resist. refuse. disobey.

i’d rather die for something that matters than live for nothing at all.

[fordefy]

#FORDEFY. multimuse consisting of characters defying what they were for who they are now. heavily plot driven. primarily headcanon based. mostly friends orientated, rarely follows first. highly selective. not affiliated with respective creators and rpcs. discord given upon request after at least one week of tumblr ims. triggers present, will try to tag. non rp blogs dni. PLEASE READ RULES BEFORE FOLLOWING. [ ... ] blog established: august 2019, blog re-stablished: august 2025. defying fate with: ♡ forwrath. forgreed. ♡ fortrauma. 1abyrinths. pezeshk. ategod. ♡ warplanet.

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NAVIGATION: ¹ carrd. / ² interaction call. / ³ prompts.

[fordefy]

🎉

[fordefy]

vetra’s no stranger to various ships in her lifetime, but the normandy makes them all pale in comparision—— she’s sleek, sexy, powerful. even when she’s not the original. vetra can tell there’s a story there about why ‘2.0’ is against the name, about why the cerberus symbol’s stamped on every available surface despite being a strictly alliance model design, she knows her ships, but she also knows when not to pry. gratitude is finite. and it’s not her business.

vetra largely kept to herself since they left orbit—— until her fall out with sid, effectively kicking her out of their room and into an empty hallway late into the night cycle. vetra knows sid’s heart is in the right place, she wants to help, but it’s dangerous. too dangerous. she’s better off giving her space though before attempting any kind of make up, so she heads to the kitchen, makes herself something, sitting down with a drink by the window looking out at the vast expanse of stars—— until irony struck with the cause for it all.

she has to remind herself it’s not garrus’ fault sid practically hero worships him. he doesn’t even know she does. he’s likely just glad to be alive, focused on the mission. she knows she would be if she’d caught a missile with the side of her face. she doesn’t realise she’s been zoning out over the stretch of sore and too blue skin forever disfigured with burn scars until she realises he's waiting for her answer.

❝ i was there, remember? ❞ @warplanet reminds her.

mandibles tighten for a second, then loosen with a flicker as vetra chuffs. ❝ how could i forget? ❞ she’s still rather smug about that particular feat. ❝ i’m the one who bailed you out, which you still owe me for by the way. the favour i used up to save your ass wasn’t an easy one to come by. ❞ it’s more a tease then anything else by this point. it always pays to know the right people, have the best connections, especially on omega. even with a largely lawless place, there’s a system. a sense of order in the chaos. it’s just a matter of finding it, recognising its flow and then re-directing it to your advantage. it’s why she was their favourite informant.

was. it’s been a few weeks since everything happened. since they actually talked. he's tense, far too awake, despite also looking exhausted. ❝ how are you holding up, garrus? ❞ a slight tilt of her head. ❝ and don't bother trying to charm or change the subject, we both know you're terrible at it when it comes to me. ❞

[fordefy]

guys. i think i might have to survive the deranged terror of resident evil veronica

[fordefy]

[fordefy]

THE WOLF AMONG US 2 REVIVAL?

[fordefy]

EVERYBODY SHUT UP. CODE VERONICA REMAKE

[fordefy]

🏳️‍🌈✨ happy pride month! no one on the roster that’s defying their fates are straight!

[fordefy]

🗡️ permanent interaction call. mutuals only. (multis) please specify muse(s) respectively either in comments or through dms! if you are interested in creating and building a lasting dynamic (enemies / friends / a mix of both as frenemies / familial / professional / familial / etc.) with me and our muses and are comfortable with me approaching you to kick something off (most likely plotting first off as i am a plot driven person), go ahead and hit that 💖 button! this may include but isn’t limited to the following: unprompted sending of prompts, open to plotting, being the first to be hit with a concept, world-building, discussing current threads, creating crossover / au verses, shitposting about our muses, priority when writing replies or starters, the possibility of becoming mains or more and just general discussion.

