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ooc.

Started my RE9 journey.
Could only play a few hours since I have to work tomorrow.

No Spoilers from me here.

“Innocent people are being poisoned and used as weapons. Whoever is doing that has no soul and if we want to stop them, we can't afford to think about numb or souls or any of that shit... at least I can't.”

Dark Themes
Mature content
Minors dni
Ships with chem
♡&↻
#ResidentEvilrp

ooc.

It made me sad writing that but the image sparked too much inspiration xD

Of course! Take your time I'm not going anywhere and I would absolutely love that! Writing RC is my bread and butter ^-^

ooc.

I'm sorry 😭
but I thought you might appreciate it ^-^

ooc.

hey, hey @bingoguy.bsky.social lemme just kill you a second here with this old piece I wrote a few years back inspired by this image

docs.google.com/document/d/1...

// Yours and mine both 😩😭

ooc.

My babies... 😭

-If it’s sturdy, useful, and built to last, he’ll appreciate it more than anything flashy.

That’s just who he is, steady, focused, always thinking three steps ahead…even when he really doesn’t have to.

"Can we go in and have a peek then?"

A fond smile tugs at her lips. “Yeah, that sounds exactly like Chris,” she says warmly, a hint of playful exasperation in her tone.

After everything he’s been through, practicality isn’t just a preference, it’s how he keeps the world from feeling too heavy. -

"Oh hey! What a cute little surprise!"

Her hand slid from his collar to his chest, over the frantic rhythm there. “Next time, don't pull away.” she added, a faint, challenging warmth returning to her gaze. A smile playing on her lips.

She understood that feeling more than he knew. Her forehead rested briefly against his, grounding them both. “You don’t have to apologize for feeling something,” she said, eyes lifting to meet his fully now. Open. Honest. A little vulnerable despite herself. “Especially…when I feel it too.”

Claire’s strength wasn’t loud. It wasn’t forceful. It was steady. The kind that held the line when everything else collapsed. She could feel the way he wanted to fall, to tip the balance and let the years of restraint shatter against her.

She didn’t step back. Didn’t put distance between them. Instead, her hand remained at his collar, fingers curled into the fabric like she needed the anchor just as much as he did. Her thumb brushed along his jaw, over the roughness of it. He felt solid. Real. Not a ghost from some buried nightmare.

At his apology, a faint, incredulous smile touched her lips. “My bad?” she echoed softly, voice husky from the kiss and everything behind it.

Claire didn’t flinch when he pulled away. Her breath was uneven too, though she hid it better. Years of surviving the impossible had taught her how to steady her pulse, how to lock her knees before they buckled, how to keep her expression composed even when her heart was anything but.

ooc.

Getting my bearings. Replies in a moment once I get more coffee into me. 😖

🫠

"Hey, Jill, you think my brother would like something like this?"

Her fingers curled lightly into the fabric of his jacket, steadying them both rather than pulling him closer. She kissed him back, not with desperation, not with illusion, but with something grounded. Real.

She was staying.

For half a second, she let herself feel it.The exhaustion in him. The years. The questions neither of them had dared to say out loud. His kiss wasn’t polished or strategic, it wasn’t Leon S. Kennedy, government operative. It was just Leon. Tired. Human. Reaching.

When he stepped forward, when the air between them shattered and his lips met hers, Claire didn’t freeze.

That flicker, not the agent, not the man carved into something sharp and precise by governments and ghosts, but the kid underneath it all. The one who had lost too much too soon. The one who had tried to outrun grief by becoming stronger than it. She recognized that look. She’d worn it herself. +

For all the broken pieces between them, for all the history carved into bone and memory, Claire stood steady. Messy, yes. Scarred, absolutely. But shining in that quiet, defiant way she always had.

Claire saw it in his eyes before he moved. +

“We’re not kids anymore,” she murmured, offering him that small, stubborn smile of hers, the one that had carried her through burning streets and collapsing worlds. “But we’re still us. And that’s not something you have to survive, Leon.” +

Her hand slipped from his wrist then, not in retreat, but in trust. Close enough to feel the warmth, far enough to let him breathe on his own. +

That stung more than she’d ever admit. Claire wasn’t a scar to manage or a mission to complete. She was a choice. Just like he was. +

She knew what he was doing. She could see it in the way his shoulders held themselves, like he was bracing for impact. Like she was something to endure instead of someone to stand beside. +

There was no bite in it, no challenge, just truth. Claire had never been to war. She had seen too much of it to become it. She carried the weight, yes. The loss, the cracks, the nights that wouldn’t let her sleep. But she refused to let it hollow her out. +

He joked about not surviving her, and she huffed softly under her breath, blue eyes narrowing with a familiar spark. “You survived Raccoon City,” she said quietly, her voice steady but warm. “You can survive me.” +