if you like hammer editor you'll absolutely love SFM (its so awful)

i dont think its embarassing to say out loud I want to you beat me within an inch of my life for your own enjoyment

I don't fucking care if it's embarrassing. I don't fucking care if you don't want everyone to know. I don't fucking care if you think it's too weird. You WANT me to relentlessly tease you about it

Mommy knows best and she's telling you to get on your knees and beg for it.

a nice low 19,000 ping, im sure it functioned flawlessly </3

id love to do lancer :D

you are such a good writer ,,,

i want to be kept as a trophy by someone better than me. a once-useful once-capable tool, reduced to nothing but a pretty little reward to be utilized

In those black voids, you find nothing. Not mercy, not reason, not purpose, only the lack of it all. It is the wild incarnate, it is the outstretched hand of disorder.

They are the lionblood champion, the hoof of the wanderer and the claw of the kingdomless.

They are Salem, Warrior-King.

Where order once rose from chaos, the untamed now returns to its rightful throne. Thick, black blood spills onto the patchwork armor and heavy furs adorning your conqueror—no, your ravager.

Life's final gift to you is a single glimpse into the vengeful eyes of the beast.

Not a single fiber of a single muscle in your body can so much as twitch before the monster's serrated claws wrap around your throat. Its chest heaves with unbridled rage, bloodlust riding on its hot breath, as your cartilage and sinew twist and tear beneath the weight of its hatred.

At last, it comes for you. The embroidered fabric of your camp tent is swept aside by a long, blood-tinged blade.

The hunched, muscular figure that passes into your domain belongs to neither man nor woman; it is a predator of vile legend, spoken of only in hushed tones and mournful prayers.

You hide away in your tent with bated breath, clutching the rough, gold-hewn hilt of your family's heirloom shortsword to your chest. The last of your soldiers, loyal to their dying breaths, fall to the sickly, unceremonious death that rises like the tide to cull the herd.

It starts at it always has: a skull, picked clean of its flesh til the crimson sheen of fresh gore gives way to the matte white of old bone, rolls from the treeline into view of the watchmen. The low howl of an alarm-warhorn resounds through your encampment for but a moment before it is silenced.

Now, as dusk fades to torchlit black, the most grizzled veteran at your disposal is a malnourished peon, trembling in the oversized hand-me-down boots he wrestled off the mangled corpse of his older brother the night before.

The smell of death lingers in the air; the red sun has set on your reign.

For six long days and five long nights, the Creeping Death has been upon you. What began as a small army—the remnants of your once-proud kingdom, now razed to the ground—has dwindled to only a handful.

The captain of your guard was lost the first night, and her knight commander the next.

you're trying your best and thats what matters most, im proud of you 🫂🫂

all i'm saying is that if you spec too hard into EW and countering advanced targeting systems then you're gonna eat shit when someone rolls up with a bunch of dumb explosives aimed straight at your head #AGENDAHOUND

I'm proud of all of you.

I don't think enough people here hear that enough.

Whether you're an artist or an author, a reader, theorizer, fan, gawker, lurker, whatever.

I'm proud of you for being here today.

I'm proud of you for reading these words.

I know it's not easy for any of us these days.

godd the brainworms for hellhound are already so deep this does not help.,,, its so fucking good,,

Another fun comparison of Lizzy in one our first calls and Lizzy now.

Sartha Thrace straddles Dubject-126, grabbing her thigh with one hand and pressing her shoulder down with the other.

Sartha Thrace bends down, touching muzzles with Subject-126, and wraps a hand around her throat.

[HELLHOUND SPOILERS]

Shush, Sartha. Let it happen.

The pathetic, half-dead girlthing strapped naked to Your surgical table used to be a person name Kassandra.

Most of the time she doesn't remember that. For all philosophical intents and purposes, Kassandra is dead.

But You broke the mould a little. She was delivered to You, remembering who she is.

just dont be like, parasocial about it and ur fine

im the craptain of shit creek's finest floating log

the fear of being "the annoying reply girl" vanishes once you realise everyone loves reply girls

"wtf why didnt my tiny ant win against the industrial grinder, they had to build just to counter me of course duh"

being compared to moistcritical by everyone in call was even worse im still in shock from that

yeah obviously

If you repost something I posted I WILL be assuming that means you want to gag on it.

i have literally never heard anyone say that in my entire life