#John is such an enabler

[chaosandgunpowder]

Plausible Deniability Outtake (Ch6)

I've been working through my WIP files and trashing most of them (no worries, most are just random scenes of PD that have already been posted and are just sitting there gathering dust), except I found this section I cut from the end of chapter 6, because it worked better narratively without it, but if anyone was wondering what Alex did directly after bailing on Thomas I thought I'd share:

Alex takes one look at the empty inside of his own hotel room and promptly lets the door slam closed again without even stepping inside, because his throat is tight and clogged and and his chest hurts and his hands are shaking and sweaty and his head is throbbing and he can't breathe and he can't, can't can't sit alone there with just his own thoughts, with nothing to distract him from the confusion he doesn't want to examine.

Alex knows who he is, and what he's good at, and what he's not. He's not good at confusion. He's not got time for confusion. He's not got the energy for confusion. He's not, in any way, prepared for confusion of any kind.

Especially not confusion over Thomas Jefferson, who had no trouble asking Alex to stay, because he's not confused.

This needs to stay simple.

Fuck.

When John's door opens he's wearing sweatpants and his old Columbia hoodie and it's not until he blinks a few times that Alex realizes how much of a fucking mess he must look, hyperventilating in a hotel room doorway, sweaty and probably smelling exactly like what he'd been doing half an hour ago and his chest pulls a little more painfully at the realization that his best friend knows him far too well, is going to have a damn good idea of what Alex is hiding from-

Except John looks him over, nods to himself, and for once, blessedly, doesn't ask.

“You wanna crack open the minibar and get trashed making fun of the bored housewives that buy all the shit on the shopping channel?” he says instead, and Alex nods fervently.

“Fuck yes, please.”

So if anyone's interested in reading my reasoning, writing about writing, because sometimes I'm Alex and just like hearing myself talk, this was originally the closer for chapter 6, except it just didn't feel right. It made a lot more sense in the tone of the chapter to have it end right on Alex leaving (again). This chapter was all about Alex going from fuck-buddy territory to a place where he's realising he's starting to muddy the lines, and this section would have put him fully into starting the *freaking the fuck out about those muddy lines* portion of his development, which is mostly self-contained in chapter 8.

It also did something really weird to the emotional pace of the chapter, like I hyped Alex right up to manic being upset about Will, and then Thomas calmed him right down, and then yeah, he does get a tiny bit agitated again before he bails, but the chapter's over before it really gets going, whereas with this bit on the end, he starts getting really stressed out all over again, and it starts to feel a bit repetetive and rollercoaster-y.

Also it kinda pulled forward John's realisation that Alex was actually into Thomas to way earlier than it should have been, because although I meant for this scene to come off like he was just being an understanding enabler, it easily reads like John is recognising Alex running away from his *feelings*, and so I took it out to avoid that impression, because John's doesn’t really need to realise that Alex has it bad until much later.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed this unnecessary essay. Happy Thursday! :)

[vicariousresearcher]

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

Johnny has been in a coma for 2 years 5 months, and 18 days. Who just barely survived long enough to get medical attention after Makarov. Who has become a part of the slim statistic of people who’ve survived a gunshot wound to the head. Whose brain scans show limited activity and such little chance of waking up.

But when his family gets asked if they’re ready to let him go his Ma shakes her head.

“God will take him when he’s ready.”

It’s not common that young guys get put in long-term care facilities like yours. Most of the time it’s older folks whose families can’t let them go and are using pensions to pay the rent costs.

At the start, his room is full of visitors. Big family. Very religious you’ve learned. A boy's bible is set alongside flowers.

Between the swathes of dark hair and bright blue eyes are a couple of other individuals. Quiet but polite.

“Teammates.” The dark-skinned man offers with a strained smile when you give him a curious look. “Military.”

It’s not long till his room quiets down. Visits becoming fewer. His family who was already a little detached from their son you concluded. Between the secretive work and deployments that kept him from home for months.

The team came by when they could though. Enough for you to learn their names and details about your resident.

You glean little things about him here and there. Find the sketchbook with his name on it left by the one named Simon. See the tattoo on his forearm obscured the thick curtain of arm hair. Listen politely to the questionable stories told by Gaz that always left Laswell's head shaking.

Quite the man Soap was is. No one’s given you an explanation on that nickname yet but the military guys that come in always call him by it.

