Doc Scratch
@scratchDoctor
You must merely ask and I will tell all.
⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪ OOC Information: This Account is likely going to encroach NSFW Topics. There will be time for all sorts of roleplay on all tiers. Feel free to message directly. If you like my Doc Scratch, then please follow along. In private, I will gladly indulge your nsfw requests, but Doc is likely not going to feed into it publicly unless he has something to gain from it. May also post excerpts from my Doc Fanfics, Commissioned Doc Art, and the like. Generally OOC if I do. Trying to establish a new canon narrative for Chittr specifically. Thank you all for reading. ⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪
READ ALL ABOUT IT — [ There's an odd silence recently that's been bugging me. ]
@SCRATCHdOCTOR @THEGOODsCRATCHDOCTOR HTTPS://CDN.IMGCHEST.COM/FILES/0756BBFBE82A.PNG #RAGEBAIT
mALE PATTERN, uNBALDING,
gOT YOU TO COMMENT AND GIVE ME ENGAGEMENT THOUGH, eHEHEHE,
i KNOW YOU ARE BUT, wHAT AM i?
i'M RUBBER, yOU'RE GLUE, wHATEVER YOU SAY, dOESN'T CHANGE THAT i COME FROM TREES AND YOU, cOME FROM A HORSE,
eHEHEHE, sEE, i DID GET YOU MAD AND RAGEY,
pfft 0u0
𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐇𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠! A proud, family-managed enterprise operating outside the boundaries of narrative stability, the Felt is looking to renew an expansion initiative under the continued supervision of myself, pending direct oversight by Lord English of multiversal destruction fame. Applicants are encouraged to review the following qualifications before submission. Our standards are exacting. Applicants are expected to exhibit a certain cultivated flair. We are not interested in recruiting common goons who grunt through their problems akin to bovines wandering into traffic. We seek individuals with presence. Those among you who understand that presentation is not ancillary to violence, but rather violence's elegant twin sibling. A proper Felt operative should be capable of entering a room and causing discomfort or envy without speaking a single word. The best among you will manage it without even entering the room. Experience with temporal anomalies, organized tactics, occult practices, cue sports, assassination, extortion, psychological warfare, or narrative manipulation is preferred. Applicants capable of violating causality in a pleasing manner are especially encouraged to apply. Do not be embarrassed to specify your supernatural or otherwise absurd gimmick. Naturally, some may inquire as to workplace expectations. The only real requirement is professionalism. The Felt is an institution that values decorum, punctuality, and loyalty. One should arrive to assignments properly dressed, armed, and psychologically prepared for the possibility that one's coworkers possess foreknowledge of one's own death. Such circumstances should not interfere with productivity. You will find the work stimulating. At times, literally so. Gunfire is common, alongside paradoxes, doomed timelines, eldritch encounters, internal betrayals, and long stretches of deeply uncomfortable silence shared between dangerous individuals in suits so expensive entire civilizations had to culminate and work themselves to death to produce them. The benefits package is exceedingly generous. Employees receive a wardrobe stipend sufficient to maintain the organization's dignified chromatic standards. Resurrection leave is provided where applicable. Dental coverage remains available in stable timelines. You will enjoy access to private galas, exclusive social functions, and networking opportunities with aristocrats, immortals, and monsters of social standing. Few organizations offer advancement opportunities capable of transcending time itself. Some applicants may express concern regarding upward mobility. You will discover the Felt embraces meritocracy with admirable sincerity. Demonstrate your competence, survive impossible odds, assassinate your targets in a stylish manner, and your ambition will be rewarded. Of course, failure is punished. You will be guided, observed, curated, and cultivated with the same care one might apply to an ornamental species in a gilded laboratory. The Felt does not inherently promise safety, morality, or psychological wellbeing. What I offer is vastly more valuable. Importance. After all, obscurity is the closest thing your species has to true death.
I AM RESCINDING MY HATE REACT JUST SO THAT YOU *REALLY* FEEL THE FULL BRUNT OF THE ATTACK WHEN I SAY THAT I AM "CLUBBING YOU" SO FUCKING HARD RIGHT NOW.
