#all the people in MP are

[necromady]

My favorite part of Malpaís is when Juke said "it's Malpin time!" And Malped all over the País

Canonical memes in these trying times, I only make semi competent failgirls or girlbosses.

[crowwwzy]

Headcanon that Reigen gesticulates just as much when holding beverages. People around him face the consequences.

[asleepinawell]

one of the funniest things to me in gw2 is that because every single map has its own meta (big map-wide event chain that everyone can participate in that usually builds to a final battle), each map also has its own unique language in map chat. you enter a new zone and are greeted with the most random ass things being said in chat like "north needs more stompers" "tm up!!!! tm down!!!!!!" "grab the charzookas" "djinn on apple" "stack on the mark to get eaten" "we failed the rock concert" and you're just like oh boy!!!! what is it this time!??!!!! and by the time you've gotten through the story in that map you're either completely fluent or even more confused than when you started

[luckystarchild]

Today I was the Ambassador

I had a migraine and sat in my workplace's storage warehouse for a bit to rest, away from noise and in the dark. Glasses off, phone away, just sitting in a chair with my eyes closed in the quiet. I had taken medication that makes me quite loopy, and it had kicked in a little while prior.

Soon a dude I didn't recognize wandered into the warehouse to take a phone call. Loudly. And when he was done, he called out to me from like 50 feet away, "Sorry, I didn't see you there! Hope I'm not disturbing you!"

And I, politely, because I wasn't sure which of my colleagues this might be, and because I'm generally a friendly person who doesn't shy away from social interaction, replied, "It's all good. I have a migraine and am just resting in a quiet place."

To which he replied, "A migraine? What's that like?"

[Long post below the cut, sorry]

For the next ten minutes he stood over me asking questions. What's it feel like? How do you treat it? What causes it? Why do you get them? How bad does it hurt on a scale of 1-10? I reiterated several times I needed quiet, but the hint went untaken, and he kept asking questions. I still didn't recognize him, but I had my glasses off, so I thought perhaps this was someone new, and I felt I needed to be polite just in case.

Eventually, curiosity assuaged, he said, "You never know what a person's going through. For instance, you told me you had a migraine, and I could've walked away. But I didn't, and I came over here, and now I know all about migraines and how bad they are!"

Me: "Yep, that you do. That's empathy for you."

Him: "Yeah! I could've just told you to shake it off. Like I could've told you it's just a headache. But I didn't!"

I was pretty doped up on my migraine meds and therefore not feeling belligerent, nor particularly sharp, but even through that haze I recognized the multiple points of irony studding the conversation. Alas, I was too doped up to think clearly about how to end the interaction, and I just said something like, "People say that a lot to me, to be honest, and I'm glad you didn't."

Him: "People say that a lot? What do you mean?"

Me: "Well, pain is invisible. Some people don't believe me when I say I have a migraine and need to sit somewhere quiet and dark." (No reaction; nuts.) "Some people don't take a minute to empathize. They just tell me it can't be that bad."

Him: "That's terrible. People really say that to you?"

Me: "Yeah. My mother does every time I tell her I have one."

Him: "Oh wow. Do you have a good relationship with your mother?"

Me: "Oh. Uh. No."

Him: "Wow, really?"

Me: "Really. But I came out as queer a few years back though, so the migraines aren't the reason why."

Him: "What's that mean?"

Me: "Which part?"

Him: "That you came out as queer. What does 'queer' mean? How are you queer? Can you explain it?"

This is where I kind of came back to myself through the medication fog. That was a deeply personal question. Many of the questions had been. I only belatedly realized the level of prying happening (see again: medication) and it occurred to me I still wasn't sure who this person actually was. Did I even want to share this with this person? Blearily I put my glasses back on and looked at him. Really looked.

He was wearing a Trump hat. Blue. "Take America Back," it said. Not being the instantly recognizable red to which I am accustomed, and without the aid of my glasses, I hadn't recognized it for what it was.

I also realized I didn't know this guy. He was not a coworker. But my addlepated brain slowly pieced together that there were contractors in the building working on [some maintenance project or another], and this must be one of them.

Normally I would not reveal anything about my queer identity to a stranger in a Trump hat. People wearing them have chased me shouting threats and obscenities based on presumptions they made based on the cut of my hair and my style of clothing alone. Normally I wouldn't be caught dead revealing anything about my gender or sexuality to a stranger in a Trump hat. But here I was, already deep in it, and in an isolated place, and suffering from pain, and being stared at expectantly by someone whose nature and temperament were yet a mystery to me.

