#I HOPE YOU ENJOY RETIREMENT

[amoron4everyone]

so uh

guess who watched Matpat's going away video?

[sentientcave]

Retirement Party

Chapter 4 - Runaway

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Contains: No Y/N, Kidnapping, Forcible relocation, Dubcon, Plus-sized reader, female reader, Poorly thought out action sequences, Guns, There is something fucking wrong with these guys for real, More reader details given, but we're still pretty vague about it. Even though it is hard for me. No promises for future chapters though I might even tell y'all her name.

~3.8k - MDNI - Dark fic! Please mind the content warning above

You wake in the morning with your nose buried in a thick patch of chest hair, and strong arms around you. Your legs are hooked around one of his thick thighs, and something hard digs into your stomach. You start to inch away, but his arms tighten, and his hips cant against you, a thick, sleepy groan rumbling in his chest. It would be a nice way to wake up, if not for the circumstances. It’s been ages since you slept beside another person, let alone someone that feels as comfortable as John does.

“John,” you say softly. You don’t want to fully wake him up, just get him to let you go. “John, please let me go.”

He hums, one hand sliding to your waist, and then down to your hip, pulling you closer, grinding you against his thigh. You squeak in protest, becoming aware that you’re already wet, like you’ve been unconsciously humping his leg in your sleep for some time. You push your slightly freer top half away a little, so you can look at him. He’s still sleeping, a little frown on his face as he’s pulled unwillingly toward consciousness. He really is handsome, especially like this, all his defences down, grumbling like a hibernating bear.

“Don’t wake up,” you tell him, as if it’ll make any difference. “I just have to pee.”

One of his blue eyes cracks open, a little unfocused. “You comin’ back?” His voice is rough from sleep, rasping like sandpaper.

“Sure,” you say, even though you have no intention of doing so. Your body seems as eager as his is for something you’re sure is dangerous. Maybe he smells good, like tobacco, warm, boozy spices and something undeniably male, and maybe he feels warm and solid against you, but you don’t want to encourage this. You just want to enough space to clear your head. His admissions last night still have you spooked, John’s words not tempered by a night of surprisingly good sleep. “I’ll just be a minute.”

He loosens his hold on you enough that you can wiggle free, his eyes opening a little more so he can watch you slip out of bed. He rolls over onto his back, and starts snoring gently before you’ve even made it to the bedroom door. You take the opportunity to snag one of the bags stacked in front of the closet and your purse off the dresser and bring both to the bathroom with you. You’re not sure what’s in the bag, but you know the larger suitcase has things from your closet in it, so you’re hoping this one has more from your dresser.

You get dressed, glad that most of your underthings and a comfortable pair of jeans and a thick sweater are inside and pack your toothbrush and makeup bag into the larger one, and creep downstairs carefully. One of them is snoring gently on the couch, but otherwise, the house is silent. You carefully fish a set of keys off the hooks by the door and sneak outside. You don’t know where any of your shoes are except the red heels, so you just leave in your sock feet, and pile your things into the pick-up truck. You’ll drive it into town and leave it there, buy a ticket on a train or a bus, and get the hell back home.

It sucks to have to leave everything you own, beyond the clothes in the one bag and the contents of your purse, but maybe you can call the cops— Well. Probably not. Better to just start over anywhere else. You have digital copies of a few pictures of your parents, and that’s better than nothing, even if their wedding album is sitting on a shelf in John’s living room, along with all the family photos that your parents took of you and them while you were growing up. Your mother’s sketchbooks too, and her camera, and your dad’s guitar.

You bite your lip, holding back tears, and start the truck.

No sense mourning things. The memories are in your head and your heart, not trapped in the pages of books or twisted into the strings of the guitar. You don’t need them.

You haven’t driven in a long time, and the truck, unfortunately, is a manual, which you haven’t driven in even longer, but you manage to pull away from the house without revving the engine too hard, and pick up speed once you get to the road, only just remembering to hit the clutch with your left foot before you change gears. You’d feel pretty pathetic if you only made it to the road before stalling out the pickup.

