#yes i'm aware of you

[uncanny-tranny]

The best thing about those queer visibility days/weeks is when people of that identity start going, "now that you're aware of us: run."

I don't care that there are a billion of those posts when there's a visibility day or week, it's a classic.

[dr11ft]

chicana miku 🤎

[mythicalcoolkid]

You don't wish your disability was worse or more visible, you wish your disability was taken seriously. Please stop confusing the two, I guarantee you would not get the support you need JUST by being more severe or more visible. Please listen to visibly disabled people when we tell you it isn't better on our side

[somewhereincairparavel]

You mean to tell me that the pevensie siblings had ruled Narnia for DECADES before they had to come back to their normal lives, taking in the fact that time never passed at all in their world, only for them to do algebra and latin again in school all over again?? I wish the psychological aspect of this was expanded more because wtf? They probably hadn't picked up an algebra/latin textbook in decades so they come back and forget basically anything they've learnt in school?? Would it have slowed down their learning progress? Is that why peter was sent to professor kirke's house specifically for tutoring?? because kirke could understand the impact of moving completely different worlds and adjusting to it knowing that he'd be too old to return, while simultaneously continuing his life like nothing happened?? Or am I just reading into it too much because this still kinda blows my mind lol. Their perception of time would've been really fucked up.

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

putting my prediction on record now that the coming decade is going to see the rise of viral-marketed fancy at-home water filtration systems, driving and driven by a drastic reduction in the quality of U.S. tap water (given that we are in a 'replacement era' where our current infrastructure is reaching the end of its lifespan--but isn't being replaced). also guessing that by the 2030s access to drinkable tap water will be a mainstream class issue, with low-income & unstably housed people increasingly forced to rely on expensive bottled water when they can't afford the up-front cost of at-home filtration--and with this being portrayed in media as a "moral failing" and short-sighted "choice," rather than a basic failure of our political & economic systems. really hope i'm just being alarmist, but plenty of this already happens in other countries, and the U.S. is in a state of decline, so. here's praying this post ages into irrelevance. timestamped April 2023

[live-from-flaturn]

American Television after 5 years of pushing for queer representation: I hope you wanted unnecessary drama, angst with a maybe resolution, and three unfulfilling seasons of questionably written flirtation. And that all comes before anything is half-confirmed with a singular lukewarm kissing scene between two conventionally attractive, white bisexual women!

Thai Television .3 seconds after they figured out queer content is marketable: Did you want something kinky, soft, or stupid? Did you want cat ears? We’ve got cat ears! We’ve got safe/sane/consensual OR off-the-charts bad etiquette BDSM. We’ve got college students out the ass! As long as they’re an engineer or architect, choose your flavor. Do you want an age gap or classmates? Something for adults? Teens? Everyone was childhood besties, how about that??? This is a short order restaurant and I will flip you some gays like they’re hotcakes, just tell me what you want.

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

There should be a place where you can go to Hold Baby. Just like, tired mum's in there drinking coffee for half an hour, hold their baby and rock it to sleep under the supervision of this infant care expert. Vaccinations required. Cat cafe for babies.

[itsindiana]

i think we don't talk about what the driving force behind each batcher is enough. like if u think abt it hunter often acts out of fear ( not cowardice , fear that his ppl will get hurt duh ) , while crosshair often acts out pain , tech acts with logic , wrecker with love , and echo ? echo acts out of being true hater

[firthbetterorfirthworse]

Colin Firth's Wet Influence

I've said this before, but this bears repeating because holy shit y'all

(Intro here, data and graphs here)

When I first started noticing how often Colin Firth got wet I questioned, was it because of Pride and Prejudice? Did the decision to put him in a wet shirt in 1995 alter the course of his career?

Well, NO. My hypothesis was wrong. He had five projects in the ten years before 1995, including Valmont which also put him in a wet white shirt. He already had an established career in wetness. Pride and Prejudice didn't influence him.

Instead,

Colin Firth influenced Pride & Prejudice

Before 1995? ZERO wet Darcys.

After 1995? MOST Darcys get wet! I watched 19 post 1995 adaptations with a Darcy character, and 13 of them got that Darcy wet. That's 68%! In at least two where they didn't get wet, they alluded to it!

I don't have stats either, but I've read >650 P&P adaptations and even in a non-visual medium, it's a trope to get Darcy wet.

Colin Firth’s trend of getting wet is so powerful it permanently altered the public perception of a 200 year old character

And! Now there are homages!

So. You know. You'll never be able to unsee when a character gets wet now. You're welcome!

