sls-60

[sls-60]

LETUM‌:

He sweeped into her office like a ghoulish figure from one of her nightmares, setting his coat aside on one of the coat-hangers. Keeping Claire Redfield company over the holidays was not something he believed he would be doing, what with the amount of work he’d left behind at Umbrella II, but it seemed this course of option was for the better. The woman looked worse for wear, and Wesker knew this time of the year was sure to bring back certain memories better kept repressed. 

The Rockfort Island incident was surely something fresh in Claire’s mind, even now, nearly two decades later. The terror that had taken place there for the then-young girl was the stuff of nightmares: Wesker himself recalled it now, the HCF’s siege, the way his first encounter with the younger Redfield had gone less than stellar. He remembers slapping her, watching her body hit the cold ground – his way of seething at the bloodline she came from. And yet, he’d kept her safe throughout their journey on the island until he eventually reunited her with her brother. His nemesis.

Of course, he hadn’t foreseen the bond that would develop between Claire and Steve Burnside, from whose body he had attained a superior T-Veronica sample. He had been unable to bring the boy back to life, despite his knowledge on the virus, and thus had left him to expire. 

Taking a seat across from Claire, he settled, looking at her tired features. 

“No desire to go home for the holidays, Claire?” His bassy voice questioned, as a hand reached across to grasp her own. Their strange relationship seemed to deepen day by day, ever since the woman’s return from Sushestvovanie Island. Now that Claire held within herself a virus that changed her inner workings, they’d found a common ground. 

At times, it was lonely, being the way he was. He’d managed to find a kindred spirit.

His presence is one that should strike fear. He was, after all, the leading man who’d escaped death more than once, and who had been for quite a time enigmatically working from the shadows. A myth — a bogeyman. Though his precise gait would seem predatory to most, such purposeful strikes carrying him toward her with swiftness, his viridae markers spoke otherwise; a white flag or common ground to which there was surprising solace in such troubling times. 

Claire weakly smiled at his query. There was little point in placing up a facade. 

“No,” she murmured, half-shrugging. “Chris is in Europe, and I could’ve gone to the Burton’s but work is demanding as-ever.”

Not entirely incorrect — she had elected to shoulder a few more things on top of her already hectic plate as director of TerraSave so that her staff could get a head-start on their respective treks home for Christmas, which gave her the perfect excuse to be an emotional wreck in the sanctum of her office.

Wesker’s touch was always cold, seeping into her skin like ice, a decided contrast against the warmth she still held despite everything. Part of her wanted to pull away, the knife in her heart twisting at memories unbidden, but instead, she turned her hand in his grasp so her fingertips could gently coil against the outer edge of his palm like an anchor. 

If anyone understood just how bad of a place she was in, it was him. They’d both survived the Rockfort-Antarctic mess, and even if he’d been an instigator in the viral aspect of it, Claire shuddered to think of what heinous tortures the deranged Alfred Ashford could’ve subjected her to as a prisoner if the attack on the island hadn’t occurred. On the same token, having to experience the nightmares from Raccoon all over again had done little to help her psyche, nor did the more recent Sushestvovanie incident. 

“I never thanked you, you know,” Claire said after a while, voice quivering despite her best effort. “For saving my life back then.”

[sls-60]

softly whispers

i’m home

[sls-60]

An update on the status of this, and my other RP blogs at present, and the reduction in activity in light of my health: I can’t comfortably RP right now knowing I will let people down from forgetting to reply or not having the literal energy to write. I’ll keep my blogs open and active in that regard, with the intent of coming back, but consider this an official notice of hiatus. 

Exact details of what’s happening under the read more. I appreciate it if people could take the time to read to ascertain why I’ve had to make this choice. 

Keep reading

[sls-60]

An update on the status of this, and my other RP blogs at present, and the reduction in activity in light of my health: I can’t comfortably RP right now knowing I will let people down from forgetting to reply or not having the literal energy to write. I’ll keep my blogs open and active in that regard, with the intent of coming back, but consider this an official notice of hiatus. 

