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hoosierbitchDID YOU GUYS KNOW THAT THERE ARE REAL LIVE CACTUSES IN THE DESERT? LIKE, FOR REAL?
*stares out the window*
*
In more serious news: It seems like a lot of folks are having a rough time right now. Maybe it's because the weather's changing, maybe because it's the end/beginning of semesters, or maybe it's because sometimes life just kicks you in the balls/ovaries for no reason at all.
So if you've been having a crap day/week/month/year/life, or are expecting to go through a rough/busy/depressing/stressful/unpleasant time sometime soon, you should request a fic from me. Even if all that's happened is that you stubbed your toe--which can suck, especially if it's your little toe, because then you feel like a bully--you should request something. Think of it as a hug-substitute (because if we were close together, I would hug you, because I am huggy. Also if we were close together you too would be in the DESERT where there are CACTUSES).
You can check my fandom tags for things I'm familiar with (and also add everything Jeremy Renner's ever done, and Parks & Rec). I'll write any pairings, ratings, and kinks. Request whatever would be the written equivalent of (vegetarian) chicken soup for your soul. I know it's not much, but I'd like to help if I can.
As always, anon commenting is enabled.
I adore you all! [Also I adore cactuses! But I like you guys more. Probably.]
♥
*stares out the window*
*
In more serious news: It seems like a lot of folks are having a rough time right now. Maybe it's because the weather's changing, maybe because it's the end/beginning of semesters, or maybe it's because sometimes life just kicks you in the balls/ovaries for no reason at all.
So if you've been having a crap day/week/month/year/life, or are expecting to go through a rough/busy/depressing/stressful/unpleasant time sometime soon, you should request a fic from me. Even if all that's happened is that you stubbed your toe--which can suck, especially if it's your little toe, because then you feel like a bully--you should request something. Think of it as a hug-substitute (because if we were close together, I would hug you, because I am huggy. Also if we were close together you too would be in the DESERT where there are CACTUSES).
You can check my fandom tags for things I'm familiar with (and also add everything Jeremy Renner's ever done, and Parks & Rec). I'll write any pairings, ratings, and kinks. Request whatever would be the written equivalent of (vegetarian) chicken soup for your soul. I know it's not much, but I'd like to help if I can.
As always, anon commenting is enabled.
I adore you all! [Also I adore cactuses! But I like you guys more. Probably.]
♥
(no subject)
Date: 2012-05-23 11:11 pm (UTC)fic: really, charles?
Date: 2012-05-23 11:46 pm (UTC)*
“Really, Charles? In the hallway? I know we live with teenagers, but I thought at least you had some modicum of self-control. Honestly, it’s sad—” Charles presses him against the door and shoves his thigh between Erik’s leg. “It’s—it’s really quite…”
“Yes,” Charles says, undulating against Erik’s body, one hand holding his chin up so that Charles can kiss his neck, right where it’s most sensitive, making Erik’s eyes flutter closed with every brush of Charles’s teeth.“We’re going to have sex in the hallway. Right here, right now. That is how much I want you; that is how much I need you. Would you really like me to stop?”
He growls and puts his hands on Charles’s ass, pulling the other man up onto his tiptoes, increasing the pressure of Charles’s thigh against his cock. He can feel Charles now, the length of him pressed against Erik’s hip, and he rolls his hips in a way that makes Charles gasp.
“If we were in bed, I’d strip you naked and fuck you with my tongue until you cried,” Erik says, picking up the thread of his previous argument. He adjusts his grip, pulling Charles up until he’s unbalanced, his feet nearly off the floor, his weight resting against Erik’s body. “I’d make you ride my fingers until you came, and then I’d flip you on your stomach and keep fingering you until you were hard again. And then,” he says, whispering into Charles’s ear, shuddering at the press of Charles’s cock against his own, “if you were very, very good, I might have fucked you.”
