#this is all one big giant metaphor

[iwanthermidnightz]

I keep rewatching the mastermind performance over and over again and it’s so loud because Taylors telling this story with her whole chest. It’s interesting to pay attention to the movements that are happening. She’s playing puppet master with the ‘playthings for her to use’. They follow her every command. All the pieces fall right into place/dominoes cascading in a line because it was all her doing… the mastermind. None of it was accidental, don’t you love that? The metaphor of it all.



[telesodalite]

Sort of a ramble, sort of me just writing my thoughts out while I'm stuck with writer's block, but I keep thinking about how Fulcrum was in stasis for roughly 3 million years??

Like, that's a long time, even for Cybertronians. Not a really long time, not an entire lifespan. But still, it's a large chunk of a normal lifespan just gone. Poof.

One second you're crawling across the pockmarked terrain of an alien planet, surrounded by the sound of gunfire, and the shouting and screaming before and after each earth shuddering impact of another k-con hitting the ground. And then it's quiet. You're not there anymore. You're drifting somewhere between not alive and just asleep. Preserved somewhere in the background of a doomed body, ignored by time and space, still here, but also not.

And then there's sound. Not gunfire. Not shouting or screaming. Not the sounds that'll haunt you till your dying days, your own death sentence pounding in your head. No. Just voices, talking, standing out against a silent, dead world. Wondering. Joking. Bickering. Familiar. Just, not familiar to you. And you're awake. Pulled back from the nothingness you've been frozen in, consciousness tugged forwards with the yank of a fuel pump and the nearness of life.

These two moments are roughly 3 million years apart, but only minutes, maybe even seconds, to him. From a hectic harrowing battlefield, to an old silent graveyard in one blink.

How long did it take to really sink in? I mean, he seems to just roll with it. He doesn't seem particularly bothered. But like, what happened outside of what we see? How did he really feel?

Also, his body aged without him. While his mind preserved itself, freezing him as he was right then, his body was left to weather Clemency for all those years. No wonder it crumbled to dust when he jumped off the world sweeper. It's probably a miracle of some kind that it didn't just fall apart each time someone leaned on him.

And even after they rebuild him, give him a better, newer body. His spark, it's casing, all the irreplaceable core bits that make up their inner bodies, it aged in the time without him. Does he feel it? Does it make his body even more foreign to him?

Then he's also a technician with information that's 3 million years out of date. Lucky him that the scavengers probably weren't working with top of the line material. But still it's gotta be weird when faced with anything brand new, because a lot can change and progress in 3 million years, and now some of the knowledge he once prided himself in is obsolete.

Besides those things, his view of the galaxy, of the war, of their kind, of other kinds, is one of the few things actually pointed out when it comes to him being stuck in the past. So, how often were his old views challenged? Facts of life he held close proved to no longer true? There's 3 million years worth of new science, new beliefs, new words, new terms, new views.

And sure, some of it can be familiar, because they're an ever evolving kind, and they have patterns, core beliefs, repeating behaviors, but a lot of it's gonna be unfamiliar at the same time, because it's 3 million years worth of catch up, it's not like missing last week's trend.

In a way, it makes him a living relic of a bygone era for Decepticons. It would've been really interesting to have had that explored a little more.

[steakout-05]

kinda fucked up that every social invitation to infodump from autistic communities feels like a lie or that it's specifically designed to exclude me from that invite. "feel free to infodump!!" gets processed in my head as "if i say anything i will be ignored or ridiculed or mocked and generally face backlash for not being autistic in the "correct" socially acceptable way therefore i am not included in this statement and will just stay silent as everyone else gets to say stuff. after all the only safe place to infodump is in my own little space", no matter how safe the space actually is. alien amongst aliens so to speak

[stormvanari]

HIE and LOW bingos:

chart made by @/monzinee on this here app

(rambling/notes in the tags)

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

i watched My Neighbor Totoro for the first time, here's my chronological viewing experience:

woo-hoo! dusty old japanese house with japanese architectural details aplenty

these kids got some ENERGY my goodness

family dynamic's adorable. peak quality dad humor

kids: our house is haunted. parents: that's so cool!

hell yeah, wrinkled old lady rep. we need more friendly old women with potato faces and warts like storybook witches. the backbone of society, these ladies

Plot Summary: Small Child Bothers Local Wildlife

sacred tree sacred tree sacred tree

Introducing Totoro! nobody said this fucker's got TEETH???

Uh-Oh! Inadequate Parental Supervision Detected

(you misplaced your four year old! you're not supposed to do that)

4-year-old: i met a magic forest spirit. dad: oh shit fr?

4-year-old: *angrily hugs sister* missed u bitch

this small child has a smile like a toad. like a really really cute toad. like the cutest toad in all existence. i love her she's perfection please just let this child be happy

rice paddies are so pretty....so back breaking....rice is such a prissy crop

*my crush is stranded in a rainstorm* takethisumbrellait'syoursnowBYE *runs away in panic im so good at flirting*

Giant Chinchilla Learns To Hold Umbrella, Is Fucking Delighted By Experience

take this, it will help you on your quest! *hands u trail mix wrapped in a leaf*

LO-FI HIP HOP STUDY LIST!

crouching down to peer at dirt--A++ top notch foundational childhood experience

mom has a big ass forehead

honey! the chinchillas are performing Rituals in the backyard again

help yeah let's jack and the bean stalk this shit

huh so we're all just climbing aboard the giant chinchilla's tiddies now ok

class trip!

the pure adrenaline of Vegetable Gardening

no! the small child is crying! she is bawling her eyes out. no no no. i can't cope with this. emotionally i cannot cope 🥺🥺🥺

i've only had Mei one hour but if anything happens to her i will raze this earth and everyone on it

please someone make this small child smile again

oh no the tall child is crying too

i can't take this. my heart can't take this.

i need a drink

small child running determined to deliver magic veggies to the hospital. this kid is my hero

she is also unsupervised. so, so unsupervised

babe you are FOUR

godDAMMIT ghibli, you cannot give me watercolor sunsets while a small child is missing. u are killing me. my heart is giving out. this is me, experiencing heart failure.

Totoro to the rescue!

no wait CATBUS to the rescue!

i admit i initially thought the cat was a creep. alice in wonderland prejudiced me. i have revised my notions of smiling cats

i've decided the cat is a metaphor for the magic of a robust public transport system

MEI'S OKAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!

and so is mom. she's a lovely lady im sorry for what i said about her forehead. it's a noble forehead.

happy ending YES bitch!!!!!!

ok. ok ok ok. that was magical.

(as a first-time adult viewer i was worried i wouldn't be able to Access the Magic. but i could and i did and it was incredible. that was culture. that was ART. joy distilled into animated form. holy rites of childhood. i understand now. how glorious, this world we grow out of. how full of marvels. i'm going outside to smell grass and sun and get dirt under my fingernails. miraculous.)

[imaginedisish]

I'm Not In Love (Logan Howlett x fem!Reader)

A/N: Okay, so this if my first fic in over a year, and it's also my first Wolverine fic...so please be kind. I'm just getting back into the groove. Expect it to possibly be a little rough. This is big time inspired by "I'm Not In Love" by 10cc. This fic is also thanks to a request I got from an anonymous user! Thanks for the idea, anon! Hope it's okay! Enjoy guys.

Summary: After harboring a crush on Logan for months, things finally come to a head while on an overnight mission.

Warnings: SMUT. 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. There's like no plot here just smut, Unprotected PIV sex (wrap it up), Oral (f!receiving), AFAB reader, Sizekink!(this was a specific size kink request, and so the reader is therefore described as being smaller than Logan/his shirt being big on her), cursing, praise kink, OOC!Logan (just putting this out there because I haven't seen the X-Men movies/read X-Men comics in forever and I'm probably giving him terms he doesn't use/having him act in ways he might not typically), feelings, cocky!Logan, softdom!Logan, one bed muahaha, probably grammar errors, think that's it?

Word Count: 3,162 I got carried away

He was driving you absolutely crazy. Logan. Logan fucking Howlett, with his cocksure attitude and self-satisfied smile. Maybe it’s the way he thinks he’s always right. Maybe it’s that stupid stubbornness, that prowl he does when he walks across a room to meet you. To mock you. His whole being towering over you—his musky, pine-scented cologne filling your lungs. He’s everywhere—and not just metaphorically—literally and physically. His giant frame shadows yours, and you can’t help but admit that there’s something about it…something about him. 

You want him. Bad. And although you won’t admit it, you’ve wanted him for months. And so, as of lately, he’s not so much a nuisance as much as he’s a distraction. 

You just had to be sent on this mission with Logan—this ridiculous two-day stake-out that you could have done on your own. You’re certainly strong enough; your telekinetic powers and regenerative abilities are enough to handle any situation. And yet, here you are, walking up to a motel with Logan fucking Howlett. 

His frame practically consumes yours as he stands behind you on the sidewalk. You swear you can feel the ghost of his fingertips against your waist, impatient and ready to guide you forward. You silently wish he would—wish he would grab your hips and take you down that alleyway and—

“You okay, darlin’?” His voice is gruff against the shell of your ear. “You seem awfully distracted.”

You swallow your embarrassment and hope he won’t pick up on how fast your heart is beating. “I’m fine, just tired,” you mutter, lying straight through your teeth. You can feel his smirk against the side of your head. He has to know what he’s doing. He has to know how much you want him. 

He chuckles and his chest vibrates against your back. “Too tired for the mission, bub? We’re almost at the motel, don’t worry.” The condescension in his voice is palpable. He knows exactly how to get under your skin. You’re putty in his hands. 

