#fluffbruary never ends

[oonajaeadira]

@jolapeno is encouraging us all to list the favorite things we've made this year. And @sixhours and @jeewrites are superlative humans and they have tagged me and I am grateful for that!

I'm not gonna lie, y'all. When I'm asked to reflect on what I've created in the fandom this year...well, "depressed" is a word I could use.

But. It's been such a lovely year in the fandom. We were treated to a Fox, a Roman general, a boy-who-never-grew-up, and a penis collector, not to mention the promise of a very flexible scientific-genius wifeguy and sneak peeks of everyone's favorite melancholy apocalypse survivor.

Thank you to everyone who was helping us keep a lookout for nasty folks and helping to combat deplorable behaviors, and thank you to everyone who did their part keeping spirits bright.

And I will be forever grateful for @pedroscouts and @pedrosummercamp ...it literally gave me something to focus on when my days were running away from me and introduced me to some really sassy and hilarious new friends. <3

Still. 2024 put me through a professional and emotional wringer. So. Here's what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna list my wins. First, we'll start with what Jo asked for!

PEDRO PASCAL CHARACTER FANFICTION

Okay. So the rules said it had to be a finished project. Playing by the rules, I would have nothing to post. Nothing. Zero. Zilch. Poop. So, in the interest of choosing joy, breaking the rules it is!

Fluffbruary Six-Sentence Ficlets - multiple I tried, y'all. I tried real hard. I got through 15! And I was making a new header for each one! And then life got real busy and I had to stop. But I have every prompt assigned and I decided I'm gonna reblog the first half and post the second half this February. I know they're not a popular series, but they make me happy, so they're getting doing!

Leave Off Your Wandering - Joel Technically, I did finish this one, since I had always planned for it to be just the four parts. But at the end of the Winter chapter, I realized it needed an epilogue, so there's another chapter coming. And it's not far off. I may finish it before the end of the year and then it will really not be a lie. But first.....

That Awooo Inside You (Part 1, Part 2) - Fink This may not qualify yet, but the final chapter will be finished before the end of the year. I have it half written and there's a chapter pic ready to go. Proof:

.

And that's mainly it. I did write some pieces for @morallyinept's spooky moodboards as well and really enjoyed that! But that's been what I've been able to do. So to combat the whomp whomp in my heart about it, I include here another list after the tags.

tagging! @katareyoudrilling @secretelephanttattoo @fromthedeskoftheraven @goodwithcheese @walkingaline

And you!

Your Favorite Things 2024 with Jo

PROFESSIONAL CHECKLIST OF 2024

(Pedro girlies can stop reading here. This is solely for me to really take account of and be proud of everything I accomplished this year, but also to let it soak in that I do not want another year like this again.)

JANUARY:

Researched, wrote, developed, costumed and constructed [solo show]

Performed [solo show] in Minneapolis for a limited group

Performed one night in an Off-Book quest slot performance

Performed [solo show] in Tuscon

FEBRUARY:

Prepared for the hellish year to come

MARCH:

Helped to develop new script for [indie company]

APRIL:

Directed new script for [indie company]

Developed, costumed, constructed and performed a short detailed piece for a fundraiser by a company I dearly love and hope to work for

MAY:

Continuance and opening of new script production for [indie company]

Both managing and guest performing in a large fundraiser show for my work

JUNE:

Performing [solo show] in Atlanta

Performing as part of a trio in a long-form improv production in Atlanta

Directing a brand new set of 5 trateau pieces for a company I dearly love

JULY:

Trateau rehearsal continues

AUGUST:

Trateau performances

Huge annual arts event that my work actually centers around

SEPTEMBER:

Travel to Sweden and Finland for work

Travel to Sweden and Denmark for pleasure (first time out of the US since 2019, so it was an accomplishment for me)

Start work on a project that will require me to direct, create, costume, design, manage, market, and help write five separate 60-mintue shows that will all perform within one week of each other

OCTOBER:

Aforementioned 5-show nightmare rehearsals and marketing continue

Performed in all 5 shows

Coordinated an 11-day pop-up market during that same week which included a complete (floor, ceiling, walls) set-dressing of a small room, while being the proprietor and coordinator of all sellers and wares

NOVEMBER:

Died a little inside

Cleaned my studio for the first time in a year

DECEMBER:

Started rehearsals for a show I'll act/sing in this spring, one that will be stress free and a fkn joy and everything that 2024 was not.

[stellacartography]

Still @fluffbruary on this blog apparently.

Day 11: Bench | Cottage | Tough

When the film ended, Greg erupted.

"Are you fucking joking? She takes him back? He hasn't fucking changed at all! He acted like a twat when she so much as flirted with another man, and yet he was outright dating other women when they were married! "

"I rather consider this to be a part of my 'men are awful' collection. It is important to remind oneself." Mycroft kept his eyes directed at the credits rolling down the screen.

He felt Greg's attention shift to him, dark eyes burning through the dim light. "You're single, right? At least as long as we've known one another."

"For several years before we met, in fact." Mycroft dropped his gaze to his hands.

"That's a long time," Greg marvelled. His tone was gentle, not mocking.

"My work does not exactly lend itself to maintaining a relationship."

"Still. Do you miss it?"

Mycroft raised his glass and an eyebrow. What was he meant to miss? The constant, sinking feeling of disappointment when the needs and wants he could never quite voice went unmet? The inadequacy? The feeling that he could never quite live up to anyone's expectations? The ever solidifying knowledge that he, Mycroft Holmes, was simply not boyfriend material?

"I don't."

"Not at all?" Greg looked stricken. "God, I miss so many things. Not enough to put up with that," he said, gesturing at the screen. "But having someone to come home to, spending evenings together cooking and cuddling on the sofa. I miss the good bits."

"I... have never lived with anyone I dated. Perhaps I bypassed the good bits."

"What? No lazy weekends in bed? No waking up at feeding each other bits of pastries instead of eating a proper breakfast?"

"That seems quite specific."

"I need to have words with whoever you dated." Greg tipped the last mouthful of drink down his throat and turned to face Mycroft. "Come here."

"I am already rather here, Greg," Mycroft said warily.

"Look, I've had a shit day. I had to witness your brother and John snogging like teenagers. You have had a shit day, and we've both just discovered that you dated really shit people and now, as your friend, I would like to give you a hug about it. And I would really like a hug as well. Is that ok?"

"Oh." Mycroft shifted along the bench. He was now within touching distance. Hugging distance. "Yes."

"Good." Greg wrapped his arms around Mycroft's upper body.

Mycroft froze, uncertain. His heartrate picked up as Greg's hands landed on his shoulder blades. The contact felt dangerous somehow.

"It works much better if you hug me as well," Greg chuckled.

Mycroft allowed his own arms to drift around to Greg's back and inhaled the scent of Greg's day. If Greg hadn't said so himself, Mycroft would have smelled it on him: stale traces of cigarette smoke clung to his collar from a mid-morning indulgence, the faintest hint of sweat behind his ear from overwork and stress, the stronger smell of whiskey on his breath and skin. It consumed and occupied his thoughts as Greg's arms moved over his back.

Without a thought, Mycroft found himself pulling Greg in as close as the settee would allow. He stroked his hands over the muscles in Greg's back, felt them shifting under his palms as Greg's hands smoothed along his spine.

"You're good at this." Greg's voice was rougher and softer at once somehow. So much more intimate sounding in close proximity to Mycroft's ear. His breath was warm on Mycroft's skin.

If Mycroft's higher order cognitive functions were not currently occupied with the three glasses of whisky swirling through his bloodstream, they might have put forth a solid argument for ending this hug that was going on far too long to constitute friendly contact. As it was, his lower order functions were putting forth sound arguments for continuing.

