#liddy's ficlets

[beloved-child-of-the-house]

There was a sour sort of smell in the kitchen, like unwashed dishes. It took him a moment to spot Harry. The little dove was roosting on top of a kitchen cabinet, head pulled toward his shoulders in an attitude of repose.

"Oh hello," Draco said in a low voice, as if he really were talking to a turtle dove. "There you are. Sorry to intrude. I er. Heard you were rather poorly and might want someone to look in. I'll go if. If you'd rather." Without exactly meaning to, he'd raised his arm out to offer his hand for Harry light on.

After a moment, Harry fluttered down from the cabinet and landed on Draco's proffered hand, gripping at Draco's palm with his tiny claws to get his seat. When he was settled, he cocked his head and looked up at Draco with first one bright black eye, then the other. Draco looked steadily back at him.

He wasn't sure how he knew he'd gained Harry's permission to stay, but he was certain he had.

Draco cleared his throat, "Well erm. Excuse me being such a forward guest, but I suppose I may as well make myself useful, as you don't seem in the mood for a chat." He passed Harry carefully to his shoulder, then went to the sink and filled it with steamy, sudsy water, and did the washing up.

----

Excerpt from my new ficlet The Tune Without The Words. Get the rest of the story on AO3!

[apliddell]

“‘Pon my word, Watson!” said my friend Sherlock Holmes one drizzly September evening. I was stretched out in my chair with my feet at the fire and a novel splayed on my knee. Holmes scraped at his violin, not unpleasantly, “Just what is it about the nonsense I’ve been playing that has such a tremendous effect on you?”

“My dear Holmes?”

“You have undone your collar,” My friend turned to me with the air of a magician about to pull a stream of silk scarves out of my ear. 

I smiled, “I hope I am not indecent for the sitting room?”

“Forgiveably familiar, I’m sure,” my friend said with a twinkle. “More to the point.”

“Indeed?”

“Your pulse is exposed, Doctor. My playing seems to have quite the extraordinary effect on it.” 

“Your observation truly is minute,” said I with a lift of the eyebrow, though my smile did not lessen. 

Holmes perched himself on my knee, one arm about my neck, “How do you account for such a thing?” 

I rested one hand on his waist and put my chin onto his shoulder and rather thrilled when he rested his head against mine, “You wandered through that little thing of Tchaikovsky's, and it made me think of our last outing to the Lyceum. We had that lovely box.” 

My friend flushed up prettily, “Ah. I might have known.” 

_______________

Moony @a-candle-for-sherlock asked for ACD Holmes ‘relief’ or ‘heartbeats’ and I wrote something kinda horny? I hope that is okay because it was a lot of fun!

[bijoharvelle]

Congrats on the 500 followers! Is it too late to send prompts? If not, could I ask for either an angry love confession turning soft or just the prompt "summer" (destiel)? PS I love your ficlets! They're so sweet ❤️

thanks pal! i went with “summer” because soft warm boys in est. rship is my weakness. hope you like!

The first decision Dean makes, after the one to retire, is to move out of the bunker.

(Cas would argue that he realized he wanted to move out of the bunker first, which led him to realize that he wanted to retire, but that’s getting a little in the weeds about it).

So they find a house that they all like and it’s small, but that’s good. Defensible, Dean’s mind supplied when they walked through the ranch. He put his hands to the solid, wooden archways and thought, Easy to carve protective sigils into. Because, yeah, they’re retiring but that doesn’t mean they have to be stupid about it.

Sam and Eileen find a townhouse not too far away and they get a dog and the first night not sleeping within throwing distance of his brother is strange, but the next is easier, and the next is easier still. And then Sam and Eileen come over on Sunday for dinner and they bring the dog which Dean pretends to bitch about. And then they come over again, the next Sunday and suddenly they’re making new traditions.

