#Skids Off Runway

[dailyworldecho]

[alpha-mag-media]

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[ur-mag]

Tui flight skids off end of runway after landing in Storm Babet | In Trend Today

Tui flight skids off end of runway after landing in Storm Babet Read Full Text or Full Article on MAG NEWS

[badjokesbyjeff]

Two Irish pilots were attempting to land their jet... 

but the runway was the shortest they had ever landed on!

Paddy, the chief pilot, slammed on the brakes the minute they hit the runway.

The plane skidded, the brakes squealed, and the two pilots fought desperately with the controls until the jet finally came to a stop just before the end of the runway.

"Jaysus Seamus" said Paddy to his copilot.

"That was close! They really need to make this runway longer, we nearly went off the end!"

"Yeah, but Paddy" Said the copilot.

"Look at how WIDE it is".

[honkytonk-hangman]

When Jake Met Polly

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Summary: Jake likes to flirt with his Air Traffic Controller or Jake Seresin has never seen When Harry Met Sally.

Warnings: Not much, fluff, flirting and refs to sex.

Note: This is just a short little idea i've had for agesss... reader has a 'name' but it's just her callsign, Polly, as in, short for Polaris. Ty to @hangmanssunnies i wuv u <3

“Hangman to Tower, I am coming in hot.”

You roll your eyes at the all too familiar voice that crackles through your radio, a smile pulling at your lips as you adjust your microphone and briefly throw a glance over your shoulder, just to make sure your commanding officer wasn’t lingering.

“Tower to Hangman. We are appalled at the gross lack of radio etiquette on display,” you respond. Barely a few seconds pass before you receive a reply.

“Come on, Polly, we've been working together for over a year now, what’s a little informality between colleagues?” Hangman says, and despite his jet only being a blip on your horizon still, you know he’s grinning.

“A commercial airline, Lieutenant.” You deadpan, your own smile growing as his laughter comes down the line. “You are cleared for landing, proceed to runway B,” you continue, not wanting him to have to ask again seeing as his approach was cutting it close already.

“Polly, have I ever told you that you’re my favourite Controller?” He asks as you watch him enter the pattern, and click your pen.

“Only every day we work together, Lieutenant.” There’s a beat of quiet as he expertly manoeuvres his jet toward the correct runway.

“And how sexy your voice is?” He goes on, sounding vaguely distracted.

“Once again, Lieutenant, this is not a commercial airline.” You respond, twirling your hair around your finger at his compliment anyway.

He doesn’t reply, and a shock of horror flickers through you as you watch the jet touch down once, something happening with his landing gear that makes the jet shudder, then seem to bounce momentarily before it drops back onto the tarmac and skids to a stop.

“Hangman, do you require the emergency crew?!” You ask quickly, eyes scanning the aircraft as it powers down fully. You wait tensely as the canopy pops up, and a broad figure jumps out, scrambling down the ladder, and once on the ground, he bends low to get a look at the problem.

“No, Polly, thank you. Seems the landing gear malfunctioned, must’ve been in a position to sustain damage once I landed…” his voice trails off, and you watch him straighten, and greet the ground crew who’d raced over to help.

“Glad you’re safe, Lieutenant. Tower out.” You say as he begins discussing with the crew, but briefly turns up toward the tower and raises a hand.

You let out a sigh of relief and settle back in your seat.

–

Around lunch time you make your way down to the tarmac. Hangman’s jet had been cleared off some time ago, and by now you know reports would have been filed, including your own, and his aircraft will have been taken in for inspection and repairs. You’re milling around the ‘crash’ site, inspecting the scrape marks left behind when you hear footsteps from behind approaching you.

“Can I help you ma’am?”

You know his voice immediately, but you know his face too, and when you at last turn back to him you’re graced by the sight of it, bright and unworried, despite the accident he’d had earlier.

“Oh, don’t mind me! I just watched someone bounce their jet off my tarmac earlier, just checking for potholes,” you tell him wrly. It takes a moment, but his face flashes with recognition and soon he’s taking a step towards you.

“Polly?!” Hangman asks, sounding surprised. You hum in response, then round on him.

“Where is it that you found your qualifications, Liuetenant? We should probably return them,” you tease him. Hangman only takes up a stance and stretches his arms out, his flight suit stretching desperately around his biceps as he does.

“Oh, Polly, if I’d known that was all it took to get you down here, I’d have started chipping bits off months ago,” he flirts shamelessly. You smile at him but don’t speak and after a moment, he drops his arms again, crossing them over his chest instead and blinking at you curiously. “What?” he asks.

Your smile grows, and you shake your head at him.

“Your terrible lines work better when I can see you, that's all,” you inform him, making him uncross his arms and laugh.

“I would say that’s generally the case, even if a guy ain’t me,” he replies coolly. You only shake your head again, and look back out at the expanse of tarmac ahead of you.

“Thanks to you getting your pilots lisence off the back of a cereal box, we’ve ruined our Sleepless in Seattle thing,” you say with a forlorn sigh.

When you look back at Hangman he’s frowning at you in confusion.

“Our what?” he asks. You roll your eyes and turn to face him fully at last, waving your hand as you speak.

“You know, our Sleepless in Seattle thing. We talk all this time, but never meet, and if we cross paths, we don’t realise it? It’s ruined now,” you accuse him lightly. Hangman hums, and seems to think for a moment.

“I get to be Meg Ryan in this situation, right?” he says, making you chortle.

“Well you’d have to be. No way I’d leave 90s Bill Pullman!”

“Well, what if we’re not Sleepless in Seattle? What if we’re more… When Harry Met Sally?” he suggests. You squint at him.

“Have you seen that film? I’m not sure that’s the implication you want to go for…” you ask him, making him falter for a moment.

“That’s the one with the emails right?” he responds unsurely. You laugh again, and shake your head.

“No, that’s You’ve Got Mail.”

“What the hell did I just suggest, then?” 

You stare at him for a moment, and can’t stop yourself from grinning up at him.

“More or less not speaking for like ten years, but on the rare occasion we do meet up, we argue,” you tell him, watching him frown even deeper, and shake his own head this time.

“That would be kinda hard, considering you’re the voice in my head,” he says.

“Oh, so we’re doing Her now!”

Hangman fixes you with a deadpan expression and a slightly smirk.

“I don’t even want to know.”

You laugh at him, and begin walking, unsurprised when he immediately joins you, falling into step at your side. “So,” he begins again after a moment, peering down at you. “Despite playing hacky sack on your tarmac, you still gonna let me take you out?”

You falter briefly, but keep walking, this time glancing up at him.

“I didn’t think you were being serious all those times you asked me out,” you don’t bother hiding your surprise. Hangman looks back at you, squinting, and cocks his head.

“At this point I think you’ve shot me down more than Dagger combined, why would I not be serious?” he asks you, sounding oddly serious. You chuckle.

“Right, so, say if, I don’t know, Rooster got a few more hits on you, you wouldn’t leave me hangin’ would you?” you know you’ll say yes, but you can’t help but tease him a little longer.

Hangman raises an eyebrow at you and grins wide and beautiful.

“You? Never,” he says. “Mostly because I’m legally obligated to respond when you speak to me.”

You lift your own eyebrow and fix him with a wry smile.

“I like that in a man.”

Hangman laughs.

–

“I mean it, your voice is sexy,” Jake tells you once he’s sat back down from replacing your drinks. You can’t help but chortle and stir your cocktail with the straw.