Charles laughs and kisses him, tugging his bottom lip viciously. “I know. You were thinking about it the whole ride home. But if I want you to last that long—and I do, I want you to finger me and fuck me and ignore me when I beg for you to stop—then I’ve got to make you come at least once before we get started.”
Charles fists a hand in Erik’s hair and pulls his head back, biting the exposed column hard. “You’re not a patient man,” Charles says, grabbing onto Erik’s shoulders to keep himself upright when Erik loses his grip. He’s coming, hard, his arms wrapping tight around Charles’s back, pulling him close. He opens his mouth and groans, gasping when Charles twists his hips, the cruel pressure of his hipbone against Erik’s cock working another spurt of come from him.
Re: fic: really, charles?
Date: 2012-05-24 01:27 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-05-23 10:44 pm (UTC)If you would like, I would love a ficlet involving maybe baking cookies, building snow people and drinking cocoa.
Or pervertables.
Which ever you prefer.
Love you much
fic: you'll make a lovely florence nightingale
Date: 2012-05-23 11:20 pm (UTC)*
Neal leans against the sink and looks out the window. Snow's still falling, piling up outside the door. Satch's pawprints have already been covered, although the distinctive scent of wet dog continues to drift through the house. Satchmo had cavorted through the snow like a confused, ecstatic gazelle, leaping and tripping and pouncing on what seemed to the rest of them like completely random drifts of snow.
"It's odd," he says, leaning against the counter.
“What?” Peter’s putting away the dishes from their dinner. Chili and cornbread, something to chase of the chill.
"It’s different,” he says slowly, “to enjoy a snowday because I want to stay in, not just because I don't want to go out. you know?"
Peter shrugs and stands beside him. "I've always loved snow days. Ever since I was a kid."
"I never would have guessed,” Neal says, rolling his eyes. “What was your favorite part?"
"Making snowmen. Hot chocolate. Playing hookey from school."
"That does sound nice," he says, leaning against Peter's side. He turns and kisses Peter's neck, resting his chin on Peter's shoulder. "Want to go back to bed? We can turn the heating blanket back on and wait to climb in until it's all toasty." Peter's frowning, which means that the likelihood of resuming their earlier activities is unlikely. "Is there a problem, Mr. Burke?"
"No. Go start up the blanket, but then come back down. Dress warmly, okay? Tell Elizabeth to come down, too." Peter turns, grins, and kisses the tip of his nose. "We're going to build snowmen."
*
They don't build a snowman. They build a snowwoman, a snowdog, and the foundations of an igloo, before Neal begs off and retreats to the house, bringing a couple buckets worth of snow back in with him. "Can't believe you shoved snow down my back," he mutters, glaring at Elizabeth. She grins, completely unrepentant.
Peter finally comes in and closes the door. Neal feels like he might never be warm and dry again. He hasn't felt this cold since--since Prague, probably.
"You know that you're the ones who are going to have to nurse me back to health when I contract pneumonia, right?" He puts his boots by the heater and leaves his gloves, hat, and scarf, in a sodden pile by the door.
"Peter would make a great Florence Nightingale."
"You better believe it," Peter says, pushing them both towards the stairs. "Go climb into bed. I'll make sure Satchmo's fed and be right up."
Neal jogs up the stairs in his t-shirt and soaked jeans. He and Elizabeth finish stripping down in the bathroom, leaving their wet clothes draped over the shower rod. The bed's warm, the sheets are soft, and Elizabeth is lovely and pressed right up against him, but he is pretty convinced that he will never be warm again.
"Down my back," he says, looking at the devious brunette who's resting her head on his shoulder. "I don't know why Peter keeps second-guessing my motives; you're clearly the criminal mastermind here."
"Peter doesn't second-guess you," she says with a yawn. "You second-guess you."
He shivers, clenching his teeth to keep them from chattering. "And now I'll second-guess you too," he says. “You’re devious.”
