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@colt321
"omg you remembered!" of course i did. I have a file on you

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its not like i dislike the canon design! i just... can't help myself ;;;
also aang is my exception to the 'no cape' rule
Inspired by @pghumfort’s trans Landon and Yolanda thing I just reblogged, plus their being roomies after his divorce headcanons. Go read all their shit guys it is quality.
“You have to do it at a forty-five degree-“
“I swear to God, I’ve done subq injections before and I will stab this needle through your tongue if you keep interrupting.”
Yolanda didn’t have to wait long to hear Frank’s mouth click shut, huffing out an irritated enough sound she glanced up. Didn’t say anything, didn’t even raise her eyebrows, just shifted her pupils slightly towards him.
“I just-“ he sighed, dropping his head back against the pillows. He was on mandated rest after the hell work was yesterday, currently taking up her bed that she had to herd him into. “I don’t really let other people do my injections.”
That she knew. His ability to put himself in a vulnerable position was about the same level of difficulty as pulling teeth from a frog with tongs.
This? Trusting her to do his T shot while he was in pain, curled up in her bed, planning to watch Futurama together when this was over? A care slowly built over years. She’d done enough extractions she could make a necklace.
“I am a doctor, Langdon. Better one than you.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“You overworked yourself. At least I know when to take a day off.” It was a lie and they both knew it, but he didn’t push. “Now calm the fuck down and let me do this.”
She didn’t need to look at him to know the smile he must’ve had. It was easy to hear in his slight huff and the shuffle of bedsheets as he put his head back, letting do his shot with no further protest.
Fucking finally.
it’s sooo funny when rude customers encounter employees who can deny them service for the first time.
i was working at a little cafe where I could deny service over bad behavior, harassment etc. & mask mandates had just ended a week before & already people were being weird about me still wearing mine—an N95, the kind shaped kinda like a duckbill.
so this man walked in, looked at me sooo scathingly, laughed at me, and said “damn. never known a woman to choose…practicality over looks.”
And I just said, “oh. you can go, you’re not getting a drink.” And he said, “what???”
I said, “sir, you just walked in at 6 am & called women impractical and me ugly in one sentence.”
And he was so astonished he didn’t even argue he just turned around and left 💀🙏🏻 it was like he suddenly became self aware
One summer I was running ferry rides across a lake so people could see the waterfalls without walking 6 miles when a guy snapped my bra strap as he was boarding the boat. So i immediately threw him off, he started yelling for my manager, my boss cheerfully informed him that, yeah, she’s the captain of the boat and she can kick off anyone she wants. He goes to storm off, looks expectantly at his girlfriend, and she just goes, “Well, I’M not walking six miles, Michael! I’ll meet you back at the car!” and sits right back down!!!!
The expression on his face when he was told that he couldn’t get on the boat, then immediately told that his girlfriend was ditching him? PRICELESS. he just blinked at her and then stormed off like a child. I gave her a free hat and was like maybe rethink this relationship…….
i once had this fucker come up to order a beer. while i pour it he shows me the wanky fucking chemical structure tattoo on his arm and he’s like “hey. you know what this is” i was like “nah sorry” (never cared abt chemistry in school, plus having to look at a some rando’s pretentious tattoo gives me the douche chills). he decides to respond with “heh. you must not read many books”
i immediately stop pouring his beer. i reply: “heh. you must not want this beer.” thirsty boy immediately starts groveling like a worm “please please no i do want the beer im sorry im sorry” believe me when i say it was one of the most pathetic things ive ever witnessed
gotta love people immediately backpedaling when they realise that there are Consequences To Being Mean
I genuinely believe that part of why it has become so normalized to be openly callous and evil in politics is that customer service culture has trained affluent people that they can treat everyone they consider beneath them however they want and still be treated kindly.
It's also crazy how much more polite people are when they know they are talking to a government employee. Once a week I staff a state "wildlife support" phone line, and very rarely do I ever have a negative interaction, even though MOST of my job is telling people "no we don't perform that service, and there is no agency that does." "no, we can't help that animal, and neither can you, as that is illegal." I tell people "no" up to 30 times per day and I've only had a prickly customer about 3-4 times, and properly yelled at only once. (And if I get yelled at I am allowed to end the conversation.)