You’re not sure which way town is, but you figure the road has to lead somewhere no matter which way you choose, so you navigate blindly, turning onto a bigger road a little ways down the gravel one that leads to John’s house. Bigger road means more people, although the hour is still so early that there’s no one around yet. The sun is barely up, and it’s still shadowy in the woods on either side of the road. The woods give way to fields suddenly, the sun making a too-bright debut, shining right into your eyes. You flip down the visor and adjust the rear-view mirror, wincing when you see a blue car a ways behind you, approaching fast.

You didn’t notice the car when you were leaving— It must have been parked behind the bigger van that they’d used to move all your things— but it looks sporty and fast, and judging by the way it closes the gap, there’s no question that it’s them. You push the truck harder, squinting against the light, heart hammering. The car’s engine roars, loud enough that you can hear it over the blood rushing in your ears, and pulls into the lane beside you. Gaz motions for you to pull over from the passenger seat.

You slow up enough that they pull ahead a little, and you yank your steering wheel to the side and stomp down on the gas and the clutch, shifting into third gear and nailing the side of the car, shattering a tail light and making it spin, stopping just shy of the ditch.

For a moment, you’re still close enough to see the shock on their faces, but you’re moving fast and leave them in the dust, at least momentarily. It won’t take them long to recover and catch up again, and if they hit you with the same maneuver, there’s no way you’ll be able to get the truck under control. There’s not enough weight in the bed of the truck to compensate, and you’ll wind up in the ditch for certain.

Funny, how it comes back to you. Learning to drive along mountain roads way outside Aberdeen, either in your dad’s little car or your mom’s old truck (usually the car, which was the easier one to drive. Your dad was the safer driver too, the better parent to learn from), and you can almost imagine your mother in the passenger seat, laughing her head off at the insane circumstances, encouraging you to throw caution to the wind, to get a feel for the road under the wheels and the way the old truck handled. She always laughed when she was under stress, but it’s comforting to think of. Your mum would never let a couple of thick-headed military assholes get the better of her.

The car is catching up again, so you floor it and smash through a fence gate into a muddy field, where the car won’t handle as well, and speed your way across the stubbly remains of wheat, already harvested. The car follows, and, predictably, struggles, the low frame too close to the muck, bumping unhappily over the soft, uneven ground.

Laughter bubbles up in your chest, relieving some of the built-up anxiety. You smash through a segment of the fence on the other side and yank the truck back onto the road, giggling when the truck fishtails a bit, mud slicking the tires on the pavement. There’s so much adrenaline coursing through your system that you feel like you might be sick the moment you let any of this catch up with you. So you keep driving, and pray that it doesn’t.

The car gets close again when you reach another wooded section of road. Through the rearview mirror you can see Gaz pop out of the window, gun drawn, but you don’t hear the crack when it fires, you only feel the impact when the bullet strikes one of the rear tires. You shriek, slamming on the breaks as the truck spins out of your control and off the road, slamming into a tree head on.

The lurch forward as the airbags deploy, your body hitting them hard, knocking all the air out of your lungs as you’re slapped back into he seat. The seat belt bites into your shoulder painfully. You unbuckle yourself quickly, ears ringing too loudly for you to hear the screeching tires of the pursuit car. You fall to the ground when you try to get out, head spinning.

You stumble into the trees, still blinking away double vision. If you can find a good spot to hide— Maybe you can double back and take the car while they chase you blindly through the trees. You cast about, feeling every rapidly forming bruise, wishing desperately that you had shoes, and dive into the underbrush, scooting forward on your belly, brambles catching in your hair as you curl up, out of sight.

“Please come out, doll,” you hear Gaz call out, boots crunching through the woods, closer than you would like. “It’s okay, we’re not mad. Just come out and we’ll take you home, yeah?”

