i ask you leave a penny for the watchman, and one in penance for the hearts you break

[frith_in_thorns]

I have nothing interesting to tell you today, sorry. I'm just playing with a meme instead, stolen from rabidchild67.

Give me a prompt, and I will write a drabble for it. Provide pairing or central character, a scenario or starting line, and I shall give you WORDS! Because this seems totally more productive than poking one of the other things I've started and got stuck on. Or writing depressed!Neal.

So anyway, just prompt me. I'll actually try writing pretty much anything, even if it's something I don't usually write.

Fandoms: White Collar, Eternal Law, SGA, AtLA, Discworld (minus the wizard books), Hunger Games, NY, Criminal Minds, other things you know I like but I've forgotten to list

Comments

[schneefink]

I know, I know, I'm terribly predictable, but can I get a snippet of SGA skyship AU? Pretty please? Or Teyla and/or Jennifer, wings. (Maybe the one where Jennifer suddenly grows a pair of wings, or the one where Teyla and Jennifer do tandem-paragliding offworld, or the one where all Athosians ride on dragons...)

[frith_in_thorns]

Actually, since I have no idea if I'll ever get back to the story properly, I've thrown what I have into a google doc for you to read if you like :) Beware, it's completely unedited and a couple of years old - I just read it through and there are some things I'd definitely change now!

Anyway, link is here. And I will write you a Teyla&Jennifer snippet, because I love that prompt :D

[schneefink]

It's fantastic! Thank you so much for letting me read it!! :D The sky ship Elizabeth, the flying city Atlantis, captain Teyla, John with wings, medic Jennifer in a dress with a knife...
I'm always willing to read more help if you do decide to get back to it! :)

[leesa_perrie]

Drugged!Neal or Drugged!Rodney, depending on your fandom mood!

Drugged!Neal for you :D 1/2

[frith_in_thorns]

Apparently I'm not good with the concept of "drabble" :P
-

"Caffrey," Diana hissed. Despite her best efforts, she was rapidly approaching the end of her patience. "Neal, come on."

To be fair to him, Neal was actually trying, blinking at her in an attempt to focus while clinging to the wall like it was going to save him from drowning. "Spinning," he mumbled.

She tried to pull him forwards along the unlit sidewalk. It was times like these when she regretted her smaller stature — she could definitely take on anyone on her team, but supporting their body weight was slightly harder. "Neal, we need to keep moving."

"Moving's no fun." Still, with an arm around her shoulders and the other arm pressed against the wall he managed to start staggering in the right direction.

"Trust me, not moving will result in a lot less fun very shortly."

To her relief, he didn't immediately argue, probably because putting one foot in front of the other seemed to be taking a lot of concentration. She risked a glance over her shoulder. No pursuit, but it was surely only a matter of time, and she had no idea where in the city they were.

The wall abruptly turned a corner, and Neal lurched sideways, apparently taken completely unawares as he ran out of support. Diana only just managed to grab him in time, and he slumped onto her shoulder. "You're too damn heavy," she muttered.

"S'rry."

"I guess it's not really your fault," she conceded. He made a happy little noise, as if that was all the approval he'd ever wanted, and she couldn't help smiling despite herself. "Ready to keep going?"

"Where?" he wanted to know.

"That's a really good question." She turned the corner, both because it might be slightly less obvious than continuing in a straight line, and because she really needed Neal to be able to hold on to the wall as well as her.

He grabbed at it gratefully when she pushed him towards it. "Can we — sit down soon?" he asked.

"Soon," she promised, knowing that it was going to happen before long whether she wanted it to or not, judging by the amount Neal was swaying. He was clearly flagging. "We've just got a bit further to walk."

But then, like an answer to a prayer, there was a break in the wall with a flight of steps down to a lower entrance of the defunct factory. Diana could dimly make out a pile of junk down beside the door.

"Down here," she said.

Going down steps was… not the easiest of tasks to try and get Neal to manage. She ended up going down backwards in front of him, and basically controlling his fall with both her hands gripping his shoulders as his feet stumbled for purchase. "Don' like this," he muttered.

