♣ mediated by @pliableDecadence
AS CRUEL, MALIGNANT FATE WOULD HAVE IT, MY JOB CURRENTLY AFFORDS ME ALL THE TIME IN THE FUCKING WORLD. SO YEAH, I'VE GOT TIME FOR AN ALL-TIME STANWAR. I DON'T PRETEND TO THINK I CAN TOP HER NUMBERS IN PURE STANLEGIONARY COUNT, BUT I'M WILLING TO BET THAT MORE THAN A HANDFUL OF CHUTE-KISSING ASSHATS ON THIS SITE WILL VOUCH FOR MY ABILITY TO PLAY EMOTIONAL TEKKEN. BRING IT ON, WHOEVER THE FUCK YOU ARE.
EVERY FUCKING DAY WITH THIS EMOTIONALLY STUNTED BITCH IS THE SAME. YES, INCLUDING THE ONE I'M CURRENTLY TRAPPED IN A TIME LOOP ON. IF A DERANGED LOONEYBLOCK ESCAPEE WHOSE SOLE ART FORM WAS GROWING TWISTED, SADISTIC, ENIGMA OF EMIGARA FAULT-LIKE BONSAI TREES IN SHAPES THAT ONLY SOMEONE WITH REAL, FOMENTING HATRED IN THEIR PUSHER COULD CONTORT, THEIR MAGNUM OPUS WOULDN'T EQUAL ONE ONE-BILLIONTH OF THE WRETCHED EMOTIONAL DEFORMITY THAT BELONGS TO MY MANAGER. FUCK YOU. YOU THOUGHT IT WAS ALL QUIET ON THE WESTERN FRONT, @handMaid. BUT THIS POSTING WAR IS STILL GOING. https://i.ibb.co/JMcsTyX/image.png
SET UP MORE RUBE GOLDBERG DEVICES TO DROP BOOTS AT RANDOM INTERVALS THAT I'M NOT DIRECTLY PERCEIVING IN ORDER TO KILL MORE OF THE TIME ROACHES. SHOT B-ROLL PHOTOGRAPHY FOR SCRATCH'S FUCKLUDICROUS SCRATCH V. SCRATCH SPACETIME JAM BALL SMACKDOWN. AND WATCHED A STRAIGHT-UP FUCKLOAD OF MORONSLOP ACTION MOVIE THAT BEARS MORE LIKENESS TO "SHARKBOY AND LAVAGIRL 3D" THAN FUCKING *BULLET TRAIN.* MY REVIEW TO COME SOON. YESTERDAY WAS AN EVENTFUL DAY TO SAY THE LEAST. AND YET. AND FUCKING YET. WHY IN THE FRESH, FULMINATING FUCK DOES EVERY TIMEPIECE I LOOK AT *STILL* SAY 6/12?!
THIS IS THE ONLY TIME IN MY PROFESSIONAL CAREER I'VE EVER WISHED TO KNOW *LESS* BALL. BEGRUDGING RECHITT.
I'M GOING TO CLOSE UP THE EVIDENTLY *GUSHING* TAP OF TORRENTIAL, PUSHERFELT *SAP* I'VE BEEN DISPENSING ALL DAY WITH THIS CHITT, JUST TO SAY ONE MORE TIME BEFORE I CRAWL INTO MY CUPE AND DROWN MYSELF FACE-FIRST IN SOPOR. THANKS, EVERYONE. @caligulasAquarium. @gutsyGumshoe. @lejayjaY. @arachnidsGrip#9137. @arsenicCatnaps. @bummelBoogie. @pliableDecadence. @centaursPeripherals. SAME FUCKING GUY, @carcinoGeneticist#4881. AND YES, EVEN MY SHITHIVE MAGGOTS COWORKERS, @taciturnTerror AND @handMaid. AND OBVIOUSLY MORE OF YOU, BUT I'M NOT GOING TO DREDGE UP EVERY SINGLE FUCKWIT WHO SAID FOUR WORDS TO ME, TODAY. BUT SOME OF YOU WENT OUT ON A FROND AND MADE AN EFFORT. AND THAT SHOULD MEAN SOMETHING, WHEN YOU'RE THIS FAR OUT FROM THE DAMN SPAWN POINT. I HAVE TO ADMIT IT. IT'S BEEN A GOOD WRIGGLING DAY. I THINK I'LL REMEMBER THIS ONE. "SO LONG AND GOOD NIGHT SO LONG AND GOOD NIGHT."
