[godflcw]

𝙬𝙖𝙨𝙣❜𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙞 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠𝙞𝙣 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙞𝙩 , 𝙜𝙤𝙩 𝙞𝙩 𝙗𝙞𝙜 𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙣 , 𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙢𝙖𝙙— this is a kayfabe , plot heavy and private roleplay blog for your tribal chief , roman reigns. with a range of canon timeframes and padded with personal interpretation , the subject matter herein may be of a sensitive nature at times , discretion is advised. see abbreviated regulations below the cut before following.

𝘼𝙉 𝙀𝙓𝙋𝙇𝙊𝙍𝘼𝙏𝙄𝙊𝙉 𝙄𝙉 family above all else , building the future , the good guy always loses , betrayal of trust , gaslight gatekeep girlboss , it's lonely at the top , greatness on a different level , surpassing expectations & what it means to finally snap.

╰┈➤ prompts. playlist. aesthetic. rollins.

i will only be writing in a kayfabe setting. there will be no mention of the man behind the mat , nor his direct family outside of the business. any alluding to the idea of spouses or children will be of a purely fictional nature , discussed with my partners. xo

♡   mun is deeds , 35 , est , all pronouns. ♡   this is an extremely selective , mutually exclusive roleplay blog. ♡   chronically bad at non - plot related conversations. ♡   i do not follow for follow. ♡   i maintain the right of refusal. ♡   most often in drafts , rarely stalk the dash. ♡   anti - purity culture. ♡   minimal formatting , occasional icons. ♡   i practice frequent and liberal softblocking. ♡ very ship positive. ♡ heavily oc inclusive ( minus children ) . ♡   dupe friendly with minor reservations for friends and multis. ♡   attachment to those who indulge me often. ♡   here for low - stress writing above all else.

[godflcw]

good news? i beat re9. bad news? can't think of anything else. head ain't empty, it's just filled with gunfire and screaming.

[midnightvrose]

[godflcw]

roman wants a fight. tight-wound muscles, jaw overworking a clench, he wants this to turn into a fight. ruin whatever somber mood kept trying to sink its claws in the longer damian stayed at a well-intentioned distance. further than a split brand and shoddy booking.. this was getting old.

" oh an' you know what i mean, huh ? " indignant, he's bowed, strung taut and testing fists that have nowhere to go but his sides. idled at hips, he'd wonder if they were noticed, were there not a strangle hold on his focus, pulling him here, into a conversation about to turn one-sided. " you can read my mind an' know i'm playin' games ? " pushing. pulling. this yo-yo of affection that should but doesn't stop because phone calls go missed and one more texts sits on read.

" ..don't know shit. " roman mumbles the challenge, but means it.

busy isn't the right word for a loaded schedule. busy implies he's had a say in which flights took him where.. which hands needed shook. around the world ten times over and here, now, he's stopped out of want to do so, not obligation.

" you think i like bein' in this shithole city ? " he and des moines have a long-standing resentment of one another, " i say i came here to see you, best believe i mean it. " @turpitudae 's doubts are in his eyes now, dark-ringed and unconvinced in spite of raised hackles and bared teeth. " keep playin' and see what's good. "

[mamisms]

Rhea stills at that. just for a beat. The word family lands heavier than she expects, and it shows in the way her brows knit before she schools it away. "That’s not what I asked," she says, quieter now, eyes never leaving his. "Although....If it came down to it…" a breath, measured, "would you take out Jimmy? Jey? Would you put them down like a sick animal and not lose a second of sleep over it?" There’s no accusation in it. Just a need to know where the line actually is.

She studies him after that, really looks, like she’s recalibrating the shape of the man standing in front of her. " I’ll be honest," Rhea admits, voice low, "I didn’t expect you to say it so easy." A corner of her mouth quirks despite herself. "Guess that’s what threw me." Then, softer, almost amused at her own surprise, "…but I don’t hate it."

Her shoulders relax, tension shifting into something sharper, more deliberate. "This version of you?" she murmurs, stepping just that fraction closer again. "It’s overdue." She lingers there, close enough that the air between them feels charged, like it might snap if either of them breathes wrong. Her gaze flicks briefly to his mouth, then back to his eyes, unapologetic. "Just don’t mistake my interest for concern," Rhea adds, voice dipped low and steady. "I’m not here to stop you… I’m here to see how far you’re willing to go." The pause that follows is deliberate, daring him to fill it or not, while she stays right where she is, daring him to make the first move.

