NO HOPE, NO HARM. ☣ a private, selective blog for agent LEON SCOTT KENNEDY from CAPCOM's RESIDENT EVIL franchise. heavily headcannoned, canon-typical violence & strong, disturbing themes. VIEWER DISCRETION ADVISED.
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ellievsbear
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DEAR READER
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@theartofmadeline

shark vs the universe
Cosimo Galluzzi
Xuebing Du

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cherry valley forever
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Jules of Nature
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

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@scottkennedys
NO HOPE, NO HARM. ☣ a private, selective blog for agent LEON SCOTT KENNEDY from CAPCOM's RESIDENT EVIL franchise. heavily headcannoned, canon-typical violence & strong, disturbing themes. VIEWER DISCRETION ADVISED.
· · ─ · ☠︎︎ · ─ · · , i think in that moment, they smile at each other and after a beat, leon leans in and kisses him. @scottkennedys ... ⭑.ᐟ
he feels akin to an open wound, salted and bloody. the night was muzzy with mid - summer air, buzzing from the company of fruit flies and cicadas falling from nearby trees; they could investigate a room just below had they not just retire from patrol—an abhorrent stench wafting from below the cracks in the door, a ruckus of noise emitting from the cracks in the window that seemed to follow them a floor up. their own room was caked with dust; cloth blinds that hadn't been cleaned since the seventies. carpets with cum stains and a mattress full of stab wounds and shitty stitch - jobs. they're just outside of gotham, a few cities over, where buildings were one storm away from being knocked loose and turned to rubble, soot and gravel littered the streets and there was no surprise to blood stains and mysterious substances coating the pavement. had they been anyone else, perhaps innocent passerby's with luck closer to the omen of black crows, they'd be in stark danger.
he almost didn't know what he was doing here. not on this mission, per say, but by leon's side. it had nothing to do with him. but being so close, with their knees bumping to the empty sway of their legs, restless and eager to ease the tensions of her private anxieties in one way or another, made jason's heart beat quicker than he anticipated. sweet jason, with his red hood helmet discarded but staring, is tipsy. and only tipsy. he swears with two beers in. nearly laying across the expanse of the table in all but shorts and a white wife beater. the table is small and meant to act as prop or decoration (and in the past a stable surface for coke lines or burnt spoons and used needles), a pathetic plaything holding tension between the two. he's thinking too long, too much, while leon talks about all and anything. and he isn't listening, he'll admit he isn't listening, because he's too far gone in his own head at this point.
the memories of being a beaten pup in the big city, defiant and wistful and covered in rain water, looking for a place to rest his head after getting the wits knocked from his gums. he rubbed blood on his teeth that night and stained his couch cushions bloody; awoke in his bed and had leon's scent rubbed in the strands of his hair and his cock hard (albeit, secretly and shamefully. as leon left for work that morning, early morning, back turned and all jason saw was biceps and thighs and his mess of hair. they never spoke about it) and he hasn't yet returned to his own home since.
lips graze the rim of the bottle innocently. forget the thought of the bottle being skin, and tasting salt and spit and saliva, and all else; a fantasy—instead lukewarm beer falls into his mouth, swishing around until he swallows. the next time leon's knee meets his it misses by a beat, and instead he grazes just above, where his thigh meets bone, and his breath nearly catches in his throat. he can't explain this... and if he could he wouldn't dare. the words would fall helplessly on the tip of his tongue, crash together like a nasty pileup on the highway, making his cheeks tint and his heart pound stupid.
to follow his lead, his leg extends, his own knee reach up past leon's knee. he doesn't know what he's doing, why he's mimicking him, why he feels a strong desire to tease him, taunt him, get some sort of reaction from him like a child. be it facetious, or flirtatious, or otherwise. he'd accept a punch to his jaw if it meant his fingers would graze his skin for just a moment. ❛ you're quiet. ❜
and maybe it's because their room is adjacent to the water coolers and vending machines, every so often releasing a noise akin to rusted coils and broken mechanics, that makes leon's voice falter. or more likely their neighbors, reeking of cigarette smoke and body ordor, so often walking past, talking to themselves, that leon fears whatever he's saying, confidential, relating to private matters jason guesses, may get in the wrong ears—god, he's so close, a shoulders length apart. something warm stirs in his lower belly, makes his legs feel unsteady. he wants something out of him. his hands, maybe, or his knee to touch his skin again, or his eyes to follow his, for just a second. a second longer than they usually do. just to—to do what .ᐣ tease him .ᐣ make a game of it all .ᐣ he's nervous but grinning, lopsided and silly, he takes another sip of beer, all bitter and fermented. ❛ why aren't you sayin' anything .ᐣ fuckin' hate me all of a sudden .ᐣ ❜
the feeling that stirs within leon is something so intense, one could say it's akin to hatred.