“Really? Me telling you to line up and wait in the pattern gets you going?” you ask. Jake grins, but nods very seriously as he takes a short sip of his beer.

“Absolutely. I also like when you tell me about the weather and conditions, and direct me to land.”

Leaning forward with your elbows on the table between you, you put your chin in your hands.

“I liek when you flirt with me,” you begin, waiting for him to smirk at you before continuing on. “And you don’t realise my boss is in the room, so I just have to respond ‘roger’ and ‘acknowledged’ whenever you say something stupid,” you finish. Jake rolls his eyes and leans forward to meet you.

“To be fair, I’d probably be saying something stupid anyway,” he tells you.

You have to let out a laugh at that and finally lean back again.

“Oh yeah, that reminds me, are you ever gonna tell us all how to ‘bury a fossil’? You know, those things that you famously dig up and do not bury?” you tease, earning another eyeroll. Jake shrugs and copies your movements.

“I foretold Mav’s career comeback, didn’t I?”

You laugh again, but this time, get a good look at him sitting casually across from you, out of uniform and seemingly more relaxed than you’ve ever seen, or heard.

“I like your voice too,” you tell him at last, smiling a little at how he seems to preen at your praise. “Your accent is more pronounced face-to-face though, and you don’t sound like you’re performing all the time.”

Jake takes a sip of his beer and shrugs again.

“Can’t be Hangman all the time,” he says. You make a face.

“I like Hangman. He entertains me at work… but I think I like the guy who hasn’t seen When Harry Met Sally, and has a Fisher-Price pilot's lisence even more.”

Jake laughs and nods at you.

���Splash one,” he says before he leans in to you again. “Toddler’s generally have pretty good taste, in my opinion, they’re all about shapes and colours and boobs… can’t fault ‘em!”

You have to laugh and concede that at least, the two of you clinking drinks before you continue to flirt and chat for the rest of the evening.

When Jake drops you back at yours, you invite him inside, under the guise of lending him your DVD copy of When Harry Met Sally, but when he simply lingers in your living room, you start to consider other tactics.

“Jake?” you say, standing up from ‘searching’ your stack of DVD’s and facing him. “This is the part where you save me from admitting I don’t really own a physical copy of the film by having sex with me,” you inform him dutifully, watching as he straightens up and blinks at you. Then, he’s shaking his head, smiling, and taking a step closer toward you.

“I guess every good rom-com does have an earth shattering lie at its core, doesn’t it?” he steps closer, and this time, anchors his hands at your waist, tugging you into him a little more.

“Let's skip the conflict part and go straight to the happy ending, shall we?”

[ilovekittycats2]

High Maintenance

Jake Seresin x reader

(use of y/n)

In which,

Hangman keeps breaking his jet, and you’re not sure if fixing it or dealing with him is more exhausting

or,

one act of recklessness makes you realise that there may be more to Jake Seresin than meets the eye.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jake “Hangman” Seresin was good at a lot of things—flying jets, making cocky comebacks, and driving people absolutely insane. Unfortunately for you, as the Navy’s top mechanic, his messes always landed squarely on your plate. “You fly like you’re trying to piss me off, Seresin,” you snapped, tossing a grease-streaked rag onto the workbench. 

Hangman leaned against the side of his F/A-18 with his signature smirk. “I fly like I’m the best, sweetheart. It’s not my fault if your tools can’t keep up.” Sweetheart. That nickname alone was enough to make your blood boil. “If you’re the best, why do you spend so much time breaking your jet?” His grin widened. “Because I know you’ll fix it.”

This was your dynamic—a constant battle of wits with an undercurrent of tension neither of you acknowledged. Hangman was insufferable, arrogant, and way too charming for his own good. Worse, you hated how your pulse raced when he leaned a little too close or shot you that lopsided grin. 

Keep it together, Y/n.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The call came through like a punch to the gut: Jake Seresin’s bird was in trouble. You’d been elbow-deep in another jet’s maintenance when the commotion started, and the urgency in the tower’s tone made your stomach knot. Hangman might have been the cockiest pilot in the squadron, but he was still one of yours—and whether you admitted it or not, that mattered.

You ran to the runway just as his F/A-18 skidded to a stop in a haze of smoke and screeching metal. The landing gear barely held, and the right engine let out a sickening hiss as flames licked at the exhaust. When the canopy opened, Jake climbed out slower than usual, his movements careful, deliberate. For the first time, he looked... human.

“You okay?” you barked as you closed the distance between you.

He nodded, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Engine failure. It cut out at altitude, but I managed to bring her in.” His voice was steady, but his hands betrayed him, trembling ever so slightly.

You studied him for a beat longer than necessary, searching for any cracks in the façade. His usual bravado was gone, replaced by something raw and unguarded. “Let me worry about your jet,” you said, pulling your gaze away. “Just... don’t touch anything.”

The hours that followed were grueling. You stayed on your feet, wrench in hand, sweat dripping down your temple as you fought to diagnose the failure. Jake didn’t leave, hovering just outside your workspace like a restless ghost. He wasn’t offering quips or trying to charm his way into a response this time; he was just there, quiet and watchful.

“Why are you still here?” you asked finally, not looking up from the engine bay.

He hesitated, and when he spoke, his voice was softer than you’d ever heard it. “Didn’t feel right leaving her—and you—like this.” The confession made you pause. For a moment, you just stared at the mess of wires and metal in front of you, trying to ignore the strange warmth curling in your chest. “Well,” you said, trying to keep your tone even, “if you’re staying, make yourself useful. Hand me the wrench.”

To your surprise, he did.

When the jet finally roared back to life in the early hours of the morning, you stepped back, exhaustion tugging at every muscle. Jake, who had barely moved from his spot all night, let out a breath of relief that mirrored your own. “Thanks for saving my ass,” he said, and this time, there wasn’t an ounce of sarcasm in his tone.

You turned to him, wiping grease off your hands onto a rag. “Don’t get used to it,” you said, but the sharp edge in your voice was missing.

Jake smiled—small, tentative, and not at all like the cocky grins he usually threw your way. As he walked off into the dawn light, you found yourself watching him longer than you should have, wondering what it meant that Jake Seresin, for once, wasn’t acting like Jake Seresin.

And why it made your chest feel so strange.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

hey guysssss once again sorry this is bad but i really wanted to write so idk....... lmk if you want a part 2 and send reqs!!!! pls!!!

[seat-safety-switch]

It is very easy to forget all the infrastructure that's involved in your daily life. There is no better example than the airport, where giant cylinders filled with fuel shoot you into the clouds and all you can do is complain about how long you had to wait in the security line-up. Perhaps if you thought a little bit about all the cool stuff at the airport, you wouldn't be so grumpy about the miracle of flight.

Take radar, for instance. Once, it was a cutting-edge technology that we didn't want the Germans to know about. Now, we let the Germans have it, in their expensive luxury coupes (which are, inexplicably, four doors,) so that you don't curb the wheels when you're parking by vibes at the library. And radar keeps you alive by telling the folks driving your plane when another plane is in the area (they are extremely territorial.)

Don't forget that crazy truck that lifts up its cargo, dumping huge amounts of almost-digestible food into the plane, all so that you can have a little snacky-wacky on your flight. Someone spent their entire life, and maybe even their marriage, figuring that shit out. Maybe it has never actually worked right, and there's a team of experts straining their blood pressure every day to make up for it at the last minute. They don't want you to end up with a stack of freeze-dried Ho-Hos inside the intake of a jet engine, and you ignore their contribution to your life entirely.

