#you know the bit at the end of ratatouille where ego takes one bite and is instantly transported to the warmth and comfort of his youth

[blujayonthewing]

would you just fucking look at it

[werejusttouchingeachother]

Ratatouille or Vanilla?

Req: Netflix and chill with Mark

Pairing: reader x Mark

Genre: smut (m)

Words: 1921

Tags: makeout, fingering, penetration, kinda finger kink/choking with fingers, slight cumplay, also spoilers for the movie Ratatouille lol

It wasn’t often that you got to spend a day with Mark at the dorms. The schedules had been so hectic lately that the most you’d had were short phone conversations where he’d sounded drowsy or worn out—you’d always felt bad and told him to get rest, despite his protests.

You didn’t mind it. Well, you definitely did miss him way more than you thought you would for two people who were only dating for three months but that was understandable, given that he was always so busy.

Sometimes you worried that he stressed about it more than you did—Mark was always apologising every chance he got, his puppy-eyes blinking in furtive worry that seemed to worsen when you just waved his words off understandingly. You knew it wouldn’t be the same as dating just another guy and you honestly didn’t care—you really liked Mark. Busy or not.

As he stood up to get the ice-creams that he’d ordered to the dorms, you watched him with a smile as he left the room. The fact that you both hardly got to see other definitely had this advantage—three months and you still felt the butterflies every time you saw him. Both of you cherished every moment you spent together and the sappy happy couple-phase hadn’t ended the way it usually did with other relationships.

Hell, you and Mark hadn’t even had sex yet.

A fact that the both of you had remained quiet on—you because you already knew your friends would attack you with ‘What the hell is wrong with you, you hardly see him in the first place and now y’all won’t even have sex?’ and Mark because he lived with eight guys who teased him when he gave you heart-eyes, so this would be a minefield for endless mockery.

It’s not like you hadn’t done other things—the distance definitely helped add heat every time that you met him with desperate hungry makeout sessions, hands that wandered a lot and lingered too long, dark hickeys that you allowed him to mark all over your neck while you grinded on his lap.

But that was the farthest it got. In fact, that one time you could have even had a quickie or at least a dry hump if you hadn’t heard Taeyong loudly yelling Mark’s name from the next room.

The timing was always off, the places were never right. He wasn’t allowed to be at your place—even under full disguise—because of the increased sasaengs around the company buildings and Lord knows how careful you had to be when sneaking into NCT’s dorms yourself. Dates were obviously out of the question.

The dorm was less than ideal—one of the members were always around and even if they weren’t, the aunt who cleaned and cooked was constantly shuffling through rooms for her work.

“Hey, what’d I miss?” Mark asked as he quickly sauntered into the room, closing the door behind him and sitting down beside you, hurriedly handing you the ice-cream sundae.

You roll your eyes since this wasn’t the first time he was watching Ratatouille (maybe the twentieth—he’d been appalled when you said you’d never watched it, yelling ‘What was your childhood?’ at you over and over again until you agreed to watch the movie) but answer him anyway: “Remy’s being chased by Skinner across the streets of Paris for having the letters that say Linguini is Gusteau’s son.”

Mark nods and you grin, sitting up slightly as you eat the ice-cream. You fall into a comfortable silence as you focus on the movie again but feel his gaze burning holes into the side of your face. You ignore him until you realise you can still feel it even when Anton Ego makes his iconic dramatic entrance.

You turn to look at Mark and realise that his eyes are fixated on your mouth.

And that when you notice this, you reflexively lick the vanilla ice-cream off your lower lip and his eyes darken at the gesture.

“Mark,” you mumble his name softly, eyes narrowed as you lower your hand holding the spoon mid-air. “What’s wro—?”

He leans forward, grabbing you by your waist as he presses his mouth to yours. You gasp at the sudden contact and Mark takes the opportunity to slip his tongue inside your lips, moaning softly at the coolness of your mouth and probably from the taste of vanilla.