it couldn't be further than the truth though and he wonders if jason knows. does jason know? it's always a thought that dances in the back of his mind, brought stage-center in the hot, sticky, summer air. air that sticks to leon's skin like seaweed creeping around his neck like a collar. it does little to distract him the feeling though — a foreign concotion of sorts, heavy liquor that clouds his mind with a whirlwind of emotions. one is particularly insistent however. one that urges his gaze to dip just a little lower and graze his collar bones, sweat-slicked rough skin marked with scars leon's mapped over and over during those quiet nights in his apartment. and part of him isn't convinced this isn't another one of those dreams — dreams that make him feel like teenager made sick by the perversions that live in his head. the way they're moving, the way jason's knee presses closer into his and pushes up, up into his thigh. jason's lips pulled into a nervous grin, the flutter of his eyes. the flush on his skin. the slight shake in his voice. leon's eyes shutter slowly as if savouring the moment, and he thinks he's a little entranced.
something about the air here, yeah. something about it.
his hand ghosts jason's shoulder, glides up his neck and then find's it's home on by his jaw: thumb brushing his cheekbone as his fingers dance around his ear. and he can't help but pause there for a second to drink him in. he wants to tease him for a while, but instead:
there's a soft and helplessly dumb smile that he doesn't notice he wears until their lips touch, and leon can't help but lick his way inside for taste despite it being their first. it's oddly familiar with the cheap beer they shared and the dull taste of jason's cigarettes. it's dizzying and a little terrifying; it takes a herculean effort to pull away so he can read his expression, a line of saliva between them as he breaks into a smile. ❝ maybe a little. what do you think? ❞
Resident Evil Remake (Capcom, 2002) Spencer Mansion
𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐍 - 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋, amongst the bustling city of gotham, is the pride of living with a noose loose around the neck; the threat of danger looms on every corner and every slight tug of the rope knocks oxygen from the windpipe, a reminder that it'll all be ripped from you one pathetic mistake at a time. they may be on the outskirts of neon lit skylines, masked - freaks scaling buildings, and streets buzzing with traffic, but he was never out of bullets, and never too far from the phone. his own hands rub drying blood [not his, but leon's] from off his palms, decorating leon's jeans, shared, already worn and dirtied from previous events──helmet balanced on opposite leg, sullen to roll between the crevice of his feet and under the floor of the passenger seat.
circles as big and dark as bruises line the eyes, no longer hidden by his suit, nor the dim lighting of their surroundings; sun making her appearance for another shift on earth, and he can't help but feel his insides tighten at the fact. shoulder - to - shoulder with him, ichor on his body and not from thrown fists or self - inflected puncture wounds. he becomes too aware of it, forces his eyes to close and his head to lull back, neck rolling and joints popping under the weight of him, feigning any type of nonchalance he can muster. ❛ you think this is embarrassin'? (a chuckle falls from him, short lived and fizzling between them) i've seen worse. ❜ not meant to undermine him, but comfort instead.
silence. autumn coats it. a chill runs over jason's skin, though covered in a thick jacket and heavy boots, it sneaks up on him, licks from up under the material. he's been there before, alone and on the brink of something awful, seeing what's below once the lights go dark forever. then they did. he can still taste dirt coating the back of his throat, smell the stench of death and revival every time he wakes from slumber. he wasn't gonna let him go through that. ❛ cut it out, kennedy. ❜ lop - sided smile, something goofy and unserious. ❛ you think i was gonna let you die alone out here? ooooh, i see ... you think 'm no good, huh? was just gonna eat your food and sleep on your floor but not ... rescue you in danger. i'd be no man doin' shit like that. ❜
QUIET, BROKEN LAUGHTER ESCAPES HIM, a sheepish grin on leon's face as he look at jason. he's not sure what's funniest about the situation. his inability to control his expression for once or jason's words, his presence itself. probably both. they were linked anyways. ❝ thanks for being such a gentleman then, ❞ he said, angling his head as if bowing. ❝ you're very sweet. ❞ he ignores the sharp jolt of pain as he leans back against the seat, shutting his eyes with a breath. a brief respite.
