#this fic lives in my head all the time

[inasunlitroom]

“you’re trouble, aren’t you?” || moodboard for sundown by @bageldaddy

[lunarharp]

What led to this (orufrey comic, cw an uncomfortable/creepy scene)

[triglycercule]

can the mtt commit more crimes that just murder please i know theyre the MURDER time trio but ppppleasse,,,, please,,,,,,

they'd be terrible to be next to on the highway. horror's going 160 mph amd has long past gone over the speed limit. dust's out for BLOOD and by blood i mean your tires. he's somehow sniping those round rubber wheels from the high moving vehicle with the precision of a master fruit ninja player. if your car explodes or flips over in the process that's not his fault. and then to make matters worse for everyone on the highway killer's in the backseat scratching up the doors and windows of your car with a knife everytime horror gets close to another car and oops he accidentally just disfigured your face also did i mention theyre all drunk during this

ok so theyve all got the classic face WHY DONT THEY ABUSE IT!!!! horror gets to do a little paper mache to cover up his head hole and then wearing glasses. killer i dont know what the FUCK he can do to get rid of his perpetual tears but let's just pretend that theyre conveniently gone for now. and then all dust has to do is put down his hood! anyways identity theft is cool. imagine how much they could totally fuck up classic's reputation with this. set up fake tinder profiles and then scam people for their credit card info/free dates (while ordering every expensive thing) and stealing wallets. walking into various grillby's's around the multiverse and telling terrible jokes. like ACTUALLY bad jokes. and then of course just being a huge piece of shit at the bar. god theres so many things they could do pretending to be classic. which one of us is hikaru looking ahh except the only difference between the three is the color of the stains on their clothes (either gray (dust) black (killer) or red. well faded red (horror))

ROBBERY!!!! ROBBERIES PLURAL!!!??? train robbery gas station robbery bank robbery GOVERNMENT robbery (what would you rob the government for?? documents??? idk) anyways. mtt robbing a train except its just a really shitty plan and they dont know jackshit about what theyre doing. killer's taken over the conductor's cabin and now he is booking it. how fast are trains allowed to go idk but the maximum. anyways meanwhile horror's on the tracks fucking up the rails with his strength or whatever (listen i know he's weak but picking and choosing what hcs i believe in is my art) and dust is there to teleport him away before the train crashes into him and turns him into a trolley problem victim. and then of course that shit doesnt fucking work and the train just ends up flipping over and catching on fire or something (killer survives because of course he does he's killer). and then in the end dust just has to flip the entire train over and they just stroll into the part that actually HAS the money

and then they go out and get ice cream. sometimes the murderers need to take a break from murdering and just do NORMAL crime yk???

[rozugold]

The two times Dream recognizes Tommy

[crow-with-a-pencil]

Hi @naffeclipse I'm very normal about your fic. Have some frantic midnight sketches as extra kudos along with some tag rambling :)

[wisteriagoesvroom]

pardon my emotions

🍊 a landoscar fic 🏙️ girl!lando and boy!oscar racing au (rule 63) 🖋️ 15.8k words 🔗 read on ao3

preview:

The first thing he notices about Lando in person is she’s actually just… more than he thought. Onscreen, her presence that fizzles between sprightly and serious, depending on the outcome of a race. But in person, she just seems to be thinking all the time. The way she can’t seem to sit properly. Pulling a leg under her, always in a stance that makes Oscar wonder if she’s going to hurt her back. Teeth gnawing the straw of her water bottle, contemplative as the team runs through data and engineering reports and design upgrades for 2023’s car. Lando doesn’t miss a beat, asking questions that make eyebrows go up, making inquiries about feasibility and feedback on the car from last year that make several pairs of hands go flying across keyboards, pens scribbling across notepads. She’s a formidable leader. And she’s barely two years older than him, which shows how much he has to learn.

tags: @scuderiabs, @lescarbille, @momimf1ne, @alwayssortbykudos

thank you to @monacotrophywife, and YL (not on f1blr) for the beta reading 🧡 and @alphatinies for the bonus cheerleading!!

[romance-rambles]

eden ayn | the best of distractions

A moment in time, where Ayn attempts to write a letter and then promptly gets distracted.

1.7k, takes place during ayn's eden reborn ssr [traveler's letter], domestic fluff + light angst, reader is mc, series: none

— and happy birthday ayn!

[EXCERPT FROM AYN'S LETTER]

...

That day, I told you that you were my first—the first time I missed someone as deeply as I miss you. Thinking about it now, you've always been a series of first. The first one to tell me I'm worth it. The first person I ever kissed. The first person

[The rest of the line has yet to be written.]

