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I was talking about this earlier with an anon, and now that I've found you, I am intensely curious: How would you make Gus/Willy work?

OLD MEN!!! OLD MAN YAOI MY BELOVED!!!

Gus and Willy are cute. I like this, I can work with this.

They quietly find comfort in each other. The kind of couple that no one really knows is a couple, big “they were roommates” energy, except for the fact that Gus has always been a little loud and fruity (look at his clothing! The mustache?!). But to anyone outside of the loop it could just look like Willy is a very dear friend.

But how does it start?

I feel like I have to plot their romantic pasts to get my head around it.

Gus grew up in the city. Part of the down-low queer scene, he had a few boyfriends. A couple of them felt like they could have been true love until reality hit, and there was nothing true about it.

He found love in his passions instead, in cooking and found family in a place where life moved slower.

I like to think Willy was married once (idk if we ever get any lore to confirm or deny this, im just a silly little fic writer I’ll slap an AU tag on this baby and call it a day if I have to). It was a good, practical marriage but they were never able to have kids, and his wife passed from cancer a long time ago. He left his life behind when she died. The house had always felt more like her’s anyway. He took his boat and sailed away to start a new life in a small town.

He arrived there long before Gus did, but Gus made himself a fixture in the town so much more quickly. What had taken Willy years took Gus mere days. Everyone in town knew his name and smiled when they saw him. Everyone loved his food. A man might’ve been envious at that, but not Willy. He just found it interesting.

So when Gus made his way to the bait shop it was no surprise. What was a surprise was the fact he had brought Willy food.

“Cookies? Shouldn’t I be giftin’ you somethin’, seeing as youre the new neighbor?”

Gus laughed. He had a bright laugh from deep in his chest that made the air around him sparkle. “Sorry! It’s the ultimate way into people’s hearts, I can’t help it.”

Willy hummed in contemplation, looking down at the plate of cookies. “I’ll take these on one condition.”

Gus shifted uncomfortably, uncertain if he was being serious. “That is?”

“You come in and try some of Willy’s famous trout soup!”

Gus laughed again, feeling relieved, and nodded. “Sure. Nice to meet you, Willy.”

“Pleasure to meet you as well, come on in.”

Conversation flows easily between them. Willy is chattier than people think, but especially to Gus. He likes how Gus reacts to his stories, his eyes widening at the good parts. And Yoba, his laugh.

But eventually they see the darker sides of each other, too. Sometimes, Willy gets sullen thinking of the past. Sometimes, Gus gets moody and short-tempered, and needs to be left alone for days. They always come back together, though.

They’ll sit in front of Gus’ fireplace warming themselves. Willy likes that it feels more like a proper home here than his shack. He likes how Gus wears soft cardigans and keeps his house smelling like cinnamon.

They don’t know if this is true love. It might be. Maybe it’s just the closest they will get in this life. But at least it’s warm.

Ow my heart

Send me any Stardew Valley rarepair and I will tell you how I would make them work! (Even non-marriage npcs) If youre lucky you may get a mini fic out of it. Check the list below to see if Ive already answered yours

Rarepair Masterlist

— Trembling Across the Ice !!

“ New Ao3 Work Out ! ,,

Christmas Special ⋆⁺₊❅ ⋆

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick x M!Reader

SFW : Fluff & two boyfriends just having fun

Kyle and his loving boyfriend go ice skating together. Per his boyfriend’s request even if Kyle does have end up having trouble with standing on the ice. But don’t worry, his boyfriend his here to teach Kyle how to stay standing!

See work link below . . .

‘ Trembling Across the Ice ’!

[ Clicking link gives more information to the work . ]

My Ao3 Account !

My Masterlist !

Enjoy & Merry Early Christmas!

Sugar Baby

For Coco and the ‘Sugar Baby’ prompt. For WordWizard and the ‘Snape decides to finally learn how to use a computer, so he signs up to take a class at the muggle library. Harry turns out to be the volunteer teacher’ prompt. And of course, for The Spring Garden Game in @houseofsnarry that will be closed in a few hours 😭

Reunion

Prompt: Together

Old friends, reunited.

