#there is more noise here than during a plane takeoff

[rockcat2112]

When can I relax? During morning? No ❌

During evening? No ❌

When it's finally peace and quiet at like inbetween of 2 and 5 AM? Bingo! ✓✓✓

[plantinghobbies]

The Same Damn Thing (collab with @sycophanticsolipsism)

Here’s part 5, can’t believe we’ve only got two parts left! Thank you to everyone for your likes and reblogs and kudos and feedback, can’t tell you how much it motivates us and how much we appreciate it. It truly lifts our spirits so thank you thank you. The most thanks to @sycophanticsolipsism for supporting my sorry ass through a writer’s block, this thing would probably still have like 100 words without you! 

If you need to catch up, check out the masterlist.

Warnings: MDNI, smut, angst, probably some typos

Part 5: If I Could Go Back To That Evening We Met…

“I’d kill to go back to that evening we met. Trembling hands as I’d ask for your number again, you saw me different then…when I held your heart in my hand” - Lewis Capaldi

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Nobody on the flight is happy to be leaving the magic of Rome, clutching their Prosecco and pecorino Romano from duty free as if it will evaporate upon takeoff. Nobody except Val, that is. She is buzzing, fidgety, can’t get out of this goddamn country fast enough. She has been in constant motion since the moment she’d woken up this morning. 

Val’s had her share of mornings (less than some of her friends but more than she likes to admit) where she woke up disoriented and hungover, unhappy with where she was and a little foggy on how she got there. But this morning? This one was by far the worst, because she didn’t wake up next to a strange guy wearing one sock drooling on her shoulder. No, instead it was Matty - adorable, inconvenient, sexy Matty. By one night stand standards, it was probably the safest she’d ever been. And yet it was the most reckless, brainless thing she’d ever done.

‘It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine.’ She’d repeated it to herself over and over - during her shower, throughout the most chaotic packing job of her life, and all the way to the airport. But no matter how much Val tried, her treacherous bitch of a brain would not let it go. She rocks up to the gate after boarding has begun, sliding into her seat at the front of the plane (she’d used the few minutes waiting for a taxi at the hotel to switch her seat), keeping her head low and her sunglasses on (she takes back all the times she previously called people wearing sunglasses on planes pretentious twats. She gets it now). She’d held her breath as he boarded, pretending to be asleep when she saw his eyes searching for her.  Her noise cancelling headphones provide little relief from the rattling around in her head. Now that she’s stopped, albeit forcibly, it’s harder to keep the thoughts she’s desperate to avoid at bay. 

She catches up on texts as the plane taxies, until her friend Dina responds to a picture of Barry Keoghan in the group chat with a resounding “fuck me” and Val’s transported back to the moment Matty whispered that in her ear as he slid into her for the first time. Opening her email once they’re airborne, her inbox is flooded with emails from him from the last few days, running commentary on the conference sessions they’d attended separately. Reading his cute ramblings on the boring presenters and arrogant question askers felt like a shiv jabbed through her ribs. Finally, she gives up, slamming the laptop shut and closing her eyes. Maybe if she’s unconscious she won’t think about it. 

If her life were a movie, Val would have stirred to light stubble nuzzling her neck, his hand snaking down her front, his gruff voice whispering filthy nothings in her ear. But life wasn’t a movie. Instead, the blare of the wakeup call had jolted them awake, her elbow colliding with his jaw as they both scrambled to answer it. By the time Matty’d thanked the hotel staff with broken Italian, Val was already in her jeans, searching for her earring while avoiding looking at him completely.

“Val…” His voice is low, shaky, uncertain, like he’s approaching a caged animal. Val’s heard him employ that tone a hundred times before - with clients and colleagues when he wants to win them over, with their uni friends when he was trying to mediate a dispute between them, with Marin when she was pushing herself too hard toward the end. But he’s never used it with Val before, until now. He thinks it’s full of charm and confidence and take-charge-ness. But what it feels like right now is patronizing. It’s the first time Val fucking hates the sound of his voice.

There’s a twinge in her neck she’s not sure the cause of as she whips her head around. “Don’t give me that tone.” 

Matty physically recoils, blinking stupidly back at her. “I don’t know -“ He looks down at the bed before standing, moving to the chair in the room, maybe to put more distance between them, escape the scene of the crime. 

“Yea you do!” 

“Look, I’m confused too but…” But she isn’t. Confused that is. She may not be on board with all her actions over the last several hours, but in this moment, she is in full control of how she feels. 

Angry, that’s how Val feels. Angry at herself for being an idiot cliche who slept with her boss. Beyond annoyed at him for not just leaving her the fuck alone to languish on Richard’s team all those months ago. Furious with whatever early Roman asshole invented wine in the first place, with its inhibition-altering goodness. And don’t even get her started on Marianne, who landed them in this joint-room trope predicament in the first place. Yep, her shit list is growing by the minute. She would have NEVER done this at home. Never. She needs to get back - to her bed, to her routine, to her goddamn sanity. Oh, she is clear on her emotions alright. 

“Oh, I’m not. I know what this was, no need to explain it.” Sheets and pillows are flying now as the search continues for her earring. “Listen, we can’t miss our flight and I need to find my earring. I can’t lose it, it’s—“

“Marin’s, I know.” 

“Of course you do.” She’s looking in the mini fridge now, which she knows is ridiculous, but she just has to keep moving. “Obviously, you’d remember your girlfriend’s ear—“ 

Matty’s chair scrapes against the floor with a harsh sound, drawing Val’s eyes over to his body. Bad idea,  as he sits up abruptly and leans forward. “Listen, I don’t know what you heard about us.” Us. The word hits her like a visceral gut punch, a dull ache radiating out from her chest. It’s one thing to think it and another thing altogether to hear it. Her worn patience snaps, she can’t sit here with the smell of sex still lingering in the air and think of them. She just can’t. “It’s not what you th—“

“Aaah, got it!” Fuck, thank god. Her shirt she can do without but there was no way Val was leaving without that earring. She readies to flee, gathering her bag and looking around for her key card… before it settles on her that she’s in her room. She can’t leave, at least not without looking even more erratic than she feels. Plus, they really need to get a fucking move on to the airport and he’s still shuffling by the bed in just his pants.  

She pauses, back turned to him as she speaks. “Listen” she repeats - it’s what her mum would refer to as a verbal tick, “umm, I’m going to hop in the shower, we’ve really got to go and I’m sure you have to pack and—” she’s moving toward the bathroom now, and the blessed door that will put a much-needed barrier between them so she can wash his scent off, and catch her breath and think. Something she clearly wasn’t doing last night. “And I forgot to pick up one last bag of coffee for my neighbor so I’m gonna run to that place down the square. I’ll just meet you at the gate.” The last part is thrown over her shoulder as she slams the door shut, not broaching any argument. She presses her back to the door, holding her breath, hanging on to her resolve by a thread. After eighteen seconds (her youth swim training finally came in handy), she hears the rustling of his clothes, the click of the lock, and then nothing. The sound that she makes as she finally takes a deep breath sounds like relief, and yet it doesn’t feel like it.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

When they land, Val is off the plane like a shot, power walking through border control, not looking back. She implores every God she’s ever heard of - she even throws Dumbledore in there for good measure - that her suitcase is already waiting for her at baggage claim, assisting her quick getaway from the walking reminder in a wrinkled black suit and raybans somewhere behind her. But she must have exhausted all her luck between rounds two and three last night because the conveyer belt hasn’t even started moving yet (fucking Heathrow). He catches up to her a few minutes later, which is unfortunate because she was hoping to not see him until sometime next month. Maybe year. Decade. Never? She knows she’s being childish but at least now her mood matches her actions. Her boss! Her sister’s something. Her friend.    

The look he levels her with is heavy with impatience. Oh, he’s waiting for her to say something? Fat chance, talking to him is what got her into this mess in the first place. Val talked herself right out of her senses and into his bed. Her bed. A bed. Speaking of, she wants to get to hers so she can crawl into it and die. “Where the hell are these bags?!” Mumbling to herself as a hideous green paisley suitcase makes a full go around the luggage turn style again before Matty seems to get fed up with their verbal game of chicken, taking a deep breath and letting a long sigh preview his words. “Well I guess I’ll sta-“

“Matty?” A high-pitched voice calls from somewhere behind them. Saved! Maybe there’s some magic left for her after all.

He whirls around to the voice, which is attached to a striking woman who Val does not recognize. Probably an enterprising networker from the conference. Now’s her chance to back away, book it to the other end of the carousel. Hell, maybe she should just abandon the bag, she can always come back and get it later. Having decided on letting present Val off the hook and leaving future Val to deal with the postponed chat with Matt, she turns to leave - when the woman steps into (invades is more like it from where Val’s standing) Matty’s personal space, confidentially, almost intimately. Val is glued to the spot, curiosity getting the best of her.

“Cheryl…hi, what are you - it’s nice to - aah” He awkwardly goes to hug the woman but they get tangled as they lean in, barely manage a weird half hug, half cheek kiss. Awkward is not a trait she’s used to seeing on him, and it really doesn’t suit. 

Val doesn’t know if it’s years of computational science training or the hours of true crime documentaries she’s devoured but something has her mind whirring, interest piqued, collecting data on this new person. Tall, brunette, well dressed, older (she can’t be more than Matty’s age but Val is feeling petty all of a sudden). 

“So that’s why you’ve been so hard to reach lately. Long trip?” Cheryl’s eyes dart towards her and then back to Matty, clearly content to not make Val’s acquaintance. She’s toe to toe with Matty now, which Val knows from no more legitimate source than Cosmo is a sign that they’re clearly comfortable in each other’s personal space. Physical space. Val doesn’t like where this is going but can’t seem to look away. 

“Ehm no, just Rome. Conference.” He clears his throat into his fist and begins rocking on his heels in a way she’s never seen him do before. Who the fuck is this woman? “You?”

“Showcase in Sweden,” Cheryl says as if this explains everything. It doesn’t, not nearly enough. Be more specific Cheryl, you’re not giving me a lot to work with here! “But I’m home for a few weeks. We should…ummm…get together again, last time was… fun.” She punctuates the last part, dragging a manicured nail down Matty’s chest. Val knows later (once she’s home and showered and slept and sane again) she’ll admire Cheryl’s boldness, wish they were friends so she could ask her how she seems to manage more confidence in that one finger than Val seems to have in her whole body. 

For his part, Matty does finally step back - or maybe he just loses his equilibrium in the presence of Miss Congeniality (she can’t help it) - and collides with Val, startling as if noticing her for the first time. And in this moment, the data set is complete - she doesn’t need to gather any more information to come to her conclusion - they’ve fucked. Recent enough that Cheryl doesn’t hesitate in initiating contact. Intimate contact that had him seemingly forgetting all about Val. The woman he slept with last night! 

Keep moving. 

Before he can move to introduce her or address her or do anything with her, she spots her bag, lunges for it, and leaves without another word. 

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Keep moving. 

There’s a Diet Coke stain on Val’s sweater, a general stale smell in the air that she’s pretty sure is coming from her, and she’s stiff and sore in areas she hasn’t been in a while. But she can’t go home. Because home has the couch where they sat till her head ached and back screamed, pulling and fixing data and railing against their colleagues for fucking up. It’s got the blanket she’d caught him wiping his eyes on as they watched Manchester By the Sea together. And the fucking grease stain on the edge of her carpet that he didn’t think she knew about from the pizza he’d dropped on it. (She might have to burn that rug, or sell it.) And the old journal tucked away in her closet filled with her thoughts of him that show just how stupid she’d been for him and for how long. 

So no, Val doesn’t go home. When the cab driver asks where to, she rattles off the first place that comes to mind, dragging her suitcase behind her out of the backseat and into the cinema. The obviously-stoned teenager behind the counter doesn’t bat an eye when she asks him for one ticket to the “least fucking romantic thing you’ve got going here,” punching a few buttons before spitting out a stub and receipt for the latest installment in the Saw franchise. But not even gore and guts can keep her mind from drifting. The torture on screen ramps up - Val wants to picture Matty groaning in agony as she tortures him for all the shit he’s put her through today but all her mind can seem to conjure are his moans of pleasure. 

She’s pictured him between her thighs so many times that she’s probably imagined every move he’s making tonight, from the moment he started trailing his lips down past her breasts. The way his mouth licks at each of her ribs as he slinks down her body seems familiar. And Val knows that she’s pictured him licking his bottom lip the way he does now as he slides her panties to the side with his finger. But all of these fantasies, she realizes now, have been devoid of the single hottest thing she could never imagine. His sounds. Because the gutteral groan that escapes him as he licks into her for the first time is like nothing she’s ever heard before. It must have surprised him too because he pauses after that first taste, resting his forehead against her pelvis, heavy pants tickling her skin. Val’s hands instinctively find his hair, raking through it, fingertips massaging the top of his head. She’s a little uncertain why he paused but she can’t help but stop and appreciate the intimacy of this moment, something new for them even after all their years of knowing each other. 

“Christ,” he mutters, rolling his head slightly back and forth as he plants lazy kisses wherever his mouth lands, seemingly unhurried. But not knowing what he’s thinking begins to make her anxious. Was there something wrong? She’d waxed recently (not that it mattered and fuck him if he thought it did)…right? Yes, yes definitely. Maybe it wasn’t his thing, had she pushed him to do it? Oh god, was she the problem?

Her hand slid from his hair to his jaw, trying to coax him back up her body. She gasps at the quick snatch of her wrist, firm but gentle, his large hand encircling her wrist easily. He slides her other one alongside it, pinning both of her wrists in place easily on her left side. 

“I just….you don’t have to….listen, just come up and we’ll…”

“Val?”

“Yea?”

“You are the fucking best thing I’ve ever tasted. Now stop thinking and let me enjoy it.”

She walks out halfway through the movie, her fickle mind unable to give into the distraction for long. There’s a cafe right next to the theater and Val ignores the annoyed glances she gets for hogging a table meant for two. But she needs room for her baggage. ‘Fitting’, she thinks. 

She’s on her second latte and third episode of Derry Girls when her mum calls. Normally, she’d put her off until she’s in a better mood to chat, has more energy to pretend. One of the hazards of having a psychoanalyst for a mother is that every interaction can feel like a session, unable to avoid her trained instincts. But she’d already dodged her calls twice and Val is certain that even though her mother knows she was traveling with Matty (her mother was so relieved when Val said Matty was going, you’d have thought he was a 6’5 bodyguard instead of a 5’10 casual exerciser), if she doesn’t pick up a third time Gwen will start to panic. After what her mother’s been through, she tries not to blame her. 

When Gwen asks how the trip went, Val picks her words carefully, trying to muster believable excitement behind it. “Good!”

“Really? It doesn’t sound good?” Clearly, her acting needs work. 

“No, it was.” She tries again, hoping the raised octaves in her voice would make up for the lack of it in her mood. 

“You and Matty were in Rome for a week and it was only good? I find that hard to believe.”

And she doesn’t know if it’s the sudden softness in her mothers’ usually firm voice or her own jet lag but Val feels the dam crack and break easier than it has in years. And it’s not a dainty crack either, where a tear slides down her cheek accompanied by one of those cute hiccups. No, Val is not a cute crier, never has been. It’s full on sobs, her splotchy face screwed up and her attempts to breath turning into snot-logged guffaws. She’s word vomiting her train-wrecked thoughts to her mother, trying to hide her teary face behind her crumpled napkin. The guy at the table next to her - some young college kid who probably hasn’t lived long enough to make the idiotic mistake of wanting someone you can’t have - tries to appear casual as he side-eyes her, giving her increasingly dirty looks before he slides his laptop and book off the table and jogs out of the place. ‘Yea kid, run so you don’t have to see what your life will look like in ten years,’ she thinks, reaching for the unused napkin on his table and blowing her nose loudly. 

Val spares her the more salacious details but knows Gwen gets the gist. Silence follows, for so long that Val pulls her phone out of her bag to check the connection is still good. 

“He calls me every year, you know.” Her mother’s voice is soft, vulnerable.

Of all the things she expected her mother to say, this was not it. “Who? Matty?!”

“Yesss darling, Matty. Every year around the anniversary.” Val rolls her eyes, of course he would. He couldn’t just make it easy for her and be a dickhead she shouldn’t have feelings for. Her mother’s voice is still flooding her earbuds “…started out with a card the first year but then he missed the second one and called all flustered from some party boat…in Ibiza, I think.” Gwen’s laugh is another thing that Val doesn’t hear that much of, wishes she heard it more. “Said he was rubbish with anything analogue and asked if I wouldn’t mind if he called from then on.”

Val grips her napkin, busying herself with shredding it into pieces. “He always asks about you. Bless him, probably thought he was being so coy, but it was obvious that he was digging for info on you.”

“Me?” The shrillness in her voice attracts a glare from the guy who’s taken over the recently-vacated table. She glares right back. She can be hysterical if she wants to here, it isn’t a bloody library. 

“Don’t sound so surprised. Of course, you. Who else?” There’s rustling on the other end, the unmistakable whimper of her parent’s golden retriever as he scratches at the back door, desperate to go out. Val is suddenly homesick in a way she hadn’t been in over a decade. “I thought you all had something going at school before…”

“No, mum.” Val interrupts before that thought can even fully form, can’t take hearing someone else verbalize it. “It was him and Marin…”

The sharp bark of laughter cuts her off. “Marin? No darling, definitely not.”

The confidence with which her mother says this should make Val feel better, someone outside of her own thoughts refuting her worst nightmare. But instead, her hackles rise, instantly petulant at being so easily dismissed. Her next words are biting.

“Well, I was there so I think I would know.”

“You certainly know a lot.” Great, her mother’s passive voice. It’s a reliable tool for de-escalation, but all it seems to do for Val is piss her off more.

“Well, how would you know? You weren’t here!“ She hates how easily she reverts to sounding like a child with her mum. 

“Because she told me things.” The unlike you goes unsaid.

“I-“

“Honey, you’ve always kept things close to the vest. Ever since you were little.” Her mother anticipates her defensiveness “It’s ok, it’s just your nature. But it wasn’t the same for your sister. She told me eeeeeverything. Including the fact that she was asexual.” 

Val’s cheeks flame in the way they always did whenever either of her parents even said the word sex. “Wait, what?”

“Yes darling.” She says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

“No, I-“

“Honestly Val, it’s perfectly normal, some people just aren’t driven by carnal ins-“ At that word, Val is transported back to the mortifying moment she’d asked her mother the definition of carnal at the ripe old age of 7, having come across it while trying to read one of her Nan’s trashy paperbacks with Fabio on the cover. Her dad had been livid but her mum had simply sat  Val down and explained the birds and the bees. Val had never asked for a clarification on another word since. 

She’d very much like to not relive that whole ordeal now, or ever again. “Mum, I know what asexual means. I just, well…” Val pauses, biting her lip in contemplation unsure of what it is that confuses her about the finding. Her sister was allowed to keep things for herself. Val had obviously never told Marin about her feelings for Matty. Thou can covet thy sister’s boyfriend as long as you don’t tell anyone…that’s how the commandment went, right?  But this, this was news that would have changed Val’s whole world that first year of uni. Maybe her whole life. And she’d kept it from her! Just because Val didn’t have a right to be angry doesn’t mean she wasn’t anyway .“I guess I don’t know why she didn’t tell me.” 

“Oh bug, I think she would have. If she had had the time.” Gwen’s voice goes soft again in the way she only gets when talking about Marin. Or her own parents. Val hates making her mum sad. 

“Well, good to know, I guess. Still doesn’t mean he didn’t fancy her.” The sigh on the other end of the line 

“Honey, this isn’t really about your sister, is it? It’s about you. I mean, it’s fine to be guarded.” ‘Well, thanks for your permission mum.’ “But if you like someone, sometimes you, well, you’ve got to go out on a limb. Do something that you can’t walk back.”

“Uh uh Val, eyes on me baby,” Matty’s thumb taps at her hairline, bringing her eyes back to his. “There she is, that’s my girl.” His smile is so soft, so incongruous with the harsh snap of his hips moments before. He dips his head, nose nuzzling hers as his lips skim over her Cupid’s bow. “I want to see you.”

