sob crap

3

Sasha Velour, War on the Catwalk, Detroit - 28th July
This was so beautiful I was crying the whole time

anonymous asked:

AA is back: I've made everyone sad. The goal is complete. To make it better; Sera does not find it amusing when she stumbles across Solas body next to his vhenan's grave. She's grumbling, muttering under her breath about him as she sets about burying the elf. She's done and he's safely in the ground and the hole is covered back up. She's stays to stare at their graves side by side, only to notice the tears rolling down her face. Widdle, Lavellan, and now Solas. An elf she considered a friend.

Listen. LISTEN

YOU C A N T

[Headcanon] Emberflit Alley Home

     Viktor’s household resides in a particularly old area of Zaun - a very old area. While it is in a Cultivar, it is an incredibly old one and often the smog of Zaun does manage to get into the glass dome, making it as dreary and uncomfortable as the rest of Zaun. 

     With it being such a big Cultivar, that means that plenty of other buildings and households reside in there, more now than originally planned due to it’s age and Zaun’s ever-growing nature. Old houses were built upon, changed, altered and extended, even divided to make space and accommodations over time for folk who came and went through the area. Viktor’s household is one of the few that remained rather untouched by the ever-changing nature of it’s neighbors. 

      The name of  Emberflit ‘Alley’ comes from the fact the street has long-become an obscured, winding, narrow pathway of households and shops having grown closer to the sidewalk as the years went by. What had likely started as an open, rather plain walk-way through a neighbor hood over time has long since grown into a quiet and eerie pathway that few other than those who absolutely needed to traverse. 

     A heavy smog always coats the alley constantly, seldom ever lightening. Some days if a good breeze shifts through the old Cultivar the fog grows clearer, but rarely does it ever clear entirely due to the winding and complex nature of Emberflit Alley. 

     Viktors household itself is only slightly stuck out due to the nature of a full front yard still being poised out front. The forefront of the building has not been added to til it reached sidewalk, leaving an open though long-since deceased front yard in front of the house, neatly framed with an iron fence and gateway. 

     The house itself is large in size, and unlike many other buildings in the surrounding area it has not conjoined itself to it’s neighbors to join the ongoing snaking amalgamation of side-by-side homes and shops that fill the area. While the property has shrunk due to this occurring around it, the house is left entirely untouched by neighboring buildings, given several meters leeway on either side of the large building. Only a few houses remain as such in Emberflit Alley due to the nature of the building process of the surrounding area.

       This certainly was not the same household Viktor raised his children in. This household was in fact an old house that remained in the family. Traditionally it was merely a ‘get away home’ from the main household that resided over much closer to Piltover and the Entresol where many other households of Zaunite Baron’s resided along the threshold of the two City-states. To escape the pressure of perfection and be much more at ease, deeper with Zaun. 

     Purchased by his grandfather, it went long forgotten and abandoned by the time Viktor had grown into adult hood and learned of it in a passing conversation from his father. Due to it’s otherwise irrelevance at the time and Viktor’s lack of ability to properly do anything about it seeing as he was not the head of the Volkov linage yet, it was left once more and was forgotten for years.

      It came to the forefront of Viktor’s mind once more when he became a known ‘criminal’ in Piltover. Not wanting to move his family to what had grown to be a less than stellar area of Zaun or have them become involved in what had happened to him, Viktor moved there privately, taking with him all documentation of the household so that his children could not follow him for their own safety.

     It traditionally took Viktor over a month of work to get the old household back up to proper conditions, including the proper installation of all necessary equipment for building and working on his augments and hex-techmaturgy. Another month entirely had to be devoted to the rest of the household, making sure it was at least livable. 

     No exceptional work was ever done, as Viktor never sought to hire anyone in particular who might have been professional at any of the jobs he tended to to come and fix the place up. It was a hide away. It was not meant for quality of life. It was meant for work, study, a place to be functional. It only had to be functional, nothing more. Because of this, while clean and well kept, the household suffers from old, worn hard-wood flooring, faded wall paint, and tarnished metal detailing and various other signs of age. 

      But it is only for living in. Not for living in. It only has to serve a purpose, and that is for Viktor’s work. Nothing more. At best, things like rugs and upholstery was replaced, and various mechanics updated as well as any wiring due to the old, unkempt nature of the place. 

     In the long run perhaps leaving it as it was was for the better. The dreary nature coupled with the dark and unpleasant rumors that surrounded the strange metal man that lived within the confines of the dark house was likely what keeps people from invading it, meaning less problems for Viktor. 