You kiss him back heatedly, the sundae having been long knocked-out of your hand as you place your hands on his shoulders. You pull away when you feel breathless, heart racing as you lean your forehead against his and he is panting, warm breaths mixing with yours.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I just… I want—”

“Me,” you complete, making him blink at you. “I know. I get it. I want you too.”

Mark swallows, his cheeks flushing pink at your honesty and he sighs, “Y/N, I’m sorry for acting like… this. I just—”

You cut him off this time, kissing him desperately. You grab his shoulders for grip, lifting yourself up off the floor and settling yourself on his lap, comfortably straddling him. Mark’s hands naturally find your hips and you pull away, smiling slightly.

“You apologise way too much, Mark Lee,” You whisper, kissing his cheek and up his jawline. “I want you just as much as you want me so you know what? Let’s just fuck.”

Mark’s body goes still underneath you at your words. You lean back then, raising an eyebrow challengingly and he stammers, “Are-are you serious? Really?”

“It’s been months. If anyone knocks or calls, we’ll ignore them. You called me over here for Netflix, I’m going to add the chill. Just lock the door,” you say, already getting off him and reaching your hands back to unclasp your bra as you went to sit on the bed, noticing the movie was still playing. “Also, switch off Ratatouille. Let’s not taint your precious childhood.”

Mark’s already turning off the television, the door locked behind him as he quickly reaches for you, calling out, “Wait, wait, I wanna take it off myself.”

You lower your arms, grinning at his words as you reach for him. He crawls on top of you, your fingers already reaching for the bottom of his tee to yank it off.

Clothes fly off in record time, hungry hands grasping and pulling as both of you sigh in content, feeling skin on skin. Mark’s lips find the sensitive spot on your throat, making you arch your head back as you spread your legs wider for him to comfortably nestle in between them. He leaves a trail of kisses from your neck, down your collar bone and to your chest. You gasp, back slightly arching when you feel his mouth wrap around your nipple, hand rising to fondle the other breast.

“Fuck, Mark,” You moan, closing your eyes in pleasure. It feels even better than you dreamt it would, his tongue licking circles around your nipple as your fingers find his hair, gripping the locks tightly. “Your mouth feels so good.”

He starts lowering his kisses down but you can’t wait—you want to see him as you grab his head and pull him up, kissing him again heatedly. His other hand lightly traces down between your bodies, feather touches that send sparks all over your nerves as his long fingers run over your centre.

You moan again and Mark smiles, slipping his finger inside your wet heat and curling it against your clit, watching the way it makes your eyes dilate and chest heave with loud breaths.

“God, you sound amazing,” he mutters, rubbing your bundle of nerves. You clench your thighs around his hips, unable to control yourself from remaining quiet.

You can’t tell if it’s the desperation or the heat of the moment—but you were already in heaven. Every breath, every touch, every kiss was making you reel with bliss.

Your breaths grow louder as Mark fucks you with his finger—make that fingers. The way you’re dripping has him easily slipping inside another, thrusting inside your pussy and rubbing circles around your clit. You moan his name repeatedly as he keeps circling, pace growing quicker and drawing you closer to your high. Your walls began clenching around his digits and you closed your eyes, breathing hard.

Mark pulls out his fingers.

Your eyes shoot open, wide and you gape at him in disbelief, robbed off your orgasm.

And then, Mark shoves his slick fingers inside your parted lips.

You moan loudly around his digits at the unexpected action, tasting your own juices as you choke on his long fingers stuffed in your mouth while he pumps himself with his other hand. Your eyes roll back in your head as you feel the head of his erection rub against your wet slit, sliding up and down before slowly pushing himself inside.

You open your eyes, blinking hazily at Mark as he fills you up with his delicious length. He isn’t very thick but you can feel his length deep inside you, stuffing you full in a way that had that familiar knot tightening in your lower abdomen. Whimpering around his fingers, you wrap your tongue around them and suck it clean as he thrusts in and out of your wet pussy.

