#facts of rl

[deluweil]

Crude but nescessary reality check,

For all you dumbasses who think Ryan is homophobic and are too fucking lazy to do a small research,

Out of the two of them (Ryan and Oliver) - until of course Oliver was saddled with what was supposed to be Eddie’s LI - T - Ryan is the only one who portrayed a gay character before 911.

The Movie is called Papi Chulo

Hot as hell (and gay, sadly ;)) the genius Matt Bomer is in it.

Here is the clip from the movie,

Side-note though, before spewing hate based in lies, do your research first so that you don't turn out to be complete idiots online, so that you would not only be proven to be wrong and dumb, but also fucking racist hypocrites.

Life lessons and all that.

[captainrufflebanger]

It makes me sad most fanart of Miranda has her drawn with long hair. Hate Resident Lover for making that the popular interpretation. Yes she has long hair in that old photograph of her with Eva but that was the past. WHERE IS THE LOVE FOR CANON SHORT-HAIR MIRANDA?!?!?

Apparently I need to double down on drawing her without her habit to make up for the massive lack of short-hair Miranda art out there.

[meowuff]

I made ANOTHER :D

May I present my newest child: Udon!

He's a lovely lil Gecko of the gorgeous name "Uroplatus phantasticus" aka "the satanic leaf-tailed gecko" aka "eyelash leaf-tailed gecko" aka "the phantastic leaf-tailed gecko"

I have yet to decide what color scheme I'm gonna slap on him bc these lil guys come in so many different flavors

For now, I just wanted to doodle this silly lil guy! I have some very loose lore idea, him being some assassin or smth but I'm not 100% settled yet ~

He got his cute lil name from falling into a bowl of Udon noodles! :D

HAVE SOME CLOSE UPS!

[bassicallymaestra]

Serena Kosmos reference sheet with her cat Luna 💖

[quietfounder]

Anyone else remember watching these shows and still do?

[yuechicake]

I wonder if the reason that Mhin allows themself to be close to Kuras in a way they don’t with anyone else is partially because of the fact that Kuras is a doctor. The fact that Mhin has anatomical training and scientific knowledge, and the implication that they haven’t actually been able to apply that knowledge to medical practice in years… perhaps they feel a kinship with Kuras, or they see in him the person they once were, or they wish they could still be.

[lemorgo]

new year night celebrations

[ID: Svyat, Danya Alie and Maia are playing uno while sitting on the floor. They are under pink-purple lights of the room. Svyat has way too much cards on his hands and Danya happily pulls +4 card. He also wears bunny ears. Alie smiles slyly and Maia has her usual pokerface. End ID]

[liesmyth]

is there an equivalent of frociaggine for dykery?

ALAS not really! I'd still say frociaggine. "Frocio" and related words are as close to an umbrella term as you can get, at least in the reclaimed / community slang meaning of the word — as a slur is directed to gay men only, but queer people just love making up derivatives of that word and just throw it around like it's glitter at pride. Frociate. Frocerie. Frocetto. Frociarole. The way it rolls off the tongue is unparalled.

The slang word that specifically means lesbian is "lella" but I feel like it doesn't lend itself to the same amount of linguistic experiments that frocio does? Like, if I wanted to make up a derivative word it'd be like — lellagine? lellismo? lellate? it just doesn't sound fun and distinctive enough.

(All of this is very specific to central Italy / Rome specifically, Italian as a language can vary a lot regionally, especially the slang, and maybe there IS a slang word for dykery that's used in Sicily or Piemonte and I have absolutely no idea. Pls lmk if that's the case.)

[lapis-lazuliie]

they can't keep doing this,,,

[cadavercowboy]

Baked

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie has good intentions...just bad execution.

Word Count: 2k+

Warnings: Mentions of period & period symptoms. Drug use (marijuana).

You’ve been together long enough that Eddie knows — more or less — when it’s that time of the month. He hadn’t marked it on the calendar or anything because he’d been too worried you’d think that was a little creepy. But he has definitely made a mental note of it. Even if he hadn’t, there are sure signs to let him know when it’s imminent and warn him to prepare for what’s to come. 

