#r edfield

[lethalpursuit-archived]

for parker -

though it may irk the other, chris snatches the glass from the table - no hesitation in his movement as he tosses the liquid behind him. with another swift movement, the glass is slammed back atop the table upside down - chris stood behind it, brows furrowed and expression a frown. "you seriously doing this?" he jibes "just gonna sit here and drink yourself to death?"

(I HOPE THIS IS OKAY! I REMEMBER READING ABOUT PARKERS DRINKING AND LKNFGLKDG )

"HEY!"

Despite being a single word, it is still slurred as it escapes the other man's lips, blurted out sloppily and tinged with indignation.

"I wasn't done with that."

Parker sways slightly in his seat as he turns to give Chris a blurry-eyed stare. The rational part of his mind would likely recognize what the other is doing-- saving the other from himself-- but right now he's just trying to forget everything.

"Why's it matter," he spits back. "S'not your business."

His chair slides back and he rises on unsteady legs to try stumble his way to the bar for a beer. Right now, he can still remember Terragrigia, can still remember how all those people died to make sure the FBC was cast in a favorable light, can still remember how much blood is on his hands from simply being associated with them.... He had thought he was helping people, not condemning them....

"I jus' want to forget."

[plagasinfected]

@r-edfield asked: he analyses the other's arm, that grand thing attached to him - a wing like an angel and the rest of it a mess. there's a solemn look across chris' gaze as he breathes a sigh. "what made you do it?"

Was this a joke? It had to be. The mutated man seemingly baring his teeth as his arm twitched and writhed. He still had bits of himself there. And to answer Chris? It was a challenge. He didn't know anything. Not like Leon. He read a few files. But he didn't work with him like Leon did.

"Y-you wouldn't get it, Redfield. Not a single bit of my choices would make any sense to you." He hissed. His distance was maintained for a reason. He didn't look human..not any more. He couldn't turn it back. It was permanent. If he were to hand himself in hed be dead. They'd no doubt play Guinea pig with him. Poke and prod at him. He'd rather die.

"I'm not goin with you Chris..I cant risk it. I know what you Bastards at BSAA do to freaks like me." It was the paranoia. It would or wouldn't be true. But he would get that with either Umbrella or the government. He was alone. Facing down the captain of the Bsaa himself.

"Give me one reason why I should go. One. It's all you get.."

[schwarzwaldcr]

@r-edfield || continuation of x

There are some things even she is not used to. She can put up a steely face and accept that it is a thing that happens, a thing that she cannot stop. But that is not the same as being used to it.

Death is a thing she is intimately familiar with, given her history with it and of witnessing it in various ways, some more gruesome than others. And although she can warn against it, she cannot control it, and most certainly cannot contain its inky anchors when someone tempts it and it answers.

To say she is used to Disassembly is a lie.

She can tell someone to push forward until she is blue in the face and still, they can turn and they can run. The Threshold is a vicious thing and it does not act well with intrusion, especially in so short a time. A catch-all, like antibodies attacking a foreign invader in a body, and what is a Zone but a body so vast it is hard to comprehend the monstrosity of it.

So when the other in their small group turns tail and runs with such speed as a though caught on fire, she reaches a hand out to try and catch them ... and fails. There is a flutter of panic in her when she realizes her reach is still too short, and it is hardly more than morbid reflex to turn and try to stop them with words to no avail.

The way time stills when they hit the ripples against reality, the way their body branches out fast enough the shriek of surprise and agony is stilted into the tiniest squeak, the spray of what's left into the ring of the Boneyard, across rocks and passes and the skeletal remains of scrubby trees...

The Wolf can only lower her eyes in some sort of reverence to the reminder that although she can try, she is still only human. Barely big enough to change the minds of men, and never enough to change the courses of instinct in others. It also helps keep the acidic taste of bile of seeing a human body like it should never be seen from rising and burning the back of her throat.

The remaining gore of such a display misses her almost entirely. Maybe splashes the toes of her boots. She likes to think this is the memo from the Zone to her now, of how weak she is against its influence. Of her place in its unspoken hierarchy. She is twined with it in ways most humans are not, understands it on some other level others can barely understand. She is not better than they are, though. She is still just human, and this can also happen to her if she's not careful.

