#it's here on tumblr and also on ao3 :)

[iamanartichoke]

I don't know who needs to hear this, but as a creator -

I am fine with "the audience" -

downloading my fics

printing my fics

copy/pasting or screenshotting my fics

sharing your saved copy of my fics with anyone else who might want them in the unlikely but never impossible case that my fics are no longer available on ao3

making a book of my fic(s) and running your fingers across the pages while lovingly whispering my precioussss

doing these things with anything I create for fandom, such as meta, headcanons, au nonsense like 'texts from the brodinsons,' etc

I am not fine with "the audience"

doing any of the above with the purpose/intent of plagiarizing my work or passing it off as their own in any capacity

feeding my work into ai for any reason whatsoever

Save the fandom things. Preserve the fandom things. Respect the fandom things.

Enjoy the fandom things.

[gothamite-rambler]

Tim: He lost the piercing, and I need to get him a new one because… I really don’t want to explain this in detail.

Duke and Stephanie sat on the other side of the table. Stephanie was chewing her burger, eagerly waiting for the next part of the story, while Duke sipped his smoothie.

Stephanie (mid-chew): I read Ice Planet Barbarians, and the Maple Series hasn’t released the third novel yet. I… need this!

Duke (bored): And I'm just here hanging around. I lived in Narrows, this isn't going to squick me out.

Tim sighed, blushing as he covered his forehead and stared at the table.

Tim (sheepishly): It feels really good when he... gives me fellatio.

Duke and Stephanie: Oh!

Stephanie: The sloppy toppy with the tongue ring!

Duke: Knob gobbling with the bling-bling!

Stephanie: He pleasures your schlong with-

Tim (interrupting, raising his voice): Stop!

Duke: We're just trying to understand. I’ve never received one or given one.

Stephanie (mischievous tone): And I don’t have a penis. Plus, we love making your face turn red.

Tim groaned, shooting a glare at his friends.

Tim: My point is I need to get a new ring for his tongue piercing, or I can’t focus tonight!

Stephanie: Then I think we can help you out, how about Hot Topic?

Duke: Spencer’s?

Stephanie: Both of them would get an infection if we go there. Pandora Piercing has some really cool barbell tongue rings.

Tim (enraged): Oh my God, why didn’t you say that earlier?!

Stephanie: Because your blushing is hilarious! And again, I have no spicy books to read… So, after that, we can shop for cock—

Tim quickly covered Stephanie’s mouth as Duke burst out laughing, munching on a fry.

[licorishh]

no way she's alive ?? yea those mental health breaks because social media makes people suck are wild huh

[rebornofstars]

really whats interesting to me is that if u stay involved in a fandom long enough u get an evolution of scrolling from: ooh! - ooh! - ooh! - OH i didn't realise this was a trope - ooh! - OH - ooh! - ooh!!

to smth more like: read that - read that - oh LOOK it's my mutual - omg that one looks SO GOOD i love the trope subversion - wrote that - read that - oh my friends have been screaming about this one - wrote that - oh LOOK it's my mutual - read that - FRESH MEAT LETS GO SAY HELLO and its

SO beautiful and joyous. being a member of a community is fun!!!!! being so familiar with a tiny corner of the internet is fascinating!!!!! seeing the connections between yourself and other people is crazy cool!!!! we're all here on the web page together!!!! i see you and i love you!!!!!!

[bakedcrossaintt]

i always feel a little isolated with my love of fanfiction.. its such a big source of joy in my life, but every time i try to bring it up irl it gets dismissed as weird or cringe. Reblog or like or whatever if you know the incomparable joy of reading a really really really good fanfic to let me and others know we're not alone 🙏

[perchanibly]

Thought this scene was very funny so I made a little sketch of it! Can you tell I got lazy at the end? 😞

fic by @thewitchwholivedao3, go check it out, it’s really really good!

(Quality is nerfed on tumblr so click for it to be better)

[haaszard]

refreshing ao3 on the amangela tag every hour since yesterday and no updates... i feel like an addict

[kitnita]

the little sparkles surrounding the three of them, of course, symbolize the fact that the entire fourth line needed to fight three separate times for the team to be able to score two goals.

