♦ pitied by @pliableDecadence
MAY YOUR STAY BE UNFORGETTABLE 🗝「Second update: whilst I was sitting down and taking a well deserved break as I found myself covered in sweat with a terrible headache, I picked up the piece I found and I compared it to the windowsill. I have found that the piece is too thin. In fact, it seemed to go to the previous windowsill that we had to find a piece for. I perhaps lost my temper. And snapped the piece in half. I have no eloquent manner to describe the misery fallen unto me.」
MAY YOUR STAY BE UNFORGETTABLE 🗝「I have wasted the past two hours of my life looking for a thin plastic piece that will into the gap of a window. I am convinced at this point the price doesn’t exist and one of my coworkers will simply will it into existence to prove they are better than me. This is irritating me so much. Meanwhile I am being hounded by others to throw out the trash and unlock the doors. I am doing so many tasks it is rightfully tiring. And I don’t even have a Rankmaid around to make this a little more bearable. I miss her so much. I miss the way she muttered, sweat, smiled and wrote. This place is a miserable mess of rooms that don’t make sense and an interior that will kill you. God I hate it here right now. I swear to god if Damara tells me she found it behind a fucking pile of cigarette ashtrays or inane bullshit like that I’m going to kill her.」
࣪⊹₊˚{ she said im like her honorary maidling }9u6{ #omg #omg #omg #omg #DEEPMAIDSSSS #thedemoness #stanchittr }˚₊⊹ ࣪
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?!
SEASONAL FOOD ITEMS AT FAST FOOD JOINTS IS TRULY SOME HORROR STORY SHIT AND I'M NOT FUCKING KIDDING. WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN I CAN ONLY GET HALLOUMI FRIES AT MCDAGGERS IN THE *SUMMER*?! OH, BUT ONLY FOR A LITTLE BIT OF THE SUMMER, CAN'T FORGET THAT! AND WHEN THEY'RE GONE YOU'RE GOING TO HAVE TO DEFAULT TO YOUR REGULAR ORDER WITH THE CHICKEN NUGGETS WE NEVER COOK ENOUGH BECAUSE WE HATE YOU SPECIFICALLY! THERE AREN'T ENOUGH WORDS IN ANYONE'S PERSONAL LEXICON, ESPECIALLY NOT MINE, TO DESCRIBE THE LEVEL OF SELF FLAGELLATION THIS FEELS LIKE. TO WALK INTO HERE, EXPECTING TO HAVE THE BEAUTIFUL EXPERIENCE YOU DID LAST TIME, ONLY TO BE DENIED YOUR FUCKING STICKS OF CHEESE. WHY THE FUCK CAN'T THEY MAKE THESE ALL SWEEP ROUND?! IS THERE SOME KIND OF ARCANE FEY CONTRACT PREVENTING THE SUPPLY LINES FROM REACHING ME? I MISSED THE LAST OF THE PROMOTION DURING MY MOLT, AND I CAN'T EVEN BEGIN TO WRAP MY SKULL AROUND THE DISAPPOINTMENT AND RAGE I'M FEELING. CONSIDERING BURNING DOWN MCDAGGERS HEAD OFFICES.
THIS IS THE ONLY TIME IN MY PROFESSIONAL CAREER I'VE EVER WISHED TO KNOW *LESS* BALL. BEGRUDGING RECHITT.
... I'VE BEEN CHECKING THE CLOCK FOR AT LEAST TEN KARKAT HOURS, NOW. NORMALLY, I WOULDN'T COMMIT THE UNSPEAKABLE WORKPLACE BLUNDER OF LOOKING AT *ANY* TIMEPIECE IN THIS SAW TRAP MANOR, BUT SOMETHING KEEPS KNIFING ME IN THE WRONG THORASSIC PROTECTIVE BONE CURVATURE. IT'S 6/12. WHY IS IT STILL 6/12. IT CAN'T *STILL* BE 6/12. CAN IT?
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."
BEHOLD. FELT MANOR’S NEWEST AND SHINIEST STAR. A TROLL SO TRUSTING. HE NEITHER SHUTS THE DOOR TO HIS RESPITEBLOCK. NOR TAKES HIS PALMHUSK FROM THE STICKBALL TABLE. WHEN HE RETIRES FOR THE LIGHT. A TROLL SO SUICIDALLY STUPID. HE POSTS HIS MANAGER’S UPSKIRT SHOTS ON THE TIMELINE. A TROLL SO BRAVE. OR SO BRAIN DAMAGED. HE GETS IN A POSTING WAR. WITH A TIME TRAVELING MEGABITCH. FEAST YOUR BULBS. ON THIS BREAKING NEWS. JUST NOW. CAPTURED LATE LAST LIGHT. BEFORE HE HAD THE OPPORTUNITY. TO BUTCHER HIS BEAUTIFUL BISHIE HAIR. PRESENTING: CHALKBOX PLAYING WITH HIS #SUGGESTIVE BONDAGE NOODLES.
