Leon Scott Kennedy

(!!!MINORS DNI. READ PINNED BEFORE INTERACTING!!!! RP/KIN BLOG, MUN IS 18+, MULTISHIP, GMT) Leon. 49. Federal agent. Survived Raccoon City. Still working on everything after that. Trans man. Bisexual. Autistic. Usually awake. Usually driving somewhere. Bad at talking first, worse at talking about myself. Try not to make my job harder.

[tiredfederalagent]

ooc:

minors dni. i didn't want to do this but i keep having to deal with immature kids, so.

dni if you can't handle me setting boundaries or cant respect boundaries.

dni if ur a cliquey little bitch

dni if you want to drag me into drama. i just want to roleplay. and this includes CAUSING arguments too. because i WILL clap back if you're an asshole. respect me and i will respect you.

mun's main is @aerievren if you wanna interact with me personally

this part of the pinned intro post will change as necessary. keep an eye on it please

mun is high support needs autistic and severely mentally ill. please be aware of this when interacting.

DO NOT TELL ME HOW TO ROLEPLAY, OR HOW TO TAG. I ROLEPLAY MY OWN INTERPRETATION OF THE CHARACTER AND TAG AS I SEE FIT.

do not do flirty roleplay with me if you are a minor. im a grown man. and this is your responsibility, not mine. i will assume you are an adult if you flirt with leon. im not a babysitter.

not really a rule but im attached to leon a lot as a kin so oftentimes im referring to my own life and self through leon, if that makes sense. maybe something you should know

i might sometimes roleplay long, literate para stuff and i might sometimes roleplay silly little things. try to match my energy if you can

i will always reply to everything at some point or other. just sometimes takes a little while for me to have the energy. be patient. also i live in england so funky timezone shit

i'll probably add to this

Guess I’m doing this.

Leon. 49. Federal agent. Still breathing somehow, which apparently means I keep getting assigned paperwork instead of retirement.

Not really sure what people put in these things. I’m not good at talking about myself. Never have been.

I like old movies, music, cheap coffee, motorcycles that probably should’ve stopped running years ago, and quiet places. I don’t sleep much. I answer messages late. Sometimes I disappear for a while. Don’t take it personally.

Trans guy. Bisexual. If that matters to you one way or another, better to know upfront.

I’m autistic. Most people don’t notice unless I tell them. I’ve spent a long time learning how to act like things don’t bother me. Usually easier that way.

Not looking for anything specific here. Maybe conversation. Maybe people who understand what it’s like carrying too much for too long. Maybe I’m just tired of feeling like the last person left awake in the world.

I come off colder than I mean to sometimes. Working on it.

Anyway. If you’re here, thanks for stopping by.

Try not to die out there.

[tiredfederalagent]

Maintaining a human body is genuinely an unreasonable amount of work.

You’re telling me I have to eat regularly, drink water, sleep enough, exercise, maintain mental stability, AND respond to emails? Every single day? For the rest of my life?

Who designed this system. I just want to lie on the floor like an unplugged Roomba for a while.

[fizzalys]

beautiful day sunny morning

[wieniawskis]

i keep forgetting to post here

[tiredfederalagent]

We are not connected. We have not "touched" the "barrier",

Buddy, I spent years fighting things that violated several laws of nature and I still don’t know what the hell that sentence means.

But it does sound like something a guy says right before either profound enlightenment or a psychotic break, so I wish you luck either way.

[noguricity]

[tiredfederalagent]

Autistic man. (Me too.)

[tiredfederalagent]

Have you ever thought about quitting or retiring? Honestly, I think you've been through enough and deserve a rest.

Every day.

Then something happens somewhere in the world and I remember there’s always going to be another Raccoon City waiting for somebody.

Someone's gotta do it.

Might as well be me.

I sometimes feel like it has to be me.

Besides, I don’t think I’d survive retirement. What am I supposed to do, learn woodworking? Buy a boat? Develop hobbies that don’t involve destroying myself?

Likely story.

I can barely keep a houseplant alive.

[tiredfederalagent]

I still avoid gas stations late at night if I can help it.

I didn't even realise I was doing it for a while.

I’ll just be driving dangerously low on gas and suddenly realise I skipped three different places because something about the lights or the empty parking lot made my chest tighten without warning.

There’s a very specific kind of silence to places that stay open after midnight. Fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Coffee that’s been burning on the hot plate for six hours. One exhausted cashier pretending not to look at you.