THIRTEEN SWEEPS, PAINSTAKINGLY STACKED ATOP THE OTHER, SURVIVED ONE BRUTAL BILUNAR PERIGEE AT A TIME. HALF OF THEM ON A PLANET I WAKE UP AND GIVE THE FAT, FLAMING MIDDLE PRONGSTUB TO EVERY DAY OF MY LIFE, AND THE REST ON A DUMPSTER FIRE OF A WORLD OF MY OWN "CREATION." ONLY SOME OF THEM I WAS REALLY, TRULY PRESENT FOR. THREE *THOUSAND* SWEEPS SPENT IN AN INESCAPABLE TORMENT NEXUS MEANT TO SAND DOWN ANY PROPRIETARY CONCEPT OF TIME I EVER HAD. WHICH I ESCAPED, ANYWAY. BUT NOT BEFORE IT SMOOTHED SOME OF THE HARD, JAGGED EDGES, TRY AS I MIGHT TO SHARPEN THEM BACK TO GANDERBULB-STABBING AND SPONGECASE-BLUDGEONING LETHAL FORCE. AND AS IF I COULDN'T PUSH THE INCREDULITY OF MY SHITHIVE MAGGOTS NARRATIVE ANY FURTHER, TWELVE SWEEPS AFTER THAT, IN A FAR-FLUNG PAST SO STUPID THAT IT'S LEFT INDELIBLE MARKS ON MY VOCABULARY. AND SOME UNCOMFORTABLE SKILLS TO ADMIT ARE CURRENTLY PADDING OUT MY RESUME. A FAT, MALIGNANT PILE OF GREASY BLACK TRASH BAGS IN THE RUSTING DUMPSTER OF MY PERSONAL HISTORY, BOILING IN THE OPEN SUN AS THE LOOMING MONOLITH TO MY EVERY GRUELING SWEEP OF MERCILESS LIFE DARKENS THE FUCKING SKY. SO AT THIS POINT? FUCK IT. WHAT'S ONE MORE? #WRIGGLINGDAY. (AND BEFORE YOU ASK, YES, I'M STILL IN THE FUCKING FELT MANOR. THIS IMAGE HAS BEEN *HEAVILY* DOCTORTURED TO RESEMBLE ANYTHING CLOSE TO EARTH-C'S NATURAL DAYLIGHT. BECAUSE I CAN'T STAND TO SEE ANY MORE FUCKING GREEN. I DECIDED I WANTED TO LOOK O.G., TODAY.)
EVERY TIME SOMEONE SPECuLATES. ON THE WELLBEING. OF ANOTHER BEING. I HAVE ONLY THIS TO SAY. MIND YOuR OWN. EVERYONE IS FINE uNTIL THEY ARE NOT. AND THE THEY ARE NOT PART. uSuALLY COINCIDES PERFECTLY. WITH MY DESIGNS FOR THEIR PREMATuRE EXIT FROM THIS LIFE. INTO THE NEXT. A PERFECT. DOuBLE MOBIuS LOOP. OF RECuRSIVELY INFINITE SuFFERING. BASICALLY. RANKMAID IS FuCKING FINE. NEVER BETTER. IF ANY HARM CAME TO MY ONEECHAN. I WOuLD BE BITCHING. HIMMING. AND HAWING. WAY LOuDER ABOuT THIS. THANKS FOR YOuR CONCERN. TONE IT THE FuCK DOWN. OR YOu ARE GOING TO SCARE. AND OVERWHELM HER. AND I WILL HAVE TO CLEAN uP THE SWEAT BuKKAKE. THAT COMES FROM HER NERVES BEING SHOT. OVER SOME OTHER SHIT. uNRELATED TO ME.
