The Fluffiest Place on Earth: Miyagi Zao Fox Village (Shiroishi, Japan) ~ キツネ村
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todays bird
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
cherry valley forever
One Nice Bug Per Day
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$LAYYYTER

Product Placement

titsay

oozey mess
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@jediknightray
The Fluffiest Place on Earth: Miyagi Zao Fox Village (Shiroishi, Japan) ~ キツネ村
Star Wars: The Last Jedi + Finnpoe
Finn and Rey hug
#concerned boyfriend finn
Clever Illustrations by Danish illustrator HuskMitNavn
I love this kind of art 🤗
You and your significant other enter a restaurant and you see an advertisement for endless bread. You order it with a big smile. You love bread. The waitress arrives with a small loaf of bread, both ends cut off.
I stare at the bread uncomprehending for a moment. Then it occurs to me.
“Well, that’s uh, quite the pun… I guess…” the love of my life, Lucinda, says awkwardly from the other side of the table. I, however, am livid.
“Please tell me this isn’t the only loaf of bread I will be receiving tonight,” I say testily, trying to keep my voice down.
“Well sir, of course it would be. Why would you need more? After all, it’s endless,” The waiter explained.
“You dare do this to me?” I whisper, getting up from the table to reveal my suit made entirely out of pictures of bread stapled together. “You dare?” I ask the now-alarmed waiter as I pulled out my wallet, revealing more pictures of bread instead of family photos. One loaf has a mustache.
“Please, please John, not again…” Lucinda begs. I don’t listen.
“DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?!” I screech, revealing a mouth where every one of my teeth has been replaced with a small metal grinder shaped to look like a loaf of bread and primed for peek performance bread chewing. “DO YOU THINK THIS IS A GAME?!”
The waiter recomposes himself, even as Lucinda begins to cry. He smiles at my gaping maw and red face with absolute professionalism.
“Sir, might I suggest you try a slice of the bread in question, before you become enraged?”
I narrow my eyes dangerously, but grab the bread knife, sawing into the bread as though it were a femur in surgery. I grab the butter knife and lather on enough butter to kill a lesser man. I stuff my mouth full, my bread teeth work soundlessly to turn the bread to mush that is ready to be swallowed and digested.
The waiter watches as I take another slice. And another. And another.
“John… John slow down…” Lucinda gasps as I continue my feast. Five slices turn to ten and to fifty. Still I eat. My pants stretch, and my button pops. I keep taking slices. The loaf diminishes in size but never runs out.
“ENDLESS BREAD!” I scream between mouthfuls. Tears of happiness run down my cheeks as I continue. Lucinda rocks back and forth in her seat, her fingers hover over the buttons of her cell phone but she does not dial, eyes fixed on mine as I grow fat on the spoils of the Endless Bread.
The waiter watches as well. At first with a smile, now with a blank expression.
I feel a pain in my gut. I don’t stop eating. It’s too good. And Endless. And chewy. So, so, gloriously chewy. I must get my money’s worth. I must keep eating the bread.
My stomach ruptures. As I bleed out in front of my wife and the waiter, I don’t stop eating. Lucinda has put the phone down. Her eyes are empty. She sees my sins for what they are. She will be happier with me gone.
The waiter watches as the light fades from my eyes and at last my hands and mouth still. He turns to my wife as the world fades around me.
“Today, I would recommend the halibut and fresh garden vegetables. We also have a nice salad with dressing made in house!”
“That… sounds nice…” I hear my wife say with a dazed tone, and her voice fades out. Then, and for the rest of eternity, all I can hear is chewing.
HOLY SHIT
You know when you read something and it changes your life? This is it.
You somehow find out the exact date and time of your death in advance. You know that nothing else is going to kill you until your time comes, and so you go all out.
June 11, 2018. 3:33 p.m.
You stare at the words written on the small slip of paper the oracle gave you. Is she a quack? No- she predicted a whole lot of other things right, things you’ve never told anyone, like the name of the girl you’re in love with and the fact that you know you’re adopted but your parents never officially told you. She’s real. It’s all legit.
So you’re going to die on June 11, in less than six months, at 3:33 pm.
How?
Why me?
You spend a few days in a state of panic. There’s so much you haven’t done yet, you’re only twenty-three, you’ve just barely graduated college and you still have tons of things you want to do with your life.
And yet you’re sitting on the floor of your small apartment, eating piping hot ramen noodles out of a red plastic cup.
