Summary: You run into your childhood friend Steve and wonder if you’ve
missed out on a good thing.
Prompt(s): for @tatortot2701 ’s AU Writing Challenge!: “Please don’t tell me you got arrested
couple of swear words because it’s me, that’s all. :)
Word Count: 3078
Author’s Note: italics are memories/flashbacks. I
loved this when I started then I’m not so sure about it… I’m mostly nervous to
be back after such a long time away from writing. Oh well, nothing to it but to
do it, so here it is. Some angst and floof. Also thanks to @denialanderror, that b who points out my typos. :) Thanks for your help on this one.
The courthouse is a flurry of
activity at this hour. Soon it’ll settle into the quiet drone of transcripts
hammered out on antiquated technology, heavy doors groaning open and thundering
shut as accused and accusers alike rotate in and out of courtrooms. There’s
almost a peace to it for you, the steady rhythm of it all feels familiar and…
You’d learned long ago that
courthouses are far more mundane than Law & Order would have everyone
believe. The truth is people filter in and out, arguing over traffic stops and
staring each other down over divorce proceedings, sentences and decisions
moving across the desks of bored judges faster than the papers can move, and
all of it so incredibly commonplace. So incredibly boring.
But boring is good. It is for
you, at least. Having spent time on more than one side of a courtroom, it’s a
familiar place, and a safe one. Clutching today’s case file you ease back until
your shoulders and head reach the marble wall behind you and you let your eyes
drift closed, waiting to be called.
The tension just begins to slip
from your shoulders when a booming happy voice echoes off the stone all around
you, drawing your attention. You know it’s calling for you because it’s a
familiar voice, so very familiar you’d never forget it. Your eyes nearly pop out
of your head in surprise, your jaw falling open when you turn to finally look
“Please don’t tell me you got arrested again,” he teases, approaching you with arms
outstretched and a broad grin. “My caseload is full, and you know my mom’ll
kill me if I post your bail again.”
Author’s Note: part three of this soulmate series, thank you for being so patient, i’m already planning the next chapters, and a little heads up, but there might be two or three more chapters before the finale!! enjoy :)
Soulmate. When your whole world comes to a stop when destiny draws the pair close.
By the time you get back to your dorm, it’s already dark. The stars are twinkling in contrast to the dark emptiness of space. The view of the sky during your car ride was a changing spectrum of oranges, pinks, purples, and blues.
After leaving the cafe, you had driven around Seoul for hours, getting off every once in a while, and taking pictures. Although futile, since the pictures would disappear the next day when the time loop reset your world, you loved the act of capturing the scenery into a single square.
Unlocking the dorm door was a familiar, yet depressing scene. It meant another day of failing to find your soulmate. With the room still dark, you walk over to the compact refrigerator sitting in your tiny kitchen and grab your bottle of water. The brightness of the refrigerator momentarily fills up the room with yellow-tinted light, but disappears along with the sound of the doors shutting.
You walk over and collapse on your couch. Streetlights outside let see the empty road, and the doors of the apartments outside.
1…2…3…you count silently; however, you already know that there are 12 lamps lining the streets outside. Counting streetlights is something you do pointlessly on certain nights.
You take a sip from the water bottle in your hand and pull up the time from your cell phone.
11:47 pm shines from the screen. You rest your eyes…another day is over…
The lone car cruises down the street and you can hear the soft rumbling of its engine streaking down the pavement. You close you eyes for a moment, and let the events of today replay in your mind.
11:59 pm, you see now on your phone when you open your eyes. On top of the time, May 23, 2016 is written in smaller font.
You stare at the clock and wait to see the clock change, wishing that the date would change along with the time. However, before the time changes, fatigue washes over you, and an ungodly force forces your eyes to close and everything goes blank.
In the second grade, every song was a handful of orange Tic Tacs
rolling around my tongue: I knew all the words, could feel them
tangy, round, and smooth, but didn’t care which one was which.
I could sing back the Beatles perfectly with the words
all smashed together. I was the first one to memorize
any song the music teacher sang us. My favorite was The Ghost Ship. The words meant nothing to me, but the melody was full
of ragged sails and midnight hurricanes. I twas all port and starboard, I sang it ‘til the winds ran out of me.
My little brother was four years younger, but two steps ahead.
He memorized the shapes my mouth made, practiced them tirelessly. We shoved the words at each other as through it was a competition to see who could get them out the fastest, who could
drew them out the longest. And the cold wind blew.
By the time it was his turn to learn it in music class four years later,
he already knew the song so well, he confused the teacher.
My fist-chested brother. A fireplace shotgun, waiting for his chance.
Little girls learn how to sing The Perfect Man
before we ever know what the lyrics mean.
Strong arms, good hair, wide eyes, brave heart, big money, kind hands. We build model ships in bottles,
whispering life into the toothpicks and wire;
we make plans and blueprints for the one we hope is coming.
And come they do. Fleets and vessels. Battleships and barges.
They arrive on the horizon, flags to the sky.
