#erika time

[acidsbeats]

i wish I would get questions about my self inserts and my self ships /cries it looks so fun for everyone else

[awallflowerdraws]

i'll shelter and adore you more than anything

[acidsbeats]

I am absolutely losing my fucking mind about this thank you lordddd I was having the shittiest day but at least draken loves me

we do fall before we rise

cw: 1.4k wc, female reader, mentions of blood, mentions of injuries/bruising, mentions of slight harassment, friends to lovers, draken is a big dumb soft idiot, miscommunication my beloved. sponsored by @acidsbeats, thank you so much for trusting me with this and contributing to @ficsforgaza!

There’s no reason why Draken would be there, at your friend’s house, in the middle of the night. Something cold and unwelcome would be clawing at your stomach from the inside if you didn’t know how close they’ve always been, Mikey’s sister practically his sister too, the same way Manjiro is his brother.

“What?” crude bluntness shakes you from the numbness, stiffened limbs gaining their mobility once more.

“Where’s Emma?” is the only thing you can bring yourself to ask, tone matching his for good measure. It requires a whole lot of effort not to focus on his busted lip, dark circles underneath eyes that once didn’t bore into yours with such coldness.

“In Roppongi, out for the night”

He’s not asking you to come in but you’re not particularly inclined to leave either, the paper bag in your hands weighing exceptionally heavy.

“Why…”

“I needed a place to stay for a few days. Is the interrogation over?”

Only a few weeks prior to this awkwardly bitter encounter, you would’ve taken his face in your hands and inquired about the dried blood on his swollen bottom lip. Hell, maybe he would’ve come to you. Asked to be taken care of and of course you would’ve obliged, the way you have so many times throughout the years, ever since high school.

But now? Now he’s looking at you like you’re a stranger, someone he’d barely tolerate to share a room with. It makes your blood boil.

“Fuck off, Ryuguji” you push past him and make your way inside an apartment that’s a little yours as well, a safe space that has witnessed your highs and so many of your lows. Including the most recent one.

He may be acting childish but Ken knows better than to protest against your presence there: Emma’s home is your home. He’s the intruder.

“I’m just here to return some clothes” your pitch is as casual as it can be, hoping he’ll keep his distance while you quickly empty the bag of its content. They’re not really Emma’s, they’re yours. But you can’t really fix a laundry with blood-stained clothes at your place, with a nosy roommate, can you? No matter whether the blood is yours or not.

Unfortunately, he decides to quietly follow you to the bathroom, if for genuine curiosity or lack of faith it’s impossible to tell. What you also couldn’t tell, is how stupidly full your friend’s washing machine is: certainly enough for you to drop the white shirt to the floor while desperately attempting to push it in alongside your shorts.

“No, leave it-” it’s wishful thinking, really, the idea that he’d actually listen to you for a change. Draken crouches down to pick the shirt up for you (kindness? Eagerness for you to simply be done and leave?) only to then crumple it in his stupidly gigantic fist.

“Is this… what the fuck happened?”

“None of your business anymore” you snatch the shirt away, heat crawling from the base of your throat to your face as you shove it inside the washer and slam the door shut.

“Are you hurt?” the urgency in his voice makes you look up, mouth a thin, bitter line.

“I’m not”

There’s a storm brewing behind that all too familiar stare, indecision palpable as eyes you miss so badly roam across your features, explore with fierce attentiveness should they find any sign of pain or discomfort in your own stare. But then they reluctantly wander elsewhere, focus on the rest of your frame to make sure you’re not lying. And sure enough, there she is: an imperceptible shadow peeking from underneath long sleeves rolled up for practicality, teasing your right forearm. He doesn’t recognize the shape, can’t quite place it among all the other contours he has mapped out throughout the years. It’s not a mole, definitely not a birthmark. Then what…?

Your panic as you scramble to pull down your sleeve once more sets his instincts ablaze. You know Ken’s hands: they’re big, rough, often cold, capable of great destruction and outstanding tenderness when away from prying eyes. They’re something in between when they grab your arm, force the sleeve up fully as far as it can go, take a look at the bruise. At the threatening outline of fingers he wishes to snap in half.

“Who did this to you?” it’s low, guttural, eyes burning with a fury his tone doesn’t really match. For your sake, as always.

