#Shoebox

[coolthingsguyslike]

[sirislayer]

I made a Shlabethany supercut because I needed it and you need it too.

[nsdclassic]

1949 Ford

[snoozingbear]

ursula le guin’s afterword to the farthest shore

[herbgerblin]

I'm in love with shoebox/shlebethany and it's because of the phrase "God forbid women do anything." SHE IS THE WOMAN. she is terrible. she is committing every crime. she warrants forgiveness undeservedly. and she's hot as shit

[18catsreading]

Shoe box: I could kill him for you if you don't have the guts. Are you too, um, is it still ok for me to ask if you're too pussy?

Montrose: it's actually not ok --

Shoebox: Good ok are you too pussy to do it? Cuz I'll put a pistol right in his mouth and give him the express train to bitch city.

Emerich: did we invite you to --?

[brokebackbadger]

Various mineral thin sections

[parker-matsu]

"hi, i'm shlabethany. i'm an absolute shitbird, i don't like potato chips, and i Hate movies"

[ragavon]

Box bb

[thewhimsyturtle]

I, Kirby the Explorer, have discovered a box in the vast carpet lands! What secrets does this mystery box hold? 📦👀🐢

[friendly-jester]

Shoebox aka Shlabethany aka Bitch Riggens is the greatest character Justin has ever created. You cannot change my mind.

[coolthingsguyslike]

[bigboppa01]

[nsdclassic]

Ford shoebox and 57 Chevrolet

[snoozingbear]

🩵💜

[wolfstarshipping]

the marauders & sex ed / casual shoebox propaganda

All the talk about the marauders and sex ed made me nostalgic for the shoebox project, so I reread chapter 13 (the one where Remus has literary wet dreams and they all get "the talk", more or less) and need to share my favorite bits of this classic:

Sirius

"I bought some -- some literature," Mr. Potter continues, shuffling through a few pamphlets in his lap. Pamphlets, Sirius thinks. I will never be able to look this man in the eye again. He isn't even able to look this man in the eye now, staring down at his shoes and wanting, more than anything else, to have the simple life of a shoelace. He'd only ever have to worry about fraying at the edges, or getting chewed on by puppies. That would be the life, even if it didn't have any pudding. "Well," Mr. Potter says, "how does this one sound? It's Perfectly Natural."

James

James knows now he will never, ever have sex. Some day, in the near future, once he has worn Lily down for the second time, and he finds himself locked with her in a passionate embrace, her lips sweet and her hair against his hands, he will remember suddenly and without warning this lone image of his mother, peering down at him from behind thick-rimmed spectacles, her gray hair wild from humidity and chores, saying sexual intercourse! triumphantly. And that will be the end of that.

and of course also:

"You need to be informed." His mother beams at him. "Now, of course, I'm sure you're very curious about all these new feelings you're having, and I want you to know that you needn't be ashamed of any of them, and I want you to ask me some of those burning questions." James gapes at her. "Your parents," she says, "can be a fountain of knowledge about sex in all its many forms." James's brain shuts down completely. After a moment he manages to croak out, "Mum?" "Yes, dear? Don't be afraid to ask the tough questions." "I have to go take a shower." Forever, he adds silently. "You are a little ripe," she agrees. "New glands, of course. Puberty! What a beautiful thing!""I can never speak to you again," James moans hollowly. "I'm going to move to Siberia and become a nun. Thank you, mum, for shaping my life this way.""Dear, I understand you're a little hesitant," his mother says placidly, and kisses him on the forehead before helping herself up to her feet. "But please understand that we -- your father and I -- know from personal experience that sex can and should be one of the world's most beautiful things, and you should never be ashamed of yourself sexually or--" "HOLY GOD IN HEAVEN," James bellows, hurling himself into the bathroom and slamming the door.

Remus

"Your…book," Remus repeats. Oh God, do they know? They couldn't know. Maybe literary dreams are some kind of Lupin family thing, and when they start then you're about to be initiated into the Lupin Family Secret. "I just -- I wanted to look up some, er, dreams." "We know," his father says. He leans across the table, putting a comforting hand on Remus' shoulder. "We just wanted you to know that these dreams happen to everyone." Remus gapes at him, aware that his mouth is unattractively filled with half-chewed peas. "Wh -- they do?" "Of course they do, sweetheart." His mother smiles at him, fond and understanding. The panic rises in Remus's throat. "You see, when you reach a certain age, your body starts to have…certain urges." "No," Remus says quickly. "No urges. There are no urges." "Of course there are," his mother presses, "and they're perfectly normal. It's hormones, you know. A function of the body. Nothing to worry about." "No urges," Remus insists. "No urges." "There's no need to deny it," his mother soothes. "We understand that you must be feeling -- confused, and alone, and possibly intimidated. It is, after all, a new phenomenon. You must be asking questions, like 'What's happening to me?' and 'Am I the only one?' But you aren't alone, dear." "I went through it, myself," his father says, slicing a piece of roast. "No urges," Remus says again. He's forgotten any other words exist. "Now, Remus," Mrs. Lupin says patiently, "we thought that, since you enjoy reading so much, a few books on the subject would prove very useful." "Am I still speaking English?" Remus babbles. "It sounds like English to me. Why aren't you listening? No urges. No urges!" "Well," Mrs. Lupin attempts, "the man at the store suggested this cartoon version for young men. Do you want to take a look?" "Not if it's about urges," Remus says, feeling hysterical. "I get it," his father says, winking largely at him. "No urges. Right? We'll just leave these in the living room. Just in case." Remus stares down at his peas. From now on, he supposes he won't be able to eat peas. He'll forever associate them with this sick, desperate nausea, his mother's helpful expression, his father's demented, lewd wink of conspiratorial understanding. "Ack," Remus says.

Peter

"Peter Wimsley Pettigrew, get your tail down to this room this instant!" Peter scuttles downstairs, not really having any choice in the matter. His mother is glowering at him, holding up something in her hand that looks like…a sock. A very small, rubbery sock. (...) "I don't understand," Peter says numbly. "Socks are supposed to go in the wash. Aren't they?" His mother's lower lip quivers. Her eyes flash with flecks of red fire, demonic and accusatory. Peter shrinks back. "Intercourse!" his mother howls. "It is a filthy practice, riddled with disease! Into the bath, young man! Two hours!" Peter turns tail and runs. "Do you have any idea?" his mother's voice follows him. "The warts -- herpes -- untold infections -- unsanitary -- disgusting -- filthy -- no son of mine--!" Peter slams the door to the bathroom behind him and locks it. It didn't even look like one of his socks. It was too small to be one of his socks. It must have been one of his sister's, got mixed up in the wrong laundry. He's not entirely sure where all this talk of intercourse comes in, and how warts got thrown in the mix, but he doesn't often listen to his mum and secretly encourages dust bunnies as pets, until she takes them away. It isn't as if he has to listen to her. Oh well, Peter thinks, and runs a nice, hot bath.

All quotes are from the shoebox project by dorkorific & ladyjaida.