#jumped anon

[wonysugar]

THERES A PIC OF AERI IN HER BRA

-jumped anoy

send it. NEOWWW.

[wispscribbles]

I want to eat your art and writing thank you so much

Haha well I'm always happy to keep you all fed. Here, have some old sketches <33

[shalomniscient]

hiii i have a request 🥹🥹 if possible, could you write a comfort fic with himeko or kafka and reader? reader who has trouble sleeping or has been exhausted from missions, going straight to himeko's room after returning to the astral express and just melting into her arms. or, reader who hasn't seen kafka in a while and just really misses her, needs her to put her mind at ease, so kafka drops by the express unexpectedly and spends the night taking care of reader. can be either sfw or nsfw, I dont mind either 🥹

omg this is so cute! i’ll do both ;)

SLEEPLESS NIGHTS || hsr x reader

cw. nudity

notes. dunno why i felt the need to mention this but this fic operates on established relationship between reader/character, just fyi :)

HIMEKO

Trailblazing was never going to be easy. You knew this, and you accepted it. To walk the path of Akivili was to lend a helping hand to whosoever needed it. And you do enjoy it—the feeling of making a change in the vast universe, shoulder to shoulder with companions that you would give your life for, and who would do the same for you. You wouldn’t give up your spot on the Astral Express for the world.

But you are only human, at the end of the day.

You’ve been taking back-to-back missions recently, and it’s slowly taking its toll on you. As a more experienced Nameless with many years under your belt, your assistance is slightly more prized over the younger crew—not to say they were incapable. Dan Heng and March alone made a terrifying duo, which was only exacerbated when Stelle joined the mix. But at the end of the day, they’re still a little green and wet behind the ears, so any of the harder jobs tend to fall to you or Welt. And with Welt supervising them on the Luofu, that just left you.

Your footsteps are heavy as you drag yourself back onto the Express. There’s a rip in your jacket from where a Mara-struck soldier tried to slash at you, and several small cuts all over your fingers from the cutting wind of the Disciples. The Luofu had commissioned your blade to quell the number of Mara-struck still roaming around, but for every six you strike down, another dozen seem to take their place.

You sigh as you flop onto one of the many couches on the Express, letting your weapon clatter onto the ground. You’re sore, tired, and aching—all you want to do now is sink into your pillows and sleep, but you have to clean up first. You shut your eyes with another weary noise, deciding to rest up a little before heading to your cabin. Or, shared cabin, rather.

A gentle tap on your shoulder stirs you from your brief rest. You crack your eyes open, and are met with a gentle, golden gaze—it’s Himeko. She’s foregone her usual attire, instead dressed in simple nightwear now, a blanket around her shoulders.

“Hey,” you rasp out. “Were you about to go to bed?”

She shakes her head, smiling softly. “No, I was waiting for you.”

“Ah. Sorry, I must’ve kept you up for a while then.”

“It’s alright,” Himeko says, picking up your weapon off the ground, and placing it inside one of the secure compartments beneath the seats. “I was working on some designs, anyway.”

Then she rises back up, and reaches out to cup your face. Her thumb brushes over your cheek, and you lean into the touch. Then she pulls away, and you nearly whine in protest, before she extends the same hand to you. “Come. Let me care of you tonight.”

You take her hand without hesitation, your fingers slotting perfectly in between hers. You let her lead you to your shared cabin, near the back of the train cart. The door slides open with a small hiss, and the scent of warm, freshly brewed coffee fills your lungs. It’s a comforting, distinctly Himeko scent that you feel some of the tension in your shoulders bleed out.

Her fingers work deftly as they undo the buttons of your clothes, and she frowns when she notices the rip in your jacket.

“I got a little sloppy,” you explain weakly, with a tired grin. Himeko rolls her eyes, but folds it neatly and sets it on the edge of the bed, no doubt to be repaired by the next day.

“As long as you’re unharmed,” she murmurs, working on your shirt now. Your hands rest on her hips as she divests you of the rest of your clothes, until you’re in nothing but your underwear. “The bath is ready. I’ll be there soon.”

You nod, and drag your exhausted limbs to the bath. You strip fully, and then sink into the warm, bubbly water, audibly groaning as the heat from the bath seeps into your aching muscles. The small cuts along your hands sting a little, but you know Himeko must’ve mixed in some antiseptic to ensure no infections take root.

