1 - 20 of 92 Works in Merriell "Snafu" Shelton
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Gold is thirty bucks an ounce, but Snafu needs Gene to be the sane one.
- Words:
- 904
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Hits:
- 16
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Duro's still wondering about where his band has brought him. Part of a crossover 'verse with the HBO War Fandom.
Series
- Part 3 of Nashville
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Snafu gives an answer without getting the question, Sledge asks a question without getting an answer
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Sledge & Snafu in their apartment. It's nearly too hot to move.
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Sledge e Snafu nel loro appartamento. Fa quasi troppo caldo per muoversi.
- Words:
- 1,226
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Kudos:
- 1
- Hits:
- 18
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It's a Harry Potter AU, where Snafu's a year older than him and Sledge is a First-Year. I might change what I originally have written.
Prompt on Tumblr:
Weirdly, Snafu was the first friend Sledge made when he got to Hogwarts, considering how Snafu was in Slytherin and Sledge was in Hufflepuff. But somehow, Sledge was just drawn to Snafu. Maybe it was because he knew that despite the cold and nonchalant attitude Snafu carried around with him constantly, there was some warmth deep down inside, and Sledge was determined to awaken it. -
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Sledge wakes up on the lawn with no real memory of the night before. Snafu is more amused than helpful. In other words, a normal weekend for the two.
- Words:
- 9,622
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Kudos:
- 14
- Hits:
- 224
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The thing is, he tries not to think about Sledge too much. If he does, it’s mostly memories – the first time Sledge accepted a cigarette, the way he smiled when Snafu first called him ‘Sledgehammer’, about feeling Sledge’s skin under his fingertips. Little things, things without too much pain attached to them. Things he can separate from the dirt, and the maggots, and the death.
Series
- Part 2 of learn my lesson, lead me home
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There are times when they only one who can comfort Gene-Baptiste is Merl-Francis.
Series
- Part 12 of Gone Are All The Days
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Sledge was having a really bad day. It started out fine actually, but a series of events consisting of a slow and crowded bus commute, an unfortunate mixup at the coffee shop, and several angry clients had left him with a dark cloud he just couldn't shift. Oh, and there was also the matter of the beaten-up Cajun sex-god currently inhabiting his bed.
(Title inspired by Dreamwork's How To Train Your Dragon, mostly because Snafu's mannerisms reminded me of Toothless and the idea stuck. This is in no way a retelling of the movie)
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Eugene hopes that Snafu regrets it, leaving him like that, without a word. Leaving him at all, even. Hopes that Snafu feels even a hint of what Eugene feels - like he can’t function right on his own anymore, he’s spent so long with Snafu always within reaching distance. Would he sleep better, he wonders, if he knew he would see Snafu’s face when he woke? Who can tell.
Series
- Part 1 of learn my lesson, lead me home
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And it looks like they’re bonded for life after all
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His name is Eugene B. Sledge.
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So the war is over.
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His parents and most strangers call him Eugene. If you knew him for long enough, or from a time that's almost certainly gone now, you'd shorten that to Gene. It could be his favourite if he had to have one. Men and boys alike in this part of the world just call him Sledge.
- Words:
- 1,422
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Kudos:
- 3
- Hits:
- 49
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His knife's in that big, mean Bowie style, like a sneering half grin, like a bear claw. It's silver-white tip to butt, catches the sun like a mirror. A comfortable hard wood grip, thin and smooth, makes the fact that it's heavier than any knife Eugene's held before a mite easier.
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Snafu's gotten out of control before, banged in some bruises, split a lip or two, caused concussion, caused mayhem, but he's always stopped himself. As if as an after thought. Never let it get to this, his breath fire storm hot against Eugene's collar and the tone of his voice thin, stretched bare.
- Words:
- 3,539
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Kudos:
- 7
- Hits:
- 127
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Snafu's spreading your lips, pushing them wider the further he intrudes, going as slow, slow, slowly as he can, taking everything from the moment, not missing out. He's hissing air through his teeth, timed, controlled.
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You don't sleep very well, not even here at base camp. And most nights here this is your music, your lullaby. Well, not so much lullaby--that would imply soothing and this is anything but soothing. This is an over-played track. Rustling fabric slide, hitching, heavy gasps. Double-time breathing, progressive, wet rhythms.
- Words:
- 1,493
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Kudos:
- 5
- Hits:
- 76
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Snafu's zippo has a cross engraved in its side. That seems like a contradiction, if there ever was one. Your eyes are on it in his hands, twirling and turning end over end. Nervous energy is your best guess. His fingers are black as night, slicked with gun grease and a skin of mud. With your eyes on it you're not watching him, but he's watching you.
- Words:
- 2,802
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Kudos:
- 2
- Hits:
- 70