#frankfurt

[lionfloss]

The Nature Ship, Frankfurt, Germany

[terribleinfluence-tour]

Daniel Howell and Amazingphil instagram post - 23/09/24

(both videos are edited together cos tumblr only lets one per post)

[outofcontextdanandphil]

Fmk the sun, the moon and the stars

[allthingseurope]

Frankfurt am Main, Germany (by Jorge Lascar)

[nobeerreviews]

There it is, fog, atmospheric moisture still uncertain in destination, not quite weather and not altogether mood, yet partaking of both.

-- Hal Borland

(Frankfurt, Germany)

[meazalykov]

teacher freigang

laura freigang x reader

summary: you can't drive, so your girlfriend teaches you

warnings: car accident trauma, mentions of body injury, tiny bit of angst

it’s a warm late afternoon in frankfurt, the sun casting a golden hue over the city as you sit in the passenger seat of laura’s car, staring blankly at the dashboard. 

laura’s sleek black audi feels more intimidating than inviting, despite how often you’ve ridden in it. you love sitting in this seat,being a passenger princess while watching laura effortlessly navigate the streets, her hands steady on the wheel, her confidence radiating with every turn. 

today, that comfort feels worlds away. today, you’re the one who’s supposed to be in the driver’s seat.

“hey,” laura’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. you glance at her, her dark eyes soft with encouragement. “you okay?”

you nod quickly, but the truth is you’re not okay. your heart is pounding, your hands are clammy, and a lump has formed in your throat that you can’t seem to swallow down. you force a small smile, hoping it’s convincing enough. “yeah, i’m fine,” you lie.

laura doesn’t buy it. she knows you too well for that. 

“you don’t have to do this if you’re not ready,” she says gently, her hand resting on top of yours. her touch is warm and grounding, a stark contrast to the chill in your fingertips.

“no, i want to,” you say quickly, though your voice wavers. you take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. 

“i mean… i have to. i’m 24, laura. it’s about time i learned how to drive.”

laura’s lips quirk into a small smile, though concern lingers in her eyes. 

“it’s not about time or what you ‘should’ be doing. it’s about doing it when you’re ready. if that’s not today, that’s okay.”

you shake your head. “no, i want to try. i don’t want to be scared forever.”

that word—scared—hangs in the air between you. laura doesn’t say anything for a moment, but her hand squeezes yours gently. “okay,” she says finally. “we’ll take it slow. i promise, nothing bad is going to happen. i won’t let anything happen.”

you nod, her words offering a small sliver of comfort. but as you step out of the car to switch seats with her, your chest tightens with every step. by the time you slide into the driver’s seat, your breathing is shallow, and your fingers tremble as they grip the steering wheel. 

it feels foreign under your hands, like it belongs to someone else. laura’s car has always been her space, her sanctuary. being here feels like an intrusion.

“all right,” laura says as she settles into the passenger seat and buckles her seatbelt. her tone is calm, reassuring, like she’s guiding you through a warm-up drill on the pitch. 

“first thing’s first. let’s get you comfortable. adjust the seat and mirrors so you can see everything clearly.”

you nod, fumbling with the controls as you move the seat closer to the pedals and adjust the rearview mirror. laura watches you patiently, her presence steady and reassuring. “good,” she says once you’re done. 

“now, foot on the brake and press the button to start the car.”

your fingers hover over the ignition button for a moment, hesitation freezing you in place. your mind flashes back to that day 15 years ago—the screech of tires, the deafening crunch of metal, the way your mother screamed your name as the car spun out of control. 

you were only nine years old, and you’d been sitting in the backseat, your backpack still slung over one shoulder from school. the impact had thrown you forward, the seatbelt cutting into your collarbone. you still remember the pain, sharp and blinding, as you clutched your shoulder and cried for your mom.

“y/n?” laura’s voice pulls you back to the present. you blink, realizing your hand is still hovering over the ignition. “it’s okay,” she says softly, her hand brushing against your arm. 

“you’re not there anymore. you’re here, with me. you’re safe.”

of course laura knows about that painful memory of yours. 

you take a shaky breath and press the button. the engine hums to life, and you flinch slightly at the sound. laura notices but doesn’t say anything. instead, she offers you a reassuring smile. 

“there you go. see? step one is done.”

you nod, gripping the steering wheel tightly. “now what?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“now, put the car in drive,” she instructs, her tone steady and patient. 