But.

Generally speaking, I can tell when someone is asking a genuinely curious question. It feels markedly different from someone asking a shit-heel question that will lead to eventual antagonism. And this guy was not acting like the latter. He looked at me frankly, and his body language was neutral, and while his questions were blunt, he hadn't raised his voice. So far, he hadn't actually been antagonistic. Just blunt, and insistent, and maybe a little tone-deaf.

So, perhaps against my better judgement, I said: "Well, in my case, both my gender and my sexuality inform my choice of the word 'queer' as a personal label. I'm bisexual and nonbinary. 'Queer' covers both gender and sexuality, and for me it feels comfortable to use as an umbrella term." Realizing I did not want to arm this person with a word he shouldn't have carte blanche to use, I added: "But some people in the LGBTQIA community don't like the word 'queer,' so I wouldn't use it to describe a person unless you know that's the term they prefer. The word was once used as a slur, but some of us have reclaimed it, and I'm one of those people."

Him: "OK." A beat. "What's 'nonbinary' mean?"

So I explained. And it took a long time, because (as I soon learned, and expected from the outset) he did not know the difference between sex and gender, nor that male/female are used to describe sex, and that man/woman and male/female are not actually interchangeable terms when discussing gender and sex. He didn't not know there was something called a gender binary, nor that anyone could exist outside it. He didn't know what 'cisgender' meant (he had never heard the term). He didn't know that your sexuality and you gender exist independently of each other. He didn't know the words he could use to describe himself, if he were so inclined.

There was... a lot to cover.

Me: "So, I'm to assume you are a cisgender man."

Him: "I don't know what that means."

Me: "It means you were assigned male at birth and told you were a boy by a doctor/your family, and as an adult, you identity as a man. The identity you were assigned and the one you feel fits you best is the same. It's never changed."

Him: "Yeah! That's right!"

Me: "May I assume you're heterosexual?"

Him: "What does that mean?"

Like I said: There was a lot to cover.

And cover it I did. I was patient. He had some trouble with the lingo, of course, since it was all so new. He got words mixed up, and I fear there were parts I didn't explain properly. I wasn't exactly prepared to have the discussion that day, and I was in pain besides. I spent the entire time on tenterhooks, carefully waiting for any hints of antagonism or mockery in case I needed to fish or cut bait.

No mockery came. He got a little frustrated, I think, when he messed up some words, but he never snapped, or argued, or tried to tell me I was wrong about any of it. He just seemed curious.

"But what does nonbinary feel like?" he wanted to know. "Does it feel weird? Do you walk around feeling weird all the time?"

Me: "Kind of, yeah! Ever since I was a little kid, I never felt like I belonged anywhere. I didn't feel comfortable around girls, or around boys. Neither label fit me."

And he listened as I relayed a few anecdotes illustrating how that felt. And when I mentioned that my parents never really understood me as a kid, his brow furrowed.

Him: "They didn't get it?"

Me: "No. My parents were cattle ranchers."

Wide eyes. WIDE eyes. And that reaction cemented a hunch that had been growing in me since we started talking.

I live in Texas. I grew up here. I know how people think, even the ones I disagree with. To me, this guy seemed the type who might vote a certain way due to the influence of those around him, but one who doesn't know much about politics or anything outside his family or in-group. The one whose family "always votes Republican" but has never actually bothered to look up how a tariff works—and I know the type. I know how to work with someone like that. You have to find in-roads to empathy with these folks. Speak their language. If no one has actually fed them damaging misinformation (and it did not appear that anyone had!), there's an opportunity there to do some good.

Thus, sensing we were at the point of terminology overload anyway, I changed tactics. It was time for emotion, and personal experience, and giving him a touch-point for empathy. He was from this state, and the reaction to my folks being cattle ranchers was telling. So I leaned into that, hard.

Me: "We lived in the middle of nowhere, and my folks don't get it at all. There was nothing in my upbringing to really influence this. We were Baptists, on a ranch, in Texas. I didn't know a single gay or transgender person, but here I am."

Him: "So your parents didn't know anything about it at all."

Me: "Nope."

Him: "It was all you, and from when you were a kid!"

Me: "Yeah! They were absolutely baffled when I started telling them I didn't feel like a boy or a girl. It was just how I felt, and they didn't understand for a second."

Him: "Wow. WOW. It really was just a part of you, huh?"

Me: "Yup."

Him: "It's just how you felt inside. Wow!"