Dean takes to housework like he took to fixing the Impala. He reschedules electronics and fixes floorboards and builds shelves. Cas helps, standing a few paces away and tilting his head and telling Dean he’s doing it wrong or it’s uneven. Dean builds him a fucking beehive. Dean builds him a chest of drawers, Dean builds him a set of raised garden plots and a shed and a fire-pit and a hammock.

It’s nice to hold a hammer and not worry about having to beat anyone’s head in with it.

The hammock, though, is as much for Dean as it is for Cas. He sets it only half in the shade of their big red maple tree because Cas likes the feel of sun on his skin.

They lie there together for long, lazy hours in the late morning of summer, the early evening. Cas sprawls out on his back and lets his arms go wide, fingers grazing through the grass that Dean keeps talking about mowing. Dean curls up in the space between his legs, directly over his chest. He props his chin on Cas’s chest and lets his hands sift through Cas’s hair. He shows Cas how to peel open the little helicopter seed pods that the tree drops on them. How to press the sticky halves to his nose, like he and Sam used to do when they were kids. Cas’s eyes go crossed trying to see his own nose and Dean would laugh except for the way his heart swells and catches in his chest.

Cas’s feet get sunburned and so does the patch of his right shoulder that sticks out in the sun. Dean teaches him about sunscreen in spray form which Cas wrinkles his nose at. Dean teaches him about sunscreen in lotion form, about rubbing it into each others’ shoulders and noses and chest and Cas wrinkles his nose less at that.

And yeah, their skin sticks together from the heat and Cas swings the hammock too much to keep the bees in his sight and Dean sighs about really needing to mow the lawn but mostly, it’s just nice. Sam and Eileen will be coming over later for dinner and they’ll likely bring the mutt, Liddie along with them. Dean is hoping that they’ll have a sonogram from Eileen’s ultrasound the other day. Cas’ll make a salad, probably. Sam promised to bring the beer. 

Summertime, the living’s easy. 

[lamenandcharls]

Laurent picked up his pace a bit so that he was nearly at a trot. It was early yet to be running. Generally they made it all the way through a morning without running, and it wasn’t nearly lunchtime yet. But he’d passed quite close by Damen, and Damen’s head had snapped up with an eager attention that set a little thrill of excitement skipping in Laurent’s middle. He hurried down the passage to a practice room, conscious of Damen’s footfall several paces behind him. Almost, but not quite casual. 

Laurent took a corner at a jog and ran into the practice room, trying to shut the door quietly. Damen had to know where he was going, but the game was most fun when they did the thing properly. He just had time to crouch behind a suit of armor, his lower lip between his teeth against the laughter that threatened to burst out of him before the door opened. 

Damen entered the room, and Laurent couldn’t help peeping out to watch him. Damen stood in the center of the room and gazed around him, his hands on his hips, his chest puffed out slightly. He was wearing Laurent’s favorite smirk. 

Damen said, “I’m faster than I look, aren’t I?” 

Laurent couldn’t smother his giggle, “That’s not saying much.”

Damen caught his eye and began to approach, slowly like a cat about to pounce, “Then why are you hiding, instead of running?”

Laurent scampered sideways and tried to dart behind Damen, who wheeled toward him and followed. Laurent ran around the edges of the room, weaving in and out of the equipment along the walls. Damen nearly caught him once, and Laurent had to spin away, his hair flying out around him, laughing giddily when the edge of his chiton tore away in Damen’s hand. 

Damen changed his tactic then and ran in a tighter circle to head Laurent off. Laurent found his way blocked and blocked again, so with a shrug, he charged Damen, hoping to duck at the last moment, and slide under his outstretched arms. 

Damen had known and loved Laurent long enough to know a feint when he saw one. He dropped to one knee as Laurent did, catching him round the waist and throwing him smoothly over one shoulder. Laurent let out a little scream of joy as he rose. He couldn’t help kicking a bit, his torn chiton flying up when he did. 

Damen bounced up and spun in place, holding Laurent tightly around the waist and laughing delightedly, “I caught you, Laurent!” 