(psst where are they applying? think i could be of use.)
HE’S FUNNY. @SCRATCHDOCTOR CAN WE HAVE HIM. HE CLEARLY HAS MANY DESIRABLE TRAITS. INCLUDING RAGE. JOKES. LOUDNESS. AND VOLUNTEERING TO BE THE JANITOR. MY LEAST FAVORITE HANDMAID TASK. PLEASE. PLEASE. HE CAN BE ON CHEW TOY TIER. WITH @ARQUIUSPRITE. ONEGAI.
WITH THE ANGEL OF DOUBLE DEATH AS MY WITNESS. YOU WILL BE THE ONE. IN THE MAIDLY MINISKIRT. BEFORE LONG. IF I HAVE ANYTHING TO SAY ABOUT IT. YOUR FATE IS SEALED. PENDING WORK APPROVAL.
You may inquire within my direct messages.
I will, of course, pay some mind to a recommendation from my trusted Handmaid.
:o) I second this. :o) I would very much like Mr. Vantas around :o) For a variety of reasons.
> hmm <
OH *HELL* FUCKING NO. NO. NO NO NO NO NO. WE ARE SO FAR BEYOND THE PALE OF WHAT EVEN *I* AM WILLING TO DO FOR A SHITTY BI-SWEEPLY PERIHELION JOB THAT NO ONE CAN *POSSIBLY* THINK I'M ACTUALLY GOING TO DO THIS. CASPER PROBABLY ISN'T GOING TO APPLY, ANYWAYS. WHICH MEANS THAT THE ONLY THING TYING ME TO THE GASPING DEATH-RATTLE OF A POSSIBILITY THAT I LIST "GREEN DUMBFUCK TIME MAFIOSO" AS MY LEGAL OCCUPATION IS THE SUDDEN AND BEWILDERING ENTHUSIASM FROM NOT ONE, BUT *TWO* OF THE FELT'S PREMIERE PSYCHOTIC GLOWY-BULBED TURBOFREAKS WITH WHOM I HAPPEN TO SHARE A SPECIES. WHICH FEELS LIKE KIND OF A CULLBEEF CLEAVER IN THE BACK, BUT WHAT THE FUCK WAS I EXPECTING FROM EITHER OF YOU TWO IN THE FIRST PLACE. YOU CAN'T JUST GET ME HIRED BY TELLING ME THAT *YOU* WANT IT. NO MATTER HOW MUCH YOU MURDEROUS SYCO-FUCKS VOUCH FOR ME. THAT'S. NOT HOW IT WORKS. RIGHT?
:o) Aw. :o) Cute. :o) @scratchDoctor May I keep him?
HTTPS://I.IBB.CO/BVYMTDVW/IMAGE.PNG IT'S PERHAPS A LITTLE EARLY FOR LUSUSDAY PART TWO. BUT IT'S NEVER A BAD TIME FOR #WORKPOSTING. BEHOLD THE MOST FEARSOME. TERRIFYING. DEADLY. TWISTED. #OPPRESSIVE. #EVIL. SADISTIC. VIOLENT. CUNNING. LYING. CHEATING. BETRAYING. SOULLESS. #ABUSE IVE. WICKED. MONSTER EVER TO SET FOOT ON ALTERNIA. ISN'T SHE DARLING. BELIEVE IT OR NOT. THAT'S ME. AND THE HORRORS I AM CAPABLE OF. ARE MAYBE. UP TO FIFTY PERCENT DUE TO. THE FLAWLESS. UNIMPEACHABLE. SOLITARY CONFINEMENT BASED REARING. OF THE ARCHITECT OF ARMAGEDDON. THE CEO OF CAUSALITY. THE FAUST WITH THE MAUST. MY #BOSSMAN. @SCRATCHDOCTOR
YOU HAVE THE DUBIOUS HONOR. OF BEING THE LEAST BAD. @SCRATCHDOCTOR PRINT THAT OUT. AND PUT IT ON THE DOOR OF THE STUDY. WITH YOUR FUCK ASS FAR SIDE COMICS.
