#and no one needs to sprint home after the opera in desperation to get home and be alone

[thebirdandhersong]

I should've just given my ticket away and gone to church when I realised that the opera was during the same time as the Candlemas service yesterday......I would've been a lot happier and my soul would've benefited a lot more 😭😭😭

[mr-and-mr-diaz]

Episode 4x04 Thoughts

Okay, dead brother? It's a *little* soap opera-y. HOWEVER, this could be balanced and well handled, so long as the writers, directors, and editors keep a firm grip on the tone. They were heading that way this episode with the amount of humor they infused in the telling of the secret, but by dragging it out the whole episode it got a little melodramatic.

I will say though, the Big Secret isn't *entirely* out of nowhere. We've known since Maddie was introduced that their home situation is... Unusual, and definitely lacking in support, which becomes all the more evident when the Buckley siblings go through crisis and near-death situations and there's just CRICKETS where the parents should be. (Like, yeah Eddie's parents overstep left, right, and center but at least they *showed up.*) The point being, yeah this is dramatic, but it’s not like TA-DA! DRAMA because it has a decent foundation in existing canon. So  even though there was zero clue or mention of a dead family member beforehand, the more than I think about it, the more I think there are enough building blocks to support it if everyone's careful.

Also, it’s not new for 9-1-1 to be this dramatic either. All the traumas that other characters have experienced, the way the writers handled them, the amount of drama and melodrama allowed? We’ve been here before. This is definitely one of the more dramatic arcs, but I think it can hold. 9-1-1 has walked this path before and we will walk it again! (We might sign for custody of the characters when we're done, but we're gonna see it through.)

Admittedly, I'm still too close to the new episode, it's too fresh in my head. As soon as I refine this shit down and it joins the rest of canon in my brain, I'll reassess. 

Right now I'm gonna go rewatch because this episode had some GEMS!

Buckley siblings being there for each other, even though they're a little awkward at it, the love and good intentions and fear of screwing up and causing MORE pain was always the motivation.

The Han siblings trying their best to be there for the Buckley siblings. It was ADORABLE, and beautiful to see. Even if being there meant physically running away (I see you Albert helping your bro keep a secret! Also damn, you can sprint!!)

Chimney trying his HARDEST to keep the secret. Did he succeed? Not by most people's metric, there were A LOT of slip-ups, but none of us can claim we didn't see real effort there.

The entire firefam helping Chim keep Buck's secret. They knew it would take the *lightest* prompting for him to explode with it, but instead never asked and made sure he wouldn't tell. Extra shout out to Hen, who had it literally DANGLED in front of her and was like "Nope!" That shit is DIFFICULT to do

Eddie and Buck playing The Hardy Boys (y'know if the Hardy Boys flirted with each other while solving crimes.) That was hilarious, it's fun when Eddie gets off his Dad/Military-Man horse to screw around with Buck, and I'm pretty sure Buck's one of the few people who get that side out of him. It was funny and cute!

May being a total BADASS at the 9-1-1 center! Woman, you have EARNED your solo run and then some! Cool, calm and collected is our May and reaching out for assistance and counseling as needed. 100/100 for communication, my friend!

Bobby being there for May!! Loved that! His perspective on being a first responder sounds like it might be more helpful for her than Athena's, and that isn't shade on Athena. They just are different people, and I think her step-dad telling her it was okay to feel bad without also taking unearned blame. It helped her cope.

Shout-out to Michael. It takes a big man to step up and offer a solution. It takes a bigger man to admit--especially to his own child--that he might not have the solution. That moment of "this isn't really my field of expertise so I can't advise but I'm here and I love and support you anyway"? That is some delectable shit right there, three thumbs up.

Second shout-out to Chimney this episode! His handling of the bomber was f-ing brilliant on so many levels!! Getting Eddie out of harm's way. Talking the bomber down, distracting him, he de-escalated the situation single-handed and ALSO found an outlet to vent about Buck that wouldn't cause him harm. Genius! And HYSTERICAL.

Eddie's growth! He's past the hitting out his feelings phase, and he's reaching out to make sure Buck doesn't follow that path. Also, trying to make room for Buck to talk about what's bothering him? Standing back and giving him space when he didn't want to talk? He was there for him so good.

Shout-out to Buck for speaking his mind! Notice this: he swallowed so much shit against himself, but the thing that made him break the first time? Is when they were hurting his sister. His protective instincts are very strong, we see it in his job as well. But the second time he spoke out?? That was for himself. PEOPLE we got Buck sticking up for himself to the people he is DESPERATE for acceptance from and that is one of the most difficult things to do. Dare I call this the emerging of Buck 3.0? And I suspect we'll see more in the upcoming episode.

In conclusion, I think the 118 should be renamed Bobby Nash's Home for Kids with Shit Parents. We got Eddie, Chim, Buck. At this point can we just assume that Hen's parents are shit as well? And then there's Bobby, like he knows he's got step-kids, but does he realize just how many? He must, he cooks dinner for all of them every day... Right?

Next episode I'm looking forward to:

Good tone and pacing that steers clear of melodrama while still delivering tasty dramatic beautiful emotional moments.

The firefam proving to Buck that they love him, accept him, and have his back

Buck realizing he doesn't need his parents in order to feel whole. A continuing growth arc where he is able to acknowledge his feelings and ask for what he needs.

A good balance between the emergencies and the personal moments. After episode 1, the focus has HEAVILY been on the personal, leaving the emergencies to fit themselves in where they can. Obviously not expecting next episode to rebalance that scale, it's a Begins episode, but after that? Back to business.

This is a Buddie wish: continue to see these fun moments between them that we're seeing this whole season. All the banter. I REALLY hope Eddie and Chris get a chance to show up for Buck the way he's showed up for them so many times without undermining Buck's personal journey or ability to stand on his own two feet.

I REALLY hope Bobby gets a moment to be the dad Buck needs. That would be beautiful and so necessary for Buck. His heart is so big, he needs to know who he can trust with it.

I'm sorry 9-1-1 writers. Your job is thankless and my demands are MANY. But I still have high hopes for next week!

Whoever made it to the end of this, thank you. It was supposed to be like a paragraph, I swear, but... Well, here we are. I'll probably write more throughout the week as I process, too. I'd love to know your thoughts as well, hmu!

[hyperfixationswithkate]

connect | davey jacobs

reader x davey jacobs

[modern newsies au] 

summary: It’s been two years since they spoke, and they need a wedding date. What could go wrong? 

The opening of ‘You’re My Best Friend’ plays as you anxiously await for a response. The song he’d made his contact all those years ago as a joke but you’re too sentimental to let it go. You sprint across your apartment to grab it. “Hi,” you pant into the receiver. “As for your proposition, for you” your old friend said, “anything”. Your heartbeat races even faster at the thought of seeing him again. “Thank you” “See you then” He says and then the receiver clicks. 

Almost a month and a half later, you sit on your couch waiting. Fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, you think about the last time you saw him. It was almost two years ago now. After graduation, you two had slowly grown apart. People thought you guys were made for each other, actual soulmates, but time is a cruel mistress. Romance was never a word you would use to describe your relationship with Davey. He was always your partner in crime, your best friend, never your boyfriend. Well not never, the amount of times you’d see him laugh or talking or just existing and imagine a world where you two weren’t just friends. But the possibility of love wasn’t worth risking a friendship over. 

Somehow the idea of seeing him still makes you feel butterflies. Even though he recently moved to New York for a grad program, you didn’t reach out with the fear of being awkward or just wanting to leave things the way they were. But a friend’s wedding where they were desperate to meet your childhood friend after learning he’s in town and needing a date, a proposal arised. 

It wasn’t a large wedding but large enough that you could leave early if things got weird. Getting cornered into bringing a guy you haven’t seen in years to a wedding where you barely knew the bride wasn’t the finest combo but it will have to do. All your worries and fears were pulled from your mind with a knock on the door. ‘Here we go’ you thought. You pull the door open with a deep breath as you see him.

Wow, college has done him well. Davey was always handsome but wow. Maybe time isn’t so criminal after all. Suits make anybody better but damn does he pull it off. “Hey, long time no see” he says, “shut up” you breathe as you hug him. The silk of the suit touches your face, you can smell the laundry detergent. The same one he’s used since he was a kid. The stale cotton smell fills your mind with nostalgia. Memories of crying into his shirt over god knows what, or borrowing a jacket from his car after a spring rain. A small smell brings you back to a past life, a completely different person, someone afraid of the endless possibility of the future. But his voice brings you back to the present. As he pulls away from the hug, he says “So y/n, what’s the plan?” 

You two leave your apartment in an almost awkward silence. The fear of making things weird after two years of limited contact weights on you. As you approach his car, he says “so how did you get wrapped into a wedding?” You take a moment to reply and say “I barely know at this point, the groom is a friend of mine from my freshman writing class. His friend group is filled with frat boys and trust fund babies but he’s an alright guy and I am still easily peer pressured.” You ramble. 

“You have a theme of finding the one alright guy in a group of animals” He says, winking at you. “A prime example being your juvenile posse from freshman year.” You say. Davey playfully gasps, acting offended. “Jack, Race, Romeo, and the rest of the goonies weren't exactly angels but they weren't heathens” He says in an overly dramatic tone. 

He changes the subject before I can poke fun at his boys again saying “Me and Jack are sharing an apartment while I finish my double major and while he’s still doing random things to pay for art school. Some of the other boys are around town. It’s kind of homely though, especially through the first couple weeks. What was it like living somewhere completely new all on your own?” You think for a second and say “It’s kind of nice. Starting completely fresh. No one has any expectation of who you are. It was rough at first without anyone close but I was able to change without fear of ruining old friendships.” He nodded silently, definitely thinking about my statement and analyzing it like the over thinker he’s always been. 

