You make deals with the devil,

                                      but sometimes

                            y̧͕̣̱͙̮̐̄̄ͦͥͦͤ́̈́̀́̚͠ò̢̥̥̝̤̥͎̖̭͓̱̖̗͎̜̦̮̗̼̈͛͒ͣ̏̊̌̎ͫ͊̈͛̓̓̊͊͊̚͘uͯ̒ͭ̍͛ͨ̓ͯ̄͑͢҉͙͇̣̩̺̜̣̥͉̰̳ ̡̧̠̰͇̜̒̍ͤ͂ͤ̾ͤ̓ͨͧ̚͜e͈͓̪͇̞̱͓̘̲̭̟͚̞̙̙͕ͣͣ̄̓̂́̉̎ͤͧ͝͝ņ̶̶̜̮̜͎̙͖͔̭̰̼͔̭̲͓̠̟̥̂ͧ̏͊ͦ̒̋ͮ̈̾ͮ̓̌̾̀͝ͅḑ̵̜͇̲͍͉̗͙̗̟͓͂̂͌͆̎̋ͪͨ̔̔̅͂̌͂ͨ̅̏͊̏̀͟͞ ̷̴̲̬̬̖̗̞̙̜̥̯̎̓̒̈͂̂̋̌̈́̋ͫͣͯ̾̂͆̀͢͟u̴̷ͤ̈̏̍ͥ̍͞҉̡̹͖̲͙͙̭͙̻̠p̷̒̈̈ͦ͗ͦ͐ͦͨ̅̍ͣ͟͠͏̞̖̥͎̘͍͎͈ ͂͑͂̋̓͏̡̢̦͇̭̬̳̯̲̼̝̭̰̮͈͓̠̬̲̹̹͠w̨͒̏̂͗̌̆̈̋̿ͪ̂ͥ̿͆̚͝҉̠͖̩i̡͎̝̟̗̹̫͕̗͕̟͓̘̙͖̱͈̟̱͒͛̇̂͘͞ṯ̨͍̘̰̜͔̟̫̞ͭ̓ͮ̈ͨ͆͒̎̒ͯ́̚̕ͅͅh̷̭̥̻̠̣͙̭̪͈̘̗͈ͥͩ̌̃ͦ̈ͤͯͤͣ̐͛ͫ͟͜͞ ̸̷̪̹͈͎ͯͯͦ̄ͭ̀ͯ̓͐ͣͧ͟h̸͙̬͉̬̯̤̞̻̠͕͎͚̜̭̺͙̖̑̒̏ͬ̈́̽͘͠ͅͅȉͥ͐̒ͨͩ̃̊̔͊ͬ̀̓͌͟͞͏̝̰͍̥̯̖̱̪̗̺m̵̡̡̯̯͙̭̖̗̳̬̜͖̟͕͚̜͖̂̑̇̈́͌͊ͨͥ̇ͥ̄̃͌͘͠,̶̦̥͕̭͈͓̻̣ͤͫ͗̂͗͗̂̐̄̔̆͋ͨ̽ͩ́͜͠

“Я буду надеяться так.” She murmured, sitting on his desk. Her legs crossed, her eyes downcast at a few documents that sat before him. “Что мы имеем здесь? То, что - мы, чтобы делать затем, любят?” The woman glanced up at him, a brow raising.

"подделка проявляются." Nobody who wrote them out ever took them seriously, it was quite evident with the way that they were written, "но есть орфографические ошибки везде." They needed to delegate the task to somebody who was at least semi fluent in English, which would be somewhat of a struggle, seeing that many of those that work for them were their childhood friends who's education had failed halfway through, and that was only with the Russian cirriculum. "Симеон все еще находится в больнице, он , как правило, позаботились об этих вещах, без ошибок." "Мне нужно вздремнуть."

— Sylvia Plath (via guy)

Captured || closed

Gun pointed at his face, right. That is definitely never a good thing. God, what is it with freaks holding guns to him? Was there a target on him or a sign that says ‘shoot me’?

His intentions of looking for Rachel had continuously reached dead end after dead fucking end. It was infuriating for Chloe when he was getting nowhere. So with the bright idea of getting out of the shit-pit that was his suckish home, he took the first evidence and ran. More stuff popped up before he was lead to this place and now that he stood there, hands raised slightly, Chloe got the idea that maybe he was played.

