#fluffbruary day twenty two

[fanfictasia]

Fluffbruary Day 22

Throw

Spoiler: This is an excerpt from Wartorn

“I wish we could be together more,” Leia blurts.

“I do as well,” Anakin admits softly – it’s been gnawing him inside out ever since the moment he left Padme, since they realized what would have to happen. It still feels wrong. It is wrong, knowing how much his children want him, knowing how much he wants them, and knowing it’s nothing more than a fantasy. He’s stopped hoping, really.

“But now I’m gonna be queen soon, and then I don’t know when I’ll ever see you again,” she murmurs.

Luke reaches over, squeezing her hand. “Don’t worry. We’ll give you an identical look-alike and smuggle you off-planet whenever Father can be around.”

She lets out a surprised laugh. “That should work perfectly.”

In truth, Anakin’s been afraid of that too, but there’s nothing he can do about it. He can’t make his children stay young no matter how much he wants to. And he can’t make up for the years he never got to raise them. Time won’t go back, and they’ll be adults soon. “We can still speak by comm,” he assures, “And if I am ever in the area, I will come see you if I can. Perhaps I can ask for more missions that lead me to the area.”

Leia nods, even if she doesn’t look very hopeful.

“How long does it take to get better at this?” Luke asks, lifting a pile of leaves again.

“It depends on the person,” Anakin replies, “To some, it comes naturally. Considering the strength of your connection with the Force, I imagine that would be true about you as well.”

“Patience makes perfect,” Leia tells him brightly.

“The phrase is practice,” Luke corrects.

“Then keep practicing,” she advises.

He smirks, suddenly, throwing the leaves he’s holding right at her.

She lets out a yelp of surprise, but hastily picks them back up, promptly returning the favor.

“The Force should not be used frivolously,” Anakin reminds them, past his own amusement. But at least they’re feeling a little better at the moment. Obi-Wan would be grumpy if he knew, but he’s not here to know, anyway.

“I was practicing!” Luke insists.

“Obi-Wan would disagree,” Anakin replies, dryly.

“I thought you said he was grumpy about everything,” Leia says, grinning.

“Most of the time.”

#star wars #star wars fanfiction #fanfiction #fluffbruary #fluffbruary day 22 #day 22 #fluffbruary day twenty two #day twenty two #fluffbruary 2023 #luke skywalker #anakin skywalker #luke #anakin #anakin and luke #leia skywalker #leia #luke and leia #anakin and leia #fluff #family #father-son #father-daughter

[andorerso]

Rebelcaptain Fluffbruary: Day 28

for the prompt "Shelter" interpreted quite loosely because I just wanted to write the specific scenario in my head

The underground bunker is a shelter, Jyn reminds herself — not a prison. It’s not Lah’mu, waiting for someone to come save her, the memory of Mama falling in the grass still fresh on her mind. She’s twenty-two and she’s a soldier, not a frightened little girl scared of the dark. There are lights here, there’s Cassian here…

Even if Cassian continues to ignore her under the guise of cleaning his blaster. He can’t hide his frustration as easily as he can avoid looking at her. It’s in the stiffness of his movements, the tightness of his jaw, the tension in his posture. It’s in the way he handles his pistol, rougher than usual. The permanent frown etched onto his lips is different than the one he normally wears; it’s not just his resting face, it’s real. Though he won’t say it, the disapproval is radiating off him in waves.

Well, fuck him too. If he thinks she’s going to apologize for anything, he’s got another thing coming.

Good, that’s good, Jyn tells herself, focusing on the burning embers of her anger, rather than the icy fingers of her past. Something to distract her. That fire has kept her marching for two decades and will keep her going for longer if she has anything to say about it.

Throwing one last spiteful glare in Cassian’s direction, she turns towards the hatch above and listens for any sign of life outside, but she can only make out the steady pitter-patter of the rain.

It’s been… what? Three hours now? Those troopers must have given up looking for them.

“I think they’re gone,” Jyn says without withdrawing her gaze from the hatch.

“We should wait a few more hours to make sure,” comes Cassian’s response, smooth and even. You wouldn’t notice how tightly he’s grasping at his self-control with both hands unless you knew what to listen for. “It’s dark outside anyway. We might as well spend the night and leave as soon as dawn breaks.”

There’s one rickety old bed propped against the wall with a single pillow and sheets with suspicious dark patches that look like dried blood, but it isn’t the state of their accommodation that bothers her about the idea. It isn’t even the fact of being underground and in half-light.

She simply cannot take another second in his presence like this.

Jyn’s silence stretches on, but she doesn’t have to voice her displeasure for Cassian to know it. She can practically hear him raising his eyebrows at her in a challenge. “You have somewhere else to be?”

“Anywhere not here,” Jyn says through gritted teeth. It’s a quiet thing, not meant for him in particular, but she knows he heard it anyway.

He doesn’t respond. In the background, she can hear him continue tinkering with his blaster (it’s fucking clean, for star’s sake!), and something in her just snaps.

Shouldering her backpack, she climbs up the ladder and opens the hatch.

“Jyn!” Cassian calls after her in alarm, but she’s not listening. She can make it back to the ship just fine on her own. He can come if he wants; if not, she’ll just wait for him there in the morning.

The rain has picked up from a light drizzle to a heavy downpour, and she’s soaked before she even fully makes it out of the bunker. But she’s not that easily deterred. Jyn straightens, squinting against the heavy sheet of rainfall into the darkness of the night around them. There are no headlights tearing through the trees, looking for them, no chatter between troopers as they trek through the woods, no squishy footsteps in the mud.

They have long abandoned their hunt, Jyn’s sure, and if they haven’t, they surely would now. Visibility is low in these conditions, rendering a search party virtually pointless.

Cassian, carrying his own larger backpack, emerges from the hatch hidden on the dirt floor.

“Where are you going?!” he calls out to her, trying to out-yell the storm raging around them. Thunder grumbles overhead, and a flash of lightning illuminates the forest for a fleeting second.

Shivering, Jyn begins to walk towards the direction of their ship. “They’re gone, Cassian.”

“It’s pouring!” He follows after her, though not before covering the entrance of the bunker with leaves and dirt.

“So what?!” she yells back as he hurries to catch up, but she’s aware she’s being slightly unreasonable. The stupid storm just had to pick up, didn’t it? Well, too bad, she’s not turning back now. “Let’s just get back to the ship and go.”

“This is ridiculous.” Cassian, finally close enough to touch, grabs her elbow to bring her to a halt, and it’s a testament to her respect for him, even still, that all she does is yank her arm out of his grip and glare at him with the fiery rays of the sun instead of breaking his nose.

“No, you're ridiculous!” Great comeback, Jyn. Now you’ve really told him.

He positions himself directly in front of her in an attempt to keep her from advancing and pushes his sodden hair out of his face.

“Jyn, you’re gonna get pneumonia. Let’s go back to the shelter.” His words are stronger than a suggestion, but not quite a command. Still, something in her burns with righteous fury.

“I don’t have to follow your orders,” she snaps, and his eyes darken with the echo of their previous argument. The real heart of the problem.

“I’m not just your friend, Jyn. If we’re on a mission, I’m your superior officer. I can’t work with you if you can’t follow my orders.”

Of course, they are no longer talking about going back to the bunker.

“I can’t work with you if you’re going to tell me to leave you behind!” she snarls, fury spilling over and scorching the earth under them.

His orders — Jyn wants to spit at the word —had been clear. He was cornered and trapped, and she was to return to the ship, bring back the information they came for, and let Intelligence know that he’d been killed in action. That was what he’d asked of her.

Jyn didn’t hesitate a second to disobey him and would do so again in a heartbeat. Let the mission be for nothing, let the rebellion throw her out or put her in a jail cell, whatever. None of it was worth more than Cassian’s life.

Of course, he’d been less than pleased with her decision, especially when a blaster bolt grazed her arm during their escape. He’d patched her up after they holed up in the safety of the bunker, made sure she was okay and not dying, and didn’t say much to her since. Jyn, stilled riled up from the audacity of his orders, was just fine with that.

But this confrontation was inevitable.

“And you’re right, we’re not just friends. You… you’re…” She trails off, swallowing down the vulnerability that threatens to choke her, and tries to find a word appropriate enough to convey what he is to her. “You’re family. And that trumps superior officer — even on a mission. Sir,” she adds after a slight pause, venom in her voice, before sidestepping him to continue her trek.

“Jyn,” he calls after her.

“What, we’re on a first-name basis now?” she shoots back without turning to look. He starts to follow her again.

“That’s not —” He appears in front of her, halting her in her tracks. Again. “When we’re out there, that’s different.”

“It’s not for me. I can’t be like that.” She looks him in the eye, takes a deep breath, tries to temper her anger. “Look. We clearly won’t see eye to eye on this so let’s just go —” She tries to bypass him again, but he moves to stand in her way, and even that small thread of civility snaps in her. “What?!”