Exact details of what’s happening under the read more. I appreciate it if people could take the time to read to ascertain why I’ve had to make this choice. 

My more recent pain flare a few weeks ago turned out to be tbe result in a long-term condition of mine getting worse overall. 

I came back from working an out-reach office for work and during the evening my always-there back pain became way worse than normal. Worse than it has ever been since my back problems began in 2001. I thought it was possibly just from being in a car for most of the day and had an early night to try sleep it off.

I went to work the next day barely able to straighten myself upright and only got through thanks to the fact I use a walking aid already. I noticed that my right leg -- the *good* leg -- was numb on the outside all the way down my thigh to my knee; a sensation that normally only occurred when I’d been standing for too long or walked too long.

That weekend I was bedridden with nerve pain so bad it was making my muscles convulse involuntarily in my back, adding to the already bad pain, that I didn’t know what to do with myself.

My new GP ordered bloodwork and a CT scan to try and ascertain what had changed. Results came back with spinal cord compression (three discs affecting it,) and my bloodwork showing high amounts of CRP due to inflammation (in addition to other things not needing to be disclosed here.) I’d never been tested for inflammatory markers or rheumatoid markers despite a family history of both, but the amount of CRP I had gave both myself and my GP an understanding of why my left leg never healed properly, why the sudden spike of pain didn’t resolve itself after a day once the muscles started to swell, and why I have severe hypertension beyond bad genetics for hearts + PCOS.

This change in my condition is permanent.

Current management is trying to reduce pain with nerve pain medications and antispasmodics, as the pain is affecting not just my work life but also any quality of life outside of it. If my discs proceed to further compress/herniate despite other preventative measures I will need to consult a neurosurgeon to try and stop further damage to my spinal cord, or the full loss of sensation in my right leg instead of a permanent numb patch on my outer thigh.

In addition to that, the new medications I’m on, while good for never pain, do affect my already compromised brain chemistry, which has made writing very difficult every time I’ve tried to work on my drafts. It sucks because I feel like I’ve lost one of the few creative outlets I was still able to easily do. I’m sorry for all the threads or promised fics now sitting in limbo; I hate disappointing people.

Right now my focus is to try and look after myself, play things like Final Fantasy XIV with friends during what little lucidity I have some days, and to try and reduce the chances of this getting worse.

If you made it this far: thank you for taking the time to read this. 

[sls-60]

five times kissed ~

Disclaimer: this drabble features a lot of triggers. You’ve been warned.

one.

   Physics demands that moving objects remain in motion unless acted upon by an outside force. When he’s not in the thick of everything, it often feels like the sheer force of will alone keeps him going.

   The return flight from Greece makes a long and uneventful thirteen hours, but after the riots and discourse that saw him fetching the Economic Officer from a compromised location, doing absolutely nothing at all beats getting punched in the back by an M84. Turns out a bruised kidney and a number of fractured fingers are actually enough to earn a leave of absence.

  Mister Diplomat exits the plane first, all smiles and PR-worthy waves for the waiting cameras, and Leon steps gingerly out after him as the first of several protective agents in detail. It burns the question to know how the press would’ve played the narrative differently, were it public information that the rescued man pissed himself after a firebomb detonated close enough to ignite his jacket. But Leon’s lips are sealed: a matter-of-fact promise offered to soothe the hysterics out of a stumbling man coming up at twice his weight.

  “You live to fight the good fight another day, Sir. There’s no shame in that.” Pretty words for the sole benefit of a man who’d only ever been caught in the crossfire. Leon holds no truth in them for himself.

   It’s not a sizeable envoy of congratulations and well-wishes that greets him off the tarmac’s edge, but she’s more than a welcome sight. He sees her coming: spots the worry lining her brow and the red denim jacket that’s almost faded to pink in its age, and his pace quickens faster than is probably recommended. Rushing into a reunion hug is a pipedream when his back screams the way it does, but Claire shoulders that burden by meeting him more than halfway. She folds herself into his edges, mindful, and Leon groans in relief as she tugs his backpack from a white-knuckled hand.

