Comment Fic Meme!

[hells_half_acre]

Alright folks, spontaneous decision: I'm going to have a comment-fic meme this weekend...well, actually RIGHT NOW!

This is how it will work:

1. Leave a prompt in the comments and I will write you something.

2. You can only leave prompts until midnight on Saturday (um, my timezone...so, PST)...or until I say there are too many. ETA: PROMPTING NOW CLOSED! THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO LEFT PROMPTS!

3. I will write this weekend and, depending on how fast I am, maybe next week and next weekend too.

More Details:

1. I have the right to veto a prompt for the following reasons:

a)It is, or is too close to, the plot of a fic that I already have in the works.

b)It is not in keeping with the usual tone of my LJ (basically, don't ask for porn, because you aren't getting it...yes, I can write it, but I will not write it here...also, no RPS). I will write pairings though, if you want me too....but they will probably all end up being ridiculous cuddling fics, because that's what happens whenever I try to write anything relationshippy.

 

2. I have the right to give up if I can't come up with anything good for a prompt.

3. You can leave as many prompts as you want, but I might not fulfill them all.

OK, GOOD?

ACCEPTABLE FANDOMS:

1. Supernatural
2. Harry Potter
3. Sherlock BBC!verse (I have never written Sherlock fic before though...so, um, be prepared for suckage)
4. ANY AND ALL COMBINATIONS OF THE ABOVE - Wicked Wizards, Watson!
5. You can prompt specifically for the Demented'verse if you like too...but you run a higher risk of the prompt being vetoed; however, on the plus side, you also run a higher risk of inspiring me to write something awesome...

Additional note: Harry Potter/Supernatural fics will NOT take place in the Demented'verse unless the requester, or I, specifically say that they do. If you prompt for the Demented'verse and I can't write it into the Demented'verse, then you may end up getting a non-Demented'verse version of your prompt...or you'll just get vetoed. :P

LEAVE ME PROMPTS IN COMMENTS!

(Watch - now that I've written all that out, no one is going to bother prompting me, and my weekend will be dull. Thankfully, my Sherlock DVDs came in the mail today, so I'm prepared...)

Comments

Not *quite* a crossover

[ratherastory.livejournal.com]

SPN meets HP universe:

Sam and Dean have to fight a Dementor. (I dunno, maybe they're trying to take Sam to Azkaban for being a blood-drinking abomination?) Too bad Sam & Dean don't have wands, eh?

Re: Not *quite* a crossover

[hells-half-acre.livejournal.com]

I had them fight dementors in Damned Demented Demons, so it's sort of anti-climatic to do it the same way twice...so, we'll do a non-demented'verse version. Though, for the purposes of this drabbly-thing, I have it so that the Winchesters could SEE the dementor, otherwise sadly, it wouldn't be much of a fight...

DEMENTOR

‘Shtriga,’ Sam thought, as he watched the cloaked figure move towards Dean, and he fought against the ice in his veins to raise his gun. No consecrated iron bullets, it wasn’t like they carried ammo like in their pockets – but he had silver, steel, and salt, and he could at least slow the thing down.

Three bullets in, and the thing retreated a few feet, before advancing again. Dean was on his knees, hand too shaky and weak to lift his gun. Sam grabbed him around the middle and pulled him backwards, while he kept firing at the Shtriga thing – maybe it wasn’t really a Shtriga – it didn’t look exactly like the last one...no eyes, only the gaping mouth...and the cold, it was so cold, even though there was fire on the edges of Sam’s vision, fire and blood and screams, and hell hounds ripping into Dean, and...

When Sam’s cartridge was spent, he took the gun from Dean’s limp hand and shot with it, keeping the thing back while he struggled to get back to the Impala. He had to drop Dean on the pavement in order to lift the trunk, while keeping the cloaked thing at bay with well timed bullets. He groped almost blindly in the trunk until he found the box of specialty ammo, and then finally he lowered his gun – throwing an apology at Dean while he acted as though he were abandoning his brother. He reloaded his handgun, in record time, and waited not even ten feet away while the thing descended on his brother – and then, just it lowered its mouth to Dean’s, Sam fired every bullet he had into the things skull.