As I'm writing this, I think of you, sitting on the couch with me. I'm sure your ears are as red as mine, but you'll still reach out and pinch my cheek. And I'll kiss the palm of your hand and you'll say, "You like me." As if you won't kick your feet and squeal, when you're alone—the way you do when you're reading a good book.

Since I'm a good lover, I'll pretend I didn't hear anything. Or that I don't know why you're suddenly in a clingier mood than normal. And I'm sure the next words out of your mouth when you read this will be, "That's only because you like being mean to me."

Whenever I write my letters, I think of everything about you. Your eyes, your smile, your cold feet—and the way you use me like a personal heater. About how I'm grateful you stayed, no matter how selfish I feel afterwards. About what it would be like if we were sitting together, instead of kilometers apart.

And now you'll say, "That wouldn't be a problem if you'd just take me with you."

...

[End of excerpt]

AYN STARES AT HIS HALF-FINISHED letter, keenly aware of the warmth traveling up his cheeks—a scene that, much to his chagrin, can't be chalked up to the rising sun outside his window. His only saving grace is that you remain entranced with the Ayn of your dreams, muttering blissfully about how cute he is, all the while oblivious to how cute you are.

It remains to be seen whether he'll include that part in the final letter. Or the part about how you clung so stubbornly to his sleeve as he was leaving that he feared you would wake up the moment he shook himself free.

Because, as it turns out, baring his soul on paper is no less embarrassing than it would be in person.

In fact, he'd wager it's more embarrassing.

Words spoken will eventually disappear. Only their memory will remain, and only in the hearts of the parties involved. Words written, however, can live on forever. So long as the letter remains, anyone can read it.

…provided they can wrestle it out of your zealous grip.

And, truthfully, not many can.

As he sets down his weapon of choice, his promise to you rings out clearly in his mind, reminding him that there's no escaping his commitment. After all, it was the only way he could think of to ease your disappointment—his deepest thoughts exchanged for another stay in Eden, where you would await his safe return.

Where you'd be safe.

Then a spark of inspiration paves the way for his next paragraph. The truth is, Ayn is aware that his desire to keep you safe is, in many ways, selfish. You were not the one who nearly lost control of your powers. You were not the one bedridden for weeks, vaguely aware of the hand holding yours, yet unable to open your eyes.

That was him.

And if something happened to him out in the harsh world that resides beyond Eden, you would be forced to twiddle your thumbs as the manifestation of your bond left you in agony. But you would be safe. He's allowed to hope for that much, isn't he?

Until he finds an end to the sands outside of Eden, at least.

After all, there were times when the roles nearly reversed, and it was him who had to stay by your bedside, even if only for a night or two.

"Alright, what else?" he mutters to himself, his gaze flickering towards the sizable gap left between his paragraphs. Somehow, it's enough to help him swallow down his guilt. Temporarily, at least. "What to add…what to add…"

Home is where the heart is, and where his heart sits is in the palm of your hands. And with that distinction comes his clumsy dreams for the future—a ring on your finger, and a matching one on his, followed by a kiss that comes too early.

But you laugh against his mouth, painted lips slanting into a smirk as you pull away first. The friends that have followed them both this far have many things to say, and on the topic of his affection, in particular. It boils down to this:

Ayn is whipped for his wife—and proud of it.

In that way, you are also a first.

He just has no idea how to tell you that.

Closing his eyes, Ayn lets out a sigh. It happens to coincide with the creaking of the door. This room was once a bedroom, but you had it converted into an office for the nights when you'd bring your work home with you.

When he asked—jokingly, wanting to have a turn at seeing you stutter and blush—why you couldn't have made this into his bedroom, you merely raised an eyebrow at him. Ayn had read enough of O'Connor's trashy romance novels by then to know that the correct answer was to back out of the discussion entirely.

As he leans back against his chair, twirling the pencil in his hand aimlessly, the feather light footsteps he's grown accustomed to come to a halt. Neither of you dare to breathe. A stalemate—and you're the one to break it.

You draw closer; the anticipation leaves him antsy. His heart is stuck on taking a peek. His mind is intent on biding his time. The hand left empty hovers by the edge of the desk, its owner knowing well how much you love your spoilers.

If he can discretely grab the letter before you notice—

A pair of hands—frosty, despite the lovely weather indoors, not helped by the ring on your finger—cover up his already closed his eyes. The empty hand changes its prerogative. It comes to rest on your wrist, squeezing gently before its other half joins it on your other hand.

Ayn opens his eyes and sees darkness.

"Morning," you say, and even without seeing your face, he knows of your silly grin. "So this is where you've been. Couldn't sleep?"