THIS IS THE MOST SELF AGGRANDIZING SELFIE I'VE EVER SEEN IN MY FUCKING LIFE. WHAT A TERRIBLE WRIGGLING DAY THIS HAS BECOME FOR ME- NOT ONLY HAVE I EXITED MY MOLT AND HAD TO DEAL WITH ALL OF THAT HEINOUS BULLSHIT, I'VE ALSO HAD TO LAY EYES ON THE #SOFTKATSUPREME. I DESERVE FINANCIAL, EMOTIONAL AND GENERAL COMPENSATION FOR HAVING TO LAY EYES ON THIS SMILEY, BURNING-EYED BASTARD. DO YOU LAY AWAKE IN THE DAY STARING AT THE CEILING KNOWING HOW MUCH OF A FUCKING SITCOM CARICATURE YOU'VE BECOME? WHERE ARE OUR SICKLES?! OUR TRADEMARK GRIMACE? OUR FUCKING MIDDLE FINGER?! YOU CAN'T JUST SAY YOU'RE GIVING THE MIDDLE FINGER AND NOT GIVE ONE IN THE GOD DAMN SELFIE! THIS IS JUST LIKE HOW WE FIRST MET, DUDE, 1/10. THE ONE STAR ONLY GIVEN BECAUSE YOU AT LEAST HAD THE DECENCY TO DON THE TRADITIONAL VANTAS GARB OF THE SHODDIEST FUCKING SWEATERS IMAGINABLE.
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.)
THE RUSTBLOOD FACTORY OPERATES WITHOUT CEASE OR FUCKING PAUSE.
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.
HOW IT FEELS. EVERY TIME SOME WORM. SLITHERS OUT OF THE WOODWORK. TO DISPARAGE MY #NONHOSTILEWORKPLACE. AND MY #EMPLOYEROFCHOICE. #GETBEHINDME.
PLEASE DISREGARD ALL MY CHITTS FROM THE LAST TWO LUNAR CYCLES. I WAS NOT LIVING UP TO THE MISSION OF FELT MANOR. OR REPRESENTING THE BRAND. TO MY USUAL STANDARD OF QUALITY. MY STATEMENTS. ATTITUDE. AND ACTIONS. WERE INAPPROPRIATE. UNPROFESSIONAL. AND UNDESERVING OF THE TITLE. OR THE POWERS. I HAVE BEEN GENEROUSLY LOANED. I DEEPLY REGRET. MY SHAMEFUL BEHAVIOR. AND THE REPEATED VIOLENT IMPACT. THAT IT HAD. ON THE TEAM. AND THE WORK ENVIRONMENT. I TAKE FULL RESPONSIBILITY. FOR THE DESTRUCTION. AND REPUTATIONAL DAMAGE. WHICH I CAUSED. DURING MY TEMPORARY PERIOD. OF MAGICAL PANDAMAGE. I VALUE MY POSITION. AND THE OPPORTUNITY TO WORK ON THIS UNIVERSALLY RENOWNED. EXTREMELY SELECTIVE. AND HIGHLY DEVOTED TEAM. I UNDERSTAND THE IMPORTANCE. OF MAINTAINING A HARMONIOUS. RESPECTFUL. AND LOTUSFUL WORKPLACE. I WILL WORK DILIGENTLY ON MY BEHAVIOR MOVING FORWARD. I WILL ALSO FIX THE FUCKUGLY STAINED GLASS. THANK YOU FOR YOUR ATTENTION TO THIS MATTER. #WORKPOSTING.
DO YOUR WORST. #HEREWEGOAGAIN. #RESETTHECLOCK. #ZERONIGHTSWITHOUTINCIDENT.
It has been brought to my attention that an act of regrettable iconoclasm has occurred within my home. A stained-glass mural, commissioned with care, kept in excellent condition, and depicting my own person with all the modest devotional restraint such a subject demands, has been damaged. Damara. You will present yourself in my study. Not at your convenience. Not after the urge to flee has passed. Not when the last charming little shard has finished glittering accusingly upon the floor. Now. We shall discuss, with appropriate solemnity, the distinction between accident, sacrilege, and a tantrum given architectural consequences. I have prepared a chair for you. It is not comfortable enough to imply forgiveness. Do not make me ring twice. The keratin needed to be extracted to replace this will be coming from your Handmaid Resources.
PICTURES TAKEN MOMENTS BEFORE DISASTER. #HIVEDESTRUCTION #HIVEGORE #IMMINENT.
:o) Good evening. :o) Have you ever felt as though you're being watched? :o) Have you felt your skin crawl with the sensation, only to whip around and find no one there? :o) Have you ever felt your fear spike in a dark hallway for no reason? :o) Have you ever sworn you saw a dark shape out of the corner of your eye, but nothing was there? :o) You should pay more attention. :o) You never know who's right behind you.
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.
MAY YOUR STAY BE UNFORGETTABLE 🗝「I may be narcoleptic.」
FUCK THIS HELLHOLE TO DEATH. #HIVEDESTRUCTION #HIVEGORE.
MAY YOUR STAY BE UNFORGETTABLE 🗝「Rankmaid isn't around for the amount of Dirks hanging out. It's what she would've wanted...」
OH CUEKEEPER. IF YOU ONLY KNEW. HOW BAD THINGS REALLY ARE.
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.
Been a long night. Just listening to the sound of the city. And the background music. I think Caliborn manifested some sort of "four hours of dark jazz" into existence back at the tea party and it's been on loop in the city since. Haven't quite figured out where it's playing from.
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.
WHAT HAPPENED TO MY FUCKING RUSTBLOOD FACTORY. MORE MIDBLOODS IN HERE. THAN YOU CAN SHAKE A SLUG AT. WHAT COULD HE MEAN BY THIS.
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.
hhhthankyoumissmegidofeelfreetocallmethatforever
:o) I do not understand people who say 'Gog'. :o) This was a hyperspecific inside joke used by a select few people in one session :o) I should know. :o) I researched them thoroughly. :o) It is always fun to watch the lives of others. :o) You almost start to believe that you are :o) 'One of the gang', as it were. :o) Even if they never know you are there. :o) Watching from a vent. :o) Or perhaps in the distance on a planet. :o) But do not worry :o) I am friends with each and every one of you. :o) Watching you, especially, was incredibly fun.