[godflcw]

love has always been a complicated thing. a stipulation tacked on to every relationship he's ever been part to. for an abundance of it.. or a lack thereof. family is no different and the twitch before he sucks his teeth will confess long before he ever does that the truth ? it was too complicated for words.

" i only ever do.. " but he tries. frisks the bottom of a very, very deep barrel and comes up with a levelled expression and steady gaze, " —what needs to be done. "

a sick animal is dangerous to the pack. the weak link in a body's length of chainmail that can't afford to give an inch. roman's felt the rapidness of jimmy's pulse go idle in the bend of his arm.. once shoved his heel so far into jey's windpipe it was a wonder his cousin could still talk. solo.. that wound is still too fresh to stare at the meat of, but despite his own discomfort, he'd argue without taking breath, that his family was better off for his temper. an old analogy about pressure making diamonds. no fog, just ice.

in the face of his consideration, he'd almost missed how she'd crept nearer. sidled closer with a cat's gleam in her eyes and clinical intent curving up a dark and crooked grin. every bit the question mark his wise man once warned him she'd be. once a wrench in the very real cogs of his bloody machine, roman catches his reflection, capsized and stiff, while staring down at her.

" that so ? " he poses the challenge if for no other reason than to see if rhea will take it. bow up like she already has, here, and meet him where his head lulls. parrots a leisure glance from that cut in her brow, down to clavicle and stops short cause his mama didn't raise no pig. " if you're lookin' for a show, should'a said so sooner. "

[sevenbulletsavior]

"Maybe you should give him a hands-on look at a lock up." The quip was quiet, words laced with amusement at the idea of Steven being tied up with Roman in the middle of a wrestling ring. The man's bravado only existed when he was around those he felt superior to, and Karen knew Roman had him cowed with a simple look. Asking him to get in the ring and learn hands on? He'd probably quit on the spot. Not that Roman would mind that, though. The snippy remark about slapping him made an exasperated sigh leave her. "Smacking him won't fix him," she noted, aware that the greenhorn was probably more trouble than he was worth in the chief's eyes.

Hadn't she also been the same at one point?

Then again, said greenhorn would never get behind closed personal doors with Roman like she was.

When hands so used to violence touch at hair, brushed it away from her face and his eyes met hers, she waited, knowing the response to come. I been busy, as if that would explain it all away, but they could pretend it did for now. They could pretend and live in this quiet bubble they were sequestered in for the night, in the lies-by-omission and the gentleness they rarely afforded for their own selves to enjoy. A nod was given, eyes slipping shut as his thumbs traced over her cheekbones and his gaze burned into her.

When the question about returning was asked again, Karen met Roman's gaze, fingers coming up to delicately brush through his hair before she pulled him closer even as she scooted her own self to the edge of the counter. There was a simple kiss pressed to his lips, placating, and then her forehead rested against his, wanting to lessen the tension coiling up within her. "It's going to be Steven or someone else."

But not her. Not now. Ellison liked the work she was doing, like the tenacity with which she dug into the stories she was given and the fierce way she wrote about causes she felt so keenly about. Did Roman, though? Did he understand, did he care? She could never tell. His indifference was impenetrable, the glimpses behind the wall so rare even to her.

[godflcw]

greenhorns, clumsy hands and stiff shots, roman's entertained them for decades. the implication he'd give time to one more ? karen ought've seen the snort before it came. caught eyes in the process of rolling. a veto without words, his time better spent accommodating that tug closer. slotted between long legs, it's an comfortable place to linger. stand at attention for affection that's brief, but warm. fleeting if he looked at it the wrong way, so he doesn't. leans forward.. she'll see his pulse when it emerges, there, at his temple. frustrated past a point of contention.

" so you still playin' this game, " it's a predator's growl, tucked behind his tonsils, crept upward to hit the backs of teeth that don't part. roman doesn't bare them either, though there's a lapse where he considers it. let her see how much the news needled. nagged at old, ugly arguments with raised voices and threats to end her career. under the weight of gold, he'd said it all so easily. barked with bass. here ? all he sits beneath is her blue, blue eyes and the gentle graze of deceptively delicate fingers.

and he could be delicate too if he tried. forget the reason his hands gripped the edge of the counter in the first place and started wringing. an outlet that didn't leave marks save what were haphazardly accepted by himself.

