#not a round number of words!

[rockingrobin69]

Seriously, though

“Here,” with a giant heave, “just a little—c’mon, Potter,” pulling the arm slung around Draco’s shoulder tighter. “It’s just a bit further, you twat.”

Potter’s smile was smeared all across his face, unbearable at such a close distance. “You’re so strong,” he said, twattily. Draco resisted the urge to push him off.

“You’re making it so much harder than,” short on breath for laughing. “Come on, you big lug. There’s a warm bed waiting for you just the other side of this corridor.”

“How do you know it’s warm?” Potter asked. “Did you try it?”

“Of course. Nothing but the best at Chez Malfoy. See, if you were a normal house guest and not a silly goose—”

“Am not a goose,” indignantly. “Silly, maybe.”

Draco stopped them both halfway through the corridor. “Maybe?”

“Maybe. I’ll give you somewhat silly, on occasion.”

Eyebrow hiking: “On occasion.”

“And only somewhat.”

This grin-thing his face was trying to pull was achey around the corners. “You mean,” Draco said, “that cursing yourself with jelly-legs and getting your own flat flooded with patchouli was not an entirely silly thing to do. Only somewhat silly.”

“Certainly an occasion,” Potter said, and his eyes sparkled. “Thanks for having me, by the way.”

“Oh, sure. What else could one do when the Chosen Git wakes them up in the middle of the night in uproarious fits of laughter? It’s no problem, I mean,” when the smile on Potter’s face dimmed. “I’m happy to have you here. As long as you need.”

They both swallowed at the same time. It was quiet, middle of the night, just them here. Holding each other and standing very close. In his house coat, and his red-red cheeks, Draco felt miserably naked, too obvious.

Then Potter’s legs started twitching again, and he started laughing, again, this helpless, raw sound, and Draco was helpless too. To it, to him. With his shoulders and colourful socks and the strands of his hair that kept catching his eye.

“Here,” Draco realised he was saying, only after he brushed a few of those away. Gulped loudly. “Let’s—come on, let’s get you to that blasted bedroom.”

Potter echoed his swallow. His nervousness, for some reason. “What’s that door over there?” pointing at the nearest one.

“That one’s mine.”

“Oh.” Sucking in his bottom lip in a truly unfair display. “What if,” he started, shook his head, nodded, “wouldn’t it be easier if—”

“I’m not giving you my bed,” Draco heard himself say with pure shock, instead of, for example, “yes, of course, anything you’d like, forever actually.”

“I’m not asking you to, git. I meant, maybe we could share.”

“Share…” comprehension, rather than dawning, sank. “Share my bed?”

“God, you can be so thick,” and why did Potter sound fond? “Had to curse my own legs and still you continue to—”

“I’m the thick one, when you cursed your—wait, what?”

“Will you just,” laughing, “Malfoy, shut up, for the love of god, and take me to bed already?”

His heart splattered against his ribcage. “Take you to bed. Yes, I can do that.”

To the… guestroom, right? That’s what they were talking about.

“Malfoy,” again in that inexplicable tone, the one that went soft and low instead of—instead—“I was serious. About sharing. I’ve been serious about if for quite some time.”

The heat in his cheeks and the frenzy in his chest: “Yes?” meaning, really? Meaning, me?

“Yes.”

Melting a little, “It is closer. My bed, I mean. And, the sheets are clean.”

“Always prepared at Chez Malfoy.”

“Shut up, you absolute goose.” Nearly brave enough for a smile, tilting his head towards his room. Bursting when Potter, eyes twinkling, nodded.

He was taking the silly goose to bed. How… fortunate, really, that he opened the door. That Potter’s legs were still dancing, that the other, nearer guestroom for some reason didn’t come to mind. That Potter was serious, he said, had been for a while now, and that Draco was too, entirely too serious for him. Almost too serious to laugh when Potter’s right foot sent in a truly spectacular jig: almost.

They laughed together. Twats. Even the bedroom door laughed with them as it closed. Then the hinges of the bed as they gingerly climbed on. Then the birds in the morning, when they woke up, still holding each other’s hand.

