erroneous-demiurge-blog - Tumblr blog

[erroneous-demiurge-blog]

▁ ▂ ▃ ▄ || @carnivorarium ||  ▄ ▃ ▂ ▁

    “Hey... psst, you. Yeah, you. C’mere, kid.” She attempted to speak in a whisper, but the words came out in more of a quiet hiss as she slid her right hand into the front of her jean shorts, pulling out a gun.

     “Wanna play a game?”

[erroneous-demiurge-blog]

Nicolas Brown requested by anonymous

[erroneous-demiurge-blog]

PSA -

VILLAINS ARE VILLAINS.

Villains are not a precious little punching bag that’s going to stand there and take your shit and be sassy with their hand on their hip. If you mess with the bull you get the horns – if you push a villain, you will get the wrath of a villain. If your character is rude/disrespectful to a villain, especially one in a high place of power, and the villain lashes out (whether it be verbally or physically) – 

THEN YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO BE UPSET ABOUT IT. WHAT DID YOU EXPECT TO HAPPEN?

Don’t write with villain/cruel/evil characters if you can’t deal with a villain/cruel/evil character being less than nice to your precious cinnamon roll of a character. Surprise! That’s not how this works! If the villain suddenly kills your character without having spoken to you first, then you have absolutely every right to be mad. But if your character receives a verbal lashing or non-lethal physical response that is in character for the villain to give, then you need to deal with it. 

I’m also sick of this sense of prerogative way of thinking certain characters hold when it comes to villains. This mindset of, ‘oh this person is evil, bUT OBVIOUSLY THEY’LL LOVE ME AND I’LL BE THEIR SPECIAL SOMEONE THEY WON’T HATE ME OR TRY AND KILL ME.“ NO. STOP THAT. You cannot go into interactions with villains expecting them to absolutely fall in love with your character/be best friends with them. This is why it’s most times excruciatingly difficult to ship/bro-ship with villains. And even if this does happen, you should expect a villain to still be aggressive and/or rude from time to time. 

A VILLAIN DOES NOT STOP BEING A VILLAIN JUST BECAUSE THEY ARE IN A RELATIONSHIP.

I’ve written villains for a long time now, and one thing has been made perfectly clear – you will get shit for writing your character too IC and you will get shit for writing your character too OOC. You will be fucking cursed out for your character being aggressive to those who are rude to them, and you will be blasted for writing them being nice even just from time to time. So fellow villain writers – just let your villain flag fly. Don’t fucking listen to people who try and give you shit either way for your portrayal. To those who do not write villains – respect them. Just because your character is sassy and spunky, doesn’t automatically give them the right to try and be disrespectful to someone who is most likely superior to them.

TL;DR IF YOU CAN’T STAND THE HEAT, GET OUT OF THE KITCHEN. IF YOU CAN’T DEAL WITH SOMEONE BEING CRUEL TO YOUR MUSE, DON’T WRITE WITH VILLAINS.

[erroneous-demiurge-blog]

      The absence of an immediate "okay, boss" was more than irritating, only receiving nothing more than silence and then a sassy remark spat out at him. If this guy was a member of his crew, Rhett would show absolutely no mercy and wring his neck where he was standing. Although, since this was a newcomer here, he had to give the guy the benefit of the doubt here; you can't just go and label everyone that puts off work as a piece of shit, now. Scoffing, Rhett's head tipped back along with the action to add more disbelief to his character. He narrowed his eyebrows, allowing the left one to raise as he looked back down at the other man, head tilted to the side just slightly, "Did I fuckin' stutter?" He asked, his hands bringing his bandana back to his neck to tie it back around, "Y're gonna stand right there 'nd wait for m' t' come back."

      He kept his stare down on the other, letting it linger for a few seconds more before breaking it away to look back at the body in front of him. Stepping over the corpse and straddling it slightly, Rhett leaned over and settled his hands on either side of the body's torso, giving it a firm grip and pausing for a bit. He had no problems with lifting heavy things – he had lifted heavier things than some two-hundred and something pound asshole that decided to negatively cross paths with him – the only problem he was having was bracing himself for it. Heaven help him if he popped another disc in his spine; the last one took forever to fix.

