#fluffbruary 2023

[michellemisfit]

Sometimes it’s nice to take a moment to look back at what you’ve created.

[adealiz]

Belated @fluffbruary piece (April prompts: walk, kid) The last one I'll ever do. (that was a blatant lie)

[ghostofnuggetspast]

This is just one verse of this chapter. Continued and finished on a03!

Chapter 10: Denouement

28th February - vanilla, shell, bathtub

Ooh la la, there's music in the air! Ritual, serve, be smug.

A candle with vanilla smell … A bathtub with Sherlock as well … John joins him right quick. Sherlock goes to lick The shell of his ear. That feels swell! + +(ahem.)

Thanks for coming along with me! Shut the door on that flat before you see something you shouldn't. ;) Continued and finished on a03!

Based on @chriscalledmesweetie 's Mrs Hudson's Fluff Brew! Give it a read and some love!

Tumblr Navigation: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10

@calaisreno @helloliriels @friday411 @totallysilvergirl @naefelldaurk @keirgreeneyes @peanitbear @bluebellofbakerstreet @anyawen

[ninsletamain]

Fluffbruary Day 6: tie | embarrassment | dessert

My contribution to RebelCaptain Fluffbruary PLUS @quarantineddreamer's super ultra amazing fic addition below the cut!!!

The lines of code on the screen were no longer making sense. Somewhere between coffees 4 and 5 of the day they had slipped from Jyn’s grasp, gone from familiar symbols to something more akin to ancient hieroglyphics–as sure a sign as any that it was long-past time for her to take a break from her assignment. 

Reaching her arms skyward–tight knots in the muscles of her shoulders and along her spine protesting–Jyn glanced blearily at the alarm clock that perched neatly on the corner of the desk. 

Shit. Was that really the time? She scrambled to her feet, socks slipping on the linoleum floor, and threw her hair quickly into a bun. (Or what she hoped would pass for one anyways.)

Pants. I need pants. Jyn cast about the room, throwing the covers of the bed back, checking over the back of the roller-chair she’d spent the day–no, longer than that apparently–glued to, but found nothing. 

She could have sworn she had at least dropped a pair of sweatpants at the end of the bed at some point…

Cassian must have tidied up before he left (the neat freak); she hadn’t even noticed. That happened sometimes: the computer consuming her when she was locked onto a particular idea. But it shouldn’t have happened today. Today she had planned to wrap up her coursework early, surprise him… 

Okay screw the pants, Jyn decided, marching from the room towards the kitchen with all the determination of a soldier approaching the battlefield.

(If a soldier’s uniform was your boyfriend’s oversized, university sweatshirt and the fight ahead was the arduous task of preparing a meal.)

It took her more than a few tries to find everything–despite how organized Cassian kept his kitchen cabinets–but before too long Jyn was staring down at the black, glinting surface of a flawlessly seasoned cast iron pan and the looming depths of a large pot, a box of spaghetti, its matching jar of sauce, and an assortment of meat and vegetables thrown on the counter beside them. 

“I’ve got this,” Jyn muttered to herself, eyeing the recipe she’d taped to the fridge like it might grow fangs and snap at her. (Or catch fire and nearly burn the place down as had happened on her most recent foray into chefdom). “You’ve hacked into government systems before,” she continued. “This will be easy compared to that. A piece of cake, or a pot of pasta.” Hopefully anyways. 

She checked the oven clock. If she stood any chance of getting this done before Cassian (Impossibly-Punctual) Andor came home she had to start now. 

The empty apartment should have been quiet, peaceful. Instead, it suddenly seemed impossibly loud, noises swelling in her ears the longer she stood staring at the array of ingredients and tools––footsteps from the neighbor above, the distant rumble of a washing machine next door, the clicking of the fridge beside her, all clamoring in some insane harmony. 

The longer she stood there waiting (for what, she had no idea) the more power the sounds seemed to hold, quick to dredge up each and every anxious thought she had been so diligently shoving to the furthest corners of her mind since Cassian had told her of his plans to travel to Yavin…

When he cooked, Cassian always had music playing. Maybe that would help. Drown out the worry and the fear.