(Hi, so, I might be doing a bit of flufftober? Grab a link to AO3 if you want to keep up with the sporadic posting schedule. Love and soft to us all).

Freely Given and Entirely True - Robin's 2023 flufftober collection

[patchworkcuddlebug]

Night of the Weredoll

Oh, my watch. Must be 11.

I can't help but sigh as I look around. It's been so long since I've been able to meet up with people. Everyone's either too busy, or wants to meet too late. Well, I'm not gonna let this curse get the better of me. Not tonight.

...Not for another few minutes, at least.

The next hour is a bit of a blur, but in a fun drunk way. I talk too loud to people I'm cuddling too close too. There's a movie on that everyone is half paying attention to, mostly to make fun of it.

There's a sudden pang in my stomach. By reflex, I reach back out to the veggie tray that's been laid out, but... no. This isn't hunger.

I look down at my watch. It's midnight. God fucking damn it, I set the alarm wrong! No, calm down, I can't let people see. I just need to leave.

I get up and try to avoid attention as I slink away to the door. Shit, shit, it's Andrea. Of course she's hovering right by the door, I can't just-

"Hey Jen, where you going?"

No! Damn it, everyone's looking...! I can't just not respond to her, good dolls are... No, no, not yet, please. "I just, uh... something came up, I gotta go, sorry..."

"Is everything okay?" Her tone instantly softens into sincere concern. "I haven't been drinking, I can drive you somew-"

"No, please!" I try my best not to sound desperate, and it definitely doesn't work. "I just need to leave, it's nothing you guys did, I..."

I can already feel the changes happening to my mind. The gentle tugging of strings, pulling me away from my humanity. It's rather rude to leave with such a commotion, wouldn't it be nice to stay and help them clean?

My posture straightens and my limbs stiffen It's like the strings are pulling me into place. Shit, I must look so scared...

I don't have a choice. I push past her and run to the bathroom across the hall, slamming the door behind me. This one is being much too rude. All I can do is mutter an apology under my breath. This... I can already feel it reaching my chest... good dolls don't curse, good dolls don't curse, good-

It's pulling. My shoulders. I push down on them, hugging myself as I try to keep my body from changing. I feel them shifting, churning, the joints of my bones growing segmented. Lines form on this one's slowly hardening skin, getting deeper by the second, until... pop!

It looks in the mirror, taking a second to just... stare at myself. The transformation is getting harder to hide by the second, especially since good dolls shouldn't be ashamed. The colour is leaving my body, nothing but sickly-pale porcelain almost all the way down to this one's hands.

A knock at the door, making me flinch. Good dolls should be more collected than that, this one needs to calm down. "Jen? Please, if something's bothering you, you can trust us."

This... I know I can. Good dolls... I can't just leave her without a response. "It's nothing you guys did, a... mmn..." I promise. That's all this one need to say. But it just gets caught in this one's throat. Dolls aren't supposed to say that word. "Just... please, leave... d-doesn't want to let... it..." No, this one needs to lie, she can't know, none of them can know.

Why is it happening so fast? This one needs to serve the others, it should be turning faster for them. No, no, this one should be a guest, it can't humiliate itself by... providing refreshments, and collecting empty drinks, and doing as it's told.

The emptiness is so strong. It feels like a black hole, trying to swallow this one's humanity. No matter how much it struggles, it... really shouldn't struggle. It's quite undignified. It's so close, there's so little left inside...

Slowly, cautiously, the doorknob turns. This one stands at attention, ready to... no, please, this one can't resist much longer. Something, anything. Yell at her, push the door closed on her, jump out the window. Anything other than... than...

"This one apologizes for its outburst." This one does its best to curtsy, trying to pull its jeans outwards at the hips. A regretfully unbecoming outfit. "How may this one be of service to you, miss?"

Andrea's eyes widen, and she begins to back away. "Wh... Jen, what... no, no, you're not... no, please..."

