rules: you will be given a word. then, share an excerpt from your wip(s) that starts with each letter of your word.
Thank you @pinenutpbj for the tag!! I was given the word THROW, and these are all from ttpoi ch 22 <3
T
They're eating at the small table in John's balcony, knees pressed together, one of Buck's naked feet propped against John's ankle. Miles away from cameras and obsessive fans, Buck seems to be more relaxed and actively search for physical contact so John lets him stay like that even if his toes are freezing cold.
H
“Have you seen the comments from last night?”
“About my dream policule? I sure did Buck and while I can see why someone might like the policule idea, I much prefer having just you in my bed,” John answers — smooth, he compliments himself when Buck can't bite back a grin.
R
Rolling his eyes, Buck kicks John's shin with his cold ass foot. “It's nothing serious, and I knew you were going to make a whole thing of it so-”
O
“Once during a summer holiday Rosie dragged us to Ibiza for a weekend,” Buck says.
W
“Where are you taking me today?”
Buck's question shatters the dream sequence John was living, leaving him with a strange sense of nostalgia for something that hasn't happened yet. London or LA? he asks himself, a passing thought, before he answers, “Wherever you want, doll.”
Tagging @rambleonwaywardson @shipstorms and @swifty-fox if you want to play, your word is BLUE
It's all the ways that we show love (that feel like Christmas)
24 Clegan Christmas drabbles for 24 days!
Prompts from here (but randomised)
[Read on AO3]
Day One: “It's almost midnight.”
Modern AU, 1269w
The New Year's Eve party at John's house is a staple in their friend group, the event of the season if you were to listen to Curt: booze, music, games, more booze, guys and girls all together sweaty and buzzing with the joy of the festivities, less inhibitions, more chances to hook up if only for a night, to start the year with the right foot.
Gale will be there, he's been to every party since the first year John moved in and there was no furniture except for a lumpy couch and a Bluetooth stereo. He doesn't drink, or dance, or hook up with anyone but he's always been there helping out, failing not to laugh at John's antics, putting him to bed when he ends up too drunk to function. And Gale's never complained, not once in all these years, but this time he'd rather pull out his own teeth than going.
To Marge, who of course noticed that his mood during these holidays' been even worse than usual, he said he thinks they might be a bit too old to spend their New Year's Eve getting drunk or in his case picking up after everybody. But the real reason, the one Gale's keeping sealed in a box inside his mind to fester and rot, is what John said to the group the other day as they were planning the night.
John's been single for a little over a year now, ever since he called it quits with Lil, and apparently he's decided he won't spend another year in this rueful condition and to make things right he's gonna kiss the most beautiful guest at the party just as the clocks strike midnight.
“That doesn't necessarily mean you'll end up getting together with that person,” Rosie pointed out, to which John responded something along the lines to, “Are you kidding me, Rosenthal? Who could experience a midnight kiss like mine and not want to spend the rest of their life with me?”
And Gale understands, he really does. But he can't help but feel more than a little bitter at the thought of John kissing someone, getting together with someone — when that someone's not him. He's done his best to smother his crush for John, for his fucking best friend, ever since he first felt it blooming in his chest after John got him a new bike, won in a bet, because Gale's was old and rusty and the chain kept falling off.
He knows he has no right to feel like this about John, who's been his best friend for years even when Gale was shy and closed off, acting like he didn't need a friend at all. That John will never see him that way because their friendship's more important; still, Gale's so close to coming up with the lamest excuse not to go to the party tonight so he won't have to see John kiss the prettiest girl at the party at midnight.
He capitulates when John sends him the picture of a whole crate of his favorite ginger beer, bought and kept secure just for him — the kind of small gestures John's famous for, the ones that work on Gale every single time.
The party's loud when Gale gets there, the music's already pumping in the living room crowded with bodies pressed together. In the dim light Gale scours the guests' faces, trying to guess who John might pick for his midnight kiss.
“Buck!” John calls him when he notices him, beaming and waving aggressively his naked arms in the air — he's only wearing a t-shirt, his baseball cap pressed backwards on his curls, and the pit in Gale's stomach deepens when he sees him and thinks about who will be so lucky to kiss him.
John seems exceptionally sober when Gale joins him, his pupils a normal size and no smell of alcohol in his breath. He's probably trying to maintain a serious and sober demeanor for the person he chooses, Gale thinks as he sips his ginger beer, trying to focus on anything but the warm, welcome weight of John's arm where he's thrown it across his shoulders, keeping him close to his strong, solid body.
