshman year, and never before have you seen him so hopeless.

“Jungkook—?”

“You’d know, goddamnit,” Jungkook says, hand coming up to rub at his forehead, dragging down his cheek. “And I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that.”

“Know what? What would I know?”

Jungkook closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath. Opens them again. “That I’m in love with you.”

The words drift in between the two of you, hovering in the air like feathers. You see them, clear as day, in front of you, hear them echoing in your head, over and over and over again. Feel the way your blood is pumping, the way your heart is beating.

“You’re in love with me?” You ask him.

“I didn’t want you to find out this way,” Jungkook admits. “Or at all, really. But I have been, for a while now.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was afraid that I’d lose you.”

You chuckle, a small, little thing from the back of your throat. “You must have known I’d never let that happen, hmm?”

Jungkook smiles softly. “I was scared. Can you blame me? You’re my best friend.”

“And you are mine,” you remind him.

“It’s just��” Jungkook begins, like the gates of a dam are opening up. “We’d known each other for so long, and we have such a good thing going as is, always texting and calling and hanging out together, studying together on Sunday nights and seeing each other during the week, and I didn’t want to ruin anything. And then my professor assigned this project, and the only person I could think of to take photos was you, but I didn’t want to ask that of you in case you thought it was weird, but you suggested it anyway so I said yes, but I knew. I knew then that the moment I took one goddamn photo of you it would be obvious, and that if you ever saw you would just know. Stuff like that is easy to pick up in pictures, because a camera is like, tunnel vision for whatever it is you want to focus on most, and that’s you, that’s always been you, so I—”

“Jungkook,” you interrupt, reaching out to him, pressing a soft hand to his cheek. “Just, shut up, okay?”

And then you cup his head in both of your hands, and press a kiss to his lips. A small one, if nothing else, but a kiss nonetheless. You press your lips against his own and immediately you feel the sparks rush through you, this flash of heat that settles into something softer, something sweeter. It ignites and soothes you all at once, like a stray lightning bolt out on the open ocean. Like a single clap of thunder and the pitter patter of rain.

You press a kiss to his lips and when you pull away, Jungkook’s eyes are closed, lips parted ever so slightly. And for a moment there, you almost think you did the wrong thing.

But barely a second more passes before he’s scooping you up in his arms and pulling you in close to him, his lips finding yours like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. He holds you tight, hands pressed against the small of your back as he kisses you, warm and fiery and full, as if he can’t get enough, as if this is his only chance. You gasp into it before relaxing in his hold, cold hands on his warm cheeks, body melting at the feeling of him, of him all over you, of his hands and his mouth and his chest, this perfect, solid figure.

He kisses you and it sends heat shooting through your body, filling you up from the inside out, like your heart has burst and filled your bloodstream with fire, with sparks of warmth that tingle all over. He kisses you, and everywhere his hands press is another sizzle to your skin, an electric shock that makes you giggle into his mouth.

He kisses you and it feels like a storm has settled, feels like gentle rain after a hurricane, feels like waves crashing against the shore. He kisses you and it is the only thing you can think about.

By the time you part once more, you don’t think you’ve ever seen Jungkook so blissed out.

“See?” You point out softly. “Nothing to be afraid of.”

Jungkook looks positively dazed. “I think I need to lie down.”

“Ooh, was I that good?” You tease.

“I’m dreaming.” He shakes his head. “I’m definitely fucking dreaming.”

Jungkook sinks onto your bed, hitting the mattress with a thud. He stares mindlessly in front of him, like his brain needs time to process.

You smile to yourself. He can have all the time in the world.

“Is this real?” He mumbles when you sit down next to him, press another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Are you real?”

“Just like you,” you promise him. “I didn’t know this is what we had been missing, all this time.”

“It wasn’t missing,” Jungkook assures you. “It was just hidden.”

“I love you,” you whisper, watching him swallow the words like a glass of wine. “I think I always have. You just needed to say it first.”

“Oblivious as always.” Jungkook grins, smiling against your lips. “But I’m glad. If this is what it would take, then I’m glad.”

“You wouldn’t change anything?” You ask him, eyes wide and curious.

It’s hard to know how long you and Jungkook have been secretly pining over each other. Hard to know how long Jungkook has known that he’s loved you, how long it’s been since you started to feel the same, even if subconsciously. It’s hard to know how long you would have kept going if not for this project. It might have been months. Years. Years that Jungkook was willing to spend holding back, if only it meant keeping you by his side.

“No,” Jungkook says like it’s the easiest answer in the world. “I have you now. Why would I?”

What did you learn about yourself through this assignment? How do you think you’ve changed?

Previously, I had responded to this question by saying that I hadn’t learned anything, and felt that nothing changed in my life. Then, some things happened. And after those things, I learned that I am the luckiest man alive. To know my best friend is one thing. To love her is a privilege. To have her love me back is nothing less than a miracle.

Do you think you’ll ever look back on this project, whether it be as a reference or a memory?

Yes. Every day for the rest of my life. I don’t think I’ve ever been as thankful to receive a homework assignment as I am, right now. I owe everything to this project. It is the reason I have her.

This assignment forced you to create an entire portfolio, from scratch, using a subject you would have to regularly schedule time with. It was demanding. But, that said, would you ever do this again?

Yes. I want to take photos of her for the rest of my life. I want to save every memory we ever share together. So that far into the future, we can look back on them together and say, “Remember that?”

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

#jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts fluff #bts angst #bts scenario #jungkook scenario #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #bts au #jungkook au #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #w: the love project #yes i am finishing this at 6am on the day its meant to be posted... MIND UR OWN BUSINESS

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river-bottom-nightmare · 4 years ago

Text

zatanna said the word anchor point, and that's where she lost dick. anchor points and multiversal constants and universal stability. galaxies shattering into pieces behind his eyelids before swirling together tighter and more whole, before dick would inevitably wake, the lights from that goddamn recurring dream still flashing in his mind.

constantine was looking at him with sympathy, pity. dick wanted to wipe that look off his face with bleach. with acid. he normally wouldn't consider fighting john constantine, since he's always been able to sense the sheer power bubbling under the man's drunken and sloppy exterior. though, apparently, that ability to sense was what could possibly give him the edge in the fight he was imagining, but would never happen.

there were only a few people in the room, but someone would rip him off the man. maybe clark, whose features were painted with worry and concern. that, and the lights from the galaxies outside the watchtower windows, the eternity of the galaxy covering the entire room in a gentle wash that dick had been able to ignore for all of his life, excluding the past couple of hours. maybe diana, who was starting to look at dick with a bit of fear. not of him, but for him, and for everybody else. dick couldn't blame her. she had more than enough experience with powerful men who made themselves god. the only difference was that dick would rather let himself burn up from the flame that was inside of him before becoming whatever they said he was.

it's not about becoming, raven whispered in his mind. her presence was gentle, familiar. it took a certain length of self control for dick not to latch onto her, about the length of rope needed to make a noose. you already are. there are no new powers or abilities or anything that will happen to you. you always were a nexus being, and you always will be. it's just a part of you.

"just a part of him." just a part of him? like how wally's slowly failing heart had just been a part of him? or how jason's pit-induced fits of rage were just a part of him? or how cass' assassin training she fell back on no matter how hard she tried to override it was just a part of her?

bruce hadn't said anything. actually, zatanna had stopped talking, not that dick had been fully listening in the first place, and everyone was lost in their own quiet thoughts. but bruce's silence had been the most stomach-churning, the most horrific.

dick knew bruce didn't like metas. knew it because of the sighs he used to make due to the league's foolishness back when dick was robin, running a hand through dick's ruffled hair and telling him he was so glad you're not like them, dick, they're exhausting. he knew it because of bruce's fury every time someone powerful fought in gotham and destroyed the city, rubble on the ground as they went off, completely unconcerned of the damage they left behind. he knew it because of the extensive files in the batcomputer detailing each league-affiliated and known meta's weakness, or how their strength could be flipped like a playing card, until dick was almost convinced being a meta made one weaker. (according to bruce, it did.)

bruce didn't like metas. and dick wasn't a meta, but no one knew what he was anyway. no one but the magic users, whose vague explanations told them they weren't really sure what he was either.

"you're connected to the universe, dick," zatanna sighed. "the multiverse comes together in you. and as much as i don't like it, we need you."

all eyes were on him. dick was looking at his feet, but he could still feel them. that was one of his new "powers," right? knowledge of the multiverse? a gross misuse and bitter accusation, dick knew. but he couldn't get the fear out of his mind, and fear left unchecked grew fuzzy with mold until it disintegrated into anger.

"you need me?" dick said hoarsely. "the multiverse, what, comes together in me? you do realize what utter bullshit that sounds like?"

"i know it don't seem all that good, but trust me," constantine said. "it's a thing. it's real. you are one."

"you said these people are supposed to be beings of power," dick argued back. "so why aren't you a nexus being? or raven? or fucking ra's al ghul. i'm sure as hell not a being of power. i'm human."

"i suppose that's exactly what makes you one," diana murmured. "i have met many powerful men in my life. i've found the ones that i respected the most were the ones that were most in touch with their humanity."

this was crazy. this was crazy. dick felt like the particles that came together to make him were blowing away in confusion until he was one big cloud of unrecognizable light, before he was scattered in every direction. how the hell was he supposed to be one of the things that kept the universe together when he couldn't even keep his own damn self together?

avoiding bruce wasn't working. dick just felt like he was about to fray at the edges. so, gathering up his courage, dick turned to face the man and quietly, in a voice more delicate than china, said, "b?"

batman didn't look at him. batman didn't even look up. but batman did speak.

"alternate universe superman. he called you the multiversal constant. the one thing he could depend on."

out of the corner of his eye, dick could see clark nodding a little.

bruce continued. "you named yourself after a mythological figure who was known as the catalyst of change. or the great rebuilder. and kryptonians we've met have said how well you embody the role."

"it's...it's just a name, bruce."

"you, of all people, know it's not," clark said.

"so what am i supposed to do, huh?" dick whirled around. "fight this battle zee's recruiting me for that's entirely above my skill level. become some sort of, what did you say, universal anchor? i don't know the first thing about this shit, and i don't know what it'll do to me!"

"you're scared," bruce said, always willing to cut right to the chase with everyone but himself.

dick didn't answer.

"raven, establish a mental link between me and nightwing."

raven nodded, then with a flutter of her hands, dick felt a presence inside his head. it scared him to realize how easily he accepted it, how easily he had always accepted it. he never understood how unusual that was until now.

of course i'm scared, dick whispered into the mind link. i've gone my entire life knowing exactly who i was, what i could do, what i strive to be. and in the span of one day, that's all gone.

then what do you plan to do about it? bruce asked.

he said it so simply, so easily. like discovering something this monumental about himself was just another tricky case or difficult puzzle to solve. dick would have an easier time plucking each and every star in the galaxy and making a mosiac out of them.

raven's hood was lowered, but dick could still feel her eyes on him. constantine's features were still dripping in pity, zee looked imploring. diana was looking at him with hesitating acceptance, bruce was unreadable as always.

but clark. clark was looking at him with steady eyes and and a kind smile. he looked knowing, quietly vindicated. it was as if he'd known there was something...off about dick. something two hopscotches and a backbend away from "special," but close enough. something that had led to clark giving dick a piece of his people's legacy, and trusting him to fulfill it to the best of his ability.

clark wasn't scared of him at all. but clark couldn't make up for bruce.

"will you help?" zatanna asked.

everything inside dick was itching to say yes. jumping at the chance to help his friends, aching to be useful. it was a response he'd carefully cultivated years ago, and pushing it down was an almost physical ache.

but the stardust behind his eyes wasn't so easily forgotten. the hook behind his navel that seemed to drag him into the fabric of a universe that dick couldn't comprehend still dug into him. the world was spinning and the stars were turning and the earth was tumbling over itself, all of them in an effort to stop their twisting and turning and to right themselves once and for all. but dick wasn't moving. dick was completely, utterly still.

"i don't know," he said.

Dick Grayson Anniversary Week ‘21, Day 6: Universal Constant

"i don't know," the author says, because she truly has no idea what the fuck she just wrote. i started imagining nexus dick grayson and this just spilled out onto the page. it makes absolutely no sense, but there are some nice sentences in there that i don't want to get rid of, so hopefully yall can somewhat make sense of this ramen soup of a fic.

tag list: @woahjaybird @birdy-bat-writes @anothertimdrakestan @screennamealreadyused @subtleappreciation @bikoncon @catxsnow @pricetagofficial @maplumebleue-blog-blog @sundownridge @thatsthewhump @dickgraysonweek

#scribbles from the swamp #dickgraysonweek2021 #dick grayson #nightwing #nexus beings #nexus dick grayson #dick grayson headcanon #dick grayson fic #nightwing headcanon #nightwing fic #nexus beings headcanon #nexus beings fic #nexus dick grayson headcanon #nexus dick grayson fic #dc #dc headcanon #dc fic

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guardianofrivendell · 4 years ago

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Oh Deer (request)

Legolas x reader

Requested: Yes! @lotr-th-nin-meleth asked “Hey! Could I get a Legolas x Reader where the reader is caring for an injured baby deer she found in the forest and she's usually really gruff and cold and keeps to herself? So Legolas gets all soft watching her be soft and she asks him for help or something you can choose and he's just all flustered and it's cute. Thank you xxx”

A/N: I switched it up a bit, hope you don’t mind! I also skipped the ‘old’ Westron Legolas usually speaks, to make it easier for me. Because I can do that.

Warnings: one soft curse word, mentions of blood, Legolas in love (yes, that needs its own warning)

“You are remarkably quiet today,” Legolas said to you after almost half an hour of silence. You didn’t say anything back, eyes scanning the forest around you. Legolas shook his head. There was just no way to distract you, always focused on the task you’d been given.

You were part of the Guard of Mirkwood. From the very beginning you had proven to be an exceptionally good fighter. Every mission you were sent on turned out succesful and with no casualties, so it didn’t take long for you to be allowed to go on even more dangerous missions. Even though you had an impressive record, being an Elleth made it extra hard. It didn’t matter how skilled you were and that you’d showed more than once that you were tougher than most of the other guards, they still belittled you for being female. So when you were on duty, you put on a facade: stern expression, cold stare and not a sound unless you were spoken to.

Despite your gruff facade, the Prince of Mirkwood had taken a liking to you. Not that you noticed; after all, you were too busy proving your worth. Legolas made sure he was assigned to your group on patrols or vice versa - not that he didn’t have a choice, being Prince and all - and always suggested your name when there was a two-person job. All very subtle of course.

Today had been no different. There had been a sighting of a few Orcs wandering the forest, not that far from the palace. Thranduil instructed him to send a few guards to go and solve the problem. Those ‘few guards’ turned into Legolas and you.

And now you were making your way through the forest, hunting some Orcs, with Legolas by your side who was desperately trying to make conversation.

“You are allowed to speak, Y/N. It’s only me.” “Yes, only you... Don’t you think it’s rather strange our King sent only two guards? How many Orcs were seen again?” “Enough to handle ourselves, do not worry.” You scoffed. “I’m not worried, you know damn well that I could take them on my ow-” A sound in the distance made you cut off your sentence. Legolas heard it too, and you signaled him to climb the trees.

You both jumped from one tree to another with ease, until you reached a small clearance. There you could see about a dozen Orcs, most of them taking a rest, a few trying to make a fire to keep the spiders away. You signaled to Legolas to stay put, while you made your way to the other side of the clearance.

He rolled his eyes at that. Shouldn’t it be him telling you what to do? But he listened anyway and waited for your signal. In his mind he was already planning how to attack the pack, thinking he could easily kill 4 or 5 Orcs from where he was hiding before making his way down the tree. This was almost too easy.

A screech in the distance made the Orcs jump up and 3 of them disappeared in the woods, running past the tree you were hiding in. It seemed like the pack hadn’t been complete. You waved to Legolas, signaling you would go after them. Before he could protest, you were gone. Why did you always have to prove yourself? He had no visuals anymore, but he could hear how your feet touched the ground. Your fight had begun.

In one swift movement he took his bow and notched an arrow, and shot the Orc closest to him. Before he let himself drop down, he killed two more. He smirked to the six remaining Orcs and switched his bow for his two blades. “Let us begin,” he muttered.

It was over in less than ten minutes. They didn’t even put up a real fight, Legolas thought. Probably too exhausted from wandering through the forest for so long. He looked around but couldn’t see any sign of you, not even with his Elven eyes. Suppressing the slight rush of panic he felt, he began to look for you. You were tough. There was no way you couldn’t handle a handful of exhausted Orcs by yourself, he kept repeating in an attempt to reassure himself.

He ran through the forest, fighting the urge to call out your name. The last thing he wanted was to alert anything else of his presence. “Legolas!” He halted immediately, frantically looking around him in an attempt to locate you. This was not a good sign, he thought. You knew how dangerous it was to draw attention to you this deep in the forest. It could only mean one thing... “LEGOLAS!” He tried to ignore the despair in your voice, and ran as fast as he could in the direction of your scream. After a few agonizing minutes he found you hunched over on your knees. “Y/N?”

