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»»————- 𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘦: 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘵𝘩🕊️
𝙲𝙷𝙰𝙿𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝚃𝚆𝙴𝙻𝚅𝙴 — 𝙼𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙹𝚘𝚐 & 𝙳𝚛𝚞𝚗𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝙱𝚛𝚊𝚠𝚕
𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵
𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦,
𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘪𝘵'𝘴
𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦...
— ᴮᵒ ᴮᵉⁿⁿᵉᵗᵗ
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MOTIVATED BY THEIR ACHIEVEMENT AND CHANNELING THE PAIN OF LOSS INTO STRENGTH, Major l/n woke up early that morning to go for a run she so desperately needed to distract herself from all that negativity. Haunted by the lifeless images of her fallen comrades, their ghostly visages etched into her very soul, a constant reminder of her unbearable loss... Night terrors weren't a novelty to her; they had plagued her long before the war's inception. Yet, as the stakes soared higher and threats loomed larger, they morphed into grim specters, wielding enough power to shatter the fortress of defenses she had built around her all those years ago.
Every step she took was a defiance against the darkness, a declaration of resilience against the shadows that threatened to engulf her. With each stride, she reclaimed a piece of her strength, refusing to let her past dictate her present. This morning run wasn't just about physical exertion; it was a battle cry, a testament to her unwavering determination to rise above the pain and emerge stronger than ever before. And obviously, she couldn't leave her favorite member of the crew — Meatball, behind. Meatball, a majestic husky with eyes that seemed to hold the wisdom of ages, trotted alongside her with a grace that belied his size.
His presence was a comfort, a silent companion who understood her in a way no human could. With each step, Meatball's boundless energy and infectious enthusiasm infused her with a renewed sense of purpose. Together, they traversed the winding paths, their breaths synchronized in a rhythm of determination and solidarity. In Meatball's unwavering loyalty, y/n found solace, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there was light to be found in the love and companionship of those who stood by her side. The case on the other side of the base however, was not as productive.
Perched atop the crumbling fortress, a raven, visibly haggard and consumed by despair, raised his bottle. "Here's to Adams, Schmalenbach, Petrich..." He rasped, his voice raw with emotion, as he poured the last drops of vodka onto the barren ground. "And to all their brave men." With trembling hands, he drained the remainder of the bottle before hurling it furiously at their plane, the shattered remnants narrowly missing Biddick by a hair's breadth. Startled but not surprised by the raven's sudden outburst, the brunette's heart pounded with a mixture of fear and sympathy. The air crackled with tension as they stood amidst the wreckage, surrounded by the ghosts of fallen comrades and the echoes of battles past.
"You good?" Curt murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, yet laced with a steely resolve. "Do you feel anything?" Inquired the Air Exec instead. "Huh?" The man looked at him, confused. "You feel anything?" Bucky repeated, hobbling closer to his friend. "Mhm, yeah... I miss those guys." Biddick replied, his voice heavy with sorrow. "Because me, I don't- I don't feel a thing!" The raven almost tripping over his own feet. "Can you do me a favor?" He then requested, walking back to his original position. "What?" Asked Curt. "Come here — I want you to hit me." He commanded. "That's an order, come on!"
"Alright." The brunette's voice carried a weary resignation as he approached the stumbling figure of the drunkard. "I want you to land one right on my beak... Right here." The raven instructed, pointing to his nose. "Major--" Biddick tried to talk some sense into this man, only to be cut off within a second. "Don't give me MaJoR- I don't want mAjOr; Ranks off." He scoffed, removing his jacket and tossing it away, his breathing getting heavier as he struggled to stand still. "Stop horsing around, man." Curt tried to calm him down. "Horsin' around? I'm not a horse-" Egan scoffed, smacking the brunette's chest in a provocative manner. "Huh?" He did it again.
"Stop..." The man's sigh was heavy, his fists clenched in frustration. "You're from New York, right?" Bucky prodded once more, hoping to elicit a response. "So hit me!" The raven delivered a stronger punch this time, his frustration boiling over. In an instant, Curt retaliated, his muscles reacting with reflexive speed as he launched a powerful punch towards the Major's 'beak'. The impact reverberated through the air, the sound of fist meeting flesh echoing in the tense silence that enveloped them. As the blow connected, a flash of pain shot through Bucky's senses, his vision momentarily clouded by the force of the strike.
Sucking his teeth, the Major emitted a sharp, pained grunt, his body contorting with agony as he bent over, clutching his nose. Groans and curses escaped his lips in a torrent, mingling with the moans of discomfort that punctuated the air. The intensity of the pain was palpable, a tangible force that seemed to hang heavy in the atmosphere. With each labored breath, the Major struggled to regain his composure, his features twisted in a grimace of anguish. Curt, however, remained unbothered. He'd been getting into fights almost all his life, and only cared more about his bruising knuckles.
After a minute of deep breathing, the man finally regained his composure, straightening his posture as he walked over to his friend. Despite the tension that lingered between them, there was a sense of mutual understanding in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the trials they had endured together. As he approached, his friend stood ready, prepared to deliver another blow if needed. But instead of aggression, the man simply pat the brunette as a gesture of peace amidst the chaos that surrounded them. "I felt that, Curt." He smiled. "Felt that..." He muttered, pacing to the wing of the fort to release an ear-piercing shriek, letting out all his frustrations.
"Hey- Shut up, you're gonna start a howl!" Cried the girl as she crossed their path, her voice carrying a mixture of amusement and exasperation. As expected, the screech had triggered the dog that was part wolf, and Meatball began howling just as the girl feared. Meatball's mournful howl pierced the air, his wolf ancestry unmistakable in the haunting melody that echoed through the Thorpe Abbots. The girl shook her head in mock frustration, a smile playing at the corners of her lips despite her feigned annoyance. Regardless of the interruption to her run, there was a sense of joy in the shared moment, a connection forged through the universal language of laughter and camaraderie.
As Meatball's howl faded into the distance, y/n joined her friends on the fort, surrounded by the scent of alcohol lingering in the air, indicating they were still far from experiencing hangover symptoms. "The hell are you guys up to?" She asked as the sloppy raven helped her up. "Just celebrating your survival, Major. And the deaths of those who got to escape this hellhole of a universe." Scoffed the raven, blowing raspberries. "I gotta meet that goddamn new CO... first thing tomorrow." He informed. "Well, today is tomorrow, idiot," y/n said, rolling her eyes. "And I gotta meet him too before breakfast." She added.
"Well then... Let's get going, eh?"
(1.2k words)
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