Heya, it's me again! The anon who requested Reader interviewing B.O.W.s with a tiny mic and I'm back at it again with more crackfic chaos!
This time, it isn't in the Assistantverse, instead, this is an RE5 AU where Chris and Sheva face a horde of Wesker clones meant to confuse them only to realize they're not as intelligent as the real deal, in fact, far from it. Their true feelings are unfiltered. Basically, they're all just a bunch of himbos that have a huge crush on Chris and they're quite chatty. They all act like like a bunch of fangirls. They swoon over everything that Chris does. For example, they all cheer when Chris punches a boulder lol
Meanwhile, the actual Wesker is hiding away elsewhere out of embarrassment lol
(Btw this is based on an actual RE5 mod where there are multiple Weskers)
https://youtu.be/VL1-OwqChdY?feature=shared
(Sorry if this is too long lol)
(Feel free to delete this ask if you want)
🦠 Chris Redfield and the Boulderpuncher Fangirl Army 🦠
“I FOUND A ROCK!”
“I CAN BE A ROCK!”
“Chris, use me for strength training!”
“It’s like he’s singing to us. Chris, say ‘boulder’ again.”
Summary:
Chris and Sheva face the ultimate bioweapon: an army of Wesker clones who are... not exactly the intellectual elite. Swooning, chaotic, and utterly obsessed with Chris, these clones make boulder-punching the hottest event in Africa. Meanwhile, the real Wesker is hiding in the vents out of secondhand embarrassment, silently plotting his own dramatic resignation from villainy.
A/N:
Huge thank you to the brilliant anonymous requester for this absolute goldmine of a prompt! You inspired one of the most chaotic and joyful crackfics I’ve written in ages—hope you enjoy every ridiculous Wesker-clone, boulder-punching, therapy-bound second of it. Your ideas are always welcome in my inbox! 💖
"Ready, partner?" Chris asks, voice all steely confidence as he reloads his gun, dust caked on his arms, biceps flexing like he’s starring in a protein shake commercial. The sun glints off his forehead in the kind of way that makes Sheva reconsider every life choice that got her here.
Sheva barely gets a chance to respond before the air is suddenly filled with identical, echoing voices: “CHRIS!! OMG, IT’S REALLY HIM!!”
From every corner of the crumbling ruins, a swarm of men in black—sunglasses gleaming, trench coats billowing in the equatorial heat (somehow)—burst out, each one jostling for space and attention. It’s a Wesker-palooza. Something’s… deeply, deeply off. They tumble into the open, like runway models who took a wrong turn at a villain convention.
The clones descend in a wave of excitement, all talking at once—
One twirls his sunglasses and swoons, "Chris Redfield, you’re even buffer in person! Can I touch your biceps? For science?" Another clutches his chest, declaring, "The way you reload… so efficient! So manly! Does your arm ever get tired?" A third, barely able to contain himself, points at Chris’s biceps and exclaims, “Is it true you bench press B.O.W.s for breakfast? Wait—do you need a workout partner? I volunteer!”
Chris blinks. Sheva stares. A clone sighs dreamily and scribbles in a diary labeled “Chris’ Boulderpuncher Era.”
Sheva leans in and lowers her voice. "Is it too late to switch partners?"
Clone #4 perks up instantly. "I’ll be your partner, Sheva! Unless Chris wants me as his spotter—then sorry, girl, priorities!"
Meanwhile, Real Wesker is hidden in the shadows, silently reciting self-affirmations and regretting every choice that led him here. "They’re a disgrace to my genetic superiority," he hisses, trying to squeeze himself further into the air duct. A single, silent tear rolls behind his sunglasses. The duct, by the way, is now full of empty Monster cans and a crumpled villain handbook.
Chris, ever the professional, tries to push forward. But with every step, the Wesker clones trail after him like overeager fans at a world’s strongest man competition. Every flick of his wrist, every tactical roll, every faint grunt—met with wild applause and at least three fainting spells.
It’s then that Chris finds their path blocked by a massive boulder—impossibly wedged in the way, as if mocking him. The clones gasp in suspense, clutching each other. Chris sighs, rolling up his sleeves with the practiced resignation of a man who’s done this before.
He squares up to the boulder. The clones hold their collective breath, a reverent hush falling. He punches—no, obliterates—the boulder. Debris flies. Sweat glistens. There is a beat of stunned silence before the entire clone squad erupts: hats thrown, sunglasses flying, some literally drop to their knees, others begin openly weeping with joy. It’s pandemonium, like someone just announced free protein bars for life.
The clones absolutely LOSE IT.