Gale expected John to be his usual friendly self, a social butterfly that goes from one guest to the other without stopping for too long — after all, how is he supposed to find the girl of his dreams if he doesn't take a look around?
Instead John spends the majority of his night with him, chewing his ear off with stories about work, the Yankees, the recent holidays with his family, literally anything that comes into his mind. Even after his mandatory karaoke performance, a tremendous rendition of Mariah Carey's Christmas classic, he comes back to Gale's side, even if Gale's spotted at least three girls charmed by the Egan special making eyes at him.
“I'm going outside, you wanna come?” John all but shouts in his ear and although Gale feels perfectly warm inside, he follows him into the small balcony. The sky's clear, a handful of stars barely visible over their heads with all the lamplights down the street. John lights up a cigarette, hands shaking slightly for the cold. “Are you having fun?” He asks, cherry red and glowing.
“Yeah. Are you? I don't think I've ever seen you this sober at one of your parties,” Gale comments and John chuckles in response, a hint of nervousness in it. “I went for a different approach,” he says. “Certain things are better done sober.”
Gale hums, somewhat disappointed that John still hasn't given up his plan for midnight. Inside someone shouts, “It's almost time!” and Gale watches through the glass as people scramble to find their partners around the room — Marge and Rosie, Jack and Benny, Curt and Dickie.
John doesn't move, and the idea that he's staying there just to keep him company irks Gale somehow. “It's almost midnight,” he points out.
“Would you look at that,” John deadpans with one last drag of his cigarette before flicking the butt off the balcony. He turns to look at Gale, the usual grin on his face a little trembling at the edges, and Gale's skin prickles being at his complete attention.
“Didn't you have a plan for this year?” He asks, tongue gone thick and numb in his mouth. Inside the countdown's starting.
“I do,” John nods.
“Then what-” Gale continues but he freezes mid-sentence, eyes widening, when John grabs his jaw with fingers that have no business being so warm, so soft and firm at the same time. John's shaking a little, Gale notices, thought he's never cold, and his pupils are wide in the dark.
“Most beautiful guest at the party,” John says softly and Gale's brain barely has the time to process that before the countdown inside reaches zero, and John's lips are on his.
There are fireworks going off, from the other buildings on the street but in Gale's chest just as well as John kisses him, delicate and soft like Gale's always dreamed of. And when he pulls away Gale instinctively follows him, a hand in his hair to pull him closer and kiss him again and for much longer this time, slow and deep until he's breathless and dizzy and John's hat has fallen somewhere.
There's a smile on John's face when they part that's brighter than the colors lighting up the sky all around them, and something tells Gale he must be the same. John bumps his nose against Gale's, breathing heavily.
From the next chapter of to the point of invention — coming before new year, hopefully
“Sorry to barge in here but you weren't answering the phone and we really need to discuss- oh fuck!” Navy Shirt exclaims when he raises his gaze from the tablet and clocks John on Buck's sofa.
“Hi,” John says with a little wave and he may not remember how Buck looked like ten years ago but right now he surely looks like he's gonna kill John with his bare hands.
Recovering quickly from the surprise, Navy Shirt's face splits into a mischievous grin. “Hi, John,” he says then turns to look at Buck. “I take it you two made up?”
“You were saying we need to discuss what?” Buck asks, contrarian. Navy Shirt waves him away. “Oh I'm sure it can wait. So tell me John, how come you're wearing one of Gale's hoodies? It looks kinda small on you,” he says.
“Ah you see, the sweater I was wearing last night got soaking wet in the rain,” John answers with a grin matching the other's — maybe Navy Shirt is not that bad after all.
“Last night, you said? Now this sounds interesting-”
“You can wait for me in my study, Rosenthal,” Buck interrupts them with a murderous tone. “John was just leaving.”
“Oh was he? I could've sworn he was just coming,” Navy Shirt says and John can't help the barking laughter that escapes him.
Buck shoots him a sardonic smile. “Don't worry, I know memory's not your forte,” he says and John brings a hand to his chest in fake outrage, with a gasp as well. “How dare you! Just because I couldn't remember one line, just one time! You're killing me Buck, ya know that? Bet you're proud of yourself.”
Rules: you will be given a word. share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that start with each letter of that word
I was tagged by @rambleonwaywardson and @c-goldthorn – sorry it took me a while but apparently I always start my sentences with the same letters and they were not the ones y'all chose!
My words were PINE and CORK and these are all snippets from chapter 10 of to the point of invention
PINE
P
Pink rises to Buck's cheeks, drops of watercolor on a tanned canvas; John's flirting has blindsided him so much that he's the one who almost falls of his horse — and to think John wasn't even being that much serious about it this time.