Well, she’d definitely done that. 

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The elevator dings as it arrives at her floor, Val’s mind barely registering it as she stares at the hideous bargain carpet that covers every inch of her building. Two days ago, her Mum’s revelations would have had her spinning. But today, they just make her more tired. Tired of trying to decipher what it all meant - every word, every action. Tired of carrying around hope for all these years, foolish, unfounded hope. Hope could be heavy and she’d been carrying it since an early age, when Hollywood had filled her brain with stories of men who gave the smallest crumbs of affection and the women who devoured them like they were full feasts, never giving up and somehow always getting the guy. Beauty and the Beast, My Best Friends Wedding, Jerry Maguire, Bridget Jones’, Sleepless in Seattle. And those were just a few of her favorites growing up. But what those movies didn’t show was the nights filled with insomnia, the self-doubt, the second guessing yourself, the exhaustion that comes with taking every interaction with someone you would die to have - literally every single second together - and reliving it over and over again looking for the seIcret subtexts that would reveal how he felt about you. Wondering, confused, if it was love or if you weren’t just mistaking kindness for care. 

Well, Val was officially giving up. Throwing in the towel. She couldn’t do it any more. She was no Hollywood heroine, she was just a mere woman, and she was tired. Of burying her feelings under shy smiles, then friendship, then a night with him that had only made the idea of friendship impossible. Of wondering if she was wasting time pining for someone when she didn’t even know how he felt. I mean, clearly he was attracted to her but just because he wanted her didn’t mean he wanted to be with her; just because he wasn’t in love with Marin didn’t mean that he was in love with Val. Contrary to how she sometimes acted, she knew she was not the only person of interest on the planet and he could have anyone he wanted. 

And that was all just the personal anxiety. She hadn’t even begun to process how stupid this all was for her professionally. 

As she makes the turn down her hallway, her eyes are drawn to a body, slumped in front of the door to her apartment. Asleep? Dead? Several particularly grim facts about stalkers and serial killers flash through her mind before she clocks the curls, the scuffed shoes, the pack of cigarettes lying next to him he’d clearly taken out to smoke before he must have realized where he was. On instinct, hope rises in her chest before she slaps her palm over her heart, holding it at bay. No, that was enough of that. 

She kicks at his shoe, startling him for the second time that day. “How long have you been here?” 

He doesn’t respond as he clambers to his feet, eyes dragging to his suitcase as if to highlight the obvious answer.

“Ok, other question. What are you doing here?” It comes out breathier than intended but she is genuinely surprised. Thought he’d be off somewhere with that troll Cheryl (she is not proud of how her feminism utterly abandons her in this moment). That she’d at least have a few well-timed sick days to prepare before seeing him again. 

“I’m uh…” The toe of his brogues scrape at the floor .Whatever he wants to say, it’s enough to make him anxious. Which is enough to make Val want to avoid it at all costs.

Summoning her self-preservation, she cuts him off. “Listen, maybe we should do this when we’ve both-“

“Goddamnit Val, for once, please shut up!” His voice explodes in the small space, her gaze immediately going over her shoulder to her neighbor’s door. The last thing she needs right now is a noise complaint. Matty itches at the skin around his throat, as if raising his voice at her is as foreign to do as it was to receive. “I’m sorry, I’m sor- I just, I can’t risk any confusion here. Just need to get this out. Need you to listen. For once.” The attempt at a joke lands with a thud. 

“When I’ve tried to get this out…and, I, just, it gets fucked every time.” His breath is noticeably shaky, hands on his hips as he gazes at the floor. “And I’m sick of, well I’m not sick of trying cause I’ll do that, not afraid…but I’m sick of the…if only I’d been clearer, got it out faster….in that pub, and I just, can’t take it any more…” 

She’s about to tell him she’s not following when he seems to gather that for himself, head lifting to meet her eyes. She’s never been great at eye contact, always hates how put on the spot she feels by it. On instinct, Val glances away, over his shoulder, somewhere safer. A blurred hand lifts in her periphery, hovering near her face but not touching it, until her gaze turns back to his. Reminding her of the eye contact he’d insisted on the night before, as he went down on her, as he slid into her, as she came on his cock and as she’d fallen asleep. 

“Val, I’m crazy about you. Have been for years… and before you say it, Marin and I weren’t anything. Or nothing like you think… I loved her, sure. But not in the way I do you…”

Val’s heard the phrase about the world going sideways before but she’d never really appreciated what it meant until now. She swears her body actually tilts sideways until it feels like the handle of her suitcase is the only thing keeping her upright. And with her equilibrium goes her ability to think straight.

“From the moment I met you when you had just got accepted, there was just something… and then you were dating that prick Roger from the cricket team.” God, Val hadn’t thought of him in ages. She’d been using him, trying to get under him to get over Matty. “…kicking myself that I’d just assumed there’d be time, like you wouldn’t just get snatched up by someone—“

The sleep deprivation seems to pick that very moment to redouble its efforts - she can’t think fast enough to respond. To buy herself time, she vomits out the first thought in her head. “Why didn’t you say something? Back then?”

“What? Rock up to you on the first day ‘Hey Val, d’you remember me? From that one weekend we hung out? Will you please go out with me? Oh, let me help you unpack, show you how shitty the beds are...’” He scoffs, she fucking hates that. “C’mon, I’d like to think I’m better than that…” 

Her eyes look away, not willing to admit he’s right.

“I don’t know if you remember that night…in the pub—“ He stops, the effort of self-editing written all over his face. “What the fuck am I—Of course, I know you remember, like, the shittiest night of your life but I meant right before, when you and I were— “

She’s not intentionally tuning him out but her brain is now unhinged, skipping around and ahead, trying to determine what conclusion he’s coming to. Because the truth is, even if he’s telling the truth (she knows he has no reason to lie about this but she still can’t comprehend this monumental fact that he’s liked her for, it sounds like, almost as long as she’s liked him...) she still can’t have him. Because as the personal anxiety begins to ebb in the face of his declaration, the professional anxiety seeps in to take its place. She knows how this would go. She trusts Matty, of course she does (even after all these years, she couldn’t imagine doing anything else). But in her experience, shit like this - a relationship with a coworker - doesn’t stay quiet, no matter how hard two people try. Someone catches her glance at him differently, he says her name a certain way and suddenly it’s all anyone can talk about. The rumor mill must be fed, anything to make the mundane office more interesting, the hours less boring. It’s not that she blames them, has even joined in in her weaker moments, feeling slightly gross as she listened to the latest gossip, just wanting to be part of the inner circle, to be included. But she’s seen what it does to women, it’s always the women that pay. 

“So, you can choose not to give this a shot, but it won’t be because of some bullshit misunderstanding you have about me and Marin.” There’s that tone again, like he’s confident in the case he made, assured of its persuasiveness. But once again, he’s underestimated her. 

“Marin isn’t the reason.” It’s clear that’s not what he was expecting her to say, he’s caught off guard, eyes flitting back and forth between hers as if trying to scan them. “Well, not entirely. Matty, you’re my boss…”

“I’m well aware, trust me. We can handle it. Or I can.” Her eyeroll is instinctual at this point, honed from years of listening to men brush away her valid concerns as if they were so obviously not an issue that it’s idiotic that she’d even been thinking about it. “It doesn’t matter, as long as we’re tog—“

“No, it does… matter, that is… Cause this won’t be a problem for you, but for me it will be. A big one. My reputation, my career. People will think I slept my way into every job opportunity from here on out…” Val crosses her arms in front of her chest to stop wringing of her hands. 

Matty is shifting his weight from side to side, clearly uncomfortable with the way the conversation has veered off course. “No, they won’t… and if they do, I’d immediately address it. We’d report them! I’m not really a nobody here, y’know.”

“Oh great, I can hear people now. ‘There goes Matty, taking Val ‘under his wing’” the air quotes aren’t really needed with the sarcasm laced in her voice but it’s important to her he knows how much that idea offends her. “I fucking hate that phrase.”

The smell of his cologne tingles as he takes a step closer, that confidence back in his voice. “Listen, I’m not stupid enough to think that it’d be totally fair, or that there isn’t stuff we have to work out—" (he says stuff as though the problem was (is) a small glitch in the code and not a huge attack on her entire system, her career) “—but I am falling in love with you… I want to do that with you. Want to do everything with you,” he chuckles softly, peering into her eyes, “And I think you do too, or at least I would hope so.”

Her resolve is crumbling, she needs him to go away, leave her so she can fall apart in peace. “No.”

“No?” Matty rakes his hands through his hair, interlocking his hands behind his head, his biceps flexing in a way that Val can’t help but find hot. 

“Matty, I…I am just…I can’t…I’ve worked too hard for everything I’m accomplishing now for it to be credited to you. It would kill me to have people think that.” She hates thinking out loud but her trusty brain-to-mouth filter is failing her right now. Thankfully, he fills in the gaps for her. “It’s not worth the risk—“ The words are said carelessly but she can’t stuff them back in. 

“No, I think what you mean is I’m not worth the risk” He says, and on his face she can read all the hurt her simple denial has inflicted. She wishes he would understand, that he would just listen and see it from her perspective because when she puts it all down on paper…well— the cons outweigh the pros, and her lists have rarely ever failed her. What if they don’t work out? What if after all this time pining for each other, they go on a couple of dates and realize they’ve made a mistake? It’s not like they can walk this back. Data isn’t subjective, it’s objective, it’s rational, reliable. Everything that they are not right now. She’s about to summarize it for him, a task which would be made easier if she had time to write it out, organize it. 

Her thoughts feel scattered. “I’m not saying—” but it doesn’t matter that she’s not organized because she doesn’t get far. 

“Got it,” he cuts her off, voice suddenly gruff and cold. “I’m an idiot. Thought last night meant you were still mooning over me the way you used to—jokes on me, I guess.” It’s been a while since she’s seen him like this, wounded animal cruelly lashing out at a perceived attack. This Matty is an unpleasant addition. 

“Oh, fuck off, sounds like you were pining right back. Not that you kept your bed cold waiting though, did you? Fucking Cheryl and…”

“Cheryl?! God you’re unbelievable” His bag slaps against his thigh as he hauls it over his shoulder violently. “Cheryl is nothing. She was a one night stand—“

“—so was I!” They are screaming now and Val is almost surprised that the landlord hasn’t already been called. 

Val doesn’t have time to see his reaction before he moves past her to the elevator. “Your words, not mine” He bypasses the elevator altogether, slamming the door to the stairwell open and disappearing into it. 

When she’s finally in her apartment, suitcase sprawled open in her living room and temporary bed made on her couch, she lets it wash over her. All the emotions she has kept in a vice like grip since the second her feet hit the floor this morning, or rather till her feet landed in the heap of denim where Matty’s jeans had landed the night before. Val wants to be proud of herself for cutting it off, not feeding the beast (figuratively or literally) but what she really feels is regret.

[cherry-bomb-ships]

sorry i know this a selfship blog lol but if it’s alright to ask, would you have any advice for getting over anxiety about flying for the first time? the travel tips you posted the other week were genuinely very nice to learn and was wondering if you had any other advice on the actual flying part .. !

*rubs my lil hands together* Oh I've been waiting for an ask like this!!! Yes I selfship here but it's still just kind of my personal blog for me to talk about whatever, and I do enjoy talking about my job and aviation! :3 Now as for getting over anxiety of the actual flying part, let me give you some pointers that I tend to give my actual passengers when they're nervous about passengers!

First off I'm sure you've heard about how flying is one of the safest ways to travel, and even if you haven't heard that, I'm here to tell you it's absolutely true! There have only been a handful of fatal accidents in the past few years, mostly on personal jets. That may seem like a lot, but you gotta remember that hundreds if not THOUSANDS of flights operate every single day in the United States alone!

Second, turbulence? Turbulence is nothing. You gotta remember that turbulence is just wind! That's literally it! And sure, on some days wind is stronger than others, but if the winds were so strong or weather was so rough that it was unsafe to fly, then they wouldn't be sending planes out! That's actually why it's a good idea to check a weather radar on the day you're flying out.

Fun fact, turbulence actually feels stronger the farther back in the plane you are, and the smaller your plane is! Take a pencil and hold it by the front where the point is, and then wiggle it around; you'll notice how the back part moves around a lot more than the front. That's exactly what's happening to a plane during turbulence!

One thing you gotta remember when it comes to planes is they're loud. You ARE going to hear the engines even inside the plane, and sometimes they sound louder than usual. Rest assured that is in fact normal! It's just like revving a car engine when you're going faster, they're just gonna make noise sometimes. Also, something not a lot of people really mention is that you're probably going to hear the landing gear go up after takeoff, and hear it go down during landing!

Lastly, you gotta remember that every single flight attendant and pilot go through weeks upon weeks of training, running through every possible scenario from medical emergencies to decompressions, and even a dreaded crash scenario. We are prepared for basically every possible situation, and for a lot of people who have been working a long time, they've probably dealt with a few of those situations! No matter what, you're always in good hands.

Last thing I'll say, stemming off my last point, is you should remember that if the flight crew are freaking out, then you should freak out too. Keep that in mind and notice how 95% of the time flight crew do not freak out (except for some new hires cuz they might not be used to certain things yet!). Even scary turbulence is something we deal with commonly, so if we can face it every day, you can handle it for one flight! I believe in you!!

[motherjoel]

hot cocoa (spencer reid x reader)

summary: spencer accidentally spills some of penelopes famous hot cocoa onto a beautiful stranger in the airport (who just so happens to be sitting next to him on the plane)

a/n: this one takes place during the holidays but its not all about xmas! also i tried to make this gender neutral and i think it is but if i missed something let me know

wc: 2.2k

warnings/includes: reader curses a lot & has flight anxiety, spencer is awkward and sweet

-

Spencer was rarely late- even when he had food poisoning from some bad chinese food, he made it into work with time to spare. Sure, he might have turned green at the sight of the evidence board, but he even made it to the trash can in time. His punctuality had come into question today, however, as he booked it to the boarding area. I shouldn’t have let Garcia distract me, he thought back to the holiday party at the office. Well, surprise party- they had all returned from a case sore and exhausted, but of course Penelope had baked an entire array of cookies and decorated the office to the brim. He stayed for one cup of hot cocoa, which turned into three, and before he knew it, his flight was an hour away. With his travel mug filled with cocoa in hand, he awkwardly ran through the airport to catch his flight home to Vegas.

Spencer never considered himself a coordinated person- sure, he had to have a certain level of finesse to be an FBI agent, but if he wasn’t a genius he never would have passed the physical. So when he found himself tripping over his own feet in the middle of an airport, he wasn’t as much surprised as he was perturbed. That annoyance soon shifted into pure embarrassment when he looked up to see you- the ethereal being he had just spilled Penelope’s famous hot cocoa onto. The beautiful person whose “I <3 DC” sweatshirt was now stained an unattractive shade of brown. His mind went completely blank in that moment, the apology he had wished to conjure up lying dead on his tongue. As he began to stammer in shock he stopped in his tracks- you were laughing. A noise Spencer swears could find world peace and end world hunger. A voice that finally encouraged Spencer to find his own.

“I am so sorry,” he apologized, hands frantically flying to his personal pack of tissues he kept in his bag. You continued to laugh, doubled over as you accepted the wad of tissues.

“Oh, it's okay,” you said, taking a deep breath. “God, I definitely seem insane. Sorry, I’ve just been having one hell of a shitty day,” you began to explain, confusing Spencer even more. “So my boyfriend breaks up with me the morning of my flight across the country, which I’m running a bit late for,” you continued, glancing at your watch. “But I have to go home for the holidays of course so I pack my shit and head out anyway, but I forget a sweatshirt! I’m freezing cold so I buy this overpriced ugly thing,” you gestured to your now-stained sweatshirt. “Only for you to spill your…” you sniffed the mess, “hot cocoa?” you questioned, Spencer nodded frantically, “all over it. I guess that's one way of warming up,” you huffed. 

“Wow, I- um, I don’t really know what to say. I’m really sorry about your day being bad. And for spilling my drink on you, of course, um,” he reached into his suitcase and pulled out his backup cardigan. “Here, take this,” he said, almost shoving the knitwear into your hands. “Please, it’s the least I can do,” he said, unintentionally flashing what Prentiss called his “puppy dog eyes.” He exhaled in relief as you grabbed the sweater from him, sliding off your stained hoodie and replacing it with his soft and coffee-scented cardigan. 

“Thanks. And I’m sorry for dumping my days' trauma on you, but I really do have a flight to catch, so,” you gestured towards the boarding area (which just so happened to be his designated boarding area). You rushed off to board the plane after giving him a tight-lipped smile and a soft wave, leaving him in a dazed state. Breaking out of his trance, he grabbed his suitcase and continued his beeline towards the plane. 

There was something about you that stuck with Spencer- although it may not have been your proudest moment, he was incredibly intrigued by you and the way you reacted to disaster. Spencer had seen his fair share of terrible coping mechanisms, but the way you laughed in the face of tragedy was something he admired- envied, almost. Envy wasn’t the right word for it, there were no negative connotations he associated with the way he felt about you. Perhaps it was too soon to tell.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped onto the plane, the anxiety of missing his flight finally lifted. Said anxiety was soon replaced by a new feeling that was ruled by a flutter in his chest, one that he had only experienced a few times in his life. This fluttery feeling was the result of seeing you planted in the seat directly next to the one written on his plane ticket. His breath caught in his throat as you looked up from the book in your hand, giving him a small wave. His eyes widened as he looked around, wondering if you were actually waving at him. You laughed and looked back down at your book, a soft smile rested on your lips. As Spencer got closer to his seat he could feel his heart rate picking up. You looked up from your book as he struggled slightly to lift his carryon into the overhead compartment. His cheeks heated up in embarrassment over the struggle, but he eventually managed to secure his carryon, taking a seat in 32 B. 

“So we meet again,” you smiled at the disheveled man next to you.

“So we do,” Spencer smiled and grabbed his copy of Les Miserables from his backpack- he lost track of how many times he had read it, but it was an easy plane read for him.

“I’m Y/N, by the way. Sorry, I probably should’ve introduced myself earlier after telling you my life story. I just didn’t expect to be sitting next to you,” you said with amusement.

“I’m Spencer, and no problem. Hows, um, the sweater?” he asked, trying to continue the conversation. Normally he’d be a quarter through his book by now, but you were a rare something that was more interesting to him than Victor Hugo. 

“It’s great! Cozier than my ‘I heart DC’ hoodie for sure,” you laughed and Spencer swore he heard angels singing.

“I’m glad, I felt really bad. Hot chocolate is actually a really difficult stain to remove because it has fat, sugar, tannins, and protein. It would take a lot of work to remove that stain, especially with the chocolate to milk ratio Penelope uses,” Spencer rambled, the embarrassment setting in the second he closed his mouth.

“Penelope?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“Oh, she's my coworker. She’s known for her hot chocolate and her cookies. Oh!” Spencer remembered the plastic bag of cookies Garcia had sent him home with. “Want one? They’re chocolate chip,” he said, grabbing the bag of cookies and holding it out to you.

“Sure,” you laughed, taking a bite of the surprisingly delicious cookie. “Oh. My. God. That is incredible! This Penelope person has a gift,” you laughed, finishing the cookie surprisingly fast.

“I’ll be sure to let her know,” Spencer smiled, taking a cookie for himself. A comfortable silence ensued as the two of you munched on your cookies, the plane almost done boarding.

“So, what brings you to Vegas?” you asked. Spencer was a little confused as to why you wanted to talk to him, but he decided not to question the anomaly.

“Oh, I’m visiting my mother for the holidays. I work at Quantico in Virginia so I don’t get to see her too often,” he shared, surprised at his willingness to be open.

“That’s nice! I’m kinda doing the same, except I am not returning to DC,” you sighed. Spencer felt his heart drop as he internally begged for you to elaborate, and as if reading his mind, you continued. “That boyfriend I mentioned earlier was kinda my only reason for moving here, and now that he's a cheating jackass- sorry, oversharing again, um, now that we broke up, I’ll probably just stay in Vegas,” you explained, opening the book in front of you and mindlessly flipping through the pages. He focused on the chipped nail polish painted on your bitten nails as you turned the pages, eyes moving to the title of the book.

