Why is it that every single time I let these... these... LARVAL WORMS, WRITHING in their own EMOTIONAL PUPAL FILTH, they make it their IMPERIAL MISSION to take her scabbing scars and PEEL THEM OFF and RUB SHATTERED GLASS into the wounds? They don't think! Their synapses do not fire in their sludge-puddled minds! At this point, I am convinced they must be spilling some misfired rancid pheromones! That is the only explaination for why these CREATURES think it right to risk OTHERS BODIES for their own uncomprehensible failing romances! Someone needs to auspistise them. Yesterday. I sure as hell am not doing it. If not for the current circumstances, I'm sure my handprints would be permanently tattooed on cerulean necks.
THE FUCKS GOT YOUR PANTIES IN A TWIST. —EMBER💥
My "team" and I are bodyswapped. Apparently, while I was making a nice meal for my moirail, the bitch in my body started a fight that resulted in her being stabbed. In my body. My body was stabbed. And almost died! My body! Almost died!
/?jolly?little?fucker?arent?you?\
FUCKING CHRIST, DOES NO ONE THINK TO USE COMMON SENSE ANYMORE. DON'T ENGAGE IN VIOLENCE THE BODY CAN'T HANDLE. ESPECIALLY IF IT'S ON LOAN. IF YOU GOT INFORMED CONSENT THAT'S ONE THING, BUT WHAT THE FUCK MAN. —EMBER💥
Easy, Ms. Aropma, I'm handling it. If I could have gotten to them earlier the staBBing would not have happened. Don't want to mediate them, But I'll Be damned if a clothesline doesn't work a charm on stopping two dummies from Butting horns. And don't sink down to their level, yeah? One of the cerulean necks is mine. After what it's Been through, I don't need *two* dames after it.