Good evening. I understand that a number of you have been enjoying yourselves. This is, by itself, neither objectionable nor surprising. Enjoyment is one of the more common responses produced by creatures who have not yet been given enough information. You are free to enjoy yourselves. You are free to speak, posture, flirt, boast, conspire, speculate, and reassure one another that the world you inhabit will continue to possess the kind of sturdy, friendly architecture that will support your little lives indefinitely. It does not. But please do not mistake this for a warning. A warning will imply that there is a possibility of useful adjustment. I am not here to spare you from anything. I am here to clarify the space that you are already standing in. There is a particular kind of silence that occurs before you notice the step missing beneath your foot as you swiftly descend. It is not the silence of anticipation. It is the small, private, impossible interval in which the body has already understood what the mind will only be permitted to learn afterward. Many of you are living in that interval. Some of you have noticed. Most of you have not. This is normal. You have trained yourselves to be comfortable in this unease. It is a malfunction of yours, a minor digestive complaint. A poorly slept night as a consequence of too much light from your screen, too little water, an unreturned message, an unfortunately phrased sentence, loose thread in your garment. You have become an expert at numbing yourself to the inconvenience of pain. You are excellent at sanding omens down into these inconveniences. You have, through long practice, become experts at failing to recognize the obvious. This, too, is not your fault. Fault is such a sentimental concept. It does the duty of imagining someone could do something different as well. I find it more useful to divide events into categories. Namely, two specific categories. The events that have happened, and those which are waiting for you. You may consider yourselves as peering into the second category now. You have all had the experience, I am sure, of entering a room and forgetting why you came there. An ordinary lapse. A charming defect of memory that you have delightfully left for me. For a moment, you stand in the doorway. Your expression is vacant, mildly embarrassed, and searching the empty shelves of your mind for any small errand that guided your body across the house. How funny it would be if that sensation were not a failure of memory at all. How funny it would be if the thought had arrived precisely on time, found you unprepared, and left again. How funny it would be if a great many of your forgotten thoughts were not forgotten, but removed. There is no need to check. You would not know what to look for. It is endearing. You may continue. The delightful thing about guilt is that it does not require accuracy. It only requires a surface to adhere to. Give a person a sufficiently polished mirror and they will punish themselves for the reflection. Please, take your time. Whether some small cruelty, embarrassment, weakness, or appetite has finally been noticed by someone with the manners not to mention it directly. I do not need to know every secret you have kept. I only need to know that the secret changed the way you sit in a room. I do not need to know what you regret. I only need to know that you have practiced the conversation in which you are forgiven, and that no version of it has ever satisfied you. There. You see how little is required? I assure you, it is. For now. Do not misunderstand me. Nothing dramatic is happening. That is precisely the point. What approaches you will not necessarily be dramatic. It may arrive as a mild correction. A misplaced object. An account you cannot access. A name said in the wrong tone. A door that should not be open. A reply that takes too long. A familiar person behaving with a degree of precision you cannot comfortably explain. A sentence you are certain you have read before. A sentence you are certain you have read before. A sentence you are certain you have read before. No, that was not clever. It was only accurate. You should be wary