Johnny is yelling further off, his voice incomprehensible but sing-song, mocking. Gaz moves further into the woods. You wait until his voice grows a little more distant before you drag yourself back out, sweater streaked with mud, leaves in your hair, and quickly sneak back to the road. The car is still running, the driver door left open. You breathe a sigh of relief.

“There you are, bird.”

You scream. A gloved hand drops over your mouth, cutting off the sound, and an arm loops around your waist, picking you right up off your feet.

Fuck.

"Look what you did, bird. Wrecked up Price's truck. 'E's not goin' to be 'appy about that." He turns so you can see the slightly smoking truck, the front half of it crumpled beyond repair.

You shake your head until he pulls his hand away from your mouth. "Its not my fault I crashed. Gaz shot the tire out. I wasn't even going to steal it, just leave it in town once I'd gotten to a bus stop."

He hums. You hear the slight crackle of a radio. "Got 'er, lads. Come back to the car."

"Rog."

"Aye."

Ghost shoves you into the back seat. "Stay put," he says sternly. "You're already banged up, don't want to 'ave to tackle you."

You sigh, all the fight leaving you. You feel awful, bruised and shaken up and trembling, and you do nothing but watch as Ghost gathers your things from the truck and puts them in the boot of the car. You slump back in the seat, inspecting the scratches on your hands idly. Your head hurts, and your shoulder aches, and you feel a bit like you've been stepped on, but nothing feels broken, just bruised and tender. You got lucky.

Well, not lucky. There's very little about any of this that counts as luck. Especially considering the look on Johnny's face when he jogs out of the trees. At first he looks stormy, but he grins when he sees you and opens the back door to crawl onto the seat and on top of you.

"Steamin Jesus, where'd ye learn ta drive like tha'?" He asks. "Didnae ken ye were a racer."

"Outside Aberdeen," you reply. Your ribs hurt. Soap’s weight makes every little ache more acute.

"Price isn't gonna be happy about his truck," Gaz says, tossing himself into the driver's seat. "What were you thinking, doll? You could've been hurt."

"You didn't have to shoot the tire." You try to push Soap off, but he wraps himself around you, a bit tight, but bearably so. You’re trembling, and he’s trying to help, in a thoroughly unhelpful way. "I was just trying to get home."

"That's the wrong way. Your home's with Price now." Ghost gets into the other front seat, and Gaz reverses back out onto the road.

You sigh, leaning your head against the window, watching the countryside flash by. It takes an embarrassingly short time to get back to John's house. You didn't get as far as you would have liked, hardly got anywhere at all. Your eyes prickle with tears, but you don't want to cry in front of them. You want to go back to bed, maybe back in time to the morning. You would have been wiser just to curl up next to John again.

Soap drags you from the car, hands a bit rough on your bruises, and pulls you back to the house. John rushes out, worry creasing his face, blue eyes sweeping over you and turning furious. "What happened?" he barks, not at you, but at his men.

"Bird was makin' a run for it," Ghost says.

"Wrecked your truck," Gaz adds.

"That's not my fault!" you protest. "You shot at me!" You glare at him, frustrated tears overflowing down your cheeks. It’s like they have no idea what kind of stress they’ve put you through.

"Woah, woah, c'mere, doll." John pulls you against his chest, wrapping strong arms around you, stilling some of the tremble in your limbs. "You broken?"

You shake your head, leaning into him, gripping his t-shirt tightly. You breathe in raggedly, trying to steady yourself.

"Lads. Why did you shoot at her?"

"Trying to stop the truck."

"She's a civilian you muppets. I take it that the truck's in no shape to drive, or you would've brought it back. You could have killed her." He pets a hand over your head, plucking out a few leaves. "You should’ve let her go."

"She stole your truck!" Soap protests.

"So what? It's wrecked now anyway, innit?" The silence behind you speaks volumes. "Alright, doll, why don't you go get cleaned up? " he murmurs against the top of your head. "I need to talk to the lads, and what I have to say is not fit for a lady's ears."