I have seen what can happen when a woman tries to make a dinghy
into a galleon. Sometimes a rowboat is all you need.
Sometimes a whaler. A ferry.
Our model ships look perfect in their bottles,
but we do not know if they are seaworthy.
Sometimes the one that reaches your harbor
has already been through the storm.
Sometimes you cannot see the leaking until you are so close.
Until you are already out to sea.
Trying to batten down the hatches.
Bailing the water pooling at your ankles.
Manning the rigging alone.
My little brother pushed off from shore before the tide
had turned his way. Always two steps ahead.
For years, I didn’t want him going under.
I tried to anchor him against the storms,
threw him safety nets and buoys, trained myself in CPR
I have known so many men whose hulls have been made hollow
by the salt of this sea, whose sails are pulled so tightly into the wind, whose rudders no longer point to anything but drowning.
How do you keep a boy floating?
How do you keep him above the ache?
Men will drift eternal. Men will say, It’s just a scratch,
when the cannons have shot them full of holes.
They will look at their tiny driftwood tied with strings and say, Ship.
They will look at the broken wheel between their hands
and say, Captain. They will look at the men
who have jumped overboard without them and say, Crew.
Today my brother is twenty-years handsome. He is smirk and motor.
Femur strong and decision heavy. His desks have been worn down
by the feet of others, but his compass always points north.
I can hear the cabin creak. The chains rattle. The ladders sag.
It has been a decade since I heard him sing.
We are in Ireland, a country to which we have never been.
I have rented us a car I cannot drive and I have been gracelessly
maneuvering us through the green, green, countryside
toward the cliffs of the western coast.
The rain is a diligent mother who checks on us every few ours.
The sky is endless grey. My brother’s quiet fills the car
like a family holiday. I turn on the radio to mask the fog.
The coast arrives beneath us suddenly, the way all shorelines do:
full and vast, crumbling away at all our stubborn solidness.
And there, standing against the crashing sea,
sits the massive body of a shipwreck,
as though all of history has been gifted to us.
We are giddy with adventure. We are skipping over the rocks,
shouting to the wild horses and the ocean’s roar.
The jagged porthole opens to us, we pull ourselves
into the boat’s hungry mouth. It is empty and whole
Full of speed ahead. Prow to stern. Fore and aft.
We climb until we are scraped and muddy.
Rust children with lighthouse eyes.
And together we start to sing the words we have known since
childhood. As though they have been drifting through us, lost at sea, waiting for the right current to find safe harbor.
Oh, Brother. No matter your wreckage.
There will be someone to find you beautiful,
despite the cruddy metal. Your ruin is not to be hidden
behind paint and canvas. Let them see the cracks.
Someone will come to sing into the empty spaces.
Their voice will echo off your insides like a second-grader
and her little brother- four years younger, two steps ahead.
Singing 'til the metal vibrates. 'Til the ghost ship rings.
Vote 2017/BREAKING: The @yahoo201027 Decision Desk has declared Joseph Joestar to Advance to the Final Round. He won the First Half of the Semifinals. He is now the Alpha Party Nominee after beating Rin in a tight race 32-30. Joseph Joestar…Alpha Party Nominee. It will be one Bizarre Holiday Season comes December as Joseph prepares to take on either Star Butterfly or Milo Murphy. Rin Okumura tried to prevent Joseph from getting the nomination but…it didn’t end well for him. And now, he heads back to the 3rd Place Match comes Thanksgiving. Congratulations to the Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure fans, for making it this far.
(Well, is it Dark?)
Okay so after V-Day, they go to find the remaining knights - only to discover there’s about four left with their heads intact.
The fact that they all betrayed him just pushes Harry over the edge of sanity, makes his realise this thirst for blood and gore he’s always harboured (sated with his grotesque work at Kingsman before) might as well be indulged. And the church felt so good and there’s nobody who could pose to stand in his way.
He walks into the headquarters after he comes to this decision, straight to Merlins desk and asks him “Merlin, I know you crave it too. You always have. Come with me?” And he’s right, so right, and Merlin feels no loyalty to Kingsman, they betrayed him and nearly got Harry killed, that he goes. In part because he craves the freedom to choose his own targets, do things his way.
Percival and Lancelot join on next. There’s a massacre at a KKK meeting and they turn up to investigate since there’s a message painted in blood on the wall. ‘Kingsman no longer owns us.’ They see the message and just know its Harry and Merlin. They are assigned to hunt the two men down, and after months of clues and hunting and killings, they do.
But Percival and Lancelot are questioning the morality of Kingsman now. Harry is dubbed a traitor for killing Arthur there, they’ve been laying low, letting women and children be hurt to get to the top dogs, as was the new Arthur’s style. But Merlin and Harry, they see a group of bad people and they kill them. No innocents hurt, hell they’ve saved a fair few victims. So when it comes to it, both sides pointing guns at one another, Harry asking if they wanted to join in, really work for the innocent again, Lancelot looks over his shoulder at Percival and mutters “Percy…”
That’s all it takes, and both agents lower their guns, nodding solemnly and walking over to a mirror, looking a their reflections while the new Arthur screams a them over comms. Lancelot meets his camera in the mirror and tells Arthur that “Im sorry, but consider this my resignation.”