When you turned around, his heart stopped. Your hands were covered in blood. Red, not black, he realized. He fell to his knees at your side, his eyes searching your body for injuries. “Where are you hurt?” Your tunic was no longer a lighter green, but stained with a dark red. He tried to remain calm for your sake, on the inside he was definitely freaking out. You didn’t answer him, and burst into tears instead. “You’re going to be okay,” he said, more to himself than to you. “Everything is going to be okay.” He put an arm under your knees and around your waist and lifted you up with the utmost care, but you stopped him. “Y/N, I have to get you back home. Just... please, let me take care of you.” “It’s not mine,” you said in between sobs, pointing to your drenched clothes. “What happened?” Legolas asked, completely lost by now. He sat down on his knees with you still in his arms. If he wasn’t feeling so helpless at the moment, he would enjoy holding you this close. It felt nice. “I-...” You tried to take a long breath to calm down so you could tell him what was going on, but it only made it worse. Legolas rubbed your back softly until you found your voice again, relieved it seemed to help a little. “I-... I didn’t mean to hurt him!”

Legolas looked at you questioningly. Him? He scanned your surroundings but couldn’t see anyone. You got up from his lap and took a few steps away from him, motioning him to follow you. He had to keep himself from taking your hand. You took another ten steps and crouched down. Legolas heard you sniffling again. What he saw in front of your feet, was probably the last thing he expected to see. A small deer, probably still a baby, lay on the ground. A large gap in his side, clearly your work.

“Oh,” he sighed, finally understanding why you were so upset. The deer had definitely been in the wrong place at the wrong time. A laugh escaped his throat. You narrowed your eyes at him. Was he really laughing at you? When he saw you were annoyed at him, he shook his head.

“Y/N you really are curious. Slaying Orcs, killing off spiders, you don’t bat an eye. Doesn’t affect you in the slightest. But an injured deer got you all upset?” You felt the blood rise in your cheeks. Was it your fault you just really loved the forest animals? Someone had to take care of them, so why not you? You noticed him staring at you, a certain emotion in his eyes you could not seem to read. “What?” you asked him. “You’re cute... I mean-,” Legolas corrected himself too late. “It’s cute, the deer... is cute.”

You didn’t say anything back and Legolas cursed himself. “You know what, let’s take it with us to the palace. I’m sure our Healers could do something for him,” he suggested. He wasn’t entirely sure they could do that, but if it would make you feel better... “Are you sure we can do that?” “Of course we can, I’m the Prince.” He winked at you, and lifted the deer into his arms. You rolled your eyes at his cockiness. He was nothing like his father.

“Thank you,” you said sincerely. “Anything for you...”

A/N: Aaaaaah, I’m so bad at endings 🙈 I wanted something smart or funny, maybe I’ll change it later on if I can think of something. Sorry!

A/N part 2: It’s at times like these that I curse myself for not being a native English speaker. So sorry that my writing feels a little forced sometimes, but that’s mostly because of my lack of English vocabulary or because I can’t think of another way to say things and Google Translate can only do so much. So why not write in my own language you ask? Well... I don’t think there are a lot of Flemish (or Dutch) speaking Tumblr users waiting for Flemish lotr fics :)

#lord of the rings #lotr #legolas imagine #legolas #legolas x reader #legolas x y/n #legolas request #lotr fanfiction #lord of the rings fanfiction #lotr imagine #lord of the rings imagine #lord of the rings x reader #lotr x reader #guardianofrivendell #legolas greenleaf

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aliensunflower-fics · 4 years ago

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In Defense of Salt AND Sugar: Aka ML Fandom pls chill out.

So I don’t talk much as those who follow me will say I tend to just stick to myself and my own things. HOWEVER, Ive gotten a lot of asks about why I write both Salt and Sugar for Miraculous Ladybug.

The short answer: Both salt and sugar are valid, fun, intriguing things to read and write and the point of writing is to entertain and be entertained.

The long answer: Salt isn’t inherently someone hating on your fav show and sugar isn't someone necessarily giving it a free pass either. Ya’ll are just dramatic as hell.

The LONGER answer:

I write salt because I LIKE Miraculous Ladybug, BUT the show has not lived up to its potential AT ALL. The show could be so much better and the characters are so flawed or full of holes that occasionally I feel FRUSTRATED and mad!

I hate that Alya a character who I was so excited about, gets shafted ignored, sidelined, or written like a jerk! She could have been this great detective working alongside her friend to unmask the villain, but instead she often comes across as pushy, obsessed with Ladynoir or Adrinette, and so damn easily tricked. Not to mention how when shes not gushing over her ‘ships’ shes pushed to the side and ignored. [or you know... LILA]

I hate that Marinette’s crush makes her do things that are so cringy and awkward i feel ill I hate that she’s constantly the only one making mistakes and ‘learning lessons’ when the show has all these other great characters that could use the spotlight and be the ones learning lessons. I hate that she’s so jealous and that she cant ever seem to catch a break as if the show is punishing her constantly.

I HATE that Adrien is a mary sue, how the writers say hes perfect and treat him as such, I hate that he gets to guilt Marinette into fixing everything and dealing with bullies, I wanted a funny, Ron Stoppable, naive boy who learns about real friendships and grows into a great partner. Instead he gets to be pushy and downright a jerk as Chat Noir ignoring his responsibilities, guilting Ladybug with his feelings, never taking no as an answer. He’s not a good role model for kids.

I hate that Chloe got built up to have a redemption arc several times only for the writers to decide that Chloe a teenage girl who needs some serious therapy [and actual reasonable punishment for her actions] is worse than Gabriel child abuse Agreste. She could have been a great lesson on compassion and growth and dealing with your own pain without hurting others. Instead the writers wrote her off completely.

And dont get me started on how the show treats Nino, Kagami, Luka and the rest of the cast. They may as well be a backdrop for the forced love square that we NEVER get a break from. Seriously I’m a sucker for romance but does it need to be EVERY damn episode?! Can’t we just get some wholesome friendship between everyone including Adrien and Marinette at this point like COME ON.

And i’m not even touching on the white washing, awful lessons on responsibility and forgiveness, awful lessons on well so much other stuff really, the guilt trips, the teacher, the fact that she show could be used to teach kids how to better handle negative emotions and the importance of open communication and not keeping quiet about injustice and/or your feelings but instead decided that the main priority should be a love square that gets force fed to us EVERY SINGLE EPISODE.

My point is the show has FLAWS. That doesn’t mean its the worse show ever and it doesn’t mean its not fun, and has a great premise and characters, and so when I write Salt I write it because i’m frustrated! Im frustrated with the show, with the characters, with the writing and so I vent that out with salt I write those characters as their worst selves because I cant stand how the show has decided to treat them and Im ANGRY and disappointed.

It feels good to write salt and to read it. It’s nice to see characters get called out for bad behavior, its nice to read about Adrien not getting the girl. Its nice to occasionally indulge in salt because it validates that the show is flawed and lets you get out that frustration.

BUT ON THE FLIP SIDE

Miraculous Ladybug is a lovely show. It’s a show that decided to give little girls a FEMALE HERO. And not just as a side kick or background character! No they made her the protagonist! Its so important to me that little girls see good well rounded female characters in media.

And even if the show is clumsy about it they are TRYING to build an expansive lore that tickles the theorist brain. And gets people invested in the world.

The show also made Marinette shy, and awkward, and clumsy something a lot of girls deal with during puberty as growing up can literally make you clumsier as your body adjusts. Having a character who tries to be positive and tries to find solutions who solves things with creativity instead of pure violence. Thats LOVELY for young girls to see.

Growing up I loved and admired Kim Possible, and probably would have loved Marinette, even if the shows not perfect I can admit its trying and I can see why people love it as much as they do! And why they write these fluffy sugary fics its the reason I WRITE fluffy sugary things.

Because even though I am frustrated and angry and disappointed with the show, I still see Alya’s potential and how great she is as representation to little girls who want a black female superhero so I write fluff where Alya’s loyalty, compassion, cleverness and her pursuit of justice are center stage.

I see how Adrien could be better and I want him to be better and I WANT him to be the naive funny comic relief the Ron Stoppable to Marinette’s Kim Possible. I want Adrien to grow and learn and spit in his dad’s face I want him to overcome the abuse and be happy. To show people that neglect and abuse doesn’t mean you will get stuck like that forever, that you can overcome that and be a better kinder person.

I want Nino and Kagami, and Luka and Chloe and the class to grow and get attention and have funny moments I want to laugh and make other people laugh! So I write prompts focused around comedy and shenanigans and where the characters get to be fun and silly and make decisions for themselves!

SO IN CONCLUSION:

I write salt AND sugar. I see the value and merit in both sides of the coin, and I respect how other people see the show. I know its easy to get angry with other people in the fandom who see the show differently then you do but please can we put down the weapons and just BREATHE.

Someone who writes salt might LOVE the same show as you, and they might in fact love it so much that they vent their frustrations in angst and salt and cracky fics. Let them vent about how they wish the show was better, leave their tags alone or block them if you cant stand to see it. But dont attack salt writers for ‘hating on your show’ when they might love it just as much as you do but want a way to vent out their feelings.

On the flip someone who writes sugar might NOT be forgiving the show for its flaws, they might see all the same flaws as you but decide to take that frustration and write fluff and fix it fics and sugar because they want to indulge in a version of their favorite show where everything is just... OK. Where everyone is well written and happy and the character development sticks. Stay out of their tags let them have their sugar, they aren't writing it to hurt you just like you don't write salt to hurt them.

So ENOUGH. Enough hunting each other down, enough sending each other hate, enough filling each others tags. Let people write SALT if they feel angry and vengeful and disappointment, let them have their tags, let them explore the dark side of the characters, let them rant and rave and be HURT when the characters they love upset them with their actions. Its not your place to tell them to stop, to tell them their feelings are invalid, to tell them that ‘adrien is sweet sunshine boy how dare you’ or ‘alya would never’ or ‘i hate your marinette leaves dupont au’. Just leave it be, heed the tags, and let it go.

AND ENOUGH. Enough hunting each other down, enough sending each other hate, enough filling each other tags. Let people write SUGAR if they just want something to feel happy about. Let them makes coffee shop au’s, let them make fix it fics where everything is just happy without needing 8 pages of backstory for why everything is just happy. Let them squeal and gush and talk about the ship they like and the fluff they see. Its not your place to argue with them that the show is flawed, its not cool to ruin their fun by accusing them of not understanding the flaws, to tell them ‘umm actual this character shouldn’t get to be happy’ or ‘wow this is so shallow’. Just leave it be, heed the tags, and let it go.

PS: Now with that said and done. I do have one final message for everyone - If you write/enjoy pedophilia, if you sexualize KIDS. Then get the fuck out of fandom spaces, stop fucking following me, and do everyone salt and sugar a favor by LEAVING. Your pedophilia and child sexualization aint wanted, aint ok, and I will fight you.

PSS: IF YOU HATE WHAT IVE SAID ABOUT SUGAR AND SALT FINE OK I RESPECT YOU REGARDLESS. ENJOY THE SHOW, STAY CLASSY, DONT HURT PEOPLE BECAUSE THEY HAVE A DIFFERENT OPINION.

#its just me #ml salt #ml sugar #adrien salt #adrien sugar #alya salt #alya sugar #chloe salt #chloe sugar #miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #alya cesaire #class salt #class sugar

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totallycorrectjunosteelquotes · 4 years ago

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Juno had always lived an interesting life. Not necessarily safe or… well, in the best environment, but definitely interesting. And Oldtown wasn't the worst place to grow up. At least it wasn't the Outer Rim. And he had four walls and a roof over his head... most of the time.

But… what he didn't have was that incessant nagging to find whomever could match his 'mark'- named in a very clever fashion as a Soul-Mark, a mostly unique marking upon one's skin. There's supposedly only one person in the universe that has an identical mark, the one that is supposed to fill in the blanks where you fall short and complete your life.

He didn't believe in something that straightforward, for one. And…

"Mistah Steel! There's someone waiting out here for you!" Rita's voice snapped him out of his thoughts with a light shake of his head- he needed a moment to get ready. Clear his mind and prepare for whoever was out there.

Of course… it was still a shock when a tall, mysterious individual stepped into his office, clearly having walked right past his secretary- a rather flustered miss Rita.

"Hello there. I am agent Glass, I believe you were informed of my arrival…?" The mysterious stranger that claimed to be an agent had a voice like smooth wine, and a glint in his eyes to match. Juno couldn't place exactly why, but there was something familiar in those eyes. Dangerously familiar.

He didn't like it.

"'Informed of your arrival'? What the hell is that supposed to mean? You talking about Rita? Rita!" Juno nearly pushed past the self-proclaimed agent Glass, only to be met by a closed door and a hand on his chest that quickly retracted. It was only a moment, but it sent sparks through Juno's veins, meeting with a burst of energy in his heart that nearly made him gasp... and by the faltering in the mysterious Mr. Glass's eyes, he felt something too.

"... You needn't worry about her. She's been taken care of." The vague wording in Mr. Glass's statement shocked Juno back to reality, turning the strange, warm… slightly uncomfortable feeling in his chest to icy dread.

"The hell's that supposed to mean? Rita! Rita!" Juno's voice raised, and he found himself reaching for a blaster… that he didn't have where he thought it was. It was on his desk, he'd taken it off when he sat down and it was just a little bit too far-

"My, you panic quite easily. Maybe you aren't the right one for the job… your secretary is fine. You simply need to know how to talk to certain people and they are sure to comply." The mysterious Glass offered a light, airy smile and a load of empty promises with that statement…

"The hell does that even mean? You know what- I don't want to know. What I do want to know is why you came here." Juno took a step back, bringing himself close enough to his gun to grab it if things went sour.

"Why I came? Well, I did say you should have been informed of my arrival… did you not receive a call from someone at the agency?"

The agency… what could that mean?

Wait.

"You mean- Wire sent you?" Juno felt like his head was spinning. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation, maybe it was the fact that Agent Wire had called him at no earlier than three in the morning last night and he had actually forgotten. How do you forget something like that?

"Agent Wire, yes. I would have thought a detective like you could have come to the conclusion on your own…" Glass laughed.. He laughed.

Juno didn't feel much like laughing.

"Just- whatever. It doesn't matter. There's a case, right? Let's go solve the damn case." Juno grabbed his gun off the table, mildly startling the agent with the sudden movement as he walked to the door and opened it.

"Well hello there mista Steel… and agent Glass." Rita half-hid behind her computer monitor, giggling and masking a blush.

"Hey, Rita. Got another case. Should be back sometime later, if I'm not you can just close up without me." Juno headed straight for the door, ignoring the looks Rita was giving agent Glass.

What was so special about him, anyways? Just another Dark Matters agent here to get in his way. Even if…

No. It was a weird coincidence coupled with too much coffee. And maybe a little whiskey.

Maybe more than a little.

Hey there folks I have more planned but I said I was gonna post a thing and I currently cannot find a way past this so ✨ enjoy ✨

The formatting is kinda weird but I'm writing in Docs and when I officially post it as like A Fic (probably on AO3) I'll properly reformat it ha

#who gave me keyboard access #the penumbra podcast #tpp #the penumbra fanfic #not a quote #juno steel #peter nureyev #jupeter #jupeter soulmate au go brr #this is what happens when all of my planning goes into big reveals that aren't gonna happen for a while while also vaguely trying to follow #the podcast storyline...#part of me wants to do a timeskip past the whole Kanagawa Thing #and then the rest of me is like #but plot #hm

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theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin · 4 years ago

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[tomione thing] Thanks for the recs! I actually was looking forward to the rant, I like how you break things apart so they make sense in a very unique way.( I don't have any strong feelings to the pairing if that was your concern, I just think the stories about them have the potential to be fantastic because I enjoy intelligent characters going through life and solving problems and, usually, in fanfiction there's focus on only one smart character.

So, you people are just poking me with sticks to see what ridiculous opinions spew out then. I’m onto your game.

With that said, let’s get to answering then, and know that you bring this upon yourself.

I loathe Tomione. I put up with it, sometimes, because I will read almost any fic featuring Tom Riddle as a main character. (Want the Carnivorous Muffin to read your fic? Tom Riddle as a main character. Even if I disagree with 110% of your premise I will probably still read your story.)

However, it’s extremely telling that my recs the other day were hilariously small, and one was actually Hermione/Loki. The Tomione exists, I just hate it.

This is for two main reasons. First, I just don’t believe the ship would ever work under any circumstances and the pair are naturally doomed to loathe one another. Second, fanfiction has a collection of tropes associated with Tomione that are in unbearable (likely caused unconsciously by the first, Tomione doesn’t really work, so we do terrible things to make it work).

Tomione Doesn’t Work: Change My Mind

So, remember we’re living in Muffin-land for this. I’ve explained some of my headcanons regarding these characters, and I’ll offer brief explanation for why I think what I do here, but I’m not going to expand on it too much.

Tomione has appeal under the premise that either you or someone else previously mentioned: they’re both so smart, of course they belong together.

The trouble, Hermione’s not nearly as smart as she thinks she is. What we see of Hermione’s cleverness boils down to having a very good work ethic and reading a lot of books. She tends to outsmart Ron and Harry because she actually puts in the work to do her homework and, my god, read her text books. Also, as I’ve covered before, Harry’s an idiot, so that’s a low bar.

