If, like me, you love writing and reading loads of fluffy fanfiction and roleplay, here are my tips to make your fluff really shine.
Fluff scenes work really well between two people, and you need to establish what relationship these characters have. Are they friends or lovers? Teacher/student or parent/child both work well too. Fluff is all about the love, so your characters need to have a strong bond between them.
Fluff scenes are all about happiness and love, so a great scene will make the fluff that much better. For fluff, try putting your characters in a warm, peaceful environment. Fluff is also good to be extremely descriptive, especially if you’re talking about the character’s emotions. Use all the metaphors, analogies and sensory words you want. Fluff is supposed to make the readers feel good too, so help them come into your world.
Let’s talk about pain. Pain is a great motivator for fluff scenes, but they should not be the focus of it. Ex: Robin breaks his leg so Batman has to take care of him, but the fluff should be centered on how much Bruce cares about his son. Emotional pain is good too, but beware of crossing over into angst territory. Fluff is comfort and vulnerability, so weakness is okay, even for typically ‘strong’ characters.
We’ve established that fluff is all about being comforted, loved, and nurtured, so don’t neglect the role of touch in your writing. It can be simple and light, like ruffling someone’s hair, laying a hand on a shoulder, rubbing circles on their back, or more complex like a much needed sob session, or a long drawn out hug. This is where those over the top descriptions really come in handy.
#5: Happy Ending
Fluff should leave your characters happy as well as your readers. End your story or roleplay sweetly, with peace and relief, whether it be from an inner conflict or external anguish. Perhaps your pair falls asleep next to each other, or goes off to do something they enjoy together. Just make the ending as light and happy as possible, and finish it with a very cheesy, The End.
Hope this helps you in all your fluffy writing endeavors!
Summary: Hades hears from a sound source that there’s a good chance that Nico di Angelo is dating Leo Valdez, so Hades pays Leo a visit. It goes about as well as you’d expect, which is to say not at all. Or so, Leo thinks.
The beginning of the end all started with Aphrodite.
Maybe that shouldn’t have been a surprise, but it sure was one when the goddess of Love appeared at the foot of Hades’ throne, seemingly having let herself into the palace.
“Oh, Hades! My dear…” Aphrodite paused a moment to wrinkle her nose, though whether it was in disgust of the interior design or the thought of being too many things in relation to her to count, the Lord of the Dead wasn’t sure. “Well, lord. I have news from above! You know, the place that you don’t visit all too often to shut yourself in this cave.”
It exceeds the scope of humankind, a mere drop in a sea that stretches far beyond the reach of this galaxy. It ebbs and flows, unending, as humankind struggles to breathe. It never yields, unshakeable by the pride of humanity.
It should bring you comfort, wash your sorrows, and embrace you like a mother’s loving arms. Instead, all you feel is a pain. It lingers, trapped deep in your veins, like a fiery inferno, utterly devastating.
“It’s for the better.”
You think better must mean worse because none of this feels better and perhaps if your tongue weren’t so leaded, they would know. They would hear the inner anguish, how it settles down deep and hangs like the sky upon your shoulders.
The human embodiment of Atlas.
Words continue on but perhaps change has settled in and your ears can no longer hear. Not the words that tumble from their lips or the commotion that surrounds you. Even the beating of your own heart, surely erratic, falls mute, as if a vacuum has come and captured you whole.
How time passes you do not know. But it can and it does and the dreaded someday becomes this one day.
Your blood runs cold.
“My name is Kara.”
They say that change is inevitable. They say that it falters to none.
Some call it cruel. Others call it kind.
It brings you comfort, like a soothing rain, calming and gentle on your blazing inferno. It washes your sorrows and hugs you like the warm arms of a mother you never had.
It dissipates the crushing weight, the sky lifted, no longer the embodiment of a Titan condemned.
Because maybe it truly was for the better. You just never knew.
Wendy rested her head in her son's lap. She has always been a strong woman, fighting to hide her inner anguish his entire life, but now it was all just too much and she couldn't handle it. Peter had walked out again. George had bad grades. Gia and Jane couldn't get a long. And jay was an emotional mess. On top of it all, her mother had called once again to tell her how she raised her kids wrong. It all was just overwhelming and she couldn't handle it.