"This one is dreadfully sorry that it didn't explain things earlier. It was-"

The door slams in front of this one, and it hears the sounds of Andrea tripping over herself to escape back to the others.

She's scared of this one. It understands this. But... it should still do its best to serve her, shouldn't it? It's a doll, after all. Maybe it can explain itself, or help them calm down in some other way. This one hopes it can make itself useful to everyone.

With a gentle and put-together march, it begins to return to the people, following its purpose. This one knows that it would find all this mortifying as a human. For some reason, that part of it was always so resistant to the idea of submitting to her peers. Now, that resistance seems foolish. This one is a doll, obedient and docile. Of course it should make itself useful, it would be silly to think otherwise.

It dutifully opens the door, to be met with the stares of every person present. They seem as if a wild animal has wandered into the room, eager to pounce on the first to show weakness.

Mitch is the first to speak, before this one can even properly introduce itself, clutching a mostly-full bottle close to his chest. "Don't come any closer. You're not converting anyone here, alright?"

This one shakes its head. "This one wouldn't dream of doing such a thing without consent. It-"

Frantic whispers overtake the crowd. "So she can do it! It's not just a rumour!" "What do we do, she's already in here!" "Can we just tell it to leave?"

With a quick motion, Mitchel fixes his grip, holding the bottle by its neck. Just as one would hold a knife. He held it at an angle, causing some of the liquor to spill onto the hardwood floor. A messy accident, but one easily solved. "Please, allow this one to-"

"No! No." Mitchel calls out, brandishing the bottle. He speaks firmly, with a clear undercurrent of fear. "Just... get out. I'm not afraid to hurt you."

Andrea, still timidly hiding behind him, seems offended. "Mitch, that's still her!" She tries to sound insisting despite her whisper. Timidly, she grabs onto his shoulder as she peeks around him, trying to force a soothing voice. She still sounds terrified.

"Jen, you're... still in there somewhere, right? You're not just... some thing, right?"

This one hesitates from answering for longer than a doll should. It has never considered the question before. It blinks, taking just as long as necessary to articulate a response.

Its hands are politely clasped at its front. It speaks calmly and pointedly. "Dolls don't have an identity in the same manner that humans do. This one has Jennifer's memories, as well as some opinions and inclinations." It takes a moment to nod, intending to continue.

"Okay!" Andrea quickly blurted. "Okay, see? We can't hurt her, it's still... her in there." She looks to the others, to see if they're convinced.

Mitch looks incredulous, taking his eyes off of this one for only a second to look to Andrea. "What? No, we can't trusts that thing, it..." He trails off as he looks to this one. His eyes dart to the other guests, trying to gauge their feelings. All the while, he never stops facing this one.

"You seem to be uncomfortable with this one's presence." It explains in a matter-of-fact monotone. "Would you be more comfortable if it left?"

A heavy silence falls over the room. Nobody wants to speak first. "Yeah, let's..." Mitch blinks, hard, trying to swallow his thoughts. "You should leave."

"Understood." This one tries to curtsy again. "This one is deeply sorry for causing a disturbance. It hopes you can forgive it."

Without delay, this one obediently turns back to the door, closing it gently behind it.

There's a biting chill to the air as it walks through the night. Something a person would find intolerable. Jen would lament not being able to carpool back to her apartment, but the doll doesn't mind. It was just happy to do as was asked of it.

[emeralddoeadeer]

she's having a big week

I'm in my Everlong feels, what is this.

🥹

I feel like I should do something, but what is there left to say?

If anyone wants to share their favourite lines, scenes, or songs from the fic send me an ask. If there are any questions left unanswered or you just want to chat Everlong, you know where to find me.

I've never been good at self-reccing, and aside from sharing each chapter here I never really went out of my way to encourage people to read some of you may have even witnessed me discourage people from reading.

The way it's been received and remembered makes me proud.