" it sure as shit is not gonna be steven, " after a few calls, that was long-determined. " and you're here tellin' me i gotta pretend like i don't wanna loose some fool's teeth cause they think they can roll up and fill your shoes.. " observed, he's rambling. speaks beneath his breath, towards some imaginary foe over his shoulder. because looking at her, now ? in the dim light of the kitchen, he knew she'd look as disappointed as those flowers, wilted and slumped out of their vase beside them. roman's last apology, preceding him by two weeks.

" you're still pissed, " an eventual conclusion, he's shaking his head and leaning back. front and center, karen's exhaustion has deeper roots. heavier than the bags that sag under her stare, shallow and stalwart. " you're pissed an' you ain't comin' around cause'a what i said. " undermined her work. kicked her out of arena after arena after arena.. " you want me to say i'm sorry ? i gotta beg ? "

[mamisms]

Rhea doesn’t flinch at his size or his tone. If anything, it just hardens her spine. "Right," she says coolly, eyes lifting to meet his without apology. "I stopped caring about the roster the moment they decided I was expendable. They took everything I had left when I was already scraped down to b o n e." A beat then, quieter, more honest than she means to be. "So yeah. If that makes us alike, I’m not thrilled about it either."

She shifts her weight, arms folding as she studies him the way she studies opponents, looking past the surface. "I didn’t come here to play therapist or ask who you’re gonna steamroll first," Rhea continues. "I’m not that stupid. The Rumble’s never just a step with you. It’s a statement." Her jaw tightens. "And you don’t come back just to remind people you exist. You come back to take."

Her eyes narrow, sharp and searching. "So what’s the plan, Roman?" she asks, finally giving voice to the thing that dragged her here. "What are you actually building now that you’re back?" A pause near challenging, expectant. "Because I know better than to believe this ends with one night and a promise. And if you’re about to b u r n everything down again… I wanna know where you’re aiming the match."

[godflcw]

alike.. he doesn't laugh, but roman thinks about it. can feel the sound as it wobbles on his tongue. lets it play somewhere behind his molars once well-trimmed nails commit to their course through his beard. smoothing out strays and greys. agitating the chin up under them, out of its clench and nearer to something more.. cordial. the balancing act between aggression a'rumble in his belly and a budding curiosity that'll only live so long as she feeds it.

" why it got you worried ? " her title wasn't in the picture and her assortment of friends ( so few, these days ) broach a subject she'd not likely want him to tamper with. something else they have in common ; burnt bridges and smoke in the air.

in truth, his fire doesn't have a target. no one place worth scorching any more than the next. enough time spent watching the same people fumble the same balls and he'd argue they all deserved to burn. see who came out of the ashes better off and who warranted a sweep under the rug. " best believe i start strikin' that match, ain't no one gonna make it out unscathed. " not if they were in his way and.. if they weren't ? the ones like rhea, idled by the sideline, waiting to see the outcome of another march ? where in the shuffle did she belong ?

" ain't no more family shit, " if her concern sat beside jey, she'd be glad to hear it. take solace in the reassurance that his aim still had enough steadiness not to wander towards old wounds. " as for the rest of 'em ? "

why do you care ?

she might not have blanched, but the square of her shoulders lacks the weight of a fight. another time, another place, roman may have even humored her question. rolled off a list of names and his grievances. kept going until a flinch boasted he'd hit his mark. but it isn't another time and the only place, he's learned, is right here. this moment. between heavy breaths and his own overbearing perception, all that remained was the truth, " fuck 'em. "

[godflcw]

that's where she's wrong, he thinks. out from under the prowl of wanting hands, there was nowhere left to go that'd keep this from boiling over. and roman was boiling. in the very marrow of him, his skin crawled with need to respond. move against the graze of lacquered nails or test their mettle where they'd perched. in the bend of his arm where tattooed skin offset an otherwise heavy contrast.

but roman doesn't move. nikes have taken root in this locker room, dingy as the last locker room and the hundreds come before it. toes of his j's face inward, meeting patent leather he'd acknowledged, but overlooked one time too many, it seems.

