#thruteeth

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The streets were chaos incarnate. Jess had only really seen the RPD in any proper way, briefly catching glimpses of the fire and death on the streets through arched windows. She was focused on her mission at the start — and by the end of her decision to leave the building ( and thus effectively failing what she was sent to do ) , she was frazzled.

What she had read on those documents was... eye opening. With each page skimmed without the proper authorisation, her world crumbled between her fingers; UMBRELLA wasn't what she had thought. Her entire life was a lie. She had helped this whole thing happen. They were trying to kill her off. She was a loose end.

And yet she destroyed them all. It was desperation, mainly, that drove that decision. If there were no traces, then she couldn't be pinned. So, she did as instructed... up to a point. Up until two tyrants had gone for her and she deemed the RPD unsafe. She left the confines of the police station in search of a way to get to the orphanage.

There were more zombies out there than she'd anticipated. Jess did her best to weave and dodge ( nowhere near as coordinated as she would later be ) , but the overwhelming hoarde eventually got the better of her. She was scratched and bitten before being forced into an alleyway.

She was cornered like a hunted rabbit, back pressed to a blood-stained wall and heart thumping against her ribcage. She had tried to fire her pistol, but the echoing click! filled her with dread. Shaking hands moved to paw at her old S.T.A.R.S. uniform, grasping for a lifeline. All her hand was met with was the grip of her knife and empty pouches. No ammunition. No grenades. She unsheathed her blade and readied herself.

When the zombies dropped in a hail of gunfire and blood, Jess winced. Teeth, bared in pain, surely made her look crazed. Blade still raised, stance shaky but unmoving, she prepared to fight. Until, of course, she saw a person. An actual person. Her SAVIOUR. She laughed breathlessly, clearly in disbelief, and lowered her weapon.

when she had given him a key and told him to stop by 'whenever the mood struck', bambi honestly didn't think it would ever actually HAPPEN.

they'd been no contact for approximately twenty one days, seventeen hours, and twenty nine minutes -- not that she was counting. because she didn't care. duh. why should she? bambi was actually TRYING to be mad at him. promised herself that when he slunk back into the city and into her life that she would ignore his calls and give him a taste of his own medicine (that he probably wouldn't even give a shit about, but let a girl have her fantasies!) so that HE would know what it was like to miss someone.

she was wrapped in her fluffiest robe, nails dry from a fresh coat of paint -- ruby red. not her signature color, but she felt like it was a good time for a change. her hair damp ringlets cascading over her right shoulder, a pint of half eaten ice cream on the side table next to her as she sprawled on her couch. then the door fucking OPENED and bambi let out an honest to god yelp, rushing to her kitchen to grab the biggest fucking knife she could get her hands on before...

" -- johnny?" disbelief melted away into annoyance into a strange JOY that bambi was genuinely disgusted by. didn't she, like, just have the whole conversation with herself that she was so over him? and now here he was, in her foyer, and she dropped the knife on the counter so that she could run barefoot into his arms -- launched like a t shirt out of a fucking cannon. legs wrapped around his middle, arms snaking around his neck and she GRINNED so brightly that her cheeks were sure to hurt.

❝  you  keep  staring  at  me  like  you  want  to  say  something.  ❞  the  soldier's  drawl  comes  as  a  sharp  rasp  from  voice  long  unused.  the  muzzle  muffling  and  choking  letters  back  behind  it's  iron  walls  just  like  it  holds  his  breath  if  it  goes  too  quick  and  shallow. 

bucky  wasn't  concerned  with  what  hangs  at  the  agent's  tongue,  but  the  feeling  of  eyes  peeling  the  skin  off  his  back  was  enough  to  make  him  say  something,  even  if  the  silence  seemed  to  be  like  a  blessing  right  now.  ❝  if  it's  nothin'  smart,  save  your  breath  before  you  lose  it.  ❞  james  adds  before  a  snap  on  his  rifle  sets  the  mag  in  place.  @thruteeth [ leon + bucky ]

"I know you." Rather, he knew of, and how could the mastermind not? With all the digging he's been doing into Umbrella and its competitors, he was bound to come across The Grim Reaper; a man with the uncanny ability to be the sole survivor of the missions he was sent on. Either the man standing before him was miraculously lucky or was incredibly skilled; either Wesker was impressed.

