I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
oozey mess
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PR's Tumblrdome
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Xuebing Du
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ojovivo
@theartofmadeline
trying on a metaphor
Cosimo Galluzzi
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YOU ARE THE REASON
shark vs the universe
tumblr dot com
Sade Olutola
d e v o n
#extradirty
Noah Kahan
seen from Germany
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seen from United Arab Emirates
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@enviral
❛ IN THE END — NOTHING'S REALLY CHANGED.
#ENVIRAL. independent , private & selective leon scott kennedy of the resident evil franchise , by cole. originally est. 2011 , revamped feb. 2023. 21+ only , please. will contain triggering themes such as alcoholism / addiction , depression , heavy gore , ptsd , suicide ideation & trauma.
a long - suffering study of a golden boy , and the cruel , unjust world that claimed his shine.
carrd. promo.
makes u take a compliment ooo you write so good n vile and you have such an eye for aesthetics
sorry pal idk what this says??
love having a praise kink and not being able to take a compliment <3
He's got that traumatic backstory, complicated relationships, and gorgeous hair triple threat.
requested starter for @enviral. ↳ 2011, russia, hospital room.
our salvation is death, but not this one. voices on loop in her mind, the overseer's, taunting, toying and moira's - the perforation of her eardrums beneath the rubble, the scream, the roar of flame. another fucking island. another person she'd sworn to protect, gone. she has remembered steve longer than she knew him, and now, she supposes, it will be the same for the girl she'd failed. if she could move, she'd curl up in her bed, sob and wail and scream because it isn't fair - how could it be? she should be the corpse, and moira the survivor. instead she lies there, infuriatingly helpless, bolts through her legs, her pelvis, a brace on her back and a ventilation mask strung around her neck that hangs limply on her chest.
she should have died, and it is only thanks to the virus that isn't. the fucking irony. still, she hasn't mutated - yet - that's a good sign, she hopes, she prays. sunlight streams through the window, what little of it there is, the world cast in shades of blue and grey like a bleak soviet movie where there are no happy endings. she loathes hospitals, their sterility a vast empty thing she has never found comfort in, ever since she'd sat all night in a waiting room that stunk of blood and piss with her brother for the inevitable bad news that no, their parents didn't survive the crash. then umbrella, halogen lights and reflective tile, the taste of chemicals that lingered in the back of her throat. the world outside may be dreary, but she's tired of this bed.
it's a prison as much as the island she just escaped from and the one that haunts her nightmares still, thirteen years later. trapped in a miserable little room that she has counted every spot of the ceiling of, freckled skin mottled with deep violets and yellows between sutures where they've cut her open, unable to stomach another visitor - she's only had one, but she has no more words for barry. what could she say? i tried my best. it should have been me. i promised you i'd keep her safe. all these years, it has never gotten any easier, but all of a sudden it seems to futile. she had done better barely nineteen and witnessing the apocalypse - she was supposed to be stronger than this. better than this. she thinks of them, their rag-tag team, the blastwave of the train and the heat against her skin. they're going to be so disappointed in her.
the cityscape is a mere blur outside the window as my car streaks through its streets , each passing streetlight nauseatingly bright in the way they seem to flicker due to the vehicle's speed. the roar of the engine , almost deafening in its fever pitch , matches the anger broiling , churning , in my gut. i shouldn't have been the one to answer this call. i shouldn't have been the one who had to break the news — over a voicemail , no less , stripped even of the courtesy to speak with chris man - to - man.
but he's always been this way , hasn't he? a lifetime of missed calls and disappearances when people needed him most. when she needed him most. and i'm left to pick up the scraps in his wake. he wants to talk to me about trust , about knowing who you can rely on. well , he's no poster boy for practicing what you preach.
my grip on the steering wheel tightens , knuckles blanching white at their uppermost points , and my foot all but slams onto the gas. the world around me is dizzying as i fly past pedestrians and pickups alike , manic thoughts almost daring a cop to stop me. everything beyond that is a blur , from somehow managing to park the car to storming into the hospital and demanding a room number. the nurses call after me to advise me that visiting hours are over , but i ignore them. rules don't apply here. not to us.
eventually , i find myself in front of the correct door . . . and my feet won't move. the burning rage in my chest , the all - consuming fire that had led me here , gives way to an icy cold sense of dread that spills through my ribs , pours into every vein and roots me in place. it's not that i don't want to see her , especially after all this time ; i just don't want to see her like this.
i try and fail to untangle the knots that my stomach's currently twisting itself into , but press onward none the less. my hand shakes involuntarily as i twist the doorknob , swing the door inward , and take my first steps into the room.
❛❛ claire. ❜❜ my voice sounds terse , strained , even as my mouth tugs into a weak excuse for a smile. dull fingernails dig half - moons into my palms out of sheer stress. she looks so weak , so helpless. nothing like the claire i've come to know. ❛❛ sorry i'm late. ❜❜
candies are hard,
roses are soft.
i've sent my right hand to dispose of you
some roses are red, some roses are black. you know, you're kinda cute without those glasses
@enviral out here never having written with me on that blog and yet one single ask and doctor alana bloom is in love with Leon Scott Kennedy.
well now it’s official how do you always do this.