     All in all, it serves it’s purpose fantastically well in it’s location for what the Herald needs it for. 

lmao i actually did it

i havent written in like, almost two years so I apologise for the fact that this is garbage. i also wrote it in like 3 hours.

anyway, enjoy this crappy oneshot karamel fans  pls accept me

(you can also read it on ao3 here)

the world’s stopped spinning (but only for me)

She was okay.

She saw the looks everyone sent her way when they thought she wasn’t watching, of course- the worried eyes, the furrowed brows. The pity.

Keep reading

Bracelets  AU (Jungkook) Part One

Summary: In this world everyone has a soulmate. The day you are born you receive a bracelet. When it turns black you’ve come into contact with your soulmate–only thing is, one of you will eventually have to die by the other’s hand. 

Writer’s note: WARNINGS, BLOOD, eventual sadness, fun times. cursing.

I really have become addicted to reading MAFIA! AU of the boys, it made me want to write one. Sorry if this is crappy or dumb or, omigosh I’m just sorry this exists. Thanks for reading anyways!!! <3

Parts: Two / Three / Four / Five / Six / Seven / Eight / Nine / Ten / Eleven

The newspaper and all of its horrible headlines fell to the coffee table. It was immediately weighted down with his half-empty mug and polished shoes.

“How many more?”

Jungkook swiped the remote, aiming it at the television. “They reported only seven. It’s been a slow week.”

Taehyung sighed next to him as he stretched his arms behind a howling yawn. “Makes you eager to meet yours huh?” Half of it was unintelligible through the tail end of the yawn. “I thought that soulmates were supposed to love each other, not kill one and other.”

“Mmm.” That was the old meaning of the word. Jungkook would rather focus on the horrible cartoon playing than listen to the crap Tae was spewing.

“I think that they love each other. You know? They always report the soulmate of the dead one standing above them sobbing or some crap like that. Why would they do that if they disliked the person?”

“Dunno.” Stupidity? Who would let themselves fall or care for the person they were destined to kill. That’s like adopting a pet that’s on its death bed with the hope of loving it forever. It doesn’t work. The one that winds up hurt the most is you. That’s why he avoids contact with any female once-so-ever. He won’t have to worry about the issue of a soulmate if he never finds his.

“C'mon Jungkook, you can’t tell me that you really don’t want to meet her.”

“I don’t want to.” His bracelet burned–suddenly it was something he couldn’t ignore even though he’d spent his entire life trying to.

“Afraid she’ll kill you?”

“No.”

“I want to meet mine.” He could already picture the faraway look on his elder’s face as he dreamt about some woman in a fairy tale castle of roses and candy. He focused on the show, it was easier than talking to his hyung when he was like this.

“We don’t actually know what happens, you know?” Taehyung continues. “We’re just told one always kills the other. I don’t want to believe in that. I want to see for myself–I still have some hope for this shitty world.”

Jungkook grunted.

“I hear my mother won. Well, after she and my father you know, that’s how I was born. So maybe I’d like to think that I could change that outcome, being a product of love or whatever.”

“My parents are still alive and kicking.” Jungkook muttered.

“Do they love each other?”

“Are we done with this conversation if I say yes?”

Taehyung flicked his wrist with the thin little bracelet, admiring it’s golden color under the light. Everyone gets a bracelet when they’re born, you can take it off but after it’s touched you it only recognizes you. Someone else can wear it, but it won’t turn black for them–only for its owner.  When it turns that color it means you’ve touched your soulmate. No one knows why or how any of these rules work anymore, they’ve just become the law–the code of life since forever.

“For a member of a gang you’re too soft.”  Jungkook whispered.

“Say that to the people I’ve killed.”

~.~

They were here to take out their rival gang’s power structure one leg at a time. This was a little nothing in a small red-light district that they operated. They had many of these, but Namjoon thought that this one would be a good starting point to wipe out their source of income. First the whores, then the drugs, later they’d take it out at the head.

The enemy gang heads wouldn’t even be here anyways, only the lowlifes that were easy enough to stomp on.

Jungkook kicked in the sixth door while Hoseok ran past him, shouting in the hallway. His high pitched laughter echoed through the building as he chased one of the running men. Jungkook’s job was clearing the girls–much to his dislike (he just refused to directly touch them)–he would only kill if one of the men got in his way, or a girl got too out of whack to let run.

The room was dark like the others. Actually, it looked exactly like the others except for the girl wasn’t dead. She was chained to the bed with a rusty shackle like the others, and her ankle was bloody and raw from fighting against the cuff. Her hair hung limp and poorly washed in front of her face, her body thin and weak–mostly bone, just like the others.

She looked up as he entered, wide prey-like eyes staring up at him. Her eyes were not fearful like those girls he found that were still alive, they weren’t crazy.

