Best of luck Planefag, Glaad to have you back.


Sorry guys Real Life calls and I wont be able to hang with you all on this thread.

My condolences and good night

tl;dr ima fag

>>36693652
That pic is a redundant statement.

> no mention of pinup poster
disappoint

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“INCOMING WOODPECKER, INCOMING, TWO-O-CLOCK!”

Your head snaps around to find the Wellingtons vanishing into the overcast as the bright light of a rocket flits between the towering pillars of clouds and vanishes into the overcast. Straining your eyes, you glimpse a contrail before you plunge into another goddamn cloud.

“Woodpecker is evasive, Woodpecker is evasive,” the British accent repeats, sounding a little shaken, but not terribly stirred.

“Keep evading, Woodpecker, they're doubling back!” Charlotte calls out; even though you can't see shit through the cloud cover. Now you know why Charlotte and Chuck are on this sortie – their eyesight is fucking phenomenal.

“Sean, I need a bearing!” you call out.

“Fuck no!” Sean replies. “What do you think those goddamn things are homing on!?”

“The Wellingtons!”

“THE RADAR, YOU KNUCKLE-DRAGGING ILLITERATE SHITWAD BARFBURGER CUMCRANK!” he screams back. “I radiate and they'll home in on OUR happy asses!”

Well, that... would be a problem, you realize. Martian missiles screaming down on you through the clouds, where you can't see them. Just fucking swell. Just great. Just fucking fantastico.

>Try to acquire visually
>I NEED RADAR, SCOTTY
>other?

>>36693694
No one will miss you either namefag

>>36693719
Give him a break.
His house just burned down and he's still doing this quest thread.
Just for you.

>>36693737
>>I NEED RADAR, SCOTTY
Better us than the Wellies!

>>36693737
>>I NEED RADAR, SCOTTY
Can't fuck what we can't see.

>>36693737
>I NEED RADAR, SCOTTY
Stupid shit that will get us killed is always a good idea.

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>>36693737

>I NEED RADAR, SCOTTY

>>36693737
>>I NEED RADAR, SCOTTY

>>36693737
>SHOOT AT THE CEILING!

>>36693737
>I NEED RADAR, SCOTTY

we are here to escort the Wellies right? so this dovetails rather well.

>>36693737
>>I NEED RADAR, SCOTTY

"THAT'S THE IDEA, SEAN! DRAW THEIR FIRE!"

>>36693737
>>other?
Start yelling loudly. Gnome powers would work on echolocation right?

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>>36693719
I think we have bigger problems, like the martians trying to kill us.

>>36693737
>other?
Switch elements with Sanyan, then have her guide us all in close enough to acquire them visually.

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>>36693737
>I NEED RADAR, SCOTTY

Better us than them, since we've got ridiculous powersets all over the damn place, and nothing could possibly go wrong at all.

>Try to acquire visually

....wait, if we start maneuvering, will that rocket on our plane stay behave?

>>36693802
The newtype is right

>>36693826
It might, it might not
If it's anything like the ME-163 fuel, it explodes whenever the fuck it wants to

>>36693737
>I NEED RADAR, SCOTTY
>GOOD, BRING THEM CLOSER. MAYBE YOU CAN HIT ONE WITH YOUR SWORD.

>>36693737
>I NEED RADAR, SCOTTY

>>36693737
>Try to acquire visually

and holy fuck at the people saying paint a target on us when we have those goddamn rockets that are fuel strapped to our plane.

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>everyone voting for radar

This is now the thread theme:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KIsv1YOFNys

>>36693737
>>Try to acquire visually

>>36693839
So in other word, we deliberately attract the enemy to shoot us while we playing Russian Roulette.
Where is my popcorn, i'll need one.

>>36693737
>>Try to acquire visually

>>36693864
I want to see if Planefag would ever actually kill us.

>>36693737
>Try to acquire visually

>>36693737
>Try to acquire visually

>Try to acquire visually
Captha: eNNight. Which is what we'll get if we go radar.