Because Hogwarts can be passed by the likes of Crabbe and Goyle, and the curriculum seems to boil down to “pronounce this fake Latin correctly, ooh look, a spell”, actually reading her books not only gets Hermione by but skyrockets her ahead of her peers. Who, apparently, have no ear at all and don’t understand the swishy motions are important and probably never bothered to read their books.

This isn’t to say she’s stupid, she’s by far one of the more intelligent characters in the series, but it says a lot of not so good things about Hogwarts that Hermione is the “brightest witch of her generation”. In my mind she has never compared to characters like Tom Riddle, Lily Evans, Severus Snape, or Albus Dumbledore.

Hermione never questions how magic exists, why wands work, or why pronunciation is so weirdly important and why we’re using spells that are gibberish Latin instead of English or simply Latin. She never takes that step outside the box I would expect a truly intelligent person to take.

An example, Hermione completely throws out the entire discipline of divination. This is part because she believes it’s stupid, but she also only spends about two seconds thinking about it, and she doesn’t appear to be any good at it. If Hermione’s not good at it then it must be a stupid subject for stupid people.

Now, that alone doesn’t doom her, but it does put a huge chink in the major appeal of Tomione: they’re both just so brilliant that they’d be great together.

What dooms them is that Hermione both a) thinks she is as brilliant as all these other people and b) has this pervasive need to be the smartest person in any room she walks into. Hermione comes across Tom Riddle in the past or just chills with Voldemort in the future, she will inevitably try to show him up. This isn’t just to assure us that good is better than evil, but because she can’t help herself, because being the smartest is how she defines herself.

As a result, especially if we’re in the time travel/school setting, she would inevitably get in competition with him to prove she’s so much better/smarter than he is. It would undoubtedly be on her terms, probably revolving around school work, and she’d throw a fit when Tom wins because he understands the value in being concise where Hermione would quite easily write a hundred page Potions’ essay (that had a five page limit) with the subtext “PRAISE ME” written on every page.

I can’t imagine Tom Riddle would find this anything but completely obnoxious and a waste of his time.

Now, part of this goes into headcanon land, but I have always imagined, 100%, that Tom Riddle in Hogwarts was treated like a muggleborn, that he didn’t find out his ancestry until at least part of the way through, and he never confessed to being the Heir of Slytherin. I can back this up, but that’s another story for another day, I’ll just say that no matter what Dumbledore says any other backdrop makes no damn sense.

So, Tom has clawed the respect of his peers into reality with bleeding hands, he came from nothing in a way that even the ‘good’ purebloods wouldn’t have sympathy for. Even the muggleborns I imagine thought they were better than him. Tom is an impoverished orphan, so poor he has to stay at Hogwarts over the holidays, he was not having a fun time at school.

Tom has ambitions, is mired in hatred, and is not really all that wrapped up in Hogwarts except to get him where he wants to go.

Now, imagine Hermione suddenly shows up in front of this Tom. Suddenly he’s being challenged to essay competitions, she probably leaves cryptic remarks all the time about how evil he is and how amazing she is because she’s not evil and smarter than he is, and if he thinks he’s smarter than her then he better find time to prove it.

It’s like talking to a Dumbledore he can never escape from.

Tom doesn’t have time for this bullshit.

Tomione not only insists that he does but that he lives for this bullshit. Forget Voldemort, Hermione making weird comments about how Tom has a mutilated soul, or that Dumbledore is so much cooler than he is, is where it’s at.

As for Hermione, ultimately, I don’t think she’d ever really be attracted to Tom Riddle because he’s too much competition. The guys we’ve seen Hermione with are all safely much dumber than she is, Hermione likes being in relationships with men she feels in some way better than. Tom Riddle is not that guy.

Add on top of this that Hermione’s righteousness would never allow her to even think about dating someone like Tom and we get her, at best, trying for the sake of destroying him (if she seduces Tom then she destroys Voldemort!) but ultimately failing.

Because the thing is, circling back to where we started, there are different kinds of intelligence, different levels of intelligence, and intelligence alone isn’t a reason to get along. Smart people might gravitate towards smart people, but they still have to have compatible personalities. Reading books isn’t magical glue that can bind people together.

No matter what way I look at it, Hermione and Tom would absolutely loathe one another in every capacity.

Hermione ends up back in time accidentally and goes to Tom with Hogwarts: utter loathing.

Hermione ends up back in time on purpose and tries to save Tom’s troubled soul or else murder the shit out of him: utter loathing with an extra dash of “what the fuck?!” on Tom’s end.

Hermione ends up back in time after Hogwarts when Tom’s a store clerk: utter loathing (Hermione walks into Tom’s shop to tell him how cool and interesting she is to enter into the typical Tomione mind games, all Tom wants is commission.)

Hermione enters into deals with devils with the horcruxes: utter loathing complete with Tom’s triumphant/Nelson laugh when he inevitably betrays her to get his own body.

A young Tom Riddle somehow winds up in the future and is forced to attend Hogwarts because Dumbledore does what he wants: utter loathing (Tom has to sit there and enjoy Harry and especially Hermione telling him how evil he is and how Hermione’s so much smarter than him because she’s muggleborn and reads books.)

Lord Voldemort takes Hermione hostage during the horcrux hunt: utter loathing (though this would be sadly less irritating to Tom than the others, I imagine, if only because Hermione would probably be more terrified and less righteous. But she’d hate him with the fire of a thousand suns and inevitably pull a horrific revenge scheme on either him or his Death Eaters. No one crosses Hermione. No one.)

You name it, I think it’s going to end with the pair hurling chairs at each other and just being completely and utterly uninterested in every capacity.

Now, onto how Tomione is typically written, which just makes it so much worse.

Tomione Fics Breed Awful: Change My Mind

Tomione, to me, is born from a few things. It’s born from the author’s desire to have an intelligent, female, borderline SI lead and to shove her together with another edgy smart person with some degree of a bad boy persona.

In this way Tomione fics are very similar to Snape/Hermione fics, are similar to Lokane from Thor/Avengers, are similar to Zutara back in the earlier seasons of Avatar the Last Airbender, etc.

As a result the fics almost invariably spiral into: “Hermione is so smart, she’s so much smarter than everyone else, she impresses Tom because she is so smart. Tom is so smart but so evil, he sexy growls at her, and confesses how much he hates love every other chapter.”

Only, as I noted above, while there are many interpretations of Tom’s character (and mine certainly doesn’t agree with the vast majority) I can’t help but think every single version would hate her.

To make him not hate her the author will often turn him into one of two Tom Riddles: Emotionally Deficient Robot Tom or Growling Sexy Sociopath Tom. Emotionally Deficient Robot Tom will often have paragraph long tangents to remind us he doesn’t compute your human emotions, “Beep boop” but despite this Hermione’s out of control hair makes him feel urges “bloop bloop”. Growling sexy sociopath Tom usually goes on a rant about how love is beneath him, backs Hermione into broom closets, and growls as he sexily makes out with her in a non-romantic manner because “ew love”.

In other words, Tom is made an unbelievably flat character. He becomes a base archetype of sexy villain character. He never really gets redeemed, even if the story insists he does, he usually doesn’t have a reason for the way he is (”um, love potions!” the author often cries), and he and Hermione always think they’re much more important than they are.

The story rarely, if ever, goes anywhere because the entire point of the story is mind games between two sixteen-year-olds who think they’re smarter than everyone else. So we get a lot of chapters of Hermione and Tom running around, being very clever to each other, but doing nothing.

Sometimes authors do deviate from this, we will have an actual plot where we’re not just in Hogwarts again or it’s not just centering on ridiculous mind games. However, even then, Tom is usually is some variant of a very flat cartoon villain while Hermione is... Well, one would think the way she’s described that she’s the smartest, best, most beautiful, most brilliant thing to ever grace this earth.

TL;DR

Tomione is not my jam.

#ask #anon #harry potter #tom riddle #hermione granger

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scarlettriot · 3 years ago

Text

Welcome to my Fantasy MHA AU Fic!

I'll be posting specific content warnings at the start of each chapter just to give you a heads up but you can expect swearing in almost every chapter and some NSFW 18+ content down the line.

Plan for ships though I don't know which ones just yet.

An OC or two might pop up. In the chapters they appear I'll be sure to give you some information on them.

Hope you enjoy it!

CHAPTER ONE

WARNINGS: SWEARING

The king stood atop the hillside, admiring the vast expanse of his kingdom laid out before him.

King Enji couldn't have been more pleased with the results of his tedious plans and tireless efforts if he tried. In fact, everything had gone off without a hitch!

Flames engulfed buildings. Smoke and embers choked the sky as well as the lungs of his citizens, and King Enji watched it all happening on high.

The sword of the once famed paladin rested on his shoulder. There'd be no one else now in his kingdom for anyone to worship other than him. He'd finally be treated with the respect he deserved.

Magic and projectiles soared through the sky, chasing down every last dragon they caught sight of. The beasts were the perfect villains for his plan. They'd be killed or chased out and once over the magical barrier he'd been working for years to create, they'd never be allowed back.

Two of his biggest problems were taken out in a matter of minutes.

King Enji Todoroki had won.

The celebration of the Phoenix King took place on the same date each and every year. The day that their kingdom had once burned to the ground was now celebrated with dancing and food, music and costumes as a way to remember how their great King chased off the fearsome dragons and did what he could to protect the Paladin of Might.

Izuku could hardly remember the day. What he could recall was filled with smoke and a burning in his lungs. He also remembered his best friend, Katsuki vanishing on that day.

His mother told him that many had died, that sadly, young Katsuki was probably among them. But, Izuku never believed it. Katsuki had been the strongest person he knew and so, even 18 years later, Izuku held out faith that his best friend was still out there... somewhere.

The festival was in full swing, Izuku's stomach was stuffed and his chest felt light seeing everyone around him so happy. His mother, Inko, was using vibrant colors to paint a beautiful flowered mask on a young boy. She'd already marked Izuku's own face, swirls of green in various shades that went over the bridge of his nose and extended down onto his neck. It had been his preferred design since he was a boy.

Horns sounded in the distance at dusk, the signal for everyone to turn their gaze towards the large grey stone castle and witness the light show presented by the top mages in the land.

The first flash of color, bright orange, flooded the sky and Izuku felt a hand in his own tugging him backward.

He turned, noticing a hooded figure but more importantly, the red and white bangs that were just barely visible beneath it.

"Sho?" He breathed the name and it was lost over the sound of the lights exploding. "You're supposed to be-"

"I know." The man mumbled, "But this was my best chance of getting out... getting this out."

He pulled back the cloak just enough for Izuku to see the gleam of a golden hilt. "Shoto, is that what I think it is?"

"Yeah, yeah Izuku, I finally found it."

The two men slipped through the crowd unseen, their eyes transfixed on the light show high above to notice two figures slipping in between buildings. Izuku begged Shoto to keep the sword hidden. The last thing they needed was for someone to see it and recognize what it was.

"He lied." Shoto gritted out. "You were right all along, Zu, my father lied. It was never stolen, he kept it hidden right under our noses. In the damn treasure vault for fucks sake!"

Izuku rarely had seen the young royal so livid but when he got this way his father was usually the cause. Izuku had hoped more than anything that he'd been wrong about the King and what happened 18 years ago. He really hoped that a dragon had been the one to hurt the Paladin and steal the sword, that the King had just arrived too late but something about the story had never sat right with him.

As he grew older, the more he learned about the Paladin, it made him question things. Everyone thought he was mad, Izuku hardly had any friends thanks to him voicing his opinions when he was too young to know better but, to his surprise, a boy with two-toned hair listened. He listened to Izuku's theory long before Izuku knew Shoto was the prince, and he believed him.

"I remember my father coming home that night," Shoto had confided in him, "He just had dirt on his clothes, no scorch marks or burns. Not even blood. He couldn't have fought a dragon!"

Izuku had just thought it odd that the Might Paladin had been taken down by a dragon. Sure, the King said it'd been a horde of them but the man had left without another word, he'd only made a brief appearance at the King's side and then was said to have wandered off into the woods alone; his will to fight and protect, gone.

He couldn't believe a man who slew hundreds of vile creatures could go down so easily, not that handling a horde of dragons was easy but the Might Paladin was practically a God!

What Shoto had told him as kids only further solidified the idea in his mind that things didn't add up. Of course, Shoto wasn't allowed to ask questions. Hells, he was barely allowed to leave the castle grounds but he promised Izuku he'd search for answers. He wouldn't stop until the truth was uncovered.

"I also found this with it, tucked away inside the scabbard."

Shoto handed over a piece of aged parchment folded up small enough to fit in the palm of Izuku's hand. It was scribbled designs, spilled ink blotched out a couple of words and the rest didn't make any sense to Izuku.

"Any idea what this is?"

Shoto shook his head. "No clue but there are some witches that live out past the woods. Maybe they can help?"

Izuku looked at his friend with knitted brows. "You know as well as I do that witches practice unsanctioned magic. And if either one of us were to engage with one, we'd be thrown in jail at the least!"

"Then you better be sneaky about it, Zu." A slight smirk played on his lips. "We can't go to official mages with this, so, witches are the next step to solving this mystery."

Izuku sighed and hung his head. "Fine. Fine, I'll leave in the morning. I'll tell my mother I'm helping you with your power analysis again." He looked at the slightly taller man in his oddly mismatched eyes. "You better make sure she says safe while I'm gone."

In truth, it took very little to convince Izuku to investigate and explore. He loved it actually and if it wasn't for his mother, he'd have the whole damn continent mapped out by now! But, it was just the two of them and he couldn't leave her for too long at a time to tend to the farm all by herself.

"I'll be sure a few guards come by to assist her in the field." Shoto unhooked the sword from his belt. "Take this too. Maybe a witch will know where the Paladin has gone and you can return this to him."

Izuku almost refused but Shoto shoved the weapon into his hands and the moment his fingers wrapped around the hilt, he felt... something. What exactly, he couldn't find a word for it but there was a feeling of magic to the weapon. Shoto had to have known that, that had to be another reason why he wanted him to take it and so, with some hesitation, he strapped the sword to his side.

"Write to Sir Iida with anything you find. Use the code though, just in case." Izuku nodded. "Be safe. Let's get to the bottom of this once and for all."

A/N: If you feel inclined, please let me know your thoughts. I might delete and rewrite this depending on how I'm feeling. Thank you for reading :)

#mha #bnha #mha fantasy au #izuku midoriya #shoto todoroki #prince shoto #mha fic #mha au idea #bakugo katsuki #kachaan #deku

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nlights37 · 4 years ago

Note

Ooh, can you answer:

A) for Art of Deduction

J) Cerulean Blue

Thank you forever 😘

For you? Like you even have to ask!

A: How did you come up with the title to ‘Art of Deduction’?

I was binge watching the BBC Sherlock eps on Netflix at the time, and originally this fic was going to be something more in keeping with the plot of the show, like making Jon Sherlock and Dany Watson, and there are still some echoes of that in the fic - Doctor Dany, Jon as a detective (although yes, I know, Sherlock wasn’t a police detective proper). But then I was like huh what if instead of trying to come up with crimes for them to solve throughout the story I make it all about their delicious, delicious window pining? And you know the rest!

C: What character do you identify with most?

Davos. I just want to protect all my babies. I will adopt them all and keep them safe. But in terms of Jonerys, that’s a tough one. Jon gets a slight edge here, just because he’s such a sassy little turd in the books and I also get sick of people’s shit constantly and wanna choke folks. I mean I don’t actually do it but I get his motivation.

J: Write or describe an alternative ending to ‘Cerulean Blue’.

Jon and Dany realize, post-Lannister defeat, that they actually ARE really sick of all this fighting and bullshit and they abdicate, leaving the throne to Rhaegar and his new boo Elia, and taking Naerys to Lys and building a little beach house with a red door. I came very close to doing this, actually. A lot of frollicking involved, for sure, and probably a fair amount of rum and splashing around.

T: Any fandom tropes you can’t stand?

Uhhhhhh let’s see I have a few…

Naming every damn fic some variant of Dragon or Wolf or Spring or Winter or Ice and Fire etc etc - Honestly, my biggest quibble with it is that it’s so commonplace now that I likely won’t read the fic because I assume, based on the title, it will be exactly like every other fic that shares the very similar title. Give your fic a title that will grab people because it’s different, and not yet another variant of the Dance of the Dragons and the Wolves in the Winter and the Spring of the Ice and Fire. You’ll get more clicks, at least from me.

Cheating fics - just because it’s a shitty thing to do, and easily solved by being a fucking grown up and keeping your genitals to yourself. So in cheating fics it’s hard for me to buy ‘Oh, it just happened, we couldn’t help ourselvessss’, no, sorry. Cheating is a choice. Trying to make it some romantic statement when it’s one of the lowest, piece of shit things you can do will def keep me from reading it. Not my cup of tea, simple as that, just my own personal preference.

Harem fics: Just wtf. Mostly exercises in authorial masturbation, I assume, self-inserts for group sex. If that’s your bag, get it, but I’ll keep scrolling, thanks.

If you (a general you, just anyone reading this) like any of the above, cool, me not liking those things is not some kind of personal attack, we are all allowed to like and dislike different things for any reason or no reason at all.

Thank you for the ask @libradoodle1, my sweet, sweet baby!