[adhd-merlin]

[fluentisonus]

working in a factory has you thinking so much about the insane chain of labor & transport that goes into making literally anything

[intheorangebedroom]

The corner deli

Summary: You take a night trip to the corner deli and meet this handsome guy, but shit turns out weird.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!reader

A/N:  This is what happens when I can't sleep. Happy Frankie Friday, Orange besties 🧡

Word count: 1.8k

The corner deli

And here you are, another Friday night on your own, reading a book you can barely focus on, scrolling mindlessly in between chapters, slouched in your couch and feeling sorry for yourself. Those stupid, evil thoughts starting to whisper some nasty shit in the back of your mind, and you’re letting it happen. 

It’s on you, though, because some of your coworkers, the younger ones, offered you to go out with them but you said no. You’re too much of an introvert, but not enough that you don’t feel miserable now, sitting here alone while the city’s buoyant life unfolds without you behind your closed windows. What difference does it make, anyway. It goes on, whether you decide to join or not. No one misses you, so there.

Fuck it. Tonight, you’re gonna eat your feelings. You slip on your jeans and your shoes and go out to the deli on the corner, it’s open all night. You’ll get some Pringles or ice cream, whatever comes first. 

You’re walking down an aisle, hesitating between two flavors of Chex Mix, when you catch sight of THE most handsome man you’ve ever seen in your entire life. 

He’s tall. And so fucking broad. His denim shirt is working hard containing the breadth of his solid shoulders, his jeans are tight on his thighs. He’s got a scruffy, patchy beard and strands of brown hair curling at his ears underneath his trucker hat. He’s all sharp profile, solid features, plush lips, oh! his lips are just… generous, and his eyes… god his eyes are dark, deep and soulful. Wait, did you just use the word soulful? Well, he’s that fucking handsome. There’s a stern crease splitting his brow, but it’s tempered by the small wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, the kind you get from laughing often. 

You look down at yourself and… fuck. Your mascara has run off because yeah, maybe you cried a little, earlier. Your hair is dirty, pulled together in a messy bun that looks nothing like those supposedly effortless hairdos thrown at you in Instagram reels. The ones that make you feel unworthy of the air you’re breathing. You're wearing a dirty pair of 501 with your pajama shirt tucked in, there’s no way you're getting anywhere near him, even if you had any self-confidence to boot. 

You walk over to the back of the store. Not that it’s a good hiding spot, it’s just where the fridges are. And of course, they’re out of the one ice cream flavor you like. Wow. It really ain’t your day, is it? Craning your neck to scan the empty top shelf, you spot the very last Netflix and Chill’d all the way to the back. Opening the door, you stand on tiptoes, fingers scrambling over the icy shelf to grab it, but you can’t reach that high. 

That’s when you feel him. His chest barely brushing at your back. You get a whiff of his scent and you swallow a gasp. He smells like leather and warm skin and laundry and you can’t even move anymore, you just stand there like a Roman statue in a museum, with one arm up. Your gaze follows his arm as it extends toward the shelf, reaching it with ease. As his large hand grabs the last tub, the whole sequence of movements completely effortless and well, graceful.  

He takes a step away from you, and your body’s responding again. Your heels meet the ground, and you turn to face him. There’s the promise of a smile curling his lips, fuck he is stupidly handsome, Jesus fucking Christ, are you still breathing? He hands you the tub and all you can think of is how thick his fingers look around it, and how they would feel buried inside you, or wrapped around your throat, and… oh wow. That escalated quickly. 

You swallow hard, blinking the filthy thoughts away. There’s something in the way he looks at you, a glimmer in his eyes. You feel… warm. He flexes his jaw to the side, he’s smiling at you, still holding that goddamn ice cream, you gotta say or do something, but your body has bailed on you, yet again.

Eventually, you take the cold tub, careful not to touch his fingers. But he’s not letting go. Your breathing turns shallow, you can barely hold his gaze. Why does he keep looking at you with those soft brown eyes, why is he smiling like that? He can’t possibly be… what? Interested in you? No one can. No one ever is. That’s why you’re in this deli, alone, in the middle of the night, wearing last week's dirty laundry. 

Oh. Of course. He’s waiting for you to thank him. Jesus you’re stupid.

“Thanks. You. I mean, thank you.” Oh, great, that went well. 

There’s a beat before he releases his grip and lets go of the tub. 

“You’re welcome,” he says, and of course, his voice is velvet. Round and husky and low. 

There’s an easy confidence about him, like quiet assertiveness, is that a thing? Like he knows his worth, but he doesn’t need to step all over people’s toes to show it. 

You’re raking your brain for some smart quip you know will come to you tomorrow morning in the shower, when you hear a commotion at the cashier. Somebody’s shouting orders, a dude holding up something in his hand, pointing it at the employee behind the plexiglass. Holding a fucking handgun, Jesus fuck the place is getting robbed.