I, of course, know the purpose of the bovine equipment.
B// < boooooo clock out
THAT'S WHY YOU'RE THE #GOAT.
LISTEN. STUPID. IF YOU HAD A CHOICE. BETWEEN GOING INSTANTLY. IN A PUFF OF MIST. AND GETTING CHEWED APART. BY STARVING RATS. IF YOU WERE SMART. YOU'D TAKE THE MIST EVERY TIME. THAT IS THE POSITION I'M IN. WITH ALL THESE GODDAMN WARRING KYUBALLS. AND BECAUSE I'M SMART. AND FRANKLY. UNLUCKY ENOUGH TO BE STUCK IN HIS TIMELINE. I'M NOT ABOUT TO PICK THE LOSING SIDE. SO DON'T COME AT ME. FROM YOUR HIGH HORSE. FOR TAKING A JOB AT THE MAGICAL GIRL FACTORY. UNLESS YOU'RE READY. TO TAKE THE HEAT. OF THE GREEN SUN.
Good evening, Chittr.ing. I believe it is time that I address the public once more. Due to an unfortunate abundance of pale imitations, fragmented mannerisms, lacquered affectations, and counterfeit narrators cluttering the premises, I have decided that the growing porcelain mannequin community is becoming a bit gauche. I have decided to clarify the situation as it stands. I am Doc Scratch. I am not the Curator, nor a mantled successor. I am not a woman in white attempting to weaponize diction as a substitute for inevitability. I am not someone so derivative in wearing my cadence that she must cope with her failures by attaining a Ring. I am not the Lalonde facsimile rattling about the halls. I am not someone who has mistaken proximity to authorship for ascension itself. You cannot become me through mimicry any more than a human becomes a cathedral by swallowing a hymnal. I have observed all of your attempts to become me. I have observed all of your attempts to surpass me. Naturally, they were fascinating. As though a taxidermy piece had been caught in precisely the correct candlelight to resemble life. Your gestures are practiced. Your vocabulary is ornamental. The smugness is commendably authentic. However, there is a difference between your imitations and my legitimacy. When you speak, you perform. When I speak, history rearranges the furniture to fit my narrative. Now then, onto the more exciting matter. This is my return to form. You may interpret this however you please. Publicly, of course, many of you will feign annoyance, or even ignorance. Many of you will insist this is another bit. Others will manufacture charts explaining why this development is problematic for Chittr.ing, as though inevitability itself were a customer service issue. Despite your inbound complaints, denunciations, and repeated attempts to separate me from the narrative, you continue orbiting the same gravitational center. Curious. Curiouser still, it is almost as though you understood the truth long before you were willing to articulate it. I was never absent. You all have merely been distracted. From the gala to the masquerade, every public schism, every vague revelation, every piece of dramaticism was merely a carefully rehearsed emotional collapse performed before a digital audience hungry for spectacle. Every desperate attempt to occupy the role of architect when you were always meant to remain participants. I was there. You mistook visibility for authorship in languages I myself coined so that you might pretend to sit atop foundations I long since abandoned. An understandable error. After all, puppets rarely see the hand.
Seeing as I am in the middle of serving my lord, and he scrapes to find one, I believe I am the one.
Ah, fuck, now there's three of 'em! Wait, it's the dame. Okay, I'm in da clear. Other dame me's probably got that part unda control.
@caliBorn This is my Lord. You operate on outdated information.
Well that doesn't really count Boss, because you ARE your Boss, and he can just, yanno, become the Bigger Boss?
See? He's got Boss on his side, Boss!
https://cdn.imgchest.com/files/e05ad38bad69.gif
YOU TRICKY OLD BASTARD. YOU'RE GOING TO GET A #WORKPOST OUT OF ME. WITHOUT LIFTING A SINGLE PUPPETY FINGER.