Most of all, we must respect the humble luggage tug. A long time ago, one of our ancient forebears looked at a tractor and thought: "I can probably put a bigger engine on that and cut all the ass off." And they were right. The result is a snap-oversteering, unburned-fuel-spouting, high-torque monster with the ferocity of a thousand cocaine-fiending leopards. It's forced to carry your bags around so that the airlines don't have to make two trips. Someone should do something about that last one, and someone did.

I still maintain it was unfair for the police to come onto the runway to try and catch me ripping skids on the tug. Maybe even rude. They're not part of the airport. They don't respect its unique culture.

[atiny-for-life]

Four plane crashes in one weekend?

You may have seen the TikToks going around: over the course of October 28th and 29th, Norway, Canada, the United Arab Emirates, and South Korea all experienced airplane disasters, though two were heartbreakingly more devastating than the others.

Norway - Hydraulic failure forced an emergency landing shortly after take-off. While the plane skidded off the runway due to an inability to slow down fast enough, no one was harmed.

Canada - The plane's landing gear failed and, as it traversed down the runway, the plane began to shake and catch fire on its left side. Videos of this are circulating online. Fortunately, no one was harmed.

UAE - Off the coast of Ras Al Khaimah, a plane crashed into the sea, killing two, the pilot and co-pilot.

South Korea - The landing gear failed to extend upon landing but, despite this, the pilot managed to land perfectly. The plane proceeded to skid down the runway which was, unfortunately, too short to give the craft enough time to slow to a stop.

After exiting the runway, the plane continued onto the grass before colliding with a wall which led the craft to explode, killing all but two of the 179 passengers and flight crew on board. Had that wall not been placed near the end of the runway, the outcome would have likely been far less devastating. The fault lies not with the pilot(s), but with the airport design and plane. Please keep that in mind if you choose to talk about this tragedy.

A video discussing the ill-placed wall can be found here:

Commonalities between the crashes: The planes in Norway and South Korea were both Boeing machines while the Canadian plane was a De Havilland and the plane involved in the UAE crash was a small glider.

Now for those who know, this will come as no shock, but for those who don't know: Boeing is known for its corner cutting when it comes to plane building. Their machines are notoriously unsafe and, if you can, you should always take that into consideration when you book a flight.

LastWeekTonight have done a full special on Boeing at the start of this year after a video went viral of a plane door getting ripped of its hinges mid-flight:

What's important moving forward:

South Korea will have a 7-Day National Mourning Period, so be respectful and considerate during this time instead of demanding content from K-Pop groups/idols or anything of the sort.

Don't join the conspiracy theorists on TikTok, but do feel free to blame Boeing and boycott them in the future for the sake of your safety: you'll be one of many. It's beyond reasonable.

[sunnyuto]

In you’ve ever thought that the policy we make here in the US doesn’t affect the entire planet, this week has chosen to prove you wrong.

KLM flight 1204 from Oslo, Norway to Amsterdam made an emergency landing in Sandefjord, Norway at about 7pm local time Saturday 12/28, roughly an hour after taking off. The aircraft experienced a hydraulic failure and ended up skidding off the runway and into the grass. Fortunately, none of the 182 passengers and crew were injured.

Jeju Air flight 2216 from Bangkok, Thailand to Muan International Airport in South Korea crashed shortly after 9am local time Sunday morning 12/29, approximately 6 hours after the KLM flight malfunction, killing 179 of the 181 people on board. The plane suffered a bird strike, which killed an engine, then reportedly had a fire start on board, was cleared to make an emergency landing in the wrong direction on the runway, its landing gear failed, it skidded into a concrete wall and exploded on impact. There is a video circulating, it is very difficult to watch.

Jeju Air flight 7C101 from Seoul, South Korea to Jeju Island returned to Seoul at about 7am local time Monday morning, approximately 20 minutes after takeoff and 22 hours after the 2216 crash, when its indicators signaled a landing gear issue. It fortunately landed safely and its passengers were transferred to an alternate flight, save for 21 people who cited safety concerns and chose not to be rebooked.

These three incidents all occurred on Boeing 737-800 planes within 28 hours of each other and two of them explicitly involved landing gear issues. It is a miracle that only one was deadly. I cannot even begin to imagine the feeling of racing toward your certain death at a speed of several hundred miles per hour knowing there’s nothing you can do, especially for the pilots who could see the wall coming and knew they didn’t have any way of slowing themselves down. It’s a horrifying atrocity and has led to the South Korean government rightfully grounding and inspecting all 737-800 planes.

Boeing is an American company that manufactures in America and is subject to American manufacturing and safety standards and regulated by the FAA. To my knowledge, none of the passengers or crew members on any of these flights were Americans. And yet here they are, having their lives irreparably affected and even destroyed by American policy. From the 179 victims on flight 2216, there are over 600 body parts that first responders are having to identify and match in order to return bodies to families. Some of them likely won’t ever be identified, such as the pilots who took the impact first and who were almost certainly completely obliterated.

Boeing has been the subject of over 200 whistleblower complaints and multiple lawsuits in 2024, alleging that they push quantity over quality, have ignored quality control errors and flags, and have let planes with known mechanical defects get shipped anyway. Two Boeing whistleblowers died this year within weeks of being publicly identified, and a third who was identified in early December says they fear for their life.

American policy is directly responsible for this. Capitalism is directly responsible for this. Deregulation and lack of oversight are directly responsible for this. Our government’s failure to hold corporations accountable is directly responsible for this.

[ghostieeeee]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟔: 𝐌𝐎𝐌!

ᶜᵘᵗ ʰᵉʳᵉ ✄-----------------------------------------

ᶜᵘᵗ ʰᵉʳᵉ ✄-----------------------------------------

Word count: 1K

Warnings: None

A/N: Sorry if there's spelling mistakes, I'll proofread this when I wake up (it's literally 3:32 am while im writing this rn) 🥱

ᶜᵘᵗ ʰᵉʳᵉ ✄-----------------------------------------

“Mom!” The half squeaky voice of your slightly younger sister catches you off guard as a set of sudden footsteps rush past your room- a shadow zipping past the slight gap under your door. “Mom!”

“H-Hey!” You yell in a panicked rush, eyes blowing wide at the realisation of her unexpected (but not entirely unpredicted) action. Your mind quickly recalls the messages you had sent to your group chat not even half an hour ago.

Your hands fumble to your bed sheets as you rip them away from your body, your legs flinging themselves out of bed as you take off towards the door of your bedroom. Scurrying down the hallway and down the stairs came with the almost stampede-like sound effects, especially as you seemed to throw yourself into the living room so willingly.

“What she's saying is all false!” You abruptly skid to your sister's side, glaring at her as your heart flips within your throat. Though, the small chuckle Eunchae let's out is beyond your comprehension as your mother turns to stare you down- arguably confused too.

“What's false?” She begins “Eunchae was just rambling nonsense about some new drink”

You blink with a half malfunctioned mind as Eunchae scoffs playfully- not wanting to earn a threatening look from the adult in the room. “Mom! It's not just a new drink!! It's a new carbonated drink that tastes like green tea!”

“Uh, ew” your nose scrunches up at the thought of a carbonated drink tasting like any type of iced tea… or coffee for the matter. “That sounds so wrong”

“It doesn't! If anything, your milkshakes are wrong!” she huffs.

