pooh_collector (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
pooh_collector) wrote2014-10-25 12:53 pm
pooh_collector) wrote2014-10-25 12:53 pm
Entry tags:
Timestamp Meme
Ganked from everyone, but specifically from ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
angelita26. Head over to my Masterlist and pick a fic, any fic, except Bittersweet (Sorry Joy). I will write at least 300 words (probably more) of a timestamp.
Rules:
1. More than one person can prompt the same fic - if you want to leave me two fics to choose from, that would be awesome too. There are currently 33 fics posted.
2. Please suggest a time frame or leave a short prompt. I'll do my best to make it work.
Prompt away!
angelita26. Head over to my Masterlist and pick a fic, any fic, except Bittersweet (Sorry Joy). I will write at least 300 words (probably more) of a timestamp. Rules:
1. More than one person can prompt the same fic - if you want to leave me two fics to choose from, that would be awesome too. There are currently 33 fics posted.
2. Please suggest a time frame or leave a short prompt. I'll do my best to make it work.
Prompt away!
no subject
How about a day or even just an afternoon of Peter taking care of Neal, either as a timestamp to Love Lift Me Up... or I see it also as something fitting the Christmases verse.
Just Peter being there for Neal and Neal loving every second of it, even if it's just Peter serving as a very comfy pillow for Neal or just running his fingers through Neal's hair while they watch TV :D
Love Lift Me Up Timestamp
“We’ll be fine, hon. I promise.”
El nodded, but looked dubious. “There’s homemade chicken barley soup in the fridge and fresh bread on the counter.”
“I got it, hon.”
“And, don’t forget his medications.”
Peter shook his head. “I won’t.”
El was standing in the foyer, her bag clutched in her hands, unmoving. Peter wrapped his hands gently around her arms. “El, I got this,” he said in his most reassuring voice. “Go.”
She nodded again, mutely and then turned and left the house.
Peter sighed in relief and then let Satch out and made Neal a cup of tea before heading back upstairs to the bedroom.
At first sight, Neal appeared to be sleeping. But as Peter approached the bed he could hear Neal breathing shallowly and a bit too fast. Peter placed the tea mug on the nightstand and leaned over his partner, lightly running his fingers through Neal’s hair. Neal flinched slightly at the touch and then turned his head a little into Peter’s hand.
“Neal, what’s wrong buddy?” Peter asked softly.
Neal swallowed visibly and his eyes clenched more tightly shut. “Headache,” he mumbled.
Post-concussion headaches could be a bitch, as Peter knew well from a bad slide into home during his baseball days. “I’ll be right back,” Peter said as he ran his fingers through Neal’s hair one last time.
Neal’s medications were on the counter in the bathroom and Peter grabbed the bottle with the pain reliever prescribed specifically for headaches and made his way back into the bedroom. He read the dosage instructions and then shook two pills out the bottle.
“Neal, I’ve got your meds.”
Neal grimaced and shook his head ever so slightly.
“Please Neal, they’ll make you feel better.”
Neal simply shook his head again, a feeble tilt to the left and then the right.
Suddenly Peter wished that El hadn’t had to go to her event today. He was beginning to feel out of his element and he had no doubt that El would know exactly how to make their partner feel better.
He stood there for a moment asking himself “what would El do?” before realizing that he knew exactly what to do.
He placed the pills down on the bedside table and kicked off his shoes. Carefully he climbed up onto the bed resting his back against the headboard right next to Neal. “Come here, buddy.”
Neal sighed and then began to ease himself slowly over, without opening his eyes. Peter helped as much as he could and soon Neal was lying with his head pillowed against Peter’s chest, Peter’s long legs splayed out on either side of his own. Peter picked up the pills and the mug with the now cooling tea.
“Open up.”
This time Neal complied, opening his mouth so that Peter could place the pills on his tongue. Then he brought the mug up to Neal’s lips. Neal placed his hands on the mug around Peter’s and then took a small sip washing the pills down.