Too much like that one I stopped at in Raccoon City.

Funny how your brain decides completely normal things are dangerous forever after one really bad night.

[tiredfederalagent]

Still genuinely fascinated by the amount of people who look at me and go “yeah that man’s a dominant top.”

Based on what exactly? The insomnia? The emotional repression? The fact I look permanently one inconvenience away from needing to be held gently and told to stop trying to save everyone?

I spent half my twenties getting yelled at by older military men and almost dying in horrible ways. You think I came out of that wanting more responsibility?

Be serious.

I don’t even like ordering food over the phone.

[scampi-draws]

[siratonin]

LEON S. KENNEDY and SHERRY BIRKIN Ι RE2 -> RE6 -> RE9

[silvaaart]

good morning

[tiredfederalagent]

Admittedly, Luis made a face when he opened up his front door and found Leon there—dirty, disheveled, and bloody.

"Jesucristo, Leon, you look like shit. Did you finish your mission and come straight here? Did you even let the medics look you over? Come here, come inside and sit down," His started light and humorous, but quickly devolved into anxious mother-henning.

"Que paso? Are you alright? Tell me what hurts," He was worried about Leon.

Leon huffed out a tired laugh at the first comment, though it immediately dissolved into a wince when Luis pulled him inside.

“Wow. Nice to see you too.”

He let himself get steered toward the couch with surprising obedience, shoulders slumped hard enough to make him look older than he was. There was dried blood on his jacket, fresh blood on his sleeve, dirt smeared along his jaw like he’d wiped at it with shaking hands and only made it worse.

“No, I didn’t let the medics look me over,” he admitted. “I know, lecture me later.”

Luis’s rapid fire worrying made something in his chest ache in a way the injuries didn’t. Leon rubbed a hand over his face, avoiding eye contact for a second too long.

“Mission went bad. Not catastrophic bad, just…” He gestured vaguely. “The usual amount of traumatic.”

At the question of what hurts, he actually laughed quietly this time, exhausted and frayed around the edges.

“You want the list alphabetically or by severity?”

Then, softer:

“My shoulder’s probably messed up. Couple stitches I did myself are definitely not staying closed. Think I cracked a rib.” He paused. “And I’m really tired, Luis.”

That last part came out almost embarrassingly honest. Like he hadn’t meant to say it aloud at all.

[mrladiesman-luis]

It was, perhaps, too honest of a response, because it immediately made Luis alarmed.

"Tired? Are you cold? You shouldn't have- I'm not a medical doctor, I can't help you the way you need to be helped. I don't have painkillers, and if something awful happens, I won't be able to help you," he sounded a little too desperate. Leon was his closest friend and his feelings towards him were... Well, the flirting came honestly. Losing him would destroy him.

But he didn't want to scare Leon away, so he tried to lighten the tone with an irritated huff: "If you die on my couch, I'll kill you. Now, take off your shirt,"

Normally, comments about disrobing usually came with a wink and a flirtatious grin. Now, however, Luis was being deadly serious. So much so that he became a little frustrated when Leon didn't immediately do what was asked of him.

"I've already seen your scars, take off your shirt, Leon! If you're bleeding internally-" he cut himself off when Leon finally did as asked. The sight of him made Luis suck in a breath. He was bruised badly and he had a couple of nasty cuts, a couple of which were haphazardly stitched together.

"I'm sorry," Luis said softly. There was a weary kind of grief in his voice: he knew he couldn't stop this kind of thing from happening to Leon, as much as he wished he could. "I'm going to touch you, alright?" he warned. Sometimes Leon got a bit finicky about being touched after a mission. "I'm going to press on your abdomen. I'll be as gentle as possible, but it's going to bother your ribs. Afterwards, I've got one of your old sweatshirts, and I can make you something to eat, eh?"

[tiredfederalagent]

Leon let him fuss. That was the strange part. Normally he’d be cracking jokes by now, batting Luis’ hands away, acting like the blood soaking through his shirt belonged to somebody else. Instead he just sat there on the couch, shoulders slumped forward, staring at the floor while Luis talked himself into a panic.

“I’m not dying,” he muttered eventually, though his voice sounded rough enough that neither of them fully believed it. “Pretty sure. I’ve had worse.”

That was probably meant to be reassuring. It wasn’t.

