If You're Fifteen Or Older An Still Sleep With A Stuffed Animal Please Reblog This.

Specific things about certain songs I like that make me start frothing at the mouth like a rabid raccoon when I hear them:

The soft violin solo that plays at 1:35 in "The Crooked Kind" by Radical Face, like the heralding of a distant thunderstorm that you can see rolling in the distance.

When Florence starts chanting "Who's a heretic now?" in "Which Witch", which is the best song on the album and it is a CRIME that it was just a demo (don't let Spotify fool you it was listed as a demo until recently).

The way the chunky guitar and drums build before the second chorus of "Double Vision" by Family and Friends, which is sung with some kind of soft anguish that always breaks my heart into pieces.

The pianowork in "Garden" by Cold Weather Company is complimented by a fuckin' pianica of all things and it absolutely should not work but it does and drives me nuts when it hops in like Jesus.

David Le'aupepe's vocal's in "The Man Himself" by Gang of Youths. This man is a horrifically underrated singer and I would pay every ounce of money I have to see him belt this song out live.

Just the subject of "Staring at the Stars" by Passenger. I love songs that revel in the fact that their subjects are complete and utter losers, and there's something kinda hopeful in and of that as well.

The masterful guitarwork on "The Graduate" by the Arcadian Wild but particularly by the mandolinist. It's insane how fast that man can strum those chords out.

I could make an entire list based on The Oh Hellos alone but when the whole band chimes in behind Maggie Heath to sing "--any little Messiah" in "Passerine", it's not only amazing but a literal callback of the "birds of a kind" lyric that comes right before it and Idk I think that's neat.

The chemistry between the two lead singers of "Home to Me" by Devil and the Deep Blue Sea-- it is genuinely a failing of society that they never got big nor released more than 8 songs.

That quiet, warm optimism you can hear in every word and even in that fuckin'...I don't know, panflute synth?...in "Summerland" by half-alive. This song is like watching a sunset on a half-empty beach with all your closest friends, finally reveling in the warmth that you can only find in early June.

The rising, building vitriol of the two singers in "The Descent" by Bastille (the man is Dan Smith, the woman is Lily Moore). I LOVE songs where both singers are just fucking furious with each other it's so sexy, and Moore in particular kills it.

Changing the final line of "No Lullaby" by SIAMES from "Where's the love when you were left on your own?" to "Who said you're on your own?"-- in an album centered around broken homes, it's a nice way to end a song centered around familial abandonment on a hopeful note.

The way the last line of "Leaves in the River" by Sea Wolf is sung-- a soft, hopeful, almost wistful sigh of a man who's just fallen head over heels in love (or at least that's how I interpret it).

Tubbo

Tubbo

rb to have a super gay 2023

This shirt came to me in a vision

“Joe, I am thinking about death,” Cleo declares, hanging from the teeth of her snake cavern.

“…okay,” Joe says, slowly. He’s still looking through her chests for spare birch for some reason. She’s letting him. She really, really doesn’t need birch.

“Well, I mean, I thought you should know,” she says.

“I don’t mean to put you out by not bein’ suitably dramatic, but you think about death a lot,” Joe says reasonably.

“What? You’re good to talk about it to, what with you also being dead.”

“Am I truly?” Joe says. “I may be a ghost, and also transparent until each sunrise, but does that make me dead when I still speak? When I still dream, and change the people around me, and act?” He picks up a skeleton head from the chest and frowns. “Cleo, did you mean to lose this?”

“See, that’s what I mean—no, give it.” She holds out her hand, and Joe hands over the skull.

“Oh, good. Because if I held this too long talkin’ about mortality, someone might think it’s a bit too on the nose.”

Cleo snorts. “Alas, poor Cleo. I knew her, Joe.”

They’re both companionably silent for a bit.

“Any reason?” Joe says, after seemingly giving up on finding the birch he’d been looking for.

“For the skull? Joe, did you hit your head?”

“No, for talkin’ about death again, and why I don’t think we are.”

“Oh,” Cleo says. “Grian’s doing that game of his again, and I’m playing.”

“Oh! Good luck, have fun, as the kids and gamers say.”

“Thanks Joe. Appreciated.”

“No problem!” He turns to her and beams and she laughs.

“And you basically answered it anyway. What I’d give for everyone else to see it the way you do. We do, I guess. Death, I mean.”

“One day, they will!” Joe says brightly.

“Oh, that was ominous. I’m jealous.”

“With a little luck and also, ideally, some birch logs, you can be exactly as ominous as I am. Just three easy payments of I need those logs so badly Cleo why did you give me false hope—”

Cleo laughs.

June 15 is the anniversary of both the Night Vale and Gravity Falls pilots, as well as Vanessa Doofenshmirtz’s birthday and “give it up for day 15” day

appreciation posts for bears, men who don't get super skinny when they go on T, trans gay men, t4t gays, nonbinary gays, xenogender gays, genderfluid gays, aroace gays, neopronoun gay ppl, gays who use the achillean flag, gays who use the pink stripe gay flag, and of course, all gay people :)

i see it now... jimmy adores his husband so much