The tea was strong and sweet, just the way he liked it, so he took a couple more sips before pushing the mug away from his mouth.
Peter placed the mug back on the nightstand and then wrapped his arms gently around his lover, mindful of Neal’s healing ribs, and began rubbing circles on the tops of Neal’s thighs. “Is this okay,” he whispered in Neal’s ear.
Neal hummed. Peter took that as a yes. Slowly, Neal’s breathing relaxed and he melted into Peter’s body, the tension in his muscles easing as the meds began to do their work.
Peter was certain that the younger man had fallen asleep when Neal spoke. “Peter?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“I would say anytime, but I really don’t want a repeat of this past week,” Peter responded, moving one of his hands from Neal’s thigh back up to run softly though his hair.
“Me neither,” Neal sighed. “But, this part, I’d be happy to do every day for the rest of our lives.”
Peter smiled, knowing that he had done right by his lover today. “Me too, and so we will.”
Re: Love Lift Me Up Timestamp
Aren't they the most adorable sight in the universe? :P
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I love, love the Peter cuddles to help him feel better. LOVE! So good!!
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no subject
Neal feels like he is becoming too much of an imposition on Peter & El's life & just wants everything to get back to normal. He decides it is time to go home. Peter & El don't think that is a good idea but Neal is insistent so they take him back to June's.
Neal starts to have memories of his abduction. He doesn't tell anyone & attempts to deal with them on his own.
It's Always Darkest Before the Dawn Timestamp Part 1
Peter and El were reluctant to let him go, but Peter finally relented and drove Neal to June’s on his way to Federal Plaza that morning. “I’ll be by at lunchtime with your new anklet. I’ll bring sandwiches from that deli you like on Broadway.” Neal nodded and then got out of the Taurus. “And Neal,” Peter called to him. Neal turned and looked back into the car. “Don’t go anywhere,” Peter commanded with a wink and a smile.
“I promise,” Neal replied with a small smile of his own.
Neal’s apartment felt cold and empty when he entered after so many weeks away. Neal put away the few things that El had come to get for him and then changed into pajamas and crawled into this bed. He was still tired from the trauma and his injuries and he had gotten up particularly early to make sure that he could catch a ride home from Peter. It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep.
He was somewhere cold and dark. The air was musty and it reeked of grease. There was a metallic clanking noise in the background, but Neal couldn’t see what was making it. He knew he wasn’t alone. He could sense someone else’s presence, but he couldn’t see them. “Peter?” He called out softly, hoping against hope that it was his partner, coming for him.
No one replied. Suddenly there were hands on him, gripping with brutal force. Neal tried to pull away, but he couldn’t see where his opponent was, so his struggles were futile. A fist hit him in the chest. A boot kicked him in the kidney. He yelled, hoping someone could hear and would come to help. No one did. The beating continued. Through it all Neal tried to defend himself, tried to get free, to no avail. Once or twice he caught a brief glimpse of his assailant, blonde hair and dark, malevolent eyes.
Then somehow he was somewhere else, somewhere out in the open. He could feel the cold wind against his body. He shivered hard and then fell to the ground, his legs no longer able to carry him. He was lying in the snow, soft and white all around him. He wasn’t cold anymore. That was probably a bad thing, but he didn’t have the strength to care at the moment. Instead he let himself drift off, away from the pain.
Re: It's Always Darkest Before the Dawn Timestamp Part 2
That was where Peter found him when he stepped into Neal’s apartment with a brown bag carrying the take-out from the deli in one hand and Neal’s new anklet in the other. “Neal?” Peter called out tentatively.
Neal looked up slowly, his eyes bloodshot, his skin pale. “Hi, Peter.”
“What happened?” Peter asked as he dropped the bag and the anklet on the hardwood floor and sat facing Neal on the sofa.
Neal shook his head cautiously. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
“This doesn’t look like nothing.” Peter retorted.
“I’m just tired. Is that my new anklet,” he asked in an attempt to divert Peter’s attention.
