1998

I must fix this myself

[timetakesall]

Did you hear about the actor who fell through the floorboards? He was just going through a stage.

     “Did you hear about the woman who didn’t like her husband’s cheap coffee? It was grounds for divorce.”

[timetakesall]

domiitor​:

@timetakesall​   

    Make a buck, Daniel!  Find the woman, Daniel!  Get the family out, Daniel! 

   The Birkins were a problem that required the precision of a scalpel; Daniel Fabron is a sledge hammer solution. 

    No surprise Alex wanted them, and he has been told to give Alex exactly what she wants.  A quick glance at each of their respected portfolios (only the parts not covered by rigid lines of black ink) and he understands why.  Why was not the problem, it was the how and Raccoon City had afforded him so little time.  In respect to the family, she was far more important than he and it is exactly for Birkin the virologist (not the beast) that Daniel had plunged himself into the roaring depths of NEST. 

    It would have to be fast; it had.  He’d hit the timer on his watch and at exactly the strike of ten minutes to forty three seconds would he find her.  For a second, for but a brief moment does he balk- near curse himself and the divine for his failure.  She looked DEAD, bloodier than what survival could ever afford.  Alex demands survival, because unlike her husband it is her mind that the overseer wishes to preserve, not the body.  

    An explosion sends him stumbling, shaking him from his panic for he sees the twitch of eyes behind closed lids, the ever-so-soft hints of life dragged from that which looks so dead.  Her face matches the picture in his pocket and so does the name he rips off her jacket.  So he grabs her. By the collar of her lab coat he hauls (rather DRAGS)  her back from the edge of  the black abyss before it might claim them both.  

    NEST rips itself apart, moaning like a wounded animal as steel breaks, bends, then folds.  It groans though it were organic, sending him stumbling at each shake or ragged pulse.  He does not speak but scream his words, even still they can barely be heard over the cacophony.

   ❝ If you have but a breath left to breathe in those smoke-riddled lungs feel free to speak !!  I would rather not waste my chances on a corpse, you understand ?? ❞

     Explosions rock the cold metal beneath her, climbing ever upward as though each one hoped to claim her for itself. The lab itself worse than any B.O.W. it could have created, and yet worst of all--more painful than any bullet, any creature or torment--was the failure to protect its dearest secret. Her husband, his legacy, screaming with madness somewhere in the distance, a macabre lullaby to lure her into the ever-encroaching darkness. If a woman such as herself could be afforded an afterlife, she would be forever haunted, trapped within a personal hell of her own making.

     I’m so sorry, darling. I tried my best...

    Eyes fluttered closed as disjointed images floated through her pain-fogged mind, painting a surreal picture before all consciousness faded. The woman--that spying bitch--had fallen to her death, taken the sample of the G-virus with her. And the cop? Who cared anymore; he was of no consequence, would never make it to the train when NEST itself was collapsing like some twisted dying star built of metal and glass. The city would survive a bit longer, but she could draw her last confident that, despite her horrific losses, G would die along with her. 

    Or so she thought.

    Blood coated her lips as her lungs gasped for ragged breath, heart pounding slow in her ears like a funeral drum. The thought of how she must look almost had her laughing, pain-fueled hysteria gripping her swiftly and tightly. How many bones must have broken? And how much blood had she left trailing behind her, dragging her battered body inch by inch in the hope of one final act of vengeance? She was a scientist, she understood just how impossible her predicament was, how ridiculous and absurd it must seem to think her still among the living, and yet the minutes of her life had not yet expired. Death was not wont to take her, even if it danced at the corners of her vision the moment she opened her eyes.

     “Go--” The single word was wrought with pain, an agony that should, by all means, kill her before the blood loss could. “There’s...no time. Let go of me...”

     She was weak, hovering in a purgatory that did not have the grace to release her one way or the other. Even if she wanted to fight back she found she couldn’t, and yet bloodstained hands blindly searching for the fallen gun at her side. If her voice could not be heard over the death of the laboratory, then she would find another way to communicate: nothing spoke louder than a bullet, after all.

