#dcwnseeker

[hauntsect]

David hates Hyles. He knew him as Emma for a time, and he hated her, too. But he's stuck here, can't leave what Hyles has done to him, knowing that if he tried to leave, he would be found again. Whatever Hyles has done to him has made it even worse, as if some kind of homing beacon had been implanted in his skull through whatever tests the man has been running, ensuring that David can't go far. He hates it. But there's only so long that hatred can reign supreme in his mind. His body has grown exhausted and he finds that the consistent presence of the man has at least been a constant in his new life. In this absolute shitshow of a new life. A handful of years ago, he wouldn't have ever considered that he'd be lying next to this man, running the back of his forefinger along the pale curve of his cheekbone with a gentleness he's always reserved for only those closest to him. It's a tenderness he's craved, weak and carnal and vulnerable. Hyles doesn't love him, and he doesn't love Hyles, but his mind plays games with him now, and pretending isn't difficult anymore. So he strokes that cheekbone before slipping to the back of his neck, cradling the hook of his jaw against his thumb. He's so soft, seems somehow easily breakable, but David knows better. Rolling onto his side, he rests his head on his arm and continues to brush his thumb along his jawline. "What do you dream about at night?" he asks softly. They've slept beside each other, but David isn't sure the man sleeps or dreams. He's an enigma, something unquantifiable. That's alright. David can pretend he understands, at least in moments like these.

— @dcwnseeker

His devotion should go uninterrupted, that's how it usually is. The way he dedicates himself to those he loves is always undivided. And yet, as he lays down now, his eyes are up to the vast skies, to the voices of those like him. It's a melody that refuses to stop, as centuries go by.

So much pain, he can hear it in their cries, in the way his own illness tries to take hold of him. I know what you want, I want it, too... I'm working on it. But there is also the love he harbors for these ones... The gentle sensation of a caress he does not deserve causes his eyes to close.

A deep breath comes as he feels his body tense... This pain, this gentleness is also love. David has been here with him for so long, and he will be for longer, Hyles will make sure of it. Who wouldn't want to have him this close forever? If eternity exists, he will make sure David is part of it. When he speaks, a quiet sigh comes out of Hyles.

Dreams. Dreams are a human thing. What he does is... What is it? He has been told a few times. He obsesses over things, he morphs them until they are rotten. He doesn't dream, he overtakes. Was that it?

"You," his eyes open, his smile polite as he turn to glance over his general area. They are so close he can smell him, so human still... After all this time, the man is still himself,... a fascinating creature he wants to keep under his scope forever. "And space. I miss outer space." That place he never had.

"What do you dream about? I believe you've never really shared that with me. Do you even want to? I'd listen... I'd revere it." And maybe, that was the problem. Hyles loves David... a little too much.

[madeofthreads]

It's late when Zayne gets back to the little apartment he shares with Leon, a headache brewing behind his eyes and his shoulders already beginning to go lax as soon as he sets his bag down. Residency is a hell of a time on a good day, but when they have to do twenty-four hour shifts while he's shadowing the head cardiovascular surgeon, he feels it even more. He wants this, however, so he doesn't complain - until he gets home, that is.

One-a.m. isn't an unusual time to find Leon awake. Being 'asked' by the government to work for them and putting him through a rigorous training program has been hell on him, too, and coping has gotten difficult for the both of them. He thinks, though, that Leon's job is much harsher than his own, given what they expect out of him. Zayne doesn't know all the details, but blackmail was said more than once when Leon's talked about it.

With his jacket cast aside, tie loosened, and the top few buttons undone, Zayne sets the take-out he'd picked up on the table and sits near Leon on the couch. "I thought you might be awake," he says tiredly as he starts opening the bag and sorting their orders, "so I picked up Chinese. I got you a coke, but there's also whiskey in the other bag." They have their vices, and were Zayne not such a lightweight, he'd have some, too. However, some choice words came from him the last time he had more than few sips, so he refrains, even on the nights when he doesn't work the next day.

(okay timeline-wise, the outbreaks would have already happened, but maybe they stay roommates for a few years idk I just wanted to send you something)

Leon desperately wants to sleep. The physical demand of his training should have him flattened out in no time, coupled with the after-hours of work outs to chase his peak. But that was only making him bone tired.

It was his mind that refused him peaceful rest.

