𝙸𝙽𝙵𝙴𝙲𝚃𝙴𝙳.

[ . . . ] 𝚋𝚎𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚑 𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚊𝚝.

[adateur]

          he has the posture of a feral cat.

  an   independent   and   highly   private   hunter   based   on   the   left   4   dead   games.   low / medium activity.   due   to   the   nature   of   this   blog   and   verses,  there   will   be   dark,   mature   and   triggering   themes   throughout.   heavily   headcanon   and   lore   based   original   character.   est 2016 / revamped 2021.   mutual   interactions   only.

[adateur]

“I thought…” She paused, chest heaving. “You looked like you didn’t even recognize me.”

even if his virus ridden mind had forgotten every contour of her face, her scent would never fail to make his mouth water. before she had even crossed the threshold of the apartment lobby, the hunter had already pictured her throat between his greedy maw -- and it paints itself all across his face. she can see it plain as day, yet as each footstep carries her closer, the virus beckons with malicious intent.

by nature he was designed to create a false sense of security, lead humans to believe the threat was outside the doors rather than inside. it was almost like a game between humanity and raw instinct. no matter how easy it would be to let go, the people from his past would never let him become a complete monster.

as her footsteps turn into a run towards his rigid form, his expression becomes disheartened as it dawn on him how long it's truly been. his saving grace, still alive and kicking ass just like in the french quarter. so many memories she carries, a piece of his home and a reminder that not everything is lost. when she pauses in front of him out of breath and uncertain, his head tilts to the side gently.

"huh.." he breathes out in response to the assumption, almost amused that she'd taken his feral facade as not recognizing her. "no amount of years would ever make me forget you, little grace." he says her name with emphasis as if to prove he's not bluffing, a faint smile creeping on his face. "it's good to see you again."

[killuintense]

i always liked the older versions of Leon, but this is another level omgf if i had him in front of me i would suck him until my knees bleed 🙏

cr: anglehands on x ‹𝟹

[adateur]

stares at, silently.

he'd been traveling with another group at the time, their voices way too loud for the end of the world as they prowled the streets. they weren't unaware of the danger and that an undead horde could spring upon them at any moment -- it was their misplaced trust in the blonde mercenary. he may not have spoke much, but they knew he was extremely talented at keeping them alive and that alone was enough for them to find joy during the end of the world. upon reaching the safe house, they notice the mercenary has paused on stepping inside, hand seemingly frozen on the door handle. their voices sound like background noise to him as the familiar perfume gut-punches him immediately.

( you're coming with me, right? ) it's a voice that haunts him even when he's awake, a constant reminder of two years prior. ( yeah, of course i am. ) even now he can hear the bombs in the distance and feel the ground trembling. it was the last chance of getting out of nola alive -- and he made sure she took it even if he didn't. he can still see her face the moment he pushed her across the bridge and didn't follow. there wasn't even enough time to call him out for his lying or a proper goodbye. everything that ended was suddenly rushing back to him like a floodgate, wave after wave of emotion forcing his head back under before he can take a breath.

from the moment he awoke, it had been his main mission to find her in a stable world without infection. but when every city so far had been the opposite, his hope turned into a grim acceptance. she was gone like all the others, his effort to save her life in vain and it added to the rest of the guilt that kept him awake at night. however, part of him still hoped ... the viral mimicking a man inhales sharply, muscles visibly tense as he slowly turns around. silver-blues lock with her own, a computer virus made flesh. instead of his mind focusing entirely on the fact she's alive, it chooses to latch onto her finding him after two years of being supposedly dead. his feet move towards her, face a myriad of emotions as he tries to process it all. this whole time he's been thinking she was dead, fate delivers her to him without warning. she doesn't speak even once he's a few feet from her, his breathing almost erratic as he looks her over from head to toe.