[timetakesall]

etcalvariae​:

   It is not an explosive pain, not like a stab.  It’s quite hard to place, the dulling ache that echoes out from his gut when Nicholai plants his boot, unabashed, right over where lead had tenderized flesh.  In fact, there’s barely any noise at all save for a rasping gasp that’s near-silent through his gritted teeth.  A painful wheezing brought by lungs just unable to procure enough air for their vessel.  William is tough, but the wolf is built for all things violent; it takes little effort to see the man stumbling, falling, gasping out of cover with her gun awkwardly drawn toward, well… SOMETHING.  Something that’s not quite monster, yet further still from man.  Something that shatters bone effortlessly beneath its heel.  Something that could very easily do the very SAME to him; it almost does.

   Before he can fire it moves like a flash; before his second breath is taken it has his arm twisted behind his back and for a moment William thinks it means to take the limb whole.   No noise save a grunt.  To this thing a reminder that if death were to have him it would have him teeth barred, gums bloody with his eyes wild.  No ripping nor tearing, he’s not to share in their unfortunate fate.  When there is a pause, he attempts to jerk his arm free, setting off her gun in the process.  The sound is loud, it masks his yelp but he TRIES further still, yet again tearing the hole in his shoulder.  He might as well been wrestling a statue (WHAT DID IT WANT?); the arm would go before he did.

   Conserving ammunition?  Oh he knows THAT voice.   

   ❝ Bastard- LET GO OF ME.❞

    Saving ammunition?  He’d ripped them APART.

    ❝ And you– IDIOT.  You NEED ME to secure any hope of seeing those samples.  I’m the ONLY ONE who has clearance above three STILL ALIVE. ❞

   Albert Wesker lives, as though there was any doubt.  It was his creation after all, this thing– too wrong to call it a man– just another NAME on a growing portfolio of the slightly ungodly.  Normally he’d have wept, shouted perhaps even celebrated because if Albert was here it meant they had a chance.  There were words once shared with Irons, truer now than ever.  Give me six good men, armed and ready.  Failing that, give me Captain Wesker.

   After an awkward release, quickly his ire turns from one friend to another.  It was true there were bullets left, as sounded by the shot that just misses the side of Nicholai’s head by a finger’s breath.  A second clips the desk they had overturned, sending wooden splinters cascading onto the other man.  The third goes farther off its mark, William’s arm bent beneath the weight of the kick and the ache in his shoulder.

   William is a smart man.  He knows his life means about as much as much as Nicholai’s to their new companion, about as much as dust on the wind.  It’s something the other man wants, or maybe something he needs because he would not come for GUILT, surely not.  It’s the same reason William had put a smoking round through his bracelet– Nicholai would have put one through him for it first.  So the fourth bullet doesn’t come for Nicholai, but rather the barrel of Annette’s sidearm is placed beneath his own chin while he backs up slow.

    If death is to have him, let it be with teeth bared.  With his eyes wild.  There’s a crack in his voice as well as a certain firmness. 

   ❝ You think I don’t know why you’re here?  Both of you ??  You are in on it aren’t you- YOU CONSPIRE against me !!  This is MY LIFES WORK– MY CREATION.  You think i’ll let you get your filthy hands over HER RESEARCH?  I die, NEST goes and there’s no way to secure Golgotha without me– BACK UP, NOW.  Stay AWAY from me.  ❞

     The day was always going to come, stained in blood and lost beneath a sea of flames. No matter how hard they tried to stay the invisible hand of the executioner, it would come, as though foretold and fixed in time. Umbrella would fall, at least in part--the roots of evil ran deep, snaking beneath the surface of one sleepy city, of the entire country, of the world itself. Even if one part of it died screaming in the wreckage of a damned city, the company would live on to claim more souls, as much of a monster as the creatures they created.

    But not if Annette had anything to say about it. 

