#its not that i cant accept it

[tvmblrsillyman]

just realized the new ui is mobile/tablet friendly first and foremost ):

[sunfoxfic]

We were so close to smoking not being cool anymore. We were so close. Then they flavored it mango and now it's taboo to criticize it anymore. People don't ask if they're allowed to vape indoors, they aren't considerate of people who may have health problems that are triggered by the chemicals or if it just bothers them, people don't care that they're supporting an industry built on corruption and greed, they can't see it draining their pockets and much less their health. We were so close to smoking not being cool anymore.

[bulbabutt]

don can't sleep and needs a second opinion. good thing raphie's always there and knows exactly how to help

previous | turtle trek series (chrono)

if you like my work consider tipping me so i can keep making it ❤️

[ruporas]

kiss (ID in alt text)

[medicalunprofessional]

never change, man !

[wasabidottie]

Since you asked... recently been thinking about being in a club or bar or something and you're just not into the guy hitting you up. Maybe he started getting creepy or maybe it's something different and you do that thing where you're like "There you are baby" and get close to Schlatt and stuff? I might not be explaining this great but there you go

Can i buy you a drink? | jschlatt

a/n: yesss thank you so much for this request !!! i love this trope :)) hope i did it justice

The bass of the music pulsed through the floor, vibrating up your legs as you stood near the bar. Neon lights flickered, illuminating the sea of people dancing under dim, colorful hues. The atmosphere was thick with the heat of too many bodies and the scent of spilled alcohol. You were nursing a drink, half-heartedly, more out of habit than enjoyment. You hadn't come here to get drunk or even dance—just a night out with friends who had long since disappeared into the crowd, leaving you at the bar.

That’s when he showed up.

You noticed him from the corner of your eye first. Leaning in closer than necessary, the strong scent of cologne mixed with something unidentifiable wafted toward you. He was good-looking, sure—slicked-back hair, crisp shirt unbuttoned a little too far down, exposing a chain you could bet was more for show than sentiment. But the way he looked at you, like you were something to be won, sent a chill up your spine.

He leaned in close, his voice low and smooth, dripping with intent. "You come here often?"

Classic. You smiled politely, taking a sip of your drink, hoping he’d get the hint. He didn’t.

"You know, you look like you could use some company. Someone to really show you a good time," he continued, his eyes scanning you in a way that made you feel exposed. The way he spoke—like this was some sort of game he was playing, and you were the prize at the end—turned your stomach.

You shifted, trying to subtly angle yourself away, but he didn’t let up. His hand slid onto the bar next to you, fingers tapping like he had all the time in the world to wait for you to cave.

"You’re too pretty to be here all alone," he said, his tone growing a little more insistent, like he could sense your discomfort and chose to ignore it. “What do you say I buy you a drink?”

You forced another tight smile, shaking your head. “No, thanks. I’m good.”

But he didn’t take the hint. He moved a step closer, his breath now warm against your ear. "C’mon, baby. Don’t be shy."

Your grip tightened on your glass. Every inch of you screamed to get away from this guy, but it was like he had some radar for women trying to escape him. He leaned in further, his shoulder brushing yours, trapping you between him and the bar. Your heart raced, not with excitement, but with the creeping anxiety of being cornered.

You scanned the room desperately for an escape. Your friends were nowhere in sight, and the crowd was too thick to easily slip away unnoticed. That’s when you saw him—a tall figure, standing a few feet away, hands in his pockets, scanning the room with disinterest. He wasn’t paying attention to you, at least not yet, but he looked like your only shot.

Without thinking, you acted.

“There you are, baby!” you called out, your voice louder than usual as you pushed off from the bar, practically throwing yourself into the stranger’s space.

The guy's eyebrows shot up in surprise as you grabbed his arm and pressed yourself into his side, looking up at him with the most convincing, overly affectionate smile you could muster. You clung to him, gripping the sleeve of his jacket as though you’d known him for years.

“Sorry I kept you waiting,” you added, your voice sweet but laced with an edge, your eyes darting nervously back toward the creep at the bar.