" 'heri.." he says breathlessly, a frown on his rugged features before the gap is closed abruptly as he pulls her into a tight hug, squeezing as if she'd vanish right in his arms. the familiar hunger and pain doesn't triumph over to sheer amount of relief and ... happiness? that he feels in this moment. and then it fades into sadness the moment he pulls back some to stare at her, a tear falling from his eye that he doesn't even seem to notice as he brings a half-gloved hand hesitantly up to hover above her cheek, as if some invisible force held him back from fully committing. "you're ... really here."

his actions and expression seems riddled with agony -- as if her presence physically pains him in some odd way, especially in such a close proximity. another tear falls the moment he blinks, lips parting as his hand remain suspended in air by an invisible wire. "you found me." everyone else would have given up after such a long time, but not her. not them. no matter the odds. and the odds were always against them.

[adateur]

the french quarter was nothing short of a distant memory for those who had dared to once call it home. beneath its rubble lies secrets to never be told, crimes to go unpunished, and lives lost in vain. the survivors that escaped across the bridge could hopefully find the right people to inform about what they saw scribbled on walls, but what were the chances someone would believe them? and if they happened to tattle on CEDA to the wrong people, well... the issue seemed to be swept beneath the rug for an entire two years, radio silence that would suggest any life form that remained survived.

unbeknownst to everyone else, CEDA would return within weeks to collect viral samples that were left in the debris. each sample contained continued to rapidly mutate faster than they could study, but it didn't stop them from returning to scour every inch. within the first month, they had come across an odd corpse beneath the rubble of a restaurant. the man's body was almost gray, yet he didn't show signs of decay. upon further inspection and dragging his mangled body from the collapsed concrete, the recovery team noticed that his skin had the faintest bit of warmth. confusion overtook them immediately as they began to check his body and found that bones were broken in nearly every spot they felt, whatever nerves and uneasiness went out the window. that is, until the cracking began.

with each macabre snap and crack, the team was torn between understanding what was happening to the body and running, unable to piece what exactly they had stumbled upon. they watch as his back arches off the floor with a sickening crunch before a low growl slips past his cracked lips.

now is where it begins to start making sense.

one of the members cry out that he's an infected before being shushed by his peers, their eyes trained on the legs and arms violently cracking itself back into place, fingertips almost like panther claws digging into asphalt. the corpse convulses, black liquid spilling from both sides of his mouth like a fountain before he goes limp. for a moment, it seems as if his body was reacting to being moved after being trapped for so long, everyone holding their breath for what feels like eternity before they hear it..

in the absence of their breath comes the faintest sound of the corpse's. each bit of air becoming heavier, ragged, hungry. as the bubbling hiss builds, the team realize the corpse they dug up beneath the old moreau restaurant was not a simple human.

they had awaken a hunter.

one that should have been dead and would have remained so had it not been for their company's greed. the virus had chosen to remain dormant, unable to repair his body due to the collapsed rubble crushing him into the ground. the moment he was pulled free, the virus didn't hesitate to spread just as rapidly as it had done in the labs. unlike the other samples, this time, the virus was mutating inside a host and not beneath a microscope.

unfolding events happen in a bit of slow motion as the hunter springs to life-- the cry of one of their own being cut off as he's pounced upon and the sound of splitting flesh erupts in a crimson rain. each warm droplet a kiss of salvation against his wide open maw. what had always made a hunter at the top of the food chain was not solely on their strengths, but their brains as well. more animalistic than the other strains, they were capable of mimicking their meal while remaining perfectly intact with their viral potential. and they just happened to find one of the last functioning hunters in the quarter.

gunfire sound off in the hopes of putting the creature down, but he moves far too fast on all fours before he's standing upright, back hunching slightly as his body coils back to lunge forward once more. one bullet hits his shoulder and it throws him off balance for a split second, allowing the recovery team to withdraw from the area. perhaps running at the time felt like the better decision than to hang around and be gutted by a feral infected.

but they doomed themselves the moment they turned around.