Her personal monologues and humilities are broken by the sound of the landscape near her stirring in panic and she is suddenly brought back with the memory she is still not alone. There is one more, and she is quick to whip her head around to see him shrink and retreat from the Threshold. While she is relieved to see him backing away from it, she knows by the splatter pattern across his body and face that he was staring directly at it, if the vacant glazed eyes and erratic breathing didn't alert her first.

He has seen the fury of God, and it has reminded him of the same thing. That he is human. That he is powerless here. It's in the way he slides down when his back hits a broken retaining wall and he simply crumples at its base with a clatter of equipment.

"Red...?"

His call-sign, his name, is barely above a whisper. When it doesn't get a response, she is careful to turn and move toward him, steps slow and deliberate so they make noise when they shift the terrain or shuffle against the ground. Being silent and sneaky would do no one any favors while he is panicking. He might lash out if she's not careful and while she knows she can take it, it might hurt him more. This is not the first time she has seen or handled traumatic distress, and while this is the first time she's seen it in him, it is best to be prepared.

It doesn't take her long to bend next to him, slowly lowering the Ruger to one side and searching his face for some sort of reaction. "Red? Can you hear me?"

No response, she focuses on the way his chest heaves. He's beginning to hyperventilate, the breaths coming quicker and more erratic. Drawing her lips thin, she makes a decision. One hand reaches forward cautiously, her fingertips against his chest and her entire palm is soon to follow, covering where his heart thuds in his chest, and she whispers into the small space between them, quiet and almost intimate. Something just for him to hear.

"Alright, Red. We are going to count it together. Count your breaths with me, alright?"

There's something there now, a small response, a tick of his head in her direction. It's a motion most would take for granted, but for her, it's a sign he's there again.

"Ready? Eins ... zwo ... drei ..."

Little pauses between the numbers. Spoken in German so he can focus on the difference, and it seems to be working much to her relief. The tension has left him and the uneven breaths have slowed, he's fallen into tempo with it now, and she reaches forward with her free hand to carefully wipe the gore from his face. At least, what she can reach.

She's relieved when halfway through 'eight', he opens his eyes again and finds hers. She sees a little of the conflict he's feeling and can only guess at what it is, but has a small inkling to it. He's not used to losing himself in front of people. It's something he'll have to get used to if he plans on coming back, and something he will realize all good stalkers who can call themselves 'veteran' truthfully are intimately familiar with such events.

She won't force him to talk about things just yet, since the Boneyard is no place for a genuine heart-to-heart, but her free hand leaves his face to rest on the hand he's placed on her, a small show that she hears him and his gratitude well and clear. If you want to talk, I'm here, it says. Stability in a place where nothing can be considered such, where one questions the fabric of existence around them. She is still Wulf, and her ears are open.

"...Feeling a little better?"

It's a tentative question, but she wants to make sure he won't relapse on their way to find shelter. Which requires them to move fast; staying in Boneyards for too long isn't pleasant, and not just because of the memories of what makes them.

[adversityfought-a]

-`ˏ  @r-edfield​  ˎ´-

→   Tell one of your favorite things about RP! c:

(  MUNDAY PROMPTS 🪴 )

There’s  so  much  to  pick    &    scream  about  but…  I’ll  try  my  best!  I  adore  the  freedom  of  being  able  to  take  canon,  what  they  gave  me    &    going  feral  to  build  my  own  plots  &  headcanons  with.  I’ve  joked  about  it  before,  but  Canon  really  is  viewed  as  just  a  sandbox  for  me  to  play    &    fuck  around  in    -    it’s  got  everything  I  need  to  build  what  I  want  with  what’s  available,    &    I  personally  adore  the  support  people  are  willing  to  give  one  another  to  build  up  said  ideas  or  personalized  portrayals.

No  two  are  ever  the ��same,    &    a  thing  I’ve  come  to  adore  personally  is  seeing  that  support  shown  across  any  fandom  I’ve  been  a  part  of    -    the  passion  poured  into  the  same  muse  from  others    &    how  their  personal  views    &    ideas  impact  or  interpret  a  muse.  It’s  amazing  to  see    &    honestly?  That  shared  freedom  to  go  nuts    &    express  the  love  held  for  a  muse  is  what  makes  me  mushy.  There’s  so  many  other  things  but  by  far,  that’s  the  strongest  thing  that  pops  out  for  me  at  this  moment.