[fordefy]

for a moment, claire feels like she’s eight years old again with cuts and scrapes and bruises, fussed over by chris after being too cocky with climbing the biggest tree instead of in the middle of rockfort’s hell. sitting next to her, he carefully disinfects each one from the first aid kit, murmuring soft sorry’s whenever she winced or hissed. wrapping her grazed arms with gauze, he asked how this happened. she told him and his grim expression only darkened.

❝ this is bigger than both of us. ❞ @forwrath says after a while.

❝ isn’t it always? ❞ claire bitterly retorts, harsh and cutting. it’s not at him, it’s at all of this. raccoon city. paris. umbrella. months she’d been searching for him, dreading and fearing the worst, but still holding out hope he’s alive because she can feel it in her gut. months of danger, rotting hands, mutated teeth and narrow misses, and it’s only for chris to find her first, all thanks to leon. she smiles to herself, grateful, with his honest boyish charm in her mind’s eye like it was only yesterday. even now from wherever he is, he’s still helping. looks like she owes him big time.

claire turns round to face him. ❝ it has something to do with wesker, doesn’t it. ❞ fury flares in her gut, a bristling protectiveness and sense of disgust at how he spoke about her brother. her voice still has a rasp to it from where he squeezed her throat while talking of being bait. her shoulder and collarbone still hurts from the pressure of his boot to the point she swears he’d have snapped the bone apart into fragments in the midst of his satisfaction of seeing his undoing—— until he received that call. ❝ felt personal when he talked about you—— like an obsession. ❞

claire sighs. they can’t afford to linger like this. even if her joke is mostly at his expense, playfully, gently, she bumps her shoulder against his. we’re in this together, always. ❝ you always know how to attract the crazy blondes, huh? ❞

[fordefy]

the discovery of ark and elpis. it would take something big enough like this to get them all back to the scene of the crime. the beginning. seeing the devastation from the helicopter’s window was bad enough, but being on the ground? it felt wrong, like walking over people’s graves. graves that never saw true rest as they emerge from rubble and ash, withered and cursed to keep living thanks to umbrella—— should’ve known the last skeletons in the closet wouldn’t stay dead either. nothing ever fucking does.

once leon kennedy and grace ashcroft were successfully extracted from the area and safely escorted back to camp for immediate quarantine, hound wolf went deeper in. it didn’t take long to find ark was massive, crafting a map with blueprints and intel in real time. elpis is top priority, with everything else an immediate second—— evidence, b.o.w data, names, the usual works.

carlos and his team are on effective standby if chris requests backup, or fail to report back on time. monitors relaying their movement and what they’re seeing, it’s been quiet so far, so he takes a step back for now with the order to immediately contact him if something big happens. the only place to get a decent coffee is from the cafeteria, and that’s where he finds grace, waiting for the green light.

❝ i didn't even get into the really weird stuff. ❞ @forwrath says.

❝ try me. if there’s one thing in common with experiencing umbrella, it’s the really weird stuff. ❞ carlos jokes, keeping her company during his break, sitting opposite her at the table with his gloved hands holding his paper cup. they don’t register the heat anymore. from the sounds of it alone, grace is one hell of a tough cookie.

❝ hopefully you didn’t have to deal with any hunters on your ass down there. ❞ he remembers the clash of claws creating sparks against the side of his rifle he used like a shield, the reality of having his neck severed from his body if he made one mistake literally on the line. ❝ now those fuckers are something special. ❞

[fordefy]

no one chat to me. this is the best thing to happen on 24th april 2026 (ffxiv expansion announcement).

[sweeetestcurse]

Vetra Nyx 02/??

[fordefy]

bigby knew of fiadhaích before the exile. stories, mostly. the divider and the elf king, the lord of the autumn court, of the ivory crowned, and of whom the wind whispers. the first time was by the bored tone of his father grumbling over court matters, only a scruff of a pup tucked under the warmth and comfort of his mother's chest. the next time was on his own, bitter and angry and ever defiant towards his fate. and clearly word of his feats travelled the same way. the lord of monsters, the big bad wolf, the one who guided, gaffer wolf. secrets don't exist when it comes to the matters of the woodland's breath. and as long as the wind still lives and blows, it's just the same here.