one by one, the virus ripped through their delectable frames as both man and beast alike. it was impossible to see where the virus started and the man ended, especially when he was buried face deep in the second to last man's guts. consumeconsumeconsume. he could feel his jaws working in overtime, barely able to swallow what he had in his mouth before stuffing his face like a pig eating slop. what the fuck are you? comes a shaky voice from somewhere the blind predator can't see and it elicits a distant memory. it's not the first time he's been asked this question. funny how people think he has a fucking clue himself. the hunter inhales sharply, relying on his senses to serve as his eyesight as he tries to pinpoint the last food source.

he can smell the man's fear, the scent once again pulling at memories of people who had once traveled with him. it makes the virus surge within his body, muscles constantly coiling to spring at any given moment. he doesn't care about the slaughter as much as he does the feast, especially since it's been so long since he's had a proper meal. it doesn't take long for him to once again gorge on the body before him. every bite seems to restore long lost pieces of himself, warmth soon turning into a boiling, never-ending fever.

for a while it's nothing more but a virus controlling a corpse, consuming flesh like a rabid animal before finally it's sated after cleaning out every piece of entrails and leaving the man a hollow husk. despite the lack of vision, the virus still is aware of the lone survivor is not necessarily gone from the gruesome ordeal. maybe he assumed mercy would befall him since it had claimed another meal...but that was the problem. the virus was always famished even if it had just welcomed a rather large meal -- however, it wasn't exactly saving him for leftovers.

you're a monster. a goddamn abomination..

there's his voice again cutting through darkness and hell to try and reach what remained partially dormant inside the corpse. humanity. it wasn't intentional, especially since the accusations seem to be reminding the corpse why it's been called that for such a long time. it brings back the memories of ones whom had once shared the same sentiments yet still chose not to pull the trigger and give him a chance. their voices intertwined, faces and long-buried scenes flash by like a channel surf.

come on, D... wake up.

the voice is soft, feminine, and oddly enough, he can almost feel her fingertips caress the side of his face. flashes of hot pink cut through flickers of blonde and brunette, their voices colliding as they seem to either encourage or vent frustration upon him. the touch to his face doesn't stop the soothing strokes along his jawline, as if mocking him on what human touch truly feels like. those brief, fleeting moments of humanity were at best...cherished by him.

don't you want to see if we survived?

this time, the voice is extremely familiar, and it takes his breath away. it belongs to one person that he seems forever entangled with no matter how many times the world tries to widen the rift.

do you want to see if i did?

the once soothing fingertips become frigid to the touch as it trails from his jawline to press heavily against his temple. for a virus, the feeling is foreign.. but for the man buried beneath, it's all too familiar. as much as he'd love to let everything finally end for once... there were still people worth returning for. without his cherished memories, nothing would keep him together.

and so when the hammer cocks, his body recoils back as thunder claps and lightning ignites a burning dolor against his ear. it's enough to make darkness fade away into little black dots before he's lunging towards the man who pulled the trigger with precise aim. the gun goes off again, a scream abruptly cut off, before silence.

a tomcat has his jaws wrapped around the throat of a man.

one last hunt in the french quarter, the only home he's ever truly known, was the best way to bid farewell.

[skelesass]

I need to watch vendetta again

[elimemes]

SOFT ANGST STARTERS.

‘stay for me.’

‘what’s this between us?’

‘i don’t want your apology.’

‘you know i have feelings for you.’

‘yeah, i remember the drill.’

‘you’ve never hurt me. ever.’

‘then leave her/him/them. at home.’

‘i don’t believe it.’

‘this is breaking my heart.’

‘you met me at a very strange time in my life.’

‘what keeps you up at night?’

‘i wish you were here.’

‘i let you down.’

‘something strange happened here.’

‘you’re not safe here.’

‘i wasn’t ready to say goodbye.’

‘we are not the same, and never will be.’

‘don’t touch me.’

‘is it my fault?’

‘i’m not like them.’

‘i forgot my name again.’

‘i don’t know who i am.’

‘your fear of looking stupid is holding you back.’

‘are you still alive?’