“Le Petit Prince?” he asked, pointing at your book.

“Oh, yeah. I’m trying to teach myself some french so I’m reading this to get a little better,” you smiled before your eyes drifted down to the thick book in his lap. “You’re reading Les Mis?” you asked, slightly shocked at the french writing on the cover.

“Yeah, well it's my.... fourth, I think, time reading it. Well, in the original french,” he said, oblivious to his accidental brag.

“Damn, are you a genius or something?” you laughed, noticing the blank stare on Spencer’s face. “Wait. You are,” you pointed at him, your shock turning into joy.

“Well, technically, I am I guess,” he smiled awkwardly, trying not to flaunt his intelligence.

“That’s so cool! God, maybe if I was a genius I could get past the first chapter of this book,” you huffed, looking defeatedly at your book once again.

“May I ask, why are you learning French? It’s the fourth most important language behind Mandarin Chinese, Spanish and German. That’s just my opinion, of course,” he said, slightly flustered by the look on your face.

“Yeah, I guess it's not the most practical. But there's something so romantic about France, you know?” you asked and he nodded, blushing lightly. “I’ve always wanted to visit Paris, hell, maybe even live there. It’s stupid,” you laughed, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear.

“No, it’s not. It’s called the city of love for a reason,” he said with a tight-lipped smile. You were both silent for a moment before the flight attendants began their safety announcements and prepared for takeoff. Spencer noticed you stiffen as the engine started to rumble and the plane got faster. “Are you okay?” he asked as you shut your eyes tightly together.

“Yeah, yes, um. I just have really bad flight anxiety,” you confessed, eyes remaining closed. The plane lifted off the ground and you sucked in a deep breath, instinctively reaching over to grab Spencer's hand. All thoughts of germs and disease had completely left his mind at your touch- facts and logic meant nothing at this point if it meant you wouldn’t let go. “Could you just um, distract me?” you asked, peeking at him from the corner of your eye, hand still clutching his.

“Oh, yeah of course,” he said, thinking quickly for a distraction before grabbing the book from your lap and opening it to the first page. In perfect french, he began to read. “Lorsque j’avais six ans j’ai vu, une fois, une magnifique image…” he read for almost an hour before he felt your head relax on his shoulder, eyes closed. He continued to read for a bit longer before the lull of sleep pulled him under as well, your touch comforting him and providing safety.

Spencer woke a few hours later with a start to the seatbelt light beeping on. Gathering his bearings he looked to his left to see you already awake, looking at him with a smile.

“You’re cute when you sleep. Snore a bit, though,” you laughed and yawned, looking out the window. Spencer's heart rate picked up at your mussed hair and dazed expression. “Thank you for reading to me. I’m completely chill now,” you reassured him.

“Oh, no problem. Also, I’m not the only one who snores,” he quipped, a soft smirk on his lips.

“Hey, gimme a break! That was the most I’ve slept in days,” you defended.

“Believe it or not, me too,” Spencer realized, surprised that he slept more on an airplane than in his own bed. Maybe that difference was you.

“Looks like we’re almost landing,” you noticed, causing a pang in Spencer’s chest.

“Oh. Yeah, I guess so,” he acknowledged with a slight tone of disappointment.

“Hey. So this might sound crazy, but what if I gave you my number? And while you’re still in Vegas, maybe we can hang out? Sorry if this is too forward,” you cringed in embarrassment.

“No!” he started, eyes wide.

“Oh, okay. I shouldn’t have asked,” you immediately took back your statement.

“No! I mean, it's not too forward. I, uh would love to… hang out with you,” Spencer said, the words seeming unfamiliar on his tongue. The smile you gave him seemed to stop the earth for a few seconds (although Spencer knew this was scientifically impossible, something about you defied laws of science). 

The plane soon landed and numbers were exchanged, and one unexpected (but lovely) goodbye hug was given, and Spencer was floating. He couldn’t wait to tell his mom.

-

shoot me an ask or message to be on my taglist! :)

taglist: @rigatonireid​, @goldenxreid, @aworldoffandoms, @moonshinerbynight, @averyhotchner

[nasa]

10 Ways the Webb Telescope ‘Trains’ for Space

The James Webb Space Telescope will peer at the first stars and galaxies as a cosmic time machine, look beyond to distant worlds, and unlock the mysteries of the universe. But before it can do any of those things, it needs to “train” for traveling to its destination — 1 million miles away from Earth!

So how does Webb get ready for space while it’s still on the ground? Practice makes perfect. Different components of the telescope were first tested on their own, but now a fully-assembled Webb is putting all of its training together. Here are 10 types of tests that Webb went through to prepare for its epic journey:

1. Sounding Off

A rocket launch is 100 times more intense and four times louder than a rock concert! (That’s according to Paul Geithner, Webb’s deputy project manager – technical.) To simulate that level of extreme noise, Webb’s full structure was blasted with powerful sound waves during its observatory-level acoustic testing in August.

2. Shaking It Up

Webb will also have to withstand a super-bumpy ride as it launches — like a plane takeoff, but with a lot more shaking! The observatory was carefully folded into its launch position, placed onto a shaker table, and vibrated from 5 to 100 times per second to match the speeds of Webb’s launch vehicle, an Ariane 5 rocket.

3. All Systems Go

In July, Webb performed a rigorous test of its software and electrical systems as a fully connected telescope. Each line of code for Webb was tested and then retested as different lines were combined into Webb’s larger software components. To complete this test, Webb team members were staffed 24 hours a day for 15 consecutive days!

4. Hanging Out

After launch, Webb is designed to unfold (like origami in reverse) from its folded launch position into its operational form. Without recharging, the telescope’s onboard battery would only last a few hours, so it will be up to Webb’s 20-foot solar array to harness the Sun’s energy for all of the telescope’s electrical needs. To mimic the zero-gravity conditions of space, Webb technicians tested the solar array by hanging it sideways.

5. Time to Stretch

The tower connects the upper and lower halves of Webb. Once Webb is in space, the tower will extend 48 inches (1.2 meters) upward to create a gap between the two halves of the telescope. Then all five layers of Webb’s sunshield will slowly unfurl and stretch out, forming what will look like a giant kite in space. Both the tower and sunshield will help different sections of Webb maintain their ideal temperatures.

For these steps, engineers designed an ingenious system of cables, pulleys and weights to counter the effects of Earth’s gravity. 6. Dance of the Mirrors

Unfolding Webb’s mirrors will involve some dance-like choreography. First, a support structure will gracefully unfold to place the circular secondary mirror out in front of the primary mirror. Although small, the secondary mirror will play a big role: focusing light from the primary mirror to send to Webb’s scientific instruments.

Next, Webb’s iconic primary mirror will fully extend so that all 18 hexagonal segments are in view. At 6.5 meters (21 feet 4-inches) across, the mirror’s massive size is key for seeing in sharp detail. Like in tower and sunshield testing, the Webb team offloaded the weight of both mirrors with cables, pulleys and weights so that they unfolded as if weightless in space.

7. Do Not Disturb

Before a plane takeoff, it’s important for us to turn off our cell phones to make sure that their electromagnetic waves won’t interfere with navigation signals. Similarly, Webb had to test that its scientific instruments wouldn’t disrupt the electromagnetic environment of the spacecraft. This way, when we get images back from Webb, we’ll know that we’re seeing actual objects in space instead of possible blips caused by electromagnetic interference. These tests took place in the Electromagnetic Interference (EMI) Lab, which looks like a futuristic sound booth! Instead of absorbing sound, however, the walls of this chamber help keep electromagnetic waves from bouncing around.

8. Phoning Earth

How will Webb know where to go and what to look at? Thanks to Webb’s Ground Segment Tests, we know that we’ll be able to “talk” to Webb after liftoff. In the first six hours after launch, the telescope needs to seamlessly switch between different communication networks and stations located around the world. Flight controllers ran through these complex procedures in fall 2018 to help ensure that launch will be a smooth success.

After Webb reaches its destination, operators will use the Deep Space Network, an international array of giant radio antennas, to relay commands that tell Webb where to look. To test this process when Webb isn’t in space yet, the team used special equipment to imitate the real radio link that will exist between the observatory and the network.

9. Hot and Cold

Between 2017 and 2019, Webb engineers separately tested the two halves of the telescope in different thermal vacuum chambers, which are huge, climate-controlled rooms drained of air to match the vacuum of space. In testing, the spacecraft bus and sunshield half were exposed to both boiling hot and freezing cold temperatures, like the conditions that they’ll encounter during Webb’s journey.

But Webb’s mirrors and instruments will need to be colder than cold to operate! This other half of Webb was tested in the historic Chamber A, which was used to test Apollo Moon mission hardware and specifically upgraded to fit Webb. Over about 100 days, Chamber A was gradually cooled down, held at cryogenic temperatures (about minus 387 F, or minus 232.8 C), and then warmed back up to room temperature.

10. Cosmic Vision

When the Hubble Space Telescope was first sent into space, its images were blurry due to a flaw with its mirror. This error taught us about the importance of comprehensively checking Webb’s “eyes” before the telescope gets out of reach.

Besides training for space survival, Webb also spent time in Chamber A undergoing mirror alignment and optical testing. The team used a piece of test hardware that acted as a source of artificial starlight to verify that light would travel correctly through Webb’s optical system.

Whew! That’s a lot of testing under Webb’s belt! Webb is set to launch in October 2021 from Kourou, French Guiana. But until then, it’s still got plenty of training left, including a final round of deployment tests before being shipped to its launch location.

Learn more about the James Webb Space Telescope HERE, or follow the mission on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space: http://nasa.tumblr.com

[lostinspidey]

when my heart heals, it beats for you | peter parker

summary/request: “hi i have an ffh request! could you write about peter calling stark!reader instead of happy to come rescue him, but due to all the mysterio illusions he doesn't trust the reader at first?”

word count: 2.2k

a/n: this was meant to be a shorter blurb but then... this happened. i guess i had a lot of Feelings about this scene and this concept and general, so thanks to whoever requested this for giving me an excuse to write them all out! gif was made by @pterparkcr​ :-)

warning(s): FFH SPOILERS!!!, if you’ve seen the film you know there’s gonna be some angst

“so let me get this straight,” happy says, watching warily from the doorway of your bedroom as you throw some belongings into your backpack: passport, band-aids, a bottle of painkillers. through the quickened breaths and troubled tone, you remember how strained peter’s voice sounded on the phone a mere twenty minutes ago. you’re almost sure he needs them.

you raise your eyebrows. “happy, please don’t give me a hard time about this.”

“peter calls you, asks you for help picking him up from the netherlands, of all places,” he continues, folding his arms over his chest. “so naturally, you call me?”

“uh, yeah.”

you struggle to zip up your backpack - it’s nearly filled to the brim with whatever first aid supplies were lying around the house. 

happy lets out a sharp, exasperated breath. “can i ask why?”

“because,” you sling your backpack over your shoulder. “you’re the only person i know who can fly one of dad’s jets.”

he doesn’t have a response for that.

luckily, the jet - with its stark industries logo recently repainted - is already parked outside, just a couple hundred yards from your house in a clearing that overlooks the lake. as you and happy make the small trek towards the aircraft and climb onboard, you try not to think too hard about how, exactly, peter’s voice sounded during your brief phone call. how you, just as frightened as he was, could do little to calm him down.

“alright, y/n, i just entered the coordinates and it looks like it’ll take us a little less than three hours to get there. you’re not forgetting anything, are you?”

i - i messed up, y/n. i need your help.

“y/n?” 

happy looks at you over the back of his chair. you cross and uncross your legs in the seat behind him, avoiding his worried gaze. with how much movement your body and brain have been through the past thirty minutes or so, sitting still seems impossible.

“i should’ve gone on the trip,” you whisper.

happy sighs, twisting his body to get a better look at you.

“don’t go blaming yourself. peter wouldn’t want that.”

you shake your head insistently, staring down at your shaky hands. “he - he asked if i wanted to go on the trip, you know. i told him i wasn’t ready to leave home after everything that’s happened but i know - i just know - that dad would’ve wanted me to keep an eye on him instead of selfishly staying here -“

“y/n,” happy interrupts. “do you really flying halfway across the world to save somebody is selfish?”

your lips quirk up a bit. 

“technically, you’re the one who’s flying,” you joke.

happy chuckles, giving you a small, supportive nod before beginning the proper steps towards takeoff. you’re glad he’s here; glad that you’re not stuck in a crowded airport surrounded by people who can’t even begin to understand what’s going on. not that you really do, either.

predictably, the plane ride feels much longer than two hours and forty-eight minutes. the minute happy is turned back around, you slump down in your seat, trying to busy yourself with your phone or the book you remembered to stuff in your backpack. it’s your favorite, its pages ripped and torn after having been flipped through so many times. 

it reminds you too much of peter, with his rough edges and the way he never fails to make you happy. you toss it into the seat next to you and hope that staring out the window will be enough of a distraction.

i really need your help, y/n. please.

it’s hard not to think about your father, either. you inherited his protectiveness, among other things, and while being tony stark’s daughter has always been a lot to live up to, none of that has mattered as much as being a kind person. that’s all your dad really cared about, anyway. you can’t shake the feeling that by letting peter venture off to another country alone, you’ve really let him down.

you clench the arms of your seat, and somehow time moves faster now that you’ve managed to dream up enough false hope that maybe, just maybe, peter’s okay. because in a way, he kind of has to be.

and then, finally, you see it: through the fading clouds, a vibrant tulip field that is most definitely too beautiful for the situation you’re in. happy lands the jet in a bright batch of yellows and pinks, and after its wheels hit the ground, you can’t help but notice how quiet it is. 

too quiet.

“um, happy?” you join him in the cockpit, scanning the field for any sign of movement. “are you sure this is right?”

“these are the coordinates for the location you gave me.”

you glance around more fervently. panic rises in your chest as the seconds go by, as the tulip field starts to feel more and more empty.

“happy.” you can feel your breath hitch, eyes starting to water. “i don’t see him.”

“relax, y/n. please. i’m sure he’s on his -”

“oh my god,” you whisper.

happy gets quiet, too, his gaze seeming to settle on the same spot right when yours does. 

from across the field you can see peter - your peter - except he’s clearly not the way he was when he left, so it almost feels wrong calling him that. he limps towards the jet, eyes squinting in the beaming sun. his arm is wrapped right around his middle, and you know it’s because he’s trying to hold himself together in more ways than one.

the closer he gets, you start to notice how much blood is caked on his face.

“door’s open,” happy tells you urgently. you didn’t notice your ears were ringing until his voice slices through the high-pitched noise. “bring him inside. hurry.”

somehow, your legs carry you through the length of the jet and descend down the stairs. peter’s a lot closer now, but you still sprint towards him, leaping over batches of tulips you don’t want to crush with your feet until you finally, finally, end up in front of him.

at first, you can’t help the way your face twists in concern. he’s completely torn up, dried blood and grime flaking and falling from his skin. your eyes trail over the fresh bruises on his arms, the long scrape against his cheekbone.

“peter,” you choke out, throwing your arms around his neck forcefully. he loses his balance a bit but manages to catch you, face buried into your shoulder.

“it’s okay, it’s alright.” you squeeze him tighter, balling up the back of his shirt with your fists. “i - i’m so, so sorry for whatever’s happened to you, but everything’s fine. i’m here now, okay bug? we’re gonna get you home.”

but when you pull away enough to get another look at his face, it’s clear the boy is in a state of complete shock. confusion. he’s looking at you the same way someone would look at a foreign object. 

the unsureness in his eyes is enough for you to drop your arms back down to your sides.

“peter,” you say slowly. “what is it?”

“how do i know it’s really you?” he asks, voice quavering. the terror in his voice is much more prominent than it was on the phone. it makes your heartbeat quicken.

you blink. “i - what? what do you mean?”

“i-i mean,” he gulps, nearly reaching for you before letting his arms fall. “are you real? like, are - are you really standing in front of me right now?”

“what are you talking about? of course i’m real.”

a wince possesses his face, turning soft features into stone. you study them until it gets to be too much for peter, who uncomfortably takes a small step away from you. 

“peter, look at me,” you urge, and you wait until he does to continue. “i’m real, see? the jet’s real. look at these pretty flowers. they’re real, too, baby.”

“prove it,” he whispers, eyes filling up with tears.

“prove it how?”

“tell me something about me. a-about us. something only you would know.”

“alright, okay. let me think.” you let out a deep breath, glancing around the tulip field, the leaf-filled trees that remind you of home. “oh! i’ve got it.” 

peter raises his eyebrows, still more than a little distrusting of you. you run a hand through your hair as you try to descramble the words in your brain.

“remember that one time we went hiking through the woods by my house?” you ask, staring deep into his eyes, searching for any sign of clarity. “you saw a huge spider and accidentally killed it and you swore me to secrecy in case it violated some kind of spider-slash-spider-man code that would cause all the spiders in the world to suddenly turn against you, and -”

he takes a step forward, nearly sweeping you off your feet as he wraps you in a much more willing embrace than before. he lets out a mixture between a sob and a laugh into your shoulder, hands frantically tangling in your hair.

it’s like he’s urging you to hold onto him - to anchor him to the ground, to the reality you’re both experiencing, no matter how messy and unstable it is right now.

“it’s you,” he breathes. “it’s really you.”

the sheer relief in his voice makes you cry a bit, too. “yes, love, it’s really me.”

you allow yourself to melt into him, into his familiar arms that are too soft for being so strong, and adjust to the fact that peter’s actually here. he’s here. he’s safe. clearly broken and scarred, but as long as he’s within reach, that should be enough for you to put him back together again.

“i missed you so much,” he says, pulling the words right out of your brain.

you nod, hands starting to rub his back comfortingly. “i should’ve come.”

“believe me, babygirl, i’m so glad you decided not to.”

you’re about to ask him what that could mean - what in god’s name is going on in the first place - when a gust of wind blows, a chill running down your spine. he pulls you in tighter, fingers running down your arms until the goosebumps subside.

“you made fun of me for weeks after that hike.” he chuckles, then sniffles, and you don’t mind the way he probably just wiped his nose against your shirt. “r-remember that, too?”

“mhm. remember how you tripped over that huge log on the way back?”

“gosh. what an embarrassing day for me.”

you draw back a bit, pushing a stray curl behind his ear, smiling at the way he leans into your touch. “i guess i could’ve been a bit nicer about it.”

he shakes his head. “don’t worry about it. it was pretty funny.”

he gives you a watery smile, hands settling against your shoulders, and this is the peter you know and love - the one that stares at you this earnestly, touches you this gently. he’s only been gone for a few days, and so much as probably changed, but never peter. he’ll always be the wide-eyed boy you would travel halfway across the world for.

then something shifts in his gaze a bit, and you frown, placing a tender hand on his cheek.

“peter, it really is me. i promise. i - i don’t know who has you convinced i’m not me but i am.”

“i know,” he says, then mutters it again to himself quietly. “i know.”

for a moment it’s quiet again. another breeze blows, chilling your spine all over again, but you don’t let it distract you from peter’s stare. you can tell that something huge is still gnawing at him, that he still has a lot to fear for. and now, so do you.

you use your hands to guide his face closer to yours, his skin warm beneath your careful touch, and you’re not sure who leans in first. all you know is that you end up kissing him, the knots in your stomach unwinding with every movement of his mouth against yours. 

“o-okay, yeah, this definitely feels real,” he breathes, causing the two of you to laugh against each other’s lips.

you lean back in and kiss him until all the uncertainty seems to fade, until his arms are no longer stiff as they remain draped around your waist. until he pulls away and looks at you with a renewed sense of hope, a slightly bigger smile on his face.

“now,” you raise your eyebrows, affectionately brushing your fingertips over the bruises and cuts on his right cheek. the last thing you want to do is get down to business; you’d rather sit peter on the plane and take him someplace he feels safe, or at the very least keep standing in this very spot, arms snug and secure around each other. 

but you’re almost certain happy is watching you from the cockpit, wondering what on earth is taking so long.

