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Optimism is a necessity to survive in times like these

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the guys at r/fuckcars doing the lord's work

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III/IV, 20

The Man Who Is Vessel… struggles. Sometimes. With the blur between the four of them. They are different people. They grew up differently, have different memories, made different choices. It is often easy to find the boundaries between them, different as they are. The Mouth of God both fears and craves connection, needs the rest of them to balance this fear and satisfy the craving. The sapphire man sees only minutiae, struggles with the bigger picture, and so they help him to set aside the microscope. And their last? He seeks more. Always more. More experience, more stimulation, more memories. He guards them all jealously, collects and sequesters them in the treasure box of his mind. Could probably live off of them if push came to shove. They make him slow down. Make him remember what he has, not just what he's lost and what he will find. If the Man Who Is Vessel wished to introspect on his own flaws, he would. But he doesn't, so he won't. The interesting bit comes when the delimiters of their first selves decay. Interesting is not the correct word, maybe. Nauseating. Crushing. Vertigo inducing. Vertiginous? Sapphire eyes would roll, but they belong to a walking dictionary, so nyehh. There is a threefold problem. And maybe it's a matter of perspective. Maybe humans are not meant to share consciousness as the four of them do. Just because they are no longer human does not mean they bear it with any greater grace. Their differences become not so different sometimes. For the Mouth of God, this is not an issue. He has always struggled with identity. The blur lets him compare and contrast more easily. He can learn about himself and remain content in the knowledge that he is secure in his identity within the bond. And there is room enough in the labyrinthine confines of their sapphire's mindscape to sequester, interlink, and rearrange disparate pieces of their personalities until the cows come home. He collects and tries them on, notes the experiences, and gives them back. Sometimes he incorporates the ones he likes, facets and sets them like jewels, wears them on his person insofar as he can. But… It's more difficult, this blur that feels like smoke and glittering updrafts. Heat haze off a burning tenement block .The first one of them he met, a chase across London, bloody knuckles and a broken nose. Flight and passion. It's… It's hard for the Man Who Is Vessel to be around that for too long. He…

There is a dream. Their paths have converged by some manner of statistical abomination. Perhaps their God is involved. Perhaps one of them is subconsciously seeking the other--parts of a whole coming together. Or perhaps there's nothing to it. The Man Who Is Vessel has tried to keep the others away when he's doing this. This task he assigned to himself what feels like eons ago. He dodges questions about the fractures in his psyche--broken roads and myriad storms--as well as he can, passes them off as refractory light, mirage, and unnecessary worry. If they push, he simply disappears and so they have learned not to push. They know they won't find him if he doesn't want to be found. But the sting of smoke reaches his nose in this dream and he knows he's been caught. There are too many ways this could go wrong. One stray step, a hint of power too much, and his prey will turn violent. It will no longer be lulled by the false sense of security he has been spinning for weeks in its periphery. The working isn't complete. There aren't enough bindrunes, not enough borrowed memory, not enough layers to obscure sight, small, taste, sound-- The Man Who Is Vessel has to move first. The thing he's wrapped in bonds too thin to really hold is large, slimy, and grotesque. It is wrong. It is not a thing that the human mind can dream up on its own--and indeed, it isn't. It is a corruption, a tumor, a precursor to cataclysm. As tall as a guillotine with appendages to match, dappled in twisting colors somewhere between ink and darkness, it convalesces. It gains its strength in this dream. A dream which cannot be disturbed by modern medicine hosted in a mind lost to eternal sleep. Not quite a brain-child, not quite a miscarriage of justice. If it is alive, it is the life of a virus. If it is sentient, it is the sentience of a fictional AI. If it is breathing, it is through spiracles made from glitchy code.

There was no time to warn the other man to cool the inferno of his fury at such a sight. There was no time to explain that--even more so than usual--logic does not compute in the dreams which cocoon these monsters. There were no easy ways to explain why all the air left their lungs simultaneously and with a violence reserved for the fervor of his own self-hatred.

It's fitting that when the Man Who Is Vessel comes to, it is with hands around his throat and confusion as to who they might belong. His own? Clawing for air that's been ripped from his lungs by an ancient and terrible power? Another's? Seeking to squeeze the life from him with sheer brute force? A curse. A verbal one. An singular swear. From above his supine form. Someone else's hands, then. He relaxes into them. He is released and then slapped across the face for his acquiescence. Not really a question of why. He can feel exactly why in the bond. Can feel it as if they are his own emotions swirling through grey matter. One of the others, then, and if the familiar scent of cigarette ash is anything to go by… There are a lot of questions asked in the following hour, almost none of which he answers. He allows the other man to voice his discontent into a willing void. It's the least he can do for pulling the emergency eject like that. He's not a dick about it, either. Doesn't yell back or do anything but take the abuse. With either of the others, he would have given as good as he got. Would have shouted back, insulted their families, their looks, their shitty choice in Gods. Would have been well good. Very cathartic. Not with this one, though. This one he's got a soft spot for. He isn't sure when it developed. Some time between when he'd been cornered in a back alley of Mile's End and the second night they'd gone out for drinks as mates. And it's not really a soft spot, either. It's a really vicious crush that he knows the other can feel every time they're near one another. Just like he can feel that it isn't returned. Fucking sucks. The Man Who Is Vessel wonders if it's some kind of narcissism, but then stops wondering. Soul bonded to three people, all of whom are guys, none of whom are straight, and two of which are confused how he can be. How does that work, then? Straight, but in love with one of his best mates? Never happened before. Will never happen again. Probably only happened at all because of the four-part accretion that characterizes their lives now. The blur. So he doesn't tell his soulmate--ha ha--to piss off. Just accepts his ire and lights a cigarette for each of them. When the conflagration has calmed, he picks one of the seventy six questions that have been asked--thank you to the sapphire hued part of his brain for keeping track--and answers it. Says that he hit the panic button because otherwise both of them would have died ugly deaths. The immediate comeback is something about how, if his sense of self-preservation is so keen, why was he putting himself in danger in the first place? Easy question to answer. It wasn't self preservation.