He steps out from behind you, and before you can mourn the loss of the contact, he grabs your hand and leads the way through the doors of the motel. “This okay?” He whispers in your ear, his massive hand giving your smaller one a squeeze. All you can manage is a nod as you approach the front desk. You know it’s just to support your cover—you and Logan are posing as a married couple—but you can’t help but hope it means more. You need it to mean more. 

God, you are so fucked. 

You’re so distracted thinking about how close Logan is to you that you almost miss the moment when the worker at the front desk says the only room left has just one bed. 

You crane your head to look up at Logan, who you find is already looking down at you. 

“That’s perfect,” he says, his eyes still on you. His stare doesn’t budge as the man behind the front desk slides the key towards the two of you. Logan grabs the keys and finally breaks the moment. His hand is still holding yours as he navigates the two of you toward your motel room. 

The room is…small. There’s one queen bed in the center, a bathroom on the other side of the room, and an old box television resting on an even older-looking oak dresser. On the bright side, the place appears to be clean. 

“I should freshen up,” you say, taking off your shoes. Your hand slips out of Logan’s as you pad over to the bathroom with your bag. 

The bathroom isn’t horrible either. Dated, but clean. You brush your teeth and wash your face before undressing and searching for your pajamas in your bag—which, naturally, you forgot to pack. 

“Ah fuck,” You mutter louder than you meant to. 

You hear Logan stirring in the other room, his footsteps quickly approaching the door. “You okay?” You can sense the concern in his voice, and you can’t help but smile. 

“Yeah, just forgot to pack something to wear to bed.” There’s more shuffling on the other side of the door. You hear Logan’s bag zip. 

“You want my shirt?” He asks, standing just outside the door now. 

“I’d feel bad, then you—” Your protests are ignored as he opens the door just enough to toss his Calgary Flames t-shirt onto the bathroom sink, closing it tightly once the shirt lands. You smirk as you walk over to the shirt and put it on. The hem lands at the middle of your thighs. Logan really is massive, you think to yourself. 

You take a deep breath, slowly twist the knob of the bathroom door, and head outside. Logan is lounging on the chair next to the dresser, his eyes on you as you place your bag down on the floor at the foot of the bed. 

“Th-thanks for the…” You stutter, trailing off as you nod down to the shirt. 

Logan smirks as he pushes himself out of the chair and makes his way toward you. You think you see him take you in, look you up and down, but that can’t possibly be.

He shakes his head as he stops at your side. You swear you hear him mutter a low fuck under his breath. “You look good.” But he doesn’t stop for long. He pushes forward and into the bathroom. “I’ll sleep on the floor,” he mumbles as he shuts the door behind him. 

“Let’s just share the bed,” you shout back, unsure of where the confidence to say that came from. But there’s no response, just the running of water from the sink. 

You sit on the edge of the bed, waiting for what feels like forever, but Logan doesn’t take long at all. After a few minutes, you hear the sink shut off and the door creek open. 

You shake your head as you stand from the bed to face him. “By the way, you’re not sleeping on the floor, don’t be ridic—” You’re too stunned to say another word. You’ve seen Logan shirtless before, sure, but not like this. Not in just his boxers. Not in a room with him, alone, for an entire night. You need to relax, to calm down, but there’s nowhere else to go, and nothing else to look at. You know he can your heart beating out of your chest now. 

 He steps toward you, engulfing you with his presence. You stare up at him. “Am I really that scary?” He closes the distance between the two of you. 

You try to play dumb. “W-what are you talking about?”

“Every time I get close to you, that little heart of yours practically explodes.”

You swallow roughly. “I d-don’t know what you’re talking about, Logan.” But your shaky voice gives it away. You know exactly what he means. 

His arms snake around your waist, resting on your lower back. “Yeah, you do, darlin’,” he says. “You afraid of me or something?” God he is so fucking cocky, you think to yourself. 

“’M’not afraid of you,” you whisper. “Could never be afraid of you.” 

He smiles and walks you to the edge of the bed, your knees threatening to buckle under the pressure. “What is it then, hm? You like how big I am? That it?” Your eyes frantically search his face for some sort of excuse, some sort of denial. But he can read you like a book. “Yeah, I think that’s it.” He’s towering over you, caging you in. 

“It’s more than that,” you admit. 

He cocks his head to the side. “Oh yeah? What?” He won’t let that be enough—you know he won’t. He’ll tease it out of you. His presence is dizzying and distracting. You’re not even sure you can form another complete sentence. 

“I-it’s just you,” you finally choke out. 

But it’s not enough for him. “What about me?”

Everything, you want to say. You want to tell him how you feel. “Logan, I…” But you can’t. I’m not in love, that’s what you’ve been trying to convince yourself of for months.  

“Go on, say it. What’s got you going?” He tightens his grip around your waist, his thumbs rubbing gently along your back. He leans down, his lips brushing against your forehead. “Use your words, sweetheart.” 

Your eyes flutter shut, and you take a deep breath. He’s everything and he’s everywhere. He’s in your head and in your hands. You can smell the musk and the pine and a hint of mint and that extra thing that is just distinctly him. He’s warm and his breath ever-so-lightly tickles your ear as his forehead rests against yours. 

And then finally, it comes out.

“I want you, Lo.”

You open your eyes and immediately notice the change in his expression. That cocky grin is gone. He isn’t teasing anymore. This is something else. Want. No, stronger than that. Desire. Adoration. Longing. Like those four words undid something in him. Untangled some knot that had been there for far too long. Almost like he thought you maybe wouldn’t want this. That maybe someone wouldn’t want him. 

So, you say it again. “I want you, Logan.” 

He shuts his eyes. “Fuck.” 

And then he’s pushing you down onto the mattress. His lips find their way to yours, crashing like the world is about to end. You can feel his hunger, his desperation. He rests one hand next to your head for balance and slips his free hand underneath the shirt he lent you. He’s exploring the curves of your body, the dips and turns, eventually pulling the shirt up and over your head. 

He comes up for air as his fingers play with the clasp of your bra. You watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. “This okay?” He asks, waiting for your approval. You nod and the hooks are immediately undone. You arch your back so he can slip the bra off. “Fuck, pretty girl,” he mumbles. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” 

His hands find their way to your chest, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, teasing you, pinching lightly. 

“Lo, please. Need you,” is all you can say. 

He trails a line of kisses down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, the center of your chest, his mouth traveling achingly slowly until finally landing on one of your tits. He kisses your nipple before taking it into his mouth, biting lightly and licking the hurt away. 

“Please,” you beg again. 

He comes up for a moment. “Please what?” He asks before moving on to the other side. 

“Need you so bad,” You whimper. But he doesn’t stop. “N-need you to touch me.”

He pauses again. “Think I’m already doing that, darlin’. Gonna have to be more specific.” 

“Fuck me, please.”  

He shakes his head. “Wanna make you feel good first, pretty girl.” 

You sit up a bit, ready to protest. “But you are. You’re making me feel so—” You’re cut off by the sight of him staring up at you as he trails kisses down your stomach, stopping at the top of your panties. He grabs your hips and pushes you further into the center of the bed. His fingers slip under the hem of your panties, waiting for your approval. You nod, and he practically tears them right off you. 

Logan kisses the inside of your thigh, slowly charting a path toward your core, his thumb tracing circles on the other thigh. You’re already squirming under his touch. “Lo,” You whimper. “Please—Fuck!” Without warning, his tongue licks a long stripe up your folds to your clit. His lips lock around it, sucking softly, his fingers suddenly teasing your entrance before slipping a finger inside.

“So tight darlin’. Gonna feel so good,” he mumbles against you, the vibrations of his deep voice sending a jolt up your spine. 

He’s taking his time, tasting you, savoring you. His tongue laps at your cunt, licking slow circles as his finger pumps in and out. You need more.

“Lo,” You call out, your back arching in pleasure. But he doesn’t answer. He keeps going as if he’s gotten lost in you, as if there’s nothing that can possibly be said to bring him back. “Lo, please,” you moan again. 

He chuckles against your core. “Please what, pretty girl?” He mumbles. You can feel his smirk against you.

“M-more,” you beg. You can feel his smirk grow wider as his motions stall. “No don’t stop, please don’t stop.” 

He looks up at you, his finger buried deep inside your cunt, his lips just inches from your clit. “Wanna take my time with you, darlin’.”

“Y-you c-can,” You stutter. “W-whatever you want. Just need more.”

“More?” He repeats, arrogantly tilting his head. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight. 

“Yes, please.” But you know by the look in his eyes that you’re getting more than you bargained for. 

He adds another finger, pumping in and out faster than before. His lips latch onto your clit, sucking roughly. It’s overwhelming, and you know he isn’t going to let up. His tongue draws circles around your core, flicking harshly before ruthlessly sucking again. You can feel a third finger prodding your entrance before slipping in and stretching you out. 

“This what you wanted?” He teases.

“Lo, I—” It’s too much, you can’t speak. 

“I’ve got you darlin’. I’m right here. You’re doing so good for me.” His words by themselves practically send you over the edge. 

“’M’so close Logan,” You whimper, spurring him on. His pace quickens; his circles become harder. You can feel your walls tightening around his fingers. 

“I know, pretty girl. Wanna feel you come on my fingers. Can you do that for me?” 

You can’t even speak anymore. All you can manage is a hum that passes for an affirmative. He pumps in and out of you, still alternating between sucking your clit and circling it with his tongue. 