The stranger—Schlatt, as you'd come to know him later—looked down at you, his expression a mix of surprise and amusement. For a split second, you feared he might blow your cover, push you away, or worse, expose your little act for what it was. But then something clicked in his eyes, and his mouth curved into a smirk.

“There you are,” he said, playing along, his voice deep and rough around the edges. He slung an arm casually over your shoulders, pulling you in a little closer. “Thought you were gonna leave me hangin’.”

The creep’s face fell instantly, his bravado deflating like a balloon. He glanced between you and Schlatt, trying to gauge if this was real or not. You could almost see the calculations running through his mind, the gears turning as he tried to figure out if it was worth the effort to keep pushing.

Schlatt leaned down, his breath warm near your ear as he muttered low, so only you could hear, “You in trouble, sweetheart?”

You nodded, barely perceptibly, not wanting to break the act.

Schlatt straightened up, his expression hardening as he turned his gaze back to the creep. “Something I can help you with, buddy?”

The guy faltered, his confidence wavering. “Nah, man. Didn’t realize she was with you.”

“Yeah, well, now you know.” Schlatt’s voice was sharp, edged with something dangerous that made even you tense up. His arm tightened around your shoulders, the gesture protective without being overbearing.

The creep raised his hands in mock surrender, backing away with a fake smile. “All good, man. Didn’t mean to step on your toes.”

Schlatt didn’t respond, just watched with narrowed eyes as the guy slinked back into the crowd, finally losing interest. The tension in your shoulders slowly melted as the guy disappeared from sight.

Schlatt kept his arm around you for a moment longer, as if making sure the creep didn’t have any second thoughts about coming back. The warmth of his body next to yours was oddly reassuring, even though you were still on edge from the whole encounter. Slowly, you stepped away, exhaling in relief as you placed a bit of space between you.

"Thanks for that," you muttered, awkwardly tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "I didn’t mean to rope you into—"

He cut you off with a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Nah, don’t worry about it. You looked like you needed the assist."

You glanced back toward the bar where the guy had been, now completely gone. The knot in your stomach loosened, but there was still a tinge of unease lingering beneath your skin. You’d been out before, dealt with the usual drunk guys who didn’t understand boundaries, but this one had been different. Slimy. Like he enjoyed watching you squirm.

Schlatt took a step back, stuffing his hands into his pockets casually. He didn’t seem like the type to linger for long, but before he could say anything else, you blurted out, "Can I buy you a drink? You know, as a thank you?"

His eyebrows raised slightly, surprise flickering in his dark eyes before he smirked. "I’m not one to turn down free booze."

You smiled, grateful for the easy way he deflected any awkwardness. You turned back toward the bar, signaling the bartender before leaning against the counter, feeling Schlatt’s presence beside you.

"What’ll it be?" you asked, glancing up at him. He was taller than you expected, and up close, his broad shoulders and relaxed stance gave off the impression that nothing in the world could bother him.

"Whiskey. Neat."

Of course. You nodded to the bartender, ordering a whiskey for him and another drink for yourself. The bar was still busy, people pushing in on either side of you, but you felt a little more grounded now that the creep was gone and Schlatt was beside you. He didn’t say much, just observed the room with a quiet intensity, like he was always a step ahead of whatever was going on around him.

The bartender slid the drinks toward you, and you handed one to Schlatt. He took it with a nod, raising it slightly in thanks before taking a sip.

"So, do you make a habit of rescuing random girls from sleazeballs?" you asked, half-joking as you swirled the liquid in your own glass.

Schlatt chuckled, a low, rough sound that made the corners of your lips twitch upward. "Only the ones that look like they need it," he replied, glancing sideways at you. His gaze lingered for a beat longer than expected, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes crinkled slightly at the edges when he smiled.

"Well, lucky me," you said, taking a sip of your drink. The alcohol burned down your throat, but it was a welcome distraction from the adrenaline still buzzing in your veins.

Schlatt looked around the club, his gaze sweeping over the crowd, then back at you. "You here with friends?"

