Oh my god. That's beautiful, just gorgeous. Snafu giving up smoking without really saying anything about it, and not really liking anybody but Sledge, and the bar and the grocery and the bakery and EVERYTHING. This aches in just the right ways, and it's the sort of ending where nothing's tied up but everything's going to be fine.
no, darling, thank you. i don't even know what came over me, but i loved writing this so much. and i think that snafu stops smoking is kind of really very sweet but still him at the same time. i'm glad you see it that way, too!
I found this through the tracked tags on tumblr, and boy, am I glad I did! Because this is so amazing. Your writing is absolutely gorgeous; so lyrical and rich. And there's something very achy about this, but it hurts so good. Fabulous, fabulous fabulous work :)
aww, mousie, i don’t really know what to say! i feel so wow right now. thank you thank you, really, i’m glad this touched you. this surely is the nicest comment i ever got ♥!
I have NO idea how you managed to be this level of amazing but oh well congratulations, right? I TOTALLY loved this! I didn't think Sledge/Snafu could be cute and lovely and romantic like that!
“I’m not really into people or makin’ friends,” he says. It’s bitter and makes Sledge flinch.
“What about me, then?” he asks, feeling the old insecurity from before (before Snafu and kissing messily with clacking teeth, before nights of frantic touches spent between the sheets) creeping through his head, his wire ribcage, into his heart. It’s still very much alive somewhere inside of him, it seems.
Snafu squeezes his hand hard, fingernails cutting into soft skin, and pushes him back against the bed to crawl on top of him. His lashes dip down and conceal the look in his eyes. “You’re different,” he admits
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Thank you so, so much for sharing.
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but sorry for the late reply.
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“I’m not really into people or makin’ friends,” he says. It’s bitter and makes Sledge flinch.
“What about me, then?” he asks, feeling the old insecurity from before (before Snafu and kissing messily with clacking teeth, before nights of frantic touches spent between the sheets) creeping through his head, his wire ribcage, into his heart. It’s still very much alive somewhere inside of him, it seems.
Snafu squeezes his hand hard, fingernails cutting into soft skin, and pushes him back against the bed to crawl on top of him. His lashes dip down and conceal the look in his eyes. “You’re different,” he admits
SO beautiful my heart stopped for a sec!
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