Himeko walks in a little later, and takes a seat on the edge of the tub, smiling as she takes in your relaxed appearance. She brushes some hair out of your eyes, then reaches over for the shampoo and conditioner, tucked away in another small, secure compartment. The Express is littered with them, so things can be stored safely and not make a mess of the train during jumps.

You feel like dissolving when Himeko starts to wash your hair, expert fingers massaging your scalp wonderfully. Her hands--hands that fix, hands that mend--travel from the base of your neck up to the back of your skull, then along your temples, before repeating over again. It's incredible, the way she can put you back together so easily. She chuckles when she notes your reaction.

“Enjoying yourself, my dear?”

You can only manage a wordless grunt in response, feeling like you’re in an entirely different plane of existence right now. Time blurs as Himeko washes out the shampoo and works in the conditioner, before washing that out too and leaving your hair thoroughly clean and smelling like fresh roses—the same scent as hers.

You almost don’t want to leave the warmth of the tub, but Himeko coaxes you out anyway. She offers you a towel and a bathrobe, and leaves you to dry yourself off for a while. You wring out your hair, then dress yourself in a comfy pair of silk nightclothes. When you step out of the washroom, Himeko is waiting for you on the bed, her legs already tucked beneath the covers. On her lap is her laptop as she types away, no doubt finishing up on her many engineering designs.

You practically dive into bed, snuggling under the sheets and pressing close to your lover. She’s warm as always, thanks to her Pathstrider ability being of the Fire type. Himeko hums to herself, wrapping one arm around your shoulders as you bury yourself in her side, uncaring for the dampness of your hair. She reaches over to the bedside table, and with a click, switches of the main room lights, leaving only the soft glow of the lamp next to the bed.

You chance a glance up at her, even as drowsiness nips at your heels. The gentle golden glow of the lamp makes her look divine, enhanced by the fiery red of her hair. There is an affection in her eyes you know is reserved only for you as she leans down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Rest, now,” she says, her words a caress against your skin. “You deserve it, my love.”

“I love you,” you mumble, eyes slipping shut as sleep finally claims you. It’s easy to oblige the request, safe and sound in her arms like this. These moments make you wish that dawn—or the Express’s approximation of a circadian rhythm—would never come, and you could linger in the embrace of your beloved for eternity. The last thing you hear before you drift off is Himeko’s soothing voice, almost lullaby-like, and you can hear her smile.

“I love you too, dearest one.”

KAFKA

For the nth time that night, you wake up to the sight of your bedroom ceiling.

You sigh and twist in your bed, turning to check the time on the alarm clock on your bedside table. It’s 1am in the morning, and you still can’t sleep.

You don’t really know the root of your recent bouts of insomnia. Maybe it was the workload? But Himeko has given you several days off already. Maybe it was the stress of having to manage the younger Astral Express members, but Welt shoulders that burden most of the time. Could it be Pom Pom then? You shake your head at that—the conductor was usually the one stressing, not being the cause of stress.

Then maybe… maybe it’s because you miss her.

Kafka, your secret lover.

You miss the presence of her next to you in your bed, and the steady, powerful beat of her heart under your ear as you rest your head on her chest. Miss the elegant cadence of her breathing and the feel of her hand in yours.

You sigh again. You know she’d laugh if she ever knew about your silly longing. I mean, you volunteered for this infiltration mission; you knew what you were signing up for. But still, it’s funny—you miss that about her too. Her laugh.

You reach for your phone, resting on the bed. During your last… rendezvous with Kafka she had the foresight—or maybe Elio did, who knows—to give you an encrypted number to contact her with.

Only in case of emergencies, doll, she had crooned, as she tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. Use it wisely.

Your finger hovers over the number. Does this even qualify as an emergency? It’s just a few sleepless nights. Kafka probably has more important things to do, executing Elio’s endless number of scripts and whatnot. In the end, you shut off your phone and throw your head back on the pillows, ready to resign yourself to another long night—

—when your phone suddenly buzzes with urgency.

You jerk in surprise, brows furrowing as you pick it back up. Who could be calling at this hour? You squint in the darkness as you read the caller ID, and your heart leaps into your throat.