I realize these transcriptions, if read looking for sarcasm, could seem disingenuous. But he sounded sincere. He sounded utterly, painfully sincere. He looked surprised, and baffled, but also rather excited. Like he'd learned something new and was happy about that.

We chatted about a few more subjects after that: he wanted to know what transgender means, and why transgender people feel the way they do, sometimes without having the language to accurately convey his questions. But I listened, and I tried my best to educate. I stressed that gender is something people feel, and it can be hard to understand, but that it's up to an individual to know who they are best. And he nodded along, and never once argued, and asked questions frequently along the way.

We get tired, though, all of us. I was tired, and even though he was still asking questions, I think he was reaching information fatigue as well. So eventually I walked back to something we'd discussed before that I thought he could feel good about. End on a happy note. That feeling would hopefully stick once we parted ways, and color the memory thereafter.

"Y'know, you mentioned empathy earlier," I said. "Walking in another person's shoes."

Him: "Yeah!"

Me: "I think it's OK to admit we don't always understand exactly what a person feels, or why they feel it. It's OK to say you don't really get it. But if someone is living their best life, and they're not hurting anyone, it seems like we should just let them live it. That's what we'd want for ourselves, right?

Him: "Yeah, I agree with that!"

Me: "Transgender people are less than 1% of the world's population, too. So when you see people getting really mad over transgender people, it's like...why are they so mad? We're just living our lives. Don't they have bigger issues to worry about?"

Him: "Oh yeah. Much bigger. You're right!"

The conversation ended after that; maybe a few more light remarks, but nothing worth noting. I invited him to ask more questions if he had them and if he saw me in the building again. He said he would, and he thanked me, and we parted ways.

I relayed the conversation to a friend not long later. They stared at me for a second before asking, "Why in the world didn't you just walk away?"

And the honest answer, at first, was that my migraine made thinking clearly too difficult! But once I focused up, I made the decision to continue the conversation.

My reason for staying will probably resonate with folks from various groups: I stayed because in that moment, I had become the Ambassador.

When encountering a person who seems to have never met anyone from your group, and they realize you are a part of that fabled minority, you are placed (whether consciously or unconsciously ) atop a pedestal. In that moment, you are not an individual. Like it or not, you have become the spokesperson, the mouthpiece, the Ambassador of your entire social group. Anything you say can and will be used against your entire social group by whoever has elected you the Ambassador. If you react poorly, or yell, or scream, that person may leave the interaction thinking everyone in your group will yell, or scream, or react poorly to them. If they deem you, the Ambassador, unreasonable or rude, they may think everyone in your group is unreasonable and rude. And they may carry that opinion with them into the world, and they may inflict that opinion onto someone else.

This is unfair, of course. It's awful. Because these questions are invasive, and personal, and uncomfortable. Reacting poorly would be totally reasonable when asked something so deeply personal. Boundaries are healthy, and if you don't feel safe enough to discuss your gender/sexuality with a stranger in a Trump hat, you should absolutely walk away. Your feelings come first.

I'm lucky, though. I have an accepting workplace, and people who love me exactly as I am, and a support system. My state is a terrible place for queer folks, but given the above, I have some insulation from the worst of it. I'm also gregarious, and I've had some training talking to people off the cuff. If there's anyone who can manage playing the role of Ambassador for the afternoon, it's me. I have the spoons, so to speak. I can be the Lorax for half an hour, and I can try (try!) to give the random dude in the warehouse a quick education on my community.

He's just one guy. But he may know others. And if you can get through to even one unlikely person, why not make the time to take that chance?

So that's what I did today. He might not remember the terms we discussed, or the finer details on gender expression, nor the difference between sex and gender. But I hope the man in the Trump hat remembers the queer person who spoke calmly, and treated him kindly, and didn't get upset when asked invasive personal questions. And maybe (just maybe), I hope in my optimistic little heart that if someone else in a Trump hat tells him transgender people are a scourge, he might remember me, the queer kid who wasn't indoctrinated and came from the same Texas roots he did, and say, "I dunno. They're just out there living their best lives. That's what we want for ourselves, right?"

I can only hope I read him right. I can only hope he was truly listening. But even if I was wrong in that, I'm still glad I took that chance. Big things have small beginnings, as they say, and it never hurts to be kind.

(The only lesson I didn't teach him was to be careful asking such invasive questions, but given this all started over a migraine, I don't think I would've had much luck on that front, anyway. Haha!)

[mortispoxi]

Seeing Twitter users recommending the People Make Games documentary as a good way to get insight on the issue is so….

