♦ pitied by @takeTetrodotoxin
fucking hate that feeling wheres the passion wheres the real blood and sweat
this made me smile thanks man i needed it
► ERROR: CRASH REPORT. JUNIOR.EXE IS NOT AVAILABLE. ◄
theres that awful sense of foreboding again like a shitty spider sense tingling my fucking metal nutsack #nuts #nsfw i guess
[BEGIN MESSAGE] i am n0tt enj0ying being a mediat0r f0r zevera1 0ng0ing dizcuzzi0nz am0ng crew memberz. [END MESSAGE]
we spoke. i awaited until she was alone. away from the others. she obviously had no recollection of it. but i cut to the heart of the matter. i asked if she had seen any strangeness with skaia lately. she said no; but i focused in a bit deeper and asked whether or not our gates had seen unusual activity. the way i figured, the exit to the end of the game is another portal made by skaia itself leading to the new universe. she was quiet. and she told me this: "i didnt want to bring it up to worry anyone since we were so close to the end, but, the gates have somehow changed. it happened today, and i sensed their change. i had actually tested the property of the change as well; anything that passes through is annihilated, converted to entropic void. i tried first with an inanimate object, and then with a random creature. same exact yield." i remembered EL's words. void. the maid was the consequence. but it didnt add up; why did it all become void? she killed us out of mercy; the exit being void wasnt her plan. i looked at her and pressured her further. "what would you have done if we couldnt leave the game?" my heart only shattered further the deeper she slid into her silence. i couldnt hide it. tears ran down my cheek. pained, i looked at her, and she stepped to me to try and embrace me, and i stepped away. she bit her lip and looked at me, and just when it couldnt have gotten any worse, she quietly mentioned to me, "maybe this is our fate. four gods running a world... this is a recipe for disaster if you think about it, right? theres a reason pantheons simplified over time... perhaps if any of this could be salvaged, only one should step through that gate." i punched her. she hobbled back, and in muffling my screams, i flew away. she did not follow.
𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚝𝚘:@discardedPasts It's a late night, and your staring at yourself in the mirror. Your mother isn't home she hardly is truthfully, you were messaging your online friends the three of them have gotten off for the night. You sneak into your mother's room as quiet as well someone who's rather bad at sneaking. Opening her closet you see what you always wanted to wear, not these dumb shorts you wanted to be pretty. You hated being called handsome and such a good son. It wasn't you it was never you. But tonight of all nights you lost track of time, perhaps it was just the way your mother's skirt looked, the way it flowed the way you didn't look like how you were told to be. Of course then your mother walked in, sober a truly rare marvel if anything she should get a mother of the year award for this. The conversation was shattered, you were hysterical, panicking, you were figured out and it hurt, how would she react? What would she say? And in a moment she hugged you, no questions no buts no ifs, she loved you. And from that day you were known solely as R̷̴̡͍̭̣̪̲̜̭̳̠͙̘̠̔ͫͧ̅̽̃ͦ̍ͬ̚͢͡͝o̺͔ͨͤs̶̨͍̙̜̎͒́̍͡ȩ̴̶̷̸̵̧̛̖͙͈̩̻̙͓̦̮̮͙̖̞̱̥ͦ̐̎̃̀́̊͂ͨ̐ͥ̀̋͘̕͟͟͢͝ ... I think I need a moment 𝙼𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚏𝚒𝚗
I can't worry too much about that memory, though, because I've posted worse. Surely. Surely. And it sounds fake, I don't remember that. I don't remember that and I don't forget. I don't forget.
xx_it_hurting_my_friends_too_xx
[unit has been sedated. unit is offline.]
xx_chchow_cant_laugh_about_losing_someone_xx
xx_chchow_doesnt_like_that_memory_box,_xx
waved at someone all excited and happy to see them and they didnt wave back #traumatuesday
I was murdered #traumatuesday
NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO 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. --
how do i avoid my therapy session?
I'm sorry
it's never on some meaningful day. but. but i thought i was better. thats the worse part.
Okay I'm back. What did I miss? Everything not on fire?
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
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
....my butt hurts >////< #suggestive
THe googly eyes fell off my cup :(