#SO PROUD💜 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lipglossanon · 8 months ago

Text

Moon-Scented

Hunter!Leon S. Kennedy x Hunter!reader (one shot)

fic commission from the lovely @porcelainseashore who let me stretch my wings a bit 💜 thank you so much!!!

Warnings: mdni, blood/gore, fighting, violence, reader just trying her best

Proofread ✍️

Word count: 1997

follow up ~ Moon Drunk

Your eyes open, and you rise from under the lantern’s glow. It feels familiar—a haunting chord of phantom pain trilling down your spine. Picking up your weapons, you stand on your tired legs.

Again.

You walk the cobblestone streets, fighting the beasts who roam your path. It’s thankless and tiresome. Your body aches in ways that feel unnatural. Coming across a creature burning at the stake, you pause to gaze upon the macabre effigy.

Again.

A sound draws your attention, and you spin around, threaded cane shifting into the serrated whip.

“You are not welcome ‘ere!” The man in rags brandishes a torch at you, a pitchfork held in his other hand.

It’s all so similar, your head spins.

Again.

It’s a song of death and blood, just like everything in this cursed town. You pant, sweat matting your hair to your head as you whip your weapon through the air. Baring your teeth, the serrated edge of your whip cracks through the air as it sails in an arc down onto the Yharnamite.

He cries out in pain, blood spilling across your clothes, the rotten stench pervading your nostrils. Your weapon slices off chunks of flesh, the bleached white of bone flashing in the moonlight. You’ve become numb to the gore.

Again.

A shriek erupts from his throat, flailing the pitchfork at you. You dodge backwards, underneath the wild swinging, narrowly missing a puncture to your left eye. Pulling your pistol, you step to the side to avoid another jab of prongs aimed at your head. A quick shot at his chest stuns him, his body slumping down onto his knees. Blood lust and adrenaline burn through your veins like wildfire, heightening your senses as you eviscerate him.

A fuzzy memory resurfaces: a hunter must hunt.

“Oh, this curse. This is a damned curse.”

He chokes on his own blood and lies still on the cobblestone.

Again.

Blinking against the fatigue that lies across your body like a second skin, you step away from the deformed Yharnamite. The night is ever long, and a Hunter’s work is never done. You must seek the Paleblood.

Again.

•• 🩸 ••

Fear the Old Blood

It rings in your ears and saturates your thoughts. After the chapel, you’re even more confused. Reaching this point in your journey hasn’t been easy. The night in Yharnam is ever long. You’re exhausted—there is very little respite for a Hunter.

You’ve met few, and with the exception of Eileen, you have had no help in this gods forsaken city. Beasts line every street, and what townsfolk are left have traveled to the Chapel of Odeon. It’s where you sit now, tending to more wounds from the fight with the Vicar.

Ever since you’ve awakened to this new reality, you’ve begun to question your sanity. Coming to on the sick bed in Iosefka’s clinic, the taste of blood has sat heavy on your tongue. You can still feel the echo of small hands covering your body before fully awakening—the tiny white creatures nowhere to be found.

Closing your eyes, you seek that first memory. Making your way from the clinic, you run into what can only be described as a beast. Hideous and large, it attacks you on sight, claws razing through your clothing to shred your skin like paper. Blood gushes from your mouth as a lung’s pierced, and at the same time, it sinks its fangs into your throat. Darkness encroaches from the corners of the room, vision eventually going dark along with your thoughts.

Eyes blinking open once again, you're met with a workshop silhouetted against a night sky and a comforting silence. The air is cool and damp, but in a refreshing way. Standing up, you walk forward to a set of stone steps when you pause, seeing a life-size doll to your left. She’s sitting up in a lovely dress paired with a pretty bonnet, and your finger gently touches her shoe. She looks so real, but she doesn’t move when you gently shake her foot.

The strong smell of incense pulls you back to the present. The townspeople who care to even look at you do so with contempt. Eyes searching (always searching), you look for the Chapel Dweller. As long as he’s here, you can leave this fortress of solace and face the beasts outside. The night is ever long, and a hunter's work is never finished.

•• 🩸 ••

The Vicar whispered words of truth before she changed. You struggle to remember. You’ve roamed these woods before. Seen these same horrors again and again. The writhing of snakes bleeds into your thoughts, making them slippery and cold. You feel like you’re in a never waking nightmare.

(Again)

“Always a pleasure to see you, good Hunter,” a male voice calls out to you.

Turning, weapon drawn, you see someone standing in the doorway of the windmill.

“Surely you remember me?” He removes his top hat, sandy blonde fringe falling into blue eyes.

“No,” you relax your stance, “we’ve met before?”

Walking past a low burning fire, you join him just on the inside of the windmill. You catalog his worn and bloody city attire, glancing down at your own mishmash of dress.

He tilts his head, a queer little smile crossing his face, “It is of no matter now. I am Leon.”

You dip your head in acknowledgment.

“I’m just a Hunter,” you offer in return.

“I can see,” he shifts, and you catch sight of a radiant sword badge pinned to his shirt. “Have you fared well tonight?”

“Yes, I—“

Your thoughts disappear in a haze of fog. It’s on the tip of your tongue, but it slips from your grasp (like a snake).

“You search for the Paleblood?” He interrupts your pause. “From the dream, are you?”

You frown at him suspiciously, grip tightening around your threaded cane.

“And what of you? Have you also come to seek Paleblood?”