“Look so beautiful like this darlin’. So fucking beautiful,” He husks. And that’s all it takes to make that liquid heat, that tension building in the bottom of your stomach, cut like a knife, pouring out of you. Your vision blurs as you let yourself go. You chant his name like it’s a prayer, a spell, something otherworldly. He finally slows down, letting you ride out your orgasm. 

He pulls out and away from you, crawling up your body so that he’s on top of you. He’s absolutely huge; his arms rest next to your head, caging you in. “You alright sweetheart?” He asks, one hand coming up to cup your cheek as he presses a chaste kiss against your forehead. 

“Hm,” You hum. “Like you like this.”

There’s that cocky smirk again. “Like what?”

“O-on top of me,” You admit freely now. Your arms come up to wrap around his shoulders, but he quickly pins them above your head.

He smiles widely, his forehead coming down to rest on yours. You can feel his erection press against your core through his boxers. And—fuck—he’s big. “Gonna fuck you like this then, okay pretty girl?”

“P-please,” you stutter. 

He sits up, pulling his boxers down, revealing just how big he is. You swallow harshly, sitting up and watching as he casts his boxers to the side. He doesn’t let you watch for long. He pins you down again, one hand keeping your hands above your head and supporting his weight, while the other guides his cock to your entrance. His slides against your folds before slowly sinking inside you. You can’t help but arch your back to meet his chest. 

Everything is slow. He’s taking his time again, letting himself feel every inch of you, giving you the chance to adjust to the size of him. His free hand reaches in between your bodies and finds your clit, drawing slow, gentle circles. 

His forehead rests against yours as he thrusts into you. “Wanted this for so long,” he confesses, his thrusts growing faster. “Always wanted you, darlin’.” You can feel your heart burst in your chest as his lips meet yours. You can feel his hunger, his desire. 

“Wanted you too,” You whisper against his lips between kisses. 

His cock rubs against your walls, hitting that sweet spot every single time. He’s massive, stretching you out with each pump. He builds speed, his thrusts growing rougher as his fingers circle your clit faster. 

He whispers praises in your ear. “You feel so good, pretty girl. So fucking tight. Need you, darlin’. Always.” 

Always. 

It’s all too much. The words, the vulnerability, the feeling of him rutting into you with no end in sight. The promise of something else, something more. 

“Logan, I’m gonna…” You trail off, your walls tightening around him. It’s all so overwhelming. But if you’re being honest, you never want it to end. This. This feeling. Him inside you. Him around you. 

He curses under his breath, his thrusts becoming sloppier and faster as he chases his orgasm. “I know darlin’. Wanna feel you come on my cock.” He keeps his fingers steady on your clit, circling roughly, chasing your orgasm too. 

“Lo,” You mumble. “It’s so good. Y-you’re so good, so b-beautiful.” You’re a bumbling mess, but you want him to feel good too, to know what he’s doing to you, to know that he deserves this. Deserves to be wanted. 

You feel wetness on his cheeks as he buries his face into the crook of your neck. “Always wanted you,” he whispers again against the shell of your ear. “Always gonna want you.” 

The tension snaps, and you feel blaring white heat ripple through your body. Logan somehow buries himself deeper inside you as you come, your walls squeezing him tighter. 

“F-fuck,” he groans. “Where do you want—”

You cut him off this time. “Inside, please,” you pant. “Safe.” He curses under his breath and calls out your name as he fills you up. 

“So perfect,” he whispers. “So fucking perfect.”

His thrusts slow down as he finishes, and he slowly pulls out of you. But he doesn’t pull away. He keeps you close, moving you both towards the headboard. It takes a minute, but he manages to keep you close to his chest as he undoes the covers and gets you both inside them. 

Logan holds you tightly, peppering kisses against your temples every now and then. 

He’s the first to speak. “When I said always…” He trails off. You brace yourself for the worst. It was just the heat of the moment, bub. ‘M’sorry I said it. This shouldn’t happen again. It was a one-time thing and I—

“I meant it.”

You look up at him, eyes wide. He smiles. But it’s not that cocky smile, not that self-satisfied shit-eating grin. It’s that other thing again. Longing. 

“I meant it, too.” 

tags: @cypherpt5fttaehyung

[fuiru]

A 44 year old man goes to a K-Pop Concert

I promised you a report on the K-pop concert that I, a 44-year-old accountant, went to a couple of weeks ago with my wife and daughter in Toronto. So here it is.

The band we saw were Ateez. They're my daughter's favourite band and my wife's second favourite. I know most of my mutuals are similarly aged like me and may not be familiar with them so let me give you a brief primer on Ateez.

Imagine the most attractive eight men you can think of, just unfathomably beautiful specimens of aesthetic perfection, and make them sing songs that somehow combine the subjects of 'dancing like nobody is watching' with 'we live in a dystopian hellscape that we must all work together to overthrow'. Give them an ongoing music video story lore that literally nobody - not even the band themselves - understand, so that online discussion of their visual motifs looks more like the fevered rantings of a conspiracy theorist, complete with speculation about alternate realities and time being a Moebius strip. There is also a giant sand timer, for some reason.

That's Ateez. That's what you need to know.

Now, K-pop concerts are very different to the gigs I've been going to for the last 28 (!) years. There's no support act, for a start. Also the band perform for like, three hours, with breaks for costume changes and interpretive dance. Furthermore, hanging above everything is the constant looming threat of mandatory military service.

So this being my first such concert, I wasn't sure what to expect. What happened was difficult to explain, but I will try as I am already six paragraphs into this write-up and I'm too invested to stop now. Here goes:

In his Wicked + Divine comics series, Kieron Gillen places modern pop icons as deities, feeding upon and gaining strength from the worship of their fans at the altar of musical performance. I thought I understood that metaphor. I thought I understood it AS a metaphor. I was wrong, because that night Ateez WERE Gods with a capital G and we were their worshippers, a crowd emanating adoration (in the religious and non-religious senses), bestowing strength upon them and gaining their strength in return.

If that sounds weird, it probably is. But as pointed out above, I have lived over four decades and never yet experienced anything like the overwhelming passion of that crowd, the utter abandon with which they conveyed their love for the band.

"But Fuiru, what of the actual music?" you ask. Thinking back, there was a moment in one of their songs - I can't remember which - where I watched the stage, and the people around me, taking it in, and I thought, "Man, I just love Music". But that doesn't answer your question, sorry.

Ateez's music is bloody great. As a tiresome indie/rock/metal kid I'm resisting the urge to add the usual tiresome indie/rock/metal caveat of "...for pop music" because honestly that does it a disservice. They have some genuinely amazing songs. Halazia is an absolute fucking masterpiece that descends into furious hardcore breakbeat. Bouncy is a big, brash racket that somehow is also a perfect pop song. Utopia, Wonderland, and Guerrilla are similarly superb. The obligatory boy band slow number is represented by Dancing Like Butterfly Wings which will make you cry because you will forever associate it with your twelve year old daughter being pointed to and waved at by her favourite Ateez member (Seonghwa) because of her Seonghwa-branded lightstick.

That might just be me, though.

So in summary: being a 44 year old dad at his first K-pop concert rules and you should endeavour to partake in the experience if the opportunity arises.

Finally, for any Atiny reading this: my bias would be San or Seonghwa but my wife and daughter said they were taken so it’s Mingi. My concert outfit (designed and created by my offspring) reflects this.

[peofun1]

Compiling Metaphor Refantazio humans and their Hieronymus Bosch inspirations

Enemy spoilers up through 7/17 on the in-game calendar

far from complete, since I'm nowhere near done with the game yet, but these are all the funny little guys I've managed to find the inspirations for! I've put the enemy's names and the names of the Bosch paintings in the alt text for each image.

I highly recommend checking out Bosch's paintings, for these guys and the many other fantastical and macabre creatures in his works. it's kind of like a game of I-spy, lol

enemies I was NOT able to find a 1-to-1 inspiration for under the cut. if anyone out there HAS spotted a better match for these ones, feel free to add on!

so I couldn't find a good match for the big terrible baby, unfortunately. best I can say is that Bosch tends to paint a lot of creatures that are just a human head on legs.

same goes for the giant sandworm; I couldn't find anything even remotely similar even after scouring through every Bosch painting (and some sketches!) I could find. it feels inspired by The Garden of Earthly Delights, but I didn't see anything that really resembled this thing.

but again, if anyone knows of a better match for either of these, I'd love to see it!

[vethale]

Incoming Marble Sky theory about the Marmors' origin planet and more! Spoilers ahead!

I think if we ever get to see their original planet, it might be a dark place (literally and metaphorically), with hives or cities built within ant-like cave systems. Their society also seems to work like those of ants with a queen (Moon), workers and drones.

I think the fact that the Marmors use a form of ecolocation rather than our traditional eyesight might imply that on their original planet, sight as we know it is not a viable option. Their planet might either have little to no light, making eyes redundant, or too much, which would also cause the same problem. I think their fur coloring might also be proof of this, as they seem to display bright colors with no patterns. (Patterns usually help animals, especially predators, blend into their environment, because a blotch of a single color is usually easy to spot). However, there is also a possibility that their coloring might be a result of them becoming the dominant species: We see this with domesticated animals- think cows or cats, with white patches of fur, that make them easier to spot. When colors no longer affect their survival, new color variations tend to pop up.

I also think the fact that they are bipedal (with tails) also tells us that like humans, they might have started walking on all fours and then went up. This allows the brain to become larger, because the neck can hold up more weight, boosting their intelligence. Animals that walk on all fours are usually limited in this aspect because the neck muscles do all the work, so their heads can't get heavier.