“You caught me, Damianos!” Laurent kissed all of Damen that he could reach. His arm, his hand, the back of his neck, the join of his enormous shoulders. “I hope you know what to do with me now you have me.” 

Damen patted Laurent’s backside over his rumpled chiton, “Oh believe me, I do.” 

[beloved-child-of-the-house]

is this a ficlet?

>be me

>decide to propose to my boyfriend of five years

>spend 1000 galleons on the most beautiful ring I can find

>rack my brains trying to come up with a special proposal

>decide to do it like a magic trick

>having sex with my boyfriend and tell him I want to eat his ass

>pretend to find the ring in his crack and propose

>he's really excited at first but then decides he doesn't want a “bum ring" and won't wear it

>also we're not "officially engaged" until I give him a ring he can wear

[beloved-child-of-the-house]

"I know you're watching me," Harry called out from their tiny bathroom, casually nude with moisture still sparkling in his hair from the shower he'd just finished. He hadn't put his glasses back on yet, and Draco still found it secretly rather thrilling to see Harry without them.

Draco, lying belly down on their bed, chin in hand, was indeed watching Harry avidly, "You wish, Potter."

"There must be something else really interesting in that mirror then," Harry indicated the mirror across from him with his chin, smiling and bouncing his eyebrows at Draco's reflection. He had a small pot of something white that he was dipping into and bringing his fingers away shining. He'd first smoothed his thick, black eyebrows and now was burnishing his tattoo.

Draco tossed his head, not deigning to reply. Then nonchalantly, "That smells good, whatever you've got there. What kind of potion is that?"

Harry's smile broadened, "It's called coconut oil." He smoothed a few more drops over the green and golden dragon tattooed on his left forearm so that it gleamed as it flexed its tail and bared its fangs, "It's not any more magical than most things are."

Draco watched Harry continue to apply the coconut oil to the dense, black coils of his hair, his elbows, to his legs, his pink heels, a tiny dab to his lips, til he was glowing brown and fragrant, and Draco was dying to get his hands on Harry and see if the stuff had left him as soft to the touch as he looked.

Draco hopped down from their bed and crossed the little room to bury his nose against Harry's velvety neck, "Mmm, you smell even better from here." He kissed Harry's jaw, smoothed a hand over his bare hip.

"I know what you're thinking, but I've only just barely got clean," Harry reminded him. "I'm not even finished yet, and you're thinking about getting me all messy again."

"You've come so far already." Draco dropped another kiss on Harry's jaw, "Compared with how dusty and sweaty and cobwebby you were when you got into the shower, you could hardly be cleaner." He added in a playful semblance of his old drawl, "Though obviously, it pains me to differ with you, Potter."

Harry laughed, "Yeah, I noticed you somehow didn't get nearly as dirty as I did in the moving house process. Can't think why." He kissed Draco's cheek, then sidestepped slightly to pick up his toothbrush.

Draco understood that he was being delicately put off, but he didn't mind. They'd be together every night now. He had all the time in the world.

He went back to the bed and flopped onto it dramatically, luxuriating in the freshness of their fluffy new bedding, "You can't think why? Sheer skill. It can't be taught, I'm afraid. I was born this good."

Harry laughed around his toothbrush, then grimaced at the mist of toothpaste spattered on the mirror, still laughing.

"Giddy," said Draco, but the laughter was catching, and he found himself giggling along with Harry. Anyway he knew their chorused elation wasn't because of his joke. It was because they were home.

He laughed happily at Harry and at himself. In a moment, Harry would be through in the bathroom. And in the moment after that, he'd be in Draco's arms. It had been a long time coming, but he didn't have to think of the long shadows cast behind them. At the present, it seemed like the easiest thing in the world.

[beloved-child-of-the-house]

Prompt: small new years eve celebration drarry style

"We're going to be so l-late," Draco managed, Harry's warm as melting against his neck, Harry's legs tangled with his under his fluffy white bedding. The afterglow seemed to be turning into foreglow, and Draco was impressed with himself that he made any sense at all under such attention.