We sat in a comfortable silence as we approached his car. Davey takes two large steps to reach the car door before you, “M’lady” he says as he opens the door. The inside of his car smelled like a lemon air freshener and his dashboard was covered in post it notes with random things scribbled on them. “What are these?” you say, staring at the little notes. “Oh well they started by me forgetting things all the time and it evolved into the boys leaving notes every time they’re in here alone. I’m too sappy to take them down” He replies as he gets into the driver seat. ‘If you mess this up, I’ll deck ya. Love Race’ reads one of the notes. Davey notices you eyeing the note as he starts the car and says quietly “Race wrote that one about today. He really wants us to be close again so when I drive down here to see you, I pick up cheap weed for him.” ''God that's such a Race thing to do'' you say laughing. He makes nervous eye contact with you that makes you think that maybe weed wasn’t Race’s only motive for us meeting again. But Davey speaks before your mind can race too far off, “So what’s the address for this wedding venue?” 

As we drive for a few minutes, Davey turns on the radio to fill the weird gap of silence between conversations and of course the first sing playing is “You’re my best friend” by Queen. The song about your partner being your best friend is playing, the song that could definitely be labeled as “our song” is playing, the universe is playing a cruel game on us today. Davey turns to you recognizing how significant this song is and says “You better remember all the words to this song” and of course I do. I reply by singing the opening verse very loudly. To which he does the exact same thing. As the song fades out, he says “I remember listening to that in high school. We used to sit on your bedroom floor and do homework while the whole Night At The Opera album played”. The nostalgia flooding back to you as his eyes focus back on the road. A particular memory stands out.

One night we were both studying for our AP Lit test in my bedroom. It was almost 2am and you’d been studying for hours. We snuck down to the kitchen for some snacks before the final haul of work. Running down the stairs your feet slip and Davey catches you in his arms. As you balance again, his arms don’t fall away and you turn to face him about to ask him if something is wrong. His eyes staring deeply into yours as you look at him and you savor the feeling of his warm hands on your arms. The moment quickly passed when your cat meowed very loudly at your feet, scaring the both of you apart. After raiding your kitchen, you two swiftly return upstairs to finish studying and hopefully avoiding another borderline romantic encounter for the evening. Once you close your bedroom door, Davey said “What’s your favorite record at the moment?”. He was trying to avoid studying but I didn’t really care. “Currently it’s A Night At The Opera by Queen. I just got it on vinyl and it’s definitely a winner” I say back. “Well then put it on” he says jokingly gesturing to the small record player in my room. “Alright mate” you mumble in a vague british accent knowing that’ll get him to laugh, and of course he does. You put on the record and the opening instrumental starts playing. 

We study for most of the album, only interrupted by pages flipping, pencils scratching, yawning, and me flipping the record. By the end of the album, we’re both lying on the floor staring at the ceiling in exhaustion, the carpet touching my bare arms as the final notes fade out. “That was incredible,” Davey says quietly, turning to face me on the ground. “I know” I say nodding, leaning towards him. For a few seconds, we were close enough together we could have kissed. Staring at each other waiting for the other to make a move. He turns away, a fear of making things weird overcomes him. You can tell in his face that he regrets it the moment he turns. 

The memory fades as the car stops at a red light. Turning to Davey as his eyes are fixed on the road, you see the side profile that you saw everyday at school. The slightly crooked nose that got broken from a flying book during lunch. The eyebrow that has a small scar above it from tripping at the city pool during freshman year. The pink blotch of color on his cheek that never seems to leave no matter the temperature. All these memories attached to him for better or for worse. 

He notices you staring as he turns the corner. “What?” he says quietly, blushing. “Nothing, just thinking” you say equally as quiet. “About what?” he almost whispers. Just as you panic about what to say, the GPS says “You have arrived at your destination”

[post-itpenny]

❝ A tale befitting any opera. ❞

One Being Ruth.

Decided to do some DBD with our Survivor and Killer OCs. I apologize if this seemed like to ran too long. Irene likes to talk.

Ten trials.

That’s how many it took for Irene to come to her senses on just what had become of her.

She would later learn at the Killer’s Campfire that there were some that had taken much longer. Perhaps The Entity no longer saw the need to keep a ruse with her, or perhaps it never tried to begin with. Perhaps Irene had created the delusion that this was meerly a series of shows all on her own.

But she had to admit it was far easier to process the trials as merely a performance. None of the supporting cast really stayed dead and was not their director/ producer also their audience?

Before, the times between trials felt like a strange dreaming state. Sleepwalking through the theater as her mind tumbled through jumbled bits of memory and feeling. All of it was painful, she suspected that part was her new director’s doing. Her hurts and frustrations from a lifetime of being so close but never close enough, of never being good enough for too long.

And then there was her costume… it had to be Ruth didn’t it?

Irene found even after coming to her senses she did not care much for the Killer’s Campfire. Visiting when needed then going off to whatever performance she was slated for in one trial ground or another. There was no script, though like many an actor Irene appreciated the chance at improv. After she would spend her time in the theater. Acting out scenes from old scripts, reorganizing the prop room, or like today she was singing to the empty rafters. Anyone who heard her may or may not have been surprised to find the diva actually had a very lovely singing voice.

Irene was working her way through the aria of Puccini’s Madame Butterfly when the rushing sigh of her director’s presence filled the hall. It seemed, much to her delight, this trial would be coming to her.

There was a slight pull, the tiniest tug as someone else entered the theater. Ah, so her sound technician was here today? Well good, what's a performer without a decent set of stage hands? Though she supposed he was more of a fellow actor these days.

Irene smirked and skulked off to her dressing room where her rapier sat waiting and... perhaps something else a bit of a treat for today maybe? Around her the place shifted, generators, pallets, and hooks appearing.

A deadly game of cat and mouse. Such drama, such suspense. A tale befitting any opera…

Irene adored it.

Accept of course a few members of her supporting cast-

“Hey you hag!”

Irene growled as she turned to spy a grin and mass of curly hair.

Mary shot Irene the middle finger “come and get it bitch!”

Irene sighed, it was so hard to find good talent these days.

This one enjoyed a good chase and much to Irene’s dismay, lead her around the map. The sharp clicks of her boots interrupted as a pallet came crashing down on her head. Irene let out a shriek as stars flashed before her eyes.

The impertinent girl let out a trill of laughter as she zoomed off. Irene had already learned that the girl would only grow faster if she could not follow, and it drove her mad. The others called this kind of survivor and Obsession. Another of their director’s tricks, you needed to kill this one, the thrill of the chase too powerful. Irene hated it.

Which was why she left the little imp alone.

The adrenaline of a trial felt akin to the one she would feel in auditions in her younger years. A desperate but thrilling pursuit. Her first role in New York had been one of the sisters in The Pirates of Penzance, a comedic opera. A somewhat smaller role in the production but she still had to fight tooth and nail for it. She remembered how lovely the leading lady Maryanne had been, but it was Ruth that fascinated her.

Ruth was a multifaceted role, comedic in being an older lady who was hard of hearing yet roped into a band of pirates. However, act two showed how calculating and manipulative she was. Arguably one of the actual main antagonists of the opera. A very young Irene had been fascinated with the duality and of course, an older woman dressed as a pirate. It reminded her of all the times she and her siblings played pirates as children. The middle of eight siblings normally left Irene with little chance as captain and almost always being sent to walk the plank for insubordination or mutiny. The sea being a particularly deep puddle outside her family's home after it rained.

A young Irene had mused that Ruth would be an enjoyable role to play one day, teaming up with the Pirate King and dressed in such a fun costume. Then, it was just two seasons ago that she was casted as Ruth and Irene could not help but think about how this meant she had the appearance to match a foolish old woman.

She was wearing the Ruth costume now, of course The Entity picked it.

Irene rubbed the back of her head as her feet left the ground and she floated down the hall opposite of where the girl had ran, but it seemed the little imp wasn’t ready to let Irene go just yet.

“Where ya going huh?” Mary teased as she ran past Irene and ducked behind the rubble of a row of theater seats. “Is it time for your afternoon nap?”

“It seems to me you just can’t keep away darling. Not that I blame you.” Irene sneered, a wicked glint in her eye as the fingers of her left hand twitched.

Foolish.

The girl popped up to dash off when Irene lashed out. The strings tied to her fingers tightening as they wrapped around the joints of Mary’s arms and legs. The survivor gave a yelp as all feeling left her body save for the burning sensation where the strings connected.

Irene chucked, “I’m not one for heavy lifting. How about instead we take a walk?”

Survivors had dubbed her The Muse since she had once been an actress, they also all agreed her “special” ability was terrible.

Mary stuck her tongue out at Irene as her arms reached up to haul her own body onto the hook.

“My now don’t you look just picture perfect right where you are.” Irene sneered, “but this is what separates someone like you from me. You’re only fitted to be a piece of the background, a small part of a trial in which I have the starring role. Why else would there be four of you? Why else so many chances to keep the show running but for my benefit? Why else-“

“Lady! Do you ever shut up?” Mary groaned as she wiggled on the hook. “If you’re gonna just stand there and drone one like that I’m going to let the damn spider god-thing to come and get me before I die of boredom.”

Irene rolled her eyes and stalked off, trying her hardest to keep her composure. She could be patient just a little longer.

She became aware not long after that someone had rescued her but Irene could only laugh, she had decided to treat herself today after all. Something special she had brought to the trial.

In the basement she had at last found Thomas fishing a rather fancy looking med kit from a chest.

He wasn’t one for taunting, instead locking eyes with Irene for a moment and dodging the slash of her rapier. Up the stairs and backstage they went. Irene grinning like mad as she chased him room to room. Irene reached out with her puppet strings only to snag the ankle of someone else.

Thomas looked over his shoulder to see Mary tangled up in the attack. He spun on his toes, grabbing her arm and in the process felt the sting of something fusing into his elbow.

Irene seemed to almost glitch for a moment, as if overwhelmed by having two people on her strings at the same time. She doubled over, hands clamped over her head as she cried out in pain. Thomas wasting no time in pulling Mary free and shoving the med kit he had found into her arms. She gave him a quick salute of thanks as they ran in opposite directions.

When Irene recovered she was seething with fury, tearing across the stage and through the halls, downing anyone she could find.

Soon a young man wearing broken glasses found himself on his last hook. Irene noted the sounds of only three generators completed. Such strange things, loud and reminding her just slightly of the engine in her father’s Model T.