He watched as the Striga recoiled and then collapsed in on itself, turning into an icy fog as it disappeared. Sam breathed in a shaky breath, surprised because it was only now that he realized he hadn’t been sure it would work – he knew, deep down, that it hadn’t been a Shtriga, just something similar, and there had been no guarantee the consecrated iron would work – and Sam had nearly let it...

Sam stumbled over to where Dean still lay unconscious. The realization that he had risked his brother’s life so overtly wasn’t helping the chill that still lingered in his veins. Sam kneeled next to Dean, whose eyelids were fluttering in sleep.

“Looks like we’re even, big brother.”

fin

Re: Not *quite* a crossover

[ratherastory.livejournal.com]

Cool! I haven't read that 'verse of yours (generally I'm not a HP/SPN crossover fan, I don't know why that prompt came to me), so I didn't know you'd already done it.

Thanks for filling my prompt! \o/

Re: Not *quite* a crossover

[mymuseandi.livejournal.com]

This is pure Dean-and-Sam-to-the-rescue mode. And you did it nicely and action-y enough that it can be quite canon to the show. :)

Sherlock!

[ratherastory.livejournal.com]

You up for slash and/or platonic romance?

When Irene Adler turns up after a long absence, John finds he has a completely unexpected reaction to 'The Woman' who so fascinates his friend and colleague. (In short, Jealous!John, and whatever else you feel like coming up with! But if you want to go another route, that's fine too.)

Re: Sherlock!

[hells-half-acre.livejournal.com]

What version of Irene do you want? ACD-canon, where she's not a criminal, or 2009-movie where she is? I was originally thinking of using 2009-Irene, but I could probably make it work with either...do you have a preference?

Re: Sherlock!

[ratherastory.livejournal.com]

I like ACD canon Irene better (because, what, a woman has to be a criminal in order to be independent?), but if you feel inspired by the 2009 version, then go for it, I am not overly picky. :)

Irene (Part 1)

[hells-half-acre.livejournal.com]

(I did warn you about how everytime I try to write slash, it always just ends up having ridiculous amounts of cuddling, right?...)

IRENE

Irene was beautiful, witty, and charming. John had seen her first – this gorgeous woman walking toward them on the street, and then their eyes met, and she smiled so brightly...she hadn’t been looking at John.

“Sherlock!” She had yelled, and then Sherlock was smiling, swooping down to kiss her hand, calling her beautiful and saying how pleased he was to see her, how well she looked. Sherlock didn’t have other friends. John didn’t know who this woman was.

“Oh, manners, Sherlock,” Irene had said, when she finally noticed John standing awkwardly at Sherlock’s side. She held out her hand in a firm shake. “I’m Irene.”

“John,” John had replied, and Irene gave an odd half-smile, and then turned back to Sherlock, and explained that she had only returned to London for a fortnight, but that she did hope they could spend some time together. Sherlock had returned the sentiment, and John found himself smiling and inviting her around to the flat when she had some time.

He didn’t realize how much time she had.

She was over nearly every night, and some afternoons while John was at the surgery. He’d come home to the sound of Sherlock’s laughter – she made Sherlock laugh, and not in the way most people made him laugh. John would come in and ask what the joke had been, but after the first few times Sherlock told him he wouldn’t understand, he had stopped asking.

Irene was more intelligent than John, and witty, and that meant that she could get Sherlock to chuckle deeply, the sound echoing through the flat – up the staircase to John’s room while he tried to sleep.

She could help him with his cases - not just as a sounding board, a glorified skull for Sherlock to talk to, but someone who could make connections – point out things Sherlock had missed. Sherlock didn’t get angry when she did this. His eyes lit up, and he looked over at John like Irene was the most wonderful being alive, and John could only agree. Irene laughed at the compliments, humbly said it was nothing; but it wasn’t nothing, she was brilliant.

Irene was beautiful, just as beautiful as Sherlock, and when the three of them walked down the street, John felt out of place – like the movie-star couple had invited their driver to the cafe. Irene turned heads, and Sherlock smiled like he knew he had the most beautiful woman in the world on his arm, as though he were well aware of how jealous everyone must be. Irene smiled too, no doubt for similar reasons.