Peter frowned as he assessed his partner. “It is,” he finally replied.
“Good. You can put it on and then you can get back to the office. I don’t want to keep you. You’ve spent too much time looking after me these past couple of weeks as it is.”
Peter got up, but instead of picking up the anklet he grabbed the bag from the deli and took it over to the dining table. “Lunch first.”
Neal sighed. Peter was worse than a mother hen. He carefully levered himself up off the sofa and then took the seat opposite Peter at the table. “Fine.”
Peter watched as Neal picked at his lunch and listened as Neal evaded and redirected all of his attempts to get the younger man to talk about what was he thinking and feeling. By the time Peter had finished his own lunch, his mind was made up. The bag that Neal had brought the few things he had at the Burke’s was sitting on the floor at the end of the bed. Peter grabbed it and began packing it again with fresh pajamas from the wardrobe.
“Peter, what are you doing?”
“You’re coming back to my house,” Peter replied as he made his way to Neal’s bathroom to grab his toiletry kit.
Neal was standing defiantly, hands on his hips when Peter passed him again to put the kit in the bag. “I’m not going.”
Peter picked the bag up and carried it back to the table. “Neal, I’m not letting you do this alone.”
“Even if that’s what I want, what I need?”
Peter’s face softened. “It’s not what you need, Neal.”
Neal shook his head. “I’ve imposed on you and El enough, Peter. I’m okay. I can handle this on my own.”
“Don’t you see. You’re not an imposition, you’re a friend. And, what kind of person would I be if I left my friends on their own when they needed my help the most?”
Neal wasn’t sure how to respond to that so he stood there and watched as Peter walked to the wardrobe again and grabbed a pair of jeans and a tee-shirt for him.
“Come on, get changed. I’m going to call El and let her know that we’re on our way.”
Neal took the clothes Peter handed him and then went into this bathroom to put them on. In the mirror he saw what he suspected Peter saw, a shadow of the man he had been two months ago. It was difficult to admit that he needed help, but it wasn’t hard to accept it from people like Peter and El, people who didn’t need to be asked and who expected nothing in return.
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no subject
Neal finds Peter in dire straits and if he helps him he might end up in a bad situation, but if he doesn't help Peter, Peter will die.
Tales from Gotham Timestamp Part 1
Today, he had opted to leave the bulky wool coat at home and was wearing only his frockcoat, his copper star pinned to the lapel over his heart. He was regretting the decision now as the night wore on and a cold wind whistled through the alleyways and down the avenues chilling him down to his stiff and aching bones. But he kept walking his rounds, ever vigilant.
At the corner of Orange and Cross streets, Peter made a sharp right onto Anthony. He crossed over onto the south side of the street, mindful to step wide over the sewage that ran along the side of the curb. Paradise Park was a usual gathering place for owls taking a break for a Lucifer and for dead rabbits to congregate around wood fires set up in the mud.
Peter kept up a steady pace as he passed by the park. There was no reason to court trouble unless he was certain a crime was underway.
He was almost to the edge of the park, where Anthony met Little Water Street, when he came upon a group of three Lushingtons standing around a fire having an out-and-out. Other than their drunken state there didn’t appear to be any reason for Peter to roust them, so he continued on his way.
“That copper cutty-eyed us,” Peter heard as he neared the corner. One of them must have spotted the star on Peter’s chest as he passed them by.
“Hey Copper! Are you bustled?”
Peter slowed his pace and took a deep breath trying to decide if it was best to ignore the group and keep moving or engage them.
Neal Caffrey watched the scene from where he was hidden, nishing in the shadows behind a large oak tree. “Keep walking, Peter,” he whispered hoping that man he had come to nose for and even to like over the past ten months would somehow hear and heed his advice.
No such luck was to be had. Peter turned and began to palaver with the three men that Neal had been watching. They were rabbits for Ryan Wilkes, a man that Neal had once worked with and was now eager to avoid at all costs. Their brief association had been a rare mistake on Neal’s part.