He gently ushers you into the house and closes the door firmly behind you. You trudge upstairs, feeling utterly pathetic, and lock yourself into the bathroom. Still sniffling, you comb sticks and leaves out of your hair with your fingers and put yourself into a hot shower, where you give yourself the freedom to cry your eyes out, hoping that the sound of water drowns your stifled sobs.

The house is quiet when you shut off the shower and dry yourself off. You wrap the shirt you'd slept in around you and poke your head out into the hallway. John is right there, holding out a bundle of clothes. "Here, sweetheart," he says softly, like he's worried a sharp word will set you off again. He must have heard everything. "I sent the boys to deal with the truck and that tail light, so it's just us. Just come on downstairs when you're ready."

You open the door wide enough to accept the clothes, and he turns to leave again, content to leave anything else to be said when you make it downstairs.

He'd obviously taken his cue from what you'd been wearing already, because he gives you a sweater and jeans again, comfortable worn in things. You go downstairs carefully, every joint and muscle in your body aching, even after the shower.

"How do you take your coffee?" he asks. "Or do you prefer tea?"

"Coffee, please. I can make it. I'd feel better if I did, honestly." You skirt around him to the cupboard where you'd seen Gaz take mugs out, recognizing your own nestled among John's mismatched ones. You put milk and sugar in your favourite mug, and pour in coffee, stirring it throroughly. The clink of the spoon is loud, and so is the pan he sets on the stove top.

"Eggs and toast okay?" He asks.

"Um, yeah. That would be nice. Over easy?"

"Yes ma'am." He looks at you over his shoulder while butter melts in the pan, blue eyes all worry. "Did I say something to you last night? Maybe the sort of thing that made you feel like you needed to steal a truck and run as fast as you could away from here?"

"Um. Yes." You hold onto the mug with both hands. "Some stuff about wanting to start a family. With me."

His ears turn pink. "I see."

"I suppose this is where you tell me it was just the whiskey talking, right?" you ask hopefully. You like him, even if it’s ill-advised, maybe even dangerous to do so.

"Wish I could."

Your stomach twists. “Oh.”

John turns around fully, guilt and sadness written all over his handsome face. He steps closer and touches your arm gently. “I’m so sorry about what my boys have put you through, sweetheart. None of this has been right.” He sighs, brushing a few tendrils of still-wet hair away from your face, studying you, those intense blue eyes focused on you intently. “But there’s something special about you, doll. I really do want to keep you forever. Not if you’re scared, and not if you feel forced— It’s just, the thought of you leavin' and never wanting to speak to me again is— I don’t want that.”

You swallow nervously. “This is just really overwhelming.”

“I know. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have let this happen. Soap really could have just given you my number.” The smile he gives you is hopeful, and you can’t help but return it, just a little. “Now go sit down, doll. Let me take care of breakfast, hm?”

You nod and move to the table, sitting where you can watch him, and peek out the window too. The car is gone, but the van is still there for the moment, sitting idly to the side. You consider making another run for it, but your aching limbs protest even the thought. There’s not enough fight in you, and you’re not even sure you want to fight John, not the way you do the other three. His only crime has been wanting you to stay, and being a bit overzealous about it. You can’t be mad at him for that, can you? It isn’t really his fault.

Well, it might be his fault, in a roundabout way. He trained them, taught them how to ruthlessly pursue an objective. It’s just not his fault they can’t keep it from coming home with them. That’s a clear failure of whoever does their mental health assessments.

You sip your coffee and watch John crack eggs into a pan. He keeps glancing at you, and his smile flickers on a little longer each time that he catches you looking back, until he doesn’t stop smiling, and just looks happy, glad to have you there, even if you’re just keeping a silent vigil on the other side of the room.