Harry made a sweet puppyish, pleading sound and paused in kissing, "Do you really want to go?"

"Well, I went to the trouble of getting new robes," said Draco, indicating them with a languid hand where they hung on the wardrobe on the other side of the room. "It'd be a shame to waste them."

"Those do look nice on you," Harry allowed, sparing the robes a glance.

"They really do," and they did. A shimmering, twinkling, night sky blue that were probably a bit much for the party Draco had bought them for. Draco liked to be overdressed. "Astoria's expecting us, too," Draco reminded him. "She'll jinx us into oblivion if we don't turn up."

"Mmm," Harry nestled against Draco's collarbone so that his answer tickled, "Give me fifteen minutes? Fifteen minutes and then we can get dressed." And he hugged Draco so tightly about the waist that Draco was rather skeptical of that quarter of an hour estimate.

"Insatiable," he said fondly, petting Harry's back. "Haven't you had enough yet, you fiend?"

"It isn't that," Harry protested, raising his head with his eyes so full of warm sincerity that Draco could hardly stand to look straight at him. "I just like having you all to myself."

"Well," said Draco, wondering if he might be blushing. "Far be it from me to deny you me."

"Mmm," said Harry, appallingly self satisfied. And he nuzzled his smiling face against Draco's neck again.

[beloved-child-of-the-house]

Hello there! 7 or 33, if you haven't already had them, for the ask!

33) things you said at the back of the theatre

"You okay?" you murmured, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Of course I am," there was no way to surreptitiously dash the tears away with you looking at me so intently. "Why shouldn't I be okay?"

"Just checking in," you said in that still too-gentle voice. Then without even looking round to see if the muggles had all quite gone, you slid your wand out of your sleeve and Conjured a handkerchief and offered it to me.

I took it and wiped my face, "Thank you. I promise next date, I won't be like this. I'm not usually. Sorry."

"Don't be sorry." You squeezed my hand again, "It's a lot, I know. I'd forgotten since I read the books a while ago. I can tell you what happens next, if you like. It's a trilogy, but the second film hasn't come out yet. Frodo and S-"

"Not that. Thank you. That isn't it."

You waited in silence for a moment for me to continue, "Can I help?"

I Vanished the handkerchief, then wished I hadn't, "I really am fine. Perfectly fine. Just." Deep breath, "I've just never seen. Something like this before. We don't have anything like this."

"No," you agreed quietly. "We don't have anything like this."

"Doesn't it make you angry?" I burst out suddenly. "That they hid all this from us? They lied to us! We might've had so much, and they. They lied to us. It's like we've been raised in a cupboard or something."

"Oh," you nodded slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, I know what you mean. Like we've only been allowed to see bits of the world to make us stay in line."

"Exactly, yes. Exactly. I'm just. I'm starting to realise I've got no idea what the world is actually like, and it makes me." I sighed, "It makes me do this. Sorry."

You put an arm about my shoulders, "I know exactly what you mean, yeah. It's like. Grief."

I let myself lean against you, and we were quiet for a moment.

"There's something really beautiful about discovering things, though," you said presently. "Don't you think? There are so many beautiful things in the world to see. And we've got fresh eyes." You clasped my hand between both of yours, "We can explore, together. Yeah?"

A hot thrill leaped in my chest at the suggestion, "Together. Yes."

___________

Ask me one of these!