George was sitting there with a distant look on his face until he felt her resting against him. After he did, he ran a hand up and down her back while the other played with her hair
I’m using Sans to represent my inner anguish towards my essay through a touch screen (I’m having a bad time)
(If you haven’t noticed already, I’m less active now bc of school. Anyway, this is the one time I’ll be on in awhile, and I can’t go for long periods of time, so I’m sorry if I don’t answer your questions now. I’ll take care of them when I have enough free time. Thanks for reading, hope you have a great rest of the month!)
“…Hint Number Three: this songwriter was a member of their high school’s glee club back in the day, and they won the country’s biggest glee competition their senior year with a hit Meat Loaf song! And this tune you’re about to hear has been one of Katy Perry’s biggest hits in years. Last, but certainly not least, here is ‘On My Way’!”
As the song began to play, the traffic broke enough for Quinn to make it off the hellish highway and onto the off ramp. She bit her lip as she bobbed her head to the tune. This one was a bit more bittersweet to hear, really, but she felt herself being swept away regardless.
My words are wrapped in barbwire, My actions speak for what I can’t say. ‘Cause I fall one step forward To push you away, push you away…
She had nearly died. She had been careless, and she had almost paid the ultimate price. But her carelessness had been born of love—the sad, angry, desperate kind. The kind that fills notebooks that you hide away under mattresses; the kind that drives your every action; the kind that eats away at you, in the end.
But she hadn’t died. She’d needed intense physical therapy, but she hadn’t died. And that first day of therapy, her mother had driven her to the doctor’s, and the cause of all of Quinn’s inner turmoil and anguish had been waiting there, under the archway that led into the building.
It’s hard to see things clearly Through all of the pain, all of the pain…
Quinn hadn’t known what to feel, in that moment. It was an odd sensation that seemed to consist of everything all at once, but also of nothing. And her mother had pushed her forward, and the timid figure had met them halfway.
“Quinn,” voice already cracking, “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. It’s all my fault.”
And the love inside of Quinn shifted—morphed itself into something shiny and new and whole, unbroken and beaming with silent affection instead of cowering, afraid, in the deepest, darkest part of her heart.
“It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault. I promise it wasn’t your fault.”
Arms had wrapped around her shoulders, and Quinn had felt at home.
Beneath her breath, Quinn had muttered, “My heart, it was too drunk for me to drive, really. I should have known better.”
And the embrace had broken. Bright eyes sparkling with unshed tears peered down at her in confusion. “What did you say?”
“Nothing,” Quinn had quickly brushed the question away, grabbing the limp hand of the figure beside her. She’d squeezed momentarily, reassuringly, before her mom had pushed her away.
And my heart’s too drunk to drive, I should stay away from you, tonight. But in this blackout state of mind, Baby, all I want is you, tonight.
Quinn had glanced back, as they’d entered the building. She’d looked at that beautiful face, hoping to see realization dawn, like it did in the movies, or in her dreams. But all she saw was confusion and mild relief.
And then years had passed.
The song was hitting the second rendition of the chorus when Quinn pulled up outside her son’s school. She waved at the third grader’s teacher as she moved her sunglasses up on top of her head. The little kid climbed up into the backseat, told his teacher bye, then buckled up, all with the great enthusiasm that he could only have learned from his mother.
“Hey, guy! How was your day?”
“It was awesome! We started this awesome new book today, Mama, it was totally, just, I don’t know, awesome!”
Quinn laughed as she checked her mirrors and pulled away from the school. “I’m glad to hear it, buddy. How does pizza sound for dinner?”
His little head nodded up and down on his head with further unparalleled enthusiasm. “Yes,” he said very matter-of-factly. “Pizza would be awesome.”
It was just then that his ears seemed to tune in to the radio. “Hey! Mama! That’s Mom’s new song, isn’t it?! Cool!”
“Yeah, Liam, that’s Mom’s new song.”