"You're doing well." She really hoped he wouldn't actually lose his balance and send both of them crashing down the steps.

He made an amused sound.

By the time she got him to the bottom she could feel the muscles in her arms trembling with the strain of keeping him upright. "You can sit down now," she said, guiding him next to the pile of scrap.

His legs folded down immediately and she only just caught him from smashing into the concrete.

Re: Drugged!Neal for you :D 2/2

[frith_in_thorns]

"I said sit, not collapse," she grumbled, and shoved at his legs so that he tucked his knees up in front of him. She breathed another sigh of thanks that the pile of junk was partly composed of sheets of scrap metal, and fumbled for one. Sitting herself close against him, she was able to quickly build a rudimentary hide around them. Hopefully it would stand up to anyone trying to catch them.

Neal's head flopped down against her shoulder. She grinned, since he couldn't see her. "You okay?" she whispered.

He considered for some time. "Feel kind of… strange."

She didn't quite laugh. "Yeah, I bet."

"Are we hiding?"

This time she did actually laugh, although very quietly. "Well noticed."

He made a contented sort of snuffling noise, and leaned into her. No, he was actually curled up against her, which was a bit surreal and slightly sweet. "Y're good at that. Safe here."

Because there was no one around to see, and it was completely deniable, she ruffled his hair, grinning with a mixture of fondness and exasperation. "Shh," she whispered.

"Mmm," he acknowledged, and fell silent. Which was when the running feet of several people suddenly became audible.

Diana stiffened, her hand going automatically towards a weapon which wasn't there. Instead she put her arm around Neal, in a completely pointless protective gesture. Don't say anything, she thought at him. Don't make a sound. Please.

The harsh beam of a flashlight forced its way through chinks in the shelter she'd built around the two of them. Diana held her breath.

And then it swept onward and was gone. The footsteps faded.

Diana kept perfectly still, waiting for them to realise their mistake and come back.

It was only when she was finally beginning to relax again, and was about to give Neal some credit (if only inside her head) for staying quiet that she noticed the even pattern of his breathing, and realised that he had actually fallen asleep on her. "Seriously, Caffrey?" she whispered, but he didn't stir. She considered shaking him awake, but it was probably safer for both of them if she didn't. Also, since she didn't intend to try getting him moving any time soon, it felt like it would be slightly mean.

When she heard the faint cries of Diana! Neal! she jolted, slightly shocked to realise that she had begun to doze herself. Had hearing them just been a dream?

No, there they were again, closer now.

She pushed the metal sheeting away, letting it clang against the cement of the stairwell. "Peter!" she shouted. "Over here!"

That got Neal to stir slightly. "Wha's happening?" he mumbled into her jacket.

"Peter's found us," she told him. "We're safe now."

"Oh," he mumbled. "'s good."

And by the time Peter and Jones reached them, he had gone back to sleep.

[rabidchild67.livejournal.com]

Peter and Neal have a trying-to-make-each-other-cry-off.

Alternatively, neal/Gordon: tickle monster

[frith_in_thorns]

I pick option two. /tries to be less self-conscious about writing ship *g*

-

"You're not serious," Gordon said, his voice amused and slightly incredulous. He laughed, a soft huffing of breath against the back of Neal's neck.

Neal grinned sheepishly, then remembered that this was totally beneath his dignity. And pinned as he was between table and chair, he didn't have an exit except by wriggling out sideways. He folded his arms instead. "I'm busy working, here."

Gordon leaned his elbows on the chair back. "Tell me, Neal, have you ever actually said those words before?"

"Of course I have. Occasionally they've even been together in the same sentence."

"And I'm sure you meant them every time."

"What do you take me for?" Neal asked. He resolutely kept his eyes fixed on the blueprints. Well, in their general direction, anyway.

"Hmm," Gordon said. "That's a good question." He slipped a hand onto Neal's shoulder, and began tracing his fingers lightly down the seam of Neal's shirt side.