Jyn pulled her phone from the pocket of the red hoodie and tapped a playlist at random. Something upbeat began playing, muffled through the fabric as she tucked the phone back into the pocket, rolled up the too-long sleeves of the sweatshirt, and drew a deep breath. “Alright, here goes nothing…”

Turning down the hallway that led to his apartment, Cassian smelled something…interesting. 

He tried to pin down what it was. Starch, yes. Tomatoes, yes. Onions and garlic, most likely. But then there were other unexpected notes, the heat of what might have been chili powder tickling at his nostrils, growing stronger with each step closer he got to his door, and maybe the cheese he was smelling was parmesan or pecorino? The combination wasn’t exactly bad, just off–out of balance. 

He thought for sure it was one of the neighbors; maybe Mrs. McCleod experimenting again–after all, she had stopped him just last week to ask him about his favorite market for finding fresh produce.

But as he passed by Mrs. McCleod’s apartment, he noticed the crack under the door was dark, a small pile of mail collecting beneath her welcome mat. She was probably away visiting her niece again. Which meant that the smell was most likely emanating from the door at the end of the hall.

His door. 

Cassian tugged his tie looser, a warmth kindling in his stomach, a smile slowly spreading across his face; Jyn. 

He’d insisted she should stay at his apartment while he was gone–enjoy some solitude away from distracting roommates and loud neighbors–but he hadn’t been entirely certain she would take him up on it. She’d given him a strange look at the suggestion (despite the fact that after nearly a year of dating, she seemed to spend more time in his apartment than her own) and returned to her keyboard, completely absorbed in the endless numbers and symbols flashing wildly across the computer screen at her command.

The reaction hadn’t been a total shock to him. Jyn had been unusually quiet ever since he’d first mentioned his job interview in Yavin. He’d tried to tell himself she was just preoccupied with the workload associated with the final semester before she earned her degree, but deep down he knew that she was likely asking herself the same questions as he was: If I get this job, what happens to us? 

Cassian reached into his suit pocket for his key, twisted it in the lock, and slowly opened the door, his eyes tearing up at the overwhelming burn of capsaicin in the air. Dropping his backpack by the door, he followed the sound of hissing steam, music, and occasional cursing into the kitchen. 

It had been just over a day since he’d seen her, but even so, Cassian had spent the plane ride home longing for the moment when he could wrap his arms tight around her again, kiss her until they were both oxygen deprived and gasping for air. 

He’d envisioned a quick, eager reunion. Unable to hold himself back from rushing towards her; clumsy, grabbing hands and awkward clashing of teeth. 

But then he saw her: standing in his kitchen with her hair wild atop her head, dancing from the stovetop to a nearby drawer; humming along to the song playing faintly in the background as she poked uncertainly at a pan of sauteed vegetables and shot a quick glance at a boiling pot of water–and all he could think to do was lean his shoulder into the doorframe and stare, his breath catching in his chest with a fierce and sudden ache. 

Cassian knew he was helplessly, hopelessly lost–had known it for a while–but it had never been more apparent to him than in that moment, hovering at the threshold. He was certain that if he did nothing else for the rest of life but watch her, he’d still die the happiest man on earth. 

She’d decided to borrow his favorite sweatshirt while he was away–red, well-worn, with Ferrix University emblazoned across the front. As she rose on her tiptoes to reach into the spice cabinet, the bottom of the sweatshirt rose too, revealing the faintest glimpse of black panties, serving in sharp contrast to the perfect, pale curve of her ass. 

The sight inspired a different kind of ache. Cassian made his way across the kitchen, and placed his hands on Jyn’s shoulders. Somehow, the only words he could seem to find were, “You’re cooking.”

A string of swear words fell out of her mouth in quick succession. “I could’ve stabbed you,” she grumbled, even as she set down the knife she was holding to lean backwards into him. “You shouldn’t sneak up on me like that.”

“I’m surprised I managed to.”