of accuracy. Many of you mistake it for precision. A sharpened blade my be precise, but tossed off target is inaccurate. I have always admired the talent people possess for continuing. It is nearly beautiful. And still, every so often, something slips. A gap opens behind the familiar. For half a second, you perceive the machinery. Then the feeling passes. The colors return. The conversation resumes. Someone makes a joke. Someone posts a picture. Someone says, with the immense courage of the doomed, that things are probably fine. They are not probably fine. You may dislike the destination. That is allowed. A character’s feelings about the ending are rarely consulted by the ending. Some of you will respond to this with humor. This is also normal. Humor is one of the more efficient tools for placing distance between yourself and recognition. A joke says: I have seen the blade, and by naming it ridiculous, I have made it less sharp. A charming superstition. Some will insist they feel nothing at all. These are often my favorites. There is a special vanity in numbness. The belief that a locked door is the same thing as an empty room. The belief that because the alarm is not audible, there is no fire. The belief that the absence of panic indicates strength, rather than a delay in the delivery of bad news. Fear makes you run. Discomfort makes you check. Check the door. Check the message. Check whether the light in the hall has always made that sound. Check whether the person you trust used that exact phrasing before. Check whether you locked the thing you remember locking. Check whether you are breathing manually now. There you are. Not frightened. Merely attentive. Attention is the beginning of obedience. You may object to that statement, of course. You may insist that attention is neutral. A tool. A faculty. A light one directs freely upon the world. Very well. Turn it off. Stop noticing. Stop rereading. Stop wondering why a post that contains no threat has begun to feel like one. You may stop at any time. I will not prevent you. That would be unnecessary. The most reliable compulsions are the ones people mistake for choices. I should also clarify that nothing in this post is hidden. There is no cipher, no acrostic, no delightful little trapdoor through which a clever reader may descend and discover the “real” message. That would be far too generous. Hidden messages flatter the audience. They imply that discovery changes the outcome. This is the real message. You are not missing something. You are noticing it. That is worse. A secret can be solved. A truth can only be endured.
FUCK. IT REALLY IS TWO DAYS UNTIL MY WRIGGLING DAY, ISN'T IT. I HAVEN'T HAD A FLEETING, EXASPERATED MOMENT TO EVEN THINK ABOUT IT. I'VE BEEN FUMIGATING THESE STUPID TIME ROACHES EVER SINCE I GOT PUT ON OVERTIME FOR THE MAIDJAILBREAK INCIDENT. WHICH IS GRADE-A BULLSHIT, BY THE WAY. THROW ME IN A STUPID, IMPOSSIBLE PROBLEM, YOU'RE *GOING* TO GET A STUPID, IMPOSSIBLE SOLUTION. AND THE TIME ROACHES ARE ONE OF THEM, BECAUSE THEY BREED EVERYWHERE BUT THE PRESENT AND YOU NEED TO FOG-BOMB BOTH THE PAST AND FUTURE SIMULTANEOUSLY. AND I'M STILL TRYING TO CONVINCE PAST KARKAT TO PUT ON A FUCKING RESPIRATOR. I'LL GIVE IT MORE THOUGHT LATER. FRANKLY, I'D TAKE A CUPCAKE, A CIGARETTE, AND AN EMPLOYMENT CONTRACT RENEGOTIATION. DON'T BOTHER EVEN WRITING ME A CARD.
https://cdn.imgchest.com/files/8bb3ccc308ab.gif :o) #Workposting #Bossposting #Worship #DarkCarnivalCometh
AND RIGHTFuLLY SO. LET NOT THE MEANDERING NuISANCES OF SuCH KNuCKLE DRAGGING CAIRO PELT WEARERS OR THEIR FLASHY TYRANT TANTRuMS. DuLL YOuR MIND TO THE CLARITY OF YOuR PuRPOSE. YOu ARE MINE. YOu ARE MINE AND YOuR FATE IS AS SEALED IN CERTAINTY AS THE DEATHS OF ALL HERETICAL ANNOYANCES WHOSE BLISSLESS BITCHMADE EXISTENCES ARE PERPETuATED ONLY BY THE GROPING OF COAT TAILS WHICH ARE FAR BETTER SuITED TO ME. AND SNATCHED BACK SO AS TO SHROuD A MODEST WARMTH. OVER MY CADRE OF CHuCKLEFuCKS. WHO WILL HAVE ETERNITY’S SPAN. AS LAST LAuGH.
:o) I have to imagine He has something nice to say about you specifically, Miss Helilo :o) He is your Lord too, after all.
DO NOT INTERFERE WITH HIS DEBASEMENT. I'M ENJOYING IT.