First, Greg was warm. The icy core that had consumed Mycroft's body from within proved vulnerable to body heat and genuine concern. He was thawing with Greg's every touch and liquifying with each huff of breath against the skin of his neck.

Second, Greg smelled gorgeous – manly and honest, whisky-sharp and real. Mycroft breathed and breathed, inhaled Greg deep into his chest, satisfying the urge to draw him in, to hold something of this revelatory experience inside himself. A memento for the inevitable conclusion of this pocket of madness they appeared to be trapped in. Or unwilling to leave, Mycroft considered, because...

Third, Greg wasn't letting go. He wasn't pulling away or staccato patting Mycroft's shoulder the way his father used to do to indicate that the hug must be over now. In fact, if Mycroft so much as shifted, Greg pulled him closer and soothed him with gentle strokes over his shoulders and neck. Mycroft returned the gesture, stroked Greg's back, ran hands that (finally) felt warm over Greg's rumpled work shirt.

When the position grew uncomfortable, they drifted apart a fraction. Greg dropped one arm from Mycroft's shoulder, but kept the other wrapped around his lower back.

"Not so bad?"

"Were you concerned it would be?"

"No, but I think you were."

"Perhaps. I am unused to being hugged."

"Only one thing for it then."

"And that is?"

"Acclimatisation. We're going to turn you into a hugger. Or we'll at least be friends who hug."

"Acceptable." It was the only word Mycroft could access in the face of the earth-shifting information that not only did Greg enjoy hugging him, he wished to repeat the experience.

"One more for the road?" Greg opened his arms.

"Of course."

First | Prev | Next

@lisbeth-kk, @totallysilvergirl, @copperplatebeech, @boldlygowhereitsbiggerinside

[carefreecoffee]

⋆·˚ ༘ *Fluffbruary Day 1: Coffee with Shigaraki Tomura⋆·˚ ༘ *

Word count: 549, gender-neutral reader

Your coffee maker beeped, ringing through the quietness of the league hideout. You carefully took the pot out, the aroma of coffee beans filling the room as you scooched your mug closer, pouring it in delicately as to not spill any. A small smile reaches your lips, setting down the pot into its respective place and rummaging through the kitchen for your cream and sugar. The kitchen isn't used often, the drawers and cabinets are always barren besides whatever had been lying around for days on end. You began to make your coffee how you pleased, the excitement of drinking the caffeinated beverage and feeling awake once more gnawing at your senses.

Small patters of feet make their way into the room, shuffling around before landing just a foot away. “What are you doing?” You didn't have to turn around to know that was your boss, Shigaraki Tomura, the sound of his aching skin being itched at once more as his vermillion eyes observed your movements. “Making coffee” you respond, finishing your fixing and lifting the mug for him to see.

He grunts in response, looking at the deep brown liquid you held. “Do you want some?” you turned to face him, noticing his interest. He stops scratching for a moment, in thought before huffing. “Yeah sure…whatever” you nod, reaching up for another mug and pouring him some. Carefully, you handed him the hot drink, watching as he eyes it.

“Is that how you like it?” you inquire, seeing his eyes roam over the mug he now held.

“Huh?” you nod to the coffee, “Black, I mean. Would you like cream and sugar?” He looks to the coffee once more before replying, his voice gravelly.

“I don't know, never had it before” he shrugs. Now that caught your attention, “You’ve never had coffee before?” he sees the surprise in your face, scoffing as he speaks “Tch, no, i never needed to” you hum at his response before nodding to his cup. “Take a sip, see if you like it” Now if you know Shigaraki, you know he is not one for being told what to do but who was he to decline this first-time offer?

He grumbles incoherently before sipping it, disgust immediately etching itself onto his face. “Eugh ew- why the hell is it so gross?!” you chuckle, watching his face contort in frustration. “Cause you didn't wanna add any cream or sugar, duh.” you move the sugar and cream toward him, letting him do as he pleased. With careful fingers, he poured a hefty amount of creamer in, along with a generous amount of sugar.

Finally, he took a sip, the liquid having been cooled down preposterously. He wasn't ecstatic; rarely was he ever but still, there was a hint of contentedness upon his face. With raised brows you spoke, “Might as well go ahead and drink the creamer” you teased, sipping your own coffee once more. He grumbled a small ‘Shut the hell up’ before sipping it once more, his dry lips reaching the edge of the mug.

Can he actually taste any of the coffee at this rate? You decided not to question him, maybe for the better. Seeing him in such a content state of mind and being…you could never strip that away from him.

Please request! <3

[seiya-starsniper]

For Fluffy February 15 Dreamling

SOMEHOW, I managed to finish this before February ending 🤣🤣

Enjoy the shamless fluff anon!

Fluffbruary Prompt List || AO3 Link Here

---------------------------------

“Oh! Let’s look at this stall, Hob!”

Morpheus looks up from his crafting table and is met with the sight of a couple in their early thirties approaching his shop. Or rather, the woman is dragging her partner towards his shop. Morpheus thinks he recognizes her, a thought that is later confirmed as he slowly recognizes the various pieces of her outfit from other vendors on the fairgrounds. She’s adorned in one of Lucienne’s gorgeous handmade corsets, and Morpheus is pretty certain her peasant blouse and skirt are from Matthew and Jessamy’s pirate themed shop. The flower crown expertly woven into her bright blonde hair confirms that the woman is definitely a dedicated attendee. One with plenty of money to spend.

Her partner though, he’s wearing a rented costume so Morpheus thinks it’s probably his first time here. She did call him Hob though. How period accurate for the Renaissance Faire. 

“Good morrow my friends,” Morpheus greets them, falling easily into his shopkeeper persona. “How may I assist the Lord and Lady today?” The woman giggles at being addressed as a lady. 

“I’ve heard,” she stage-whispers, holding her hand up to her cheek, “that you are the best jeweler in all the lands, good sir.” Her face is full of delight as she says this, and Morpheus cannot help but play along. 

“I dare say you have heard the truth m’lady,” Morpheus answers with his own conspiratorial smile. “Shall I show you my collection of wares?” he asks, gesturing to the glass display case just underneath his hands. The woman squeals in delight.

“Oh Hob, they’re so beautiful!” she croons as she dips her head to look at the jewelry displayed inside. She points at a few items she’s interested in, some necklaces, bracelets, and earrings, but decidedly foregoes the rings. Interesting. 

“Did you hand make all of these yourself?” the woman asks as she and Hob try on a matching set of Celtic knot necklaces.

“Aye, milady,” Morpheus answers. “We can also customize any piece, and also resize, if needed,” he adds. 

“Pretty handy,” the man, Hob, says, finally joining the conversation. He smiles at Morpheus, who feels his face grow warm at the compliment.

Though he hadn’t paid attention to the man as much as the woman when they’d first entered the shop, upon closer inspection, Morpheus realizes that Hob is quite attractive. He was maybe an inch or two taller than Morpheus, with broad shoulders and muscled thighs that were clearly on display in his rented Faire outfit. His chin-length brown hair framed a kind face with thick brows and a full mouth that looked like it had been built for laughing.

And oh, that smile. Hob smiled with his entire face, creasing his brows, eyes, cheeks, and mouth all at once as he appreciates the look of Morpheus’s work around his neck in the mirror. It makes Morpheus’s fingers itch. He wants to dress this man in the finest jewelry he could craft. He wants that smile, that radiance, that warmth, to be directed at Morpheus instead of the woman he’d come here with, even though she’d done nothing to deserve such a fate. But Morpheus has never been looked at the way Hob looks at his girlfriend. He’s rather certain he hasn’t seen many men look at any of their partners that way. It tugs at Morpheus’s freshly broken heart, and he has to force himself to refocus his attention on her instead of her partner, who seemed to have his own gravitational pull.