“you’ve got some serious explaining to do,” you tell him.

he nods, looking back down at his feet. 

“if only i knew where to begin.”

[ahtohallan-calling]

love is all around // kristanna modern au one shot // t for innuendo, fluffy af, 3.8k

Anna is not looking forward to being stuck on a plane for four hours.

And then her seat neighbor turns out to be a giant Scandinavian man with gorgeous eyes who lets her hold onto him when she gets nervous about the plane taking off.

Maybe this flight won't be so bad after all.

{shoutout to @reindeersweaters for the prompt!}

Why, Anna thought irritably, do I always get stuck in a middle seat?

At least she was the first one there in her row, so she had a chance to get settled before she said goodbye to elbow room for the next four hours. She was in the middle middle seat, too, right in the center of the plane so she couldn’t even get a peek out the window. As she pulled out her phone, flicking through her Netflix downloads, she felt someone sit next to her and inwardly groaned; she could tell just from the glimpse she got out of the corner of her eye that it was someone huge. 

She dared a more blatant glance and, to her surprise, saw that her new neighbor was looking back. 

“Hello,” he said, his voice surprisingly soft, with a slight accent she couldn’t quite place. “Sorry if I bumped into you just then.”

“No trouble,” she breathed, when what she wanted to say was bump into me any time. 

He offered her a small, lopsided smile, and she felt her heart skip a beat; when he turned his attention back to the massive book in his hands, she kept her gaze on him for just a moment, trying to figure out what it was exactly that made him so damn attractive. His hair was definitely part of it, all blond and shaggy, and so was the stubble that darkened his jaw. His nose, too, was the sort of nose you wanted to kiss all over, but that still wasn’t quite it, and if she kept staring he was going to notice, and so instead she returned her focus to her phone screen. 

Her sister had just texted her, and she opened the message quickly, hoping to fire off a response before she had to turn on airplane mode. 

Hope you don’t get caught in the storms. Can’t wait to see you! Lots of love. 

And, right on cue, because nothing in Anna’s life could go right today, the PA system crackled on, and the pilot announced the plane would be grounded for at least an hour to avoid the lightning. 

She couldn’t hold back her groan as she flopped back in her seat, and the man next to her shot her an amused glance. It was his eyes, she realized, that made him so handsome; they were the most lovely shade between hazel and chestnut brown, and soft somehow, full of warmth even as he looked at the stranger next to him throwing a temper tantrum. 

“Sorry,” she mumbled sheepishly, feeling her cheeks grow warm. 

He grinned at her, slow and crooked again. “No trouble. I’m sure we’re all feeling the same way.”

He returned to his book, and she to her phone, finally deciding to watch Love, Actually for the twenty zillionth time. She knew every line by heart and still never got tired of it; it was her comfort movie, and she sure as hell needed some comfort right now. Just as Hugh Grant came on screen, a flight attendant passed down the aisle, and Anna’s gaze instinctively flickered up at the movement— and her neighbor’s flickered away from her screen. 

She dared to peek at him as he stared resolutely ahead as if he were deep in thought, but when she turned her gaze back to her phone she kept tabs on him out of the corner of her eye. He was definitely watching her screen instead of reading whatever that massive book was. She couldn’t blame him; that thing looked terrible. 

And then a wicked, wicked idea came to her: she went to the menu and turned the subtitles on. 

This time the peek she dared was bolder, and to her delight, the man’s cheeks were bright red. “I always think movies are so much better when you know what they’re saying, don’t you?” she asked nonchalantly, and his blush deepened. 

“Sorry,” he stammered, “I just— god, this book is dull, and I saw Liam Neesom so I thought maybe it was an action movie, but there’s a whole lot of hugging going on for that, so I—“

She held up one of her earbuds. “You could have just asked to watch with me.”

That smile was tugging at the corner of his lips again. “May I?”

“You may.”

He was an excellent fellow audience member, chuckling under his breath at all the right parts. Just as it was starting to get really good, the PA crackled back to life, and Anna hit pause. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, get ready for takeoff!”

Everyone around her either cheered or let out a sigh of relief, but Anna couldn’t help but wince. This was always her least favorite part, even worse than landing. The man, somehow, seemed to notice. “Not to be too forward or anything,” he said as the plane began to move forward and pick up speed, “but if you get nervous during this part, you can grab my hand. I always did that to my mom when I was a kid.”

“No, no, I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Anna reassured him, and then the wheels left the ground with an awfully loud noise that sounded to her like the wings were falling right off, and she let out a little squeak and found herself clinging to his forearm so tightly even he let out a huff of surprise. But he didn’t pull away; instead, he met her nervous gaze and said softly, “It’s gonna be okay. Trust me.”

And somehow, she did. She kept her eyes on him as the plane continued to ascend, already rocking with turbulence. “I’m Anna.”

“Kristoff.”

“I’d shake your hand, but I think we’re a bit past that point by now,” she said, squeezing his arm for emphasis and trying not to blush again when he realized how muscley he was. Another jolt shuddered through the plane, and her other hand went instinctively to clamp onto his arm as well, the only solid thing she could find. “Sorry,” she muttered, but he just shook his head.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m not fragile,” he said with a wink.

At last, the plane’s trajectory started to smooth once more, and she tilted her phone up. “Ready to keep watching?”

He nodded, looking genuinely excited. She couldn’t help but smile. “Have you really never seen this before? It’s a classic.”

Kristoff shrugged. “Guess it’s not in Norway.”

“Oh-- is that where you’re from?”

“Yes, from Stavanger. I’ve lived there my whole life. And you?”

“I’m just from here. Well-- there. Colorado, I mean. Where we’re going.”

“Anna from Colorado,” he said, and the way he said it so carefully made her smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Even though I nearly tore your arm off?”

He grinned. “I’ve had worse happen on a flight.”

They watched the movie in companionable silence again, only breaking it when the flight attendant came around with the drink cart. They both got ginger ale-- “not copying you,” Anna had insisted, and he’d said, “no worries, everyone knows it tastes better on a plane”, and then they both turned back to the movie with faint smiles.

She kept sneaking little glances at Kristoff, grateful that he really did seem focused on the movie. His eyes-- the color of perfectly brewed tea, she’d decided-- were intent on the tiny screen, and a little thrill went down her spine when she wondered what it might feel like if he turned that focus on her. Next, she let her gaze trail down his profile, feeling a funny little twinge in her chest as she noticed the freckles peppered over his nose, and wondering again what it would be like to kiss that nose, internally chastising herself for thinking about making out with a stranger just because he was watching her favorite movie with her and had let her hold onto him and had the sweetest eyes she’d ever seen.

(Who was she kidding? She’d kissed guys for worse reasons.)

He shifted a little, and for a moment she was worried he’d noticed her looking, but then she realized he was trying his utmost to angle himself away from her, staying as small as he could in the tiny seat so he wouldn’t bump into her-- a nearly impossible feat considering how broad his shoulders were. How had she not noticed that yet? And he had to be tall, too, judging by how his knees were crammed up against the seat in front of him.

“Kristoff?”

He tore his eyes away from Keira Knightley doing something Keira Knightley-esque. “Hmm?”

“It’s okay if you bump into me some. I’m, um…” She trailed off, feeling herself blush as he did, in fact, meet her gaze with that intense look in his eyes. “I’m littler than you. So I’m not taking up all the space. Already sharing my phone, right? Might as well share my seat. But no getting mad if I fall asleep on you.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, a relieved look on his face when he shifted slightly so he wasn’t so crammed into the tiny space. His knees bumped his tray table, nearly spilling the remnants of his ginger ale, and he flushed slightly. “Are you sure you don’t mind? I don’t want to make you feel squished.”

“Again, I already squished the life out of your arm. I owe you one.”

There was almost an awkward moment as they decided who would retain control of the armrest between them, but then Anna huffed in frustration and pressed the button, lifting it. Kristoff raised an eyebrow.

“Rather have you pressing into me than that, anyway,” she said, immediately turning the same shade of red as her hair when she realized what she’d just said.

He blushed, too, and they both looked back at the phone screen. Hesitantly, he scooted a little closer towards her, his arm pressing against hers, and she angled herself carefully against him, hoping it seemed like she only did it to make them both more comfortable and not so she could nestle herself against his shoulder (which, as it turned out, felt just as solid and wonderful as his arm.)

She dared another little peek and realized he was smiling-- and that she was, too.

As it got to the bit where Emma Thompson found out her husband (the absolute bastard!) had cheated on her to the strains of Joni Mitchell, Anna felt Kristoff stiffen slightly next to her. Anna looked up at him, more than a bit misty-eyed herself, and saw a sudden sadness in his eyes. He glanced down at her and wordlessly offered her a tissue. 

“Thanks. This part just kind of...hits home,” she admitted.

He nodded. “Me, too.”

She glanced down, feeling bare somehow when he looked at her like that, and realized his knees still looked awfully cramped. “You can, um, stretch out a little over here if you want. I don’t mind.”

“I’m okay, really. Wouldn’t want you to end up sitting in my lap-- I mean, not that I’d mind,” he added hastily, “but you might.”

It was his turn to blush scarlet. Neither of them looked up again until the credits rolled. Anna peeked at Kristoff and saw he was already looking at her with a small smile.

“So...did you like it?” she asked shyly.

“Yeah. Glad you let me watch with you instead of telling me to stop being a creep.”

She laughed, and his smile broadened. “Don’t worry, I could tell you weren’t one.”

He leaned closer, just a fraction. “How could you tell?”

She needed to look away, or else she was going to do something a hell of a lot riskier than letting a stranger hold her phone. “Just could. Here-- mind letting me out to go pee?”

It was the least sexy thing she could think of to say, and it broke the spell. He moved quickly out of her way and stood in the aisle, which immediately put her right back to thinking oh my god how is he so hot?

“Jesus-- no wonder you looked so uncomfortable,” she said, the words spilling out before she could stop herself. “How tall are you?”

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, seeming suddenly acutely aware of the fact that she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze now. “Um. Six four on a good day.”

“Guess today’s a very good day, then,” Anna said, turning and quickly going down the aisle before she regretted saying something so bold.

But it was too late; by the time she was washing her hands, she had convinced herself she’d go back out and find that he had requested to move to another seat. “Pull yourself together,” she muttered under her breath, splashing some cold water on her reddened cheeks. “He’s just some guy on a plane you’ll never see again.”

Still, before she left the tiny restroom, she’d done her best to smooth her hair and curl her eyelashes using her fingers. She nearly stumbled coming back down the aisle as the plane rocked and the “fasten seatbelt” sign pinged on. And then she did fall as she reached her row, just in time for Kristoff to catch her against his chest as he stood up to let her in.

“Sorry,” she stammered, just as he asked, “All good?”

They both nodded, but neither of them pulled away until the plane jolted again. He let go quickly, but she could still feel the phantom warmth of his hands against her shoulders as she settled back into her seat. 

“Grab onto me again if you need to,” he said, fastening his seatbelt.

She almost told him she’d be fine, that this part didn’t bother her, but then she noticed that his face had gone a little pale, and so she held out her hand for him, fingers spread. “That’d be nice,” she said, a little shy even though there was no point to that anymore, really; there was no more pretending that they were still strangers. He laced his fingers through hers, and she couldn’t help but notice his hand was almost twice the size of hers. She squeezed it slightly, and Kristoff squeezed back.

“So, um,” she asked, hoping to distract him from the turbulence and herself from the way her heart had just sped up, “what do you do? Like for a job?”

“I’m an adjunct professor. Scandinavian studies, mostly folklore.”

She hadn’t expected him to be an academic, but she found she liked the thought of him sitting behind a desk in a cozy office, asking her to close the door behind her as she came in for a private meeting--

Focus, Anna.

“Oh, that’s cool. Is that what the book you were reading was about?”

“Yes, it’s an overview of the roles animals play in some of the old fairy tales. Fascinating subject, really, but the author managed to make it boring anyway. Tends to happen with a lot of the research I read. What about you, what do you do for a living?”

“I, um, I write fairy tales. Well, sometimes, kind of. I write children’s books. And do the art, sometimes, but I’m still not very good at that part.”

“Any chance I’ve read anything you’ve written?”

“Very funny.”

“No, I’m serious. I’ve been focusing on children’s stories recently and done quite a lot of field research.”

“Um...now that you mention it, I did do one recently about the polar bear king, but I seriously doubt you would have gotten it over in Norway…”

His eyes lit up. “Anna Agnardottir?”

She blinked. “Oh my god, you really read it?”

“Of course! Anna, it’s won half a dozen awards. It’s my favorite version of the story I’ve read, and trust me, that’s saying something. And your paintings--”

She was even redder than she had been before when she’d made that awkward comment about pressing. “It-- well-- I just-- um. I’m glad you liked it.”

“I was thinking about making it required reading for one of the classes I’m teaching next semester, actually.”

“Now you’re just saying things to be nice.”

“No, I mean it. What a coincidence, huh? That I ended up getting to sit next to you? Remind me to get your autograph before we go.”

She was saved from coming up with a response by the plane dropping suddenly. A little involuntary gasp escaped her, and she felt Kristoff’s hand tighten around hers. She looked up and saw his jaw was clenched.

“It’s gonna be okay,” she said softly, echoing his earlier words. “Trust me.”

His gaze slid to hers, softening slightly when their eyes met. Neither of them looked away, even when the plane steadied once more, even when his hand loosened around hers and he started running his thumb against hers in a gentle caress.

The pilot’s voice came over the PA system again. “Looks like another couple hours to go, folks, we’ll have to circle the city for a while and wait for our turn to land. Sorry for the delay.”

Anna wrinkled her nose. “Seems like the powers that be really don’t want this plane to land anytime soon, huh?”

“Guess not,” Kristoff said, but he sounded distracted somehow as he tore his gaze away from her.

“We can, um, we can watch another movie if you want. Except my phone’s about to die soon, so--”

“That’s okay. I, um. I’m kind of tired.”

She let go of his hand at last, and he looked almost disappointed. “Don’t let me bother you, then. It’s been a long day for us all, huh?”

He leaned back in his seat. “You haven’t been bothering me at all.”

Anna bit her lip. “I’m, um. I’m kind of tired too. But I forgot my pillow, and since your shoulder’s already kind of here in my space, and we’ve really kind of crossed all the normal plane etiquette boundaries, so, um, is it okay if maybe I could--”

A smile played at the corners of his mouth. “You don’t even have to ask. I’m more than happy to be your personal pillow.”

This time both of them blushed, but she still looped her arm around his, nuzzling her cheek against his shoulder as she settled in. She hadn’t realized how tired she was until now, when, with her face pressed against the comforting warmth of his shoulder and sweater, she felt just as cozy as she would at home in her own bed. 

“Sleep tight, Kristoff,” she mumbled against the knitted fabric, and she felt him shake slightly against her as he let out a rumbly little laugh.

“Sweet dreams, Anna,” he said softly, and even though she’d known him for all of four hours she couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to hear that every night for the rest of her life.

She didn’t wake up again until the wheels of the plane hit the ground; she jolted upright, nearly slamming her face into Kristoff’s chin. She would have if he hadn’t jumped suddenly, too; their eyes met, and they both flushed slightly as they realized that somehow his arm had migrated around her shoulders and that her head had been nestled against his chest. 

“Sorry--” they both started at the same time, and then both of them grinned as they realized neither of them felt particularly sorry at all. 

They both lingered as the aisles filled with people who, unlike them, were eager to get off the plane. A four-hour flight turning into a seven-hour one suddenly felt a lot less like a huge misfortune, and Anna found herself wishing that one last storm might just hit and hold them up a little longer. Then Kristoff was standing, pulling away from her so he could grab a suitcase from the overhead bin and hand it carefully to the little old lady across the aisle.

“Thank you so much, young man,” she said with a twinkling smile. “I hope you and your wife there have a pleasant rest of your day. You two remind me of my husband and I, you know, God rest his soul.”

“I…” Kristoff said, glancing back at Anna. A little smile tugged at his lips. “Thank you, ma’am, we appreciate that.”

He helped her with her bag, too, before getting his own, and for a moment they just stood in the aisle looking at each other.

“Well,” he said softly. “It was certainly nice meeting you today, Anna.”

“You, too,” she said, shy again. “I, um. I hope you enjoy your time in Colorado. When are you flying back to Stavanger?”

“Oh, not for a while, I’d imagine,” he said, that lopsided smile growing on his face. “I’ve just taken a job with the University of Colorado.”

“That-- that wouldn’t happen to be the one in Boulder, would it?”

Somehow his smile grew even more. “It would.”

Someone cleared their throat, and they both looked up to see that the flight attendants were trying to clean the cabin. They shuffled quickly through the aisle and to the jet bridge; Anna nearly tripped over the wheels of her suitcase when she looked up at him again. “So-- um-- if you still want my autograph…”

“Definitely. For research purposes, of course.”

“Well, I might be persuaded to give you my number along with it.”

They reached the baggage claim area, and he immediately fumbled through his pockets for a pen. Neither of them had any paper, so he pulled the massive book from his backpack and held it out to her. She signed her name with a flourish, dotting the “i” with a heart, and wrote her number carefully beneath it. 

Kristoff grinned at it and slid the book into his bag so he could hold out his hand to her. She took it gladly. “So,” he began, those beautiful brown eyes sparkling as he looked down at her, “if you’re not too busy, I think maybe I might put that number to use tomorrow night.”

“I guess I could make time in my schedule.”

“Movie date?”

She squeezed his hand. “Perfect.”

He helped her wheel her bag out to the front and set off in search of a taxi for himself. Elsa came running over, arms already held out for a hug. Anna caught her with a laugh. “Missed you, too.”

Elsa held onto her tightly, letting out a relieved sigh. “What bad luck hitting all that shitty weather, huh?” she said with a sympathetic grimace. 

Anna looked across the arrivals hall, sighting a pair of honey-brown eyes that were already watching as their owner made his way back over to her. She grinned, and so did he. 

“Nah, not so bad after all.”

----

thank you @gabiwnomagic @faerytold @somecallmejohn @kristoffbjorg  and @romanticsanders  for your help getting this done!

[reddie-fangirl24]

Premonition Chapter 1 (A Reddie Fanfiction)

Here is the first chapter based on the preface of a story that @thoughtfullyyoungduck and I are collaborating on. It’s based on the movie Premonition with Sandra Bullock. We hope you enjoy the story!. Here is the link to the first chapter.

“Dad, when is Daddy coming home?” Chloe asked while on their way to school.

Eddie leaned back in his seat, sighing from the morning traffic. He took a peek at the digital clock. Why were they always close to being late?

“Later on. More towards the evening.” Eddie answered.

“Where’d he go?” Georgie asked curiously.

“A meeting.”

“A meeting that’s all day and all night? That’s boring!” Chloe moaned, turning up her nose.

Eddie smiled. “No. It was a meeting that was talking about a possible new show opportunity your Daddy might have,” he explained, nearing the school. Cars honked around him to move away from the sidewalk so they could drop their children off. The crossing guard warned impatient parents to calm down. Same events every morning.

“Why couldn’t we go with him?”

Eddie tapped his fingers along the steering wheel, nearing closer. “It was his business. It would have been boring.”

“It wouldn’t have been, um... monotonous!” Chloe said, shuffling through her spelling words. “I think it would have been entertaining if we all went!”

Eddie smiled again, ruffling his daughter's hair. She took after Eddie in vocabulary. He parked near the sidewalk and the kids gathered up her belongings.

“You studied all your spelling words last night?” Eddie asked, glancing into the back seat. Chloe always did her school work no matter what. It was Georgie who liked to slack off, trying to sneak in a video game behind his parents back.

“Yes, for a whole half hour,” he answered, looking at Eddie quickly, then back out the window. “Chloe even tested me.”

Chloe nodded. “Yeah, and he got most of the words right!”

“Great. I’ll pick you up at Auntie Bev’s and Uncle Ben’s around 4:30.”

“Will Daddy be with you?” Chloe asked, excitement bouncing in her voice.