Irene found a redhead sprinting across the mezzanine when again the imp was back and jumping in the way to take the slash of Irene’s rapier.

“Didn’t your mom teach you not to run with sharp objects?” Mary taunted as she dogged another attack and looped Irene around a row of seats.  

Mary leaped over the railing only to be caught again by the swipe of the thin sword. She gave a yelp before crashing down on the stage below. Irene wasting no time in following suit.

She stood over the girl with a mad grin, listening to the whispers of the entity who had been watching the performance so far. The Muse hummed in delight as Mary’s eyes wided for just a moment, they both knew what was coming.

But then she smirked, “eh… still worth it.”

The strings lashed out again. Suspending the survivor in the air. The Muse stood before her, so much fury built up over the trial, over a lot of things. She shrieked as she slashed at her victim over and over before driving the weapon through Mary’s chest. Her dead body collapsing to the floor in a heap as The Muse turned towards the empty audience seats and took a bow.

[harrysbbby]

European Adventure Part 6 - Peter Parker x Reader

Here is the final part! Thank you for your patience and I hope you enjoy! I would love to hear your feedback and comments! Also, send requests of what you’d like to see next.

P.S: this is a long one!

“I tried to help you walk away… now you’re making me do this,” Beck’s voice echoed as Peter’s world swirled into darkness, illuminated only by green fog.

School lockers came crashing down as Mysterio, clad in his suit and a sphere of uncertainty on his head, walked towards Peter.

“You told me you were just a kid…” Peter tried to fire his webs at him, but they evaporated into green dust. Peter tried to punch him but failed, punching into a concrete pole. “You told me you wanted to hang out with that girl.”

“Help!” your voice screamed. Peter looked around hurriedly.

“Y/N” he called, slamming through a door. He halted quickly as to not fall of the edge. The balcony looked familiarly like the Eiffel Tower.

He had thought about bringing MJ up here and giving her the Dahlia necklace, and he even told you this- but after getting to know you, his plans changed, and he wanted it to be you up there with him. But not like this…

“Peter,” he turned to face you, as you stood dangerously close to the edge. “What’s going on?” your fearful voice asked him timidly.

“I know this isn’t real,” Peter declared.

Green fog materialised around you as a hand emerged and tightened around your neck.

“Do you though?” Beck taunted, lifting your body up over the edge.

“Y/N,” Peter yelled, running towards you. Mysterio let your body drop, plummeting towards the earth, “Y/N!” Peter called for you, reaching his hand out. His fingers slipped passed yours as he dove head first towards the ground. His leap was cut short as his head came crashing into hard concrete.

You screamed echoed hauntingly as the darkness consumed his surroundings again.

---

The next morning yourself, Ned and MJ were standing outside your hotel, packed bags in hand, waiting for the shuttle. None of you had heard from Peter since he had swung out of the window the previous night. And you were beginning to worry.

“Don’t worry,” Ned said, reading your mind (and anxious body language), “he does this all the time. He’ll be fine.”

“Yes, he might, but I never knew it was Peter all those things until now,” you whispered back, careful to not let any of your classmates hear, “And now he’s got a bad guy after him, and by extension, us- because we know he’s bad! You can’t blame me for being stressed.” You looked at him pointedly.

“She’s got a point,” MJ quipped, not even looking up from her book.

Mr Harrington announced that there was a slight change of plans: you would fly home via London, spending the day there before flying home.

The three of you shared a silent, knowing look: this trip had been altered with one too many times for this to not be suspicious anymore.

Nevertheless, you all boarded the coach that would take you to the train station, as you had no other option but to. You boarded the train and caught it into the bustling city of London.

The class was ushered towards a double-decker bus, as you were going to sight-see before heading to the airport, when you heard Brad’s voice speak up.

“Is no one else going to acknowledge how crazy this is?”

“I get it.” Mr Dell spoke. “There’s been nothing scientific about this science tour at all,” Brad gave an exasperated sigh at his words.

“No, no, no. I’m talking about Peter. Has no one else noticed how shady he is?” He looked at the class expectantly, but no one showed even an ounce of interest, yet, he continued anyway, “Because I saw him in the bathroom of a rest stop with some woman in his underwear, and he’s always sneaking away?” Your heart hitched- what if Brad had figured it out… “Like back at the Opera? And now he’s suddenly off the trip, with his family in Berlin? Is no one else here interested in the truth?” Brad finished.

You shared a side glance with MJ and you could see that Ned was also looking at her. She lightly raised her hand, giving you guys a confident nod before turning to Brad.

“The very concept of objective truth is fading out of the world,” she spoke cryptically.

“George Orwell. Thank you, MJ,” Brad looked grateful, unknowingly so, as he obviously didn’t realise MJ was not on his side.

“Well,” you spoke up, frantic to get off the topic of Peter’s inconsistency. It would only take one more cog to turn for most of the class to figure out what was really going on. “Since Peter isn’t here to tell his truth, what about you Brad, why do you think it’s cool to take photos of people in the bathroom with said woman?” you countered, crossing your arms over your chest. Your classmates’ faces dropped as their noses turned up in disgust

“Yeah not cool dude,” Flash said disapprovingly.

“What no it wasn’t like that…” Brad began, looking desperately at you and even more desperately at MJ.

“Let’s put all this craziness behind us and have a nice peaceful afternoon,” your teacher interrupted, “’Sounds great Mr Harrington’ said the class.” He said defeatedly as you all moved towards the double-decker bus.

“Good work MJ,” you whispered as you placed your bags into the carrier and made your way onto the second level of the bus.

“You too,” she said, “We make a pretty good team. What would he do without us?” she joked mockingly. You giggled as you and Ned took the seas beside her.

--

“Can you tell Y/N I’m sorry.” Peter said to Happy. He looked up with concern at the man, tear stricken and with dried blood on his face.

“You can tell her yourself. You’re gonna make it out safely and alive.” He finished sternly. Peter nodded dejectedly. He looked up at him pleadingly,

“Please keep her safe.”

--

“Some thing about this is not right,” you stated as the bus came to a halt atop of Tower Bridge. You stood from your seat, peering over the side of the bus. Ned and Peter rose to join you.

“You’re an F.O.S now,” Ned spoke casually. Your face frowned in misunderstanding, but he was completely oblivious to the fact you had no idea what he was talking about. Luckily MJ saw your confused look and huffed before clarifying:

“Friend of Spider-Man.” You let a small ‘Oh’ in understanding as Ned continued,

“You just have to stay calm.”

A loud rumble of thunder boomed. You turned to see murky clouds wisping around the buildings as the sky grew darker.

You sighed as you heart pounded in your chest with fear, “Do I have to stay calm now?”

--

You ran along the Tower Bridge as the “monster” destroyed everything in its path. Cars were exploding, people were screaming, and you struggled to keep paced with MJ’s long legs running in front of you.

You caught up with her as you failed to stop before slamming into her. She had stopped to pull Flash and his live-stream towards the rest of class.

As you reached the side of the Thames, you saw the destruction-  the bridge was on fire and the sides of the river banks were falling apart.

“Oh my god,” you spoke in horror.

“It’s not real!” Ned spoke, albeit unconvincingly.

“Well it looks pretty real to me!” MJ yelled.

“Hey look, it’s Mysterio! He’s going to save us!” You heard Brad’s voice cut through the chaos. You could see a stream of green fly towards the “monster” and start battling it. Your classmates starting cheering as realisation dawned on you.

“Guys,” you caught MJ and Ned’s attention, “Mysterio knows we know.”

“Then we’re in danger!” Ned exclaimed. MJ nodded,

“and so are they,” MJ said, referring to your class, “We gotta get out of here.”

The three of you began running, trailed by Betty and Flash. As you were sprinting around the Tower of London you turned around to check your surrounds and you saw a figure falling from the sky- black and red, and with a Spider shaped logo trailing behind it…

“Oh my god,” you stopped running, Ned and Betty crashing into you. Your group stopped and followed your line of sight. “It’s Spider-Man!”

You all cheered, watching as he dipped out of sight and into the fight. You stood there for a moment until debris flew passed you, causing you all to duck.

“We need to keep moving!” MJ ordered, grabbing your hand and pulling you with her. The rest of the group followed suit.

As you continued to maneuver your way through the crowds you heard Flash scream,

“the monster was full of drones, it was crazy!”

You turned and saw the illusion powering down, revealing the drones.

“MJ…” you called warningly.

“I know!” she yelled, squeezing in between two groups of people, “We just need to keep moving!”

As you rounded the corner, a man in a suit came running towards you.

“Ned!” he called. You group stopped.

“Happy!”

“I need to get you out of here!” he said.

“Who are you?” you asked.

“I work with Spider-Man, you gotta get on that jet…” he started but Flash interrupted.

“You work FOR SPIDER-MAN,”

“I work with Spider-Man not for Spider-Man,” Happy emphasised. A crashing sound boomed from behind him. The jet he had just run from burst into flames. He turned around to face you all stressfully, “new plan!”

You started to run into the Tower, Happy mere steps behind you.

“We’re okay, just go get Beck!” You heard him yell. You halted and turned to the man.

“Is that him, is he okay?” Happy stopped and looked at you knowingly.

“Y/N?” you nodded, “he’s fine,” he said shortly, grabbing your shoulders and twisting you around to run, “keep moving.”

You all took your hiding positions behind the pillars, knowing that the drones were trailing closely behind. You could hear the mechanical whirring as one entered. You stood still against the brick of the pole. MJ was to you left, Ned and Betty on the next Pillar over and Happy and Flash the next pillar to the right.

The buzzing increased and you could only assume more drones had flown in. Ned and Betty silently looked at MJ, she turned around, trying to telepathically telling you all her plan.

You saw Happy shake his head as MJ stubbornly nodded. She slowly grabbed the Flail, but its weight was too much for her. It started to fall to the ground, but you grabbed onto the top of the stick, helping her hold it up.

Ned and Betty pushed one of the knight statues down, causing the drone to shoot at it. MJ wielded her weapon, lifting it up into the air and bringing it down onto the drone. You grabbed the spear of the knight next to you and stepped out from behind the pillar.