It’s the emergency number.

You fumble to answer, quickly sitting up and pressing the phone to your ear, making sure to cover your mouth and the reciever. The rest of the Express definitely wouldn’t be able to hear you, but you always feel some sort of lingering paranoia, sneaking around like this with Kafka.

“Hello?”

“Hey, doll,” a familiar, smooth voice says, and your heart flutters. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Kafka,” you breathe out, not bothering to hide the relief in your tone. Kafka chuckles on the other end.

“That’s me,” she hums. “You answered pretty quickly. Were you not sleeping?”

You hesitate for a moment, but decide to come clean. “No. I… haven’t been sleeping well, recently.”

Kafka is silent for a few seconds. “I see,” she says, and something in her voice shifts, imperceptible to the average person. But you aren’t an average person, not to Kafka. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you reassure her. “Just a little insomnia. Nothing to worry about." The other end goes quiet, so you decide to change the topic. "Why'd you call? Isn't this for emergencies only? Are you in trouble?"

"You worried?" she chuckles, and you can see her smirk in your mind's eye. "I'm alright, doll. And as for emergencies... well, I missed you. Isn't that an emergency?"

It's such a Kafka-esque answer, but it pulls a breathless little laugh from you all the same. "Ugh, you..."

"Me," she affirms on the other end with a snicker. There is small, comfortable silence between you, before she speaks again. "Listen, doll, I've gotta go. But don't worry your pretty little head--you'll sleep perfectly well tonight. I'll make sure of it."

You blink, confused at her words. But before you can question it, Kafka hangs up the call, leaving you both confused and a little disappointed. Usually she'd say goodbye and throw in those three special words, though not this time, apparently. You wonder what she means as you shut your phone off again, and lie back onto your pillows. You close your eyes, and try to do as she says.

You're not sure how much time passes, but it doesn't work, predictably. You groan in frustration, just about ready to get up when a lithe hand slips over your mouth.

You jerk in surprise, one hand flying reflexively to the knife you keep beneath your pillow, the other gripping your assailant's wrist. You swing the knife in an arc, only for it to be caught and restrained by thin, pink, familiar ropes. They glow ever so slightly, illuminating a familiar face, that has your mouth falling open under the hand.

"Good to see your reflexes haven't dulled," Kafka teases, nimbly prying the knife out of your hands and letting it clatter onto the floor. She then removes the hand over your mouth, and releases your wrist from the strings.

"Kafka," you whisper, your hand moving to cup her cheek, your thumb tracing the ridges of her face, "are you real?"

She leans into your touch, that signature smirk tugging on her painted lips. She's really here, solid and tangible beneath your fingers. "You could consider me a dream, if you'd like."

"How did you even get in here?" you ask, not taking your eyes off her for a moment as she shrugs off her coat and begins undoing the buttons of her shirt. Kafka offers you a smug grin at that, pulling a little device from her pocket.

"Custom-made IPC teleportation beacon," she answers with a wink. "Jailbroken courtesy of Silver Wolf, of course."

You make a mental note to buy Silver Wolf the next battlepass in that game of hers. Kafka sets the device on the bedside table, now dressed in only her undergarments. You swallow as you take in the expanse of her milky skin, firm abdomen and muscled thighs, all while Kafka raids the clothing storage beneath your bed for something to sleep in like she's been on the Express this whole while. She eventually settles for one of your old t-shirts, which drapes over her frame in such a sinfully delectable way that you'd pounce on her if you weren't so damn tired.

"Move over," she orders, pulling her hair out of its usual ponytail, and letting it cascade down her shoulders and back. Kafka has always been beautiful--but like this... you would not have been able to distinguish her from Idrila the Beauty themself. You wonder if that makes you her knight. You shuffle to the side of the bed, and Kafka slips under the sheets next to you. Strong arms wrap around you and hold you close, close enough that you can rest your ear against her chest, and hear the soothing lullaby of her heartbeat. Immediately you start to feel drowsy, and Kafka chuckles.

"You really missed me, didn't you, doll?" she muses, carding her fingers through your hair gently. "I'm here now, my dear. Sleep, alright?"

