Turpitudae - *▮ Spookshow Baby!

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msg    -    sent     ›    you're welcome, it's about time someone made you beg for it anyway. you're so use to getting your way, aren't you?

msg    -    sent     ›    doesn't work like that with me, but you're an hart — know a lot about working hard. it won't be something shocking for you.

a sanctuary fitting for the two, groups that demanded couldn't bother them here. oddly enough, he felt safe here despise all thoughts saying otherwise. the samoan wasn't a good person and he accepted that, neither was he. they weren't good people, but they tried to be here. with each other, or at least the latino tried. roman was somehow worth trying for, a smile making it's way on his face as tattooed arms around themselves wrapping around in equal possession. “ nah, she ain't raise you right. so much attitude from the baby. " a grin that wasn't going away anytime soon, enjoying the attention too much. “ make me, huh? "

msg    -    sent     ›    you're being a brat, karen. you know damn well what i meant.

msg    -    sent     ›    don't start twisting my words, and if you want the height advantage — alright. i'll pick you up, make it even.

msg    -    sent     ›    just don't get shocked when i drop you.

“ right. " there was a tight exhale, he wasn't sure how long he was holding his breath. sometimes he wonders if the australian confused him with someone else, seem to forget their history along the way as they attempt to navigate their newfound path. no more judgment day, no more mysterio lurking— no more balor. it was back to the start, priest and ripley. “ you care so much about someone who never cared about you. " cared so much about him that you forgot that i was here, i was always was here. but he ignored the way his throat tighten and his fist clenched at the thought. he wasn't bold enough today to kick her down, or ever it seems. it's borderline humiliating the way he tried to make her see reason, to see herself as someone who doesn't need him out of all people.

the thrill, the bloodlust. he couldn't control it, couldn't grasp the way his irises lit like a radiant gem at the sight of beautiful, crimson red being spilled. he was certain that he was the god himself with how much pride filled him with the knowledge that he bled someone out dry, that his hands could cause destruction. suppressed destruction with every caress, licking over his teeth as he nodded. it was difficult with her. wanted to tear off those angel wings of hers and wear them himself, masquerade as something pure for how impure he felt when he glanced in her direction. “ he's somewhere else, six miles out— eight inches deep. "