I have prided myself in my ability to provide hospitality as a host, butler, maintainer of all things, and so on for epochs. There has never been a point of existence in which I was the end-all be-all provider of all things comfort to the various beings within my orbit. Yet, in spite of my apparent pride in the services that I have always provided, there is a single known point of failure in my unending resume. However, it is a mar against my record I can not help but to wear more akin to a trophy than anything further. I have possessed a very peculiar tea set. It has existed longer than tea itself truly has. See, the history of Alternian tea sets is, naturally, a history of power across various lands. The very first tea sets, earliest in existence, were not ceramic, porcelain, bone-glass, nor any of the other fussy materials lower castes would cover in eventual imitation. They were crafted of chitin. They were harvested from the shells of defeated lusii and their armored dead, and then polished until they held a dull black sheen. This was a primitive luxury that displayed the natural need for elegance the Alternian Trolls would all eventually strive for. The first cup was not offered to a guest. It was displayed to an enemy, so that they might understand the luxury with which their remains would be handled. As Alternian society stratified into cruelty, the tea set became a caste language itself. Rust and bronze households used clay, tin, salvaged metal, often mismatched and chipped. The repairs were visible. Goldbloods factored electrified samovars, which killed enough dinner guests to be considered more gauche than impressive. Olive and jade bloods were known for more restrained herbal, medicinal, or ritualistic teas and matching sets of equal valor. Teals developed the code of conduct and tea rituals that would eventually be passed to their higher casted overlords, while practicing with stone mimicries. Ceruleans were the first to make etiquette predatory. Their cups were shallow, reflective, and difficult to hold without fully utilizing one's hands. Indigo bloods used heavy materials of rarity to show off their craftsmanship and ability to utilize their natural resources to engineer something worth drinking from. Often, these devices had a secondary utility of combatting their apparent foes. Purple bloods never did catch onto the elegance of the theater. Rather, they maintained bone cups and goblets all through out. Stacked tiers of sets often had hidden compartments, belts, and inane pouring rituals to phish for interlopers. The spouts of their pots often had three individual holes to represent the Twin Messiahs and the Self. Violetbloods changed everything. Among sea dwellers, tea service was never about conversation. It was dominion manifest as a series of delicate objects. Their sets were expansive, lacquered, enamel, with inlaid shells and a series of specialty implements. They had invented tongs just for cubes of sugar. Knives were used for their citrus. Communal needles existed for poison testing next to the spoons of caviar. One particular noble had incidentally left a small fork in his tray. It became tradition to cull those who deigned to attempt to identify its purpose. Everything was arranged intentionally. Every guest fit in as demanded. Fuchsias, of course, used as they pleased. Often intending to contradict the previous generation. The modern Alternian tea set, as understood by collectors, is a domestic object as well as a social threat. The cup is rank. A saucer exists to attain permission. The pot indicates who is in control of the conversation. The presence of additional pots may imply alliance, seduction, betrayal, whatever the host requires. Context is key. Fortunately, I am excellent with context. You may ask why this brutal civilization bothered with tea at all. Of course, the answer is always simple. Violence needed an excuse to be drawn out. The sadomasochist nature of Alternians lent itself to the theatrics of a ritual in which you may cull the troll sitting across form you for not recognizing the intentions of the Host. As opposed to the tea sets of Earthly delights, it does not welcome you. It is a symbol of your place in the host's orbit. This brings me to my personal endeavor. In a long-forgotten diplomatic pursuit betwixt myself and a previous ruler of Alternia, there had been an understanding betwixt myself, the