The first indication is the increase in your appetite, something he combats by tossing a few extra snacks in the cart during his shopping trip. Then there’s the excessive naps. He often finds you snuggled up in your favorite fuzzy blanket, asleep on the couch like a sweet little kitten; sometimes you’ll burrow into his side or ask to rest your head on his chest, then outright refuse to let go of him and the unusual neediness is just another sign. Most notably though, the over-abundance of sensitivity — both physical and emotional.

So when Eddie finds you standing alone in front of the television, in tears over a documentary about cows, he knows exactly what is happening. And he’d been ready for it. The red sun, as he describes it, will soon be rising. 

Eddie gathers you into his arms, lovingly sweeping away the salty moisture that stains your cheeks. His fingers hook your chin and he forces your shiny eyes to meet his, his heart clenching then immediately melting at the abundant sadness he finds there.

“What’s wrong, my angel?” he prods gently.

You sniffle and swallow thickly, knowing how silly Eddie is going to think you are. 

“They took him away from his mom,” you hiccup, directing Eddie’s attention to the little black and white calf splashed across the television screen. “He’s only a baby.”

He tries not to laugh at your over-the-top blubbering, he knows better than to poke fun at you when you’re like this. Instead, he hugs you closer and rests his chin on top of your head; joining you in watching the program while the distressed cries of the baby cow spill from the speakers as a farmer marks his floppy ear with a numbered tag and sends him on his way.

“Aw…look,” Eddie coos as he rubs your back in soothing circles. “He’s back with his mama now, see? Look how happy he is!”

Extracting your arm from between your body and Eddie’s, you reach up to scrub your sleeve across your wet cheek. The calf frolics happily around his mother as she grazes, but that doesn’t seem to stop the flow of tears. You make a sound — half sob, half laugh — and Eddie pulls away to observe your swollen, dripping eyes.

“Now what is it?” he wonders, his amused chuckle edged slightly with concern as your face crumples.

“He’s just so cute!”

Eddie cups your head and pulls you into his chest, shushing you quietly as he rocks back and forth. You cry into his chest, unable to control your irrational response to the adorable little bovine. When you mumble an apology to Eddie for how ridiculous you feel, he only reassures you, as is his way.

“Oh, honey,” he tsks. “You’re not ridiculous at all. My girl’s just a little sensitive is all.”

He knows why you’re so sensitive, but he’d never directly acknowledge it. Seeing as he’s a man, Eddie isn’t quite sure it’s his place to bring it up; he’d hate to offend or embarrass you. Regardless, he has his subtle ways of accommodating you. If you’ve ever noticed his amplified tenderness, you’ve yet to let on. Maybe you know and maybe you don’t; either way, Eddie is more than happy for any opportunity to take extra special care of you.

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you stretch languidly beneath the overly warm sheets; one leg poking out from under the fabric in an attempt to cool your body somewhat. A sharp pain above your hip makes you wince and you’re reminded that you’ll need to stock up on tampons before this weekend. You yawn and sigh, feeling admittedly refreshed from the nap Eddie had insisted you take after this morning's episode. He’s always so sweet and doting, you have no idea what you’ve done to deserve him.

With your angelic boyfriend in mind, you drag your pliant body from your cozy bed and roll the tightness out of your shoulders before you set off in search of his company. You’ve only just stood up when suddenly you’re hit with an awful odor. The smell is acrid and pungent, undeniably familiar too, though you can’t quite put your finger on why you recognize it. When the ear-splitting chime of the smoke detector reaches your ears, your stomach drops and you race towards the door.

You whip the bedroom door open, instantly met with a smoggy, gray haze. The offensive scent is much stronger now, burning sharply in your nostrils.

“Eddie?!” you shriek, but his rapid footfalls are already on the move. 

He’s coughing amid a slew of hissed and frenzied curses and you slowly make your way towards the kitchen, eyes squinted and face covered with the collar of your soft tee. You can barely make out his silhouette when you round the corner, peering through the smokey cloud to watch Eddie frantically waving an oven mitt around. He clears his way to the oven, slamming the controls with a beep so that it turns off.

“Open a window!” he calls to you.

