#june & rick. ( masm. )

[tuppencetrinkets-a]

  @magicandsciencemuses - rick flag gets a starter from june moone.

               She had barely spoken since her whispered plea for help -- what help he could offer, that anyone could offer she couldn’t begin to guess.  She’d searched so many texts, so many places, and come up empty and now.  Now, she sat, on a chair in her bathroom, wrapped in her robe, still covered in the mud and herbs of the bath, with .. bodies.  Bodies of men she’d killed -- oh how desperately she wanted to be able to lay the blame solely on the voices in her head, but how clearly she could remember it, sharp and painful acuity, as if the entity in her head had taken explicit care, delighting, in sharing the imagery, while June screamed in silence in the darkness.  She shuddered, fingers grasping tighter at the edges of her robe, shadowed eyes creeping up towards the soldier.  “I .... Who are you?”  She hadn’t even gotten his name before he’d ordered the others out of the room, helped her, with a discreet downcast gaze, out of the bath and into her robe.

[tuppencetrinkets-a]

      @magicandsciencemuses - rick flag gets a post midway au starter from ella.

             She’d sat, quietly, at the bar, a few stools down from him, her attention mostly kept to herself and the hurricane that she was nursing, fingers tapping against the cigarette that she kept between her fingers, but not lighting, until he had reached the end of his latest beer, a quiet clearing of her throat as she leaned forward to catch the bartender’s attention.  “His next, and -- something stronger, if he’d like it, on my tab, please,” Ella offered, a small smile offered towards the bartender and, almost as an afterthought, towards Flag as well.  “If you ... don’t mind,” she amended.

[tuppencetrinkets-a]

             @magicandsciencemuses // rick flag. suicide squad. || A MEME. // accepting.  

                                      ❝ Friends don’t lie. ❞ 

             “I’m --- fine,”  June protested, trying to ignore the twinge of guilt that pulled at her stomach at the words, at his words, at the fact that she was clearly worrying him.   A smile pulled, constrained at the edges of her lips, and she took a small breath in, forcing the weariness out of her expression, trying to force the heaviness out of her shoulders.   “I’m just a little tired,” she tried to assure him.  The last thing that she wanted was him worrying, fretting over her, when he had far more important things to handle.  “Nothing a good night in won’t cure.”  It’d be easier to convince him, if she believed it herself.