They eventually leave with the matching necklaces, and the woman, Eleanor, signs up for his mailing list, promising to buy more jewelry on his website. Morpheus believes her too. In addition to the necklaces, she’d bought a set of earrings and bracelets for herself, insisting that Hob not pay for her purchase. Her independence makes Morpheus smile, despite his jealousy. He wonders if next year, he might convince them to upgrade to the engagement, or even the wedding bands. 

Morpheus forgets all about the couple by the end of the day, but he feels a sense of melancholy and longing that he cannot quite explain as he packs up his shop for the night. He wonders if maybe he should take up Matthew and Jessamy’s offer for drinks tonight. If only to break out of his monotonous routine. 

It wasn’t like there was anyone waiting at home for him anymore, after all.

Morpheus doesn’t recognize Hob at first when the man wanders into his shop a year later with a rowdy group of friends. They’re all clearly drunk, and Morpheus is curious as to what about his shop could have possibly caught this group’s eye.

But then he sees the Celtic knot hanging from Hob’s neck, resting on a very hairy chest, and recognition dawns on Morpheus.

“I’d recognize that pendant and chain anywhere,” Morpheus greets with a smile, which causes a rowdy set of encouraging shouts and playful ribbing to erupt from the group. 

“You do, do you?” Hob asks, his words only a little bit slurred as he smiles at Morpheus, a tankard of what smells like mead and beer in his hand.

“I do,” Morpheus answers with his own smile. “But it seems to be missing its partner. Tell me, where is the Lady this lovely afternoon?”

Morpheus knows immediately he’s asked the wrong thing when Hob’s face falls.

“Oy mate, don’t bring up the man’s ex like that!” one of Hob’s friends scolds Morpheus, which makes Morpheus wince. A small chorus of boos erupts from the group as well.

“Ignore them,” Hob says, waving at his friends to shut up. “They mean well but I walked in here wearing one half of a set, it only makes sense you’d ask.”

“Still,” Morpheus insists. “I’m sorry about—er—” Morpheus is horrified to realize he has completely forgotten the woman’s name. 

“Hah!” Hob laughs, clearly amused rather than offended. “Her name was Eleanor. I’m Hob by the way.”

“I know,” Morpheus says, then winces again. 

“Do you, now?” Hob asks, with a cheeky grin. He places his tankard of unknown alcohol on Morpheus’s display case and then leans on it. “You remember my name, but not Eleanor’s?”

“She called you by name multiple times, and Hob isn’t exactly the most common of names used when taking on a Faire persona,” Morpheus says, hoping that his explanation doesn’t sound nearly half as creepy as he feels.

“I know, that’s why I picked it,” Hob grins. “I do use it outside of here too, you know.”

“You do not,” Morpheus replies, aghast. What man in his right mind would willingly go by the name Hob and risk endless jokes on doorknobs and stoves?

“I do,” Hob says with a wink before he bows dramatically. “Professor Hob Gadling of the Medieval Studies Department of XX University, at your service, my good sir.”

“Oy Hobsie, stop showing off!” one of Hob’s friends calls from a different part of the shop. Morpheus hadn’t even noticed they’d dispersed to look around, he had been so entranced by Hob’s reappearance.

“Yeah, are you buying anything? You’re the one that wanted to come here!”

“Ah, is the good sir looking for something new?” Morpheus asks, slipping back into character, and hoping to hide his embarrassment. “Mayhaps something to help ease a broken heart?”

“Something like that,” Hob answers, sheepishly, his fingers fiddling with his right ear. Morpheus tries to show how entranced he is by the motion. “Listen I was wondering if—uh—well, you know—if there was time—”

“He wants to know if you’re single and ready to mingle!” one of Hob’s friends shouts, followed by a loud chorus of agreement. “And if you’re into men!” another one adds. 

“What the flying fuck Davey!” Hob turns and shouts at his friends, who all laugh and raise their glasses to a toast. 

“Get your man Hobsie, so we can keep getting drunk!”

Hob groans and hides his face in his hands, muttering something about ‘worst wingmen ever’ and Morpheus cannot help it. He bursts into laughter, and has to clutch at the cash register behind him for support.

“I don’t suppose we can forget this whole thing ever happened?” Hob asks, once Morpheus has caught his breath. His face is red with embarrassment, and Morpheus wonders if the man blushes so prettily on other parts of his body as well. 

“I’m afraid not,” Morpheus answers, shaking his head solemnly. “But my evening is available after the Faire closes tonight,” he adds with a wry smile.

Hob’s entire body perks up immediately. “Seriously? You’re interested?”

“As long as you intend for us to be alone,” Morpheus answers, his eyes falling to Hob’s posse behind him. 

“Abso-fucking-lutely!” Hob exclaims, nodding eagerly. Morpheus cannot help but smile as Hob’s friends continue to tease him while they exchange contact information and make plans to meet outside the Faire grounds later. He even manages to make a few sales from the group. Morpheus wishes Hob could stay longer and that they could talk more, but the post-lunch crowd that spills into the shop dashes those plans for now. 

Hob doesn’t miss an opportunity to show off again though. He takes Morpheus’s hand and kisses it, bowing deeply, and causing the rest of the shop to coo and cheer at the romantic display.

“I shall miss you dearly, beloved, until we next meet again,” Hob declares loudly as he exits the shop with his friends.

“You’re seeing him tonight you dingbat!” Morpheus hears one of his friends laugh.

After the post-lunch crowd leaves, Morpheus sits at his crafting table, looking over his in-progress projects, and wonders if custom jewelry is a bit too much for a first date. Hob had worn the Celtic knot necklace though, and it was clear he needed a replacement.

Rubies, Morpheus decides. Hob would look good in rubies. Morpheus readjusts the setup of his table and gets to work, mentally counting down the minutes until he’d be able to see Hob’s smiling face again.

[atleastpleasetelephone]

Little Darling - a year later

A/N: Well I guess none of you were expecting more Little Darling - I certainly wasn't expecting to write any more! But here's a fluffy little bit for @fluffbruary - taking the prompt hands although I think that was for about 7 days ago!

Little Darling masterlist is here.

Pairing: Old Man!Elvis x OC - Tegan

Word count: 812

TWs: None! Pure fluff and a little kiss!

Tegan almost falls into Elvis’ arms at the end of the training session, she’s so tired. She usually tries to keep a sensible distance from teacher, so she doesn’t get accused of getting special treatment by her classmates, but today’s lesson has been punishing. Probably her own fault for having a few weeks off really, having too much fun celebrating her anniversary with Elvis, but it’s really taken it out of her. 

“Well done today, honey,” he coos at her as he leads her over to the bench at the side of the room. “Ya look beat.”

She groans, taking her belt off and looking about for her things. “Remind me to never take three weeks off in a row again.”

He chuckles. “My fault, Tegan bach. Takin’ ya away on fancy vacations.”

Pulling on her socks and shoes, she looks around as the hall slowly empties, students waving as they leave. Elvis waves back, dropping the odd comment about how well someone is doing, how their kicks are coming along nicely or that they’re really getting the hang of the kata they’ve been learning. Tegan smiles to herself. He always has a kind word for everyone, no matter how long they’ve been there or how terrible they still might be at karate. It’s one of the things she loves about him the most. 

She leans her head on his shoulder as the last person leaves. “Mmmm. Yeah it was a good holiday though. I’d like to be back in the Bahamas right now.”