>>36693894
You missed the shit with the grenade

>>36693737
>>I NEED RADAR, SCOTTY

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>Gonna go to bed
>Strike witches happens

God dammit...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-16NwCtZv_Q

>>36693906
Probably yes.
I missed... quite a few threads in the middle.
In fact, I just came in to complain about Detroit Quest, but then stayed because why the hell not.

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“Wellingtons are using long-wave radar, right? We're microwave band,” you retort. “They can't be homing on both.”

“These are Martians we're talking about,” Sean grumps, but he turns the set on anyways. “Scanning, wide-angle, start sweeping.”

You bank slowly to telegraph your maneuver. “Chuck, break off and let Sanya guide you into the target.”

“Roger the Wilco or whatever,” Chuck replies, his Mustang thundering past your wing with Sanya right behind him, her hesitant voice already conveying a target track. Pulling your ship into a steep turn, you sweep your nose over the sky as quickly as possible -

- “THERE!” -

- and sharply roll to cancel the turn, the target already showing up on your gun-laying radar and moving too fast to -

“-diving left diving left -”

Sean reads his scopes like Elia reads a crystal ball; you obey instantly, turning your nose to keep the target in your scope. With something this fast there's no question of a lag pursuit, you've got to try for the high-deflection snap-shot. Pulling harder and harder to keep the phosphorescent blip centered in your gun-laying scope, you watch the range counter spiral down alarmingly fast, and just as it hits 75 yards, you thumb the cannon switch, spewing bright tracers into the clouds.

“No second- WAH!” he shouts.

“What!? What?”

“Nailed it!” Amelia crows. “Followed your tracers and spotted it.”

There's a series of bright flashes in the distance to your left – Sanya cutting loose with her Floogie hammer, you figure.

“Scratch TWOOOOO!” Yeager yodels a moment later. “Hot damn, Sanya, that was some work!

“Re-form, re-form goddammit,” Luke is calling. “Bishop Two, pull it together.”

>>36693930
Is there any Sean picture?
gonna need it for... something.

>>36694029
He's a ginger. So pick carrottop

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“Roger,” you confirm absently, straining your eyes through the muck to find the silver/green paintjob of Chuck's Mustang. “Bishop Two-Three, Two-Four, form on me.” You put your Widow into another sharp right-handed turn, sweeping your radar across the sky, wary for more of those goddamn missiles.

“Young!” Sanya screams suddenly, “ABOVE YOU!”

>CRAZY FUCKING IVAN
>DICTA GIT FUUUUCKED

>>36694040
No soul!!!

>>36694062
>DICTA GIT FUUUUCKED

>>36694062
>CRAZY FUCKING IVAN

>>36694062
>>CRAZY FUCKING IVAN

>>36694062
>>CRAZY FUCKING IVAN
Shields up! Red alert!

>>36694062
>>DICTA GIT FUUUUCKED

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>>36694029
Closest thing we've got.

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>>36694062

>CRAZY FUCKING IVAN

>>36694062
>>DICTA GIT FUUUUCKED

I have no idea what this is but I'm voting for it.

>>36694062
>>CRAZY FUCKING IVAN
http://youtu.be/HPVhmZodaLA?t=8m30s

>>36694062
>DICTA GIT FUUUUCKED

>>36694062
>DICTA GIT FUUUUCKED

>>36694062
>CRAZY FUCKING IVAN

>>36694062
>>CRAZY FUCKING IVAN

>>36694084
We need Frank Bishop photos.

Just to imagine what they post up in newspaper clipping or magazine in which young witches post it like a pin up in their rooms

>>36694084
>>36694040
And so i presume he has same hairstyle with Young?

>>36694165
Scraggy red-haired top, at least during the war. No idea what he's like after several decades living in Japan, but I think it'd be funny if he went bald.

>>36694165
well, as they're in the military, yes.

>>36694062
>>DICTA GIT FUUUUCKED

>>36694165
military standard short cut. Yes

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>>36694062
>CRAZY FUCKING IVAN

>>36694062
>dodge missiles
>crash into Sanya
>somehow she ends up in the cockpit

>>36694186
>Blast away martians with little sister on lap

I support this.