I
“I can make imposing work,” John says, squaring his shoulders to sit a little taller in the saddle.
“Oh I bet you do,” Buck comments and if John didn't know better — but does he? — he'd say there's flirting in that baritone voice.
N
No migraines, no dizziness, no memory loss; all good.
E
Emerald green grass surrounds them on all sides, the smell of wet soil is rich in John's nose as he breathes as deep as he can, letting his lungs expand until he's almost drunk on the fresh, clean air.
CORK
C
“Can it? Because last night you told me they can't feel fear but now it seems they actually might. Make up your mind Buck, are horses like sharks or not?” John teases.
O
“Of course you're taller than me, and bulkier, but with the right push, the right amount of strength you should be able to mount it perfectly,” Buck says and John, who was a little busy staring at Buck's thighs and how they're are securely squeezed around the horse's body, snaps his eyes back to him with a mumbled agreement.
R
“Relax is my middle name,” John tells him, grinning as wide as possible to try and hide the nervousness that's coursing through him like electricity — it's just a fucking horse for crying out loud, he's been on one before, he knows how to do that.
Buck shoots him a level look. “I thought that was Clarence,” he says, merciless under his stone-cold facade.
K
Knowing how to move his hips and use his thighs, that's never been a problem for John; but he won't look that graceful, so wild and free like Buck did.
Np tagging @air-exec @middlingmay @onyxsboxes and your word is RAVE
ttpoi 21 is coming along slower than expected (life happens), but it's coming
“I'm good at hiding my emotions,” Buck says instead. “I've always been. Had to learn pretty quickly so my dad wouldn't get mad at me for looking at him the wrong way or catch my crush for one guy or another. Rosie has been my best friend since we met and one time he told me he thought I hated him at first because I was always detached. I'm good at it, until it comes to you. I can't hide shit when it's about you John, you've seen the videos of when we were going out with the others in London, people have built conspiracy theories about those and they have no idea how right they are. I would never be able to act unimpressed in a situation like that, no matter how public it is, and it scares me shitless.”
“Why?”
“Because people only need to take one look at me, and they'd know. They'd know all of it without me even saying it, and I don't want to know what would happen after.”
It's all the ways that we show love (that feel like Christmas)
24 Clegan Christmas drabbles for 24 days!
Prompts from here (but randomised)
[Day 1] [Day 2] [Day 3] [Day 4]
[Read on AO3]
Day Five: Childhood memory
Modern AU, 939w
When John was a kid, every Christmas his mum would bring him caroling.
It was her church group's seasonal initiative, besides the food bank and the live nativity scene, and she didn't want to go there alone because it felt embarrassing so of course she brought along her hyperactive, always looking for attention son who couldn't hit a note even under torture.
But John had a talent, a wonderful thing: he could charm anyone. He was a cute kid, with a big toothy grin and wild curls his mum always tried to stuff under oversized beanies, and a natural born performer. He'd knock on doors, sing awful renditions of classics while everyone else in the group tried to balance his always too loud voice, he'd even flail around a little (he'd call it dancing, but not even his mum could say he was good at it), and yet his group would always get more money than the others and more often than not he'd get a chocolate or a candy by the people who got the caroling.
One night, when John was ten years old, they went knocking on a new door. “They just moved here,” his mum whispered in his ear as they walked up to the house. “From Wyoming, they needed a fresh start. We're going to welcome them properly into the community, can you please behave this time?”
“I'm always behaving,” John objected, tongue sticking out of the hole left behind by a baby tooth fallen just the week before. His mum just gave him one of her stern looks in response, so he bowed his head and promised he was gonna behave even better than usual.
When the door opened, there was a woman on the threshold, with blond hair and an apron tied around her waist. She seemed surprised to see them but when she noticed the cards in their hands, she smiled. “Henry, Gale!” She called back into the house. “Come, it's the carolers!”
The group started singing Silent Night and the woman was soon joined by a man and a kid. John's eyes got wider when he saw him, because that was the cutest kid he'd ever seen: blonde hair just like his mother, perfectly combed, blue eyes so big they looked like mountain lakes, and cheeks so round John felt like biting them like peaches. He must've been about John's age, maybe a little younger, but he held himself like an adult, serious and unflappable as he watched the choir.
And oh, John wanted nothing else but to peel that facade off of him.
When they moved onto the next song he started to sway, calmly, side by side. And to raise his voice — just a little, not enough for his mum to be crossed at him but enough for the other kid to notice. And he did, his eyes immediately focused on John as confusion flashed across his face — an emotion, but not enough for John. He knew he could do better.
