#Guess what happened to me this morning

[amyrosedaily]

Day 17: Bugs

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[calli0p3]

there is no greater pain imaginable than loosing a hardcore world. no god could inflict an agony more crippling than seeing the words “spectate world” on my screen.

[cinematech]

anybody else get so horny that you get depressed when you cum

[daily-crabbys]

Today's crab is: pink-eyed

[gogglecannon]

[theaccidentfactory]

> be me

> 19 years old and excited to vote in a presidential election for the first time

> go to the polling office by myself, kind of nervous

> I finish voting and go to give my ballot to the nice lady at the desk and make polite small talk

> tell her I have a psychology degree and I'm working towards another

> she takes this as an invitation to traumadump for no reason (I had never seen this lady in my life before today)

> cannot stress enough how much I did Not ask

> she still tells me every traumatic thing that's ever happened to her and the people she loves. Including her veteran husband's PTSD & traumatic childhood & the therapy he does for it, the sudden death of her daughter in law, the near fatal car accident her son was in, how her grandkids reacted to all of this and what therapies they went to and what she thought of each of them, and the horrific accident she was in as a child that inspired her to become a nurse.

> she starts CRYING. like full on gasping sobbing while still accepting ballots and giving people "I voted" stickers

> it is 7:00 in the morning and I have no idea what to do. I have classes starting soon.

> kind of feel like an asshole for making this really sweet retired nurse sob at the polling office even though I did not ask her even a single question related to her trauma or even really said anything other than what I'm studying

> finally calm her down, politely excuse myself

> 30 minutes late for my morning class

> I don't know how I keep getting myself in these situations

[elmonstro]

Reference

[dawnthefluffyduck]

New game interest unlocked

(crow in bottom right belongs to @patchwork-crow-writes)

[kaiserkisser]

can someone nice (!!) please please please adopt me im begging you im requesting you (huge word vomit and vent in tags, pls dont read if u dont want to!! and if you don't want this stuff on this blog PLS lmk!! i dont wanna make anyone uncomfy! )

[redaynia]

I bitch about Iarnród Éireann a lot but what other train service would wait for you if you beep the car horn enough

[twotwincrosses]

In mass shootings like the most recent one: Do they usually leave the bodies there for investigations or do they try to take them out as quick as possible?

[eerna]

Waking up for seemingly no reason only for an earthquake to hit a few secons later at this point is like. Disappointed but not surprised

[front-facing-pokemon]

[stephaniedola]

kinda nervous to do leg day at the actual gym ngl, like doing upper body at the gym rather than at home for the other day for the first time (!!) was a little intimidating but overall fine... but lower body is just so much messier

[dreamlogic]

i have no clue what's going on w/ the hiring process for the job offer i got yesterday, but at least it seems like nobody at the post office does either. 🙃

[viric-dreams]

Trying to sleep whilst simultaneously letting some potential lore scenes for future writing/art run in the back of my mind produces some truly unsettling results.

Under no circumstances would Roberts be court martialed for treason. Officer Beverley seems to understand this, but his logic is entirely backwards. Framed by the glow of the fireplace, Beverley leans back against the sole chair in his spartan lodgings and explains what he’s so sure is going to happen. If Roberts does not comply he intends to go to the London admiralty, to let them in on his missing time, the new player making waves in Anarchist circles, the lies at the foundation of his very existence. He seems to think that the Dark-Spectacled Admiral has the power to land him in political scandal.

His letters will never reach the Admiral. Roberts knows this with the same certainty that he knows the Dawn Machine burns in the Southwest. Beverley’s contact is the Voracious Diplomat. He’s trying to be cagey about it, but Roberts has seen the letterhead, shoved quickly into a drawer whenever they need the space on the desk to work. And the Diplomat would never let such a tidbit go to the Admiral, not when it’s worth so much more on Grand Geode.

Roberts was there for the Luminous Plot of ‘69. In fact, he had been the one to ensure that its perpetrators would never find a way to return from the slow boat, no trial, sham or otherwise. As he and the Commodore stood against the gunwhale and watched their cement-laden bodies sink into the Zee, the Commodore turned to him.

“You wouldn’t betray me, would you, Elias?”

The expression on his face is clouded, as if already playing through and wounded by the possibility in his mind. It feels like being thrown into ice water.

“Of course not, sir!”

The very idea is appalling. Surely the Commodore doesn’t truly believe it’s in the realm of the possible—not when the very idea makes his skin prickle. He’s the Commodore’s man, through and through, dedicated to both him and the Work.

The Commodore smiles, his golden eyes suddenly kind.

“That's what I thought. You wouldn’t do such a thing,” his hand reaches out to pat his shoulder, “Not from my most loyal midshipman.”

He can’t help but flush at the praise. Hopefully, the deck’s dim lighting covers it. But it hardly matters, for the Commodore turns away, gazing into the waves where they’d thrown the traitors not minutes ago. Roberts thinks the conversation is at its end when the Commodore starts again, eyes never leaving that fixed point on the Zee’s surface.

“If you did betray me, of course, I wouldn’t kill and feed you to the dawn flukes. That would be too easy of an end. Instead, I’d weld you into our smallest zub and ship you to Anthe. Who knows,” he shrugs, “you might just even have enough supplies to make it.”

He can’t breathe, his lungs are frozen in his chest. The image is all too real—trapped in that metal coffin, hardly able to move. Through the icy panic, all he can feel is the frantic hammering of his heart and the sharp twinge of the muscle of his left thigh, where the scarred skin puckers above it. The Commodore wouldn’t. Of course he wouldn’t. Right? He has to take a breath. He needs to respond. It’s been too long. His silence might be taken for suspicious.

“There’s no need for that, I assure you.” The words come out whole, though his voice is frailer than he’d like. The Commodore is studying him now. Roberts isn’t sure whether or not he can meet his gaze, what the Commodore might see on his face. After a moment the Commodore nods.

“I didn’t think so. But you never know.” With that, his mouth slides into a grin, demeanour changing like night and day. “We’d best get back soon. There’s work to be done back on base. I’ll alert the navigator.”

Roberts sees the hand coming soon enough to not flinch when it lands on his shoulder, giving it a reassuring shake, before the Commodore is off, already descending the ladder.

He takes a deep breath and steadies himself, chasing the claustrophobic phantasm from his mind. The Commodore is right—there’s work to be done.

Truth be told, he’s not entirely paying attention to the details of Beverley’s demands. He doesn’t have to, when he already knows he’ll agree to whatever he says. It’s clear as dawnlight what he must do. The Officer seems almost surprised by how easily Roberts acquiesces, but that surprise soon turns to barely-concealed delight as the scientific possibilities unfold before him. He’s already turned away from Roberts and back to the schematics, searching for a pen to record the newest thoughts.

It’s truly a shame, Roberts thinks, hand reaching behind him for the fireplace poker, to have to lose such a promising engineer. But treachery is something that the New Sequence cannot tolerate.

Beverley doesn’t even see it coming until the instant he brings the iron poker down across his skull.