" i don't go and this is gonna be a loooong ass night for you, " beyond a ring she'd not dragged herself in and out of, yet. past catering and a pair of rentals that'd wind up separated. @mamisms doesn't know what she's asking for but pursed lips, rolled shoulders, he has half a mind to indulge. " an' i don't think you've got the time to spare to keep me around. " night, after all, had a way of stretching.

[vhsmeme]

* don’t starters

‘ don’t be a stranger. ’

‘ i don’t think i can. ’ 

‘ don’t say that. ’

‘ you don’t have to go. ’

‘ don’t be what they made you. ’

‘ you don’t have to be anyone’s hero. ’

‘ why don’t you stay right here? ’ 

‘ don’t you trust me? ’

‘ you don’t have to be on your own. ’

‘ i don’t like to think about it. ’

‘ you don’t get to make that call. ’

‘ don’t act like you care. ’

‘ we don’t think alike. ’

‘ you don’t need to worry about that. ’

‘ i don’t know why. ’ 

‘ you don’t mean that. ’

‘ you don’t have to tell me. ’

‘ i don’t trust many people. ’

‘ i don’t have a family anymore. ’

‘ you don’t care what they think. ’

‘ don’t listen to them. ’ 

[samijey]

Seth's betrayal and years of hatred from the fans made Roman into someone who callously pressures his closest allies into proving their love for him at the expense of others they also care deeply about... and even when they openly break down in tears in front of him, Roman cannot take a step back and realize his obsession with unconditional, blind loyalty - stemming from over a decade of trauma - will continue to cost him everything over and over again.

[mamisms]

Rhea stiffens before she can stop herself. Baby girl. The words land wrong, not playful, not teasing and coming from Roman, they scrape instead of slide. There’s a half-beat where she just looks at him, jaw tightening, hackles up in a way that surprises even her. It takes effort to push past it, to shove the reaction back down where it belongs. When she speaks, her voice is steady again, but there’s an edge to it now, sharpened. “Don’t call me that,” she says flatly, like it’s a boundary carved in stone rather than a request.

She rolls her shoulders, forcing the snark back into place like armor. “Morality police?” A short, humorless huff leaves her. “Nah.” Her gaze flicks to him, assessing, measuring; the tan, the quiet menace, the way he’s half in the room and half somewhere darker. “I’m just tryin’ to figure out why you bothered showing your face again if all you’re gonna do is sit in the shadows and b r o o d like you own them.”

Rhea tilts her head, eyes narrowing just enough to make it clear she’s not intimidated, even if she’s cautious. “You disappear, you come back different, and now you’re talking about how low you can go like it’s a promise.” A beat. “So what is it, then? You back to actually do something… or you just here to remind everyone you’re still watchin’?”

[godflcw]

" why i get the feelin' you say everyone but you're talkin' about yourself. " asking without asking. checking in on a man with vague motives and his jaw in an ever grinding clench. rhea's standing in the light of her own motivations and roman hasn't shifted enough in his seat to expose a swelling wonder just why that is. what's made the route to his locker room look like the right one. what's made her tongue unwind and those words.. he doesn't owe her an explanation.

but she's the only one whose come looking for one.

" it is a promise, " bellows up from the small of his belly. fixes itself across the dip of his shoulders and sinks into an expression he scrubs at with long fingers and waning patience. ease the fine lines away. push back against eyes turning darker.

his skin isn't clammy, but palms are smoothing out over his knees as if they were. just another show once they turn heavy and his slouch, there in that quiet, empty room she'd accused him of brooding ( tribal chief doesn't brood, baby ) in, he's standing tall, impossibly so without anyone left to stop him, " you didn't roll up in here t' see how bad the roster finna get it. " chin up, she's smaller from this angle, " cause i know you care about them about as much as i do. "

a few, here and there. his by blood, hers by affiliation.. there'd always be that handful, but outside of it ? she can't hold sand any better than him.

" you got somethin' to ask me ? " what'll explain why she'd loitered in spite of a perceived affront. give him a reason to put that bad mood under his thumb and drive it in till it's gone. " cause if you don't— "

[niratias]

@godflcw

Bitter chill, fog-plume for breath, beanie down over his ears...he's built for this, but that doesn't change the fact one particular elbow has started to protest more when the weather decides it's time for a dip into fuck no territory.