Neal saw Peter pull the tin whistle from his pocket just as the man who had initially taunted Peter threw his first punch. Peter ducked out of the way cleanly, but the whistle went flying from his fingers.
Neal cursed silently and moved out from his hiding spot as the two other rabbits joined in the fray.
“We’re going to learn you not to be so uppish, Copper.” One of the men said as he and his pal grabbed Peter from either side and pinned his arms.
Re: Tales from Gotham Timestamp Part 2
Peter managed to pull free from the man holding his right arm and he swung madly trying to gain his freedom and get the upper hand on his assailants.
As he closed in, Neal kept one eye on the brawl and one on the ground searching for Peter’s tin whistle. Peter was doing a reasonable job of defending himself but his efforts wouldn’t last against these three dusty men who Neal knew had done more than their share of fibbing for Wilkes.
Staying low and darting left and then right, Neal finally spied his prize under the feet of one of the rabbits. He got as close as he could, hoping his dark overcoat and pants would keep him from being spotted. Then he waited, using the patience that he had honed over years of living on the streets of Stait for his moment.
Peter still had one arm free and was using it and his legs well. He kicked at the attacker holding his left arm while swinging his fist at the man before him finding his mark with both prongs of his attack. The man holding his left arm, let go and stepped back, leaving Peter the space he needed to press on the man before him.
This was the opening Neal had been waiting for, as the man who had been holding Peter’s left arm and standing over the whistle moved back to avoid getting kicked again by the copper star’s steel-toed boots. Neal scampered forward on his hands and knees, grabbed the whistle and pushed back again, to avoid getting a boot to the mazzard. As soon as he was clear he brought the whistle to his lips and blew as hard as he could, holding the note for as long as there was air in his lungs, calling every copper star within range to the scene.
The dead rabbits spun as one and glared at Neal for just a moment, before turning on their heels and scurrying off in the direction of Little Water Street.
Neal took a deep breath to replenish his lungs and then jumped to his feet. He bounced on his heels over to where Peter was standing. Neal could see a bruise already forming along Peter’s jaw in the dancing firelight. He placed the tin whistle in Peter’s hand and then patted Peter’s cheek. “You should find a steak for that and then sluice your gob a bit.”
Before Peter could even fathom a response, the young burner that he now had even more reason to call friend was gone, off into the night.
Re: Tales from Gotham Timestamp Part 2
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no subject
Down in the Dark Timestamp - Part 1
Neal sighed and shifted again as Peter watched. That was the last straw. Peter got up, went into the kitchen and got a bottle of water from the fridge and Neal’s Vicodin from the counter, and then made his way into the living room. He sat down on the coffee table in front of Neal and held out the bottles to him.
When Neal turned to look at him, Peter could see just how miserable his partner was. He was squinting and pain lines marred the corners of his eyes, the edges of his mouth and the expanse of his forehead. Neal sighed again when he saw what Peter was holding and then glared up at his lover. “I don’t want those, Peter.”
“I know you don’t. But you’re in pain.”
“I’m just bored. I’ve been home for two days already with nothing to do. There’s only so much time I can spend thinking up cons I’m never going to pull.”
Peter scowled in disapproval, both at Neal’s obvious lie and at the content of Neal’s obvious lie. “You’re not conning me now. Take the medication, please.”
Neal closed his eyes and shook his head carefully. “I can’t stand how it makes me feel, Peter.”
“I can’t stand watching you lie here in obvious pain,” Peter countered.
Neal opened his eyes again and met Peter’s gaze. “I would rather be in pain, than be nauseated and out of it. The concussion is making it hard enough for me to think. I know there’s no great solution here, but this is the one I prefer.”
Peter looked down at Neal for a long moment before speaking again. “Okay, but this,” Peter said pointing at Neal and the sofa, “isn’t working. Let’s go back upstairs where you can get more comfortable.”
