#Herosace

[manufactoredxbyxdesign]

Would you like me to remind you that your last word was my name?

“Get out.”

[red9]

next time something like this happens, you have to promise to tell me.

              PATCHING UP WOUNDS // @herosace

              More often than not he was painted a villain, for it was much easier to put hatred to a face and a name rather than a concept that lingered from some years ago. It was something he’d grown accustomed to, knowing that despite the rights he tried to wrong, there would always be those who hated him for a cause he no longer worked for. A ghost from his past he’d never outrun, despite trying time and time again. Yet through the hatred, the cruelty, he held strong- not just for himself, but for the man he’d come to adore. Even as he took to their cause, played by the rules, took up a life of trying to fix what he’d broken so many years ago- there were those that would rather see him dead to avenge those he lost.

              It would happen at the times he’d least expect it. Be it coming and going from work, a midnight coffee break, or even out with his love on a Friday night, attempting a life of normalcy with his partner. Some faces he would know from passing, mainly field men working for the government, or the BSAA, those who took up arms to help the cause to avenge those they lost. It was often those that held anger when they’d learned of his past, thinking that maybe if they raised a fist or had a chance to spit in his direction it would bring peace to the dead that were long since gone.  And what was worse, was that he never knew when it would happen. 

              How it started with a cigarette, the day having shifted to night with hardly any notice as he’d work. It was only when he needed a moment of relief that he’d make his way outside, still in a fine pressed lab coat, name tag on with his lighter twirling in hand. At times he’d forget what significance that red and white logo held as it was engraved into gold. Certainly the last thing on his mind when he’d be approached for a light, another soldier in need of someone with a flame- and how he was more than willing to oblige. Frightening, the way light conversation could quickly turn sour, like watching a flame ignite in a stranger’s eyes, the rage that would overtake them happening in an instant as they’d realize who he was. 

              The rest was always history, ending up on his ass as a flash of white pain would overtake him. A single swift punch, and he’d be laid out on the floor, ears ringing as he’d clutch his bloodied face, scrambling for his lost lighter as he’d take a walk of shame back to his laboratory to smoke in peace. Though blood still stained his lab coat, and his head would ache for a while, at least in there came privacy, attempting to hide what was done before Chris would arrive to drive them home for the night.

              It was the sound of his voice that would raise his head from over the sink, the blood mainly clean from under his nose, lip slightly split as it held the cigarette loosely to a side. Given the chance he’d die with smoke in his lungs, so the sting was hardly noticed as he’d turn to greet the other. Hoping he wouldn’t notice- but the man was far too keen, too quick to catch on. All it took was a weak smile, and the cheery expression he often was met with was quick to disappear off his lover’s face. Concern mainly, as he’d feel him pluck the cigarette from his lips, never wanting to be the cause of the crease between his brows. “It was nothing, a misunderstanding-” so quick to brush off any worries he may have had. Yet still he was adamant, eyes never leaving his, feeling as though he could see right through his playful act to the fear he held inside. What would happen when one day someone would go too far? 

              ‘Next time something like this happens, you have to promise to tell me.’

              Hands raised to gently take hold of his wrists, removing worried hands from his face. Instead he turned, lips meeting his palm in a tender kiss to soothe his troubled mind. “I promise, next time someone tries something, I’ll call you first thing. Then you can come down here, be the big man and scare them off for me. You’re good at that.” To think, he was just one more thing for the man to worry about- he never wanted to be that. Eyes dropped at the thought, attempting to try and shift the mood around to something lighter. “I was hoping you might play nurse for me- help take my mind off the pain for a while. I wasn’t done working- but I’m thinking I’ll cut it short, if you were planning on calling it for the night.” 

[tviirus]

@herosace ;; smash or pass for leon because i think it will be funny.

there's  a  pause  as  he  looks  over  at  chris. leon's  expression  was  blank  as  he  thinks  carefully  about  what  he  wanted  to  say. fucking  redfields... leon  couldn't  deny  they  both  were  so  attractive.

 ❝  smash. ❞

[moldcursed]

@herosace sent : Within the bathroom, the sound of running water fills the air, while sunlight dances across the table. Upon it, is scattered items that are currently in use. A bottle of shaving cream, the cap of his razor. A coffee, that had turned lukewarm as it’s owner attempts to rid himself of the stubble that had accumulated over the last several days he had been gone on some mission. The man admits, it would be much easier if he just turned around and looked at the mirror, the one that hazardously had a cloth thrown over it to avoid looking into it, even accidentally. As if that wasn’t enough, the man is turned away from the mirror, the curve of his back presses against the cold tile of the bathroom counter. He’s not clueless, he knows if he turns around and looks, the job would be done within five minutes. Yet, the bags under his eyes, and his current mentality leaves him in not right mind to do so, and instead he lets himself suffer in something that should be so simple. With a drag of the razor that makes him grimace, a long side of defeat leaves his lips, before he’s dropping the razor behind him, replacing it with his coffee mug, before he takes a disappointing sip. Stewing silently in his own annoyance, there’s no sign he even notices the blonde lurking in the shadows. The bathroom door sits ajar, enough to see in, for the older man had wrongly assumed he would be the only one up for another couple hours..