#ask game #writer asks #jonerys #my fics

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anomander-dragnipurake · 4 years ago

Text

Ghosts

I initially had the idea to do this fic a while ago, even before I started writing my first Super Mario fic. I finally got around to it for Halloween after being reminded of the idea via coming across a fanart piece that depicted a similar idea. I'd link it because it's sort of fic inspiration but it's buried deep in the Bowuigi tag on Tumblr and in the reblogs on my main blog.

Of course the hotel was haunted, why wouldn’t it be? Just when he thought he was finally free of having to deal with ghosts, this had to happen. Finding the Poltergust in the garage – indicating E. Gadd was here somewhere too, probably trapped in a portrait – was a sheer stroke of luck because Luigi had neglected to bring his own ghost hunting equipment. This one was the new model E. Gadd had been telling him about too which was neat expect for the fact that he now had to use it to deal with a hotel full of ghosts.

Before getting to that though, he glanced around the garage one last time to make sure he was alone before pulling out his phone. He needed to call Bowser, tell him not to come day after tomorrow after all. They’d been planning to have him show up at the hotel a couple days later and then finally reveal their relationship to Mario and Peach because away from home while on vacation when everyone was already in a good mood seemed like a good place to do that. But ghosts had happened instead so it’d have to wait.

Though it wasn’t super late into the night yet, hopefully Bowser would already be sleeping so Luigi could just leave a message. There was a very real chance Bowser would want to come anyway to punch the ghosts over their plans being ruined and only get himself in trouble. Luigi would rather not have to try to dissuade him from that so… He picked up on the third ring.

“Hey, what’s up?” he said. “Aren’t you normally in bed by now?”

“Uh… yeah but um… well turns out the hotel’s haunted, it was a trap from King Boo. He uh… yeah, stuff happened and I have to deal with it.” He needed to save Mario and Peach, the Toads too. “So, you probably shouldn’t come after all. We’ll have to tell them… later.” Both of them had kept finding reasons to put it off, figures after finally committing to a plan something would go wrong with it.

“He got Mario again, didn’t he?”

“Yep and Peach and the Toads and probably E. Gadd too, since his car is here but he’s not.”

Bowser grunted. “How does King Boo keep beating Mario when I never could?”

“Please not now.” Mario was in danger; Luigi didn’t want to hear about Bowser’s rivalry with him when that was a thing.

“Oh uh… all right, sorry. You okay?” All the gruff bravado was gone from Bowser’s voice now. Instead he sounded concerned which meant Luigi’s plea had been filled with more desperation than he’d intended.

“No, not really.” How could he be in this situation? What if he couldn’t beat King Boo this time? Or what if… King Boo took it further and killed Mario before Luigi could get there to even try to save him?

“Right, you’re afraid of ghosts, huh?”

“I know I probably shouldn’t be anymore.” He’d dealt with two full hauntings and captured King Boo twice as well so logically he shouldn’t be afraid anymore but alas, his fear had never been rooted in anything logical. “But… they’re still scary.” He leaned against E. Gadd’s car, holding back a grown. This ‘adventure’ had only just started and he was already tired.

“All righty then,” Bowser said as if reaching some kind of decision. “I’ll go over and beat the ghosts up for you. Except me in however long it takes my fastest air ship to get there.”

“What? No, no, no, you don’t need to come down here. I can handle it on my own.” It was too late though; the line was dead.

Luigi groaned as he flipped his phone closed to slip back into his pockets. Now he had to save his brother and friends and watch out for when Bowser arrived to hopefully make sure King Boo didn’t get him too. Could the night get any worse?

***

The hotel was rather drab looking in the dark of night, there wasn’t a light on anywhere inside it. It had looked much better in the brochures so it was a disappointment all around. Vacation wasn’t what Bowser was here for though so whatever. Maybe a dark hotel would serve as a good arena to beat up some ghosts and King Boo though.

Mario was going to be so shocked when he saw it was Bowser who’d save him this time. That would count as finally besting him too, right? Defeating the person who’d defeated him was basically a victory over both of them, right? So, this was going to be a fun outing after all.

With a signal from him, the ship flew in closer to hover over the roof. “Circle at a distance until I call you back,” he instructed the shy guy at the wheel before vaulting over the edge. In hindsight, even with how much it would’ve slowed down the ship, he probably should’ve brought in a troop of minions for backup but he’d been in such a hurry and hadn’t wanted to wait for an entire troop to get ready to broad it and now it was too late. Whatever though, he could handle King Boo and his tiny boos by himself.

He landed on the hotel’s roof with a thud, the tiles cracking beneath his weight. Glancing around he was disappointed to see that the roof was empty. What his exact plan was, he had no idea but he didn’t a plan, he’d just wing it like he normally did and it should be fine.

The roof was pretty barren and thus it didn’t take him long to locate a possible way down so he could enter in properly through a window or something. Before he could start to descend though…

“Why are you here?”

He snapped around to see King Boo had come out of seemingly nowhere. He was holding a portrait of Princess Peach, which knowing King Boo’s powerset, meant it probably was her. Bowser had given up courting her a long time ago and had only continued to kidnap her to lure Mario in for another rematch. He no longer even did that because Luigi had decided to convince him not to which had ultimately resulted in their current relationship. But it still made him mad because if anyone was going to capture her, it should’ve been him. He at least treated her right, the way a princess should be treated, not trapping her in a portrait. So…

“I’m here to kick your ass,” he said with a slight growl as he balled up his hands into fists. He would’ve preferred to start with a blast of fire but he wasn’t sure how flammable Peach’s portrait was and he wasn’t going to risk damaging it and possibly her.

King Boo raised an eyebrow and laughed. “You’ll make a nice portrait so sure, I won’t question my good fortune, let’s fight.”

Bowser lunged at him even before finished speaking, intending to grab and rip Peach’s portrait out of his hands. But King Boo floated higher, dodging with seemingly little effort. And he was out of Bowser’s range completely, such bullshit.

With a flash of light from King Boo’s crown, there was suddenly an empty portrait floating beside him. “Sorry this isn’t much of a fight, I got stuff to do,” he said as it starting glowing, pulling Bowser in.

Like hell was he gonna be turned into wall art. He’d blast the damn thing to bits with fire and then…

Next thing he knew, he was indoors and looking down at Luigi instead of up at King Boo. It felt kind of like waking up after a too long nap. He breathed out the breath he’d been taking, releasing a puff of smoke instead of the mighty blast of fire he’d intended it to be. He glanced around at the room, it seemed to be an office of some sort. “What happened? Where am I?” he said as he looked back down.

Luigi looked tired but otherwise mostly fine. He had the Poltergust on his back but a different model than the one he’d shown Bowser. This one had a clear tank with something green inside it. “You were captured by King Boo and turned into a portrait,” he said. “Why did you have come? I tried to tell you not to.”

“Because I wanted to.” Bowser always did whatever he wanted.

“Yeah but why?”

“You’re scared of ghosts, I wanted to beat them up for you.” And he still would, he just had to try a little harder. There were few problems that couldn’t be solved with a good punch and/or blast of fire.

“Oh uh… thanks for the thought.” The slight blush on Luigi’s face as he lifted his free hand to rub the back of his neck was cute and made look slightly less tired. “But I um… I’m fine. I can handle it by myself.”

Bowser sighed as he crossed his arms. He wasn’t too good at reading other people’s emotions but… “You don’t seem fine.”

Luigi deflated a little, letting out a heavy sigh. “It’s scary and I’m tired and… scared and stuff. Gotta save my bro though so…” he trialed off with a shrug. “You should probably go the garage but uh… I’m not sure how I’m going to explain your presence to E. Gadd and the Toads, that’s going to be awkward but I’m not sure where else would be safe.”

“Fuck that, it’s personal now, I’m going to beat up King Boo.” No way would Bowser ever stand for such a humiliating defeat. So he turned to march out the room.

Before he could take more a few steps though Luigi grabbed his arm pulling him back. Bowser could easily just drag him along or pick up and carry him with him or even just shake him off entirely but didn’t.

“You can’t,” Luigi said. “He’ll just turn you into a portrait again so… please don’t. I already have to save Mario and Peach, I don’t want to have to save you again too.” He sounded desperate and scared and… it made Bowser feel bad. “So just… let me do it.”

“You’re scared of ghosts though.” So he shouldn’t even want to do this.

“Yeah but… you need special equipment for hunting ghosts and… I’ve never lost to them so… I can handle it.” He was full on hugging Bower’s arm now, making it even harder to pull away.

Bowser could only sigh at that. “All right, fine, I’ll just help you then.” He could do that much at least. “I’m not letting that bastard get away with beating me so easily and I’m not letting you face the ghosts on your own when you’re so scared of them. And there’s nothing you can do to convince me to hide in some stupid safe place instead.”

Luigi looked like he wanted to protest but sighed instead as he rested the side of his face against Bowser’s upper arm. “Okay, that works, I guess. It’s… kind of nice to have some company anyway I suppose, it gets kind of lonely sometimes.”

Bowser grunted instead of trying to come up with a reply because he wasn’t sure how to. “Let’s go,” he said instead, gesturing towards the rooms exit. He wanted to see how Luigi fought ghosts, he’d been curios about what that was like ever since Luigi had told him about it. “I can’t wait to see the look on Mario’s face when I help save him.”

Luigi chuckled nervously. “That’s uh… certainly going to be an interesting meeting.”

#My writing #super mario bros #Luigi's Mansion #Bowuigi #canon divergence #established relationship #Luigi's mansion 3

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blouisparadise · 4 years ago

Photo

Upon request, here is a rec list of bottom Louis fics where Louis and/or Harry use drugs during the course of the fic. If you support our rec lists and want them to continue being made, please reblog this post and spread the word. Happy reading!

1) Lips Are Like The Galaxy’s Edge | Mature | 2365 words

Harry licks over Louis’ hole slowly, deliberately, and his tongue is like velvet and Louis’ skin is burning at every junction where Harry touches him and it’s all so good he thinks he might cry. He licks a few more times, moaning softly like he’s relishing the taste of Louis and that’s just, well, fuck.

2) Can You Feel The Fever | Explicit | 5113 words

Note: This fic is a sequel to this fic.

Tour has Harry exhausted. Luckily exactly what he needs is waiting for him in his Sacramento dressing room.

3) Read You Like A Book | Explicit | 8089 words

Louis realises Harry can read his mind. He’ll do anything to make Harry admit it. Set during the North American leg of the WWA tour.

4) Put You On Repeat, Play You Everywhere I Go | Explicit | 8290 words

Harry is a college radio show host and Louis is a contemporary dancer attending said college. After a drunk hook-up, naturally a whole bunch of pining, dedicated love songs and make-out sessions on dance studio floors ensue.

5) Keep It Sweet In Your Memory | Explicit | 17039 words

'How'd it go?' Harry pushes them into Niall's room and shuts the door behind him, so Georgia doesn't overhear.

'It was good. We just caught up, mostly... I may have done something a little stupid, though.'

And Niall's eyebrows are in his hairline at that.

'I mean. Okay, so I invited Louis out on Saturday.'

'Saturday? Your--'

'Yes, my bachelor party...' and then Harry has to explain himself, 'I just felt guilty. I think. He was like. Telling me he wanted to hook up.'

'He WHAT!?'

'No. I mean, not with me. Like. He wants to go out and meet people.'

'He'll hate that. He's too much of a romantic.'

'Yeah, well. Whatever his name was messed him up a little, it would seem.'

6) Never Understood What Love Was Really Like (But I Felt It For The First Time Looking In Your Eyes) | Not Rated | 18431 words

The one where Louis meets Harry at 14 and things don’t quite go as planned.

7) Ain’t My Fault | Explicit | 18690 words

Note: This fic has mentions of BH.

AU. Liam posts an ad on the wrong section of Craigslist, Louis is pretty sure they’re gonna get murdered as a result, and Harry’s missing an avocado.

8) Kiwi | Not Rated | 24110 words

AU. Harry plays on Saturday nights at The Motley. Louis bartends on Saturday nights at The Motley.

It’s a thing.

9) Honey, Make This Easy | Explicit | 25483 words

AU; Harry’s sister recently passed away, leaving him with temporary custody of her daughter. Needing help, he hires Louis as a nanny and the boy turns out to be help in more ways than he expected.

10) Can’t Fool Me | Explicit | 30162 words

AU where Louis hates fraternities and would never be into a frat boy. And one of these things is definitely not a lie.

11) Captain Jack | Explicit | 31752 words

Note: Please take note of the tags and warnings on this fic before reading

Louis has been searching for something and Harry is there to give it to him. Drugs, sex, disappointment, and the tangled web they’ve woven that keeps them trapped in the same cycle.

12) Can I Make It Any More Obvious? | Explicit | 35560 words

AU where Louis does ballet and Harry is the epitome of everything Louis’ friends want him to stay away from.

13) Bluebird | Explicit | 39024 words

The 2,789 miles between New York and Los Angeles is a long way to go alone.

14) Another Hazy May | Mature | 41042 words

Louis is a terrible poet and Harry lives in the now and they have six weeks to fall in love but, really, it only takes six seconds. bookshop meets military meets summer romance AU ft. Marlboros, the backstreet boys, and underrated literary devices.

15) Looking Through You | Explicit | 41905 words

Just as Louis and Liam were starting out in the music industry, writing and producing for up and coming artists, a fateful meeting with new pop singer Harry Styles changes everything. Four years later, just as Harry is set to embark on his next world tour, a drunken confession causes a rift between once inseparable friends. As Harry tries to make sense of his feelings for Louis, he begins writing his next album to express them as it may be the only way to break through the walls that Louis has built between them.

16) Tangled Up In You | Explicit | 45152 words

Harry blinks once. And blinks again. And says, his voice dangerous: “Niall, did you get me a mail-order bride?”

Because what the actual fuck. It kind of looks like Niall’s just purchased a person. For Harry.

Niall blinks back at him for a few moments, before throwing his head back and howling with laughter. Harry throws a pillow at him. Hard. “No, what the fuck, Harry.”

“A prostitute then?” Harry also doesn't want a prostitute.

“Of course not!”

“A stripper?”

“No!”

Damn, he’s running out of ideas. He settles for launching another pillow at Niall’s head. Niall bats it away easily, still laughing. “Stop!”

“What did you get me, then?!” Niall must hear the tinge of hysteria in his voice, because he’s pulling himself together, trying to stop himself from laughing.

There’s still a big grin on his face, though, when he says, “I got you a professional cuddler.”

A professional…what. “What?”

17) Apples Always Fall (As I Do For You) | Mature | 54609 words | Sequel

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

Louis is staying at his Aunt's farm in a small town in Minnesota for four months. To deal with the boredom that sets in a week into his stay, he starts working at the local apple orchard, owned by twenty six year old Harry Styles.

Louis quickly finds himself falling in love with the orchard, and he finds a family in Harry's friends Niall, Liam, and Zayn.

He also starts to fall in love with Harry.

Falling in love with him turns out to be the easy part.

18) Into The Midnight Sun | Explicit | 63525 words

It’s 1983, Harry embarks on his first world tour and Louis is a budding actor in LA. Life spent apart isn’t easily adjustable, but somehow they make it work.

19) Like Real People Do | Explicit | 64175 words

Louis didn’t ask for a lot of things. He didn’t ask for his entire family to die in a car crash that may or may not have been his fault. He didn’t ask to get powers out of that accident, either, powers that eventually led him into a two-year relationship with a man who was far more than met the eye. But one night, he chose to ask for a replacement to a broken camera from someone he hadn’t spoken to in a year and a half. He did ask for that. And that kind of led to everything else.

20) Liberté | Mature | 64603 words

AU. 1647. “Pretending you don’t have a heart is not the best way to not get it broken. It’s just the easiest.”

21) Pinkies Never Lie | Explicit | 83615 words | Sequel

AU in which Louis hates his job and loves Harry, Harry just wants a distraction, everyone else wants them to get their shit together, and Louis learns the hard way that new beginnings are only possible when something ends.

22) Baby Heaven’s In Your Eyes | Explicit | 120875 words

They couldn’t be more different if they tried. Louis Tomlinson is 17 years old and in his last year of the most prestigious private school in Doncaster. If there’s one thing that completely annoys him, it’s that there is a poor community college right across the street.

Harry Styles is 19 years old, and (once again) in his last year of college. He goes to community college in Doncaster. He never shows up to classes and if he actually bothers to, he’s either high or drunk; sometimes both. His skin is littered with tattoos and if there’s one thing he absolutely hates, it’s the snobby students attending the private school right across from his.

23) Saving Symphony Hall | Mature | 124766 words

Note: This is a sequel to this fic. This fic has been locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

“I think I have an idea,” Louis said. Slowly, and reluctantly, but with a growing sense of the inevitable. “God damnit, I think I have a really good idea.”

“Oh christ, that’s the problem-solving face,” Babs said. “Last time we saw that face, he sold a company.”

“Wait, what?” Zayn asked.

“Right place, right time,” Louis said. “Also, fuck my life,”

“What?” Zayn repeated. Niall patted his hand.

“I usually just roll with whatever Louis is about to do,” he said. “It’s better for us all.”

“That’s the attitude,” said Louis, “I’ll tell you tomorrow. Tonight, I need to do some research. Zayn, give me your number. I’m gonna save our symphony.”

24) I Only Ever Want You | Explicit | 180079 words

Note: This fic is the sequel to this fic.