Neal held out as long as he could, but he realised the folly of having his arms crossed in front of him a moment too late. He squirmed, and (allegedly) made an undignified squeaking sound. Gordon easily swung himself out of the way of Neal jabbing out with his elbow, and perched against the table.

Neal tried to glower at him, but it was hard to keep it up.

Gordon grinned. "You are. You're actually ticklish."

He could feel himself actually starting to blush. Usually he could control his reactions better. "Any particular reason you're so interested?" he asked, innocently.

"You're a clever boy. I'm sure you can figure it out for yourself."

Neal waved a hand in a gesture towards the blueprints, and gave a long theatrical sigh. "It's just such a shame I've got all this work getting in the way. Think my boss would let me take a break?"

Gordon raised his eyebrows. "Oh, I think he could probably be persuaded."

[rabidchild67.livejournal.com]

THIS IS AWESOME! THAT IS ALL!

[rabidchild67.livejournal.com]

And: shouldn't you be sleeping?

[rumrouz.livejournal.com]

I love them )))

[sholio]

Peter and Neal getting drunk together after something bad happens on a case

[frith_in_thorns]

Didn't you prompt this on collarcorner a few rounds ago? *gg*
/is writing

[dmk0064.livejournal.com]

Neal with broken elbow and needs to save Peter with one of those expert shots

[frith_in_thorns]

He can't hold the gun. It's not the pain, it's not even the pain, it's that his arm won't move, won't respond — and he can see where it's broken, see the twist and odd angle that makes him feel sick and shaky when he looks at it.

Peter. Peter can't save you. He's locked in hand-to-hand combat, and the upper of those hands certainly belongs to the other guy, who's a trained boxer after all.

Peter goes down almost in slow motion, slammed against the floor. Neal would shout, except that his body still isn't working properly, he still can't take more than shallow breaths.

The guy grabs Peter, pulls him up, and what comes next plays like a fast-forwarding film track. Peter's head slammed into the concrete wall, over and over, shattering his skull like the man in the morgue Neal had refused to look at too closely.

That can't be allowed to happen.

The guy grabs Peter, pulls him up, and Neal takes the gun in his wrong hand, steadies it against the broken, useless arm. Sights on a moving target, but there's no time.

He fires.

The recoil jolts back along the broken bone, whiting everything out, screaming pain blotting out his senses. He has some sort of idea that he has to move, has to check on Peter, and he's just started forcing himself as far as his knees when the FBI bursts in and someone makes him lie down again.

But he gets to see Peter before they're loaded into ambulances, strapped into gurneys next to each other. Neal's aware again now, his arm feeling like a molten poker's replaced the bone, but the pain's manageable. Peter looks like hell, bloodied and bruised, but he's smiling at Neal nonetheless. "Nice shot," he says.

"You're welcome," Neal tells him. It wasn't a kill-shot. He's glad about that. But he looks at Peter's injuries again and hopes the guy's in at least as much pain, because there's only so far his feelings of charity will stretch.

"You had my back," Peter says, and he's still smiling, fondly.

Neal smiles too, and lets himself relax, because they're both okay. "Anytime," he promises.

[imbecamiel.livejournal.com]

Sounds like fun! :D

Hmm, a little idea I've had stuck in my head for a while now: Sherlock and John watching some kind of crime procedural/mystery together, Sherlock frustrated because he's having trouble sorting out which tiny details he notices about people are actual clever, subtle clues to the solution and which are just carelessness on the part of the actors/writers/costuming & set departments.

I know it's not so much a current big fandom for you at the moment, but - thought I'd see if it might spark something! ^^

[frith_in_thorns]

"What are you watching?" Sherlock demands. He flops down onto the sofa without waiting for an answer. "Is it a crime show?"

"Hence the dead body," John says. "I thought you hated crime shows."

"Nothing better to do."

"Well, lucky me, I guess."