>>36694165
I'm not sure if there is any "set" hair style for Young.
Until the Head Homo decides on a canon profile for him, it's whatever "douchebag pilot" look the drawfag like best.

Running a second thread.

Goddammit, planefag. I do need sleep at some point, I have a thread to run today too, ya know.

shitbag. I swear you do this shit on purpose.

>>36694233
Caffeine pills and meth Ghost, accept no substitutes.

>>36694062
>DICTA GIT FUUUUCKED

>>36694233
Question: SWQ:89 is on Wednesdays right?

>>36694233
Planefag was the one that messed with your notes yesterday for he was angry that he did not see Replicas of the Widow team back in Merc's thread.

It's all connected

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With the smash you burned in the tight turns, counter-attack isn't an option. You stomp the rudder and wrench the yoke opposite, stalling one wing and plunging the widow into a violent snap-roll that you deliberately tighten into a nasty, loopy spin just as purple tracers flash by your cockpit, followed a second later by the queer noise Martian craft make; a sibilant roar of sorts that buffets your canopy. The radio fairly explodes as everyone starts shouting at once.


“Nine-o-clock high!”

“Shirley break break break-”

“Guten-tag, winna-hund-”

- you pull out of the spin a thousand feet lower, firmly in the overcast. Your gyro's already precessed, so you're forced to watch the altimeter and airspeed like a hawk till they both steady, indicating proper level flight.

“Visuals!” you demand over the intercom.

“Negatory,” Ian replies.

“Caaaan't see SHIT, cap'n,” Sean confirms.

“Amelia? Amelia?”

“Lost you in the muck,” she replies.

>Reform?
>Engage?
>ZOMGWTFBBQ?

>>36694262
Tuesdays, but shit happened and he had to delay this week to Thursday

>>36694269
>>Reform?
Engaging is more effective when we've got our shit together.

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>>36694233

Remember when I'd do three goddamn threads a night? I do.

I miss those days.

>>36694269
>Engage?

>>36694269
>>Reform?

>>36694280
ok thanks

>>36694269
>Reform?

>>36694262
Unless you are in GMT+7 and up, no, it Tuesday.

>>36694269
>>Engage?

>>36694269
>Seduce

Get the witches in the plane.

>>36694269
>Engage?
A Martian bouncing us, we must have revenge!

>>36694304

You got it the wrong way around, mate.

We're more than halfway through Thursday already down here.

>>36694269
>Reform?

>>36694269
>Reform?

>>36694269
>Reform?

>>36694338
We talking about strikers '89 tho. In US time it start Thursday night rite? Its already Wednesday morning here when Ghost start.

>>36694385
'89 will probably start in about 16-18hrs or so.

>>36694269
>Reform?

>Reform?

>>36694269
Reform

>>36694262

Depending on where you are in the world.

I'm on the Eastern Seaboard of the US, so for me, it's 1800, Tuesday. That's 2300, Tuesday GMT. Based on where you are, i suppose it could translate to balls early, Wednesday

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You wrestle between the violent desire to rip the son-of-a-bitch who shot at you to little pieces, and the need to make sure Amelia doesn't get shredded by a radar-equipped bandit she never saw. “We'll find you, hold course,” you command, and put your Widow into another turn. Presently a blip pops up on your gun-laying scope.

“Interrogating-” Sean says as he puts your radar's IFF equipment to work. “Positive!”

“Amelia, altitude?”

“Nineteen-five!”

You check the scope – it's got to be her, then.

“Amelia, we're at two-two-niner, range five-hundred yards or so, passing underneath you any...”

“Hi,” she says.

“Okay, you're good,” Sean replies. “She just socked in behind us,” he explains.

Amelia's innate skill for navigation is well known – it helped her circumnavigate the globe successfully – but you didn't know it could do, well, *this.*

“Eleven-o-clock low!” Sanya says tersely. “Firing!” Some muted flashes light up the clouds, and Chuck's terse reply vanishes in a sudden burst of static.

