#extended fluffbruary

Fluffbruarians near and far! We’re a third of the way through Fluffbruary and it's time to a new set of prompts for Extended Fluffbruary.

Officially the 14th of every month, Extended Fluffbruary lets us keep the fluff coming throughout the year.

Hopefully you're inspired to send us some prompts—words or images—to add to the mix from which the prompts will be drawn.

Send us your suggestions in the message or ask boxes of @fluffbruary.

Images need to be your own, or from a royalty-free site (some links below for words and images).

Thanks for reblogging!

LINKS TO COPYRIGHT-FREE / PUBLIC DOMAIN IMAGE SITES

An unexpected meeting with Mike, followed by a bombshell of a question, makes John reconsider his feelings for Sherlock. Sherlock who’s been dead for nearly two years.

Sherlock contemplates how to best approach John now that he’s back. Not dead after all.

The extended Fluffbruary has reached July and this months prompts were: kiss-garden-whispers

John’s on holiday in Greece. With his ex-girlfriend. Then, Sherlock makes a dramatic appearance, and John has to rescue him from harm’s way.

Fluffbruary extended version. June 14 prompts: allure-holiday-flowers.

*

Sherlock can always surprise me. That should be obvious—he surprises everybody. But he and I have known each other a long time, and we understood each other (mostly) from the very start. And now we’ve been lovers for, well, long enough that our undiminished hunger for each other still kind of stuns me. In a good way, obviously.

But now and again he pulls the rug out from under me, and I’m left flailing and grasping at straws to try to work out what happened and what it changes.

Last night, at Angelo’s. Out of nowhere, a vintage Sherlock rug-pull.

“Do you remember the night we agreed we didn’t want to get married?”

That’s always been a wry but happy memory: each of us was so convinced he was about to receive a terrifying proposal of marriage. Ever since, the blessed relief that neither of us wanted that has been a kind of seal upon the heart for me, that we’d both found precisely the right person.

Until last night’s tiramisù, that is. Because as I was confidently laughing at our mutual revulsion at the prospect of marriage, he said thoughtfully, “What if I changed my mind about that? Are you open to revisiting the subject?”

(con'd. on AO3)

*

Finish reading on AO3:

@fluffbruary pokes its nose in on the 14th of every month, and how can I resist? Prompts: cat, miracle, vintage. And this:

Please let me know if I should tag you or untag you! 🤍

(a continuation of Just Face It)

Summary: What other people think of you is none of your business.

He’s sweetly groggy tonight, all his prickles softened, his racing thoughts apparently slowed. He’s wearing only that airy blue silk dressing-gown, leaning against my shoulder as the “tedious” (that’s verbatim) film lulls him into a doze.

Before I know it he’s slid down onto the sofa and settled his head on my right thigh. His head nudges my right hand, which I cooperatively lift to stroke his hair as lightly as I can. He hmmms and nudges for more. I pet him gently, little fingertip arpeggios as though he’s a musical instrument, one that needs an easy touch.

The rumble from deep in his chest reminds me there’s a pattern to respect in all this. As each stage of contact loses its initial intensity, I’m to change my approach, deepen the touch, to refresh the effect. My fingers card his hair and for awhile he moans, gratified, and when that eases off it’s the signal for nails light on his scalp. So responsive, always, even at the very edge of slumber.

But only the edge, it seems.

“Does it matter so much to you?” his drowsy voice manages.

“Does what matter, sleepyhead? We weren’t talking, you know.”

He shifts, as if in admission. “Does it matter so much that I should like my own looks?”

Read the rest here.

Ch. 58 at Solace and Joy is a continuation of Ch. 57, "Just Face It."

Thanks if you reblog! Check out the prompts on @fluffbruary's pinned post.

(a continuation of Looking-Glass)

Summary: How do you show a man that it isn't only you who loves his face? John has an idea.

It seems Sherlock has always loathed his physique. He didn’t see its beauty, his beauty, the beauty literally everyone else sees. No wonder he calls it “transport” and dismisses its claims and its needs.

It makes a sad kind of sense that he feels the same about his face. His face: the very first of his beauties that I’d registered, from his otherworldly eyes to his unreadable expression to his shockingly kissable mouth. Yet he finds himself as unappealing as I find him captivating.

With his body dysmorphia I’ve had some limited success. Perusing the photo gallery I made up, he had to admit that his disconnected body parts were objectively neutral (testicles) or what he calls moderately pleasing (musculature, proportions). But that was never going to work for his face.

Emotions change reactions, reactions change expressions: there’s no way to photograph his face without him noticing, and distorting his appearance with a grimace or something.

Still, I’d an idea. Photographs aren’t necessarily proof of how anyone else sees him. Art, on the other hand, is. And Sherlock, with his international reputation, has a coterie of followers on social media, many of them gifted artists whose paintings and drawings reveal not just interest in reproducing his features, but real admiration of them.

[con'd.] Read the rest at

Ch. 57 at Solace and Joy is a continuation of Ch. 56, "Looking-Glass."

Thanks for reblogging! Check out the prompts on @fluffbruary's pinned post.