Molly had always known that Greg wasn’t the kind of man who retired and had hobbies. Sitting around the house all day would drive him mad, and it did for a few weeks. When he told her he’d been offered a job consulting for the Met, she encouraged him to take it. It meant odd hours and missed dinners, but he was happier that way. 

Consulting Detective. 

She frequently thought of another consulting detective, one who’d left on a secret mission eighteen years ago and never returned. Something had happened, she suspected, something connected to the mysterious death of Charles Augustus Magnussen, the media mogul. Sherlock was involved, somehow, but the details never came out, and within a week he was gone.

She’d asked John about it, but he just shook his head. His wife had left him by then, suddenly and without explanation. She was pregnant, expecting a little girl, and they’d seemed happy about it. 

Gone, he told Molly. The baby wasn’t his. Mary wasn’t what he’d thought. He didn’t know anything about Sherlock, but his look told her what he believed. He wouldn’t be coming back this time.

It was disorienting, as if reality were unravelling, revealing another, very different reality beneath.  

Greg was the one stable thing during that time. He could make no sense of Sherlock’s sudden disappearance, either, and when John left too, he seemed as surprised as Molly. 

“I never understood it,” he told her. “Those two. They loved each other. Never understood what went wrong.”

She’d replied that when Sherlock returned after faking his death, they never really worked it out. Rubbish at talking, those two. 

She and Greg talked. A death could be mourned. It was a different kind of grief when people simply left and you didn’t hear from them again. 

That was when they’d started seeing one another, having coffee, and then dinner, and eventually moving in together. The wedding was a small affair, just Greg’s kids and a few close friends. After a few years, Molly gave up working at the morgue and began teaching. A few years later, Greg retired, then started working as a consultant. They had a nice life, she often thought.

The restaurant where she’s meeting him is a new one in their neighbourhood. Da Vinci, it’s called. An Italian bistro. They’ve been meaning to try it since it opened, and tonight they have a reservation. 

Arriving a bit early, she takes a seat in the waiting area after letting the hostess know she’s still waiting for her husband, and takes out her phone to check for messages. 

15 minutes, he texts. 

Tucking her phone away, she notices that someone else is waiting. She glances at him and startles as if she’s seen a ghost. 

He’s standing, a tall, thin man with dark hair sprinkled with grey. Not the luxuriant curls he used to wear; it’s cropped closer now. He’s wearing a black pullover and light wool trousers, no jewel-coloured shirt or dashing coat. The face is older, but the eyes have not changed. The colour of water, she’d always thought. Nobody, not even his brother, has eyes like that. 

Those pale eyes are fixed on his phone, and he’s smiling. Glancing up, he clearly recognises her. An odd look crosses his features, as if he is not sure what such a moment calls for. 

“Molly Hooper,” he says. 

“Sherlock.” 

All those years ago, before he left, he needed her help and told her his plan. Those two years were very different for her, her grief mostly for the people who believed him dead— Mrs Hudson, Greg, and especially John. John had never really recovered from the shock of it. When Sherlock returned, he resented Molly because she’d been taken into Sherlock’s confidence, and he had not. And Sherlock, who’d insisted on the secrecy mostly for John’s sake, had gone about his grand return all wrong. He never really got back on the right foot with John, who soon married a woman he’d just met. Sometimes Molly thought he’d done it to spite Sherlock, or at least to keep a safe distance from him. He never fully trusted Sherlock after that. But the love was still there. She could see the pain in his eyes when Sherlock left again. 

Rising from her seat, she goes to him. 

What do you say after eighteen years?

“When did you get back?”

“Just a few weeks ago.” He gives her a tentative smile. “I’m officially retired.”

How old is he? He’s about her age, so maybe mid-fifties. She supposes that undercover agents don’t have long careers. Though he’s still good-looking, she can see that the years have worn him down. A weariness hangs on him, so different from the manic man who swooped into her morgue and demanded body parts. 

“You’re not retired,” he says. “You’re teaching in the pathology programme at Barts. And you’re married. Obviously.”

She laughs. “Can you deduce anything about my husband?”

He cocks his head and narrows his eyes. “Mrs Lestrade. You have a daughter, fourteen. She picked out your earrings.”

“Greg is on his way. He’ll be so happy to see you. Would you join us for dinner?”