"I shouldn't be surprised that the man they call Mr. Death is still roaming the earth." Though the same could not be said about Albert who, until recently, had been thought dead by many, himself included. He doubted he could ever survive like this mercenary were it not for the virus he had.

Admiration aside, Albert can tell something is not right - that he would find a man of such an esteemed status here in this broken down and forgotten 'factory', if it can be called such, felt like an omen. Wesker was a little superstitious; even with all of his abilities and superhuman skills, if it came down to a fight he doubted that luck would be in his favor given the man's track record. What could a mercenary possibly want with the discarded fragments of Umbrella's past? Was he employed by someone and they were after the same thing Wesker was? Or did this fellow work alone and Wesker was in his way?

Red eyes are glued to the man as the neohuman slowly begins to make his way toward the exit. The information that he could find here was not worth a confrontation with the person death failed to claim.

"Yet, I find that I am. There aren't many faces I recognize that still breathe, how is it that you do?"

@thruteeth [ hunk 🔪]

@thruteeth wrote in the dossier: ❝ I'm my own backup. ❞ from leon > luis xo

pout presses onto his face. fingers find their way to his lighter once more, clicking it open and then slamming it back closed, never once getting bit by the flame that sparks to life in the brief moment. he's spent too much time with the trick to have it backfire; now it's a mindless fidget that suits to settle his nerves. sometimes his thumb runs along the engravings that feel like they're wearing out —— has umbrella forgotten him yet? will there be assassins coming for him? can he ever truly make up for the things that he's done? the thought lays on his chest, uncomfortable as he attempts sleep at night.

sometimes he dreams of valdelobos, of being a kid and watching the flames lick at an old family home. he turns in those dreams and he's once again the man he is now, but he's watching the medicine burn in the tower. so much of his life revolves around fire that it feels as if it should be concerning; should the lighter bite back at him? is it a metaphor for the way that he seems to ruin everything he touches, all of the things that get too close to him? sometimes there's an ache in his chest that wants to go back, even though he knows the island is reduced to nothing more than rubble. ada had made sure of it —— saddler and the amber had sealed its fate long ago. still, no matter how much he hated the place, it was home. it was the last remnants of a mother he never knew and a grandfather he would always mourn.

" you don't need to be so serious about such a statement, " a quiet huff leaves his lips as he presses his jaw into the palm of his hand. he's found some new semblance of life in the states, but it doesn't feel right. he's been trying to rework his formulas and help with cures, but instead of being free, he's working underneath another organization. the fact that leon is here is just wrapping it in a pretty bow; he's seen enough to know when he's being made to be comfortable with compliance. he likes leon enough though and he still talks to ashley at times —— otherwise, he keeps to himself, even in a crowded bar like this.

@thruteeth sent: " okay, at this point you’re abusing sarcasm. " leon > buffy xo

Eyes look upward at an angle. Lashes batting as she feigns complete and utter innocence towards the accusation with pressed lips that stifle the desire to laugh. She cant, that would only prove that he was right, and she couldn't allow that.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

𝐖𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐒 𝐀𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄; there's a paper openly dangling from her fingertips, one that she's been waiting for what feels like ages for. It's been weeks since she'd sent in the application and it's finally back —— her time spent in Spain still settles in her mind, twisting around her throat until she wakes up from the night terrors most nights. As much as she hates to admit it, it's all affected her far more than she presumed it would. Her father has offered her apologies and assigned even more strict security detail, but it hasn't mattered to her in the least. The thing that has mattered was her conversation back on that island, back when she had been side by side with Leon and had felt alive for the first time.

❝ See? I told you I would do it. I'm going to be trained and then I'm going to open up my very own business and you're going to be working for me. ❞ Her words sound far more confident than she feels. The nerves are beginning to get the better of her —— she hasn't even actually opened the envelope yet, but Ashley had meant it when she said that they were good at this. For the first time, she had felt like she had purpose. Why not chase that feeling? Sure, it had been horrifying and she still screams sometimes when she looks in the mirror and has a flashback of the black veins crawling up her skin, but still. There had been something beautiful in the way that it had ended, in the way that she had felt like she made some sort of difference.