“It’s nothing” you attempt to tame a flame that poses the risk of becoming wildfire “I handled it”

“You handled what exactly?”

“I told you, it’s no-”

“Answer the goddamn question!”

“You’re hurting me, Ken!”

He inhales sharply, eases the hold over your arm immediately. The bruise looks back at him, mocks him, a sour reminder of what he’s always known: you’re a target. An easy one, that is. Your friendship, your loyalty, have always brought more burdens on your shoulders than benefits. Fuck. Who? How many? What did they want? Was it about Mikey, about him?

“Please tell me” he tries to control himself, fingers now closed around your wrist barely kept from quivering.

You sigh, defeated.

“This guy started bothering me on my way home, grabbed me a bit too forcefully. Wouldn’t take no for an answer. So I made good use of the self defense lessons you and Mikey gave me and Emma in high school. Happy now?”

Draken’s shoulder slump.

“The blood on your shirt…”

“Wasn’t mine”

Oh.

The small relief expanding in his chest like oil spreading out over water isn’t enough to satiate the rage. Daily dangers, regular small fucking threats finding you while you wander out in the world on your own. Without him. Because of his dumb fears, blind selfishness and…

“Now you can go back to pretending I don’t exist” your wrist slips easily out of his softer grasp but you can’t predict the way he grabs you by the jaw, forces you to look at him instead of spinning out of his hold.

“Don’t say that ever again”

“Then don’t suddenly act like you give a shit” you bark “it’s been months, Ken. You haven’t talked to me in months”

“I don’t allow myself to give a shit” he’s so close you can smell the expensive cologne he’s been using religiously ever since you gifted one bottle to him.

“What is that even supposed to mean? You were drunk out of your mind and kissed me at Mikey’s birthday party, so what? Is the regret weighing so heavy on you our entire friendship has to be fucking erased?”

“You were drunk enough to kiss me back, I barely had two beers!”

“I didn’t even get to drink, dumbass!”

He pauses, quietly letting the implications of what you have both just admitted sink in.

Draken’s heart hasn’t at all hardened despite all he’s been through. On the contrary: his heart is so tender it needs extra protection, walls and watchmen granting it a shield solid enough to take a few blows from time to time. Yours, however? That was one blow he wasn’t ready to take. Avoiding his best friend felt wrong, yet easier than admitting dangerous feelings that could have ruined one of the few, truly valuable things in his life.

“I think” he says quietly, lets go of your jaw and breathes in your scent, thankful as ever that you didn't run out of the bathroom right away “I’ve been an asshole. I’m sorry”

“Yes, you have been an asshole” frustration stings at the corners of your eyes “couldn’t even tell me you hated kissing me, no, you just had to disappear like a fucking child who-”

“I’m in love with you” the few strands of fair hair he leaves loose frame his handsome face perfectly “have been for a while, probably. Didn’t want to drag you into the mess so I gave you some space. Guess I could’ve handled it better”

You stand still, muscles frozen as you search for the hint of a lie, of travesty, in his softer gaze. All you find is weary sincerity. Suddenly, the memory of all the years spent side by side explodes in your chest like fireworks, warm and powerful. He’s your person, since forever.

“I’m sorry” Draken repets, a plea more than an apology “I understand if there’s someone else or if it’s too late or-”

You take his hand.

“There’s never been anyone else, idiot”

There never could've been.

[calkestis]

Ghost of Yōtei (2025) dev. Sucker Punch Productions

[say-hi-intrepid-heroes]

reminder to celebrate the most important holiday this season

tis the season

[autiomaaheart]

“If we're gonna date, you may have to defeat my seven evil exes boyfriend pokedex.”

I rewatched Scott Pilgrim last week and was like Bojan would probably have it worse in this scenario he’d have to fight like… 15 people but I’m not a masochist so he can have like 7…. this was a very dumb idea I put too much time into

[acidsbeats]

AHHH IM SO IN LOVE ITS PERFECT!!!!

Tease

Fandom: Bungo Stray Dogs Characters: Chuuya Nakahara, GN!Reader Summary: You’ve never met this elusive Dazai, but he sure knows how to piss Chuuya off.