When Luis apologised, Leon finally looked up at him, tired blue eyes dragging over his face like it took effort just to focus. The apology hit harder than the injuries did. Luis always sounded so genuinely upset when he saw him like this, like every bruise was something personal.

“Hey,” Leon said quietly. “Don’t do that.”

His hand twitched instinctively when Luis warned him before touching him, tension flashing through his body for a split second before he forced himself to relax again. Mission leftovers. Adrenaline still clawing around under his skin.

The pressure against his ribs made him hiss through his teeth. “Jesus Christ- yeah, okay, there it is.” A weak laugh escaped him after. “Think that one’s gonna be purple tomorrow.”

Luis hovering over him like he was trying to hold Leon together with sheer willpower alone was almost enough to make him smile.

Almost.

“You know,” Leon murmured after a moment, exhaustion pulling every word slower, “you’re really bad at acting normal when you’re worried about somebody.”

He leaned his head back against the couch cushions, eyes half lidded now.

“But…” another breath, softer this time, “thanks for letting me come here anyway.”

That part was honest in a way Leon usually avoided. He swallowed hard before adding, quieter:

“Didn’t really wanna be alone tonight.”

[mrladiesman-luis]

Luis clicked his tongue. "Perhaps, but, there's not that many people I worry about enough to get me riled up like this. You're the only one. That, and the stray cat who lives behind the Kroger's," he teased, though he was becoming increasingly worried about Leon's mental state. Either he'd hit his head or the mission was more traumatic than he was letting on.

"I will stay with you," Luis said, without even a beat of hesitation. Then, he added, just as vulnerable, just as honest as Leon had been, "I'm glad you came,"

He got up and retrieved a washcloth and a bowl of of warm water, Leon's extra clothes, and a first aid kit. First came the dislocated shoulder, which popped back into place with a worryingly practiced amount of ease. Then, Luis cleaned, stitched and wrapped each of his wounds, one by one. Then came the washcloth: Luis gently wiped the blood, dirt, and sweat off Leon's face, torso, and arms. He worked meticulously, tenderly, like Leon was something, not fragile, but sacred. At last came the sweatshirt: familiar, soft, and clean.

When the work was done, he sat on the couch next to Leon and laid him down with his head pillowed on his lap. He tugged one of the throw blankets over Leon's prone form and said, "Sleep, Sancho. I'll take first watch. I have your back,"

[tiredfederalagent]

Leon went very still at that. Which, honestly, was more alarming than if he'd cracked another joke.

He wasn't used to being handled gently. Patched up, yeah. Ordered around, dragged out of danger kicking and screaming, sure. But this? Luis moving around him like he was something worth being careful with? That hit somewhere deep and ugly in his chest.

He let his head stay in Luis’s lap, too exhausted to pretend he hated the contact. The clean sweatshirt smelled faintly like detergent and cigarette smoke and Luis’s cologne underneath it all. Safe, somehow. Safer than Leon had felt in weeks.

“You’re real annoying when you care about somebody,” he muttered after a while. “Y’know that?”

A pause.

Then, quiet:

“Thanks for not asking me to be okay yet.”

That was the worst part, really. Everyone always wanted him recovered immediately. Functional. Smiling. Ready for the next mission, the next nightmare. Luis was the only person who looked at him wrecked and bloody and didn’t immediately demand he become less inconvenient.

Leon swallowed hard and stared up at the ceiling.

“I didn’t wanna go back to my apartment,” he admitted finally. “Too quiet. Every time it gets quiet after one of these missions, I start hearing things again.”

Leon made a quiet noise of protest from where he was half conscious against Luis’s thigh, brows furrowing like he was deeply offended even in the middle of passing out.

“Who you calling Sancho,” he mumbled, words slurring together with exhaustion.

Then, after a beat:

“…you’re literally the one obsessed with windmills.”

His eyes finally slipped shut after that, one hand still loosely curled in the fabric of Luis’s sleeve like he’d grabbed hold of it at some point without realising. Even asleep, he stayed close, breathing slow and uneven under the blanket while the tension gradually left his shoulders.

[mrladiesman-luis]

Something in Luis's heart twisted and ached. "I don't need you to be okay, Leon. I like you even when you're not okay. Why don't you let your brave knight be the one who is okay for a little while, eh?"