You nodded. "Yeah, they kinda… disappeared into the dance floor about an hour ago." You laughed a little, though it sounded more tired than you intended. "They’re probably having a good time. I was just trying to avoid getting stuck out there."

He grinned. "Not much of a dancer?"

You shook your head. "Not when it’s this packed. And not when people like that guy are around."

Schlatt shrugged, taking another sip of his drink. "Can’t blame you. Most of these places are just a breeding ground for idiots."

"Yeah, tell me about it."

For a moment, you just stood there, the music pounding in the background as you shared an easy silence. Schlatt didn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave, and for some reason, that made you feel oddly comfortable. There was something about his laid-back demeanor, the way he didn’t push for conversation but also didn’t make you feel like you needed to fill the silence, that kept you grounded.

"By the way," you said after a beat, "I never caught your name—"

"Schlatt," he interrupted, holding out his hand. His grip was firm, warm against your palm.

You smiled, offering your name in return. “Nice to meet you… Schlatt.”

“Likewise,” he said, his tone slightly teasing. “Though you could’ve just called me your boyfriend instead of dragging me into the whole ‘baby’ bit. Bit over the top, don’t you think?”

You cringed, laughing lightly. “Yeah, that was… spur of the moment. Desperate times.”

He snorted. “Could’ve fooled me. You sold it pretty well.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, shaking your head. “Well, thanks for playing along.”

Schlatt shrugged, the smirk never leaving his face as he took another sip of his whiskey. "Eh, wasn’t a bad gig. Could do worse than having a pretty girl cling to me for a bit."

Your face warmed at the offhand compliment, but you played it cool, trying not to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered. "Pretty sure you saved me more than I saved myself"

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. "Don’t sell yourself short. You pulled that off like a pro."

You chuckled, but before you could respond, the music shifted to a slower, bass-heavy beat. The crowd around you swayed, bodies pressing even closer together as people paired off for the slower tempo. You watched them for a moment, suddenly hyper-aware of how close Schlatt was standing.

"You, uh, wanna get out of here?" you asked, realizing how awkward it sounded the moment it left your mouth. "I mean, not like that—just, the crowd’s getting a bit much, and—"

Schlatt raised a hand, cutting off your rambling. "Relax. I know what you mean." He tilted his head toward the door. "Let’s bounce. This place is a shitshow anyway."

You nodded in agreement, grateful for the escape route. The two of you made your way through the crowd, navigating around groups of people too caught up in their own nights to notice anything else. The cool night air hit you as soon as you stepped outside, a welcome relief from the heat and noise inside the club.

Schlatt stuffed his hands back into his pockets, glancing over at you. "You good? Or do you need another hero act?"

You laughed, feeling more relaxed now that you were out of the chaotic environment. "I think I can manage from here. But I’ll keep you on speed dial just in case."

He snorted, kicking at a stray pebble on the sidewalk. "Sure thing, sweetheart. Anytime."

The street was quieter, the neon signs reflecting off the pavement as cars drove by lazily. You turned to him, feeling a sudden urge to prolong the conversation, even though you weren’t quite sure why. "So, Schlatt… what brings you to places like that?"

He gave you a sidelong glance, the corner of his mouth twitching. "What, you think I don’t seem like the club type?"

You shrugged, smiling. "Maybe more of a dive bar type."

"Spot on," he said, amusement in his voice. "Honestly, I was just killing time. Buddy bailed on me last minute, and I figured I’d check it out. But not my scene. Yours?"

"Definitely not," you replied, shaking your head. "I’m more of a stay at home with a good book type."

He chuckled. "Didn’t peg you for a bookworm."

"Yeah, well, you didn’t exactly strike me as the white knight type, but here we are."

Schlatt laughed, a deep, genuine sound that caught you off guard. "Touché."

The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, but you could feel the night winding down. The adrenaline from earlier had worn off, leaving you with a strange mix of exhaustion and curiosity. You didn’t want the conversation to end just yet, but you also didn’t want to seem desperate for his company.

"So," Schlatt said, breaking the silence as he rocked back on his heels. "You heading home?"