MAY YOUR STAY BE UNFORGETTABLE 🗝「I often find myself having the strangest dreams. Today I took a nap and had a dream involving a really big centipede. I believe an older man was throwing them at me in a desperate attempt to reclaim his younger glory. After I beat him and yelled at him a couple times to leave, another man came out from the wall and went 'Yo could you quiet down a bit my mums are sleeping'. So I apologized. I then woke up.」
:o) Why is there suddenly a pink hoofbeast everywhere.
Having the ability to see your potential employer's social media posts is a dangerous thing.
#VAGUECHITT.
JENNIFER’S BODY (2009). EVERYTHING REMINDS ME OF HER. I MISS HER. WITH THE DUMB DESPERATION. OF A BARKBEAST WAITING BY A GRAVE. RANKYCHAN. IF YOU EVER SEE THIS. IF I WAS THE RAVENOUS SEX DEMON. AND YOU WERE MY SHELTERED NAKAMA. THE MOVIE WOULD HAVE LOOKED A LITTLE DIFFERENT. FINAL RATING. ⚪️⚪️⚪️⚪️? ⚪️⚪️⚪️⚪️⚪️? I DON’T KNOW. I WANT HER BACK. FUCK. #MOVIEMAID
STATUS UPDATE: I HAVEN'T MOLTED....YET. THE PAINS ARE GETTING EXTREMELY BAD SO I CAN'T IMAGINE IT'LL BE MUCH LONGER. A DAY, MAYBE? TWO? HARD TO SAY WITH THIS BULLSHIT ESPECIALLY SINCE THE LAST TIME THIS HAPPENED I FOUGHT IT OFF FOR WEEKS. DON'T DO THAT BY THE WAY, MY PIECE OF SAGE ADVICE TO YOU, THAT SHIT SUCKED SEVERELY. I THINK I KNOW THE FIRST THING I DO WHEN MY COCOON CRACKS AT LEAST, PROVIDED I ACTUALLY REMEMBER TO DO IT. I'M GOING TO DO A FOOD REVIEW. STAY TUNED, I KNOW YOU ALL LOVE LOVE LOVE THOSE CONSIDERING HOW I USUALLY HAVE A LITANY OF EARTH-C'S NEXT TOP COMEDIANS IN MY COMMENTS SECTION WILING AWAY THEIR PRECIOUS HOURS ALIVE ARGUING WITH A HEMOANON ON THE INTERNET. REAL SMART MOVE, BY THE WAY. YOU GOD DAMN SMOOTH-PANNED SYCOPHANTS. AND YOU *ARE* SYCOPHANTS, BY THE WAY. YOU WOULDN'T ENGAGE WITH ME SO READILY IF IT DIDN'T FEED SOME KIND OF SICK PERVERSION YOU HAVE TO ARGUE WITH A '''CREATOR''' ONLINE. JUST KNOW THAT I SEE THROUGH YOU. WELL THAT'S ABOUT IT, I GUESS. FUCK THE WORLD, MY FINAL MESSAGE. GOODBYE.
MAY YOUR STAY BE UNFORGETTABLE 🗝「This is signed by handMaid "HELLO. HELLO. MY MAIDLING. DOORCHUD. DOORCHAN. I'M TAPPING MY TIN CUP. ON THE BARS OF MY CELL. BEGGING SLUTTILY. FOR THE DOORMAID BACKROOMS REVIEW. TO BE SLIPPED THROUGH THE GAP. AND DOWN MY NEEDY THROAT. AT YOUR EARLIEST CONVENIENCE. WHAT DID YOU THINK. " If you are need of my Backrooms Review so badly I can get it out for you sooner rather than later, it's a little difficult working it out but once it'll be long and a bit heavy when I get it out, I'm not particularly dexterous in my handling of large things so it'll be slow., so I hope you can consume it well in that casse. I'll have to do a spoiler review. . "ALSO. DO YOU PREFER CHALKBOX WITH THE BISHIE HAIR. OR NORMAL. I'M TRYING TO PROVE SOMETHING TO HIM." Bishie Hair. It's quite the nice look on him. #suggestive? #nsfw?」
MAY YOUR STAY BE UNFORGETTABLE 🗝「Sometimes you have to flirt with your coworker.」
IN LIEU OF A BETTER LIFE-UPDATE CHITT, ESPECIALLY GIVEN THAT MY "LIFE" IS A LOOPING TORMENT NEXUS OF CLOGGED LOAD GAPERS AND MILDEW-ENCRUSTED TILES, I'LL JUST SAY THIS. I STILL HAVEN'T CUT MY HAIR, YET. THERE. ALL YOU SICK, OPINIONATED FUCKS WHO WANT ME TO KEEP IT DON'T HAVE TO MOURN ANYTHING, YET. I'LL SEE HOW I FEEL ABOUT IT IN A FEW WIPES.
c< i feel liKe i gOtta watcH it a cOuple MOre tiMes 2 really uNderstaNd it, but, i alsO feel liKe ill Never get it, at least NOt fully >c
MAY YOUR STAY BE UNFORGETTABLE 🗝「I miss Rankmaid.」
We should elaborate on Repiton over tea.
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. .
#NOWPLAYING.