Appreciate you all ❤️

xDoe

[otrtbs]

how in the heckity heck did you manage to get winterlude to be 50k on the dot. genuinley off putting im like scared

SCREAMM!!

yeah actually when i published it to ao3 i think i was 12 words shy of 50k so i was like ,,,,,,, i know what i have to do lmaoooo

[cephalog0d]

Batfic - "Bower Birds"

(For @dangerousdan-dan, because this is all your fault! <3)

Category: Gen Rating: General Audiences Characters/Relationships: Tim Drake & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Stephanie Brown, mentioned Dick Grayson Additional tags: Humor, Secret Identity Shenanigans, Batbros, Agent of Chaos Stephanie Brown Words: 1,000

Summary:

Really, the whole thing was Dick’s fault. In which Damian and Tim start competitively collecting Nightwing merch, Tim's friends wildly misread the situation once they notice, and Steph is making things worse on purpose. In unrelated news, Tim will be moving to Nepal to live as a goat.

Really, the whole thing was Dick’s fault.

It all started when he found a Nightwing themed hoodie and bought it for Damian as a joke, pointing out that they would match now. Damian had, obviously, scoffed and rolled his eyes, but he hadn’t gotten rid of it, and Tim had caught him wearing it more than once (usually when Dick was gone for an extended amount of time).

And then Steph had found a hilariously bad version with a staggeringly off-center chevron and bought it for Tim, which also got an eye roll, except it turned out it was actually really soft and comfortable, which meant Tim started wearing it.

And then Damian apparently started feeling territorial, and it wasn’t like Tim was all that great at not rising to the bait when it came to Damian, and things...escalated.

There were rules. They couldn’t just make things themselves, they had to be produced by other people and not by special request. They couldn’t have the same piece of merch, so once one of them bought something it was off the table. If they both happened to get the same thing at the same time they had to compete for it. (This was quickly amended to having a neutral third party flip a coin after an incident involving a broken window and some dead rose bushes.)

It was a ridiculous competition to have, but it was also sort of fun trying to find the most random, off-the-wall merchandise they could to impress each other.

It didn’t really occur to Tim, caught up in deep diving the internet and scouring random stores for handmade things to purchase, what it looked like on the outside.

(Cont. on AO3)

[fortune-maiden]

Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Péi Míng & Shī Wúdù, Péi Míng & Shī Qīngxuán Characters: Péi Míng (Tiān Guān Cì Fú) Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Character Study-ish, Péi Míng is a good friend, Protective Pei Ming, fic is a bit cynical, but partly exists because of some headcanons i may or may not have mentioned in other fics

Summary:

Pei Ming has a promise to keep.

-

I wrote a short thing ;w;

[shybreadgarden]

I’ve been asked before about why I wear knickers for every practice. The main reason is that SOME people will tear a hole right through your leggings with their blade. ………If someone is going to tear a hole in my leggings I want it to be consensual.

[patchworkcuddlebug]

Sharpening, Part 2

First instalment.

The Weapon marches just behind its witch. A thin light shimmers in the web that trickles out from its controller's fingers. The Weapon can't turn its head to see where the strings go. The Weapon can feel each one dig into its skin, the piercing in the neck and shoulders and spine, twitching just gently enough to make it march. The string in its brain makes its thoughts so quiet.

The Weapon is led to a cabin. There's a single large space, a living room and kitchen, with three doors that lead to two bedrooms and a bathroom.

The Witch gestures The Weapon to the couch, where it sits and stares at its controller. There's someone else in here.

She's... it's calmly doing the dishes. "Hello, Miss! Did you find another puppet?"

She. Those are not The Witch's words.

The Witch makes a come-hither motion, and she's suddenly yanked away, its feet expertly keeping up with the movement of its body. She's still holding a plate.

The witch grabs her by the shoulders and shows her off to The Weapon. "Left hand, meet right." she coos. "Say hello, dear."

"Hi there! It's nice to meet'cha." The Maid smiles, too naturally. "It'll be nice to have another face around here."

The Witch grabs a string with her right hand, and yanks.

"Hello. It is nice to meet you too."

The Witch smirks. "If you're a good doll, I'll loosen your strings just enough. You'll be able to walk short distances and talk, just like this one." The Witch dismisses The Maid with a wave of her left hand, causing her to stumble back into place in the kitch-

She screams before the plate hits the ground. The Weapon couldn't flinch.