“but keep your foot on the brake for now.”

you do as she says, your hand trembling as you shift the gear. the car doesn’t move, but the knowledge that it could sends a fresh wave of anxiety through you. laura places a comforting hand on your thigh, her touch grounding you once again.

“okay, now this part is important,” she says. 

“when you’re ready, slowly—*slowly*—ease your foot off the brake. just let the car roll forward a little. don’t worry about the gas pedal yet.”

you nod, your heart pounding as you follow her instructions. your foot lifts ever so slightly, and the car begins to inch forward. your breath catches in your throat. for a moment, you’re paralyzed by the sensation. but laura’s voice keeps you anchored.

“you’re doing it,” she says, her tone light and encouraging. 

“i’m doing it,” you whisper, a mix of awe and fear in your voice. you keep your eyes fixed on the empty parking lot ahead, the car moving at a snail’s pace. “i’m actually doing it.”

“you are,” laura agrees, a proud smile on her face. “you’re doing great.”

for the next hour, she guides you through the basics—steering, braking, accelerating. you practice making wide, slow turns and stopping gently at imaginary stop signs. every time you hesitate or second-guess yourself, laura is there with a reassuring word or a gentle touch.

when you accidentally slam on the brake too hard, jolting the car to an abrupt stop, she just laughs and says, “well, at least we know the brakes work.”

it’s not all smooth sailing. as you approach another turn, a wave of panic washes over you. the memory of that accident resurfaces, vivid and unrelenting. your hands tighten on the wheel, your breathing quickens, and tears prick at your eyes.

“y/n?” laura’s voice is calm but concerned. “what’s wrong?”

you shake your head, unable to speak. the car comes to a stop as you press the brake, and you grip the wheel so tightly your knuckles turn white. laura reaches over, her hand resting gently on your arm. “hey, look at me,” she says softly.

you turn to her, tears streaming down your face. “i can’t do this,” you choke out. 

“i keep seeing it, laura. the crash, the way it felt… i can’t get it out of my head.”

the german softens her expression, and she unbuckles her seatbelt, leaning closer to you. “y/n,” she says, her voice steady and full of warmth. 

“what happened to you was terrifying. anyone would feel the way you do. but you’re not that little girl anymore. you’re here, with me, and i’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“what if i mess up?” you whisper, your voice trembling. “what if i hurt someone, or hurt you?”

“you won’t,” she says firmly. 

“because you’re careful and thoughtful. you’re not alone in this. i’m right here, and i’ll be right here every step of the way.”

the words sink in slowly. you nod, wiping at your tears with the back of your hand. “okay,” you say, your voice steadier now. 

“i want to keep going.”

“good girl,” laura says, her pride in you evident. 

“we’ll take it slow. no pressure, no rush.”

you spend another hour practicing, and by the time the sun dips below the horizon, casting the sky in shades of orange and pink, you’ve managed to drive around the parking lot without stopping every few seconds. 

you’re exhausted, both physically and emotionally, but there’s a sense of accomplishment blooming in your chest.

as you park the car and turn off the engine, laura leans over, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “you did amazing,” she says, her voice filled with admiration.

“i couldn’t have done it without you,” you admit, your cheeks warming under her gaze.

“well, lucky for you, i’m not going anywhere,” she teases, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. 

“we’ll keep practicing, and one day, you’ll be driving us everywhere. just wait and see.”

masterlist

[natureandphotography1]

📷 by natureandphotography1 (Flickr, Autumn Blog, Nerdy Blog)

Please do not remove credit :)

[theworldatwar]

US Army Officers examine an unfinished Me262 - Frankfurt, Germany 1945

[huariqueje]

Hauptbahnhof Frankfurt - Franziskus Wendels , 1995.

German, b. 1960 -

Mixed media on canvas , 50 x 70 cm.

[germanpostwarmodern]

Broadcasting Center of Hessischer Rundfunk (1949-50) in Frankfurt/Main, Germany, by Gerhard Weber

[zombilenium]

Abandoned boat in a river near Frankfurt, Germany,

[terribleinfluence-tour]

[outofcontextdanandphil]

Hard hitting questions

[weepingwidar]

Victor Servranckx (Belgian, 1897-1965) - Opus 5 (Das Neue Frankfurt) (The New Frankfurt) (1927)

[nobeerreviews]

Ruin and recovering are both from within.

-- Epictetus

(Frankfurt, Germany)

[lavonq]

Angelic 💚