You covered MJ, launching the spear at the drone point at her. It faltered, unable to shoot. Another drone emerged and began shooting. You all screamed and began to duck.

“Into the vault!” Happy screamed, directing you all through the large doors, as you pulled them closed Happy through the shield he was holding, but fell short, missing all the drones.

“How does Cap do that?” he exasperated as the doors were yanked shut.

---

Mysterio was defeated. Peter limped across the bridge. His whole body ached as if it was on fire. He could hear the shuffling of gravel as footsteps pounded towards him.

He looked up to see your figure flying towards him.

“Y/N!” he exclaimed, attempting to pick up his pace but struggled as his legs threatened to give way underneath him.

You discarded the spear you had brought with you from the Tower of London as you near him- you could see dried blood covering his face, dark circles under his eyes as his stiff body struggled to hold itself up.

Tears pricked in the corners of your eyes as you embraced him. He could feel your body around him, squeezing tight, holding him up. You nuzzled your head in his neck as you felt his body relax, the weight of the world lifting off his shoulders.

“Are you okay?” you squeaked, pulling back to look at his face. He smiled meekly.

“I’m okay,” he croaked. You huffed as you pull him into your arms again. You could feel his body shaking, probably from shock and adrenaline. You reached down with your left hand to grasp his right, pulling it into your chest, rubbing his back slowly with your other hand.

“Shhh, it’s over now,” you cooed. You let him feel the slower pace of your heart, the soothing rubbing of you hand on his back. His breathing slowed and his body visibly stopped shaking.

You stepped apart and he looked at you dazed due to his unusual calmness.

“Thanks,” he whispered.

“No problem. My sister used to get panic attacks after our parents disappeared in the blip. So, I, uh, got really good at calming her down.” You rambled, fiddling with your fingers. You had subconsciously become aware of the fact that this was the first time you had been alone with Peter since you had found out he was Spider-Man.

“Well, um, you’re really good at it.” Peter said. You nodded before gesturing behind you.

“I brought that,” you said pointing at the spear. You hear Peter let out a chuckle, “in case you needed back-up.”

Peter smiled, “Thanks. I would love for your to be back-up.” He furrowed his brows at his own words, “wait- that sounded weird. Like I don’t want you to get hurt but it’s really nice that you want to help...”

“Peter,” you interrupted him. His mouth snapped shut as he looked at you embarrassed. “I got what you meant.”

He lets out a puff of relief, “Oh good… but I really didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“I know,” you reassured him. “But also, because that sweaty guy with us told me.” Peter looked confused, and as you went to clarify for him, he realised.

“Happy.” You both spoke at the same time. You both looked at each other sweetly, both of you laughs filling the air, drowning out the dwindling sounds of destruction and fear…

“I really like you.” Peter said. His words were short but held all the meaning they could. He looked at you deeply as he anxiously fiddled with his mask, conscious of the fact he had laid his heart out on the line.

A smile broke from your lips as butterflies erupted in the pit of your stomach. Your face felt warm as a blush appeared on your cheeks at his words. Your eyes met his as you mouth began to form words. And with just as much meaning you spoke:

“I really like you too.”

Peter’s fidgeting ceased as the nervousness coursing through him was replaced by excitement. His adrenaline spiked as he leaned in to do the second most terrifying thing he had done today (after defeat an evil super villain): kiss you.

Both your lips puckered as you joined in a weak, timid kiss. You pulled apart before attaching again, this time with more passion. You both held onto each other tightly as your lips connected in flurry of fireworks.

You broke apart, smiling giddily at one another.

“C’mon, Pete,” his heart fluttered as the nickname left your lips. You hooked your arm under his, wrapping it around your torso as you began to move off the bridge “let’s get you cleaned up.”

As you walked, dodging the debris and wreckage you turned to Peter,

“Hey, did you know that Happy guy is dating your Aunt?” you asked.

“Yep,” Peter said monotonously, “and I’m gonna give him a real talking to.”

“Ha,” you laughed. Peter looked at you offendedly, “calm down now, Spider-Boy”

You two continued to laugh, looking at him from the side. You admired his profile, wondering how you got to be so lucky that a guy like this would like you. You faced your heard forward concentrating on half-carrying the boy off the bridge when you heard Peter’s kiddish voice whisper:

“It’s Spider-Man.”

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[thedeviltohisangel]

He’s A God, He’s A Man: 6

Leave her out of it.

masterlist is my url/writing.

smut warning

Tommy had thought a lot about what is first meeting Campbell might look like. He had thought it over in his head a million different ways so no matter what tact it took, he wouldn’t be caught off guard. But now that he knew just how deeply Lydia was involved with the entire mess, it made things more difficult. He couldn’t risk upsetting the Inspector or she might suffer because of it. And he couldn’t risk showing the effect her return had him because that could put her in just as much danger. 

He presented Campbell with his list of demands. The police look the other way regarding all dealings of the Shelby family business. And in return he would get the guns he came looking for.

“That is all you would like, Mr. Shelby?” Campbell thought the list was slim for a man of his cunning nature. For a man who held the upper hand in their negotiation. 

“You carry on your investigation and our new partnership without the help of Miss Wilson.” Tommy pulled the cigarette from his lips so not a single word that came from his mouth could be misconstrued. “We have an understanding between us now and her messenger services are no longer needed.” The trembling in his fingers was from rage. He wanted to threaten Campbell. Tell him exactly what he would do to him if he didn’t release Lydia from her commitment. Perhaps erroneously, Tommy thought that the physical release of Lydia from Campbell would allow him to tear down his personal obstacles to loving her.

“I am actually on my way to meet her now, Mr. Shelby.” He stepped closer so he could whisper into Tommy’s ear. “I think I can find other ways to keep her busy during her time here if you don’t want her as a messenger anymore.” The threat was laced into his statement. Tommy knew exactly what a man like Campbell would find for Lydia to do.

“You look at her wrong and I’ll send those guns to the IRA without even a second thought.”

“There is no wrong way of looking at her.” He was daring Tommy to make a move. To do something that he could act on. Tommy refused to give him the satisfaction.

“Then please give the young woman my best.” He adjusted his cap and strolled away from the Inspector. Campbell had to be taken care of. And Tommy couldn’t wait.

----

Lydia kept the tiny binoculars to her eyes as Campbell landed in the seat beside her. She had been enjoying the opera that he had chosen to meet her at. The acoustics feeling as though they were angled just right to hit her right in the hair. She didn’t speak the language the show was in but somehow she understood.

“I just spoke with Thomas fucking Shelby.” Lydia gripped the binoculars tighter at the disdain in his voice.

“And?”

“It’s imperative, now more than ever, that you give me something to work with when it comes to him. I need leverage.”

“I thought my mere presence was your leverage.”  Campbell angrily ripped the binoculars from her hand and held her wrist tight enough that it hurt. “Inspector-”

“I will pass along the same threat I offered to Mr. Shelby today. If you don’t prove yourself useful, I know men who would love to meet the pretty American girl who is lost in Birmingham.” Lydia barely even registered what he was saying. He said he had made the same mention to Tommy. Campbell was a dead man walking. She just had to wait it out.

“I’ll get you something. I promise.” All she really wanted was for the Inspector to let go of her wrist. Her fingers were starting to tingle from the ferocity of his grip. He didn’t respond verbally, instead throwing her hand towards her and stalking out of the auditorium. Lydia ducked her head until the other people around her looked away and back towards the stage. There was no way she could go back to her flat alone tonight and feel safe. So after the show, she made her way to Watery Lane.

----

She was grateful it was Tommy who opened the door. The entire way over she had been composing herself. She had used tissue in the restroom of the opera to wipe her face of tears and her messed up makeup. Another patron was pulling on gloves when Lydia looked down and saw the bruise on her wrist. After a brief conversation, the woman offered her the gloves with a sad smile.

“Everything alright?” Tommy had been trying to sleep. And hadn’t been succeeding. The knocks on the front door were so faint that he wasn’t sure how he even heard them.

“No. I didn’t feel comfortable being alone tonight.” He stepped aside and she stepped into his home. She began to remove her hat and coat when he stopped her.

“Leave them in my room. This way no one will ask any questions.” Nodding, she followed him up the stairs and down the hall to his room where there was a candle burning. She had dreamed about Tommy’s bedroom ever since she met him in France. It was exactly how she had imagined. Small and cozy with pictures of his family and a cluttered desk to show evidence of his busy mind.

“Sorry that I woke you,” she said sheepishly.

“Nonsense. Was having trouble anyways.” They stood across the room from each other like awkward virgins. For some reason, being in his room felt like the most intimate thing she had ever done. That rectangle in the corner a bright reminder of where she was and what two people with feelings for each other did there. “Here. Let me help you with your coat and things.” Tommy made the first step to close the gap between them. Carefully, he took the hat from head and placed it on his desk along with her purse.

“The buttons can be tricky,” she whispered as she swatted his hands way and used her tinier finger to work the black buttons of her coat. He noticed they were trembling and gently placed his hand on her gloved one.

“What’s got you all shaken?”

“It’ll sound so stupid if I say it out loud,” she said with a frustrated tug at a particularly tempermental button. Tommy deftly undid it then grasped her fingers and held them to his chest.

“You can tell me anything. And I will never judge you for it.”

“I’m just nervous being in your room like this. It feels so intimate and-”

“And the feeling in the pit of your stomach isn’t new but you haven’t felt it in awhile.” He didn’t say it like it was a question but a statement of fact. Because he was feeling it too. Had been feeling it since he opened the window in The Garrison and saw her standing there. Had spent the previous years waking up from his nightmares with the feeling. The feeling of knowing he had once been loved so purely and so intimately and so perfectly and that he would never find that again. But now he had.

“I came here because I felt unsettled. And even now you make me feel safe.”

“I will always keep you safe,” he whispered as he dropped his forehead to hers. She moved to hold his face between her white gloved hands, forgetting entirely what it was they were hiding, and admired the way he looked younger in the moonlight. Like her soldier.