He started moving his arms, gently at first and then with his usual flare. He could feel his mum's eyes burning holes in the back of his head but he didn't care because the kid kept looking at him, and that was worth enduring what was going to be a serious dressing down.
He was dancing before he even realized it, eyes closed as he followed the rhythm and sang louder than everyone else and as the climax of his exhibition he started directing the rest of the choir with wide, casual arm movements. John turned, a little breathless, to look back at the family: the adults looked perplexed but amused, the man was even lightly tapping his foot on the beat.
But the kid was all that mattered to John, and he beamed when he saw him: he had a hand over his mouth, trying to cover himself, but the hiccuping of his shoulders and the spark in his eyes gave away the fact that he was laughing, and a lot, at John's antics. And John knew, in that very moment, that he wanted to see that laughter as much as he could for the rest of his life.
The guests are chuckling when John finishes telling the story. “What are you laughing about?” He asks, amused. “Oh you must be think I'm joking. But I'm not, no, I'm telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”
With his champagne glass he points at the table in front of him. “That man there,” he says. “My goal's been to make him smile since the first time I ever saw him. And it hasn't been easy, anyone who's met Buck knows how hard it is to become his friend. But I was more than that, I was the stone in his shoe, always with him — and always making him laugh.”
John pauses, takes a breath and looks at Gale; he's pink all over his cheeks and once again hiding a smile behind his hand, only this time there's a ring on his finger and just like the smile, John thinks smugly, he's the one who put it there.
John raises his glass to him, grinning so much his cheeks hurt. “So here's to many more laughs, many more joys, many more happy moments to spend together from tonight until the end of time,” he says and Buck nods, his eyes a little glassy but it might be the light — or the fact that he got all he wanted, a happy family, a good career, a best friend who's just become his husband.
At first it was just a passing thought, Gale snapping a huge volume closed when John was passing behind him could've been just because he was looking up something embarrassing like the rules of baseball or some porn — John wouldn't know, Gale made sure to cover the book title and the volume never showed up unguarded in their house again.
And insisting on going out alone could've simply meant that Gale needed some space to breath after a long day at school, although usually his favorite way to unwind is sitting with John on the couch and listening to him ramble about anything that goes through his mind.
But all of this summed together is enough to set John's nerves on edge and mixed with the fact that Gale can't hold a poker face for the life of him, not when it comes to John at least, it means he has a secret, and John needs to find out what that is.
Curt would call it paranoia, the cold dread that fills John's chest whenever he catches Gale looking up something in one of his notebooks and making sure John can't see what it is, or sees him pick out the receipts from all the shopping bags, or Gale excuses himself to his study after dinner to hole up in his study, door closed in the face of John's lamentations. He stays up way too late doing god knows what and comes to bed when John's almost completely asleep, or pretends to be it so maybe Gale will slip up and say something to make him understand what's going on.
But Gale never does, and in the dark John can't read him as well as he'd like, he doesn't understand if Gale came to bed angry or happy, if he's tossing in his sleep because dinner didn't sit right with him or because the secret he's trying to keep is devouring him whole.
And in the dark, John can't help but play Worse Case Scenario with himself.
Worst case scenario, Buck has met someone else. Another man, a classmate in college who's more of a kindred spirit to him than John could ever be, a smart man who doesn't drink and didn't fly planes during the war, someone who's only ever known peace and who can teach it to him.
Worst case scenario, Buck is regretting leaving behind the safe life, the picket fence dream he had with Marge. They've been writing each other back and forth behind John's back and she's convinced him that she's the best choice for him. Buck will leave as soon as he's tied up his loose ends with John and this time he'll have to be Buck's best man at his wedding, pretending these past few months they've spent together never existed.
Worst case scenario, Buck has simply grown tired of John after so many years living out of each other's pocket. The flame of passion that used to consume them has dimmed to an ember and he's looking for a fresh start somewhere else, but he doesn't know how to tell John in fear he's gonna hurt himself.
Overwhelmed as he is by so many worst case scenarios, December catches John by surprise. Christmas lights start appearing around town, he gets his four days of leave approved by the Colonel, the thought of Christmas presents becomes much more pressing.
Money's been tight lately, Gale's in college with a full scolarship and they have their benefits from the army, but John's job is basically the only thing maintaining them both at this time; John doesn't know if he can spare enough to give Gale the kind of present he deserves, for Christmas and for his birthday both. He thinks, and promptly tries to forget he's ever thought it, that maybe the money is the only reason why Gale's still sticking with him. Or that he'll be so disappointed in whatever John manages to get him, that he'll use it as an excuse to leave.