ethan  sleepily  stumbles  his  way  out  of  the  bedroom  ;  hair  is  a  mess  atop  his  head,  blond  waves  tangled  and  messy  from  the  night  before.  he's  on  his  way  to  the  kitchen  in  search  of  a  cup  of  coffee  when  he  sees  it  —  the  bathroom  door,  ever  so  slightly  open.  he  hadn't  meant  to  look  in.  really,  he  hadn't.  but  when  he'd  heard  the  defeated  sigh,  he  just  couldn't  help  himself.  there's  nothing  inherently  wrong  with  doing  it  —  ethan  just  cannot  help  feeling  like  a  child  who  happens  to  be  where  he's  not  supposed  to.  as  he  glances  in,  there's  the  clink  of  the  razor  upon  the  countertop.  discarded,  thrown  aside  in  irritation.  standing  in  the  shadows  right  outside  the  bathroom  door,  ethan's  gaze  darts  from  the  expression  on  chris's  face  to  the  tossed  aside  razor,  and  then  up  to  the  covered  up  mirror.  for  a  moment,  he's  not  sure  what  he's  looking  at.  then,  it  dawns  on  him  :  chris  doesn't  want  to  see  his  reflection.  he  won't  look  in  the  mirror  as  he  does  this.  ethan's  expression  softens  slightly.  he  understands  that  ;  understands  the  way  something  as  simple  as  that  could  be  triggering.  there's  moments  like  that  for  him,  too,  sometimes.  that  thought  is  what  has  ethan  lightly  knocking  on  the  door,  pushing  it  open  before  chris  even  has  time  to  answer.  there's  gentleness  on  his  features  as  he  steps  inside,  each  step  as  careful  and  meticulous  as  if  chris  were  a  wounded  animal.  then,  a  quiet,  soft  inquiry  :  “ would  you  like  some  help?  ”

[tooxldtorememxer]

@herosace​ wrote:  “  yes,  you’re  very  smart.  shut  up.  ”  / to karl 

Well, at least he admitted it, although a bit reluctant in his opinion. But as it turned out, Karl had been right and Chris fucking Redfield had been so fucking wrong he’d needed to admit it. “Well,” he said, a grin spread across his lips as he put his hat back on that had fallen off in the shockwave of the explosion that had ensued. “If you keep listening to me we might just keep our fucking lives at the end of this,” it was a jab, but it was coated over by the gloat in his tone that showed just how smug he could be.

“She’ll know you’re coming now for sure. You just blew her most pathetic child to pieces,” spread around them were pieces of Moreau, or what was left of him, and it would be impossible to say what piece belonged to where. At least there was about half a carcass left in the former lake Chris’ men could poke at, but Miranda would know, for sure now, that they were there.

“So where to next, boss?” he mocked, and he could tell by the looks he was given that it wasn’t approved that he of all people would say something like that. Not once had someone tried to point a gun at him, but he could feel the tension in the group whenever he was near.  They’d probably been warned or told not to and he didn’t need heightened senses for that, but he was going to balance on the blade for as long as he could. for once he was being useful and his mind not just rotting in his factory. Though there were still things to take care of there, thus far, he was able to keep them out and he would be able to return soon to put the final part of the plan together. But for now, he enjoyed hunting monsters, even though they were supposed to be his own siblings.

[rescuefield-arch1]

once stepped in the chopper claire had requested to be brought to new york so that she could get her report started, only for it to be rejected - something about how it would be better for everyone to be quarantined at least a few hours and make sure there aren't any latent side effects... especially considering her case. so claire abides to the bsaa rules for now, lets rebecca check on her every thirty minutes even though she firmly believes by now either one of the viruses in her system would have triggered already.

EVENTUALLY YOU'LL SEE I'M NOT WORTH IT. chris tells her once she's left alone again, gaze darting on him sitting on the bench across the room. she doesn't get it for a moment, intense gaze studying him through the glass between them - another fancier cell they've been put in today, much to both of their joy it seems. "do we really need to have this conversation now?" she inquires in flat tone, index tapping at the inside of her arm where pale skin has gotten reddish due to samples of blood being taken earlier.

lately being avoidant of everything has become second nature; avoid her friends, people she loves. her own blood not being any different especially with all the unspoken things piled on between them throughout the years. "don't let dylan's words get to you, he was a jerk." and although the truth of it all can't be denied, claire can hardly see how people being willing to die for a cause has to be chris' fault specifically. "you never gave up on me," she says then, shoulders shrugging casually when she looks up at him again. "not gonna give up on you - argue with the wall."