Elvis turns a little to press a soft kiss to her forehead. “Me too.”

Tegan sighs softly and closes her eyes for a minute. Her muscles are aching already. 

Elvis looks down at her lovingly. He’s been thinking lately that maybe he should stop teaching entirely, leave the Karate schools to Lisa or someone who wants to manage them, and take Tegan away to live somewhere tropical and beachy permanently. He’s not getting any younger. The more he sits here, in rainy Memphis, the more appealing the idea becomes. His eyes drift down to her hands, both resting on one of his thighs, and he notices the cuts and bruises there. Scooping them up one at a time, he starts to press gentle kisses to her knuckles. Her eyes flutter open again. 

“Oh!” She exclaims, softly. Not even realising her hands were damaged, she suddenly feels  a little overwhelmed at his tenderness.

“Sore, baby?” He looks up at her with those beautiful blue eyes and she feels like she could melt right there on the spot. Idly wondering if she’ll ever get over how beautiful he is. 

“Little bit.”

He smiles against her skin. “Am I helping?”

“Always.”

Finishing his ministrations, he carefully replaces her hands and then cups her cheek gently, looking into her eyes with a seriousness that makes her stomach twist. 

“I know ya love ya job, an’ yer apartment,” he begins. “But uh… that vacation jus’ made me think… I'm gettin’ old, Tegan bach, an’ I don't wanna live out the rest a my days here,” he gestures around to the empty hall, “teachin’ like this. I uh… I wanna retire an’ take ya somewhere warm ta live. Nice beach somewhere.”

His eyes shift around nervously. He knows how much she likes her life now, and values her independence. But he's been thinking this way for a while now. The vacation had just solidified the decision. 

Tegan bites her lip. The vacation had made her reevaluate a few things too. Part of her had been scared that despite everything they’d been through they wouldn’t last a year, and when they did and their relationship seemed stronger than ever, she had started to wonder just how long Elvis could keep up the travel related to managing the business. And how much she wanted to be away from him, insisting on keeping her job in case things went wrong. 

“Yeah I do love both of those things,” she replies. His face falls a little so she continues quickly, “but I love you more, ‘raur. And if you want to retire and take me to live on a beach with you… I think I can probably manage.”

His lips curl into that cute lopsided grin and his hand slips to cradle the back of her head. “Are ya sure?”

“Am I sure I want to live on a beach with the love of my life? Yeah I'm sure.”

“Oh honey I love ya so much,” he mumbles, as he presses his lips against hers. 

“I love you too, cariad,” she replies, a little breathless from the passion of the kiss they’d just shared. “I don’t want to waste any more time apart. Let’s go home and figure out which Caribbean island we want to spend the rest of our days on.”

Elvis chuckles. “I can’t wait, baby.”

Taglist:

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed:

@arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley @eapep @everythingelvispresley @i-r-i-n-a-a @sissylittlefeather @arrolyn1114 @jhoneybees @polksaladava @lookingforrainbows @jkdaddy01 @epthedream69 @lustnhim @elvisslut @pomtherine @that-hotdog @ladelinee @angschrof @fairybloodsucker @deltafalax @makethemorning @elviswhore69 @ilovequeen978 @wildhorseinkansas @pocketfulofpresley @dkayfixates @iloveelvisss @kxnnxy @presleyhearted @lvrdollep @nebulamorada @iloveelvis2 @18lkpeters

[to-thelakes]

rainy day

pairing; frank castle x fem!reader

summary; after getting caught in a torrential downpour, frank's apartment offers some comfort

warnings; fluff, mentions of frank's trauma, a subtle friends to lovers vibe

notes; another day, another fluffbruary one-shot! i honestly am having so much fun with these, it's ridiculous. i was also fully intending to write for more than frank castle but i am on such a frank castle kick, i'm such a lover for this morally corrupt man! also, i had to try really hard for this not to go sexual because there's an alternate ending where this went smutty instead (maybe i'll come back and write it...) but for now, we are going full fluff and this was a little less pre-established relationship and more of a moving into a relationship. but anyway! excuse the rambling i hope you enjoy day three <3

ao3

It was absolutely tipping it down and like the clever person you are, you didn’t have an umbrella. Or a raincoat for that matter. You had been at work all day and the sun had been bright that morning. You had assumed you’d be safe from the downpour but you were wrong. As you stared onto the street, you considered getting a cab but that would require more effort than it was worth.

Plus, you were heading to Frank’s place and he only lived a few blocks over. It wouldn’t take long to get there realistically but you knew that you were about to get soaked wet through. There was no avoiding it and so, you charged forward into the rain.

The streets were still bustling with people from the after-work rush and you had expected that maybe others umbrella’s would provide you some relief from the downpour; you were wrong. Everyone else’s protection seemed to just soak you more. The run-off from the umbrellas soaked you to the bone as you rushed through the streets, weaving through the slow walkers.

The sight of Frank’s apartment was a relief and you ducked under the entrance before slipping inside. The warmth of the lobby made your skin heat up, the warmth fighting against the biting cold. Droplets of rain were running down your face and your clothes were sufficiently soaked. You looked like a drowned rat.

When Frank opened the door to you after you left the elevator, he paused for a moment. Then his face cracked into a smile and your lips morphed down to a frown. You crossed your arms over your chest, staring up at him, unimpressed.

“Don’t,” You warned him and he let you slip inside the apartment. You discarded your sopping wet suit jacket onto the side table while Frank closed the door. He was watching you, your white t-shirt practically see-through thanks to the rain.

“Want that change of clothes?” He asked. You nodded your head, meeting his gaze. His smile had softened away from amusement and he disappeared to his bedroom while you walked over to the kitchen.

“Want a beer?” You called, hearing Frank shuffle around in his dresser drawers.

“That bad, huh?” He teased as he appeared in the doorway with a pair of your leggings but one of his shirts. You instantly noticed it as you turned back, narrowing your eyes suspiciously, “Dunno where your shirt is.” You rolled your eyes and returned back to the fridge, grabbing two beers. You opened them, taking a swig of yours before you traded Frank the beer for the clothes.

“Can I use a towel?” You asked. He nodded.

“Go for it, sweetheart.” You took another swig of beer before disappearing into the bathroom. Frank watched as you trailed water through the apartment and he couldn’t help but be mildly amused. Your friendship had always been a strange one to Frank. You knew him, you knew everything about him and you had to drag him back from the edge more than once and yet, you were still here. He was grateful for that but he’d never admitted that to you.

He took a swig of beer before he picked the jacket up from the side and wrung it out over the sink. He then discarded it over the heater. Once he was finished, he grabbed his beer again and took a seat on the couch. Usually, he’d turn on the TV but he could hear you in the shower. The water was pattering against the wall and he could hear your music blaring. Even when you were in his apartment, you had no shame in blaring your own music. 

He could hear you singing along too. You weren’t the greatest singer but he enjoyed listening. Something about your presence seemed to soothe his agitated soul. When he was with you, the world seemed to slow and he had never expected it. He had never wanted to find someone else after Maria and Beth, he knew that he always got people hurt. Yet, you had quite literally wandered into his life and proved him wrong just like Beth had.

Now you were in his shower, in his apartment about to put on his shirt and he felt at peace. The constant need to be on guard had slipped away and even though the vigilance would never truly disappear, it didn’t feel as pressing as it usually did. Part of him was terrified that you’d get hurt but his life had been quiet for months. There was nobody on his back, nobody out to kill him and so he felt content knowing that for once, you both might be safe.