You nodded, feeling the weight of the evening settle on your shoulders. "Yeah. It’s getting late."

He glanced down the street, then back at you. "You want me to walk you? Or… you good?"

For a moment, you considered brushing off the offer, but there was something about the way he asked—like he actually gave a damn, even if he wasn’t showing it outright. You hesitated before smiling softly. "Actually… I wouldn’t mind the company."

Schlatt’s smirk softened into something more genuine. "Alright, then. Let’s go."

[demadogs]

some of you need to hate ai way more than you currently do

[plulp]

IM NOT A DOCTOR BUT I THINK I MIGHT BE ABLE TO HELP

[onthemerits]

no one told me that the simone-karl plot from why women kill would rip my heart out and stomp it into little itty bitty pieces

[bittersnsweetz]

ohhh my god i just realised why i love narumitsu so much, despite the obvious (mutual pining, slow burn, one-sided enemies, to friends, to distant friends, to close friends, to lovers all that good stuff)

its BECAUSE they have a shared emotional journey that is so narratively satisfying to me that as im typing this im barely able to contain my stimming

phoenix defends miles, so convinced he can save him and is almost blinded by that fact because he knows edgeworth as so good and so pure and he totally definitely absolutely would never willingly hurt anybody and then he ghosts him for a year which phoenix obviously interprets as yet another person abandoning him, leaving phoenix to pick up the pieces, and that whole time phoenix is beating himself up because wow this is just like when he put all his love on the line for dahlia and it turns out she was just using him this whole time and the absolute mess of emotions that arises when edgeworth comes back, alive, with no apology whatsoever.

and then two years later phoenix loses his job and edegworth is trying so hard to help and be there for him while also juggling his prosecutor job and the challenges that arise from adjusting to a new justice-driven mindset, but phoenix is already closing himself off and refusing to talk about it because hes stingy and secretive and edgeworth has seen the stingy in passing but never to this extent, where he can tell that phoenix NEEDS someone but apparently that someone isnt going to be him. and he's on call with him one night and he hears trucy for the first time and hes mortified because so many complicated emotions and questions arise from that alone: "wright are you sane" "wright are you seeing someone" "wright why didnt you tell me about this so i could help you" and i do think edgeworth gets overwhelmed by all this at once, the secrecy, the daughter, the friend who visits phoenix every now and again, the lack of healthy communication. and suddenly everything that he thought theyve worked so hard to build together has come crashing down and theres nothing phoenix will let him do to help

and its the shared parallel of the initial proposal to help "let me defend you"/"let me be there for you" being completely rejected and the repeated efforts to do so being met with a sudden shift (prosecutor miles edgeworth chooses death/i have a daughter and a new friend who helps me now) and how its so difficult for the both of them to realise at the time that its for their sake that they're doing it, that neither of them are doing this to hurt the other intentionally (although for phoenix i definitely think theres spite involved, but not to the degree to which edgeworth ends up experiencing what he does emotionally), and the idealisation that gets completely shattered by reality

just. UGH. the full circle that is them, after everything is said and done, finding closure in each other again, however non-linear that journey is, and, this is important, CHOOSING to still stay with the other through anything and everything that comes to pass, and truly SEEING the other behind their professional masks. Seeing them entirely and not just the attractive parts. im rabid.

[deoidesign]

My comic is so pretty...

The hiatus is letting me take a little extra time on these episodes, and I'm definitely putting it to good use!!!

[casualavocados]

An idiot like you...an idiot like you...

KISEKI: DEAR TO ME Ep. 9

[dreadfuldevotee]

literally atp my main desire for iwtv going forward is that they dont tone down the fact that everyone is obsessed with eachother. Yes, because thats how 70 percent of the plot happens in the first place but also because im so petty and the "who is in love with who" arguing makes me want to shoot this place up

[pup-pee]

he is the dirt under my fingernails

[greasydumbfuck]

favorite frank is. frank with kids. this guy was meant to be a dad

[lovesickeros]

☆ from gold, i am undone

{☆} characters tsaritsa {☆} notes cult au, yandere, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood, implied self harm, implied suicide attempts {☆} word count 0.9k

You weren't meant to be here.