Neal nodded minutely and then began the slow process of getting himself vertical, his good hand pressed up against his aching ribs. Peter helped by pulling the pillows out from under his injured limbs and then keeping a steadying hand on Neal’s shoulder as the younger man moved to sit up. Neal stood on his own, but Peter hovered next to him while Neal fought off the dizziness created by the change in position. From there Peter shadowed Neal up the stairs and into their bedroom.
Re: Down in the Dark Timestamp - Part 2
Neal smiled at Peter’s attentiveness and then got himself settled in the bed as best he could, resting up against the stacked pillows. Peter was there a moment later propping up Neal’s ankle and slipping another pillow under Neal’s cast. Once that was accomplished, Peter pulled the covers up and settled them over Neal’s chest gently.
Then he went into the bathroom returning a minute later with a cool, damp washcloth which he draped over Neal’s forehead.
“Need anything else?” Peter whispered.
“You,” Neal replied. “Stay here with me.”
“Sure. Let me just go grab a couple of files from downstairs.”
Neal hummed his approval as his eyes closed.
Peter jogged back down the stairs, closed his laptop and grabbed a couple of case files from the pile he had been working on and then returned to the bedroom, taking a seat in the Queen Anne chair in the corner.
Neal opened his eyes, frowned at Peter and then patted the bed next to him. “Come here.”
“I don’t want to disturb you.”
“It’s disturbing me that you’re sitting all the way across the room. Come here.”
Peter got up again and carried his files over to the bed, carefully climbing in on Neal’s right side and sitting up against the headboard.
Neal shifted so that his head was resting up against Peter’s side and his right wrist was pillowed on Peter’s thigh. “This okay?” He mumbled.
“It’s more than okay, buddy.” Peter answered, running his fingers through his partner’s hair.
Neal sighed contentedly. It wasn’t long though before he was shifting again in apparent discomfort, his breath catching as some tug of pain caught him off guard.
“Neal?”
“It’s okay,” Neal murmured when his breathing returned to normal.
“No, it really isn’t.” Peter dropped the files to the floor and then shimmied down the bed so that he was lying next to his partner. “Come here,” he requested as he pulled the washcloth from Neal’s forehead and dropped it on the nightstand.
Neal complied immediately, rolling carefully against Peter, placing his injured ankle and wrist on top of his lover’s body and settling his head on his shoulder. Peter draped one arm against Neal’s back and wrapped the other around Neal’s neck, rubbing his thumb gently at the base of his skull.
Neal hummed, his body going limp, melting into Peter’s warmth and comforting embrace. Minutes later his breathing settled into the tranquil rhythm of sleep. Peter looked down into his lover’s face and was pleased to see the lines of pain that had been so prominent gone, replaced by an easy smile.
Re: Down in the Dark Timestamp - Part 2
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no subject
Some more fluff at the end?
What Is Left Is But Ashes and Dust Timestamp
But the weight of returning to prison was gone. The weight of making decisions dictated by what other people, Adler, wanted from him, was gone. And, after filling his belly with El’s delicious dinner, Neal slept through the night, without nightmares, without reliving that day on the pier.
In the morning he woke feeling less tired, but his leg was sore and his head ached and Neal suspected that he was still running a low-grade fever. He made his way slowly to the bathroom and took his antibiotics, two Tylenol and half a Vicodin. He didn’t like the way they made him feel, but his leg was painful enough that the benefits of the pills outweighed the detriments for the moment. Then he eyed the shower noncommittally. It would be nice to be clean and the hot water would probably help to ease the aches, but the effort was more than he was willing to deal with at the moment. He decided he would shower later, before Peter and El came home.
When he eventually made it downstairs Neal was surprised to find Peter at the dining room table, working on his laptop.
“Hey.”
Peter turned at the sound of Neal’s voice. “Hey, yourself. How are you feeling this morning?”
Neal smiled at his partner. “Achy, but better. I thought you would be at the office by now.”
Peter shrugged. “I decided to work from home today and play the role of your watchdog myself. How about some breakfast?”
“I could eat,” Neal replied as he limped his way into the dining room.