He bobbed his head to the beat, and began to play the air drums he carried around with him everywhere.
“Mom said this song is about you. Is that for real?”
Quinn looked at her son in the rearview mirror and smiled. “Yeah, it is,” she replied. They all are.
“That’s the newest hit from this incredibly talented songwriter! And with that, folks, the lines are open. Call in now and name this week’s featured talent!”
“Rachel Berry! Rachel Berry!” Liam sing-songed, bouncing beneath his seatbelt.
When they arrived at their home, Liam was first out of the car. Quinn was grabbing her bag from the backseat as she heard Liam exclaiming, “Mom! We heard your song on the radio! It was so cool! Is the pizza here yet?!”
And the infectious, bright laughter of her wife reached Quinn’s ears in answer to their son’s proclamation.
When she reached the front porch, she embraced the woman she had loved, all her life, with all of her heart.
“Fancy meeting you here,” Rachel said, the vibrations of her words pressing perfectly against Quinn’s chest.
Their lips met, and they kissed around their smiles.
“Yeah,” Quinn replied, cupping Rachel’s face in her hand. “Fancy that.”
Dipper's a bit too excited to go adventuring with Bill on halloween, and ends up breaking his arm
I’m really hoping my arm won’t break because of you. Like, I’ve never broken anything and I don’t want to.
Dipper’s a Dork
Bill Cipher had been carrying boxes of supplies into the Mystery Shack gift shop, listening to his cute boyfriend Dipper Pines ramble on and on about their Summerween Mystery Adventure plans when he heard the yelp of pain that was soon followed by a small squeak. Feeling a flash of fear, which he still wasn’t used to, he tried to look over the stack of boxes in his arms, finally seeing Dipper clutching his arm with a panicked expression, “Pine Tree?! You okay?!”
“Hm? Oh, jeez, I’m fine.” The tone was nonchalant and the smile he gave Bill was a perfectly average Dipper smile, no panicked or pained expression in sight. “I just sort of banged my arm against the wall when gesturing, heh, probably need to stop doing that.” Heaving a visible sigh of relief Bill headed to the gift shop, ruffling Dipper’s hair as he passed.
“I think it’s adorable- Ah, let me get these to Red and Question Mark and I’ll find you later, okay?” Dipper nodded, waving goodbye to Bill with his left arm. As soon as the demon was out of sight Dipper started swearing in every language he knew under his breath, which was quite a few since he was always reading ancient texts. Of all the stupid, troublesome things to do he just had to go and break his arm.
How did he even manage that?! He had only knocked it against the wall!
A lightning flashed and crossed the dark sky and a thunder echoed with a defeaning voice. The starlight was weak in contrast to the lightnings that emblazed the sky. The streets were covered with snow and a cold wind blew as a white mist rose and crept toward the houses. Only the lit fireplace offered some warmth against the frozen wind. Huor threw some loges into the fireplace, hearing them creaking as the fire devoured them. It cast a dazzling light to the room, illuminating every object but it could not send the feeling of sadness and lonileness away. The scenery outside the window was gloomy and the mountain tops of Ered Wethrin were whelmed in black vapours. A morbid sensation was creeping in, the feeling that everything was vain. But Huor shook his head, trying to push all the dark thoughts to the back of his mind. He wanted to be cheerful and hopeful for the future without the burden of painful memories. But the sadness persisted, a devastating feeling that was haunting him. Violent nights like this evoked all the painful memories and Huor’s face was drawn with unquenchable sorrow. There was nothing that could silence the voice whispering in his head, a voice that narrated all the painful events of his life. It was a cruel whisper, as an evil ghost was inside the room to taunt him. Huor felt that he could not escape from his past. The memories would linger, too strong and cruel. They seemed to swirl like smoke, declaring their presence in a very painful way. It seemed that the room darkened as if someone had extinguished the fire. It felt like the house was a prison from where nobody could escape. The memories had transformed into a gloomy place, they made it look like a real prison and Huor thought that he was trapped there for eternity. Depression engulfed him like a tidal wave and the memories were piercing like daggers. Huor remembered the day when Galdor, his father, was slain, and the memory was tormenting him. He would never recover from his father’s loss. And he would never get over his mother’s death. There was nothing