“Can’t you at least lie and tell me you’ll follow orders next time?” he asks, irritation coloring his voice.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to live if you die!” she bursts out, then wonders a second later if she said too much. Caring about him, not wanting to see him dead, that’s normal. Platonic.

Expressing a lack of desire to go on if he was killed… not so much.

A long silence follows her words. The storm hasn’t let up, battering them mercilessly with large raindrops, the sound of her own breathing too loud in her ear. Her hair sticks to her cheeks, cold seeping into her bones as they stand there, frozen in time and place, while the world spins on around them.

Cassian looks shaken. She sees, more than hears, a small quivering breath rattling out of him, his eyes suddenly large and shining with a quiet sort of hope she wasn’t prepared for. But she can read it clearly. It’s as if his walls had been knocked down with a single blow, leaving his soft parts exposed and vulnerable. Begging for a cruel blade in his gut. It’s an ugly thought, but she thinks, unbidden, I could crush him. It’d be easy.

Instead, she takes a step forward, reaches out a hand tentatively, and it’s the only invitation Cassian needs. He grabs her waist and hauls her to him, crushing his lips against her own. Jyn isn’t even surprised. She clutches his cheek and drags him ever closer, a year’s worth of pent-up desire, frustration, and pining spilling into that kiss. Rain pours down on them, but she feels nothing of the cold, nothing of the wind, nor of the wet clothes sticking to her skin. Cassian’s fingers tangling in her hair currently take up all of her brain capacity.

Finally, he pulls away and breathes against her mouth, “Thank you. For saving me.”

His eyes are still closed, but Jyn quirks a brow at him. The warmth of his lips is too fresh on her mind to stay mad at him. “You’re giving me mixed messages.”

“It was the wrong thing to do for the mission,” he starts, and Jyn almost growls in warning, don’t fucking ruin the moment, but he hurries to continue. “But it’s not always about the mission. I would have done the same for you. I’m just not used to... I’m not used to people giving a shit about what happens to me.”

I’m not used to people sticking around when things go bad.

Yeah. She and Cassian are kindred spirits — the same picture but painted in different colors.

“It’s what family does,” Jyn tells him, echoing her words from earlier because they hadn’t been untrue. Whatever he is to her, above all — he’s family. A family of her own choice.

“Draven won’t let us work together if I tell him what happened,” he points out, but his face is still doing that thing where he smiles with his eyes, if not his lips.

Jyn shrugs, entirely unapologetic. “So don’t.”

Cassian kisses her again, but he breaks away a lot sooner when she can’t suppress a shiver against his lips. Damn weather. How long have they been standing outside in the rain? Cassian’s warmth is exhilarating, but she fears they really will get pneumonia.

“We should go back to the shelter,” he tells her gently, and this time, she has no objections.

#rebelcaptain fluffbruary #rebelcaptain #rogue one #therebelcaptainnetwork #dailyrebelcaptain #my fics #it's not pure fluff tbh like... they ARE arguing for most of it #but i don't think it's truly angsty either and it has a happy ending so hopefully it qualifies <3 #i mean... it's not february anymore anyway might as well break the rules agfdhgfd

[diana-bookfairchild]

@fluffbruary Day 3

Sea breeze is the worst, she decides.

Of all the reminders of her past love – and there is honestly little that doesn’t remind her of him – it is the one that most startles her, makes her heart trill with the memory of lying on the beach, him telling her stories, her lecturing him about Medusa, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

The scent of sea breeze lingering in the cosmetics shop makes her heartsick and wistful and angry all at once.

“Mom!” Her six-year-old son calls impatiently. He’s sitting on a stool, legs swinging back and forth, lazily taking in the new sights but still getting rapidly bored, like any child with ADHD. “Can we go?”

Every time she thinks of her twenty-two year old self - grieving her uncle, angry at the world, so sad, so tired – and the time she spent with him, she feels such a myriad of emotions waking, pressing at her. And then she looks at her son - her beautiful, mischievous, curious, kind, beloved son, perfect in every way, whom she would give the world for, and she’s glad for it, for every single second she had with his father that led to him being born.

“Yes, sweetheart.” She goes up to him and takes his hand. It curls around hers lightly, and it’s so small and all she can think of is how these small hands are one day destined to save the world, according to Poseidon. She pushes the thought away. Right now, these hands are hers to protect.

“Can we go to the candy shop again?” He asks brightly, tugging at her.

“I thought you wanted to buy Hannah a birthday present?” Sally asks, amused at his quick shift in mood and interest.

Percy frowns uncertainly, clearly considering the consequences of not getting his best friend a gift for her birthday. He sighs. “Yeah, I have to.”

Sally nods solemnly. “What do you want to get her, then?”

“Thread,” Percy decides.

She blinks. “Thread? Why?”

“Hannah likes art class,” Percy explains. “So maybe if I make her something, it’ll be nicer than just buying something from a shop!”

And for a moment Sally is on the coast, watching the crests of the waves as they swirled, and Poseidon is standing next to her, his voice brushing over her neck, causing shivers, telling her she could have whatever she wanted, and she is laughing, saying that changing the untamable sea into the shape of a trident and a rose was plenty.

She lets out a sigh and brushes her hand over Percy’s hair. “Absolutely. You’re right. What else do you want to buy?”

Percy furrows his eyebrows in concentration. “Woolen thread,” he said. “In blue colour. And paper. And glue. But that’s it.”

“And what is my little artist going to make with that?” She asks.           

“There’s going to be a dragon,” Percy says, nodding determinedly. “And lots and lots of flowers.”

A dragon and flowers. Dear gods. Children.

“That sounds … unique,” she says dryly, trying not to imagine what a mess creating this piece was going to make.

“Because when someone is mean to one of us, the other fights like a dragon!” He says happily, lifting his hands in the shape of pincers and making adorable growling noises. “And then they get flowers for them the next day!”

“Oh,” Sally smiles, warmed. “That sounds beautiful, Percy.”

“You think she’ll like it?” He asks worriedly, chewing on his lip.

“You’re her best friend,” Sally assures. “She’ll like anything you give her, as long as you give it from the heart.” She pokes him in his chest, and he giggles.

“Silly mommy, the heart’s on the left side!” He says knowledgeably.

Sally fakes a horrified gasp. “Really? All these years and I thought it was right in the centre, only to be corrected by my baby boy … I’ve been betrayed!”

Percy giggles again, and Sally pulls him to the side, watching carefully to make sure he didn’t run or go too far into the middle of the road. Pedestrians curse and shove. The honking of horns and thick black smoke fills the air.

“Mom!” Percy says delightedly. “Can we go in there?” He’s pointing at a shop full of new shiny things, most of which Sally wouldn’t be able to afford on six months’ salary.

Her heart sinks. “Sweetheart—”

But Percy isn’t listening. He rushes into the shop, excitedly jabbering about all the things on display. “Percy!” She calls. She follows him, only to find him talking to a tall man with deep black hair such that it shone blue in the light, and eyes that were … identical to Percy’s.

She swallows as Poseidon looks up at her, and his whole face lights up.

“And is this your mother?” He asks Percy as Sally stands there, feeling as though her legs are stuck to the ground, as though a single movement would destroy the world.

“Yeah!” Percy says enthusiastically. “Mom!” He waves her over. “This is Mr. Kai!”

“It’s a pleasure to meet such a beautiful woman,” Poseidon says smoothly, winking at her.

Sally feels herself blush.

“Ugh, gross,” Percy says in the disgusted manner only kids had. “Mom, look at this thread!” He says, distracted. He holds up a luminous blue thread that seemed otherworldly. Her eyes meet Poseidon’s. They both know that the yarn is a rare commodity under the sea – she remembers when he showed it to her, when she was trying to get some writing done in the cabin, him complaining about her refusing to pay him attention. “It’s perfect!”

“Wonderful!” Poseidon says. “It’s on the house!”

Okay, that’s it. “I’m sorry … Kai.” She says politely, “But I can’t accept that.”

Poseidon has the recklessly cheerful grin Percy had inherited from him on his face. “And why not?”

Sally stares at him, exasperated, the mortification and the heart-fluttering fading away rapidly. “That’s. . .” She begins, gesturing at the thread. “Clearly expensive. You can’t just give it away.”

“Moooom!” Percy complains.

Poseidon leans against the counter, looking as casually handsome as he had six years ago. “I’m not just giving it away, though,” he says amusedly. “I’m giving it to one particular, awesome kid.”

“Yeah!” Percy cheers.

Poseidon looks at her, and she can see it on his face – if she really doesn’t want it, he’ll go. But he’s asking to give a gift to his son. Sally can’t deny him that. “Say thank you, Percy,” she says, giving in.

Both of them grin, identical green eyes shining. “Hannah’s going to love this present,” Percy says happily, tucking the ball of yarn carefully into his coat, patting it to secure it.

Poseidon and Sally exchange a look above his head – and for a moment she can pretend they are a family, and that he lives with them and is helping raise their son.