He felt her shoulders rise and fall against him. “I was distracted.” 

“I can see that,” he mused. “You’re cooking. You hate cooking.”

He could just make out the faint flush that rose in Jyn’s cheeks as she glanced back at him, her hair tickling his chin. “I do hate it,” she agreed, “but I figured you’d be hungry and…well, I don’t hate you.” 

A soft laugh escaped him, “What a relief.”

“Shut up.”

“No really,” he said, pulling her closer. “I was beginning to wonder.”

“Do you want food or not?” Her scowl was made significantly less believable by the smile catching quickly at the corners of her mouth. 

Cassian gave a considerate hum. His stomach had been rumbling as he stepped off the plane, but now a different kind of hunger was taking hold. His skin was hot beneath his suit where Jyn’s body pressed against his own; all he could seem to think of was her in his sweatshirt–in only his sweatshirt. 

But Jyn seized his brief lapse of silence as an opportunity to change subjects. “So…How’d the interview go?” she asked lightly, though her muscles went tight as she dipped a wooden spoon in the red liquid that bubbled on the stove in front of her.

He watched as she blew steam away from the spoon before bringing it to her mouth to taste and wincing. “The interview was fine,” he murmured, pressing (what he hoped she would as) a reassuring kiss to the top of her head.

The smile had already vanished from Jyn’s face. “You think you got the job then?”

Cassian moved his hand slowly up and down her arm, earlier ideas already forgotten. “They made me an offer,” he admitted quietly. 

“They did…” The energy seemed to have drained straight out of her–the dancing, humming, swearing woman from moments ago turned to shadow. 

Like she didn’t know. Like she couldn’t feel the frantic stuttering of his heart where his chest pressed between her shoulders blades. Like she couldn’t sense him, standing right here beside her on the knife’s edge. 

“I told them I couldn’t give them an answer yet,” he told her. Of course I did. As though there had been anything else he could do…

“You did what?” Jyn twisted in his arms. “That is your dream job. You know you want to go, so just go. Why would you–”

“Jyn,” he cut in, and she went still–let him hold her in place for at least a moment longer while he continued. “I said yet. I told them I couldn’t give them an answer yet.”

Her knuckles were white, wrapped tight around the wooden spoon. He reached past her and switched off the burners before anything could start smoking or boil over.

Cassian’s own nerves were starting to take hold. He gave a hard swallow, trying to clear the tightness from his throat. “I don’t want to go to Yavin. Not without you… I don’t want to go anywhere without you.”

“What are you saying?”

“Come with me. After you graduate in the spring, come with me.”

“Cass…”

He was about to tell her she didn’t have to answer right now–to delay whatever pain he sensed was coming from inevitable rejection–when she closed her hand around his tie and tugged him closer, tilting her head back to press her lips to his. 

Beneath his mouth, he could feel her smile forming, but it still took his breath away to see it when they broke apart. “Is that a yes, then?”

Jyn wound his tie tighter around her hand. “I like this suit,” she commented, eyes sweeping across the blue fabric and back to the black silk of the tie. 

“I’m taking that as a yes…” Cassian told her, his attention splitting as she began to playfully undo the top buttons of his shirt. 

“I cooked for you…” Her lips passed over his throat, her voice muffled. 

Heat was racing up Cassian’s spine, his thoughts going increasingly hazy. “You did…” he replied, inhaling sharply as the hand not wrapped in his tie found the back of his head, fingers tugging lightly at his hair. 

“I’m a terrible cook, but I cooked. For you.”

She still hadn’t answered him. Not really. He wanted an answer, a definitive answer. “What does this have to do with–”

“Are you still hungry?” 

“Jyn–” he pleaded.

“Because I was thinking we should forget about the food,” she continued, her mouth brushing over his ear–words like sparks to his skin. “I changed my mind. There’s something else I want to do for you instead. Something I’m much, much better at…”

He relented slightly, instinct shoving reason aside as he tugged at the hem of the sweatshirt, her skin soft against his fingertips. “What did you have in mind?” 

