#rckflag

♡    —   𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑 :  @rckflag​ .

♡   —  MEME .     ››     @rckflag​  sent   :   a  kiss  during  combat .     (  and  then  i  cheated  &  did  directly  after  combat  sue  me  )

                        IT  HAS  BEEN  SAID  THAT  FOR  EVERY  V  I  C  T  O  R  Y  THERE  IS  A  P  R  I  C  E    ;    never  before  has  the  phrase  rung  as  true  for  harley  as  it  does  right  now  .          all  things  considered    ,    they’ve  triumphed    :    starro  is  defeated    ,    waller  isn’t  going  to  blow  their  heads  off    ,    the  corto  maltese  government  has  been  overthrown        —        all  in  all    ,    it  SHOULD  be  cause  for  celebration  .              (      how  often  do  people  like  them  get  to  say  they’ve  won  ?      )            she  should  feel  elated  .    after  all    ,    isn’t  victory  is  supposed  to  be  sweet  ?      [  .  .  .  ]      so  then  why  is  the  taste  in  her  mouth  so  bitter  ?      

                        inhale    ,    exhale  .        —        smudged  eyelids  fall  to  a  close    ,    thick  lashes  fanning  ‘cross  grime  -  smeared  cheeks    ,      and  she  will  feel  her  ribcage  rise    ,    air  drawn  into  her  lungs  with  each  shaky  breath  .        she  knows  EXACTLY  why  .        no  matter  how  exhilarated  she  may  feel    ,    high  on  the  adrenaline  that  comes  with  each  battle  win    ,    relieved  to  have  made  it  out  alive    ,    she  cannot  help  but  still  linger  on  those  lost  along  the  way  .        boomer    ,    krill    ,    flag  .        the  one  constant  in  every  mission    ,    the  one  team  member  she  could  always  count  on  to  have  her  back      [  .  .  .  ]      GONE  in  an  instant  .    worse  still    ,    gone  for  nothing  .        —        the  drive  he’d  died  for  was  never  going  to  see  the  light  of  day    ,    all  the  secrets  it  contained  sure  to  die  with  each  one  of  them  .      what  a  load  of  bullshit  .      tired  eyes  open  slowly    ,    harley's  gaze  downcast  as  she  kicks  the  toe  of  her  boot  ‘gainst  a  pebble  half  -  heartedly  .    

                        .  .  .      sebastian  is  the  first  to  notice    ,    noisily  chittering      ﹠      scratching  at  his  master’s  collar  to  get  her  attention  .    cleo  is  next    ,    head  turning  in  the  direction  the  rat  is  gesturing  to    ,    mouth  falling  agape  as  the  words      ‘    look  !    the  rubble  !    ’    spill  forth  .      she’s  followed  closely  by  dubois      ﹠      nanaue    ,    a  murmur  of      ‘  ho-ly  fucking  shit  ’    coming  from  the  former  .    harley  is  the  LAST  to  look    ,    blue  eyes  rolling  as  she  swivels  ‘round  to  see  for  herself  what  all  the  fuss  is  for  .                        ❝            jeez    ,    what’s  all  the  commotion  abo—    ?          ❞                

                        final  syllable  never  comes    ,    all  thoughts  grinding  to  a  halt  when  she  sees  him  .    he's  limping  away  from  a  mountain  of  debris      ﹠      rubble    ,    certainly  looking  worse  for  wear    ,    but  more  importantly        —        he's  ALIVE  .      bloodied    ,    bruised      ﹠        breathing  .                        ❝            flag  .          ❞                    with  a  breathless  sigh    ,    a  faint  laugh  falls  from  plush  petals    ,    a  mix  of  relief      ﹠        disbelief  immediately  washing  over  her  .      [  .  .  .  ]      as  though  someone  has  flipped  a  switch    ,    suddenly  she  is  on  .                        ❝            flag  !          ❞                    louder  this  time    ,    cast  out  from  ‘tween  grinning  lips    ,    and  ‘fore  she  even  has  time  to  think  about  it    ,    she  is  running  t’wards  him  .