You begin another wide sweep, a bit slower this time so Amelia doesn't lose you in the overcast – you've both killed your nav lights, of course. You split your eyes between the scope and the overcast; a night fighter pilot needs good vision for the terminal intercept, but in this shit you doubt you'll make out a silhouette unless they fly over you, between you and the lighter sky.

>>36694615
It's thursday afternoon in Australia.

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>>36694618

“Bulldog, steer bearing one-foh-war-one, angels fourteen!” the Wellington's radar operator breaks in, sounding terrified, but still vectoring fighters at incoming formations even as his plane is forced into evasions.

“Contact!” Sean calls, and you halt the plane. “Mile off.... bearing...” You wait patiently as he works his magic, gleaning information from his scopes. “Niner-zero?”

“Bishop Two-Two to Bishop One-One,” Amelia says calmly, “contact coming at you due west.”

Earheart apperently knows exactly where everyone is, even in this shit. Good thing, because you don't have a goddamn clue.

“Copy, Biship Two, I've got 'im,” Luke replies. “Keep looking.” You obediently swing your fighter into another circular sweep -

“CONTACT!” Sean cries just as your own scope lights up with a blip that's tiny but close – FIREBEE, your mind screams, FIREBEE -

>FIRE FIRE FIRE
>EVADE

>>36694640
>>FIRE FIRE FIRE

>>36694640
>>FIRE FIRE FIRE

>>36694640

>FIRE FIRE FIRE

>>36694640
>EVADE
This little shit is not worthy of our cannons, get him into the turret arc and chew him up with the .50s

>>36694640
>FIRE FIRE FIRE

GO FOR YOUR GUNS

>>36694640
>FIRE FIRE FIRE

>>36694640
>>FIRE FIRE FIRE
BRRRRRT

I have no idea whats going on anymore

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>>36694692
>I have no idea whats going on anymore
Welcome to Strike Witches Quest

>>36694692

You shouldn't; you're basically fighting blind in complete cloud cover!

>>36694640
>>EVADE

>>36694640
>EVADE

>>36694640
>EVADE

FUUUUUUUUCK

>EVADE

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>FIR FIRE FIRE

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You mash the firing stud instinctively and all eight guns bellow; spraying tracers and lead into the impenetrable overcast -

WHAM!

CRACKLESHAP!

Your windscreen crazes as a chunk of something smashes into it and spins off into the sky, and your airframe shudders as a Martian powerplant thunders past. Snapping your plane inverted, you split-S after the bandit, eyes turned upwards as you pull out level -

- THERE. Against the slightly lighter sky, you catch the faintest sillouete of the Martian ship. Nudging the nose up, you drift closer. There's a faint whine of electric motors as Ian takes control of the turret, and a second later the quad-fifties bellow. A smattering of debris shakes loose from the bandit above, and then it vanishes.

“Confirmed?” you ask.

“Doubt it, that was a 'sled,” Ian says. “Got a good look as I was shitting myself.”

You fly a sinuous S-pattern for a few seconds, climbing and diving slightly, trying to re-aqquire the bandit to no avail. The radio has suddenly gone eerily silent as both sides have lost track of one another in the overcast.

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Fingers hurt and I'm about to crash. Buzz is wearing off too. Guess this last sketch is going unfinished (not worth posting. It's just the beginnings of a face).

Regradless, two implicitly lewd witches and one smirking genderbent pilot delivered in the thread. Decent I suppose.
http://imgur.com/a/eNNMb#0 They, and the rest of the SWQU stuff I've drawn is in this album as usual.

Question. You prefer the paper sketches or do you want me to ink them digitally in photoshop before posting? If I do the later, it'll slow me down considerably.

Regardless, I'll be here tommor-er, tonight, for SW89 and sketching up the SW89 girls. Already have Slider and Wendy. If the Head homo is running next week, I'll mostly likely be here as well.