You feel his dick rub against your teased clit, hitting the spots that had your thighs clenching around Mark’s hips as you wrapped your legs fully around his waist to completely pull him inside you. Mark keeps his eyes on you as he bottoms out, thrusting harder and harder with a hunger and lust-crazed frenzy until your back is arching off the mattress, cumming all over his length.

He removes his fingers and you bite down on his shoulder to stop yourself from screaming as the orgasm washes over you, dragged out by Mark cumming inside you seconds later—white heat flooding inside your pussy and pushed further in by his constant thrusting.

You grasp his arms tightly as you collapse back on the bed, sweaty and slick in the satisfaction of great sex. Mark’s head is buried in your neck and you feel him start to move but you grab his back, stopping him.

“Stay,” you breathe, voice hoarse. “Just stay like this for a bit more.”

You feel him smile against your shoulder then, raising his head to kiss you sweetly. He moans softly and you can feel him twitch inside you again—you guess its cause he can probably taste you on your lips.

“Better than vanilla,” he muttered against your mouth, making you giggle.

You stay silent, basking under the delicious weight of him and in his warmth with your fingers carelessly stroking his hair but then hear him say in your ear, “Seriously, though, Ratatouille’s great, you should finish watching it later.”

Your fingers stop in his hair, rolling your eyes at his words. In a deadpan tone, you reply, “Hm, or you eat me out since apparently I taste better than ice-cream and then I suck you off to compare? Ratatouille or vanilla? But hey, since you said it’s great, guess we should just wa—”

“Ego meets Remy, Gusteau’s closes down, Remy gets his own restaurant and they all live happily ever after,” Mark raps quickly as he pulls away from you and begins throwing your thighs over his shoulders as you laugh.

[neoduskcomics]

What Star Wars Means To Me

I was twelve years old when I saw Star Wars end. I was sitting between my dad and my brother at a screening of Revenge of the Sith, a movie that my prepubescent mind had convinced itself was the greatest thing it’d ever seen.

The movie’s climactic battle had come to an end, and as I watched the final scenes play out, I could feel the film’s looming departure steadily but surely setting in. In the movie’s last moments, Owen and Beru looked out into the binary sunset, cradling their new baby nephew, with John Williams’ score emotionally building toward the final credits, and a hollow emptiness began to overwhelm me. Episode III was coming to a close, and with it, so too would end the saga of Star Wars. Something that had brought so much happiness, so much excitement, so much magic into my life was now ending before my eyes. Everyone knew that there wouldn’t be another prequel or sequel or anything else. This was it—these final frames all-too-quickly spinning past the projector. In just a few seconds, it seemed that Star Wars would be gone forever.

As I left the theater with my brother and my dad, they started up a discussion about what we had just watched, but I was too emotionally drained to join in. It was hard for me to come to grips with the fact that the Star Wars movies were really done with. Sure, Star Wars itself would still go on in some form. The Clone Wars cartoon was enjoyable. And they started making those cool-looking Force Unleashed games, too. Plus, there were the comics and the books and all sorts of other stories being made.

But it just wasn’t the same. You could write a thousand books, make a thousand TV shows and develop a thousand video games filling in whatever nooks and crannies the films overlooked in the Star Wars canon, but they would never, ever be a substitution for sitting in that theatre and seeing the quiet fade-in of the words “A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away...”

When the movies left, it was like a bit of magic had left the world, too. And between the ages of seven and thirteen, that magic inspired me. It made me read and create and imagine more than any time I spent at school ever did. Whenever a new movie came out, I fantasized about what the next one might be like. And when the movies ended, I fantasized about what a whole new Star Wars trilogy might be about. Maybe it would follow Luke creating a new Jedi Order, or maybe it would take place thousands of years before the prequels and show us the origins of the Jedi and the Sith. I hoped and dreamed and wondered, but I knew how unlikely it all was. Lucas would never make another movie, let alone give Star Wars to someone else so that they could go on to make an Episode VII. And so, Star Wars, as much as I continued to love it, slowly faded from my life. There was no use crying over spilt blue milk. Star Wars was done, and it wasn’t coming back.

And then I heard that Disney bought Star Wars and that they were going to make an Episode VII.