                        .  .  .      admittedly    ,    throwing  yourself  at  someone  who  appears  to  be  grievously  injured  probably  isn’t  the  wisest  thing  to  do      [  .  .  .  ]      but  given  that  she  thought  he  was  DEAD  ?    harley  thinks  that  deserves  an  exception  .        —        body  collides  with  his  own    ,    arms  flung  ‘round  his  neck      ﹠      face  pressing  into  his  chest  as  she  tugs  him  into  an  tight  embrace  .                        ❝            i    -    we  thought  y’were  dead  .          ❞                    drawing  back    ,    arms  move  for  palms  to  position  themselves  on  either  side  of  his  face    ,    as  if  to  feel  if  he’s  really  there  .    wide    ,    searching  gaze  peers  up  at  him  with  uncertainty    ,    a  hundred  things  unsaid  now  racing  through  her  mind  .

                        and  then  she  says  them  all  without  saying  anything  .        —        lips  press  to  his  almost  forcefully    ,    as  though  she  fears  that  he  could  slip  through  her  fingertips  at  any  moment  .    she  can  taste  the  metallic  tang  of  blood  ‘pon  his  tongue    ,    can  feel  where  his  lower  lip  is  split      [  .  .  .  ]      yet  she  doesn’t  care  .        (      hell    ,    she’s  sure  she’s  no  better  right  now      )  .          instead  she  SAVOURS  every  second  of  the  kiss    ,    one  hand  moving  yet  again    ,    this  time  trailing  ‘round  the  back  of  his  neck  to  cradle  the  base  of  his  skull  .    

   ‘  very sweet, darling.  maybe you can tell me about it over dinner, after i shower.  or breakfast ?  i’m not sure what time it is.  ’   there’s a blatant ignoring of the mildly astonished look on flag’s face as she swipes at blood splatters on the back of her cheek with the ruined sleeve of a more ruined blouse.  it’s ripped, torn at the sleeves and missing buttons, and addy grimaces at the sight of the way it’s hanging loosely from her arm.  more than the bruised ribs, bruised jaw, cuts and broken fingers, she’s furious about the state of her favorite blue button down.  the knife clutched in her hands clatters to the ground as she steps out of her cracked heels and feels the cold concrete under her swollen feet.  

     to be questioned in his own home is at the top of what wouldn’t be tolerated, according to his unwritten house rules and regulations. time behind bars and explosive collars in a vans, school buses, and aircrafts full of lunatics just softened him up. he also didn’t have the itch to see the boy’s scout skull decorating his freshly painted living room walls. so, he humored his nosy buddy’s silly question. sarcasm spat out with indifference. “ that’s not your brightest question, but i’ll answer to save me time. i’m about to head out to clean up the neighborhood. you see all the roaches infesting it? ”

     floyd held out his hand for rick to drop the pair of keys in his hand. he assumed he already knew what those keys go to. meddlesome ass was probably observing him for keys. he can only blame himself for being sloppy. the keys rick held onto was to a storage room. it can be accurately described as a cache that was filled up with a taliban’s wet dream. domestic and foreign hardware, some the size of kevin hart and long as yao ming all in one spot. a hefty amount of dead green white men he accumulated from some high-end jobs helped him prep for a full scale war with the gangs that plagued the narrows. he had enough with the ridiculous violence that operated as a virus in a community that didn’t deserve it. he sure hoped soldier boy didn’t intend on stopping him from doing what had to be done.

     he can’t say with confidence that his upbringing in the narrows was exceptionally spectacular. in fact, it was the beginning of a slew of complications that would follow him faithfully into adulthood. he remembers when a printed spike lee’s do the right thing poster hung on his wall, right across from his mirror. there was nothing purposely strategic about the position. in the mornings he’d borrow his father’s diane brush and perform his ritualistic routine of training his 360 waves, bumping the code red album, with the track dj jazzy jeff and the fresh prince boom! shake the room booming on repeat from his radio. a simpler time, taken in the glimpses of happiness and peace he was able to manage for himself.