You spring into action, striding to the nearest window and yanking it open. Grabbing a magazine from the scattered stack on the counter, you begin to waft the gathering smoke towards the window. Eddie joins you, utilizing his oven mitt to do the same.

When you’ve got the room somewhat clear, Eddie stands beneath the still-chirping alarm and jabs a long finger upwards to silence the annoyingly loud device. He crouches in front of the oven, eyeing it skeptically before carefully easing the door open. Almost immediately, a thick plume of nearly black smoke billows towards the ceiling and Eddie hacks violently as his arms wave wildly in front of his face.

“Jesus H. Christ,” he mutters to himself as he opens the oven door all the way, moving aside to let the smoke drift towards the open window.

With his discarded oven mitt back in hand, Eddie reaches in and extracts a square tray. He drops it with a clatter on the countertop, small columns of gray still rising from the contents within. 

“What the hell is that?” you wonder, leaning around Eddie to get a better look at the blackened object.

“Well,” he begins with a sigh. “They were supposed to be brownies. But they ended up being blackies.”

You laugh, both at Eddie’s stupid joke and the perfectly disgruntled, defeated tone of his voice. He turns to face you then and you notice what he’s wearing. It becomes increasingly hard to take him seriously when you see the black apron tied around his neck, nothing else on his body save for a pair of dark red boxers. The lower portion is decorated with dancing flames and the middle boasts an image of four spectacularly-clad men with their faces painted in a variety of black and white patterns, standing above the orange and yellow gradient text that reads ‘KISS The Cook!’

Eddie studies your face carefully and you know precisely what he’s looking for. The shininess in your eyes or perhaps an imperceptible quiver in your lower lip. He thinks you’re going to be upset about the massacred brownies because he knows your hormones are a little crazy right now. No, he hadn’t admitted that he knows, but after the third month in a row of being served PMS brownies, you’d made the connection. Thankfully for Eddie, you’ve got yourself in check at the moment.

As you observe the brownies more closely, you cringe at the state of them. Eddie is so clearly disappointed and you had hoped perhaps you could reassure him and at least manage to eat some part of his brownies, but the charred tray of goo is indicating otherwise. The treat is utterly unsalvageable.

“What happened?” you ask, placing a supportive palm on the small of Eddie’s bare back. 

He huffs and drags a hand through his messy curls, then places a fist on his cocked hip.

“I dunno,” he laments dramatically. “I set a timer and everything.”

While Eddie explains, you glance over your shoulder and look at the oven. Your lips twist into a wry smile. Sure, Eddie had set the timer; he just forgot to start it. The red digits blink almost tauntingly, the glowing ‘0:45’ seeming to ask ‘forgetting something?’ with each flash. 

He whips the comical apron up and over his head, mussing up his already disheveled hair as he folds it over his arm and pouts weakly. You take note of Eddie’s glassy, reddened eyes and you suspect you may know just why he had forgotten to start the timer. He glances your way, suspicious of the accusatory way you raise your eyebrows at him. Your knowing smirk only seals the deal.

“Okay, so I smoked a bowl and burned your brownies,” he admits with exasperation, sassily crossing his arms across his tattooed chest. “I got distracted.”

Giggling loudly, you lean in and smack playfully at Eddie’s entwined arms. You drag your fingers over the flexing muscle in his left forearm, then wrap them around his wrist and pull his hand free to entwine his fingers with yours. 

“Distracted by what exactly?”

The guilt that flashes in Eddie’s eyes is undeniable and adorably comedic all the same. His irises flick restlessly from side to side and he flounders, lips opening and closing as he debates whether or not to tell you. He begins to blush and glances down at the floor — or towards his feet, rather — and you find your answer without Eddie even giving it.

“Aw, shit,” Eddie laments, releasing your hand and childishly stomping his feet as the forgotten apron falls to the ground. “They’re ruined!”

He raises his leg, bent at the knee so he can grab his own foot and present it to you, offering you five purple-tipped toes. He drops the appendage then does the same with the other, showing you the remaining five toes; two void of color and three painted but regrettably smudged. 