    Getting William’s--no, their--work out of Umbrella’s clutches had proven to be just as difficult as expected. Eyes watched them at all times, flies on the wall waiting for just the right moment. Being careful was laughable, a futile attempt akin to spitting in the face of a wrathful god. No, they couldn’t be careful--they had to be smart. Just a little more time, a couple more bribes, one more addition to the plan. They would be out of the city, their family safe, their lives thrown into chaos but beautifully theirs. Broken hopes and unfulfilled wishes, an increasingly unobtainable dream that seemed to slip further and further into darkness each passing day. And now that the world felt as though it was crumbling beneath her, Annette knew only two things: the G-virus was in danger--and so was William.

    Protecting her family came first, but Annette had always known that in the most dire of situations her duty must supersede her instincts. If, for any reason, G became a threat to the world it would have to be stopped. The mere thought of allowing her husband’s legacy to fall into the wrong hands made her insides churn, and though she understood they were both ready to die for their cause she desperately hoped it wouldn’t come to such a thing. 

    She had to get to William before he did anything foolish.

    Dread sent ice running through her veins, pumping cold terror through her racing heart. What if she was already too late? Her husband was not a fighter and a terrible shot; each attempt at showing him the proper way to handle a firearm had ended in exasperation and secondhand embarrassment. Long ago she had decided it was her role to be the protector of the family, but would it have killed William to learn how to protect himself? Perhaps it already had. Something was happening--had happened--within the maze-like structure, and if William had run off with her gun and gotten himself murdered she was going to reanimate him just so she could kill him herself. 

     Legs she did not feel finally carried her to her destination, her own foolishness hardly registering as she hurried into the lab. Nearly every sense was assaulted by the horrific slaughter within, the heavy metallic tang of blood hanging heavily in the air. Barging in without so much as a handgun was borderline insane, but oh she dared someone try to stop her, try to interfere. She didn’t need a weapon now, not when every fiber of her being was wound so tightly she might explode if someone so much as looked at her sideways--and she was expecting at least some opposition of the sort.

     What she was not expecting, however, was William threatening his own death.

     “William?! What in god’s name are you doing?”

[timetakesall]

once again here I am, the glue that holds this family together

[timetakesall]

“Not special... :C” | @domiitor​ sent

     There was something about the way it was said that reminded Annette more of Sherry than it did of her husband, virus or not. A childish sort of sadness that sent warm guilt washing over her skin, chest contracting tightly even as her mind sought an answer. ‘Not special’...it hadn’t been what she meant, of course it hadn’t, but there were times when she forgot William was still there, that he could hear her, understand her, still clung to his humanity. Each lapse was few and far between, a product of exhaustion both mental and physical, but her words held weight and she could blame no one but herself for not being careful. William deserved better--oh, god, did he deserve better.

    “William--” A crack in her voice, a minor falter, almost imperceptible--enough to give her pause, to make her stop and gather herself. If she could hear it, then William would pick up on it, regardless of the state he was in. “I never meant you weren’t special. You know how special you are, don’t you? I wouldn’t still be here if you weren’t.”

    Regret came almost immediately, the words just as careless as before. The sentiment, surely, was there, but the execution? Annette hardly wanted William to think of himself as a burden, that he was holding his wife hostage because he needed special care. She needed him to understand that, no matter what, he was special. That he meant something--everything--to her, and that she would, unflinchingly, remain beside him. 

     “Do you remember when we first met? When Or when I asked you for coffee and didn’t invite Albert? You had the sweetest look on your face, almost as if you couldn’t understand why I wanted to see you alone.” Laughter, faint but genuine. “You didn’t even realize we were dating for weeks. I remember every one of those moments, William. Each and every one as though they happened yesterday.”

     Gaze filtered upward, , shining with fresh tears as she searched her husband’s face. The smile playing across her lips was nothing short of bittersweet, the fondness of her past forever entangled with the pain of their present. “You gave me a life I never knew I wanted. You gave me so many happy years, William. You gave me Sherry. Tell me: how could I ever, even for one second, think that you weren’t special?”

