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@uniondestroyer-archived
REBECCA.
“Dinner. You really think one dinner is going to make up for the fact that there is now a video of me doing my best Posh Spice impression on the internet? Do you know what will happen if the boys find that?”
it was worth a shot. ‘ bloody hell, i already apologised - ––––i’ll take the damn thing down if it suits you? ’
abrooklynbrat
‘ perhaps if i took you out for dinner, you could find it in you to forget this ever happened? ’
SEND ME TWO CHARACTERS AND I'LL TELL YOU WHICH ONE MINE WOULD SAVE FROM CERTAIN DEATH
Give me dark!Steve Rogers or give me death! The Destroyer could have so much fun with his mate Steve.
Your GENETICS load the gun.
Your LIFESTYLE pulls the trigger.
[ — Mehmet Oz — ]
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Blueberry Pancakes with Fresh Blueberry Syrup
Send me a misconception you think people have about my character & I'll explain if it's true or not.
((Not even a misconception - just send me things you think about my character and I’ll tell you yes or no.))
The Destroyer stood in his quarters –– a cell built specifically to contain him, made with the best technology of its age. It wasn't a clean cell, the concrete flooring littered with jagged stones and dust from the walls and ceiling. The Destroyer had spent some time in here alone, as had Brian Falsworth when he had once known himself, known his name, known his favourite food, the comfort of his mother's touch, the happiness of a joke between father and son, the touch of his lover. The Destroyer didn't know who he was for his programming had began to falter and the machines that he frequented were down and exceptionally useless to the Nazi's for the next few days. There was nothing more for them to do but throw the Destroyer into a cage and initiate the highest protocols to keep him contained. So far he had done nothing more than stand in the middle of the cell and study the space around him and out past the cell itself. He didn't know what he was. The Nazi's called him the Destroyer and yet he didn't feel as though that was his name. It took hours of standing, focusing, and surveying the room that he understood he should not have been there. Something in the back of his head told him he was wrong, that he was corrupt, that he should be terminated. In the days that followed those facts only became clearer and some part of him, a long unconscious part of him told him what the Union would do. He didn't think that that was the correct name but that was all he had. The Union would not stand idle in a cell and wait for his recalibration to commence. The Union would fight his way out or die trying. The Union would die with honour, fighting for his beliefs. The Union helped define him in his past –– at least that was what he understood. The Union would rather die than be used the way in which he had been used. He had mere hours from the humming of the concrete walls and the way that the Nazi's were hurrying around. It was time to act or the Union would be disappointed in him. He didn't want that, he found. It was then that he devised a plan –– so simple that the Nazi's had not foreseen it in the time he had been with them. However, now he was beginning to remember and that brought about a whole new set of actions. When he was sure that there was no one watching, he walked to the corner of the space, collecting the most jagged and useful large stone that he could see and returned to the middle of the room, turning his back to the door. Pressing the jagged stone into his forearm, he dragged it down, allowing a deep gash to open in the very middle of his arm all the way down to the wrist. Blood ran down his arms instantly and he forced his injured arm to flex his fingers to grasp the stone so he could complete the same course with the other arm. Finally he dropped the stone to the floor and let his arms drip a small pool of blood each to the ground while he closed his eyes. It was then that he allowed himself to truly think of the Union. That was until the Nazi's came in to fix him again –– but only after he had fallen to his knee's. He struggled, of course, but his strength was failing him and his head was muddled. So very unclear. Though the Union stayed with him while they sutured his arms and later strapped him to the machine. He fought so very hard but he had no chance. The Union would be so disappointed with him. And then the pain seared his thoughts and altered all that he knew.
"Bullshit. Now move before I make you move."
“I'm not going to fight you on this. I know what I'm doing. You can see him when he's no longer murderous.”
"Move."
“You know I can't do that, Jackie –––He's not your father right now.”
