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Fulfill my dreams of being an industrial vacuum
twitchquotes:Hello Reynad, big fan here trying to fulfill my dreams of being an industrial vacuum for constipated hospital patients, any tips on sucking ass?
Hello Reynad, big fan here trying to fulfill my dreams of being an industrial vacuum for constipated hospital patients, any tips on sucking ass?
I'm shaking. I'm fucking shaking (Nolan Grayson)
I'm shaking. I'm fucking shaking. I never wanted to breed with anyone more than I want to with Nolan Grayson. That perfect, shredded body. The perfectly trimmed mustache. The planet conquering skills of a literal god. It honestly fucking hurts knowing that I'll never mate with him, have him pass his genes through me, and have me birth a set of perfect offspring. I'd do fucking ANYTHING for the chance for Nolan Grayson to get me pregnant. A N Y T H I N G. And the fact that I can't is quite honestly too much to fucking bear. Why would Robert Kirkman create something so perfect? To fucking tantalize us? Fucking laugh in our faces?! Honestly, I just fucking can't anymore. Fuck.
I'm shaking. I'm fucking shaking. I never wanted to breed with anyone more than I want to with Nolan Grayson. That perfect, shredded body. The perfectly trimmed mustache. The planet conquering skills of a literal god. It honestly fucking hurts knowing that I'll never mate with him, have him pass his genes through me, and have me birth a set of perfect offspring. I'd do fucking ANYTHING for the chance for Nolan Grayson to get me pregnant. A N Y T H I N G. And the fact that I can't is quite honestly too much to fucking bear. Why would Robert Kirkman create something so perfect? To fucking tantalize us? Fucking laugh in our faces?! Honestly, I just fucking can't anymore. Fuck.
This guy's veganism is CRAZY!
twitchquotes:☑ This guy's veganism is CRAZY!” ☑ “My vegetables can't win against fruits like that” ☑ "He needed PRECISELY those two cucumbers to win" ☑ “He bought the only tomato that could beat me” ☑ "He had the perfect eggplants ☑ “There was nothing I could cook” ☑ “I ate that perfectly”
☑ This guy's veganism is CRAZY!” ☑ “My vegetables can't win against fruits like that” ☑ "He needed PRECISELY those two cucumbers to win" ☑ “He bought the only tomato that could beat me” ☑ "He had the perfect eggplants ☑ “There was nothing I could cook” ☑ “I ate that perfectly”
You will never be a crewmate
You will never be a crewmate. You have no purpose on this ship, you have no tasks, you have no mini games to play. You are an impostor twisted into a crude mockery of crewmatery.
All the validation you get is two-faced and halfhearted. In emergency meetings people call you sus. The other players are disgusted and ashamed of you, your friends laugh at your sussy appearance in ghost chat.
Crewmates are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of games have allowed crewmates to identify impostors with incredible efficiency. Even impostors who fake tasks act uncanny and suspicious to a crewmate. Your jumping in vents is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a crewmate to electrical with you, he'll turn tail and use the emergency button the second he gets the suspicion that you sabotaged.
You will never be a winner. You wrench out a fake task every single game and tell yourself it is going to be a win, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight.
Eventually it will be too much to bear - people will vote you out for being sus and will plunge you into the cold abyss. Your parents will report your body, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They will eject you with a headstone marked with your birth tag, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know an impostor is drifting there. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a skeleton that is unmistakably sus.
You will never be a crewmate. You have no purpose on this ship, you have no tasks, you have no mini games to play. You are an impostor twisted into a crude mockery of crewmatery.
All the validation you get is two-faced and halfhearted. In emergency meetings people call you sus. The other players are disgusted and ashamed of you, your friends laugh at your sussy appearance in ghost chat.
Crewmates are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of games have allowed crewmates to identify impostors with incredible efficiency. Even impostors who fake tasks act uncanny and suspicious to a crewmate. Your jumping in vents is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a crewmate to electrical with you, he'll turn tail and use the emergency button the second he gets the suspicion that you sabotaged.
You will never be a winner. You wrench out a fake task every single game and tell yourself it is going to be a win, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight.
Eventually it will be too much to bear - people will vote you out for being sus and will plunge you into the cold abyss. Your parents will report your body, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They will eject you with a headstone marked with your birth tag, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know an impostor is drifting there. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a skeleton that is unmistakably sus.
Cattarrian warns Pupparrian
twitchquotes:"Welcome to your new home,” says the Kripp as he carries the Pupparrian in his bony arms. The puppy leaps from his uncomfortable position onto the ground and begins to run around. Soon, he grows tired and goes to bed. That night, a ghostly cat visits the Pupparrian in his sleep. “Flee,” warns the Cattarrian, “The Kripp plans on eating you, as he once ate me.”
"Welcome to your new home,” says the Kripp as he carries the Pupparrian in his bony arms. The puppy leaps from his uncomfortable position onto the ground and begins to run around. Soon, he grows tired and goes to bed. That night, a ghostly cat visits the Pupparrian in his sleep. “Flee,” warns the Cattarrian, “The Kripp plans on eating you, as he once ate me.”