I DIDN'T WANT TO SAY ANYTHING WHILE I WASN'T ONE HUNDRED PERCENT SURE, BUT I'M GETTING PRETTY CLOSE TO THAT NOW SO I GUESS I'LL MAKE THE CALL. I'VE STARTED GETTING MOLT CRAMPS. I COULD GO INTO MY COCOON ANYWHERE BETWEEN NOW AND NEXT WEEK SO I GUESS WE'LL SEE. POINT IS, IF THIS ACCOUNT SUDDENLY GOES DARK FOR A WHILE- THAT'S WHAT'S GOING ON. I KNOW APPROXIMATELY 1% OF YOU (THE ENLIGHTENED PERCENTAGE) WILL MISS MY POSTS BUT DON'T WORRY, I'VE SET UP SOME DOMINOES THAT MIGHT HELP YOU BRIDGE THE GAP. STAY TUNED.
Practicing appreciation for the world by taking my time with a damn fine cup of coffee.
THIS. IS MY PET. I CALL HER. KITTYBITCH. SHE IS A DEVIL. OF THE TASMANIAN VARIETY. HER BACKSTORY. IS THAT SHE ATE ALL HER PREVIOuS OWNERS. BuT SHE COuLD NOT EAT ME. BECAuSE WE ARE COOL. KITTYBITCH. LIKE ME. ALSO KILLED HER SISTER. A KINDRED SOuL. KITTYBITCH. ADORES YOu. AND IF YOu DO NOT SHARE HER LORE. WITH AT LEAST ONE OTHER PERSON. SHE WILL APPEAR IN YOuR DREAMS. DEMANDING PETS. CuDDLES. AFFECTIONS. AND TREATS. SHE WILL EAT. IMMuNITY DOG. OR ANY MEANS. OF CIRCuMVENTING THIS EFFECT. ^ / \ ^ _,-~~~--~~~--._ ( \ / \ _,-' `.__ ( \_.---._/ ) ,' `-(_` -' `-. ) / "--.. \.' `/ , `-. : _ .-. _ : / ; : (0).oYo.(0) ; / ` \.-'V'"'V'-./ / ' \\^ ^// /\ / ' : : .-'\\^ ^// ; \ ; / ,' _.-`. `. : \\^_^// ; \ ; ;`. ,'~~-' `. `.`.`-.-' \ |_/ ; `. /-'/___.---. `-. `.`---. \ / | /____.---.))) `-. `---.\ \_____/ (____________))))\\\ `-.\\\\ \\\\
MY TRAuMA HAS LEVELED THE FuCK uP. AND LIKE NANOMACHINES. I HARDEN IN RESPONSE TO IT. uNTIL IMPERVIOuS ENTIRELY. MY TRAGIC BACKSTORY MAKES INEVITABLE A TRAGIC FuTuRE FOR OTHERS. SuCH IS THE LAW OF CAuSALITY. SuCH IS THE NATuRE OF MY EMINENCE.
I hate politics, I hate weird abstract gig economy bullshit, I hate readin' about this fuckin' Stock Market. I'm tangible, I'm physical, I'm /here/. I'm a guy with a fuckin' crowbar and I either do da job da normal way or I get the tommy gun and start takin' it through crime. If it ain't cold hard cash in my hand or cold hard cash in da bank, it just ain't real to me.
SIGH. THANKS, CUEKEEPER. CUEKEEP. CUKE? NO, FUCK THAT. SIGH. THANKS, SERPAZ.
HOLY FUCK. HOLY FUCKING FUCK, THAT WORKED. I'M BACK. WHAT THE FEUDAL FUCK IS THAT MALIGNANT MASS OF TEXT UPLOADED FROM MY CHITTR PROFILE.
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
:o) Sometimes falling back on the basics is quite enlightening :o) I've been sweeping this same spot by the Fourth Wall, for example, and the glass doesn't seem to be getting any less despite how much I clean! :o) A truly meditative exercise...
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.
Just saw a guy become a lotus flower. I didn't know you could do that.
AT THE RECOMMENDATION OF A FRIEND I'M DECIDING TO BECOME A LOTUS FLOWER. I NO LONGER GIVE A SHIT ABOUT YOU. BYE.
THIS EVIL SELF SHIT IS SO FUCKING STUPID, AS IF MOST OF US DIDN'T SPEND SO LONG TRAVERSING THE BUBBLES THAT WE'VE OUTRIGHT *MET* THE WORST VERSIONS OF OURSELVES. HELL, I'VE SEEN THE WORST VERSION OF MYSELF ON THIS PLATFORM! WHAT WOULD 'EVIL KARKAT' EVEN ENTAIL? NOT LIKING ROMCOMS ISN'T AN EVIL TRAIT IT JUST MEANS YOU HAVE A STICK UP YOUR ASS ABOUT SOME SOLID GOLD MEDIA THAT YOU'RE MISSING OUT ON FOR NO REASON OTHER THAN YOU INSIST ON POINTLESS PRIDE.
Evil Droog does not care too much about people knowing their name.
Evil Evil Nepeta knows how to read.
As far as posting trends go this may be the most inane one.
I think the evil version of myself is obvious.