“Yeah, didn’t he say that he’d be home before 5?” Georgie asked, scooting forward in his seat, but not too close to Eddie. He looked so excited. 

Eddie kissed her head. “We’ll see.” Eddie grinned at Georgie in the back seat, knowing that he didn’t like to be kissed in front of a crowd. 

“Bye! I love you!” Chloe called out, opening the front door.

“Oh, don’t forget your lunch!” Eddie yelled, grabbing Georgie’s lunch box from the back seat.

Georgie ran back, did a motion with her finger towards his head and whistled. Eddie laughed, shaking his head. Georgie was forgetful and silly like Richie.

“Come on, Georgie! We’re going to be late!” Chloe nit-picked at her brother. 

“I get the front seat later today!”

“You had it twice, so I get two times, too!”

Eddie drove off, slightly shaking his head at his children’s usual bickering. It never got old. Reminded him of him and Richie. Oh, he was wondered where they got it from 

It was time for the usual slow pace that dragged along each week. Passing by his former workplace on the way home didn’t help. He could go back to work, but he had the responsibility of looking after his two children. Besides, all schools kept everything on record. Including incidents. 

Going home, Eddie went about with straightening up the house. Before going on a run around the neighborhood, he tended to some work. At least he could be helpful to those who had addictions like how he did recover. 

Eddie just wished he could be more useful when it came to making money. After the whole incident, Richie was nothing but compassionate to him, giving him a job to help market his comedy. Steve wasn’t too fond of that, so it didn’t last very long. 

It was no use dwelling on unwanted memories, so he went for his run. Not a long one like doctors ordered. Even after more than a decade later the wound that was inflicted by the evil demonic clown still hurt. Not as much thankfully. The pain was so terrible that Eddie rolled up in a ball, crying. 

“Hey, Eds!” Mike cheerfully greeted over the phone once Eddie returned home.

“Hello, Mike. I was just checking in with you,” Eddie greeted circling his finger around the countertop. He could hear the ticking of the clock. It got lonely during the day. Eddie was surprised that he wasn’t used to that. 

“I’m fine. How about you and Richie?”

“Fine. He’s away. He’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Can you believe it’s already Thursday? It feels like monsters are eating the days left and right!” Mike joked.

A small smile cracked along Eddie’s face. Thursday? He must have been losing track of the days. Oh, it happens to everyone. 

“Have any plans for the weekend?” Mike asked.

“Nothing right now.”

“We have to get the Losers back together for a meetup! We haven’t done that in so long!”

Eddie grunted in response, somewhat sad. Something felt missing.

Once the conversation ended Eddie placed the phone back into its cradle. He noticed a blinking light. There was a message. 

Pressing it, Richie’s voice played back, “‘Eds, listen,” Richie’s voice sounded tired and worn out, but nervous. What was that whirring sound in the background? “I’m sorry we didn’t leave on a good note. I want to say I’m sorry,’” There was a pause until Richie continued after sighing. “‘I meant what I said in front of the kids the other night, and I just want you to know I lo- damn, someone else is callin’ me,’” Richie grumbled partly under his breath. There was another short pause until Eddie heard, “‘Oh, it’s you -.’”

The messenger beeped. Eddie stared at the machine trying to decipher Richie’s words. What did he say to the kids? When did he leave this message?

Eddie dialed Richie’s cell phone and waited to hear back from him. Instead, he got Richie’s voicemail telling Eddie to leave a message. “Hi, I received your message. Did you try to call while I was out?” He paused, searching for something else to say. “I’ll see you soon.”

Putting it aside Eddie went and took a shower and got into something more comfortable before going to straighten up the house. He used to keep the floors cleaned for months on end never letting dirt or clothes cover it. Things have been... busy lately. 

He emptied out the dishwasher and took the clothes out from the wash. Chloe’s purple shirt was nice and clean. Georgie would be happy to have his baseball uniform back. Along with Richie’s shirts, Hawaiian, or various shirts that he’d wear for his shows. Even his white sleeveless nightshirt was clean. Eddie sniffed it, stared at it, and then folded it up with everything else. 

Glancing at the clock he needed to pick up Chloe and Georgie in about forty minutes. He needed to get dinner ready soon after. It just occurred to him that he hadn’t cooked in over a month. Richie had been doing all the cooking, or even getting takeout meals. It was strange that none of them noticed this, or talked about it.

Just then the doorbell rang. Odd. Who would come by at this hour?

Opening the door Eddie was met by a woman dressed in a police uniform. The sight of ginger brown hair was a direct giveaway. She looked grim. Her police hat was in her hands rather than resting on her head.

“Mr. Tozier?” she asked him.

Eddie nodded, feeling his heart pounding already.

“Eddie Tozier?” she asked again, correcting herself. Eddie just nodded. 

Her face fell before she opened her mouth again. “I have some bad news,” her tone completely trailed off. “I’m really sorry to inform you but your husband, Richie, he died in a helicopter crash.”

Eddie’s heart completely shattered. Did he just hear that correctly?

“W-When?” Eddie’s voice cracked, placing his hand against his heart. It was pounding.

“Yesterday,” the officer answered.

Eddie shook his head. “No, no... that’s not... no, he j-just left me a voicemail. There has to be a mistake. Richie’s n-not...”

“There was a problem with the takeoff. You see, one of the wings was broken, but nobody noticed right before the plane took off...”

Eddie completely trailed off feeling a heavy weight on his heart. This wasn’t happening. It wasn’t. A few days ago he and Richie... saw each other. They fell asleep that night and he was gone the next morning on his trip.

A noise caught Eddie’s attention. Over in the trees, a group of birds flew away, calling out, spreading their wings, and flying together side by side.

“Mr. Tozier?” the officer asked, concerned.

“Huh?”

“Is there anyone who I can call for you? Anybody?” she offered, not wanting to leave Eddie in this state. 

Eddie shook his head, said goodbye to the officer, and closed the door.

He sunk to the ground, hugging himself. His heart cracked in two. His eyes traced all around the big house trying to figure out the missing puzzle pieces. He glanced at each room from the sliding door leading outside, the kitchen with a stove, the living room. Ten years. They lived in this big house for ten years. It was much bigger when you were... alone.

 “No, no... noooo..!!!” Eddie whimpered into his arms. He hugged himself, shaking. It had to be a dream. This wasn’t real. This was not his life where his beloved best friend turned boyfriend and then his husband... died. What did he do to deserve this? He was a good person!

Eddie drove off to pick up his children. Luckily Ben and Beverly were only a block away.

He parked outside the house and honked. Normally he’d go in, but not today.

His children excitedly thanked and said goodbye to Lexi, Ben and Bev’s daughter. If Eddie had noticed, Beverly waved to him. Immediate worry consumed her when Eddie ignored, barely even acknowledging her.

“School was fun today! We drew pictures! And we got to the best part of The B.F.G! Dad, did you know that Lexi has a trampoline now? We jumped so high into the air that we could’a touched the moon!”

Eddie kept driving. He was just barely holding it together.

“Dad?” Georgie asked, now worried. “What’s wrong?”

They arrived home without another word. Chloe held her dad’s hand up the walkway, tightly, and kept staring up at him. When Eddie unlocked the door his children entered first and looked all around the house. Eddie stood by the door, looking into the floor, barely able to look at them.

Finally, Chloe and Georgie approached him. “Dad, where’s Daddy?”

For a moment Eddie wished he could just lie saying that Richie drove far away, never wanting to see them again so he wouldn’t have to see his children’s complete and utter heartbreak. He immediately regret that. He promised himself he’d never be like his mother.

Bending down, he took Chloe and Georgie’s hands and looked into their eyes, tears streaking his face. “Chloe, Georgie, your Daddy has been in an accident.”

Chloe’s whole face broke. Hope still swam in Georgie’s eyes. “Is he okay?”

Eddie completely broke into tears and hugged his children close.

-

“Wow, you’re really good at drawing,” Audra Denbrough complemented Eddie’s kids as she and Bill watched her draw a picture.

“Daddy and I were still finishing it,” Chloe said, a bit calmer now. “He liked my rainbows.”

“I’m sure he did.” Bill comfortingly pat her hair. He looked over at Georgie who was very quiet. His eyes were red. 

One by one, the Losers showed up at Eddie’s house. Alarmed that Eddie never responded to them, Ben called and Eddie broke down. They were over in a heartbeat. Followed by Bill and Audra who lived about an hour tops away. Not long after Patty showed up, devastated about the news. Mike was still on his way, but eventually, he showed up, tears in his eyes. 

There was not a dry eye in the room. None of them could believe that they lost Richie Tozier, the trashmouth of the Losers who would never stop talking. Eventually, they all had to force the tears away for the sake of Eddie’s children. They did their best to keep the kids distracted, but it was Eddie who they were worried about. 

Eddie sat on the opposite couch. A glass of wine sat untouched on the table to his side. Bill worriedly glanced at him, mainly the glass. Eddie wasn’t aware of the passing time but the wine in his glass was practically empty, lost in his thoughts. The words from the police officer echoed inside his mind. Richie. Dead.

Later on in the night, Ben and Beverly came down the stairs. They sadly sighed looking at Eddie gazing off into nothing. The Losers sat around the living room either on the couch or on the floor. They just wanted to be close to Eddie who had not said anything in a couple of hours. It was time to pay attention to him now. 

Mike took away the wine as Beverly sat down next with Eddie, getting his attention.

“Chloe and Georgie are asleep,” she said, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder.

This snapped Eddie out from his thoughts. “I should say good night.”

“Oh, no, Eds,” Ben gently whispered, making him sit back down again. “They’re already asleep.”

Eddie sat back into the cushions. He felt an immense amount of anger, sadness, unfairness inside himself. He couldn’t help but feel angry with Richie. He never pictured raising his own children alone. Richie helped him along the way countless times through parenting. And it wasn’t hard to admit that Georgie was his Daddy’s boy.

 His own mother destroyed him. She always lied, making him think that he was sick. Eddie was never confident about being a parent. Could he do this on his own?

“Eddie, Eddie, honey,” Beverly, her voice immediately starting to tear up. “I’m really sorry, but we should think about funeral arrangements.”

Eddie put his hand over his eyes. “I’m not ready for that.”

“No one is,” Patty assured, patting his leg. “When Stanley passed away it was very hard. You’re not alone.”

Eddie was still silent. There were no tears left in him to cry. He was completely drained from the day’s events. He couldn’t move from the couch. When they lived in their old apartment they didn’t have to go up any stairs to bed. He still missed it after all this time.

“We’ll talk more in the morning, alright? We’re going to sleep,” Bill told him. “For ‘ole time’s sake we’re going to have a camp out. We’ll all sleep down here.”

“If you need us for anything don’t be afraid to wake us up,” Mike told him with a soft smile.  

Eventually, everybody went to sleep. Eddie stared up at the ceiling. Tears ran down his cheeks. He glanced at the wedding photo of himself and Richie on the table.

He picked it up and stared at the picture of him and Richie shoving cake into one another’s faces. His lip trembled even more and whimpered remembering their wedding. They had their wedding in a gazebo. It was a small crowd filled with their family and all the Losers. They had a food fight. And shared vows. They both promised to love one another forever. 

Forever. This isn’t forever.

Hugging the picture frame tightly to his chest as if it were Richie, Eddie picked up his feet and curled up on the couch in a fetal position. He was off to sleep in an instant.

[ft-dads-au]

All I Want for Christmas...

Home for the Holidays 2019 Prompt: Strength A collaboration by @mdelpin​ and @oryu404​ AO3 | Next: Ch 2

Chapter 1

December 23, 2013

Seat 17D.

During the two-plus hours Rogue had spent waiting at the airport until it was time to board, he had checked his ticket often enough to know it by heart now. He made his way through the middle aisle of the plane, seats A and B were on his right, C and D on his left, so he was lucky enough to have a window seat. When he found it, he sat down and sent a message from his phone to inform Sting that he was on the plane, before turning on airplane mode.

The plane was pleasantly warm, so he took off his thick winter coat and put it underneath the seat in front of him. He put his carry on bag there as well, carefully as to not break the bottle of wine he had bought at one of the duty-free shops, and fastened his seat belt.

People were still boarding the plane, so Rogue decided to wait before taking a nap or immersing himself in the fictional world of his own writing until after the departure had been announced. There was a card inside the pocket of the seat in front of him. From the icons on it, he could see it was an instruction for on-board safety, so he kept himself busy inspecting it.

“Good morning!”

Rogue looked up from the card to see who had greeted him. A loud young woman with long, silvery-white hair was taking up the seat next to him. She carried a medium-sized suitcase with a design of white angel wings on the front. It was too large to fit under the seat, so she stored it in the luggage compartment above them.

“Morning,” Rogue grumbled. It was just past 7, and he had been up and about since 3 AM, getting ready and reaching the airport two hours before departure, as was advised.

The last thing he wanted right now was to engage in small talk with a stranger. He pulled his hoodie over his head and stared out the window, hoping that the girl would take the hint he was giving with his unsociable behavior.

“Man, what a drag! I never fly this early, but I wanted to surprise my little sister before she got home from work,” the girl yapped. Either she ignored the hints he was giving her, or she was too dense to pick up on them. “Are you visiting family for the holidays as well?”

Rogue slowly turned towards her again, wondering what answer he should give her. He rarely told any lies, but perhaps ‘no, I’m going to stay with the ex I’m not over yet and celebrate the holidays with him and his parents,’ wasn’t the best way to avoid any more questions.

“Yeah, I will be spending the holidays with family,” he answered instead. Now that he thought about it, he wasn’t actually lying. He just failed to specify that it wasn’t his own family he was visiting.

The anxiety he’d managed to suppress for most of the day was suddenly rising up within him. Both from thinking about his own family and from the thought of seeing Sting again after almost half a year.

In-person, that is.

They still texted a lot, and video chatted almost daily. In terms of getting someone out of your head and out of your heart, this was by far the dumbest thing to do. They both knew that, and yet neither of them was fully ready to let go.

Maybe he should have just bit the bullet and dragged himself through another lonely Christmas break with alcohol and comfort food. As depressing as it may have been, it would probably pale in comparison to how he’d feel on his return flight.

“Are you okay? Your face is whiter than a sheet of paper.”

Rogue put the safety instructions back inside the seat pocket and hid his hands inside the pocket of his hoodie. “I’m fine,” he muttered between breaths, and explained it away with something that was, again, not really a lie, but only a part of the truth. “It’s just my first time flying, that’s all.”

“Oh God, you’re not going to barf, are you?” The girl grimaced and scooted towards the other end of her seat, as far away from him as possible. She handed him a brown paper bag that she pulled out of the seat pocket of the seat in front of her, “here, you can have mine, I don’t need it anyway.”

Just when Rogue wanted to refuse the offer, the crackling of white noise started coming out of the plane’s intercom. The captain’s voice started making some announcements. The flight attendants demonstrated the use of oxygen masks and life vests, pointed out the location of the safety exits and checked the seatbelts. Once the captain had wished everyone a pleasant flight, the intercom went off again. The plane started rolling forward, and takeoff was initiated.

“Takeoff and landing are the worst. Once we’re up in the air, you won’t even know we’re moving most of the time. Oh yeah, and the change of pressure is going to do some annoying shit to your ears. Want some bubblegum? The chewing helps.”

Rogue was ready to protest that he wasn’t that stressed out, that the only annoying thing happening to his ears right now was her voice, but then the engines started roaring, and the plane accelerated quickly. He looked out the small window, heart racing as the surroundings flew by, and at a sudden tilt of the aircraft, started getting smaller.