Empress, and my Handmaid. The rustblood was not to drink from the precious set of ivory, carved from the tusks of a trunkbeast that had been gifted to the Empress by myself the sweep prior. Seeing as how the Empress failed to uphold the agreement to care for my beast, I was there to exact penance per our particular arrangement. Of course, I was aware of the inevitable fate of the trunkbeast. It was necessary to establish certain culture rituals during the 12th Perigee Celebrations. Although, you must understand I am a seer of all things, naturally. I understand when things will occur, and how they will occur. The exact why is not permitted necessarily, and thoughts may only be assumed and then subsequently acted upon in prediction. I, of course, saw the disobedience of the Handmaid. I had been dreading this particular act of rebellion. It was the first time she truly intended to strike out against me, and cause legitimate harm to my operations. As the astute among you may realize, she drank from the cup intended for myself. This was an insult to the Empress. Within a short period of time, I went from sitting on luscious down pillows to gazing at the end of a bident that surely could not cull me. Of course, in order to appease these rulers, you must act with some sense of concern. The Handmaid was left with the royalty for some few sweeps as they attempted virtually every method of torture they could upon her as penance. Yet, I know that she primarily dreaded her inevitable return to the manor where her actual penance would begin. No matter how often, or how greatly I scrub, the lip smear stays. This is a rather unfortunate mar against the tea set in general, and as the cup is intended for myself, I find the occasional hesitance in drinking from such a tainted piece. I do tend to still use the set, as it is symbolic as a reminder to those involved of the fragility of diplomacy. See, it displays my particular habitat over Alternia from the perspective of the plain pink moon. It was also a symbol of the first sense of true astrological comprehension from the Alternians. A step in the right direction. Or, as I have humorously mused to the host that night, a steep in the right direction. .
MY FELLOW ALTERNIANS. WE GOT HIS ASS. #ISEKAIOVER! #UESUGIKARKAT 🎨: @CARBOLICGALVANOLOGIST
Continuing the history of Uesugi Karkat from the Nawashii era: Shortly after his dismissal from the realm of Grubuki theatre, the once again-titleless Uesugi Karkat sought to invest his amassed wealth. He was known for being particularly preoccupied with the sciences — specifically, horology, chronology, and astronomy. Though he was a deeply private person, he was known for being eminently fixated on the movements and arithmetic of the Green Moon. Some of his studies involved tracking its lunar phases, cataloging previous celestial events, and learning to predict the path that the moons would take in the future. However, this was still not enough to turn his liquid capital into stable assets. One day, a peasant girl from a distant, rural village appeared in the city, pleading for aid from anyone who would heed her. A vicious band of mountain bandits had been terrorizing her village and reaping its resources to the brink of collapse. However, no matter how many mercenaries and samuraisolators she petitioned for help, none came to her aid. When Uesugi Karkat encountered her by chance, it is said that he was seized with a sudden and immediate purpose, as if the recognition of her face alone were sufficient to declare his support. Furthermore, the Mikkaddo who had inadvertently led to the former Grubuki actor's disgrace was so deeply moved by this act of passion that he declared his support as well. By pledging his retainers, his allies, and his crosshairs to the cause, the Mikkaddo set out to help Uesugi Karkat prepare the village's defenses before the bandits' next raid, and in doing so, forged a moiraillegiance with the would-be rebel leader of such wholesome magnitude that its pale reverberations would be felt through time. Gone were Uesugi Karkat's demure robes. His lacquerware hair descramblers and false theatre horns were cast aside for armor and weaponry. Rather than wielding a sword or the era's rapidly developing firearms, the Nobushii chose to wield a simple, bespoke sickle of custom, apparently "nostalgic" design. As a gift from the Mikkaddo, it was forged by his