CHITTR GOES SO FuCKING HARD. WHEN YOu JuST BLOCK PEOPLE YOu DO NOT LIKE. INDISCRIMINATELY. LIKE A SPRAY OF BuLLETS. INTO A CROWD OF SITTING DuCKS. LIKE IN HIT VIDEO GAME. DuCK CuNT. https://i.imgur.com/DVngyli.png
Much of Uesugi Karkat's early life is completely unknown. Due to his total hemoanonymity over the many sweeps of his time in East Alternia, it cannot be deduced what province, prefecture, or continent he hailed from before his sudden arrival in Trollshiwara, the famous red light district of Troll Edo. What remains consistent is this — he arrived as a foreigner who did not speak the language, seemingly fallen out of the sky and into the cart of a local brothel owner. The owner was purportedly so taken with his boyish beauty and gap moe tsundere personality that he immediately set him to work as a courtesan within his business. It was here that Uesugi Karkat was first referred to by his East Alternian title, the AKATSUKI. Under the strict tutelage of the other courtesans, he learned to dance, sing, play music, pour tea with delicately trembling wrists, feign laughter at unfunny jokes, and weaponize the nape of his nugstalk in the way that an anglerfish lures its prey into its abyssal maw. However, accounts from the other brothel workers say that he was too ornery and foul-mouthed to do any of these things without erupting with rage. He did, however, learn the local language with surprising acuity, and the courtesans were deeply impressed with his natural propensity for writing romantic long-form poetry. Furthermore, rather than selling his concupiscent services as a low-ranking courtesan was expected to, the Akatsuki was supposedly so renowned for his talents as a pale quadrant advisor and ashen mediator that guests of some of the highest castes in Troll Edo sought him out solely for his comfort and advice. No information on the Akatsuki's hemocaste could be discerned during this time, due to never once shedding his genetic material with any customer or courtesan alike. In fact, so preternatural was his ability to touch the pusher of a customer without ever shedding his kimono that within three sweeps, he had already reached the prestigious rank among courtesans of a Boiran (boy oiran), which offered him considerable wealth and empowered him with the right to turn away any offer made in poor taste, even if they were of a higher-blooded caste. It was due to this prestige that he was later discovered by his next wealthy benefactor, who was the leader of a troupe of Grubuki actors, and began his next career as the ONNAGATA. Attached is one of the most popularly sold woodblock-print wall scrolls of his likeness, titled "Delicious Fucking Shit," for the ambiguity of its referral to either the grub-tempura or the courtesan himself. More of Uesugi Karkat's history to come in the following chitts. https://cdn.imgchest.com/files/17e0aad9aa46.png #uesugikarkat
Diamonds Droog. Just a reminder.
caliborn-sama has been drawing with me for so long that ive lost track at this point i need to catch up with whats going on while ive been trying to teach him proper human male hand anatomy
:o/ Quite. :o/ We might have screwed the pooch on this one.
MAY YOUR STAY BE UNFORGETTABLE 🗝「@scratchDoctor https://files.catbox.moe/rao5p1.png」
what the fuck happened to karkat!
NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO -- carbolicGalvanologist [CG] has lost connection to the timeline. --
I'VE STARTED USING MY OWN METRIC IN A LIMP-FRONDED ATTEMPT TO TRACK *SOME* SEMBLANCE OF THE PASSAGE OF TIME *WITHOUT* REFERRING TO ANY OF THE EVIL FUCKING CLOCKS FESTOONING THIS HELLHOLE. IT'S AN INCREMENT OF MY OWN INVENTION. THEY'RE CALLED KARKAT HOURS. ONE KARKAT HOUR = ANY AMOUNT OF TIME SPENT DOING SOME BULLSHIT THAT FEELS LIKE IT IS *ACTIVELY* AGING ME AND ROBBING ME OF MY WANING LIFE FORCE. SO BASICALLY, ANY SHIT THAT MAKES ME OLD. LIKE THIS JOB. THIS JOB IS MAKING ME OLD. WE ARE FORTY-THREE KARKAT HOURS IN. I'VE SWEPT UP THE FLOOR. AS IN I'VE SWEPT THE ENTIRE FLOOR *OUT* OF THIS ABLUTION BLOCK, BECAUSE I'M PRETTY SURE SHE PUT ON THE BIGGEST BOOTS HER STUMPY LITTLE LEGS COULD FIT INTO AND STOMPED THE TILE INTO FUCKING GRAVEL. I'M GOING TO HAVE TO REDO THIS WHOLE FUCKING THING. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU TO DEATH. WRITING THIS CHITT TOOK AN ENTIRE KARKAT HOUR IN OF ITSELF. WILL UPDATE AS NEEDED.