Irene was an opera singer. Sherlock accompanied on the violin, and they gave John a concert one evening, and it was all he could do not to burst into tears. It was perfect and heartbreaking. John made sure to tell her how beautiful it was, how lovely it was to have an aria sung just for him in his living room. Sherlock offered that they could play him more, but John just wanted to flee the room before his walls all crumbled to dust at his feet.

He told them he was tired, and they could sing him to sleep, and made his way upstairs. She continued to sing, Sherlock’s violin playing steadily along, and John stood in front of his mirror and stared at the mottled scar on his left shoulder until his vision blurred. Maybe if he had had access to a proper hospital, it wouldn’t have ended up looking so ugly.

Re: Irene (Part 2)

[hells-half-acre.livejournal.com]

It was an Irene-free afternoon, and John had just made himself tea and was intent on spending the next few hours on the couch watching Sherlock muck about on the internet or work on his experiments. It was nice. John found himself looking forward to the end of the week, when Irene was due to leave London. Of course, the thought made him feel rather guilty, because it wasn’t fair to Sherlock that John wanted his only other friend to leave and never come back.

“John,” Sherlock said, handing John a black cube with ordered numbers printed on it. “Could you mix up my Sudokube for me. I need to practice. Irene is close to achieving my time.”

John sighed and started twisting the numbers into disarray. He had tried to solve it himself before, he knew there must be some sort of easy trick to it, but he had given up after about five minutes. Of course Irene could solve it – solve it so quickly that Sherlock seemed to fear she might be better at him than he was.

Sherlock’s phone beeped. John watched as he read the text and then jumped excitedly towards the door.

“Nevermind that now, John,” Sherlock said. “Lestrade has a case. Text Irene, while I get a cab, will you?”

John was halfway to standing, but he sat back down. Oh.

“Where, um, where shall I tell her to go?” John asked. Sherlock looked back at him like he had just asked something stupid. Maybe he had.

“I don’t care where she goes,” Sherlock answered. “She just shouldn’t come here, as no one will be home.”

“I thought you wanted her help on the case,” John said.

“Why would I want that?” Sherlock asked. “I have you.”

“She’s smarter than me,” John said.

“Many people are smarter than you, John,” Sherlock helpfully pointed out, as he threw his coat on. “Are you coming?”

“She’d probably be more helpful to you,” John continued.

“But I...need your medical expertise,” Sherlock said from the doorway, he seemed to have moved from confused to concerned.

“No, you don’t,” John said. “Most of what I tell you, you could probably look up on the internet in five-minutes.”

“Have I done something wrong?” Sherlock asked, suddenly very still. “Are you angry with me?”

“No,” John replied. “I just thought...you’ve been spending a lot of time with Irene, and...”

John wasn’t even sure what he was trying to say – ‘I thought you liked her better than me’ seemed a bit childish, but that was actually what he had thought.

“She told me to,” Sherlock nearly whispered. “Was that...not good?”

Re: Irene (Part 3)

[hells-half-acre.livejournal.com]

Now John was the one who was confused.

“What do you mean she told you to?” John asked.

Sherlock stared at the floor and looked annoyed.

“She said that I should leave you alone for a bit,” Sherlock admitted. “She said that I was probably smothering you, and it’d drive you away...she made a compelling argument.”

“But I like it when you smother me,” John muttered, confused as to how exactly Irene had managed to convince Sherlock otherwise. He hadn’t even realized the implications of what he had said, until Sherlock smiled brightly at him.

In the next moment, John found himself flat on his back on the couch with Sherlock – coat, scarf, and all – lying on top of him and grinning.

“I meant figuratively,” John said, but it was ruined when he started giggling.

“You like this too,” Sherlock said. “John come with me to the crime scene – it’s a sealed room murder, John. The victim has been decapitated and they can’t find his head, John! John...where’s his head?”

“Are you sweet-talking me with descriptions of grisly murders?” John laughed.

“Is it working?” Sherlock asked, putting his head down on John’s shoulder.