[svtskneecaps]

honestly foolish's character walking the slightly meta line of "oo this'll be fun content" makes him feel like that marvel immortal character who is only immortal as long as he doesn't get bored (and was played by jeff goldblum in the movies). like idk why but the more i see of foolish's rp the more solidified the comparison gets in my mind.

like it's kinda cool for a headcanon ngl and also it means i'm not really surprised pikachu-ing when, say, he flips a coin to decide whether to rat out his son-in-law, or climbs into an incubator of corruption crystals, or doesn't ENTIRELY kick owen out of the kingdom. it's not that he doesn't CARE, but..... well, wouldn't it be interesting? don't you want to know what would happen?

[hood-ex]

@dustorange you are so insane for this, I love yooou.

“You resent me,” Dick says quietly, breaking the silence. “Don’t you?” Bruce’s hand spasms. He jerks his chin to his chest hastily, surprised. He tries to cover it.  “No, I don’t.” “Yes, you do,” Dick says. “You do. Because I’m not him. You resent me for being something different from what he was. For not remembering. I can tell.” Bruce exhales sharply. It’s unsettling how well he knows him even now. But it’s still not the same.  “I don’t begrudge you having your life taken away from you, D—” he stops. “I don’t begrudge you anything. I—you are significant, to me, and I—” There is another silence, the trees rustling.  “...I wanted you back more than I ever wanted anyone else back from the dead. More than I ever wanted anything in my entire life.”

THE LAST LINES. THE LAST LINES!!!

[iggyshippingcorner]

okay so the sickfic has spiraled wildly out of control. it's at 2k words right now and i think the final is going to be around 5k... (sigh)

in the meantime! 1k words of Stone cooking that I wrote after baking dessert for an event last weekend. features: domestic stobotnik, some named badniks, and food as love language. mostly canon compliant, takes place sometime in the crab era :3

working at the hardened mass of brown sugar with slightly damp palms. the cheesecake is in the oven, cyan watching it with rapt focus through the glass. he’s refilling the baking supplies in the crab’s kitchen while he waits for the timer to go off. the brown sugar solidified into a brick of molasses while it waited on the counter, and while there are quicker ways to soften the sugar, he’s always preferred this method. small crystals cling to the grooves of his fingers and palms as he kneads at the brick, humming quietly to the music oni plays from her vantage point. a large clump breaks off from the brick, and he rolls it between his palms until it begins to crumple, and he deposits his fresh handful in the waiting jar. 

he dusts his sugar-coated hands off over the sink. a quick rinse to make sure he isn’t leaving crumbs across the whole kitchen. the terracotta disc gets a quick rinse as well, the old clumps of brown sugar clinging to it sloughing off under the spray. he towels it dry, revealing the familiar sparrow with its forked tail and sparse plumage. it goes in the jar, pressed down into the sugar to tamp it flat. with its labelled lid screwed back on, it returns to its designated spot in the cabinet beyond the marzocco. after the brown sugar comes the flour, a hefty glass jar with a bail lid that came from his own apartment. nearly empty. he scrapes out the last two cups and sets them aside, rolling up his sleeves as he wrangles the new bag of flour. 

alpha’s bzzt-brrp! from his perch above the fridge heralds the doctor’s arrival. stone doesn’t turn around so much as he drifts to a more interruptible task and then allows the doctor to step comfortably into his personal space, arms winding around his middle. his chin digs into stone’s clavicle. they don’t speak, not yet, just stand swaying slightly as he sets the kettle to boil and begins perusing their steadily growing tea collection. as much as the doctor despises switching things up, he’s been surprisingly accepting of stone introducing some diversity to his caffeine intake.

there’s clementines in the bowl by the marzocco, and the doctor reaches past stone to snag one. he rewards the snack choice with a silent shift, his elbow squeezing robotnik’s forearm to his ribs more securely. there’s the gentlest rumble of a laugh against his shoulder-blades. he tips his head to one side, curious, but the doctor doesn’t offer any explanation. just leans in and bumps his cheek against stone’s ear, moustache tickling his jaw and lips. 

“back to the grind,” he says, a touch too loud for how close he is. stone squeezes him again just because he can, and then lets him disentangle himself. “ETA?”

stone flicks the oven light on, and they both crouch in front of the glass once cyan shuttles away with a dejected zzzrr. the cheesecake bubbles quietly. stone checks the egg timer. “another hour. hungry?”

“biding my time,” robotnik hums, and waves the orange at him. “curry tonight?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” stone replies, like he wouldn’t carve the moon from the sky with his bare hands if the doctor asked him to. “what were you thinking?” 