When Peter finally rejoins them, he's holding three coffee mugs. "I come bearing cocoa," he says grandly. "My mother's recipe." Neal and Elizabeth sit up and accept Peter's gift, moving to make room for him between them. There are half-melted marshmallows floating on top of the thick hot chocolate. It's hot, steam coming off the top. It’s exactly what Neal had been craving. He can feel the first swallow moving down into his chest, the heat spreading through him.
When Peter's feet brush against Neal's calves, he realizes how warm he and Elizabeth had gotten, wrapped together under the covers. "You're like an ice cube," he mutters, nudging his way under Peter's free arm and covering one of Peter's feet with both of his own. Peter chuckles and gives Neal's shoulders a squeeze.
"Happy snow day," Elizabeth says. Peter holds out his mug and Elizabeth and Neal lift up their own, raising a toast to cold feet and incipient pneumonia (and things that don't need second-guessing).
Re: fic: you'll make a lovely florence nightingale
Date: 2012-05-24 03:00 am (UTC)(The small competitive side of me thought, I bet my hot chocolate is better than Peter's).
This was awesome. I particularly loved El's observation that it wasn't Peter second guessing Neal, not at this point. Would love to see more about that ...
AWESOME.
(no subject)
Date: 2012-05-23 11:24 pm (UTC)I had refreshed in the almost vain hope of seeing some wonderful fic, and LO! There it is.
I certainly don't miss the cookies, because we get Peter's homemade hot cocoa, snowpeople and cuddling.
I am sitting here, three thousand miles away, in my own starbucks, at my favorite table and grinning like a fool.
THANK YOU, THANK YOU and THANK YOU AGAIN.
(no subject)
Date: 2012-05-23 11:54 pm (UTC)fic: better in the end [neal/peter, pg-13]
Date: 2012-05-24 12:16 am (UTC)I hope a Neal/Peter take is okay with you? If not, lemme know, I will rewrite. :-)
*
“The reason that we have prisons,” Neal says, practically hissing through clenched teeth, “is to rehabilitate people. Right?”
Peter nods hesitantly.
“That’s why they’re there, isn’t it? You go in, you pay your dues, and then you go back into the real world. That’s what the law says! That’s what the legislators say!”
Peter doesn’t say anything. Neal knows better than most that the gap between ideology and reality is vast, motivated by money, and harshest to the people on the bottom of the totem pole.
“So why is it that getting out of prison doesn’t mean that you actually get to rejoin the world?” Neal throws his rejection letter onto the table in front of Peter. “They said that my background doesn’t check out,” he says quietly, his face creased with tension. “And I’m ineligible to apply for almost all of the apartments the realtor showed me. Neal Caffrey,” he says with a bitter laugh. “Not that great on paper.”
“I’m sorry,” Peter says, grabbing one of Neal’s hands and rubbing the inside of his wrist with his thumb.
“Breaking the law doesn’t make me a threat to people,” Neal grumbles, letting Peter pull him down into a chair. “It makes me a threat to the establishment.”
“Down with the man,” Peter says sagely.
“Damn straight.”
“You will find something,” he says, taking the rejection letter, folding it up, and putting it in the trash. “Alright. The way I see it, you have three options.”
“Is one of those options prostitution?”
“Okay, four options. One: give up. Two: go back to your old tricks,” Neal kisses him quickly, quieting Peter as a protest. “I know, you promised you wouldn’t. I just want my list to be comprehensive.”
“You would. Accountant.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“No,” Neal says moving his chair closer Peter’s so that he can lean against Peter’s side. “Just a boring thing. So, that’s the first two options. Becoming a high-class escort is number three.”
“And four is to keep trying,” Peter says. It sounds trite and patronizing and frustrating, but it’s all he’s got. It’s the truth. “I’d like you to keep trying,” he says with a helpless smile. “You will get something. The economy’s down, your resume is going to look a little—odd—but something will come through.”