[mothaus]

After the ordeal that she went through, Becca was sequestered into a lab so that her blood can he analyzed for the A-Virus that lies dormant in her body. It wasn't a pleasant experience being at the other end. They had kept her lab bound for a couple of months, running tests after tests.

It was the day of the last rounds of testing, she all but sprinted out the lab room and into a brick wall that was @r-edfield. A silly smile formed across her lips, "I am sorry but Freedom!!!!"

[stingslikeabee]

@r-edfield . from here

Time (and grief) were such strange things - on certain days, it felt like the king had passed away decades ago and that Melissa had ruled their lands alone for as long as she could remember; on other occasions, it was as if the funeral had been held only last week. The queen supposed it was the natural reaction to one losing such an important piece of their lives, or so the doctor closely monitoring and advising the royal family had said.

And yet - despite the darker fabrics used for her dresses and the way Melissa found herself murmuring a prayer to her departed husband whenever she received anyone at court, there was something that just didn’t sit right with her. It was more than just the notion of the time elapsed since then - it was the absence of pain. Losing one’s spouse should have been more traumatic, should it not? By all accounts, it should have left the queen a broken, sobbing mess...

...And yet she wasn’t. Many had praised her strength of character and the genuine effort she displayed to rule the nation after losing the king, but was it even true?

Why did the forlorn look of the head of her queen’s guard made her heart ache more than the loss of the one she had lawfully wedded?

His response had been a perfect one - there was no soul alive that could fault Christopher Redfield for devoting himself to the job. He had been a beloved one - a favorite of the late king, too. It was only after his untimely demise that the knight became officially the head of her guard, but Melissa had always felt comfortable around him. His silent presence was soothing, his watchful eye was reassuring, the proximity of his armor a genuine type of solace.

It was as if the world made a little bit more of sense next to Sir Redfield when it lacked so much elsewhere.

“I know you will, Christopher,” she said then, voice soft and affectionate; when the two of them were alone, it was not improper for the titles to be dropped and for the monarch to reach for him, even if the gesture was innocent - just a silent plea to link hands, to ground herself through human touch. Given his protectives, sometimes holding hands was all she could do without hurting herself; a perfect analogy to her own situation indeed. Beautiful, like a rose - but alone in her throne, pushing every other human away as if she had thorns.

But she should be allowed to have someone, right? A protector who had been keeping her safe for so long - the queen wanted to have someone to talk to who wasn’t a servant or an employee or an individual believing themselves bound by blind loyalty to the crown. She wanted someone who saw her - Melissa - before the role she occupied.

“There is no one else I would trust with my life but you,” a smile followed, and she released the hand sought a bit earlier, but only because she traded it for his arm instead. Luckily, within palace walls, his armor was not as impressive as the one donned when they went beyond such confines, and it allowed the queen to remain at his side. “Would you indulge me and accompany me through a stroll in the gardens? I feel as if I have been suffocating inside - some fresh air would do wonders to our mood, I believe.”

[endtiimes]

STIIIILL thinking about how Chris saw an eldritch Wesker and was like, 'Yeah, I can take him.'

He could not. He got beat within an inch of his life & then decided from then on he's getting jacked.

[lethalpursuit-archived]

📂for parrkerrr pleaseeee c:

Random useless headcanon

You only sent one folder but imma gush for a minute bc Parker is my mans

Parker knows how to make pasta from scratch-- everything from spaghetti to ravioli to gnocchi.

He has a German Shorthaired Pointer named Dolce. He affectionately refers to Dolce as 'the Missus' in conversation-- i.e. "Time to get home to the Missus."

Parker goes on dates every now and again, but never anything serious-- he's never found "the one"

That being said, if you do go on a date with him, prepare to be spoiled. Flowers, chocolates, he'll buy dinner, get you gifts, the whole nine yards.

Parker grows and dries his own herbs for cooking.

[plagasinfected]

@r-edfield asked: “seems to me you’re just plain scared.”