“Thank you, Mr. Kai!” Percy exclaims, ruining the illusion.

Poseidon smiles softly. “You’re welcome, Perseus.”

Percy furrows his eyebrows. “How d’you know my name?”

“I’ve seen you around,” he says. His smile fades. “And I have a feeling I’ll see you a lot more often now.”

Sally’s breath catches. No. Not now. Not yet. “He’s only six,” she pleads.

“I’m sorry, Sally,” Poseidon says, sounding troubled. “He’s powerful. And the Fates have marked him.”

Percy looks between them, confused.

“No,” she says. “I’ll – I’ll find a way. We need more time. Not yet.”

She can’t bear to think of leaving her child in the demigod camp, of not knowing what was going to happen, of leaving him - a child of the Big Three and potentially a prophecy child - in a place where people would try to use or kill him.

Poseidon sighs. “If anyone can, you can,” he says wistfully, and Sally swallows. His belief in her has always been inflexible, and she loves him for it. “Be careful, Sally.”

And he vanishes, leaving the scent of the sea breeze at the coast, and Sally has to close her eyes at the memories it brings up.

“Mom?”

“We’re going to be okay, sweetheart.” She whispers. “I swear.”

Percy beams a confused but full toothy smile at her, sea green eyes – identical to his father’s - glowing. “’Course we are, Mom.”

He may be growing, but he’s not grown up yet.

She still has time. She’ll figure something out.   

He’ll be a hero one day, she thinks. He’s going to leave, and have to risk his life.

But not today. Not quite yet.

#fluffbruary #fluffbruary 2023 #percy jackson and the heroes of olympus #percy jackson #sally jackson #poseidon pjo #pre canon #fanfiction #fanfic #feedback appreciated #Percy and Sally #Posally #mother son relationship

[thelazyecrivain]

Fluffbruary - Day 16 (glasses)

Sixteen day of @fluffbruary, using the prompt "glasses"

Read on AO3

French version

-----

"You need glasses."

"Of course I don't!"

"Don't be ridiculous John. You have to concentrate to read the paper, and your migraines are getting worse."

John sighed but said nothing. He knew Sherlock was right, but for over forty years he had known how to live without glasses and he had no desire to change that now. But the next day, when his headache returned after spending only twenty minutes on his computer squinting to try to see every word he wrote while complaining about the font size, he decided to make an appointment.

***

"You are presbyopic." Said the ophthalmologist. John suspected as much, but hearing it from the professional dismissed all his hopes. And doing nothing would only make things worse. 

So he thanked her and left with his prescription, heading for the nearest optician. He wasn't even surprised to see Sherlock waiting for him outside the shop.

"There's no point in asking how you knew I was coming here."

Sherlock grinned proudly. "You want to do this as fast as possible, I just look at the optician nearest the eye doctor."

John rolled his eyes but Sherlock could see his lips curl. He knows that John likes to have his opinion on his style of dress, otherwise he'll be in an ugly jumper and faded jeans every day.

Of course, Sherlock made life difficult for their advisor. He criticises his choices, that it doesn't match his face shape, that the colour doesn't go with his skin tone, that the shape doesn't match his style. John sees the optician slowly losing patience so he asks him to let them choose in their corner. He accepts with a big smile and runs off to the woman and child who have just arrived.

Sherlock chooses the glasses and John tries them on. If he has the misfortune to say he likes a pair that Sherlock puts back on, he gets the "don't be stupid, John" look. Anyway, he says it to get out of here as quickly as possible. He's this close to picking up a random pair when Sherlock puts glasses on his nose and leaves them on for over two seconds. 

"Well?" John nervously asks at Sherlock's scrutinizing look.

As an answer, Sherlock pushed him towards the nearest mirror.

They are simple, the black frame, a square with a rounded edge. They fit him perfectly, making him look more... mature. Not old. He finds himself attractive. 

Sherlock seems to think the same as he doesn't let go of his gaze in the mirror, his hands still on his shoulders. 

"Let's go pay." John says simply.

Sherlock nodded briskly and grabbed his glasses to take him to their counselor. Quickly they finish the paperwork and leave with the pair of glasses ready in its case. He can see the relief in the counsellor's eyes as they leave the shop.

They waited until they were in the taxi before Sherlock took the box from his hands and gently placed the glasses on his nose. John's vision changed drastically, not realising how much his vision had changed. It would be hypocritical to say that Sherlock looks even more magnificent with the glasses on, and yet...

They arrived in Baker Street without a word and Mrs. Hudson came out when she heard them.

"John! It suits you so well!"

"Thank you, Mrs. H."

"I know one who will be jealous." Said the old lady mischievously. "You'll turn some heads." She laughed as Sherlock grunted before heading upstairs to their flat.

John thanked their landlady one last time before following his detective. No sooner had he entered the room than he was slammed against the wall, Sherlock attacking his lips mercilessly. He could only let himself respond to Sherlock's hungry lips.

"I hated waiting." Says Sherlock against his lips.

"I know."

Hands removed his coat before he was pulled towards the bedroom. John kept Sherlock glued to him as he grabbed his white shirt and pulled it off his trousers before unbuttoning it. He felt Sherlock sigh with pleasure in their kiss as he began to explore his chest with his hands. He didn't have time to go any further as he was pushed onto the bed. Sherlock climbed on top of him, his knees planted on either side of his hips and began to undress him.

"You keep them on." He said with a nod towards his glasses.

John could only nod and pull him to kiss him again and again.

(Tell me if you wish to be tagged !) @topsyturvy-turtely @missdeliadili

#fluffbruary #fluffbruary 2023 #my fics #johnlock #johnlock ficlet #bbc sherlock #glasses #day sixteen

[aprettyspy]

@fluffbruary Day 2 for the prompt 'trace'. Benoit Blanc comes home to his husband Phillip after his weekend at the Thrombeys

Voracious Mind

Phillip stared at the envelope of cash occupying the exact center point of his kitchen island. Two days ago he had dug out a tape measure from the depths of the hallway cupboard, finding it buried between a pair of en point shoes and a broken tennis racket. The wad of cash was exactly 2 ¾ " high and had been delivered three days previously. It remained sat in its unmarked, plain brown envelope. Benoit had opened it, read the accompanying note and thrown it all down where it still rested. 

Not given to superstition as a general rule, something about this mysterious wad of cash made Phillip nervous. It was too much of a coincidence that it's delivery had occurred just 45 minutes after their ancient and dilapidated water heating system had finally given up with an impressive explosion that had brought with it a portion of their kitchen ceiling. As much as they both loved this apartment, it was bloody expensive to maintain. 

Given that his husband had dashed out the door only a few hours later, and had sent exactly one text message since (It seems this case revolves around the name Hugh, my darling, but what a terrible name!), Phillip's hackles were well and truly risen. 

His best attempts to distract himself with work, walks and a very long call to his daughter back in England had not worked. He was on guard, expecting something. He just couldn't pinpoint what. 

He decided to assuage his building anxiety through the tried and tested medium of vigorous cleaning. He was head down, scrubbing the bath (when he did get home, Benoit would want to use it) and, yet again, resolved to replace these dark tiles when he heard the door slam.

"Darlin? Phil, darlin, you home?"

Phillip whipped off his cleaning pinny and tried to smooth his hair as he dashed down the hall in relief to have Benoit home safely.

"There you are my beautiful boy! My God but I've had some weekend!"

Phillip helped Benoit ease off his heavy wool coat and headed for the kettle. 

Already down to his braces (twenty years in America and Phillip would never call them 'suspenders') and shirt sleeves, Benoit paced, pulling the braces down off his shoulders 

"They were just the most terrible people, that Thrombey family, just awful. They were so rude to Marta - oh, did I tell you about Marta? Just the loveliest creature, you would adore her, we must invite her up, oh thank you-" Benoit took the tea Phillip handed him, "and just awful to one another." He shuddered at the memory.

Phillip took up his customary spot on the middle of the sofa. It was always like this after a case. Benoit's head processed and stored everything he had learned and he liked to do his expounding while on the move. His monologue continued uninterrupted, except by sips of tea. When that was finished, Benoit began to undo his shirt buttons. Phillip watched, knowing it was nearly his moment to step in. He had learned long ago that this exposition could wind his husband up even more, leading to a night of sleepless tossing and turning in the bed, followed by pacing and eventually a cigar on the terrace. 

"Benoit." Phillip called softy. It went unheeded and the pacing continued, shirt now thrown to the sofa.

"- not one word of their Mother, not a single photograph in all that clutter-"

"Blanc!" Louder and more commanding. Benoit stopped and looked at his husband, eyebrows raised.

"Sit." Phillip ordered, indicating the floor between his legs where he sat on the sofa.

Benoit sat, relaxed back against the sofa and breathed deeply. "I'm sorry, darlin', they did infuriate me so." 

