If You’re Having A Bad Day, Here’s A Cute Little Marching Band

“average person eats 3 spiders a year” factoid actualy just statistical error. average person eats 0 spiders per year. Spiders Georg, who lives in cave & eats over 10,000 each day, is an outlier adn should not have been counted

well look who it is. my old friend. the conses of my quences.

ngl I thought the puzzle piece as an autistic symbol meant like. I am a vital puzzle piece to your society. humans would never have invented half the things they did without us. you're telling me it means I'm missing something?? buddy. listen. listen to me reeeeaal closely. no human has all the pieces to humanity. no one. no one has all the features enables no one has all the strengths weaknesses or quirks. no one has a whole puzzle. we make the freaking complete picture together. that's the freaking point.

there is a vision being had i swear

Everyone please behold this baby tree:

It's so much smaller than the support posts, they had to secure it with caution tape.

I am not a straight people.

Reblog if you are also not a straight people.

So I saw this tweet and came up with a terrible TMA/RQG crossover that absolutely no one asked for. Enjoy!

Read on Ao3

“Morning, you.” Martin wandered into the kitchen, towelling his hair dry. “What are you doing up so early?” 

“I made you tea,” Jon said, almost shyly. “And I thought we could go to the markets later, see if they have that yarn you want.”

“That sounds lovely.” Martin smiled and moved in to claim a kiss. “Did you actually make it to bed at some point?”

Jon shifted guiltily and started mumbling something about research deadlines, when suddenly there was a nauseating feeling of all the air in the room expanding, a loud woosh and Jon blinked out of existence.

“Oh no, not again,” Martin muttered and started the timer. 

*****

The fight was not going well. 

Firstly, their extra muscle had scarpered at the first sign of trouble. Shades of Figgis, Zolf had muttered, to blank looks from everyone except Hamid, who had given him a pale smile.

Secondly, Wilde’s intelligence—and Zolf was using that term very, very, loosely—had predicted little to no resistance, despite the hoards of heavily armed thugs currently trying to kill them.

And thirdly, and thirdly, a strange man in strange clothes had just teleported into the middle of the fight, just when the party had been driven to take cover behind some hastily constructed barricades. 

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