“I think I still love you, Thomas Shelby,” she whispered so low that it was almost as if she never said it at all. He returned the sentiment by finally kissing her. There was no such thing as self control when it came to her anymore. Now that he knew they were both walking down this path together, he threw caution to the wind and sprinted. 

She met him just as fiercely in the kiss, pressing onto her tiptoes in a bid to get as much of his lips against hers as possible. It felt familiar and new all at the same time and it was dizzying. Tommy slid his hands down her back and pulled her flush against him, a moan slipping from her lips and his tongue taking advantage of the opening to tangle with hers. “Tommy,” she gasped as he pulled her lip between then began nipping at her jawline and down her throat. Lydia moved herself forward until Tommy fell back on his bed and she propped herself above him.

“You’re a vision,” he panted as he cupped her flushed cheek and pulled her back to him. Their legs tangled together as he rolled over to be on top, her legs instinctively coming to lock around his waist.

“Maybe we should slow down,” she moaned as her eyes fluttered closed, his hips unconsciously rocking against her core and dampening her undergarments. Tommy gently sucked on the sensitive skin behind her ear as he felt his own arousal forming within him. “But that feels so good.” Lydia quieted the voice in her mind telling her to stick to kissing and she moved her hips upwards to meet his.

“Fuck, Lydia, are you trying to get me to come in my pants?”

“Yes, fuck, Tommy. Harder, please.” Her blissed out whine was enough to spur him past any reservations. He held her face still as he rutted his hips against his faster and harder. 

“Open your eyes. Look at me.” It took every bit of energy left in her body to open her eyes and meet Tommy’s gaze. He meant to kiss her but he wasn’t able to focus from the pleasure coursing through his body, instead their mouths catching the pants and moans from the other. Tommy felt the knot tightening at his core and he picked up the pace of his hips for the end they were both desperately searching for.

“Tommy, Tommy, Tommy,” she chanted as her whole body tensed then fell at the same time as his. Lydia paid no mind to the volume of her climax, the feeling of being with Tommy and the haze his own moans had put her in made her oblivious. He held her tightly against him and gently kissed her cheek over and over again. He was afraid to let her go. Afraid that it would all be just a dream. “Should we get some sleep?” She pulled back from the crook of his neck and traced the features of his face. The slope of his nose. His plump bottom lip. The bags under his eyes.

“We can try. But now that I know I can get you to make sounds like that…” She giggled as he pulled her up and off the bed. 

“My devilish man,” she teased as Tommy handed her one of his shirts to sleep in. 

“All yours,” he replied sincerely. Lydia kissed him softly.

“All yours.”

----

Tommy woke the next morning and was surprised to find that he had actually slept the night before. Lydia’s head rested against his bare chest, her arm taking up the rest of the expanse of his chest. He kissed the top of her head and ran his hand over her arm, lifting her hand so he could intertwine their fingers and kiss her palm when he noticed the bruises around her wrist. He froze. They looked like the markings a hand would make. She had come to him saying he hadn’t felt safe. Hadn’t taken her gloves off until she was already tucked into his side in bed. Had come from a meeting with Campbell. 

Tommy didn’t need to wait for her to wake up to know who had touched her in such a way. Who had marked her skin with anger. He rolled out of bed and grabbed the revolver off his desk and made his way down the stairs.

“There he is! Who’s the lucky bird you had last night?” Arthur teased before his eyes saw the gun in Tommy’s hand. “Oi! What’re you doing with that?”

“Killing that copper. Are you coming?” Polly looked at Arthur where she was preparing tea.

“With no shirt on, Thomas?”

“Can’t waste anymore fucking time. He-”

“Tommy?” All three of them looked to the staircase to see Lydia, swimming in Tommy’s shirt, standing at the bottom with sleep still on her face.

“Go back upstairs. I’ll be right back,” Tommy reasoned as he quickly walked over to her.

“Where on earth are you going in your night clothes with a gun?”

“Did Campbell do this to you?” He held her arm up and her eyes widened at the sight of the bruises. They looked distinctly like fingers in the morning light. She had forgotten about them after the events of last night.

“Yes-”

“Then I’m going to kill him.”

“Jesus Christ!” Lydia called as Tommy stalked back towards the front door.

“I’m comin’ with ya Tom,” Arthur said as he grabbed his coat.

“Arthur sit back down!” Polly spoke as she pointed at the chair with a spoon.

“You can’t just walk up to him and shoot him,” Lydia said with incredulity as made her way into the kitchen. 

“We can. You’re a Shelby now.” Lydia looked at Arthur as he said the words then to Tommy who didn’t look like he had a problem with them. “I heard you two last night-”

“Enough! Give me that!” Lydia yanked the revolver out of Tommy’s hand, popping it open and spinning the barrel so all the bullets fell onto the floor.

“That’s kind of attractive,” Arthur mumbled.

“He needs to know what happens when he doesn’t listen to me. When he harms someone I care about.” Tommy considered saying someone he loves but held that back for now.

“Campbell will have his time. But you made a deal with him. And you may need him in the future. Let him at least outlive his usefulness before you shoot him.” Lydia clutched his face. “Don’t let him ruin our morning.” Polly and Arthur watched in disbelief as Tommy visibly softened at her words and under her touch.

“You’re right. Pol, we’d love to join you for breakfast.” Tommy pulled out a seat for Lydia, kissing the top of her head before sitting next to her. Polly couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. A new Shelby indeed.

@aveiangdon @odetostep @girl-w-a-quill @itsilvermorny

[crownedallura]

mutual | 1.6k

written for @jamesandkeith week!

Day 6: Pining/Unrequited/Mutual

Watching James and Keith is like watching a soap opera. But this is real life, which means Nadia can actually intervene, Ryan and Lance can make bets, and  Shiro can cry about having to deal with all this.

Nadia loves James, okay? She loves James, even with his intense attachment to the rules and that stupid piece of hair that falls in his face all the time. And because she loves him, she wants to help him find someone for himself. Someone who isn’t part of their squadron, who doesn’t grate on his nerves like Nadia and who doesn’t need him to explain multiple times like  Ina and who doesn’t force him into silence like Ryan does.

That’s what makes it so much funnier once she realizes whom exactly he’s attracted to. Keith Kogane always gets on James’ nerves, never understands what he wants to say, and constantly forces him into long, awkward silences.

Unfortunate circumstances (i.e. invasion of their home by Sendak) make Nadia shove this information into the back of her head. However, once Keith is up and running again and things are somewhat normal again, it crawls its way to the forefront of her mind. Having someone he doesn’t need to lead would be good for James, she thinks.

“Nadia, do not,” Ryan says. They’re the first words he’s spoken to her this week, but she is going to happily ignore them.

“Do you not see this?” she hisses at him, gesturing frantically between James and Keith Kogane, who are currently facing off in the middle of the hangar. If you didn’t look at them too hard, you would think they were only angry with each other. James’ arms are crossed over his chest, and he’s glaring down at Keith. Keith, in turn, is yelling up at him. Nadia is just waiting for him to kick James in the shin. If you’ve spent more than five minutes in their presence, though, you’d notice little things. Like the way James is swaying towards Keith but catches himself and straightens up every time. The way Keith moves in two steps and then forces himself to take one back.

Ryan nods, but his face is still scrunched up in displeasure.

“Okay, out with it,” she orders. “What’s your problem with me intervening?”

“This is a choice they should make for themselves,” he answers.

Nadia watches the two boys out on the floor continue their little dance. James leans into Keith’s space; Keith takes a step back. James straightens up; Keith throws his hands into James’ personal bubble as he gestures. “What if that choice is inevitable?”

“It’s still theirs to make.”

The only reason Ryan told Nadia not to do anything is because he has a bet with the Blue Paladin about how long it will take their brave and valiant leaders to do something about their very obvious attraction to each other. Lance McClain is absolutely infuriating and his reasons for why Kogane and James will get together tomorrow are ridiculous and just plain wrong. Ryan has Ina’s analysis of the situation to back him up. He knows he’s right. This mutual pining will all come to a head by next week.

He just needs one more day to pass, and he can get that one day by making Nadia not intervene, goddammit. Luckily, she seems to listen to him, and the day passes without incident. Lance McClain has officially lost their bet.

Ryan sidles up to the Blue Paladin and holds one hand out. McClain frowns at him, dumps credits into his palm, and says, “Not fair.”

Ryan raises one eyebrow. What’s not fair, goes unsaid.

McClain crosses his arms and stares him down. “You stopped your teammate from intervening yesterday. She would’ve at least gotten James to realize that he’s pining.”

Ryan shrugs. The whole motion encompasses everything he wants to say: that their bet guidelines included preventing intervention whenever they saw it about to occur, that James probably wouldn’t have realized that he was pining anyways, that it’s not just about one person having that epiphany but two in order for them to engage in a relationship.

McClain hmphs, displeased. Ryan lets one side of his mouth tip up teasingly.

If Shiro has to hear one more complaint from Keith about James, he is going to snap.

Well, that’s not true.

The correct statement is, if he has to hear one more complaint from Keith about James and if he hears about one more betting pool on them that Lance thinks he should join and if he sees one more loaded glance between the MFE pilots as they watch James yell at Keith, he is going to snap.

The thing about two people very obviously pining for each other is that it’s hell on their friends. In a military group like the Garrison, it’s hell on the superior officers, too. Shiro just wants them to realize this now. He doesn’t want to go into another meeting where James and Keith stare each other down from across the table with gazes full of anger and underlying sexual tension. Not only has he had enough of it, he’s pretty sure that it makes Commander Holt and Commander Iverson uncomfortable too.

Shiro did not die and was not forcibly resurrected so that he could watch his best friend and brother get blue balls from all the unresolved history and attraction with his former enemy. So when Lance comes complaining to him about how Ryan Kinkade didn’t let Nadia Rizavi intervene with James and Keith, he snaps the pencil he’s holding in half and slams his head on the desk.

“Why,” he asks the table.

“Because he wanted to win our bet!” Lance says. He’s in three betting pools which Shiro knows of. The one with Kinkade, which is over now; one with Pidge and Hunk; and another with Coran, Romelle, and Allura. He might be in more. Hell, he might be in one with Krolia, for all Shiro knows. He really wouldn’t put it past Lance.