1.1k // AO3 // Masterlist

A/N: requested by @acidsbeats. Thank you for choosing to help with the @ficsforgaza initiative, and thank you so much for your patience!! I hope it meets your expectations.

You’ve never met this elusive Dazai, but he sure knows how to piss Chuuya off. 

The first you heard of him was a once peaceful afternoon, until Chuuya stormed into your apartment. Your poor wall broke where the doorknob hit it, a spiderweb of cracks that spread a near foot in diameter. Instead of addressing the new hole in your wall, he went straight for your wine. It was the cheap kind, the kind you don’t mind but know he doesn’t like. 

He had half the bottle gone by the time you followed him into the kitchen. It swung in his left hand, his right struggling to light a cigarette. 

Your nose wrinkled when you plucked the cigarette from his mouth. “No smoking inside,” you told him. “You know that.” 

“Fuck, sorry,” he said. “Just ran into an old–” 

He hesitated and you raised a brow. An old friend? An old ex? 

“An old coworker,” Chuuya said, and you understood his reluctance — your relationship was still fresh, at that point, and you had no idea what his job entailed, just that it paid well. 

He never gave the name of his coworker that night. But it became a habit of his — coming to you after an encounter, pacing through your house while ranting. You’re not even sure he realized he let the name Dazai slip one night. All he can think about is that ‘annoying, suicide-obsessed maniac that doesn’t have the balls to commit’. Chuuya’s words. 

That is all you know of Dazai, but you find reason to thank him: Chuuya is absolutely adorable when riled up in that specifically post-Dazai way. He’s been more careful since he patched up the crack in your wall, but he still comes and paces your kitchen. He now brings his own booze — sometimes wine, sometimes whiskey — and always pours some for you before downing half the bottle. You tend to forget what he says in the moment, instead focusing on the way his body moves. 

His hands jerk in every direction, steadying only to prevent the spill of his drink. His fancy designer shoes clack against the linoleum of your kitchen. His face flushes as he rants, using such creative insults you can’t help writing them down for later use. 

You always let him rant for a few minutes — it’s good for his health to vent — but never long. While venting is healthy, obsession isn’t. (You also don’t have time, between work and sleep, but he doesn’t need to know that.) 

No matter what you say, however, he continues on his rant. There is only one thing you can say that causes him to pause: 

“You must like him a lot.” 

Or something similar. Every time you say it, Chuuya freezes. Then he slowly, slowly, turns his gaze to you. He struggles to keep his anger in check — already exasperated by Dazai, it takes a lot of control not to explode. He may be quick to anger, but it was never a side he directed at you. 

“Excuse me?” he hisses. 

You smiled. “You’re just so passionate about him. Makes me wonder what I have to do for you to treat me like that.” 

His breath catches and he clings to you, choosing to forget the mess that caused him grief. The next day finds you in good spirits, having been lavished in praise all through the night. 

And though you may tease, you never mean anything by it. You know Chuuya loves you; it’s why he comes to you to vent his frustrations. You've always trusted him. You always will. 

Even when you realize his job is dangerous. Every time there’s a ruckus in Yokohama, he shows up ranting about Dazai. You expect it at this point, and just like clockwork, he shows up one Friday night. 

“That prick,” he growls as he storms through your kitchen. “He has the nerve to just show up and boss me around!” He drinks from the bottle — squat and square, filled with an amber liquid. “I never worked under him in the first place! I was the one who decided to join! I didn’t follow him like a goddamn dog!” 

“Oh, definitely,” you say, only half paying attention. Most of your focus is on the drink he poured for you. He chose a lowball glass, so it’s whiskey of some sort. Your nose wrinkles when you sniff it. It smells mostly of alcohol, lacking the notes of smoke and ash his usual liquor carries. 

Your lips quirk up as you check the time. It’s been ten minutes, give or take, so it’s time to interrupt. 

Heaving a mock sigh, you pick up your glass and take a sip. The whiskey is strong and stocky, made to intoxicate and little else. “If only you paid me this much attention.” 

Like always, Chuuya pauses. He’s facing away from you, so you can’t see his face, but you can see his shoulders droop. He sighs and sits at the kitchen table, in the chair next to you. His hands find yours, and he squeezes tight. 

And that is... odd. He’s never deflated so quickly before. 

“Y’know you mean the world to me, right?” he asks. “That you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, right?” 