   “You’ve gotten scruffy,” she says.

   He flashes a smile laced with aching and shoots back the reminder that ladies love the stubble. He’s gotten too old, too rough around the edges, to keep the boyish charm of a baby face. As for a full-on beard? Well. It’s not for lack of trying. “How do you like it?”

   Claire’s smile twists, unceremoniously flirtatious. “You’re a dreamboat. Who could possibly resist that jawline? Now give me a proper hug so we can get out of here, and maybe I’ll wax poetic on the drive back.”

   It’s an opportunity if he ever got one, and Leon seizes it—hungrily and with both hands. He slides his touch from her wrists and higher: along her bare forearms and up proud shoulders, to both sides of her neck.

   Claire’s hair trickles between his fingers, splashes over his knuckles. Her pulse ticks just this side of wild, and if he could he’d gather the rhythm in his palms and carry the memory of her back to a drab, empty apartment. She feels real. She feels warm. She feels here, welcoming, open—anything but mindless or hostile, and when he tips her head back to lay his mouth against her brow, Leon closes his eyes.

  And he breathes in a lungful of home.

Keep reading

[sls-60]

queen best lyrics: innuendo (innuendo, 1991)

[sls-60]

“We owe it to the people who died alongside us. 

We have to continue living.”

[sls-60]

Me: how many queen lyrics can I put into this to make @sseizonsha cry Me, also, cackling madly: *a lot.*

[sls-60]

queen best lyrics: mother love (made in heaven, 1995)

[sls-60]

muse body language. bold / italicise what you apply to your muse.

tagged by: the bae @sseizonsha tagging: @glgatha, @vlral, @shcrpshoot, @jiiandie, and anyone else who’d like to do it 

defensiveness.

arms crossed on chest // crossing legs // fist-like gestures // pointing index finger // karate chops // stiffening of shoulders // tense posture // curling of lip // baring of teeth

reflective.

hand-to-face gestures // head tilted //  stroking chin  // peering over glasses // taking glasses off — cleaning // putting earpiece of glasses in mouth // pipe smoker gestures // putting hand to bridge of nose // pursed lips, knitted brows

suspicion.

arms crossed // sideways glance // touching or rubbing nose // rubbing eyes // hands resting on weapon // brows raising // lips pressing into a thin line // strict, unwavering eye contact // wrinkling of nose

openness & cooperation.

open hands // upper body in sprinters position // sitting on edge of chair // hand-to-face gestures // unbuttoned coat // tilted head // slacked shoulders, droopy posture // feet pointed outward // palms flat and facing outward // chin up

confidence.

hands behind back // hands on lapels of coat // steepled hands // baring teeth in a grin //rolling shoulders // tipping head back but maintaining eye contact // chest puffed up/shoulders back // arms folded just above navel

insecurity & anxiety.

chewing pen or pencil // rubbing thumb over opposite thumb // biting fingernails // hands in pockets // elbow bent/closed gestures // clearing throat // “whew” sound // picking or pinching flesh // fidgeting in chair // hand covering mouth whilst speaking // poor eye contact // tugging at pants whilst seated // jingling money in pockets // tugging at ear // perspiring hands // playing with hair // swaying // playing with pointer/marker //smacking lips // sighing // rocking on balls of feet // flexing fingers sporadically

frustration.

short breaths // “tsk” sounds // tightly-clenched hands // fist-like gestures // pointing index finger // rubbing hand through hair // rubbing back of neck // snarling // revealing teeth/grimacing // sharp-eyed glowers w/ notable tension in brow // shoulders back, head up — defensive posturing // clenching of jaw/grinding teeth // nostrils flaring//heavy exhales

[sls-60]