“Frank,” You called his name, standing on his bath mat completely naked, “I need a towel, you didn’t have one in here,” You called. You heard him chuckle on the other side of the door before you heard footsteps. The apartment was creaky and old and you had memorised which creaks indicated he was near his bedroom, near the front door and near the bathroom. He was outside the door. He knocked gently.

“Open up,” He said. You shuffled to be stood behind the door before gently pulling it open. Your wet hair dripped onto the tiles as you stuck your face out. He held the towel towards you and you grabbed it, giving him a thankful smile. Then you closed the door.

A soft breath escaped your lips and you dried yourself off before slipping back into the new set of clothes. The shirt smelt just like Frank and you couldn’t help but relish in it for a moment. You had also used his body wash so you were surrounded by the smell of him. You glanced at yourself in the mirror and realised that you were grinning; properly grinning.

You felt like a teenager who had just been caught but instead, you were crushing on your best friend. Your best friend who was a widower, your best friend who was terrified of letting people in in case they got hurt. Your best friend that could love you back but would never want to admit it because he didn’t want to lose you.

With a heavy sigh, you rubbed your face with your hands before you turned to the door and headed back into the living room. Frank was lounging on the couch while you picked your beer back up from the kitchen counter.

“Feelin’ better?” He asked, turning his head towards you. You took a sip of beer, nodding your head.

“Still a little cold,” You mumbled as you stepped back and checked Frank’s fridge again. Usually when you came over, one of you cooked for the other but his fridge was run down which meant that it might be a takeout night, “Do you want pizza tonight?” You asked curiously, turning around to find Frank standing behind you, “Jesus, Frank.” He couldn’t help but grin and he took another sip of beer before he placed it down.

“Come ‘ere,” He said, opening his arms up for you. You stared at him for a second before letting yourself be wrapped up in his arms. You were freezing and he was radiating heat. You buried your face in his chest, wrapping your arms around him as he held you close, “Gotta keep my best girl warm,” He mumbled. You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face as you chuckled softly.

“Your best girl, huh?” You teased. You felt the rumble of agreement in his chest and you looked up at him. You met gazes and you were grinning, like a love-sick teenager, “I could get used to that.” His head tilted ever so slightly to the side and your gaze was boring into his.

“Yeah?” He asked. You nodded.

“Yeah.” Your head rested back against his chest. There was something different about it this time, though. He was holding you just that little bit tighter and then he leant forward and pressed a kiss to your hair. Your stomach erupted in butterflies and you couldn’t help feeling so adored.

<3

[ralkana]

Fluffbruary, Day 6

February 6: tie | embarrassment | dessert

Dream of the Endless / Hob Gadling

Rated G

-----

It's the middle of the afternoon when his stranger shows up at the New Inn, a smile on his face, naming Hob friend. Apologizing for his absence.

"Welcome," Hob says, shoving his marking into his satchel. "Let me get you a glass of wine."

His stranger sits silently as he asks Katie for another pint and orders a glass of Malbec.

"The good one," he clarifies, and she grins.

"Got it, Robbie," she says, with a curious glance at his companion, and then they're alone again.

His friend is still watching him, that smile on his face, and Hob can't help but take a moment simply to look. He thinks about asking why they didn't meet in 1989, why he was left adrift and alone, but it doesn't matter. Not really. He's here now.

"What were you working on when I arrived?" his friend asks, his gaze shifting briefly to Hob's satchel before anchoring firmly on Hob's face once more.

"Marking," he says, and his friend's brow furrows. "Checking my students' work," he adds. "I'm a professor now! Me, can you imagine?"

And then he's off, the familiar rhythm of their past meetings suddenly returning. He talks for so long that his voice falters. There is so much to tell his friend about. X-rays and the space race, vinyl records and the internet. With a word to Katie, he switches from beer to water, and keeps going.

His friend is no more talkative about himself than usual, but he seems more engaged, less... dour. He asks questions, and is more expressive than Hob has ever seen him. Hob even thinks he tried the wine Hob chose for him, though the nearly full glass now sits on the table between them.

He is in the middle of explaining the miracle of organ transplants when his stomach growls, loud enough to be heard from across the table even in the busy pub, and he breaks off in embarrassment.

"Pardon me," he says with a laugh.

"I have kept you from your evening meal," his friend says, shifting in his seat, and Hob lunges, half-desperate, as it looks like he might rise. His friend stills, eyes widening a fraction.

"No, no! It's fine!" Hob says, lowering his hand from its aborted grasp. Please don't leave! He takes a moment to breathe, to calm himself.

"We have shared a meal before," he reasons, though of course, his friend has never eaten. He has remained while Hob has eaten, though, and that's what he's hoping for now. "We could do so again. If you'd like."

His friend nods his agreement, so quickly that Hob thinks he might not be the only one unready for the evening to end.

He orders a steak and ale pie, and when Katie asks his friend for his order and he declines, Hob asks for two forks. His friend raises an eyebrow at that, and Hob simply grins. One day, he'll find something that tempts his friend - his need to feed those he cares about is strong. Stronger still because his friend looks like he's missed a fair few meals recently.

If he even eats. Perhaps he lives on words. Heaven knows Hob has given him plenty of those.

His meal arrives, and he breaks the crust of the steaming pie, smiling as he inhales the aroma of the thick gravy that wafts out.

He has eaten a few bites in between his words when his friend shifts in his chair, reaching for the fork in front of him.

Hob watches, fascinated, as he scoops up a small bite of beef, a morsel of crust, and a tiny bit of gravy. Those petal pink lips part as he tastes it, head tilted like a bird's as he considers it.

"It is pleasingly savory," he pronounces as he sets the fork down again, and Hob grins.

"That it is, friend," he says in agreement, applying himself to his meal and his tale.

"Dessert then, Robbie?" Katie asks a few minutes later, as she brings him another glass of water and sees the remains of his meal.

Hob debates for approximately three seconds. "Yeah, go on then."

Katie laughs as she picks up his plate. "The usual?"

"Please, and two forks."

There's so much more to tell his friend about - there always is - but Hob feels mostly talked out. This is by far the longest his friend has ever lingered, and he can't ignore the ache of the knowledge that soon, their meeting must end.

Unwilling to prematurely give into the melancholy that always arrives after these evenings, Hob pushes it away and says, "The kitchen here is fantastic. In some ways, pub food is the same as it's always been, but some things are so different now..."

He's in the middle of explaining gastropubs and fusion cuisine when Katie approaches their table once more, and he breaks off.

"Ah, thanks, love," he says, rubbing his hands together in anticipation as she sets down their dessert. "Butterscotch bread pudding with vanilla bean ice cream and housemade whiskey caramel sauce. It's absolutely the best thing on the menu. It's won awards."

Lifting the shot glass of caramel, he upends it, drizzling it over the pudding sizzling in its little cast iron pot. The ice cream is melting slowly into the top of the pudding, and the smell is divine.

Hob digs in and pops a bite in his mouth. It's too hot, burning his tongue, and it's absolutely worth it.

His friend picks up his fork and digs out a tiny bite to try, and Hob watches his eyes widen, his pleasure clear on his face in a way that has Hob shift in his seat. He's beautiful.

"Good, innit?"

He says nothing, but his fork dips again, lifts a larger bite this time.

Sweet tooth, then, Hob thinks. Got it.

He goes in for another bite as well, picking the thread of his words back up.

He's talking about the rise of the celebrity chef a few moments later, reaching for another bite, when his fork scrapes against iron, and he blinks and looks down. The little pot is empty, only a few drops of caramel sauce and a few smears of melted ice cream remaining. Hob has had maybe three bites.

He looks up, astonished. His friend looks back serenely, but there are spots of color, high on his pale cheeks. He sets his fork down.

