I Don't Know You Guys, But George Clooney Looks Really Mexican To Me.

LET ME SPEAK UP FOR OUR MAN RUSTY RYAN'S OUTFIT!!!

"Rusty dresses like trash." EXCUSE ME??!!

IT'S: “Rusty walks in like the runway”

In Ocean’s Trilogy, Rusty's always dressed to kill. You look at him and you know he understands what he’s wearing and why. Slim-fit suits, bold color choices that still look classy, layering done with surgical precision. Unbuttoned silk shirts, designer shades, luxury watches — he’s cool without trying too hard.

Meanwhile Danny plays it safe with his classic suits. And Linus… oh my god, Linus… the sweaters, the gray jackets —he looks like a lost office intern =)) And NOBODY EVEN SAYS ANYTHING ABOUT LINUS FASHION TASTE, while Rusty wears one slightly crinkled silk shirt and suddenly he’s “dressed like a dumpster fire” 🥲💔

To sum it up: Rusty’s fashion is chaotic but curated. It’s loud, yes. But it slaps. If Rusty isn’t stylish, then who is??

holy fuck G Clonney was so hot and such a badass omg omg

George Clooney as Seth Gecko FROM DUSK TILL DAWN (1996)

Everybody's making Rusty Ryan a dog. A fucking DOG.

No, ofc he's not a dog. But he's a dog.

In the back of my mind, I've always somehow knew that he's Danny's no1 loyal dog.

And now everybody's giving him dog manners.

And I fucking love that (sorry not sorry).

ive been staring at this for 10 minutes straight. the way he looks at him normally before he realizes he just wants to fix his bowtie. grown ass man rolling his eyes. were you expecting a kiss or something

right....

me wanting to write about a specific character but not knowing enough about a specific field they work in is a curse

I swear admitting you like a character means you’re basically signing a death warrant for them

oh yeh, i don't even know how Danny will ever help Rusty out ☠️☠️

Had to make a meme to describe me currently

noted

I’ve been back on my oceans kick and does anyone else think it’s cute that in the beginning Danny asked Frank “Do you know where he is?” You would think with the newspaper he’s reading he would be talking about Ruben, but Frank is like “ur bf is in Vegas go make hot and heavy eye contact” and they flirted over poker????? And everyone shipped them so hard except for Linus who was having a sexuality crisis while simultaneously having an authority crisis.

oh.

i have to write one bout Rusty Ryan soon

10 Quiet Ways Your Character Is Breaking Their Own Heart (And Pretending It's Fine)

These are the betrayals that aren’t loud. They don’t come with fireworks or screaming matches. These are the small, slow deaths. The ones that your character lets happen... while smiling politely.

» They say yes when they desperately want to say no. Every. Damn. Time. They show up when they're exhausted. They agree to things they hate. They make themselves smaller, softer, easier, because "good people" don’t make waves, right? (Spoiler: they're drowning.)

» They keep chasing people who only love them halfway. It's not even subtle anymore. They know these people leave them on "read," show up late, make them feel like an afterthought. But they cling anyway, spinning every scrap of affection into a story about hope. (It’s not hope. It’s hunger.)

» They refuse to believe good things are meant for them. They’ll hype everyone else up. They’ll believe in everyone else's dreams. But when something finally good lands in their lap? They’ll panic. Push it away. Tell themselves it was a fluke. (Because being disappointed feels safer than being lucky.)

» They’re waiting for closure that will never come. An apology. An explanation. A miracle where someone says, "You were right, and I was wrong, and I’m so sorry." They wait years. Decades. Lifetimes. But deep down, they know: some people never come back. Some stories just end without punctuation.

» They’re hoarding all their "almosts" like treasures. The job they almost got. The love that almost worked. The version of themselves they almost became. They replay those maybes like a greatest hits album. (Meanwhile, real life is slipping by while they mourn possibilities.)

» They’re performing a version of success they secretly hate. Look at the Instagram. Look at the LinkedIn updates. Look at the shiny exterior. It looks like winning. But every trophy they collect feels heavier, not lighter. Every promotion tastes a little more like ash. (Turns out, chasing someone else's dream is still losing.)

» They forgive people who aren’t sorry. Not because they’re enlightened. Not because they’ve healed. But because it’s easier to pretend it didn’t hurt than to sit with the fact that it did—and that the person responsible doesn't care. (Some wounds scar better when you stop pretending they were accidents.)

» They punish themselves for still being soft. The world told them, again and again, that soft things get broken. And they believed it. So every time they feel too much? Every time they cry or hope or trust? They tell themselves they’re weak. Stupid. Embarrassing. (They're not. They're just still alive.)

» They downplay their own magic. They call their talents "lucky breaks." Their beauty "average." Their intelligence "no big deal." They shrug off compliments like they're dangerous. Because deep down, they've been taught that being remarkable makes you a target.

» They cling to the idea that if they just work harder, they'll finally be enough. They believe in meritocracy like it’s a religion. That if they hustle hard enough, self-sacrifice deep enough, burn themselves to ash perfectly enough, someone, somewhere, will finally say, "You're worthy now." (They were always worthy. The system is just broken.)