FLUFF-uary is a creation celebration designed to display all your sweetness and light for the whole month of February. There will be a prompt for each day and you can do as many as you like, in any combination or order.
Feel free to write, draw, edit photos/videos…whatever you’re inspired to create. Have fun, it’s not a contest. You can join in for the whole month, do one or two, or even come up with your own. Do it at your own pace, even after February is over. There’s no word or size limits or restrictions other than to keep it sweet (no whump, please – we’re all about the comfort zone here).
When uploading your fluffs, please tag properly with the prompt, the tag fluffuary2025, and any other applicable tags (like genre, characters, any content warnings if you decide to go NSFW etc.) Any questions can be directed @ir0n-angel.
As always, we hope everyone has a good time.
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For Fluffuary, Day 7: Secret gift giving. Lucanis/Rook/Spite. Three not so secret gifts, and one definitely not secret. Set during late Act 2. Rated T.
i.
There is a book on his pillow.
One that Lucanis does not recognise as bought or borrowed, the steps he takes towards it full of the heated thrumming of Spite’s impatience.
He collects it up, discovering the author is one he favours, though the title is not one he knows.
The pages are full of poetry. Lyrical affairs of the heart.
(He has heard rumours of their having dabbled in such things, surviving copies rare and difficult to track down.
...Something recounted to her in mournful tones, between cups of coffee in the early hours.)
Rook, Spite purrs.
Yes.
Rook.
ii.
It is precisely the kind of thing that she has been trained not to do.
Yet she wakes to find that she has fallen asleep at the dining table, her head pillowed on one arm, and, for just a moment, her nerves go haywire, body remembering that there must be a punishment for—
Her gaze falls first on the cup of tea set just out of immediate reach, steam still rising from it.
And then to a rectangular something wrapped carefully in blue paper.
She peels a corner away to reveal dark chocolate.
Knows who.
And smiles a tiny smile.
iii.
A little bundle of new laces finds its way into his favourite coffee cup.
He has distant recollections of her slicing through them to pull away his attire in search of bruising or worse, her frustrated mutterings all a tangle of Antivan curses – the only Antivan he has ever heard her speak – and furious insistences that he had better not stop breathing or start bleeding anywhere.
At what serves as nightfall, Lucanis returns them, leaving them on her bed with a scribble of a note suggesting he cannot think what they are for.
That perhaps she ought to show him.
iv.
She is asleep in his arms.
Well, she fell asleep in Lucanis’ arms, and now he sleeps too, so it is his turn to gather her close, draping a protective wing over her to—
As he slides a hand beneath a rumpled pillow, Spite’s fingertips meet with paper that he draws out to study.
Her writing. Her words.
That she left it for him to find in the night.
A present of promises meant for him.
That he is wanted.
That he belongs.
He recognises something of his own possessive nature amidst her declarations.
Nothing to see here, just Sephiroth using Angeal as a pillow as he always does. What? No blanket you say? They are very hot, they don't need a blanket.
Instead of doing something useful today I wrote this, I think I'm going to try for one a week for February.
Let me know what you think! If you have any prompts for Fulffurary let me know. Its a longer one.
Clingy Marine Update: Settling in
Hey! It's been a bit, and I figured you all would appreciate an update. I also have a weird question for people who have had marines.
Update
I think that Domtrect has stolen one of my cats. It's just as adorable as it is vexing. Pierogi is an orange cat with rocks for brains, but he makes up for it in love. He loves to be held, picked up, and snuggled. Domtrect likes to pick things up and snuggle them, so it's a perfect relationship. It also keeps Domtrect from picking me up when he's anxious, so I don't mind it, but I'm slightly jealous that Pierogi adores him so much after three weeks. Domtrect is delighted, I think. He's a very stoic person and hard to read, but he carries Pierogi with him everywhere he can.