The airport disappeared into the distance as they flew across the capital. All of its tall buildings now looked like miniatures of a model. He held his breath and watched in awe, thinking that it was almost as if he was flying on his own, soaring through the sky like a bird. It made him feel free, but at the same time, the thought that home, his city, his country, were all far away now brought some of the nerves back again. Once they breached the clouds, it was all out of sight, and he wished that he had accepted the bubblegum.

~~~

Once Rogue had retrieved his luggage and made it through customs and passport control, he followed the stream of travelers into the arrival hall. It wasn’t a surprise to see a lot of people waiting there to reunite with their loved ones. Christmas was only two days from now, after all. Hugs and kisses were exchanged, and the sounds of happy chattering bounced off the walls, the whole scene sent a wave of emotions through him that he suppressed with all his might.

‘No, not now, pull yourself together,’ Rogue mentally reprimanded himself, closing his eyes and breathing through the moment until it subsided. He searched through the crowd, looking for that familiar face, nervous just like he had been during both takeoff and landing, if not worse.

And then he found him, eyes blue like the sky that seemed to sparkle as soon as they met Rogue’s own. His smile was bright enough to light up the whole room, and Rogue could only think one thing when he approached him, rolling his heavy suitcase along over the smooth airport flooring.

‘How am I going to survive myself around you for the next twelve days?’

Sting met him halfway, his happy grin now reduced to a shy smile. His hands were in his pockets and his gaze ping-ponged between Rogue and the floor. He was nervous as well, and that made sense, but he pulled Rogue in for a hug anyway.

Rogue tried not to dwell on how much he had missed this, the warmth and closeness and the scent of whatever that cursed cologne he was wearing was, but it was over way too soon. When they pulled away, there was a short second of hesitation, a kiss waiting to happen, but neither of them followed through.

“Uhm...hey, how was your flight?” Sting immediately took over the suitcase as they crossed the hallway into the airport’s main hall, and Rogue just let him.

‘My dad taught me to always be a gentleman,’ he remembered him saying when he asked him what the deal with all the cheesy gestures was. It took Rogue a while to get used to it, and he’d probably have to get used to it again, now that their break-up didn’t seem to be a reason for that to change.

“It was alright,” Rogue shrugged. “Getting on and off the plane was a hassle, but the flight itself went by pretty quickly. I think I slept through half of it, to be honest.”

“That’s good, you must have been up really early. When was the last time you ate?”

Rogue checked his watch. It was almost noon, but that was Magnolian time. Edolas was two hours ahead, so that meant it should be around 2 PM now. He made a mental note to readjust his watch to display the right time later.

“I had breakfast at home before I left, and coffee and a snack at Crocus airport while waiting. Guess that’s been a while.”

“Hungry?”

“Yeah, but-” Rogue stopped in front of a gift shop, something that had been on his mind but was forgotten over nerves and resurfacing memories suddenly came back to him. “There’s something I want to do first,” he revealed, and without any further explanation, Rogue entered the gift shop to buy some flowers to go with the wine, determined to show his gratitude to his hosts and maybe give himself a moment or two to compose himself.

[the-observant-frisbeetarian]

Keep Smiling Through

By George deValier

One-shot sequel to We’ll Meet Again

Summer, 1948 Nebraska, USA

.

In the few months since the ocean liner RMS Queen Elizabeth steamed into New York City Harbour, carrying Mr. Arthur Kirkland and the recently promoted Captain Alfred Jones with it, Arthur could honestly say he had never been so confused, so surprised, or so completely and utterly bewildered in all his life.

If there was one word Arthur could use to describe America, it was big. It was also loud. And confusing. And oddly marvellous. In fact, it was very much like Alfred himself. The American seemed positively ecstatic to return to his country of birth. He had been back once before, just after the war, but that had been without Arthur, and neither had handled the separation very well. Being alone again in the Emerald Lion, with his fears and his worries and his memories, was almost more than Arthur could bear. When Alfred finally returned to London Arthur had been so overjoyed he'd jumped on him in the train station, causing quite a few raised eyebrows and stunned stares and outright cries of outrage. So this time, when Alfred had to return to America for military reasons, Arthur accepted immediately when asked if he wanted to accompany his lovely, charming, bloody frustrating Yank.

Of course the trip turned into more of a sightseeing adventure than anything else. They travelled through more states than Arthur could name in their shiny red Chevrolet, stopping at more diners and lookout points and roadside oddities than he ever wished to see again. Alfred simply bubbled with excitement at showing Arthur everything he possibly could of the great United States of America, all of which had been somewhat bearable so far – until Nebraska. More specifically, until this airfield in Nebraska. Even more specifically, until this tiny, metal, claustrophobic, inescapable plane cockpit sitting on this runway in the middle of this wide, flat, golden field in Nebraska.

It did not take long for Alfred to convince the airfield staff to let him take up one of their planes. Not once they realised who Alfred was; the young trainees gathering in awed respect, the pilots telling their own stories of service during the war, the older engineers shaking Alfred's hand and sharing their memories of Alfred's father when he was a delivery pilot in the twenties. Alfred seemed far more comfortable with these men than the decorated, uniformed, highly-ranked military personnel who usually clamoured to shake his hand.

And now, Arthur wondered how in the bloody hell he had allowed himself to be talked into this. He tried to breathe past the anxiety choking his throat, struggling to suppress the growing fear in his chest. He took another look out the small side window at the long shadow of the wing on the runway. The sound of the roaring engine was almost enough to drown out the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. "I can't…" Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep, shaking breath. "Alfred, I don't think I can do this…"

"Sure you can, Arthur!" Alfred spoke cheerfully over the clacking of the control keys. He slipped his free hand into Arthur's and gave it a soft squeeze. "Come on, look at me."

Arthur nodded, breathed out, and blinked open his eyes. He could really use a stiff drink right now - maybe he should have bought a few more of those jars of moonshine from that bloke in Ohio.

"You're okay." Alfred grinned at him from the pilot seat, his worn old bomber jacket slung over his shoulders, his bright blond hair poking through his flight cap and his radio speaker slung around his neck. "This baby's a breeze." Alfred patted the dashboard. "A good ol' Aeronca Chief - I used to fly one just like her before the war. Y'ain't got nothin' to worry about."

Arthur nodded again, tugged at his tight suit collar, and tried to remind himself that Alfred knew what he was doing. He'd been flying for years, of course he knew what he was doing. "I know, Alfred, I do, but…" But the rational part of Arthur's mind was completely overwhelmed by this instinctive, primal fear. How could he be sitting here in a plane, sitting here about to take off, about to fly into the air for the first time in his life… Arthur suddenly tugged on the belt strapping him into the seat. "I apologise for being a nuisance, but… but perhaps we could just wait…"

"Arthur, listen." Alfred spoke firmly this time, his blue, bespectacled eyes holding Arthur's gaze intently. "You're with the guy that once shot down seven planes, completely alone and with no radio contact, while running low on fuel and surrounded by an entire enemy squad. You're with the guy that's spent over three years training the best pilots the British military has to offer. And you're with the guy that loves you more than anything else in this whole damn world and would die before letting anything happen to you. Now, come on darlin.'" Alfred winked and Arthur's heart stuttered. "Let me take you to the clouds."

Arthur felt thrilled and giddy and frustrated and proud and bloody terrified all at once. He let out a low, groaning sigh. "That's utterly unfair."

Alfred beamed innocently as he pressed even more of the buttons and tapped the gauges and reached for the strange-looking little wheel. Arthur was rather amazed at how easily Alfred pressed and pushed and pulled what looked like a dozen controls at once with only his seven remaining fingers. "What's unfair?"

Those words, that wink, that blasted grin… "You know what, you bloody fool."

Alfred just laughed as the plane started moving along the runway. "All right, now, I'm getting her into takeoff position…"

Arthur's stomach twisted uncomfortably. "Don't tell me what you're doing, good God man, just do it!"

Alfred shrugged. "All-righty then, if you say so." The plane continued steadily for a few moments before Alfred shouted, "Here we go!" The roar of the engine filled the cockpit and Arthur very nearly dived for the door. Instead he forced himself to control his panic, to focus on Alfred's confident motions and his bright, cheerful smile. But as the plane reached impossible levels of speed and noise, the runway blurring beneath them, Arthur could not help but close his eyes. Alfred cheered as the plane tilted and lifted from the ground. "WOO HOO HOOO!"

An invisible force seemed to attack Arthur. His stomach sunk through his legs, his chest compressed, and his ears felt full as blood rushed to his head. He wanted to scream, but all he could do was grip onto the seat and grit his teeth and pray that this shaking, soaring plane would not fall from the sky. The aircraft seemed to drop slightly and Arthur almost choked as he gasped, his hand flying to his chest.

"That's normal, sweetheart. It's just the plane gaining height."

Arthur was too overwhelmed to even object to the nauseating term of endearment. He just kept his eyes squeezed shut, felt his knuckles turn white. This was the oddest feeling he had ever experienced: both heavy and weightless, his head tight with pressure and his stomach empty and unsettled. It felt wrong, it felt strange, it felt completely mad, and how could Alfred be laughing and cheering like he was having the time of his life? Didn't he realise Arthur couldn't breathe here?

"Isn't this amazing, Arthur?" Alfred shouted loudly.

Arthur tried to reply but all he could manage was, "Oh bugger oh bollocks oh Christ blast shit bloody hell STOP LAUGHING!"

"Aw come on now, takeoff's the best part! See how everything just falls away below… hey look, there's our Chevy! I tell ya, these old controls sure bring back memories. Sure is different from all those Spitfires and Hurricanes they've got me showing off these days. Hey, Arthur, in a few minutes, I'll be able to show you the farm I grew up on! Hang on a minute… Arthur, why are your eyes closed?"

"Because I'm bloody terrified! Please, just tell me when this is over!"

Alfred's laughter quieted and he sighed instead. "Oh. All right. I'll just get her level and do a quick fly-round."

The disappointment in Alfred's voice sent a painful stab of guilt through Arthur's chest. What was he saying – that he did not trust Alfred? Yes, this was new and different and scary – but this was important to Alfred. This was his home, his past, his life - and Arthur was letting fear get in the way of Alfred showing it to him. Alfred was not even able to fly for long these days, not with the strain it placed on his damaged eyes. Arthur breathed through the cloud of fear, and told himself he could do this. For Alfred. "No, I'm fine, I'm just... Blimey, this is very odd, isn't it?"

Once again, Arthur felt Alfred's hand slip into his. "It's also amazing. Just look at the view below us. Isn't it terrific?"

All right. Just look. Arthur could do this. He gripped Alfred's hand, forced himself to open his eyes, and immediately gasped in shock. "Blimey," he said again.

An infinite blue sky stretched out around them. Green and yellow striped fields spread out below, dotted with dark houses and streaked with criss-crossed dirt roads, like a labyrinthine maze. The high, brilliant sun blazed down and drenched the endless, flat, open expanse of land in unfiltered, golden light. Arthur shook his head as he took it all in; he couldn't imagine any place in the world more different from London. Alfred's home was sunny, bright, enormous; awe-inspiring. And it was beautiful. Arthur turned to see Alfred grinning wildly, ecstatically happy once again. That same grin that Arthur still loved, as always bringing the blue sky and driving away the dark clouds of Arthur's fear and doubt.

"It's beautiful."

Alfred laughed, overjoyed. "I knew you'd love it! I tell ya, Arthur, the times I've dreamed of soaring through the sky together - and here in my own home..." Alfred winked. "It's magic."

Arthur's heart sped up, and it wasn't from fear anymore. The three years since the war ended had been more than Arthur had ever dreamt of. Every day with Alfred was bright and new and fun, every moment an adventure, and Arthur didn't know how it was possible but it seemed he loved the mad American more with every passing hour. Loved him enough to cross the world; enough to fly into the bloody sky for him. Arthur gently nudged Alfred's arm. "It is, Alfred. Magic."

Alfred's eyes sparkled behind his glasses, bluer than the endless sky. "Now keep your eyes peeled for one of them flying saucers like what crashed in New Mexico last year!"

Arthur groaned in exasperation. "That was a weather balloon, Alfred."

"That's what they want you to think."

Arthur rolled his eyes and gritted his teeth. If he heard one more word about this blasted 'cover-up in Roswell...' "I am not having this conversation again."

"You'll see the truth one day, Arthur. Ooh, look, look!" The plane tilted slightly and Arthur gripped the seat as Alfred pointed past him. "Right down there - that wide dirt track, do you see it? That's the first runway I ever took off from! And I don't know if you can make it out, but there's my old house, on the edge of that little hill there, do you see?"

Arthur didn't, but he nodded anyway. "Yes, yes, it's lovely. Now put the plane back in that nice straight position, please."

Alfred giggled as he did so.

As the flight drew on, Arthur asked about the land they were flying over, and about the confusing plane controls, and he couldn't help but smile at Alfred's joyful enthusiasm as he answered. All anxiety was forgotten. Arthur was just sitting here with Alfred, a thousand miles in the sky, and it was as magical and strange as every other moment they had shared together; as all the beautiful madness these three years had brought.

"It's amazing you can remember it all," said Arthur when Alfred finished explaining the difference in turning speed between the Aeronca Chief and the Mustang.

"Nah, Arthur, it ain't that hard. I could teach you to do it easy, I reckon, what with how smart you are and all."

Arthur scoffed doubtfully. "You flatter me. Up here, you're the smart one, Alfred."

Alfred attempted a nonchalant shrug, but his expression was proudly delighted. He looked out again at the vast blue sky and the endless country below. "Let's take her higher. You trust me now, right?"

Of course Arthur trusted the blasted Yank. He always had; he always would. And that's why he was doing this. Why he was sitting in this winged metal box a thousand miles in the sky; why he was here in this strange, wild country a million miles from home. Because it made Alfred's face light up, made him laugh with joy. Because this was what Alfred loved, and who he was, and this was what had brought him to London and into Arthur's life almost five years earlier. Because it was still, and always would be, magic.

"Always, Alfred."

Alfred flashed Arthur a tiny, sideways grin. "Enough to let me put her into a spin?"

Arthur narrowed his eyes warningly. "Maybe next time. For now…" Arthur pushed himself up in his seat, leant towards Alfred, and followed his gaze into the sky. "Take me through the clouds."

.

Disclaimer: This story belongs to George deValier. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I own nothing.

[blondecarfucker]

Bed of Roses (Chapter 18)

Roger Taylor x Reader

BoRhap!Roger Taylor x Reader

Fic Summary: It's 1971. You just moved to London to study, and you find a band on a local pub after a bad date. The encounter doesn’t go the way you expect it, and neither does what follows this evening as you try to deal with loving Roger Taylor.

Fic Note: So I’ve had this story in my head for the last three weeks and finally decided to write it down. It’s completely planned. It will have 21 chapters and it’s divided in three acts: Dusk, Night and Dawn. It’s will be a bit angsty in the future, and it will most likely have some smut as well. I hope you guys enjoy it! Tell me what you think about it in the asks/comments/messages. PLEASE REMEMBER THIS IS NOT THE LAST CHAPTER OF THE STORY. If this is your first time stumbling upon Bed of Roses, thank you for stopping by! The rest of the story is in my masterlist, the link is in my bio - can't put the link here or else the post will disappear from the tags.

Chapter's notes: Hello and welcome to a HAPPY CHAPTER!!! at least its the happiest since like 11??? i hope you guys enjoy it. it was pretty fun to write - god i love payoff

Words: 2500ish

ACT 3 - DAWN

“It’s the moment night time seems weaker and everything seems easier to figure out”

Chapter 18

You could listen to Stevie's sweet voice as Silver Springs filled your new flat, the boxes filled with your books, the wooden floor covered in your favourite tapestry, the smell of incense in the air. Even though it was raining outside, you had a big, warm smile on your lips - the rain was only another reason for it. You felt home.

You were back in London, a week away from starting your new job in the British Museum. Your biggest life goal, now true. You couldn't believe it.

It was like all pain and suffering on your way to that moment, that precious moment unpacking your things on your first day back in London, made sense. Life couldn't be simple and easy all the time - there's no point in it. But it could be some simple and easy some of the time, like it was now.

You were scared you'd go back to the dark places in your mind you were the last time you've been in London, but as soon as you passed through your old neighbourhood on your way to your new flat, you didn't feel sad - not even when you thought of Roger.

Actually, Roger was all around you.

You wanted to call him as soon as you read the letter in your loft, a month ago, where your new colleague said he admired your work at the Met the last time he visited, and now that the British Museum Curator for the Metal Age Collections was retiring, he couldn't help but think of you - especially when he did some research and found out that you were already familiar with London, studying and working there years before.

You sat on the floor on your loft, in shock. You wondered if this was real, if this was actually a letter you received. It was the letter you've always dreamed of receiving.

And now it was right in front of you.

You felt overwhelmed at first, and ran to the phone. Once you got to it, you didn't knew who you should call - the phone number in the letter, so you could officially accept their offer? Your parents? Your grandma? Your colleagues?

But before you could realize it, you started to dial the your old number - the number for your old house.

You thought about stopping, but what's wrong? This was important. Roger was the one who watched you struggle the most to get to this moment; he knew the price you had to pay for it. He paid it himself, too.

It was only fair that he should be the first to know.

But you kept waiting for him to pick the phone up, and you realized how innocent that was - he moved out, of course he moved out. You knew the band was making more money on their new label - they said it in a few interviews. There was no reason for you to think that he would stay in the same flat he shared with you when you were broke students.

You didn't knew, but if you called a week earlier, he would pick up. Your old flat has been empty for a week when you call, and the neighbourhood's cat rubbed himself against the closed window as the phone ringed - Roger forgot to take the line off, and the real estate agency hasn't visited yet at that point.

It was fine, though. You held your memories of Roger with gratitude on your mind - there was no more space for pain. You missed him, sometimes, but it was in the same way you missed being a child on the wooden roller coaster in Coney Island - happy memories that left you with a smile on your lips.

Like when you were on the plane yesterday, going to London, and since the Museum paid for the tickets, they got you a first class cabin - and you couldn't help but think of you and Roger in their first airplane ride as a band.

"Rog, why are you so pale?", you asked, and he frowned as Freddie laughed with you. You two were the only ones who've been on a plane before, and Freddie was with a pale Mary under his arms. "You're gonna be fine, my love. Relax", he whispered, pressing a kiss on top of her head.

Brian was with some other girl you didn't knew - one of those uncomfortable moments. He was probably in a fight with Chrissie. Veronica and Deacy looked pale together.

But you were more concerned with Roger. He was acting confident, as usual, but you could notice his clenched jaw during the entire takeoff, and how his usually rosy cheeks didn't have a drop of color. He was scared.

"C'mon, Rog. Planes are safer than cars, you know", you told him, and you could see him trying to think of something to answer you under all his nervousness. But he kept quiet, only taking your hand onto his as a response.

"Maybe if you get distracted… Let's play Scrabble!" you said, turning your head so you could look around for the stupid game the boys always played on the tour bus.

"Y/N, you don't know how to play Scrabble", he reminded you, and you frowned. "True, but maybe winning will be an even better distraction", you answered.

"I can think of something else you could do to distract me", he told you, letting go of your hand so he could run your fingers up your thighs.

"We can hear you", Deacy said out loud, his eyes closed as he held Veronica, and the you laughed.

"It's called voyeurism, Deacon" you told him, your eyes on Roger so you could see his reaction. Everyone laughed, but Roger's laugh was the one that made your terrible joke worth it.

He winked at you, and then went straight to the bathroom. You got the message, and after a few moments, you followed him.

"Very discrete, the two of you going in separately" Freddie said as you walked to the bathroom.

"Yeah, as if none of us know what's about to happen there", Brian told you, and you shrugged.

You weren't really in the mood for semi-public sex, even though it happened more times with Roger than you ever expected to happen in your life. But you liked how even when he was frightened, Roger was still distracting himself with you. It massaged your ego.

So you got in - the door was unlocked - and was met with Roger's lips. You smirked as he kissed you. "This fast, Rog?", you asked, and he had his signature devilish smirk on as he answered "Well, you're the one who wanted to distract me", and you pulled him back into your lips by the collar of his jacket.

He tried to put you on the sink, but it made a loud noise, and you were afraid to break it - your eyes wide as you got up quick from the sink after the noise - but Roger just shrugged and held you against the wall.

It was pretty uncomfortable - because of the toilet, Roger's legs were pressed together in the tiny space on the ground, and one of your legs was on top of the toilet, the other one on the ground, squeezed between Roger's leg and the door.

It wasn't long before you felt cramps on the leg that was thrown over the toilet, at the same time Roger tried to get your pants down but couldn't - your legs had to be spread open for the both of you to fit in that bathroom, and so it was impossible to take your pants down.

He frowned, and soon looked concerned once he saw your face contorted in pain. "Leg cramps", you told him, and he smiled. "You could've worn a skirt", he said before zipping your pants up. "I don't think we're getting this distracted until the plane lands", he told you, and you laughed. "I guess you're right. And how was I supposed to guess you'd try to fuck in the bathroom? Pants are more comfortable for travelling, anyway", you told him, and he nodded as he opened the door and led you back to your seats.

"This fast? I thought you could do better than this, Roger", Freddie told him as you sat, and Mary laughed. "Be sure that I can, Freddie", he was quick to answer, which made you calm. If he was affirming his masculinity in public without second thought, he was relaxed again.

"So we need to avoid the bathroom now?", Mary asked you, and you were quick to answer, too. "Good luck getting anything done there, Mary. It's the tightest place I've been", you said, and you could see that Roger was about to make a sexual joke, so you put your hand over his lips.

"What?" he asked once you took your hand off. "I swear I developed a spidey-sense for your bad jokes", you told him, and he laughed. "Fair enough. C'mon, I'll teach you how to play Scrabble", he told you.

This memory would usually make you sad and nostalgic, but now you could only laugh at it. You were both so young and horny, for the lack of a better word. You always went with Roger's weird ideas, and it always paid off - he loved the fact that you liked sex as much as he did, and wasn't embarrassed of it.

