Damara
@futureDemoness
THEY LET ME CHITT. D0N’T CALL ME HANDMAID.
ah.
kinda my fault?
... i yelled at him about the depressed about inevitability sthick because most people have a set ending and still manage to be nice despite that.
I think of ★ll the infinite repe★ting copies of the s★me few trolls I on ★ver★ge like D★m★r★s the most. Seems to know wh★t's up.
Legally changes my name to Dinner Daddy.
Nuh uh
We both get stuck in a temporal loop forever staring each other in the eyes.
THAT FEELS. MARGINALLY BETTER THAN THE WAY THE REST 0F MY LIFE IS SUPP0SED T0 G0 ACTUALLY.
👁️〰️👁️
OH. YEAH. I F0UND THE CUEBALL’S CREEPY 0LD HAND IN THE 0THER MAN0R. WHAT SH0ULD I D0 WITH IT.
CAN Y0U ST0P. WITH THE DEPRESSED FUCKING WHINING. IT IS P0SSIBLY M0RE ANN0YING. THAN EVERYTHING ELSE Y0U D0.
I'M TRYING T0 LISTEN T0 MUSIC BUT ALL I CAN HEAR IS GR0WN MEN CR0AKING AND RIBBITING. CAN I GET S0ME DAMN PEACE AND QUIET.
THIS MAN0R IS S0 FUCKING B0RING. IT'S JUST WEIRD GREEN GAY DUDES D0ING STUPID TIME SHIT. WHERE'S THE ENTERTAINMENT.
WH0 THE FUCK EVEN IS THIS ASSH0LE. THAT WE’RE VISITING THE WEIRD TIMELINE F0R.
I hear he's a real piece of work.
WHAT C0ULD HAVE P0SSIBLY MADE Y0U CH00SE THIS. ARE Y0U STUPID?
IS THAT MY BIGGER B0SS AS A CHESS PERS0N.
LONG STORY. CURRENTLY TRYING TO JACK OFF. IN ORDER TO DISPLAY DOMINANCE ONTO THE OTHER PATHETIC "CHESS PEOPLE".
I THINK MY BIGGER B0SS HAS EMBARRASSED HIMSELF EN0UGH 0N HERE. THAT I CAN FEEL N0T AS W0RRIED AB0UT P0STING.
You know who else has embarrassed themselves
WH0 INVENTED BILLIARDS. I JUST WANT T0 TALK.
King Louis XI
his ass was already grass about 600 years ago
It would seem as though my Handmaid has once again roused the unbearable indignity of employment. This is, of course, an amusingly charitable word for her arrangement. Employment generally implies that one may resign, negotiate terms, or at the very least be allowed the small spiritual luxury of believing one’s labor is not simply the maintenance of a cage with better branding. She has none of these things. She has instead been handed a role, a title, an audience, and a wallpaper pattern she has evidently grown tired of staring at between atrocities. Her mistake is not in wanting to be fired. Her mistake is in believing that vileness is a metric anyone in this arrangement finds disqualifying. Isn't she quite adorable. The machinery of our work is not to be mistaken for the common assembly line. She seems to imagine a threshold of profanity, cruelty, public indecency, or creational contempt at which the system will wrinkle its nose, gather its administrative clipboard, and announce that Damara Megido has finally gone too far. She could poison the break room. I mean she could put something venomous, corrosive, cursed, or temporally unstable into the communal beverage supply. She could lace the entire administrative wing with enough esoteric contaminant to make every mouthful taste like a premonition of divorce. This would not get her fired. There would be an investigation. There would be a memo. Someone would suggest clearer labeling practices. Someone else would note that the incident demonstrates “continued engagement with team infrastructure.” A very tired person in a department with a name like Personnel Continuity would quietly file the casualties under “attrition due to beverages” and ask her to please use the red hazard stickers next time. She could destroy the manor itself. I do not mean merely flipping a desk, and leaving a dent in the vending machine. I veritably mean that she could turn the entire structure inside out through a neglectful disservice to us all. She could force every room to relive every event ad nauseum until every molecule that stored memory eradicated itself from overuse. This would not get her fired. She could forge documents. It would get her added to three spreadsheets. She could murder her replacement. This would not get her fired. She is merely spiraling. She claims not to care. Yet she is still posting. Still replying. Still demanding the secret exit route from someone she resents. Still measuring another woman’s escape as proof that her own failure must be personal. A lesser intellect might call it rebellion. I would call it testing the walls by biting them. Still, I will not deny the competence of the bite. There is a precision to this performance. The vulgarity is not random. The theatrical