It's not like you have anywhere to go. It'll take days at least to feel like you haven't just been in a car crash, and days more to locate everything to pack it back up. So long as you don't have to share a bed with John again, you think you could live with this, for at least a week. It can't be that terrible, so long as the others leave you alone. You rather hope they just leave. If you asked, would John send them away?

"John," you say as he sets a plate with buttered toast and a couple of eggs on it in front of you, and sets a couple tablets of paracetamol beside your plate. "If I stay… Will they be staying too?"

"I'm going to have them leave this afternoon. That alright with you? We can go for a walk to the neighbours while they pack up, if you're up for it. Maybe dr-- Well, not drive." He sets his own plate down and sits next to you, handing you a knife and a fork. “Have to get that sorted out. But the neighbours-- Rob and Melissa-- Their dog just had puppies a few weeks ago. Do you like dogs?”

You nod, breaking the yolks of one of the eggs with a corner of toast. "My parents had a dog when I was growing up. Some kind of German shepherd cross. Best boy. His name was Rob Roy, because he was a wee outlaw. Mam found him digging in the trash and--" you stop and give John a baleful look. "Sorry. That was more than you were asking."

"No, that's the most you've said at once this whole time. I'd listen to you talk all day, doll. Don't ever apologize."

"Sorry I-- Oh, shit, sorry--" you press your fingers to your mouth, cutting yourself off. "Force of habit."

"I'd like to see you lose that one. You have nothin' to apologize for. Not one damn thing, and especially not talking. I think you have the prettiest voice I've ever heard."

You roll your eyes, but you can't help smiling. "You're just saying that."

He touches your arm lightly. "You don't know me too well yet, doll, but I never just say anything."

Yet hangs in the air, heavy and deliberate. He wants you to know him, wants you to stay with him, wants you to like him. Even if it makes no sense, the offer is tempting. It's been a long time since you've let someone get close— You've had the occasional fling, and the odd reunion with an ex that you’d stayed friends with, but grief is like a canyon you can't bear to cross. What if you love someone and you lose them, the way you lost your parents? How could you live with that all over again?

Still, there's something that feels like warm sunlight in his smile, and you can't help but incline toward him, slowly but surely reaching for the light. No one can live in the shade forever. There’s no nobility in suffering.

So you let yourself talk, at least a little. And he listens, hanging on to your words like they're precious, gazing at you with something unfurling in his expression that you can't name. You're almost afraid to try.

Image Credits: Banner

Dividers: 1 - 2 - 3 by @/Cafekitsune

[snoofins]

i bring to you sort-of references of every single one of my PMD heroes, both from the games and from my original story!!!

[macaroni-stars]

EVERYBODY FREEZE, NEW REBUILD THE GALAXY TRAILER DROPPED

LOOK MY BABYGIIIRL

[cheeseplants]

Writer’s Guild Presents: The Ecstasy of Eden: Chapter seven

This fic is complete! Ahhh time for some delightful South Downs Retirement fluff.

After five times they used sex pollen, and we've reached the one time they don't :)

There aren't any CWs for this, it's all lovely adorable consensual sex.

Start here

Final chap here

Excerpt

Crowley's eyes opened to the dazzling sun creeping through the curtains. His fingers grazed soft, fluffy pyjamas, and when he squeezed, the warm, full shape of an angel curled into him. The morning air was soaked with sweat, sleep, and angelic and demonic morning breath, which he immediately fixed with a flick of his wrist. 

Aziraphale’s muscles rippled as he stirred awake and Crowley watched with interest, casting his eyes along each part he’d never had much time to gawk at in their 6,000 year friendship. 

“Morning, Mr Crowley,” he whispered, tightening his hold on Aziraphale’s supple belly, and though he could not see it, he knew the expression on Aziraphale's face. The same one he had become used to seeing every time they took in a new day. A hand groped at Crowley’s thigh, and he caught it in his, interlocking their fingers together.