And you were even happier now that you made up with your memories, cause you're having these flashbacks all the time - not only you were back in London, where even a coffee shop could remind you of him, but his face was everywhere - the band has just started promoting their new album, News Of The World, and even though you've only been here for a day, you heard their new singles twice each.

They were incredible, as usual - We Are The Champions and We Will Rock You. So different from the style you were used to, but you liked it. And Roger looked amazing in the pictures, as usual.

It did ache your heart, a bit, to know that you were in the same city as the boys - as Roger - and had no means to contact them. They were around you, everywhere - he was - but you couldn't really see him. It reminds you of a poem you read in a bookstore in Alphabet City, back in New York, in a book full of Islamic poetry.

Unable to perceive the shape of you,

I find you all around me.

Your presence fills my eyes with your love,

It humbles my heart,

For you are everywhere.

You think you would at least call and say that you're in town, if you could.

The perspective of seeing Roger - if you could get in touch with the boys - made your heart flutter. You wonder if he'll always have that effect on you.

After unpacking some of the most basic stuff, like cutlery and places, beddings, etc., you start to unpack your clothes. Then you're met with the deep blue chiffon of the Louis Vuitton dress Roger gave you years ago - he had the pleasure of taking in the view of you in it as much as he had the pleasure to take you off the dress, and he did it a few times.

You couldn't get yourself to use it in New York, though. In the beginning, it felt like cheating on Roger again - maybe the dress belonged to him as much as the heart necklace, never really yours to keep.

But you hated moving, and ever since you moved to SoHo, you forgot about it. You didn't even notice it as you threw all of your clothes - still on their hangers - on the moving boxes to London.

The soft fabric and what it meant for you warmed your heart again - both so pure, so full of love. It was a pity that circumstances and bad decisions separated you, but it was for the best. You didn't see it then, but now you're about to start your dream job, and Roger is having not only fame, but the financial success he desired.

You decide to try on the dress, and it still fits beautifully. Then you look at all of the boxes you still have to deal with, and you decide to give yourself a break tonight. The boxes can wait, everything can always wait for it's right time, you remind yourself as you get inside the bathtub.

A few hours later, you're out on your city again. You walk along the street that has your favourite pubs from your college years, many of them that you knew inside out because of how many times the boys performed there.

And you pass through a familiar building - the pub where you met Roger. The last time you saw it, it was closed.

Now it's filled with people and warm lights, which is good - you didn't bring a coat, since it was supposed to still be warm enough outside, and now your exposed legs and arms paid the price.

A familiar sound fills your ears as you open the door - The Chain, by Fleetwood Mac. You look inside and realize it's a cover band for them - the girl who's doing Stevie's vocals even copies the way she moves, which is still pretty recent in your mind, since you saw them a few days before going to London.

You head to the bar and ask for a pint, and as you look down, you notice your pint has small ondulations on its surface. Someone's hitting their fingers against the table in the same beat as the song.

You look to the side, and there it is - there's a couple people between the two of you, who get up at that very moment - but there are the two hands, full of rings, drumming against the wooden surface.

But as you watch the hands for a few seconds, the realization hits you:

You've seen this hands many, many times before.

No fucking way.

You start to look up from the hands - and you can almost feel them brushing against your skin again, and a cream colored blazer over an open white button up. With the first few buttons undone.

You could recognize his chest and neck anywhere.

And that jaw - you still remember how it felt against your lips.

Those lips… you have no words.

His eyes, framed by his hair - way shorter! - were wide, in shock.

You realized he was checking you out, too. Again.

He bit his lips as you unconsciously smooth your dress on your thighs.

And then he looks back into your eyes, and his genuine smile makes your body buzz.

"Y/N. I guess you're not in the mood for rushing things, are you?", Roger's voice asks you.

---

Chapter 19

Masterlist

Taglist:

@taylorroger-s @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @its-nessi @anamcg317 @frenchieswiftie @queen-danielle-dani-dan @minihemo @shutup-sorry @theyrealllegends @killerqueenisthebest @ashagracelove @hardy-s @fuckinghurricanesoul @secretsweetscollectionblog @mrswinterhater @11mb0 @tamtam-go92 @derptatosaur @brianandthemays @phantom-fangirl-stuff @the-hysterical-queen @rogerofmylife @notevenlxvely @discodeakyy @x1975sos @16wiishes @jennycidesstuff @partydulce @melros-e

[countrytravelw-blog]

First Time Traveler? Things You Should Know

Cruises are a wonderful way to travel to many different places during your travels. This https://www.kiva.org/lender/travel5557 article will give you great travel tips that you get the most out of your trip.

There are many pet-friendly hotels and even have facilities for them as you head out to explore. Some accommodations include pet daycares. You can bring your pets with you; you make the appropriate plans ahead of time.

Try getting in some physical activity before your flight. This will help you avoid the monotony of the long flight. Your muscles can easily cramp from maintaining the same position for such a long time period.

You can see exotic and unique vegetation in the deserts.

Sleeping pills can help you through a red-eye flight. It can be very hard to get sleep on a plane with all the noise, given the cramped seating, and the uncomfortable seats. Try a sleeping pill might help get you some rest on a long flight go by more quickly. Don't take these prior to takeoff, as a delay or problem may require that the plane returns.

These sheets make a great flat surface for kids to color on or coloring books on.

Take lots of breaks when driving with small children. Breaks will let you the opportunity to stretch and use the bathroom. Getting a small child out of cars here and there can also help them avoid motion sickness. Your trip may take longer, but you will appreciate the drop in stress.

Booking your travel plans online is a one-stop-shop for your vacation planning. Travel websites can assist you in planning your travel itineraries with little effort. You can book flights, rental cars, and rental cars all from your computer! You can even review pictures and critiques of potential hotels online.

Pack a couple of travel candles if you plan on staying in hotels during your hotel stay. Candles will make a room smell better. They can be relaxing, making it easy to relax.

If you are traveling to a different time zone, you should aim to keep yourself awake until around 8pm local time. Though you may be tired, succumbing to sleep earlier than you should end up making your jet lag worse because you have not allowed your body to recalibrate.

Don't forget that important medication. You might have access to this medicine in another country.

If you are going somewhere remote, think about getting an insurance plan that might cover your emergency search and rescue. This is a real lifesaver if civilization is not nearby.

Be careful when receiving any emails you receive for travel deals.

Make sure you understand the airline's policy is for carry-on luggage. Most airlines allows passengers to carry a small suitcase in addition to a laptop bag or purse. Make sure you take advantage of that so you keep all the important items remain with you!

Cruise ships offer a unique way to vacation and travel. Cruises provide lots to do on the ship in addition to opportunities to explore at the port. By implementing the suggestions given here, you can rest assured that your trip will be relaxing and exhilarating at the same time.

[invaderhogtwopointohno]

Row F, Seat 3

For @ettomaru for Kacchako Secret Santa.

Part 2 of 5

Read at AO3 here.

-----

Chapter Two

So, Do You Come Here Often?

The flight was going to be a long one considering the fact that Ochako was now sitting between two people, one of them ready to explode at any moment. Bakugou had sat down in a huff and not looked at her. On the other side of her was a sweet old woman who kept offering everyone on the plane candy. Then it came time for takeoff and Ochako had to think about all of the good things in her life. The take off was the worst part of the journey. The plane was so loud and shook and she was always terrified.

She was gripping her seat and checking her seat belt numerous times. Her nervousness made Katuski look up.

“What the fuck are you doing? Sit still,” he barked and she looked at him. She was a little more pink then usual he turned in his seat to face her. “Do you get airsick?”

Air sick. Car sick. Boat sick. Ochako got everything sick. She had always had a weak stomach. The only form of transportation she found to be the easiest to handle was a bicycle.

“Maybe just a little,” she said, looking at the manual for what would happen if the plane crashed in the ocean. That wasn’t helping her stomach at all.

“I’m guessing you don’t fly much,” he said, though he eased up on his attitude just slightly.

“Just to see my parents on the holidays. They came to see me on Thanksgiving but I had to fly out to see them this week,” she said, thinking about how she had spent the entire flight there throwing up in a paper bag and wishing she were dead.

“Don’t you fucking dare throw up on me, Angel Face,” he said and grabbed the bags in front of him and smacked them on her tray. The old woman made a comment about the lovely weather they were having and Ochako prepared herself for the take off. It was going to be a long two-hour flight, she could tell. Bakugou was in a mood and she was feeling ready to heave her guts.

“Alright, Ladies and Gentlemen- this is Captain Hawks, we are third in line for take off and we are going to be up in the air in no time. My co-pilot Tokoyami, is going to cover our procedures for the flight!”

Ochako was half-listening, too nervous and making herself feel sick already by just sitting there. She was going to pass out, she knew it.

“Hey, Angel Face,” Bakugou said, and shoved her manual in front of her, “Pay fucking attention.”

She looked up to see that they were now showing the part about emergency exits and she quickly looked between the flight attendants and the manual. They finished and proceeded around to get everyone ready for their final flight check.

Ochako laid her head back against the rest and closed her eyes, trying to imagine being on solid ground.

“Stop being such a big baby,” Katsuki barked, and she glared at him. “You didn’t die before, you’re not dying now. So calm the fuck down, you’re making me mad.”

“You mad?” she repeated, letting out a huff. “I am the one who has to put up you with you! You were so loud and annoying last night and so rude to everyone this morning- I can’t believe that you didn’t just go sit with the captain and the co-pilot and tell them how to fly the damn plane!”

“I do know how to fly, by the way,” he snapped back and then they were in a full-on fight in the middle of flight check. The engines started to roar loudly and Katsuki looked quickly out of the window. Ochako had not even noticed. She was so busy yelling at him that she didn’t realize that they were taking off.

“I bet you’re one of those guys who are all like “Oh I am so much more handsome than you, and better than you and clearly know everything, so you should pay attention to me while I yell” types.”

“You think so, huh?” he asked, and gave her a smirk for the first time since she met him.

“What?”

“You just said that I was handsome. Which is true.”

“N-No I didn’t!” she spat back, horrified he would ever make such an accusation.

“You did,” he said with a shrug and she scoffed.

“I said that you think that you’re all that, but you’re not and-”

She stopped as a wave of neausea overtook her and she grabbed the bag in front of her, throwing up inside. Katsuki sighed and reached out a warm hand, patting her back gently.

“I guess you forgot we were taking off,” he said and she sighed a little, using a tissue offered by the sweet woman next to her. She was a nurse and offered Ochako some Dramamine.

“Are you alright?” the flight attendant asked, looking concerned as they were in the air.

“She’s fine, she just can’t stand flying,” Katuski said and Ochako threw up in another bag, shaking her head. God this was the worst.

----

“So what do you do for a living?”

After a trip to the restroom and some cold water, Ochako felt a little better and returned to her seat. The nice sweet old nurse had almost instantly started going from row to row offering candy and medical advice. So she was left to make small talk with the annoying explosive blonde.

“I work for Ground Zero,” he said, pulling out his laptop. She was annoyed that it instantly impressed her. Ground Zero was a major magazine that handled incredibly important topics and working for that magazine meant that you were one of the best.

“Are you a writer?”

“I am an editor,” he clarified, and she was again unfortunately impressed. After a long pause she realized that he wasn’t going to ask her the same question.

“Well, I am in construction, architect.”

He made a noise and she assumed that was an “ah right sure” kind of noise. She got that a lot when she was telling people that she was an architect. There weren’t a lot of female architects so of course she had her fair share of people thinking that she was just a glorified assistant or something.

“I am designing my second building now,” she said with pride and he nodded.

“Second building.”

“Yeah, well… I am starting out. I worked for a boring architecture firm that built condos, you know, to get started- and that place was a snooze-fest. So I learned what I could while I was there and now I am out on my own. My roommates and I are working on our own company.”

“What was your first building?” he asked, looking at her. She smiled and proudly pulled out her phone, showing a picture of a small taco stand.

“Ta Da!!!”

“It’s… efficient.”

“Yeah, well, gotta start somewhere,” she said, putting her phone away and he looked at his laptop.

“My first piece for Ground Zero was about the importance of flossing- so yeah, I get it.”

She smiled a little, knowing that he wasn’t the type to give random comfort.

“What are you working on now?”

“Article about the tradition of New Year’s around the world. There is a big party at the magazine on New Year’s Eve, I have to cover it, my writer is out of town for Christmas.”

“That’ll be nice. I don’t have any plans for New Years, usually I am just sitting at home with my friends, we usually do a house party, but this year they are visiting family through New Years so it’s just me.”

They fell into a comfortable silence and Katsuki started typing on his computer, working on his article. Ochako found herself enjoying a game on her phone and was feeling a lot better.

After about thirty minutes of quiet, Ochako looked over to see that Katsuki had moved on to photos and was looking through them.

“For your article?” she asked and he muttered a sound that sounded like an affirmative.

There were several ones with fireworks and people talking and laughing. She spotted one where two people were pointing at the stars together.

“That’s a nice one,” she said, and he looked at her.

“A little cliché- don’t you think?” he asked and she shrugged.

“I guess… but nothing like standing on the roof of a building at night and looking at the stars for a little while. At least… that’s what I think...”

She went back to her phone.

----

The flight lasted another hour and the two of them continued to be silent, the comfort coming back almost instantly, and they landed safely in the airport, fresh snow on the ground outside. They went to disembark and the flight attendants all gave Ochako a hug and hoped that she felt better soon. She had managed to only throw up one more time on the rest of the flight during the descent and they were all worried about her.

When she reached the gates and once again met solid ground, Ochako was saved.

“I survived,” she muttered to herself and Katsuki scoffed behind her.

“Dramatic much? You weren’t going to die,” he said and she shook her head.

“I could have died.”

They quickly made their way through the plane and to the gates, finding their way through the mass of people. Katsuki was slightly taller than her so she stuck close behind.

At one point she had to reach out and grab his jacket to stay close. And much to her surprise he didn’t shake her off and didn’t seem bothered by it.

They made it through the throng of people and were heading towards where they could pick up their luggage.

“Which one is yours?” he asked as they reached the carousel.

“That one,” she said, pointing to a black suitcase with a bright pink tag on it. He grunted and reached out, easily lifting it up and over and setting it in front of her. She looked up at him and smiled.

“Thank you!”

He stared at her.

“Whatever,” he said, turning away and grabbing his own dufflebag.

She smiled and waited for him. Then her phone started vibrating. She was waiting for Deku to come and pick her up, he had already texted saying that he was stuck at work and was going to be late about thirty minutes earlier when she was still on the plane. He was just leaving their office now and was on his way.

“Uh, are you heading out?” she asked.

“Not for another hour, I am waiting for someone,” Katsuki said, checking his phone. Ochako suddenly felt dumb. Of course he was in some kind of a relationship- he was secretly pretty great.

“Oh, I see,” she said, and he looked up at her.

“My friend Kirishima is coming to get me, I have to finish my article,” he said, though he didn’t know why he was making weird excuses for himself. He didn’t like her thinking the wrong thing. And by the way she instantly got happy again, he had a feeling that she’d misunderstood him.

“D-Do you want to wait together?” she offered and he looked down, getting embarrassed.

“Uh… sure… I am not in a hurry,” he muttered and she grinned.

---

A/N: I feel like Ochako would not have a whole lot of fun on planes.

[alj4890]

Chapter 3 Cordonia Bound

TRR fan fiction (Liam x MC) (Maxwell x OC *Amanda) (Drake × Olivia) (Hana × Rashad)

These characters are from the amazing writers of Choices The Royal Romance and Red Carpet Diaries. The only character of my own is Amanda Bridgerton of House St Orella.

Masterlist The Other Friend TRR

Chapter 3 summary: Amanda lands in New York and awaits her friends to fly home to Cordonia. Was Maxwell successful in convincing the waitress to come along? Will feelings finally be expressed?

Chapter 3

Amanda is awakened by the jostle of the plane touching down at La Guardia airport in New York. She stretches and quickly rushes to the bathroom to fix herself up. She desperately wants to look great when the guys see her, especially Maxwell. After a quick change of clothes, makeup, and hair fixed; Amanda makes her way into the airport. She anxiously awaits a glimpse of her friends.

Suddenly, she sees Liam walk toward one of the gates where another private jet sits. She calls out to him. Liam turns and gives a puzzeled look. Recognition finally dawns.

"Amanda!" He runs and sweeps her into his arms. "You have been greatly missed my lady and what did you do to your hair? You look wonderful!"

Amanda smiles and hugs him tightly. "I've missed you so much. You have no idea how much I needed you, Drake, and Maxwell for sanity. Hollywood is one unusual place."

Liam smiles and sits down in one of the waiting area chairs. He motions for her to sit with him. Amanda smiles mischievously, "So. How was the bachelor party last night?"

Liam chuckles. "Filled with whiskey and all that bachelor parties are meant to be I suppose. Though, an extradionary thing happened. The waitress at a bar we went to agreed to be our guide. She took us to an amazing beach. Drake built a fire. Maxwell tried to convince everyone to skinny dip. Riley, the waitress, somehow knew I was more than I let on. She didn't care that I was a Prince and she even noticed that I wasn't entirely happy. When I said that I really wanted to see the Statue of Liberty, she made it come true. I've never known anyone like her." Liam trails off as he gazes out the window. He sighs and looks at Amanda.

"Did you get her number," Amanda asks.

Liam shakes his head. "Why should I? I have to be the ruler Cordonia needs. I have to pick the lady who the people and the court love. Not who I necessarily have feelings for." Liam looks at Amanda. "I'm so grateful that you are returning home. We have all missed you. Maxwell especially. But, I hope I don't sound too selfish. I'm going to need all my best friends during this social season. I think it will be more difficult than I first anticipated."

Amanda takes his hand and squeezes it affectionately. "Liam, you are one of my best friends. I will always be there for you. Never doubt that. You have been there for me in every single trial I have faced. I will be whatever you need. A sounding board, one to chase annoying suitors away, even an escape planner."

Liam gently kisses her hand and smiles. "Thank you my lady. Now I must get on that plane. Tariq decided to leave with me earlier. Something needs his attention on his estate. Drake and Maxwell should be arriving soon." Liam hugs Amanda one more time. " See you soon!" With a smile and a wave Liam leaves to board. Amanda smiles and decides to wait on the plane for Maxwell and Drake.

Maxwell leads Drake and Riley to the gate. "This is going to be awesome!" He says excitedly. "You are going to have a blast in Cordonia. The balls and parties are going to knock your socks off. Just wait until Liam sees you. He is going to be so surprised. In a good way, like Christmas morning surprised."

Riley smiles at him. "I can't wait! I'm nervous, but more excited nervous."

Drake shakes his head. "It's like leading a lamb to the slaughter. The nobles will eat you alive if you remain this naive."

Riley shoots Drake a questioning look. "I'm not afraid of anything. I know there will be tough moments. Yet, I feel like I'm about to go on a life-changing journey. I'm going to be excited. I can't help it."

Maxwell smiles. "That's the spirit! Now let's board this thing and get home." Maxwell steps though the plane's door. "Just wait until you meet Amanda. She is the absolute best! I know she will hel...."

Maxwell stands in shock. He looks at the very woman he was talking about and can hardly believe his eyes. How in the world did she get even more beautiful than when he last saw her? Amanda smiles at him.

It fades as he continues to stand there not saying anything. Amanda looks down at the floor. "It's my hair isn't it? You don't care for it." Suddenly she is enveloped in a hug. She wraps her arms around Maxwell, realizing how much she has missed his touch. He gently smooths a lock of hair from her face and smiles. "If you get any prettier, I will have to break into the Beaumont armory and find something to beat the guys off with." He stares deeply into her eyes smiling as they turn from gray to dark green with flecks of golden brown.

Amanda beams at him and gives into the temptation of kissing his cheek. He moves slightly and her kiss lands at the corner of his lips. He smiles even more so as she blushes. "I've crazy near depths of despair missed you," he whispers. Amanda's eyes tear up. She whispers back, "Good. I don't want to be the only one feeling like that."

They continue to stare into each other's eyes when Drake clears his throat. They look over at him and Riley. Both are sporting goofy grins. "Not to interrupt, but I'm a best friend too you know. And I'm sure Brooks here would like an introduction." Maxwell reluctantly lets go of Amanda. She hugs Drake and smiles at Riley.

"I'm so happy to meet you. I hope all that you wish for comes true in Cordonia. Liam is one of my best friends and I want him to find the one who brings him nothing but happiness. I know he will move Heaven and earth to do the same for her."

Riley smiles back at Amanda. "Thank you. I have high hopes. Not because he is a prince. It is because I have never felt a connection like this with anyone. Ever. I think the closest thing to compare it to is how you and Maxwell are."

Maxwell and Amanda both stare at her in shock. They both try to speak but mutterings and noise are all that come out. Drake chuckles. Riley looks alarmed. "Did I say something wrong?" she asks Drake. "No Brooks, you finally said what needed to be said a long time ago."

The captain comes over the intercom alerting them to prepare for takeoff. Everyone sits down and buckles up. Maxwell looks over at Amanda. She meets his eyes with a vulnerability he has never seen. He takes her hand and she laces her fingers through his. He gently raises her hand to his lips placing a tender kiss on it, never once breaking eye contact. She gasps softly at the intensity of the look he gives her. "Maxwell..." "Amanda I..."

Drake groans. "Look Amanda. Maxwell has been in love you for a long time. Maxwell, Amanda has been in love with you for a long time too. Now stop all this damn mooning over each other. I'm going to go to sleep. Wake me when we are close to home." With that, Drake reclines his seat, closes his eyes, and let's out a beleaguered sigh.

Riley shakes her head. She smiles sheepishly at Maxwell and Amanda. "I think I will get some sleep too. Pulling an all nighter and getting up early wipes me out." And with that, she too reclines and closes her eyes.