“surprise me,” the doctor says, all magnanimous, which stone knows to mean reasonably spicy, and containing either lamb or pork. he graciously allows stone to steal the clementine from his hands, watching impassively as he quickly, efficiently peels it over the sink, and returns the exposed heart of it to his waiting hand. he pops one of the slices into his mouth and when the flesh splits between his teeth, stone has to take a slow, measured inhale. robotnik eyes him, but he just smiles, easy, agreeable. “I’ll send cyan to you when dinner’s ready.”

“sounds good,” the doctor nods, and leans in for an entirely unprompted kiss on the cheek that leaves stone blushing in the artificial sunlight of the crab’s kitchen windows. he shuffles out of the kitchen, peeled clementine in hand. stone watches him leave. cyan beeps eagerly from her post in front of the oven, and it breaks his reverie. 

“alright, alright. let me get in there,” he laughs, grabbing the oven mitts. 

the cheesecake comes out perfect. he has to swat multiple badniks and one robotnik away from it while it cools, and wrestles it into the fridge to chill properly despite more than a few protests (“this is a perfect time to test the liquid nitrogen chamber!”). 

dinner is a quiet affair crammed side by side at the island, legs tangled beneath the counter. the doctor steals more than a few pieces of lamb off his plate, and begrudgingly eats a few extra pieces of bell pepper in exchange. when they finally cut into the cheesecake, stone drinks in the sight of his doctor’s first bite-- the way his eyebrows raise a little, the way he assesses and catalogues consistency, texture, flavour. how his nose scrunches a little and he grins toothily down at his plate in appreciation. 

“excellent again, stone,” he says. such direct and genuine praise calls for a little preening, even if it causes robotnik to smack his arm and nearly send his own slice of cheesecake flying. the doctor snickers as he rights himself on his stool again, and accepts the retaliatory forehead kiss.

they drink tea on the couch afterwards, watching some telenovela while pretending (badly) to not notice the way they gravitate closer and closer, until robotnik’s head is in stone’s lap and both mugs are on the coffee table. stone is trained better than to fall asleep while the doctor provides running commentary on the anarrative arcs at play in the episode, but he would be a liar if he claimed his eyes never drifted shut listening to the familiar cadence of his doctor’s voice filling the warm space between them. his tangents ebb and lull like the waves overhead, their quiet domesticity concealed within the crab, far from the prying eyes of the world.

[starsandwrites]

here's a bit of the Sonadow smut fic i'm working on for you animals

“Get. Out.” Shadow fixes Sonic with a scathing glare, but with the state he’s in he isn’t very intimidating. Sonic picks the pillow up off the ground, holding it in front of him like a shield as he approaches Shadow, trying not to let himself be distracted by that overwhelming smell. 

“Why have you been avoiding me?” Sonic ignores his angry words, cutting right to the chase. Shadow bares his teeth as Sonic gets within a couple feet, a low angry sound starting up in his throat. “I said get out! I’ve been sick, I don’t want to see you. Leave me the hell alone.” Unfortunately for Shadow, Sonic isn’t fully convinced. There’s more to it than the other hedgehog is letting on. He examines Shadow for a moment, taking in his “symptoms” and downright hostile demeanor, trying to figure out what sort of sickness the Ultimate Lifeform could possibly have. An old memory pops into his head, a conversation he had with Maddie a long time ago about the behaviour of Earth animals and their biology and…

Oh, no.

Sonic’s eyes widen in shock and horror as he takes an involuntary step back. “Shads, are you… Oh God, please tell me this isn’t what I think it is.” This has got to be the worst possible outcome, aside from like, cancer.

Shadow’s stare is withering, harsh enough to make Sonic physically recoil.

“Don’t. Don’t say it. Don’t talk about it. Don’t even look at me.” It’s clear Shadow is just as, if not more uncomfortable than Sonic in this moment. It’s got to be terrible, Sonic can’t imagine how he’s feeling. He’s heard about things like this, but he’s never had the displeasure of having to deal with it first hand. 

Despite his newfound understanding and pity, Sonic pushes on, taking another step towards Shadow. “You’re… in heat?” A growl rips out of Shadow’s chest, the sound sharp and a little frightening. Sonic hadn’t ever heard him make that noise before, even when they’d been fighting to the death. 

“I said don’t talk about it. Are you really that stupid, you can’t follow a simple instruction?” 