      Tracing his tongue over his lower lip before biting down on it, Rhett let out a low sound similar to a grunt before he pulled up and, rather effortlessly, slung the body over his right shoulder, "Y'think I wanted this? Nope," Sighing out, Rhett turned to face the other man as his right arm moved up to rest on the corpse's lower back, left hand moving to wipe underneath his nose, "I've got two girls t' take care'f; daddy can't die by electric chair f'r 'killin'' s'me bitch that he don't even r'member touchin'."

      It wasn't like this hadn't happened before; it had happened various other times, but only in his neighborhood. This had to be the first time that he'd publicly murdered someone and had to clean up after. Oh, how annoying this was— it'd be much easier to just set the evidence on fire and leave it, but a fire would attract more attention; something he didn't want.

      Smirk returning to his mouth, Rhett slowly walked closer to the other man; rounding him enough to have his left side facing the window of the abandoned store. Perhaps it would be best to get on this guy's good side to get him to do as he says, but Rhett probably blew his chances already with how he seemed to snap earlier— hey, it wouldn't hurt to try. Raising his left arm up to rest his elbow up against the glass beside of him, Rhett leaned to his left side some more and crossed his left leg over his right as he stared down at the other man, "D'ya want m' t' beg f'r your help, babe?"

「 ✕ – &MANEATER ┊ ❝ carnivorarium ❞ 」

       [ ☤ ] – Considering the man’s lack of significant distress or any indication of any strong feeling of regret or hysteria, Yamai was in no manner inclined to think he was totally innocent. Confused, perhaps. Bluffing, most likely. Caught at the wrong place at the wrong time, most definitely NOT– unless there was some negative connotation involving manslaughter involved. To his credit, though, he saved high-strung, incoherent babbling or a dramatic breakdown for a different audience. 

    In any case, it really wasn’t his business; not yet, anyway. Had the other been living, he had no doubt he would be regretting having ever stepped foot in this direction right around now. But he was, in all forms of the word, dead. The only extreme issue here was that a dead man ( who, from what he could deduce, had no idea he could be anything except living ) had killed an innocent living man, and not only would the law be next to useless in this case, but there would be more consequences to pay that reached beyond human justice if the other stayed around the body any longer. 

     That was his reasoning behind his solution to this grisly problem. As it turned out, it wasn’t working one bit. 

    A short, barely audible sigh slipped past his lips as the catty whispering of ghosts struck up again. He only heard snippets of opinions and predictions as he stopped midstep at the sound and tone of the man’s voice. Dark eyes narrowed both in exasperation and disbelief at the utter gall of his command– it really wasn’t anything but that, was it? He wasn’t leaving any room for argument. 

     This wasn’t the first time he had run into a predicament along the same lines as this one, give or take a few gruesome details and placements. However, that didn’t mean any of them left a particularly good impression on him, and neither did he enjoy it in anyway. He wasn’t that warped yet, despite how the morbid, grotesque, and haunting anomalies hidden in every day life seemed to parade behind him like a second shadow. 

     All while the man spoke and plotted out a course of action much too elaborate for him to be as innocent as he’d attempted to make himself out to be, Yamai had turned to face him. A look of incredulity was quick to wipe away his once neutral expression, but it only settled on his features long enough for him to take in and get over how absurd this was all becoming. What was this man thinking? Did he assume control thinking everything would work with a snap of his fingers?

     Yamai’s eyebrows rose up a bit as a humorless smile spread across his lips. “Innocent,” he repeated, his sarcasm nearly mirroring the other’s, although his voice was only loud enough to be heard. He was an intimidating figure; Yamai found himself having to look up and take another look at exactly what might decide to tear his throat out if he didn’t play along nicely, and though the thought of brutality was terrifying, the thought of dying AGAIN wasn’t. Still…

    A hand raised up to rest on his hip as he cocked his head to the side a little, a challenging ( though not violent ) glint flickering in his mocha eyes. This was a poor excuse for a guilt trip. All sarcasm had drained from his voice, with steadfast resolve taking its place, even as he continued with a line that had made many snap before, and therefore caused them to snap his neck. “Oh, am I?” he asked, simply and bluntly.