My other cat, Nugget, remains solidly by my side. She doesn't like people very much and takes a while to warm up to them. Domtrect is on a campaign of catnip, treats, toys, and physically moving me to his nest so Nugget will come into the nest after me. This has been fairly successful; Domtrect has gotten to touch her once. He almost smiled when Nugget let him give her a head pat. His campaign has resulted in my cats gaining about ⅓ of a pound each, which for Nugget at least, is a lot.
I should probably update you all on the nest: it's expansive, beautifully constructed, and has given me no end of frustration recently. It takes up my entire living room. On @yurihasurunbara's suggestion and a membership to HomePro, he has decided to use it to his advantage completely. The whole thing is covered in soft pillows and rugs. He has built up a multi-tiered setup with ceiling hangings and soft yellow light. He somehow found enough fabric to make it almost a uniform grey, with blue and red highlights.
Domtrect has settled in enough that he has stopped wearing armour around the house. Instead, he puts it all on a rack that the base sent up. Now that he is not always in armour I can report that Domtrect has light blonde hair and blue eyes, he has a scar that runs over his brow, down his nose, and onto his cheek and lips, causing him to look like he's constantly smirking. He also has three silver studs in his forehead that he's quite proud of. He mainly lounges around the house in a tight body glove now; it has strange little ports all over it. When he's not following me around, checking my windows or doors, and playing with Pierogi, he has taken to lounging in his nest, carving soapstone, listening to history podcasts, and creating an insane amount of origami swans.
We've also found a job for him to do at the school, so he's not just lurking at the back of the shop class. He works as our outdoor hall monitor, which has significantly cut the number of students trying to smoke weed behind the school. Domtrect seems to enjoy it, though he's genuinely befuddled that the students need encouragement to go to class. This job also lets him circle the school like a shark and grumble about bad construction, which he was doing anyway. The students seem to have gotten used to him remarkably quickly; they're trying to make him into a TikTok sensation, but it's not going well. He's planning to spend all of his first paycheck on blankets and tapestries; apparently, he found a Blood Angel online that he gave a commission to.
Domtrect generally spends half his day in the house, and then half of it at work, looking for stragglers outside, glaring at dogs, or staring creepily through my classroom window. After the buses leave, he hangs around the shop until it's time to walk home. There, he seems content pottering away on small projects and learning, through much trial and error, how to make bread.
Issues
Now, on to the issues. I want to stress that I'm enjoying having Domtrect around, but I was wondering if anyone had any insights into these problems. I want to know if this is a Domtrect problem or just a regular marine problem.
The Funk: For people who know, or live with Astartes: do they have a funk? Because Domtrect does; it's a hellish combo of old unaired hockey pads and chemicals, and it clings to him all the time. I think it's the body glove that he basically lives in, but I'm not quite sure. I know he knows how to do laundry; he's very dedicated to doing mine, so I assume he would wash it if it were the source of the stink.
Does anyone have any advice for this? I work with mainly 12-17 year olds, so my stink threshold is pretty high, but Domtrects is particularly pungent.
I think I'm slowly growing nose-blind to it as well, and I don't feel like I can just ask him to bathe more. My shower and most of my house are not quite up to Imperial Fist standard, though Domtrect is slowly bringing it up to snuff, but I don't think he can currently squeeze himself into my shower or the guest shower. I'm kinda at a loss; he's a very neat person and seems to enjoy being super clean, so the stink kinda throws me for a loop. I tried to bring it up once, and he looked hurt that I didn't like the way he smelled. I changed the conversation topic pretty quick.
The Nest: The second issue is The Nest. It's honestly quite nice looking and incredibly comfortable. I've even made my peace with the fact that he's taken over most of my living room for it. I kinda think of the living room as essentially his bedroom and treat it like that, except he very clearly wants me in the nest. I don't mind hanging out in it; it's a nice space, and I enjoy hanging out with him. The issue here is that he wants me to sleep in it. Secondary to this is that most of my blankets, pillows, and once before I put my foot down, my mattress, ended up in the nest. I've set some boundaries and am no longer in danger of having my mattress moved while I'm at work, but that's honestly secondary now.
