#gviral

[b-eye-sexual]

Hi everyone look at this because I drew my buddy's ( @gviral ) William interp :3 I love how fleshy he is

[rescuefield-arch]

[fumble.] sender struggles impatiently with receiver's clothes.

hey *bites lip

she doesn't think william deserves any rights to negotiate anything that involves sherry, especially after the way he treated her years prior and the stories the younger girl has had time to recount to claire in between surviving and escaping the hell raccoon city had turned into. but the news of them being on the run has broken - it was bound to happen eventually along with its possibilities, and claire fears inevitably it will reach sherry too. she hopes not, but if the trial to get her custody has proven anything, hope doesn't mean shit.

he gets in her space as if he had any right, almost looks like he begs and pleads that she still has more power than him in this situation, she should help. but claire knows better, it's all for show. and when she makes it clear with hair pulled and whispered threats, it downs to her this is exactly where they've been the last time he wanted to see her. and the other one prior - twice in a year and it's healed nothing in her let alone give her faith he can raise his own kid. what's worse by the third time is that she feels that pull, the one that holds all the wretched souls that made it out of raccoon city alive that night.

william hooks his finger around the loop of her belt, pulls her jeans just about and her gaze never wavers - the most sensible thing would be leaving him high and dry; it's what he deserves after all, for the shit that he pulled that she can call for what they are not that experience has been acquired. "you said sherry wanted to see me, i am here." no more, no less. "i'm not doing this for you," but she doesn't move, and sherry's long gone to bed after a day spent playing, drawing, watching movies and eating the shitty food she remembers her parents wouldn't let her eat.

eyes close and head turns when he moves closer, her hands bracing against the table. he's older, should know better, yet it seems some things never change. "you're such an asshole, wanting to stick your dick in the only person who actually gives a fuck about your daughter," it gets her going, throwing insults at him while he desperately fumbles with buttons of her jeans. "so useless. move," hand pushes him away, quickly making a work to unbutton her jeans and her shirt. "come on then, fuck me. you're a shit dad already anyway."

[ceraunios]

“...is this a joke?”

assorted starters , @gviral

albert wesker had a soft spot for william birkin. years before you took your first breath, you remember rainy raccoon city. the roaring storms overhead and the white walls of the training school. you remember quiet moments. you remember william birkin.

he looks at you like he's seen a ghost, and maybe he has. he's a ghost to you, too. the warmth that you expect to fill your chest never comes- because those memories of william are not ... you won't call them meaningless, because everything has meaning. but his memories are still his own, even if they are yours. rather, you know there are some things buried in your bones that are sacred ⎛ even moreso than yourself ⎠ and that you should not dare to change them.

like his weakness for a certain blond scientist.

is this a joke, william asks, and it hits you then how strange this must be for him. he must imagine that you would be older, or perhaps he thinks that this is exactly what should've happened because you were the chosen one. the one who returned to life ⎛ not you, still you, this time you were born with divinity. back then, you had to earn it ⎠ you don't really know what's going through william's head, because you've never known.

he's the only person you have ever known to surpass you. you remember having to come to terms with that. not you, still you. ❝ neither of us are laughing. it is a poor one, then. ❞

truly, there's nothing humorous about it. you want to feel something, but there's only that void. you wish to reach into your chest and pull at your heartstrings because he did love william birkin in whatever way he could- even when he didn't understand that until it was too late. there was a missing part of him that was shaped like william birkin until the day he died ⎛ just like the one shaped like chris redfield, like jill valentine, like a person he thought he could settle down with ⎠and you ... ?

you were made whole. there are no missing pieces in you, only a sense of fullness- overly so at times. you want to make room. instead, it feels like the beginning of a tragedy, knowing you very well may never do so. no matter how much you want it. you, not you.

[malviral]

gviral : “Wait— I'd come with you if I could. You know that.”

Somewhere deep within the old training school, the chemical tang of evolved leech flesh hangs in the air, the bitter stink of Marcus's vengeance. Wesker and Birkin had watched him on the surveillance cameras, before he confronted them — or at least — they were confronted by a creature who wore both his skin and its own estimation of his appearance as a younger man.

They had made their way through the underground administrative corridor. Marcus's viral temper tantrum spelled the end for Umbrella, a grim fact they'd discussed at length over the last several hours. Albert stood at the elevator platform, his S.T.A.R.S. uniform immaculate despite the chaos surrounding them — a sharp, almost deliberate contrast to the entropy that had consumed the training school. Albert Wesker was a creature of calculation even as the world he had helped build began its death rattles.

William, ever his opposite, was a complete mess. The darkness around his eyes polarises the bright, skittish awareness within them, the way they darted toward every shadow as if expecting to see the grinning, leech-ridden visage of James Marcus emerging from the darkness to claim his vengeance.

William had always been, what Wesker often fondly thought of as scruffy, but tonight, the dishevelment was different. It was not the charming, distracted chaos of a man consumed by virological artistry; it was the frantic, unspooling of a creature who knew with startling clarity that the walls of his world were beginning to collapse.

His shirt was unbuttoned at the throat where the knot of his tie sat askew, twisted like a noose that had been hastily loosened by a man gasping for air. The sight of it stirred something deep in his chest — a peculiar, uncomfortable warmth — a sensation he had long since learned to disguise as professional interest, lest the walls of this midwestern tomb bear witness to something that could get them both killed.