[erroneous-demiurge-blog]

                    (    he saw the darkness in her beauty                                                     & she saw the beauty in his darkness.    ) 

[erroneous-demiurge-blog]

P A I N T this town 

                       R E D

                               ‘T I L everybody’s

                                              D E A D

[erroneous-demiurge-blog]

     Rhett hummed as he watched the stranger turn his head slightly, giving him a mere side glance – the chump didn't even stop walking! Eyebrows furrowed as his head tilted to the right just slightly, eye looking the other up and down. It was clear to see that this guy had no intentions of stopping and chatting with him, and hell, Rhett didn't blame him one bit. The people around here were relatively quiet, as in they kept matters to themselves in a rather secretive manner – shady, in all honesty, but once you got their attention... there was no end to that. Drug dealers, convicted murderers, and god knows who else lived out in this area; Blake didn't have any business out there, either, but did he have the moxie to go out to his ex-wife's house to spend time with his daughter and that obnoxious rival of a husband she had? No.

     The cold reply that he had received was unnerving, to say the least ( who the hell did this guy think he was? ) It wasn’t that difficult to tell that this guy was reserved, but that didn’t click right with Rhett; he, himself, was too outgoing for his own good. Having a quiet, distant stranger in front of him only made him want to pester him more.

     Taking a deep breath and letting it out from his nose, Rhett placed his oil-stained hands on his knees as he leaned back on his chair, eye remaining fixated on the man in front of him. What could he manage to do to get him to stay a bit longer? Lie, of course, but what about?

     “Uh... yeah– sure. Exactly one minute; sure.” The last word was drawn out slightly as he leaned forward, elbows moving to replace the position that his hands had on his knees, “Say, could y’ help me f’r a spell? I needa... fix somethin’ on my car, but ‘t’s not a one-man job.” He spoke loud enough for the other man to hear, but not with enough emotion to show that he cared for the guy to accept his offer; he only wanted to mess with this guy.

|| carnivorarium ||

      [ ✕ ] – Being out here of all places wasn’t as bad as it could be; that didn’t mean he wanted to be out here, though. It didn’t necessarily mean he wasn’t expecting it either. In retrospect, he supposed he’d been waiting for when he would have to show his face around this general area again ( even though he always made sure anything he was seen doing was as nondescript as it could possibly be ) seeing as it was crawling with both seen and unseen filth of all kinds that he was more familiar with than he was willing to admit to. It didn’t help matters that this seemed to be a hot-spot for the types of shady people and creatures who just loved to mix themselves into one horrid thing after another, until finally he would have to listen to the twisted, insistent feeling in his gut and get rid of what was causing it in the first place. 

     This was when all the previous moments of forcing himself to do even the most mundane of things he typically detested doing paid off– at least somewhat. It wasn’t the part where the situation became tense and thick with inevitable injury and the lurking promise of snapping teeth, swearing, and constantly having to think one step ahead unless he wanted to be the body found two, maybe three days later ( provided he wasn’t hungry and feral enough to get rid of himself ). It wasn’t that at all. If anything, there was a part of him steadily growing and stitching itself into the waking rest of himself that coiled up and waited in anticipation for the hunt to reach its peak. 

     If anything, it was actually getting there. 

     So far, there hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary. Quick glances there, a stare that lasted a beat too long here, the usual wariness that surrounded both himself and the few passed by along the way; there were even a few short flashes of recognition from both him and anyone who might have seen him pass by. It wasn’t like he was too terribly far from here. People recognized people out here– and that was fine, so long as they didn’t know who it was they were recognizing as anything more than a semi-familiar face. All he had to do was act the part of such a person and expertly avoid any detection of the watchful monster that had always been there on the surface only just now shaking off observance for interaction. Not a problem for him, by any means. There were months of practice in keeping his voice evened out to prevent it from slipping into the guttural growl it was meant to be and holding off even the slightest of changes in form or appearance until he no longer felt a set of eyes watching and possibly calculating his every action. 

     What he didn’t have practice in was suddenly being called out to as though it looked like he wanted to be stopped. The one thing he appreciated out here had just been ruined; and that was nobody trying to prematurely stick their nose into another person’s business. Usually that came after it all. 

     Steps slowing but not stopping, he bit back the urge to let out a frustrated sigh. No matter how highly unlikely it was he’d been mistaken for someone, he had to at least had to react. All he needed was someone trying to tail him, or someone getting pissed off for the wrong reason. That seemed to happen a lot, and quite frankly, he didn’t want it happening again. 