❝ you're smart, ❞ @stelegy observes. ❝ but you're not as smart as you think you are. ❞

the disappointment doesn’t go amiss. it reminds him of the haughty lot that think they're better, looking down on those lesser in some shape or form, ignorant of the strife and the pain and the misery of the common fable. that their problems don't affect them. if he was younger, he would’ve seen that as a challenge, but he’s older and wiser and far more tired. he’s also been doing this shit for centuries. so he lights up a cigarette, takes his time with it, and merely drawls with sarcasm and a puff of nicotine: ❝ feel free to enlighten me, fiadhaích. clearly you know more then i do. ❞

[fordefy]

he’s never done this before—— themed office parties. wasn’t expecting the bsaa to until he saw the invitation lying in wait on his desk —— he knows it’s @forwrath who left it, only she’s spent enough time with him to know his colour coding system for folders, tucking it underneath the one that denotes most urgent as a private joke that gets a huff out of him, a scrawled post-it note stuck on top telling him to come find me once you see this, i'm cashing in on that favour you owe me —— but he suppose it makes sense. they’re not about what he’s been used to almost his whole life up till now. and despite fighting against b.o.ws and the organisations that make the ugly fuckers, every once and a while they can have a little fun.

no one chooses zombie or ghoul for obvious reasons, but anything else is fair game. there’s the classics of vampires and werewolves and witches and pirates. a trio of fos operatives dressed up as sparkly martini and cosmo with loose cones around their necks to act as the rim glass, which is pretty clever, and at least one movie character or pop star. turning the largest room in the building into a dance floor, temporarily installing lights and a disco ball, every halloween song to ever exist yet has been mixed into one playlist, with don’t fear the reaper having its time to shine.

carlos has been lingering where the food is after some mingling. partly because the mini spider pizzas are really good, probably eating at least eight of them by the time jill comes over. even in diy cut foam pieces replicating a suit of armour, jill looks great. the underlying irony also isn't lost on him about their duo costume choice—— if it wasn’t for her, those trains would’ve still been stuck at the station. if it wasn’t for her, well. he wouldn’t be here, alive, in a matching damsel in distress costume.

taking his hand, palm down, in her own, she bows with her other arm tucked behind her back. her lips brush against his knuckles, and in a moment where it's just them it’s a soft ghost of a kiss, chivalrous and honest and affectionate. she then moves away, but she's still holding his hand with a sly grin that means she’s planning something. ❝ trying to win me over, ser valentine? ❞

[fordefy]

breathe in, breathe out, focus on me. adjusting back into normality after a mission is always a long and harrowing process, and even then it’s never over. never the same. it’s been months since leon came back from spain, but it makes no difference to the horror that survives just as they do, only bringing a form of it home with them.

they both know he shouldn’t have done it, that leon’s gone against every government nda he’s ever signed by telling him, but once he started he couldn’t stop, even when his voice went hoarse, and he listened to every word. los illuminados and las plagas. the sinking fear he was infected when he coughed up blood, how it still feels like it’s wriggling inside of him despite eradicating it, immediately understanding and responding with a frantic grab of his keys and going above the speed limit to leon’s panicked and desperate phone call earlier that it’s still inside me, get it out, get it out, get it out. ashley and luis and the guilt and the grief. krauser’s descent in the pursuit for power. ada revealing herself to be alive after six years believing she’d died in nest.

exhausted, leon leans his head against his shoulder. it’s a gentle thud, resting his forehead just underneath the end of his collarbone. it’s a small act, but coming from @fortrauma, it’s big. because he knows he feels like he has to carry this weight on his own until he can't, and for a long time that’s been the case, but not anymore. not since kevin collided into his life again with a fancy drink he’d spilt all over his suit like an idiot at an official event. not since leon practically bumped into him in a city full of the living dead and surviving together. huh, there’s a joke in there somewhere probably, but he doesn’t care for it right now.