You do what you can to keep him comfortable. Trimming his hair, changing out the gospel music for an audiobook every once in a while, talking to him whenever you’re in the room.

Well more so talking at him. Venting frustrations and complaints in hushed words so no one walking by hears you. Talking about your lazy coworkers, the overly loud upstairs neighbours in your apartment, and how you had to sit through another family dinner alone because your boyfriend made some excuse to not come again.

It’s easy to just talk when you’re in the room with him. Feels less like you’re going insane because you can reason that you’re talking for *his sake.* Not yours. Because what if he can hear you yknow?

……

You’ve just transferred him back over after changing his bed sheets, crouched and folding the linen under the mattress while you talk about your plans for this coming Christmas. How you’re excited for that one chocolate pop up shop that always comes to your mall-

You just about shit yourself when you stand back up and look to the head of the bed and see two slits of blue through his tan eyelids. Dark brown brows pinched in just slightly to create a crease between them.

……

A blinding white light accompanying a splitting headache was what he saw first. Eyelids sticky against his corneas. Weight of a thousand sins holding his muscles paralyzed and unable to flinch away.

Then the light flickered and he saw you.

Frizzy hair curling a fluorescent halo over your head. A swinging, unblinking eye glinting off of your chest.

Johnny who tells his weepy-eyed mother that it’s okay, he had the voice of an angel guiding him the whole time. That’s what brought him back.

[vaguely-concerned]

sometimes I think of all the on-the-surface warm, well-meaning but deeply ineffectual advice and attention john gives harrow through harrow the ninth (make some soup and get some sleep! get a hobby! don't be so hard on yourself! self care harrow! as long as I need take no actual responsibility in this relationship whatsoever I would have loved to be your dad!) set up against the stark truth that with his other hand he has been staging her attempted horrific murder again and again and again like a living nightmare on the logic that it will 'put her down or fix her'. and then I find that I wish there is a hell. a special hell where twitch streamers turned necromantic death emperors go

[oceantornadoo]

ghost thinks nothing of you and soap’s friendship, believes soap’s just overly flirty with everyone. until he catches you giving soap a frantic handjob right after touching down from a mission (he always needs help with the adrenaline crash 😔)

ghost doesn’t get too involved in his sergeant’s lives. talks footy with gaz, stats and all. chats with johnny about whichever bird he’s seeing, (though lately, johnny has had less and less stories to tell). you and him have an outstanding pool rivalry, trading quips over green felt tables. he counts you as friends, sure, but he doesn’t particularly care to know about your sex life since you’re the closest thing he has to a sister. that is, until, it’s thrown glaringly in his face.

somehow, they end up at a pub after touching down. reports in, everyone’s cooled off a bit, johnny suggests a pub down the road and next thing you know, gaz is driving everyone (simon lost that privilege a long time ago). he’s there for a couple of beers, maybe a scotch with price, letting the blood rush in his head fade away. goes out for a smoke, notes two of his sergeants are missing, thinks nothing of it. he pushes out the back door into the dark alley, reaching for his lighter when- oh.

johnny’s moans are more guttural than the ones he let out last time he was in the infirmary. his back’s to the alley wall with his head tucked into your shoulder, practically fucking your hand. johnny clutches the back of your neck tightly, pulling you in by the scruff like he can manhandle you any way he wants. guess that’s why johnny stopped mentioning new birds. you honestly seem a bit bored, like you’d rather be shooting the shit with johnny than getting him off. still, you’re murmuring comforting words in johnny’s ear like you’re speaking your own secret language. shudders wrack through his sergeant’s body but he seems to be losing steam, letting you take control while he tips his head back to the brick wall, the adrenaline crash finally hitting him. ghost is still frozen, lighter halfway to his cig, a little jarred by seeing his sergeants so viscerally. sure, johnny can be a flirt with you but he didn’t even consider this being a possibility.

johnny’s head lolls over towards the door, mohawk mussed from brushing against your face. notes the man watching you two, the skeleton gloves gripping a cigarette, skull balaclava glinting in the dark. doesn’t even break eye contact when he comes, feels the way you change the angle so it hits your shirt instead of staining your jeans. practiced, like you’ve done this in hundreds of dark alleys. your head cocks up in johnny’s direction, tucking him into his boxers with a mindless movement. you zip his jeans back up, give him a condescending pat on the crotch, then track who he’s staring at. “l.t.” you both say, cocking your heads at the same angle with a slight smirk, a creepy excuse for best friends. ghost shakes his head, tucking his cigarette back into his pocket before heading door. “bloody hell.” he lost the bet with gaz and price would have his head.