“Uhm….” You furrow your brows, a sense of uncertainty plucking at you. “How does a milkshake sound wrong? It's a perfectly normal drink, and one that won't confuse your taste buds at that”

“Shoo, both of you, before this turns into an argument no one wants to listen to” your mother interjects, flicking her wrists dismissively as she eyes you both, awaiting your disappearance from her bracket of sight and most preferably, hearing too.

“Yeah, Y/n, don't you have a girlfriend to tend to”

“Girlfriend?” Your mother perks up again to the mention of a potential love interest, her dark eyes now perishing your every thought and comeback. You gulp and shake your head.

“Girlfriend? I don't have a girlfriend?” You cock your head to the side slightly, eyes adjusting to the smug expression that sugar glazes Eunchae’s smiling face. “I'm as single as ever”

“So… you're keeping secrets?” Eunchae grins, her once innocent smile turning almost sinister to you. Though, it seemed as if your sight was betraying you when a deep shaded pair of horns grew from the top of your sister's head, a thin but long tail with a knife-like tip swaying mischievously behind her.

“You're lying…” Your eyes narrow at the disguised demon, brows lowering in suspicion. Her eyes seemed to entice yours into a deep state of hypnosis as a small staring contest commenced- a buzzing line of rivalry set the runway for your directed gaze.

However, your small moment falls to shambles at the interruption of a cough- a particularly dry cough at that. “Y/n?”

“I swear down, if this is about Haerin-” You refrain from pointing at your sister, knowing farewell that your mother would drop kick you to Jupiter or some neighbouring planet at such a gesture. Scrunching your nose, you turn back to your mom,”me and Haerin are partners for that project I mentioned few weeks ago”

Your fingers squeezed together in a crossed position in hopes that your mom would believe you. Thankfully, for your stupid luck- she just sighs and flicks her wrist again- she's evidently not in a mood for anything tonight. “I'll talk to you another time about this”

“Okay, mom” you smile, glancing at Eunchae as she just blinks like a fool, half in disbelief and half in admiration. No one has ever escaped the talons of your prying mother so easily before. “Rest well, I'm going to bed now”

She only hums, resting her head back gently as she closes her eyes. “Goodnight”

A grin was quick to grow on your face. It was almost as if you had stolen Eunchae's grin with how despicable it felt upon your skin. It felt foreign, but not entirely unwelcome. “Come on, Munch, don't you have some friends to tend to?” Eunchae rolls her eyes, walking past you with a small shoulder bump, her hair unnoticeably attacking your shoulder as she does so. “That was uncalled for…” You grumble, following her back up the stairs. “Why’d you say I have a girlfriend?”

“Because I wanted to see you suffer” Eunchae informs with a small laugh following pursuit as she reaches the top of the stairs, turning to look at you as you remain two steps away from the top. “But mostly because I wanted to see you blush and get all shy at the thought of Haerin”

“b…blush?”

She nods. “Yeah… but you didn't blush as much as I would've hoped for” Eunchae smiles widely before turning and fleeing for her bedroom- leaving a half stuned you to eye her door suspiciously.

Blush?

After a moment of inexplicable dwelling, you shake your head and make a turn to your own room. You don't dare to hesitate as you flop back into the comfort of your bed, sheets still smelling fresh from when they were washed just last evening. Your head found itself buried deep into the soft of your cased pillows. A deep sigh leaves your mouth, hitting your pillow and warming the fabric slightly. Though, before an ounce of rest could officially even enter your system, your phone buzzes from your bedside table. Reluctantly, you open your phone.

ᶜᵘᵗ ʰᵉʳᵉ ✄-----------------------------------------

: Dating in a high school full of love thirsty teenagers was never really something you wanted. But of course, things change- and you learnt that in more ways than one. Kim Minji, one of the more popular students. Hong y/n, probably the most invisible person alive. They couldn't possibly be dating… or maybe they could be? You never know what goes on behind closed doors.

ᶜᵘᵗ ʰᵉʳᵉ ✄-----------------------------------------

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 | 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓

ᶜᵘᵗ ʰᵉʳᵉ ✄-----------------------------------------

𝐓𝐀𝐆 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: [𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍]

@jeindall777 @feisrants @thefckghost @everydayiloveyves @nasyu-kookies @justdelulumeh @feb14-kid

@ehcyps @imjeyjjey @winteresss @haechansbbg @urwyf3

@idkwhatim-doinghere101 @imahallucination11 @sserajeans @lesleepyyy @jennasluma @kaypanaq

@petruchiosstuff @pandafuriosa60 @haexrin07 @bdscsjhb @awkwardtoafault @huhyunjinwifey @haerinkisser

@ivers01 @julian-han @honestlysana @impossiblesharkcashrebel

[arctic-hands]

1) absolutely horrific, 2) yes it was a Boeing

[arealphrooblem]

Kidnapped by the Boss Part 2

synopsis: Civilian is a secretary to the Prime Minster. But when the political summit between the city states goes awry, she finds herself kidnapped by the very boss she tried to protect and nothing is what it seems.

CW: gun mention, threats on Civilian's life, blood mention

Part One Here

The driver had seen too many action movies, Civilian decided. That’s why he sped like a maniac down the streets, swerving between cars, skidding down right turns at the last second like he was in a spy movie. One such sudden turn flung Civilian hard enough into the side door that she cracked her head against the glass window. Pain exploded against her head, and nausea in her gut. For a moment she could hear only the ringing in her ears.

Then she felt hands clenching at her dress, at her waist, dragging her across the seat until she sprawled into the Prime Minister’s lap. His arms wrapped tightly around her, their chests pressed close enough he must have felt her raging heart against his own. He buckled the seat belt over both of them, the click of it like a key in a lock.

Dazed by pain and shock, she did not fight him. Her face pressed against the crook of his neck, the warmth of his skin, the intoxicating smell of his cologne filling her nose. She focused on the warm, woody notes of it as he barked something harshly to the driver in that foreign language.

“I can’t shake the tail!” The driver snapped back. “The fuck do you want me to do?”

She felt the sharp inhale from the prime minister against her chest, before a muttered curse. Fingers dug out her ear-piece; it was unceremoniously tossed out the window.

“There was a tracker in her ear-piece,” he said. “I took care of it. Now get us to the plane — in one piece preferably.”

Civilian’s stomach dropped at the sound of the plane. But what could she do — fling herself out of a car moving at 80 miles an hour?

In front of her the driver let out an impressive swirl of curse words from both their languages. “You should have fucking shot her in the parking garage.”

The Prime Minister responded in the other language, tone gently rebuking, almost sounding like the person she had thought he was. Whatever he said, gentle tone aside, was enough to shut the driver up for the rest of the ride.

Face pressed into his neck, his hand cradling the back of her head (a seemingly comforting gesture used to keep her blind), Civilian couldn’t see their journey or destination. She ran through all the airports around the city they knew of — both public and private. But if they suspected the Prime Minister of getting kidnapped or running away, wouldn’t the airports be the first place they look?

Maybe then, if Civilian could run, she could find some help. Or at least blend in with the crowd if they could get off the runway and into the airport itself. It sounded like an insane plan at best, but she knew if she set foot on that plane, no one would ever see her again.