You recognize the lavender shade, the same one you’d used on your own nails last night. Evidently, you’d left the bottle of polish out and Eddie had gotten ahold of it. Clicking your tongue, your heart twists at Eddie’s forlorn expression; brown eyes like giant saucers and a frown so deep it’d make even the best clown envious.

“Wanted us to match,” Eddie utters churlishly.

He scooches closer to you, bracketing his much larger feet on either side of yours and wiggling his colorful toes. 

“We can fix ‘em,” you offer.

Eddie lights up, his grin unimaginably wide. He clutches your upper arms in his long fingers and jostles you a bit in his excitement. You turn under the pressure of Eddie’s hands which spin you in the direction of the living room then proceed to march you forward ahead of him. He collapses into the carpet then drags you down with him.

Seated at his side, you watch Eddie shake the tiny bottle of polish with much more vigor than necessary. He twirls the cap and extracts the brush without wiping the excess off, you don’t even have a chance to advise him otherwise before Eddie has his foot propped up on the edge of the low coffee table, toes pointed skyward and his body curled over itself like a feral animal. 

Eddie slathers the small nail with far too much polish and you have no doubt he’s likely to smudge it before it ever has a chance to dry. You admire his dogged determination; dark brows furrowed in concentration while the pink tip of his tongue peeks out between the prison of his plush lips. He makes several attempts to fix his previously smeared toenails before you step in and offer to help him. Eddie is quick to agree, promising to make you a consolation batch of brownies in return for the favor.

Joseph Quinn Masterlist ✦ Writing Masterpost

[ceescedasticity]

A complete generative AI tool is a random generator which has a very large number of parameters invisibly set by the prompt.

[chiropteracupola]

do we think alan alda could have played alan breck stewart

[payte]

I was finally able to fill my queue today, so Princess Legacy should start posting again tomorrow morning! I can't wait to see how you guys feel about the events that are going to unfold...

[statementlou]

How does one become your friend?

honestly I'm so mentally compromised by fatigue today that my answer- I don't know??- sent me into an actual spiral of "do I not know how to be a friend to myself is it a commentary on my psychological health and state of being" sooooo might just have to leave all that aside and go with, uh, try messaging or chatting some way? I'm generally afraid of bothering people, what if they think I'm a creep, but I usually like it when people talk to me and then boom! I, at least, consider us friends- same as most people on here I'd guess. But watch out! I am annoying and unless discouraged will then consider us pals forever if we have two friendly interactions, sorry.

[the-somwthing]

Controversial opinion: I don’t really count Cleo’s win as a full win, LIKE LISTEN I REALLY WANTED HER TO WIN, but Real Life is like a half win or something.

People always act like this opinion is an attack on Cleo and all that but like, you’re saying Real Life counts as a regular win like any other? So, if next season Cleo makes it really far, she should give up so someone new can get a win? You think she should say “I already won a season someone else deserves this more”? Like idk, to me counting Real Life as a full win feels like saying you don’t believe Cleo could get a win in a legit season so you want to count this one. And I don’t think that’s fair. Cleo doesn’t place very high on average but anyone can win. I think her winning Real Life is proof that she’s getting closer to a real win, like how Jimmy dying near the middle is proof that he could fully break the curse. I don’t count either of those as fully winning/breaking the curse but I see it as like. Half points. But apparently this opinion makes me a Cleo hater who doesn’t want to see her succeed. Idk it just feels like secretly thinking she isn’t capable of a real win, of course I don’t assume the worst of people like that, but like, that’s why I can’t subscribe to the opinion that RL was a win like all the others. I would’ve said it wasn’t a real win no matter WHO won, changing my mind just because it’s a woman feels like backwards feminism to me lmao.

I mean I’m going to assume that most people who say this aren’t doing that and would’ve said that it counts as a Real Win no matter who won? But if not then plz think about that lol. But like. No seriously if someone who always wins like idk Scott had won would y’all be saying “wow… Scott won yet another full season for realsies…” I’m assuming the best of you all and assuming that for some reason y’all hopped into Real Life thinking “can’t wait to see who our OFFICIAL sixth winner is”

[glorious-spoon]

human mattress for the world's happiest old bastard cat