DAEMONIUM:

   it  was  a  precarious  situation.  william  had  no  love  for  the  government  –  only  his  hatred  of  umbrella  had  been  burning,  and  his  fear  of  loss  was  potent  and  motivating.  they  were  going  to  perfect  the  virus  and  sell  the  compound,  they  were  going  to  make  everyone  healthy  and  perfected  and  use  the  proceeds  to  escape  the  trappings  of  their  betters.  him,  and  annette,  and  sherry,  all  inspired  by  albert,  all  thanks  to  his  bravery,  his  strength.  

   only,  it  hadn’t  gone  like  that.  only,  he  could  not  bear  the  idea  of  dying  cold  and  aching  and  never  seeing  sherry’s  face  again.  he  had  begged.  hhheLP  MEE!  what  could  do  they  do  but  funnel  bullets?  and  that  had  not  been  enough.  golgotha  made  him  monstrous.  william’s  teeth  ache  in  their  gums.  

   at  their  worst,  the  US  government  could  be  no  better  than  umbrella.  he  exhales  his  exasperation,  swallowing  the  rancorous  response  stirring  in  his  throat.  the  girl  was  hardly  a  woman  herself,  not  much  older  than  sherry,  in  the  end.  he  had  to  remember  that.  

‘  if  they  have  her,  they’re  going  to  test  her.  ‘  he  says,  plainly,  bluntly.  william  would  never  do  to  sherry  what  anyone  else  would,  but  if  she  were  someone  else’s  daughter,  if  it  were  lisa  —-

   william  presses  his  fingers  into  the  bridge  of  his  nose  and  soothes  a  budding  headache  with  the  tips.  ‘  i  never  wanted  any  of  this.  i  don’t  expect  or  want  sympathy,  but  i  do  want  you  to  know  that.  sherry  is  ..  the  light  of  my  life.  i  haven’t  been  around  enough  for  her  lately.  but  everything  i  did  ..  it  was  so  we  could  be  free  of  them,  so  she  could  be  safe.  i   ….  know  someone  who  might  be  able  to  help.  ‘

"They wouldn’t,” she gasped. 

A part of her wished that his words held no merit toward the subject at hand, except she knew he was right. The thought of Sherry being a test subject made something twist inside her awfully, ravaging at her core and drawing the air from her lungs in a shaken, terrified rush. It wasn’t a thought she’d considered — 

Would they be so brazen to do such a thing under the proviso of duty of care? 

Claire unconsciously grasped for the pendant resting against her sternum, fingers nervously tracing the shape of the feathers as she watched the pure anguish eat at the man before her, his words laced with a bone-deep pain that she could feel oozing off of him in waves. She was tactile in such situations. Comforting glances of fingers on shoulders, or like when she’d clung to Annette’s bloodied hand, her strong reassurance borne from a genuine desire to see all ills of the world rightened; yet hesitance stilled her from it with William. Memories of G still so fresh and still healing, a horror forever etched in her mind. 

Fear would only hold things back. 

Fire sparked at the thought of seeing Sherry and her family united again, Annette’s words still all too close to her heart for the genuine gratitude she had of Claire keeping her daughter safe. 

Claire met his gaze, pushing through the mental visage of viscera and claws to extend her hand to him. 

“If there’s anything — anything I can do, if it’s tracking down this contact or helping get you places to make this work, I’ll do it.” 

Sure, possibly committing a federal offence was not exactly on her bucket list, and Chris would kill her (if) he found out, but higher powers be damned she’d make someone’s life hell to get Sherry back. 

[sls-60]

send me five times kissed for a drabble about five times our muses kissed

[sls-60]

A small piece of me still believed in hope. However minute or unattainable hope seemed, I wanted the childlike wonder. “I want you to love me. I need someone who needs me. But most of all, I know you understand me, and I crave that bond so much that when I’m with you, it’s all I feel. It consumes me. Fires me. Eats at my fine tuned control until there is nothing left of me, but the feel of you in my bones.

E.R. Pierce

[sls-60]

Me, coming home from doctors to this dash rn:

[sls-60]

“Are you okay in all that water?” (via oridisia_cats)

[sls-60]

HEROS‌:

    After an initial call to touch base, Claire reached his place in record time—quick enough for him to figure that she’d already been in area when she got the news. He could only venture to guess what important business she’d been dragged away from just to play glorified babysitter. 