Peter got up and clapped his hands together. “Good, because El’s not here to needle me about my cholesterol. We’ve got stuff for French toast and I went out this morning and snuck a package of thick cut bacon into the house.”
Neal shook his head in amusement at Peter’s enthusiasm. “She’s going to figure it out you know, from the smell of frying bacon in the air if nothing else.”
“Nah, I’ll open all the windows and use the stove fan. It’ll be fine,” Peter assured him as he began pulling ingredients out of the fridge.
Neal sat at the kitchen island and watched while Peter went to work preparing their meal. While the bread was soaking in the egg mixture, Peter started on the bacon, frying up the entire package. “We can’t leave any in the fridge, so we might as well eat it all,” he reasoned.
Neal had to admit that it all smelled wonderful and when Peter set a plate loaded with cinnamony and syrupy French toast and crispy bacon in front of him on the counter, his mouth watered and his stomach rumbled.
Peter laughed at loud at the sound of it. Then he made up his own plate and joined Neal at the island.
They ate in companionable silence; both of them busy enjoying the rich fare. Neal ate with gusto, pleased that his appetite, and more importantly his appreciation for good food had returned.
When he was done, Peter pushed his plate away and put his hand on Neal’s back. “It’s really good to have you home.”
Neal smiled, his body sated and his mind at ease. “It’s really good to be home.”
Re: What Is Left Is But Ashes and Dust Timestamp
Great scene, loved it :-)
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no subject
no subject
I'll write you something else, if you want.
no subject
What Was Lost - Timestamp
It wasn’t easy; Neal was still tentative and uncertain about where he stood in his relationship with Peter and El. And, Peter was uncertain about how his actions over these past weeks had changed the dynamics between the three of them. He didn’t know if they could ever again be what they were before El’s kidnapping. But, he hoped that with time, they could be something better.
They spent the remainder of the day talking, trying to figure out how to put the pieces of their bent, but not broken relationship back together. It was stressful and exhausting laying their feelings on the line and for Peter and Neal being honest about the mistakes they had made. By the time the cartons from the Chinese takeout they had for dinner where cleaned off the coffee table Neal was white faced and in obvious pain.
Peter and El carefully bundled him upstairs and when he tried to make for the guest room Peter wrapped an arm around his shoulders and guided him into their bedroom. When they climbed into bed, Peter steered Neal to the center and then wrapped his arms around Neal to assure him that he was wanted, that he was loved.
Neal relaxed quickly into Peter’s arm and was asleep minutes later. El followed him not long after. Peter lay awake for a long time listening to the counterpoints in their breathing, thankful to have this, have them, back in his life again.
Eventually, he too dropped into sleep. But the stresses of the last weeks followed him and he dreamed about standing alone at El’s grave. Her funeral had just ended, the mourners making their way back to their own lives and Peter stood by himself, clenching and unclenching his empty right hand. Neal wasn’t there to hold it, to hold him, to help him get through his loss. Suddenly his heart felt as empty as his hand, and twice as empty as it should be. The loves of his life were both gone.
The sound of his own sobs woke him. He rolled away from Neal and tried to tuck his face into the pillow to ride out the grief he felt without disturbing his partners. Another sob wracked him and he stifled it as best he could.
But then Neal was there, wrapping his arms tightly around Peter’s chest and softly kissing Peter’s neck. “It’s okay,” he whispered in Peter’s ear. “We’re here.”
Peter gripped Neal’s hands in his own and held on as if Neal would somehow slip away if he lost contact with his younger lover.
And, then El was there too, fitting herself onto the edge of the bed and cupping his face in her delicate hands. She shushed him and wiped his tears away with her thumbs.
Peter let the touch and feel of his lovers soothe him. Neal’s stubble scraping against the skin on his neck, the smell of El’s shampoo filling his nose. It was a nightmare, nothing more. He wasn’t alone. He hadn’t lost their love. He was safe in their arms and their hearts.
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Why do you make my cry in the middle of my day?
Beautiful.
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That was just.. beautiful. Thank you.
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