He was going to die wasn’t he?

“Look dude, we’re in America. Speak completely in fucking English so I can understand,” Now was definitely not the time to be a smart mouth but Chloe can’t answer to guy if he doesn’t speak in a language he doesn’t understand. All he knows right now is not to move, but any moron would move when someone’s got a gun pointed to them, “Let’s try this again yeah? I’m not moving, see, stuck to this shitty piece of concrete on the ground.”

He grimaced. Looking at the boy with blue hair who talked too much for his own good, there was something they did to people who talked too much and for those who have not been made an example of would keep quiet in fear that they were next. “Who sent you?” There were a number of enemies that could’ve sent somebody to spy on them, find out the inner workings of their business and report back-- Prohaszka could benefit well on the floor plan. Exits and entrances that weren’t guarded. Anatoly suspected but wasn’t entirely convinced that they would send somebody so untalented and clumsy to complete a task. Maybe he was worthless enough to throw to the dogs, knowing that they would tear him apart. “Why are you here?”

                                       'cause i’m the fucking KING OF THE WORLD

                                                                                                              {{ get on your knees }}

                        i’m the fucking king of the world ;;

                                                           do as i please !!

                                                   so get up and get out and i’ll show you 

                             what it takes for me to control you

Uriel was just being stupid with his stubborn display. The grief consumed him and the only way he knew how to deal with it was to cause trouble like a child. Carelessly he even goaded the other with a grin on his face, “You think I’m scared of pain? Hurt me and see where it gets you.”  

He shoved the other away roughly, getting some space between them, but the way the younger man replied-- that look in his eyes for trouble-- it would be a shame if he didn't get what he was asking for. Two steps forward and a fist all balled up, fire behind the eyes and the anger building up all building up to the first strike. “Ты сумасшедший.” He brought in the man with a hand on his shoulder while he punched him right in stomach with an undercut before pushing him away again. In all honesty, he couldn’t tell who was enjoying this more. Him, or the crazy man before him.

The answer was nothing if not typical of men like him. How the Russians took such pleasure in the amount of pain they endured while doing their jobs, Wesley would never know. Every bruise and spec of blood spoke of liabilities. Of unnecessary risks taken for the sake of proving a point in the most personal way possible. 

And his displeasure with such behavior wasn’t as clear as day–apparent in the pursed twist of his lips and narrowed eyes.

“I’m sure your work is was worthy of Pollock,” he said, every word dripping sarcasm.

He didn't really know what the fuck that meant, he was familiar with the name it had come up before but the Russian had no idea what type of work it was that Pollock did. The statement itself was ignored entirely, except for the tone.  “Well if you don’t like it, don’t think about it.” The words rolled out of his mouth smoothly, as smoothly as it could get with that healthy dose of a Slavic accent.  You were as good as you were strong, one of the few life lessons the years in prison had taught him, his body marked and had proven every single one of them. There was a special thing that they called men like Wesley. 

“Cука.”

                         I have heard there are [̲̅t̲̅][̲̅r̲̅][̲̅o̲̅][̲̅u̲̅][̲̅b̲̅][̲̅l̲̅][̲̅e̲̅][̲̅s̲̅] of more than one kind.                                    Some come from aнead and some come from вεнιη∂.                                       But I’ve bought a в ι g в a т. I’m all ready you see.                                  Now my TROUBLES are going to have troubles with ᎷᏋ

             ༺ ｍａｎ ｉｓ ｔｈｅ ｃｒｕｅｌｅｓｔ ａｎｉｍａｌ༻

                                            indie vladimir and anatoly ranskahov

                                “Мы царствовать”

                            bratdamka  |||||  bratvoskhod

              тнeѕe нandѕ ѕтaιned яє∂

The teen nodded slightly, crossing her arms as he spoke. “Да,” she replied, “У меня много шрамов, чтобы доказать это.” Silence fell, Alenka glancing towards the kitchen before meeting Anatoly’s gaze. “Почему меня за это расположения?”

"Tалант," He said, picking the cup of tea back up and taking a sip, "и бизнес. Если вы не хотите , чтобы остаться здесь."