[timetakesall]

i hate it here

[domiitor-deactivated20220528]

hello annete burkin from resident evil who is also my wife would you like to go to Olive gARDen with me and my friends from resident evil

[timetakesall]

even now i can feel the parasite taking control :(

[timetakesall]

i hate it here

[timetakesall]

I’m calling the police

[timetakesall]

what the hell did i miss

[domiitor-deactivated20220528]

olive GAard3n

[tyraneyes]

why good evening annette

[charognards-deactivated20221005]

You want breadsticks da?? we keep them fresh for you

[timetakesall]

this house is a fucking nightmare

[timetakesall]

what the hell did i miss

[timetakesall]

marriage ended with @domiitor now @tyraneyes is my husband ❤

[timetakesall]

─── ･ ｡ﾟ : ☽  DASH GAMES ! RULES: look up “name + core aesthetic” on pinterest and choose 9 images for a moodboard

Annette + Virus Researcher (because I had to use 1000 different words until I finally got something that wasn’t just like 30 purses)

tagged by: @tyraneyes tagging: everyone who wants to do it ‘cause most people have been tagged by this point ??

[timetakesall]

"Not...your...fault." | @domiitor​ sent -- because it’s sad monster hours

     He didn’t raise a hand, didn’t scream, didn’t yell or attack, and yet Annette felt as though she had been struck square in the chest. Breath tore itself from her lungs, a pale, shaking hand clutched her heart almost automatically in a vain attempt to still sudden palpitations. The virologist in her might have found the use of speech fascinating had it been anyone else, but a sudden rush of anguish and something akin to hatred boiled up inside of her. She wanted to be the one to yell, to scream and beat her fists against William’s chest and tell him him he was so stupid for doing what he had done, even if she understood it, even if some small part of her was grateful he was still alive--if she could even call it living. When it came down to it keeping him alive was selfishness to William’s altruism; he was standing there before her, malformed and suffering, not because he didn’t want to die, but because he still had work to do. A family left to protect.

     Whatever anger she had felt ebbed away, taking with it her remaining strength. Knees buckled, nearly dropping Annette to the ground, but she grabbed onto the wall for support, eyes purposefully turning away from the creature that was still her husband. A fresh wash of guilt washed over her, her mind suddenly kicking into overtime as though hindsight could save them both from the fate at which they simultaneously arrived. Could she had prevented this if she had been more careful? They had come so close to freedom, flew so near to the sun that they could feel its warmth, so focused on getting out that they hadn’t realized that what was coming for them had already arrived. Couldn’t she have given them that small amount of time they needed if she had just done a little bit more?

    Not your fault.

    Cold, tearful eyes finally lifted, finding William’s gaze. Her voice stuck in her throat, her mouth suddenly too dry, tongue thick and uncooperative. But the words finally dislodged, came flowing out of her with a surprising amount of strength and warmth, a stark contrast to the cool touch of her palm against William’s chest. 

    “You’re absolutely right. It wasn’t my fault, and it wasn’t yours either, William. Umbrella created all of this, they are the ones responsible for our pain. For our broken family. But you’ve done enough, now--don’t you think? You’ve worked so hard that I think you’ve earned yourself a rest. You can close your eyes, darling...close them and know that Umbrella won’t get away for what they’ve done. Close them and know that your family is still safe, no matter how shattered we’ve become.”

     Stepping away, Annette let her head drop to her chest, tears flowing unrestrained down her face. It was almost comical how emotional she found herself: no matter how distraught and upset she became, she had always struggled to be the strength behind her family, to be the one both William and Sherry could rely on. Wasn’t that the burden of a wife and mother? To hold yourself together, no matter what turmoil bubbled just beneath the surface? But the time had passed for pretending, her facade having cracked long ago. It was time instead to say goodbye, to do what she had not been strong enough to do before. As much as it pained her to think about losing William, she knew that this was no existence for him. Danger to the world or not, he was still her husband, and he deserved to be laid to rest by the woman who still loved him with every fiber of her being.