[mimisplayground]

Something something, Gaz is dating you and he’s great and everything you ever wanted but also he has this weird thing where he desperately seems to be trying to get you and his captain to sleep with each other. And his captain is totally down but you don’t want to betray Gaz even if he’s asking for it so his solution is to have a threesome but really it just consists of him bouncing you up and down on the older mans cock while he sucks the cigar smoke desperately from the captains mouth. Or something like that.

[notkingyet2]

modern AU Bridglar wherein Peglar is a union electrician raking in contractor cash and Bridgens is a local library clerk whose bordering-on-poverty-level salary is under constant threat of getting slashed by city budget cuts

Peglar is hired for repair work at the local library and encounters front desk clerk Bridgens.

Peglar casually mentions that he doesn't come to the library often because he's more into audiobooks.

Bridgens immediately begins planning to expand the library's audiobook collection (and, depending how much he infers/how much Peglar chooses to divulge, looking into aquiring Open Dyslexia font editions of print books).

Peglar meanwhile immediately begins planning to make this librarian his new house-husband.

Bridgens apologizing for not many titles in the local collection being available in formats useful to Peglar BUT very willing to explain the interlibrary loan system, the Libby app, and offering to order anything Peglar thinks would be a worthy addition to the collection.

Peglar listening to these explanations partly out of genuine interest but mostly to hear that gorgeous voice and to see those dark eyes light up.

Bridgens: I am being helpful because this bright young man is a library patron and part of our wider community and all of this is completely unrelated to these heart palpitations I keep having whenever he comes in. Peglar: We shall have an autumnal wedding and he will never have to work again.

Peglar finds out that Bridgens's home has knob-and-tube wiring and makes it his personal mission to rectify that immediately.

Bridgens: I can't afford to pay you for all this work. Peglar: Good thing I can afford to do it for free.

All of this occurs before they even kiss.

When they finally (FINALLY) stop dancing around each other and start going steady for real, Bridgens casually mentions a beautiful old house in town that he's always admired but the repairs would be daunting for a man of his age (and on his budget).

Peglar does the math and creates a two-year plan to buy the house and fix it up in time for their wedding.

[laughing-moonlight]

Riding the teacups at Disneyland

John, Virgil & Kayo: [Spinning calmly while talking]

Scott, Gordon & Alan: [Flying past them, spinning as fast as they can, screaming]

[alienoresimagines]

Buck: I just want to hear those three little words. Bucky: I love you. Buck: That's sweet, but try again. Bucky: Bucky: I will behave. Buck: There we go.

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

Happy Holidays from the Prices

cod taglist:

@thedeadthree @voidika @chadillacboseman @writeforfandoms @imagoddamnonionmason

@taciturntraveller @efingart @alypink @roofgeese @harmonyowl

@g0dspeeed @simplegenius042 @elligatorrex @strangefable @neonshrike

@verbjectives @la-grosse-patate @josephseedismyfather @statichvm @clicheantagonist

@tommyarashikage @aceghosts @inafieldofdaisies @raresvtm @cloudofbutterflies92

@justasmolbard @finding-comfort-in-rain @cassietrn @carlosoliveiraa @imogenkol

[fairer-tales]

TSoT rewatch is wild seeing sherlock be jealous of Sholto and Mary saying THAT

[wintersangels69]

[honey-dont]

so give my best to the 99

[howlerbat]

The Walrus crew early season 3 dynamic is perhaps my favorite in the show. You have depressed Flint with his thinly veiled suicide attempts. You have concerned Silver who has to tell him to maybe stop trying?? to get murdered??? And then you have Billy who’s all like hell yeah captain, lead that raid, those colonial regulars got nothing on you! *hands him a sword to fall onto*

[cryptiidcrowe]

i suppose i should actually do my readings for class instead of just writing jarthur smut 😔

[goldthorn-archive]

banging my head into the wall. gale’s reaction to john being a reserve command pilot. “what the hell is a reserve command pilot?” “you had nothing to do with it?” he looks like there’s anger simmering below the surface. john you could’ve been safe on the ground and now you’re unnecessarily going to be up in a fort on this crazy mission? not even my fort where i can try to keep you safe? why do you insist on putting yourself in danger?