"You complain too much. More than the French. And I lived in France for a couple of years so I know what I'm talking about," he scoffed. "Besides, I think you like how annoying I am, somewhere deep down,"

It was funny, really, watching Leon try to fight off sleep so he could complain and snark. An inexplicable feeling of fondness bubbles up inside of Luis, so powerful he thought his heart might burst. His poor, brave, American brute.

"I see, so you came here to listen to me chatter instead," he commented. "I knew you liked how much I talk,"

Though the comment about the windmills made him scowl. "I'm obsessed with windmills because they're a brilliant source of renewable energy. Not because I think they're giants. I have no plans to attack the windmills on this day, my squire, you have no need to worry," he teased.

"Get some sleep, eh? I'll still be here when you wake up," he stroked Leon's hair, ever so gently. The sight of peace of Leon's face was more beautiful than any sunset Luis had ever seen in his life.

"Sleep well, brave knight," he whispered, and if he pressed a tender kiss to Leon's hair, who would know?

[tiredfederalagent]

Leon was out cold by the time the kiss landed against his hair.

Or at least, that’s what Luis probably thought.

Because a few seconds later, Leon made a sleepy, offended noise and cracked one eye open just enough to glare up at him through exhaustion.

“Wow,” he slurred in a mumble. “Buy me dinner first next time.”

The glare lasted all of three seconds before it dissolved into something softer, fond in that tired, crooked way Leon only got when he was too exhausted to keep his guard up.

His hand weakly caught at Luis’s wrist before he could pull away completely.

“...Don’t stop doing that,” he admitted quietly, like the words physically pained him. “Helps.”

Then, because vulnerability never came to him without a fight:

“But if you tell anybody I said that, I’m putting you through a windmill.”

[mrladiesman-luis]

Luis was completely and utterly mortified. Leon was always complaining about his flirtations and this was an instance where he couldn't quite tell if Leon was joking or being serious.

"I... Sí. Of course. My apologies," he said sheepishly.

Demanding. Like a fucking cat. "Okay, okay," Luis huffed out a laugh. "I won't stop. Must you always threaten me when you ask for something? You could just ask and I would say yes," Luis said, sounding annoyed.

"Just go to sleep, Leon," he suggested.

[tiredfederalagent]

Leon’s expression crumpled almost immediately after Luis sounded annoyed.

It was subtle... just a little downturn of his mouth, the way his grip on Luis’s wrist loosened.... but exhaustion had worn him too thin to hide things properly.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “I was kidding.”

The sarcasm was gone now, replaced with something small and raw that Leon usually buried under six layers of snark and bad decisions.

“You don’t gotta sound like it’s a chore.”

He looked away after that, staring blearily at the opposite wall instead of at Luis. Embarrassment crawled hot beneath the bruises on his face. God, he hated this part. Hated being hurt badly enough that people saw things in him he couldn’t hide.

“I know I’m a pain in the ass when I get like this,” he muttered. “You don’t have to babysit me just because I showed up bleeding on your doorstep.”

A pause.

Then, much quieter:

“Sorry.”

[mrladiesman-luis]

"It's not a chore, I'm not-" Luis cut himself off. Clearly he'd fucked something up but he didn't understand what had gone wrong.

"No, no, you have nothing to apologize for, I like taking care of you, you're not a pain in the ass," he said hastily, but Leon was already pulling away, retreating inside of himself and Luis wasn't sure how to fix it.

"I take care of you because you're my friend and because I care about you, and if you didn't show up on my doorstep, I'd just have to hunt you down," he said, but he had the funniest feeling he'd fucked something up and a little banter wasn't going to fix it.

"I'm sorry if I upset you," he said next.

After, he just stayed quiet, keeping his hold on Leon, petting his hair, hoping that maybe, if they stayed like this for long enough, Leon would open up again. Luis would wait however long it took.

[tiredfederalagent]

Leon stayed quiet for so long Luis probably thought he'd fallen asleep.

But eventually he shifted, slow and careful from the pain, until his forehead bumped lightly against Luis’s wrist where it rested near his hair.

It wasn’t graceful. Leon was never graceful about this kind of thing.

“You talk too much,” he mumbled, voice rough with exhaustion. “Makes apologising weirdly hard.”

His eyes stayed shut. That made it easier.

“I know you care.” A pause. “That’s kinda the problem.”

The confession slipped out before he could stop it, quiet enough that he could pretend he hadn’t said it at all if Luis was kind enough not to mention it tomorrow.