The weight against his back assures him you have no intention of swiping his draft. Your gentle tone asks, nightmare?

A faint smile slips onto his face. There is a kind of affection he's come to realize exists only for you. And if his heart is a cup, carefully built glued back together with a technique he's read of in the history books (kintsugi, he remembers, the art of mending broken pottery), then the surge of affection he feels is threatening to overflow.

For once, what kept him up was not a nightmare.

It was this letter—and you.

"You tend to snore, remember?" he tells you, mischief dripping from his words.

You do. Just not enough to disturb his sleep. But it's always fun to pretend, especially when it leaves you huffing and pouting indignantly. Like now.

"I do not."

"Ask anyone else." Before you can pull away and cross your arms, Ayn tugs your hands down. They sit encircling his neck, leaving his own hands to properly grasp yours. "They'll say I'm right."

Your hands have always been on the softer side. It's a consequence of your upbringing, in a world that knows mostly peace. Sometimes, he'll catch a paper cut on one of your fingers—and Ayn does not believe kissing it better works, but he makes sure to give it a try anyway.

As his scarlet eyes soften, he leaves a light kiss on the palm of your hand, then on the cool metal band on your ring finger. A simple promise ring, one he'd clumsily welded together with his powers.

"Morning," he greets, for no particular reason.

Something soft presses against his cheek, a flash of muted purple appearing in the corner of his eye. It's succeeded by a soft laugh, one that—like others of its kind—lodges itself in some distant corner of his brain, for the days when he misses you the most.

"You're okay?" you ask softly, seemingly having forgotten your earlier exasperation.

Ayn hums. "I'm okay."

Despite his words, he can feel your skepticism seeping out into the air around you. Letting go of your left hand, he taps the half-finished letter on the table. You lean over his shoulder, your slightly unkempt hair obscuring your side profile.

"It turns out I had a lot to say," he says, mirroring your tone, and watches your hair gleam in the sunlight. "Enough that I couldn't sleep."

Silence, as comfortable as it can be, engulfs them both. You pull back, burying your head in the nape of his neck. Your breath is warm—and if you ever ask why his ears are too, he'll chalk it up to a transfer of heat.

When you pull away, your tone is chipper and he's given up wondering about the words bouncing around in your head. But he thinks I'll miss you and Let me come too might comprise some of them.

"Come on." You exhale, as quietly as you can, and pat his shoulders cheerfully. "Let's get breakfast."

Ayn leaves I'm sorry for the letter, hidden amongst his fear of losing you. Instead, he swivels the chair around and catches you standing under the door frame, one hand holding onto the edge of the door.

And calling your name, he says, "I love you."

You whip your head around, startled. He thinks it has less to do with the frequency with which he says those words—a fact he knows only because you're no longer wide-eyed about it—and more to do with the thoughts in your hand.

Once you recover from your surprise, a grin spreads across your face. "I know."

Laughter accompanies you as you slip out into the corridor. Then, warmth spreads across the palm of his hand, dissolving his annoyed expression into a fonder one. I love you too spell the letters, with a little heart at the end.

Ayn glances at the unfinished letter with a wry smile, before following you to kitchen—where last night's leftovers wait to be devoured.

It isn't until night falls upon Eden once more that he remembers to pick up where he left off.

[trentcrimminallybeautiful]

i have this really stupid idea in my head that im frankly a little obsessed with and the idea is this: trent crimm doing a drunk history episode on ted lasso's first tenure at richmond. is that how drunk history works? i don't think so. do i care? absolutely not. it's a special episode who cares because this image is not only hysterical to me but treasured. i treasure this image. i hold it close in my heart and also laugh and laugh and laugh.

[aimfor-theheart]

while i’m at it. i don’t care for j*yvik. but melj*yvik is a different story.

[youngpettyqueen]

rewatched Fascination because I needed the comfort (I am sick and miserable) so have something so incredibly stupid

"I mean," Jadzia swirls her drink as she chances a glance over at Kira across the table, "You could've gone for worse."

Kira's eyes snap to her. "Don't." She says, warning. She doesn't hesitate to take a big swig of her drink, looking like she desperately needs it.

Jadzia doesn't blame her. She sips her own drink, glad for Quark's tendency to be heavy-handed with the good stuff. "I'm just saying," She continues, "You could've thrown yourself at your commander who was your protege in another lifetime." She shudders. Even saying it makes her want to crawl out of her skin.

Kira's eye twitches. "Trying to drink to forget here, Jadzia." She replies.