for an odd moment, leon focuses on the sheer fucking agony he's in. it pulses under his skin with a heart beat of it's own, bruises throbbing and open wounds searing as the iodine works it's way in. it's almost pleasant, until a telltale pressure in his skull makes itself known. it's too quiet. his fingers twitch at his side — for a bottle, a cigarette, anything to stop the crumbling dam in mind from breaking. with a muffled grunt, he leans forward to fumble with the compartment under his seat, a sigh leaving his lips when his fingers clasp around his oasis: a worn pack of sealed, unfiltered luckies. better than nothing. he was due his breakfast cig in a few hours anyhow.
equal in protest and yearning, leon's body screams as he places the cigarette on his lips. it's then he's returned to the present, thigh pressed into his , another anchor to reality. leaning into jason, he offers the pack wordlessly; another uncontrollable smile creeping it's way onto leon's face when his eyes found their way back to jason's, head slightly tilting towards him. ❝ how about some breakfast? on me. ❞
So receive me, brother, with your faithless kiss / Or will we leave each other alone like this?
My Own Private Idaho (1991) vs Streets of Philadelphia by Bruce Springsteen
[ 4AM ] an empty, rusty gas station nearly flooding with rainwater. ❝ this is so embarrassing. ❞ / ❝ i don't think less of you. ❞ ☣ — @arkhamdecay ✥ JASON T.
THE OUTSKIRTS OF GOTHAM CITY THRIVED IN THE DARK SHADOWS OF THE EARLY MORNING. cold air bit at leon's skin as he held the gauze to the wound on his stomach, just somehow wrapping the remaining dressing around his torso. he pretended not to notice how his knees knocked against jason's. why they'd chosen to sit in the back of his rickety 1966 camaro, was beyond him.
the operation was another job well done on his record. his exit....not so much, but he'd remained relatively undetected save for the automatic turret detecting him on his way out. tedious as the aftermath was, part of him welcomed the pain and injury — a reminder that his heart was still pumping blood through his veins. that he too was capable of feeling. that he was still alive, that all of this was real. his knee against jason's proved he was real too. he wondered about that sometimes.
❝ this is so embarrassing. ❞ he shook his head, the lopsided smile he wore straining on his face. his mouth ran on as he moved onto to clean the gash on his forearm. ❝ normally, i'm a little cooler than this. usually ends in an explosion and a cool getaway in the dead of night. that kind of thing. ❞ it reminds him of all those years ago, shortly after racoon city. scared for his life, for sherry's — but at the very least hopeful, that he'd be fighting for something right and just. how naive he'd been. the thought bogs his mind so long he forgot to laugh at his own joke, throat suddenly dry.
❝ …thanks, though. for coming. it's usually just me out there. ❞
i miss my mom
Save a horse 😮💨
Saadi Youssef, tr. by Sinan Antoon & Peter Money, from Nostalgia, My Enemy; "The pagan's prayer"
[Text ID: "my blood has dried up; / I am dried: my shirt is sand, my lips are wood."]
mourning
May 6, 2025 (2)
RESIDENT EVIL 2 REMAKE | RACOON CITY (1998)
Kinda obsessed with Cowboy Leon
[ …𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝟺𝟸 𝚄𝙽𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳 𝙼𝙴𝚂𝚂𝙰𝙶𝙴𝚂. ] * THE UNSENT PROJECT
(!) search your muses name and select 3-9 unsent messages to them.
[ 𝚅𝙸𝙴𝚆𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝟾 𝙽𝙴𝚆 𝙼𝙴𝚂𝚂𝙰𝙶𝙴𝚂. ] ⨌ - tagged: @arkhamdecay
Leon S. Kennedy in Resident Evil 4 Remake (2023)
another day another leon 🫶
Strayed from the Flock, 1867 - oil on canvas — Briton Riviere (British, 1840-1920)