Twenty-two odd years and that's his biggest ailment? He's doing just fine.

"So." He cracks another disposable hand warmer packet. Slots it into the back of his left glove. "This is the part where I pretend I meant to text you again this year, right?" There's a burn of shame in him, truth be told, that the best he could manage was a happy birthday text. Also confusion that, standing here, it's like no time has passed at all. How does he reckon with that? How does he swallow it back, make any of it stay down? He can't blame everything on being useless with a phone, as much as he tries to.

"This is the part where we hug it out." He's more confident about that. "This is the part where I blame life and my head and whatever the hell else." Here he is, taking on all of the blame, like always. Good dog.

But here he is, all the same- hopeful, trying to reconnect, eyes bright despite the sun against snow in this goddamn airport parking lot.

[godflcw]

he hates the cold. hates how it bites at the rare bits of exposed skin. blots out the sun with an overcast. roman hates the wind and the promise of incoming snow. and on a normal day, with the normal company ( or lack thereof ) that'd be the only reason for his frown. a sour disposition over something he couldn't control.

roman isn't mad, not really. disappointment, where jon was concerned, had a foreign nature to it. sat off-balance because it didn't belong there. without a name, without incentive, having expectations was a flaw of his own. put a decade under his belt, he knew not to wait for that phone call. nothing personal, those texts left on read or responded to by the occasional thumbs up. so why does his stomach clench like it does at the sound of his voice ? he'll look that in the eye later.

" yeah, sounds like a good call, " blame yourself, jon. blame yourself until roman stops sucking his teeth and closes that already short distance with open arms that want to object but won't. big dog talkin' big shit and here he was, taking scraps for the rumble in his stomach. embracing like there's more behind broad hands clapping over a back that, these days, may as well be stretched across the squared shoulders of a stranger.

" i'm thinkin' all this playin' pretend will sit better inside. " no more snow nipping at the exposed curve of his ears. no more cool breeze and a passing prowl from prying eyes. always prying eyes. " you can tell me what's kept your ass so busy and i can pretend 's all good. "

[godflcw]

every inch of snow more that stacks outside this damn window, please know that roman hates the cold and it's finna be someone's job to warm his big ol samoan ass up.

[godflcw]

what does your love taste like ?

╰┈➤ sea water.

being loved by you is like diving into the ocean. it’s a limitless, deep feeling. it’s scary but soothing at the same time. it burns on open wounds, but it’s what makes them heal too. it’s a taste that lingers on your lips, so unexpectedly good. you crave deep, intellectual connection. maybe you’re not good with words, expressing your feelings might not come easily for you. it's your actions and attention that let them know, they feel seen and heard. your primary love language is probably acts of service, small little things, like untangling your lover’s jewelry without them asking, that when added up speak volumes. like the impression that the sea gives with its vastness, you also might seem distant, inaccessible ; but that’s just the way you are, a little cold, right ?

your lover probably got scared at the beginning, it had to adapt to it by taking little steps at the time before confidently leaving the shore behind. you crave peace and stillness, because you know how an agitated sea can be frightening even for the most experienced sailors. it looks so quiet but your love can get loud, like the roaring sea. you hate fighting. you’re always scared the waves might get too big, too tall to overcome ; that your lover might run away, unable to contain and hold you.

you’re not asking to be tamed ; just to be trusted, to be stayed with even when the waters rise. you wish nothing but to hold them tight and be their lullaby, to rock them as if they were asleep on a floating mattress, gently carried by the waves, drifting slowly towards the center of your heart.

tagged by ; @mamisms ;* tagging ; @twotonesoffun , @biiigtime , @sevenbulletsavior , @turpitudae , @b3llalution & anyone else who wants to do it lbh.

[godflcw]

╰┈➤ @mamisms said , ❛ that’s low , even for you . ❜

she says low like they in a basement or somethin. says low like there's a shovel in the corner and he's been digging all night. rhea says low and roman's eyes roll hard and fast. exasperation doesn't cut it. he's the image of a man at the precipice of something she wouldn't understand. couldn't. and he hasn't had the time or energy to explain it to anyone in a long, long while.