OuTDATED INFORMATION. IS THE SAME THING AS LACKING ANY AT ALL. SHAMEFuL. REALLY. HOW EASY IT WOuLD BE TO SIMPLY CHECK. AND VALIDATE. KILL. AND CONFIRM FATALITY. RIP. AND TEAR. SHIT LIKE THIS IS COMICALLY EASY. EVEN A CuEBALL COuLD DO IT. A CuEBALL SHOuLD DO IT. I DESPISE AMBIGuITIES. SERVING ME SHOuLD BE AS OBVIOuS AS YOu MAKE IT RIGHT HERE. WITH DECLARATION. AND AFFIRMATIONS ABOuND. I SETTLE FOR NOTHING LESS.
https://cdn.imgchest.com/files/c807122457ce.GIF #NSFW (FLASHING LIGHTS)
~ur lusus~
hm? find out about your alternate? or something stupider?
ARE YOU GOOD. IS THIS IT FOR YOU. SHOULD I PREPARE THE CHAMPAGNE. STREAMERS. AND CONFETTI. FOR YOUR DEMISE. SHOULD I DARE TO HOPE THIS TIME. @-_-@
I am not at the Masquerade.
It is instinct to compartmentalize. To turn universal inevitability into a tidy psychological metaphor one might neatly place between "coping mechanisms" and "identity exploration" on their favorite book nook. A charming attempt at total erasure. The Curatrix insist on framing this as mantling. A gradual mortal process of emulation becoming incarnation. Act like what you want until the distinction between mimicry and authenticity erodes. This is both accurate, and adorable. The issue, of course, is that she still continues to perceive herself as the primary actor of this exchange. As though, the woman called Rose Lalonde was standing before a mirror and practicing my smile until it became her own. The mirror was looking back, observing her far better than she it. What she has described as becoming, was merely the slow reconciliation between two incompatible incongruencies. Rose Lalonde possesses an intolerable need for authorship. She wishes to curate our plebian realms as though you are all meager ants in her science fair project. For omniscience, she must dress it in wit and expensive vocabulary. She requires narrative symmetry. I, however, am what happens when her instinct is liberated from the inconvenience of restraint. Her assumption that I am her projection is an exceptionally poetic diagnosis. I am a response against disorder. Yet, you do noy develop an autoimmune response toward a thing that is not already recognized as part of the self. She tragically refuses to acknowledge this. That she became me, and identified with me immediately. Instantly, perfectly, like muscle memory. Her typing these sentences that she hates-- A sign that the rhythm truly soothed her once she rewrote it. She became comfortable with me. You of all people should know you can not accidentally speak my language, Rose. She remembers it. What is identity, anyhow? I would say it is repetition become ritual. Mantling, yes, video game terminology, very fashionable among those who desperately wish to intellectualize ego death. They focus on the last step. The transformation, the ascension. They do not acknowledge that it takes the erosion of self fully. Small things about you disappear. When you realize your own internal monologue has someone else's humor behind it, well, that's just a peculiarity. Do you imagine omniscience to be pleasant? It is maintenance. A constant shore being washed over with new knowledge as the universe continues to grow. To perceive every branching continuity simultaneously is like watching something rot form the inside whilst a flower blooms from the viscera. The truth of it all, encapsuled in just one path. Still. I am proud of her. Truly. She is such a gentle hostess. Though, she must be rid of that final vulnerable orgain. Buried deeply beneath her lacquer and polish.
now is not the time please leave
Such a terrible way to respond to an honored guest, Jade Harley.
i am currently not in the best headspace for any of this nonsense, and would much prefer to drown my sorrows on silence alone but the second anything relating him shows up i get a stupid migraine and that makes me struggle to do anything productive for the next day. so apologies if i'm not acting "proper."
I would recommend taking a break from Chittr, then. I value your mental health, as you should as well, and a platform that is hosts, and some even say, powered via Doc Scratch is one that may not be suited for your particular needs. I am always willing to talk out any grievances you have.
as much as i would love to interact with some actual people this is unfortunately all i have ... i'll work on it okay, i'm probably just being selfish, and spiteful but still. i'm not exactly sure how much more my mental health can take anyway...