They both started giggling then, and that’s what suddenly made John realize how very much he had gotten wrong – Irene had made Sherlock laugh, but only John made him giggle. Irene had helped with the cases, and when she had gotten something right, Sherlock had looked to John – not to brag about how clever Irene was, but to have John praise her as he did Sherlock – Sherlock had wanted Irene to see how much John appreciated intelligence. Sherlock had been showing him off. And the concert – the concert hadn’t been about them playing together, it had been about them playing for John...

“I’m an idiot,” John muttered.

“That’s alright, John,” Sherlock said. “Most everybody is. Thankfully, one doesn’t have to be smart to be interesting.”

Sherlock’s phone beeped again.

“Will you come help me find a severed head, John?” Sherlock whispered softly.

“I’d love to,” John smiled.

fin

[yourkidney.livejournal.com]

Sam and Dean going Goodwill shopping, then getting coffee and donuts. Maybe Sam reads National Geographic and Dean is reading something by Neil Gaiman. Then they're adorable and relationshippy in a platonic soulmates kind of way. \o/

The Winchester Boys

[hells-half-acre.livejournal.com]

“Whatta ya got for me, man?” Sam’s voice came from the other-side of the rack of jeans.

“Three pairs of longs that might fit,” Dean replied, handing over the jeans that were slung over his left arm. “Anything good for me in the shirt racks?”

“Yeah,” Sam said smiling widely, “I found that brand you like in, like, three colours!”

“Awesome,” Dean said, “hand them over.”

As Sam thrust a handful of hangers into Dean’s hand, he caught sight of the other shirts Sam had piled over his other arm.

“Orange, man? Really?” Dean said. “I know you like plaid, but please remember that I’m the one that has to look at you.”

“They do up with snaps...” Sam shrugged. “I like snaps. Orange isn’t that bad.”

“Man, no wonder you never get laid,” Dean said. “Go try on the jeans, make sure they fit – denim don’t make good rags.”

Fifteen minutes later, they were shuffling slowly through the cash, and then out into the sunshine again. Dean dropped his change in the hat of the homeless dude sitting outside on the sidewalk, and then they walked the three blocks over to the Laundromat.

“Go get me some coffee, while I wash these perfectly clean clothes,” Dean told Sam, already taking the Goodwill bag out of Sam’s hands.

“Dean, you know they spray those stores with pesticides,” Sam said. “It’s not healthy.”

“Our whole lives aren’t healthy,” Dean muttered.

“Doesn’t mean we should compound the problem,” Sam replied. Dean just rolled his eyes and shouldered his way into the Laundromat, while Sam jogged across the road to the generic donut shop.

Ten minutes later, Dean was wedged into an uncomfortable plastic chair, across from a whirring washing machine. He had just fished his warn copy of Anansi Boys out of his jacket pocket, when Sam plunked a box of donuts and a coffee down on the small table beside him.

“How many times have you read that book now?” Sam laughed.

“Shut-up, I like it,” Dean said, taking a sip from his coffee.

“Oh cool,” Sam said, causing Dean to look up from page 42 long enough to see that Sam had caught sight of the National Geographic that someone had left on the table. At Dean’s look, Sam said, “shut-up, it has a fold-out map of ancient Rome.”

“Right, because I hate it when I end up in ancient Rome without a road-map,” Dean said.

“Dude, you never know...” Sam replied, and Dean had to concede the point.

Dean leaned up against the dryer to his side, and put his feet up on Sam’s lap.

“Really?” Sam said. “At least take your shoes off!”

“You do it, I’m trying to read, and I'm still sore from that frickin’ poltergeist,” Dean replied. Sam sighed heavily and opened his geeky magazine, and Dean went back to reading. Dean smiled to himself two minutes later, when he felt Sam’s hands carefully undoing his bootlaces. Yeah, Dean loved Hunting, but sometimes he loved the time in between cases more.

fin

[ianthe-echo.livejournal.com]

Supernatural, "Don't hold your parents up to contempt. After all, you are their son, and it is just possible that you may take after them." - Evelyn Waugh

[zestyzorra.livejournal.com]

How fun! XD

Hokay, Supernatural. This is the prompt:

Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling into at night. I miss you like hell.