"I know, but shush now." Phillip began to knead at his husband's tense shoulders. His strong musculature resisted the massage at first but Phillip persisted. He pushed Benoit to sit forward slightly and began working systematically down the muscles on either side of his husband's spine. As he worked, he listened to the evening out of breath, sensed the quieting of that extraordinary, voracious mind. Phillip used his index finger to trace back up Benoit's spine from lower back to the base of his skull and returned to work on the shoulders. Benoit's huge sigh let out all the stresses of the case. Phillip's own, private Benoit was back home with him again. 

Phillip rested his forehead on his husband's now pliable broad shoulder.

"We need to go and buy a new water heater, love."

#fluffbruary 2023 #daniel craig #queer benoit blanc #benoit blanc/phillip #benoit blanc fanfic #fluff #knives out

[tj-dragonblade]

Fanfic Tag Game

Tagged by @softest-punk and @landwriter, thank you both!

1. How many fics do you have on AO3? 133

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? I will break 400K with the next thing I post (unless it is somehow less than 401 words lol) Also, this would require actually focusing on something to finish it

3. What fandoms do you write for? Currently? Sandman (technically, Dreamling). Previously? MCU, Naruto, Saiyuki, and Gundam Wing

4. What are your top five fics by kudos? Overall (these are from my Naruto days and more than ten years old): Delayed (or, Why Kakashi Is Never On Time) (GaiKaka) at 3963 Past the Limits (KakaNaru) at 1272 Affirmation (KakaNaru) at 1022 Worth It (KakaIru) at 1005 Vigil (GaaNaru) at 843 (It kills me that I am Just Not That Into Kakashi and yet he's fucked his way into four of my top five, lol)Current fandom tops, just for fun (all of which are at most a year-plus-change in age) Use Your Words at 443 Insatiable at 398 Fluffbruary Fills (2023) at 375 In the Morning Light at 318 Built For You at 308

5. Do you respond to comments? Yes, generally! I am still catching up on Fluffbruary comments, much to my chagrin

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Going aaaallllll the way back to Gundam Wing, I did a songfic where I implied a breakup until the final-line reveal that the character had gasp actually died. There may be a couple other angst-based pieces in my catalog, but that I think is the Most(tm).

7. What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Most everything I write is a happy ending, when there's any semblance of plot involved. Uh. The Umbrella Boys AU had a wedding; maybe that counts? Either that or the Thessaly breakup fic with all the hurt-comfort pining that finally resolves into requited realization.

8. Do you get hate on fics? Never have, would like to keep it that way.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? The good kind *eyebrow waggle*

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? I have…three, that could be counted as crossovers, and one that's a proper fusion. None of them are particularly crazy. Duo and Wufei did Naruto roleplay in the bedroom. Kakashi and Naruto took on Princess Bride's fire swamp. Gojyo and Hakkai acquired Jiipu from Count D and his pet shop with a complete disregard for the fourth wall. Maybe that one, then, though it's more crack than crazy-crossover. Hob wearing the Wavemother's Robe is not enough of anything to count as a crossover.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I'm aware of, no

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Yes! I don't recall which ones but I've had requests to translate to Chinese, to Russian, and I think Spanish as well? Possibly French also. My memory is shit. Je suis désolé.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic? Yeah, a friend and I co-wrote a couple back in GW and it was…fun? At the time? It started as me helping her with the smut portion of a thing she was doing and turned into a cowrite with a sequel. Not the sort of thing I'd have written on my own, and definitely not now twenty years later with my current kink preferences

14. What’s your all time favourite ship? …yeah, that's not a thing I can answer. Whichever I'm fixated on is inevitably my favorite at the time but once the fixation fades, I still have so much love for each of them.

15. What’s a fic you’d like to finish but don’t think you ever will? Oh my god there are so many. But there are two-three unfinished drafts for ThorBruce fic that I really—see, my MCU fandom experience soured so fast I did not have my usual three-year run of productive ficwriting and the ideas I was working on probably could have been finished were that not the case. I would still love to finish them but the motivation (let alone the time) is just not there.

16. What are your writing strengths? I take great pride in my smut, and I like to think I'm good at it. Painting pictures with my words? Maybe character voice, in certain cases.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Plot. Stories with plot and progression and chapters and such. Follow-through to finish pieces that don't get done in the initial burst of focus.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic? If I had a need for it at some point, I would want to consult a native speaker to ensure correct translation and I would include the translation in footnotes etc. But it would have to be some really specific reason that the foreign language was needed/integral to some story device to not just indicate via some other means (e.g., '"xyz," he said, in perfect French', use of italics, etc) that a different language is in use.

19. First fandom you wrote for? Gundam Wing. If we don't count the 'DS9 novel idea' that I recall making notes on in my journal back in high school, or any of the Mary Sue DS9 thoughts I would also journal about. None of that was ever 'actual writing' nor did I have anywhere I would have shared it in '96.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written? Again. How'm I supposed to pick? Ugh. Let's see, fandom by fandom. Gundam Wing…no, nothing there is a favorite. Saiyuki…When the Chips Are Down. Comedy gen-fic based on a tidbit of fandom lore is not something I manage terribly often but I am quite pleased with this one; Jiipu's pov always delights me and I'm proud of all the voice work here also. Naruto…maybe Seized? Sai POV is one of my strengths and I think it came through really well in that one. MCU…Carpe Diem, I'm very pleased with character voices in that one. Sandman…I remain very fond of the Drunken Confessions Fluffbruary 2023 fic and the Car and Cutoffs one might be my favorite smutfic. So far.

If you'd like to do this, please take my passive tag this has been sitting in my drafts for weeks.

#tagmemes #TJs Writing

[autobot2001]

Much Needed Discussion

Author: Autobot2001 Genre: Fanfiction Fandom: Transformers Rating: E Warning: mention of self-harm Pairing: None Description: After Crosshairs finds Drift, the two have an important conversation about communication and self-care.

Day 11; @fluffyfebruary: quest @fluffbruary: reflection | water | apology

"Drift?" Crosshairs calls out in the bedroom. With no response, he goes downstairs. Drift isn't anywhere Crosshairs thought he'd be.

"What are you looking for?" Sideswipe asks. "Don't answer," Sunstreaker tells him. "Drift," Crosshairs tells them. He hears Sunstreaker sigh, "he's oddly not in the house." "Looks like we have a quest, Sideswipe." Crosshairs looks at them, confused. "That's why I advised against responding. They played a game with quests to find things. Now they're trying to do that in real life." Crosshairs lets the two go along with their game as the four split up and search the large property for Drift.

Drift sits on his knees by the lake. His reflection reflects on the water. He has been out here for twenty minutes.

Crosshairs finds Drift. Worried about what Drift might do. He yells out Drift's name as he runs towards his friend. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to worry you." "You know I am worried about you and Jamie," Crosshairs says as he sits next to Drift, "and leaving without telling me worried me. You ok?" Drift leans on Crosshairs, "I'll take that as no."

"You don't think?" Lily worries as she and the twins see where Drift has been. "No, he wouldn't," Sunstreaker assures her, "but being outside isn't helping him relax. It's difficult to see him go from being positive to this, even amid war. We've never seen him in a relationship. Add his femme is struggling mentally." "He loves her. It's hard to watch her struggle and not know what to do," Sideswipe adds. The three return to the house.

"I'm sorry, I—." "It's ok; I know it's hard to watch Jamie struggle. I'm sorry you can't relax." "I worry about you as well. How you hide how you're feeling. I know you find a hiding place to deal with the suppressed emotions. As with Jamie, I worry how you will deal with it by self-harm, or… or…" Tears roll down Drift's face. Crosshairs repositions himself to hug Drift, with Drift's head resting on his chest. "Shh, I'm sorry. I was trying to avoid adding to your worry. You worry about Jamie enough already." I knew he worried about me, but I underestimated how much he worried. Crosshairs realizes. Have I done the same towards Lightning? Tears roll down Crosshairs' face. Even while Drift doesn't like Crosshairs hiding his emotions, he still doesn't like seeing the tears. He shifts his position to hug Crosshairs. The two calm quickly. Both understand the importance of self-care for their health and for Jamie. They understand the potential disaster if Jamie knew about their mental struggles. Knowing Jamie is with friends, the two stay at the lake a little longer.

#transformers #transformers fanfiction #transformers autobots #transformers drift #transformers crosshairs #bayverse crosshairs #bayverse drift #transformers terror twins #transformers sideswipe #transformers sunstreaker #Lily (OC) #Jamie (OC) #fluffy #fluffy february #fluffy february 2024 #fluffbruary 2024 #fluffruary #day 11 #quest #reflection #water #apology

[littledreamling]

Fluffbruary 50/50 Challenge: February 4 - Snow, Rest

Tags: canonical character death, heavy angst, death, grief/mourning, blood, child death, Catholicism, religion, mentions of Guy Fawkes Day, the Gunpowder Plot, bittersweet ending, more bitter than sweet

The church was cold. Still, it was warmer than outside, where the snow was ankle deep and climbing. By morning, it would be up to Hob’s knees. He shivered at the thought. His rag-thin pants and hole-ridden shoes were no match for the pervasive chill. The church held little warmth within its stone walls, but it was better than nothing.