Meanwhile, when I worked at PetSmart grooming, I got yelled at MULTIPLE times EVERY day. Over a dog's haircut that I didn't even do.
we justifiably give Biden a lot of shit but I think "at least 3" is the funniest possible response to some right wing dipshit asking you how many genders there are
wait it gets better

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the role of the person in the passenger seat is not only navigator but secretary as well. you have to type up the drivers messages to random ladies on facebook about cbd cream & google whether that billy joel song was the theme song for that show or not
you also have to provide a henchmans disdainful scowl at whoever the driver is flipping off in the target parking lot
other assorted roles may include
retrieval team for objects in the backseat
custodian of the parking garage tickets
"All clear my way"
en-route dining concierge
announcing "Horses!" when there are horses
Don't forget the Tommy Gun
You should never forget the Tommy Gun
World Heritage Post
they make me want to say "oh they're married" (probably a part 1)
imagining a universe where porn is a marketable genre so you have to deal with raycon ads while trying to jerk your shit
You’re an easy slut, aren’t you kitten? Almost as easy as dinner with Hellofresh
everyone shut da fuck up this is the only thing that matters
Oh My God Damn

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“Williams’ victory feels especially well deserved because Shane Hollander is not an easy character to portray. As we wrote in our review of the series, Williams delivers “a masterclass in micro-expressions and physical restraint.” Shane spends much of the story fighting against himself, suppressing emotions he barely allows himself to acknowledge, and Williams manages to communicate entire emotional arcs through a glance, a tense jaw, or a slight shift in posture. Every crack in Shane’s carefully constructed armor lands with devastating impact because of the work Williams puts in throughout the series.
Seeing that performance recognized on one of Canada’s biggest stages feels incredibly rewarding. Williams’ win is also historic in its own right. At just 25 years old, he became the youngest performer ever to win Best Lead Performer, Drama, at the Canadian Screen Awards, accomplishing the feat on his very first nomination.”
- Q+ Magazine
well maybe you should blearily wake up at 5:08 in the pre-dawn light and find the sleeping soft tiny mammal body of your cat just inches from your head like a miracle too beautiful for speech, and you should rustle one hand out from your blankets to rub fingertip circles across the warm eggshell dome of her little velvet-wrapped skull and on the bristly patches just where the cups of her ears begin, and as she inclines her head into your fingers and purrs without ever opening her little eyes you should feel a love so tender that you understand how that love could have reached out from the fireside into the inky spangled nights long gone to reach her, and then you'll feel better
i am at a complete loss as to how to adequately express to you how much this cat throws up yeah
The first thing that startled Robby was just how long it took him to realise what he'd done. He'd strode across to meet the incoming ambulance, heard what info the EMTs had to pass on, walked the gurney into Trauma One, supervised Cassie and Nazely's assessment and stabilisation of the patient—gunshot wound to the abdomen, lower right quadrant; congratulations, you've just won the hopefully-once-in-a-lifetime chance to have Yolanda Garcia rummage around in your insides—and only then did it hit him.
He'd been out in the ambulance bay on the phone with Jack when he'd heard the wail of an approaching ambulance. Their discussion of whether to try the fancy new pizzeria with the odd toppings around the corner from Jack's place, or just to stick with the tried-and-true option for watching the game tonight, would have to wait. "Gotta go," Robby had said, distracted as he tried to estimate how far out the rig was, "see you later, I love you."
Robby stood there in the trauma bay and the full horror of the realisation slowly dawned on him. He'd told Jack he loved him. He'd told Jack he loved him, and then he'd hung up on him.
"Fuck," Robby said.
He snapped off the nitrile gloves he was wearing, binned them, and pulled his phone from his pocket between his thumb and his forefinger, as if he was handling some kind of medical waste. Nothing. No missed calls, no voice mails, no texts except for a scam one trying to get him to pay an imaginary FasTrak toll in California. Nothing at all from Jack, and Robby couldn't decide if that was better or worse.
Hand-off to Shen and Ellis was its usual clockwork, and on the drive over to Jack's place Robby went through various stages of bargaining with the universe. Maybe Jack hadn't heard him. Reception in the ambulance bay could be spotty. Calls sometimes dropped. Or maybe Jack would laugh it off, treat it as just the kind of brain fart you sometimes got near the end of a long but humdrum shift—like how a little kid in elementary school might absent-mindedly call their teacher 'mom' in front of the whole class.
A little voice in Robby's head, one that sounded suspiciously like his therapist, said what are you bargaining here for, exactly? Which was one of many reasons why therapy was doing a number on his temporomandibular joint, because clearly Jack had been getting along just fine with Robby not saying anything, even though Robby had surely been painfully, mortifyingly obvious, and wasn't the whole point of the therapy sessions for him to learn how not to leak his feelings all over everything and everyone?