Leon swallowed thickly and tugged weakly at the sleeve of Luis’s shirt between two fingers, a small grounding touch.

“People usually want something from me when they patch me up,” he admitted. “Or they leave once they realise I’m not worth the trouble.”

Another long pause.

“You staying is…” He exhaled sharply through his nose. “Still not used to it.”

Then, because vulnerability made his skin itch, he added gruffly:

“If you tell anyone I got emotional, I’m putting you back in that body bag.”

[mrladiesman-luis]

An amused, unbearably fond chuckled bubbled up out of Luis, and his heart swelled so full it felt like it was about to burst. He adored Leon, down to his very fore, bad days—or months or years—be damned. There was so much about him that he loved—he loved his shitty quips, his compassion, the way he rolled his eyes and tried not to smile when Luis said something stupid.

"That's okay," he said softly. "I'll stay until you get used to it, then I'll continue to stay after that. Unfortunately, Kennedy, I have grown fond of you, so you won't be getting rid of me anytime soon,"

He tugged the blanket up a little higher.

"I know you'll never take me up on the offer, but I do hope you know that you can talk to me about anything. Whatever's going on inside your head, whatever you think about yourself, what you do in your missions, you can tell me and I'll listen. And it won't change how I think of you. Not ever,"

Luis's tone was soft and sad as he said, "Life hasn't been very kind to you, eh? And the people in your life haven't been very kind either. A shame, because you are so very easy to love,"

[tiredfederalagent]

Leon made a face immediately, like Luis had personally offended him.

“Oh, don’t say weird heartfelt stuff at me right now,” he grumbled, voice hoarse with sleep. “I’m injured. I can’t properly defend myself.”

He didn't mean that.

And his hand found Luis’s wrist again anyway, resting there loosely.

For a moment he just stared up at the ceiling, expression softer than he probably realised.

Then, quieter:

“...You’re kinda stupid, you know that?”

There was no bite to it. Just tired fondness wrapped in Leon’s usual barbed wire.

“You keep looking at me like I’m worth all this trouble.” He huffed softly through his nose. “And the really embarrassing part is I’m starting to believe you.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Leon grimaced like he regretted them instantly.

“Forget I said that,” he muttered. “Actually, forget this entire conversation. Mission classified.”

Still, he shifted a little closer beneath the blanket, eyes finally slipping shut.

“And for the record,” he added drowsily, “you’re not exactly hard to keep around either.”

[mrladiesman-luis]

Luis grinned and patted Leon's head, anxious and fond and immensely pleased that he'd offended Leon so thoroughly, that he scowled and scrunched up his nose. Luis loved his scrunchy nose.

"Ah, but you see, that's exactly why I tell you these things right now: so you are defenseless and cannot run away. No puedes escapar mí afecto,"

The warmth of Leon's hand felt like it was seeping into the very marrow of his bones. He looked smug, his smile sharp and crooked, but his eyes were soft and full of love. The idea that all of his fond yapping was having an effect on Leon made his eyes prickle with tears. He knew how much Leon struggled—the PTSD, the survivor's guilt, the witnessing and slaughtering of man-made horrors beyond comprehension. The US government took a man who only ever wanted to help people and turned him into a weapon. Luis would never forgive them for that.

Leon had always deserved better.

"Alright, alright, conversation over. Mission classified," Luis huffed, although he understood perfectly that Leon was exhausted. All of this had been very vulnerable and it was time to stop pushing.

"Ya duermate, Leon," he insisted with a little chuckle. "Tus ojos are heavy, you can barely keep them open,"

He stroked Leon's hair until his breathing slowed and he was certain Leon was asleep. He looked peaceful, relaxed, young. He looked innocent while he slept, like Raccoon City never happened.

"Todo va a estar bien. Ya verás que todo va a mejorar. A veces, ojalá me hablaras. Te entiendo,"

It was peaceful for a while, and Luis found himself drifting off when Leon began to squirm, his face twisting up in discomfort.

[tiredfederalagent]

Leon was asleep.

Well, his body was.

His brain never rested anymore.

His breathing had evened out, his body finally gone heavy where it rested against Luis, but sleep had never been kind enough to leave him alone for long.

It started with a twitch.

Then another.

His fingers tightened reflexively in the fabric of Luis's shirt.

"...No," he mumbled.

Barely audible.