Louis & Harry and Liam & Zayn begin to have sex in front of each other and a lot of kink-discovery results from that.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

#bottom louis #top harry #drug use #drug tw #larry #fic recs #blp #blp fic recs

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freebooter4ever · 4 years ago

Text

Sequel to Caboose

@s-k-y-w-a-l-k-e-r requested “desperate train sex” after reading this slightly enemies to lovers fic about Eugene building up the sexual tension with Snafu on the Caboose during their train ride home. The first part of this next chapter is all awkward feelings and shower sex on a train. I might have made it a tad over dramatic, you’ll have to let me know. The very end part with the parrot has already been posted here but I thought I would repost it all together. Read on to let Snafu and Gene finally resolve that tension!

Snafu lies on the floor of the caboose deck for longer than he probably should. He feels drained, and he's desperately waiting, hoping for Eugene to return.

Eugene doesn't return.

Snafu drags himself off the floor, and finally goes inside alone.

"You okay, Snaf?" Burgie asks when Snafu slinks into the seat opposite him, "You disappeared for a bit there."

Snafu sneaks a quick look at the culprit he's sitting beside.

Eugene refuses to make eye contact and conspires to appear completely innocent. As if Snafu isn't still wearing the taste of whatever lip balm Eugene uses.

"I'm fine," Snafu mumbles. He 'accidentally' kicks Eugene's foot when he settles into his seat.

Eugene doesn't even glance up from his journal.

"What're you writing?" Snafu asks him. Snafu swipes his tongue across his bottom lip. The residue there is sticky, and sweet.

"A letter," Eugene blatantly lies. He stares at Snafu's tongue for a minute too long.

"You're writing a letter in a journal?" Snafu asks, "What are you gonna do...rip the pages out when you're done or something? Or mail the whole book?"

"Leave me alone, Snafu," Eugene sighs.

"Leave you alone, leave the girls alone…is there anyone I'm allowed to talk to?" Snafu prods.

This question is what drives Eugene to finally make eye contact with Snafu. And when he does, he glares.

Snafu grins in return and sinks further into his seat. He stares idly out the window for a minute, but Eugene's pen going 'scritch scritch scritch' in the corner of his vision is too distracting. Of course Eugene would claim the window seat and spend the time scribbling away.

"I can't look out the window with you writing like that," Snafu complains.

"I'm not gonna stop writing," Eugene snaps, "So quit your complaining."

"You could at least give me the window seat, so I could enjoy the view uninterrupted," Snafu points out.

"I need the window for better light," Eugene argues.

"Your eyes already going bad, old man?" Snafu grins.

"I'm two years younger than you…" Eugene sighs.

"Yeah but I don't do all that reading," Snafu says wisely, "They say reading destroys your eyesight."

"That's a myth," Eugene claims, "As bad as your heebie-jeebies."

"Says who?" Snafu lifts his chin in defiance.

"My father's a doctor, Snafu," Eugene sighs again.

"Yeah, an internist," Snafu says, "Not an eye doctor."

Eugene looks sharp at him again.

"See, told ya I pay attention to all your ramblings," Snafu shakes his head gravely.

"I'm not giving you the window seat," Eugene concludes stubbornly.

Snafu opens his mouth to start the argument again but Burgie interrupts him first.

"Snafu there is a perfectly good window seat right here beside me," Burgie pats the bench next to him, "You don't need to antagonize Eugene."

Both Snafu and Eugene abruptly turn guiltily towards Burgie after he drops that particular word. Earlier Eugene had accused Snafu of antagonizing every girl on the train. And now here Snafu is again...antagonizing Eugene. Snafu shuts up, feeling caught. He eyes Eugene furtively and watches Eugene's face go from shock to embarrassment. Eugene is clearly realizing that he could be considered one of "Snafu's girls".

Of course, Eugene is easily the most feisty out of anyone Snafu has met...ever. Eugene's got the best reactions to Snafu riling him up. Not that Snafu can openly tell Gene this with Burgie sitting right there.

"He's not antagonizing me," Eugene insists quietly and then buries his nose back in his journal.

"I'm good. Sitting here," Snafu agrees with a shrug, "Don't need to move." And he pushes further into his seat, as if he can become an immovable part of the cushion.

Except Snafu is not 'good'. Snafu is restless. Eugene is there beside him...all stiff and sitting properly, his beautifully long neck arched like a swan, with singular focus on his writing. Snaf is barely two inches away, but is unable to touch him. He wants to run his mouth up that neck. And now that Snafu knows exactly how pliant Eugene's stupid thin lips are, he finds them impossible to resist.

Imagine being able to spend the whole train ride making out. Three whole days, with nothing to do but kiss Gene. Snafu closes his eyes and briefly indulges in this fantasy. Then Eugene coughs and shifts restlessly in his seat till his thigh budges up against Snafu's and Snafu is drawn out of his idle daydreams.

Clearly he's not the only one itching over not being able to touch.

Snafu starts jiggling his leg up and down involuntarily. He runs a hand through his hair, forgetting that he had styled it earlier. His hand comes out slightly wet and he can feel his hair poke out at odd angles.

'Jiggle, jiggle, jiggle,' goes Snafu's anxious knee.

Eugene's hand clamps down on Snafu's thigh and forces Snafu's foot flat to the ground. He effectively stops the jiggling.

They stare at each other as if both of them are surprised that Eugene had the gall to do that.

Burgie clears his throat.

Snafu hastily stands from his seat and knocks Eugene's hand off.

"Gonna sit by the window," Snafu explains and he scoots between Burgie's and Eugene's legs to sit in the spot across from Eugene. Maybe if he can stare at Eugene longingly with an unobstructed view, it will calm his need to touch.

Snafu lasts for all of five minutes before he realizes the view only makes it worse.

Eugene keeps glancing at Snafu from under his eyelashes in between fevered writing stints, so Snafu knows he really, really isn't the only one having this problem.

Snafu decides to solve it with a nap. He wiggles out of his jacket and props it against the window as a pillow.

"Why move to the window if you're only going to sleep rather than enjoy the view?" Eugene asks snidely.

Snafu glares at him and sits upright again. "Too damn cold against the glass, anyway," Snafu says. He looks around the car, desperate for an idea - something, anything.

Meanwhile Burgie peacefully reads his book, oblivious.

In a fit of inspiration, Snafu notes that everywhere in the passenger car Marines are sleeping on one another haphazardly. He doesn't know why he didn't think of this earlier. Eugene's used Snafu as a pillow plenty of times before, and Snafu's slept on Burgie more times than he can count.

Snafu shoots up from his seat. "Need a nap," he says and scoots back through Burgie and Eugene's legs. He plops down next to Eugene and shoves his wadded jacket into the crook of Eugene's neck. Then, before Eugene can protest, Snafu leans against the other guy, lays his head down on Eugene's shoulder, and pretends to go to sleep.

Burgie continues to read quietly.

"It's cold," Snafu whines and snuggles closer into Eugene's side. His hand slips enough that his pinky makes contact with Eugene's belt. Snafu wants to dig underneath that belt and push his fingers possessively inside Eugene's pants, and fall asleep like that, just because he can. Because Eugene would let him.

"I thought you were boiling hot?" Eugene reminds him.

Snafu glares at him. Whose side is he on, anyway?

Burgie hops up, grabs a blanket from the overhead rack, and tosses it at Snafu's head. "Sleep," Burgie orders, "Maybe then we will have some peace."

Snafu gratefully catches the blanket and throws it over himself. A corner of the blanket lands across Eugene's journal.

Eugene sighs heavily. He twitches the blanket away.

But that leaves a gap for cold air to seep through. Snafu twitches the blanket back in place.

"Well," Eugene says with resignation, "Guess we are napping now." He neatly stows away his journal and tugs the blanket to cover himself as well.

Securely hidden under the blanket, Snafu reaches blindly for Gene's hands. Eugene reaches back and they find each other somewhere around Eugene's left thigh. They twine their hands together and hold on tight.

There's no questioning, there's no shyness when they grab hold. Each of them knew exactly what the other wanted. That calming, quiet security of knowing the other person is feeling equally as much. Too much to hold it all in. Every bit of Snafu's riled up emotions are pouring into Eugene through his hands, and Snafu swears he can feel Eugene's coming back to him.

Eugene settles his head against the seat with a contented sigh, looking relaxed for the first time since Snafu sat down. Snafu cautiously looks up at him to see a small smile on Gene's face.

Carefully, so as not to move the blanket too much, Snafu turns Eugene's arm over and wiggles his fingers free from Gene's grasp. He spreads Eugene's hand out and then uses his own finger to draw a heart on Eugene's warm palm. He traces the heart a couple times to make sure Eugene gets the idea.

Eugene's hand closes around Snafu's finger and gives it an answering squeeze. Eugene then takes hold of Snafu's arm and draws a heart of his own on Snafu's palm.

Satisfied, Snafu goes back to holding both Eugene's hands and tries desperately to keep a stupid smile off his face. "Got you to stop writing," Snafu says triumphantly with his head resting next to Eugene's ear.

Eugene pinches Snafu hard in the tender flesh between thumb and fingers. It's extra painful since Eugene's fingernails have grown a little long post VJ day.

All Snafu can do is wince and wiggle in his seat, trying not to give away the fact that their hands are interlocked under the blanket.

Eugene squeezes his hand again as if to forgive Snafu for his annoying neverending pastime of trying to rile Eugene up, and then they settle comfortably into one another.

"Don't drool on my uniform," Eugene requests before Snafu drifts off to sleep.

Guess what Snafu does.

He wakes with a jerk as the train lurches over an uneven track. A thin trail of drool stretches from Snafu's chin to Eugene's shoulder. Snafu must have been sleeping extremely heavily.

"Morning sleeping beauty," Burgie says.

"It's morning?" Snafu asks groggily.

"Yup, you two slept through the night," Burgie says, a twinkle in his eye, "Almost twelve hours. I think you set a record."

"Fuck," Snafu drops his head back onto Eugene's shoulder. If he sits up any farther he'll have to let go of Eugene's hands still entwined in his.

Eugene sleeps on, like a rock.

"Eugene snores," Burgie announces. He seems to be sharing an inside joke with himself, "That's what woke you up. A particularly loud snore."

"Huh," Snafu says, "I thought the train went over a rock maybe."

"Nope, Eugene made that noise," Burgie tells him.

"Huh," Snafu says.

"Guess you guys'll have to suss out a solution to that once you two get your own place together," Burgie says.

It takes a minute for Burgie's words to set in. Then Snafu glances at him sharply. But Burgie simply sits there with his book, looking as sweet as ever. Snafu decides he's gonna go back to sleep and he snuggles comfortably back into Eugene's side.

And of course Eugene chooses that minute to wake up. Eugene doesn't move, he doesn't open his eyes, but he caresses Snafu's hand in a way that has Snafu wide awake instantly. And then he slowly, excruciatingly slowly, moves their clasped hands further down into Eugene's lap under the blanket. Where Eugene is rock hard.

"Jesus," Snafu breathes.

"What?" Burgie asks.

Snafu remembers that for all appearances Eugene is still asleep. And not secretly pressing Snafu's palm to his morning wood. Snafu snatches his hand back and hastily detangles himself from both Eugene and the blanket. "Nothing," Snafu says grumpily.

Eugene makes a show of "waking up" and calmly stretching. He keeps the blanket covering his lap.

Snafu draws his knees up to his chest and forces his mind to concentrate on anything other than the man sitting next to him.

"Snafu you drooled on me, didn't you," Eugene accuses. He pokes at the wet spot on his uniform.

"It was either that or drool over you," Snafu comments fairly. He lolls his head back on his seat, rolls his eyes to the ceiling and tries to look bored.

"Ugh. I hate waking up without fresh clothes to change into," Eugene wrinkles that perfect nose of his, "Thought those days were behind us."

"Still one more," Burgie says brightly.

"Yeah, one day for you," Snafu laughs, "We've got two."

"Two and a half on the train for me," Eugene sighs, "Three more mornings in this smelly uniform."

"I don't smell anything," Snafu reassures him.

"That's cause your stench covers everything within a half mile radius, Snaf," Eugene says.

Snafu scowls at Eugene, "You weren't complaining 'bout it on the back of the caboose."

"The breeze helped there," Eugene counters, quick as if he had it ready on the tip of his tongue.

Snafu can see a tiny grin under his casually blank expression. Eugene knows he is ticking Snafu off, and Eugene is enjoying it. But Snafu bets that if he helped Eugene out with his morning wood situation, Eugene wouldn't be half so picky about his smell.

Like a lightning bolt, Snafu is hit with inspiration. "You know...I hear the sleeper cars got showers," he says slyly, trying not to make eye contact with Gene.

"Really?" Eugene asks eagerly. Maybe a bit more eager than he normally would be. More eager than he should be.

"Yeah," Snafu smiles broadly, "We're moving up in the world. We're on one of those fancy trains. Running water and everything."

"Do you know which direction the sleeper cars are?" Eugene asks. He's already sitting up and looking perky, despite the morning hour.

"Towards the front, I think," Snafu replies.

Eugene stands and moves to the center aisle. And then pauses, rethinks his goal, and leans down towards Snafu, resting his arm behind Snaf's shoulders. "Hey," Eugene muses, "Maybe you should come with me. I might get lost."

"Snafu is not the one I would look to for directions," Burgie warns casually.

"Hey!" Snafu protests.

"You forget, I went through bootcamp with you, Snaf," Burgie says, "Where everyone learned to never leave you in charge of a map."

"It's a train," Snafu scowls, "You go one way and if you hit the end, you turn around and go the other way. How hard can it be?"

"Guess Sledgehammer can find his way on his own, then," Burgie says.

This leaves both Snafu and Sledge speechless. They stay in awkward silence while Snafu tries to come up with an excuse.

"Well yes. Except...," Eugene says as he gazes soulfully down at Snafu, "...now that I'm standing here, getting pretty close to him, I can honestly say Snaf smells awful, if anyone needs a shower, it's him," Eugene points out, "He should come with me."

Snafu sniffs his armpit. He makes a face. "Sledgehammer's right."

"C'mon, we'll find the sleeper cars," Eugene announces and drags Snafu along behind him by the sleeve of his uniform.

Luckily it doesn't actually take them long to find the sleeper car at the very front of the train. And it takes even less time to locate the blessedly empty shower compartment. Eugene shoves Snafu into the changing room space and squeezes in behind him. There's barely enough room for one man, let alone two.

The tight squeeze isn't too much of a hardship as Snafu doesn't mind being squished up between the wall and Gene's body as Eugene boldly rips Snafu's uniform off him.

"Better not actually tear my shirt, I do have to wear it two more days," Snafu warns him with false sincerity.

"Oh, like you care," Eugene says sarcastically and pushes Snafu's pants down around his ankles.

And it's true, Snafu does not care about a few rips in his button holes. Definitely not when Eugene is touching him, and kissing his bare chest.

"You don't eat enough," Eugene comments in between kisses. He runs his thumb down Snafu's side, hitting each individual rib as he goes. He crouches down and kisses Snafu's stomach, right below his sternum, between the apex of his ribs.

"I smoke too much," Snafu counters, his voice husky. He gets his hands in Eugene's hair and nudges Eugene's head down further. "A little lower, Sledge," he says and throws Eugene a smile and wink. He tries to put a bit of distance in his voice, as if all he wants out of this is Eugene's mouth on his dick.

Eugene looks up at Snafu from under his lashes. Rather than following Snafu's suggestion, Eugene playfully changes course and mouths over to Snafu's nipple. One tweak of Eugene's lips and Snafu is reflexively jutting his hips into Eugene's body. "I'll have to help you quit," Eugene mumbles, "The smoking, I mean."

"You stickin around for that long?" Snafu asks, well aware that his type tends to leave once the sex is over with.

Eugene takes his mouth off Snafu's nipple, and straightens up to look Snafu in the eye. "Of course," he says, "Why wouldn't I?"

Suddenly feeling flustered at Eugene's very serious and easily given commitment, Snafu ducks his head and focuses on kicking his boots off. "Sure you will," Snafu says disbelievingly.

"Snafu," Eugene sighs, "We've been together this long, might as well see it through to the end. I lied to Burgie back there. I've spent so long living with your constant presence, I don't even smell you anymore." Eugene sounds slightly grossed out by this fact. He pushes his face into Snafu's neck and takes a deep breath. At the same time he gets his hands around Snafu's ass and grinds their hips together. "I can certainly feel you," Gene says with a smirk.

Snafu tries to respond in kind. His leg bounces forward on it's own accord, giving Gene more access to rut against him. Caught up in his own enthusiasm, Snafu's foot catches on his pants hanging loose around his ankles, and he almost falls over. Luckily the shower dressing room is cramped enough he simply rams into the wall.

Eugene chuckles at him and holds Snafu's elbows to keep Snafu upright while he angrily shakes his foot out of his stupidly tight uniform.

"Why are you still dressed while I'm butt naked?" Snafu glares at Eugene.

"Cause you havent taken anything off me yet," Eugene answers, smug.

"That's my responsibility now?" Snafu asks.

"Mhmm," Eugene hums as he leans in close once more and rests their foreheads together. Eugene's hands run up around Snafu's ribcage, to his shoulders, and down to his waist again rhythmically as if Eugene is trying to memorize his form.

"You sure took my clothes off fast," Snafu notes. He initially thought Eugene was gonna take him in a rush, with the way Gene fought to free Snafu from his pants.