     Aokigahara felt himself beginning to tense as paranoia crept in in the short matter of seconds it took to turn his head just enough so this man who he decisively did not want to make small talk with in this exact moment could at the very least see part of his face. There were too many distinct markings– irregular scars, unnatural eye color considering the noticeable predominance of Asian characteristics in his mixed ethnicity –for him to even try hiding himself. There was an entire list he could tick off ranging from hair length, to facial features, and down simply to the ticks that anyone could notice the longer they studied him. 

     “….As long as it’s just a minute,” he finally answered, keeping his voice as low as he could while not letting it slip from its usual deep, rolling tones into something decisively less human. 

     He didn’t hate interaction; not by a long shot. This was the wrong time, the wrong place, and the wrong mindset to be in for conversation. Not to mention the two small little details always needling their way in being an extreme sense of paranoia and his overall inexperience with socializing on a regular basis. 

     “Is there something you…wanted?” Might as well get it out there while he was still managing to push words out without actually hissing; the man reeked of death as though he were the incarnation of it himself.

[erroneous-demiurge-blog]

     His eyes remained fixated on the other's shoes as if the other's general presence meant nothing to him – and it certainly didn't; he merely wanted to pay attention to this huge fiasco in front of him. If he got caught up in this other guy any more than he was now, then the same thing might end up happening to him— that is, if things were to turn to the worst and this guy starting to ask questions; he hated questions. ‘Where did this body come from?’ ‘Who is this?’ ‘Why are they dead?’ ‘Why are your hands stained with blood?’

     Although, it seemed that this guys reactions were... off, to say the least; he didn't seem to care about anything that was lying in front of him. Any other average Joe would be dialing the police by now, and Rhett would be planning on if he wanted to just choke them out for not minding their own business, or something more elaborate – things always turned to the former, and rarely ever the latter.

    It was nice like this, though; to not have to sit down and wonder about his own sanity. Having a calm reaction from another person was never... really available for Rhett. Narrowing his eye, Rhett turned to look away from the other to look back at the body in front of him, a sigh escaping his lips yet again. He moved his left arm up slightly, just enough to bring the palm of his left hand to his forehead ( shit— there's blood on that hand, isn't there? ) and let it rest there before his mouth opened to respond to the other, "Leave 't here, huh?" His voice was low and raspy, as if he wasn't putting much effort into speaking in that moment. He considered the thought carefully, brain trying to keep up with his many thoughts on the matter.

     If the body were to be left here, then the police would find it. If the police find it, then they'll test the body for any trace of who was handling it at the time of death. He could make it look like a suicide, but how long would they keep that up before testing for fingerprints? His fingerprints weren't on file, but they could trace back to various other things in the area that he had been touching earlier that day. It wouldn't take long before they piece one and one together and find some links back to Rhett, or, in the worst-case scenario: Blake or Piper.

     Shaking his head slightly, Rhett let out a low hum of disapproval, "Mm, no. Can't do that." He turned his head to look at the other as he turned on his heel to depart, Rhett's gaze went to the other man's face – not quick enough, though; he managed to see the side of the guy's face and then the back of his head – a smirk forming across his lips, "'m afraid 'm gonna take it 'nd you, so don't y'go anywhere, now."

     Jumping up to his feet, Rhett looked back down at the body as he gave it a light kick, "B'fore y'leave, 'm gonna need y' t' help m' form a distraction while I get rid 'f this guy." Hands moved to his bandana, removing it from his neck to rub it over his forehead and hands in an attempt to rid him of the blood before it dried, "Y'don't wanna have an... innocent guy like me get 'n trouble f'r this, now do ya?" His tone was sarcastic, keeping the smirk on his face as he looked down at the other man.

「 ✕ – &MANEATER ┊ ❝ carnivorarium ❞ 」

• @carnivorarium ||  ☠

     [ ☤ ] – It wasn’t as though he didn’t expect not to run into anything unusual while he was out– asking for that was nearly the equivalent to wishing for a clear, sunny day just as the first drops began to fall from an overbearing, darkened sky that had been overcast since sunrise. This place was running rampant with the unexpected and unusual; if anything, blending in was all he aimed for. If the unusual was going to happen, it might as well happen around him, not to him. He’d had enough of that for one week. 