     he was a handsome young fella. his face yet to be completely marred by the circumstances that made him lose the brush that helped with his pretty boy image, to devout his time and love to an assassin’s appreciation for a brush of a death. thinking back on it, the teen he saw looking back at him with those words behind him ended up as a ironically twisted proverb of sorts in the cruel path he chose in life. do the right thing? he’d was better off waiting for the second coming of jesus. 

     now he feared the karmic force in the universe was catching up him. live by the gun, die by the gun, a modus operandi that was instilled in him around the age where he should have just been a teen playing ball with his peers at the boys & girls club. he got stuck with the raw end of the deal in his abusive, impoverished environment and reaped the dark benefits in an ugly lifestyle he was initiated into. after all this time, he may finally get the chance to see if there’s a divine bearded black man in ancient flip-flops in the great big ol’ sky. 

live by the gun, die by the gun.

     “ no truer words have ever been said... ” he said aloud to himself. the far off look in his face said his head was in a different space than the material world rick spoke to him from. his body was on the verge of death but he didn’t seem like he necessarily grasped the reality of his situation yet. to die in the gutters on a rainy evening wasn’t the end he sought after but a piece of shit like him? maybe he deserves to be done in filthy, shot down by some unremarkable scum that had hid themselves in the shadows of the alleyway. 

     or he can say to hell with that and fight for his damn life. there was no chance he’ll leave his daughter alone in this shitty world. floyd regained consciousness for a moment, struggling to keep his eyes open as he gazed up in pain at a blurred rick. “ s-s-oldier boy, u-unless you’re a doc... g-get me the f-fuck up outta here... no hospitals though..! ” he wheezed. blood spluttered violently out of his mouth. he didn’t have the energy to explain to him why no hospitals but he shouldn’t have to. world class assassin? he might as well never mind living and say hi to his parents in hell.

     deadshot quickly found their dire situation was calling for creativity. that is what made the thrill of the hunts sweeter than honey. he can ice his veins and keep his blood cold when the promise a good time was bound to be in effect. it’s state of mind thing, that worked well when he had to put himself in that mode of apex predator. right now, he'll pretend to be the wounded fish that’s bleeding out in the deep blue sea swamped by great whites. feeding his would-be predators with the thoughts that he is an easy meal that can be consumed at any second at their leisure. it was going to be a costly mistake that will serve nothing but more than sixteen families misery. that's if he decides to leave any distinguishable features left for the mortician and family to be able to identify.

     he lifted his alcoholic pineapple-banana beverage to his lips to take a long sip from the straw. he liked the environment of the hawaiian restaurant. he thinks about the places he wants to take his baby girl to visit when he has the window to do so and hawaii definitely made it onto his list. the weather wasn't anything to complain about. the sea water was fresh in comparison to the dirty ones gotham had to offer. by the looks of the woman, he had to be careful with himself and make sure zoe doesn't end up as a older sibling. floyd was completely living out a scene from one of those movies that stars obnoxious white dudes, sitting around in colorful tropical Hawaiian tree shirts, discussing whatever topic that further inflated their ego and self-worth.

     reality soon washed back over him, bringing him back to shore of the danger that lurked in his immediate vicinity. the men tried to blend in with the locals, and while the spot was magnetic to pasty-assed european tourists, the ones that sought take his and rick's life were a little bit too obvious. he looks from a brown-skinned server girl whose pretty face he registered to the back of his mind for later to his concerned comrade. he grabs hold of his shoulder and pulls him to him, so he can whisper in his ear like he had a dirty secret he couldn't wait to share.

     “ dig this, I have a couple of strong reasons why they can't. ” he was referring to the twin desert eagles that he planted underneath their table the night before. he already made a reservation for this specific spot because it was it the perfect vantage to point to take in the view of the entire restaurant. his blind spots were covered and escape routes had been mapped. he had a suspicion interested parties would sniff their way to them sooner or later. “ how about you? ” as a soldier, he was certain the man knew better than to come halfcocked anywhere. otherwise, it was going to be awfully inconvenient to carry the weight of two lives in the impending chaos.