At this point, I’d like you to recall the scene at the end of Ratatouille where the evil food critic Ego takes a bite of Remy’s titular cuisine, and then suddenly he’s transported back in time to a moment in his childhood when he could still feel the warm embrace of love and happiness, and the cold, melancholic ice that once encased his withered heart melts away in a matter of seconds, restoring life and wonder to his old, bony body. Do you remember that scene? Because that is exactly what I felt like when I heard this news.

And I am not hyperbolizing here; I was literally shouting with jubilance when I heard that there would be an Episode VII. I can scarcely recall another moment in my life when I felt that level of genuine, startling happiness. It was like throughout all those years of Star Wars’ absence, all those years of resignation, a repressed excitement for the franchise was building up within me, never surfacing, never finding the right opportunity to ignite, but steadily rising and rising in pressure. And then, on that day, at that moment, upon hearing those words, all of that pent-up excitement just exploded out of me like a volcanic eruption. I didn’t know who was making this supposed Episode VII or what it would be about or when it was happening or even if it would be any good. None of that mattered. Star Wars was back, and I was going to celebrate like the Empire had just fallen.

Flash forward to the holiday season a couple years later, and even the non-geeks could see that the franchise had been reawakened in full force (get it, awakened, force, see what I did there). Star Wars logos, T-shirts, cups, toasters, mugs, toys, Lego sets and waffle irons filled the stores and display windows. Star Wars really, truly was back. What a fucking exciting time it was. I couldn’t help but just let all that giddiness get to me. There was magic in the air, and it wasn’t the magic of Christmas, but rather the magic of mystical techno samurai flying across solar systems to murder each other with glow sticks. Holy shit. Star Wars was back. STAR WARS WAS BACK. The hype was real, and it was everywhere.

But with that hype came an extreme and sustained spike of nervousness and skepticism. Criticisms of every new bit of information spread like fire throughout the interwebs. Did you see that weird new lightsaber? Is that another Death Star? Doesn’t that character just look like a rip-off of this other character?

After all, people loved Star Wars, and they couldn’t stop themselves from asking if this revival would live up to their expectations. Would The Force Awakens be a worthy successor to the franchise—a true return to form after decades of waiting for a real sequel to Jedi? Or would this simply be another prequel trilogy to dash the fans’ expectations and burn everything they loved about the series to the ground, buoyed only by the parallel stories of fans and creators determined to make sure Star Wars lived on? Lucas had failed us for the last time. People needed something GOOD.

The Force Awakens destroyed at the box office. Unadjusted for inflation, it became the highest-grossing film ever to hit American theaters, and the third highest-grossing film ever to hit the world. It was released to critical acclaim and massive audience approval. Abrams had done it. He had made a new Star Wars movie that both he and the fans could be proud of. All that hype was justified. All that waiting paid off. Star Wars wasn’t just back, it was good again. Great, even.

But as people celebrated Episode VII’s monetary and critical triumph, and as memes and excited chatter spread across the web, a notably large group of people simply did not feel that The Force Awakens met the standards they had set for it. To the point that they began to convince others that it was actually a bad, perhaps the worst ever, Star Wars movie.

And I’ll be honest—even I wasn’t sure how to feel about The Force Awakens when I first saw it. There was so much pressure on it to be good, and I was spending so much of the film’s runtime questioning whether or not I liked it, that I don’t think I was really, genuinely experiencing it. The movie felt like such a self-contradiction. It was so weirdly, at times even jarringly similar to the Original Trilogy, and at other times it was so strangely and uncomfortably different from it. The Resistance? That’s just the Rebellion. Starkiller Base? That’s just the Death Star. Kylo Ren? He’s not as threatening as Vader. Rey? She’s not as relatable as Luke. Part of me thought it was great, but another part of me felt terribly, soul-wearingly conflicted. I had to search my feelings about this film long and hard before I would be ready to draw a final conclusion about how it fit into the series.