    He had no real intention behind being out other than trying to absorb himself in the simplicity of it. Walking as though he had a purpose to it, as if he had somewhere to be, felt mundane enough to lose himself to without the actual worries of time management or the usual urgency that filled his mind and corresponding motions day in and day out. Breaking routine ( or really, lack there of; the dead certainly had no routine, and neither did whatever elements that held them back ) was something often referred to as healthy. And, mostly for the sake of his overworked body and hyperactive conscience, anything that broke out of the inconsistent yet persistent loop he found himself stuck in as a sort of limbo state would do him well. 

    That, he supposed, was how how he’d found himself here. This side of town wasn’t at all unfamiliar– his work required too much mobility and alertness for that –but it wasn’t an area he frequented either. At best, he would be viewed as a passing stranger. An odd one, perhaps, but a stranger nonetheless. At worst, he would be nothing more than a drifting specter. One that could only hope wouldn’t stir up any memories of any kind. 

    So far, his thoughts had been kept well to himself, other than the occasional hum that managed to slip out every now and then in an indirect response to a particularly rambunctious ghost in the few that insisted on trailing behind him like a second shadow. Their company was neither wanted nor unwanted; he was stuck with them no matter what, and he knew it. Complaints would get him nowhere, but neither would too much interaction. The dead were even less predictable than the living, after all. 

    Which should have accounted for what he ( quite regrettably ) found himself gazing at so suddenly. In truth, he’d been so caught up in the two-way conversation between himself and the other half of his conscious that the flash of unearthly, warped colors that tainted his vision in warning of nearby death didn’t send any sort of alarm bells ringing with his head. He’d hardly even stopped walking; it wasn’t as though he was completely unfazed by it so much as he’d merely had too much exposure to it for as long as he could remember. All that managed to break through on his face in regard to what mutilation could be seen was a brief mask of disgust at the sheer brutality of the scene. 

    The only thing that caused him to halt was the sound of the other man’s voice– who, in his personal opinion, was the deadest thing around for miles. 

    Dark brown eyes slowly blinked once in order to push aside the pensive shadow that had glazed over them. Black painted lips opened partially as his gaze redirected itself from he limp body to the man, not a single reaction or emotion showing through other than pure observance. His usual demeanor was quick to catch up with him, albeit in a more guarded fashion than he was used to. 

    “Mmm… yes, he’s most certainly dead,” Yamai commented without much interest to be heard in his tone, although the decisiveness that did manage to show through had a flippant edge to it, even as he took in the man’s bloodstained hands. “I wouldn’t say it’s something to be scared of; not the body, anyway.” 

    This left him to question why, exactly, the other seemed to be so keen on making a dead body into a conversational topic. How perversely MORBID. It reeked of a farce. But if he were involved later, he had his story straight; all he’d been doing was passing through. That was more or less what people did around here. 

    A faint smile twitched at the corner of his lips, and although it warmed his gaze a bit so it wasn’t quite as detached and calculative, it didn’t quite manage to etch itself into his facial features. “His ghost, hmm?” he murmured under his breath, a sigh laced with curling, frigid white specters escaping alongside his drawn out exhale. “I wouldn’t worry too much about that now. Too soon for that. Maybe, though, you should go on your way if you plan to leave it here.” That same smile could be heard in his voice now, though it was obvious in the way he spoke it was in no way meant to be demeaning. It would be utterly ridiculous if one dead thing latched onto another, and what was more, he didn’t quite believe this was all just one big, unfortunate mishap. 

    “Just my two cents though. It’s up to you if you take it or leave it,” Yamai added with a slight shrug, black tipped fingers brushing a few stray strands of jet black hair away from his forehead. Already he was beginning to shift his weight and turn, as if that was the same as any other departing phrase.

[erroneous-demiurge-blog]

• @carnivorarium ||  ☠

     Taking a deep, uneven breath, Rhett glanced down at his hands, eyes narrowing slightly at the sight of blood dripping from the palms of his hands and fingers down to the concrete underneath him. It would be an overstatement to say that his hands burned from the sensation of the blood enveloping his hands, but the warmth was something that seemed to snap him into a state of panic. Narrowing his eye, he began to curl his fingers a bit, his eye adjusting from its blurry, fixated state on his hands to the surroundings around him. The dull, yet loud, ringing that crowded his head began to fade out, the sounds of the area around him beginning to fill back in. Birds chirped from atop of roofs, children begged their parents for whatever in the distance along with the sound of muffled chatter, and the wind gently whistled against his ears, making sure to ruffle his hair as it passed.