He finds a watch in a second-hand store in town. It's well worn but works perfectly, the clerk assures him, and it has a blue leather wristband that would compliment Buck's eyes. It costs a little too much but John's good at bargaining, he's always been, and he haggles on the price until it's acceptable; it'll have to do as a single gift for both Christmas and Buck's birthday, but John really hopes it'll be enough.
Gale grows more and more frustrated as Christmas rapidly approaches, like whatever his secret is, it's gnawing on his nerves. It doesn't help John's paranoia, seeing that disgruntled look on Buck's face only for him to answer “Nothing” when John asks him what's wrong. He stays up later, comes to bed antsier, and the scenarios in John's mind get worse, and worse, and worse.
On Christmas Eve, he's fully ready to accept Buck's going to leave him. He's convinced himself there could be no other reason for him to be acting like this and he's decided that when the moment comes, he'll face it with his head held high, as a Major should.
At midnight they toast with their mugs of hot cocoa, plain for Gale and a bit spiked for John. “I guess it's presents time, unless you wanna wait until the morning,” John says trying to lighten the mood, but the frown on Gale's face only deepens. “You first,” he says, simply.
John picks up the little box from where he hid it behind a pillow and hands it to him. “Merry Christmas Buck,” he says, and watches in silence as Gale carefully unwraps the present and opens the box, his eyes widening when he sees the watch.
“Jesus, John,” he says, almost choked up, lifting the watch with reverent hands. “It's so beautiful, where did you find it?”
“The secondhand store in town. It's for Christmas and your birthday, I hope it's not a problem,” John adds trailing off. Gale's eyes are shinier, almost wet.
“I- I can't give you your present now,” he says, shaking his head. “Not after you got me this.”
“Why? What's wrong with it?”
“Nothing! This is perfect John, it's the most beautiful thing everyone's ever got me,” Gale answers, frustration thick in his words. “And I- I'm an idiot. I'm sorry, you deserve-”
“Buck,” John shuts him off. “You're scaring me, doll. I'm sure whatever you got me is just as beautiful as-”
“I didn't get you anything!” Gale exclaims, then rummages between the pillows on his side of the couch and all but throws at John the packet he hid there. John's quick to open it, worries, and when the paper falls apart he's left with something made of soft, dark blue wool in his hands; some kind of scarf, he realizes when he picks it up and it unravels, almost touching the floor. Uneven, crooked, and a little lumpy, clearly handmade.
“I made you this,” Gale admits, adamantly not looking John in the eye. “Or I tried, at least. It was supposed to be a sweater but I got it wrong so many times I had to buy more wool, so I tried with a scarf but it fucking sucks too and now you've given me this wonderful gift and I gave you- that!”
“So that's the secret you've been keeping from me?” John asks, so relieved he's almost dizzy. “You were knitting?”
“How did you know I had a secret?”
John barks out a breathless laughter. “Christ, Buck, I thought you were leaving me.”
“What? Why would I do such a thing?”
“I don't know! But you were all secretive and pissed off, I thought something was wrong. Instead you were just making me a gift with your own hands,” John says, stroking the scarf with affection.
“Yeah, and it turned out like shit.”
“Are you kidding me? This is now my most treasured possession, simply because you made it, Buck. You thought of me and made it, and that's all that matters.”
Flustered, Gale sighs. “I was so scared the cold was gonna mess with your head, I wanted to give you something to keep you warm. Instead I was the one fucking you up, wasn't I?”
“A little,” John admits. “But it's my fault too, I could've asked. It doesn't matter now.”
Gale picks up one end of the scarf, forlorn. “The only people I know who know how to knit are Marge and her mum, but I couldn't possibly ask them for help.”
“Definitely not. Did you like it, though? You can continue if you did, and get better one mistake at a time.”
“I did,” Gale admits. “When I wasn't fighting for my life with the stitches it was almost relaxing, I think I would like to keep going but I don't know where I'd put all the monstrosities I'd make.”
“What kind of question is that? I'd love to wear every single one of your lumpy creations, Buck,” John declares and as if to prove it, he wraps the scarf around his neck — soft, warm, and faintly smelling of Buck.
Gale finally smiles, looking at him. “I was right: that color really brings out your eyes,” he says. “Thank you, John. For the gift, and for always supporting me.”
John leans closer to kiss him. “It's a pleasure, Buck; don't ever doubt it.”
“Only if you promise to never doubt my love for you ever again.”
“Cross my heart, Buck,” John says, with the gesture. “Now come here and kiss me.”