The existence of tails might imply that those are still required for balancing purposes. Humans used to have tails but we kinda didn't need them and they went away, but the tail bone still exists. The fact that Marmors still needed them might imply that they still had to climb a lot in their original planet - maybe they live on trees (there's some ants that build their hives hanging from them! Super cool tbh) or they build their homes on cliffs/mountains.

I personally think them living in mountains or cave systems is the more likely option. In the comic we have already gotten the comparison with ants, who tend to build their little hives with tunnel systems going in all directions. This would make their tails useful for climbing, as well as their special eyesight and connections useful for navigating the hive. I mean, a connection like the one we have seen in the latest update is not only useful for hunting but also for their hives, as they can quickly figure out where more "manpower" is needed vs where there's already enough of them in one place.

Also, they have both sharp claws and teeth. Obviously those teeth are stylized in the comic, but they seem very very sharp. Definitely made for ripping and shredding. So it's very likely that the Marmors are obligate carnivores, meaning that, unlike dogs or bears, they can ONLY eat meat. I mention this because those claws would also be useful for hunting and disabling prey BUT connecting this to the cave system theory: Those claws are big and sharp, whoch might also be useful for digging. The giant anteater, for example, has some seriously sharp claws. This thing does NOT hunt other animals, besides ants and termines lmao, but uses those sharp claws to dig into the really hard ground. And those claws are SHARP, boy. They use them regularly to wars off and ERASE jaguargs. Yes, jaguars. So maybe these sharp claws might be tools AND weapons for the Marmors, useful for deleting your prey and digging into the ground!

Going back to the ant comparison: ants society usually has a queen, her simps, and the worker ants. The queen lays the eggs. If those are fertilised by the male drones, they become female workers but if not, they become male drones (the simps lmao). Ecliptica mentions that she is tall because she is a female AND the center of their network. Obviously these are aliens, but I think we can draw parallels: she might be their queen, the only one that reproduces -which would also explain their "children belong to everyone and noone" attitude"- while the rest might simply be the workers. I say workers, even if they are male, because I think the drones might actually be something else. We have seen smaller Marmors like Shepherd's assistants. Now, they might just be small or younger, BUT they could also be the lower ranking drones.

So, to sum up: I think Marmors come from a planet with little light, where they build their hives/societies in ant-like cave systems, digging into the ground. They might also have an ant-like society, that revolves around their queen, the workers and the lower ranking drones, where everyone but the queen is a male.

[overtake]

“a sexual awakening so intense it registered on the richter scale” is the single best and most accurate description I have ever heard.

pov: you're 16 years old and doing the final test for your super license ahead of joining f1 as the youngest ever driver. you expect the doubt and hate, and you know you can prove on track why you deserve to be there once you actually get in a car, but until then, you just have to be the subject of everyone's headlines and criticism for a factor you can't control.

then this guy comes along.

race winner who got himself to a top team and is beating his world champion teammate, a cool older handsome charismatic guy with a giant smile and big brown eyes, beloved and kind while still being fiercely talented, competitive, and hungry? the guy who you met in 2011 and who gave you the time of day before you were old enough to sniff at the f1 grid. he's not even going to be your actual teammate (yet), but he still takes the time to tell you he's looking forward to seeing you on the grid when so much of what you've heard is nonstop criticism.

he tells you good luck for your super license with a big grin meant just for you

and this is how it makes you feel.

this is live footage of daniel ricciardo becoming a permanent fixture in max's spank bank. it's one of those foundational crushes you have at a young age that sticks with you for life and unconsciously affects "your type" forever and never truly goes away.

also, i just think everyone should hear the way max very softly says "he's a really nice guy, yeah" with so much affection packed into every word.

how are you not to psychosexually imprint on him? one look at that video and max was ready to risk it all. he's been metaphorically tucking his hair, kicking his feet, and giggling since day one. he found a guy who he could race hard, who would challenge him on track, but who would still make the miserable pr days better for them, who was always laughing at max's jokes every time he did his little glance over to ensure it landed. max is so fiercely loyal to his people, and daniel has clearly earned that trust.

tldr: max verstappen is number one dirlie and if he were on f1blr, he would be writing long posts with onboards, data, and that ☝️🤓 attitude of his explaining in detail why everyone is wrong about daniel, and i hope it haunts all the max fans who get their rocks off to calling daniel a washed asshole loser that max's porn folder is daniel late braking compilations.

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 4 part 1

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5])

It's episode 4 If I Can't Reach You / Let My Song Teach You, time for two of my favorite things: glam rock and homosexuals. which are basically the same thing if you think about it.

she's like damn, billy, that was ruthless. honestly this is going to make her care about billy even more, not only he's powerful, not only he reminds her of nicky. now he's a murderer too?? perfect son is perfect. I love how she's studying sharon's body with her detective Agnes face, her mind is going a million miles a minute

her third-wall-break winks destroy me. and that poor hairdo. all gone expect for the giant turd on top.

alice being truly and genuinely sorry about sharon. lilia and jen being gossiping hags

agatha honey you're so dainty and feminine, look at you. and that's an interesting and not at all painful tree shape you picked. (I would have never noticed any of this without brightening the scene, it's outrageous. everyone involved in this show is amazing except the lighting department. shame on you lighting department)

whatever alice does openly and sincerely, agatha does secretly or as a joke. parallels, parallels

jen is like, can you believe this bitch

without being asked, alice goes to help digging the grave

that is the idiot I fell in love with and I'm way past regretting my choices at this point!! I know how rio feels now

"coven two" is one of those lines that make you laugh on first view and shred your heart in a million tiny pieces at every following rewatch. this show HAS to be watched at least twice, don't ever trust reviews or complaints by ppl who didn't, because they missed at least half of what makes it great.

a clown running from the tragic truth that her son wrote the Ballad, making sad clown noises all over the Road

when alice is called to referee as the Resident Ballad Expert and agatha looks at her expectantly hands in pockets, somehow extremely obnoxious, extremely gay and extremely sad at the same time

alice is SO above bickering. jen is being a baby because she's mad at agatha, lilia is being a baby cause she's grumpy and a contrarian, billy is sixteen, agatha is, well, agatha. alice is the only adult in the building

just one, huh? that's fine. that's fine. who needs a heart anyway.

the common gypsophila or baby's breath symbolizes sincerity, purity, innocence. does it symbolizes sharon? or is billy leaving it on her grave a metaphor for his naivety and good intentions gone wrong?

billy's romantic ideals of what it means to be in a coven have just been shattered. he set out, consciously or not, to teach something to these witches and of course it didn't work. he is the one who needs guidance, he is the one who's making a mess of things. he's just a kid.

agatha going !! when billy says he wishes he could go home. agatha covertly pointing out that he has a replacement body and she would really like to know how. she's observing him so closely, trying to puzzle out the mystery. exactly like she did with wanda inside the Hex. not revealing her cards just yet, testing and manipulating him. when that strategy blew up in her face so spectacularly the first time! she's so smart and so reckless it makes her practically an idiot

case in point: she's making up stupid rules trying to manipulate billy into shaping the Road the way she wants. that's right, agatha. let's summon another poor victim you can siphon, wonder who's gonna show up! (and she KNEW sharon was laying dead ten feet away and SOMEONE was bound to be in the neighborhood. dumbass.)

aww he's so proud of himself for having brought the spellbook. he's being helpful! he's made his four moms happy!

check, debatable, check

debatable and debatable

I'm gonna give that one a BIG check

yes I know advil spells "vidal", thank you tumblr for letting me know that one. also same, alice.

'esse viridis non es facile' IT'S NOT EASY BEING GREEN?!?!!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?! oh I knew my high school latin was bound to come in handy at least once in my life

(by the way the set + costumes combo is giving me such hocus pocus vibes, but you could never tell because the SCENE IS SO FUCKING DARK) (NO I WON'T SHUT UP ABOUT IT)

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAH

I mean girls, you chose to follow the head clown, you have to travel in the clown car. that's on you.

WHY IS THE PRINT SO SMALL???? I LOVE YOU PATTI LUPONE

admit it we all wished it was sharon for a moment

oh?? is that mayhaps someone you know, agatha???

and that's a wrap, see you guys tomorrow!

no, I'm kidding, I'm kidding. I'm doing another one tonight. I need to shove all the rio scenes in my eyeballs NOW

go to episode 4 part 2

[thezombieprostitute]

Sending you good vibes. ✨

And this man.

You know, I've never written for this giant of a man.

A/N: I do not speak German. I'm pulling a few things from this post and The Little Book of Foreign Swear Words by Sid Finch.

A/N2: Tall reader. Also, for context, König is almost 7' tall.

Warnings: Bad German. Please let me know if I missed any.

Working customer service was a sure way to get you to dream of running away to the middle of nowhere and never interacting with people again. And it's not just the customers, either. If you have to hear your manager bitch about "kids these days" one more time you're gonna start throwing things.

You swear your manager, Lance, gets a kick out of making you, the tallest employee, restock the lowest shelves. For a guy who seemed so confident in himself he sure felt the need to put others down for his own ego. He even chuckles to himself as he walks by and you're bent down for those bottom shelves.

With your knees not able to take much more, you let yourself stand up for a breather. You're startled by a "Scheisse!" On the other side of the cart you were unloading is a veritable giant of a man with grey blue eyes. He looked just as surprised to see you as you were him.

"Tut mir leid," he says. "I...I didn't see you."