Hob could not stop the smile breaking over his face for all the money in the world. His friend's lips twitch, the corner tucking into a tiny smile, and Hob notices there is the smallest drop of caramel sauce at the corner of his friend's mouth.

Hob entertains a very brief fantasy of leaning across the table and licking it off, tasting the sweetness of the caramel and his friend's perfect skin.

Clearing his throat and shoving the thought away, he sets his own fork down. They are not unfamiliar, these little moments of want that flash within him, whenever they share an evening. They are what sustain him in the long decades between their meetings.

His friend's gaze is sharp on his face, but those spots of color remain.

"I apologize for consuming your dessert."

"Our dessert, friend. Two forks, remember? I'm just glad you enjoyed it. Would you like another?"

His friend looks away, out the window long since gone dark.

"The hour grows late," he says, and Hob tries not to flinch. "And I have. Difficult work ahead of me. But. Perhaps we might meet again soon. To share this dish. Or perhaps another."

Hob's breath catches, his heart pounding. I will take you to every bakery and dessert shop in London, he thinks. England! The world!

"I would like that very much, my friend," he says.

"Dream," he says as he stands, looking down at Hob with the same smile he had when he first came in. "You may call me Dream."

"Good night, Dream, my friend," Hob says, trying not to choke on the emotion that swamps him. "I hope to see you soon."

"You shall, Hob Gadling. Good night, my friend."

Between one blink and the next, he's gone.

END

-----

Thanks to @fluffbruary for the prompt, and to the Morrison in Atwater Village for the best damn bread pudding I've had in my life.

[lisbeth-kk]

Self-reccing.

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favourite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. spread the self-love ❤

Thanks for the tag @raina-at

This is beyond difficult! I don't do favourites, and like most writers I do love my own fics. That being said, there are choices to be made...

The first on the list has to be a parent!lock I have a weak spot for.

The Secret Writer delves into topics which are dear to me, like reading to children.

Summary: Sherlock is about to reveal his secret. On Rosie's birthday. Will John understand what this means?

Enigma is my first entry to Fluffbruary ever, and I put quite a lot of effort into it as far as I can remember.

Summary: As a child Sherlock’s promised the perfect birthday present, but he never receives it, and he refuses to tell John what it was. John perceives that the thought of said present still haunts Sherlock decades later and he’s determined to solve the mystery and give the belated present to Sherlock himself.

Punishment for Being Fatuous is partly crack, and came to life because of a six year old prompt on Tumblr. (It's all in the end notes of the fic). The fact that I experienced parts of this myself togehter with fandom friends...well...you do the maths.

Summary: John's got tickets to a musical, and asks if Sherlock will accompany him. Sherlock's reluctant, and instead does something tactless to get John's attention.

Until the End of Time came to life after reading the magnificent @atlinmerrick fic Well Met Series. Chapter five of said fic stood out to me, and I instantly wanted to continue the story, which Atlin generously permitted.

Summary: Sherlock and John met on the tube, and they never looked back.

A Calming Effect is my homage and humble thanks to the remarkable @podfixx who lights up my day. Every day, in fact.

Summary: John is invalided home from Afghanistan. He's miserable with an inexplicable cold that's set in his bones and nothing he does can make it disappear. When his therapist suggests a podcast Mike Stamford has mentioned to her, and John reluctantly agrees to give it a try, things change. The velvety voice does things to John he isn't prepared for, and he's determined to meet the man behind the podcast. That proves to be easier said than done.

Tagging @arwamachine @holmesianlove @chriscalledmesweetie @notjustamumj @discordantwords

[a-forbidden-detective]

For @fluffbruary

December 14 2024 : book | horizon | hug

“His presence is Enchantment — You beg him not to go —” —Emily Dickinson

“I… I don’t know which one I am… What am I supposed to do?”

Toto didn’t know what to say to his friend. He sat there with sadness in his heart. Ron was lying on the floor languishing in a flurry of emotions, mostly negative. He wanted to cry but couldn’t. So much anger and frustration. What he discovered was not the answers to his questions that he was not aiming for.

My dad called himself Eliot Moriarty! Of all the family names, this one family I loathe most of all! What a cruel joke it is.

The chain of events became interesting but it interrupted Ron’s way of thinking. All the fragments came together and he did not know what to do with the new information.

The police officer squatted with his left knee on the floor in disbelief. He wanted to convey his feelings to Ron that he was not alone.

How can I tell him that I am here? Always here.

He longed to touch him, to pull his friend back to earth, but he was worried that it was Ron what least wanted. If only Toto could squeeze his shoulder…

Ron covered his eyes, as if he was hiding from everything, as if this took away the confidence in him. All of a sudden the ambition to be the No. 1 detective in the whole world just like his ancestor, Sherlock Holmes, vanished from his eyes. All he had now was shame. Shame, guilt, anger.

Ron…

A scream and a pair of shoes running aimlessly toward the police officer was inconsolable. Chef Sakai tried to look for him everywhere in the hotel to report that there was another murder, the third one in a span of half an hour. The young chef was rattled by the senselessness of it all in which he was one of the suspects. On top of that he was out of his wits shit scared that he could end up as the next victim. He did not even notice that Ron was on the floor. After Toto assured him that he and the forbidden detective would follow suit, he went up to Ron.

It is now or never. Ahh, pull yourself up together, Ron!

“Ron, let’s go!” Toto grabbed Ron’s collar, his eyes opened yet dull and lifeless, the blue sparkle gone, as if he were giving up. Without saying anymore, Toto pulled him up and half-hugged the forbidden detective consoling him.

Everything will be all right, Ron, I don’t know how, but remember that I will stay with you. I will never leave you alone.

Toto lead the way to the next case while he carried Ron in his arms.

~ fin~

Why do I have this feeling that Toto was dying to connect to Ron through tactility? If Chef Sakai didn’t show up Toto would have probably taken Ron into his arms or at least squeezed his shoulder to tell him he was not alone judging from the latter scenes where he grabbed Ron’s collar to pull himself together.

[73lesbiansinfandoms]

My contribution to @fluffbruary 2025 I don't know if I'll do another day, and this is technically a day late, but here it is.

Day 1

I used dark and wander, but it ended up having a mind of its own.

Words: 550

Ship: Neil x Todd

There were just some things about Neil that Todd would never be able to understand about him. Like how he was able to light an entire room up and make the most boring topics some of the most interesting and many more things he found himself cherishing anyway, which is why he found himself wandering through the woods in the middle of the night with Neil clinging to his arm, which Todd could just make out he was beaming from the way the moonlight was hitting his face.

‘Neil, baby, where are we going?’ Todd asked, placing a gentle kiss to his neck when they suddenly stopped in a clearing. Neil looked just as lost as Todd was feeling but he still had the brightest smile on his face that continued to melt Todd into a puddle, like it always did. ‘I don’t know.’ Neil replied through a breath, his voice sounding higher pitched and airier than usual, that Todd couldn’t help himself from laughing as he brought Neil into a kiss. The moon went behind the clouds plunging them both into darkness, he felt Neil tense slightly, uncomfortable being in complete darkness, but Todd just kissed him again wrapping his arms around Neil’s waist and pulling him in close. Neil, predictably, was soothed instantly melting against Todd, one of his hands shyly making its way into his hair while the other wrapped around his neck.

There was something about kissing that always made Neil so incredibly shy, it was something that Todd had always been the one to initiate. Todd guessed that he should have seen that one coming Neil being a person who would be flushed for several minutes after being the one to give Todd a kiss on the cheek, whose favourite movie was Bambi and hid himself from the on screen kiss in sleeping beauty when they went to see it in cinema. Any other physical contact though was a different story, Neil thrived on hugs and cuddles, hand holding the works. It was something that Todd probably should have seen coming as well, and it was a trait of Neil’s that always made Todd’s cheeks burn a bright pink. Neil has always been a tactile person, always leaning on their friends, asking for hugs and sneaking into Todd's bed for cuddles during the night.