He played it on the defensive–the last girl that was alive tried to claw his eyes out so he had to shoot her. So, he held his gun pointed at her head. “Give me a reason not to shoot, I’m feeling a little angry today.” Tae’s conversation was still playing in his head and it pissed him off to no end. He was so done with everyone and their soulmate bullshit. He’d killed people, he’d do it again.

She tilted her head at the gun and pressed her lips together in contemplation. “Mmm? Those don’t scare me anymore. You’ll have to threaten me with something more than a weapon. Some men are kinky.”

“What scares you?” He asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Why do you want to know?”

He shook the strange feeling gathering in his head and holstered his gun. “If you try to kill me you’ll be dead within the second, so I suggest you don’t. ” He snapped as he walked towards her.

Her gaze scrutinized his every move. She was fluent in body language. “You’re going to let me go?”

He bent down to her shackled ankle. “How many men visited you?”

“Too many to count. Most men best like the women that aren’t crazy, but still put up some sort of fight to their kinks.”

He fiddled with the lock, pulling a pin from his pocket to whittle into the mechanism. “How’d they get you?” Small talk was good, it kept the girls distracted and not touching him while he tried to free them.

“They originally wanted my sisters, my little siblings. My parents were on vacation, so it was just us. When they came I begged and pleaded. I said I’d be whatever they wanted. I said I wouldn’t leave, I would comply if they took only me instead. My parents would never find me, neither would my siblings. Thus far they’ve kept their word.”

The shackle fell to the ground with a loud clatter. He felt her arms wrap around his waist, thin bones cutting into him as she hugged him. Her arm brushed the skin of his bicep and that was when he none too kindly shoved her back onto her ass, releasing himself from her grip.

“Do. Not. Touch. Me. Ever.” He snapped, his voice nearly booming in the small room.

That microscopic gaze of hers. “There’s fear in your eyes.”

His hand twitched and his head snapped to his wrist. Fire bloomed behind his eyes and without thinking the barrel of his gun was pressed between her eyes. Those doe eyes stared back through the gun and at him.

She weakly lifted her wrist without moving her head, looking to her own thin sliver of a bracelet. It was pitch black. “Oh.” she whispered. Her gaze shifted back to him as she let her hand fall limp in her lap. His finger twitched on the trigger.

“I’m happy you were nice.” She smiled at him, causing some weird chain reaction that made his heart a size too small for his body. She reached out slowly and encased his hands on the gun with her own. “It’s okay.” Her voice was so soft, kind of melodic. He’d like to hear more of it. What the hell was he even thinking right now? “Shoot.”

He was sweating under her stare, anger burning at her–at him, at his stupidity for letting her touch him, for getting so close, at the world for having this stupid twisted fate. He tried to will his finger to move. He wanted to pull the trigger. Everything in him wanted to pull that damn trigger. “Why won’t my finger fucking move?!” He snarled at her.

She looked almost shocked at his anger, confusion spreading across the planes of her face. “Do you want me to help you pull  the trigger?”

“No!” He felt like a child. “I can do it myself!”

“But you’re not-”

“I can do it!” He shouted at her, spit nearly flying from his mouth. His hands shook and he knew that the gun was becoming unsteady even though his grip on it was white knuckled. He could feel the heat from her palms–they weren’t even sweaty.

Those damn doe eyes.

“Why are you letting me kill you?” His voice was fifty shades of pathetic and weak.

“I don’t want you to die.”

“Why?”

“You seem nice.”

He pictured the faces he’d killed. Their screams echoing in his ears. The curses they spit onto his shoes in blood as he ended their lives. “You don’t know me. You don’t know how many I’ve brutally murdered. I’ve killed people.”

“Yes?”

“I’m a gang member.”

Her hands never faltered on his, still coaxing him to do what he desperately wants to but can’t. “I know.” She says.

“So you should die in my place?”

“You’re my soulmate for a reason, why not?”

He shook her hands off his, never breaking his gaze from hers. She tried to reach for his hands again to help him complete what he no longer wants to do. “Let me help.”

He jerked the gun away from her, holding it out of her reach as he places one hand on her shoulder. She fights limply, she wants the gun. She wants him to shoot her, to kill her–she wants the life to bleed out of her coughing and choking so his name can become a curse on her lips. So he can add another heart-breaking tally mark to the list of the dead that have fallen under his name.

“Jungkook!” Namjoon shouted down the hall. “You ready to head out– we finished our ends here!”

He looked at her, then quickly at the door. Their standoff remained for a split second before he let his body do all the thinking. He scooped her up by her waist and flopped her over his shoulder. She weighed less than his laundry bag (and that was saying something since he only had four sets of clothing). With her balanced like that he holstered his gun and jogged down the hallway with his new unwanted prize in tow.

Well, he couldn’t really say unwanted anymore.