" and you know me so good, don't you, " over a phone half-acknowledged, the text he'd been typing left, now, to go unfinished. not forgotten ( he never forgets ) but postponed. threats could wait. especially once there were ones there, flesh and blood, pretending she could blot out the light over his shoulder and not get pinned by a stern stare for it. attention.. that's what they always wanted. see if the chief could make them out, there, at the shore of the island.

" since when you been the morality police ? " take a few months to adopt a better tan, let his hair grow out — take a few months and the whole landscape liked to change. an ever-moving pendulum. roman had spent too many years pretending that swinging axe wasn't all in his head. he knew better, now.

elbows over his knees, hands take to hanging between the pair, screen turned dark and his disposition not far behind, " you ain't got a clue how low i can get baby girl. " till the tide can't find him. until the brass face the same music as everyone else. a tune forged by his hands and his alone. " that it ? or you got somethin' else you wanna get off your chest. "

[fabxpunk]

Roman Reigns returns: Raw Vlog - talking about Rollins.

[godflcw]

@twotonesoffun

[sevenbulletsavior]

“Super’s got it on his list to fix.” The truth, but there was also an undercurrent of minor frustration at that fact—the stubbornness that drove Karen Page had her edging closer to stepping foot into Al’s Hardware and grabbing whatever was necessary to silence the drip…except it was an odd comfort for her, that ceaseless noise that lulled her to sleep late at night. It gave her something to focus on, to calm and quiet her racing mind as she lay in bed and stared up at the ceiling, watching shifting shadows as cars passed through streets late at night.

The city that never sleeps: a home that ground its residences to the bone, willing or not.

She felt him shift back, felt his gaze fall upon her and finally her own eyes lifted to meet his. As much as she offered him clinical inspection, he gave it in return, his words a pat assessment of looks that Karen was far too familiar with because the tube of concealer in her makeup bag was scraping the bottom each time the applicator was pulled out (and an order needed to be made for another to make her look as if she belonged among the living). Instead of arguing she lodged a question in return: “Are you?”

A caged animal rarely rested, after all. The ease with which he lifted her made her sigh, arms wrapping around his neck now, slipping back into easy physical intimacy with him. “Steven’s not that bad,” came her amused response, her replacement still unsteady on his own feet and more than afraid of the man whose arms she was now wrapped in. She wouldn’t mention the remarks he had made to their other colleagues—off-handed snipes about how he was sure he’d need to engage in certain activities just to get Roman to talk, heavy implications that Karen had done so to get where she was—but she knew the man’s ability to survive lay in whether he could handle Roman or not.

“He’s just…new to this type of interviewing.” Read: he’s new to people being defiant assholes just because.

[godflcw]

" yeah, no shit he's new to this type of interviewing.. " the drama of his rolled eyes is amplified by want for her to witness them, " the guy doesn't know what a damn lock up is. " and the stuttering wasn't cute out of his mouth. not that she'd ever done it more than once. caught off-guard and flustered, it's a memory roman's held on to. locked it away for the lonelier nights when she didn't answer her phone and he'd flown too far to drop in unannounced. like he had this evening. let himself in when a tested door proved to be unlocked. she'd hear about that later.

" he tries talkin' to me again and i'mma slap the taste up out his mouth. " further mumbling — something about his beady little eyes and that ugly lip-fuzz — carries while he's hauled her to the kitchen. finds a place to perch her, there, at the edge of a counter that allows for eye contact and impatient hands to smooth back all that blonde stuck to her face and neck. wet hair, catching in his fingers, isn't tugged on purpose, though there were plenty of nights when he couldn't have boasted the same.

" i been busy, " he answers her question, vague but earnest. he'd been busy. life doesn't care about the bags under his eyes or the hours he'd lost out on. it didn't care that he'd not been to his own home in over a month and this trip, postponed time and time again, made guilt an unsightly knot in his stomach. karen had every reason to doubt him. second guess his motives. point a slender, pale finger in his face and call him a liar. manipulator. user. whole forums were devoted to it, she'd not need dig far to find the offended masses for comiserating.

but she hadn't.

let his thumbs speak for him. drawing circles over the slopes of cheekbones.. the delicate swell of pinkened cheeks. angular jaw and a bottom lip he'd swiped with particular interest. what was he if not covetous ?

" you plannin' on comin' back ? " that'd already been answered. root of one of many of their arguments, he'd made demands then, but swallowed back against them, now. proof of his trying. " or i gotta send steven packing, first ? "