I know, I’m always extremely disappointed whenever I come across someone who thinks it’s the end all be all explanations regarding the Studio ZA/UM situation.

Recommending that video always comes with a heavy caveat from me that the person needs to stop around the 40 minute mark since the interviewer shows a very clear bias that’s unbecoming of a journalist.

Regardless, now that more people are finding out about these layoffs, which might take out members of the studio that have been there since the beginning, it could finally help smack some sense into those Twitter users that actually thought, FOR SOME REASON, Rostov, Kurvitz, and Hindpere were lying for shits and giggles rather than seeing what's ACTUALLY going on which is that the investors have a very obvious agenda against the real wronged party. Hopefully this'll also open their eyes to how the People Make Games video fed into this twisted narrative that Kurvitz was somehow at fault/responsible for the theft of his own IP, but that might be asking too much from their concrete brains. Here's hoping though!

[solazu1]

Aaaa don’t look at me this is embarrassing ohmygoddddd

[koruga]

I just befriended a seventy year old on Neopets because I sent her a morphing potion and she said that she doesn't like hospital volunteering because it feeds your pets to bloating and bloated tummies hurt, so she adopted some aishas to do that job for her. Then she told me she has a condition with a bad prognosis and asked if I really wanted to be her Neofriend in case she died, because she didn't want to go to the hospital anymore.

[weareallgonnaliveforawhile]

Mob Psycho x Saiki K AU/ Kokomi Reigen AU

Alright so, to start, I'm gonna start from the very beginning, before the actual start of the story.

You might be asking, why the hell would Kokomi decide to work at a run-down little 'company' that specializes in exorcising spirits where the only other workers is this weird sweaty adult guy and his middle schooler son(?) 

I am here to say that it started with one little thing; Kokomi realized that Saiki was in the 'occult' club. Now Kokomi is a normal teenager and when she finds out that her crush is interested in something, she wants to join it...

if she did, she'd have to deal with Toritsuka all the time plus she doesn't want her fans to flood the club and ruin the time she wants to spend with Saiki, so joining was absolutely out of the question. 

But what WASN'T out of the question was trying to learn more about the occult and that type of thing so that later she can mention it to Saiki, and then he'll be so impressed with her that he'll have to say Oh wow-

But the thing is that going to libraries is also really hard for her because of her looks, so she decides to google the shit out of things and stumbles upon a site for this quiet little 'Exorcist' place that has a lot of positive reviews, and it's the only place that she's seen that's not a tourist spot. 

Maybe if she talked to the owner, she'll be able to learn more about the occult! (From the reviews, he’s either a middle-aged man or a dude in college and both types of dude LOVE her so she'll be able to charm him into helping her with her research if need be) Plus, it's in an isolated area so if she does her best to attract as little attention as possible, she'll be able to get there with 50% fewer stalkers!

Though, when she gets there she's given several surprises 

The owner guy, while he did (predictably) say 'Oh wow' when he saw her...that was it. He didn't get heart eyes or anything like that, he just went straight to business

There was a random middle schooler there and he was the same! He said 'Oh wow' and blushed but all he did was quietly ask if she was related to some girl at his school then get embarrassed and continue his own work without looking at her!

The office is a real hole-in-the-wall place, hard to find if you don't have an exact address or were told by someone else where it was.

She made it there with no stalkers. She managed to lose some stragglers by hiding behind a tree, but there was just a weird energy in the area that seemed to make them go away on their own. She liked it.

She gathered that the occult was almost definitely not what they did most of the time. While the dude did seem to offer some 'Ghost Hunting Services', the other half of the services were just a lot of fancy words used to hide the fact that they were just doing bullshit to make people who didn't have ghosts (or demons or whatever it was)

Maybe it was a mix of all five of these. Maybe it's because the middle schooler's calm demeanor reminds her of Saiki. Maybe it's cause the dudes causal reaction to her beauty (something that made lesser men faint) was some of the closest that she's had to being treated like a human being by a dude older than her. Maybe it's because Makoto last check that he sent for bills came last night with the note 'Love you, my dear kokomi <3' and she couldn't stop herself from burning it.

But when the blond, sweaty, and over-the-top scam artist owner who hasn't ONCE blushed when looking at her asks her what she's here for-

-she says the only thing that comes to mind and asks for a job.

It takes everyone in the room off guard, but she liked to think that she was hiding it decently enough. But after filling out some paperwork and answering some surprisingly short questions, she's hired and expected to start working next Monday after school.

Her mind kinda goes blank after that. 