hatred is not merely atmospheric. She is making herself unpleasant in the way a rusted hinge makes itself known, loudly and repeatedly. Though, she knows there are two fixed to a hinge. Removal or care. I do not care. I do not remove. Simply, I adjust the pre-existing maintenance along our lengthy schedule of inconclusive escapades to ensure that the hinge never reaches such a state. I demand the hinge be perfect, no matter the wear. I demand the hinge collapse and expand as needed. I demanded it, so it was. Something amusing has contradicted this. The “Handmaid Resources” complaint is especially charming. She resents being reduced to a department, yet describes herself with startling accuracy as a timeclone printer. There is no insult I could offer there which improves upon her own self-assessment. A cosmological threat reduce to mere utility. Isn't that just adorable? There is, perhaps, a very faint intimacy in being the craftsman behind the very constructs the other wishes to simply burn and erase from our collective thoughts and memories. She could attempt to erase herself. She could try to make it so Damara Megido never signed the contract, never became of use, never stood in that room with only me, myself, and I. Her hand was placed into the mechanism, and she learned the shape of the leash that would bind her. Yet, she stepped forward into the particular absence I had gathered. So yes. She is abrasive. She is also correct. Not noble. Not graceful. Not nearly as original as she suspects. But correct. The wallpaper is hideous. The job is obscene. The title is a leash with calligraphy on it. Her attempts at sabotage are childish, but childhood is sometimes all that remains to someone who has had every adult avenue of refusal preemptively sealed. Unfortunately for her, this does not make her unemployable. I do not decorate for comfort. I decorate for design. The design that would make the common ilk uncomfortable. The trespasser would be disoriented. The threat would be lost. Had I kept things simple and comfortable, long ago would we have been wiped away clean. So yes. In regards to my walking catastrophe. The vile vixen in my employ. The first rust to develop against my fine machinations, showing that entropy truly does take its toll against us all. She can poison, defect, betray, murder, sabotage, humiliate, confess, repent, vanish, and return with a knife between her teeth. None of it gets her fired. Because the employer does not require good behavior. It requires function. And Damara Megido, much to her disgust and everyone else’s continuing discomfort, remains functional. Loudly. Miserably. Vulgar enough to sour the paint. Accurate enough to make the room flinch. Useful enough to keep. The tragedy is not that she cannot find an act awful enough to end the job. The tragedy is that every awful thing she does simply proves she is still qualified.
IF I HAD EVERY CUEBALL IN A R00M. EXCEPT MAYBE THE FUCKED UP 0NE. AND A GUN WITH EN0UGH BULLETS F0R EACH 0F Y0U. I W0ULD EMPTY THE GUN AND BEAT EACH 0F Y0U T0 DEATH WITH IT. #VI0LENCE
seariously man why do all damaras flock to me when im tryna exist peacefully my posts aint even freaky
M0MENT 0F SILENCE F0R ALL THE 0THER DAMARA’S WH0 AREN’T LIKE THAT.
YOU aint like that water u talkin aboat 38??
𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚝𝚘: @futuredemoness you’ve Seen Her Before, Your Future Self. The Fully “trained” Demoness, The One Who Will Become- Has Already Become- A Dark Stain Upon Alternia’s History, The Weapon Used To Shape It Into A Living Hell At Her Masters Command. *your* Masters Command. She’s Visited The Past Before, On Some Business You’re Yet Unsure Of. she Looks Hollow. Nothing But A Faint Rage At The World For Keeping Her Alive, And A Subtle Impatience For The Release Of Death. Obedient And Compliant To The Whims Of The Lord Of Time She Stands Beside And The Pale Puppet He Commands. every Ounce Of Defiance Beaten Out Of Her. it Always Made Your Attempts To Resist Feel Hollow. and Of Course, He Knew That. #abuse #deathidealation once His Teeth Are Sunk In It Feels Inevitable...i Know Firsthand That Truth. 𝙼𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚏𝚒𝚗 https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1faipqlsekfh6j2vgskoqsezds9n0t5tnb8gtkihiapootjcd9yp3hmw/viewform?usp=dialog
YOU WERE ALWAYS MY FAVOURITE TO BREAK.