[mikhailwrites]

Waiting for Connection 12 / Ghost x Soap

Ghost is retired and plays milsim videogame. Soap is still in the force and sometimes plays that same videogame...

Sorry, I forgot to upload it here, too! On the other hand, that means less waiting time for another chapter for you!

Previous chapter | AO3

Ghost returns home, but it’s different now. Too quiet.  Too barren. He’s never noticed before. Didn’t have any point of reference. He does now. Stripey brushes against Simon’s legs, and the man bends down to scratch the cat behind the ear. “You liked him, mate?”

“Meow!”

Ghost has no idea what that means. Simply takes it as ‘yes’ and smiles.

He takes out his phone, an old, cheap thing he barely ever uses. Hits the redial. There’s only a handful of numbers on the phone, even less so in the call history.

He hears the phone ring, and then there’s a click. “Simon?” It sounds a little confused, which is hardly surprising. Ghost is very much not the bloke that would simply call to ask how’s life.

“Gaz… What am I doing?” Simon crosses the room slowly, sinking on the futon he hasn’t yet bothered to magick back into the sofa.

“Have I ever seemed clairvoyant to you, mate?” Gaz chuckles. There’s some rustling in the background. Presumably, Gaz is moving into some more private space.

Ghost chuckles back. “Guess not.”

“Guess again,” Gaz deadpans, “how were the pints with MacTavish yesterday?”

“What? How the fuck…?” Ghost frowns, not even trying to hide his surprise.

“I can’t answer that question,” Kyle utters the line that all SAS know better than their own names. Burned on the back of their minds, etched in their muscles. Tattooed with invisible ink all over their bodies.

It’s an answer and not an answer at the same time. With a single line, Kyle has confirmed that he’s close to Soap without betraying anything. His commanding officer, most likely, and isn’t that hilarious?

“It was fine. I’ve let him crash at my place,” Simon volunteers a bit of intel in exchange.

“Really? Just like that? Back when you still served, nobody except Price even knew where you were living.”

“I didn’t want any bloody Christmas cards,” Simon tries to deflect with a joke.

Gaz lets it go. It’s an ancient history by now, and there are more pressing matters he’s interested in, anyway. “I hope you haven’t crashed him on the first date; that would be ruthless even for you,” Kyle’s smirk can be heard in his voice, but there’s an underlying tone of seriousness, too.

Ghost groans, frustrated. With himself, mostly. “No, of course not. I’m not an idiot. But…”

“But you thought about it, haven’t you?”

That man knows him way too well. Dangerously so. Of course, he thought about it. The face, the body, the way John moved, self-assured, a little cocky, not bothering to conceal what he is. And then the talking, the flirting. Especially the flirting. Without that, Simon would’ve been fine. Mates. Friends. Whatever. Simple, safe. Well, think again. Fuck! “Yeah, I did. And I feel like a bloody cradle-snatcher for it.”

Gaz snorts. “He ain’t that young, and you ain’t that old, Ghost. You know what he does for a living and how it is, so I’m gonna save my breath and spare you the lectures. Have fun, Simon.”

As if he needs the lectures. “That’s all?”

“Does it even matter what I say, Ghost? It’s not life or death business. You’re both adults, if not entirely reasonable. As long as your thing doesn’t fuck up my thing, we’re good.”

“You didn’t really help me, you know,” Simon notes bemusedly.

“If you wanted a voice of reason, I’m afraid you didn’t call the right number. I guess Laswell’s would be what, two numbers down?”

“One.”

“Well, there you go.”

“Thank you, Kyle,” Simon sighs.

“Anytime, mate. And show the kid some neat tricks while you’re at it, will you?”

“I have no idea what kept Price from strangling you,” Simon huffs a laugh.

“My charming personality, obviously,” there are some muffled voices in the background then. “Gotta run, duty calls and all that. Just… enjoy the life a little, old man.”

“Is that an order?”

“Might as well make it one. Cheers, Ghost.”

Ghost lets himself fall back, sprawling on the futon. Stripey is with him and subsequently on him the next second, stepping on Simon’s chest before he lies down. Kyle was right. If Ghost wanted a voice of reason, Gaz wasn’t exactly the right person to call.

So, if he’s read the situation right, and would like to take it further, what would the next step be?