For the rest of the car ride she counted her breaths. In for four counts, hold for four counts, out for four counts. The same trick she had taught the Prime Minister for his first major televised speech. Her nerves felt like one stray thought away from completely shattering and she could not afford to shatter.

The smell of the Prime Minister's ungodly expensive cologne both distracted her and grounded it. It was a scent that she had associated with the fond glow in her chest when she heard his voice. Despite everything she thought she knew about him laying crushed at her proverbial feet, the smell still comforted her.

How many times had she daydreamed some wildly unrealistic event that would lead to this near exact position? How many times had she imagined rolling her ankle in heels and limping until he swept her up and carried her so she could press her nose in this exact place on his shoulder, feel his arms around just like this?

How twisted that she got her wish in the worst way possible.

The car stopped so abruptly the seat belt tightened like a vice against them. Before the key could slide from the ignition, the Prime Minister unbuckled them and flung the door open.

“Come,” he said against her ear. “Fast and quiet, darling.”

Even in such dire circumstances, Civilian could not stop the hard swallow from imagining a different context for those words.

He nudged her ahead of him out the car door. The second her feet hit the ground, she ran. Even before she took notice of her surroundings, she ran. She saw the plane looming before her and took off in the opposite direction.

Nothing but a wide open field stretched before her. Night was rapidly descending. Logically, running away in a strange place in the dark was the kind of decision the head of security would rake her over the coals for. But panic had well and truly set in. She couldn’t do nothing and she couldn’t set foot on the plane.

So she ran.

Scraped footsteps followed behind her. The sound of it kick-started a rush of energy like nothing she felt before, the kind a prey animal feels at the sound of the hunter. She ran faster than she ever did on her high school track team.

But it wasn’t fast enough. In seconds, arms grabbed her roughly from behind and yanked her to a hard, unforgiving chest. They both stumbled backward for a second, but the person behind her recovered first. Before she could lunge from their grip, the cold steel of a knife rested against her throat.

“If you were as smart as he always bragged about, you would stand very still right now,” came the voice of the driver against her hair.

And just as movement had exploded from her before, stillness locked her limbs up just as suddenly.

The Prime Minister walked briskly towards them, until he stopped just a few inches shy of her, his polished loafers nearly brushing up against her filthy toes.

“As admirable as your spirit is, we do not have time for it,” he says, eyes dark and somber. “So allow me to make something very clear to you: you are alive and breathing right now because I allow it. That could change at any moment, with just a snap of my fingers. So if you value your life as much as I do, you will cooperate. Do you understand?”

In two years of close quarters, Civilian had seen him giddy, anxious, hangry, pouty, serene, and frustrated. Before today she had never seen him so commanding, cruel, or dangerous. It felt like witnessing a demonic possession, seeing this side of him. It couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be him.

“Civilian — do not make me ask again.”

She nodded, slowly, because what else could she do? His gaze softened, his hand reached up and brushed his thumb across her lower lip. The salt of his skin stung the cut on her lip as he wiped the blood away.

“Good girl. Now walk onto that plane and give us no further trouble.”

The private jet was by far swankier than any the Prime Minister had taken before. Lush carpet hugged her aching feet as he led her towards one of the wide, squashy leather armchairs with a firm hand on the small of her back. A wide screen television sat before her, mounted on a divider wall, a glimpse of a large bed peeking out on the other side.

The driver headed straight into the cockpit, exchanging foreign words with the pilot. The Prime Minister bent down and opened a small fridge off to the side.

“Water?” he offered. “Or perhaps something stronger?”

As tempting as the offer was, Civilian shook her head. The pit in her stomach had eased somewhat, but the pain in her head and now her feet had not lessened. She would probably puke whatever she ingested.

“Perhaps later, then.”

He took a bottle of water out and set it on the small wooden table next to her chair. His eyes darted over her face, taking in her undoubtedly ragged appearance. Other than his hair, which the car ride had mussed, he still looked as immaculate as when he stepped out of the hotel room.

“You’re bleeding,” he said.

Civilian didn’t notice and didn’t care. She had other, more pressing, concerns.

“What’s going on?” Her voice, so strong-willed in her head, came out shaky and weak. “What’s going to happen to me?”

Instead of answering, he walked to a small overhead compartment and pulled out a first aid kit and a rolled cloth napkin. Then he returned and knelt down on his knees before her. Civilian’s heart stuttered in her chest in both fear and twisted longing.

He pulled the ring out from the napkin and set it on the table. Engraved into the gold was the crest of the Hidden City’s flag, unchanged for the last one hundred years. Her eyes fixated on it, a puzzle piece she couldn’t make fit.

 Meanwhile, the Prime Minister opened the bottle of water and wet the cloth. He raised it to the side of her head and gently wiped away the blood that had dripped down her cheek. For the first time she noticed the small spot of blood on his shirt collar, from her lip.

A kiss.

“Sir?” she dared ask again.

He dabbed more water onto the cloth, ruined now by smears of red. “We are going to the Hidden City. As for what happens to you there . . .that depends on you. The more cooperative you are, the less likely it is that I will have to hurt you.”

Once again, the clashing dichotomy of such a sweetly familiar face saying such terrifying words makes her head swim. The Prime Minister used to rescue spiders and stink bugs from hotel rooms rather than kill them. Now he threatens violence as easy as breathing.

“Who are you?” she demanded, throat tightening with unshed tears.

“That’s the King of the Hollow City,” came the driver’s voice, stepping out of the cockpit.

tagging: @rivalriotrenegade

Part 3

[usafphantom2]

☝️deploy-jettison of the braking parachute. A go-around was initiated after the chute was jettisoned.

On the next landing attempt, the aircraft touched down slightly "hot," but had no chute to reduce the aircraft's speed.

The pilot was unable to keep the plane on the runway. The aircraft suffered significant damage. The pilot and the RSO, Capt. James W. Fagg escaped without injury.

Here is the story by an eyewitness.

(My question is why didn’t they check the weather before they sent these two men out for a test mission!? Maybe typhoons come up so unpredictably and this was five hours before a full-blown typhoon. But the crew they were not in pressure suits.) There is more to this story that I have dug into with my interviews with Pete Collins Junior son of an SR 71 pilot. part B of this story will be up shortly ~ Linda Sheffield

On the afternoon of July 20, 1972, I was in my maintenance truck, eavesdropping on the tower frequency. Word had gotten around that an SR-71 would be landing soon. Normally the Blackbird pilots weren’t a chatty bunch, but I could hear the anxiety in the voice of this one.

I heard the tower warn him of a 90-degrees-to-the-runway crosswind of 35 knots gusting to 50 knots—a typhoon was on its way. I could’ve sworn I heard the tower advise him to consider an alternate airport. But landing anywhere else was out of the question. The SR-71 wouldn’t have had the fuel, and everyone understood without discussion that the brass wanted that airplane on the ground and out of sight as quickly as possible.

I sought out a good vantage point to observe the landing: a small concrete building, which housed fuel pumps, about 50 yards from the runway the SR-71 was headed for. I climbed to the roof and settled in. I could see the landing lights before I could make out the airplane, perfectly lined up with the runway, three or four miles out. I couldn’t have been more focused if I were landing the damn thing myself.

Then one of the left main landing gear tires exploded.

The pilot jettisoned the chute, poured the coals to the burner, and rotated away from the runway, climbing back into the sky to circle around. I remember thinking, What the hell is he gonna do now? No drag chute. Blown tire. And a monster crosswind The pilot made a second approach, dumping fuel the entire length of the runway, then came back around for his final.