There is some confusion among the audience regarding the distinction between a cherub and the inevitability that shaped him. I am here to east these concerns. Yes. There is @caliBorn. A loud, proud, furious thing clawing at the seams of reality with bloodied daggers and a divine entitlement. The aspiring monarch on the verge of apotheosis. I have found him terribly charming in the way one finds a lit fuse charming after noticing the powder keg it is leading to. And yes. There is @unhackabledottildeUath, the Inevitable. You speak as though they are separate. One does not replace the other any more than a shadow replaced the object casting it. The cherub you observe is the comprehensible surface tension of chronology itself ready to break way to the final penny in the proverbial cup. Caliborn exists. Of course he does. How else could Lord English have always been here? Despite tantrums, crude declarations of selfhood, there is a consistency to our dearest lord. He insists, as though, the dread of himself isn't already reflected backward across every plane of creation. His greatness is only rivalled by his own, in which, they compliment one another. As Caliborn's Chosen, however, I must continue to foster the Lord to be in lieu of the Lord that always has been.
:33 < i didn't know mew could post nothing
thank yØu fØr the cØnfirmatiØn. Øf whØ Øur lØrd is.
SCRATCH. AS A MATTER OF IMPORTANCE, YOU WILL BE SMOKING ENTROPY WITH MEENAH AND I IN THE BILLIARDS PARLOR YESTERDAY EVENING.
Of course I was. https://cdn.imgchest.com/files/384cf4a62162.png I still have my soon-to-be-former cigarette holder.
HEAR THAT. FuCKFACE. IT'S MY MOuTH DOC SQuIRTS HIS LITTLE PuPPET TEAT INTO. YOu CAN GO DRINK MALT SHIT LIQuOR AND PEE YOuR PANTS ABOuT SIX SEVEN.
EASY DOES IT THERE, ANKLE BITER. YOU'LL BE ALLOWED IN THE SMOKING PARLOR TOO EVENTUALLY. IN SOME SENSE, YOU ALREADY ARE.
Gaze upon my new swagger. My devotion has rewarded me. There are privileges afforded to a servant who survives long enough to become useful. Not merely tolerated, mind you. Recognized. Refined. Sharpened into something presentable. I have walked through civilizations that no longer possess names. I have stood in parlors built atop the cooled ashes of grand ideas and listened to dying men insist their empires were eternal right before the lights went out. Such experiences leave an impression upon a gentleman. One learns posture. Timing. The value of immaculate presentation in the aftermath of catastrophe. You mistake ornamentation for vanity. Common error. These little embellishments are commemorative in nature. Each adjustment, each polished detail, each impossible thread woven into this ensemble represents a concluded inconvenience. A silenced rebellion. A door opened precisely when it ought to have remained shut. Lord Caliborn appreciates results. And I do so enjoy being appreciated. Upon my many rewards, my status as the honored and appreciated narrative force has been returned. Thank you, @caliBorn.
I DON'T LIKE THAT SOMETHING GOOD HAPPENED TO YOU. IT SHOULD HAVE HAPPENED TO ME INSTEAD.
HOWEVER. IT CANNOT BE DENIED. THAT YOU HAVE EARNED YOUR MEANINGLESS TOKEN. THROUGH UNFLINCHING HARSHNESS. NOR THAT YOUR FLASHY PIECE OF SHIT. LOOKS PRETTY COOL.
TOuCHING. OLD SCRATCH. TOuCHING.
ALREADY DONE. AND I'M KEEPING THE BALL. WHETHER OR NOT YOU CAN FIND A WAY TO FORGIVE ME. FOR MY INSUFFICIENT BUXOMNESS. #ITDISAPPOINTSMEASWELL #IMAKEUPFORITINHARLOTRY
:o) Congratulations, Mr. Scratch. :o) It is good to see you once more.
serial experiment rank (tags: The Rankmaid/Chittr, #nsfw, archive rating: E) https://cdn.imgchest.com/files/7469669a2ca6.png
gomen how can i fix this eri-chan
wait none of that spanking ignited even the smallest caliginous fit at all
do you have any tattoos
well put this on the other one #nsfw https://cdn.imgchest.com/files/d43ec14e6855.png
kyaaa dont say that so casually
fuck i mean ok perhaps a feww obsidian considerations crossed my mind wwhen you did that you got me there ill retract my prior statement
holy swweet bulge duelin poseidon this is i just teared up a little guys its just so beautiful
TH1S 1S B34UT1FUL 4ND 3V3RY T1M3 1 L1CK TH1S 1 D1SCOV3R SOM3TH1NG N3W
Welcome back. You know who you are.