That’s when it hits you- that you can’t sit around moping and dreading June 11th until it comes.
If you’re going to go out, you go out in style.
It’s March 13, 2018 and you make a list. There are 89 days until you die, if you don’t count today or June 11th; there are 50 things on your bucket list. With plenty of time and all the money in your savings account at the ready, you throw your blanket off and stand up, hands on your hips.
Watch out, world, here I come.
The next day you start the search for your adoptive parents, #1 on the list. This one will take the longest so it’s best to start out with it. After sending off a few emails, you look to #2- ask Her out. The two of you met in college. She’s single, and you know this because you totally don’t check Her Facebook page every few days to see Her relationship status. This time, when you log onto Facebook, you do something more. You message Her.
Hey! Remember me?
She responds back a few minutes later.
Yeah! Of course. We had so much fun in psych. What’s up? :)
A smiley face, that’s a good sign. You take a deep breath and tap out the letters on your phone keyboard.
I was wondering if you’d like to go out on a date sometime. To get coffee or see a movie or something.
Your finger hesitates over the send button, but then a little voice in the back of your head shouts out at you:
What are you waiting for? You’re dying in less than a hundred days! It’s now or never!
You press send.
She texts back almost immediately.
Sounds good to me! ;) Would next Wednesday work for you?
Any day works for you, at least until June 11th, but She doesn’t know that.
Yeah! Sounds great.
You have your first date next Wednesday, at a local coffee shop. Mostly you catch up, since it’s been almost a year since you’ve last seen each other (at graduation). You walk Her back to Her apartment a few blocks away, the two of you stopping quickly at a cute cupcake store to get a little something sweet. She gets frosting on Her nose, and when you try to point it out, She just laughs and puts a matching dab on your nose. It’s little things like this you always liked about Her in college- this girl could make anything (like Professor Livingston’s boring psych lectures) fun.
She kisses you on the cheek outside the door to Her apartment building, too. You’re pretty sure She got some frosting on your cheek, and you have just over eighty days left to live, so you don’t care.
Over the next month, you cross off twenty things from your list, including 6. Eat at a five-star restaurant and 10. See a show on Broadway. And as for Her, there She is. She stands by your side, making you laugh. You kiss Her for the first time on March 29, 2018- 3. Kiss Her. The next day you get an email back from the adoption agency with the name and phone number of your birth mother. They don’t know who your birth father is. You call the number.
Your birth mother picks up. “Hello?”
Whittaker. Your birth surname is Whittaker. You take a deep breath. “Is this Jeanne Whittaker?”
There’s a pause. “Yes, this is she. May I ask who this is?”
You’re not quite sure how to say it but it comes out anyway. “I- I’m. I’m your first child.”
When you say your name, Jeanne Whittaker starts to cry.
You meet her three days later in the same coffee shop in which you had your first date with Her. You have her hair and nose, but your eyes are lighter. She doesn’t know who your father is either, but that’s okay. One parent is enough. Your adoptive parents are thrilled, and they and Jeanne get along quite well when you introduce them the next week. They will have each other to lean on, when you are gone.
As June 11 approaches, you become obsessed with the idea of doing more, of being more. You take a day trip- 24 hours, nothing more, you don’t have that kind of time- to the Bahamas; you’ve always wanted to travel out of the USA (#11). You take fencing lessons every Thursday night from 5:30 to 7 (#46). You take part in a competitive eating contest on May 3rd (#34) and you get second-to-last place, but hey, it was fun. Your parents are slightly confused but they let you have your fun, especially when you promise them you’ll stop being so weird in a month or two. (You’ll be dead by then. They don’t need to know that.) And your girlfriend- She too is concerned. “Who takes a day trip to the Bahamas?” She asks one day, when you’re settling down on Her couch to watch all eight Harry Potter movies in a row (#27, luckily something She has always wanted to do as well). “And the eating contest? And the sudden drive to be able to do a backflip?” (That’s #38 and you’re so close to being able to do it.) “It’s like you’re trying to cross off everything on your bucket list in a month.”
“Three months, actually,” you correct Her, pulling the bowl of buttery popcorn towards you.
“Why?”
You shrug, not willing to tell her the truth. “I guess Professor Harding’s philosophy classes just got to me- about two months ago, I started thinking about how mortal everyone is, and it just hit me that I wanted to do everything I want to do as soon as I can, in case something happens.”