     Lying in front of him was either a man or woman – it was too hard to distinguish considering the face of whoever it was, was bludgeoned – on their stomach, looking. Well, dead. A soft hum escaped Rhett's mouth as his hands lowered down to between his legs as he stared down at the person in front of him. What the hell had happened here?

     Shifting some just enough to lower himself fully down to sit on his knees, Rhett brought his left hand up to the bandana around his neck to bring the tip of it to his upper lip, wiping the sweat that had formed there. He really wanted to wipe his face from all of the build up of sweat over his face, but in the current state that his hands were in now, that seemed impossible. It wasn't that he cared about getting blood on him, it was the fact that he was in public. Luckily, the place didn't seem too crowded. Looking around, Rhett could see that he was in an outdoors mall near the back area, sitting in front of a deserted store.

     // — A'right... calm down. This's happened b'fore. Just. Breathe. At least n'one's caught y'yet. I need'a think 'f a plan t — ...

    The thought process that he had going on with himself slowly came to a halt as his body came to the realization that he wasn't alone in this moment; he could sense someone next to him. Hostile or not, he didn't want to risk anything on his record— well. What record exactly was he risking tainting? Taking yet another slow breath, Rhett gently bit down on his bottom lip as he tried to piece thoughts together to form a plausible excuse for whatever the hell happened just now – and hell, he didn't even know what just went down.

     "So... I guess this guy's fuckin'... dead. Tried'a save 'is life and he just, er. Died. Don't wanna scare ya now," He looked to his side just enough to glance at the feet of whoever was standing next to him before finishing his sentence,"... but 'e’s pro'lly gonna wanna beat the shit outta me now that 'e's a ghost."

[erroneous-demiurge-blog]

You don’t understand. I wasn’t born a blood-stained soldier  I kill because they took away my heart.  They took away everything and I just want it back. 

[erroneous-demiurge-blog]

Battle 01: – Dead Man vs. Fallen

Battle Intro: “Y’might be my ex, Donnie, but t’ hell if I’m gonna let y’win.” Victory: “Don’t get in m’ way; y’ain’t strong enough t’ kick my ass, remember?” Half HP: “You... you bitch. Y’think you’ve got m’ass handed to me now? I ain’t done with ya yet.” Low HP: “... Mm, you’re pissin’ me off. Stop tryna cheat your way outta this like everything else.” Defeat: “H.. Hah. What a shocker.” Death: “This... this ain’t how things were s’pposed t’go.” Assist: “Come ‘nd help ol’ Rhett out for a spell.” Taunt: “Kiss my ass, y’weak fuck! (I hope we can still be friends after this.)” Reacting to Taunt: “You’re too cute.” Flee: “Fuck this’s bad for m’reputation, but I ain’t stickin’ around to lose!” Reacting to Flee: “HEY! This is a fight, not track, dipshit!” Tie: “This’s a good thing; I didn’t wanna hurt y’anymore.” Perfect Victory: “Idiot. Y’didn’t even pick up a fight.” Low HP Victory: “Damn. Y’almost got me, Donnie.” Finishing Move: “Don... babe, turn your head. I don’t want y’ t’ have m’face the last thing y’look at.”

[erroneous-demiurge-blog]

[erroneous-demiurge-blog]

　　　　ɪ·ᴠᴇ ɢᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ғɪɴᴅ ᴀ ᴡᴀʏ 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴛʜɪs ᴀʟʟ OKAY 　　　　ɪ·ᴠᴇ ɢᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ғɪɴᴅ ᴀ ᴡᴀʏ 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　ᴛᴏ ғɪx ᴍʏ ᴏᴡɴ MISTAKE

[erroneous-demiurge-blog]

[erroneous-demiurge-blog]

Don’t ever back me into a corner expecting me to break.

                           I do not go gentle.

             I will take every single tear I shed on your behalf and use it as ammo in the war that you started.

                               I will fight until I can’t fight anymore and I will win.

Because while I might seem fragile to you

                  { I have won more battles than you could imagine }

        and I am stronger than any warrior this planet could muster up.

                                                        You bite me and I will bite back.

           The trick is ——

                                         —— my teeth are [ s h a r p e r  ] than yours.

[erroneous-demiurge-blog]

[erroneous-demiurge-blog]