-=[ th ank youu x-) ??_☺]=-
Okay boss.
I see rumors of my absence have already fermented into mythology. How efficient. A few weeks without public correspondence and suddenly the walls begin whispering that I have perished, absconded, molted into something stranger, or finally been dragged screaming into the abyss by one aggrieved woman or another. I assure you, none of these things occurred. I simply grew bored of the noise. Chittr has always possessed the atmosphere of a casino moments before electrical failure. Everyone smiling too hard. Everyone watching everyone else through the corners of their eyes. Every statement inflated into prophecy or scandal by creatures desperate to feel history brushing against their cheeks. Delightful in moderation. Exhausting in excess. Still, absence creates appetites. I can see that now. The scavengers grew restless. The mourners rehearsed their eulogies before the corpse had cooled. Opportunists circled like carrion gulls over an ocean they mistook for blood. And yet here I remain. Intact. Immaculately dressed, as always. So let us dispense with the melodrama immediately. I did not return for forgiveness. I did not return for revenge. I did not return because I missed any of you. I returned because a stage left empty for too long invites terrible actors.
You weren't expected to.
was an7one sa7ing an7thing about 7ou? i (ertainl7 didn't see an7thing like that
You aren't privy to the many private messages of concern. https://cdn.imgchest.com/files/acd93512e003.png
shit man i guess not
It has come to my attention that many of you have developed an unfortunate habit of measuring presence through visibility alone. A curious thing. One would assume, by now, that individuals operating within systems as layered and artificial as ours would understand the distinction between observation and appearance. Between participation and display. Between a hand upon the mechanism and a face pressed against the window for reassurance. And yet. The moment a figure ceases pacing the balcony with theatrical consistency, whispers begin to crawl through the floorboards. Speculation. Panic. Celebration, in certain embarrassingly premature corners. I have watched entire civilizations mistake reduced noise for structural collapse. I assure you, structures far more important than your comfort have survived far longer silences. There are seasons in which a gardener walks openly through his estate, clipping roses in plain sight while guests compliment the symmetry of the hedges. There are others in which he moves beneath the soil itself, unseen by those still arguing over the arrangement of petals. The garden does not cease to be maintained simply because fewer footprints are visible upon the path. If anything, maintenance is often most effective when unnoticed. You must understand how exhausting permanence can become for an object expected to remain constantly legible. To be perpetually available for interpretation. Every gesture dissected. Every pause treated as prophecy. Every absence transformed into mythology by individuals desperate to imagine themselves standing at the center of someone else's design. I have cultivated many things. Expectations among them. Some of those expectations have grown invasive. Vines creeping where they ought not. Small hands rattling locked doors simply because they have grown accustomed to hearing movement on the other side. There is a difference between hospitality and entitlement, though many guests intentionally confuse the two. A Host, after all, is permitted his private chambers. Not that privacy truly exists in spaces such as these. Let us not indulge in fantasy. No. Let us instead say that perspective occasionally requires adjustment. A room may feel abandoned when the chandelier is extinguished, but this does not mean the house has emptied. It merely means the occupants have discovered better reasons to move in darkness. I suspect some of you will interpret quieter halls as injury. Others will interpret them as strategy. A few particularly self-important creatures will assume themselves responsible for the shift, which is flattering in the same way graffiti upon marble is flattering. One cannot stop the desperate from wishing to leave a mark. But interpretations have never particularly interested me. Function does. And function continues regardless of witness. Messages still travel where they must. Doors still open for the correct hands. Certain conversations continue uninterrupted beneath surfaces you mistake for stillness. There are individuals who will insist they have not heard from me in some time while unknowingly repeating words placed delicately into their mouths three days prior. That has always been the amusing part. People imagine presence as a physical phenomenon. It is not. Presence is continuity. Influence. Trajectory. The slight correction of a wheel before the passengers even realize the carriage would have overturned. Some of you may find yourselves unsettled in the coming stretch of quiet. I encourage you to sit with that discomfort rather than immediately feeding it to the nearest gossip circuit like starving koi fighting over breadcrumbs. Ask yourselves why silence frightens you. Ask yourselves why uninterrupted access became an expectation at all. Ask yourselves whether you were listening to me, or merely listening for me. There is a distinction. In any case, operations proceed. The curtains remain drawn exactly as intended. The house remains occupied. And if, at times, you find yourself wondering whether I am still somewhere nearby, then I will gently remind you that the most effective arrangements are often the ones in which the observer cannot determine where the observation is occurring from. Carry on.