The main landing gear touched down, and despite the hellish crosswinds, the fuselage was aligned perfectly with the runway’s centerline. It looked like the pilot was going to pull off a picture-perfect landing. But as soon as he deployed his drag chute, a wind gust blew it to port. I watched the nose shift to starboard. As he touched down, a fireball engulfed the left landing gear. The airplane kept rolling, nose still high in the air, and then the right gear tires blew.

The Blackbird skidded past me like that, nose up and tires on fire, for four or five seconds. When the left gear collapsed and the wing struck the runway, the left engine exploded and debris flew high into the air. The entire airframe began to spin, still traveling down the runway at probably 150 mph, and finally the right gear buckled.

The flaming wreck 🔥🔥continued sliding down the runway, still on the centerline, until it finally drifted off to the left, into the grass. I watched the pilot and reconnaissance system operator in their bright orange flight suits leap from the remnants of their aircraft and run from it as fast as they could.

About a month later, I saw the fuselage being loaded into a C-5 headed Stateside. Forty-three years+ later, I still don’t understand why getting that SR-71 inside while a typhoon was important!

@Habubrats71 via X

[oskea93]

✶ Whiskey (3 - pt.1) ✶ - John “Bucky” Egan x OC - Masters of the Air fandom - Multi-chaptered story.

⚠ Warning: Rating 18+ ⚠ Chapter warning: cursing, historical sexism Words: 4120 A/N: Hey lovely people! So, I had to break this chapter up into two parts just because this first part was important to the story. The man of the hour will not be featured in this chapter but another one of our favorites will be introduced... (I'll let you figure out who it is!) As the warnings show, there will be a hefty dose of historical sexism so be cautious of that. Lastly, I just want to thank you all for taking the time to read my stories. I greatly appreciate each and every one of you ❤️ Taglist is available 😊

The jolt of the landing gear coming down snapped me out of my sleep, and I noticed Dominick's unease immediately. The anticipation of meeting with Colonel Huglin was clearly weighing on him, his usual easy demeanor replaced by a palpable tension that seemed to fill the air around us. Every movement he made was deliberate, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the armrest as he stared out the window, lost in his thoughts.

I could tell that his nerves were on edge, his mind preoccupied with what lay ahead. When I tried to engage him in conversation, even the simplest question was met with a sharp response, his words biting back with a quickness that surprised me. It was unlike him to be so curt, so distant, and it pained me to see him wrestling with his inner turmoil.

As the plane descended towards the small town that would be our home for however long the war raged on, I watched with a mix of anticipation and apprehension. The landscape below unfolded before my eyes, revealing a picturesque scene that seemed almost untouched by the chaos of the outside world.

Small cottages dotted the countryside in a sorted fashion, their roofs glistening in the sunlight. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, a sign of life stirring within the quaint dwellings. The streets were quiet, with only a few early risers going about their daily routines, their silhouettes moving like shadows against the backdrop of the rising sun.

The vast fields of green that surrounded the town stretched out as far as the eye could see, a sea of tranquility in the midst of uncertainty. The sight of the lush vegetation was a welcomed one, a reminder of the beauty that still existed in a world torn apart by conflict and strife.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" I remarked, my smile faltering slightly as Dominick remained silent, his eyes fixed on the passing scenery outside the window. A sense of disappointment washed over me as his lack of response hung heavy in the air between us.

I turned my gaze back to the landscape outside, the beauty of the small town now tinged with a hint of melancholy. The cottages and fields that had seemed so inviting moments ago now felt like a facade, masking the underlying tension that simmered beneath the surface.

The plane roughly shook as the wheels skidded onto the runway, the loud rumble of the engine gradually drowning out the defining silence that had settled between my husband and me. The tension in the air was palpable, so thick that it felt suffocating, wrapping around us like a heavy shroud.

As the aircraft came to a stop, the sound of the engine slowly faded away, leaving behind an eerie stillness that seemed to amplify the distance that had grown between us. I stole a glance at Dominick, his jaw clenched tight, his gaze fixed on the seat in front of him, refusing to meet my eyes.

"I have to meet with Colonel Huglin right away," Dom's voice cut through the lingering silence, his tone clipped and tense. "Your actions this morning already put me 10 minutes behind schedule."

His words landed like a blow, the accusation in his voice stinging with a sharpness that caught me off guard. The weight of his disappointment hung heavy in the air, adding to the tension that already surrounded us like a suffocating fog.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to delay you," I replied, my tone clipped. “I wasn’t gonna leave without saying goodbye to my daughter – no good mother would do that,” I added, my words sharp, aimed in his direction.

In that charged moment, my words became a weapon, a way to defend my actions and assert my position. The intensity of the situation was palpable, the air crackling with unspoken thoughts and emotions that begged to be addressed.

He rose from his seat, pulling out the wrinkles of his jacket. “One of the secretaries will show you to the house, make sure you get settled while I’m gone,” he stated, his actions crisp and controlled. It was evident that he was not accustomed to a woman taking the upper hand in a conversation, as he seemed to brush aside my earlier words without acknowledging their weight. “Make sure you’re ready for dinner when I arrive,” he continued, his gaze finally meeting mine. “Don’t want to be late for something else twice in one day.” His tone carried a hint of authority, a subtle reminder of his expectations and the boundaries he sought to impose.

As he spoke, I felt a mix of defiance and frustration bubbling within me. His dismissal of my words only fueled my determination to assert myself, to make my presence known in a way that could not be ignored. The subtle power play unfolding between us was palpable, each word and gesture a move in a silent dance of dominance and submission.

He quickly gathered his things and made his way towards the exit. I watched him go, a sense of unease settling in the pit of my stomach. The meeting with Colonel Huglin loomed large in the forefront of his mind, a reminder of the challenges that lay ahead and the uncertainties that threatened to drive us further apart.

I took a deep breath as I stood, the sound of my heels clicking against the floor of the plane echoing in the enclosed space. I distanced myself behind him, creating a physical barrier as I sought a moment of solitude amidst the flurry of activity unfolding around us. The familiar rhythm of his voice mingled with the murmur of conversation as he engaged with the men waiting at the stairs of the aircraft.

I could sense his presence commanding attention, his words likely weaving a narrative of past accomplishments and accolades, subtly stroking his ego and reinforcing his position within the group of talented individuals gathered around him. It was a familiar scene; one I had witnessed before – a display of confidence and authority designed to assert his dominance in the room.

The feeling of the warm spring air enveloped me as I descended the stairs, a stark contrast to the dreary cold of London that we had left behind. Despite still being in England, the touch of warmth and the glimpse of partly cloudy skies were a refreshing change, lifting my spirits as I stepped onto the tarmac.

“Oh my stars –“ a gruff voice sounded, breaking through the tranquility of the moment. “Dom, old boy, you didn’t say anything about bringing a movie star with you on the plane.”

The unexpected remark caught me off guard, drawing my attention to the man who had spoken. His tone held a mix of surprise and admiration, hinting at a touch of humor in his observation. I couldn't help but smile at the unexpected comparison, the lighthearted comment providing a moment of levity amidst the seriousness of the situation.

As the other man in the group, including Dominick, turned their attention towards me, a sense of surprise washed over me. The men respectfully removed their hats as they stood before me, a gesture of chivalry that felt both antiquated and endearing in such a setting. Dominick's arm found its place around my waist, pulling me closer to his side, a somewhat forced smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he introduced me to the group.