"I um...I was pretty well hidden," you stutter. You're so caught off guard by the handsome man you have to look up to that it takes you a few seconds to regain your professionalism. "Um, is there anything I can help you with?"

"Oh, nein," he shakes his head. "Just trying to find some beer. Good stuff that doesn't uh...schmeckt nicht nach Pisse."

"Well, let me go ahead and get this cart out of your way then so you can see all of the options."

"Danke." He almost sounds relieved that you took the initiative and he didn't have to ask. Considering he immediately goes for the beer that your cart was blocking you get the feeling he was looking at it for some time. You wouldn't be surprised if he tended to feel awkward, socially at least. You know what it's like to be too tall for your own good.

Of course that's the moment Lance decides to check up on your progress. He's already upset at seeing you standing at full height, but with the giant standing next to you, he apparently feels the need to metaphorically swing his dick around.

"What the hell, Giganto? You get too tired of being on your knees? That cart needs to be emptied. You're way behind!"

"Mr. Tucker, there's a customer," you warn.

"What is he your cousin or something? Probably can't find anyone big enough to put you in your place unless you're related to them, damn inbred---"

He's cut off by the giant customer grabbing his neck.

"Dein Schwanz ist so klein, dass es 'ne Maus nicht merkt, wenn du sie fickst."

As much as you don't want to stop him, the customer is assaulting someone. "Sir, I really appreciate your help, but I don't want to have to call the police."

He lets go of Lance, "you are right, Häsechen. He is not worth the police visit." He reaches into his pocket and writes something on a piece of paper before handing it to you. "Should you seek...different employment, give a call. KorTac is hiring and someone as...patient, smart as you could do well."

You smile as you take the paper from him. Given the glares Lance is giving you, you'll likely need to call by the end of the day. You hope you'll get to see him again. Looking at the paper he gave you it has the number followed by "KorTac. König"

Tagging: @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @ronearoundblindly

[fruitsofbeingafraid]

is it just me or are a lot of the songs from beyond beyond beyond reqlly reminiscent of old crane wives songs?

most people have made the connection between river rushing and steady steady- this post explains it super well- and most people know that scars is a response to never love an anchor, but i feel like there's more.

higher ground feels like a pretty obvious connection to me: rockslide or sleeping giants. all 3 are about big changes in your life and feeling them coming, and all 3 use avalanche metaphors.

another obvious one in my mind is mad dog and the hand that feeds. both are canine metaphors to describe how much it sucks to be living in our capitalist society. the difference is the hand that feeds is about actively fighting against it and mad dog is about feeling trapped within it.

arcturus beaming and new discovery just feel connected- and thinking more about it, it makes sense. both are about continuing with your life despite being hurt and wondering what's in your future.

i also noticed lines in red clay that are reminiscent of keep you safe. the repeated "take a deep breath and turn to be brave/harvest the fruits of being afraid" really reminds me of the "no amount of waiting will make you, make you brave. no amount of fear will keep you, no amount of fear will keep you safe."

i have less concrete ideas about the rest of these but predator could connect with once and for all. they're both about being stuck in an unhealthy cycle of making the same mistakes.

say it and easier could connect too, but this one feels less solid- the crane wives have a lot of breakup songs. the reason easier sticks out to me as say it's parallel is the first lyric in say it: "did the real me corrupt the fantasy" which links to "if i was someone else, would it be easier".

bitter medicine could be paired with allies and enemies- the lyric "the words i speak are wildfires and weeds, they spread like some awful damn disease" fits right in with the message of bitter medicine- that the singer can't control what they say and doesn't want to hurt people.

HOWEVER. bitter medicine could pair with metaphor for this same reason- they're both about not trusting your own words, and putting up a fake persona to be more likable.

i'm currently undecided on songs for black hole fantasy and time will change you. the moon will sing is what i'm currently considering for black hole fantasy but even then, it's only because both songs compare a lover to a celestial object.

anyway, i did NOT mean for this to turn into an essay. i hope it was somewhat coherent! if you have any insight please share it i would love to talk about this. i may be just a little bit hyperfixated.

[moonlightisdancing]

Trees/j.m.k

Pairing: au!Josh Kiszka x f!Reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: MINORS DNI 18+ therapy session discussing trauma, mentions (does no go in detail) ideations, running away, dissociation, kissing, mark leaving, humping, unprotected sex, overstimulation

as always, please lmk if any tags are missed!

——————🧡——————

The first installment of Gretaween 2024 is here! Over the course of 8 days there will be works from other amazing creators added here!

——————🧡——————

Please proceed with caution. This fic might be a lot for anyone struggling with suicidal ideations, those who struggle with dissociative thoughts, and even those who have experienced trauma at any point. There are no themes of SA implied or mentioned in this work, but themes of death, grief and the inability to grasp those concepts are.

——————🧡——————

The cold weather couldn’t keep you from the woods. No amount of crunchy leaves stacked on the old mossy ground or mud puddles too big to walk around. Nothing. Nested deep in the woods resides a little cabin that you’d stumbled upon one day after school. It was a therapy day, you remember because you wore blue. Blue was for therapy days because therapy makes you sad, and blue is a sad color.

Fact, not opinion.

The little cabin in the woods made the blue days feel not so blue when the orange boy appeared.

When you first met, his hair was getting quite long, the loose waves bouncing around just under his ears. His hair wasn’t like that for long, he’d eventually get it cut, a neat mop of curls resting over his forehead. His voice got deeper, muscles got stronger, hair got curlier, but he still remained orange. Not physically, more so in the way he spoke and gestured. While not typically complimentary, he was the orange your blue needed, and you paired quite nicely.

In fact, the two of you paired so well that you never once bothered asking one another why they were in the woods that day. It felt right. Like all of the blue days led you here. The cabin is brown, physically, but feels yellow. Happy, warm, inviting. Outside the cabin is one giant tree, the tree you’d met Josh under. He was quiet at first, his breath being the only thing to give him away. Quiet didn’t last long, though. He’d grow to talk your ear off every chance he got, and you welcomed his words with open arms.

You hadn’t seen Josh in exactly one week. Something about needing to prepare something for you, a surprise if you will, and to meet him under the tree where you met him in seven days. So you waited impatiently for the longest, bluest seven days to pass without your complimentary person. It was surprising how unprescribed blue days could feel particularly blue. Blue was meant for therapy days. Dismal, a buzzing in your ears surrounding the thought of those grey walls, scratchy carpet and the chair that squeaks every time Dr. Tannis shifts his weight. That’s what blue was meant for, so you tried to fill the days with shades of orange and yellow that reminded you of Josh.

When the seven days were up, you found yourself barreling through the house after school, just to be stopped in your tracks by Mom.

“Honey, please don’t forget you said you’d take your sister trick-or-treating tonight.” Mom sighs as she releases her hold on your shoulders.

“But-”

“No ‘buts,’ Y/n.”

“But I have to go see Josh.” Your eyes widen at the name. You know better.

“Y/n…” Mom closes her eyes and tilts her head back. She was red, metaphorically. The heat and anger couldn’t be seen but it could be felt, and it was burning red.

“I’m sorry,” You sulk, your head falling between your shoulders.

“Please go get ready and make sure your sister is, too.” She tries forcing a smile across her lips, but the forced yellow couldn’t deceive red.

For the third consecutive year, you chose to be a vampire. The costumes were getting better, why choose a different thing when you could continue improving? You lean into the mirror, fanning your teeth to try and help the fangs stick. Your attention is directed elsewhere as you overhear Mom on the phone in the kitchen. Your eyes flutter shut as you hone in on her words, laced with blue-grey.

“She’s mentioning Josh again. I thought that had been discussed during her sessions.”

You don’t mean to listen, but if it weren’t meant to be heard, maybe she’d stop using speaker phone.

“It has been touched on, yes, but-”

“She is well past the age of imaginary friends, Dr. Tannis. Her entire life cannot evolve around the existence of someone who just… doesn’t exist.”

Doesn’t exist?

“Y/n, I think we need to backtrack just a little.” Dr. Tannis sighed as he sat down. He seemed to be paying more attention to the squeak, but the noise still left faint blue raspberry on your tongue.

“Well, Doc, I am an open book!” You leaned back in the chair as you popped a grape Jolly Rancher in your mouth.

“That is sort of the issue, Y/n. You’re not open about anything. We need to start working through what happened.” He clicked his pen before bringing his elbow to the desk and hand to his temple.

“I don’t remember. It’s like one day I was just riding my bike in the woods and everything turned black…”

“Is that physical or metaphorical?” Dr. Tannis raised an eyebrow. He might not understand the colors, but at least he tried.

“Physical black. And then the hospital and then I met you.”

“Do you blame yourself?” He looked up from his notepad, leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs.

“What?” Your heart began racing, on the brink of a panic attack. “B-blame myself for what?”

Were you supposed to blame yourself?

“The accident, Y/n. It’s common for a patient to blame themselves, especially if there’s no other explanation.”

“Uh- sometimes? I don’t know.” You squeezed your eyes shut trying to recall what happened. When you opened them, Dr. Tannis was scribbling on the notepad again. You caught some of what he jotted down, nonsense upon nonsense of how he thinks you feel.

“Why don’t we just move on? You’ve mentioned your hatred-”

“Distaste.” You corrected. Josh had changed that, you didn’t hate anything.

“Right, sorry, distaste for blue raspberry several times. Where does that come from? Can you remember when that started, Y/n?”

“I think it’s what the darkness tasted like. Kind of… metallic and cold.”

“Is the darkness where you created Josh? Could he be just a thought?”