#[this is Absurd my dude that’s ILLEGAL. ONE GIFT. ITS ONE SNGLE GIFT.]
@mysticwrit sent 💬 for a randomized dialogue starter.
SHE'S STUBBORN, THAT'S FOR SURE. i wasn't too keen on taking a newbie out in the field , didn't want to feel saddled by the weight of responsibility in the event that something went wrong. well — no , i guess that's a lie. the responsibility has never been the problem. managing the loss afterwards , eternally wondering if i could've done something different , something better . . . that's what i wasn't ready for. it's something nobody should have to be ready for.
thankfully , she left me pleasantly suprised , able to hold her own in combat and lithe as anyone i'd seen in years. we'd only been tracking small fry as part of her test , but i could tell by her restless movements , almost agitated in nature , that she wanted something bigger. only now did i stop to realize that i didn't know anything about this girl , never stopped to read her file.
granted a moment of respite after the final target falls , i wipe remnants of its oil - black ichor from my face , and it smears messily across the back of my glove. another day , another trip to the laundromat. ❛❛ why would you want to put yourself through something like this? ❜❜
@ubcs sent 💬 for a randomized dialogue starter.
THIS NIGHT'S LASTED FOREVER. i can't remember the last time i had a chance to really stop and think. in the chaos , my mind's only been able to repeat the same words , over and over , like some kind of manic mantra : i should've just stayed home. driving in with a hangover had been bad enough , halogen headlights nearly dizzying in their brightness , an affront to already sensitive eyes and a catalyst to the way my head continued to pound and throb with pain. i should've just turned around and headed back to my apartment , chock full of memories i'd been working to forget with liquid amnesia.
at this point , it wasn't going to be an issue much longer.
they weren't bites , i don't think , but some of those things had managed to take some pretty decent chunks out of me , and between the blood loss , pain , and the darkness encroaching on the edges of my unsteady vision , i don't think i'm long for this world. my hand presses shakily against the wound at my midriff , fingers slick with blood that seeps between them in lazy pulses.
it's funny — they talk about how being surrounded by death , or being close to it yourself , makes you think that much harder about life , and it sounds like such a cliche. but they're right. all these years , and what do i have to show for it? a badge i wore for a single day , and not one person to show it to. no family , no real friends. my whole life , i've wanted nothing more than to help others , and yet , when it comes to the end , i have no one. i almost laugh. instead , i turn to the one person who's stuck by me since our fateful encounter downtown , and briefly hesitate before speaking , in a voice i find unbefitting of a police officer. i sound weak. small.
❛❛ would you come to my funeral? ❜❜
PHOTOS OF LEON —— CIRCA 1998.
Looks like some urban tagger left their half used spray paint can out. Carlos defaces the landscape with crude, phallic imagery. Haha, classic!
AAAND... those are dicks. or , something that resembles them , anyway , in the same way a prepubescent kid might draw them on a desk or another student's notebook and snicker to himself for a prank well done. of all the things i've seen tonight , a grown man spray - painting dicks onto the brick wall of an alley takes the cake. and that's saying a lot.
❛❛ not to be a buzzkill , but are you sure that's the best use of our time right now? ❜❜
Send 💬 for me to make you a starter with a random line of dialogue from this generator.
Leon S. Kennedy in Resident Evil 4 Remake (2023)
@keepspromises : ‘ can you still remember when little things made you happy? ’
HAPPY. i try the word on my tongue , see if it feels as foreign as it sounds. the taste is bitter , unrefined — the way a cheap whiskey feels as it settles over your taste buds , makes your whole face twist in a grimace. sure , i was happy once. innocent. bright - eyed and bushy - tailed , eager to take on the world and leave it a better , safer place than before.
if i knew then what i know now.
chris' gaze permeates me from the adjacent barstool , dual - colored eyes never once leaving my face ( the stalwart captain , focused as always ) even as my own stare , seemingly transfixed , on the amber liquid in my chaser. with a lazy rotation of my wrist , the liquid swirls slowly , ice clinking against its fragile confines. some poor excuse for a laugh shoves its way from my throat — more of an amused grunt , if anything — and i take another swig , savoring the familiar burn as the bourbon warms my chest.
❛❛ can you? ❜❜
honestly one of my favorite things about re4 leon is that, while he knows he’s been entrusted with the task of keeping ashley safe and considers himself her protector, he never once treats her like she’s helpless. sure, he’ll tell her to go and hide when he knows there’s serious danger about, danger that he knows will test his limits and prove challenging to try and simultaneously protect them both. but it’s never “go hide because you’re a liability”, or “go hide so i don’t have to worry” -- it’s “go hide so i know you’re safe”.