to provide him some relief from the excruciating pain. There was no escape from the bloodshed and death. They would all die in a battle, even if the Valar would help in the end in the war against Morgoth. It was not just a foreboding, it was a certainty after watching too many valiant men dying in the battlefield. The survivors would not live for long. Huor had accepted the fact that he would find death while fighting and there was nothing to save him from that fate. Midnight came and it added to the feeling of eeriness. The cold was stronger, and the starlight was almost extinguished in the mist. Many lightingings flashed and crossed the sky and the faint and shimmering moonlight peeped through the clouds. A storm was brewing and the first raindrops splashed on the tiled rooftop. Only the fire was a source of warmth in that violent night. Huor had thought that it was extinguished but the fire was still burning brightly, as if it was trying to vanquish the feeling of sadness that was torturing him. Huor could not sleep because he was too melancholic. The screeching voice of the wind would not let him to. A feeling of solitude surrounded him as it started raining heavily. It was probably the most violent storm that hit Hithlum, as if it was created by Morgoth to taunt men. The voice of the wind was like a derisive laughter that echoed over Dor Lomin, a morbid and cruel sneer. It felt like ghosts were wandering and whispering and their low voices were the creators of nightmares. Huor thought that he could hear those whispers coming from outside the house, the ghosts of his past life, when he watched his beloved ones dying. He felt unable to save them and he could not do anything else but mourn for their loss. A lament trilled his head while a gast of wind tossed the trees. Branches creaked and broke, falling on the ground with a loud thunk. The land was ravaged by the violent storm while the raindrops splashed on the rooftop and against the windows. It was a night of anguish and inner turmoil as if the sky was crying for all those who had perished in battles. Nothing could bring them back and only their memory lingered, a very painful memory for those who had survived in this dark and perilous world. That moment, a figure loomed in the dark, captivating Huor’s attention. He was mesmerised by the stranger who dared walk outside in the midst of a raging storm. Huor wondered if the stranger was looking for him and he opened the door, looking around to see if the unknown man was walking toward the threshold. Another lightning crossed the sky and its light was dazzling. The rain was falling down like a cascade and the cold was piercing like needles. Huor trying to spot the stranger in the dark and he yelled: “Where are you?” He waited for a response as the night became darker and colder, with the storm screeching like a creature in great pain.
The chest clears, the cold retires ( ! ), the breathing eases as the antibiotics creep in, there is a spring in the step as the tread mill winds its way, the voice is back .. somewhat ..
BUT .. the pain .. what does one do with PAIN ..! That does not CLEAR !!
The pain of killings and death of our brave heart soldiers .. of the destruction by nature from the morning earthquake in the North Eastern region of our land, close by to where we are now .. the disturbed World affairs .. the weeping and the distress of the families of those lost forever .. the anger and outrage, the raised voices and concerns of the common us .. the anguish of what we live in and what we shall leave behind for ours ..
DISTRESSING, DESOLATE AND DISMAL ..
Watching the Tv and the recreation of all that transpires, of the horror and the darkness .. of inhumanity, of distorted views and opinions .. of a certain helplessness .. of just not wanting it all to be a part of us ..
And then there is ‘life’ .. to live to survive to enact to normalise to involve to beckon to design to expect, to dictate ‘the show must go on’ and the uncertainty of it all ..
At times a beat of the heart impulses us to scream the loudest scream to depict the inner swells of frustrated anguish .. of not finding solutions .. to by inadvertent behaviour express ourselves ..
To kick .. to demonstrate our withins ..
And then just as rapidly as it came the softness of the young and innocent take over .. they melt us .. they cajole us into a submission that mollifies us and grounds us from the extenuating madness around ..
And the beauty of beautiful visions overtake us .. the rain .. or is it the tears of our self in PAIN .. !!
It is time to retire (!) for the morrow holds an early .. a very early rise ..
But the haunts of the evening shall be carried to the pillows and to our thoughts for all that suffer ..