#v. dbd.

[embittersweet]

@desiderixm : "Isn't it funny how similar love is to being sick and yet we see illness as something evil and the other as something morally pure? Well that is unless you're tuberculosis, that was called the "Angel's disease" and was said to make people beautiful by giving them pale skin and flushed cheeks." — Cirith dbd verse

          ❝  love  makes  you  sick  in  every  way  possible.   physically  and  mentally.   i  feel  like  i’m  going  crazy  most  of  the  time …   sometimes,   i  think  people  think  my  love  is  evil,    but  love  can’t  be  evil .   it  is  pure.   affection  is  pure.   but,   it  hurts  at  the  same  time.   it’s   about  a  lot  of  different  things, i guess.   sometimes  things  that  are  good  don’t  feel  good.  ❞ her  love  is  intense  and  burning.   all - consuming.   doesn’t  that  make  it  all  the  more  pure?   pure,   unfiltered  love.   not  every  person  can  claim  their  feelings  as  so  profound.   a  lack  of  commitment,   or  a  lack  of  courage?   she  isn’t  sure.

          a pause.   ❝  … and,   uh.   you  don’t  need  tuberculosis  or  whatever  to  be  pretty.   just  do  the  same  thing  with  makeup.   you  can  still  look  like  an  angel  without  risk  of  dying.  ❞

[pathoscleaved]

@leadxxr sent:

"i didn't mean to talk your ear off. . . "

THE FACT THE ENTITY HAD CHOSEN THE RACCOON CITY POLICE DEPARTMENT AS A LOCATION FOR TRIALS HAD AMUSED WESKER TO NO END. The same organization he'd betrayed - STARS - had his office just as he had left it. Immaculate. With his belongings and random drinks and snacks hidden away in the nooks and crannies of this perfect snapshot of his past... it was easy to bring Dwight here. Much easier than he'd admit.

His glasses are strewn across his desk, his fingerless gloves laid flat in front of the black lenses. The tactical vest is off and laying along the cherry wood. The overhead light is on, bathing the room in a delightful, nostalgic glow: so unlike the Entity's normal style, but then again, this had been a wish for Albert. He'd been so diligent in his sacrificial duties, and as such, had been allowed to ask for a single wish. Wesker rarely had want to cash in his built-up favor with the Entity, but that was before Dwight.

Now, the survivor sits in his lap, in a leather loveseat that had been materialized into the compact space by the Entity's careful talons.

Though the room is the only source of light in the entirety of the police department, it feels... comfortable, as if he had brought Dwight to the office in the middle of the night. The other's voice, that pleasant tenor, is so soothing to listen to. Moments like this, Albert feels... well, he allows himself to feel and revel in it.

A hazy warmth settles over him, and he takes one of Dwight's hands in his own, gingerly tracing the bend of his knuckles with his thumb.

"Nonsense," he murmurs, taking that same hand and pressing a gentle kiss to his palm, "tell me more of your life before the Fog, dearest." Wesker's free hand moves to gently card through dark locks.

[embittersweet]

  @sangelune :  continued.

          ❝  hmph.  ❞   a  humorless  sound.   she  simply  allows  him  to  grab  her  face,  arms  crossed.  leather  feels  cold  against  skin.  mi-kyung  sees  nothing  as  she  looks  into  the  mask’s  eyes.  dark  voids  staring  back  into  dark  voids.   ❝  you’re  really  not  that  much  better  than  him,   you  know.   you’re  both  cruel.   both  assholes.   i  could  do  better  than  both  of  you.   ❞   she  could.   but  she  won’t, of course.   acts  like  she’s  so above  the  attention  he  so  graciously  grants  her.

          danny  was  a  distraction.   sought  him  out  for  twisted  comfort  while  her  real  love  rejected  her  time  and  time  again.   he  was  never  meant  to  be  permanent.   that’s  what  she  had  to  remind  herself.   and  you  need  him.   ❝  how  do  i  know  i’m  not  just  gonna  waste  my  time  again?   you’ll  probably  just  throw  me  out,  too …   ❞   but  what  else  would  fill  the  aching  gap  in  her  chest?   who  else  would  have  her  as  she  is?   you’re  making  a  horrible  mistake.   you  need  to  run.   she  realizes  this  is  her  only  chance  at  love.   or  something  resembling  it,   at  least.

[embittersweet]

@vindixta :  " Will you please stop trying to pick a fight with me? " (said with the general tone of someone who is about to start swinging. of course :) )

            a pause.  she crosses her arms across her chest and assesses veronica.  reading body language.  facial expressions.  god,  just looking at her pissed mi-kyung off.  what specifically was it about her overdramatic makeup and tryhard clothes that inspired such vexation?  no — those truths were trivial in the grand scheme of things.  it was that nauseating personality,  utterly hot-headed and as stubborn as a mule.  it’s not mi’s fault the other woman simply can’t handle hearing exactly what she needs to.  

          but,  uncharacteristically, she relents.  a deep sigh escapes from between glossy lips.  ❝  whatever.  ❞  and so,  mi-kyung returns to the more crucial task at hand:  this stupid generator.  for a moment,  the only sound reverberating throughout the rusted school hallway is the purr and clicks of heavy machinery.  the familiar,  mundane task almost distracts her from the lingering aggravation rooted firmly in the back of her mind.  almost. the near-silence doesn’t last long.