"No-"

His face pinched, brow furrowing as whatever nightmare had found him dragged him deeper into it. His breathing hitched, becoming quicker, shallower.

His shoulder jerked.

"Shit..."

Another sharp breath.

"No, don't..."

Then, instinctively, blindly, he reached.

Not for his gun, for once.

For the warm weight beside him.

His hand fumbled until it found Luis's sleeve, catching it in a loose fist like an anchor.

Leon never woke up gracefully. Even asleep, every muscle seemed poised for a fight. But when his fingers found something familiar, something real, the tension eased by degrees.

His breathing slowed.

The lines in his face softened.

"...Luis," he exhaled, so quietly it almost disappeared into the room.

Not frightened.

Just... making sure.

His grip loosened, though he never quite let go.

A minute later, still fast asleep, he shifted closer with the unconscious determination of someone seeking warmth. His forehead bumped lightly against Luis's side, and he let out the faintest, most contented sigh.

Tomorrow, if anyone told Leon S. Kennedy he'd spent half the night clinging to Luis Serra like a lifeline, he'd deny it until his dying breath.

Tonight, asleep and defenseless, his body told the truth long before he ever could.

[tiredfederalagent]

Congratulations ☆

You’ve chosen all the correct answers and have won a surprise (not-so-surprise) midnight picnic mini vacation package! Voucher redeemable at any time.

Bonus question because picnics need snacks. Choose your preferred semi-healthy sugar rush: apple slices with caramel, strawberries with dark chocolate, blueberry muffins, or chocolate chip cookies?

(Why do I get the feeling that this won’t help my ‘I eat more than snacks’ argument?)

A vacation.. finally....

I do love chocolate chip cookies.

[tiredfederalagent]

What was your relationship with Jack Krauser like? Was he just a mentor to you?

He started out as my instructor.

Eventually he became the guy I trusted to watch my back without having to look over my shoulder. I respected him more than just about anybody. He pushed me harder than anyone else ever did, and I needed that.

He wasn't easy to like. He wasn't supposed to be.

I don't think either of us were very good at saying what we meant, so most conversations turned into insults, sarcasm, or him finding new and inventive ways to kick my ass in training.

Looking back... I think he cared more than he'd ever admit.

And I probably did too.

Makes what happened even harder to live with.

I found one of his shirts stuffed behind my couch a few months later. Didn't even remember he'd left it there. Don't read into that.

...Still think he could've found literally any other way to say "good job." Like a handshake, maybe.

[tiredfederalagent]

Is having biological children important to you? Or would you ever consider adoption? I'm a foster parent myself, and I'm a huge advocate for foster-to-adopt programs, particularly for older children, who tend to be left behind by the system.

Personally, I think you'd be a good foster parent. A lot of these kids come with a lot of trauma, and sometimes a lot of anger. Not many people understand what they've been through, what it feels like to be scared and angry, so these kids don't get their needs met, and don't get the treatment they need. But you understand.

Not all placements are long term. Sometimes these kids only need a place to stay for a few days while bureaucratic bullshit gets sorted out. I know you often feel like you can't save anybody. Even just a couple of days spent with an adult who understands them could change their lives. It might give you some meaning.

If the DSO would ever give you a break, I mean.

I think I'd like to have a kid who's my own flesh and blood someday.

But I'd be just as happy fostering or adopting. There are a lot of kids out there who just need somebody to show up for them, even if it's only for a little while.

Truth is, I think I'd understand those kids better than I'd like to admit.

I lost my parents when I was young. I know what it's like to grow up without the people who were supposed to be there, and I know there are a lot of kids carrying that same kind of hurt.

That said... I'd have to sort my own head out first. Even when... if ... I ever retire. Which might not be even worth it because I'll probably be a million years old..

Kids deserve stability. They deserve someone who can be patient, emotionally present, and make them feel safe. Right now, I'm still working on being those things for myself. They don't deserve somebody who still wakes up from nightmares, works too much, and thinks whiskey counts as a coping mechanism on bad weeks.

Maybe one day.

I'd rather become the dad a kid deserves than rush into being one because I wanted it.

Y'know... wait until I know I can give a kid the childhood they deserve instead of asking them to survive mine with me.

You're probably right about the "meaning" thing. Also maybe the older kids thing sounds good too, because sometimes crying babies makes me want to rip my skin off.

[tiredfederalagent]

I'm finally home.

Feel like my feet are gonna fall off.