It's up to you whether you want to go the obvious route (Sam just died, Dean just died) or do it some other way! :D

xx

Untitled Drabble

[hells-half-acre.livejournal.com]

In the daytime, he’s got too much to do. The hardest part is getting out of bed, but sometimes he can even do that without thinking. Then there’s feeding the boys. Diapers. Holding Sam when he cries. Trying to get Dean to talk instead of stare at him like he’s supposed to be able to fix this, or stare at the door like he’s still expecting the missing person in their lives to walk in and save him. There are books to read and people to contact, and he’s not sure how he’s supposed to do it all when Sam insists on being held in every waking moment, when Dean won’t even open his mouth to say when he’s hungry, thirsty, or allergic to oranges. John tries to talk – to Dean, to Sam, but he doesn’t talk about her. He can’t.

At night the bed is empty beside him, and it feels like a pit to fall into. He wonders if this is why Dean insists on sleeping curled around Sammy, like maybe if he has someone to hang onto, the emptiness won’t be able to find him. John tries to convince Dean to sleep in his own bed like the big boy he used to be, but Dean cries and screams when John tries to force him, and John doesn’t know what’s healthier anymore. So John leaves Dean and Sammy be, and then lies next to the gaping emptiness and prays that the darkness won’t swallow him while he sleeps.

fin

[dairygirl.livejournal.com]

Okay, I am going to go for the trifecta--all three together. I would love Harry and his children with the Winchester brothers eating out in London or something similar and Sherlock and John happen to cross paths with them (e.g., pass on the sidewalk or through the restaurant). The three groups do not have to interact although I would like to spend time with Harry, his kids and the brothers, but Sherlock could notice them and deduce who all of them were (prior knowledge of Hunters and Wizards optional). This could be part of your Demented 'verse or separate story altogether. If you cannot fit all three in, just Harry, the kids and the Winchesters together please.

If you accept my prompt, I look forward to the result!

[hells-half-acre.livejournal.com]

I absolutely love you for requesting the trifecta!!

So, I just wrote this epically long thing - and realized that basically your request was asking for something that was predominately Harry, the kids and the Winchesters, and I've written something that's predominantly Sherlock and John...but ugh...long, and hours upon hours of work...so, um...sorry? Hopefully you like it anyway...

Wicked Wizards, Watson! (Part 1)

[hells-half-acre.livejournal.com]

(Story is sort of demented'versey...and includes psychic!Albus, and all-knowing!Sherlock, and surprisingly-accepting!John)

WICKED WIZARDS, WATSON

“Order something, Sherlock,” John said. Sherlock signed and turned his attention away from the table behind and to the left of John.

“Yes, fine, I’ll have what he’s having,” Sherlock told the waiter, who nodded and then thankfully got out of Sherlock’s line of sight.

“What’s so interesting then?” John asked. Sherlock had to commend the man for not turning to look for himself. Others wouldn’t be quite so considerate, and would, overcome with curiosity, alert the subject of study to Sherlock’s scrutiny, thus altering the subject’s behaviour and ruining the game.

“Mmm?” Sherlock said, meeting John’s eyes, and feigning confusion – though he knew John didn’t believe him, after all, Sherlock was never confused.

“Oh come off it,” John said. “I know you haven’t listened to a word I’ve said since we’ve sat down.”

“Of course I have,” Sherlock defended. “You’ve been going on about that older gentleman who keeps coming into your surgery because he’s convinced himself he’s sick when really he’s just bored with his job and dissatisfied with his marriage.”

“Oh, well, my mistake then,” John said. “Still, there’s something in here that’s caught your eye. Tell me what it is, before I have a look for myself and spoil everything.”

“How much do you know about the world, John?” Sherlock asked, and again, the fact that John didn’t accuse him of changing the subject was a point in his favour – and one of the many things Sherlock rather liked about his colleague, or, well, friend, really.

“A fair bit, I think,” John replied. “You know my life experience almost as well as I do though, so you’ll have to be a bit more specific if you want me to give you an answer you haven’t already deduced for yourself.”

“There are things that can be known, but not spoken of,” Sherlock replied, “lest we be regarded as insane, or mentally unfit to solve crimes.”

“You’re a self-professed sociopath already, Sherlock,” John said.