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>>36694933
You're doing god's work Halley

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>>36694791

“Bishop flight, report,” Luke calls out after another moment.

“Bishop Two-One is intact,” you reply. “Chuck, you still there?”

“With Cossack in tow,” he replies.

“Good,” Luke replies. “Try to climb above this-” his voice vanishes in a violent squeal of static, loud enough to make you wince as it stabs your eardrums.

“Jamming?”

“Yeah,” you reply to Ian. “Amelia?”

“Read you, three by five,” she replies, her voice tinged with static. “Still have you on the low frequency.” You sigh with relief – you're appreciating Sean more and more. It'd be a bitch to try juggling between radios and frequencies alone, in a single-seat fighter – to say nothing of a witch. You begin another pattern search.

“What the fu – dive,” Sean commands.

“What?” you say, putting the Widow into a shallow dive. Something bright flicks across your vision, and you look up just in time to see a second Martian heavy rocket flit overhead, not fifty yards distant.

“SHITFUCK,” you exclaim intelligently.

“Caught him radiating with the D/F loop,” Sean replies. “Bearing two-nine-five!”

“Range?” Amelia asks.

“It's no radar, honey, give me a second to get my dish on 'im.”

“He's gonna launch more of those soon as we do,” you point out.

“Let him,” Ian snarls. “Mine's bigger.”

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>>36694968
Damn straight

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>>36694970
>“Let him,” Ian snarls. “Mine's bigger.”
>this whole fight

I've missed this so much, Planefag.

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>>36694970

Ahh, another night in the skies over Europe.

>>36694933
Either way is awesome; though the paper sketch faces look a little flat sometimes, if you get what I mean?

>>36695028
Solid colors look flat too.
And (not trying to sound insulting or anything) most people can't into shading on photoshop.

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Some quick scribble i managed to make.
Sean in '89 and Merlin. Sorry for hobo beard.

...yeah, scribbling in the middle of work. What a great employee am i.

>>36695067
I'm still holding out for Young to somehow join the air battle when the martians return, Independence-Day style

>>36695067
Damn, Mangafag, there's no stopping your output of awesome at all. Nice~

>>36695067
If SWQ is on, I will gladly spend every second of free time during my shift checking the thread.

Which is doubly ironic considering I work at an airport. Here I am ignoring RL airplanes and pilots to focus on the adventures of Young and Co.

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You turn towards the unseen Martian, throttling back a bit – you don't want to close with this one too fast. Sean waits till you've steadied the ship before turning his radar back on.

“Range twelve-hundred, three degrees right, five up-”

“Roger!” Ian shouts, and something starboard goes FHWOOOM! A bright lance of fire bolts away from your right wing and stabs into the overcast, the incandescent flare on the X-4 faintly visible even through the overcast. You put the Widow into a slight dive and turn ever-so-slightly, wary for return-fire -


“Get fucked, Squid,” Ian whispers, low and hot. “Sean?”

“Radiating – wah! HA!” he cries. “That's either chaff or – HA! HA HA HA! You nailed his ass!”

“You sure?”

“I read this scope like your momma reads my-”

“NOT EVEN REMOTELY A JOKE TO MAKE RIGHT NOW-”

“SORRY I FUCKING FORGOT OKAAONTACT BEARING LOTTA DEGREES RIGHT -”

You slew your Widow around with the rudder till Sean tells you to stop. “Uh, they're a good four miles out... at least,” he reports. “Fucking ten-centimeter doesn't like clouds like this too much.”

“SANYA, WEAVE WEAVE WEAVE-” Chuck breaks in, urgency in his voice. Your heart jumps and leaps – but you know it's already too late to intervene in whatever's happening to them. Your best bet is to keep engaging the contact you've just found. “Amelia!?”

>>36695067

>i see kenji have a good taste

is he saying kenji got a good taste of merlin

or is he saying he knows what kenji tastes of

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>>36695189

“None of our people, they're all north-west of us,” she informs you. “We're east of Big Ben right now, still over London. Those contacts are coming from the southern coast.”