Hob wasn’t there for the warmth. At least, he wasn’t there just for the warmth. He shuffled along the side of the church, avoiding the glow of the lanterns and candles as much as possible. The more hidden he was, the longer he could stay. As soon as they noticed him, he’d be kicked out. He didn’t belong here, not anymore. He hadn’t belonged here in thirty years. He hadn’t ever belonged here.

In the south transept, under a massive panel of stained glass, overlooked by a statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of All Sorrows, were two stone inlays, sunken slightly into the tile floor. On them, carved into the surface for all to see, were thirty-four words each. He knew them by heart.

Here lies Lady Eleanor Gadlen

Eternally loving wife of Sir Robert Gadlen

She died on the twenty-second of November 

of the year fifteen hundred and ninety-four

May God have her in His Glory

Amen

And then, a foot to the left, another.

Here lies Robyn Gadlen

Son of Sir Robert and Lady Eleanor Gadlen

He died on the twenty-first of April 

of the year sixteen hundred and six

May God have him in His Glory

Amen

He dropped to his knees between them, the chill and grief deadening the impact, and traced the etching on Eleanor’s grave with one cold-numb fingertip. She had been buried with the baby in her arms, stillborn and unnamed. In a bout of righteous and petty anger, he had insisted on any mention of the baby being left off of the tombstone. He regretted it now. Her birth hadn’t been recorded and now, neither was her death. The only daughter Hob would ever have and all evidence of her existence had been scrubbed from history. At least Robyn’s name was carved, quite literally, in stone. The memory of his daughter lived on only in his own mind.

The anger had worn off, but the grief was still fresh. Four and a half decades had passed since that fateful night. The sound of Eleanor’s cries still rang in his ears on particularly cold, quiet dawns. He had held her hand the whole time, her grip tight enough to break bones, but he hadn’t cared. His pain had been nothing to hers. He had never seen so much blood staining white sheets and when the midwife had wrapped the tiny, silent bundle in white cloth, he had felt his heart seize in his chest. And then Eleanor’s hand had gone limp in his and the growing cold on her skin had leached all warmth from his own body.

He hadn’t felt true warmth since. The grief had crashed like an unending wave. For twelve years, he sank, a stone in a still pond, unable to keep himself afloat. And then-

Remember, remember, the Fifth of November , he thought wryly. He’d remember that night for as long as he lived.

“Oh, Eleanor,” he warbled, his voice stumbling over the cobbled street of anguish. “I tried, my love. I tried. You were gone and I… I lost my way. I was always lost without you, beloved. I did my best to raise him the way you would’ve wanted me to. He always had too much of my spirit in him. You left too soon. You were my temperance, my heart, but I couldn’t be that for him. I’m sorry.”

Hob himself had been born and raised Catholic, and in his heart, he had kept the Faith. It had weakened perhaps, but he had clung to it nonetheless, even through centuries of religious turmoil. Living at the center of a Protestant nation hadn’t kept him from passing his religious beliefs, diminished as they were, to his child. Evidently, his Robyn, his baby boy, had been a stronger believer than Hob had ever been. In the wake of Eleanor’s death, in the midst of his grief, Hob hadn’t noticed that faith fueling Robyn’s volatile nature. Nor did he notice the people who Robyn chose to listen to. He wished he had. He wished he had been able to stop it.

Nothing could’ve stopped Catesby, he knew. The man could’ve spoken a crowd into walking into the sea if he had really wanted to. Hob didn’t—couldn’t—blame his son for getting caught up in the frenzy of it all. He’d done stupider in his life. Indeed, he couldn’t find it in his heart to blame anybody , save God Himself. Save himself . 

“Robyn,” he said, his throat clenching around his son’s name, as if speaking it aloud in the soundless church would condemn the long-departed soul. He turned to read the name aligned with his left knee, only to find his vision blurred beyond sight. “I’m sorry, my boy. I- I should’ve been there for you. I should’ve stopped you. Should’ve-” He paused to take a deep, shaking breath. “I should’ve been a better father. For you. For her. Would that I could go back and change… Would that I had been a better man.”

He let his body fall, curling up on his side on top of Eleanor’s stone slab, his arm thrown over the carved words like he used to cradle her body when she was still alive. If he closed his eyes, he could feel the warmth of her body against his, the curve of her hip under his forearm. He knew that the clergy would find him, in the morning if he was lucky, far sooner if he wasn’t. He knew that he would be kicked out, back into the snow and ice, back into his nameless misery. For now, though, he could rest. Cradled between his wife and son, his mind, body, and soul utterly exhausted, sleep came more easily than it had in forty-four years. And when his mind slipped into darkness, it was to the sound of Eleanor’s sweet voice in his ear, humming Robyn’s favorite lilting lullaby.

Read on AO3!!

#my writing #fluffbruary #fluff/angst 50/50 challenge #my fic #my fic link #dream of the endless #hob gadlng

[thespacelizard]

A Movie at Telecom Tower 512

@fluffbruary day 2 time! also on AO3 here

In which Nadya and Dixie catch a movie.

Nadya hadn’t even known the Tower had a cinema. She trails after Dixie, bemused, as he rattles off so many facts about the film that she may as well not bother watching it—though she suspects the Dixie version is missing a few key elements. Such as the plot.

“—and even though it’s set in Italy—that’s old Terran Italy, the original one?—it’s really about the Russian mafia—that’s old Terran Russia, you know, the big one?”

“Да, Dixie, я знаю о России.” Dixie ducks his head, grins at her sideways. “And before you start, no, I am not part of some archaic cryogenics program. I just have a long ancestry.”

“I forgot you speak it.”

“Well, I do not have much cause to around you and the others.”

The theatre is tucked out of the way, as if whoever fitted it to Telecom Tower 512 didn’t want anyone to notice they’d done so. The strip lights in the tiny foyer are on the fritz; Dixie chews his lip, and Nadya pokes his shoulder.

“They are not your problem.”

“But all it would take is—”

“Do you want me to see this movie with you or not?”

Dixie stops eyeing the broken lights and fiddles with the wall console for a minute until it finally agrees to take enough credits out of his account for two tickets. They step into the velvet dark of the theatre, where the continual hum of the Tower fades out, replaced by the faint rustles of the handful of other movie-goers scattered about. Nadya suspects several of them are asleep, and also that the thicker shadows of the back right corner are home to activities better kept to one’s bunk. She steers Dixie to the middle rows.

“I think you’re really going to like Katya, she has some of the best lines, and when I was coming to get you, I was thinking that she’s a bit like you. Sort of. Well, not really, but some of the way she says things is a bit like you.”

“Is she a Magister?”

Dixie drops into his seat with a laugh. “No, Nadya, this is set way, way, way before all that. They didn’t even know about psychics then.”

“A scientist, then?”

“No, at least not that I remember. She’s very—”

There’s a whine and a whirr, and Dixie’s mouth snaps shut. The wall screen futzes and spasms static, then goes the blacker-than-black of an active display. Nadya tries in vain to relax in the sticky pleather seat, whilst next to her Dixie leans forwards, eyes huge and shining in the faint green light of an emergency exit marker. Somehow, the odd glow makes him look even younger than he is.

Nadya rubs her fingers back and forth over the scars on her jaw, old indented flesh, and is grateful when the screen goes bright. A sharp burst of strings vibrates through the speakers, the high end making them buzz. Beneath the accompanying piano, an ancient clock ticks along in a counterpoint rhythm.

Dixie’s already enraptured. He manages to keep quiet for the first twenty minutes, after which he can’t contain himself and keeps on leaning over to whisper obscure facts about the plot, the symbolism, the actors, the director. Quite where he got all this from, Nadya hasn’t the faintest idea, and usually she’d be annoyed at such interruption. Today, she’s finding it somehow endearing.

Katya, she thinks, has little in common with her but the sound of her name and the roll of her accent. But by the climax Dixie’s right—it’s not who she is but the way she says things. Something of her cadence matches Nadya’s, and she wonders at how perceptive her friend is at times. A mechanic’s eye for detail, she supposes.

Winter comes to Naples and it’s all very tragic, and Nadya blinks rapidly when the lights come up, struggling to re-orient her brain to reality. They make their way back up the Tower, sharing silence in the elevator. Dixie scuffs the toe of his boot back and forth on the scratched up floor, humming faintly under his breath.

“Damn, I’m starving,” he blurts out. He glances at her. “Are you hungry? Wait, no, you don’t eat, sorry, I forgot.”

In the moment she’s not sure why she says it. Later she does know, and can’t tell if the ache in her ribs is heartache or happiness.

“I am a little peckish.” Her hand twists at her side, faint shadow-threads smoking from her fingertips. She wills them back down. Dixie blinks at her, the elevator buzzes—she taps his shoulder and nudges him out. “Come on, I will buy you lunch at the Switchboard.”