“Gentlemen-“his voice rang out, his hold on me firm. “I would like to introduce you to my beautiful wife, Rachel.” The declaration hung in the air, a mix of pride and formality evident in his words. The men before me responded with smiles and nods, their expressions welcoming as I offered a small wave in acknowledgment.

“Rachel, this is Colonel Huglin-“Dominick gestured towards the dark-haired man, his introduction smooth and practiced. “And this is his assistant, Fredrick Bard.” The men received their introduction with a nod of recognition, their eyes curious and welcoming as they took in the sight of me standing beside Dominick.

Stepping away from my husband's grasp, I took a moment to compose myself before extending my hand to each man in turn. "It's a pleasure to meet you," I said with a warm smile, meeting their surprised gazes with a sense of ease and grace. The slight look of shock on their faces as they accepted my handshake did not go unnoticed, but I maintained my composure, determined to make a positive impression.

"Dominick has spoken so highly of you Colonel Huglin," I continued, my tone genuine and welcoming. "It truly feels like I knew you before now." My smile remained unwavering, a flicker of camaraderie and connection sparking between us as I acknowledged the shared history and camaraderie that Dominick had often spoken of.

In that moment of introduction, I felt a sense of empowerment and agency, asserting my presence in a world that was still adjusting to the idea of a woman standing as an equal among men. The exchange of handshakes and pleasantries marked a subtle shift in the dynamics of the group, signaling my willingness to engage and connect on my own terms.

Dominick's hand wrapped around my wrist, pulling me back into his side with a firm grip, a displeased look etched on his chiseled face. "You'll have to excuse my wife, gentlemen –" he said with a forced chuckle, attempting to lighten the mood. "She's not been properly trained.”

All three men shared a hearty laugh at the joke, their booming voices filling the space with mirth. I felt the heat of embarrassment spread across my face, transforming my usually pale cheeks into a vibrant shade of crimson.

"Maybe I’m not the one who needs the training, darling," I remarked, the words slipping past my lips before I could stop them. The jovial laughter that had filled the air just moments before came to an abrupt halt. Huglin, who had been chuckling heartily in front of me, cleared his throat awkwardly, his eyes darting between me and Dominick who was now staring at me in disbelief.

"Rachel –" Dominick's voice was stern, cutting through the tense silence that enveloped us. "Gentlemen –" He seemed at a loss for words, his expression a mix of disbelief and frustration. "I am truly sorry for how my wife is acting." His eyes bore into mine, demanding a swift and sincere apology to mend the damage my previous words had caused. "Apologize to these men right now," he commanded, his fingers gripping my wrist with a force that bordered on painful.

I opened my mouth to comply, ready to offer the apology he sought, but before the words could leave my lips, the piercing sound of a vehicle racing towards us shattered the moment.

The female driver stopped short a couple feet away from where we were standing, adjusting her windblown hair as she walked in our direction.

"Oh yes," Colonel Huglin exclaimed with a hint of relief as the new arrival approached, a confident woman with a poised demeanor. He gestured towards her with a welcoming smile, introducing her to the couple before him. "Colonel and Mrs. Nottsworth, this is Elizabeth," he said warmly, "she's my personal secretary and will be instrumental in helping you get settled in your new home."

Elizabeth nodded politely, extending her hand in greeting as she spoke, "It's a pleasure to meet you both. I'm here to assist in any way I can to ensure your transition is smooth and comfortable."

I smiled gratefully, already feeling reassured by Elizabeth's professional demeanor. Dominick looked at her with a stern expression, nodding in acknowledgment.

"Shall the women set off towards the house," Huglin suggested. "And us men can head to the main office and start discussing the next mission." Elizabeth nodded her head with a smile, choosing to start walking back to the car as I remained standing with Dominick.

I turned to face him, his eyes meeting mine in a piercing gaze, clearly still upset about the earlier exchange in front of his new colleagues. "Just give me a moment with my wife, Colonel," Dominick asserted firmly. Colonel Huglin and Fredrick nodded in acknowledgment, walking away from where Dominick and I stood.

With his back turned to the departing men, Dominick pulled me in for a brief, strained hug. His voice was devoid of any warmth as he spoke in a low, chilling tone, "You embarrass me like that again—" His threat hung in the air, causing a shiver to run down my spine. He pulled away slightly, his piercing green eyes locked onto mine. "I will make sure it'll be the last."

Feeling a mix of fear and unease at his stern words, I swallowed hard, nodding silently in response. His lips brushed my cheek coldly as he added, "Now be a good wife and get the house in order." His touch sent a shiver down my spine as he continued, his tone firm, "And remember what I said about tonight."

My body remained still as I watched him walk away with the men, acting as if the words he just whispered had stayed unsaid. It wasn’t the first time I had been threatened in that manner by him – whenever I would talk back or undermined him in front of his family or friends, there would always be a moment of reprimanding. Or in Dom’s case, a threat because it showed he had the upper hand in the marriage.

"Mrs. Nottsworth?" Elizabeth's soft voice came up behind me.

I quickly turned around, replacing my frown with a pageant smile. "Are you ready, ma'am?" Her eyes searched mine, likely catching the tail end of Dominick and my interaction.

"Yes, Elizabeth, I'm ready," I replied, forcing cheerfulness into my tone…

As Dominick meticulously unpacked his second trunk, the air in the room was still heavy with unspoken tension. His movements were deliberate, almost mechanical, as if each item he retrieved held a weight far greater than its physical mass. I observed him in silence, noting the furrow in his brow and the tight set of his jaw. It was clear that something troubled him deeply.

Meanwhile, I focused on getting ready for the evening ahead. I had chosen an elegant dress from my wardrobe, its deep blue fabric catching the light in a way that made it seem almost iridescent. As I slipped it on and fastened the delicate clasps, I couldn't shake the feeling that tonight would be a turning point of some kind. The anticipation hummed beneath my skin, a mixture of excitement and apprehension.

Dominick finally finished unpacking his trunk and turned to me, his expression inscrutable. Without a word, he reached out a hand to help me with the final touches of my ensemble. His touch was gentle yet tinged with a hint of urgency, as if he were trying to convey something important through the simple act of assisting me.

"Thank you," I murmured, my eyes meeting his in the reflection of the mirror.

A shiver ran down my spine as his fingers lightly danced down my back, a subtle gesture that spoke volumes.The warmth of his touch seeped into my very being, melting away the remnants of tension and guilt that had plagued me moments before.

As he began to pivot away, a surge of regret and urgency propelled me to speak before he could leave. "I'm sorry about what I said to Colonel Huglin earlier," my voice wavered with genuine contrition. "I don't know what came over me to utter such words, but I deeply regret it, darling.”

His movements stilled, the weight of my apology hung in the room, filling the space between us.

"I didn't mean to hurt you or embarrass you," I continued, my words earnest and raw with emotion. "I let my anger and frustration cloud my judgment, and I spoke out of turn.”

Silence enveloped us, broken only by the soft hum of the distant sound of plane engines. His gaze softened, and a flicker of understanding crossed his features. Without a word, he closed the distance between us, his touch gentle as he reached out to grasp my hand.

"It's okay," he said softly, his voice a soothing balm to my turbulent thoughts. "We all have moments of weakness, my love." His lips met my cheek, lingering for a moment as his hand rested on my lower back.