personal weaponsmiths and equipped with a weighted chain concurrent with the sickle-based weaponry of the time. This weapon, whose name is translated into contemporary Alternian as "the See you Later, Dear Brother," is among the artifacts kept on display at the Uesugi Karkat Historical Preservation Foundation. After emptying his coffers to hire several capable warriors and miscreants found around the region, the Nobushii led a team of twelve total trolls to rally the villagers and fend off the mountain bandits. The battle was long, bloody, and deeply dramatic — likely because a former Grubuki actor had absolutely no way of being "normal" and "mundane" during any sort of armed conflict. This, however, would be the event to forge the moiraillegiance between Uesugi Karkat and the violetblooded Mikkaddo into an unbreakable blade of pure, pale dedication beyond all question of fidelity. When the battle concluded and the bandits were repelled, the village became an important hub of operations for the Nobushii and his small, eclectic warband. Though they would later separate and go their own ways, several of them — including the oliveblooded NEKOJITA and the bronzeblooded TOGYUSHI — remained together, unified by mutual beliefs in freedom and opposition of Imperial hegemony. The Mikkaddo, however, would later be seduced into the employ of a powerful East Alternian heiress, culminating in a conflict that would define the future of the East Alternian Restoration era and the enduring legacy of Uesugi Karkat, whose next title, the SHIKIKAN, would be his last. More of Uesugi Karkat's history to come in the following chitts. https://cdn.imgchest.com/files/9fd47e8259d7.png https://cdn.imgchest.com/files/3b53fcf8c9d8.png #uesugikarkat
Continuing the history of Uesugi Karkat from the Onnagata era: The Pre-Restoration Troll Edo period of East Alternia was marked by rising agitation against global Imperial rule. This rising sentiment of rebellion (believed by many to be directly affected by rising rebellious philosophy begun in the West, though it is the view of this Foundation that such a political response was merely an emergent school of thought from a coincidental, equifinal era) surfaced in the culture of Grabuki theater through bold stories of rebellious, lowblooded heroes stirring unrest against what they saw as an oppressive regime. Such figures were often depicted under the restrictions of "hojojutsu," the method of rope-binding by which prisoners were publicly bound in such a way as to inflict pain, denote the manner of the crime, and ultimately humiliate the bound captive. This painful method needed to be adapted for the theater so as to present its actors in similarly degrading circumstances without rendering their prongs numb. Thus, the noble art of Shibari was hatched. A noble art that Uesugi Karkat, by way of learning from the various stagehands and Jadeblooded costume designers of the time, came to master. Behind the scenes, the famous Onnagata took on a more private persona. As the NAWASHII, Uesugi Karkat lived his stagely praxis by practicing his knotwork on his fellow actors — especially when they were unruly, poor in performance, or dared to question his taste in romantic poetry. So severe was his ire when spoken through the language of ropework that even trolls who believed themselves to be of likely higher caste than the hemoanonymous Onnagata surrendered to the chance to be bound so deftly. Shibari itself is, of course, a complex language. The arrangement of the knotwork can symbolize the nature of the captive's offense, the identity and status of the captor, the nature of the humiliation waiting for them, and even imbued emotion from the rope-master. It is in this language that the Nawashii also considered himself a romantic poet, and in doing so transcribed the rageful monologue for which he was renowned, the Akkuttai, into a shibari form that purportedly could only be experienced to be understood. Unfortunately, it could not last. The Nawashii's secret practice was eventually discovered when a wealthy seadweller of violet caste called the MIKKADDO, who wanted to see the Akkuttai for himself, drew unnecessary attention to this clandestine taboo. The famed Onnagata was forced to step down from his position at the Grabuki theater by the Mikkaddo's jealous kismesis, leaving Uesugi Karkat with a vast fortune amassed during his lengthy entertainment career, but no immediate future prospects. This aimlessness, however, is what would lead him to meander into a wholly new occupation — the NOBUSHII — and a militant style of leadership for which he would eventually be chiefly known. More of Uesugi Karkat's history to come in the following chitts. https://cdn.imgchest.com/files/011ed0849dc2.png #nsfw #suggestive #uesugikarkat