Her head has been resting on your shoulder but now She sits up straight. “You asked me out two months ago.”
You shrug. “I did. I’d wanted to for a while, but I guess I was too scared.”
She giggles and nuzzles Her head back into your shoulder. “I’m glad you did. I guess I have Professor Harding to thank for this, then!”
You feel a pang of guilt shoot through your chest, as if you just took a shot of really strong alcohol. She doesn’t deserve this. It’s not Her fault. The two of you are falling in love if you’re not in love already, and in one month and one day you’ll be gone and She will have to live with this.
It’s not Her fault that She isn’t the one who’s secretly dying.
The month is a blur. You cross off everything on your list except for two things by June 10th. You try a cigarette (#18)- you’re asthmatic, but now that you know it can’t kill you after all, you’re willing to try. Suffice to say you can still be hurt, and you spend a solid two hours coughing before vowing to never smoke again. You quit your job with two weeks left to live (#9), and the sense of satisfaction you feel when you tell your overly annoying boss exactly what you think of him in the rudest language you can possibly think of is almost the best thing you’ve ever felt, rivaled only by the way your insides twisted and fireworks went off inside your brain the first time you kissed Her. Finally, all you have to do by June 10 is 49. Go skydiving and 50. Die.
You want to spend as much time with Her as you can (you’ve already said goodbye to your parents, as much as you could without actually saying goodbye at least, you did that yesterday) before your eventual death, so you invite Her to go skydiving with you. She’s terrified of heights but you are in possession of an excellent silver tongue, and before you know it the two of you are in a plane that is far too high for Her liking, each strapped to a skydiving specialist.
She grabs your arm, fear filling up Her eyes. You know She won’t back out unless you do as well, but you won’t back out. “Please,” She says loudly over the roar of the airplane engines. “You don’t have to do everything on your bucket list. You’ve done so much, sweetie. It’s okay, we can still say no.”
You shake your head. “I want to do this.”
Her mouth turns into a thin line. “You and your damn bucket list. I’ll be so glad when this is over.”
It’s time for Her to jump. She and Her specialist ready themselves at the lip of the plane.
You call out to Her, “You’re going to do great. I love you.” And you do.
She rolls her eyes, but a faint smile appears on her red lips. “I love you too.”
Then they jump, hurtling out of the plane at top speed.
You follow their lead a few minutes later. It’s exhilarating. You breathe in a little bit of cloud and you cough, but you’re hardly worried about your lungs as you hurtle through the blue sky with the lush green fields opening up far below you.
It’s exhilarating until your parachute is open, and you look over to your left to see that Her parachute hasn’t.
The next day you stand on the roof of your apartment building, looking down at the busy street below.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen.
She was the one who was supposed to comfort your grieving parents, all three of them. It wasn’t supposed to be you giving Her sobbing father a hug this morning, letting him cry into your shirt.
She was going to be the one to remember you. Not the other way around.
In a way you’re kind of relieved; She won’t ever fall in love again and therefore forget all about you. But you loved Her, you loved Her more than anything, and you’d have rathered She survived and loved again than died.
You walked up way too many flights of stairs to get to where you are right now.
Someone notices you, way down below. A shout goes up. There are ants pointing, and those ants are people. You hope that they’ll move out of the way, because you’re not going to be saved by any fire department or sweet-talker. Your time was set three months ago, and your time is in two minutes.
As you take a deep breath, you hear Her last words echo in your brain. I love you too.
“Watch out, world,” you whisper to no one but yourself, your watch ticking to 3:32. “Here I go.”
She died falling, and so will you.
By the time you hit the ground, it is 3:33 on June 11, 2018.
just last jedi things~~~
Black Panther officially has joined the Billion Dollar Club and is now the most successful movie of 2018 (x)
basically ive been mia from tumblr for a while but im back now because ive joined the ARMY and its only been a week and im so deep in... im scared bts’ power is so strong
Mischief managed.
“A lot of the actors I look up to, I don’t really know who they are, so with each film I buy into the new role they’re stepping into and I enjoy believing in the illusion.”
eats a grape and a slice of cheese simultaneously: ratatouille
she really wasn’t kidding about johns underwear
the saga continues
Diego Luna on The Late Late Show with James Corden
Bonus:
Mattress surfing Queen.
I love how the hood falls in the perfect moment. Because it’s Julie Andrews and the hoodie ain’t falling untill it’s time.
A standing o for Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights! x