Percival looks at James, eyes so full of love, and looks at his own camera. “And mine, where James goes, I will always follow.” And they both leave their glasses on the side, together and splattered in blood, pointing at the pile of bodies.
So the four of them continue their carnage, setting up a base up north in one of the run down mansions Percival’s family owned hundreds of years ago, turning the old basement into a base and essentially becoming a brutal form of Kingsman.
Harry regularly hacks Eggsys glasses feed and talks to him, and Merlin, James and Percival do the same to Roxy. Planting seeds of doubt. Convincing them to stand on the right side and leave Kingsman. Then, after a few months of this, The two younger agents find out the drug ring they’ve been tracking this whole time, the one Arthur’s made they leave civilians behind in the firing line and let people go free to track for, doesn’t exist. Never really has. They’re both disgusted and angry, so when Harry and the crew overtake the comms while the two young agents are flying back to base, neither hesitates so go up North and head for the other agents.
So Arthur assigns more agents to track down this new group, and they all come back one of two ways: holding a resignation notice and a look of disgust, or in a body bag.
They taunt Kingsman, hack their feeds, take their missions, kill their agents, anything to destroy Kingsman further.
Meanwhile, Harry and Eggsy, Merlin and Roxy, and James and Percival all live happily ever after, killing and enjoying it, avoiding their trackers and realising just how far a group of people can go with some weapons, a base and total trust and faith in each other.
Written for the prompt on my stony bingo card - a picture of the helicarrier.
Steve looked up when
he heard the door opening. Tony walked in, for once not in his
armour, but …
Steve felt his mouth
Tony must’ve been
attending some meeting—he was now in the full Director uniform,
black material clinging to his body in all the right places. The
white straps were there just to test Steve’s patience, he was sure.
“You know, I was
going to work,” he complained, pointing at the paperwork on his
Tony raised an
eyebrow. “Wasn’t it you who suggested joining our offices?” he
asked, strolling towards Steve’s desk.
She’s never panicked in
her life so badly before. Between screaming, “Jones, watch out!” and jumping
toward him to push him out of the car’s way, she’s also never felt so much pain
in her life since joining the police academy.
She can’t help but just groan
and roll around, realizing she’s definitely cracked a few ribs and probably has
a concussion edging because damn does her head spin.
“Emma, fuck.” He
kneels down next to her and he smiles up at him, wincing because her face hurts
just as much from hitting the ground with a solid scrape. “Why the bloody hell
did you think that was a good idea?” he mutters, carefully lifting her
onto his lap, her promptly wincing at the pain coursing throughout her body.
“Can’t lose one of the
best detectives now, can we?” she chokes out, swallowing.
He’s already got his
hand pressing at a scratch which has opened up to begin bleeding on her shoulder.
“Just stay with me, love, help is already on the way.”
“Just hold me,” she
eventually says quietly, squeezing her eyes shut before cracking them open to
see his set jaw and worried blue eyes, “please, Killian. Just hold me.”
“I am, Swan.” He laughs
a little, more like forced laughter, she can tell even in her state. “Just stay
with me in return, darling.”
Because I was watching The Sign of Three and got Papa Lestrade feels.
The first time Rose met Greg was in a shopping centre. While Jackie was looking for a new blouse, little three year old Rose got bored and ran away to look at the toys aisle. When she went to find Jackie again though, she predictably got lost and sat down in the middle of the shopping centre for a good old-fashioned cry. It was seventeen year old Greg Lestrade, fresh out of college to take her hand, dry her tears and reunite Rose with her anxious mother.
Martha was always the sort to go above and beyond when it came to school work. Her colleagues in year six may have been content to prepare for a project about the emergency services purely in the library; Martha paused on her way home one day, and managed to wrangle a two minute interview out of Corporal Lestrade as he was out on the beat. She got an A for that.
Donna had spent her fair share of time in the clank. Her particular brand of teenage rebellion manifested though vodka from the local off-licence and a series of increasingly bad decisions. Finally Desk Sergeant Lestrade got tired of seeing her come through, and knew it was only a matter of time before Donna did something she’d really regret. With the help of Wilfred Mott (an old family friend), Greg convinced Donna to join a community service scheme, giving her a more positive outlet for her teenage angst.
Amy’s only encounter with Greg was a rather embarrassing one for all concerned. Having been pushed together by commuters aboard a crowded tube train, a series of awkward conversation starters left them both with burning cheeks, and led to Inspector Lestrade jumping off a station early, vowing next time to make sure he was actually talking to another police officer.
Clara and Greg never met face to face, but from time to time she’d see the silver haired Detective Inspector bustling around her university campus, but both were usually in a hurry, and passed by with ne’er more than a smile or a nod exchanged.