Scared...as much as he hid it within himself he was. He was terrorfied of what he became. Umbrella didn't want him anymore. And if he were to try to go back to America he'd be labeled a terrorist..hell he already was one. Considering one of the BSAA's top agents decided to stop by.

"Tch...what do you know, Redfield?" There's no way he'd say it out loud to him..if it was Leon that alone would be a drastically different story. But right now he had a different thorn in his side.

"You only..what? Read about me off of my old credential files and shit? No you don't know shit. You only say that as a ploy, eh? To get me to falter?" He asked through venomized words as he crossed his arms." It's not gonna work there..'captain'."

[schwarzwaldcr]

forget-me-not and hollyhock c:

Picking Flowers || Accepting

forget - me - not :   has your muse ever forgotten something that is or was important to them ?   are they afraid of forgetting things like that ?

Memory is such a fickle thing nowadays, and always has been for her. There are things in Schwarzwald that will actively take memories from someone, as payment or as punishment. You don't question those memories, since usually they are things that hold very little resonance anyway, save for the time one of the littler Castles thought it would be hilarious to steal Papa Boris' name from her as payment for waiting out a storm in it.

But one thing she's started noticing is a small hole in her memory of her parents. A pinprick mostly. Like taking a photograph and sticking a needle through it somewhere. And normally she wouldn't mind it, since usually in those instances it's the setting she tends to static around (was the carpet blue or grey? were the walls beige or brown?). Little things. But here, in the photo paper, is a picture of her father's face. And the hole is getting bigger.

She knows she'll never forget Mama, especially because the woman was a source of nightmares for years and occasionally still pops up in them, with the blazing eyes and gnashing teeth and long wicked claws ripping up the floor of the dreamscape. But Papa is leaving.

She remembers his smile and how it went into his eyes, she remembers his laugh and his soft kind voice and how his hands always seemed bigger and more calloused than hers and his big warm hugs. But what color were his eyes, or his hair, does she actually remember his chin stubble or is this a reconstruction of how she thought he should be.

It's enough to wake her up at night and remember she still has a crinkled old photograph tucked away somewhere, because who wants to forget that?

Maybe she should suck it up and finally put it on her phone so she doesn't have to scramble in the dark to find it when he starts to fade again...

hollyhock :   how strong is your muse’s sense of ambition ?what’s something they strive for in life ?

She lives up to her German blood in pure stubbornness, and that carries on into her ambition. When she sinks her teeth into something, she does it with a fire unrivaled until it's done, even if it takes several attempts to do so. That being said, though, finding that something to turn on the drive is a little bit harder.

Obviously one of the things she has her sights set on is the 'Stag. The political decisions that have come out of that place since they declared martial law in the 1950's have been more than questionable, to the point that you could argue they're taking much of George Orwell's writings as a template and not as fiction. She remembers what it was like to be invisible because someone told a lie, because the 'Stag said she didn't exist. She watches the same thing happen to other people, and there was a point in her life she was arrested in France because the alternative was running back toward Schwarzwald and the inevitable disappearance of her, Papa Boris, and everyone else that frequents the tavern for simply being there. Not military, but certainly construction workers and even the occasional traveler. If there is anything she really wants to sink her teeth into, metaphorically and literally, it is most certainly the eldritch elephant in the room that is the German political climate.

@r-edfield

[nightlyvisitor]

he places a palm atop ray's head, hair scrunched between his fingers before he's pulling the other into a playful headlock "i'm sorry you're so short, buddy" he teases "but you've gotta admit - it does add to your adorableness." (OOPS!)

Yet again he is stuck with paperwork, grumbling to himself whenever boredom reaches him. At first he is too distracted to feel the hand in his curls, but the aftermath is sure to snap him out.

A surprised gasps leaves him, now trapped by the taller male. " Mmm no fair ! Maybe I am the tough cookie and you are the adorable one here ! " Ray pouts in embarrassment but then it quickly disappears into a little smirk. "If I am adorable then...how about we go out handsome ? You wouldn't say no to this cute face, right ?" As to prove his point, the fireman is giving Chris the puppy eyes.

Maybe he could fluster Redfield a little...Plus the other is much more interesting than any paperwork he was doing anyway.