[beloved-child-of-the-house]

after he’s left hogwarts and put the war behind him, harry kinda has to start thinking about like. who he is. like who he is beyond being expected to disappear (his childhood with the dursleys) or save the day (his adolescence in the wizarding world). not only figure out who he is but how he wants to present himself. 

he feels frivolous at first, experimenting with how he presents himself. like he shouldn’t care what he looks like. or like no one else does. but he’s tired of being a blank slate that people project onto, and he wants his appearance to make a more definite statement about who he is. first he changes his glasses. he’s out and about one day, maybe in diagon alley with ron and hermione and he sees round glasses that have golden frames. and they’re familiar but new and he just buys them on a whim. 

next he starts to update his clothes. he’s never really chosen clothes for himself. first he had castoffs from the dursleys and then he wore school uniforms. but now he has an opportunity to choose his own clothes that suit him. and he find he likes color! he starts out relatively safe. indigo blues, forest greens, pearl grays. then he has an idea that he could go seasonal. different greens in the spring moss, sage, grass greens. yellows and oranges in the summer. sun colors that bring out the warmth in his skin and his hair. in the autumn, aubergines and plums in the fall. and he tends to be a little sad in the winter. maybe he wears bright colors to cheer himself up. cardinal red, royal blue, golden yellow. 

and then it’s like he’s uncorked and he has so much of himself that he wants to bring to the surface and share. he cuts his hair. or maybe he grows it out. it’s a fade and then it’s an afro and then it’s cornrows and then it’s locs. he pierces his ear, he pierces his nose. he gets tattooed. he wears rings he wears bracelets. 

he has the chance now to fill himself in, to adorn himself. and he’s going to take it. 

[beloved-child-of-the-house]

fic prompt - something for fall, any fandom? spiced drinks, cold snaps, maybe halloween 🎃 🍁

“Good night, you lot. I’m for bed,” announced Draco, rising from Grimmauld Place’s kitchen table and making for his bedroom. 

The rest of the company exchanged bemused looks. 

“It’s only half past eight, Fangs,” called Ginny. 

“Yes, well, I have things to do in the morning,” Draco did not look back as he passed through the doorway. 

“I’ll bite,” said Harry after a moment and followed him. 

Harry found Draco’s bedroom door locked when he reached it and tapped on it to no response but a whispered swear word and a little quick scrabbling. “Draco?” Harry tapped again. “It’s only me.” 

“I’m already sound asleep,” Draco called back, sounding half annoyed and half on the verge of laughter. 

“You don’t want your hot chocolate, then?” 

After a brief, deliberating pause, Draco muttered alohamora, and the door popped open. 

Harry entered the room and shut the door behind him. 

“Where’s my hot chocolate?” demanded Draco, who was sitting cross-legged in the middle of his fourposter bed. 

“I haven’t made it yet,” said Harry comfortably, taking a seat on the end of Draco’s bed, “Are you-” Harry paused, and looked around, frowning. He could hear that funny scrabbling sound again, despite the fact that Draco was sitting quietly on the bed, not doing anything to produce that sound. 

“Am I annoyed with you for your want of scruples? Yes, of course I am. Will that be all?” 

“Hey, shut up a moment, do you hear that?” 

“No,” said Draco loudly. “Do I hear what?”

“Like a little running sound?” Harry persisted. “Like. Dnno. Rats or pixies maybe? Is it coming from the walls?” 

“I don’t hear anything except you,” said Draco even louder. 

“Well, you’re-OUCH!” 

Something sharp and invisible had landed on Harry’s knee and then rushed past him with a sensation of soft hair and a sort of chirping sound. 

“Circe’s tits, Harry Potter, you’re going to give me heart failure with all your shouting!” 

“There’s something in the room!” Harry jumped to his feet in the middle of the bed and looked up at the hangings. “There might be more of them; I think they’re invisible! Go and get the others!”

“Relax, Harry. It’s nothing like that,” Draco slid off the bed into a crouch beside it and lifted the edge of the bedding where it brushed the floor. “Are you down there? Did bad old Harry Potter frighten you as well?”

“Draco!” Harry laughed despite his utter confusion, “What horrible creature have you found or sneaked into my house? Did Luna give it to you?”

Draco paused in the chirruping sounds he was making from halfway under the bed to blow a raspberry at Harry, then made a little aha! of triumph, “There you are, lovely! Want to come out?” He crawled backward out from under the bed, and emerged, with dust in his hair and something invisible clutched in his arms. 

“What on earth is that?” 