Your eyes flutter shut almost instantly. It's funny, how she doesn't even have to use her Spirit Whisper on you to get you to obey. Maybe love itself is enough of a whisper to your soul, or maybe you've always been weak for her. But oddly enough, you don't find yourself minding all that much if that's the case. You don't mind much of anything when it comes to her. Though you don't ponder for very long as you snuggle closer against her warmth, your arms winding tight around her waist. She'll be gone by morning, you know that. She has to. But for now, this is enough, secure in this haven that is her embrace, and you let yourself drift off into slumber.

(The next morning, nothing remains of her--you may have truly considered her a dream, were it not for the imprint of her form on your bed, and a tiny note on your bedside table, undoubtedly written in her hand.

All it says is i love you.

And for the both of you, that's all it needs to say.)

[drenched-in-sunlight]

please Can you draw Radagon with his tits out more please . For normla reasons

u know i saw this ask just right after some ppl pointed out to me the Radagon statue in-game got his nipple destroyed 🧍

like... i dunno the lore implication of this but don't worry, i'll continue to draw him with his tits out and nipples intact ...

[oflights]

me: never pays attention to AO3 ship stats, generally doesn't care about trends, glad everyone's having fun, will just write what i like and hope it finds an audience somehow 😌😇🥰

also me seeing bloodweave in the top 50 on this:

[buglaur]

fireworks show 🎆

material preview version is very cute also :)

i struggled with the lighting on this one so badly, but it turned out alright in the end.

i actually started it last year for new years 2023 but never got around to finishing it, hence no progress pictures this time sadly lol. i do have a very low-res, first draft, test gif though

stills 🥳

[teamfurtress]

do you fw engiespy and demosoldier…

quick doodle before i pass out for the night......... dont let the size difference girlies see this

[bizarrelittlemew]

"How do I look?"

Rhys Darby as Casper in Relax, I'm from the Future (2023)

[ponderingmoonlight]

me jumping to conclusions like

[chimchiri]

Help why is Rarity me 😭She's so me, I was dating sweet and funny guys but secretly super into the buff wrestler build men and is in line with my realization that my attraction to hunks also extended to women. I was at an amusement park and struggled with the lowering the bar at the roller coaster so this hunky female attendant pushed it down for me so easily, forearm so firm, smelled so nice and gave a dimpled smile and I couldn't think about anything else the whole day

When the hot and nice smelling cowboy lady working at the roller coaster makes you question your entire life

(Very cute story, anon! I'm sure Rarity and many more women could relate!)

[marzipanandminutiae]

Christmastime is already upon us all!

FIGHT BACK

IT IS STILL AUTUMN

ONE MORE MONTH DAMNIT

[wonysugar]

i did study for my test and still got a 14

-jumped anoy

oh i’d be pressed as fuck😭😭

[ioniansunsets]

I JUST FOUND YOUR BLOG AND OMG

hey imma need that confession Heartsteel Kayn moment yannoooo… fr all I’ve been thinking about 😳😳😳

✖ Heartsteel!Kayn Confessing ✖

✖ Word Count: 1.2k

✖ Tags: Awkward Confessions

✖ A/N: Reader here is just someone who works at his studio! He met you as Heartsteel slowly begun to start out and get ready for debut. Also writing this with that one ask about him writing a song about this exact moment in mind. Heehee!

I was reading some fanfics on my side and got filled with so much adrenaline and emotions I spat this out. I got very very very carried away writing this. I hope its not too OOC. Thank you for asking for this, I couldn't stop thinking about writing it.

----

It sucked. It fucking sucked. The way his heart raced when you were near.

The loud thumping against his chest. He hated it.

He hated how vulnerably and un-badass it made him feel. How the high he got from you rivaled that of the stage.

How your voice played over and over in his mind more than any melody he knew. How your laughter made his knees weak. It made Him. Weak!

He hated. He loathed. He grunts in frustration as he rocks out hard on his guitar. Fingers picking at the strings, a sick solo riff but it was for no one but himself.

Oh, how he did arguably stupider things than usual when he saw you watching. Showing off to you he jumped off a stage once. Which is not too far off from usual but it was to no audience! It was during a practice run! He did it just to flex to you that he was cool! Fucking embarrassing to remember but he did! All because you were standing nearby! How could you do such a thing to him!