God. You couldn’t have created Josh had your life depended on it. You’re not convinced a higher being could have either.

“W-created?! I didn’t create Josh! I met Josh! In real life!”

“Your mother’s mentioned never having met Josh. You’ve never attended school with him and you met after the… incident. Why do you think that is?”

“I already said-” Your words became very red, unlike you. You pressed your lips shut and took a deep breath before restarting. “He’s just not ready to meet new people yet.”

“Y/n, I think she’s worried about, well, if he’s real or not.”

“Mom’s crazy, Dr. Tannis. Of course Josh is real.” You swivel in the chair side to side, snapping Legos together as you sucked on another grape Jolly Rancher.

Finally, something where the taste matched the color.

”Does he exist here…” Dr. Tannis waved his arms around the room, “Or here?” He asked, tapping your temple. The chair squeaked as he leaned forward, causing you to wince. That damn squeak always tastes like sheet metal and a hint of wet dirt.

“Here!” You exclaimed, waving your hands around the room. “And if he didn’t, I’d do whatever it took to be wherever he was.”

“Y/n, as we know you’ve struggled in the past with… Ideations, we call them. I need to make sure that’s not the case.” His eyes grew worried as he tried studying you for answers.

“I wouldn’t do that.” You said pointedly. Your death would mean Josh no longer having someone there for him, alongside you not having him. That simply wouldn’t do. A deep sigh escapes your lips before you attempt to divert the conversation.

“I hug him every time I see him. We’ve… done some things… I know he’s real.”

“Done some-” His eyes widened, cheeks growing flush as the admission slipped your lips.

“Just kiss! We’ve only kissed.”

Dr. Tannis wore a furrowed brow and an expression that was almost eager for answers. Almost like he knew you were lying. You couldn’t, wouldn’t, tell him you and Josh had been having sex. That would have only caused more problems. The last thing you needed was more problems.

“And how did that make you feel, Y/n?” Dr. Tannis leaned forward in his chair, pressing his pen to the notepad.

“Purple and white.” You responded confidently. Purple and white, that’s how his lips felt against yours each time. His lips remind you of rose petals, the silky innocence of a flower and sweetness of nectar.

“Words, Y/n. I need… emotions, not colors.”

You hate that Dr. Tannis can’t understand you almost as much as you hate nobody believing Josh is real. You chose silence. There was no way to describe his honey coated, purple-white, rose petal lips in a way other than that. Dr. Tannis wasn’t necessarily accepting of the silence but knew he needed to utilize the rest of the time appropriately.

“Y/n, I think a-”

“Could you not use my name so much? It makes me all blue-grey.”

“Right, sorry.” Dr. Tannis clears his throat. “If he’s real, I think a conversation with Josh about meeting your mother would be good.”

“He is real.”

He’s real.

It’s not that you wanted to hide Josh. If you had it your way, you’d share his orange smile and warm embrace with anyone you knew. But he couldn’t go far. While neither of you disclosed how you ended up under that tree, Josh had opened up enough about his home for you to understand. Black and red. It was angry there, way worse than your blue.

You push yourself away from the mirror, holding back the tears that threaten your lash line.

“Not real.”

Who does she think she is?

Once Mom had learned about Josh, she began taking mental note of when you left and how long you were gone. You couldn’t sleep anyways, so you started sneaking out at night to see Josh at the cabin.

“Screw trick-or-treat.” You mumble to yourself as you grab your backpack, making way to your window. You scan over your room, a sense of blue-red and a tinge of black, washing over you. Semi-content with its look, you climb out of the window.

The ground is wet, mushy under your feet as you stomp through the tall, unkempt grass of the woods. The rain couldn’t keep you from Josh. Nothing could. Not trick-or-treat, not blue days or the squeaky chair, not the feeling of blue-black that washed over at the sight of certain things. No other color mattered when you knew orange would always be on the other side.

The rain turns to mist as you walk under the trees, the full moon peeking through just enough to wash the green in blue, physically. It’s silent outside of your feet squishing the wet ground and your backpack shuffling behind you, stuffed with handfuls of the candy Mom specifically said was for the trick-or-treaters. Josh likes Reese’s and BlowPops, so you saw no harm in bringing him some. Blue raspberry and cherry are his favorite. They were yours, too, but not until you tasted them on his rose petal lips. Blue raspberry reminds you of a memory you’ve never been quite able to recall, maybe that’s why therapy days were blue.

You shake your head at the thought of blue raspberry. Thinking of blue days and the squeaky chair would only ruin the orange. The cabin’s in sight and dimly lit, seemingly occupied. Unable to see him, you know he’s in there. You can feel his existence just beyond the trees.

You stand under the tree, back awkwardly against the thick, damp trunk so as to not crush the Reese’s and BlowPops. You run your hand over the carved initials in the bark, remembering the day you and Josh had placed it there. The first time you ever kissed him. The rain is slowly picking up again and you find yourself almost getting lost in the whispers of the wind against leaves.

Perhaps the wind works with the trees to tell us things, but we don’t hear. Maybe the wind doesn’t want to be heard, but rather it wants to be listened to.

Waiting begins to grow so boring you try to understand. Understand what the trees are saying. Understand what caused your original distaste for blue, both flavor and color. Every time you try to think, you find yourself unable to understand. You can never recall a time before the grey walls, scratchy carpets and squeaky chair. God how you hate that chair. It’s been years and yet he hasn’t gotten a new one.

Wait by the tree.

Wait by the tree.

Wait by the tree.

He’d specifically instructed you to meet him here, under the tree you met him years ago. Notoriously late, he wouldn’t be this late, making you lose hope. You start to deep breathe in attempts to avoid the orange becoming red. One foot slowly found its way in front of the other as you walked away from the lone standing tree into the sea of physical green. Just slow enough to keep waiting.

Waiting… Waiting…

“Wait!” His voice rang through the night time in a shade of yellow only he could embody, not the same as the cabin.

“Josh?” You turn to see him standing under the tree, leaning against the trunk. His chest is heaving as he fights for air.

“I-I’m sorry, I thought I had more time. They wouldn’t let me go.”

His parents. The definition of darkness personified. Every bad color couldn’t make them up. Black and red swirled and married in a nasty mixture was surely the reason he found solace in the cabin.

Even under the night sky he radiates orange. His rose petal, purple-white lips and beautiful brown doe eyes glisten in the moonlight. Breathtaking. Hauntingly beautiful. All of the good colors melted down like crayons to create him.

Josh doesn’t move, instead he stands and waits for your feet to make their way to him. Like a magnet, you’re drawn to him, wrapping yourself in his warmth almost as fast as it had appeared.

“Mm,” You hum into his chest, your fingers grasping the back of his sweater. “Smell so… so good…”

It wasn’t unusual that he smells good, but he does smell different. Like the summer sun beating down on a field of wildflowers, and hints of honeysuckle covered in morning dew. He smells earthy but in a way that’s good. You pull away from his chest and look up at his face.

“Fangs.” He nods and taps his fingernail against the fake tooth that sticks out from your lips.

“They’re kinda silly, aren’t they?” You bring your fingers to your mouth and pop the two fake fangs off of your teeth, discarding them into the front pocket of your hoodie.

“They were cute.” He frowns, wrapping his arm around your shoulder as he guides you a few feet to the cabin. “I missed you, like a lot.”

“You, sir,” You say, pressing your finger into his chest. “You’re the one who asked for seven days.”

“I know, I know. I just needed time to clean this place up. Make it special, ya know?” Josh opens the door to the cabin. It’s clean. For the longest time a thick coating of dust rested on every surface you had yet to touch, the impressions where the two of you would sit being the only clean spot. All of the physical grey is gone. The cabin feels more yellow now than it ever has before.

“Oh! I have something for you, too.” You smile and nod, pulling your backpack off your shoulders. Josh watches with a crooked head, his eyes narrowing. “Hold out your hands.” You instruct as you dig through your bag.

“Is it gonna bite?” He jokes.

“I hope not,” You reply, placing a handful of Reese’s and BlowPops into his large palm.

“Is this your way of telling me you want a kiss?” He teases, twirling a blue raspberry BlowPop between his fingers. You watch as he stuffs the other candy into his pocket before removing the wrapper on the BlowPop and pushing it past his rose petal lips. The only time blue looked and tasted good was when it was on his tongue.

It was no secret you’d thought about him in… that… way a handful of times before ever getting to be with him. Granted more so after the fact, and right now more than ever. The way his fingers felt against your lips earlier and watching his tongue work around the BlowPop did not make it better.

“Josh?” You whisper just loud enough for him to hear as you close the space between your bodies.

“Yes?”

So many things you want, need, to say evade you. So many pandora's boxes that you don’t want to open.

“I just missed you. Seven blue days was too long.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I missed you too, mamas.”

You wrap your arms around his torso once again, melting into his existence. You wish you could physically melt into him so you never had to be apart. Time away from him was always blue-black. You didn’t have to tell him that for him to know, he always knows what you’re thinking.

“I thought you were going trick-or-treating today.” Josh brings a hand up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers massaging your scalp. His voice echoes through his chest, deep and strong.

“S’posed to,” You mumble.

“Well, what happened? Talk to me.”

Mom doesn’t think you’re real.

Dr. Tannis doesn’t think you’re real.

Nobody thinks you're real so I ran away.

“I, uh, I guess I just missed you too much.”

“You know I can tell when you’re fibbing, right?” He pulls away, looking into your face as he tries reading you. He brings a hand to cradle your face, his thumb smoothing across your cheek. “It’s your favorite holiday.”