“So they’re still not together.”

“Nope.”

“Just how long am I going to have to put up with this?”

If Ryan thinks James hasn’t noticed the extra credits sitting on his desk and the text messages from the Blue Paladin popping up on his phone screen, he is so wrong. James knows perfectly well that he and Keith are the subjects of a betting pool, but he’s not sure what it’s about. Maybe how long it’ll take before they snap and punch each other?

The best way to get Ryan to talk is to ask him questions he feels obligated to answer out of the blue. So James waits for his roommate to get back from the shower, and as Ryan is about to take his towel off, asks, “What did you bet with the Blue Paladin about?”

Ryan stiffens. Gottem, James thinks triumphantly.

“Something trivial.”

“If it’s trivial, I can know about it, right?”

Ryan only hmms. James rolls his eyes. Clearly he feels that he can’t answer James’ questions, for whatever dumb reason. Thus he must resort to more extreme methods. Fortunately, Ryan is facing the closet, turned away from the bed and the door. James stands up from his chair, takes his teammate’s phone from where it’s lying on the bed, and calmly walks out the door. As soon as he’s out the door he sprints down the hallway. When Ryan notices, he’s going to be on a manhunt.

“JAMES!” he hears from the direction of his room. That is the loudest shout he’s ever heard Ryan give. He runs faster.

He finds himself outside a familiar door. He doesn’t know quite why it’s familiar, but he can hear Ryan’s feet pounding on the tile, so he knocks desperately on the door. When it opens, he pushes his way inside and slams it closed behind him.

“What do you want now?” Keith snaps. Because James forced his way inside, they’re standing very close to each other. At this distance, James can see all the little details of Keith’s face.

“I just needed to see what Ryan was up to on his phone,” he answers, and turns it on.

Lance McClain - How about another bet?

Lance McClain - About Keith and James, of course.

“What the hell are they betting on us for?” Keith’s face is right next to his own, reading the texts just over James’ shoulder. “Lance, I swear-”

Lance McClain - This time I bet they’ll realize they’re pining for each other in two weeks. I’ve got Pidge’s analysis on my side this time. What’s your bet?

When he finishes reading the text, James reads it again. And again. There’s no movement from over his shoulder. His hand is beginning to go numb, not from holding up the phone, but from the nerves that are coursing through him.

Everyone knows. Everyone has noticed. He’s been too obvious with the way he interacts with Keith. His teammates and the other paladins of Voltron have literally been betting on him. His only possible course of action is to retreat to the hangar and fly away in his MFE forever. There’s absolutely no way he can ever interact with anyone ever again-

“Are you seriously pining for me?” Keith asks, and it’s the disbelief in his voice that gets James riled up.

“Yeah, I am!” he retorts crossly. “What, am I not allowed to like brave and attractive guys with serious fighting and piloting skills? You’re the one who should be pining away for me!”

Keith scoffs. “There is absolutely no way I’d ever pine after some hot guy who can competently lead a defensive squad on the front lines of a Galra invasion. Don’t be ridiculous.”

James stares at Keith. Keith stares back.

“I really like you!” James yells at him.

“Well, I like you too!” Keith shouts, just as loudly.

Pidge stares down at the two figures making out on her screen. “What the fuck,” she says softly to herself. “What the fuck.”

[clownfuckery]

A Monster for a Mate -  Chapter 1

PENNYWISE X OC

Table of Contents (in progress)

Prologue

A/N:  Let’s find out a little about our OC, shall we?   -----

1.

Reminiscing

May, 2016

So, where does this story begin?

Some would say in September of 1989, when a wounded It went deep into the earth to heal, sleep… and to plot.  Some would say it begins when It awoke once more, in the summer of 2015 to feed upon Its game.  There are those who say it begins upon my own awakening, nine years prior in the fall of 2008.  Others would argue that it begins on the day I met Pennywise the Clown.  And then there are those who go off the deep end, who begin to rant about how Pennywise was doomed the moment Its opposing force, some great big Turtle floating in space, choked on a couple of galaxies.  But all I know, all I remember, are the ramblings of some madman dressed in a crisp black suit.  He spoke as if from far away, spinning a tall tale of how the balance of some cosmic, mythological structure in the blackness behind the universe hung by the guardians of the beams.  He talked of how they all needed to come down. It all seemed ludicrous then, but now I know that he spoke as though I would somehow come to play a part in it all. Perhaps his words held no real meaning, perhaps they were simply the disjointed, incoherent, and angry mumbo jumbo of some space lunatic.  

But now I know he spoke of It, and the one certainty which came to pass years later.  And now, in these short, few months in which I fell under the spell of Pennywise’s guises and floated in the deadlights that danced in his eyes, I grew to understand him.  To like him, need him.  Love him?  Maybe.  Yes, maybe that too.

“Shh, there there,” I whisper as I place the small, warm bundle in the nest.  A sound that is both a sigh and a chuckle escapes my lips as the bundle stirs and begins to whine, then quiets and goes still.  Part of me wants her to wake just so I can look into her eyes and fall in love all over again with those two, shining yellow embers.  Instead, my hand reaches out and I smooth back the red wisps of hair that stubbornly stick out around her head.

Just then, the fear strikes me.  It is a primeval cold that seeps into my bones and makes me stiff with dread.  The fear is not my own, and I cannot truly rationalize it, but it still leaves me paralyzed, and against my nature, I fear my own mortality.

“They’re coming” the voice behind me says.  I turn to find Pennywise entering the nest.  He collapses in my arms, and I try my best to soothe that fear, that white silver pain that leaves him blind and terrified.  

“They can’t kill you” I say, wrapping my entire body around him.  “You can be hurt, threatened, cornered.  But never killed.  You’re the Eternal, the Eater of Worlds”

He shudders, and my embrace tightens.  

“Do you hear me?” I say forcefully, pulling back to look him in the face.  He nods frantically, trying his best to smile and look composed, but I see the desperation in his eyes.  They’re bloodshot, and the black kohl around his eyes is glistening with tears.

“I called for them.  I sent them my calling card in blood.  And when they get here I will kill them all!  I will cast them, shrieking and insane into the deadlights.  And then…”

“…we will feast” we say together “and doze for a while”

He presses his lips to mine, and as I taste the sweetness of his mouth, I feel his lips tremble.  The words of that man in black come to mind once more, and I can’t help but think that the ka-tet of six who were once seven are agents of that man.  Or perhaps… I was.

“The portal must remain open” were the last words he had said before he disappeared into the bustle of Main Street, leaving me stranded in a town I did not know.

So, where does this story begin?

2.

The Opera

October, 2015

Masquerade!
 Paper faces on parade
 Masquerade!
 Hide your face
 So the world will never find you… I stood behind the curtain and watched in fascination as the performers followed the choreography to perfection.  I looked out to the audience, and my eyes scanned over the throngs of black hoods that lined the aisles, invisible to all, save for me.  Instinctively, even after years of having those dark guardians as my constant companions, I still looked around me to see if any had noticed.  I caught a glimpse of my costar Michael O’Hare getting into position to burst into the scene at his cue.  The makeup artist was adjusting the mask that covered half his face, and he was wrapping the cloak around him in just the right place that would allow him to create the Phantom’s signature swoosh of the cape.  I turned back to the stage and watched as another fellow performer, Jeremy Hammell, who stood on stilts and wearing a big ruffled onesie, sprinted to the front of the stage, where he did a tip-toeing number as the rest of the ensemble brought the second act into full gear.

Eye of gold…
 Thigh of blue…
 True is false…
 Who is who?
 Curl of lip…
 Swirl of gown…
 Ace of hearts…
 Face of clown…

“Faces… drink it in, drink it up, till you’ve drowned in the light…” I hummed along quietly as I watched him prance around the stage, the exact image of that character from my childhood I held dear.  As he finished his small number and retreated to the back he flashed me a wink, and I returned it with a thumbs-up.  I knew he would agree, he had no choice in the matter.

“Oh come on Jeremy!  Do it for me” I had whined in rehearsals, batting my eyelashes like an exaggerated coquette.

“Fine fine, don’t get your panties in a wad” he said, taking the folded paper which bore the somewhat grainy and low-quality picture I had printed out “what’s the deal with this clown anyway?”

“He was my favorite growing up!  You know, my mom even drove five hours just so I could see him at a fair in Buenos Aires.  I watched his…”

“You watched his show every freaking day, yeah you told me that.  Creepy looking bozo, probably some pedophile or a drunkie.  You owe me dinner” he retorted, handing the picture to Gladys, one of the makeup artists.

“You’re the best!” I squealed, kissing him on the cheek and rushing out of the trailer to get fitted.

I was brought back to the present when I felt someone come stand next to me, take my hand, and wrap it around his arm.

“Now look like you really love me” quipped Conor Fontaine, my costar who played Raoul.  He was tall and unbelievably handsome.  A perfect poster boy with his long blond hair and piercing blue eyes; and yet it was Michael, with his rugged looks and unapologetic humor into whose hotel room I snuck in at night.  

“Scarlett, Conor… off you go” signaled the stage master.

“I will never get used to your stage name” Conor laughed and we waltzed back into the scene.  

The production had been a roaring success.  Thirty cities, one hundred and fifty shows, sold out theaters across the country, Canada, and Mexico.  But on that night, on the last show of the Phantom’s North American tour, the energy was electrifying.  As much as I was a creature of control and poise, I allowed myself for once to become lost in the magic of it all.  The lights, the colors, the rousing music of the orchestra.  In my eyes, Michael truly became the Phantom, Conor was Raoul, and Jeremy was Pizarrín, the clown who had delighted my afternoons as a child.  

Have you gorged yourself
 At last in your lust for blood?
 Am I now to be prey
 To your lust for flesh?

My voice cracked with rage and horror as I confronted the monster.  I could feel more than hear the held breaths from the audience.  The throngs of black hoods that lined the aisles however, remained motionless.