“Of course, baby,” you say. You free one hand to run your fingers through his hair. He rests his cheek in your palm, and you stifle a chuckle at his pouted lips. Even after so much confirmation, every time you meet, he’s still unsure. Still afraid you might leave him. 

Is he so used to being left behind that he cannot handle such simple teasing? 

You pull his face to yours, planting a soft kiss against his forehead. “Rough day?” you ask. 

“You have no idea.” Chuuya downs the whiskey left in your glass. “Move in with me.” 

“Pardon?” When you meet his eyes, you find them cold and steely. This is not the Chuuya you know. This is a Chuuya at work, with an edge of danger in his gaze. 

He takes your hands in his, squeezing them tight again. “Dazai knows about you. No one should know about you.” 

“And that’s bad.” It’s a statement, not a question, and it makes Chuuya hesitate before he answering. 

“Not necessarily,” he says. “Dazai is an ass, but he’s got morals now.” You raise a brow. “He’s not who you should worry about.” 

“Your job,” you say. “You're worried about someone there.” 

He swallows, but admiration shines in his gaze. “Move in with me. My apartment has better security. I want you to be safe.” His eyes soften, and his lips tilt in a small smile. 

“Besides, you can’t say anything about Dazai if you’re the one who lives with me.” 

Who are you to argue with such sound logic? 

[hi-intrepid-heros]

Brennan's clear hatred of people who fantasize and romanticize the idea of life altering trauma makes rewatching Misfits and Magic so funny. Kipperlilly and early Dream are the same person. I don't think I could have physically coped with the embarrassment Erika must have felt constantly having Brennan look at her and say (in character of course) "Hey. Stop fucking fetishizing me. I am a real person in tremendous pain." and still continuing the bit

[junewild]

one of my favorite moments from this episode.

make some noise, season 2, “the wicked switch of the west.”

[dumpster-fire-sapphic-failgirl]

Worlds Beyond Number is wild because Brennan Lee Mulligan uses every ounce of his philosophic and empathetic learnings to create the most heartrending situations and scenes

Then, like an emotional devastation katamari, this fucker picks up THREE whole ass other people like him. Lou Wilson, who will make you cry while you’re in the middle of laughing. Aabria Iyengar, who is a fucking genius and dives full ass into her character’s flaws because your heart will die of a thousand cuts when it all hits. And Erika Ishii. At first blush, a bit of a clown, albeit a sultry one when they want to be. More than happy to play the fool. Lets you underestimate them, so you let them get close, and when you realize how deep you’re in it’s too late

So these FOUR chucklefucks, these four geniuses of humor and tragedy, hire a fucking Maestro of Sound Design in Taylor Moore to produce their home game. And everything is tighter. And even more immersive. And heartwrenching and hilarious and cozy and creepy.

Anyway, this team of FIVE people decide that they’re going to make one of the best podcasts currently airing and it’s only nine episodes in.

[acidsbeats]

Oh okay yes yes, who do you fancy in HSR 👀 it’s also my current little brainworm KSKS

EVERYONE

I'm lowkey in love with Feixiao

my heart perpetually belongs to Dan Heng just. MMM that MAN. so polite and quiet and I wanna just ruin his life and bully him forever <3

Same goes with Moze, I like boys that I can be an absolute Problem for and make them die via smiling blush.

Boothill and I would get on like a house on fire and that is a threat <3

While i ADORE luocha and jing yuan I dont think we'd actually go together well. I can see getting along with Jing Yuan though. Again, i love to pester and I think he loves to be pestered, personally haha.

Tell me about yours!!!

[bruqh]

conspiracy brain prediction for new d20 season:

i think aabria is gonna climb up on the table at some point

[ynartistic]

I'm just like you and you're just like me

[cowgirls-blues]

So the Pilot Program's motives are teamwork (Jammer), network (K), community (Sam) and belonging (Evan). Something something the strongest magic is the links we forge with people (as seen in the first season and it's true more than ever now that the world is changing again, and they/people are more isolated). Hell yeah.

[lonelylittledot]

I haven't been *that* invested in MisMag, but the reprised What do you want me to tell your family? truly made me audibly gasp and stare with my jaw dropped for a solid minute

[slayedpoet]

from erika's last instagram post