Draco performed the counter Charm for a Disillusionment spell, and suddenly his sharp, mysterious armful of nothing was a half-grown black cat with a dusting of golden fur and orange eyes, "Harry, I’d like to introduce you to November. November, this is the bane of my existence, Harry Potter.” 

Harry laughed and reached out to stroke the cat’s ears, “You’re always so fucking mysterious for no reason.”

“Or maybe you find everything I do intriguing for no reason.” 

“Maybe it’s both,” Harry agreed. “Why’re you hiding a cat in your bedroom?”

Draco answered all in a rush, petting the cat fiercely as he did, like she might be torn from his arms before he finished speaking, “I found her on my way home from bringing you lunch at the bookshop today. She was half frozen and half starved, and I couldn’t just leave her there to die in a skip, could I?” He glared at Harry, “I was only trying to come up with more convincing-”

“You don’t need to convince me,” Harry interrupted gently. “Of course you couldn’t leave her there to die in a skip. I didn’t know you liked cats.” 

“I’m not used to. Rescuing,” answered Draco a little stiffly. 

Harry nodded, and after a moment’s thought, he pulled out his wand and conjured a smallish basket lined with cushions, “Do you think she’d enjoy the kitchen hearth?” 

[beloved-child-of-the-house]

hi 💛 if you like, you could write about drarry and (magical?) tattoos? or maybe one of them as the artist, i like hearing headcanons about what ink they'd have (also I'm very partial to sap if the mood strikes you ahaha)

“This is quite seriously cursed,” Lem, the tattoo artist looked up from the Dark Mark on Draco’s arm, their expression shadowed with concern. 

“Imagine my surprise,” drawled Draco, rubbing his right palm against the knee of his robes. 

“So you can’t do anything,” said Harry dully, his heart sinking. 

“I don’t say that,” Lem flashed him a little grin and bent over Draco’s arm again to stroke his Dark Mark with one finger. Draco flinched so hard that he nearly bolted out of the chair, and Lem drew back in alarm, “Whoa, you all right?”

“Perfectly,” said Draco, his tone icy. “If I could just ask you not to do that again.”

“Sorry, no offence intended. Hands to myself for the moment, then,” Lem drew back and tossed their head to flick their fringe out of their eyes. “Right, okay. So normally in the case of regrettable tattoos, I would use a little spell I invented to siphon off the ink. It’s something like Tergeo, quick and painless and does no damage to the skin. But in your case, if I tried that-”

“The curse would kill me,” said Draco flatly. “As much as I love to rehash that, perhaps you could tell us what you’d suggest instead.”

“Well, I can’t remove the tattoo, but I can make it look like something else altogether.”

“How do you mean ‘something else altogether’?” Draco stuffed his free hand into his pocket. 

“Well, I can colour it in so that the image doesn’t look quite so. Erm.”

“Evil,” supplied Harry. 

“Thank you, darling,” said Draco crisply. “You took the words right out of my mouth.”

“Er evil, yeah,” Lem looked between them rather nervously. “Well you might turn the skull into an apple and turn the snake green.”

Draco frowned, “What’s a snake got to do with an apple? Don’t they eat rats and things?” 

Harry smiled, “It’s to do with a muggle thing. I’ll explain later; it’s er. Rather a long story.” 

“Not that,” said Draco, turning back to Lem. “What else?”

“We might turn the skull into a planet, and then we can sort of make the snake look like comets orbiting it or like rings.”

“Mm,” Draco squinted at his arm. “That’s a bit better. Any other ideas?”

“We might also make it look like a wyvern or a dragon.”

Draco looked at Harry. 

Harry kissed his cheek, “It’s your arm.” 

“A dragon will do, though it’s. Painfully on the nose.” 

Lem laughed, “Oh right, because your name is Draco. I didn’t even think of that.” 

Draco was too busy thinking to say something rude, “Could you make it a dragon catching a Snitch?”