“You mean, aside from moving to Yavin?” she murmured with a teasing grin, pressing even closer, tips of their noses brushing, her breath warm against his cheeks.

“So that was a yes earlier…”

Jyn rolled her eyes at him. “What do you think?”

He lifted her off her feet, and she laughed, wrapping her legs tight around his torso. “I think you’re coming to Yavin with me,” he said, slightly breathless, not quite daring to believe it. 

“I’m coming to Yavin with you,” she echoed, delivering a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Welcome home, Cassian.”

[fluffbruary]

2023 Prompt List

February 1:   clue   |   velvet   |   museum February 2:   memory   |   trace   |   movie February 3:   thread   |   coast   |   beach

                                         __________________

February 4:   daydream   |   snow   |   rest February 5:   pigeon   |   enthusiasm   |   aquarium February 6:   butterfly   |   trust   |   copper

                                        __________________

February 7:   routine   |   colorful   |   energy February 8:   grass   |   sunrise   |   fashion February 9:   ghost   |   fireplace   |   harmony

                                        __________________

February 10:   moment   |   strong   |   neck February 11:   unlikely   |   fog   |   anniversary February 12:   amber   |   tenderness   |   incandescent

                                        __________________

February 13:   whole   |   steam   |   first February 14:   idea   |   teach   |   fruit February 15:   radio   |   vague   |   tent

                                        __________________

February 16:   sailor   |   landscape   |   glasses February 17:   crystal   |   yesterday   |   fantasy February 18:   recovery   |   flight   |   film

                                        __________________

February 19:   mosaic   |   dragon   |   nursery February 20:   favorite   |   reveal   |   lounge February 21:   marathon   |   young   |   journal

                                        __________________

February 22:   bridge   |   throw   |   dawn February 23:   scrap   |   snack   |   ballet February 24:   art   |   needle   |   slip

                                        __________________

February 25:   breathe   |   offer   |   ignite February 26:   ice   |   beautiful   |   night February 27:   market   |   friend   |   photograph

                                        __________________

February 28:   wreck   |   veil   |   wind

Bonus prompts:   yearning   |   wrist   |   lick   |   motorcycle   |   birthday

[tj-dragonblade]

FLUFFBRUARY 2023: Feb 14

Prompts: idea teach fruit

"Hob."

"…Yes?"

"I have been. Considering your words, and I…will concede, that your concerns are valid."

"Thank you."

"I would remedy the oversight, with your. Cooperation."

"…We're not talking about getting you a mobile phone, are we."

"No."

"Alright then. What?"

"I would. Teach you the means to summon me—"

"Whoa, hold on. Summoning? No. No, I know what I said, but absolutely not. I'm not just yanking you willy-nilly from whatever you're in the middle of when you've got no say in it. Thanks anyway."

"It is not that sort of summon, Hob. I would not be. Compelled, to answer. Only…made aware, that you wish to speak with me."

"…You're free to answer me or ignore me, then? I can't accidentally drag you here against your will?"

"Yes. And. I will not. Ignore you, should you call me in this manner."

"Alright then. But only if you're sure. Look I know I was whinging about it but I understand the…the differences between us and that you can't be here—"

"Hob."

"…"

"There is little reason to deny you the means to contact me from the waking world, and I am. Disinclined, to heed it. I would make myself accessible to you. Allow me to. Treat you, with the favor you are due."

"Silver-tongued—alright. Alright. Tell me how this works."

"You need only write my name, with intent, on something which may be burned."

"And then I burn it to call you?"

"If need be. Or speak my name, with intent, while touching what was written. Burning will indicate. A particular urgency."

"Fire's for emergencies, got it. Which name, specifically?"

"Summon me by Dream. My other names do not hold the same power."

"The whole thing, Dream of the Endless, or just Dream?"

"Dream is sufficient."

"Good, good. Shorter in emergencies, too."

"…Do you anticipate the need to reach me under duress?"

"Hopefully not! Just considering all possibilities. Can I prep a calling card ahead of time, something I'd carry with me that I could grab and call you if needed?"