Flashes of that night surfaced in his dreams. Memories that twisted into nightmares — whether he failed Claire, or had to watch her struggle and fall from the other side of a chainlink fence, or the hand of a tyrant closed around his skull, or one step landed with a crackle in broken glass and a licker tore into him all teeth and claws, or Sherry's father backed him into a corner during one of his relentless assaults...

It was little wonder that their government demanded his service. He survived something he shouldn't have. Walked into a city infested with zombies, learned the truth of what was happening and why, infiltrated into Umbrella's highly secretive and highly infected NEST, had a sample of the virus that started the outbreak in his damn hand and killed a tyrant during a self-destruct sequence with a razor-thin margin left to escape.

Thing is, Leon wanted to help. He only ever had to be asked. But the backhanded threats and blackmail jaded him to a cause he would have otherwise signed his name to. That had been the death of his naivety.

Though the one constant source of comfort throughout the shitshow he had tumbled through just-so-happened to be as soul-crushingly tired as he was.

Leon placed down his book. He'd have to thumb back a chapter, he was reading the words but they hadn't been absorbed. Instead he watched Zayne meticulously fuss their typical orders into place. It didn't escape him that a paper bag that absolutely held a steamed custard bun was placed closest to him. He was predictable. Dessert first, always, because everything else he could tolerate as leftovers for another day.

"A man after my heart." It was the kind of joke that had been beaten to death in their apartment, and still it slipped out. Leon sluggishly sat forward instead of his puddled sprawl and grabbed up the warm bun. "So, you get to occupy your own bed tonight. Are they actually going to give you the chance to use it or are you on call?"

[detnu-a-h]

The shop is quiet today, giving December the downtime to make sure the flowers are arranged well, to check on the baby plants in the incubators behind the counter, to dust where she hasn't been able to in days. She likes when things are slow; she's learned how to think about things besides her past, to focus on the present, the now. She sings along to the radio playing gently from the counter. She stops singing and looks up from the incubators when she hears the little bell tinkling above the door. Her smile is warm as she looks to the stranger entering her shop. He's handsome, looks sweet, and she's gotten better at not suspecting every newcomer of being him. "Hello," she says as she comes around the counter and approaches him. "What can I help you with?" (for Saena!!) @wakingdrcams

It's a decision he makes on a whim. To go into the flower shop nearby, right after buying a handful of things at the convenience store. Maybe, this would help. Some therapies use flowers as base, and, overall, flowers are revered for being a feel-good, positive type of gift – if you know which ones to choose. Grabbing ones from the soil outside wouldn't give him certainty, the flower shop was his best bet.

Either that, or he had just found the shop alluring. He'd never seen a place quite like that, not where he grew up, not where he had helped Ena grow up...

So, when he opens the door and feels the embrace of the gentle aromas and the soft humming of a woman, he is amazed. Saena tries to take it all in while waiting quietly, eventually locking eyes with the lady. Her smile is warm and genuine – a phenomenon he is still not used to – and she is gorgeous, much like the flowers surrounding her.

"Good day," he replies as softly as he can, his steps leading him to the counter, closer to her. Saena stands there for a bit, wondering just what exactly he has to say in a place like this. I'm looking for flowers? That was too broad... "Do you sell flowers that help with... illnesses? I mean to say, flowers that bring happiness."

[notthedyingtype--archive]

@dcwnseeker liked for a starter // Clarice &&. Eric

"You do realize," there's a minor pause in her speech, casting a quick glance at her nearby monitor when it beeps. "That that calculation isn't accurate? It won't boost the range." Pushing away from the table filled with schematics in front of her, Clarice glides across the lab in her chair to settle in front of her computer. "We need to tweak it a little bit. I ran the model, it won't work."

[mvncesa]

@dcwnseeker​ gets one (1) of the starters i promised them days ago 

He had seen his fair share of weird fucking things during his time in the marines. Some people who had worked with him before might have even called him one of those weird fucking things — But whatever they had found in that temple? It was definitely the weirdest thing that he had ever seen. Which made him even more curious about what the hell it was. Not to mention what the hell the team had gone through after the ground had collapsed and thrown them down there. Decker had heard a version of the story from each of the survivors. It was hard to avoid it, too, when all the agents doing the interview liked to whisper about it as they moved from one part of the quarantine zone to the next. Like they were having a mild conversation over some coffee in the break room of some office instead of being stuck out in the middle of Iraq investigating lord knew what. 