It wasn’t until I saw it again a week later—when the crushing weight of all that pressure and anxiety and anticipation had time to dissolve—that I felt as though I was truly watching the movie for the first time. I was relaxed, passive, and ready to be entertained. I already knew what the movie was. I already knew what was going to happen. There was no more nervously waiting and watching to see what would become of my beloved franchise, what new things they were introducing to it, what old things they were keeping, and whether any of it was any good. I could just sit back and accept the film for what it was. And this time, I absolutely adored it.

The Force Awakens is in no way a perfect movie—far, far from it. But it was a miraculous work of Star Wars storytelling that won over both audiences and critics with its skillful direction, clever writing, compelling characters, great sense of humor and warm spirit.

Yes, TFA was closely and purposefully tailored to the original movies, but it was so, so much more than just another adventure film about a desert-inhabiting youth taking off to explore the galaxy and blow up giant space stations. It was a tale of friendship, hardship, humanity, and facing your darkest fears. It was about Rey struggling to look beyond the unknown terrors that lied before her—to confront her destiny and take up the lightsaber so that she could protect her new family. It was about Finn embracing his own humanity and working up the resolve to fight that which he spent the whole movie trying desperately to get away from. It was about Han reaching the culmination of his character’s growth from self-absorbed, smarmy money-grubber who ran from danger to a damaged and guilt-ridden father who renders himself both physically and emotionally vulnerable in order to save his son’s very soul.

Every relationship feels meaningful. Every dramatic revelation feels earned. Every joke hits. Every effect is dazzling and eighty percent of the time completely practical, which is why this movie will look far better in ten years than the prequels do now.

Poe and Finn are two of the most likeable characters to ever grace Star Wars cinema, and it’s no wonder that everyone wants them to be a couple when they had such an amazingly fun first date. Kylo Ren freezes a fucking blaster bolt in mid-fucking-air with the goddamn Force. BB-8’s thumbs up made every audience I saw the movie with burst into laughter. Poe blows up, like, fifteen TIE fighters in a row, followed by Finn shouting “That’s one hell of a pilot!” not even knowing at this point in the movie that Poe is still alive. The scene where Rey touches Luke’s lightsaber and is thrust into an acid trip of Force visions is both terrifying and mesmerizing. The two guards steadily backing away from Kylo Ren’s temper tantrum is adorable and hysterical. That moment when an emotionally distressed Kylo Ren struggles to pull Luke’s lightsaber from the snow, only to see it zoom past him and be dramatically caught by Rey as John Williams’ iconic score begins to build is fucking fantastic. And Han’s final confrontation with his son is so horrifically tense, and so well-executed and fitting as a conclusion to Han’s story that the internet, as liable as it was to do so, miraculously did not explode with blinding rage when it found out that Abrams had killed off one of the series’ most beloved characters.

Is there reason to be skeptical about the direction of the franchise? Yes. Is Disney perpetrating some worrisome behavior with their successive hiring and subsequent firing of every prospective director they get ahold of? Yes. Will Star Wars just become another MCU where we get two to three new movies every year and they all kind of begin to just meld together without any sense of consequence or meaningful continuity between installments? Maybe.

But I just can’t bring myself to think about that sort of thing right now. And maybe it’s not even really useful to think about it like that at all. Because regardless of what I or anyone reading this thinks, all that stuff is basically out of our hands. Maybe Star Wars will become stale and burned out after a few years of sequels and spinoffs. Or maybe, after establishing their new claim to the franchise with a few safe movies, the company will start to be more willing to experiment with new styles, stories and characters. I mean, with that completely new trilogy on the horizon, it does appear to be where this ship is headed.

But, who knows. Speculation is all we have. And all I can really say for absolute certain right now is that, for the moment, I have Star Wars in my life again, and I’m going to cherish it for as long as I can. Because I spent ten years in a world without Star Wars, and I have a lot of love left in me to give the franchise before I burn out, as a lot of other people seem to have already unfortunately done. I’d rather not go into the future of this series revival already prepared to hate the new Han Solo movie or Rian Johnson’s new trilogy or whatever else might come our way.