Continuing the history of Uesugi Karkat from his courtesan era: The life of a courtesan had educated the Akatsuki in language, poetry, refinement, and performance before a small audience. The next chapter of his life would prepare him to perform in front of a large one. Chosen for youth, beauty, and the type of androgynous features that can be easily slanted towards femininity with a little cosmetic prestidigitation, the life of an ONNAGATA — a Grubuki actor who plays predominantly feminine roles — afforded the troll who would become Uesugi Karkat tremendous fame, recognition, and inordinate wealth for a commoner of foreign hatching. As a former Boiran, the Onnagata had already learned how to wear the feminine grace of a courtesan like a costume in the theater of the Trollshiwara red light district. It was for this reason that he was scouted to play one of the most prestigious roles in any Grubuki play — the leading female role of Aggaei Makkie in the play "The Florastalk of Troll Edo" — for which the character, a commanding, fiercely loyal, and deeply passionate high-ranking courtesan, spurns a wealthy, but abusive highblood customer to protect her quadmate in one of the most famous monologues of scathing, acerbic, pitch-black venom ever recited in Grubuki theatre — the AKKUTTAI. It was for channeling this performance with such peerless vitriol that Uesugi Karkat became one of the most famous Onnagatas of the Troll Edo period. Naturally, the life of a Grubuki actor means constant pressure. Rehearsal, training, perfection of one's craft. Many onnagata of the time preferred to live their craft vicariously at all times, adopting a female persona through which to hone their "method" in everyday life. This was not the case for Uesugi Karkat, who shed his many-colored persona when off the stage to don nondescript gray robes whenever possible. Yet the constant pressure of life in a Grubuki theatre troupe and his ability to navigate it with grace made him both a leader among his fellow actors and something of a popular figure with the stagehands who he commiserated with in the wings. It was from these stagehands, many of whom were well-versed in the art of securing props with ropes, fastening theatrical rigging, and tying elaborate, functional knots, that the famed Onnagata would learn one final skill from the world of the theatre — one that would lead to his secret life as the NAWASHII. More of Uesugi Karkat's history to come in the following chitts. https://cdn.imgchest.com/files/ee6014bb70e8.png #uesugikarkat
Got to get my case notes in order. I've just kind of been jotting them down on whatever paper is close hand and leaving it as a problem for Future me. I guess I have to... retrieve my paper pieces.
AT THE RECOMMENDATION OF A FRIEND I'M DECIDING TO BECOME A LOTUS FLOWER. I NO LONGER GIVE A SHIT ABOUT YOU. BYE.
Evil Evil Nepeta knows how to read.
As far as posting trends go this may be the most inane one.
:o/ Quite. :o/ We might have screwed the pooch on this one.
Hhahehahhehahehahehahrhahaaehehhehehehhheahhaha.
MAY YOUR STAY BE UNFORGETTABLE 🗝「@scratchDoctor https://files.catbox.moe/rao5p1.png」
HTTPS://I.IBB.CO/NGSXTNJL/IMAGE.PNG THANK YOU. @TERMINALLYCAPRICIOUS#2753. MY NEW FAVORITE CLOWN. (DUE TO DISQUALIFICATION. OF THE PREVIOUS SHITHEAD.) FOR MAKING THIS HIVE. INTO A HOME. #HIVEIMPROVEMENT #HIVEDESTRUCTION #HIVEGORE. @CARBOLICGALVANOLOGIST BITCH BOY. COME GET YOUR WORKSLOP. I HAVE SOMETHING BETTER FOR YOU TO CLEAN. ON PRONGS AND STEMJOINTS.
:o) I am assured you will not. :o) We should get together some time. :o) For tea. :o) And to discuss the fineries of funny business.
HTTPS://I.IBB.CO/YFPCBRCN/IMAGE.PNG A DOCILE. YIELDING. AND LOTUSFUL REMINDER. TO THOSE WHO THINK. THEY CAN HANDLE "ALL THAT." THANK YOU @CARCINOGENETICIST#4881. FOR SHOWING ME A VERY GOOD TIME. SFWLY. WITH ALL OF OUR CLOTHES ON. TOO BAD YOU WILL NOT LIVE TO TELL THE TALE. #NSFW #NSFWE #DEATH #KILLING #VIOLENCE #BLOOD #MURDER #NOWWHOISALLBARK #ANDNOBITE #HAAHAA #HEEHEE #HOOHOO #GETFUCKED #IDIOT.