The absolute frustration he was filled with. Not pent up rage, not a craving for violence and destruction, but affection? Undeniable. Overflowing. Drowning and choking him. Affection!

He finally threw his guitar on the ground. Breathing heavy. Hands running through his hair to push away the hair that has fell to his face in his little jam session. Hands wiping away the sweat. No matter how long he played, how fast his fingers pressed the strings, how frantically he strummed away. How he still played, chipping his painted nails when he slips up and drops his pick. The loud music of his electric guitar couldn't drown out the high BPM beat of his heart going off in his ears. The mental image of you smiling and waving at him every time he shows up. The tingle in his fingertips imagining himself holding you.

Swallowing hard, he storms out of the studio. He was at his fucking limit and refused to deal with this flip flop of emotions any longer. A cold shower. He calms down. Tomorrow. At the studio when he goes in to record. He'll find you then. He'll go early before the rest of the band gets there. He'll get this done and over with. Enough hours were spent being a mess about you. He was going to get this done! Tossing and turning in bed for hours he finally falls asleep. Tomorrow, he'll confess.

xxxx

The next day came soon enough. Making sure he looked good, makeup on, hair styled nicely, a sexy ass outfit with his deliciously sculpted abs out. Not the usual for when he goes to the studio but if he was going to be confessing? Perfect. Yes he was perfect in his own eyes but still, his heart raced. Small whispers of Rhaast in his mind, telling him they might reject him, that he was someone that needed nobody, he shouldn't go up to them and say anything, the frustration was so good for his music! But still, he walked on. Boots hitting the floor at the same pace of his rapidly beating heart as he walks up to you. You heard him before you saw him, the thump of his boots echoing closer and closer.

" Hey!"

He cringes internally, the hell was that greeting. Hey? Just hey?! He smiles. Cocky as usual. Face never betraying his emotions, yeah he was cool like that. The shaking of his hands held back as he puts them in his pockets. Its alright, he looked cool. Just like that, hands in his pockets fiddling with his phone as he leans against the wall to talk to you.

" Can I talk to you a bit before I go and record stuff?"

Oh gods you smiled and nodded. His heart fluttered. His expression, involuntary, visibly lighting up. The way your smile just made him smile so bright back. He takes a deep breath.

" I uh...I love you."

He spat it out. It wasn't cool. It wasn't sexy. It was a choked out confession. Heart racing, palms now sweaty in his pockets, still shaking. Hells, shaking More now. His breath heavy as he tries to keep the anxiety at bay. A feeling of stage fright he never felt before. Suddenly hitting him. You look at him, face slowly getting more flushed as you process the sudden confession.

" I hate it but I've fallen head over heels for you. I'm a fucking wreck. You ruin me."

Kayn runs his hands through his hair, a habit to calm himself down. His eyes closed as he takes a deep breath before continuing.

" You genuinely make my time here at the studio fun, your presence is chaotic and calming at the same time. I want to be with you. I want us to be a thing. You already know me, you've seen the me on stage during practice, off stage when I record lines, you've seen Rhaast go all out and you still choose to be around me. I want you more than anything I've ever wanted."

He looks at you now, a calm stare. Lips pursed in a tight line. Swallowing hard. His nerves somehow finding solace in letting out all his feelings that were pent up over the month or two since you got to know each other. You laugh, gods your laugh. He's giddy. You tell him you love him too. He smiles.

A pause as he suddenly stands up straight. You tell him you love him too?

" Wait haha what? Really?"

He was amazing of course you'd say yes but still, there was that tiny part of him that was worried. You liked him back? You Love him? The amazing you! The you that shone like a sun in his frustrating days of endless work as a rockstar. You! He was fucking Elated. Arms immediately around you, a tight hug as he lets out a sigh. Breath he didn't even realize he was holding until now. His arms still shaking a little as he held you.

" Can I kiss you. Right now? I-"

Kayn doesn't even finish his sentence, the moment you nod his lips are on yours, passionate. Hands threading through your hair as he holds your head gently. Holding you against him. His free hand around your waist, supporting you as much as he was supporting himself from falling apart at your touch. How he loved you, the smell of your hair so close to him now, the taste of your lips on his, the feeling of your soft delectable lips on his. How warm you were in his hands, how faint your breath on his face. He was in love. He was in Love.