“I hate when you do that.” You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. The softer he gets, the more willing you are to spill your guts, he knew that.

“Well I hate when you do that. Don’t put the walls up, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“What are you, my therapist?”

“I can be. I think talking to someone who understands you would be more beneficial than Mr. Squeaky Chair.” Josh guides you over to lay on the old couch, the only piece of furniture that existed in the cabin yet you always sat on the floor.

“Aren’t we too old for this?” You choke out.

“Too old for what?”

“This. We hide away in an abandoned cabin and make out like horny middle schoolers. And my mom thinks one of us isn’t real.”

“Do you not like that?” He looks nervous as he asks, picking at skin on the sides of his thumbs.

“Well, I like making out with you,”

“But?”

“Everyone thinks you’re not real. And I’d like for them to know you’re real so I could make out with you in my bedroom instead. Have sex on a bed like normal people. I dunno.”

Something in the air shifts. The yellow-orange-sunshine is slowly engulfed by red-blue-black metaphorical darkness.

“We can’t do that.” Josh sighs and kneels down beside the couch, bringing his hand to hold yours. The warmth that always exists in his palms felt almost absent.

“Why not, Josh? Why can’t we be normal?”

“I haven’t been honest.” He swallows harshly. You wince as he moves his hand down to rest on your knee.

“Oh great, you have a girlfriend who goes to my college and-”

“No, not a girlfriend, or boyfriend or anything like that.” He rubs his hand up and down your thigh, trying to soothe the nerves he can sense tensing. Electric couldn’t begin to explain the way his fingers feel dragging across your clothed skin.

“Is it your parents?” You sit up and pat the couch next to you for him to sit.

“Not them, no.” He brings himself to his feet before sitting beside you, removing the BlowPop from his mouth. He places the half eaten lollipop on the window sill behind the couch before bringing his hand to cup your jaw. “Y/n, can you kiss me?”

“Josh…”

“Please? Before I say anything, please just kiss me.”

“Josh,”

Could it be that bad?

You shake the feeling, giving into your temptations as you press your lips to Josh’s. Your tongue explores his until the flavor of blue raspberry is nonexistent. Your fingers grasp at his hair, the feeling of his curls helping ground you. As soon as you pull away, you find yourself returning for more regardless of the flavor being long gone from his tender lips. Josh’s hands begin snaking up the front of your hoodie, his fingertips dancing along your sides. His hands against your bare skin feels like oil paints on a canvas, gliding smoothly and perfectly around every edge and detail at the mercy of the artist. Josh’s lips trail down your neck, nipping and biting at the supple skin on your throat, earning a soft moan.

Your hands can’t help themselves, smoothing down the front of his sweater and onto his lap. His length is growing prominent beneath his jeans. Josh follows your lead, his fingers tracing under the waistband of your leggings before pulling you onto his lap.

It isn’t long before you’re pushing your hips into his, rolling methodically against his length as he continues kissing across the expanse of your skin. Josh places his hands on your hips and pushes you down, your center resting over his thigh as your leg slots between his. His hands guide your hips back and forth as you grind your core against his thigh, pressing you firmly down onto him.

One of his hands slowly drags up your side before resting under your chin, raising your face to look at him. He likes to be watched, to be seen, just as much as he likes watching you. Your eyes meet his, warm and golden like summer honey.

“You’re so pretty,” You huff out, still grinding against him. Josh moves his hand to cradle the back of your neck, drawing your lips closer to his.

“Uh-uh. You’re pretty, my baby,” He trails off, pressing his rosey lips against yours. A warm, sweet taste grows the longer he’s there, your heartbeat in places you didn't know it could be. You bring one hand from his shoulder to the back of his head, your fingers nestling deep in his brown curls as you push him closer.

No word can even begin to explain how he’s got you. Josh’s hands work between your bodies, undoing his pants as you continue rubbing against him, a giggle escaping his lips.

“What’s so funny?” You ask defensively, slowing your motions.

“My knee is soaked,” He smirks as he dips his hand past his boxers, not so subtly stroking himself.

“Oh…”

“Is this okay? We don’t-”

“No, I do!” You shout desperately, lifting from his thigh to push your pants past the wide of your ass down until they sit at your ankles. You hover over his length, pulling his boxers down before sitting him at your entrance.

“I’m quite fond of you.” He whispers and looks up, peeling his eyes away from where your bodies are about to connect. The man who loves to watch himself wasn’t watching.

“I’m fond of you, too, Josh.”

“Like a lot, Y/n, and I’m worried about messing this up.”

“You won’t.” You assure him, sinking down onto his length. You hiss at the feeling of him inside, no matter how many times you find yourselves in this situation, it always feels brand new. You fall forward, melting into Josh’s chest as he brings his arms around you with his face tucked in the crook of your neck. His lips find a home sucking a hot trail of marks up and down the side of your neck, reaching his hands down to rid you of your shoes and bottoms.

Josh gently thrusts his hips up, fucking into you slowly, making you feel every inch of his thick cock in your hungry core. Euphoria courses through your veins in times like this, a sparkly, pink goodness that seemingly takes hold of you. Buried deep inside, he holds you down on his length as he readjusts your bodies, laying you across the couch with him above you. He places his hands on the bottom hem of his shirt and hoodie, lifting them over his head to expose his chest. You reach a hand forward and lay it over his heart, pinching your eyebrows together in confusion when you don’t feel a beat.

“You okay?” Josh asks, bringing his hands to the backs of your thighs and pushing them into your chest, allowing him to sink into you deeper.

“Uh-huh,” You gasp and nod as Josh brings a hand from the back of your thigh to lay between where your bodies meet, brushing his thumb over your aching clit.

“Oh… my god…” You gasp into his mouth. “Josh…”

“S’that feel good?” He mumbles against your lips as he slowly works one finger into your already full pussy, thumb still against your clit.

“Like-like,” You hardly stutter as he brings you closer to the brink of orgasm.

“Gold?” Josh suggests, curling his finger upwards as to draw an answer.

Gold. The smell of a freshly blooming sunflower field. The first s’more of summer. The feeling of the sun drying your wet skin after swimming.

“Like gold.” A mess of gasps and moans, you swallow harshly before mewling his name. “J-Josh,”

“Y/n,” He sings, a smile tugging the corner of his lips as they’re pressed against yours. Gold, yellow, honey, rose petal lips, purple-white. The overstimulation was washing over in more ways you could count.

“Josh, please?” You beg for something that’s already yours, a feeling of white-hot washing over your entire body as you feel yourself begin to spill over the edge.

“Gonna cum for me, pretty mama? It’s all yours.” Josh continues curling his finger up, tapping the spongy spot tucked where only he can find it as his hips and thumb keep a steady pace.

Your ears begin to ring like the broken bell above the church nobody attends. Almost in a possessed-like manner, your body convulses under Josh’s touch. As he removes his finger from your aching cunt, you hardly open your eyes to watch him lick your slick off his digits. Your face must look curious because Josh smirks once more before attaching his lips to yours. He tastes of honey, delicate flowers, an old library. To be engulfed and consumed by his flame is all you’ve ever wanted, all you’ve ever craved.

Josh follows not too far afterwards, his hips stuttering and stilling as his warm release coats your walls, his warm torso laying its weight on yours. He turns his head so his cheek rests on your collar, chastely kissing whatever skin he can get his lips on as his length softens inside. It feels weird but nice, oddly enough.

“Hi,” He whispers gently into your neck.

“Hi,” You copy, letting your head fall so your cheek rests against the nest of curls on his head. Slightly damp, but god does he smell good. Chests pressed together, you lay in silence wondering where the beating of either heart has gone. The two of you lay like that for a while, soaking in one another’s presence before Josh finally pushes himself off of you. Your chest grows almost empty and airy, like a helium balloon, without his weight on top to hold you down.

“Can you tell me now?” You groan, sleepy and winded.

“The issue is that I’m not from here, Y/n.” Josh sighs, pushing his legs through his pant legs.

“And that’s okay. But I want to see, Josh. I wanna see where you’re from.”

“It’s all black-red, you don’t wanna see that.”

“I want to know you. Let me see.” Your shoulders fall alongside your expression as you pull your panties over your legs followed by your leggings. Josh reaches down to grab your hand and for a second everything feels orange again. Josh offers a worried smile before everything turns physically black.

“Josh?” Not only is he gone, but everything in the distance looks to be going, too.

It can’t be.

Is Josh… Not real? Just a thought for your amusement?

As you succumb to darkness, you realize maybe blue isn’t so bad after all. It was much better than black, at least. Your surroundings felt like the blue raspberry, thunderstorm, whirring darkness that occured after the incident. Yet still you find you’re unable to recall anything prior outside of riding your bike in the woods.

Finally, you remember something but still not enough to answer what happened that day. All you remember is a glimpse of orange trying to pull you from the darkness and the taste of blue raspberry. A huge wave of grey-black sorrow washes over you, sobs ripping through your chest. Panic is all you know to do.

“Hey,” Orange wraps itself around you in the form of his arms, and even though you can’t see, you know it’s him because of the shade of his words. “It’s okay, I’m right here.”

“Where?” You shudder.

“In the heart.”

One deep, ragged breath fills your lungs as you open your eyes expecting nothing except pitch black, but you’re back in the cabin. It doesn’t feel yellow anymore.

“What happened?” You squeak out, just like that damned chair.

“Y/n,” Josh says gently as he walks to stand before you. He wraps his arms around your shoulders and rests his chin on your head.