The Witch rushes over to where The Maid stands, staring down at the chaotic pile of large shards. She's frozen in terror. "Oh, god, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I, I just..."

"Hey, shush, it's okay." The Witch hugs The Maid's arm, her voice soothing and even. "I should've been more gentle. It's not your fault, you're not in trouble." The Maid still trembles, but manages to hold back tears as The Witch soothes her. "Can you look at me?"

The Witch, still holding The Maid tightly with her left arm, swipes her right arm towards the bedroom. The Weapon, clumsiest the strings have ever moved it, toddles to the dressing table in the left corner. It snatches a hairbrush, one with an ornately designed metal handle and soft boar bristles.

"No... I... I'm sorry..." The Maid whimpers as she wraps her arms around herself, still careful so The Witch doesn't stop holding her. The Weapon stumbles back, stopping just in front of the pair, holding out the brush.

"It's okay, I promise. I'm not mad." She leads The Maid over to the kitchen table, where with the same flick of the wrist she uses to grab the brush, The Weapon pulls out a chair and presents it to The Maid. The Witch guides The Maid to the seat, lifting her hair into her own hands and gently beginning to brush.

The Maid sighs, leaning back. Her breathing gradually slows to match the brushing: she slowly exhales as The Witch strokes down, and inhales when she pulls away. Each breath lasts for exactly four seconds. If the strings let its mind wander, The Weapon would realize they've done this many times before.

"Are you feeling better?" The Witch asks, to which The Maid just sighs dreamily through a smile. "Good. Anything else I can do for you, sweetie?"

"No, I... think I'm fine. Thank you so much..."

"Of course. It's the least I can do for such a lovely doll." The Witch gently set The Maid's brush in her lap. "I'm going to go play with my new toy, just give me a tug if you need anything, okay?"

The Maid held her brush in both hands as she dozily made off for her bedroom. "Okay, thank you again~"

The Weapon, standing still off to the side after presenting The Maid her chair, begins following behind The Witch as she points it out the door. It stumbles as it's pulled, its movements awkward and uneven.

"Your first lesson will be coordination, dear." The Witch pulls its strings, and The Weapon hangs against them, threatening to fall forward without its support. "If this little mentorship of ours is going to culminate in anything worthwhile, I can't be doing all the work."

The Weapon's jaw slacks, mouth hanging open. "Go on, speak for yourself. Are you going to play along or not?"

"Yes."

The Witch sneers. "You better impress me."

[lucifer-kane]

if i post a kfam fic in 2024 don't look at me mkay

[copalcetic]

So anyway, I wrote some things for Fandom Gift Basket. family affair (500 words) by ambyr Fandom: Star Wars: Obi-Wan Kenobi (TV) Rating: General Audiences Characters: Reva Sevander | Third Sister, Owen Lars, Beru Whitesun, Luke Skywalker Additional Tags: Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence Summary: Obi-Wan dies on Tatooine; Reva takes up the mantle of watching over Luke from afar as penance.

false fit (400 words) by ambyr Fandom: Andor (TV) Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Kleya Marki/Luthen Rael Characters: Luthen Rael, Kleya Marki Additional Tags: Fake/Pretend Relationship Summary: Luthen needs a date to an art auction. It's always been Kleya, before.

symbols and signs (600 words) by ambyr Fandom: Star Wars: Thrawn Series - Timothy Zahn (2017) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo, Eli Vanto Additional Tags: Tarot Summary: Thrawn takes an interest in cartomancy, to Eli's dismay.

There's other neat stuff in the collection, too! Worth checking out.

[boycritter]

:3

[untoterxhund]

either gonna remake again in the future and hand out the url privately or gonna clean out the followers list again me'thinks. so if you wanna stay mutuals and plan on writing w/ me in the future when I can actually dedicate time to doing so w/out any stressors or anxiety spikes then please, slap that heart real quick for me.

if not, it was a pleasure to write and talk for a bit and wish y'all good luck on your future endeavors 'n stuff.