Sherlock looks sidelong at John, who is already apparently back to being engrossed in the TV, so he decides he should probably stop talking. He's working on being more considerate today. It's an experiment.

After a few minutes, however, he starts to fidget. John doesn't seem to notice, so he keeps doing it.

Eventually John turns to glare at him. "What? You know, being all silently passive-aggressive is actually more annoying than you not shutting up."

"This show is ridiculous," Sherlock says.

"It's CSI, not War and Peace. Of course it's ridiculous. No one wants to watch scientifically accurate crime shows where they discuss the analysis of tobacco ash for an hour."

Sherlock pouts. It's a shame John isn't looking at him. "Well, those two people are clearly sleeping together. Why hasn't anyone noticed?"

"No, they aren't."

"They are. And that man's having serious financial trouble even though he's hiding it with expensive clothing."

John blinks a few times, and chuckles. "Sherlock, I think you're mixing up the characters and the actors."

Well, that's just unfair, really. "Isn't that what directors are for? To hide all those things? How are you supposed to tell which are real clues?"

John sighs. "I don't think anyone apart from you is picking up those things. Okay, not the sleeping together bit — I'm sure the internet is full of people who'll agree with you there."

"God, people are so stupid," Sherlock mutters, slumping down.

John rolls his eyes. "And yet you're the one who can't tell what's real and what isn't. Is this why you only watch chat shows?"

"There's no point watching this," Sherlock argues. Although John really does seem to enjoy it. And he's supposed to be being considerate. "Alright, how do you know which are the clues you're supposed to notice?"

John sighs again, but he's looking more amused than annoyed now. "Well, have you noticed the clues which are so obvious it's like you're being hit over the head with them?"

"Of course, but I've been discounting those. They're just unrealistic."

John chuckles. "Those are the ones you're supposed to notice. Try and ignore everything else. Pretend you're as stupid as the rest of us."

Sherlock tries. He really does. But it doesn't make sense. Still, they're nearly at the denouement, which — "But that doesn't make sense! I have no idea how they drew those conclusions!"

John turns off the television. "Welcome to how the rest of us feel when you're around," he says. "Want some tea?"

[robingal1.livejournal.com]

All of my prompts are from White Collar.

-Neal in denim overalls, for whatever reason. (shirt and/or tractor optional)
-Mozzie visits Neal and discovers that there is no wine.
-Pirates! Treasure! And why the FBI hates Neal in Florida. Bonus points if you can include a manatee.
The following link is a quick summery of the rich history of Pirate!Florida: http://www.treasurelore.com/florida/florida_treasure.htm
-P/E/N story about the daily to monthly to yearly rearing of their child. Something fluff and heartwarming. I'm a sap that way. ^_^
and finally...
-an h/c fic heavy on the c; Neal is recovering from "fill-in-the-blank" at the Burkes, and the power goes out, then the water is off, and to add insult to injury, Neal hasn't had an honest to goodness bath since before "fill-in-the-blank". Can't a man just wash his hair and shave?!!?


x-posted to RabidChild67.

[rumrouz.livejournal.com]

Neal takes bullet for Peter

[frith_in_thorns]

He had never asked Neal to do that. He never would, ever.

"Dammit, Neal," he snarls, and Neal flinches away a little beneath his hands. "You shouldn't have done that. You can't —"

"Bit late now," Neal says, and it comes out as a sort of breathless chuckle.

Neal shouldn't be making jokes while his blood is pulsing out of him, spilling out between Peter's fingers as he tries desperately to hold it in. "Where's EMS?" he demands, but doesn't look round for an answer.

Neal's face is white, his breathing ragged. "Not sorry," he gasps.

"You never are," Peter snaps. Fear is making him angry. He tries to push it away. That won't help now. "Save your arguments for later."

"Later," Neal says. "Yeah…" His eyes close.

"Neal. Neal, look at me." Peter wants to tap his face, but he can't take his hands away from the bleeding. "Neal!"