"I wanted to admire you," Eugene says, with his gentle hands doing every bit of that admiring.

Damn artist boy. "We've been naked together in the showers plenty of times, Gene," Snafu whines, ready to get down to the good stuff, "Nothing you haven't seen before."

"Not like this," Eugene argues. He runs his hand down Snafu's stomach, and finally to his groin. "I couldn't take my time to look then. I couldn't touch you then. You know, I never told you, but I find Snafu's pecker awfully beautiful," Eugene adds, as if Snafu's dick should be framed and hung in a museum rather than hung between his legs or hung as stars in the sky.

Snafu swells with pride. He puffs up his chest and bucks his hips against Eugene's. "Looks like Snafu's pecker is angling up again," he announces, "All for you this time."

"I can tell," Eugene grins and he kisses a sensitive spot on Snafu's neck that almost sends Snafu's senseless.

Snafu kinda wishes Eugene complimenting his dick didn't make him as weak as he feels. Like putty in Eugene's hands. Like if Eugene jerks him off right now, it won't even take too long and then Eugene can go back to admiring Snafu all he damn well pleases.

Eugene laughs in Snafu's ear and Snafu realizes he might have been babbling out loud.

"What if I enjoy admiring you like this? Maybe I don't want it to end just yet," Eugene teases and pauses his hand's movement over Snafu's dick, "You act all haughty like you don't need anyone, but now…"

"Fuck, Gene," Snafu groans, canting his hips desperately, willing to do almost anything, "You're right..."

"Right about what?" Eugene asks with his know-it-all smirk. He moves his hands around to Snafu's ass and leans on him, pressing him into the wall.

"I need you…" Snafu admits, grinding against Gene's leg.

Eugene's fingers dig into the flesh of Snafu's butt and he holds Snafu tight against his body, not allowing him to move even a tiny wiggle.

"Gene…" Snafu groans, "How many times do I have to…?"

"Beg," Eugene orders, his voice and warm breath on Snafu's ear.

That sends an odd chill down Snafu's spine. "Fuck," Snafu complains, "No!" He pushes out of Eugene's grip and shoves Eugene against the opposite wall. "Asshole," Snafu tells him.

But Eugene is smiling. He's got such an innocent, teasing smile. His smile knows something Snafu doesn't. Almost as if this is some inside joke between them. Except if there is a joke, it's gone over Snafu's head.

Eugene's eyes glitter as he looks at Snafu. In fact, his entire body lights up, like he worships the ground Snafu walks on. A truth Snafu is painfully aware of given the number of times Eugene unquestionably obeyed Snafu's orders during the war. He'd follow Snafu into anything, even this. Whatever this is.

Eugene's erection is outlined in his pants. He wants this as much as Snafu does. If it is true that Snafu corrupted Eugene, he's corrupted him fully.

"Show me how you do it," Eugene suggests.

"What?" Snafu asks with confusion. He's about ready to gather his clothes and leave - abandon Eugene hard and wanting in the bathroom just like Eugene left him on the caboose floor.

"I want to make you feel good, so…show me what you do," Eugene gestures to Snafu's dick.

"It's not rocket science," Snafu shakes his head.

"I know, but I want to watch you," Eugene says.

So Snafu saunters over closer to Eugene. He lifts his chin high and places one hand against the wall over Eugene's shoulder. Snafu's other hand takes hold of his dick and starts to masturbate. All while staring Eugene straight in the eye. To Snafu's surprise, Eugene doesn't look away.

"Thought you were gonna watch and learn," Snafu gripes and nods down at his crotch, where Eugene's eyes should be.

"I am learning," Eugene says. He places his hands tenderly on either side of Snafu's cheeks and cradles his head. He keeps gazing into Snafu's eyes which somehow makes Snafu even more fucking turned on than he already is.

"Oh hell," Snafu whines.

Eugene kisses him. Gene kisses him and then slides his hands down Snafu's body and takes over in jerking Snafu off just as Snafu is about to come.

"Ohhhh," Snafu moans. He grabs Eugene's head and fucking devours him, pouring every bit of unreleased sexual tension into the kiss.

Gene inches Snafu closer and closer to the edge till…"Sledgehammer, I'm gonna…"

Eugene smiles proudly and speeds up with encouragement from Snafu, but he warns, "If you dare get my uniform dirty…"

"Fuck you, Sledge," Snafu bites his lip and fumbles Eugene's hands out of the way. Snafu gets there just in time. He comes with gusto, spilling all over his own hands. But thankfully, only in his hands. He drops his head to Eugene's shoulder and pants. He feels a bit stunned.

Eugene rubs his back comfortingly, but Snafu barely feels it.

Once Snafu's collected himself, he leans back and holds his hands up for inspection. "See, not a single drop on your precious jacket," Snafu brags obnoxiously.

Eugene laughs and drags him into another kiss.

"Jesus, Gene!" Snafu protests, "Let me wash my hands first so I can touch you again and not smear cum everywhere!"

But Eugene won't take his lips off him.

Again, not that Snafu is complaining or anything. But it's a bit of a struggle to slide under Eugene's arm and grope for the sink faucets. His face still suctioned to Eugene's, Snafu blindly shoves his hands under the water and slaps them around to get all his spunk off.

Eugene wraps a hug around Snaf from behind, kissing his neck and chuckling at their reflection. "You cut the finest figure I have ever seen," Eugene whispers. He runs his hands down Snafu's abdominal V, and rests them right over his groin.

"Yeah, and how many figures have you seen?" Snafu is sarcastic, "One?"

"I've made quite the study of it," Eugene insists.

"Oh yeah?"

"Mhmm," Eugene says, "I've studied all the old masters' anatomy sketches - Da Vinci, Michelangelo…"

"That gay painter?" Snafu pipes up.

"What?" Eugene asks.

"Michelangelo, the guy who wrote love poems to his male nude models?" Snafu says.

"I don't know anything about that…"

"Da Vinci was gay too…" Snafu says, relishing in Eugene's obvious discomfort.

"How can you be sure of any of this?" Eugene asks.

"Oh please, you think gay erotica is easy to come by in New Orleans?" Snafu laughs, "You weren't the only one reading books on the 'Old Masters' anatomy studies. But for me it wasn't so much reading as it was a lot of looking. Checked 'em out from the library all the time, just not for your reasons." He leans back into Eugene's touch and smirks at Gene in the mirror, "Or maybe exactly for your reasons?"

"I…" Eugene is blushing, "I thought it was a coincidence."

"What? That these raunchy old dudes filled up pages and pages of meticulously detailed male nude drawings? Drawings that maybe turned you on?" Snafu asks.

"I never thought of art that way," Eugene argues.

"You trying to tell me studying those never made you hot?" Snafu teases.

"Well, there was one…."

"Ooooh!" Snafu coos. He comfortably wraps Eugene's arms in front of his stomach, and settles in as if to hear a story, smiling at Gene's blushing face all the while.

"I once saw a slide depicting a portion of the Sistine Chapel paintings..." Eugene confesses.

"Getting hot in church!" Snafu crows.

"The slide was shown in college, not in church!" Eugene protests, "Anyway, one of the male figures was sitting with his torso elegantly twisted and the cloth behind him was draped so it appeared to fall between his naked legs…" Eugene slides his hands down Snafu's body and onto his thigh, "...like the fabric was caressing him sensuously...like…" Eugene trails off and dips his hand between Snafu's own legs. He grips the soft slack muscle of Snafu's inner thigh. "Adductor group" Eugene whispers. He runs his hands down the inside of Snafu's leg, tracing a long line of muscle and disappearing out of sight in the mirror. "Sartorius," Gene names the muscle anatomy on Snafu's body as he goes, "Vastus Medialis. Internal oblique. External oblique."

Snafu closes his eyes. He can't see the muscles Eugene is referencing, but he can feel Eugene's fingers dig deep almost to the bone, massaging the different areas. "Fuck Sledge. Only you could make Latin hot."

Eugene laughs quietly behind Snafu's head. "Only you would think me benignly listing anatomical names was hot," he says.

"Everything you do is hot," Snafu's grin widens.

"Scrubbing barrels?"

"The hottest!" Snafu exclaims.

Eugene chuckles again.

Snafu opens his eyes to watch Sledgehammer giggle. Eugene's whole body trembles, and his mouth forms a wide 'V'. His laugh is pretty hot too.

The door knocks.

They both freeze. Snafu guiltily turns the sink faucet off.

The door knocks again.

"Busy," Snafu yells.

"Hurry it up!" a voice calls, "You're hogging it!"

"No chance!" Snafu retorts.

This time the door bangs as the man on the other side takes his angry fist to it.

Snafu starts to feel nervous. He's unsure how they're gonna get out of this one if the guy outside waits for them to leave.

"Ignore it, we're paying customers," Eugene whispers to Snafu.

"Not in the sleeper car," Snafu points out. The ticket crumpled on the floor in his pants back pocket is for coach only.

"Turn the shower on," Eugene says softly in his ear.

Snafu reaches past the shower curtain and does as he's told. The water drowns out the outside voices, but they still hear footsteps as the guy goes away.

"Get in. I'll get undressed and join you in a minute," Eugene orders.

Eugene being bossy is a bit of a turn on.

"Sure," Snafu drawls. He pinches Gene on the ass and adds, "Gluteus maximus," before he squeezes past the curtain into the shower.

"You pinched the Gemellus muscles, actually," Eugene catches his hand and yanks him into a quick kiss before letting him go.

Snafu slides the curtain shut to let Eugene change, and starts to wrestle with the dumb shower knobs. None of them seem to work the way one might expect. "What the fuck?" Snafu complains and punches the stupid thing. Water comes out. In squirts.

"The shower head's ejaculating," Snafu tells Eugene on the other side of the curtain, "We might need to give it some privacy before we start." Another few squirts and the water eases into a steady stream.

"You forgot the soap," Gene's still clothed arm sticks into the shower between the tile edge and the curtain, and waves the bar at Snafu.

"Don't need soap," Snafu says haughtily.

"Yes you do," Eugene counters and waggles the soap at him again.

"Fresh water and a lil spit shine are all a man needs," Snafu insists.

Eugene shoves the soap into Snafu's chest, "Use the damn soap, Snaf. You filthy grimlin."

Rolling his eyes, Snafu does as he's told and grabs the soap. But he also grabs Gene's arm, and yanks both into the shower with him.

Eugene yelps when the water hits his chest and dribbles all over his uniform. "Shelton!" Eugene sputters, "Three more days! In this uniform!" He can't even get a proper sentence out, he's so angry.

Snafu gives him a better reason for speechlessness by putting his mouth over Eugene's.

Gene immediately forgets about his wet uniform woes and melts into the kiss. He corners Snafu and braces himself on the tile floor using the rubber soles of his boots. His strong stance keeps the two of them steady despite the shaking train. Whatever gunk Eugene styles his hair with melts away too and the long strands over his forehead slowly droop into Snafu's face.

Snafu breaks the kiss, leans his forehead against Gene's and fumbles to get all of Eugene's buttons open. In his haste, he doesn't even bother to pull the shirt out of Gene's pants. He just shoves the open shirt to the side as best as he can and drags Eugene in. The first touch of Eugene's bare skin against Snafu's own chest fulfills almost every secret wish Snafu had for this moment.

Snafu holds him there without kissing without even looking, and just feels it. He thinks he maybe understands now what Eugene meant by simply admiring.

Then Eugene ruins the mood by whispering, "My boots are filling up with water."

Snafu snorts, "Least it's not sweat?"

"You gonna let me take them off this time?" Eugene asks with a smirk.

"Only if you take the rest of it off too," Snafu tugs at Eugene's shirt.

The stream of water slows to a trickle and then stops altogether

"You turned the shower off?" Eugene asks, "Thanks…?" He sounds slightly befuddled. Probably because both of Snafu's hands are gripping Gene's clothes.

"I didn't touch it," Snafu remarks, "Its push button. The thing stops on it's own."

“What?”

“Push button,” Snafu demonstrates by leaning over to press the shower knob again. Water spurts out and hits Gene in the back of the head.

“Who makes a push button shower?” Eugene complains. He ducks away to avoid the water stream that starts steadily trickling down.

“Santa fe railroad company apparently,” Snafu comments.

“I will have to remember to file a complaint," Eugene scowls at the little plastic knob.

"Don't know how you're gonna remember that, you already forgot to get undressed," Snafu tells him, and then playfully pushes Gene back out of the shower, "And don't come back till you're naked, you filthy grimlin."

"My ruined uniform is your fault, Snafu," Gene points out, "You pulled me in."

"Yeah, yeah," Snafu taunts, "it ain't ruined. It just got a free wash."

Gene doesn't say anything else, but if Snafu listens carefully he can hear the titillating sounds of Eugene's belt being unbuckled. A few thuds signify when the boots come off and another quiet jingle as Eugene's pants and belt fall to the floor.

Eugene will be stepping into the shower any minute. Snafu figures he had better turn the water back on, give it a chance to heat up before Eugene joins him.

Despite Snafu's reassurances to Eugene about how they've seen each other naked in many innocuous circumstances, Snafu feels nervous as hell. Eugene is rather flighty and embarrassed when it comes to sex and the last thing Snafu wants to do is scare him off. And this stupid train is making that a tall order.

Snafu slams his hand down on the shower knob and pushes it repeatedly, taking his stress out on the poor thing more than it deserves. The water comes out of the nozzle in spurts, and after twenty or so pushes, finally turns warm. Snafu breathes a sigh of relief and turns his face into the stream.

"Snaf?" Eugene asks softly from behind the shower curtain.

"Yeah?" Snafu asks back.

Eugene doesn't answer.

Snafu moves to peek behind the curtain but Eugene holds it closed.

"You coming in?" Snafu asks.

No response.

"Gene?"

Still no response.

The water trickles to a stop, Snafu doesn't bother to turn it back on again. "Gene, if you want me to use this soap, you're gonna have to come in and make me," Snafu challenges.

"What if you don't like it?" Eugene asks.

"What is there to like about a bar of soap? Soap is soap!" Snafu is confused, "You know I don't do flowers and shit. I'll end up smelling like a hat box." His mother had a Sunday hat she kept on the top shelf of the broom closet in a beat up old cardboard box with a satchel of lavender stored inside. 'Looks nice, smells nice, and no bugs,' was her mantra.

"No...I mean…" Eugene sighs, "I'm not built like those…" he stops, hesitates, and starts again, "Those other guys, with their steel band muscles. The military men who could've stepped out of an anatomical study - all chiseled jaws, and broad chests, and sculpted arms…what if you don't like...me?"

"Sledgehammer, I've wanted to fuck you since the first day you walked into my tent," Snafu says through the curtain, "And you were more freckles than muscle then."

"Yeah I figured, but…"

"But nothing," Snafu laughs, "get your butt in here!"

Again the other side of the curtain goes quiet. Snafu starts to realize that Gene might be serious about this.

Snafu changes his tone, to something a little kinder, and adds further compelling facts to his argument, "I've seen you naked. Many times."

"Not like this," Eugene says again, a stubborn note in his voice.

"I've jerked myself off to the thought of you naked, many times," Snafu offers, "How about that?" He's confident this will boost Eugene's confidence.

"I...don't think anyone's ever said that to me before," Eugene says with mild skepticism in his voice.

Snafu presses his hand to Eugene's on the opposite side of the curtain and the thin, opaque sheet of plastic between them is almost as bad as only being able to hold hands under a damn blanket. "Okay, Gene. I won't pressure you," Snafu says softly, "This stupid shower has enough pressure issues as it is," -in that instant the water pressure changes yet again and spurts of it slap Snafu in the face. He shakes his head free of water and tells Eugene, "Just give me a few to finish here, and then I'll let you have the shower to yourself. All right?" He steps away from the curtain and pushes the knob to fix the stream.

Snafu runs his hair under the shower to wet it fully. A difficult task given that with every bump in the tracks, the stream cuts off briefly. Not to mention Snafu keeps stumbling into the damn wall. He opens the cardboard carton of soap and successfully pulls the soap free, but the minute he tries to scrub his hair with it, the train jostles his hand and out pops the soap bar. Like a weasel. Or Eugene's dick if Snafu could just yank those dungarees off him.

Snafu catches the damn thing, but barely. He rubs it against his head a few times, and then a particularly nasty jostle careens his elbow into the wall and sends the soap skittering to the floor. Snafu grumbles at it, picks it up, and tries again.

This song and dance with the soap continues for a while longer before Snafu gets fed up.

"I'm not coming out..." Snafu announces to Eugene, "...just let me reach…" He thrusts his hand between the wall and the curtain and tosses the soap out of the shower, "Take it! It's worse than a damn jumping bean." The soap collides with the wall and bounces into the sink.

Snafu can hear Eugene swearing behind the curtain as he tries to catch the soap.

"It landed on your clothes," Eugene says, "So if your pants smell like flowers, you've only yourself to blame."

"Better than whatever the hell they smelled like before," Snafu says. He hurriedly runs his hands under his armpits and prepares to exit the treacherous shower.

"Snaf, wait," Eugene says quickly.

"Yeah?" Snafu freezes.

"I changed my mind. Can I…" Eugene's fingers appear around the edge of the curtain. It opens a crack.