The main issue is that he's taken to moving me into the nest while I'm sleeping, which is strange by itself. I'm not a heavy sleeper; I normally wake up to my cats pushing the door open, let alone being picked up and moved to a different part of the house. Yet, somehow after going to bed in my own bed upstairs, I always wake up after a deep and dreamless sleep in the nest. It started around the same time that Domtrect started hanging out without his armour on, so I think I'm only seeing this now because he's getting more comfortable.
Our bedtime routine looks like this: when I head to bed, I have perhaps 15-20 minutes to myself, and then inevitably Domtrect, Pierogi in hand, will appear in my doorway. He'll loom in the doorway until he's invited in. If I don't invite him in, he just lingers by the door and whines faintly. I don't think he knows he does it; he'll stay there until I go to sleep if I don't let him in.
If I invite him in, he'll carry Pierogi inside and settle in my room. He likes to sit by my dresser or sit cross-legged on the floor beside my bed. I'll read aloud for a bit. He seems to enjoy history the most, and we'll sometimes chat if he has questions about what we're reading. Then it lights out, and I go to sleep.
In both cases, I wake up in the nest, which is creepy to the extreme. I've confronted Domtrect on this, and he's stubbornly insistent, that He moves me because I should just sleep in the nest. His arguments are as follows:
Pierogi likes it better when we're all together. (Which, yeah he does, but I don't find this particularly persuasive; Pierogi also likes to eat garbage.)
It's safer. (I'm not exactly sure what he could be protecting me from, and Domtrect won't say.)
It's warmer. (It is, but I always end up throwing off half of the blankets he piles on me anyway.)
He doesn't need to sleep, and I keep him company. (I told him maybe he should reach out to the base if he's that lonely.)
He likes it better if he knows where I am. (He knows I sleep in my bedroom, it’s not like I’d climb out the window.)
If I'm sleeping in the nest, Nugget lets him get close to her. (Which is true)
Obviously, some arguments are better than others, but Domtrect won't budge on this. Do any other Astartes do this? I've heard that Salamanders sometimes hoard people like this, and Imperial Fists are known to fortify people into their houses and refuse to let them leave, but this doesn't quite fit either of those behaviours.
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Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV
Relationship: Sanson Smyth/Guydelot Thildonnet
Gods, but it's good to be home again! As Guydelot stretches in the late afternoon sunlight filtering through Gridania's familiar trees, he could swear he feels frost crackling in his bones. After so miserably long in Garlemald, the bard hadn't been certain he'd ever feel warm again; no amount of huddling around the fire or curling up with Sanson in the quiet privacy of their tent ever seemed to thaw him out completely.
For all it's late autumn here at home, with a crisp bite to the air, it might as well be the height of summer.
"Home." At his side as they emerge from the Canopy, Sanson echoes his thoughts, sounding weary and grateful all at once. And well he should; Garlemald had been soul-taxing. "Thank the Matron we don't have to report tonight." A-Ruhn-Senna had command of the Gridanian unit of the contingent; that burden fell on his shoulders - and better him than Sanson, as far as Guydelot cared.
"Sanson the Stiff, eager to avoid duty?" Guydelot grins, slinging an arm across Sanson's shoulders. "What is the world coming to?"
Heedless of propriety, Sanson leans into him. "Don't grow accustomed to it. I'll come to my senses in the morning, I assure you."
It doesn't feel quite right to leave Garlemald behind just yet; there's more than enough work left to be done... but the fighting's done, now that the Tower of Babil is taken, and the Garleans none too pleased to have a foreign army camped on their soil, so it was in everyone's best interest to see the better portion of the Ilsabard Contingent dispersed for the moment... and Guydelot'd been in no great hurry to argue for lingering behind. Sanson had his reservations, too, he knew, but from what Eve's told them...