❝ I do. ❞ He wanted him with him, he wanted him with him now, tomorrow, the day after. He would have liked nothing more than for William to return home, bundle up his research notes, his wife, his daughter, and get the hell out of Raccoon City — to leave Umbrella behind with him post-haste, especially now.

But they'd already been over this. Wesker's focus finds the sloppy tie around William's neck and with a gesture that felt just as intimate as any kiss they had ever shared, he reached for it, his fingers working carefully around the silk as he spoke. ❝ Once G is finished, you will contact me. The Organisation has resources. We will extract you, your wife and daughter as well, ❞ He adjusted the collar of William's shirt now, carefully, attentively, his hands brushing over William's shoulders as he finished, his cool blue eyes clouded by both the soft grey tint of his lenses and with something like pride at a job well done, or perhaps it was just a quiet affection for the man before him entirely.

The tie hung perfectly now, a sharp arrow of crimson silk pointing down to William's belt buckle. ❝ Umbrella is a sinking ship, William, but we- we are evolution. We will adapt. We will endure. ❞

[captainredfields]

I wasn't brought back from the dead just to suffer through your facility's inadequate laboratory accommodations. How am I supposed to work in these conditions?

"Do you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk?" All he's done is complain the entire time. Sure the situation isn't ideal for any of them, but Chris feels as if this whole thing could have been avoided. Birkin should at least recognize that. He huffs turning towards the man and crosses his arms. "Please tell me how we can make your stay just a little more comfortable. I'm dying to make your experience 'magical'." he says in a very dry sarcastic tone. It's nearly dripping with it.

[progenitorensis]

kisses him on the nose

There's a short wait before Wesker— Albert Wesker— responds, brain processing such an unlikely scenario against an internal list of rules that forbade the occurrence from happening in his table of likelihoods.

He moves backwards with a jolt of something, a movement that snaps up-and-back with unnatural swiftness, shoulders tightening, the sound of his fabric rustling with it. With such fast movement, his shades, too, are uncentered. It's the movement of battle readiness, of course... it's self-defense.

It's being caught elsewhere. The past, perhaps, with William's unmarred visage at its' helm, or thoughts about the machinations he's developing.

How errant of him.

Wesker moves his shades back with a black-gloved finger, huffing a breath suspiciously close to a chuff.

"Settled in already, are we?" But there's no testiness in his voice. It should be there, and it isn't.

He stands to his full height in another series of swift movements, letting his arms fall to his sides. There is calculation behind his eyes, the lit flare of luciferase painting Birkin's face in weak blooms of red. The way he moves is nothing short of fully intending, forcing Birkin to step back to retain professionalism. It creates a bubble of space between them. There's no malice, though, no turning gears of bilious anger, no frown of 'mistake'.

He cocks his head mildly, letting the same finger push his glasses down enough that Birkin can make out where his eyes are centered: directly on him, like pinprick spotlights. This serves two purposes: it confirms his sightline & his attention; there's no chance he's looking at any scrolling field of data.

The red is stronger without a powerful, prescribed black filter to anonymize its' projection.

"What gave you that idea?" His voice is so very, very curious, curling at the end with a meddlesome purr.

[evilresiidents]

SUBJECT :// @gviral FILE :// 🎲 - to wesker 🤭

kiss roulette : 17. an upside-down 'spider-man' kiss

It was that time of the day, or perhaps one should say night. When everything quieted down as most would leave the labs and the whole place took on a far more eerie atmosphere. Their only companions the ever so constant and low whirring or the lab machines around them, and the occasional echoing of footsteps in the empty corridor outside, but that was it.

That was how Albert preferred is.

Less annoyances disturbing the both of them; no one disrupting his focus and line of thoughts as their research progressed. However the same thing couldn't be said for distractions coming from the inside. There were times when the sliver of pale skin peeking from the back of the collar of William's lab coat while he was hunched over the desk, going through data, so easily swayed his thoughts, stirring the rare urge to touch; to feel. A urge that could be easily ignore if he only tried, and yet, it was one that Albert always found himself indulge into.

This time wasn't any different.

Steps ever so quiet as he approached the other from behind. A brush of knuckles against the side of his neck before he allowed his fingers to slip under the collar of his lab coat, tracing along his spine and moving to the nape of his neck before combing through William's short hair. A tug. A silent request for the other to lean back on the stool. A step closer. Albert's free hand reaching around to cup William's jaw, allowing Wesker to guide him into tilting his head back while he leaned down.

A pause.

So much hidden behind pale hues while he simply stared at William, thumb stroking over warm skin, a subtle twitch of his mouth, the ghost of a smirk crossing his features before without any words, they didn't need them, he closed the distance between them and captured his partner's mouth in a rather unusual kiss but nonetheless intense.

[drearyknight]

🤏 + william lol

“ fuck  fuck  fuck  fuck! ”  sprayed  like  vulgar  bullets  from  her  tiny  mouth,  sherry  giggles,  bouncing  like  an  errant spring  to  get  his  attention.  “  that’s  what  you  sound  like  when  you’re  working,  daddy!  “

a  blink,  her  head  turns  to  the  side  inquisitively.  uh oh. she’s about to ask a question he won’t want to answer. “ what  does  that  word  mean?  it  must  be  important!  you  say  it  all  the  time!  “  

@gviral // ANSWERED