You can feel it in the marrow of your bones– it weighs you down like heavy shackles, gold bleeding from your pores until it is all you know. The taste of ichor on your tongue, the warmth of its invasion beneath your skin, that gleam of gold that lingers in the color of your eyes like specks of dust.

You are changed, and you are whole.

But you are so unbearably broken.

A shattered piece of porcelain hastily put back together with gold to fill the cracks.

Decoration, in the end, for you are not fit to walk as "mortals" do. This gold had filled every empty crevice of your body, spilled the red into your frantic hands and made you bleed so it's callous gold could make room inside your body. It has taken from you many things, given many more, but you scratch and bite and tear until it drips onto the floor and even then it never leaves. It stains the floor no matter how hard you scrub– a permanent reminder of the sickening gold that molds you into something that used to look like you– that does look like you. Desecrated, yet so horribly divine.

All you see is a monster.

Something new, something old.

A hollowed out shell, wounds left to rot and fester until you suited the image of the Creator they bore upon statues and murals, the Creator worshiped in prayers spoken in hushed whispers and joyous chants praising your magnificence.

But what magnificence is there in detachment? What joy is there to be found in carving a God out of a human? They kneel like lambs before the shepherd, but the flock has made you– and you want to unmake them. Unweave the tapestry of their being stitch by stitch until it all falls apart and the world knows the cost of casting molten gold into the shape of a human, knows the price that has been left unpaid.

You want to take it from them. Watch them squabble and pray, blind sheep stepping into the wolf's open maw– to tear the seams of their being until the world is unwound by your heavy hands.

But you know it will not satisfy you.

Nothing does anymore.

You are no wolf. Only the shepherd who guides.

And with every drop of blood spilled, they ripped the humanity from your very bones until your body was the cast in which they made something anew– something gold, something horrific. A monster as much a God, a beast as much a man.

There is nothing left but absolute authority.

You try again and again to mend this act of desecration, to peel back the outer shell and rend the gold from your marrow– but your body cannot, will not, die. It mends itself back into place no matter how damaged, and all you feel is the uncomfortable tug of your body forcing itself to live. You cannot die, but were you ever truly alive at all?

Yet with every cycle, you know only one constant besides the thrum of golden ichor in your veins– cold.

Ice that burns, ice that spreads and festers and devours. Claws that pull you apart until the gold runs thick, teeth that burrow into your bones and rip it out from the source..eyes that witness the fall of a God with reverence– hungering, all consuming reverence.

You welcome it.

It is the first time you felt pain since you were cast into an image of a being you were not meant to be. The sting of cold upon your skin makes you shiver, your body tries to reject it, but you want to welcome it– for a brief moment that lasts only as long as it takes for you to blink, you see the glint of something familiar in the reflection of her empty eyes. Something achingly, horribly familiar– something human, all the more terrifying for it.

Even when Teyvat itself crumples like paper beneath the weight of her sins – of this desecration anew, this wretched heresy – you allow her hands to do it again. You grasp her hands in yours like chains, willing her to shackle you, willing her to pull you apart and make you whole again. To break you until the gold cannot put you back together again.

You long, each time, for those eyes like spears that lodge into your skin– burrow deep and sting deeper, making gold flow like water. You long for the biting tongue, the cutting words and those teeth like weapons– long to see the spite and anger and impure disgust aimed at the woman of silver who leads you down a hall that ends only in damnation. You follow each time like the lamb led astray by the wolf, but you do not wail in betrayal when she sinks her teeth into your throat and devours you whole.

For is it a sin if you welcome it? Has their God sinned, in the eyes of the flock, for welcoming such heresy with open arms? For allowing the wolf into their home?

Is it a sin to be broken beneath the only hands that have loved you?

Is it a sin to want to love, too, those hands and teeth stained in gold?

Then you shall be damned, you swear it. Damned, but gold no more.

For death is the closest you have ever felt to being human.