And as she follows him out, for the first time in she’s forgotten how long, Nadya takes a breath.

#fluffbruary #fluffbruary 2023 #my fic #stars without number #stars without number fanfiction #my god. a gen fic. who even am i #anyway please enjoy my pacter having a nice day with the party engineer #also i could not resist throwing a goncharov reference in there #mostly because i know it's gonna amuse our GM

[lacrow]

Chapters: 28/28 Fandom: SPY x FAMILY (Manga) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Anya Forger & Loid Forger | Twilight & Yor Briar Forger | Thorn Princess Characters: Loid Forger | Twilight, Anya Forger, Yor Briar Forger | Thorn Princess, Bond (SPY x FAMILY), Damian Desmond, Mr. Green, Becky Blackbell, Henry Henderson, Frankie (SPY x FAMILY) Additional Tags: Fluffbruary, parenting, Birthday, Cuddles, Camping, Drunken Confessions, snowstorm, two-minute pasta face, beach, hand holding, Valentine's Day, Pining, School Dance, Road Trip, doctor anya, Shopping, Flowers, space, dorks being dorks, First Kiss, mama Yor, soft dad Loid, been waiting to add all these tags, if there's anything I missed I don't care Summary:

28 Days, 28 prompts. A collection of drabbles and one-shots for Fluffbruary 2021.

Was waiting to post this until it was done. Here you go; all twenty-eight of them!

#spy x family #fluffbruary

[thelazyecrivain]

Fluffbruary - day 27 (photograph)

Day twenty-seven of @fluffbruary, using the prompt "photograph"

Read on AO3

French version

----

"This is when Sherlock received his first microscope. He was so happy that he forgot about the other presents. We couldn't take his microscope away from him for a week." Mummy Holmes smiles at the memory.

John looks at little Sherlock, his hair a mess, his microscope in his hands, his eyes wide with surprise. He looks adorable in his well-tailored clothes, simple straight trousers, shirt and sleeveless jumper. 

"Oh, and that day we found him asleep with his dog, Redbeard." She directs his gaze to another photo. "They played all day and decided to take their nap under the oldest tree. It was his favourite tree because he could climb the branches which were strong."

Redbeard is curled up in a ball, Sherlock lying on his stomach. A pirate hat hangs in the corner of the picture, a wooden sword around Sherlock's waist. His jumper is damaged, leaves stuck between the wool threads but also in his crazy curls. John can't help but pull out his phone and take a picture.

"Our little Sherlock has given us a run for our money."

John laughs. "And it's still going on."

"But we love him too much." She says lovingly, looking at Sherlock sitting at the table with his father in the next room.

"Oh yes we do." John says, following her gaze.

Sherlock seems to feel his mother and John's gaze on him as he turns to them. Seeing them with a photo album, he grimaces, but stands up anyway. "Is it really necessary to bother John with the photos?"

"Absolutely, it's very crucial." Said John seriously, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Sherlock rolled his eyes but accepted John's invitation to sit next to him.

"Remember when you made a boat out of the books in the library?" Mummy Holmes asks, showing John the photo taken that day. The boat is very well represented, two tufts of hair sticking out of the pile of books, brown curls and red curls.

"I remember the scolding that followed as these were books that have been in our family for generations. I always said it's dangerous to leave them so easily accessible." Sherlock growled.

John asked him to be nicer by placing a hand on his thigh. Mummy Holmes forgot his remark with a wave of her hand.

"Since you left the house, I don't have many pictures of Mycroft and you." She said pleadingly, wanting to make her point. "How about we take one now?"

Sherlock sighed, but wanting to please his mother-in-law, John agreed sharply. She asked them to stay on the couch and move closer together. Despite his protests, Sherlock did so, resting his arm on the backrest around John's shoulders. The latter put his hand back on his thigh, and pinched it when Sherlock refused to smile.

"You don't have to agree with everything my mother says. I know you want to be liked by my family, but you don't have to do much. As long as you support me enough to want to be my partner, that's enough." Sherlock murmurs.

"I know you love your parents, despite what you let on. I wouldn't want to look bad to people you care about very much."

"They adore you, John. No one can resist your charm, of course they like you very much." 

John turned to Sherlock to fall into his serious gaze.

"Unless you don't hurt me." Sherlock grinned. "No one can guarantee your safety, not me, not Mycroft."

John smiled, "I'll be careful then."

At that moment, a camera sound echoes around the room. Sherlock and John came out of their bubble, having completely forgotten about the photograph.

Mummy Holmes showed them the picture, a proud smile on her lips. They look at each other, their bodies leaning towards each other, John smiling at a serious but loving looking Sherlock. 

"You two are so adorable. I'll print it out and put it in the photo album." She says as she leaves.

Sherlock's father comes into the room, giving the couple a sorry look. "She'll show the picture to everyone."

"Stop telling them nonsense." Screams Mummy Holmes from the other room. This makes the three men laugh.

(tell me if you wish to be tagged !) @topsyturvy-turtely @missdeliadili @mxster-jocale

#fluffbruary 2023 #fluffbruary #my fics #johnlock #johnlock ficlet #bbc sherlock #fluff #photograph #mummy holmes

[thelazyecrivain]

Fluffbruary - Day 24 (Art)

Day twenty-four of @fluffbruary, using the prompt "art"

This is a sequel to His artwork written for the first day of fluffbruary!

Read on AO3

French Version

---

John enters the shop and is greeted by soft music, paintings of all styles hanging and posed everywhere. Two young people were talking behind the counter, stopping their conversation when they noticed him. The young woman stepped aside to let the young man do his work. 

"Hello, how can I help you?" 

"John Watson, I had made an appointment."

The young man searched his notebook in front of him before he came across his name and the time he had booked.

"It's for a portrait."

It wasn't a question but John nodded.

"It'll be with Nell." He explains, pointing to the person he was just talking to. Nell held out her hand and John shook it. 

"Hello, John. May I call you John?" Nell asked. She knows how to put people at ease, her easy smile and casual posture. Used to professional relationships, John struggled to answer her question but managed to return her friendly smile and answer. "Very good, John. I'm Nell, I'll be the artist who does your portrait." She said before accompanying him to a room at the back. The room is large, paintings but also decorations everywhere, the white floor mottled with paint, a blank canvas placed on an easel, and a seat in the middle of the room. "Before we begin, I would like to point out that I use the pronouns they and them. I would ask you to respect it. And what are yours?"

John looked at her, blinking, completely lost. The young wom-  person? understood his lack of understanding.

"Do you use she/her, he/him, they/them, or some other pronouns?"

John understood. "He. I use he/him." It's not every day he gets asked this kind of thing. John feels old in front of these young people and their new things. He's probably only ten years older than they are, but it feels so big now.

Nell smiles, "Great. I have a few more questions for you before we start." John wonders what their questions are, and they smile as they see the panic on his face. "Nothing incomprehensible, I promise." They laughed. "I just want to know why you want to do this portrait, in what context. If as a gift, to whom and why. If you have an idea of what you want to do, if you have a particular request. Something I absolutely must put in the painting. Tell me and I'll tell you if I can make it happen."

"Oh, um. It's for an anniversary. I've been with my... boyfriend for two years." He hesitated. It seemed so childish to say boyfriend. "My partner." They nodded. "We met in a museum, and I've been telling him ever since that he's my work of art." He said, blushing. Nell smiled tenderly. "So for our one year anniversary he gave me a painting of his. Our two-year anniversary is in a fortnight and I'd like to do the same."

"That's lovely, it's rare to get a gift like that."

John shrugs. "He kind of made it clear to me that's what he wanted."

"John Watson, you are the most beautiful piece of art."

"As I understand it, I have to have my portrait done for next year." 

"I hoped so." 

John smiled at the memory. 

"Do you have an idea, a wish for your portrait?" Nell asks, cutting him off in his reverie.

"Not really. I don't know much about art, I trust you."

Iel nods, then runs their eyes over the various settings, a look of concentration on their face. "Here's what I propose. A single background, no scenery. Just you on the painting. I'd like it to look like it was a spur of the moment shot, no posing. Nothing superficial."

John found it hard to imagine. He doesn't have a visual memory. Fortunately, Nell knows how to help him understand. They pull him to the middle of the room, in front of the easel, and sit him on a stool. They put him in profile, turning his face to the blank canvas and asking him to look away, not at a fixed point. He tries to follow their instructions and this seems to convince Nell as they nod, satisfied, and take out their phone to take a picture.

They showed him the picture and in the picture he looked serene, looking at something in the distance. It looks natural. John agreed wholeheartedly.

They set him up properly, told him to keep his coat on so that it would look like the picture was taken outside, and also to make his face stand out more easily with the dark colour of the clothing. Nell even had the idea of setting up a light above him to give a shiny effect on his blond hair.

"For the style of the painting, you asked for something realistic. What I'm proposing is that we keep this style, but that we can still see that it's a painting, that the brushstrokes look soft to the eye, almost smooth." Nell explains while showing him another painting in the same style.