And really, Robby thought as he parked in front of Jack's building and sat there rubbing at the hinge of his jaw, would we even call what Robby felt for Jack love? Or if he did, well, there were lots of different kinds of love. It didn't have to be that kind. Did it? Robby strained to recall all those ancient Greek words for love he'd studied in a long ago philosophy gen ed course. He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, one two three. Who was to say that Robby hadn't meant brotherly love? Philia. That could have been what he meant.
It's still bargaining if you're splitting hairs and looking for get-out clauses, his little internal therapist pointed out.
"Fuck," Robby said.
In the elevator ride up to Jack's condo, Robby wondered if there was scope for him to invent some sudden emergency. If he could just text Jack and say, Sorry, can't make it tonight, my condo's flooded or Cafeteria food gave me food poisoning, see you in 24-48 hours. But part of him felt like: well, hell, face the music. Play stupid phone games, accept stupid phone prizes.
See you later, I love you.
"Fuck," Robby said, with emphasis.
Right after he knocked on Jack's door, Robby realised he'd been so distracted by what he'd said that he'd totally forgotten what he'd promised to do in the first place. As soon as Jack appeared, in shorts and a ratty old t-shirt, Robby blurted out, "I didn't bring any pizza."
Jack looked at him, slow and steady, and then said, "We're working on our conversational segues, huh?"
"You heard it, right?" Robby said as Jack stepped back to let him in.
"Heard it, yeah," Jack said, closing the door and used one of his crutches to point in the direction of the living room. Robby obeyed, glum. The pre-game show should have started by now, but Jack's TV was switched off. A glass of whiskey sat on the coffee table. Robby had the distinct impression that he wasn't going to be watching the game that night. "Heard it, thought about it. Processed," with that precise, Dr-Abbot-y enunciation that could be terrifying when turned on a wayward med student and that now made Robby wince.
"I'm sorry," Robby said, hoping Jack would also hear the sincerity in his tone. "It was a lapse, it doesn't have to mean anything, I can keep a handle on it."
"Oh my god," Jack said, in tones of disbelief as resonant as if Robby had just confessed to liking low-fat popcorn, or thinking that the Pirates had a chance of winning the World Series this year.
"I can go," Robby offered. "If you don't want—"
"Sit," Jack said, and pointed at his couch. Robby sat. Jack picked up his glass and knocked back the last of the whiskey in one big gulp. Robby winced. That boded."Okay."
"'Okay' what?"
Jack squinted at him. "You think you're getting to steer this conversation right now? Because that happened earlier, and look where that got us."
"Jesus," Robby said.
"Let's leave him out of this," Jack said and, setting his crutches down, moved to straddle Robby's lap.
"Um," Robby said.
"You didn't need to woo me with fancy pizza," Jack said, "because brother, surely you know a sure thing when you see it. But I will say—"
Robby was long familiar with that particular tone. He rolled his eyes, preemptively.
"—as first declarations of like, undying passions or whatever, you could do with a little more finesse."
"Undying passion?" Robby echoed.
Jack stared impassively at him and raised both his eyebrows. "Well?"
Robby took a deep breath and fought not to close his eyes. Surely he could be brave enough to say this to Jack face-to-face? "I love you. I'm in love with you. I don't know when it first started but I do know that I can't imagine myself now without that fact of loving you. I'm not… I'm not good at words, I don't sing love songs well, but for you, I wish I could."
Jack leaned forward, rested one hand gently on Robby's chest, right over his heart. The expression on Jack's face now terrified Robby; made him want to keep being brave.
"I said it because it's what I'm always feeling. When I say hello to you, I mean I love you. When I say good night, I mean that I love you. When I—"
Their first kiss was a slow thing, a tremendous thing, with as much weight and heft to it as Jack had in Robby's lap. Robby's hands came up to settle on Jack's hips, and his head swam like he was the one who'd drunk the whiskey, instead of just having licked the taste of it from Jack's mouth.
"How about now?" Jack murmured, voice gone raspy. "Do you mean it now?"
"Yes," Robby said, and he'd never wanted Jack to believe him so much about something as he did right now. "Jack, I—"
"I love you, too," Jack said, and he was smiling like he'd just discovered the map to some undiscovered country, and the only thing that startled Robby now was how long it had taken them to speak.
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Happy Pride

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me, less than five minutes into starting the pitt: shawn hatosy and noah wyle should kith
this is a DISGRACE
every now and then i remember making this post and then i just laugh
Saved this because it is so true.