“Hey, if I give you some bloodpoints, can I borrow a bear trap?” Sure it’s a crazy idea, but it’s not like Jake has anything better to do.

Evan's eyes narrow, weighing his options. Bloodpoints are always useful, and his traps? He can always make more. Hell, the Entity often makes sure he has enough on hand.

The machete he uses in trials is used as a back scratcher white the beast rumbles, "Fuck it." He drags in a deep breath and allows his curiosity for what will be done with his trap to guide his decision. "Fifty. Take or leave it."

6’4” Nikolai (:

"Ah. About what I thought."

@priceforeverything sent: Jake's honestly not really sure what he's doing. All he knows is that the limited information he had about Albert Wesker led him to this woman. He's watched her and waits until the coast is clear enough and approaches her, clears his throat. "Would you mind if I buy you a cup of coffee?" He won't ever admit how long he planned a normal sentence and not 'hey I know you don't know me, but we share some DNA'.

Billie's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, gaze drifting over him. It wasn't uncommon for suspicion to be the first thing on her radar when encountering someone new. Sure, not everyone knew her, and not everyone had ulterior motives in approaching her. But because of who she was and her position within Umbrella, she could never be too careful.

"I don't even know your name, and you already wanna buy me coffee?" an eyebrow arched as she posed her question. It wasn't a direct no, but she needed something more than just the offer of a free drink if this guy wanted something from her.

INTIMIDATION AND VIOLENT RP PROMPTS @priceforeverything sent shoot from nikolai.

Riddick lopes through the traps set along a corridor — the kind he's been evading this whole test, cleverly placed inside the facility that he's fleeing. His fellow batch of subjects,  not so cautious with their lives as he,  had gotten to experience the threshold of pain in bear traps and explosive mines.  And when they weren't preoccupied with prying metal teeth out of their ankles,  they were being overrun by bioweapons.  Strategically placed ones.

The lobby door bursts open,  his boot coming down with a thud.  With one greedy inhale of air,  he knows that he made it.  He's outside. 

The future reshapes itself in his mind. 

He sprints into the night,  over the paved walkway,  hard breaths in the late August air.  Nearly realized freedom is a sweet high until a hellish hornet sting knocks one of his shoulders off-kilter. 

He glances back.  A syringe as long as his hand erected from behind him,  the glass chamber emptying out the rest of the contents.  Nice shot. He keeps running,  wrapping his fingers around the dart.  Before he could remove it,  another spears him not an inch below the first one. Now, that's just not very friendly.

Heat and fatigue flood through his arm.  That's not good.  Holding the tranquilized limb like a brace with his other arm,  he makes it to where the grass meets the pavement when the world goes woozy.  Still,  Riddick presses on.

“You’ve been jacking off so hard, that you’ve got advanced carpal tunnel syndrome.” - @priceforeverything | charles

hunched over, face planted upon a polished meeting table. nathan groaned loudly in response, not quite sure what that meant. peering up, his long black locks obscuring some of his vision. it was evident that he had stayed up all night doing what charles had previous stated. dark circles lined his green eyes, slowly blinking. right arm leaning heavily onto the table in front of him. with the absence of abigail, the frontman resorted back to old methods. getting carried away in the process.

"is that cancer- or something?" he mumbled tiredly, moving his fingers on his right hand to try and get some feeling into it. only met by more numbness and tingling. whatever it was, it sucked and it made listening to charles impossible.

your  name: Nikolai Zinoviev

your age: 35

your perfect date: You make me a lot of money, and then I’ll spend a little on you.

make out in private or in public?: Oh, we’ll make out both.

do you like to cuddle?:  With my money.

tell me something about you: I like money.

why do you want to be my valentine?: Because you’ll make me money.

❛  aside from EVERYTHING else — there is no fucking way you're thirty-five.  ❜

@priceforeverything

Goddamnit. He feels bad. Chris actually feels bad for what he said to Jake. It was a low blow and he knew it.

Sighing, he tries to fix this. "Jake, I... Look, I don't think he even knew what a birthday card was. Besides you... Were better off without him."