Crowley planted a delicate kiss on Aziraphale’s cheek and as expected it was taut, pulling at the sides with a wide grin. Crowley’s heart thrummed with such an explosion of gratitude and love, that it was a wonder he didn’t combust with it. 

“Morning, Mr Fell,” Aziraphale said, stretching to face Crowley, his eyes drooped and hazy. 

“I really wish you’d picked a better surname.”

“Well, if you hadn’t - you know - then we might never have done this.”

Crowley laughed at his indignant pout. “Oh, I see.” He gave a mock salute. “My damnation at your service.” Aziraphale’s lip jutted out further, though Crowley could see how hard he was trying not to let the smile take over.

“I mean it, Crowley.” He found Crowley’s hand, and squeezed it. “I’m glad it was you in the garden, just as you are.”

“You’re only saying that so I'll go to the little bakery in the village again.”

“Well, it is Sunday.”

“It's the day of rest,” Crowley protested. 

“Not for the damned.”

“So, that’s why you were so keen for a demon as a husband.”

“Amongst other things.” Aziraphale threaded a hand into Crowley’s hair and kissed him. There was nothing special about this kiss, one in a long line of kisses; for buying groceries, for meeting him at the door, for existing , and that somehow that made it the most special of all.  @goodomensafterdark Thanks to: @adverbian, @voluptatiscausa, @malachitegrey for the High Sex Pollen Event! Phew it's been a ride. I 100% suggest checking out all the other fics here. And to my lovely betas: @fuzzygoblin , and @happynachohologram for beta-ing my last chapter.

[the-eclectic-wonderer]

I’m giving Charles a medal. That was thee worst Portuguese I’ve ever heard. Takes some talent.

[taegularities]

…

[roomofshitposts]

made this when i heard the ros finale dropped and forgot to toss it here they call me a dumbass o(-(

hi hello, it's been a long while since i posted here and i think i'll call it quits about now for this blog

i'm not super active on any tumblr/twitter accounts these days but my handle is @aureminate if anyone wants to see art once in a blue moon

right now i don't know if i'll deactivate roomofshitposts or just leave it up, or i guess if anyone wants to have the handle they can send me a message?

and that's all from me, goodbye !!

[gamethecry]

chat... are we cooked?

[hearthwrm]

“But I don’t want to challenge it. Yes, it could be true that next year is gonna be as great as this one. Plus I’ve already considered retiring last year and I have built a lot of projects next to playing. Now I can actually imagine a life without football - not that I won’t miss football. But a life without all the travelling, without the constant stays in hotels; a life with more time for my family sounds nice.”

[oiblackestsheep]

Letters to MBTI: ESFJ

Dear ESFJs,

My opposite! You and I... we don't tend to run in the same social circles, most of the time lmao. But you know what, that's okay! I recognize that just because we aren't incredibly close, doesn't mean I don't see you and appreciate everything you do.

Our cognitive functions appear in reverse order and nothing reminds me of that better than getting to spend time with one of you. You find ways to be pragmatic, punctual, and inclusive of everybody in ways that I can't even manage to do in my dreams.

And when I say inclusive of everybody, usually, that extra effort goes towards making sure that people like me are included and welcomed to the group/community activities, and I really can't express how grateful I am for that. Or rather, usually, I couldn't express that because it's hard to do that verbally when you feel socially awkward, but here, I'm gonna let it rip.

So let's get into it!

I've found myself in enough social situations where I felt a bit like an outcast wallflower (which can earn you points on the internet, but not so much irl lmao), and it's the healthy ESFJ who recognizes this and decides to make the concentrated effort to help break the ice when I'm not quite sure how.

You never run out questions to ask to keep the conversation going and you always find a way to make me (and probably the other introverts) feel like we have a voice and a place at the table in any social setting. Especially when everyone else present knows each other and I'm the new person. This is such an important skill you have and I don't think you hear enough thanks from the people you help, most likely because we don't always know how best to say it.