It's as if Snafu has been given a second chance at life. The ball is in his court again. Snafu isn't used to the side of Eugene who feels insecure and uncertain. But this? Snafu knows exactly how to handle this.

"Only if you say the magic word," Snafu answers in a tease.

"Please?" Eugene says incredulously, like he suspects Snafu is pulling his leg.

"Nope, wrong word," Snafu insists. He turns around and tilts his head back to let the trickle of water seep into his already drying hair again. Better get ready for when Eugene finally breaks down that curtain. Snafu needs to be wet, and shiny, and vivacious.

"A magic word, Shelton, seriously?" Eugene asks, the annoyance slipping so easily into his countenance.

"Nope, still not the right word," Snafu repeats. He shakes his head, flinging his wet curls out of his eyes.

"You expect me to just start saying random words?" Eugene asks.

"I'll let you know when you get it right," Snafu says.

"Asshole," Eugene grumbles.

"Wrong!" Snafu exclaims.

There's silence on the other side of the curtain. Eugene is really bad at this.

"Are you really going to stand out there alone and bare ass-ed instead of continuing to guess?" Snafu taunts.

"Snafu, just let me in," Eugene sighs.

"Nope!"

"Merriell!"

"Yup, that's the one," Snafu bends his head back again.

Eugene lets out a frustrated mumble. The curtain jerks open. "Close your eyes," Eugene orders.

Snafu closes his eyes and lets the water fill his ears, so for a minute it's just him and solitude. He stops thinking about Eugene, he stops thinking about himself. The only thing he focuses is on is the sound of his own heartbeat...and how difficult it is to stay standing in one place while the train tries to throw him in all directions.

"Well, this is narrow," Eugene observes when he steps into the shower. The metal shower curtain rod squeaks as Gene closes it behind himself.

Snafu hums.

Gene's hands press against Snafu's stomach. They are warmer than the outside air but wet when he slides them around Snafu's waist. The next thing Snafu feels is Eugene's lips kissing his neck, sucking at the water running down his skin. Eugene is dying of thirst and it might be Snafu's fault.

And then the train rattles extra hard, and Snafu is thrown into Eugene and Eugene is thrown into the wall.

Giggles abound.

Snafu opens his eyes.

Eugene looks at him, and Snafu looks at Eugene. Eugene is fucking beautiful, as always. Snafu makes sure to tell him so.

Eugene seems satisfied by Snafu's sincerity.

And finally, they come together and get down to the good stuff.

It isn't easy. Everything - including the inconsistent water spray, the constant need to pound on the button to make water come out, and the occasional bumps in the railroad track - combines to try and kill the mood.

But nevertheless Snafu persists, because Eugene is nude, and wet, and slippery due to Gene bringing the damn soap back into the shower with him. And he insists on using it on Snafu.

Both of them perpetually get too distracted to remember to hit the water button, and eventually they leave it off. But this also means that when Eugene lathers them up with soap, there is nowhere for that soap to go except down. Things get extremely slippery underfoot.

"Should've kept the boots on," Snafu suggests snidely, "Better grip in the soles."

Eugene snorts into Snafu's shoulder and grips Snafu's hips harder to make up for the slick slide of his feet on the shower floor. "Just hold onto me, I'll keep you upright," He says, and smiles adoringly at Snafu's antics.

"You kidding me? You're more unsteady on your feet than I am, soap boy!" Snafu laughs.

It's worth it though, because the glide of Eugene's bare thigh between Snafu's legs is to die for. Their bodies become one single undulating soapy mass. And Eugene's body, for all his insecurities and shyness, feels fucking amazing. Everything is amazing. Snafu hopes no one else needs the shower anytime soon, because Snafu intends to stay in it for the rest of the train ride. All three days.

Snafu is riding high on pleasure till he tries to get his mouth on Eugene's nipple and tastes soap. Snafu chokes, and spits, and Eugene looks insulted. "We need to wash off," Snafu explains. He slams his fist against the stupid button.

"Maybe if we had sex against the water knob, we'd keep pressing it naturally…" Eugene suggests, "That's how sex works, right?" He pantomimes a hammer motion with his hips and Snafu almost loses it then and there.

"Pretty sure we'd break our heads if we tried that in the shower, Sledgehammer," Snafu warns.

They try it anyway.

Sure enough, just as Eugene's dick successfully penetrates an inch into Snafu's ass, the train jiggles again and throws them off balance. Snafu slides under Gene and falls to his butt, and Eugene braces his hands against the wall, straddling over Snafu and looking alarmed.

"Makes it easier," Snafu shrugs and takes Gene's cock into his mouth instead.

Eugene gasps and almost buckles to the floor.

Snafu wraps his arms around Eugene's body and helps him stand.

Eugene leans his shoulder against the shower wall and winds his fingers into Snafu's hair. "Merriell," Eugene pants, "Mer…"

Snafu simply grins and works Eugene closer and closer to the edge. Eugene's arousal is a little hard for Snafu to read. Eugene isn't particularly physically expressive. Eugene's body grows tighter, like he's almost afraid of the point he's nearly about to hit. There's so much visible tension built up in Eugene's shoulders, all Snafu wants is to see that relax - to be the person who can make Eugene's taught string snap.

The only way Snafu knows Eugene is close is by the noises Gene makes. As Eugene loses his control, his moans grow almost too loud for the precarious situation they're in.

Eugene's eyes close, his breaths quicken, and he rolls his hips in one last desperate push.

Everything comes crashing to a climax. The train hits a bump. Eugene moans, his muscles shake. Snafu involuntarily pops off Eugene's dick (like the soap out of Snafu's hand) and is thrown backwards. Eugene slips, having lost total control of his legs. Cum squirts everywhere, all over the blue tile shower wall like Eugene's some sort of Jackson Pollock. He falls and his knee lands on top of Snafu's groin. Snafu stifles his cry of agony and doubles over. Eugene immediately turns from blissed out to worried and apologetic and in his haste to help Snafu, he instead falls in Snafu's lap.

They sit there together in the aftermath and watch the water turn off. The shower walls are still painted in Gene's cum.

"You're a real artist now, Gene," Snafu says, observing the mess. His voice is tight and he's still crouched in pain.

Eugene blinks at Snafu, lets the words sink in, and then rolls his eyes, "Oh god. Don't even start." He slowly gets back on his feet again. He stretches his legs, flexes his feet to grip the tile better.

Snafu grins.

"Snaf?" Eugene says, taking deep breaths as his heart rate goes down.

"Yeah?" Snafu stares up at him, anxious to hear how Gene's taking all this. And not wanting to influence him with Snafu's own commentary.

Eugene swallows a gulp of air, closes his eyes, and leans his head against the cool tile. He accidentally puts his hand in a wet smear of his own cum and doesn't even notice. "Can we do that again?" Gene asks.

Snafu's grin widens, "Anytime."

Gene huffs a laugh. He tries to stand straight, his left foot hits a soapy patch, and Eugene's leg almost goes out from underneath him. Again.

Snafu chuckles as he lifts his arms to prop up Gene's ass and prevent him from falling.

"Sorry!" Eugene gives up on standing and instead slowly lowers himself backwards down into Snafu's lap. The round globe of Eugene's bare butt grows bigger and bigger in Snafu's field of vision.

Snafu is not complaining. He guides Eugene's ass safely down to his level. "I fucking love you," he says.

Eugene spins around to stare at him in surprise. He almost drops his knee onto Snafu's groin a second time, “What?”

The smile drops from Snafu's face and he tries to stop Gene from moving around so much, “Careful!”

“You said you loved me," Eugene says stubbornly.

Snafu scowls, “Yeah to your ass. As it came crashing down onto my face.”

Eugene glares at Snafu, challenging him to refute Eugene's earlier statement.

Snafu refuses to say anything related to the dumbass words that slipped out of his mouth easier than Eugene's soapy feet slipping on wet tile.

Eugene stares him down, clearly stubborn enough to believe that he can win this contest. He underestimates Snafu's ability to go deadfaced. Their staredown lasts for at least five minutes.

Until finally Eugene caves, "Love you too, Snaf." He gives Snafu's knee a friendly push.

Snafu pushes Eugene's face away so his back is to Snafu once again.

Eugene tries to stand on wobbly feet, more determined this time.

Snafu leans forward, wraps his arms around Eugene's waist, and presses his face to Eugene's right butt cheek.

"Snafu, you're gonna make me fall again…" Eugene warns. He braces himself on either side of the shower.

"Right, sorry…balance," Snafu mumbles and switches to Eugene's left butt cheek. To even things out.

"Okay…" Eugene laughs and turns himself around, "Let me help you up now."

Snafu takes Eugene's offered hand but when he tries to get up, the pain in his groin and shoulder where Gene accidentally crushed him flares up in agony. "Give me a minute," Snafu says and tries to hide his grimace. He drops back down to the tile and leans against the wall, pulling his legs close to his chest.

"Snaf?" Eugene sounds concerned.

"I'm fine," Snafu replies with a smile. He wishes Eugene wouldn't stare at him so much, "Just let me sit."

"Snaf…" Eugene sounds increasingly frustrated.

Snafu closes his eyes and wills the pain away.

A gentle hand takes hold of Snafu's wrist and lifts Snafu's hand from where it's covering his shoulder. Eugene replaces it with his own. "Snaf, don't do this," Eugene says.

"What?" Snafu cracks an eye open.

"Make yourself small," Eugene says, "You are allowed to take up space. Even if right now inside this inhumanely cramped shower the only space I have to give you is in my heart."

Snafu blinks at him, "Holy shit Sledgehammer, how long did it take you to come up with that one?"

Eugene grins, "Been thinking about it since you pulled me in with all my clothes on. I'm gonna write it down when we're finished. In my journal. Next to my lengthy descriptions of your pillowed lips."

"We oughta get out of this cursed shower so you can put those clothes back on," Snafu comments. He tries to hold onto the shower curtain to pull himself up.

"Snaf, that cheap plastic will rip right down if you put your weight on it," Eugene warns, "Hold onto me instead."

Snafu does as told and leans half his weight on Eugene's chest. "I don't need you," Snafu insists, staring into Gene's face defiantly.

"I know," Eugene smiles, "But I also know you want me. So...."

Snafu kisses him gently to shut Gene up.

Without all the acrobatics they kept trying before, it's suddenly pretty easy for them both to lean against the shower wall and let the train rock them side to side as they make out.

Snafu is freezing cold. The water stopped spurting long ago, and his toes feel like individual icicles. But every place on his body where Gene puts his hands is warm, and as long as Eugene keeps his lips on him, Snafu doesn't care about all the rest.

"I dreamt we could spend the entire train ride kissing like this," Snafu whispers to Gene.

"Yeah?" Eugene's eyes light up. He trails a finger down the muscle of Snafu's neck, "I'd do it." Eugene leans in and replaces his finger with his lips, "If i thought we could get away with it, I would sit right in the middle of that passenger car, necking with you till we reach Mobile."

Snafu latches on to the last few words of Eugene's sentence: 'till we reach Mobile.' 'We.'

"Fuck, Gene," Snafu says softly.

They kiss till the train starts to slow. "Where the fuck do you think we are now?" Snafu asks, knowing they probably aren't even in Texas yet.

"Tucson probably," Eugene mumbles. He unsticks Snafu's bare skin from the shower wall and pushes him toward the center of the stall, "C'mon we only have a few minutes before everybody is aboard."

They end up getting twenty. Twenty blissful minutes of a perfectly still, unmoving train. The rush from the beginning of their tryst returns. Snafu slams his hand against the shower knob and honest-to-god hot water comes out, melting their fingers and toes, and putting Snafu in a languid, sensual mood. His entire body is nothing but sensation and Eugene is a goddamn dream.

As long as Snafu keeps his hand behind his back covering the shower knob, the rocking of their bodies does exactly as Eugene had originally intended and keeps the water flowing. Eugene laughs a little at how much easier everything is all of a sudden. How they fit together so well now.

Snafu laughs with him. He's genuinely sharing this with Eugene, instead of focusing on how to take what little pleasure he can from this and get it over with as fast as possible.

He's actually disappointed when the train starts moving again. He nearly slides out of Eugene's embrace, but Eugene grabs Snafu's hands and holds him in place.

"We're getting all prune-y," Eugene comments as he examines the wrinkled pads of Snafu's fingers.

"Turnin' into raisins," Snafu grins.

"We should probably get out. Return to our seats. They're bound to be wondering where we got to," Eugene replies.

"Burgie probably thinks we jumped ship," Snafu agrees.

"Do you think Burgie knows?" Eugene asks, his voice turning serious.

Snafu snorts, "What you think he'd be jealous? Florence has your same hair color, Sledgehammer, but she also has a couple of other things I think Burgie'd miss." And he pantomimes two large jugs hanging in front of his chest.

"Snaf," Eugene admonishes, "Do you think he knows?"

"Of course he knows," Snafu rolls his eyes and leans against the shower wall as the train picks up speed.

Eugene sways into him and grabs Snafu around the waist. "We need to keep this secret. We can't tell anyone else," he insists.

Snafu nods. He knows the drill. He saw this coming a mile away, probably far sooner than Eugene did. Eugene with his lofty ideals and blind romance.

Eugene nods in return. He turns towards the shower curtain and yanks it open. Something makes him pause though. Snafu can see the indecision in his hunched shoulders. Eugene looks back at Snafu. And then lunges towards him for one more kiss.

"Fuck you're good at that," Snafu mutters when Gene finally releases him.

"At what?" Eugene asks.

"Final kisses," Snafu says, unable to keep the melancholy out of his own voice.

"That's not a final kiss," Eugene counters, looking confused, "That's a promise."

"A promise for what?" Snafu asks.

"You know...," Eugene shrugs. He turns his back on Snafu and steps out of the shower.

"So that's not you saying goodbye?" Snafu follows him.

"No, Snafu, that's me saying 'hold that thought until I can do it again'," Eugene explains with a wry smile, "Hopefully soon."

"Huh," Snafu scratches the nape of his neck and wonders what else he might've read wrong about Eugene's behavior.

Eugene holds up his still sopping wet uniform with a look of dismay. "It's been hours," he complains, "And still…"

"Wanna trade?" Snafu asks with a gleam in his eye.

"Yeah and have Burgie ask why I've suddenly gone up in rank?" Eugene retorts sarcastically.

Snafu chuckles and turns his attention to the bathroom air vent while Eugene struggles to put on his wet pants.

"What are you doing?" Eugene asks. He sounds tired. He leans against the wall, his pants only halfway up his legs.

Snafu ignores the question. Instead he climbs onto the sink, stands, and braces himself against the wall to reach the small air vent intended to keep the room fresh. He cleverly pops open the vent, catches it before it falls into the little changing room, and sets it down in the sink. "Figure we'll be here awhile," Snafu shrugs, "Give you some chance to dry off." He digs out a cigarette and his lighter.

"I can't get the pants to go over my thighs," Eugene complains, "They're...clinging."

Snafu grins and gestures for Eugene to step closer. With his cigarette hanging out his mouth, Snafu concentrates whole-heartedly on helping stuff Eugene back into his uncomfortably wet slacks.

"I'm gonna be cold for hours," Eugene says mournfully.

"S'why we should stay here," Snafu comments and gestures at him, "C'mere I'll help keep you warm."

Eugene smiles sardonically at him and lets Snafu drape his arms around Eugene's shoulders.

Snafu smokes, and lets the breeze carry it away out of the train.

Eugene reclines into Snafu's arms - his bare back against Snafu's bare chest. Eugene doesn't smoke with Snafu, but he does reach over for Snafu's free hand and starts picking at Snafu's fingernails. Once Gene finishes cleaning the left hand, Snafu obligingly switches his cigarette into that one so Eugene can do the other. Snafu's fingernails have never been so clean.

In the end they hold out their hands to compare.

"Think your nails are nicer than mine," Eugene notes.

"All that milk I don't drink," Snafu jokes.

Eugene takes Snafu's hand in his and kisses his palm.

"Gene, what you said...about stickin around….did you mean it?" Snafu asks quietly, maybe a little skeptically.

Eugene stiffens, like maybe Snafu's question surprised him a little. He turns in Snafu's arms and looks up at him.

Snafu blinks back. He brings his hand holding the cigarette back inside from hanging out the air vent.

Eugene silently gestures for Snafu to come closer.

Snaf balances his cigarette between his lips and carefully eases himself into a precarious crouch on the sink shelf. Fortunately if he falls, he will fall into Eugene. Who will catch him. Hopefully.

Eugene grips Snafu's hips tightly and stares into his face.

Snafu's not sure what he's looking for.

Whatever Gene's looking for, he finds it. He calmly takes the cigarette out of Snafu's mouth, tosses it out the window, and puts his open lips there instead.

Snafu gives himself over to the kiss and lets his butt drop onto the sink. The faucet is a little uncomfortable, but Eugene solves that problem too by shifting his hands underneath Snafu's thighs and lifting him a few inches above the shelf. Once again, Snafu is squished into a corner.

If it were anyone else he'd be nervous, and he'd already be running. Even now, Gene's clothes are so cold and wet that at first Snafu shrinks away from Eugene's hold. But gradually Snafu's skin becomes used to the temperature and when he wraps his legs around Eugene's waist, the heat from their bodies makes the damp bearable.