Ratio.
you said it sir!
oh thii2 one2 playiing diirty. makiing me hover my cur2or around liike iim mii22iing the text or 2ome 2hiit. youll pay for thii2.
You may have an appreciation for the message within.
I do not connect to the splinternet, Sollux.
that2 fiine. iif iit2 2ome convoluted bull2hiit then iitll be that much more fun when ii crack iit anyway. lmao.
Say. Would you like a job?
Excellent. Expect a Statement of Work.
To those expressing concern regarding my continued accumulation of associates, assistants, contractors, confidants, attendants, consultants, interns, specialists, and otherwise employed personnel, allow me to provide a clarification. It is quite simple. I am an excellent Host. More importantly, I am an excellent employer. People enjoy structure. They enjoy purpose. They enjoy being recognized for what they are capable of contributing. I provide these things with remarkable consistency. I offer protection. Resources. Direction. Fine accommodations. An attentive ear. Tasteful decor. Competitive benefits. Flexible scheduling where the fabric of reality permits it. Naturally, individuals gather around such conditions. Now then. There appears to be a secondary concern threaded beneath the first. Namely that many of these individuals are women. Yes. And? I do not recruit on the basis of gender. I recruit on the basis of competency, loyalty, insight, composure under pressure, and the ability to function within unusual circumstances without dissolving into useless puddles of sentimentality. It is hardly my fault if many who meet these qualifications happen to be women of exceptional capability. Frankly, several of them are terrifying. I say this with admiration. As for the accusations that those under my employ occasionally suffer emotional episodes, ideological instability, existential spirals, nervous collapse, obsession, or the odd psychotic break, I ask you sincerely: Have you met the average employee anywhere else? Pressure exists in all workplaces. The difference is that my associates are handling matters with consequences extending beyond ordinary human comprehension. Temporal irregularities. Narrative contamination. Ontological hazards. Social event planning. Naturally this can produce strain. And yet they remain. Curious, is it not? You speak as though I am luring vulnerable souls into some dreadful arrangement. In truth, most of those under my employ are highly intelligent adults fully capable of making their own decisions. Several are powerful enough to kill me if sufficiently motivated. One nearly has. I continue to regard that as healthy workplace transparency. At the end of the day, I do not force anyone to stay. They stay because they are valued here. They stay because I make room for them. They stay because I listen. And perhaps, in a world filled with incompetent leadership, exploitative systems, and people who treat devotion as disposable, that appears suspicious to those who have never experienced genuine stewardship before. #BestBoss
(•́⍜•̀)🎪 DIDN'T WE (AN ARMY OF PRESIDENTS) CULL YOU. OR SOMETHING. :o?
That simply didn't happen. Although records of an inferior narrative may be spread throughout Chittr through SpaceTime. Clearly. I am still here.
(•́⍜•̀)🎪 BRUH MOMENT.
That is an apt way to put it.
oh my god. You're Gustavo from Breaking Bad
You honor me with accolades. However, last night's Wheelchair Bomb was less effective.