‘i don’t like being told what to do.’

‘am i making you uncomfortable?’

‘nobody cares if you don’t go to the party.’

‘it was supposed to be fun, and you ruined it.’

‘where the hell are my friends?’

‘stop pretending life doesn’t terrify you.’

[arklaysurvive]

LEON KENNEDY / RESIDENT EVIL: DEATH ISLAND (2023)

[prvtocol]

Alongside the well-dressed crowd, the director offers a perfunctory series of soft claps. Despite a calm demeanor ( and tiredness lining her eyes ), the speaker’s words easily engage her somehow still hopeful heartstrings. At least Night City is trying to do its bid for the environment, but how she dislikes thinking these events have become somewhat of an unsubstantiated chore — and that Agent Moreau might actually be correct in his opinions for once. Eyes corner at her former security guard, who hasn’t changed one bit — still brashly offering his opinion despite himself. 

“I suppose you could make a phone call to the charity and ask.” The answer is offered with a pleasant enough smile and a small lift of one shoulder. “Or surely, the newsletters must mention something about Narnar.” Messages likely filtered out of her inbox by her assistant. “But good on your memory. The story must have gotten to you.”

[adateur]

THE SMILE IS ACTUALLY returned for once despite the fact the topic is slowly rolling around to the whole fucked up incident that happened with the narwhals. before dimitri can even comment, the announcer mentions that unlike with the narwhals, the iguanas will be saved, which really does explain why the so-called monthly updates and newsletters stopped coming to his apartment. "huh," his face falls flat and he cocks his head to one side. "you know, i almost didn't come to this shit because i didn't feel like sinking eddies into a lost cause, but at least now I have an answer about narnar. little guy probably never even saw the sea.." something about that actually hurts moreau and he has to take a deep breath, turning his attention back to the woman who first introduced him to the damn events in the first place. a common hobby shared, something in common that dimitri doesn't want to fuck up tonight. "anyway, how have you been?"

[adateur]

THE  CLASSIC  ROMANCE  OF  A  GOOD  RAINSTORM . ( not accepting. )

@shctsfired said: " jesus christ! that lightning shook the whole house."

LIPS INSTINCTIVELY PULL BACK into a fanged smile at the sudden outburst that accompanied the thunder and lightning from harper, a low chuckle soon joining the pelting raindrops against the outside glass once all had settled. it's not the first time she's done something mundane that actually elicits a human response, but this has to be damn near the funniest --- would she ever get used to the mood swings mother nature tossed in their direction? "you should see your face right now," he says between snickers before it slowly dies and his expression becomes rather conflicted. an internal battle --- a morbid thought about her looking like prey accompanied by the slight scent of fear makes his mouth water and blood boil. and like torture, as the scene plays out in his mind, it's now the hunter who should see his own face.

[adateur]

valheri​:

         𝐕 cinches rusted metal bar of handrail under her fingers & watches the backdrop. the distant carrier container zipping expertly between the distant skyscrapers that reflect the evening skies like hundreds of mirrors, past moving advertisements honeycombing the city center & the smell of smoggy, metropolitan air & set her jaw. (she sees LED’s in the dark, streets busy with citygoers, & it feels like a world of dull paper settings. they were beautiful, but they didn’t matter. as the headaches & terminal symptoms become more frequent, the world didn’t much matter as did the monsters in it.)

a taut silence. so much so, she’s able to pick up on even the softest sounds of a hushed exhale of fabric shifting. & dimitri, the constant complication that falls in & out of her orbit without reprieve. something about the tone he takes this time makes the palm of her organic hand itch. dead. dying. she’s schrödinger’s cat whose lid hasn’t quite been flipped. dead woman walking with a nasty assimilation protocol wreaking havoc in her neurocytes. (the old machine’s method can easily annihilate the engram but the host——of flesh & bone——is not equipped to survive such thing & she would very much so like to keep it in tact!) she shifts weight to one leg, then to the other. a twinge of alarm in it all. shoots him a look, this time devoid of all derision or feigned contempt. momentarily flushed with preoccupation on a deeply humanizing level.