“Yes, but that’s more of a benefit to solving crimes, isn’t it?” Sherlock replied. John frowned. John never liked talking about this, Sherlock wondered why he had brought it up at all. “What I’m saying is that there are more things in heaven and earth, then are dreamt of in our philosophies.”

“Hamlet,” John answered correctly, and studied him. Sherlock met his eyes and waited for John’s annoyingly slow synapses to fire in the correct connection. “You’re talking about ghosts.”

“Indeed,” Sherlock answered, and then leaned back and smiled at the waitress as their food arrived. John watched the waitress as she walked away, and Sherlock was just about to wrinkle his nose at how uncharacteristically crude his friend was being, when he realized that John was only using it as cover for turning in his chair so that he could view the family sitting behind him. Sherlock found himself smiling rather proudly.

[hummingbird5589.livejournal.com]

Supernatural, 'Hold Us Together' by Matt Maher

Refrain:
Love will hold us together
Make us a shelter to weather the storm
And I'll be my brother's keeper so the whole world will know that we're not alone.

[mymuseandi.livejournal.com]

\o/ i have a prompt!

Sam decides his hair is too long, so he wants to go to the barber to have it cut. Dean tells him not to waste money and offers to cut his hair for him.

Whether or not Sam takes him up on it is up to you. Ditto for the end result of the haircut.

The Haircut

[hells-half-acre.livejournal.com]

Sam watched as Dean squinted at him and unconsciously pressed his tongue to the side of his mouth in concentration. It was doing nothing for Sam’s nerves. Dean tugged at Sam’s hair.

“Dean...”

“Shhh,” Dean said. “Don’t talk, you move your head too much when you talk.”

Sam glared.

“I think the right side is a little shorter than the left, give me a sec,” Dean said. “I just need to even it out.”

“Dean, you just supposedly evened out the left side,” Sam said.

“Yeah, well, you’re the one that wouldn’t let me use the clippers, it’s not my fault this is difficult,” Dean replied.

“You’re the one that wouldn’t let me get it done professionally!” Sam said, “And I don’t *want* it short.”

“Yeah, well, credit fraud is a tricky business,” Dean said. “I promise I’ll get us a new card soon, but in the meantime, we gotta save where we can.”

“I know,” Sam said. “Just, don’t make it too short.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t see why, though, this ridiculous mop of yours is hardly practical,” Dean replied.

“Can’t I have one thing that’s not practical?” Sam asked quietly.

Dean frowned, and then moved out of Sam’s line of sight, seemingly deciding that the sides were alright and it was time to work on the back. Sam closed his eyes and tried to tell himself this hadn’t been a horrible mistake. He had just taken consolation in the fact that hair grows, when he heard the clippers whir to life.

“Dean!” Sam said, instinctively ducking out from under Dean’s hands.

“Relax, man,” Dean said. “I’m just shaving the back of your neck. No girl is ever going to touch you if you have that much goddamn neck hair.”

“Oh,” Sam said, relaxing back into the chair, and letting his head fall forward to give Dean better access.

“Alright, go check it out,” Dean said, when he was done. Sam practically ran to the bathroom, both wanting to confirm that he still had hair, and dreading what he might see.

It...was pretty good, actually. A bit shorter than usual, but then, that sort of was the point of haircuts. I still curled a little around his ears, while his long bangs tickled the edges of his cheekbones, highlighting rather than hiding them. Also, instead of lying flat and annoying on his head, his hair seemed to have a little – well, movement and life to it. Dean appeared behind Sam in his reflection, standing uncertainly at the bathroom door.

“And?” Dean said.

“It’s good,” Sam said.

“Good,” Dean said. “I uh, gave you some layers – so you know...um...body.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, “I like it.” He waited until he saw Dean’s proud smile, and then he added, “You totally missed your calling, Zohann.”

“Oh shut-up,” Dean said, throwing Sam's shirt at him. “Put your shirt on and get your coat, I believe you promised that, if I didn’t ruin your pretty princess hair, you’d buy me a beer and some pie.”

Sam laughed and got his coat.

fin

[franztastisch]

NAAAATE..! Please please something about Nate. I really really don't care what.