kevin feels leon’s breathing soon even out, becoming a steady rhythm that’s good to hear. kneeling opposite him where he sits on his sofa, still holding onto his hand to anchor him, he quietly breaks the quiet silence. ❝ y’need anything? water? ❞

[forwrath]

she groans audibly, well-sculpted brows knit. often the one to see a situation like this one coming the lightborne was wrought with distraction. the anticipation behind their next journey; leaving those they cared about behind. one could argue that lucretia, even in her distraction could detect a trap from a mile away. however, to her utter dismay not a whiff of the net held any warning. ❝ you know thancred, ❞ begins lucretia as she attempts to untangle her leg from being betwixt his own. subtle hum fleeing as the reaper is made to resist all frustration that may or may not inflame already brewing tensions. lithe, leather adorned digits digging creases into his fine white top. using the fabric as leverage to help her maneuver without causing much pain (if any) to either of them... now at a place where he could bear his gaze intently into those of haloed gold. ❝ sometimes inside thoughts are better kept just that, inside. ❞ smiling at him for effect, some threats were donned with kindness rather than the sharpness of a blade, or fangs in this case. tail swishes, as any miqo'te's would should they be trapped. etheric runes that spoke of a horrid curse bit angrily into sun-kissed dermis (a reminder of cthonic voidsent forever branded upon her soul) rubbed horribly against the coarse fiber of the net. adding to lucretia's agitation. somehow though, it is the grin on his woefully handsome features that makes her roll her eyes in annoyance. ❝ you're right about that. we have, and this won't keep us long.. to be sure. ❞ gaze darts down to his mouth as her palm moves along his stomach; stopping a moment as the force of the motion jostles the net. swaying them once, twice, thrice. luck always tended to be something lucretia had in troves. able to talk her way out of anything even if the culprit bored her to death. in this though, she saw a way to make thancred rue his smugness. letting them find a less tumultuous stillness before she began to move again. tufts of winter white likely splayed against his face as her palm moved lower, and lower still. tending to belt line before reaching to the very place she knew those daggers resided. realizing that she'd have to lean down to pluck them from their place a sculpted brow arches, curse fleeing full lips. such was another knot to be undone.

[fordefy]

it’s an instinctual reflex, muscles tensing as she navigates her leg and heel to remove the potential threat it brings. thancred comes close to helping her a few times when she wobbles and her tail flicks, working hard to counter balance, but he trusts her skills in dexterity and keeps himself steady as possible.

releasing a sigh of relief when she's successful, no longer pushing some of the air out of his lungs and prodding at his side and ribs, thancred lets his head rest against the ropes. until realisation hits. he sees the position she’s in now is equally as compromising as the last, just in a different way. well, that explains the weight. granted it’s not the first time he’s practically been straddled, but the how and where is. and by who.

face to face now, the intensity of her gaze makes her smile sinister and threatening—— if the one veiled in a soft tone wasn’t enough of a hint. so he appeases her, ❝ duly noted. ❞ even though they both know that’s a lie.

thancred notices where her eyes then flick to, but she doesn’t give him a chance. the drag of her hand and fingers across fabric is insufferably slow even with gloves on, and when she reaches near his hip where a little bit of skin peeks through, he arches by a fraction. shoulder blades press painfully against the net, but it’s a pain he doesn’t much care for. not when his body’s attention is on something else. someone else. but then lucretia comes to a stop and he thickly swallows, giving him enough time to realise why. and that she’s doing this on purpose. because when they stop swinging again from the motion, she continues exactly where she left of.

eventually, she comes to a stop and he uses the chance while she's busy to compose himself. hearing her curse though has him look back. it’s difficult beyond the sea of white from her hair, but he just about sees it. hm. my turn. ❝ having trouble, are we? ❞ thancred asks, a murmur that's very innocent by the tuft of ear velvet soft against his cheek. ❝ don’t tell me after all this time you don’t know where they are. ❞