As he pulls apart. He takes another deep breath. The way you left him literally breathless. Fuck. This was an excitement he never felt before. Never has a kiss left him feeling so...good? Never has a hug left him literally shaking with excitement. You were special and now you were his.

" You're so fucking perfect you know that?"

He laughs shakily. A hand rising, trembling as he lightly touches his lips. Still in disbelief. He loves you. Undeniably. Overwhelmingly. The storm of emotions he held for the past, who knows how long, now a summer breeze filling his chest with a warmth he doesn't remember ever feeling. He loves you.

[somegrumpynerd]

I think that nightmare living with his boys after the truce(actually even before that) is literally hearing a clink and him yelling "KILLER, DUST, GET OUT OF THE KITCHEN AND STOP FIGHTING"

(I don't know if I worded that right so I'm sorry if you can't understand-)

Oh absolutely!! When Nightmare hears rummaging around in any room he has to go check, because usually it's just Horror preparing food or one of them doing something, but there's always a chance he's about to break up a fight

What I like to imagine is how long after an agreed truce (and assuming Dream comes to visit now and then) does Dream feel confident enough to break up the fights

(He's very good at it, as it turns out)

[oobbbear]

Somehow me making a silly post about how I love Stan and would forgive all his crime no matter what got twisted into I think ford and fidd are equally terrible irredeemable person as bill cipher and there’s people talking shit in my inbox now🚶‍♂️I’m going back to my cave I hate it here

[kuni-kuun]

This year, the cake on Kunikida’s desk is left untouched. There are presents too, but the wrapper is neatly tucked around the corners of the boxes, tape left untorn. A colourful assortment that spanned the borders of his desk. The Agency is quiet, the air still and cold. Freezingly so. Of course they miss the usual liveliness of the space, hell- even his yelling would bring a smile back to their faces. Maybe a pat on his back and “Good job Kunikida!” or “We did it!” and have the other grumble tell them to file a report or do the paperwork instead. Dazai sits on the chair next to Kunikida’s empty one, his trench coat draped over the back. ‘Ideals’ rests on the centre of the desk, the bright flourishing green colour now seems somewhat dulled and worn. Maybe it’s just the lighting, he tells himself. He breaks the silence with a shaky voice, trying to keep his tone lighthearted. “You know…” he starts, trying to keep a smile on his face. This year, it looks a little grim instead. His mask is barely holding together. “You could’ve welcomed me home at least- right…?” The silence is deafening now, but he continues. “You know, when people come home from rehab or…prison…” He murmurs into empty air, his voice becoming choked. “You- you know…? Mersault?” There are tears flowing down his face. He couldn’t register when they started falling, but now his hands are wet and so are his cheeks. Grief salty like the ocean waves. His half-hearted laughter is strangled.

Atsushi is inconsolable. The poor kid thinks that it’s all his fault, and nobody’s been able to get him to come out the room for days. Now, he stands in front of the desk where his senior once sat and solemnly stares at the notebook. This is his second time seeing it without its owner. It feels wrong. He knows which present is his. It’s a little messy, but he’s rewrapped it at least three times, just to try and get it perfect. It probably isn’t anyways. A sorry excuse of a present won’t bring him back, he knows. It’s his fault, isn’t it? So that’s why he has to try harder, because real lives are at stake.

Both Ranpo and Yosano remain silent, watching this scene. Their original partner from the detective trio is now gone. There isn’t a lollipop in Ranpo’s mouth this time and Yosano hasn’t drunk this heavily in months. Now she stands sober, watching over the other’s empty desk. How should she feel? Ranpo doesn’t know either, but his expression remains dark. The future of the Agency, slashed and taken away from them so easily. The idealist.

Even the president is behind them all. Fukuzawa and his imposing figure seems…worn. His usually cold expression holds a hint of…something else. His grey eyes are fixated on the empty desk, but his mind is elsewhere. This time, not even Ranpo knows what he’s thinking.

U think ur so funny. Is it funny for you that this is what i woke up to on kunikidas birthday. I jope youre laughing because im gonna get you.