You stiffen immediately. “Sean?”

“Two small returns, a bigger one behind 'em-”

“Firebee-small, or what?”

“Or birds, fuck if I know,” he snarls, but you both know he does, in fact, know – or at least have (literally) magical hunches. “They're looking a bit... jittery?”

“IFF?”

“Set's off already. I don't want to give them too good a fix,” he replies. “They're not radiating – yet.”

“Fuck,” you say. “Gut feeling?”

“The tiny returns were kinda... dancy,” he replies. “Dunno, doesn't feel right.”

You frown. Firebees get pretty “dancy,” but not until they're mixing it up – they've got a reputation for making a beeline for your ass, part of how they got the name; (and why most Widow pilots tend to cut loose with the cannons around 1500 yards or so; hoping for a lucky hit.) But between the 'prick or sled that's probably behind them, you'd rather spend a 44 pound frag warhead on those slippery little fuckers. Amelia's not a bad shot, apparently, but in a three-on-two scrap with two firebees and a sled...?

… of course the sled is ten times as durable, and in this muck you can't be assured of follow-up shots.

>Nail those fucking firebees!
>Nail the 'sled!
>Wait and see, something's amiss.

>>36695202
>>Nail those fucking firebees!

Fuck it.

Nail 'em.

>>36695202
>>Wait and see, something's amiss.
Too many sparkles in the clouds.

>>36695198

Probably means "I see Kenji has good taste"

IIRC English isn't Manga's first language.

Then again, given where I live, his is still better than some of the people I know who've been speaking it all their lives, so, ya know....

>>36695202
>Wait and see, something's amiss.

>>36695202
>Wait and see, something's amiss.
Dang it Sean, why do you have to make scary things appear with that radar.

>>36695202
>>Nail those fucking firebees!

>>36695232

KIN YAH TRACK A WHISTLE-PIG UP A HOLLAR?

>>36695202

FUCK THAT SLED.

FUCK IT UNTIL IT AHEGA- Oh wait, planes don't do th- WHO CARES.

FUCK THAT SLED.

>>36695202
>Wait and see, something's amiss.

>>36695202
>Wait and see, something's amiss.

>>36695202
>>Nail those fucking firebees!
We've got a fatass frag warhead we'll probably chip the fucker trailing them too.
Also how many german death tubes do we have strapped to us still, 3?
>>36695232
I find the engrish has a certain charm

>>36695202
>Wait and see, something's amiss.

For once lets take a second and get a hold of the situation before rushing in.

>>36695202
>>Wait and see, something's amiss.


Something ain't right here, give it a few more seconds.

>>36695202
>Wait and see, something's amiss.
But don't be afraid to have some kind of shot lined up on the maybe bees

>>36695202
>>Wait and see, something's amiss.

>>36695241

....something along those lines, yes, that's how they speak.

Well, no. they don't so much speak the language as chew it up and spit it out.

>>36695241
You people and your butchering of langauge.

I think Planefag fell asleep at the wheel.
Or control stick, as it may be.

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You pause – your gut is screaming at you to nuke the Firebees and tag-team the sled between you and Amelia, but...

… Sean's an asshole, but he's a *competent* asshole. “Sean, can you give me another fix with IFF?”

“Sure thing...” he says, and you see your little CRT screen's backlight flick on as the radar powers up again.

“IFF response, it's all bassackwards wrong -”

“Hit the further one!” you call out immediately. Sean rips off the range and relative bearing immediately, and within a second another X-4 thunders off the rail, its brilliant flare vanishing completely into the overcast. You can hear Ian counting slightly beneath his breath, his intense whisper carrying through the intercom without his realizing it. You're not holding yours, though – the bandits are about two miles out when he launched. Against a formation of bombers, sure, but a single target you can't even see?

“Contact lost,” Ian says. “Sean?”

“He's still there,” he replies. “Aaand...”

For thirty more seconds the silence stretches as Sean makes a few more observations.

“Missile dump missile dump, empty the tubes!” Chuck is shouting. “Flush that fucker out!”