Shadow’s words would’ve hurt Sonic if he didn’t understand what was going on and why Shadow was behaving so poorly, but he understood full well, for better or worse. Sonic decides to take a major risk, one that might just get him strangled, and he sits down on the edge of Shadow’s bed, just out of reach. He knows that this is a horrible idea, that he should just leave, but something is spurring him on. That smell is messing with his head, clouding his judgement.

“Is there anything you can do? There’s got to be some sort of medication, or something to make it go away, right?” His words only earn another growl.

“Nothing. There’s only one thing that can make this stop, and it’s not happening.” There’s an unspoken threat behind Shadow’s words, a threat that Sonic chooses to completely ignore. The closer he gets to Shadow, the harder it is for him to think straight. He’s all he can smell now, all he can think about. He wants to make him feel better, wants to relieve him, wants to- 

He gives his head an aggressive shake, trying to clear those crazy thoughts. Shadow is his friend. He doesn’t like him like that, that’s absurd. He just hates to see him suffer, that’s all. He forces himself to take a deep, steadying breath.

“I… am really sorry to hear that. I should go, let you get some rest.”

Sonic forces himself to stand, the motion dizzying. He should never have come over, never bothered Shadow in the first place. What was he thinking? Who cares if Shadow texted him back or not, he doesn’t owe him that. Stupid, stupid…

“Sonic, wait.”

[onyxmistkes]

CW// sexual themes & mild blood (putting these there because I don't usually post stuff like this)

Yeah ...none of those bitable Jason drawing (I'm calling them Bug Bites) are gonna be finished anytime soon with how much fun I'm having with Artfight, so I'll share a WIP

inspired by this post from @luciaintheskyainthi

[ingellvarphd]