Because at the end of the day, despite the way many fans and even some past creators have treated it, Star Wars, pure and simple, is about joy. And when we live in a world that’s so filled with dread, fear, corruption, terror, hatred and downright tragedy, I don’t think it’s unreasonable to just let yourself give into something like Star Wars. I don’t mean to say we should just unconditionally love everything with the Lucasfilm logo on it, but maybe just recognize that sometimes it’s more valuable to be open and understanding and willing to love something than it is to be skeptical, critical, nitpicking and pessimistic, especially with something that is so widely adored and cherished the world over.

Maybe people won’t like The Last Jedi. Maybe they won’t like the Han Solo movie, either. Or maybe they’ll love them. But Star Wars isn’t any individual film. It’s a part of our culture, a symbol of the human spirit’s fascination with adventure, mysticism and the battle between good and evil. It means a billion different things to a billion different people and spans generations.

My dad once told me that when he used to take my brother and I to the toy store—years ahead of The Phantom Menace being unveiled—he was shocked to see that Star Wars toys still lined the shelves when a new movie hadn’t been made in well over a decade. But that’s what Star Wars is. It might have peaks and valleys, and there might be times when it feels like it’s all but left us, but in reality, it never really ends. It’s an invaluable part of human history whose effects will be felt for generations to come, and right now, it’s thriving in a way that nobody has seen in years.

We owe it not just to the franchise but to ourselves to enjoy every moment of it. Because Star Wars is the very embodiment of love, joy, hope, humor and adventure. Because Star Wars is a reminder that sometimes it’s okay to just let yourself be a kid again. Because while everything can be going wrong in the real world, Star Wars will always see to it that the light triumphs over the dark. Because while life is tragically short and full of hardship, Star Wars is forever.

[crazy4tank]

36 Photos Prove That “Ratatouille” Was Full Of Minor And Curious Details

New Post has been published on https://funnypics365.com/2020/12/24/36-photos-prove-that-ratatouille-was-full-of-minor-and-curious-details/

36 Photos Prove That “Ratatouille” Was Full Of Minor And Curious Details

“Colette Has An Oven Rack Burn On Her Forearm – A Common Injury Among Professional Chefs”

At The End Of The Movie Anton Ego Is A Little Bit Fatter. This Is Especially Poignant Since He States, “I Don’t Like Food, I Love It… If I Don’t Love It I Don’t Swallow”

“For A Scene Where Linguini Is Wet From Jumping In The River, They Got A Member Of Crew (Kesten Migdal) To Jump In A Swimming Pool In A Chef’s Uniform To See Where The Uniform Would Normally Stick To On The Body When Wet”

“After Cars (2006) Lost Out On The Oscar For Best Animated Movie To Happy Feet (2006), Which Utilized Motion Capture, Pixar Placed A “Quality Assurance Guarantee” At The End Of Their Next Movie Ratatouille (2007) To Remind The Academy They Animate Every Single Frame Of Their Movies Manually”

“The First Thing Remy Does When He Enters The Kitchen Is Falls Into A Sink Full Of Soap And Water So He Doens’t Contaminate Any Food He Touches Later In The Scene”

“The Dog Barking At Remy Is Doug From Up”

“The Ratatouille That Rémy Prepares Was Designed By Chef Thomas Keller. It’s A Real Recipe. It Takes At Least Four Hours To Make”

“Anton Ego’s Typewriter Resembles A Skull And His Office A Coffin”

“Anton Ego’s Face Is Less Pale After He Eats The Ratatouille, Symbolising How His Emotions And Feelings About Food Have Changed”

“Remy Makes Sure To Walk Upright Instead Of On All Fours To Keep His Two Front Paws Clean”

“When Anton Tastes Remy’s Ratatouille, He’s Reminded Of His Mother’s Cooking. There’s A Few Hidden Details That Suggest Remy Grew Up In Anton’s Mother’s House, Learning To Cook By Watching Anton’s Mother”

“Linguini Has The Bite Mark On His Hand From Where Remy Bit Him, Previously”