[spxnglr]

Thank you so much for this.

I reached nine-hundred followers last night. Nine-hundred. Wow. Honestly? I really, GENUINELY don’t know how to respond in a way that will offer it any kind of justice. On the six-month anniversary of the blog being made, as well. 

The last month has been one of the roughest of my life, given my health, so to see that people have stuck around, people still want to write with my Egon, people actually think the utter shite I post here is of any good...trust me, it’ll mean so much more than you’ll ever know. From me, and from Egon, thank you.

So, in the spirit of dragging everyone back to the past, I’m going to be doing my second follow forever. I’ll try my utmost to remember every single person that has had an impact on this blog, but there are SO MANY names to mention, so if yours is not here, PLEASE do not take it personally. My memory is absolutely awful at the moment, and if we’re mutuals, just know that I love you and your work. So, let’s begin.

𝙵𝙴𝙻𝙻𝙾𝚆 𝙶𝙷𝙾𝚂𝚃𝙱𝚄𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚂. - exactly what it says. Those who also write canon muses from the fandom. You have all been incredible and I can’t wait to see what more we can do together in the future:

@doctorvenko, @raystxntz, @egonspenglerofficial, @melnitzj​, @bassclefdana​, @venkman-and-rookie​, @sfc-russell-ziskey​ (you still count), @torntruth​, @anderwhohn​.

𝙾𝙿𝙴𝙽-𝙳𝙾𝙾𝚁 𝙿𝙾𝙻𝙸𝙲𝚈 𝙰𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙵𝙸𝚁𝙴𝙷𝙾𝚄𝚂𝙴. - Muses we love. Muses we vibe with immensely. We’ve chatted and plotted a lot OOC and we’re besties. Simple as that.

@betterdcyz, @starnamedlyra, @huntedvideo, @daemondaes, @the-arkham-librarian, @escapedartgeek, @anywherexwhen, @theresastargirl, @frstwomn, @witchaotics, @crygod, @flawed---by---design, @boriiqua, @summerxmelodies, @prtld, @monmuses, @tellescope, @manaborn, @hxzelwallflower, @lefae, @vortexparadox, @immortaljackal, @starkastichotmess, @spynorth, @gabrielthegoober, @arkhampsychiatrist, @funnystvff, @ofendlessleep, @demurc, @soulstcne, @starlightwalked, @qknows, @moonshadowed, @curiosityshop, @dtperez, @chokethelight. @zloslwy, @unsnare, @pistoiet, @ziggytm, @rapxir, @pagetorn, @timeagxnt, @timetakeover​, @flyatahighergame, @skaeptical, @ghostbustingreen, @archclergy, @crystalpower, @wintersovereign, @vulcnlogic, @smokedanced, @dyuuku, @o-rusted-heart.

𝙿𝙾𝚃𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙰𝙻 𝙲𝙻𝙸𝙴𝙽𝚃𝚂. - Muses that I admire from afar! Whether it’s due to a wee bit of shyness and/or just not having chance to write much with you just yet, I would LOVE to interact more soon. Fingers crossed!

@hellmartyr​, @brbievamp, @babydxhl, @ragesense, @trencri, @blueminke, @herbtm, @canonfoddcr, @r-edfield, @destallo, @traumamade, @sinfection, @sndmsm, @indyflanery, @jensationals, @nightmdic, @alwaysthesitter, @survivoirs, @luxcruor, @cantfixyou, @hcze, @iinventor, @overclocks, @pessimistics, @277-00, @huntended, @wolfwithin, @conzierge, @theshcdes, @deciphertheriddler, @darkwoodlane, @ladamereveuse, @shotgunscn, @shxkespexre, @calledshine, @fromtower, @chmerical, @athousandmilesandcounting, @likeprotege, @aerlcos, @stygicniron, @pizzatheif, @aachvez, @wildcardwheeler, @innerwar, @iinmortales, @percentstardust, @res1dents, @idolkills, @hamadaxfighter, @seeasunset, @hauntedreality

OK, before I perish, I’ll leave it there - just know that this list is by NO means exhaustive. I love you all so so much, you’re all the reason why I’m here day after day. Thank you so, SO much for being amazing, awesome, and most importantly, yourselves. Much love.