after (office) hours

read on AO3 or below

~~~~~

It was not the first time she had spoken to him. It was, however, the first time they had had a conversation that lasted longer than thirty seconds. She would go out of her way to say hello on her way to meet Bellara and wave on her way back out, standard pleasantries. But that was the extent of it. He remembered their first conversation, she had asked him if he knew any local nevaran restaurants, she missed home you see. Sadly, his recommendations had been limited, he did not often find the occasion for a night out.

The hour was late, not quite night, but evening had donned its hat and was making its way out the door. His colleagues were long gone, and many of the students too. Eager to return to the light and warmth of their homes. Even Bellara had left, and yet here was young Miss Ingellvar at his office door.

“I’m afraid that you’ve missed Bellara, she left an hour or so ago.”

“I know” she smiled, but it was a thin, wan thing. Miss Ingellvar was nervous. “She’s on her way back to pick me up.” Determined to linger in his doorway, unable to cross the threshold and yet unwilling to turn away. Her hands gripped the strap of her bag tightly. “You don’t mind if I wait for her in here, do you, Professor Volkarin?”

Emmrich paused, and looked at her properly for the first time that evening. She was dressed nicer than usual. A skirt instead of jeans, her shirt freshly pressed and buttoned low. Her hair neatly pinned up where it would normally be hastily tied back. He couldn't recall if she normally wore make up.

Slowly, he shook his head and gestured to the chair he kept across from his desk.

She did not sit in it.

Instead, she walked right past it, set her bag on the floor and sat herself on the edge of his desk. It made her skirt ride up, exposing part of her thigh. She was not a tall woman, but at this moment her legs seemed impossibly long.

Emmrich returned his gaze to his computer screen, Miss Ingellvar may not be his student, but she was a student and he would do well to remember that. She shifted gently, tugging down the hem of her skirt.

Oh, wonderful.

He had made her uncomfortable.

Leaning back slightly, she smiled at him again, this one was slightly more believable. Less rigid, almost like she wanted to be here, perched on his desk and reaching out to straighten his nameplate. The motion pulled at her shirt, stretching it tight over her bust. He was fairly certain that he had stopped breathing. Was she trying to get him to look? Surely not? He looked away again, determined to keep his eyes on his work. He shouldn't be looking at her like that, even if she was friendly. Especially if she was friendly. She was an exceptionally pretty girl who likely received more than her fair share of unwanted attention. She didn’t need him trailing after her like a dog, convinced that a single friendly interaction was an invitation for more.

“You know, Bellara says you’re single”

Whatever Emmrich had expected her to pick as a conversation topic, it had not been that. He tugged at the collar of his shirt to loosen his tie, it suddenly seemed much tighter than it had been earlier. An awkward silence enveloped the room as he grasped for words that now escaped him. He did not often find himself speechless.

What on earth was the appropriate but polite response to being propositioned by a student half his age? There was no easy way to extract himself from this. Even if he could work out a response, she had placed herself firmly between him and the door. The window was considered for a single somewhat hysterical second before he discarded it. His office was, rather unfortunately, on the seventh floor.

The silence dragged on, interrupted only by the obnoxious ticking of Emmrich’s wall clock. If a clock was capable of mocking someone, his was certainly determined to do so. Each second that scraped past only increased the discomfort as a violent blush coloured her face and began to creep down her neck.

She flushed so easily. It made him want to bite. To dig his teeth in and never let go. What would she look like spent and spread across his sheets? A dark set, maybe jewel toned, something to contrast with her pale skin. His gaze followed the flush as it continued its journey across her chest and disappeared down into her shirt. When he met her eyes again she was smirking. His indiscretion had been caught, then. The window was suddenly a much more appealing option. Seven floors wasn’t that high. Perhaps there would even be something left of him to scrape off the pavement and ship back to Nevarra. She leaned towards him slowly, telegraphing her movements, as if he was some sort of feral stray. To be tempted and coaxed into her care.

“I am currently…” his eyes flickered down her shirt again as she reached out and delicately straightened his tie. “Unattached.”

She hadn’t stopped touching him. Her fingers had lingered at his collar, her knuckles grazed his neck. His face was hot. Tie straightened to her satisfaction, she ran her hand down and played with the end. Her hand was uncomfortably low on his stomach. Heat was beginning to pool in his gut.

He was still looking at her chest.

He should stop looking at her chest.

For the third time since she had entered his office he returned his gaze to his screen, determined that this time it would stay there.

She was still holding the end of his tie, and tugged on it gently to get him to look at her again. The look on her face was wicked. The kind of expression that made you consider things that got you fired, even when you had tenure.

“What excellent news professor.” She purred. But he wasn’t her professor was he? she had never been his student, she wasn’t even in his department. Would it really be so bad? She was considerably younger than him, yes. But it was not as if she was some fresh faced fledgling, leaping into adulthood for the first time. She had a masters degree and was at least part way through her phd. Considering more was certainly inadvisable, but probably not career suicide.

“Please, Miss Ingellvar,” he hoped she couldn’t hear the poorly hidden strain in his voice. “I am not your professor”

“Would you prefer sir?” She knew she had him now. At some point during her brief foray into his office she had deftly slipped a collar around his neck and was now firmly holding the leash. Emmrich wasn’t sure if he minded.

“No.” He swallowed ”I would not.”

“Emmrich, then.” She purred “but only if you stop calling me Miss.” She finally let go of his tie, leaving it to fall back to his chest, before sliding along the edge of his desk somehow even closer to him than before. One wrong move would have her thigh pressed against his forearm. Her chest was still at eye level and as tempted as he was, he really should stop digging himself even deeper into this hole.