“Being a law-abiding citizen sucks,” Neal says. Peter rests his head against Neal’s and waits with him, hates the world with him, stays hopeful for him. “Fine. I’ll keep trying. But for every rejection letter I get, you buy me a chocolate cupcake. Or give me a blowjob. Deal?”
“Deal.”
They shake on it, Peter gives Neal a blowjob, and then they go out to buy chocolate cupcakes.
Re: fic: better in the end [neal/peter, pg-13]
Date: 2012-05-24 12:33 am (UTC)Re: fic: better in the end [neal/peter, pg-13]
Date: 2012-05-24 12:47 am (UTC)Re: fic: better in the end [neal/peter, pg-13]
Date: 2012-05-24 03:04 am (UTC)I adore fics where Peter is just straightforwardly supportive of Neal, even when Neal is being a little silly. And I love that you have no easy fixes in this--he doesn't just tell Neal to move in with him or that he'll get him a job at the Bureau like so many fics do, but rather, that Neal needs to go out and do these things on his own. As he really would.
(no subject)
Date: 2012-05-24 12:41 am (UTC)BEHOLD MY POUT: :(
hoosier fix?
(dani likes smut. all smut. and science!)
(no subject)
Date: 2012-05-24 10:51 pm (UTC)ALSO I ADORE YOU AND YOUR POUT.
(no subject)
Date: 2012-05-24 11:07 pm (UTC)Failing that, you could write the Jim POV scene where after the release of some sort of contaminant on the Engineering deck, he spies Scotty streaking through the hallways in all of his glory and realizes that it's love at first swang ( Can we portmanteau swinging wang, or is that confusing?) ;)
fic: scrap metal [star trek: reboot, jim/scotty]
Date: 2012-05-25 04:55 pm (UTC)*
“What you fail to understand,” Scotty decides, turning his head to look at Jim’s face, “is that you are not a spaceship.” He’s a little bit drunk so there are two Jims. Both of them look smug. Bastards.
“I tried to fly once,” Jim says unhelpfully. He frowns. “It didn’t end well. It middled fantastically, though.”
“Were you building a personal flotation device? Because I tried that once. That didn’t end well either. Or middle well. Or begin well.”
“Nah,” Jim says, sagging against the wall of Scotty’s bunk like they were made for each other. “I drove a car off a cliff.”
“Jim.”
“Yes.”
“You are not a spaceship. You cannot fly. You cannot turn on shields. And, most importantly—if you break…”
Scotty’s spent the day up to his elbows in the engine. His forearms and fingers are covered in scattered burns that aren’t quite bad enough to warrant a trip to Medical. Jim’s got an arm in a cast, holding it immobile while the bones regrow. Apparently, shattered elbows are hard to recreate.
“I’ve got Bones to fix me,” Jim says.
“Yeah, well.” He shoves Jim’s shoulder lightly. “I’ll make you a better splint in the morning. Might allow for some movement while you heal.”
Jim leans against his side, their legs pressed against each other. “We survived another round,” he says quietly. “That counts for something, right?”
Jim is smart. Brilliant, maybe. But his brain works like a shuttle slapped together from spare parts in the salvage yard; Scotty’s pretty sure that a couple of blows in the right places will take him apart. Jim pretends that he’s the Enterprise, pretends that he’s invulnerable, that he can take every hit, protect everyone around him. There is one thing that Jim has in common with the Enterprise, but Scotty doesn't know if he'll ever learn that. They have the same crew, who will do anything to protect them.
“Shut up and go to sleep, you daft bastard.”
Jim grumbles at him, but eases himself down on his side. Scotty curls up behind him, putting his arm over Jim’s waist to keep from jarring Jim’s arm, to keep him still and safe while he sleeps.
Re: fic: scrap metal [star trek: reboot, jim/scotty]
Date: 2012-05-25 06:06 pm (UTC)I ADORE YOU AND YOUR NON PORN SCOTTY SCHMOOP AND FRAGILE GENIUS JIM <3
Also, the better splint that Scotty builds will totally have conveniently placed eyelets to serve as tie downs, right? You can still kink when injured, an engineer will find a way--that's what they do \o/
(no subject)
Date: 2012-05-24 12:50 am (UTC)But in case it counts... I want Lonely Neal cheering himself up.