[mothaus]

As soon as the door was opened, the aroma of homemade apple pie was lingering around the humble abode. Kathy knew who they were expecting, it had to be @r-edfield coming at the behest of Barry. Humming was heard from the kitchen. Kathy was getting other desert ready; homemade cheesecake.

Her head poked out from the corner, "I sent Barry to town to pick up a few things." Warm brown eyes followed with a smile, "But hang up your coat and come in here!"

[stingslikeabee]

he eyes her, gaze half-lidded and cheeks red. how much has he drank? who knows & who cares? it's high-spirits all around!

the marksman leans forward, close enough to catch her gaze as a wide grin laces across his lips "mel- mel - listen -" though he's drunk, it isn't alcohol that talks but rather his heart "you're beautiful. really fucking beautiful. and if i could have anything i wanted right now-" though he's a slight slur to his speech, his tone is deadly serious "it'd be you."

( aw damn who dropped this here )

unscripted asks . always accepting

There had been a storm brewing between the two of them for some time - some game of cat and mouse, one trying to one up the another in what felt like an old-fashioned seduction challenge but quickly turned into something... More. Melissa had been convinced that Chris had a hidden agenda for weeks (maybe months) now; and although she had steadily chiseled away at his defenses, he was a professional.

It would take more than not-so-subtle touches, a pleasing smile and words filled with innuendo to crack Chris Redfield.

The former prostitute had even doubted her talents at some time - was she no longer enticing to a man like him? Had her tricks gone so old and predictable for her line of business? But as their meetings increased in number and the agent’s tolerance to alcohol seemed to decline, Melissa was able to ascertain that no, she was still good - pretty damn fantastic, even, if his flattery was anything to go by.

In a room full of younger, fresher and dashing girls, he seemed to have eyes only for their protector and surrogate mother figure.

But now - after all that time, Melissa did not know if she wanted to find out the ‘why’; he kept coming; their conversations taking more and more personal turns, the distance between their bodies shrinking progressively. The brunette had been curious, skeptical, frustrated, eager, desperate - Chris had left her with a number of emotions, all of them strong and maddening. This was no longer a business transaction for the modern-day madame.

This was a very intimate matter - and urgent, too. One that required immediate settlement before she went insane. Melissa had been the mistress of the slow and alluring dances, but now she was done with it. The alcohol in her veins was making her fare no better - hardly impairing judgement, but demolishing filters and eroding her patience.

“Is that so?” she hummed in response - and with balance and grace far exceeding the ones she should have given the empty glasses they had continuously returned to the barman, Melissa leaned towards him, doubling his bet and stopping within a hair’s breadth of his own lips. A sober bystander would recognize the signals - the shallow breathing, the flushed face, the dilated pupils: all textbook indications of desire.

But Melissa was not happy with that - then she literally took matters into her hands, fingers pulling at his shirt and keeping him in place and denying a chance of running away - not this time; not on that night. Fuck the witnesses they had, the lines the brunette herself set in place so many years ago and was now crossing - she wanted it.

She needed it - enough of teasing, flattery and allusions.

“Because I’m here and I’m tired of all the bullshit excuses,” her eyes darkened, clouded by lust, “If you mean it... Then kiss me right now, Redfield.”

[superiordna]

chris r//edfield thoughts today like

i still can't believe they forced (not "let", they ambushed and directly said they would be taking him by any means necessary) a man with severe enough brain trauma that he couldn't even remember what a BIOWEAPON WAS (something he's faced since 1998!!!) straight back into heavy combat.

if bsaa had any oversight at all and didn't operate lawlessly, that would have been a crime. they willfully put a man who was not fit for combat into a warzone, and worse, put him in charge of the lives of others, banking on the muscle memory of a broken soldier to "get the mission done" because that's always priority, no matter the fodder that's lost along the way

he'd already given everything toward the fight against bioterrorism at that point, his youth, his relationships, his brain health, it was earnestly fucked that bsaa suggested he was throwing it all way by... checks notes..... suffering debilitating head trauma.....

[endtiimes]

❝  This is what my life has lead to. I’ve gone from fighting bioweapons to being unable to find a pumpkin. ❞