Not to mention that you are likely the one who organized whatever event is happening, which most people take for granted. It's not easy being the one to accommodate everyone's schedules and coordinate all of the necessary components for social gatherings.

Or business gatherings! It's not all just birthday parties and baby showers with you guys; you've got serious business to get through, and all the while have to remember things like dietary restrictions, seating arrangements, appropriate time slots for all facets of the gathering. You're the one who has planned out the whole day from start to finish, hearding everyone else around, and everyone else has the luxury of going along with all of it without even noticing.

An introverted perceiver like me doesn't know the half of the hard work it takes to make these things happen!

I hope that it is as helpful to you to have me brainstorming new, potential solutions to your technical problems as it is to me when you make sure that everything is going according to plan and everyone gets the chance to comfortably and genuinely participate in all of our collaborative events.

You really do examplify everything I'd like to be better at. Maybe we should hang out more! We may not always have the most in common with our interests, but I think we could learn a lot from each other. Keep doing what you're doing ESFJs. You really are the glue that holds us all together and makes everyone feel safe!

[rafasbiscuits]

OMG BAES.

Roger went on stage to a Coldplay concert in Zurich😭

he's an instrument shaker or something🥺

[baral-chief-of-memes]

A Strange Way to Get a Statue

Ok. So.  It’s been a few days.  Fighting was pretty intense, but the invasion seems to be over now.  They’re building a statue of me Kari.  Here’s what happened.

I was holding out by myself on the sixteenth floor of an old Consulate court building, fighting against some triangle-headed... things.  I manage to get into an office room and lock the door behind to try to catch my breath for a second.

Suddenly I start feeling the ground shake, and the sounds of an airship firing on approach.  I looked out the window to see a skyship being chased by a huge bipedal Phyrexian colossus.  The ship started trying to keep the building between it and the colossus, while still peeking out just enough to get some shots off.

Then, as I’m looking out the window at it, the door behind me bursts open and I trip out the window directly into the left eye of the colossus.  It starts trying to swat at me, but then a goddamn monkey jumps out of the skyship into its other eye.  It’s flailing trying to get us off, I’m holding on for dear life, and the monkey is going bananas.  The colossus manages to get one of us in each hand and holds us up to look at us.  But meanwhile, to skyship has used this distraction to line up a perfect shot and blasts a hole through its chest.  As it’s collapsing, the monkey and I get free and manage to make it through a broken window back into the building relatively unscathed.  The triangle things are swarming around the bottom of the building, so I start heading up with the monkey on my shoulder.

The skyship pulled up to the roof and we got aboard.  The captain thanks me for my “heroic distraction” and “making sure Ragavan was safe”.  She introduces herself as Kari Zev and asks me to fight as part of her crew.  Without the colossus around, we actually manage to start taking back a little ground.

The crew starts telling the story to every other pocket of resistance we meet over the next few days, but each time it gets bigger and less accurate.  By the time the invasion was over, you’d think I had been single-handedly dueling the thing while Kari lined up a head shot.

And now that its all over, they’re building a statue of us together.

[tecchous-thicc-buttocks]

Hey can I ask if you’re an adult or not? Cuz I want to interact with you but I’m also not particularly comfortable interacting with minors either :/ Completely understandable if you don’t want to say either!

i am the unfiltered silent but deadly fart that lives in between two majestic cheeks of the ass of a fictional man. Age does not know me, it fears me. Only thing minor about me is my ability to stop myself from loving fictional little people whom only a strange individual with a funky pen name can draw and control. interact with these butt cheeks only if you are prepared for repercussions (threat)

[todayisafridaynight]

I have gotten two of my friends interested in Tsuma just by spamming GIFs so can confirm the Cutest Old Man In Media strategy has a high success rate... ON THAT NOTE. Very strong list of cuties... I Must Agree... Ikegami may be At Least A Little heinous but can't argue with that reasoning...