     “Don’t try to talk--you’ve said everything you need to say. Just sleep, William, please--let me at least give you that. It’s the least I can do after everything you’ve done for me. For us. Sleep and let go of all this pain. Of all your fears. But as everything begins to fade remember one thing: I love you, William. And I always will.”

[timetakesall]

domiitor​:

   He’s tired, he aches, he reeks of viscera that belongs to the rotting dead.  Two days is by no means a long time for him to go sleepless, but he’s not like this.  William isn’t built for action, not really.  Smarter in the mind than he was on his toes; his expertise had gotten him farther than the layman but Birkin is a man without a taste for battle.  However, it was battle what Sergei Vladimir brought him and had he wanted William dead there was not a single part of the virologist which doubted he’d be gone.  No, what Sergei had sent was a message signed in violence.  Each had known the things uncovered could see them both put to slaughter, perhaps it is from this mutual understanding that he was shown mercy. 

    There is still something to be said about the way this man- father- bares his teeth into something like a snarl.  Digs his heels in and readies with the rising sting of anger boiling away the death-grip of fear.  

    The would be heroics are wasted; the second he sees Annette his finger lifts off the trigger and just like that he has her.

    It is not a lover’s embrace.  Their lips don’t meet nor would he sweep her off her feet.  His arms do not engulf her as a married man might (nothing romantic about William the scholar) though his hands (caked in blood) find purchase upon her cheeks.  They turn her head gently with a twinge of panic, seeking sign of any injury, looking for bruises, cuts or worse.  Finding none his fears are denounced and there comes a sigh of exhausted relief upon his lips. If she was safe the same could be assumed of Sherry; were any god kind then his yelling would have not awoken her.

   ❝ Christ- thank god, ❞ he mumbles it while pulling away toward the door he’d barged through.  No explanation yet offered while William set both the lock and the deadbolt.  Instead he settles on a few choice curses, moving towards the adjacent window.  ❝ You haven’t seen anyone ?? After work I mea- was anyone looking at you strange ??  You weren’t followed home ??  ❞   No one was out there, least no one that could be examined by the naked eye, certainly no cars.  He hadn’t been followed.  

   Seconds could be counted against the beating of his heart; it roars like a drum, his breathing ragged.  Only after thirty full seconds does William Birkin pull away from his watch to face his wife in full. 

   ❝ Sherry is here, yes ?? ❞

     Seeing William in such a state left her feeling sick and breathless, as though someone had just punched her with all their strength straight in the gut. Both fear and an overwhelming sadness poured over her, and in that moment she wished more than anything that she could take away all of his pain and anguish, to pull it into herself just so he wouldn’t have to feel a thing. Panic prickled at her skin anew, but she pushed it back, forced herself to stay together, to be the calm one when everything seemed to be crashing down around them. That was her job, her self-appointed role in the family. If she let herself fall apart, then what would happen to them? 

    What was happening to them?

     Shaking hands gently reached up to cover her husbands, fearful eyes searching his face for any sort of answer. If Umbrella had gotten to him then they were out of time, out of options. They had touched on what they needed to do, had a basic plan of action, but Annette had thought there was more time. Nothing at work had tipped her off, everything seemed to be going smoothly--or at least as according to plan as possible. But then, as she stood there, watching her husband all but break apart in front of her, would Umbrella have allowed him to make it home? They weren’t exactly known for being kind to those who betrayed them.

     “What--? No, no--William, nothing happened today. I’ve been watching, there’s been no one.” At least, no one she could see. A spy wouldn’t be so obvious, but Annette was careful, observant--perhaps even a bit paranoid. There was hardly a chance that someone could be lurking just outside their front door.

     “Yes, of course--she’s asleep. God, William--what happened to you? Are you hurt?” A stupid question, rhetorical at best. Just looking at him told her as much, but even in her terrified haze she could tell that the blood covering him could not all belong to him. William was hardly a fighter, but she knew he was strong, capable of more than anyone could imagine. If he had to fight, he would--and god, it seemed as though he had gone through a war. 

     And he had been victorious.