“Sure, of course. No problem. I’ve even got a new technique for gold. It looks brilliant; you’ll love it!” 

“Maybe you could give the Snitch swotty little round spectacles?”

Lem was already taking out parchment and a quill to sketch the design, “Absolutely, whatever you like.” 

Draco turned to Harry and stage-whispered to him behind his hand, “You’re the Snitch.”

Harry laughed, “Yeah, thanks. I got it.” And he kissed Draco again. 

[beloved-child-of-the-house]

what i wouldn't give for a little bit of chronic pain crowley being soothed by aziraphale 😭🖤

“I might take you home, my dear?” Aziraphale offered in his most kid gloves of voices. 

“Eh?” Crowley grunted with effort after a beat. 

“Is it your head again?” asked Aziraphale in a nigh-reverent murmur, as if a migraine were some sort of religious experience. “I can take you home straight away, if it would help. I know your bedroom is lovely and dark.” 

Crowley carefully drew in several deep breaths, til he had mastered the urge to be sick at the very idea of sitting up or leaving the sofa, “Can’t move.” 

Aziraphale seemed to cotton on that more conversation would not help. He eased himself slowly out of his chair, as if the disturbance in the air when he stood would make Crowley’s head ache even worse. He flitted about the shop, stepping as quietly as a cat, and drew the shades and even the heavy air raid blackout curtains he’d never got around to taking down. He shut off the gramophone and even somehow stopped the clock ticking. 

When the shop was quite dark and nearly silent, Aziraphale returned to the sofa, leaned over Crowley, and whispered in a voice like a butterfly landing on a dandelion spore, “I’ve a cold compress for you, my dear.”

“Thanks.” 

Aziraphale pressed the compress gently to Crowley’s brow. It was deliciously cold, and it eased Crowley a little bit. Aziraphale’s cold compresses were always lovely. They didn’t drip, and they didn’t slip off, and they stayed cold for ages. 

Aziraphale’s cool fingertips slid lightly along Crowley’s jaw to draw back his hair, and Crowley felt the familiar electric shiver of one of Aziraphale’s miracles in his scalp. It didn’t banish the pain. 

“Doesn’t work, Angel,” Crowley reminded him. 

Aziraphale sighed a little sadly, “No,” he agreed. “Can’t think why a miracle shouldn’t work on a migraine. Perhaps I could just send you to sleep, then?”

“All right,” said Crowley. There was another little zing of Aziraphale’s magic, and Crowley sank peacefully into the soft and welcoming dark. 

[beloved-child-of-the-house]

Fic-prompt! If you're still doing them, that is.

Bagginshield, apple picking, and rain. 💗🍂🍁🍎🌧

“Some might suggest that this is in conflict with my dignity as a king,” said Thorin mildly, as Bilbo settled more comfortably on Thorin’s shoulders and held an imperious hand out for his apple basket. 

“I suppose some might,” Bilbo sniffed luxuriously and plucked a beautifully ripe apple from an overhead branch. “But then you might respond by asking if your dignity can bake those pies you so enjoy.” He tucked the apple primly into his basket. 

Thorin stroked Bilbo’s ankle, “I suppose it is too much to ask for dignity and pie.”

“I’d be happy to reverse our positions, if I could lift you, umral. Ooh I think I’ve just felt a drop. Did you feel that?” 

Thorin smiled at the endearment, “Mm, I felt nothing, but I have a very excellent umbrella.”