“He's bugging out, I think. One small contact, still coming in,” Sean says. On your scope in a few.”

“Can we raise her on the low-band?” you ask.

“Sec – kay, try it.”

“Uh, hailing frequencies open?” you attempt. “Who the fuck are...” you stop and try to find phrasing that'll let your mystery contact know you're referring to them. “Whoever just lost their playmate and saw a bright fwooshy thing go past, who the hell are you I'mma blow you up!?”

“Kill yourself,” Sean mutters seriously.

“Amen,” Ian agrees.

“Hello? I am very confuse?!” a French accent replies.

“... Georgette!?” Amelia exclaims.

“Oui! Oui!” the newcomer cries with unmistakable relief. “Amelia! Help me!”

“Hold on honey, we're coming!”

>>36695535
he wouldnt if shirley was at his control stick.

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>>36695538
I say again,
>we almost splashed Georgette

>>36695538
>Georgette

Oh hai Mrs. Mac

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>>36695538

NEXT TIME ON STRIKE WITCHES: FROGGY TWO - ELECTRIC BOOGALOO!

STRIKE WITCHES will resume QUITE FUCKING SOON, but I won't say exactly when because people need to learn to WATCH THE TWITTER, YES I HATE IT TOO BUT ITS NOT HARD TO BOOKMARK MY PAGE, IS IT? I DON'T SPAM STUPID TWEETS, ITS JUST FOR THE QUEST, GODDAMN

>>36695577
Cheers, bastard. It still feels surreal to have you back

>>36695577
Now go pass out you mad bastard

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>>36695607

YESSIR

>>36695577
don't post in the wrong thread next time

>>36695538
...Christ on a fuck's stick, if we'd been trigger happy, we might have shot Georgette...

>>36695577
Hail and fare thee well, Planefag.

>>36695577
Thanks for the thread you magnificent bastard.

Also AWiY when?

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>>36695572
>>36695633
But we didn't. Because, and I'd like to make this clear, we waited before charging in like an idiot.

>>36695577
But she did appear in this thread. She was painting the Widow.

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>>36695577
I can see what they were talking about. Dat ass, god damn

>>36695577
>>36695643
Which both Sean and Ian checked out. And the remark about "ample chest" came up.

It makes me wonder what lucky guy will end up marrying her.

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>>36695673
Honestly, her front is her better feature.

>>36695638
Yes, I know, and I would like to thank and applaud /tg/ for the display of remarkable foresight and self-control that granted us the continued grace of very nice Froggie legs. You go, /tg/.

>>36695694

I would have like to have caused trouble for SW89

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>>36695694
Hooray! Post more Georgette legs in celebration of not being the biggest blue falcon of all time!

>>36695643

FUCKING PENDANTIC I

DIDN'T WANAN RENAME THE AFUCILADFF

>>36694933
Dem Wendy and Slider pictures holy damn!

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>>36695752
You have my pic. The original pic that made me like Georgette.

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>>36695752
>"d-do you think mack will like this pose, waltrude?"
>"of course. now shake that moneymaker."

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>>36695852

>>36695825
>>36695852
>>36695905
Reminder that on late 80's, Mack still tapping that arse on regular interval.

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>>36695943
Mac's a lucky bastard, all right.

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>>36695982
Indeed.

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>>36696002

I'd say Georgette would be up there with Lynette in terms of being a great wife

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>>36696039
>sweet demeanor
>cooks well
>character profile says she is very good at doing chores
>has healing magic for mommy kisses

She already acts like one.

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>>36695633
>>36695572
Man, imagine how we would have had to explain it to Mack. How far would we have gotten?

>I save you from the faglords
>AND THIS IS HOW YOU REPAY ME

>>36696303
On top of causing a time paradox?

>>36696370
It wouldn't have caused a paradox. Planefag wouldn't fuck Ghost over that much.

She might have been badly hurt, though.

>>36696441
Probably horrifically maimed and busy keeping herself alive for the remainder of the war