a ᵈᵉᵃᵈ ᵐᵃⁿ walking.

-> ATTCKDOG.TUMBLR.COM / A SELECTIVE, MUTUALLY EXCLUSIVE, AND ICONLESS WRITING ACCOUNT FOR [ LEON S. KENNEDY ] OF RESIDENT EVIL LORE. SET PRIMARILY WITHIN THE re2-re4 ERA, BUT HAPPY TO JUMP AROUND TO CERTAIN ERAS/TIMELINES WITH PARTNERS. loved by trick, they/he, 21+. basic rules apply. be kind, no elitist behavior, and we will be chill!

𝚃𝚁𝚄𝚂𝚃𝙴𝙳 𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙿𝙰𝙽𝙸𝙾𝙽: harleyridin 𝙰𝙻𝙻𝙸𝙴𝚂: houndw0lf

the dealings of the bsaa aren't particularly any of leon's business. while the dso and them have similar goals, cross work doesn't tend to present itself unless absolutely necessary. he receives information when needed, and otherwise the two remain amicable. that being said, he recalls hearing a few things regarding one JILL VALENTINE a few years prior, back before the dso was formed, and he was instead USSTRATCOM'S ATTACK DOG. and even further before that, her name haunted the depths of the raccoon city police department. a smiling face on a s.t.a.r.s photo, that he can recall perusing in a brief escape from halls littered with horror beyond what one twenty-year old rookie could properly understand.

her existence wasn't one he expected to hear brought up again upon his agreement to help chris and rebecca with arias, she's been a mere enigma within his life, but then again the whole point of drinking your days away is to keep expectations and thoughts at bay. the whole situation was convoluted, as are many things for leon, and he's thankful for the whiskey still settling within his veins for keeping him drumming along.

but he supposes that isn't an entirely fair assessment- he's mostly sober now. and if the situation were slightly less dire, the agent would be itching for another drink in order to keep the hangover, that no doubt wants to form, from transpiring. rebecca's life is on the line, as is most of new york city's, so that'll have to wait. he'll absolutely have earned a celebratory glass once this is all wrapped up. maybe he'll even be feeling generous enough to invite their ragtag team along.

𝚕𝚎𝚘𝚗, 𝚒'𝚖 𝚙𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚓𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚟𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚎. 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚛𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚌𝚊'𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚜.

leon has never believed himself deserving of anything gentle. he is a man of action- callused hands, and countless scars etching themselves alongside his body as the years drag on. a form built and perfectly tuned to take down b.o.w's singlehandedly. always alone in his approach, a singular wolf with enough bark AND bite to back up what other's might claim he lacks in appearance. a part of him believes that no matter how hard he pushes himself, he will never fit the mold every 'employer' has been quick to try and strangle him into.

though claire has never made him feel as though his hackles should remain up, even when his very existence is begging for rest, nor should he be anything other than himself. her presence elicits the peace of what having a TRUSTED COMPANION can be like. life does not always have to be tearing, biting, and clawing your way to safety. there can be moments of tranquility, the barking dog silenced in the face of love.

their kitchen counter is a hodgepodge of mail (both unopened and otherwise), dishes, a bundle of bananas ready to be pulled apart for a quick breakfast, and now two mugs of piping hot coffee. controlled chaos for an early morning whirlwind of two people attempting to get out the door in a timely manner. it's achingly mundane, a thought leon has to bite back a smile as a result of. they don't have time for much more, and yet here claire is, making the time.

you grew up too fast and all you know is the calluses on your fists and the thousand invisible scars that you pretend don't ache. your anger burns so bright, so hot or maybe not at all, so deep you could never tell it was there. you are yours and you will defend that to the death after so many years of being ripped apart and denied your own agency and maybe you are still facing the bastards who stole your innocence but you will survive because that's the only thing you know how to do without breaking, the only thing you know besides protect, protect, protect, protect, yourself or sometimes those few others you claim as yours.

you are a thousand sharp edges but impenetrable, a traumatized child so covered by thorny armor that you promised yourself you're grown now, you're stronger than anyone who has ever hurt you. you're safe. nothing will ever hurt you again. you're so alone though sometimes, in a world that sees you as too much or too broken or too angry or too hurt, and you want to scream with the too-much of it, prove that you're okay, that you're self-reliant, that you are strong enough to stake your claim on your body, on your mind, on your heart, on your people, and protect it from any who dare take it away from you.

you are the sea in tempest, a howling sky, a tsunami in motion, a force of nature, no matter how much you sometimes yearn to be still, to be safe, to be small. you are a dandelion, stubborn and determined to grow in the rockiest of soil, and bloom again in spring.

the rain spurred quickly. sunny skies until the duo's trek ran far enough away from the safety of the indoors to retreat back. then darkened clouds began their roll in, and the sky all but opened up. it was supposed to be romantic, a walk, hands almost connected, but leave it to fate to want to intervene. luckily claire's tone seems anything but angry, and the way in which her hair now clings to her face has leon's smile turning a bit too bright for such a situation.