I was always the first to apologize, a habit ingrained through years of navigating the complexities of our relationship. Even when he was the one to embarrass me in front of those men, I had learned to swallow my pride and maintain the facade of the supportive, unassuming wife.

I wasn't an important colonel brought in to advise on the war strategy or make critical decisions. I was simply a wife who stood by her husband, offering silent support and keeping her opinions to herself. It was a role I had grown accustomed to, a role that often required me to suppress my own desires and aspirations for the sake of maintaining harmony within our marriage.

Just like Marigold taught me.

The dinner was filled with the laughter of men, their voices animated as they regaled each other with tales of daring fleets and distinguished honors bestowed upon them by influential political figures.

I couldn't help but notice the other wives, their smiles carefully poised as they leaned into their husbands, nodding and laughing at all the right moments. There was a palpable swell of pride and entitlement that seemed to course through their powdered faces, a facade of sophistication and breeding that masked the underlying tensions and rivalries.

As the men spoke, their wives exchanged knowing glances, their eyes sharp and assessing, each vying for a position of superiority within the social hierarchy. It was a subtle yet fierce competition, played out through veiled compliments, strategic alliances, and subtle displays of wealth and status.

In their midst, I felt like an outsider, a silent observer to a world that I did not fully belong to. While they reveled in their shared sense of belonging and exclusivity, I remained on the fringes, acutely aware of the unspoken rules and expectations that governed their interactions.

They looked at each other like dogs in a crowded cage, their gazes sharp and calculating, each assessing the other for any sign of weakness or vulnerability. This was ever present once the dinner rolled into the party in the next hall over. The band’s music blaring through the large room, those in and out of uniform dancing away.

The wives had congregated along the wall, forming a silent tableau of elegant restraint amidst the lively revelry unfolding in the center of the room. I joined their ranks, taking a seat next to a young wife who was engaged in conversation with the woman beside her.

Their voices were hushed, their laughter tinkling like delicate chimes in the air, but as I attempted to join in, I was met with a wall of icy indifference. It was as if an invisible barrier had been erected around me, marking me as an outsider in this exclusive circle of wives.

I listened intently, trying to catch their eye or offer a polite comment, but they remained resolutely focused on each other, their gestures and expressions subtly excluding me from their intimate conversation. It was clear that I had not yet earned my place among them, that I was still an interloper in their carefully constructed world of alliances and allegiances.

These women were supposed to be my allies, my confidantes in a world filled with unfamiliar faces and unwritten rules. But instead of extending a welcoming hand, they turned their backs on me, their indifference a silent rebuke that cut deeper than any overt hostility.

As I sat there, a sense of isolation and alienation washed over me, a reminder of my outsider status in this insular community of military wives. I felt a twinge of disappointment and hurt, but beneath it all, there simmered a spark of defiance and determination.

I glanced over at Dominick, engrossed in conversation with the other men, their camaraderie fueled by cigars and scotch that seemed to flow independently of any external influences.

Slowly, I rose from my seat, the click of my heels against the polished floor echoing in the room as I made my way towards the refreshment table. The clink of glasses and murmur of voices provided a backdrop to my solitary journey, a stark contrast to the lively interactions unfolding around me.

Reaching the table, I offered a polite smile to the woman who stood behind it, her eyes twinkling with appreciation as she handed me a cup. The simple gesture of kindness warmed my heart, a small beacon of connection in a sea of indifference.

"Thank you," I murmured, meeting her gaze with a grateful nod.

As I sipped the cool liquid, I let my gaze wander across the room, observing those around me as they enjoyed the night.

"Excuse me?" My neck turned to the side, meeting the gaze of a polished soldier standing before me. His hair was slicked to the side, accentuating his chiseled features, while his blue eyes shined like a crystal-clear sky.

He shuffled on his feet, a nervous movement I supposed, betraying the facade of confidence he tried to exude. The crisp uniform he wore was adorned with medals and badges, a testament to his service and dedication. Despite his imposing presence, there was a vulnerability in his demeanor that tugged at my curiosity.

"Yes?" I smiled warmly as I set the drink down on the table.

He scratched the back of his head, his eyes darting over to a group of guys trying not to stare at our interaction. "Wou-" he paused, his words stuttering. "Wou- would you, uh-" He stumbled over his words, his cheeks turning a faint shade of pink in embarrassment. "Fucking hell-" he muttered under his breath, a mix of frustration and amusement evident in his voice.

I couldn't help but feel a small smile forming into a smirk at the curse word slipping out. His nerves were endearing, and I found myself growing more intrigued by his attempt at asking me to dance.

Finally, after a moment of internal struggle, he mustered up the courage to look me in the eye and ask, "Would you like to dance with me?" The words escaped him in a rush, a mix of hope and uncertainty lacing his tone.

I met his gaze, feeling a soft flutter of excitement in my chest at the invitation. His vulnerability was both surprising and refreshing, and I couldn't help but be drawn to the genuine sincerity in his eyes.

I arched an eyebrow, a playful glint in my eye as I considered his invitation. "Dance with you?" I repeated, drawing out the words teasingly. The soldier's cheeks flushed slightly, his gaze flickering nervously between me and the ground. I couldn’t help but glance over at his group of friends, who were watching our exchange with bated breath, their expressions a mix of anticipation and silent encouragement.

A smile tugged at the corners of my lips as I extended a hand towards him. "I would be delighted to dance with you," I replied, my voice warm and inviting. The soldier's eyes widened in surprise, a mixture of relief and excitement flashing across his features.

As the music swelled around us, I placed my hand in his. With a gentle tug, he led me to the center of the room, those sitting now on the edge of their seats as they watched us post up for the slow dance that was starting. The soldier's steps were hesitant at first, but as we moved together in time with the music, his confidence grew.

The weight of Dominick's intense gaze bore down on me like a heavy cloak as the young solider moved me around the floor. The familiar look of anger etched on his features sent a shiver down my spine, knowing the storm that brewed beneath his controlled exterior. The colonels standing by his side watched the scene unfold, their eyes flickering between Dominick and me, as if bracing for the clash that seemed inevitable.

It was evident that the young soldier held a lower rank compared to Dominick, likely a Lieutenant given his demeanor and insignia. Despite the unspoken tension hanging in the air, I made a conscious choice not to embarrass the soldier in front of his comrades. Instead, I saw an opportunity to offer a fleeting moment of joy and respite amidst the uncertainty that loomed on the horizon.

[justkeeponsimming]

Justice can’t stand her mother’s hypocrisy. When the conversation diverted away from her mother’s absence, Justice storms off.

She heads to her happy place - outdoors. Being in the fresh air soothes her soul. Wind whipping through her hair, smelling the briny breeze from the sea, feeling her muscles burn as she cycles around, truly puts her at ease. Some sims meditate in silence, but Justice’s personal peace is movement.

Cycling became one of Justice’s favourite hobbies whilst her mother was away. Tied to her movement skill, it’s a fun way to level up and learn some cool tricks! She knows she’s so close to getting the milestone!

Justice’s anger fuels her determination! She takes a deep breath and scoots down the street to give herself a runway! She checks her helmet is secure, then makes sure her light is on full brightness. Safety first, even for a daring sim like her!

Pushing off, Justice pedals as fast as she can! When she’s got enough speed, she pulls back the handlebars, finally performing the perfect wheelie! Justice shouts in triumph as she skids to a halt, earning her milestone for learning to ride a bike!