LOOK AT THIS BULLSHIT. LOOK AT IT. I CAN'T FATHOM HOW SHE EVEN GOT IT THIS BAD. NOTHING BUT SEVERE DECOMPOSITION COULD HAVE GOTTEN THE ABLUTION BLOCK INTO A STATE OF THIS MUCH GROTTY FUCKING PUTRESCENCE. THIS ABLUTION BLOCK HAS HAD A LONGER DAY THAN *I* HAVE. AND SINCE THE MOMENT I SET FROND IN THIS GRUBFORSAKEN GREEN LABYRINTH, I FEEL LIKE THE DAY THAT *I'VE* HAD HAS YET TO FUCKING CEASE. NOT EVEN THE LAMEST EXCUSE FOR A DAYMARE-INFESTED NAP ON THE LOUNGEPLANK DID ANYTHING TO UNFUCK MY SPONGE AFTER THE LAST GAUNTLET MY SUPERVISOR FROM HELL THREW MY WAY. LIKE I'M LIVING ONE LONG, CONTINUOUS WORK-NIGHT. NO TENS. NO THIRTIES. AND NO LIMIT WITHIN SIGHT OF HOW MANY HOURS CAN BE CONTAINED WITHIN A SINGLE BILUNAR PERIGEE. AS FAR AS I'M AWARE, KARKAT'S LONG DAY AT THE LONG DAY MANSION #KLDATLDM #NOTPUNCHYENOUGH IS AT AN ONGOING THIRTY-TWO HOURS AND COUNTING. AND THAT'S A BALLPARK ESTIMATE, BASED OFF COUNTING THE RINGS UNDER MY FUCKING GANDERBULBS. FUCK ME. I'M GOING TO WRING HER NECK LIKE A TOWEL. SIGH. LET'S GET THIS GRUBLOAF. HTTPS://CDN.IMGCHEST.COM/FILES/FFAC10FCDC1F.PNG
XDXD Another night filled with insomnia and doomscrolling over this gogforsaken night until my eyes finally close. XDXD
TWELVE HOURS. TWELVE. FUCKING. HOURS. THAT'S HOW LONG IT TOOK TO RESTORE THE DOMESTIC BOMB CRATER THAT THE @HANDMAID SO BENEVOLENTLY LEFT BEHIND FOR ME TO SOMEHOW ALCHEMIZE INTO SOMETHING RESEMBLING A HABITABLE NUTRITION BLOCK. AND WHEN I SAY "ALCHEMIZE," I DON'T JUST MEAN IT LITERALLY. I MEAN THAT NOTHING SHORT OF GENUINE FUCKING MAGIC COULD HAVE RESTORED THIS SMOKING RUIN FROM THE CATACLYSMIC POST-AFUCKALYPTIC STATE THAT THIS BLOCK WAS IN WHEN I CHARGED IN MOP-FIRST LIKE A LANCE-WIELDING CAVALREAPER BLASTING MY MIGHTY FUCKTRUMPET TO THE CLARION CALL OF BRUTAL, UNGLAMOROUS, SOUL-BLACKENING WAR. A WAR ON MESS. A WAR ON *ALL* MESSES. A WAR ON THE *IDEA* OF A MESS. A WAR THAT I, KARKAT VANTAS, THE CHALKBOX, RENOWNED LEADER OF THE LEGIONS OF THE MOST OBNOXIOUS, SHIT-SPEWING SLOBS IN THIS OR ANY UNIVERSE, HAVE MARKED BY STAKING MY BANNER IN THE FIRST GROUND GAINED. A GREAT BATTLE WAS WON HERE. A CULINARY BLOCK WAS FUCKED. AND I HAVE UNFUCKED IT. BEHOLD. SO CLEAN, YOU CAN SEE YOUR REFLECTION IN IT. AT THE RISK OF STARING AT YOUR UGLY MUG FOR LONG ENOUGH TO VOMIT ALL OVER MY HARD WORK, AT WHICH POINT I'LL BE THERE TO BEAT YOUR HEAD WITH THIS MOP UNTIL IT RECEDES INTO YOUR TORSO LIKE A SHELLBEAST BEING WALLOPED INTO MEEK, FABULOSO-SCENTED SUBMISSION. AND THEN I'LL CLEAN AGAIN, BECAUSE THE MESS MAY NO LONGER ENTER HERE. IT IS CONQUERED. IT IS GUARDED. IT IS GROUND THAT I HOLD. AND YOU CAN PRY IT FROM MY COLD, TWITCHING PRONGSTUBS. AND BY THE WAY, THE ONLY REASON I KNEW THAT IT HAD BEEN TWELVE HOURS IS BECAUSE I *ASKED* SOMEONE AFTER IT WAS OVER. I HAD TO NEARLY FUCKING BLINDFOLD MYSELF TO KEEP ANY VISIBLE TIMEPIECE OUT OF MY LINE OF SIGHT, LEST I UNDO ALL OF MY HARD WORK WITH ONE SINGLE RUBBER-BANDING GLANCE OF TIMELINE-DISRUPTING CHUCKLEFUCKERY. DO YOU KNOW HOW FUCKING HARD IT IS NOT TO LOOK AT A CLOCK IN THIS COCKAMAMIE NIGHTMARE MANSION? IT'S LIKE ASKING ME TO PICK FLY SHIT OUT OF PEPPER. WHICH I FRANKLY WOULD HAVE RATHER DONE. BUT INSTEAD, I MANAGED TO PLAY TROLL MISSION: IMPOSSIBLE WITH MY GANDERBULBS. I PHYSICALLY BLOCKED EVERY CLOCK FROM SIGHT, EVEN AS THE ENDLESS, CACOPHONOUS TICKING DRONED ON. AND ON. AND ON. AND ON. UNTIL I COULD SWEAR THAT EACH TICK, TOCK, AND PITCH MICROVARIATION OF THE TWO THEREAFTER WAS HAMMERING ACTUAL NAILS INTO MY AURICULAR CLOTS. AND I DID IT. I GAMED THIS STUPID MC ESCHER SAW TRAP. I LEARNED THE RULES OF THIS FUCKED UP FUNHOUSE OF TEMPORAL DEVILRY AND I DID MAJESTIC BACKFLIPS OVER THEM WITH THE GRACE OF AN ARCTIC SEA MAMMAL. I STRUNG MY UGLY GREEN TIE AROUND ITS NECK AND GAROTTED IT OVER MY BACK UNTIL IT WENT SLACK IN MY TAUT, GLOVED PRONGS. I HAVE EMERGED BLOODY, BRUISED, AND EMOTIONALLY CALLUSED TO THE POINT OF A NUMBNESS THAT HAS STILL NOT SUBSIDED. AND I HAVE EMERGED VICTORIOUS. I THINK. I MIGHT. START SMOKING. ANYWAY. FEEL FREE TO COME IN HERE AND MAKE YOUR OWN DAMN TEA. I ORGANIZED EVERYTHING BY TYPE, BRAND, LOOSE-LEAF OR BAGGED, STEEPING TIME, AND KEPT LIKE COLORS ADJACENT JUST TO KEEP EVERYTHING MARGINALLY MORE COPACETIC. I DIDN'T HAVE TO DO IT, BUT I DID. AS ONE FINAL FLOURISH OF A FUCK YOU. I'M GOING TO GO AND COLLAPSE ON A LOUNGEPLANK FOR FIFTY-NINE MINUTES, OPEN ONE GANDERBULB, STARE AT ANOTHER FUCKING CLOCK, AND REPEAT THIS PROCESS UNTIL I'VE HAD SOMETHING RESEMBLING EIGHT HOURS OF RAW, SOPORLESS, BLOODSHOT REST BEFORE I START ON THE ABLUTION TRAP. THE LONG DAY CONTINUES. HTTPS://CDN.IMGCHEST.COM/FILES/E7F333FBB437.PNG
I THINK THE BIGGEST CASUALTY OF BEING CREATORS WITH INFINITE MONEY AND THE ALCHEMIZING CAPABILITY TO MAKE WHATEVER WE WANT LITERALLY WHENEVER IS THAT I CAN'T UNLEASH THE GIFTPOCALYPSE THAT I WANT TO ON WRIGGLING DAYS AND TWELFTH PERIGEES EVE. HOW THE FUCK DO YOU SHOP FOR PEOPLE WHO HAVE EVERYTHING? YOU CAN ONLY GIFT EXPERIENCES AND EVEN THEN, WHO THE FUCK WANTS AN ~EXPERIENCE~ WITH KARKAT VANTAS RAGING OVER IT ALL THE TIME. WHO KNOWS. MAYBE I CAN TAKE EVERYONE MINIGOLFING SOMETIME, THAT'S SOME SHIT YOU DO FOR WRIGGLING DAYS, RIGHT?