John agrees, trusting them completely with this kind of choice. They are the professionals, not him. Nell told him that if he needed a break, to eat or drink, or if he started to cramp, he should not hesitate to ask, and they started to paint.

They talked from time to time, the other man - named Marvis - sometimes coming to see them, bringing things to Nell or John, talking to the doctor to distract him and make the time pass more quickly. He told them about his meeting with Sherlock, and they both gave an "awwww" in unison when he told them about the gift he had received the year before, showing a picture of the painting. He put it as a wallpaper, saving him the trouble of carrying the painting with him always

After five hours of painting, John is finally able to move, Nell promising to finish the details within a week and that it will be ready for their anniversary. John thanks them warmly and goes home, eager to give it to Sherlock.

***

"Sherlock?" Calls John as he walks into the flat. He's just spent eight hours nursing colds and coughs and all he wants is to spend the evening with his detective and celebrate their two years together.

"In the kitchen!"

John smiles, smelling the good aroma coming from the kitchen. He walks in to find the table set like a five-star restaurant, Sherlock at the stove with an apron around his waist, protecting his aubergine shirt. John's favourite.

John comes up behind Sherlock, wrapping his arms around his waist and resting his head against his shoulder. 

"Did you have a good day?"

John mumbled a reply, letting himself be rocked by the movements of his shoulder. Sherlock turned in his arms to face him.

"I was looking forward to going home." He said as he slid between Sherlock's legs to press himself against him. They were almost the same size this way. "But I didn't expect to find this," he gestured to the table and the small plates Sherlock had lovingly prepared, "and to see you in an apron. I think it suits you very well. It hugs your waist." He said suggestively, sliding his hands against the fabric to support his words. 

Sherlock smiles, "Should I keep it?" Sherlock teases. He knows John likes his shirt

" Certainly not, we can't see your shirt!" He slides his hands down his back, finding the knot and removing it. He keeps his eyes in Sherlock's, biting his bottom lip to stop himself from smiling. He can see Sherlock's eyes shining with mischief, letting him. 

No sooner does the knot come undone than Sherlock removes the apron and tosses it haphazardly behind John. John laughed as lips cut him off. John tightened his grip behind his back, hands encircling his face. Slowly they kissed and when John wanted to deepen the kiss, Sherlock pulled away. John wanted to wipe the grin from his lips.

"Later." Sherlock promised with a wink before pulling away from him. "You have to taste what I've done. I didn't spend three hours cooking for it to end up in tupperware at the bottom of the fridge."

John shook his head, unable to stop his smile from forming. He settled down and together they enjoyed the food.

It was after dessert that John stopped Sherlock with a hand on his arm when he wanted to start clearing away.

"I have a surprise for you." 

(continue after the cut)

Sherlock said nothing and watched him go off to his old room to get the gift. He widens his eyes when he comes back down with it, John having no doubt that he's already deduced what he's getting him. It's pretty obvious, and John isn't even disappointed that he's figured it out before he's even unwrapped it. 

"Did you really do it?" Sherlock breathes. He stands up, walking over to him.

John nods his head. "It took me a while to find an artist with a style I liked."

Sherlock says nothing and begins to unpack it without further ado. Two weeks after posing for Nell, John came to pick it up and didn't hide his amazement at the work the artist had added after their meeting. Sherlock shared this wonderment when he saw the painting.

John is depicted as they had discussed with Nell, a black background, all in a realistic style while showing that it is a painting. Exactly as they had concluded.

Sherlock stares at it for about thirty seconds, before balancing the painting against a chair and thanking John appropriately.

"It's beautiful." He sighs between kisses. "You're beautiful."

John can feel his cheeks turning pink. He slowly pulls him towards the bedroom and Sherlock gets the message.

"The table..."

"Tomorrow." John growled.

Sherlock didn't need to be told again and pushed John convincingly towards the bedroom when he abruptly cut off their kiss. It took John a while to regain his composure and he wanted to grab Sherlock to keep him against him as he left.

Sherlock took the painting, and brought it with him to the room. John understood what he wanted to do. He watched him set up the painting next to his own with a tender smile. When it was finished, Sherlock returned to his side, his arms around his waist, his head resting on his shoulder. 

"What are we doing next year?" John asks, trying to keep control of his body as Sherlock begins to kiss him on the neck.

"We could do a painting of the two of us." Says Sherlock in the crook of his ear, making John shudder. "Or..."

Sherlock didn't finish his sentence, and John, curious as to what he meant, turned in his arms, attacking his neck in turn. "Or?"

"What do you say we get out your military uniform again?" 

John steps away from him, seeing that Sherlock is serious. He flashes his most seductive smile. "It'll be your wedding present."

"We should get married soon, then. I can't wait to get my present."

John laughed and regained possession of his lips, both falling onto the bed as Sherlock hit the bed

"In return, I want a painting of you only with your dressing gown. Nothing else."

"Deal."

(tell me if you wish to be tagged !) @topsyturvy-turtely @missdeliadili @mxster-jocale

#fluffbruary 2023 #fluffbruary #my fics #johnlock #johnlock ficlet #bbc sherlock #art #fluff

[autobot2001]

Another Good Day

Author: Autobot2001 Henre: Fanfiction Fandom: Transformers Rating: E Warning: None pairing: Drift X Jamie (OC) Description: Cogman and Vivian has another idea of how Drift and Jamie can spend time together.

@fluffyfebruary: partners @fluffbruary: tea cakes | flood | feature

Crosshairs and Drift sit on the couch in the living room, listening to the crackling fire. It's one in the morning, and neither can sleep. Jamie's mental health and lack of interest worries them. "You should go to bed," Drift says, "if this insomnia is going to keep up and I use all my holoform's energy—." "Then you should also go to bed. We're partners in battle and — what?" Crosshairs asks, seeing Drift's smile. "Just thinking about how our relationship is." "I already said the only thing I'd change is Jamie's mental health and that damn chemical in her blood. I love both my battle partners. We are partner guardians to Jamie, but I think we're more like a family. I worry about you and Jamie," Drift rests his head on Crosshairs' shoulder and yawns, "come on, I'm not letting you sleep in here." The two stand up, the fire is out, and the two go upstairs.

With how late they went to bed, both mechs slept in until nine. "So much for a workout," Crosshairs complains. "Lazy aft," Drift teases, "go now. You'll be done by the time Jamie is awake." Crosshairs doesn't bother convincing Drift to join him. Drift lies next to Jamie, wondering what the plan for today could be. This changes to thinking about how much he loves Jamie. Drift isn't bothered that this has happened frequently in the past few weeks. He loves every physical feature about her. He's not sure if he should like Jamie's short stature as it's an effect of the chemical that was injected to kill her twenty-one years ago. Drift loves Jamie's personality, save for her mental health. To Drift, his relationship with his cross-dimensional traveler is like romantic relationships on Cybertron; not always perfect. The two in the relationship know to accept flaws happen unless it's accepting a toxic relationship. He's seen on Earth there's too much of an expectation for the relationship to be perfect. Drift didn't realize how long he'd thought about Jamie until he felt her move. "Good morning," Drift smiles. "Sleep." "Nope, it's ten in the morning. Time to get up." Drift holds onto Jamie and gets off the bed. He carries her out of the room.

Crosshairs is displeased seeing Drift walk into the kitchen. "You ruined it!" He complains. Drift sees that Crosshairs had planned to bring breakfast upstairs. How long of a workout did he do? Drift questions, seeing Crosshairs made pancakes. He sets Jamie on a bar stool at the island and sits next to her. Crosshairs made Jamie and himself coffee while he made Drift tea. It's quiet while the three eat.

The two mechs talk about the plan for the day while cleaning the kitchen. Other than deciding not to go out, they're still determining what the plan is for the day.

The day is the same as most days until the three walk into the kitchen at three. The femme watches Drift get the box of nut bars from the cabinet. She tells Drift Cogman made tea cakes. Crosshairs smiles, knowing what Cogman and Vivian planned. "Go be with your partner," he tells Drift. Crosshairs watches as Drift takes Jamie's hand and takes her to the living room. He smiles, seeing the two doing something together. He doesn't consider Vivian or himself creating opportunities for Drift and Jamie to do something together as unusual. Vivian follows with a tray prepared with a plate of tea cakes, a small stainless steel pitcher with hot water, a creamer full of milk, two cups with tea bags placed in them, and a small sugar bowl. Cogman walks into the kitchen, just missing Vivian leaving. Crosshairs tells him that Drift and Jamie went to the living room, and Vivian brought the tray.

Drift knows what Cogman and Vivian are trying to do. He doesn't mind their help. The coffee table is moved in front of the sectional. Drift finds a movie to watch as the two enjoy tea and tea cakes. Jamie leans on Drift when she's not drinking her tea. Sunstreaker found out where Drift and Jamie were and snuck a few pictures. He smiles as he takes them. Drift will love these. Sunstreaker thinks. He closes the door before either realize it's open and goes upstairs to print the pictures.