I kissed the monster then, and I could feel the prosthetics that covered half of Michael’s face tickle my lip.  The kiss was intense, passionate, and as he returned the fervor, I wrapped my hands around his neck.  The audience burst into raucous applause.  A few moments later, there were tears in the audience and from fellow cast members watching from behind the curtain as I sailed away with another, leaving the monster to crumble in the depths.

The curtain fell.  

One by one the cast walked onstage to receive their accolades.  When Michael and I walked hand in hand, we received a standing ovation.  The cheering and applause were deafening.  The black hoods finally raised their heads and at once, they joined in the applause.  I blew a kiss, and even though to the eyes of all I was reciprocating the love from the spectators, I was in truth acknowledging my father, who stood just behind the orchestra.  From his black cloak he retrieved a single red rose tied with black ribbon, and he tossed it at the stage.  It landed at my feet, and I picked it up, took a long whiff of its fragrance and walked backstage.

The curtain fell again.

3.

Daddy Issues

I listened to the sound of Michael breathing.  His left arm was wrapped around my waist and his naked body was pressed behind me.  His breathing, still shallow and coming in pants, was beginning to slow down and deepen.  A minute or two more, and he would be fast asleep.  

It was almost a science of sorts.  You learn to predict the post-coitus patterns of a man after a few times underneath him.  For Michael, I had his pattern down to a tee after Washington D.C.   We had begun to sneak into each other’s hotel rooms and dressing rooms at Atlanta.  From casting and rehearsals, there had been this energy between us.  No, not actor’s chemistry, but an electricity that sparked and crackled the moment we touched hands and began to go through the early stages of learning the choreography.  We sang as we rehearsed, and I could feel his eyes burn into mine, not in that beguiling, deceitful way typical of a performer of his status, but his eyes danced.  They were a bright, open shade of blue, and yet behind the frankness of their depths, I could see the storm brewing within.  It was dark, and full of lighting and thunder.  

Soon after the production left its home in the Majestic, our hands began to do the talking.  Flowers in my dressing room, embraces held a few moments longer, tighter and constricting.  That electricity soon made its way onto the stage, and it echoed in the reviews that followed the Phantom after it packed and made its way onto the next city.  “The passion and the aura ooze from the wooden beams of the stage, flow past the pipes and strings of the orchestra, and intoxicate all that sit in the plush red seats of the opera house” Steve Connelly from the New York Times had written.  

I let out a small giggle and I felt Michael shift behind me.  His breathing was now coming in long, deep inhales, and he turned onto his back.  He was asleep.  I stole a glance at him, and I slunk off the bed.  Upon emerging from the bathroom, I quickly gathered my undergarments from the floor, then the red beaded Versace dress I had worn to the after party.  I slid on my pumps and turned back to the bed.  I watched Michael sleep, taking in the way his black hair covered half his face, almost Phantom-like.  His broad chest rose and fell, and my eyes ran over the thin line of hair that traveled from his chest, down his stomach, and disappeared under the sheet that draped over the bottom half of his body.  He was an excellent lover, perhaps one of the best I’d had, but that wasn’t saying much.  He mattered to me no more than my next meal.  I would not see him again until the international tour kicked off in four months, and most likely by then, there would be a new toy to play with.

I placed a gentle kiss on the one cheek that was exposed and headed for the door.  As I passed the sitting room, I gulped down the remaining wine from the bottle at the table, grabbed my wristlet from the couch, and left.

Upon exiting the elevators and crossing the lobby, I took notice of the striking man in the black and red suit waiting by the doors.  He twirled his cane in what I knew was exasperation and impatience.

“Were you really going to stand there till I came out?  What if I decided to stay the night for once, dad?”

“Ha!  You never do” he snorted, wrapping an arm around me and guiding me out to the black SUV with tainted windows that waited.  A black hood disguised as a valet attendant held the door open.

“There’s bound to be lots of attention at the Ritz” he said as the SUV took off into the brightly lit streets of Los Angeles.

“Why would you do that?  What if I wanted to be alone for once?” I groaned, looking out aimlessly toward the city lights.  Out of the corner of my eye I could see his head snap toward me so fast, he might have broken a bone or two if he were human.

“On your night of triumph?!  What’s come over you?  You wanted this”

I didn’t answer, pretending to be enthralled by the darkened windows of buildings and small shops.  There was a mural that depicted the struggles of Mexican immigrants in the narrow and over-populated streets of downtown LA. 

“I sent flowers to Katherine” I said after a while “you nearly killed her”

“Oh come on, since when you do you feel any remorse?  You wanted this” he repeated, and this time, his voice dropped a few notches, turning raspy and dry, almost like a growl.  He was twirling his cane again, and I watched his fingers run over the handle made out of solid gold and carved into the image of a serpent.  Or was it a dragon?  

“I didn’t mean it when I said it.  If anything, you could have just…” what could he have done?  Make her catch a really bad case of tuberculosis and make her miss the production, only to return after convalescing, thus leaving me in the sidelines again to play poor old Meg Giry as I was originally cast?  Or maybe…

“Given her throat cancer?!” he laughed, loud and boisterous, slapping the shoulder of the black hood sitting on the passenger seat.  He and the other sitting at the wheel laughed along.

“With only a month before rehearsals? How would you have done it, Lus?” the one driving asked through his laughter, looking at me through the rearview mirror with his bright, red eyes.  I made a face at him.

My dad scoffed.  “Say what you will, that human part of you will always infuriate me.  You take what you want, with no thought to the cost.  Do you understand me?” he asked, taking my hand.  I nodded.

“Yes, dad”

The SUV was now turning into the circular driveway of the Ritz Carlton.  “Good.  Now, get out there, and bask in the glory you deserve”

The black hoods at the front transformed into men in suits as we drove into the chaos of paparazzi and fans.  The black hoods stepped out, with one going to control the crowd, and the other to open the door of the car.  Right before I stepped out, I turned to my father once more.

“I will be going back to Vermont tomorrow and there is something you WILL do for me” I snapped at him and then exited the vehicle.  

I smiled my way through the crowd, signing pictures of Michael and I as the Phantom and Christine, pictures of me alone on the stage belting out “Think of Me”, and editorial photographs.  I took selfies, shook hands, gave hugs, and tried my damned hardest not to squint at the binding flashes of the photographers.  My father stood directly behind me, invisible to all, and yet with the smuggest smile upon his face.  If there was something the daughter of the Great Orchestrator of all evil could boast of, it was of a doting, proud, overprotective father.  

“Whatever it is, I won’t do it.  I know where you’re going with this” he retorted as I finally made it inside and the elevator doors closed.  He said it with such rigidity, and yet his voice sounded already defeated.

“Yes, you will” I smiled, taking off my pumps.    

“I will not leave you unprotected”

The elevator dinged, and we exited into the Presidential Suite.  

“Unprotected?!” I laughed, walking into the bedroom.  The black hood who kept watch over me stepped out of the closet and transformed into his usual façade.  “And just who do I need protection from?  Nosferatu?!” I said with obvious sarcasm, pointing to my guardian.  He sucked in a breath in mock offense. 

 “Sorry Nos” I said to him.  He only chuckled, exactly like my favorite monster, and waved his long, spidery hands at me.

“There are things you do not understand” my father nearly shouted “things you will never be able to even begin to comprehend, because of that cursed human nature you carry.  You’re limited, and as much as you are my daughter, and an Untouchable, you are still at risk…”

“Aww, am I really so-”
 Important
 “-precious to you?” I cooed, stepping towards him and placing a hand on his arm.

“Don’t try to flirt with me, I’m not one of your toys” he said, shaking me off.  My tone softened even more.

“All I ask is ten days.  No you, no black hoods, no guardians.  I need some space”

“You wish to be rid of me, Lus?” Nosferatu gasped, clutching his chest, pretending to be deeply wounded.  I chuckled and walked to him, wrapping my arms around him.  He returned the embrace and placed his cheek upon my head.  Nosferatu had been with me since my eighth birthday, never leaving my side.  I had convinced him to change his appearance into the classic vampire, and had remained my closest friend ever since.

“I think the precious princess needs a vacation.  You’re tired, aren’t you?” Nos said softly, gently holding my chin and cooing at me.  I nodded and stuck my bottom lip out like a little child. 

“Enough!” barked my father, sickened at the childish sight.  Nosferatu looked at me and shrugged.  

“Killer of joy” I murmured under my breath, but Nos wouldn’t dare react, biting his lips to keep from laughing.

My father sighed.  The cane twirled again.  He had lost this battle the moment I had stepped out of the car.

“You will not leave Vermont.  Ten days” he said with finality. ��I squealed and I hugged him tight.  He only rubbed my shoulders twice and stepped back.  Physical contact was something he always shied away from, especially from me.  I never understood why.  He showed his affection in much “practical ways,” as he put it.  

4.

The Man in Black

I landed in Vermont to no fanfare, having left it behind in the chaos of L.A.  My white Range Rover was waiting for me at the parking garage when I exited Morrisville-Stowe Airport.  The car was unlocked, and the keys were in the ignition.  No black hood in sight.  With my bags secured in the trunk, I now drove down Route 100, past the lower village and the tourist area, into the residential area of the mountains.  Getting off the main road and taking the narrow streets into the wooded area, I soon reached the one-lane that diverted into the long driveway lined with pine trees, and I stopped at the wooden gates lined with black ironwork.  The gates beeped and whirred as they opened, and I was home.  I had changed the name of the property from Black Mountain Villa to Haven Estate upon my purchase of it nearly three years ago.  The majestic stone mansion rested on top of a hill, the crowning glory of the thirty acres that surrounded it, mostly hidden by pines and evergreens.

I opened my luggage and threw my clothes on the bed as I made the necessary phone calls.  My adoptive parents were first, and it took enough convincing to keep them from getting into the next plane.  I lied, saying I was going to New Zealand on vacation. My brother and sister were next, and the same lie kept them away.  Friends were kept at bay by simple text, and the messages sent by Michael, asking where I was and if we could meet up, went ignored.  The last call I placed was to the housekeeper.  She had been to the house just the day prior, she said, and had stocked up the fridge.  She offered to come in, but I told her I’d be away, and instructed her to return with the cleaning crew in ten days.  With hesitance, she relented.