@herosace

[rescuefield-a]

“ is that my shirt? ” PLS SIBLINGS STEALING CLOTHES??

features cringe slightly when chris' voice reaches her ears, head tilting slightly to side while continuing to chew on her cereals. has she stolen one of her brother's shirts? totally. but on claire's defense it's laundry day, and they both know all too well how long it takes for her to even consider actually starting any chores.

"you never wear this, give me a break." fingers tug at sleeve of shirt dramatically, clothing item actually seen on chris probably some time when she hadn't even started college yet. head nods at the empty bowl across from her, sock cladded foot nudging at his leg. "breakfast is the most important meal if the day chris, sit down and have some cereals." and maybe you'll calm down, she completes in her mind.

"we never get to do this stuff, you're always running." words fall from lips in a more disappointed tone than claire intended, lips curling into a frown as brief glance is offered to her brother. "i'm gonna wash your shirt once mines are done, i promise."

[manufactoredxbyxdesign]

Hm. Didn’t take you as a coward.

“Chris you have ten seconds to leave me alone.

Or I will throw a desk at your F̶͓̊͑̃͠u̸̖̟̽̋̔̏͐͗̀̕͜͜c̸̱̥͗̇͌̀̔͗̒̓͋̇̈́̕͠͝͝͝ķ̵̢̖̻̠͇͇̮͓̮̫̣̬̰̙̑͐̎̿i̸̛̛͕͓͓̔̾̓͊͑̑͋͗̾̍n̵̛̰̬̻̋͛̾̃͐̈́̉̈́̽̀͘g̵̢̡̛͙͙͔̗͓͉͍̺̳͎̣̥̤̽͛͑̈ face.”

[heavenprotect-m]

⸻ @herosace ( chris ) sent. ‘ you call THAT a plan? ’

"yes!" the redhead huffed, almost pouting but somehow managed to keep a straight face. "look at our situation here, we're running low on resources, reinforcements are at least━" and he's being generous here. "━half a hour away and more than half of our men are down."

he points to the massive beast, the newest bioweapon on the black market, and it was getting closer to where they were holding up. "the least i can do is try to buy you guys some time so you can move the injured to a more defensible location, maybe i will be able to take it down but i won't know for sure unless you let me go."

[tooxldtorememxer]

@herosace wrote: post it note for karl <3

[manufactoredxbyxdesign]

There is a certain pleasure in this game. Like two cars racing full speed at a wall, daring the other to be the first one to pull away. The knife, ever-present, becomes the source of both his focus and amusement. Truthfully he has doubts that his former Pointman would do it. Not out of cowardice, though he disdains having to even acknowledge that fact. No, it is because he cannot stand to do it. 

It is the distinction between them that pushes them apart even as they meet over and over again. Softness undeserved, a desperate attempt to remain civil. He wonders if it also disturbs Chris too much. The familiarity of his old uniform reminding him of the Mansion and the striking way in which a Tyrant unravelled everything Wesker had been hiding in plain sight. 

“You were always a little too straight laced Redfield,” He remarks.

When the blade cuts across his skin he doesn’t even flinch, but feels the warm trickle of the red liquid as it seeps out from the fresh mark. Slowly, it runs down his pale skin, and a smirk starts to form as he feels some of it trickle down his lips and unseen below his chin. 

The explanation given makes he wants to laugh. Without cover, his eyes are bright and flicker with malicious delight. Amused and enthralled by how close to death he is, and how unwilling his opponent has been about finishing the game. 

“Of course you’ll never be like me. That’s why you’re with the sheep, and I am with the wolves.” He jeers, tongue extending almost in mocking to lick some of the blood now staining his lips.  “Do you think that The Entity brought you here because it saw anything other than fresh blood for the slaughter?”

From the moment the demand leaves his lips, he can feel Wesker’s satisfaction. It rolls off of him like waves, and does nothing to ease the tension between the two. When it comes to Wesker, it’s almost impossible to gauge his reaction, yet the amused noise that comes from his demand, gives him all he needs to know. Despite the past between them, one that only ended with the demise of Wesker, by no other than the hands of Chris, their hatred of each other, it only intensified within this realm. For a moment, all Chris did was stare.

As he spoke, all Chris wanted to do was snap at his former captain. He’s unsure how long Wesker had been here before he had arrived, but for Chris it had been years. Although he wish he could pretend that he had moved on from it all, in truth, he hadn’t. Both in life, as well as death it seemed, Wesker was a persistent bastard. At work, people wouldn’t let him forget what he had done. He was a hero in so many people’s eyes. Yet, it didn’t stop there, as even his dreams would haunt him, like a ghost, and remind him of all of his failures.