(no subject)
Date: 2012-05-24 02:39 am (UTC)fic: happy days [1/2, white collar, Neal, pg-13]
Date: 2012-05-25 05:35 pm (UTC)*gives you many hugs*
WARNING: Character dealing with depression.
*
Sometimes, he wakes up feeling down. Down because everything is spiraling in that direction, his thoughts moving in circles that close in on him tighter and tighter.
He grows tired of saying that he is tired. He is sick of realizing, over and over again, what loneliness means. One wine glass one plate one dinner that he eats alone. One bed and one occupant, one person’s clothing in his closet (Byron’s), a building full of people he works with and leaves behind.
Down because gravity has increased and it is hard to raise his head or stand up straight or get out of bed, down because he has yet to reach rock bottom, the turnaround point, down because he is sinking drowning falling asleep. Falling asleep alone and waking up exhausted and sliding to the ground against the side of his closet because none of the clothes belong to him.
He is alone and lonely.
*
"I'm going for a walk," he announces to the empty room.
He puts on shorts and sneakers and a t-shirt, so that he will look like every other New Yorker who believes that the sidewalk is their own private treadmill. He says hello to two middle-aged women walking their dogs together, a little girl in a tutu, and a cranky old Italian man who say 'Bah!' at him when he has to stand under the canopy for the man’s Gelato shop to make room for a large crowd of pedestrians walking past.
The sun feels good, and sweating feels good, and talking to people feels good. Then he gets home and showers and sits down in the bathtub and stays there until the hot water runs out.
*
Apparently, My Little Ponies is a thing. Bright and cheerful and entertaining. He tries to watch a couple of episodes and just feels old.
*
“I’m coming over for dinner,” he announces to Peter. “Would today or tomorrow work better?”
“Uh. What’s the occasion?”
“Dinner,” Neal says slowly.
“Yeah, I know, but—never mind.” Peter yells for Elizabeth, who must be on a different floor of the house. Neal holds his phone away from his ear as the Burkes compare their schedules at a loud bellow. “Tonight,” Peter says.
“Great. Anything else I should bring?”
“Just wine will be great. Neal—are you sure you’re okay? Did something happen?”
Neal closes his eyes. No, nothing had happened. Nothing has happened to him in a very long time. “Nope. It’s all quiet on the western front.”
“Alright. See you around seven.”
Neal hangs up. It’s Saturday, but he has a reason to get up, a reason to shower and do his hair, a reason to pick out clothes that make him look and feel good.
He’s ready to go by five; he spends the rest of the time sitting on the couch, trying not to talk himself out of going.
*
Elizabeth hugs him hello and Neal lets go first, because he’s a bit starved for touch, and he couldn’t bear it if Peter knew. Neal gets the wine glasses from the cabinet and the corkscrew from the drawer in the kitchen, and pours the first round. They drink it in the kitchen, waiting for the bread to finish baking. The scent of it fills the whole house.
Peter and Elizabeth talk about their day, and Neal says that he didn’t do much, which is true. He makes small talk, and smiles until it starts to feel natural. It’s the way all of his best cons go. He can make himself believe almost anything.
Dinner’s good, but not spectacular, and Peter’s tired from a day of yard work, and Elizabeth’s preoccupied with an event coming up on Tuesday, and Neal has very little to say. There are silences in the conversation. He can’t tell if they’re comfortable ones or not.
*
He can’t take all of his happiness from them. It runs out after he’s been away from them too long, it makes his heart ache sometimes, it feels like stealing yet another thing he does not deserve. He will take their love and company and friendship.
His happiness he will learn to make himself.
*
fic: happy days [2/2, white collar, Neal, pg-13]
Date: 2012-05-25 05:36 pm (UTC)He still feels better tonight than he had in the morning.