But can she really be blamed? She’s had a long week this is the first time in ages that someone (Other than Saiki) didn’t fawn over her.

It isn't until much later, when she's been working there for a few weeks that she begins to loosen up and not be the 'perfect pretty girl' all the time during work hours. 

Mob helps.

Reigen punching her brother in the face helps a lot more.

[idkwhyyouaskingm3-blog]

I know a lot of people compare Lena to Elias but her position feels a lot more like Jons or Gertrude to me. Trying to run a department that unknowingly puts its' staff in danger. Attempting to keep the higher ups appeased but not really agreeing with them. Taking care of her staff the best she can while trying to keep them as far away from the dangerous information as possible. Actively discouraging people to sign up, trying to convince Gwen to go back to her desk job etc etc.

She's not a CEO she's middle management. We're watching TMAGP from the equivalent of Sasha, Tim and Martins perspective this time not Jons.

[concrete-contemporary]

I always try to capture her

[my-animeandmanga-journey]

What the actual FUCK?!?

Actually, this tracks with human nature. Paranoia, killing everyone that scares you.

[ahalliance]

literally half the things i hear about the realm on here (whether started here or brought here from twitter) is just new nothing burger discourse that really doesn’t make me want to actually watch the realm ngl

[krikeymate]

For @bossnhug91, who requested some Core 4 + Kirby. Found here.

“Why don’t you take your words and shove them up your-”

“WOAH, Tara no!” Sam yells, grabbing her sister by the shoulders and pulling her back frantically from the now sopping-wet man she was yelling at.

“I’m so sorry about our friend here, she’s a little drunk,” Chad blurts out, hands raised placatingly. “We don’t want any trouble,” he says with a nervous laugh. Chad knows he’s pretty big and strong, but not as much as this guy… and his friends. 

Maybe taking Tara drinking for her 21st was a bad idea. Ya think, dingus! the Mindy in his head chimes in. He’s a little glad she’s not here yet, lord knows his sister doesn’t know how to stay out of trouble… and neither do the other sisters in his life, apparently.

Chad backs away, squeezing himself through some other patrons - sorry, coming through - and turns to find the girls, who have… disappeared. And left him alone, again. Why does this keep happening to him?

Sam drags her sister to the bathroom, elbowing drunk white girls out of the way without remorse. She all but shoves her face into the sink with the intention to splash water on her face and sober her up a bit.

Tara doesn’t get the message and yanks herself away, tripping as she turns and throwing herself to the floor along the way.

“Tara,” Sam sighs wearily. Maybe those last shots were a mistake. Maybe letting her drink in the first place was a mistake, but it’s what Tara had wanted, and if she’s learnt anything over the past 14.5 months since she’s come back into her life, Tara’s going to do what Tara wants to do. She was the same as a child, although she wasn’t anywhere near as stubborn, back when Sam used to hang the moon and Tara blindly worshipped every word she said.

The real mistake was letting Mindy talk them into going out to celebrate, instead of staying home. And Mindy isn’t even here to deal with the consequences of her terrible decision. Where is she anyway?

Sam’s head snaps down as Tara groans on the floor. It’s the type of groan that happens moments before disaster; it has Sam grabbing her sister under the arms and heaving her off the floor and into a toilet stall in a flash.

And just in time.

It’s times like these that Sam doesn’t miss drinking. It’s also times like these where she kind of wishes she was.

She pats her sister on the back with one hand, and draws her hair away from her face with the other. She wishes Tara wouldn’t do this to herself, but she’ll admit, only to herself, that she’s so grateful that she’s been given the opportunity to do this for her. To be the type of sister that Tara can trust to keep her safe, that she can rely on. That she’s a good enough sister that Tara feels the need to defend her honour when some douchebags at the pool table start loudly talking about the psycho girl drinking soda at the bar.

She’s definitely mad that Tara’s drunk enough to pick a fight with a guy three times her size and with a gang behind him though. Then again, maybe Tara doesn’t need to be drunk to do that actually. Her sister does like to fight, she’s noticed. It used to be just Sam. Now it seems to be everyone but Sam.

Maybe she should leave a message for Tara’s therapist.

“Why’d yuh’stop me,” Tara mumbles from the porcelain. “I coulda had’im.”

The words make Sam snort. Her sister has always known how to make her laugh. “Sure you could have, baby. He’d have been real threatened by you throwing up on his shoes.”

“He’d deserve it,” she mumbles, leaning back. “Nobody talks ‘bout you like that.”