& with a finality, she pushes off of the railing completely & grasps herself, folding arms beneath chest. (an effective self-soothing tactic she picked up over the years from studying various specimen!) then, shakes her head with muttered ’uh-uh’.

❛ not yet, ❜ comes her voice, reinforcing herself once more. takes a step forward, then two more & does an about-face to take two more back, from one side to the other in his line of sight like a pendulum, ❛ who told you that? ❜

in the briefest moments of their eyes connecting, he catches sight of her own expression and immediately he winces as if someone shoved a tanto into his chest. oh, don’t look at me like that. a thought that sift through his mind even if his gaze fall downwards. there should be more relief that combs through the dreaded knots he’s had for MONTHS -- a sigh, a breath, dimitri should be able to react with his casual display. he need to, or so he’s programmed himself to behave. whenever conversations and situations took a plummet into vulnerability, he’s always been able to DEFLECT by pretending none of it mattered.

that SHE didn’t fucking matter. she’ll be dead sooner or later, so why give two shits ? distance was a blessing they both cherished, never being in each other’s presence for TOO DAMN LONG because they were not friends. they were mere enemies by the laws of night city, both dodging death and demise each ticking second. that bitch is dead ! another thought that drags a shaky exhale pass his lips, a voice this time not his own ringing in his head. rumors never had any leverage over him until now. a militech mongrel BULLSHITTING an arasaka panther long enough to make him falter. it was also enough for him to damn near lose himself.

she moves, he does not. listens to the sound of her voice resonate with clarity before she begins to swing in time with an old grandfather clock. tick, tock -- he knows she’s curious and want the deets. “i took care of it.” another soft-spoken reply, exhaustion and caution blending into one. trigger finger twitches subconsciously and he stiffens, goes RIGID in a matter of seconds.

brows slowly meet but he’s not SCOWLING like usual. something is eating away at his very psyche and no matter how hard he tries to snap back to the casual display, moreau still looks shaken up. unnerved and jittery. 

[adateur]

how i look trying to navigate through this new ugly dashboard just to find a single reply and not accidentally go live instead.

[adateur]

please save the iguanas ! an explosion of applause finally cuts through the brief moments of silence whenever the presenter pauses to take a breath. it was an interesting speech, one that the agent hadn't expected about nearly extinct lizards and the combination of all the eddies poured into their cause. "are you sure every 'ennie goes towards actually helping these poor animals ? it feels like we attend these same events EVERY YEAR and they say the same thing," he drawls out, arms now folding tightly across his chest. "...at least SHOW the people progress." will he ever admit he's a huge animal lover ? not aloud, but each event has one grumpy moreau displeased in the lack of proof. "i-- we still don't know if narnar ever found a good home from that nations narwhal charity. and WE donated a lot."

@prvtocol | starter

[adateur]

not me trying to finally immerse in cp.77 before the dlc drops & having to mentally fight the urge to write an asshole ?? i have written enough mean mfs ?? it's time to stop ??

[adateur]

no matter how long he may be gone, it is an unspoken rule that moreau must seek out his PINK CATASTROPHE of night city before doing anything else. there's plenty of other tasks he should be handling upon returning such as paperwork and meetings to attend at arasaka tower, but detours are made because this time is different. new rumors has sent the man into a quiet panic, tensions rising more when it takes several days to track her down. even so, a secluded balcony eventually awaits REUNION and dimitri find himself standing beside her familiar form in silence, words failing him in the moment. "i thought you were dead." a whispered murmur, barely rising over cars honking down on the streets below.

@valheri | starter.

[rpmusings-galore]

                                 ———- no,                i’d rather  pretend  i’m something                better than these   broken   parts                                    pretend i’m something other                                     than this   MESS   that i am

[anagalis]

💥 💥 💥 🔫(・｀ヘ´・；)