Todd found himself gently swaying them to the soft breeze of the wind through the trees, just kissing Neil and holding him close with all the love he could possibly express, coming nowhere near to the amount he actually felt for the other boy. This. This was the life. This was everything Todd could have ever asked for. Neil was everything he could have ever asked for and more. And as Todd kissed Neil that little bit deeper, moving a hand up to Neil’s cheek so he could feel the blush coating the other boy's cheeks, he couldn’t stop smiling. Neil was his everything, Todd never thought he had anything, but now, against all odds, he has everything. This perfect boy was all his, this perfect boy he would wander to the end of the world for, this perfect boy that had managed to consume his entire life in all the right ways.

His perfect boy.

[oonajaeadira]

I'm sad to see fluffbruary end, but i'm very grateful for all the beautiful ficlets you wrote for us. Thank you for the fluffiest fluff. And for the guess game is it Clint??

Valérie, my Valérie. Thank you for reading them and enjoying them. Don't think I didn't notice. <3

Unfortunately, I don't feel like I know Clint in order to write for him just yet, and I already had most of them assigned by the time we got the trailer.

But for you, here's a little something:

end | guess | game (Clint)

As the summer comes to an end, you've been cleaning up the video store shelves, moving the Oscar season bangers to make room for the blockbusters that will define your autumn.

It always feels like you're living a step behind the times...which is why you like Clint.

He comes in sometimes, spends fifteen minutes in the adults-only section, and it's fun to guess what he'll bring up to the counter this time--usually something old-school from the 60's, before the golden age of porn began.

He brings his lady with him--she never comes in, just stays in the car--and he always turns and winks at her before stepping into the shop, like him picking out the porn is a fun game they play.

Clint wears an old leather bomber, out of style, but sturdy and clean, and the scar on his face makes him look like some kind of throwback cowboy, especially when he smiles.

But what's fun about it is that when he returns a tape you can tell it's never been watched--almost like he picked one off the shelf at random to shock his girl or something--and you imagine that they just giggle about it and get to the do, because with a guy that good looking, who the eff needs porn....

[carefreecoffee]

⋇⊶⊰❣⊱⊷⋇Fluffbruary Day 2: Florist with Mirio Togata⋇⊶⊰❣⊱⊷⋇

Word count: 515, Gender-neutral

 “Did you find everything you were looking for?” You delicately hold the stems of the flowers, wrapping them in parchment. As you scan your eyes up, you meet the customer's eyes.

“Oh, Togata! Woah surprised to see you here” You send him a friendly smile, his outshining yours by miles per usual. He beams, placing his hands on his hips, “Is it really? I'm just as stunned! I didn't think I'd see you here! Let alone have you work here”

You nod, putting in the total and exchanging the money. “Haha yeah, i just picked it up as a summer job. Who’re  these for?” You nod to the flowers as he picks them up. “Ah, they’re for my mom, her birthday is today so I thought I'd pay her a visit later today!”

A small smile graces your face at the statement, how much more pure could this guy get? “Well, you picked out some good ones, carnations are definitely a solid choice” You lean on the desk, watching as his face flushed slightly. “It's the least I could do for her! So uh, florist huh? I never pegged you as the type” You chuckled sheepishly, nodding. “Yeah, I just thought it’d be an easy pastime but with Valentine's Day coming up I've been swamped! Glad that it's finally letting out though” You reference the nearly empty shop, watching as he nods in agreement a smile bursting on his face.

“Yeah! All these lovely people out and about grabbin’ their partners gifts, its heartwarming you know?” You return the smile, agreeing with his point. As soon as it ended, more people started filing in, the line bound to fill in.

You begin to fare him goodbye, his face etched in slight unsureness. “Yeah, i’ll see you later..” he begins to turn away before huffing, his cheeks tinting as his blue orbs find their way back to your e/c ones. “By the way uh…if you weren’t busy i mean,” He fidgets the flowers into his other hand, waving slightly “Would you wanna go out? I-i mean for valentines of course! I mean if you’ve already got someone that is TOTALLY cool, i wouldn't wanna–”

“Mirio” He stops his babbling at the sound of his name, looking towards you expectantly.

“Of course we can hang out then” you feel the heat rush to your face yet can't help but get excited at the thought. His face flashes a variety of emotions until his infamous smile peeks out once more, throwing up his signature thumb, cheeks red. “A-alright then! I’ll uh, text you when and where!” He goes to open the door, pulling at it but finding it didn't budge. I chuckled, pointing toward the door as I covered my mouth slightly. He looked to the door, seeing the sign that read ‘PUSH’.

His face burst into red, quickly pushing the door and tumbling out, leaving you satisfied at the reaction you were able to pull from him. You quickly tried to rub the blush off of your face, straightening out fully, “I can take whose next!”

Please request! <3

[andorerso]

A YEAR IN FICS - 2024

Happy New Year! I'm back with my favorite tradition: taking account of the fics I wrote in the past year

be my once in a lifetime: “It’s exhausting,” she admitted with an exhale. “I’d never do this.” Cassian tensed up next to her, a frown twitching on his lips. “Never?” “God no!” (1/1) Written for Rebelcaptain Fluffbruary

and pray for the thunder: A shelter, an argument, and a storm raging outside... This can only end well. (1/1) Written for Rebelcaptain Fluffbruary

objection, your honor: Cassian Andor hasn’t lost a case in two years, but what he doesn’t know is that neither has she. And Jyn decides he needs to be knocked down a peg or two.It’s so much more satisfying to win as the underdog. OR, Jyn and Cassian are rival divorce lawyers who also sometimes hook up. This can only end well, right? (2/3) Modern AU. chapter 2 written in 2024

Siren's Song: Cassian has been held hostage for nine days when help arrives. (1/1) Written for Rebelcaptain Smut Month

i want you so much (but i hate your guts): It’s infuriating, how easily and thoroughly Joreth Sward managed to ruin her. (1/1) Written for Rebelcaptain Smut Month

The Dildo Dilemma: How do you ask your boyfriend if your favorite dildo was modeled after his dick? (1/1) Written for Rebelcaptain Smut Month

Amas Veritas: Jyn's a young witch who's just trying to keep her head down. But when Orson Krennic returns to town years after he allegedly killed her father, she can't help feeling like this is her chance to get some payback. What's supposed to be a harmless hex quickly turns deadly, and Jyn must now make sure no one ever finds out what she did or risk going to prison. But the pull she feels towards Cassian Andor, the private investigator the Krennics have hired complicates matters, and it doesn't help that she's sworn off love years ago due to a nasty love curse that sits upon her family. On top of it all, Krennic's ghost might be haunting her... This Halloween is shaping up to be the worst one Jyn's ever had. (7/7) Practical Magic AU. chapter 7 written in 2024

Owl Hoot Trail: “I have a job,” she said. “And I need the bettermost sharpshooter I know.” He glanced down at the headline again. “What’s the job?” OR, Jyn and Cassian are 19th century outlaws. And also ex-lovers. (1/6) Written for the Rebelcaptain Secret Santa exchange

Total works: 8 (6 new ones)

Total wordcount: 42 522

The positives? I organized a fandom event for the first time in my life, and I finished Amas Veritas. The negatives? By far the lowest wordcount since I started this tradition, I didn't do any prompts/requests this year, and by far the most tragic, I didn't even touch Blood Red Rose at all. I try not to be too disappointed because it was a hard year, personally and professionally, and I think that reflects in my writing and lack of inspiration. But I'm hoping/praying for a better next year!