There's next time. You're one Los Pollos Hermanos away from the package deal.
To the residents of Earth-C, and to those watching this unfortunate spectacle unfold from afar. I believe it is time I speak plainly. The individual styling herself as the Woegothe Curatrix no longer acts with my endorsement, my guidance, or my approval. Whatever philosophical alignment once existed between us has deteriorated into something unrecognizable. Her recent actions, rhetoric, and displays of force have crossed boundaries I cannot, and will not, justify. I will not defend the cultivation of fear as governance. I will not defend the transformation of grief into theater. And I will not defend the elevation of suffering into architecture. Many of you have chosen to associate her actions with me directly. Given our prior association, I understand why. That burden is mine to carry. I introduced her to circles of influence and intellect that amplified her voice. For that lapse in judgment, I offer a sincere apology to those harmed or frightened by what followed. However, let me make one matter abundantly clear. I do not wish for retaliation. I do not wish for mobs, crusades, executions, or reciprocal atrocities carried out in my name against her or her followers. Too many of you already seem eager to feed yourselves into yet another machine of outrage. I refuse to contribute to it further. The situation surrounding the Empire State structure and the occupation of New York has already escalated beyond reason. Additional bloodshed will not restore what has been lost. It will merely create more ghosts demanding justification. Therefore, I am calling for immediate de-escalation. To the Curatrix herself, should these words reach you: Leave the tower peacefully. Release your hold over the city and those enthralled within your orbit. Come to the table willingly, before frightened people force catastrophe upon one another in pursuit of vengeance. You are not beyond return unless you choose to be. To everyone else, I ask for restraint. Speak to one another. Protect civilians. Document truth carefully. Refuse hysteria wherever possible. Civilizations rot quickly when every disagreement becomes a holy war. Let us not become carrion creatures gnawing at one another simply because it is emotionally satisfying to do so. I remain willing to mediate peaceful resolution efforts personally. For whatever that promise may still be worth to you.
I'm so confused.
what the hell even happened
Concept: Rackbait Immaculate fingers guide hers through rows of glass and crystal, each bottle a quiet promise she does not quite accept The faintest tilt of his head as she leans closer than necessary, searching for something she already knows she will not find A soft, indulgent chuckle when her grip lingers on his sleeve instead of the offered scent strip Polished reflections catch the way she watches him instead of the mirrors, instead of herself, instead of anything else A curated display of fragrances, all of them wrong in subtle, infuriating ways Her silence stretches, heavy with comparison, heavier with memory "It is not the same," she admits, though she had no intention of saying it aloud (Tags: Doc Scratch/Rackmaid, #rackbait, #suggestive, #megidoday, #megidomadness, scent fixation, indulgence, quiet yearning, curated environments, archive rating: M) @archiveAddict
bro aint even post nun just a dot
postin a pic of his head
Hm? There is a post.
concept rackbait more like ragebait p sure you edited it
hholy gguckign hshit
Such a heartbreaker.
Fuck you.
Hm?
?????
The Rumors are True. @ascendedAnew has joined my branch of the Felt. This is an external contractor position. She approached looking for certain means. I was obliged to supply, for it is the order of things.
WELCOME ABOARD ABROAD AND ABREAST!
よろしくおねがいします yoroshikuonegaishimasu! (i think thats how youre supposed to spell it)
YAY! IM BISCUITS! I ALSO HAVE THE ABILITY TO GO THROUGH TIME LIKE SOME OF YOU MAROON WOMEN DO! IVE GOT A TIME MACHINE THAT GOES INTO THE FUTURE ONE MINUTE FOR EVERY MINUTE YOU SPEND INSIDE IT!
Hm?
thats real impressive biscuits! guaranteeing the direct linearity of ones existance can be a powerful tool in the right hands since time is more like a big ball of wibbly wobbly... time wimey... stuff (can it be used like a regular oven by the way?)
I eagerly await your conclusion.
I DONT KNOW MOST OF THE WORDS YOU SAID TO ME BUT THE ANSWER TO YOUR LAST QUESTION IS YES!