"If anybody should be drinking to forget, it's me," Jadzia sulks, taking another swig, "I won't be able to look Benjamin in the eye for weeks." She's been tempted to request a transfer. But he would never approve it, and that would just add to the mortification, so she's stuck here waiting for the embarrassment to leave her. Which will probably be never, and will continue into her next lifetime, as is her curse.

"That's great," Kira grumbles, "I can never show my face in the infirmary again." She takes another swig.

"Hey, at least yours was mutual," Jadzia points out, "Julian might be-"

"Don't," Kira cuts her off, white-knuckling her glass, "Say his name around me right now. Believe, I've had enough of that man. For the rest of my life." She takes another swig, and this one polishes off her drink.

"He's not that bad, you know," Jadzia says, feeling, strangely, a little defensive, "Sure, he's like a lovesick puppy, but I'm sure if you don't want to bring it up, he'll respect that. I don't think you have to worry about him going around telling everybody." She assures the major.

Kira taps her glass against the table, an anxious tic. "I'm not worried about him running his mouth." She replies tightly.

Jadzia's brow furrows in confusion. "Ok..." She frowns, "I mean, I know you two aren't best friends or anything, but-"

"That's not it either." Kira's interruption is quick, waspish. She puts her glass down in favour of drumming her nails on the table.

Now Jadzia is really confused. "What is it, then?" She asks, "He's not that bad of a kisser, is he?"

Kira's face turns about as red as her hair in the time it takes Jadzia to blink. "I don't want to talk about it." Her voice sounds choked, like she's forcing every word out.

And, suddenly, Jadzia understands perfectly. "Wait," She says, eyes widening in realization as Kira refuses to look at her, "Is he a good kisser?" She sets her drink down.

Kira's silence is damning.

"He is, isn't he?" Jadzia leans forward, all too eager to forget her own embarrassment in favour of hounding her friend, "Julian's a good kisser, and that just drives you-"

"I don't want to talk about it!" Kira exclaims, turning away and looking around, "Quark! What's it take to get another drink around here?" She demands, her cheeks now glowing the shade of Earth apples.

"Keep your earring on, Major, you're not the only one trying to forget!" Comes the reply, which only makes Kira seethe more.

"That good?" Jadzia presses, grinning like a hyena.

Kira whips around to glare at her. "Kiss him yourself if you care so much!" She hisses.

Jadzia rests her chin on her hands, smirking. "Oh, no," She hums, "No, where would be the fun in that? Although..." She tilts her head, the picture of obnoxiousness, "With your face turning that colour, it looks like it could be a lot of fun..." She muses, just to be a pain in the ass.

"I hate you." Kira glowers.

"You really don't." Jadzia purrs.

[sensationseekng]

izzy as the eight of cups - giving up and moving on, courage and loss, letting go of friends, lovers, and old ways of being

(that's the inn in the distance)

eight of cups description from Little Red Tarot:

[crystallizsch]

i love ur header sm its so goofy lmaooo

AGKDHDJSDB THANK YOU LMAO 😭💕

jamil support squad ftw 💪💪💪

(based on sheep’s fic btw!! i really just had to make this A Thing before i went to bed)

[ao3userforgets]

the john pov clegan fic has uhhh begun. here is the product of the possession i’m currently suffering.

“When John first sees Gale, his lone star eyes and his young face, his thoughts run clear for the first time in his life. Every clamouring noise is cut out, any trace of chatter gone blessedly quiet. All that’s left, then, suspended in crystalline clarity, ringing clean and sharp as a bell, echoing like assured footfalls on the open paths of his life, is a knowing he’s been waiting for all this time.

There you are, it says. I thought I was alone.

I am going to love you.”

[triglycercule]

horror is so BLESSED he's the only one out of the murder time trio that has actual good people trying to influence his story 💔💔 dust and killer were both driven to INSANITY because of the choices of their respective humans but horror??? every time without FAIL the polls for horrortale's plotline have always ended in a good place for aliza (either by bettering her relationships/reputation or for her to just. not DIE)

horrortale's potential alternate timelines my beLOVEd🙏🙏 they're SO lucky that we're being kind and benevolent hehe (≧ω≦) now where are the aus based off the possible different outcomes that could've happened in horrortale HUH???? (like how aliza couldve killed toriel or chosen horror's puzzle or gone with undyne to the core........)

[suddencolds]

.~

[batssybaby]

i made a silly little moodboard for my fic bc i was moodBORED hahahahhahahahhahahahahahhahah

COMPLETE, 27k words, angst, outsider POV, Batjokes being Crazy and Nasty, ft Pathetic!Bruce

Summary: Barbara has a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day (or: Barbara gets kidnapped and discovers something very upsetting about Batman and the Joker)