"Yes."

"And if I had no other options, I could…I don't know, write it in blood on my own skin? I mean, I'll burn, if it comes down to it—"

"HOB."

"Well it's like you said, not that it has to be burnt, just that it could be."

"Do NOT. Set fire to yourself."

"I wouldn't. Not unless I was out of options."

"HOB."

"Dream."

"You are being difficult. On purpose."

"Maybe. A little. Mostly I just want to be sure I know all the ins and outs of how this works so I don't call you by accident or accidentally let someone else get ahold of your calling card or—I don't want you to have any doubt—you can trust me, with this. I won't abuse it. I won't be careless with it."

"…I know. And. I thank you."

"…"

"My name, written with your intent, cannot be used by another to summon me. Any burnable surface will do in dire circumstances."

"And setting myself on fire is strongly discouraged."

"Very strongly."

"It's not like it would kill me."

"Hob."

"I'll stop. I'll stop. Thank you for this, truly. It really…it means a lot."

"You…mean. A great deal, to me. I would not cause you distress, not when I have means to soothe it. Forgive me, for not doing so sooner."

"Of course. Now. Tea?"

"…Yes. Thank you."

===== All-dialogue is a good exercise in capturing voice. Ultimately that's all this is. I've seen a few variations of 'burn Dream's name to call him' across the fandom, but special shout-out to @pellaaearien bc this heavily resembles the method and mechanics described in chapter 10 of Another Word for Ache.

On AO3

[starmangrace]

Stars

HC Hob has this kind of ceiling in his bedroom, vibrant, glittery and spectacular. He painted it himself. He is crafty that way.

After their first time, spent and sticky with sweat Hob and Dream lay in bed, talking lazily, giggling and caressing each other's skin. Dream's skin is smooth, cold, and soft. Hob's skin is scarred, warm, and rough. It's perfect. Dream mouths Hob's throat, drinking the sounds coming from Hob's lips.

Hob had waited for this moment for over 500 years. He had hoped that one of these days, his stranger would be his lover. At last. It was true.

Hob did not sleep that night, he held Dream and talked and talked. Asked him endless questions, what he is, how he came to be, how the Dreaming is a part of him. In return, he told him all about the new age, the changes. Even when his arm fell asleep from being under Dream, he didn't move.

"Are you asleep?" Dream asked at some point.

"No", came the sheepish reply.

"That's a wonderful ceiling you have", he comments, just like the first time he saw his room a few weeks ago.

"Thanks. I painted it", murmured Hob, clearly fighting to remain awake.

"You can sleep", Dream reminds him,"I'll be here when you wake up".

“No, I’m fine”, Hob ran his hand on Dream’s jaw and kept it there, gently pressed against it.

“Your eyes are…beautiful”, Hob breathed, he didn’t dare to even blink.

They were beautiful, Dream’s eyes, they reflected the cosmos, the borning stars, the winking stars, the bursting nebulae, the damning blackholes, all of it. It appeared as if his eyes were windows to the universe themselves.

“You flatter me”, his cheeks went pink, his red lips tilted in a small smile.

“I love to see you red”, he brushed the back of his fingers against his cheek,

“Storyteller, tell me a tale”, Hob requested promptly,

Without taking his eyes off Hob, who was completely hypnotised with his eyes, Dream waved a hand to the ceiling, “I can SHOW you a tale”, delicately, Dream grabbed Hob’s chin and turned it to the ceiling.

Hob was stunned to say the least. It was spectacular, mind blowing, intriguing and celestial, to say the least. He personally felt like he was flying across the cosmos, like he can touch the stars, so close and intimate. He felt the stars dancing around him, the immortal basked in their company. It was almost like he could hear their heavenly laughter and siren-like voice, calling out to him to join their never ending celebration of life, universe and just being bigger than life.

The colours, oh, the colours, they were more beautiful than anything Hob had ever seen. Red, orange, green, blue, violet, pink, even the simple black stood out so much. So rich and vivid were the colours, no picture can compare. The way the nebulae move around, swimming freely like a mermaid in the deep sea. So many colours. Hob was sure there are more than his human eyes can comprehend or translate.

