Pietro has never been back to the village where Marya and Django died, and he also avoids any place that has any association with his father or the Brotherhood. He’s already keenly aware of these things, he already lived through them and felt them, he’s never seen the need to repeatedly go back to them. That’s the thing about speed, it demands that he always move forward. 

    CRIMSON is the color of sullen lips abraded by hungry canines, of droplets that roam an aimless path across velveteen flesh, of now the thorn pierced through soft ivory & it’s MAIN ATTRACTION; blossomed, petals red & vivid, at the prime of its beauty, unlike she who holds it between bruised knuckles. her throat holds the misty taste of pine & her mamma told her, monsters like this were doomed to rot in the damp soil, coffins were homely to torn minds, a bed of serenity. it’s LOUD, too loud. there’s bullets flying about & shattered glass under her soles. but why RUN? where to? why run when all around you is plunging into chaos? show her the TERRORS that have made home inside your skull & demons that lurk in your soul; watch her FALL IN LOVE with how your teeth sink & devour chunks of her virtue. ❛ do you WANT it? ❜

             ❛ you don’t MIND the company, do you?         it’s... getting pretty crowded down there. i didn’t...             know anyone else could climb up here... ❜

     ❛ W H A T ? ❜ there’s a sharp edge to her tone, eyes narrowed. ❛ what’s that face? ❜ 

jfkasjlfk; THERE'S AN ENTIRE DIRECTORY?

(text) Damian’s words, not mine.