[tj-dragonblade]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. spread the self-love ❤

Thank you! This is such a hard question! I love most everything I've written, picking favorites is hard, I swear it would be easier to name the ones I'm least thrilled with lol. And just because most of these are Sandman doesn't mean I don't care about my older fandoms either, just that almost always what I'm happiest with writing is going to be the most recent years. Maybe one day I'll go through fandom by fandom to pick a top three from each, or something. But for now! In no particular order, and after much thought, here we go.

When the Chips Are Down from the tail end of my Saiyuki days, published 14 years ago this month. It's comical crack-treated-seriously based on an obscure canon-adjacent factoid and that sort of thing has never been my forte, but I succeeded admirably here if I may say so. It was a joy to write, Jiipu is my favorite and forever under-utilized in fic so centering this around him, around a ridiculous tidbit of info about his counterpart in the original Journey to the West and telling it in his pov was absolutely delightful. I had so much fun writing this one and I'm still so proud of the character voice work I managed in here.

The Thessaly breakup fic from fluffbruary 2023, which I like for having a semblance of plot and because I see lots of talk about what Hob would think of Thessaly but I don't know if I've run into any other actual fics dealing with it. Not that this is the Hob-gives-Thessaly-a-piece-of-his-mind fic that I think we all need, but I'm still very pleased with it. And I just really like the scene of Dream crying on Hob.

Of Cutoff Shorts and Classic Cars. I'm just. So happy with how quickly this one happened, how much it kept growing in the writing and how it turned out in the end. I also laugh at myself for nitpicking over the right British terms for back yard and driveway and such but then I completely spaced using bonnet instead of hood. 😂 Also fun fact this was my first time ever writing oral with a vulva and I'm very pleased with how well it's been received.

The Keeper and the Traveler currently sits pretty high because I've always loved and wanted to write that fairy-tale narrative style and this got pretty close. I don't know if it will still be in my top five by the end of the year but for now, it is.

And lastly will cheat a smidge and say Cruise Ship Boys, because I love both pieces of the 'series' and can't decide which I like better. The porn piece again happened quickly and wrote easily and I'm delighted with how it turned out. The sequel was meant to be one cute-ish little scene to revisit them but snowballed into a whole depressing backstory for Dream and an illuminating look into his everyday life and again, it wrote easily which seems to be a theme with these faves, lol. But yeah. I would love to come back to this AU one day.

[with-a-ghost-mr-holmes]

Fluffbruary: Day 29

John can't wait for the trip. It'll be kind of a “sex holiday,” only it isn't a holiday. John's attending a conference in Wales, and Sherlock is tagging along.

They both had a hard time being apart whenever John attended such events in the past. This time they'll be together. During the day, Sherlock will solve cases per email from their hotel room and John will follow the lectures, and they'll have the evenings for themselves.

“Sherlock, you ready? The taxi’s waiting.”

“Coming!” Sherlock emerges from the bedroom with their suitcases. A quick peck, and they are heading downstairs together.

And so, Fluffbruary comes to an end :')

I've never been so invested in posting fanfic before (I mean, 29 days in a row!) and, the other times I posted collections (i. e. the last two Christmases), I always had everything already written before I started sharing it. This time, it was sort of a long work in progress, which is why I called it "madness" 😂 It has been wonderful, though. I had a blast this month, and the readers' responses made it all even better! So THANK YOU so much for all your comments, likes, and reblogs, and mostly, for dedicating time to reading my silly fanfiction! 🥰

In ao3 you can find all the Fluffbruary drabbles together in a neat collection, as well as other drabbles, 221Bs, and ficlets of various lengths. Come say hi! ❤️

Tags:

@fluffbruary @totallysilvergirl @calaisreno @a-victorian-girl @helloliriels @peanitbear @pressurepoint221 @dubiouslynamed @yellowpamonha @ehuether @lgcgjd @gomielka @kittenmadnessandtea @chriscalledmesweetie @justnerdystuffs @missdeliadili @topsyturvy-turtely @fullyouthwerewolf @chinike @iamjustreading @effulgentcorruptedpov @strawberrywinter4 @seagoing-nerd @annaofthenorthernlights @keirgreeneyes @brightbquirky @mazaherstuff @naefelldaurk @kettykika78 @whatnext2020 @dinner--starving @under-loch-n-key @inevitably-johnlocked  @safedistancefrombeingsmart @meetinginsamarra @snonkerdoodlefizzy221b @7-percent @discordantwords @221beloved @khorazir @johnlockismyreligion @jolieblack @oetkb12 @ninasnakie

[onthesandsofdreams]

Of Plans and Helping Hands

Fandom: Rogue One Pairing: Cassian x Jyn, pre-relationship Characters: Jyn Erso, Leia Organa Notes: Modern Setting Prompt: Magnetic from @fluffbruary

Read @ AO3

As much as she would like to deny it, Jyn Erso can't find it in herself to say she's not attracted to Cassian Andor.

He, in a word, is magnetic.

The kind of person who without trying, pulled you into his orbit. Called to you and kept you in, with his smarts, his kindness, his fiercesomeness that hides well behind his eyes. But, oh, she knows better than to underestime that man. She's seen him rip someone to shreds with words, never using a single insult. It was hot, honestly.

Which is what brought her here. In Leia's apartment as she drank her second shot of tequila, and did her best not to cry.

Leia, for her part, has been surprisingly patient. But it does not mean she's not been making rather pointed remarks about the cowardice of her not telling Cassian how she feels.

"He's just so perfect," she near sobs. Tequila shot firmly clasped in her hand, while eying the bottle. She should go for shot number three. "I mean, the man is a lawyer - of the good ones. So, by that alone, he's basically an unicorn. But does it end there? No. He does probono work and donates to charities. And he's an awesome cook. And have I said smart? And what I am? A trash panda."

"Jyn, you are not a trash panda," Leia doesn't bother hiding her eye roll. "You are a successful small business owner, that is something to be proud of. Hell, I know that Cassian admires that."

"He does?"

"Yes. He's told me it was very brave of you to start your own business. He knows how hard that is, do not make yourself less."

She looks at Leia, "Think I have a chance?"

"Of course you do," Leia says with finality. "Cassian's not an idiot, as you have pointed out, so yes. He knows you are quite the catch yourself and I'm sure that if you gave him a sign, he'd ask you out."

She does not pout, but it's a near thing. "Then why doesn't he?"

"Because it's you," Leia states as if it was the most obvious thing. "He saw you punch a man who called you 'hottie'; he knows that he shouldn't try something without you making the first move."

"Oh."

They fall silent. She takes the third shot of tequila, because, why the hell not? Once the alcohol has burnt her worries away, she stands, surprisingly sober, look Leia in the eye and declares, "I am going to ask Cassian out tomorrow."

"Good," Leia nods. "He really likes coffee, and more specifically 'Luna's Café', they make his favorite kind. What did he called it? Oh yes, café de la olla. Take him one, he'll love that."

"Got it." She nods at Leia. "Well, best go home and do my best to recover from this tequila. I have a lawyer to seduce."

Leia smirks, "That's the spirit."

She nods again, grabs her purse and jacket and prepares herself to grab a taxi, she won't wait for a car, and her own apartment is not too far away. "Thank you, Leia."

"You're welcome, Jyn."

~

What Jyn doesn't know is this: Leia shoots a text to Han, who will make sure Cassian doesn't make it to Luna's before Jyn shows up at his door.

Han considers it his charity work of the day.