Neal swallows, and then his eyes half-open, clouded and unfocused. "Peter…"

"I'm here," Peter says. "You're okay, you'll be fine. I'm here."

The corner of Neal's mouth twitches. A half-smile.

"Stay with me," Peter orders. There's so much blood, warm against his hands as Neal shivers. "Neal, don't go anywhere. You're okay."

"Not sorry," Neal whispers, and his eyes flutter closed.

[(Anonymous)]

Neal, Peter, hypothermia!snuggling. Or drugged!snuggling. Or both:D (Neal being the one hypothermic or drugged)

[ivorysilk]

All Neal wants is some ice cream, and Peter won't let him have any.

[frith_in_thorns]

Hello, I saw your comment on hoosierbitch's entry and it made me feel guilty that I still haven't filled this -- but I'm still stumped on how to fit this prompt into a fic :P So I wrote you something else instead, vaguely inspired by your prompt to hb, because I'm sorry you're feeling down. I hope that's okay!

- - -

"Peter!" Neal's voice cracked with relief.

Peter, for his part, was no less relieved. "Are you hurt?" he demanded, eyes tracking over Neal, who was sitting on the cot with his feet tucked beneath him. He didn't appear to have any injuries, but that might not mean anything…

"No, no, I'm okay," Neal assured him. He looked pretty shaken-up, though, which was probably to be expected after several days locked in a tiny cell, with the man who had put him there refusing to talk. And it really was tiny. There was barely any room other than that taken up by the cot, sink, and toilet. Peter's anger at Foster ratcheted up a notch. This had clearly been planned out.

But this wasn't the time or the place for anger. "Okay," Peter said, holstering his gun. "That's good, that's really good." He still wasn't entirely able to take Neal's word for it, however. "How about we get out of here, then?"

Neal gave a lop-sided grin. "Sounds great. You've no idea how bored I am of staring at walls."

The cell was small enough that Peter actually had to step out into the corridor to give Neal room to get up off the cot. He instantly regretted that action when Neal suddenly turned white, and swayed.

Peter leapt forward to grab Neal by the upper arms and pulled him out of the cell, managing to slow his descent to the floor as his knees buckled. "Someone get a medic here!" Peter barked.

Neal struggled to sit up. Peter pressed a hand against his chest, keeping him down. "Neal? I thought you said you weren't hurt!" He was aware of his voice tightening and growing louder, but he couldn't stop it.

Neal blinked up at him groggily, like he wasn't quite sure why he was lying on the floor with Peter kneeling over him. "Dizzy," he mumbled.

Peter checked Neal's pulse, which was rapid and shallow. He pulled off his FBI vest and slipped it under Neal's head — not a great pillow, but it had to be an improvement over bare concrete. Neal's skin was cold and damp with sweat.

An alarming thought occurred. "Neal. When did you last have something to eat?"

"Drank water from the tap," Neal said, taking a moment to think about it. "Didn't get any food, though."

Peter huffed. "Interesting definition of okay you have," he said accusingly.

"I was okay 'til I got up," Neal protested. His speech was slower than normal. "I just feel really tired. Heavy."

"I believe that's what you get when your blood sugar crashes," Peter said. "We're going to get you checked out, though. Just lie still." He patted Neal's shoulder, and found himself reluctant to pull his hand away — instead he rubbed his thumb against the back of Neal's neck. Neal turned his head to press the side of his face against Peter's hand.

"I could probably sit up now," Neal ventured, after a minute or so.

"Don't you dare," Peter told him, firmly, and they stayed like that until the paramedics arrived.

[pipilj.livejournal.com]

Peter is drugged.Mozzie takes care of him. May be ask him some question on some conspiracy theory. Neal watches in amusement.

[coltdancer.livejournal.com]

Neal with a wicked cold and Peter feeling bad that he's working so hard...

or

Neal's stuck out in the rain, following through on a lead or wrapping something up for the day, and is thoroughly soaked and chilled in line of duty.

Or hey - put the two TOGETHER. BWAHA.

Okay, that's bad.

I could keep going.