It had been some time since Brian had returned home –– to the family manner in England –– and to a life that he had no longer fit into. It was rather strange to think that the last time that Brian had been inside his family home he had been completely at ease, excited and enthusiastic about his life, despite the war that was waging over the world. Upon his return, however, Brian found that he no longer saw comfort in any of the rooms or items in the building. The pressure of his sense of detachment and the feeling of being estranged weighed down on him from the moment he had returned home, only for it to grow worse the moment he had learnt of his father's death. It had taken a great effort at the hands of his mother, sister and lover but eventually Brian learnt to live with the feelings, though they never really left at all. He would never again be the same man he had been before Germany but he would learn to adapt to his life once more –– and more importantly, he would learn to deal with the loss of his father. Though that in itself had set him back a great deal. Jack Falsworth had died a hero in the war –– that was what he and his family had been told. He had fought honourably and though people were sorry for the family's loss, they were not to cry over him but to think fondly of him and preserve his memory as he lived on through his family and friends. They had learnt to hold the burden of that news and live around it. Until there was news to the contrary. The first news that had reached Brian's ears had been maddening –– so much so that his jaw had clenched, his fingers curling into a fist and his eyes blazing with a fury that was every bit connected to the Destroyer. He hadn't yelled like he might have before the war, instead he stood silently and stalked out of the room to find out exactly where this murdering Union Jack imitator was and take them out personally. How dare they tarnish his father's memory! It was a month or so later, after tracking dedicatedly and following the trail of death and blood that Brian actually saw the imposter face to face. He had engaged in attacking the man but found that even with all of the extensive training and knowledge that he had acquired from the German's he still was only just able to walk away with his life –– though only after he had ripped the mask from the man's face and stared at the ghost that lurked beneath. It was an ugly truth that had Brian's head spinning, his thoughts working at a mile a minute and his heart racing –– something that was pretty hard to do these days. And yet, he had held no choice but to call in the cavalry. He had never needed more than himself to complete a mission, or a small team at the best. However, knowing what he did, Brian thought that the best tactical manoeuvre was to call for back up and proceed with caution. His father was, after all, alive and no doubt under the influence of a group much like the Nazi's themselves, though perhaps a little more ambitious having collected the Union Jack himself to do their dirty work. What had his father already done and endured to come this far? It was with the aid of Captain America, his lover –– Roger Aubrey, and a carefully selected tactical team that they had finally caught up to Jack once more and taken him down. Only then to move him to a secure facility to spend time in a cell until he could be brought to his senses. After all, Brian would not allow any harm to come to his father. He would pay the S.S.R. money to continue to detain his father until he himself could break through the programming that had changed Jack so thoroughly. After all, he was not beyond saving. And so Brian returned, keeping the barred cell door between him and his father, though he stood still on his side, hands clasped behind his back in a soldier's stance, studying the man that was no longer a father or husband. He was something completely different –– and Brian believed that he could get through to him. “This must be terribly infuriating –– to know that these people have so many expectations of you. The S.S.R. want you to return to the man you once were –– the Union Jack. But you're not him anymore. So why don't you tell me who you are now?”
[text]:I do feel like I owe you an apology for trying to fuck your dad last night but in my defense everyone knows I shouldn't drink tequila.
[text]: I don’t know what the most disturbing part is –– that you happen to be the same age as I am or that he didn’t seem to be making a conscious effort to stopping you.
[text]: Reminding you that I’m actually younger than you are isn’t going to help my case here, is it?
[ text ]: No. Its not. [ text ]: You're proving my point.
[text]:You kept whispering to me that the guy making your burrito was an angel.
[text]: Christ, I did, didn’t I? I can’t help it if I’m deeply appreciative of the people that happen to make my food.
[Text - Bricassee] You swore to me up and down it was a religious experience eating the thing. [Text - Bricassee] That this was the second coming of Jesus, swaddled in your burrito. [Text - Bricassee] I need to get you drunk more often.
[ Text - Butterscotch ]: From what I can recall it was an exceptional burrito. [ Text - Butterscotch ]: And his features were simply heavenly. [ Text - Butterscotch ]: I tend to be the life of the party when I'm drunk, love.