I walked down the winding staircase and entered the butler’s pantry to grab a beer from the bar when I suddenly stopped in my tracks.  The fridge was open.  As I closed it, I turned to the sound of a crown cork popping open, followed by a sigh of contentment and whistling coming from the balcony adjacent to the kitchen.

My blood boiled as I sprinted past the kitchen and burst into the balcony.

“You lying, deceitful snake!  How could…”

My accusation died in my throat as I took in the man sitting on my armchair.  His wavy, black hair was perfectly combed back, his black suit was perfectly pressed, and his blue eyes looked at me with amusement. 

“…you” I breathed.  

He smiled and nodded.  I hadn’t seen the Man in Black in years, not since the day of my Awakening.  It had been my 21st birthday, the day I had been officially recognized as my father’s daughter, the last descendant of the Nephilim.

“Forgive me for making myself at home, we don’t have beer this good where I come from” he said, taking a long chug of my Stella Artois.

“What are you doing here?” I said, snapping out of my shock.

“Oh, you know me, I’m just a walkin’ dude, passin’ thru” he said in his distinct drawl.  He looked me up and down. “You look good.  Healthy.  Prosperous.  Congratulations on the play.  You got what you wanted”

He threw an open newspaper on the table.  I picked it up and groaned when I saw a picture of me performing two nights ago with the title: “The Best Christine Daae since Sarah Brightman?”   

“The most angelic voice to ever caress the walls of the Shrine Auditorium” the Man in Black quoted from the paper. “I don’t know where the Shrine Auditorium is, but it sounds like some pretty big stuff.  Daddy must be proud” he winked and took another long drink.  I shifted on my feet and crossed my arms.  He wasn’t praising me, he was judging me.  

“If you’re passing through, you must be going somewhere” I said.

“Indeed I am” he said, standing.  He walked up to me, tilting the beer bottle back and taking another long chug.  “Just left New York City.  Looking for a boy named Jake.  Got a couple of questions for him.  Figured I’d stop by and check in on you.  See how you’re holding up”

“Well, you seem to know everything there is to know.  Save you a trip up here”

“Oh, but I did need to come here.  Last time, when we met, you had quite a few questions, don’t you remember?”

I looked away.  I remembered quite vividly.  I had hounded him with the million questions that gnawed at me from childhood.  He had sat down on the pool chair at my parent’s house, hidden in darkness as I sneaked out of my room to meet him.  Of all the characters who had called on me on the day of my Awakening, the Man in Black, or Walter Padick as he had called himself, was the one that had stuck most prominently in my memory.  A sorcerer from another dimension, he had talked of parallel words in six different universes.  He talked of recreating them all in the image of a great King, and spoke of ways to access these worlds through portals to a place he called Mid-World, with some of these portals being on Earth.  When I asked him to take me there, he simply looked at me with a hint of disdain and regret, saying I was “too old to be of any use there”

“You left me with more questions than answers” I now said accusingly.

“Some of your questions didn’t need answering” he replied.

“They do” I said, looking him dead in the eye.

“Ah, the big one” he exclaimed, placing his arms out and turning dramatically “why are the Ancients relegated to Earth?  You know, you keep asking those kinds of questions, one day they’re going to get you hurt”

“I need to know”

“You have everything you need to know.  You already know of the places on Earth where your daddy’s kind is not permitted to go”

My eyes widened.  Father had always boasted of Earth having been his domain from the moment of his exile.  He claimed every square inch as his own.  

“Oh, he hasn’t told you!” he exclaimed “you’ll have lots to talk about when he gets here.  Probably in no less than twenty-four hours, if you’re lucky.  Black hoods are probably flying on swift wings as we speak”

I didn’t respond.  I knew he was right.  There was no way my father would let me out of his sight for too long. Even at the age of twenty-six, I still felt like a repressed little girl. More so now, standing before that great traveler, seeing his sympathetic gaze, no doubt thinking that I was a pitiful child.

“You know, there is a place you can go where he can’t find you” he whispered after a short, unsettling silence.

I looked up at him confused.  “A portal?”

“Of sorts.  It’s the only place where you can disappear without having to step off-world”

“Where?” I asked.

“A little town in Maine, called Derry.  The place itself is nothing out of the ordinary, small and industrial but it is a direct link to my world.  You can stay there and hide for a few days.  It’s the only city in the Keystone World where your daddy and his minions are forbidden from entering”

“Hmm” I mused.  I wanted to say no, but the prospect of being away from the ceaseless watch of black hoods was nearly irresistible.

“How do I know you’re not tricking me into something?”

“And risk daddy’s wrath?  Now why would I?  The ol’ serpent may be banished, but he sure as hell ain’t one to trifle with.  I promise, you just stay for a few days and come back in one piece.  I am the only one permitted to use that passage so you’ll be safe.  He’ll forgive you for dropping off his radar, like he always does”

I watched him.  His face was serious.  He drank the rest of the beer, and placed the empty bottle in the waste bin.  

Derry, Maine.    

“I’ll go” I said.

End of Chapter 1

CLICK HERE FOR CHAPTER 2

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Tagged: @hello-helianthus

[southerneveryday-blog]

Like sands in an hour glass...

As if my aging biological clock isn’t messed up all on its own, Saturday night will send my body and mind into days, if not weeks, of adjustment as we Spring Forward at midnight.  It has to be the most miserable Sunday of the whole year. An hour lost at midnight means I may show up a little late for Sunday School only to find out our church is already singing the third verse of “Trust and Obey” and the sermon is about  to begin. It means lunch is served during breakfast and dinner is served about the time I normally have my mid-afternoon pick-me-up snack. It also means I will probably not adjust to bedtime until the calendar tells us to Fall Back next October.

Retirement brings all kinds of wonderful ways to enjoy life, but it also has brought a recurring thought to the back of my mind. “Time flies.” I’ve heard that saying all my life, usually in the company of “when you’re having fun.” But, these days I have come to realize time is indeed flying by. Seasons are gone within a blink of my eye. Toddler-size grandchildren snuggle with me one day then have their driver’s license the next. I barely get holiday decorations put away before I’m pulling them out again. Time is flying by.

While the hands on my life-clock may have begun moving a bit faster than they did a few years ago, I have to admit there are times when I need time to fly by, but it just seems to slow down or stop completely. Let me explain and see if you can relate to what I’m saying.

For some reason, falling asleep at night is not as easy as it once was. It must have to do with getting older. I go to bed, get comfy and l lie there waiting for sweet dreams to begin forming in my mind. I wait and wait and wait…and after an eternity, when I’m sure it must be at least 4:00 a.m., I check the clock beside my side of the bed to discover only 40 minutes have gone by. Why does insomnia takes so long?

Exercising may be good for my body, but it plays tricks on my sense of time. Just put me on a tread mill to prove this point. I climb on board, flip the automatic switch and begin walking. My heart rate starts speeding up as sweat beads up on my forehead and runs down my spine. The muscles in my calves begin burning and my breathing gets a bit labored. I’m sure I’ve been on this machine long enough to reach my target goal of 30 minutes. I look at the clock: somewhere between 5-6 minutes have passed. You have GOT to be kidding!

What happens to time during a mammogram? It becomes my biggest enemy when, half naked, one side of my anatomy has been pushed, shoved, flattened and tortured between the cold paddles of a mammogram machine. Some nice woman says, “Let’s try to get this a little tighter for a good picture” as she begins cranking the paddles even closer together. Just about the time I am standing on my tiptoes in a futile attempt to keep “the girl” in place, the technician says, “Hold your breath” then leaves to take a coffee break. At least, that’s how long it feels as she steps behind a radiation-guard to snap a picture. “Hold your breath”….ha!  Who can breathe during that ordeal? Time stands still for what she claims is only a second.

Dental x-rays are the same. Once a year my hygienist, Connie, announces it is time for x-rays of my teeth. I cringe. Time does a number on me when dental implements invade my mouth. To begin, I have a tiny mouth so getting those pieces of x-ray cardboard wedged in between my teeth and tongue takes skill. Once they are in place and the x-ray machine, which looks like a big, round laser gun, is pointed at my cheek, Connie walks out of the room. She’s gone. In addition to a tiny mouth, I have over-active saliva glands.  Foreign objects in my mouth, like dental x-rays, tend to turn the saliva spigots on full-force. I begin drooling all over myself and months pass as I wonder when my current unpleasantness will end. Where is Connie??? I begin gagging (another thing I’m really good at) and my life begins passing before my eyes. Just as the world gets dark and I see a light at the end of what looks like a long, dark tunnel – after x-rays have taken years off of my life – Connie reappears from behind the reinforced door. I’m rescued! It’s been forever! But the reality is, it was only a few seconds. Now we do the other side of my mouth.

Eternity begins with the opening aria of an Opera. “Time – fly! Time – fly!” I beg.

The absolute worst scenario of when time slows down but when I desperately need it to fly is occasionally during the drive home after eating out at a restaurant. As I get down the road, my tummy begins to rumble. Oh no…this is not a good sign. I’m well acquainted with the horrors of IBS and I recognize the “signal” my stomach is sending. It begins as a whisper from my abdomen, “You might want to speed up a little.” A few miles closer to our neighborhood my stomach says, “Get Home Fast!”  As I turn on to my street, my stomach lets me know, “I’m not kidding. You need to hurry!”  I pull into the driveway, I grab the house keys from Harold and sprint to the back door as my gut screams, “Get to the bathroom - NOW!!!!”  The drive home from any restaurant in Athens is a relatively short drive – UNLESS IBS rears its ugly head. When that happens, I feel like I’m traveling across the United States – in a covered wagon – with mules pulling it instead of horses – and we’re in a dust storm. It takes forever and with my stomach distress, I don’t have that luxury!

Time, regular time, day-by-day time IS flying by at a rate I had only heard about in conversations between older family members. Then, I got ‘older’. Now I know what they meant.

I am trying to appreciate the sand in the hour glass as it flows through the tiny opening that we call “life”. I want to hold on to each moment and take everything in as if each experience were happening in slow motion….unless my stomach begins talking to me. At that point, forget the hour glass and just get me home!