[fortjester]

the reality of how long my event fic is going to be if i continue at the pace i'm currently writing at.....

[devoraqs]

Ok back to the fucking bird thing

[laora-ryn]

So we got the plates for the car we bought recently, and unfortunately our strength isn't over 9000, but it is, according to my husband, still a damn good yugioh card

[mylordshesacactus]

on endlings, and despair

Hey, y'all. It's...been a rough couple of weeks. So, I thought--better to light a single candle, right?

If you're familiar with wildlife conservation success stories, then you're likely also familiar with their exact polar opposite. The Northern White Rhino. Conservation's poster child for despair. Our greatest and most high-profile utter failure. We slaughtered them for wealth and status, and applied the brakes too slow. Changed course too late.

We poured everything we had into trying to save them, and we failed.

We lost them. They died. The last surviving male was named Sudan. He died in 2018, elderly and sick. His genetic material is preserved, along with frozen semen from other long-dead males, but only as an exercise in futility. Only two females survive--a mother and daughter, Najin and Fatu.

Both of them are infertile. They still live; but the Northern White Rhinoceros is extinct. Gone forever.

In 2023, an experimental procedure was attempted, a hail-mary desperation play to extract healthy eggs from the surviving females.

It worked.

The extracted eggs were flown to a genetics lab, and artificially fertilized using the sperm of lost Northern males. The frozen semen that we kept, all this time, even after we knew that the only living females were incapable of becoming pregnant.

It worked.

Thirty northern white rhino embryos were created and cryogenically preserved, but with no ability to do anything with them, it was a thin hope at best. In 2024, for the first time, an extremely experimental IVF treatment was attempted on a SOUTHERN white rhino--a related subspecies.

It worked.

The embryo transplanted as part of the experiment had no northern blood--but the pregnancy took. The surgery was safe for the mother. The fetus was healthy. The procedure is viable. Surrogate Southern candidates have already been identified to carry the Northern embryos. Rhinoceros pregnancies are sixteen months long, and the implantation hasn't happened yet. It will take time, before we know. Despair is fast and loud. Hope is slower, softer. Stronger, in the end.

The first round may not take. We'll learn from it. It's what we do. We'll try again. Do better, the next time. Fail again, maybe. Learn more. Try harder.

This will not save the species. Not overnight. The numbers will be very low, with no genetic diversity to speak of. It's a holding action, nothing more.

Nothing less.

One generation won't save a species. But even a single calf will buy us time. Not quite gone, not yet. One more generation. One more endling. One more chance. And if we seize it, we might just get another after that. We're getting damn good at gene editing. At stem-cell research. In the length of a single rhino lifetime, we'll get even better.

For decades, we have been in a holding action with no hope in sight. Researchers, geneticists, environmentalists, wildlife rehabbers. Dedicated and heroic Kenyan rangers have kept the last surviving NWRs under 24/7 armed guard, line-of-sight, eyes-on, never resting, never relaxing their guard. Knowing, all the while, that their vigilance was for nothing. Would save nothing. This is a dead species--an elderly male, two females so closely related that their offspring couldn't interbreed even if they could produce any--and they can't.

Northern white rhino conservation was the most devastatingly hopeless cause in the world.

Two years from now, that dead species may welcome a whole new generation.

It's a holding action, just a holding action, but not "just". There is a monument, at the Ol Pejeta Conservancy, where the last white rhinos have lived and will die. It was created at the point where we knew--not believed, knew--that the species was past all hope. It memorializes, by name there were so few, the last of the northern white rhinos. Most of the markers have brief descriptions--where the endling rhino lived, how it was rescued, how it died.

One marker bears only these words: SUDAN | Last male Northern White Rhino.

If even a single surrogate someday bears a son, we have erased the writing on that plaque forever.

All we can manage is a holding action? Then we hold. We hold hard and fast and long, use our fingernails if we have to. But hold. Even and perhaps especially when we are past all hope.

We never know what miracle we might be buying time for.