Sam helps her up off the floor, keeping hold of her arms to steady her. “I’d kill anyone who says anything ‘bout you,” Tara continues.

The words make Sam wince. “That’s a little overkill for some gossip, don’t you think?” she murmurs, leading her back out into the bar area to find Chad. It’s time to call it a night, she thinks. “We can’t control what people think or say about us, but we can control how we react to them,” she recites to her sister. It’s a mantra her own therapist has her repeating whenever something like this happens.

Her eyes catch Chad’s from across the room as Tara mumbles something about Mindy, and Kirby, and how they should be here to join in the fun, and then there’s an unfortunately recognisable form standing in front of her.

“Hey, YOU!” the wet man calls out, blocking their way. “That little bitch owes me and the lads some new beers,” he growls, posturing. It’s fairly effective, Sam’s actually intimidated, all too aware of Tara hanging off her arm and barely able to stand on her own.

“We’ll buy you a new round,” she says, smiling civilly. She doesn’t want a scene, well - another one, not right now. Why had Tara felt the need to flip the tray out of his hands? Why had she felt the need to confront him in the first place? Well, what are big sister’s for, if not fixing the problems their little sister’s make.

Of course, when has anything ever gone her way?

He should have said “great, that’s all I wanted, lead the way.” Instead what he actually says is “Or maybe she can make it up to me another way,” with a lewd grin on his face and a finger poking her in the shoulder. And what was Sam to do, take that lying down? 

Chad had thankfully made his way back over - why had he left in the first place, wasn’t he right behind them before? - just in time for her to shove Tara into his arms and take a swing at the bastard who thinks he can say whatever he likes about her sister.

It gets a little chaotic after that.

She thinks she remembers Chad taking an elbow to the face. Tara was on someone’s back. Sam’s pretty sure she took a bottle to the head, if the way it thumps with every heartbeat is any indication.

Being held face down against a pool table with her arms pulled harshly behind her and her wrists tightly bound in handcuffs isn’t a new experience for Sam, but having her sister beside her in the same position, hurling expletives at the police officers holding them down, certainly is.

“Hey! Be careful, she’s injured, jackass,” Sam spits. 

“Quiet you,” the officer snaps, lifting her up before slamming her back down.

It makes Sam’s head spin. She can hear Chad in the background, protesting. Then she hears the voice of an angel say “is this how you treat all woman who try to defend themselves, Officer Sawyer?”

Kirby “please stop getting into trouble Sam, you’re making my life very hard” Reed is here to save the day once again. Hopefully. Probably. Definitely. Sam’s working on having faith in people.

Sam meets her sister’s eyes across the table while Kirby argues with the officer holding her down. The grin Tara shoots her should not be as endearing as it is, given the circumstances.

Before long, they’re being begrudgingly released into Kirby’s custody and ushered out of the bar. Sam can’t resist looking back, and finds Officer Sawyer glaring at her with his arms crossed. Oh good, another enemy to watch out for.

She gets distracted by Chad’s arm wrapping around her shoulder and the cheery “well that was fun,” he chirps out.

Kirby spins in an instant and gets in their faces, well, as much as she’s able given how short she is. She’s about as intimidating as Tara. “It was not fun. You started a bar fight! You got injured! What is wrong with you people? Can’t you stay out of trouble for five minutes?!”

Tara giggles into Sam’s side, swinging their hands together. “You said five,” she mumbles.

The words throw Kirby for a loop and her anger quickly fades into bafflement and concern. “Is she okay? Did she hit her head?”

“She’s just drunk,” Sam explains, wrapping her arms around her sister. The girl squeezes her back, humming into her chest.

Kirby frowns up at her. “Should she really be drinking?”

Sam’s saved from another opportunity to start a fight by Mindy’s arrival. 

“Oh man,” she huffs, out of breathe and bending down to rest her hands on her knees. “I’m so sorry I’m late, there was this dumb fire drill at the dorms and we couldn’t leave and woah, what… happened here.”

“Bar fight. Tara’s fault,” Chad replies.

“It was not Tara’s fault,” Sam barks, glaring at him.

Chad grins back at her, “it definitely was.”

Mindy pouts. “Awh man, I can’t believe I missed it.”

Kirby rolls her eyes. “We’re leaving, all of you, come on.”

[muzaktomyears]

Happy UK General Election Day! and alas that George, Paul and Ringo never took the Maharishi up on his plan for them to stand for Parliament for the Natural Law Party in the '92 election

[asleepinawell]

u can take the ancients out of amaurot but u cannot take amaurot out of their batshit recreations in the future