[beloved-child-of-the-house]

so there’s a service that will send you a little graphic of the planetary positions for a specific date and time and you can use it to commemorate wedding anniversaries and so forth. and aziraphale tries to get one for crowley for the day they met so he calls up and he gives them the date he wants and they’re like. i’m sorry sir would you be able to pick a new date? we can’t do that one. and he’s like, what’s wrong with my date? and they’re like. sir we don’t have records for october 3rd 4000 bc. and aziraphale’s like well this is very shoddy! mr fell why would you want a random day from 6000 years ago. and aziraphale’s like clearly it isn’t random to me! mr fell we’d be happy to print your graphic for you if you could just pick a more recent day. 

so he goes with the not apocalypse day and. then they want a credit card so that he can pay over the phone. aziraphale’s attitude toward credit cards is along the lines of i don’t understand the question and i won’t respond to it. so he tries to get them to send a bill in the mail and they say they can’t do that and then he asks if he can come into the office and pay cash and they can’t do it either and the poor customer service rep is like yep i’ve got some sort of immortal on the other line. and then aziraphale’s finally like let me call back with my neice (anathema) and he gets her to pay with her credit card. and he’s like oh thank you so much my dear. he pays her back with gold sovereigns that he takes out of the cash register they’re from like the 16th century and are worth a lot more than she loaned him. she glues one to the pavement in front of the shop to play a prank on crowley (crowley’s like oh my goodness a rare and valuable coin i can use this in my glue a coin to the pavement trick haha let me just bend over and pick it up)(he grabs at it a little too confidently and nearly falls over)(his shades fall off)

when the picture shows up, aziraphale has it framed and crowley is enchanted. 

[apliddell]

John, 

You’ve fallen asleep on your back, which means you are snoring. I haven’t yet prodded you to roll over, because your hand is on my knee, which is lovely. The Gob is asleep on your tummy, very charming for a goblin. You both look wonderfully peaceful. It’s enough to make me wish I could plug into your dreams somehow and meet you there. Funny how you’re here and somewhere else at once. Or perhaps you’re here and also nowhere. Either way, your hand is on my knee, and it’s lovely. 

Sherlock

~

John, 

It’s raining hard as anything, and you’re asleep on your side with only your bum touching me, and the Gob is down the bottom of the bed by my feet, and I’ve got to keep still or else she’ll bite my toes, but she’s like a rumbly little hot water bottle, so I don’t mind, and all I can think about is the absolutely luxurious bowl of porridge I’m going to make you in the morning. And perhaps a pot of cocoa. 

Sherlock

PS you might think this note needed more than 2 sentences, but I disagree

~

John, 

Last sleep to APPLE PICKING DAY!

Sherlock

~

John, 

I didn’t mean to be busy with that piece all day. I got a bit lost in it. Sorry. I really did mean to spend most of today with you, and I’m so annoyed with myself that I got distracted like that. Thank you for a lovely bedtime anyway. You’re always so patient with me. 

Sherlock 

___________

@tabby-quartz asked for ‘BBC SH or YMT, anything with naps or sleep schedules?’ Thank you so much for the prompt and for your patience while this little ficlet cooked!!

[beloved-child-of-the-house]

do you still want prompts? if so: bilbo/thorin, harvest festival, a misunderstanding, a gourd or pumpkin. love your writing! :)

“How did you come to take an interest in such a large vegetable, umral?” Thorin smoothed the last handful of mulch with his trowel and sat back on his heels to wipe away a trickle of sweat from his brow.

“Oh there’s a little everyday glory to growing something bigger than yourself, isn’t there!” Bilbo offered Thorin his handkerchief, but held it out of reach til Thorin had tugged off his dirty gardening gloves. “And anyway, think of the food!” Bilbo shut his eyes rapturously and pressed one hand to his heart, “Pumpkin mash, roast pumpkin, pumpkin soup, pumpkin pudding, pumpkin cake, pumpkin pie, pumpkin pickles, pumpkin ale, pumpkin punch! Oh Thorin, pumpkin ice cream!” Bilbo was in such a state at the idea that he was compelled to brace himself against the pumpkin and sip from the glass of cordial he’d brought out for Thorin’s refreshment. 

“That is rather tremendous pressure on my appetite,” said Thorin, somewhat gravely as he was enjoying himself far more than would be advisable to let on. “Though I suppose the biggest is destined for the fair and some Sackville Baggins comeuppance?”

Bilbo wisely did not hear the last bit, “Oh my love, I have every faith in your appetite.”