MAY YOUR STAY BE UNFORGETTABLE 🗝「It was already obvious I had my position, I do welcome the others who are coming onboard as I do as well. The transition has been smooth, complacent, welcoming. Like sugar in tea. To those who are still in the process of application, do know what you're signing up to. It is a changing experience, but one that's colorful and different from usual life. A toss-up in the wind, one could state. I personally was always going to be here one light, whether it was sooner or later it didn't matter. It happens all the same, and that's something one grows comfortable with knowing. Predestination can be soothing. While there may be no explicit joy in what I do, I do as I do for the pride of knowing I am doing well. To live is to serve. And to serve is to live. Every key on the ring is meaningful in it's own way no matter how one could see it. It is my hope that my time as the Doormaid will continue on. As there's no foreseeable future for me where I can see myself away from this position. Take that as you will, take that as you must. And to my fellow members / workers, please let me know if you need anything. I am at your service no matter where you are, no matter how far you are. Call my name, and I'll be there as quick as one like me can be. Thank you for the position. https://files.catbox.moe/x23jud.png」
OH MY *GOD* I AM THE MOST BLOCKHEADED DOLT TO EVER CAREEN HELPLESSLY INTO PARADOX SPACE.
Moral of the story. Stop listening to Scratch. Stop working for him. Stop cozying up to the felt. I'm going to go have a girl's night with Snow now.
:o) Wonderful to have you on board, my friend. :o) We are going to have so much fun together! :o) Our merry family grows larger and larger... :o) We haven't had a shakeup like this in some time... :o) Revelries 6:18 - "Oh scream, oh cry, oh laugh and laugh and laugh, oh sing! Oh, tell it again!"
ATTENTION, WORTHLESS CHITTRLINGS. LONG TIME, NO CHITT. THERE HAVE BEEN SOME *AGGRAVATING* DEVELOPMENTS IN MY CAREER AS A PLATFORM USER, AS A CREATOR, AND ABOVE ALL, AS ONE OF THE UNLUCKY JACKOFFS STILL UNACCOUNTABLY FORCED TO EXIST IN A PLACE AND TIME WITHIN A MULTIVERSAL CONTINUITY OF ENDLESS, CACOPHONOUS FUCKRUMPUS PARADOX CHICANERY. BECAUSE I'VE BEEN BUSY TRYING AND FAILING TO WRIGGLE OUT OF THESE DEVELOPMENTS, I HAVEN'T REALLY BEEN AROUND TO PROVIDE AN UPDATE. I'M GOING TO DO THAT NOW. SO DON'T MAKE ME REPEAT MYSELF, BECAUSE I WON'T. I'LL JUST PULL UP THIS CHITT, SEIZE YOU VIOLENTLY BY THE HEAD, AND SHOVE YOUR BLOODSHOT GANDERBULBS AGAINST THE SCREEN UNTIL THE AMBIENT HEAT COOKS THEM LIKE EGGS. READ, SHITSPONGE. READ THIS AND GET OFF MY DORSAL RIDGE ABOUT IT, BECAUSE I'M GOING TO GIVE YOU THE WHOLE. FUCKING. SCOOP. STARTING WITH THE BIG ONE. I WORK FOR THE FELT, NOW. I KNOW WHAT YOU'RE THINKING. I CAN HEAR THE QUESTION AT THE VERY FRONT OF YOUR THOUGHTSPONGE DOING BACKFLIPS, FRONTFLIPS, CARTWHEELS, AND ACROBATIC FUCKING PIROUETTES. "KARKAT, WHAT KIND OF TURBO-CHARGED JUJU-FLAVORED CRACK HAVE YOU BEEN SMOKING TO DO SOMETHING LIKE THAT? DIDN'T YOU SPEND YOUR ENTIRE SESSION FIGHTING THIS JOLLY GREEN MANLET AND HIS BUMBLING CADRE OF BUMBLING ASS-BURGLARS? WHAT IN THE FRESH, FULMINATING *FUCK* MADE YOU SIGN A CONTRACT WITH *THESE* LOONEYBLOCK TIME BANDITS?" THE SHORT ANSWER? THE MIME MADE ME DO IT. LITERALLY. MY SPONGE STILL HURTS FROM WHERE HE SHOVED HIS PRONG IN IT LIKE A GLOVE AND MADE ME TYPE UP THAT APPLICATION. AND I DON'T KNOW WHAT THE PLAN IS HERE, BUT I'M WILLING TO BET *ANYTHING* THAT HE'S GOT ONE. SO YES. AGAINST MY WILL. AGAINST MY BETTER JUDGEMENT. AGAINST A THOUSAND ETERNITIES OF BALEFUL, ENDLESS SUFFERING, I HAVE A NEW NINE TO FIVE. AND WITH IT, A NEW TITLE. ONE WHICH