Snafu wants to stay in this shower cubicle, but he can't think up an excuse for it besides his insatiable thirst for touching Gene. Snafu runs his hands up and down Eugene's arms and asks, "Have I warmed you up yet?"

"Nope, think you had better continue trying…" Gene says and smiles when Snafu draws him into another kiss.

The sky outside the air vent is dark by the time they finally leave the little room. They're driven out by hunger. Eugene's stomach growls incredibly loudly, and they giggle together over how soft they've gone now that they eat three full meals a day.

"Burgie'll never believe me if I tell him your gut is louder than your snore," Snafu says as he helpfully rebuttons Gene's pants and buckles Gene's belt.

Eugene is completely unhelpful in that he refuses to keep his lips off Snafu even for a minute.

"I love you," Gene whispers in Snafu's ear and Snafu worries he's going to turn the words into a new mantra. "Merriell," Eugene sighs as he untucks Snafu's shirt from his pants for the third time that day.

"Gene, we gotta go back," Snafu hastily stuffs his shirt into his pants yet again, without bothering to smooth it.

"Thought you said we could spend the rest of the train ride necking…" Eugene argues and starts unbuttoning the shirt Snafu just buttoned five minutes ago.

"Yeah, in my dream…" Snafu retorts.

"I'm making your dreams come true…"

"Sledgehammer," Snafu finally puts his foot down and pushes Eugene an arm's length away, "We can't stay in here. Burgie's leaving tomorrow."

Eugene stops, and nods, "I know."

"You know?" Snafu mocks.

"Snaf, I…"

"You don't give a shit," Snafu argues, "By this time tomorrow you'll likely never see any of us all together ever again, and you don't care…"

"Snafu, what the hell…"

Snafu elbows Eugene out of the way and forces the door open. He stomps into the sleeper car and down the hall. Eugene catches up to him just as Snafu opens the divider doors.

"Snafu, slow down, I'm coming…!" Eugene says right before Snafu closes the sleeper car door on his face.

Eugene wrenches it open, grabs Snafu's wrist and prevents him from opening the next divider door. They stand there awkwardly, swaying with the train, the tracks especially loud here in the space between cars without any padding to buffer the racket.

"I'm fucking freezing," Eugene shivers at the wind blowing between the cracks and metal joints.

"You stink too," Snafu points out kindly, "Like flowers."

"Snafu, say it," Eugene demands, "Say it, and we can go sit with Burgie for the rest of the way, and I swear I'll be good."

"Why?" Snafu stubbornly asks.

"Because I need…" Eugene braces himself against the moving connector walls.

Snafu pries Eugene's hands off the shifting metal before the dumbass gets his fingers chopped.

"I need reassurance," Eugene admits.

Snafu holds Gene's hands tightly in his own and stares him down. He scowls and keeps his voice as low as possible, "I don't even know what love is, Sledge."

Eugene deflates.

Snafu drops his hands and opens the passenger car door. He walks through and can feel Eugene following him a good step or two behind. Neither of them say much more than a cursory hello to Burgie when they reach their seats.

"How is it you guys look even worse for the wear after going to freshen up?" Burgie asks.

"Shitty shower," Snafu says and slumps in his seat beside Burgie. He props his feet on the cushion across from him.

"No towels, no shampoo, no brush," Eugene says. He glares at Snafu's boots and shifts so he's sitting as far away from them as possible.

"Sledgehammer, why are you wet?" Burgie asks.

"Snafu pushed me into the shower, fully clothed," Eugene deadpans.

"He stunk," Snafu adds.

Neither of them can look Burgie in the eye.

Burgie is Snafu's best friend, and Burgie is leaving. And Snafu can't even tell him about any of this.

The last remaining night and half day is numbing. Eugene still sleeps the soundest when Snafu is there. Gene stretches his legs out as he snores and puts his feet between Snafu's - just to keep some contact. Snafu doesn't sleep. He just watches Gene.

They're all awake, but no one is bright eyed the afternoon the train pulls into Jewett.

Snafu almost feels guilty. Because when he watches Burgie leave, he isn't seeing Burgie, he's seeing Gene. He's going to miss Burgie in a way that will probably be a distant ache the rest of his life. Snafu can imagine living with that ache. He's been through that type of loss before. The real unknown is how in the hell will Snafu miss Sledge.

Burgie never talked about his family much during the war. Snafu once asked him about them. It was in the middle of the fighting back on Gloucester, before Sledge even walked into the picture. And Burgie only shook his head and refused the question. "If I think about them, I'll dream about them. Nightmares where they're dying in my place. It's worse, seeing that, than dying for them myself," Burgie explained. Snafu nodded, knowing Burgie was wise beyond his years. "I don't have that problem," Snafu replied, "Mine are already dead."

Burgie stuck to Snafu like glue after that. They were already friends, in that easy-going way of two people who get along naturally. But Burgie intentionally seemed to keep Snafu a little closer than the other guys. "If my little brother went off to war overseas where I can't protect him, I'd sure as hell hope he'd find someone to take my place for a while," Burgie offered as explanation.

Now Snafu watches Burgie tearfully embrace his real little brother at the train station and Snafu thinks about Eugene's brother, who came home from the European front months ago, who will be in Mobile waiting for Eugene. And about Snafu's baby sister. Who won't be.

These two Marines - Burgie and Sledgehammer - are the two reasons Snafu took himself seriously in this war. When it came down to it, day-to-day, Snafu was never fighting for much other than to preserve the life of the guy next to him. And when it was Burgie and Gene, all that fucked up effort felt worth it. Getting to witness this Burgin family reunion felt worth it.

Now Snafu just has to figure out what to do next.

Sledge claims to have no plans but the truth is Eugene is the kind of person who doesn't even know the meaning of 'no plans'. Eugene organizes every hour of his day, from work detail to meticulously researched cultural experiences. His idea of no plans consists of a financial safety net, parents who will steer him in the proper nuclear family direction, and a whole home full of people who love him.

Snafu glances over at Sledge. Their eyes meet briefly. Snafu is the one to look away.

"She'll come," Eugene says calmly, sure as ever, "It's like you said...it'll take Florence a while to get to Texas. But I'm sure the wait will be worth it."

Snafu clunks his head against the window glass and watches Burgie and his family climb into their dirty old truck - a proper farming truck. "I just said that to make him feel better. I didn't mean it," Snafu mutters.

"Well, I mean it," Eugene says firmly, "I believe it."

Burgie's truck starts driving off as the train picks up steam again. The truck turns onto the frontage road running parallel to the tracks. It almost seems to follow them as the train speeds away.

"You'll probably end up dancing at his wedding," Snafu says sourly.

"Only if you dance with me," Eugene retorts.

"I don't dance with gingers," Snafu complains, "Too hot-footed."

"Have you ever even danced with a redhead?" Eugene scoffs.

"No, but I've seen almost all of those Ginger Rogers movies…" Snafu replies.

"She doesn't even have red hair!" Eugene exclaims, incredulous.

"But she sure as hell can lift her feet," Snafu argues, "Wear a guy out, just watching her."

"You won't dance with me?" Eugene sounds crushed.

Snafu ignores the question and cranes his neck to keep his eye on the truck driving down the road. It's falling behind the train now, unable to keep up with the speed. Soon all Snafu will be able to see is a cloud of dust where his best friend should be. At least it's not a heap of mud.

Snafu remembers the first day he met Burgie in bootcamp. They were assigned as bunk mates, so when rotation happened no matter where they were sleeping - in a tent, on the open ground, barracks, whatever - they stayed together. Snafu had been so blown away by Burgie's sharp eyes, and his stocky compact beautifully built frame, that Snafu had announced to the man point blank, "If you weren't so goddamn straight, I'd be way into you." And Burgie's response, a mildly sarcastic, "Pity me" only cemented their friendship.

Snafu thought Burgie was the most impressive person in the world. Till a silly ginger boot walked into his tent on a godforsaken island and turned Snafu's world upside down.

The cloud of dust on the road beside the train becomes a distant haze. Snafu straightens and turns his face forward, only to fall into those same hooded dark eyes that entranced him the first day they met.

"Scoot over," Eugene orders.

"What?" Snafu furrows his brow at him.

"Scoot over, I want the window," Eugene demands.

Snafu does as he's told.

Eugene props his duffle against the window and leans on it. He spreads a blanket over himself and flicks the corner of it at Snafu. It hits Snafu in the face.

"Hey!" Snafu bats it away.

Eugene flicks it back.

"Fuck you, Sledge," Snafu grumbles. He gives in and rests his head on Eugene's shoulder.

"Fuck you too, Shelton," Eugene replies affectionately.

"You already did that," Snafu whispers lowly, only for Eugene to hear.

"Only almost," Eugene corrects.

"Yeah," Snafu admits, "But an inch in almost counts."

"Next time," Eugene assures him, with a devious smile, "When we're not on a rocking train."

"We'll provide the rocking," Snafu agrees, "No train needed."

"And preferably on a comfortable mattress," Eugene adds.

Snafu laughs, "Think I forgot what those even feel like."

"You shouldn't need to complain…" Eugene says and pats his chest where Snafu is leaning.

"You saying you're even more comfortable than a mattress?" Snafu smiles.

"Sure am," Gene says.

Snafu would have to agree. He can think of a million better reasons to be on top of Gene than comfort, though.

Eugene falls asleep because Eugene is Eugene and he can turn himself on or off at will. But Snafu sits there and stirs. His thoughts circle round and round about what he's going to do about the guy cuddled up with him.

The way he sees it there's two options: the Sledge family receives the questionable joy of having Snafu dropped on their doorstep like a stray cat, or Eugene doesn't show up in Mobile at all and everyone hates Snafu for keeping him away. Neither option is particularly appealing to Snafu.

He has to leave. He's not meant to witness Eugene's family reunion. He knows it.

It's like Burgie and his nightmares. If Snafu watches Eugene go back to his family, then that might start to feel more real than Snafu's connection to Sledgehammer. Better to end it on a high note. Stop it here and in Snafu's memory Eugene will stay Snafu's forever.

/~*~/ We all know what happens next, insert lots of angst and sadness as time goes by, I wrote this next goofy part to fix the end and not leave this fic hanging like Snaf did Eugene on the train. /~*~/

A year later Snafu is living in his lonely godforsaken apartment in New Orleans. The shithole is located on the fourth floor next to a copse of palm trees, which is great for feeling like a person is living in a treehouse, but not so great on the knees. All those stairs.

He sits down at his shitty folding table, propped against the window to give him a good view of the sunset as he eats his shitty meals alone, and rattles a few shredded wheat hunks into his cereal bowl. He mournfully pours the milk on top and slaps at the gigantic mass with his spoon. The milk will seep in and eventually the slapping will turn to chipping, and then the damn thing will become edible.

The window's open and there's a light breeze, something Snafu wouldn't normally notice except for what happens next. A parrot swoops in and drops a letter in his cereal.

It's a good thing his shredded wheat hadn't yet passed the chipping stage, because it takes up enough space in the bowl to prevent the letter from getting soaked. Snafu's ruined more than his fair share of correspondence that way on accident. And no one ever believes him when he explains he couldn't respond to the person's letter because a bird soaked it in milk. They never react well to his suggestion that they write in pencil rather than ink either (ink bleeds more when submerged).

Snafu feeds the parrot its well earned treat before he does anything else. Snafu doesn't do stairs, so he trained the parrots nesting in the palm tree outside his window to collect his mail for him. Well, he trained the parrots to collect everybody's mail. Any mail that doesn't belong to him he takes downstairs or leaves in front of his door. He is not popular among his neighbors.

Once the parrot has its treat, Snafu idly pets its head as he rips open the envelope and unfolds the letter. He recognized the writing the minute he saw the name on the envelope. He knows exactly what is coming:

Snafu you goddamn idiot,

Sledgehammer came to my wedding alone. So tell me: what the hell did you do? I told you not to do anything stupid. Sledgehammer is graciously not saying nothing about anything, so I'm writing to you instead. I don't know what's going on in that fool head of yours, but if you think Gene has forgotten you, think again. You of all people know how hard it was for me to risk my pride, and put my heart on the line, and ask Florence to marry me - someone half a world away who she barely just met. But I knew, and I knew she knew, and we built a life on that. I think the least you could do is afford Eugene that same trust. Make it right, Snafu. Or I will drive to New Orleans and drag you to Mobile myself. Kicking and screaming if necessary.

Love, Burgie

Snafu jumps when suddenly his door bangs. The hinges rattle with the force of whoever is knocking. Snafu has a bad premonition about this.

The door bangs again. The person is not giving up.

Snafu sets the letter down on the table and stands. The parrot flies to his shoulder and hops until it presses against his neck. It stretches and picks at Snafu's hair. The parrots always seem to like curls. Snafu swears fifty percent of their nest comes from off his head.

More banging from his door. Snafu is living in a cheap place, he's fairly certain his poor flimsy door can't take much more of this. So he opens it.

An irate redhead stands on the other side.

Eugene's eyes zero in on Snafu's parrot friend, "Of course you have birds delivering your mail for you, you lazy sonofabitch."

Snafu stands stunned.

"I had that letter in my hand," Eugene points to Snafu's table, "All ready to bring it to you personally after driving all the way to New Orleans to do so…" Eugene takes a deep breath, he is panting from climbing all those stairs, "...when suddenly the rare monk parrot I was casually admiring in the palm tree nearby screeched at me holy murder and dove straight for me. I ducked, held my hands up to protect my eyes, and the bird plucked Burgie's letter right out of my grasp. And then," another frustrated breath for emphasis on his next statement, "I watched it fly through your fourth story window."

"There's a lotta steps," Snafu shrugs, "I don't do steps."

"Merriell," Eugene pleads. He's desperate, out of breath, with tired pretty eyes. He's never looked prettier, yet somehow Snafu always knew he was this pretty. He's Eugene - of course he's still pretty.

"Gene," Snafu drawls, and the name feels the same in his mouth as it always did, all that love and affection right at the tip of his tongue.

Eugene storms through the door and wraps his hands around Snafu's head, and kisses him. He dislodges the parrot on Snafu's shoulder in the process. At first the parrot protests with shrieks, till it moves to Eugene's shoulder, and gets a good look at his hair, and then decides to perch inside it.

Eugene ignores the bird. He kicks the door closed and drags Snafu against his body with all his strength. Eugene is softer than he was in the war, and it's a hell of a lot more comfortable to be engulfed by him. Snafu barely pays attention to the kiss, he's too busy touching. He missed Eugene's neck, his hips, his hands.

All these years...Snafu's finally home again. The bird certainly seems to be making itself at home too - in Eugene's hair. Snafu supposes the parrots must be partial to gingers. He sympathizes.

Snafu starts pulling at Eugene's clothes, trying to drag him further into the room.

"Uhhh, Snaf?" Eugene asks.

"Yeah?" Snafu freezes, his nerves on edge.

"Will the bird stay in my hair...the whole time…?"

Snafu stares at Gene. "You don't like the parrot?"

Eugene backtracks quickly. "Not that I don't appreciate the beauty of being able to observe such a rare species up close…"

Snafu smirks, "Pulling your leg, Sledgehammer." He lets go of Gene and beckons for him to follow. "C'mon, this is a one bedroom. If we feed the parrot a treat and go running into the bedroom it'll be too distracted to follow."

Eugene holds open the bedroom door while Snafu prepares a handful of treats. The parrot knows what's coming. It picks up the already opened envelope and cocks its head beguilingly.

"Looks like you when you want something from me," Eugene observes from a distance.

"Shut up, Gene," Snafu says. He tactfully apologizes to the bird for not being able to give it the attention it deserves right now, but if it will humbly accept his offer of a treat, Snafu would be so grateful.

"Talking to birds now?" Eugene asks, "When did that start? Before or after you broke my heart?"

"Gene, I swear to god I will throw this treat into the bedroom, let the bird follow, push you in, and lock you both there," Snafu snaps.

"More time to study the creature," Eugene counters. He pulls a notebook from his pocket and waggles it at Snafu.

Snafu carefully drops the treat on the plate, and then runs for Eugene, yelling, "Go, go go!" Snafu dives through the bedroom doorway and lands on his bed.

Eugene calmly steps in behind him and shuts the door. "I think you've gone a little crazy," he commented as he climbs onto the bed beside Snafu.

"Loneliness'll do that to a guy," Snafu says with his arms lazily behind his head, looking for all the world like he wasn't fleeing from a parrot five seconds ago.

Eugene lays alongside him and places his hand on Snafu's cheek. "Are you even going to apologize?" he asks.

"I love you," Snafu says instead.

Eugene groans and tips his whole body into Snafu's. They interlock together like puzzle pieces, and Eugene nuzzles his nose against Snafu's neck. "I'd have thought you'd given up on manufacturing chaos by now."

"I gave up alcohol, not chaos," Snafu grins, "S'why I talk to birds."

"I haven't slept in months," Eugene sighs.

"You look it," Snafu agrees. He rubs Eugene's back softly. Up and down, in a soothing manner. Every time his hand slides along Eugene's spine is a treat. Another reassurance that Eugene is alive, and well, and here.

Gene moans and turns his head into the pillow to block out the light.

"The only food I got in the house is shredded wheat and parrot treats, so if you're planning to stay we oughta go to the store before we go to sleep," Snafu comments.

Eugene snores deeply.

#sledgefu #bad germs #happy friday

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