#timegoesbyforusall

[timeguardiansarchive]

@timegoesbyforusall  (Has anyone ever put these two scenes together?

[unyieldingvalxr]

@timegoesbyforusall  Joe Cartwright & Anastasia Romanov  

[detectiverickitubbs]

“Oh god, please don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead.” ~From Johnny

@timegoesbyforusall

Castillo’s stern face is softened, though his eyes maintain a weariness of he father figure that had not slept in ages for fear one of his children might not return. Today, the most dreaded of his worries manifested itself in something of a nightmare. Castillo hated making house calls like this. Especially, since he had once been on the receiving end of a crushing loss.

Ever a man of few words, Castillo starts. “Johnny Cade?” He waits for affirmation that he was speaking to the right man before continuing his spiel. “Lieutenant Martin Castillo, Miami Vice. May I come in?” He questions. His reservedness is on display as he shuffles into the entryway of Tubbs and Johnny’s apartment.

Bashful hues briefly glance about his employee’s place of residence. It was certainly her’s- correction- theirs. Some of the elements there did no speak solely of Tubbs’s personality and so they were attributed to the man standing before him. But Castillo, as badly as he wished, was not here to pass judgement on their living quarters nor to play the role of a guest. “There has been an incident.” This line feels painfully generic to be applying to one of their best detectives. Clearing his throat Martin offered, “why don’t you have a seat?” He doesn’t relish this task at all. After all, there is no easy way to do this. He can however, comprehend the anxiety his statement has probably caused for he had once been on the receiving end with his beloved wife May.

“Tubbs,” he starts “has been involved on a dangerous case.” That statement was simplistic enough but there is more to it. “Things went horribly awry a few hours ago. A man named Legba has administered a neurological toxin into her blood stream. It’s not looking good. If she survives this, the effects may be permanent. She may not be able to return to our department.” This thought alone grieves every member of the OCB. Hands are shoved into the pockets of his black suit pants. He gives an ample pause before speaking again, “I’m here to give you a ride to the hospital if you want to visit her.”

Tubbs had been found face down in a blessedly drained pool. After Tubbs’s use had been expended, Legba and his men had simply thrown her away to die.  Fortunately, her partner and her co-workers had scoured and upended half the county in search of her.

At the hospital Tubbs lays in a state of disconcerting repose. She hadn’t yet wakened from the drug and fall induced coma. Her usually beautiful brown skin holds a ghastly shade of ashen grey to it. There are leaves and bits of debris tangled within her frazzled curls. The only real sign that she was still living happened to be the barely noticeable motion of her chest raising and falling. The neurotoxin often created a death like state. At best, the drug created a coma, severe body twitches, and hallucinations. At worse, the robbing of oxygen from the brain became so great that those injected would never rouse.

A masculine voice calls out to her, permeating the sea of fog encompassing her thoughts. The timbre of the voice is wholly familiar and it brings a warmth of recognition to her veins. That said, she can not quite place his name or worse still, his importance to her. (An effect of the powerful drug).

‘Oh god, please don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead.’

Long lashes flutter in an attempt to stir. However, her efforts to regain consciousness are to no avail. Her fingers of her right hand which had been balled into a tight fist, uncurl in a feeble effort to welcome his hand. It is her subconscious way of saying that she was fighting to return to him.

Lips twitch to form a word, though no real sound comes from her vocal chords. “Blackbird.” It’s meaning known only to her and Legba’s crew for now. If one wasn’t looking for her speech, they would clearly miss it.

[truerlifebegin]

@timegoesbyforusall

Rolling her eyes softly, Belle shook her head. Leave it to Vince to he so blasé about their recent difficulties and then brush it off with a chuckle and a smile. Sometimes, he could be so infuriating with his paralyzing inaction, but other times, he could be so damn charming that she couldn't help but fall for him all over again.

Opening her arms, Belle pulled Vincent close and held him tight. "I'm sorry too. I have no reason to get as worked up and anxious as I do... And I shouldn't take it out on you. I know that you have things going on that I could never begin to understand. I should be trying to make it all easier for you. Not harder. It's just... I know that you can do and be so much more if you'd just let yourself try. But still... Can you forgive me? Je t'aime, mon chéri. I want this to work, even if sometimes it seems like I'm saying otherwise."

Vince's revelation made her pull back, jaw dropping in awe. "You did what? Vince, darling! That's wonderful!" She laughed, hugging him again. "But what about all the stress? You won't be able to take the tranquilizers with you. How are you going to manage that?"