But Emmrich was in want of companionship, she was very pretty, and –somewhat shockingly– interested. Surely it wouldn't be the end of the world if they got to know each other better.

“If I am to be forbidden from referring to you as such, what should I call you? Rook?” It was his turn to lean back, to relax into his chair, finally abandoning any pretense of work.

“Bellara calls me that.” Yes, he’d heard Bellara use the nickname, and would even admit to being curious about its origins. She did not strike him as particularly bird-like, especially not something like a rook. “But you, Emmrich, can call me Daisy.” It suited her. She was bright and youthful. A breath of fresh air in his, admittedly somewhat stagnant, life. The possibility of new beginnings.

“Then Daisy it shall be.” A comfortable quiet lingered between them, far more palatable than the horrid silence that had choked the air earlier. Just as Emmrich began to wonder if he should fill it, she shifted again. Turning slightly to face him more directly.

“Your grave gold is pretty” She said as she moved her hand to his, tangling their fingers together, touching his rings. “I haven’t seen many people wearing it since I transferred here. Didn’t see many people in Nevarra wearing this much either”

Ah.

There it was.

The catch. He supposed it had seemed a little too good to be true, the grim determination with which she entered his office should have probably tipped him off. That was not the countenance of someone that enjoyed the task they were about to embark on. She had pegged him as lonely and in possession of money, and that was her motivation this evening. He couldn't deny the implied accusation. Emmrich was indeed desperately lonely, and while he wasn’t in possession of the disgusting extravagances of wealth found among the orlesian nobility, he was considerably more financially stable than any grad student he'd ever met. He had been intimately familiar with the financial struggles of graduate school, could he really blame her for her decision to ensure she had some semblance of comfort? There were certainly worse men in the faculty she could have propositioned. He returned his gaze to his screen and attempted to swallow the lump in his throat. It made sense, that she would have ulterior motives, it wasn’t like he had much else to offer her.

She had moved her hand again. Now it was pressed, warm and soothing, against his neck. Lacquered nails scratched against his stubble as her palm slid up and over his jaw, gently turning his face back to hers.

“Have you ever considered getting earrings?” she asked, shifting her fingers so that she could ghost them across the shell of his ear. Emmrich really hoped that she didn't look down because his pants were starting to get uncomfortably tight. “I think they'd look nice on you.” Her own collection of earrings glittered in the light cast by his desk lamp. She had at least five that he could see, two in her earlobe and three more near the point. Her other ear was presumably home to a similar assortment.

“Briefly, in my youth.” He replied. She raised her eyebrows, pulled back slightly and fixed him with a curious look. She didn’t remove her hand from where she still cradled his head.

“Any particular reason you didn't get them?”

“I suppose I just never found the time.”

She hummed in response and tugged at his ear, tilting his head slightly. It made him think of the last time a woman had taken it upon herself to grasp and pull him to wherever she had wanted him, and certainly didn’t help the insidious throb of heat in his gut. He couldn’t think clearly with her hands on his skin. Emmrich swallowed again, what an inconvenient time to be rediscovering these things about himself.

“I think you should do it, studs maybe. Or a cuff on your helix. Something simple, we wouldn't want anything too overwhelming.” She was seemingly unbothered by his internal crisis, if she was even aware of it. “I wouldn’t get it done anywhere here though, most of the jewelry in the shops is shite. Makes me kind of homesick.”

“How so?” Emmrich’s voice was strangled, and Maker help him, he hoped it was not obvious to her. The evening had already been humiliating enough.

“You wouldn’t find anything that shite in Nevarra.” Her frank response startled a laugh out of him.

“I cannot disagree with you on that.”

She pulled her hands from his neck and fussed with the hem of her skirt. At some point her thigh had pressed into his arm, he could feel the burning heat through the fabric of his shirtsleeves. Would it truly be so bad? The illusion of companionship, someone to talk to that wasn’t a colleague or a student.

Well, wasn’t his student.

Someone to hold, to cherish, and care for. That they cherish him in return wasn’t necessarily a requirement. He possessed the self awareness to admit that he was lonely, enough so that even pretending would be nice.

“I never did get to try that restaurant you recommended.” Her hands twisted in her lap. “Seemed kinda fancy for a student, and I didn't have anyone to go with.” She looked away from him for the first time that evening, coy. The backs of her delicately pointed ears and even the nape of her neck were still pink, flushed from her earlier embarrassment. He wanted to breathe her in, to sample that vulnerable space behind her ear. What did her shampoo smell like? Would she blush if he kissed the delicate skin hiding there? It would only be polite to offer to take her, it didn’t have to be anything more than that. He had been the one to recommend the restaurant after all. And he hadn’t exactly considered the price point when doing so, which had been terribly rude of him.

“I could take you, if you wish?”

“Yes.” Her answer was fast, eager, grasping at his offer before he could retract it. She took a deep breath before continuing. “I think I would like that.”

The finalisation of the details felt rather like Emmrich had signed his own death warrant and was now organising his own funeral. It would take very little for this to go disastrously wrong.

But she was smiling at him.

A real one this time, glowing and warm like sunlight on a summer's day. And perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad, if only she would keep smiling at him like that.

[kakusu-shipping]

Anyway everybody go read The Best MettaTenna fic on AO3;

Noises Off by Runicmagitek

It's currently only two chapters but My Fucking God. The Objectum is so real with this one.

[luckylectio]

WANTED POSTERS... continued!!

Part 1 HERE

Thank you again for reading A Dark Among the Lights!

If you want me to make you a Wanted Poster featuring your ao3 icon/username, leave a comment on Chapter 26 before Chapter 27 comes out (on April 26th!). Full detail in Part 1 of this post.

~🫶~