I AM *OBLIGATED* TO USE IN OFFICIAL CAPACITY, BUT I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU CALL ME "CHALKBOX" WHILE I'M OFF THE CLOCK, I'M GOING TO INVENT A NEW WAY TO PERFORM A LOBOTOMY. FUCK YOU, KURLOZ. FUCK YOU, SCRATCH. AND MOST OF ALL, COMING IN HARD WITH THE FUCK YOU X3 COMBO, IT'S A WHOPPING FIVE-SCOOP, CHOCOLATE-DRIZZLED FUCK YOU SUNDAE FESTOONED WITH OBLONG BUNCHFRUIT, WHIPPED CREAM, SPRINKLES, AND A CHERRY-RED MIDDLE FINGER ON TOP FOR MR. MALDING GREEN MANLET HIMSELF. I'M WEARING THE BADGE OUT OF SPITE. I AM CLOCKING IN FOR THE LONGEST DAY AT THE LONG DAY FACTORY I HAVE EVER WORKED. AND IF I EVER MANAGE TO CLOCK OUT, THERE WILL BE *HELL* TO PAY. ANYWAYS. I HAVE TO GO MOP UP A NASTY, REEKING PUDDLE OF NON-NEWTONIAN ECTO-PHLEGM, OR SOMETHING. HERE'S A PICTURE FOR THE ALGORITHM. THIS IS THE CHALKBOX, SAYING, "GO BRING THAT PILE OF DIRTY CUPS AND PLATES IN YOUR RESPITEBLOCK TO THE SINK, YOU FILTHY, WALLOWING SLOBHOGS." HTTPS://CDN.IMGCHEST.COM/FILES/67CB4DD16DFF.JPG
What kind of job do you have—
: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.
When I'm meeting a potential client in the dead of night and she pulls out her cigarette holder and a lighter: https://media.tenor.com/rCF5e02X8uwAAAAM/jamiroquai-grab.gif
WORDLE ATTEMPTED! CAN YOU DO BETTER? TRY THIS WORDLE: HTTPS://MYWORDLE.STRIVEMATH.COM/?WORD=ZFFRR ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ #MYWORDLE FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
MAY YOUR STAY BE UNFORGETTABLE 🗝「Whilst I may think of myself as important, it’s far more important to remind myself of my unimportance. For example, whilst I may be in my story important.. I am a footnote in hers. I will never be something more than that. Nothing more to expect. Nothing more to gain. I am but the ring in a desk, a memory in the wind.」
MAY YOUR STAY BE UNFORGETTABLE 🗝「Even now, I am to remind myself just how little I really matter. No matter how much help I have done. Someone else would’ve done it in my place. Someone else will love her. Someone else already has. I believe it’s been long enough that I should get back to cleaning, corpses won’t clean themselves up.」
MAY YOUR STAY BE UNFORGETTABLE 🗝「Often, you have to remind your guests they are simply guests. They may have ego, they may think of themselves as new arrivals from the heavens above, in the end they are your guest. Those who are terrible guests tend to find themselves having better manners with a bit of.. forceful coaxing.」
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Diamonds Droog.
I WOULD LIKE TO MAKE A FORMAL APOLOGY TO @HANDMAID, MISS DAMARA MEGIDO OF THE FELT SYNDICATE FOR MY EARLIER BEHAVIOR. I WAS CAUGHT UP IN THE THROES OF ONE MIGHT CALL A MOMENT OF FRUSTRATION TO UNRELATED AFFAIRS AND MAY HAVE GOTTEN A LITTLE TOO BIG FOR MY BRITCHES. I'M REALLY SORRY, PLEASE DON'T KILL ME SIGNED, KARKAT VANTAS.
ALSO FOR MY NEXT WATCH THROUGH CAN THE FELT LIKE THE ENTIRE FELT NOT INVADE AND TAKE OVER, PLEASE? I DON'T WORK THERE, I DON'T WORK FOR YOU, I THINK YOUR PLACE OF BUSINESS IS ABOUT AS DISREPUTABLE AS THEY COME. INDIVIDUAL MEMBERS MAY ATTEND BUT NOT ON THE CLOCK.
FOR YOU, SERPAZ? THE WORLD. THE ONLY MOTHERFUCKER IN THERE WHO DIDN'T TRY MY GOD DAMN PATIENCE.
XDXD If anybody needs me, I'll be locked in my respiteblock for the foreseeable future of this season. XDXD
↘️okay he does not call me that.↘️
↘️you are illiterate, no wonder you have no issue authoring these detestable statements.↘️ ↗️IT LITERALLY SAYS WHO I AM ON EVERY POST.↗️ ↘️wrothe aiaray.↘️ ↗️HIS RIGHT EXTENSION.↗️ ↘️his right prong man.↘️ ↗️HIS SILLY HOPBEAST.↗️
My lusus sure does love throwing a fit whenever I don’t give her attention—