“Josh, tell me what happened, I need to know.” You mumble into his chest as you choke back tears.

“We don’t exist.”

“Yes we do! We exist, Josh. We are real, we feel things. Could we feel things if we weren’t real?” You push yourself away from his hold and ball your fists at your side.

“You can ball your fists, but that doesn’t bring us back to life.” He frowns, plopping onto the floor. He sits criss-crossed, looking up at you with those big brown eyes.

“Back to life?”

“You died that day, Y/n. It’s why you can’t remember anything that happened.”

“Died?” You fall to your knees in front of him, your fists thumping against the ground. Nothing was real, at least it hasn’t been for the last few years.

“I tried to save you but I was too late. I saw you just… laying there, but I tried, Y/n.” Josh rests his hands on your knees. If neither of you are real, then how can you feel him?

For the first time you’re able to recall the darkness. Why it tasted of blue raspberry, where your hatred for the squeaking came from, why nobody believed Josh was real. You try again to remember the day of the accident, but to no avail.

Bike. Black. Blue. Orange.

[wellofdean]

OK, I was going to reblog this excellent post by @luckshiptoshore so go read it, because yes. Yes!! YES!!! But then when I got started my post got super long and I felt bad tacking it onto her post and decided to make my own in response to these tags:

#i am actually a bit obsessed by the whole hunting as queerness metaphor#it’s so clearly something everyone involved in the show is thinking about#supernatural

Gurl, me too! Like go back to the start! By the time Supernatural began, the backlash against the Joseph Campbell Monomyth-style mode of storytelling had already begun in the hallowed halls of USC film school, and yo: I was there at the time of Kripke's graduation, and my best friends from college are full scale big giant time filmmakers now, whose names I will not share on main because it's uncool, and I don't want that attention, but... yeah. I am referencing FIRST HAND SOURCES on this.

But, for a real source? The Oxford English Dictionary places the first use of the term "Queer Theory" in 1990, with Queer Studies as an option in the academy by 1992. I know the kids think it's a new-fangled thing, but Kripke graduated USC in 1996 (I graduated in 1995) and it was ALL THE RAGE by then. My friends read queer theory in their Critical Studies courses in the Film School, I read it in the College of Humanities getting my degree in Literature. By that time, you could not get through that school with any degree in any non-STEM subject without knowing about ye olde postmodern lenses, queer and feminist theory, and without knowing how to employ those lenses.

Queer refers to sexuality, yes, but the word's earliest use (again, according to the OED) is in the 1500's, meaning: strange, odd, peculiar, eccentric. Also: of questionable character; suspicious, dubious.

So, ok, in 2005, Enter Supernatural, episode 1:

Presented? Two brothers. One actively seeking credit in the straight world that is not available to him in the bosom of his family: Stanford, law school, hot co-ed girlfriend, the other bound to his fractured, wounded family by duty, yes, but also by love, living on the fringe, alone, fighting monsters, and chasing after his father's approval, and who has long since given up any dream of being 'normal'. Episode 1 presents Sam's call to adventure, which he refuses when it's just familial duty, honor and love calling him, but accepts when the show takes a very straightforward and very telling path by classically fridging his woman. Ok, now he's on board. Like John, whose motivation is another dead woman, his motivation is revenge. So far so straight!

Dean though: he's different. He is already on the adventure and he was not 'called' or given the option of accepting or refusing because he had no agency when his feet were set upon this road. He does not fit the straight world at all, because he is cobbled together out of love, duty, deep guilt, striving, desperation and fear. This is who he is now, in some elemental, incontrovertible way. It was not a choice for him, he was born to it. His mother is dead, and we later learn, she made the choices that brought them all to this fate. Dean remembers her idyllically, but he is not motivated by revenge, more than any other thing, he wants to be worthy. He wants his father's approval, his brother's love.

Enter Supernatural's main theme: fucked up relationships between men enmeshed in patriarchy, which will eventually expand to include fucking GOD HIMSELF.

And like, there are SO MANY CLEAR STEPS ALONG THE ROAD in season one, and I am not even talking about sexuality and gender here, but there is SO MUCH TO SAY about it in season 1. But I am not talking about that -- I am talking at a structural, narrative level, the whole thing is just fucking all the way queered, yo.

The big climax?

At the end of the season, Dean says: "I just want my family back together. You, me, Dad... it's all I have." He is Sam's mother, John's partner! His vulnerability and emotion is feminized and contrasted with Sam and John's more overtly driven by their more masculine/straight heroic revenge quest. John: "Sam and I can get pretty obsessed, but you always take care of this family." Only that's not John talking, it's Azazel, and Dean knows it is because his father would never forgive how soft he is, how he will always choose love and family over revenge. Then, in the end, the show makes a huge point of telegraphing that Sam is finally aligning with Dean by refusing to shoot Azazel because he's possessing John, and Sam just can't do that to Dean.

Sam and Dean are thus bound together and cemented into a marginalised path, living on the road, haunting liminal spaces and cheap motels, confronting the monstrous everyday. Sam is presented as the brains of the operation, he does research, logics his way through things (masculine) while Dean is the heart who acts impulsively and on instinct and intuition (feminine).

It later transpires that Sam has a piece of the monster inside himself, and Dean has to learn to love the monstrous, he has no choice, because Sam is his brother and then Cas... and, and, and!

Like... I could go on and on, citing ENDLESS EXAMPLES. This could be a literal book. Maybe one you need to read with a magnifying glass like my condensed edition of the OED. LIke, the queerness of Supernatural is DIZZYING and MYRIAD.

But basically? FROM THE START, hunting is a queered version of family, and within that, Dean is a queered version of a Campbellian hero. Hunting is a metaphor for otherness and liminality, and that's even before you say a WORD about sex. It starts in deviation from the norms of family, masculinity and expands from there on so many levels both in story and on a meta level. The story is flesh on queer fucking bones.

I'm so sorry, but anyone who thinks queerness was not BAKED INTO Supernatural and more specifically into Dean from DAY 1 has clearly never seen Dean's insane lip gloss in season 1, and vastly underestimates the cultural awareness of people who write shit in Hollywood, and also the other people who put pink lip gloss on pretty boys in Hollywood. Nothing that gets on your screen wasn't a fucking choice made and approved by a LONG LIST of people who know what they are about.

[moth-basement]

𝗹𝗶𝗹' 𝘀𝗾𝘂𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗱𝘂𝗱𝗲 🧽

An ask meme with a bunch of lines from my favorite Spongebob episodes. This isn't meant to be too serious, I just really love spongebob and haven't seen an ask meme for it.

"I wumbo, you wumbo, he, she, wumbo."

"Wumbology! the study of wumbo!"

"AND THEN THERE'S A GIANT FIST!!"

"Remember, licking doorknobs is illegal on other planets."

"He was number one!"

"Well, it may be stupid, but it's also dumb."

"I know of a place where you never get harmed. A magical place with magical charms. Indoors! Indoors! Indoors!"

"Oh boy! Holographic meatloaf! My favorite!"

"And what's better than serving up smiles!?"

"Being dead, or anything else."

"See, no one says 'cool' anymore. That's such an old-person thing. Now we say 'coral', as in 'That nose job is so coral.'"

"Long, tan, *licks teeth* Handsome"

"Are they laughing at us? No, they are laughing next to us."

"Excuse me sir I hope my horrible ugliness doesn't distract you from the movie."

"I'm ugly and I'm proud!"

"Oh these aren't homemade. They were made in a factory.... a bomb factory."

"the boy made you a sweater of his own tears, and you kill him."

"goodbye everyone, I'll remember you all in therapy!"

"I order the food, you cook the food, the customer eats the food. We do that for forty years, and then we die."

"you're good, you're good, you're good, aaaaand stop."

"Don't worry captain we'll buff those scratches out."

"All those wrong notes you played made it sound more original."

"We're not cavemen! We have technology" *smashes the computer*

"Hey pal, you just blow in from stupid town?"

"You used me....for LAND DEVELOPMENT! That wasnt very nice!"

“This isn’t your average every day darkness. This is....ADVANCED darkness”

“Assertive, not insertive, ya twit!”

*sticks finger in pocket* "beep beep"

"He's just standing there..... MENACINGLY!"

"don't you have to be stupid somewhere else?"

"What is today but yesterday's tomorrow?"

“I will dismantle this oppressive establishment BOARD BY BOARD!”

"Well maybe we would sound better if some people didn't play with BIG MEATY CLAWS"

"Oh good luck out there. I hope the audience brings lots of ibuprofen."

"You won't catch me when I shift into maximum overdrive!!"

"It's not just a boulder! It's a rock!"

"shut your mouth you mediocre clarinet player."

 “You don’t pay me. We don’t even exist! We’re just a clever visual metaphor used to personify the abstract concept of thought.”

"I only know fine dining and breathing."

"oh you mean like a weenie? MaY I TaKe YoUr hAt Sir?"

"the best time to wear a striped sweater is all the time."

"Can I be excused for the rest of my life?"

"You mean you've never heard the story of the... hash-slinging slasher?"

"The sash wringing... the trash thinging... mash flinging... the flash springing, bringing the the crash thinging the..."

"And then the walls will ooze green slime!? Oh wait they always do that."

"You know, if I were to die right now in some sort of fiery explosion due to the carelessness of a friend well, that would just be okay."

“C’mon you lazy Mary, start rubbing me with that chocolate!”

"East? I thought you said weast?"

“We’ve been smeckledorfed!”

"Whatever doesn't kill you, usually succeeds in the second attempt."