Drift and Jamie stay in the living room until dinner. By then, the movie is over. The others see how happy Drift and Jamie are. Regretting they didn't think of helping the two do things together sooner. Hoping to keep it up.

#transformers #transformers fanfiction #transformers autobots #transformers drift #transformers crosshairs #bayverse crosshairs #bayverse drift #bayverse cogman #Jamie (OC) #fluffy february #ffluffy february 2024 #fluffbruary 2024 #fluffbruary #fay 19 #partners #tea cakes #feature #time alone #a good day together

[autobot2001]

Not Everyone is Having Fun

Author: Autobot2001 Genre: Fanfiction Fandom: Transformers Rating: E Warning: None Pairing: Drift X Jamie (OC), Sunstreaker X Lily Jones (OC) Description: The six friends play a game Lily and Sideswipe created based on a video game they've been playing. Sunstreaker is displeased with the idea.

Day 22; @fluffyfebruary: sacrifice @fluffbruary: Key | silly | Quest

"Really?" Sunstreaker sighs. "Oh, come on, it'll be fun," Lily smiles. Crosshairs, Drift, and Jamie agree with the two's idea. "They also dragged me into this," the six hear Cogman say, "the sacrifices I make." "We asked you to hide a key, geez," Lily comments. The game's objective to find the key doesn't please Sunstreaker. Lily and Sideswipe call it a quest. Sunstreaker's sole focus is to remove Lily and Sideswipe's video game once the stupid game is done. Crosshairs, Drift, and Jamie question how long Lily and Sideswipe have planned this game? And did Cogman have to help further than hiding a key? "Come on, it's just a silly game," Drift comments. "That's the problem, it's stupid."

While displeased about the game, Sunstreaker still follows his friends onto the field.

You're going to be an aft the entire time, aren't you? Sideswipe asks through the bond. This is stupid. You're just showing Lily not to do anything with her. Sideswipe warns.

Lily and Sideswipe have planned a fun game, but they worry the clues will be too easy even if Cogman wrote them. Lily now doesn't care if the game ends quickly. The six split into two teams, get the clues, and go their separate ways. Lily is quiet as the terror twins figure out the first clue. "At least Cogman made this a challenge," Sideswipe comments. Sunstreaker only nods as he looks at Lily. I told you. Sideswipe says. As much as she knows you don't like games, she was eager to get you to play this. We knew this would be a one-time game. Sunstreaker sighs, hating what he has done, but he really does not feel thrilled about this game.

Jamie and her guardians reach the spot to clue lead to first. Despite this, Lily and Sideswipe remain confident in reaching the next location. Lily didn't expect Sideswipe meant that he'd carry her while running to the next location. Sunstreaker watches Crosshairs, and Jamie follows them before feeling himself being stopped. "We need to talk," Drift says, "more like you need a lesson in relationships," Sunstreaker knows Drift is right, "you need to make sacrifices sometimes in relationships, even friendships. You know how mine and Jamie's relationship is. Getting her to go out is often a challenge. I'd like to take her on dates. It's been great the past couple of weeks, but I don't think it'll last with her mental health." "Sideswipe said Lily was eager to play this game and hoped I'd play." "Probably will be the only time." The two go to find their friends. Assuming they're all together.

Drift and Sunstreaker didn't think they'd already find their friends at the last clue. "A key?" Crosshairs asks displeased. "Yes, and now we have to find Cogman," Lily explains. Sideswipe smiles. "You two asked Cogman to take a locked box of candy and hide the key, didn't you?" Sunstreaker asks.

Cogman is in the kitchen, making dinner and waiting for the six to return. "Twenty minutes," he comments, seeing the six walk into the kitchen, "too easy." Cogman gets the small chest from the top shelf in the cabinet and puts it on the counter. Lily opens the box, and sure enough, there's candy. Enough for all six and their favorites. "No one's eating candy now!" Cogman scolds. Lily and Sideswipe silk and leave the room. "That was interesting," Drift comments. "And we will not be playing again," Sunstreaker declares and leaves the kitchen.

#transformers #transformers fanfiction #transformers autobots #transformers drift #transformers crosshairs #bayverse crosshairs #bayverse drift #transformers terror twins #transformers sideswipe #transformers sunstreaker #Jamie (OC) #LIly Jones (OC) #fluffy february #fluffy february 2024 #fluffbruary 2024 #fluffbruary #sacrifice #key #quest #silly #fun game #displeased about the game

[thelazyecrivain]

Fluffbruary - Day 22 (Dawn)

Day twenty-two of @fluffbruary, using the prompt "dawn"

Today it's short, I've got a cold and can't write more than two sentences without blowing my nose. I hope you'll like it anyway!

Read on AO3

French Version

----

The sun begins to rise, waking the city with it. Birds start to sing and fly, people go out to work, cars and taxis take to the road, a police siren sounds in the distance, someone shouting on the phone. All the sounds that characterise this city that Sherlock loves so much and that John has come to appreciate.

Sherlock snuggled a little closer to John to enjoy his body heat. John pulled the blanket back over them, and wrapped his arms around his detective. Sherlock is settled between his legs, back to chest, while John keeps him close, leaning against one of the walls. His legs are crossed around Sherlock's waist and his arms around his torso to keep him close and prevent him from slipping.

John kisses him in his curls, while Sherlock plays with his hands. They are sitting on the roof of Baker Street, cushions underneath them, a blanket to protect them from the early morning chill. Sherlock takes a cake from the plate beside him, and holds it out. John took it into his mouth, thanking him with a kiss on his fingers.

"We should do this more often." John said.

Sherlock nodded. Strangely, he enjoyed this quiet time alone with John. He was serene, snuggled in his arms, the sun slowly rising over the capital. He rested his head against John's good shoulder, closing his eyes. John smiled tenderly, kissing his cheek.

(tell me if you wish to be tagged !) @topsyturvy-turtely @missdeliadili @mxster-jocale

#fluffbruary 2023 #fluffbruary #fluff #my fics #johnlock #johnlock ficlet #bbc sherlock #dawn

[thelazyecrivain]

Fluffbruary - day 26 (Ice)

Day twenty-six of @fluffbruary, using the prompt "Ice"

Read on AO3

French version

----

"That's a ridiculous idea, John."

Rather than take offence, John laughs and continues to pull him along.

"You'll see, it'll be fun. It's been years since I've done it."

"I don't see how sliding around on ice with blades hanging from uncomfortable shoes is fun." Sherlock growled.

John rolls his eyes at the skies, but no matter what Sherlock may say, he'll never sink his excitement. Sherlock can't help but compare him to a child.

Sherlock grunted as John paid and they put on the ice skates. He grunted as they stepped onto the ice. But soon his complaints stopped when, as he put the first foot down, the skate went off and his body did not follow. He barely caught himself on the railing beside him.

John is beside him, helping him to his feet. "I understand better why you were complaining. You don't know how to do it." John teased gently.

Sherlock feels like he's going to make him pay for the minutes of grumbling and complaining he's had to endure since John announced where they were going. "I've never had the need to do that before."

"It's not every day I get to say this but, I'll teach you." Laughs John.

John stands perfectly on his own two feet, Sherlock wondering by what sorcery he manages to do so.

John tries to teach him, one arm around his waist, the other on his arm. Sherlock tries to copy his movements, his legs shaking. He curses the idiot who created such a sport. He can't keep himself steady and if John lets go, he falls straight down.

Fortunately for him, he learns quickly, and about ten minutes later he can take more than two steps without falling. John dropped him around the waist, simply holding him on his arm. Sherlock panicked but tried to move forward anyway, and succeeded.

It was then that John left him completely alone, no longer holding him. Sherlock petrified and stopped dead in his tracks. John had moved ahead of him and was waiting for him like a parent urging a child to come towards him to take its first steps. Sherlock tries one foot forward, moves forward, and starts again with the other foot. His movements are shaky, but as he moves forward he becomes more confident, until he reaches John's arms. Sherlock's ego swells as John smiles proudly and compliments him. 

They continue skating, John taunting him a few times by skating backwards. Sherlock manages to hold on without John's help, but his doctor stays close to him, their hands entwined between them. There were falls, Sherlock falling more than John, and the detective was happy to wear his coat, protecting his buttocks from the cold while John wore the marks of his falls on his trousers. 

As the hours ticked by, people left, leaving them almost alone when an employee warned them that the rink was closing. They did a few more laps before leaving the rink. Soon they found their shoes, walking becoming strange after several hours of skating.

As they left the building, Sherlock chastely kissed him in thanks. He will never admit out loud that he enjoyed it. But John understands and smiles at him.

(tell me if you wish to be tagged !) @topsyturvy-turtely @missdeliadili @mxster-jocale

#Fluffbruary #fluffbruary 2023 #my fics #johnlock #johnlock ficlet #bbc sherlock #fluff #ice skating