He laughs, a foreign sound amidst all this rotted wood and creaking joints.

“No, I gave up on that long ago. Tis folly to seek the truth. Too much insight will gain you nothing but misery, dear Hunter,” he shakes his head.

You watch him warily, but sensing nothing deeper than curious amusement, you settle back down.

“What of the Old Blood?”

He narrows his eyes at you, gaze searching; he must find what he’s looking for as he relaxes once more.

“A gift from the Church, isn’t it?”

His non-answer comes as no surprise.

“I’ve been told to fear it,” you shrug, cape rustling from where it lays across your shoulders. “I found a skull.”

His gaze turns sharp, almost predatory. “A skull? So you’ve done it then, did away with poor Vicar Amelia?”

You snort, and he gives you a delighted smile.

“You must have woken under that crooked lantern time and again,” he murmurs, “is Gehrman still the same sad little man recruiting others for his deeds?”

Gehrman… the name brings forth an image of a crippled man within a workshop.

(Paleblood.. to join the Hunt.. the Doll if it pleases you)

“He wishes you to transcend the hunt, right?”

His goading does nothing save for adding to your ignorance.

“I must take my leave,” you nod, stepping back into the treacherous forest.

•• 🩸 ••

You stand alone in the decrepit library, peering up the stairs into nothing. A shuffling sound echoes down to you, and it makes your heart quicken. Silence consumes the space around you, and yet your thoughts buzz like flies on a putrid carcass. Your fists clench around the handle of your pistol. The energy in the air crackles, raising the hairs on the back of your neck.

Everything in you screams to stay downstairs. Senses on high alert, you creep upward, pulse pounding in your ears. As soon as your boot steps onto the landing, you're primed for a fight.

(Again)

Leon stands there next to a desk coated in blood and viscera. He pulls open a drawer, rifling through its contents before closing it back. He barely looks at you, body language at ease.

“What’re you doing here?”

“Researching,” he offers vaguely.

A flicker of recognition seems to flit across his features, and he pockets an item from the desk. Turning, he holds out a slip of parchment, aged—brittle—and yet the ink looks wet as if it were penned only moments ago.

“The Byrgenwerth spider?” You question aloud after reading the note.

“Right place, eh?” He quips. “Seems Yurie was no match for you, dear Hunter.”

“Yurie?”

“The Last Scholar, part of the Choir,” he clarifies at your confused look.

Shuddering, you close your eyes for a moment. Snippets of your encounter filter through, like figments of a dream. Now you understand why you hesitated at the bottom of the stairs. The fight between you and the hostile hunter took more cunning and flexibility than you anticipated. She proved formidable, but a hunter must hunt.

“Have you been granted eyes yet?”

Leon’s question pulls you from gazing vacantly at the desk to his uncovered face. That phrase sends chills skittering down your spine like spider legs. And yet.. those words don’t mean anything at all.

“Don’t I already have a pair?”

His face splits into a grin, like the gash of a wound, “My dear Hunter, I so hope you bring an end to this night.”

He says no more, turning back to the books that lay scattered around. A sliver of hope blooms in your chest, like a doomed flower… it’s a feeling you’ve long thought dead. Turning on your heel, you seek out the deeper recesses of this desolate room.

You find a ladder and venture onto the third floor. Discovering a key along with a couple of notes, you make your way back down to show them to Leon. He waves off the key but eagerly takes the pieces of ragged paper from you. The lines on each of those pages leave a bitter taste in your mouth, like fermented leaves.

Leaving Leon to his own, you seek out the Lunarium door. Unlocking it allows you to step out onto an uncovered balcony. The moon looms heavy and foreboding. You gaze out on the lake, the sound of lapping water lulling you into a fugue state.

Undone by the blood…

Fear the Old Blood

A constant creaking pierces through your stupor. Shaking your head, you glance over and see a man rocking in a lavish chair. Stepping near him, you try to speak with him, but he stays mute. A wheezing sigh escapes his mouth while he gestures in front of him.

Frowning, you try again, and he only repeats the sound and action. Moving away from him, you walk to the edge of the balcony and gaze down into the cool water below.

“Our eyes are yet to open,” you murmur to yourself, feeling a pull to drop off into the unforgiving depths.

“Provost Willem,” Leon’s surprised intonation makes you step back from the siren song before you.

He stands next to the elderly man, gazing at his blind face with a sort of melancholy.

“He is one of the first,” Leon’s blue eyes look too big in the moonlight—fanatic, “a founder, if you will, of Yharnam’s most distinguished institutions.”

A flashback of a conversation makes your ears ring—two men speaking in hushed tones as the smooth bone of a skull lay under your hand.

“Beware the frailty of men,” you break from your reverie with Vicar Amelia’s words on your tongue.

Leon takes a half step toward you, but you shake your head.

“I must see this night through,” you walk backwards to the ledge. “I hope to see you again.”

“Likewise, dear Hunter,” Leon bows solemnly, “happy hunting.”

With a curt nod, you turn your back to him, eyes already seeking (always seeking) for the moon’s reflection on still waters.

You step off the balcony…

and fall into Moonside Lake.

#paid request #ko fi commissions #kofi #kofi commission #crossover #bloodborne x re crossover #bloodborne fanfiction #resident evil fanfiction #hunter!leon s kennedy #hunter!reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #bloodborne #resident evil #I’m so proud of this one!! 😭 💜

58 notes · View notes