“It’s amazing”, Hob’s breath hitched. He reached out his hand to touch them. 

For a moment, he felt tiny, microscopic even. What or who is he in the grand scheme of things?

“Thank you”, Dream muttered, “I’ve crafted them”,

“I know”, Hob chuckled.

“I mean the actual stars. The Night is my Mother, but she wasn’t as decorated as she is now”,

Hob blinked and turned his gaze to Dream, who was still staring at him, unblinkingly. Such adoration and love in his galaxy eyes.

“She is beautiful”, Hob managed, before his words got stuck in his throat.

“Aye. But I rather look at you”, Dream smirked at the open mouthed shock on Hob’s face. He brought his hand to Hob’s hairy arms, “Universe is a vast thing, you can be easily lost in it. So are your eyes. And I have been there. I prefer where I can feel your warmth and sweet touch”, Dream carried on the stroking to his hip and thigh, “You show me humanity that I’ve long forgotten”, the Endless blinked, now caressing his neck “Trust me when I say, the stars and planets holds no candle to your brilliance, my heart”

It’s safe to say Hob’s mind short circuited that moment and they didn’t get ANY sleep that night.

MY FIRST (hopefully not last) CONTRIBUTION TO FLUFFBRUARY <3

inspired by @staroftheendless starting a war against angst and dedicated to Fluff Princess @immacaria

[ginnyw-potter-archive]

I'll take it

@fluffbruary Day 11 Prompt: Anniversary

She sits at the table outside. Not because it’s that warm outside but because she wants to escape the house for a while. She does that a lot these days and she can only spend so much time of it flying. Everyone inside the house is silent, muted, just dragging through the day. If she sits outside by herself for a while, she can pretend that everything is okay. That Fred didn’t die a little over a week ago.

Harry walks up and sits beside her. He doesn’t speak. He is one of the few people whose silence she tolerates well. More so because his eyes tell her way more than his words could ever cover. He closes his eyes for a moment, his face turning towards the sun to let it warm his face. She looks at him without reservation.

“Do you know what today is?” she asks. It has been on her mind all day, but she was unwilling to address her own thoughts on the matter.

He opens his eyes as he turns to look at her. He takes a deep breath. His face is neutral but his eyes are piercing, overflowing with a mix of emotions. “Yes. If we hadn’t broken up...”

“It would have been our anniversary,” she completes.

“I hate that it isn’t,” he admits as he leans back in the chair.

She turns towards him, curious. He meets her eyes again.

“Didn’t think you were one to play by the rules, Harry,” she says.

His brow furrows ever so slightly. “What do you mean?”

“If we say it is our first anniversary, it is so.” She smiles softly. “Who would dispute it?”

His hand reaches out to hers and she links her pinkie with his between the chairs. “I’d like that... How many years are we aiming for?”

She almost lets out a snort. She stares off into the distance, faking pensiveness. “Oh, I am not bargaining. I want forever. Take it or leave it.” She locks eyes with him again.

He lets go of her pinkie and holds her hand properly, his fingers entwining with hers. One of the corners of his mouth twitches upward. “I’ll take it.”

“I am glad to hear it, I wasn’t going to take you back a second time,” she replies.

His brows furrow deliberately this time. “What do you mean? I thought we had established we were never broken up in the first place.”

“My mistake.”

She leans closer to him and he closes the space. He kisses her softly. Her eyes search his as he leans away again. His eyes are speaking volumes. Her heart mends just a little bit.

They both lean back in their chairs, closing their eyes to catch more sunlight as they keep hold of each other’s hand. It’s silent for a few minutes as they enjoy the warmth and quiet.

“I am sorry I didn’t get you an anniversary gift,” Harry breaks the silence.

She chuckles. “Yes, you did.”

“Did I?” A pause. He chuckles too. “Making the rules, right?”

She hums in confirmation. “Yes. And I really liked it. And you really liked yours too.”