“When Recording Lines For A Scene In Which Remy Hugs His Father Django, Patton Oswalt (Voice Of Remy) Actually Hugged Director Brad Bird To Achieve A Realistic Sound”

“This Mime In The Background Of Ratatouille Is Bomb Voyage From The Incredibles”

“When Flipping Through The Cookbook In The Sewer, One Of The Pages Remy Flips Through Shows The Jobs Of Each Person In Gusteau’s Kitchen, Revealing How Remy Knows This Later On”

“Linguini Has To Hide Remy Before His Second Day Of Work. He Offers To Hide Him In His Pants, Revealing His Briefs Covered In The Incredibles Logo”

“Remy Uses A Toothpaste Cap As A Cup”

“When Linguini Is Chopping Leeks For The Soup You Can See A Green Smear On The Cutting Board That Actually Happens When Cutting Green Vegtables. Also His Bite Marks Are Still There From When Remy Bit Him A Couple Of Days Before”

“In Cars 2 (2011), In Paris You Can See A Restaurant Called “Gastow’s”. This Is A Direct Reference To “Gusteau’s” Restaurant From Ratatouille (2007)”

“Linguine Gives An “Inspirational Speech” Before Food Critic, Anton Ego, Comes To Critique The Restaurant’s Food. Pixar’s Attention To Detail Shows The Staff Visibility Exhausted By This Speech. That’s Because It Lasts Almost 20 Minutes During Dinner Service!”

“The Shop With Dead Rats In The Window Is Based On A Real-Life Shop In Paris, France, Called Aurouze”

“In This Scene At The End Of Ratatouille, The Cups Are Thimbles, The Plates Are Buttons, And The Utensils Are Pins”

“There Is Much Debate Over When Ratatouille (2007) Is Supposed To Take Place, Many Saying The Late 60s Because Of The Cars, Phones And Tvs. However, The Note Linguine’s Mom Leaves Gusteau Reveals It’s Within A Few Years After 2004”

“A Magazine In Riley’s Living Room Features Colette From Ratatouille On The Cover”

“When Remy Explores The Apartment Building, He Sees A Woman Pointing A Gun At A Man. A Moment Later, They End Up Kissing. Later On, When Colette Is About To Mace Linguini, Remy Makes Him Go In For A Kiss”

“The Same Chinese Take Out Boxes Can Be Seen In A Bug’s Life, Ratatouille, And Inside Out”

“There Is A Lasseter Wine Bottle. John Lasseter Owns A Winery In Real-Life. The Bottle Even Has The “Lasseter Family Winery” Logo”

“You Can See Gusteau’s First Name, Auguste, On The Cookbook “Anyone Can Cook” Which Is An Anagram Of Gusteau”

“According To Brad Bird, Director Of Ratatouille (2007), He Chose Patton Oswalt To Voice Remy After Hearing One Of His Stand Up Routines About Food”

“The Line “Get My Lawyer!” Is Pure Exposition; Skinner’s Phone Is A Landline, He Has No Secretary, And He Dials No One. He’s Talking To A Dial Tone”

“Pixar Thinks Of Everything. Water Stains From Rain On Window When Remy Is Spying On The Kitchen. Thought You Guys Might Appreciate It”

“The Lovers From The Beginning Of The Film Are Seen Again During The Chase Scene As Skinner Falls Into The Water”

“There Is A Scene With The Health Inspector, Barging Into The Restaurant With A Picture Of His Face On The Wall. This Poster Is Present Throughout The Entire Movie Whenever This Section Of The Restaurant Is Shown”

“When Remy And Linguine Cook Together, Linguine Pours In A Box Of Bouchiba Pasta. This Is A Nod To Animator Bolhem Bouchiba”

“Chef Skinner Is Angry At Linguini’s Success. But Skinner Is Also Getting Some Media Attention; There’s An Article About Him Jumping Into The Seine River”

“In The Newspaper The Cooks Are Reading, There Is An Advertisement For The Same 3 Step Stool That The Chef Uses To Watch The Dining Room In Ratatouille”