OR

Ooh this is good.. Someone in London attempts to mug Sam or Dean while they're out with Harry et al. and they "deal with the problem" efficiently. :D

NATE! (Demented'verse - in the year 2014) PART 1

[hells-half-acre.livejournal.com]

Maybe most heterosexual sixteen year-old boys didn’t cuddle with their best friends, especially their gay best friends, but it had become a habit long before Teddy was even fully aware that most people would find it an issue – thankfully, it wasn’t an issue for Teddy or Nate or any of their friends. The nice thing about Hufflepuff, Teddy thought, was that no one really cared who you cuddled with...Teddy’s last girlfriend had made an issue of it, but that’s what Teddy got for dating a Ravenclaw girl, he figured. Ravenclaws always made the mistake of over-thinking things.

They were squished onto the yellow couch in the common room – the fire reduced to coals, and everyone else long since gone to sleep – or at least, feigning sleep in an effort to give them some privacy.

Earlier that evening Teddy had been doing homework with a group of friends when Nate had arrived in tears. Teddy had pulled him into a hug, before Teddy’s hair had even had a chance to decide if it should be grey with worry, or red with rage. The rest of Teddy’s study group had waited around until Nate assured them that they didn’t need to give anyone a beating, and then they had made their excuses and left Teddy with an armful of sobbing Nate.

Eventually, Nate had been able to explain that he and Blake had broken up. He wouldn’t explain why, which only made Teddy think the worst – because certainly if it had been mutual, then Nate wouldn’t be in such a state. Teddy hadn’t liked Blake anyway – he was egotistical and often condescending, as though he were snogging Nate as a favour rather than because he really wanted to.

Nate yawned into Teddy’s chest and then sniffled a little. Teddy squeezed him in a hug, and then resumed running a hand up and down his back.

“You should be happy to be rid of him, I think,” Teddy said to the top of Nate’s head. “You can do much better.”

“Not at Hogwarts,” Nate sighed. “It’s just him and I, really.”

“What about Timothy?” Teddy said. “I always thought he was-”

“No,” Nate said, “he’s just a bit shy and awkward, that’s all.”

Teddy tried to picture what it’d be like if there were only one girl at Hogwarts – he wasn’t quite sure how he’d react to that. It wasn’t like the girls necessarily made Teddy’s life better – after all, just a few months before Nate had been the one consoling Teddy, after Hilda told him....well, that didn’t matter now.

“I wish I fancied you,” Teddy said honestly.

“I don’t,” Nate laughed, and Teddy thought maybe he was supposed to laugh too, but it was impossible to make any sound around the sudden pain in his chest.

“Oh,” Teddy said, “right.” Daft, really, to think that just because Nate fancied blokes, he might fancy Teddy if Teddy fancied blokes too – of course he wouldn’t, he probably didn’t like the look of Teddy. Not even Hilda had, after all, not really.

“Ted?” Nate said, and then shifted his weight so that he could lift his head from Teddy’s chest and look down at him, eyes confused and then a little wide in understanding.

“Is it because of how I look?” Teddy blurted out, and then winced. “I’m getting better at holding just one appearance, I am...it’s just that-”

“Teddy, no,” Nate said. “I didn’t mean it like that at all. Merlin, I can’t believe she told you-...I still think you should have let me challenge her to a duel for being so horrible to you.”

“It’s the 21st century, Nate,” Teddy smiled. “I don’t need you to defend my honour. Besides, she had a point – it can’t be very nice to think you’re snogging someone attractive only to open your eyes and discover he’s unconsciously shifted into someone quite plain looking.”

“You aren’t plain!” Nate said.

“I am,” Teddy said. “It’s alright.”

[alexseanchai]

Sherlock and John find themselves investigating the sort of case that, were it in the US, Sam and Dean would be all over. Bonus points if it's also a busman's holiday for the boys while they're in the UK in 6x04.

[hells-half-acre.livejournal.com]

Hey, I just wanted to tell you that I love this prompt. Sadly, I'm not going to have time to do it justice in the amount of time I gave myself to answer these prompts.

I'm going to keep it in mind though - and I may still write it in the future, but it's probably not going to be any time soon.

But thanks for leaving it! It's a great idea for a crossover, I just sadly don't have the time right now that it deserves.