   “Who actually reads the fine print on those things?” A wane smile stretched across his face. If there was one thing no one ever accused him of, it was failing to make an attempt at shitty quips when opportunity presented itself. Not that Claire’d be convinced to just wash her hands of the topic at hand. Leon didn’t pretend she would. Trying to hide much of anything from her ended with the same success rate as smothering open flames with a bag of flour. 

   The couch dipped as it bore her weight with his. That was the difference between her and others. She didn’t need him to reconstruct a caricature of when and how things happened. She didn’t need him to itemize fear and relief and guilt by the size or the severity or the frequency of it—because the truth was? None those feelings ever really went away. They only flared and receded at undetermined intervals, and the best solution he had at his disposal was taking a knife to the root and dissecting it before it got big enough to burst.

    “Finding the good in something shouldn’t be this hard. Not for us.”

    Claire never asked him to explain why walking across glass posed as much danger as stepping over water-logged bodies. Or to count how many times he’s burned himself in the shower over the years, trying to scrub off the stink of a city’s toilet. She never asked because she didn’t have to.

    Her shoulder brushed against his own then stayed there, the feeling light but solid. Leon’s head dipped, and he pressed the heel of his palm against damp eyelashes. Here was better than nowhere. Alive was better than dead, fighting was better than eating your own bullet. It’s what his counsellor reminded him during every session, in every text. Raccoon City didn’t exist anymore. Neither did Tall Oaks. Or Jack Krauser. Or Derek Simmons. Fire, and rain, and a lot of gunpowder made sure of that.

   Claire didn’t need to ask because she knew. All of it. And she made the weight of it look so goddamn easy to cary. “I don’t know how you do it, and I envy you.” 

  The problem about surviving a catastrophe wasn’t learning to live with the trauma—

   It was learning to live without it.

He wasn’t the only one to have said as much of her own calibre, and he’d likely never be the last. Claire could count two distinctly blackened points of her life, where the misery of tragedy was so all-consuming, all-knowing, it would manifest itself before her even in her waking hours. The literal monsters were easier to deal with those times — likened to something from a horror film with over the top macabre and grotesque gore. 

It was the people in those situations that had left the bigger impact and had made her more than once consider wrapping her lips around the muzzle of a gun, even with the knowledge that doing something like that would lead to even worse outcomes (these days with her blood no longer merely human.)  

Her smile was soft, thin; not disingenuous but borne from mutual understanding of how he could come to that conclusion — it was his regret and grief talking. 

“Sometimes I don’t have a choice.”

Atlas had to support the world all alone until it was safe enough; they had to carry others out of the fire before they were allowed to crumple. Sometimes the trauma felt safer, a familiarity that was a dangerous dance, but it wasn’t healthy in every sense of the word. Physically. Mentally. 

A body could only survive on adrenaline and cortisol for a few days before it started to kill itself. 

“It makes it easier sometimes,” she said, an addendum to her prior remark. “We get used to just living when others can’t fathom moving. It’s like getting back on a bike after a while, even if that second nature isn’t always the best for us.”

[sls-60]

sls-60‌:

BOLD any fears which apply to your muse. Italicize what makes them uncomfortable.                                                          Please repost, don’t reblog.

the dark*. fire. open water. deep water. being alone. crowded spaces. confined spaces. change*. failure. war. loss of control. powerlessness. prison. blood. drowning. suffocation. public speaking. natural animals. the supernatural. heights. death. dying. intimacy. rejection. abandonment. loss. the unknown. the future. not being good enough*. scary stories. speaking to new people. poverty. loud noises. being touched**.

* Indicates fears were held in the past, but are no longer feared in the present day. ** Indicates fears completely removed when in the right company.

tagged by:  @weskher tagging: anyone who’d like to do this! (You don’t need to do this if you don’t feel like it!)