"That’s okay," Marco says one day, his hand resting in the space between their bodies, his fingers spread open and reaching (always reaching) towards Jean. "I’m just happy to have known you." His teeth are white and straight in his smile. His cheeks dimple, freckles creasing with the motion.
Jean stares until he has to look away. There’s something raw that tastes like honesty in the air between them. Jean’s never been good at honesty; he doesn’t trust honesty, except he trusts Marco, and that’s nearly the same.
His remembers his ceiling from that day, its surface blank and smooth, the corners dusty. There hadn’t been anything interesting to focus his gaze on, but it was better than that rawness between them that made something ache deep inside Jean.
He remembers Marco’s hand, dark on Jean’s bed sheets, fingers spread open and reaching (always reaching) towards Jean.
(So, I chose Vimy Ridge tunnel fighting.)
Truthfully, Arthur didn’t want him anywhere near the fighting. Oh, he wanted what Matthew could offer—the men who fought in droves, the farmland, the unwavering loyalty—but he didn’t want Matthew on European soil.
(He didn’t want any of his boys there….
holy shit this is beautiful
you are a beautiful writer you really are
hey guess what I ship now
steve/bucky and steve/sam
guess what I don’t ship
Levi might not be, but this blog is open for business!
go do the thing guys
Erwin be fuckin’ Levi like
and Levi be like
im so mad that looks absolutely amazing
I KNOW AND I HAVE NO ONE TO GO WITH PLEASE SOMEONE GO WITH ME
a-anyone in the bay area wanna go to this with me