          ❝  i’m just saying you should definitely know how not to blow up a generator by now.  like,  if the killer had heard that and come over here to murder us,  it would’ve been your fault.  but,  it’s not that big of a deal,  i guess.  it’s only our well-being on the line.  ❞

[embittersweet]

@sangelune :  it's supposed to be following orders. get the self imposed mission done to go home. get what he was promised. what he wasn't told was that some of these idiots tried to fight back. made murdering them harder than it needed to be. ghost was an efficient killing machine; he hated wrenches thrown into the wheels of the machine. she was one. knife in her hand, threat seen immediately. his body moves without his thought. reflex. the knife grabbed, her arm twisted behind her back to the point it nearly snaps. a flick of his wrist and her knife he'd taken goes flying, spinning, before - thunk - it's embedded to the hilt in the tree. such a calm, near callous display of skill and power. performed as a fucking afterthought. "wanna make it 'arder, do ya?" the growl comes out, before he pushes her arm further. that ugly part of him says he should snap it like the twig it feels like. so easy. what did he have left but this cruelty? he could give in, breathe in that poison the others deemed killer choked on. "could accommodate tha'. right fuckin' quick."

          ❝  ah —  ❞

          mi - kyung  wasn’t  able  to  blink  in  the  time  it  had  all  happened.   one  moment,   she’s  gripping  the  knife,   pulling  it  out  of  her  pocket  and  scanning  for  vulnerabilities.   the  next,   she’s  empty - handed,   right  arm  painfully  pinned  behind  her  back.   had  he  even  given  her  a  minuscule  chance  to  raise  the  weapon  by  a  single  inch  before  disarming  her  so  seriously?   talk  about  an  overreaction!   in  what  world  does  he  realistically  expect  a  girl  her  size  to  do  any  sort  of  real  damage  to  a  man  like  him?   it’s  not  as  if  she  was  planning  on  killing  him!

          the  urge  to  tell  him  exactly  that  nearly  boils  over.   a  gentle  hand  from  within  her  mind’s  eye  carefully  turns  down  the  heat.   ❝  ow — fuck,   ow — i - i’m  sorry …!   just —  ❞   only  one  attempt  is  made  to  wrench  herself  free  from  his  grip.   pulls  herself  forward  as  far  as  she  can  manage,   twists  her  body,   tightens  her  jaw.   when  that  predictably  does  not  work,   she  quickly  goes  slack.   ❝  i - i’m  just  trying  to  survive …!  ❞

[embittersweet]

@sangelune :  "you said you're not like me?" the ghostface circles his favorite victim, trailing gloved fingers across her shoulders, across her back. he chuckles, and it's dripping with dark promise. "oh - you give it time." he circles back in front of her, shifting that mask from his face to show only wicked, sinful lips. twisted into that awful smirk that can be heard in his voice when not seen. he leans forward, almost putting his lips to hers but stopping just short. his breath tickles her lips as he growls out the next words. "i'll make you mine."

          there’s  a  gentle  fondness  in  her  smile.   one  typically  reserved  for  whispered  sweet  nothings  and  chaste  affections.   the  phantom  touch  of  his  leather - clad  hands  lingers  on  her  skin  through  fabric.   her  own  hands  clasp  together  against  her  thighs.  small  but  unguarded  body  language.   unflinching  even  as  he  invades  her  personal  space.

          ❝  … no,   i’m  not  like  you.   but,   i’m  super  interested  in  seeing  how  you’ll  apparently  try  to  change  that.   like,   it’s  really  hot  whenever  you  act  all  sure  of  yourself,   even  if  it’s  a  little  annoying  at  the  same  time.  ❞

          one  hand  comes  up  to  rest  against  her  own  cheek.   tilts  her  head  into  her  palm,   black  eyes  never  leaving  his.   ❝  do  i  still  get  to  be  the  same  person  once  you’re  done  with  me?   or,   will  so  much  of  me  be  different  that  i  might  as  well  be  someone  else  entirely?   y ’ know,   like  that  paradox  about  the  boat …  ❞

[embittersweet]

@casusone :  continued.

          … lonely.   a  scoff  just  about  leaps  out  of  her,   held  back  only  by  his  misplaced  genuineness.   from  her  spot  sat  underneath  the  tree — back  pressed  against  the  trunk,  bent  knees  to  her  chest — she  glances  over  at  the  others  surrounding  the  glowing  campfire.   with  the  distance  she  deliberately  put  in  between  herself  and  them,   she  can  only  imagine  what  they  must  be  talking  about.   scattered  memories?   idle  gossip?   as  if  it  really  matters.

          ❝  yeah,   i’m  fine,  ❞   she  tears  her  eyes  away  from  the  group,   though  not  to  meet  his  gaze,   instead  seemingly  finding  more  interest  in  the  stagnant,   wild  grass.   ❝  just  didn’t  feel  like  being  social  tonight.   should  i  have  gotten  your  permission  first,   or  something?  ❞

[embittersweet]

@mischieflawed :  " great atmosphere"

          ❝  yeah,   yeah,   no,   it’s  great.   i  love  being  in  the  middle  of  bumfuck  nowhere  with  no  buildings  or  civilization,   stuck  with  complete  strangers  and  serial  killers  watching  us  from  the  shadows.   but,   hey,   we  have  a  fire.   doesn’t  that  almost  make  up  for  the  fact  we  are  definitely  dead  and  in  hell?  ❞

          sat  next  to  him  on  the  log  bench,   she  ( dramatically )  hunches  over  and  places  her  face  in  her  hands,   doing  everything  in  her  power  to  not  simply  start  screaming.   how  long  has  it  been  like  this  for  her?   the  unnatural  silence  of  the  forest  ironically  only  drives  her  to  further  madness.   no  insects  chirping,   no  birdsong,   nothing  to  indicate  life  beyond  those  who  are  trapped  alongside  her.   only  the  pop  and  crackle  of  embers  eating  away  at  wood.

          straightening  up,   mi  sighs.   her  leg  bounces  anxiously.   ❝  maybe  if  we  ask  nice  enough,   we’ll  get  a  radio,   or  something.  ❞