The thing was? Decker had stopped asking questions a long time ago. It was part of the reason why he kept getting jobs like that one. He seemed to have a special talent of keeping his mouth shut and taking orders. The whole don’t ask, don’t tell thing, right? Except for the fact that he never had to ask or snoop for any information when the people that he worked for were idiots. All he needed to do was help lead his unit and he would be fine. 

Even when he did decide to ask questions. 

“You good over there?” Footfalls were louder than they ever typically were to catch the other man’s attention. The other guards might not pay King or the others any real mind at that point but Decker did. Had he impulsively decided that right then was when he was going to start talking to the other man for the first time in the weeks that he had been there? Of course. Blame it on his poor social skills. He stopped at the short wall that the lieutenant sat, the sight familiar enough in and of itself. “It’s supposed to drop below twenty degrees tonight, ya know?” A quick glance over the other man. “Might want to head inside soon.”

[themultiversemercs]

@dcwnseeker

A Chance Encounter

"So that's...interesting." The man checked the bite mark again under the desk light of the building he had been hiding out in, unsure whether to be relived or concerned about the fact the one green and mucus coloured bite mark had receded, the virus bleeding out of the wound leaving only the mark.

"That's good to know." With that he rolled his sleeve, and checked the chamber of his rifle, flicking the fire selector to semi-auto before peeking out to check the coast was clear. Arch quietly climbed out, making his way down the streets as quietly as he could, soon finding his way to the Raccoon City Police station.

[hauntsect]

As it should be.

Chaos steadily overtook the United States. The government was practically crushed, but a little too stubborn to fully give in. Despite the beauty of this destruction, the upheaval, and fear, there was still much to be done.

Surprisingly, that wasn't what had Hyles's attention, at this very moment. No. Something else had happened, something much more exciting.

David was back. He was active again, trying to aid the US in the only way they deemed it worthy of him – returning to his soldier roots. Hyles knew of the danger that entailed having David back on duty. That man could single-handedly turn the tide if he dedicated himself to it. David could throw this progress a few steps back and then some... It was a problem. He posed a threat. Hyles should be angry about it, about any pull toward harmony.

...But, it was David! The David Mason. The very one he had observed for so long. The one that shouldn't have been back on the battlefield. The one that had survived things that would break even the strongest of men. The same system that took so much from him was now using him to establish itself back up... And David was following through.

Did he know why? Did he know the depths of his strength?

Hyles could only wonder if he saw his resilience as an attribute... or a curse. He eyed the man lying on the bed, inside the room Hyles had prepared specially for him – with the lie of possible familiarity and freedom. To think he looked so peaceful now. A few hours ago, Mason seemed to have fallen victim of a breakdown. After that, he was so graciously... escorted here by Hyles. How could he not? David was truly a fascinating man, he could watch him forever.

The moment the idea to stare on crosses his mind, he notices the man stirring awake. Ah, his heart skips a beat. Finally, finally... Face to face! Wait. Face to... fabricated face? It still counts, right? Ah, he could barely contain himself. But he hid it well, behind a semblance of control, a presence firm and calm. He turns away from him, walks about the eerily pristine room, steady, hands to his back.

"Have you woken up, David?" Hyles purposefully uses the Hispanic pronunciation of David's name – a subtle call to the past, to Menéndez and the turmoil of Mason's life – expressed innocently... Testing, prodding just a little bit, like a good scientist does. "How are you feeling?"

❥ ❝ @dcwnseeker's David finds himself in a semi-plotted starter. ❞

[notthedyingtype--archive]

@dcwnseeker // snow confronted bigby: "❝ ... when were you going to tell me about this? ❞"

brows furrow in mild annoyance, drawing in a deep breath to stamp down his frustrations. he's not annoyed or frustrated at snow. more so the situation he had found himself in. he knew trying to hide things from snow wasn't ideal, or easy, at all, but he also knew she had enough to worry about as is with becoming the mayor of fabletown. rough fingers rise to pinch the bridge of his nose as he draw in another deep breath.

"now i guess." he'd much rather not have to tell her at all really. but she had every right to know as well. "dr. swineheart says it isn't fatal. i'll heal, thankfully." bigby just can't eat anymore silver for a while. which, he had no complaints about. not only did it make his skin, and bones, burn, but it left a flavor to be desired in the base of his throat. even if he was only shot in the leg, as far from the throat as possible, he could still taste it at the back of his throat. it was similar to the taste of blood -- a tinge of copper, but more burnt.