The next day, he makes himself a breakfast that he enjoys and watches a documentary that engrosses him and paints something that is terrible and he allows himself to be okay with that.
*
He goes walking three mornings every week. He buys gelato from the grumpy old man’s shop once. It’s terrible.
He sets his alarm and puts his alarm clock across the apartment so that he has to get out of bed to turn it off. He buys fresh fruit and bagels and exquisite coffee, and starts every morning with those little luxuries.
Some days are better than others. Some days start with the alarm, and a refreshing shower, and a good breakfast. Other days start down and get lower.
He makes dinner with the Burkes a weekly occurrence. Every other week they come to his apartment, which means he has to clean everything at least that often. He gets comfortable with their silences.
*
He still gets lonely. He still spends some days moving through air that feels like quicksand. But most days now, more and more days, he is not alone, and he does not feel lonely.
Re: fic: happy days [2/2, white collar, Neal, pg-13]
Date: 2012-05-25 06:45 pm (UTC)I loved how hard-won Neal's happiness is, how it's not a foregone conclusion for him and nothing to take for granted. A powerful ficlet.
(no subject)
Date: 2012-05-24 01:41 am (UTC)Um, well, I got my feelings hurt three times this week, and a person who was supposed to be my friend turns out to not be my friend at all. Does that count?
If you want to write for me (and I don't really deserve it at all, with how behind I am on everything /0\ ), I would like Peter feeling down and Neal/El (and/or Alex \o/ ) cheering him up.
Or not. Write what you likes. :-)
(no subject)
Date: 2012-05-24 02:46 am (UTC)I have no reason to feel unhappy or down or angsty--I have a decent job, awesome friends and family, and bunnies. But I kind of do anyway--I am just resentful and feeling sorry for myself a teeny tiny bit, if that counts. So write me something, please? I would like OT3 h/c, with Neal being comforted for anything--but what I really really want is for them to feed him because they need to [because he lost the hearing and Kramer has him but has let him visit NYC for a weekend in Peter's care, and they are appalled at all the weight he's lost yes yes??] because he is not eating or has lost weight for whatever reason. SO, that is what I want!
Also, is it cheating if I leave you five more comments if they are all anonymous??? Because then, it is technically not me, it is other anonymous people ...
*is horribly, terribly greedy, considering MY PRECIOUS, but you should know better than to make these kinds of offers*
(no subject)
Date: 2012-05-24 03:46 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-05-24 07:43 am (UTC)I'd really love some Sara/Alex that isn't written by me. Something fluffy and happy, and maybe with bikinis? Or, you know, whatever. Just not Neal/Peter, and probably not N/P/E. I'm far too picky to please with the latter because I stopped doing the former.
This is a lovely thing to do. ♥♥♥
(no subject)
Date: 2012-05-24 09:44 am (UTC)*hugs*
(no subject)
Date: 2012-05-24 12:19 pm (UTC)Then I moved to Texas. Seeing them bloom in the spring is the most beautiful sight.
I guess I'm not having a bad time as much as my son is, and that makes me feel bad. He's just learned to ride a bike and took a nasty fall, skinning his knee and cutting his chin pretty badly. A few days later, he was varnishing three pieces of his artwork and forgot them outside - overnight it stormed and caused the varnish to run and the paint to bubble. Ugh - it just breaks my heart to see him cry (he's 13, the age where he's so embarassed to be crying) and there's nothing I can do to help.
Well - my kink is handcuffs and hairpulling...maybe you could work Neal into a situation with some sort of bad guy and Peter sees Neal being worked over before he has a chance to rescue him.
Hope you're having fun. You should post some pics of the cactus. I think the ones in AZ are different from what we have in Texas.
(no subject)
Date: 2012-05-24 07:02 pm (UTC)Jason Walsh, Peter Burke, baseball,
ALTERNATIVELY,
Jason Walsh, Neal Caffrey, grief