Your mouth drops open, but no sound comes out. There’s pressure around your elbow and you’re yanked down onto the dirty tiles. 

The man in the trucker hat is crouching next to you. He holds his index finger pressed to his lips. His face looks different, his jaw tensed, a deep frown darkening his face. His eyes are pitch black, is it even the same man? A minute ago, he looked like the friendly next-door neighbor you’re daydreaming about fucking in the basement laundry room, and now he looks like someone who’s about to shoot you in the face.  

“Be quiet,” he mouthes under the noises coming from the front of the store, “stay here, everything’s gonna be ok.”

You don’t want him to leave you here on your own, no matter how threatening he looks, but he’s already moving toward the front and anyway, it’s not like you can move.  

Shouldn’t you call 911? He told you to be quiet, what the hell are you supposed to do?

It all happens so fast, and you’re so scared. You’ve never been this scared in your entire life. You hear a thud, followed by a gunshot. You clasp your hand to your mouth, you’re sure you’re gonna die. You hear the sounds of a struggle, a loud, piercing yelp, and another, louder thud. There are a few more noises, fabrics rustling, muffled groans and nothing. Deafening silence. 

You can’t feel your legs and your heart is beating in your throat when you finally hear him, the guy in the trucker hat. His voice is firm and his tone commanding as he addresses the deli employee. 

“Hey, hey look at me, you’re ok. Can you call 911? Hey! Call 911. You’re ok.”

Your legs won’t carry you. You have to crawl to the front of the store on your hands and knees, and your eyes grow wide at the scene you find there. A tall, young man with a shaved head is lying on the floor, wrists in a zip tie, he’s passed out, or dead, you’re not sure and you don’t wanna know. And anyway, you don’t have time to see more. He’s here, in front of you, the guy in the trucker hat, blocking the view with his massive silhouette, helping you get up and walking you outside. 

“You ok?” he asks you. 

He’s got one hand in the small of your back, the other one is gripping your arm. They’re warm, and that’s how you register how cold you are. In fact, you’re shivering in the warm city night, teeth chattering and all. 

“It’s over, I got you,” he says, cupping your face and you look up at him, nodding, mumbling, “I’m ok, yeah, I’m ok,” trying to focus on his warmth radiating through your cheeks. 

When they arrive, the cops instruct you to stay to make a deposition. Uncomfortable doesn’t cut it to describe your state of mind throughout the entire process, but he stands near you the whole time, his shoulder against yours, and you don’t think you could stand straight without it. 

Eventually, the place clears up. The perp came to, they handcuffed him and took him away. As he passed near you, you saw a purple bruise blooming on his neck. 

You’re told you’re free to go, and there’s really no reason for you to stay. 

Except there is. 

“So um… you’re a cop, or something?” you ask, looking intently at the fascinating tip of your Van’s, bumping against the curb. 

He shakes his head. 

“No. US Air Force. I’m a pilot.”

Your head shoots up, mouth falling open into a silent oh. 

His smile is so fucking soft you want to kick the curb and break all your toes. 

“Well, thank you, anyway. That was really scary. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Now, there really isn’t any reason for you to linger. But he’s not moving, standing tall and broad and solid before you, hands propped on his hips, with that easy confidence about him. And that thing happens again, that thing where he looks at you with those gentle brown eyes and that promise of a smile, and you feel like you’re the center of the goddamn universe. 

“I’m Frankie, by the way,” he says, offering you his hand. 

From all the scary shits that went down tonight, this one has got to be the scariest, by far, because you know that if you take his hand, you’re not gonna let go. 

You hear your name coming out of your mouth, and it’s too late. You’re done for. Your small hand slides into his larger one, and he gives it a strong squeeze. Not enough to hurt you, but enough to tell you everything you need to know. 

And he’s not letting go. And you’re not letting go. You expect fucking fireworks, at this point, but it’s just… right. Like you don’t have to be scared. Like you don’t have to torture yourself anymore with mean-ass questions about how to behave or what to say next. Like you can simply be you, and it’ll be enough. 

“So,” he starts, and he’s downright grinning now, a dimpled smile that lights up his entire face, “d’you think we can consider this as our first date?”

****

Part 2

[tubes-the-ann]

I was bored while doing IT school work and made this.

My methods have only gotten more sophisticated as I arrive home today and mess around more.

yeap.

[mechazushi]

The thief better get this guard pregnant before I do.

[music-orthemisery]

exact same vibes

[emmavakarian-theirin]

the way the music died at just the right moment made this so perfect