Clone #5 (screaming): “DID YOU SEE THAT? HE PUNCHED IT! HE REALLY DID! HE’S SO STRONG!!”
Clone #6 (crying actual tears, clutching a notebook): “He’s even more beautiful when he’s exerting brute force! I’m writing this down for my fanfic.”
Clone #7 (clapping): “Can I get your autograph on my Uroboros sample? Please!? Also, do you want to collab on an anti-Wesker workout DVD?”
One clone faints. Another tries to take a selfie with Chris in the background but only manages to capture Sheva’s look of pure existential dread. A third clone starts live-streaming to his 3 followers on CloneTok, hashtagging #BoulderDaddy #ChrisCrush #WeskerIsShook.
Sheva, using the opportunity, starts sneakily herding the lovesick clones into a corner. “Look, if you want Chris to notice you, maybe form a line. Or, uh, bring him more boulders. He likes boulders. Or protein shakes. Or both.”
Instant chaos: “I FOUND A ROCK!” “I CAN BE A ROCK!” “Chris, use me for strength training!” “I brought a boulder. It’s shaped like a heart!” “I made a protein smoothie for you, senpai!”
Chris, whose patience is now breaking down at the molecular level, looks at Sheva with wide, desperate eyes.
"Sheva. Help. Please."
One clone tries to initiate a Chris Redfield Cosplay Contest among the others, resulting in seven clones flexing and tearing their own sleeves. Two more are constructing a shrine out of discarded sunglasses and Uroboros syringes, chanting, “Praise be to the Boulder King.”
Real Wesker—deprived of dignity, pride, and a decent evil monologue—decides to just set off the self-destruct. He flips the switch, but instead of explosions, the speakers across the facility blast a remixed "Eye of the Tiger" with Chris’s grunts autotuned over the beat. The lights start flashing. Clones begin breakdancing, one of them attempts the worm, another tries to crowd-surf but only lands in Sheva’s arms.
Clone #8 is sobbing with joy, mascara running down his cheeks.
"It’s like he’s singing to us. Chris, say ‘boulder’ again."
Chris drags a hand down his face.
"I’m retiring after this."
Sheva lets out a low laugh as she shakes her head.
"Agreed. I’m updating my CV."
One clone tries to start a group hug. Another pitches a reality show: “Keeping Up With the Redfields—Chris, you in?”
As the clones dissolve into a mass of adoration and selfie requests, Sheva grabs Chris’s arm, whispering, “Now, while they’re distracted!” They sneak past Real Wesker, who’s now curled up in the vent, muttering, “None of this was in the plan. None of it.”
Outside, Chris leans against a jeep, dragging a hand down his face. “If I ever see another clone again, I’m leaving the planet.”
Sheva grins, tossing him a protein bar. “At least you have fans, superstar.”
Somewhere in the distance, real Wesker sits stiffly in the waiting room of a clinical, white-walled office. He's surrounded by other washed-up villains clutching self-help pamphlets—one is muttering about capes, another about henchmen unionizing. When his name is called, Wesker steps into the therapist’s office and lowers his sunglasses just enough to make eye contact.
The therapist gives a gentle, practiced smile. “So, tell me about your clones.”
Wesker stares at the floor for a long moment. “They cheered when Redfield punched a rock. I—”
He falters, unable to articulate the trauma. Somewhere deep inside, a single dramatic violin sting echoes. The therapist simply nods, as if she’s heard it all before.
THE END.
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@boulderpuncher sent ;; “ Quick question, what are you doing here ?”
“Could be asking you the same thing.” Though Jake’s reasons were pretty straightforward, he wasn’t about to give Chris a straight answer. Instead he took in the sights around them, eyeing some sort of set-up off in the corner. Some sort of tech. Expensive-looking. He craned his neck in an attempt to see the screen. “Hope we’re here for similar reasons. You still with the Boy Scouts?”
Meta about how her life was before eveline and mia shows up.
send me a topic to write a meta about my muse on
Zoe had a good relationship with all her family– even with Lucas, despite some animosity between them due to her proneness to use his laptop without permission and a rivalry that blossom from the fact Jack tended to be more physical with Lucas than Zoe when it came to punishments once they were both adults. She was closer to Jack than she was to her mom, spending more time with him because she liked to go with him and uncle Joe when they'd go fishing or gator sighting in the swamp. Jack always wanted a son to do those things with, but Lucas didn't like it, so he took Zoe.
Outside of home, Zoe had a job at the local hardware store in town and she'd been saving up to go to college and become a journalist. Most of her time was spent at work or at home, but she had some close friends and even a could-have-been boyfriend.
All of that went down the drain after the fateful night her brother and dad found the shipwreck.