They have it out again, this time with knuckles, fingernails, and a few joint locks which are actually cheating. It stops when he breaks the glass coffee table with his ass and they decide a first aid kid is in order. The Man Who Is Vessel is offered a cup of tea, but glares it away because he's sticking a wound closure onto his blood smeared hip. The jeans are a write-off. Not that they didn't already have holes in them, but they're light wash, the blood stains are dire, and he doesn't fancy his dangly bits getting the fresh air. Least not in public. He forgets that the other man has never seen him without trousers on before. Oops. And he's not attracted to the guy, really he isn't--sexually at least--but when there's someone knelt between his knees and staring at his thighs, it's easy to get ideas. Because of the sex connotations. Or the blowjob connotations at least. Gets worse when the man he's half in love with leans in and places a soft kiss to the top of his right thigh--a messed up conglomeration of scar tissue, keloid, and leftover ink from some stupid night out. Some of the scars were tree-shaped at one point. He remembers that night, albeit only in pieces. The man between his knees would scoff at drinking to blackout, never does it himself anymore. But the man between his knees his also looking up at him with concern in his eyes. And fuck if that doesn't make him want to run right back to his flat in Hackney and stay there for a month. He'll tell sapphire fury to fuck off and die if he shows concern--not that he's usually capable of such complex human emotion or, even though he's capable, not that he knows how to show it. He'll tell the Mouth of God to shut his if there's ever a comment about safety or working together--connection is his job, damn it, and he knows what he's doing more than the other three do. He can't tell the man between his knees that he's wrong, that the monsters in mankind's dreams didn't do that to him. Can't tell him that he's kissed the evidence of what amounts to a suicide mission and thinks it's a kindness. Can't tell him that the only emotion there is guilt, not comfort. Fucking hell, when did living with these guys become living for these guys? Bullshit. The Man Who Is Vessel slides off the couch and pulls the other part of his soul closer.

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it's really weird having a first dog be blind and then getting a second who can see...like how was I supposed to be prepared for this.

this creature can perceive when I put the treats up on the high shelf. or when I hide stuff behind my back. I can't fool her!! she's always watching me and she shouldn't have this much knowledge!!!

I walk around at night and I shine my flash light directly into her eyes and I'll just be standing there staring at her weird blue orbs for like 5 seconds until I realize it's probably extremely annoying to her, because she has eyes!! I'll turn on the light in the room and she gruffs and grumbles like ?? oh right!! light wakes you up!! the fuck??

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Rip Carpenter you’d have had a wild time with the prophet arc.

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Swallowed by the fog

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In the past 24 hours, over two dozen people from across the federal government leaked to me various internal directives and memos killing their agencies’ DEI programs. One angry official even sent me Elon Musk’s new official White House email address (I verified the address, belonging to the Executive Office of the President, by sending an email which didn’t bounce back.)

In fact, I've gotten more leaked documents in the past day than I’ve gotten on any other day ever

Here are all the leaked memos too. Extremely fucking dystopian. They all share an email government employees are supposed to use to report "DEIA related" people and programs trying to "obscure their connection" to it - “DEIAtruth@opm.gov”

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theres no hope but ill just make my own shitty little homemade hope i guess

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IF GOD HATES TRANNIES WHY DO WE KEEP WINNINGGGGGG

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hey, we’ll be ok

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i like sleep token a normal amount. don't look at my blog

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Lol, I saw this on TikTok and thought I would share here, too. Credit goes to @rhondatoksaboutbooks on TikTok. The video can be found at this link.

Edit: I added image descriptions to the images. There is also a reblog with the image descriptions if that's easier for you. 😊

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such a pretty house and such a pretty garden

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he would not fucking say that but it’s he would not fucking talk about his queer identity like he was reading out of a college campus lgbt center brochure

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woah this character is so cool i wish they were covered in blood their whole body trembling with a look of absolute horror on their face as theyre struggling to breathe in panic

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As we see a barrage of evil executive orders come in, they are not immediately enforceable and will takes months or years to implement.

That’s still not great, but don’t let these pile up to the point of hopelessness. Take a breath, and look community leaders who will fight it every step of the way.