Things in the rest of the world might get ugly fast.
Hard to fathom that, though, with Gridania quiet and peaceful. The contingent's return had been kept quiet - there were those who protested the idea of aiding Garlemald - so the streets aren't bustling with families come to greet their returning loved ones. Yet, anyhow. As word gets out, Guydelot has no doubt things'll get busier as the night wears on.
By then, luckily, they'll be safely home. Sanson'll want to visit his own family in the morning, doubtless; they'll have word he's made it home safe from others, and they'll expect him bright and early. Them, Guydelot reflects, smiling - he's a fool if he thinks they won't expect him to tag along, too.
"What are you smiling about?" Sanson peers up at him, eyebrows raised.
It only makes him smile more. "What's not to smile about? Garlemald gone quiet, us safely home, and a warm bed waiting-"
"I should like a hot bath first."
"Enough hot water for two?"
"Did you not get your fill of communal bathing in Garlemald?" They'd all made use of Camp Broken Glass's one functional bathhouse - once they'd gotten the ceruleum engines that powered the heaters and the running water going again.
Guydelot grins, letting his arm slide down Sanson's back, until his hand rests on Sanson's hip instead. "I didn't, as it happens. I reckon I've got a little more shared bathing to work out of my system-"
Sanson swats at him, laughing. "Insufferable. We'll see."
Author: Autobot2001
Genre: Fanfiction
Gandom: Call of Duty Modern Warfare
Rating: E
Warning: None
Pairing: None
Description: Jamie has emergency surgery for her injuries. She ends up with an infection. Ghost worries about Jamie. Continued from day 8.2.
Day 11
@feveruary: "You're burning up!"
@febuwhump: Alt 6; emergency surgery
@fluffyfebruary: Crush
@fluffbruary: bench | tough
Ao3 or under the cut
Jamie is rushed into surgery for her injuries.
Gaz, Ghost, Soap, and Price anxiously await news about her condition. Ghost paces around the waiting room.
"Will you sit down before you make yourself dizzy," Price says.
"No!" Ghost snaps.
"We're all worried about her, but pacing until you make yourself dizzy isn't going to help," Soap says. "Nor will blaming yourself."
"I know she's a great soldier, but..I do feel like this is my fault."
Ghost sits on a chair. "This isn't your fault," Price says. "You know we can get injured on missions and fighting enemies."
The four men wait three hours before a medic walks out.
"How is she?" Price asks.
"She's in critical condition," the medic says. "And we'll be monitoring her closely. She's still unconscious."
"Let me see her," Ghost insists.
The medic and Price agree to let Ghost see Jamie.
Ghost is led into Jamie's room.
e
Ghost sits by the bed and holds Jamie's hand.
He doesn't realize that Price is following him. The two men see Jamie hooked to the monitor and an IV.
The room is quiet.
"Ghost, you can't blame yourself," Price says.
"I should have stayed with her."
"You know she's a good soldier. She's tough and will recover."
Price stands next to Ghost, and the two wait for Jamie to wake up.
"Please wake up," Ghost whispers. "I hate seeing you like this."
Price puts a hand on Ghost's shoulder.
Ghost and Price feel like time passes slowly as they wait for any sign that Jamie is waking y.
Jamie finally wakes up. Struggling to adjust to the light.
"Jamie? I'm right here," Ghost assures her.
Jamie feels Ghost holding her hand before her eyes adjust, and she sees Ghost and Price.
You'll be ok," Price assures her.
The room is quiet until a medic enters it to check on Jamie. Ghost and Price know she'll be in the infirmary for a while.
Jamie is groggy from the blood loss and medications she's on. Gaz and Soap walk into the room.
"Sorry, we couldn't wait any longer," Soap whispers.
"She's awake, but it's going to be a little bit before she is alert and will communicate with us," Price explains.