     Running her fingers through her own messy hair, Annette attempted to center herself, to push a calming tone into her slightly wavering voice. “William, look at me--we’re safe right now. Your family is safe. Just...just take deep breaths, try and calm yourself down. You can rest for a little bit and tell me everything--and let’s try and get you cleaned up at the same time. Sit down, I’ll get the first aid kit--and anything else you need. Once we accomplish that we can figure out what our next move will be, all right?”

[sappwich-deactivated20200918]

[timetakesall]

sappwich​:

       “So that means you’re gonna let us go now, right? Riiight??” Who was he kidding. Of course it didn’t. Never hurt to remain optimistic and try anyway. Was all he could do, aside from fighting for survival in these trials. Who knows! Maybe if he asked one too many times as he usually does, they’d be annoyed by him and actually free him. God knows how insufferable he can be at times. Or worse… He didn’t want to think about the potential latter.

His smile quickly fades into defeat at his failed efforts. He knew damn well it wasn’t going to be that easy. “You know I really don’t feel like dying today. You don’t have to do this.”

@timetakesall​ said:        ❝ I’ll try to make it painless. ❞

     Why did they always try to fight back? Didn’t they realize just how pointless it was? Surely they had to understand that they would never truly attain freedom, that whatever victories they accomplished were simply that in name and nothing else. Each area had been carefully crafted to push them harder and harder, to elicit such an intense fear that the virus inside of them mutated, changing them into--well, into something, surely. So far Annette hadn’t seen any interesting results, nor had she seen anyone make it very far. And this child hardly seemed like he would be any different than all the rest.

     “Don’t misunderstand, Mr. Sandwich--I am just as trapped as you are. Your pitiful whining isn’t going to change anyone’s mind, I’m afraid. That leaves you with two choices: you can go through with the experiment and suffer, or you can let me end it quickly. Wouldn’t you rather die without pain?”

[timetakesall]

msmurdr​:

she  barely  feels  alive  in  this  moment,  barely  feels  awake  for  that  matter  either.  all  of  this  fight  or  flight,  an  attempt  at  survival  through  the  night  or  however  long  this  could  last,  it  had  drained  january  completely.

however,  the  nightmare  was  far  from  over.

cold  concrete  lays  beneath  her,  eyes  watching  the  florescent  bulbs  above  her.  her  head  is  pounding,  a  hand  trying  to  obscure  the  bright  lights  above  her  as  she  moves  herself  to  a  sitting  position  instead.            ❛  what  the  fuck?  ❜             her  voice  is  rather  low,  still  trying  to  adjust  to  obvious  new  surroundings.  as  her  eyes  slowly  begin  to  take  in  everything  around  her,  it  just  all  feels  so  clinical,  very  medical.             ❛  oh  god,  what  the  fuck?  ❜             it  doesn’t  feel  right,  none  of  it  feels  right.

❛        —       @timetakesall​.               \              starter.

     Not her area of intrigue, but the researcher in her can at least find something worth her time. Alex’s little experiment seems more like a children’s game; a mess in need of cleaning than anything else. However, she was alive thanks to such a mess, and William--well, William was still with her. Cruel as it was to leave him alive, they were both as safe as they could be for the moment, and until she figured out what to do she was left with a handful of confused and angry subjects to eliminate.

     How absurd.

     “I see--no adverse effects to be seen upon waking up. Slight elevation of the pulse, but that’s to be expected. Minor decrease in body temperature. Nothing unusual. Tell me--how do you feel? You know you don’t have to fight this. We can make this easy and painless, if you prefer. I’m afraid you won’t be leaving this facility no matter what you decide, so go ahead and save yourself time and energy and give in here. I have no real desire to watch the virus in you manifest itself, but if you’re going to be stubborn I might as well see just what Alex is up to...”

[timetakesall]

' But I dont WANT to beat up teenagers I WANT to sleep in. '

     “Well--you do seem a little fussy today. But as regrettable as it is, we have a job to do. If you wanted to sleep in you should have considered that that before you turned yourself into a gigantic, horrible monster. I swear, William; I can’t take you anywhere.”