[timeguardiansarchive]

Great Adventures

@timegoesbyforusall (for Jack - potentially Titanic verse) 

The ocean was boundless in every which direction. The gentle lulling of the ship which, had first been accompanied by acute pangs of sickness, now felt as welcoming as a summer’s breeze on a hot day. But this, alas, was no summer’s day. It was scarcely deep into spring. Every now and then the ship would sail past mountains of stunning crystal clear ice. 

White gloved fingers trail down the railing of the passenger deck. “You suppose it will be long before we reach the new land?” Jane queries rather bashfully. For she had never been one to much speak to strangers. But under the strain of homesickness, she supposed any conversation was better than maddening silence. Especially, on a night so crisp as this one. 

[timeguardiansarchive]

@timegoesbyforusall (for Jack)

“Don’t come any closer. I’ll jump.” The words to her half intended threat nearly die upon her trembling lips. Its frigid outside. Internally, she is lamenting the abandonment of her coat’s warmth. The indigo waters are churning dangerously below the tread of her ornate shoes. 

[timeguardiansarchive]

Jack & Jane  ~ Unsinkable Ships - Sink

@timegoesbyforusall continued from X

The hour is creeping steadily towards the bewitching twilight, though it was just a scarcely after midnight. The outside temperature had taken a bitter plunge since night had stolen over the deep indigo waves. The stars above flickered their dreamily beautiful trails over the stillness if the ocean.

Oh what a lovely night it was! Jane can’t help but decide it was an inspirational tapestry woven together with the finest threads of fantasy. The internal artist was elated, soaring high above the long forgotten clouds. Even from steerage, it was positively splendid.

And that is when it was felt. The ship, the great unsinkable palace, had experienced a heavy rumbling shudder, as if it too were unable to bear the frigid weather and water. Such a frightful rumbling was enough to shatter the illusion of perfect peace for many. But not Jane. Jane hadn’t shown any semblance of concern until she had read it on Jack’s handsome countenance. “I don’t understand,” the young woman softly confides in a hushed tone. “I just can not believe it. This isn’t supposed to happen.”

The hallways are filled, brimming to capacity with half-frightened people. Some in their nightclothes, others dressed to the nines as they were nearly every day. All the motion was headed in all directions. Predominantly the main flow seemed to be headed towards the top deck where all the life-boats are stored. People were pushing, weaving in terrible webs against the chaos. Even the agreeable and adaptable Jane felt horribly overwhelmed by it all. Worst still, she had lost all sight of her dear ol’ daddy. 

Fingers jealously curl around Jack’s arm, pulling him closer than his own grasp had allowed. “My daddy. He must still be in the cabin,” she murmurs. Her gaze is directed mournfully back. “No. No I couldn’t possibly leave without him or you....” She was fearfully determined. 

Worse still, Jane petrified to be left alone. Whilst she could not venture to assume survival would occur at any rate given their precarious situation, she refused to fathom a life of hapless abandonment. No. She must delay. Soon enough they’d be calling for men too. Wouldn’t they? Then she, Jack, and daddy could board the life-boats together. 

[unyieldingvalxr]

Nastya & Joe Cartwright:

 @timegoesbyforusall Continued from X

Anastasia had been neglecting to acknowledge that she had been garnering stares ever since she had entered the establishment in pursuit of a drink. That is, until a cowboy type approached her.

Caribbean blues hues flit upwards slowly, careful to absorb every detail about him that she can. He was so very different from the Russian men. The most noticeable absences were the curled mustache and his dialect. Not that it was entirely disappointing for his timbre was surprisingly pleasant. 

Fingers coil into the hole-riddled fabric of her jacket, tugging it closer to her more noticeable curves. It takes her a minute to respond, switching from her mother tongue to English. “Thats because I... have... only just arrive.” She explains imperfectly as calmly as her thundering heart could allow.  

The whole town was not only foreign in the sense of location, but also in the fact that she had never enjoyed such liberated interaction with people outside of the palace- and worse still the house. But now, she had gone from a proud Romanov surrounded by family to an orphan with no one. She alone survived imprisonment and the murders at the Impatiev house. A soldier had rescued her and sent her to the Americas. The memory of which had caused her to request a drink. One that was taking far too long in coming. 

“ бармен! My drink...” She taps the counter almost expectantly not realizing that they didn’t always serve women.  

“I...is it ... how you say... wrong for me to be here? Or am I just a duck sitting?” Nastya ponders aloud, though her tone was a touch mousier than usual. She had no where else to go and only a few rubles left in her pocket.