“I’m expecting someone as well.”

That’s when she notices the ring. “You’re married.”

“Only just.” He suppresses a grin, glances at his phone again. “Says he’s running a bit late.”

Like everyone who knew Sherlock, she’s suspected that he’s gay. When she realised this, it made it easier to accept his lack of interest in her. An odd man, one who avoided sentiment; but clearly in love with his flatmate. 

She might ask about John. But John has been gone for years, too, and she doesn’t know anyone who hears from him, not even Mike Stamford, who told her that he’d joined Doctors Without Borders. That was years ago. 

“It’s so good to see you,” she repeats, unable to think of anything else to say. 

“You as well.” He nods at the door. “Looks like your husband has arrived.”

Greg has caught sight of them and is standing, a look of stunned amazement on his face. He gives a short laugh and strides across the waiting area. “Sherlock Holmes,” he says, throwing his arms around his old friend. “In the flesh, once again.”

“Not quite as sensationally as the last time,” Sherlock says. “I’m old news now. More accurately, no news at all.”

“We never heard anything,” Greg says, stepping towards Molly and planting a kiss on her cheek. “All I could get out of your brother was that you were working for the government. The only way I knew anything at all was from talking with John—“

Molly cringes and Greg seems to realise he’s said the wrong thing. 

“Mycroft believed it was critical to keep it all confidential,” Sherlock says. “In those days I’d been so much in the news, he was attempting to keep me out of the spotlight.”

“But you were on a mission, weren’t you?”

Molly takes Greg’s arm. “Won’t you sit with us, Sherlock? I’m sure you don’t want to be discussing this here.”

Sherlock speaks to the hostess while Greg and Molly are led to a table for four. Following them, he takes his seat, asks for a glass of wine, and fiddles with his napkin. 

“Tell us about your husband,” Molly says. “Where did you meet?”

His eyes twinkle. “In Kazakhstan. We were on a flight from Beijing that had engine trouble, had to set down in the middle of nowhere. From there, we were bussed to a small hotel, where he and I ended up being roommates for the night.”

“Love at first sight?” she asks.

He pauses, his lips twitching in a smile. “I felt as if I already knew him. We wasted no time in getting married.”

Molly tries to imagine the Sherlock she knew marrying a man on an impulse. Or marrying anyone. He’d proposed to a woman once, but that was for a case. He wasn’t like that, when she knew him.

“Where’s he from?” Greg asks. “What kind of work does he do?”

“Geneva is his home base, but he’s now relocated to London. He’s… a doctor.”

“You seem really happy,” Molly says. “I’m so glad.”

“I am happy.” Sherlock looks a bit surprised by this. “He’s everything I could ever want.”

They fall silent, sipping their wine and looking at the menu. 

“Ah, here he is!” Sherlock’s face lights up in a way Molly has never seen. He’s standing, looking towards the door, impatiently rubbing his hands on his trousers, as if he can hardly restrain himself from running across the room. He waves. 

Molly and Greg turn to see what kind of man could put that look on the face of Sherlock Holmes. 

A short man in a trim suit, greying hair and beard, glasses. As he catches sight of Sherlock, he grins and opens his arms. They meet halfway in an embrace. 

John Watson.

“Blimey.” Greg shakes his head. “Another ghost returns.”

@lisbeth-kk @meetinginsamarra @raina-at @bertytravelsfar @momma2boys @jrow @helloliriels @the-reading-lemon @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @elwinglyre @mydogwatson @thetimemoves @jobooksncoffee @lhrinchelsea @peanitbear @gregorovitchworld @7-percent @shiplocks-of-love @khorazir @gaylilsherlock @catlock-holmes @the-reading-lemon @a-victorian-girl @discordantwords

1506 words / Flash Fiction

Thank you all, readers and writers, for participating in this prompt fest! And thank you to @notjustamumj for starting us off, inspiring us with her prompts. It's been fun to wake up to lovely, fluffy, angsty little stories each day, but this is our last prompt. We'll have to do this again! Thank you 💕 and keep writing!

If any of you writers have posted your daily stories for these prompts in a collection or series on AO3, please share a link to them. Mine can be found here: Trifles Two.