Gaz and Soap stand on either side of the bed. Jamie looks at them but says nothing. The four men want to stay by Jamie to know she'll be ok.
The four took turns sitting with Jamie throughout the day, and Ghost stayed with her overnight. This was a good routine that helped them feel better about the situation.
Until the four walked into the infirmary room two days later.
"You're burning up?" Ghost says, feeling Jamie's forehead.
Price runs out of the room to get a medic.
"You know this is bad since she's not trying to argue she's fine," Soap whispers to Gaz.
"Oh yeah. Jamie would argue even if she was sick with the flu."
An hour later, it's confirmed that Jamie has an infected incision. While the medic assures the men that Jamie will be ok and just needs antibiotics, Ghost is struggling not to think this infection could kill her. He leaves the medbay.
"I thought he'd argue he's not going to leave her side," Gaz says.
"He's not ok. I'm going to go find him," Price says.
Price finds Ghost in the training room punching a punching bag. He can tell that Ghost is not taking this well, so he has Ghost sit on a bench. "I already told you that you can't blame yourself," Price reminds Ghost. "Jamie will be ok. Her recovery will be a little longer." Ghost says nothing. "I know you and Jamie are good friends, but I feel like she's more to you than friends. I'd say you have a crush on her."
"Shut up!"
"You know your reaction proves I'm right."
"Fine, I like her. Seeing her hurt on the battlefield… I should have told her sooner. Now she's sick."
"You'll get your chance. You know she's tough. She won't tell us what she's been through the past twenty-three years she's been going to different dimensions, but I wouldn't be surprised if it's been hell."
Price pulls Ghost up and leads him back to the infirmary.
Though she's asleep, Gaz and Soap are still in Jamie's infirmary room. Ghost sits by the bed and takes her hand.
"Come on, let him stay with her today," Price tells Gaz and Soap.
The three men leave the room. They all decide they need to check on Ghost and Jamie throughout the day.
summary: Sam attempts to teach Idalia to play pool
notes: I did not google how to actually play pool before writing this so it will be from memory and you will have to deal with that
On Friday nights the Stardrop Saloon was at its busiest, and on those busy Fridays, Idalia had been invited by Sam to join his friends’ weekly hangout there. They spent the night by the pool table, Sebastian and Sam taking time to play against each other while Abigail moved between the arcade machines and watching their matches. For the past couple of weeks, Idalia had taken the spot by Sam, watching Sebastian win from across the table, and enjoying just talking with them or occasionally helping Abigail get a little closer to beating the arcade high score. When she arrived today, Sam and Sebastian were nearly at the end of a game, while Abigail sat on the couch in the corner of the room.
“Idalia!” Abigail called out to her, waving from across the saloon. She joined the group, taking her usual spot beside Sam.
“Hey Ida, ” he greeted her as was usual at this point for them, while Sebastian set up a new pool game. “You ever played before?”
“Once with some friends in the city,” Idalia said, recalling an evening out, barhopping through their area of Zuzu City. It had at least been amusing to see herself and her friends get progressively worse at the bar games as they got drunker. “I was terrible.”
“Well, I could show you a thing or two if you like?” Sam said, leaning with one hand against the table, the cue in the other. “Take this game?” Idalia caught Abigail and Sebastian give each other a look, something she chose to ignore.
“Yeah okay,” she agreed with a smile.
Emily brought over their first round of drinks, and soon Idalia had a rum and coke resting on the edge of the pool table while Sam hovered behind her, ready to correct her stance. She glanced back as a prompt that he was welcome to interfere where needed, and eagerly he did. Just his presence so close to her had her stomach filled with butterflies, and the feel of his rough hands over hers on the cue made her skin feel alight.