                       @priceforeverything​ : jake muller

            ❝    YOU’RE    SO    RECKLESS    .    ❞    hand    reached    up    ,    plucking    a    loose    thread    off    his    shirt    .    it    was    out    of    place    .    it    didn’t    belong    .    she    flicked    it    away    .    then    came    the    smudge    of    his    chin    .    that    wasn’t    right    either    .    thumb    lifted    so    that    tongue    could    wet    the    flesh    before    she    wiped    the    grime    away    .    there    .    all    better    .

We both know you Smash.

'Oh yes; I would smash very hard. With a hammer. Or brick. Or some other heavy object until your corpse stopped twitching."

@priceforeverything​ asked: Nikolai is coaching Michael, because it's going to be fun for him. "Okay so next time Carlos tells you to do something, you know what to do now. You yell 'You're not my real dad', yes? Do that and you definitely going to get laugh from him."

Michael squints at the other man,  clearly unimpressed by the instructions given to him.  He doesn’t plan to listen to him in any way--  he only listens to Carlos,  and even then,  he’s difficult to predict sometimes.  “No,”  the Bioweapon says plainly,  turning heel right afterwards.  He’s not going to waste anymore time. 

📜 [From Jake]

Send the thing, and I'll make a thing.

Twenty days since the last sign of the blue-eyed devil. More than the standard it takes to shake a stubborn merc in a city. Here the buildings squeezed together so closely that barely a person could pass through. It was claustrophobic, noisy, chaotic. Perfect place to get lost.

And today, Riddick lost himself at a place where they serve watered-down cocktails and take credits from holocards without verifying I.D. He didn't even have to wipe the blood off the card before paying, but he did it anyway for good measure.

Riddick really thought he lost him a couple weeks back and @priceforeverything let it play out. Because almost nothing is better than surprising that asshole when he thinks that he's gotten the upper hand. So he slides on up next to him in some dingy bar bathroom, lays on the accent thick. "Pissin all by yourself, handsome?"

Riddick could have given a detailed description of the grout lines right in front of him after staring as hard as he did.

Exasperation is a heavy blanket on him, but, deep inside, Riddick is impressed.

Couldn't process precisely what the fuck he'd just been asked. Who asked it is no question. Those cocky bootheel clicks. The slack-jawed audacity.

"Johns." Oddly, his own voice swims in his ears. Doesn't notice the odd color draining down the urinal on account of the intense tint of his goggles, but in the back of his floating thoughts, he recognizes that the smell is too acrid. Wrong.

He shakes off. Dick in one hand, shiv in the other. "Who the hell let your merc ass past the front door?" The shiv-wielding fist reached up, braced against the wall, suddenly less than steady on his feet. Now knowing that the answer to his question is likely the culprit responsible for his developing state. He'll get even if he's got any say about it.

x | @priceforeverything

𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋. fists bunched up at his sides and shoulders tensed. not moving an inch from the doorway, nathan fell silent after charles gave his answer. it wasn't the words he was hoping to hear. part of him hoped that charles was able to make this go away like the rest of their problems. no. he has to take responsibility for the first time in his life. the responsibility to stop the metalocalypse.

the thirty seconds go by and he grunted in annoyance when charles began to list things he likes. his green eyes tore themselves away from his manager and now rested on the stained glass behind him. painted with the prophecy.

"mnnnh..." he grumbled, unhappy with the whole ordeal. "i write songs about digesting entrails."

"i don't think i can be what people want me to be."

your  name: Jake Muller

your age: 21

your perfect date: I cook you dinner and we don't have to leave the house.

make out in private or in public?: Private

do you like to cuddle?: It's fine.

tell me something about you: I speak multiple languages.

why do you want to be my valentine?: I'm into older women.

❛  you speak multiple languages yet you still can't seem to comprehend the phrase FUCK NO.  ❜

“You know what it all makes sense now. You couldn’t read the box that said steroids are bad.” (From Jake)

"Sure, Jake." He stares the younger Wesker down. "How about those birthday cards from your father growing up? Were you able to read those? No? Didn't think so. Piss off."

☾ from Jake Muller

☾ - wrestle/pin my muse to the ground

        There is something a little too familiar about the face scowling back at him. A catch in the light of his narrowed blue eyes and the shape of his scowling mouth gives Wesker a momentary pause. 

Where does he know that face? 

A careless one. Because it allows the other man the split second he needs to lunge forward and shove against him. 

Grunting more from anger than pain, he lands hard against the ground. The full weight of the stranger crashing down onto him.