AND OK LISTEN. Some things I tell you are meant to be locked away in the vault never to be spoken of again... Tsutsumi's retirement is one of those... [just kidding it's fine LMAO he can do whatever makes him happy But I Will Cry I'm Sorry WE GET LIKE ONE MAINLINE GAME EVERY FOUR YEARS WHAT IF JO NEVER COMES BACK AAAA] BUT YES. YEAH. Very curious how he might do as a director...

DJKLGHJKLSDHLKS NO THAT'S THE FUNNIEST THING because I will generally just mention something in passing without actually recommending it but you'll go for it anyway😭😭😭NOT COMPLAINING. NOT COMPLAINING IN THE SLIGHTEST you have my deepest gratitude after A Lifetime of having my recommendations fall through and not being able to talk about stuff I'm into I cannot say this enough 😭😭😭😭😭but of course, definitely checking out the movie when I can :] I wish I could've watched before responding but busy day... oh well...

Speaking of! Kagerou Touge here and Tonbi here. They're both a bit less than three hours and split into two parts sooooo up to you <3 I don't remember enough about Tonbi to summarize it any better than what's on the page and It Is Best I Leave Kagerou A Surprise From Start To Finish. Bali Big Brother has been a bitch for years though unfortunately😩no subs may or may not be better than the machine-translated subs I had to work with

AGREED ON EVERYTHING ABOUT ATR NO NOTES NO ADDITIONS... YOU GET ME... KUROMI/MY MELODY-CORE SO REAL I felt like stopping and pointing whenever you could see their charms😭😭😭big fan... huge even... also the visual direction was Overall really good it is such a pretty anime and goes So Hard with the rain motif... SPEAKING OF THE FINALE WHICH I LOVED FOR THOSE SAME REASONS AS WELL Akira imagining breaking into a run to kiss Kondo on the cheek in the "date" ep but when she actually does it in real life it's a hug... as friends... broooooooo 😭😭😭😭😭

can't believe you're just hoarding keisuke gifs from me 😭 yes ive seen all of the show but STILL BUT REGARDLESS I'M GLAD YOU GOT OTHERS ON BOARD truly love this show a lot for keisuke... even beyond him tho not only is the cast really lovely but again i really love where the story went and how it all culminated in its last episodes..

and LISTEN Yes Ikegami Is A Lil Rank. Comes With Being A Yakuza but i do not have many options out of the charas ive seen tsutsumi play 😔 we been through this ttm is either very heinous or very serious in his films.... have to be careful..... plus i still think him smiling so much during the filming of the movie was cute, he's just a little silly to me 😔

but if tsutsumi isn't due to come back cause of his career, i gotta be the one to rip the bandaid off an assume jo prob won't return after this game. which either means 1.) joins the graveyard of tsutsumi charas 2.) He Somehow Gets Out Just Fine ???? And Just Does His Own Thing ???? Alone ???? either way... very intrigued to see what LaD8 has in store with that in mind...

there's some evil parasite in my brain that makes me immensely interested in things- like i accidentally went down a rabbit hole on The Superman Curse after someone made an aside comment about the latest flash movie DO NOT mention things to me because i will investigate it thoroughly... AND IM GLAD I DO CAUSE I FIND GEMS LIKE THESE !!!!!!!!! with that said i hope you enjoy the movie if you get to it !! (❁´◡`❁)

AND SPEAKING OF EPIC THANK YOU SO MUCH !!! i wouldn't mind with auto-generated subs tbh.... i've worked with less honestly BUT for now i'll see to watchin these two tonight ||ヽ(*￣▽￣*)ノミ|Ю

I REALLY LOVED THE RAIN THEME OF AtR. like Yeah That's On The Label BUT STILL it really fit the title so well... AND YAYA THE PARALLEL IN THE DATE EP FANTASY VS THE FINAL EP REALITY.... cinema.. LITERAL cinema i LOVE so so much the direction the anime went with their relationship... i said it enough but it's just so refreshing and great to see...

[animemiscellany]