“Angle it a little that way,” he murmured in her ear, adjusting the direction of her cue smoothly. When he let go, she only wanted his warmth back. “You’re good to go.” Sam left his hand on her lower back, ripples of heat sent up her back at the adjustment to the new touch. Idalia hit the ball with the cue, watching as it missed the pocket she was aiming for. The poor shot hardly mattered when Sam looked at it in pure confusion, the crease between his eyebrows seeming adorable to Idalia. Within a heartbeat he’d moved on, and was back sharing the cue with her to help position the next shot. The game was of incredibly low priority to Idalia, other than how badly she already wanted another after this one if it meant they could stay so close. The realisation dawned on her mid shot that she really enjoyed having Sam up in her personal space, but it was a realisation she brushed off, mentally telling herself she’d deal with it another time, when she was sober.
Sam got increasingly comfortable helping her line up each shot, and quickly the look Abigail and Sebastian had shared became understandable; Sam was terrible at pool. He and Idalia as a team lost match after match against Sebastian, and the way all three of them acted, this was very routine.
“Idalia, you should play against him,” Abigail suggested, and Idalia on her second rum and coke could agree to that.
“Let’s do it blondie,” she smiled at Sam, currently still holding her waist as he watched Sebastian sink the last ball needed to win the match.
The atmosphere between them changed entirely once Idalia was stood at the opposite end of the table to Sam, from something warm and sweet, to a competitive tension. He let her have the first strike of the match, the noise of the balls impacting and scattering every satisfying.
“Nice, nice. But you’re not winning this one,” he smirked, looking up at her from where his chin rested against the pool cue. Idalia forced herself to smile back, because the look on his face had her positively drowning in her own feelings, her face burning with blush. She took another sip of her drink, hoping the ice would at least cool her down. Sam hit the ball, and all four of them watched as it rolled right past where he’d aimed it, knocking Idalia’s next ball into the pocket, helping her far more than it did him.
“Thanks,” she grinned, attempting to focus more on the layout of the balls in front of her than how sweet her opponent was. Sam had looked entirely baffled, before laughing at his own shot. His smile alone was brighter than the sun, a slight pink tone to his own cheeks. Idalia took another sip of her drink.
The game continued much longer than any of Sam and Sebastian’s games, with Idalia missing a fair share of her own shots. At its eventual end, she had only just managed to win with a fair amount of rule bending and resets of the white ball.
“Okay, you have to teach me next week,” Sam grinned as the group left the saloon that evening.
“Let’s do it,” Idalia smiled back, before looking at Sebastian. “We might actually beat you, you know.”
“Yeah, okay,” he replied lightheartedly in disbelief that it would be possible, and with fair reason for the sentiment after witnessing Sam and Idalia’s disaster of a pool game that took nearly three times as long as it usually did for him to beat Sam.
With Abigail headed for her father’s shop, and Sebastian for the mountains, Sam and Idalia were left in each other’s company as they approached his house.
“Can I walk you home?” Sam asked. In the moment of the question, all that existed was gentle care for her wellbeing,
“I’d like that,” Idalia agreed, and Sam brought their lighthearted silly joking nature right back, offering his arm to her like they were both nobles. She took it with a smile, and as they walked her hand slipped closer and closer to his, skin brushing against skin. By the time they got to the southmost point of her farmland, Sam had decided to just hold her hand. Too shy to say anything, there had been a mutual feeling of enjoying each other’s closeness all night. Why should that end on the walk home, especially when there was no one else around?
Sam walked her right to her door, and for the briefest moment Idalia considered inviting him in, even to stay the night, but she was a lot more aware than that. There would be no coming back from that kind of thing, and that wasn’t something to start impulsively on a random Friday night.
“Thanks for teaching me how to play pool,” Idalia said on her front porch, keeping conversation going just to spend more time with him.
“I tried, I’m not very good,” Sam shrugged. “Sleep well Idalia. I’ll see you around.”
“Goodnight Sam!” she called as he left the shelter of the porch, and Sam waved back. She ducked inside the farmhouse, smiling as she watched him leave.
These were all feelings to sort out another time, when she figured out what to do about them.