The two are playing a game, toying with each other, and they both know it. There’s no hesitation when sunglasses are finally removed and Chris looks directly at him, as if he’s staring into Wesker’s very soul. Bright red eyes stare back at him, and for a brief moment, he tries to remember what they were like before all of this. Back when Wesker was his Captain, Chris his ever faithful Pointman. He can’t, so instead he smirks, letting the tip of his knife drag from his neck, slowly to his cheek. The movement seems to last a lifetime, but he knows it couldn’t last longer than a few seconds. At first, he makes no move to hurt him, but then in a sudden, slashing movement, he cuts his cheek, watching the angry streak of red that follows as he does. “ No, ” He speaks lowly, almost darkly, and as he watches him bleed, it brings Chris a scary satisfaction, yet it does not truly leave him satisfied, “ I never will be… will you ever be satisfied? ”

[rescuefield-a]

‘ it’s almost two o’clock in the morning! what are you doing here? ’ from chris. (sending a couple options you don’t have to do both!)

she's almost surprised to catch chris at emmy's at such a late hour, but then again their plans to hang out had been abruptly crushed, and as she watched him and the other members of STARS heading out asking for his apartment keys was the last thought in claire's mind. "i was waiting for you." she tells him anyway, tone matter of fact as shoulders shrug casually.

the cafe was basically almost empty, the few people left inside having just finished their shifts at respective jobs and stopping by to grab food and something to drink. claire can relate to that in some capacity - her routine upon finals month usually involved lots of takeout and questionably tasting coffee too. "dude you really have to make a copy of your keys for me, it's like the third time."

tired sigh leaves her lips as she hops off the barstoll, handing over a few bills to pay for her order before disposing of the empty cup of coffee she's been drinking while waiting for her brother. "think i can leave my bike at the station? i don't really feel like driving." more like contacts are killing her eyes and riding the bike in the night would probably lead to a crash claire would very much like to avoid. "i'll get it back tomorrow morning."

[manufactoredxbyxdesign]

You say that as if I’m easy to kill. May I remind you how many times you’ve tried and failed to do so?

"Would you like me to count all the times I've dangled you off of a hook like a side of beef?"

[red9]

WHAT DOES YOUR HEART LOOK LIKE?: broken, missing pieces that once were there

              Your heart has been torn before, chipped and maybe even shattered. Some pieces will never be recovered, and you are shaped by the loss. But it can still be shaped into something tangible, something good, even with its flaws and imperfections. You don’t have to do all the work of rebuilding by yourself. Allow other hands to leave their fingerprints on the new heart you create from the remnants.

tagged by: @deputyzed tysm bby!! tagging: @devilsbaptist @antiibow @herosace @deadaim @heavenprotect @fortrauma @rescuefield and anyone else !

[tooxldtorememxer]

@herosace wrote: are you blushing? did i make you blush? / for karl

“First off, fuck you. And second, no you did not,” if anything the colour came from him being annoyed at Chris and his teasing. It wasn’t something he received very well but was very good at handing it out. Just look at how he’d always teased Moreau in the past. But hey, it wasn’t often someone said something nice to him, not even Chris and the only response he had to it was to walk off, to pace, just to do something with the feeling and energy that seemed to spread through him like wildfire. He assumed it to be unrest but it was a lot warmer than that and not as ‘spiking’ as the unrest usually felt. So he didn’t really know what it was, it was just weird. It was also really important that he fixed that door hinge that had been hanging and squeaking for a while. It had suddenly moved to the top of his to-do list.

[manufactoredxafterxdark]

When Wesker pulls back, he does not flinch, in fact he barely bats an eye. Instead, lips purse and he lets eyes wander over Wesker: taking him in, observing him. The laugh makes his eyes narrow, yet he still does not speak for a moment, the silence lingers a little longer.

“Is that so? Then why haven’t you done it yet?” His tone is taunting, on the edge of playful when it really shouldn’t be, not with him. He leans forward, daring as ever and asks, “Like me, huh? And exactly what am I like, Wesker?”

"Nothing."

Through gritted teeth he suppresses the growl that wants to come out. There is a heat crawling through his body now. Curling through each limb like the flickering heads of a long hydra. But he cannot tell what it is any longer. Rage - or something mixed in with it.

The edges of his vision twinge red with what he wants to dismiss as bloodlust. Though he is aware of the teasing and stirs with each new comment.

"You're nothing!"

Like a strike of lightning, he seizes the other man by his vest and shoves him hard against the wall behind him. Hearing the satisfying crack of the wood threatening to splinter and break.

When his head turns, even the dark shades can no longer conceal the bright red glow that emulates from his scowling eyes. "You were always nothing to me. You always will be."