Msg - Sent You're Being A Brat, Karen. You Know Damn Well What I Meant.

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.

nine inch nails at woodstock '94 by joseph cultice

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? "

roman : msg    -    sent     ›    diós, you need a muzzle. huffin' and puffin' when you can't get your way.

roman : msg    -    sent     ›    not too busy to deal with you, fuck. figured you'll realize that sooner rather than later.

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it was a void, a bottomless void that damian kept scratching at. he was lost his own thoughts, the downward spiral. death was too gentle, decided they didn't deserve such. that was something he's certain of. death was too kind, far too peace for what they done. what finn has done. it wasn't the title lost, but the knife. the bittersweet yet expected betrayal that found itself stuck in his thoughts like a record that won't stop playing. times he told rhea that he didn't trust the irishman, times he told her to throw them out all ignored.. and now they're back at stage one. the multitudes of grief, and all the latino could do is sigh once she uttered those words. “ i know. "