Maxwell unbuckles his seatbelt and Amanda's. He stands up, takes her hand, and leads her to some seats in the back away from Drake and Riley. He sits down and pulls Amanda into his lap. She giggles and let's out an, "Oh!" Maxwell cups her cheek with one hand and asks, "Is it true? Were they right? I mean. I mean they were right about me. Were they right about you?" Amanda blushes and looks at his handsome face. "Yes. They were right about my feelings for you. I've felt like this for such a long time. I just never felt like I would be someone you would want. I hoped, but, you could get a model who's charming and all. Not..."

Maxwell silences her the only way he can. He captures her lips in a searing kiss. He pours all his feelings into every facet of the kiss. Amanda responds with her own passion making him grateful he is sitting down. After many pleasureable moments, they break apart to catch their breath. Maxwell looks into her eyes and says with conviction, "You are the only woman I have ever thought of spending my life with. You outshine everyone, blinding me to only you. You are gorgeous both inside and out. I want to be with you." Amanda smiles and kisses him again. "Good."

Just as their lips meet again, they hear Drake say, "About damn time."

A few hours later while everyone enjoys a snack and drinks, Maxwell's and Drake's phones vibrate with a message. They both look at it. "Huh. That's strange. Your uncle's attorney wants to meet with me as soon as we land." Drake says to Amanda. "I got the same message," Maxwell exclaims. Amanda glances as her phone and sees a message from Liam. "Liam got the same one. That is so odd." Amanda says softly. "Maybe your uncle left them something in his will," offers Riley.

Amanda nods. "That is probably what it is. He was crazy about you three. I can see him leaving you each something to remember him by. Drake and Maxwell are still looking at their phones. Their expressions giving way to shock.

"What is it! You two can't look like that and not say what it is," Amanda exclaims. Drake shakes his head. "Amanda. Your uncle chose us to be a possible husband for you." Amanda starts to laugh but stops when Maxwell nods. "It seems that Liam and me and Drake are your potential suitors. The meeting with the lawyer will give more details and tell us what is going on. It also seems you signed it so it is legal. You will end up with a husband before the season is over."

Amanda shakes her head. "No. NO. The only thing I did was sign as a witness to some documents that Uncle Nicky said would help in my future...oh no." She looks at Drake, Maxwell, and Riley. "Oh my."

The plane begins to slowly descend into Cordonia.

[webgeekist]

Holiday Karma Pie

I paid for someone’s groceries today.

I didn’t do it for the karma. I didn’t even do it for the charity. I did it because the lady in front of me was having technical issues, and the less-than-$30 bill was worth sparing my sanity and getting out of that line. I played it off as a Christmas thing, asked the lady to pay it forward, and assured her that, yes, I was serious when I said it was no big deal. It wasn’t. I was happy to pay to get out of there.

I have a habit of picking the worst grocery lines. I thought, for a while, it was just this new place I’m in, but then I went home for Thanksgiving and went through 20 minutes of hell waiting for the family in front of me to finish arguing with the cashier about the $20 in savings they weren’t getting because their coupons weren’t scanning, or whatever other nonsense was preventing them from scanning an entire conveyor belt full of items, $200 and two carts into the bill. We moved to another line, finally, when one seemed available nearby. When we left with our own hefty bill in the cart, they were still there, slowly scanning the rest of their items.

I am also the person who will pick up the one item out of 100 without a bar code, and take three of them to the checkout lane.

It’s funny, this idea that you can buy karma with good deeds, as if your motivations don’t count. I’ve seen The Good Place. I know better than that. My motivation today was entirely self-serving, as is most charity in this country. We overwhelmingly donate our time or our money because it makes us feel better about ourselves, not because we genuinely care about giving. We’re scared into doing the “right thing” by a book that has been mistranslated and misinterpreted for centuries, and somehow have this warped idea that doing the right thing will buy us grace. Good Karma. A spot in heaven. Optimal reincarnation. At the end, there’s always something in it for us.

I’m no better than others in that regard. I do good deeds infrequently, and when I do, it’s almost always born of convenience. “Would you like to pay an extra 63 cents to round up your bill and donate to the Children’s hospital?” Sure. “Would you like to donate a dollar to aid in wildfire relief for Sonoma County?” Whatever. “Give a dollar to homeless pets?” Okay. “Save free information!” Click.

The result is positive for the recipient. That doesn’t make the motive for donation genuine.

And it doesn’t make the universe less likely to balance out your good luck with misfortune.

I think about that a lot. I’m always grateful for the positive experiences in my life, but I’m hyper aware of the fact that they often come at a premium. There’s a trade owed the universe, and you will pay it in painful ways. Maybe it’s a hard lesson you need to learn after you land your dream job. Maybe it’s illness, recovery, and loss after you find a few years of companionship. Maybe it’s your family turning their back on you a month before your wedding to the love of your life. And oh, by the way, she’s a girl and you are, too.

I’ve enjoyed two years with my fiancée. I marry her in 23 days. How many of my family will actually show up? At this point, I’m not sure.

I took a job in the Bay Area in July. It wasn’t so sudden that my fiancée didn’t have input. She absolutely did, and though we didn’t expect to be able to afford Northern California, we’re happy we could make this work. Or, at least, that we will make this work after June, which is when her teacher’s contract runs out in Texas. I’ve raked up so many frequent flyer miles, going back and forth every spare moment, and in the airspace between SFO and DAL, I’ve uncovered an anxiety I never expected to have: a fear of flying.

I have flown a Cessna. I have logged hours in a genuine full-scale 737-700 simulator. My dad was a professional pilot at one point in his life, my uncle still is, and all his kids can fly. My grandfather flew for the Thunderbirds. My brother is on his way to being a commercial pilot. I am not afraid of planes.

I started crying and choking before walking through security. I panicked when I booked tickets. If not for some of them being booked immediately after I got the job, I would not have gotten on a plane after September, but I’ve been on five trips since, fifteen total, and for most of them the what-ifs and potential loss has consumed me to the point of paralysis. Every bump and adjustment on takeoff freaks me the fuck out. The changing sounds of the engines at different altitudes and powers freaks me the fuck out. It’s taken every moment of every one of those harrowing trips to learn how to manage the anxiety, to rationalize the noises I hear from the engines, to normalize the dips and turns out of each Bay Area airport, but come Thanksgiving, when I climbed on a plane for the first long break I’d gotten at the new company, when I was so over the project I was working on that I was relieved to be standing at another fucking gate and boarding another fucking plane, all the stress management techniques I’d gathered in my anxiety did nothing to stop me from experiencing sheer terror flying out of SJC, meeting some bumpy air, banking to head south down the coast to catch a connecting flight out of LAX and bouncing around in the turn. I landed at SAT five hours later, cried in relief when the plane touched down (I always do, and I thank the plane for getting me there. That plane’s name was Tank. I gave it that name.), and stumbled into the terminal as fast as my eighth row seat would allow.

And then, I went to my family’s Thanksgiving.

I should precede this with the statement that the nine days my fiancée and I spent at my mom’s house started fairly early on with some culture shock. My fiancée is in grad school, and one of her class assignments was a “cultural plunge.” That’s a hilarious concept, because her entire life is a cultural plunge. She was born in Houston, but raised completely in India, went to college in Singapore, and came back to the states after. Living here has been one awkward learning experience after another, and with her brown skin, it’s also often been an experience of racism, of profiling, of assumptions made by ignorant people. She can’t go through an airport without getting her bag inspected and a pat-down (that happened once with my mother, and after we told her that no, my brown fiancée really does get profiled, and my mom damn near got herself arrested chewing the TSA agents out because how dare you treat her daughter like that. Yes, my mom is privileged. But, go Mom). Her background in science has often made living in Texas not unlike living on an alien world where logic and reason are outlawed. And oh, she’s a lesbian too. Discrimination trifecta.

Anyway, she submitted the idea of going to a Catholic Church on Sunday and staying for a mass as a cultural plunge, because unlike her white middle-class native Texan classmates, this was something she’d never done before.

I mean, what are the odds that they’d pick a gospel that would somehow relate to one of the many hot-button issues that any church in a red state could pick? The Pope is fairly liberal for a Catholic, and neither my mother nor I really remembered the sermons being terribly political.

Clearly, it’s been a while since we attended church.

My mother was horrified. Here was an opportunity for her to show her daughter-in-law a bit of her culture, and her upbringing, and therefore a bit of where my own morals and morality comes from. Here’s a chance for her to prove to me that the church of her childhood might have had these tenants but the sermons didn’t get into specifics, and people mostly just tried to Love Thy Neighbor.

I was pissed. I glared hard at the deacon as he climbed off the dais and walked back to his seat, and I’m certain he saw me. I’m certain he paused for a half-step because he saw my face, which I’ve been told can be really menacing when I’m angry. I don’t keep my emotions to myself very often. I don’t have a poker face like my fiancée.

She couldn’t muster that face. She was openly crying and trying not to show it. This church – this remarkably diverse church where she didn’t stick out like a sore thumb, which had epistles in three languages, which was holding a bake sale as we walked in had on its staff a white conservative deacon who took an unrelated Gospel and warped it into a hateful political rant that didn’t hit one button. Oh no. That sermon was an IED array and it hit every single freaking target on the list.

We left during the Eucharist, and we didn’t buy a pie on the way out.

Five days after this experience that left us all in a drinking mood, and which after several bottles of wine was still a little painful, we went to the Thanksgiving party with my dad’s side of the family.

A lot of my aunts, uncles, and cousins seemed genuinely excited about the wedding. There was a bit of a shadow over one of my aunts because her father is really, really ill. Dad and my stepmother told a story about my grandmother, the escape artist, who is probably a lot more together than they think but who was put in an old folk’s home for people with memory problems about two months ago. I dread going to see her because the last time I saw her in a rehab facility, after she knocked her head and suffered the brain trauma that probably drove a lot of the symptoms she still has, it was a little difficult. It’s not going to be easy to see her in a home that isn’t actually her house. She apparently agrees, because she treats visitors to a tour of the place and asks a lot of pointed questions, like how many nurses are at the front station and whether or not you think someone can get to the parking lot from any given set of doors. She’s an inmate in a place she doesn’t feel comfortable staying, and she’s already made it to her car with an overnight bag once. But they have the keys locked up. I think she’s trying to figure out where they are.

She recognizes me. Remembers my name. Knows the wedding is soon. Asks about California. Hugs my future wife. And maybe goes through a few names before she gets some of my cousins’ and uncles’ names right, but she’s been doing that since I was four. We’re a big family. She always gets it right in under six tries.

My aunt looks hesitant to talk about her father, but she does. Both of us listen as she expresses her fears about being away, even for a day or two, because the doctors haven’t been very precise in telling the family to “spend time with him while you can.” It could be days, or maybe months, but probably not through winter because winter seems to be when so many people go, like the warmth-starved land sucks them dry. Which is weird, because we’re all from South Texas, and winter there is like 80 degrees.

We sympathize, and a pang of something I have only been able to define recently shoots through me. It feels like mortality, and reminds me of my fear of flying. It reminds me that I have this thing, this person, this state of being that I found and eventually will lose, that the loss won’t come when I’m ready for it (because that is never. I will never be ready for it). My heart hurts for her and my cousins, because the man is in his 80s like my two surviving grandparents, and that is a long and accomplished life, but it is still too soon for all of them. We have fought for my grandmother often enough and recent enough that I understand that position, too.

Hours later, before the annual turkey bowl, that aunt and my uncle, plus their oldest son come find my fiancée and I in the upstairs game room where most of the cousins retreat after lunch and before football. They ask us both to come out onto the balcony with them for a few minutes. Their younger son, recently married, follows shortly after with his new bride.

And my cousin starts….with a prayer.

“Heavenly Father, please guide our conversation today in your wisdom and light.”

I have my fiancée’s hand in my own. I hold it tighter. I know where this is about to go.

My cousin is a stalwart, honest guy. He’s the eldest son of two people who have always given where they could. They drop what they’re doing to help people, simply because they need help. They give within their means, which are better means than most. Their big and open hearts were passed to two of their three sons, both of whom were standing on that balcony with them. But they are sinners, my cousin says, all of them. And he is no better than anyone. He cannot cast judgment upon sinners as one of them, as someone who has been addicted to pornography, and has crossed lines with women. He loves us both, they all do, but surely we’ve read what the Bible says and it’s wrong, wrong, wrong.

My uncle says to us, we love you. We will not change how we treat you…but we’ve prayed about this for a while, and we can’t go to the wedding.

“We can’t celebrate the sin,” my cousin says.

And I know they love us, the best way they know how. I told them that I understood their perspective, though I disagreed, and respected their decision. We hugged, my aunt called me big-hearted, someone mentioned chocolate (it might have been me), and they started filing off the balcony.

I stayed behind and broke down in my fiancee’s arms.

See, my family had been outwardly accepting until that moment, when something finally broke enough for the first people to say something about it. And my fiancée – my tall, brown, “foreign” fiancée who has tried so hard to get my family to like her – felt instantly like all that effort had been for absolutely nothing. And I? I felt guilty for putting her in that position, for forcing us into a position where my family may never truly be okay with any of this, where a lifetime of loving and supporting each other so demonstratively may yet be lost on so many people I love, because somehow our relationship all boils down to sex to some people. Theirs is about love, but ours is about sex, and lust, and sin, and how the context of the Bible may be all about polyamorous lustful activities but a committed, loving, monogamous relationship between two women is just the same as sexually abusing guests and having orgies in front of idols and a really vague Greek word which in context probably means “men who sleep with boy prostitutes” but magically includes all people who engage in the act of sodomy and well never mind that you’re not actually doing that you’re just the same as the literal “man bed” who will not inherit the kingdom of heaven.

Maybe karma can keep that paradise, because I don’t want to spend eternity in a place where loving companionship is the same as assault. I get enough of that in the news.

It took me a while to come out of the bathroom I found to hide in, because there was no amount of water that could bring the redness down, and eventually my fiancée brought my closest cousin to find me. She saw us walk out, she counted the time, and she knew something had gone wrong. We told her what had happened.

This is the brewing rift. There are some people in our family who sit in Catholic services every Sunday and are not only going to the wedding but are genuinely excited for it. And there are some who might yet show up, but will be at the bar a lot.

Those excited for it will probably not enjoy learning why so many of us are absent. What happens then is probably not high drama, but probably won’t be business as usual either. Said my closest cousin, “I don’t know what to do with them now. You have a bigger heart than me for walking out of that situation without coming downstairs and telling everyone about it immediately.”

Twice in one day, in different contexts, two people I care about made reference to my perfectly normal sized, potentially smaller than average heart. Karma revealed the consequences of my good fortune that night, and they continue to unfold by the minute. For the first time in my life, I may miss Christmas with that side of the family this year. I suspect it won’t be the last thing we miss.

I climbed on the plane to come back to California two days later, and cried over the root of the problem with all these flights: the separation has been torture, and after the emotional week we had, it was going to be hard for us to heal apart. I put on my noice-canceling earphones and turned on Radiolab just before takeoff. It was a podcast about a girl without an identity, whose family kept her sheltered and off the grid, who didn’t have any kind of paper trail because her parents didn’t believe in social security numbers, and so never let her have one. I flew over Kerrville, where she had lived most of her life, while listening to the story. Takeoff was smooth. So was most of the trip back to SJC. And except for a really rough patch of air over New Mexico on the way to Dallas on Friday, my flights this weekend were just as painless.

I landed at SFO on Sunday and thanked the plane, as usual.

My eyes were dry.

[cbk1000]

All right, my anxious anon. Here is your masterpost on How To Calm Your Tits At Least a Little Bit At 35,000 Feet. As I said in my last message, I’m going to break this down into sections, go over some general tips, and then take you in detail through some of the exercises I use in addition to the 54321 exercise I already covered in another post. I’m going to put this under a cut because it’s very long, and I don’t want to hog people’s dashes if they aren’t interested in any of this information.

General: First of all, as I’ve said, remember you’re not alone; this is a common fear and not something to be ashamed of. If you think this might make you feel better, consider alerting the crew to your concerns. Tell them you haven’t flown in a long time, and that you’re very nervous about it. The flight attendants are there for your comfort and safety; that’s their job. I can guarantee you are not the first fearful flier they have encountered, and chances are they’ll check in with you from time to time to make sure you’re doing ok. They will not think you are stupid or ridiculous; some of them probably had to overcome their own phobias for their job. There’s also something called a flight tracker; some people who experience anxiety about flying like to use this so that people on the ground can sort of look out for them. If you think this might make you feel better, you can have a friend or relative who won’t be on the flight with you follow your progress. They just need the flight number and the date of your flight.

Make sure you are dressed comfortably; you want to make things as easy as possible on yourself. Are ill-fitting pants going to send you into a panic attack? No, but physical discomfort can heighten your emotional discomfort. 

You also want to make sure you have plenty of ways to distract yourself. As I said before, listening to something, be it music, an audiobook, or movie/TV show, can keep you from starting at every little noise. Because you have not flown in so long, it’s a non-routine event to your senses, and non-routine events can be frightening. It doesn’t mean that you’re even remotely in danger, but your body can and often will perceive it that way because you do not understand what is going on.

Shit That Might Scare the Shit Out of You: Ok, so you haven’t flown in a long time; you’re going to experience a lot of new sensations that your body won’t know how to categorize. This is all routine stuff to crew members and frequent fliers, but it isn’t to you, and that doesn’t help your anticipatory anxiety. You don’t know what in the hell it’s going to be like inside a large metal bird 35,000 feet in the air. So let’s make it a little less mysterious. This article does a really good job of breaking down the different phases of flight for you, so you have an idea of what to expect. 

Next, let’s break down some of the more common fears of anxious fliers.

Takeoff: Airplanes require a lot of power to get off the ground; you will be pushed back in your chair by the acceleration (this is actually kind of exhilarating once you calm down; ironically, I’ve always sort of enjoyed takeoff). Your stomach will also feel a bit funny; there’ll be a bit of a dropping sensation. This is totally normal, and it happens to even experienced fliers. It doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you, gravity is just going, “Bitch, why are you trying to defy me??” To hype myself up for takeoff, I like to listen to a song that makes me feel like I can take on 10 large MMA fighters all at the same time without messing up my hair. It’s hard to feel scared when I’m all, “Man, kicking in some teeth would be just GREAT right now!!” Alternatively, can I suggest ‘Enormous Penis’ by da vinci’s Notebook? It’s peppy as fuck, and it’s about a penis. It’s hard to NOT perk up (nailed it) while listening to this song. My sister and I both listen to it whenever we’re having a hard (nailed it again) day. 

Turbulence: “OH MY GOD JENN THE PLANE IS BOUNCING ALL OVER THE PLACE AM I ABOUT TO DIE???” No. Turbulence is a totally natural occurrence that will happen to some degree or another on just about every flight. I cannot remember a flight where I’ve experienced literally no turbulence. Some flights have been very smooth overall with only a few small bumps here and there, and some have had stretches where the captain has ordered the flight attendants to go back to their seats and buckle in. This is NOT because the plane is in danger; it’s because people moving around while it’s bumpy risk injuring themselves by losing their footing. This article explains what’s happening during turbulence. Remember that temperature changes will cause those bumps, so when you’re going up or coming down through clouds, you are most likely going to experience some bumps. Turbulence can be a jolting sensation or the plane can actually sway back and forth a bit. In reality, the plane is hardly moving. Those pockets of air you’re hitting are maybe a quarter of an inch, but you’re hitting them at over 500 mph. Envision a speed bump: they’re really only a couple of inches, right? But if you hit them at high speed it causes a big bump; it’s the same principle, only the bumps you’re hitting are much, much smaller, and the plane you’re in is far more well-engineered than a car and stress tested to an insane degree.

I gave you some tips for how to reduce the sensations of turbulence if it bothers you, but another helpful tip if you want to reassure yourself of how little the plane is actually moving is to take a cup or bottle of water and place it on your tray table (I always carry some with me for this reason and for hydration; the recycled air in cabins is very drying). Watch how much the water moves. It’ll vibrate a little, generally, and nothing more. What would happen if you took this same cup of water (or an open water bottle), and jerked your hand down quickly, just a couple of feet? Water would slosh out, wouldn’t it? And that’s just dropping it a couple of feet. Pilots will attempt to avoid the worst of turbulence if possible so the crew can move around safely and so passengers don’t hurt themselves using the bathroom and whatnot, but occasionally you can hit some rough patches. Remember that heavy turbulence usually doesn’t last that long. We hit a rough patch on our flight to Dublin for our honeymoon, hard enough that the flight attendants were ordered back to their seats. I think within ten minutes they were back up, checking on people and serving food.

Remember also that the front of the plane moves around less in turbulence, so if you can snag one, a seat farther toward the front of the plane will help minimize those sensations. If you’re stuck in the back, don’t worry; you’re not going to be riding a bucking bronco. I almost always get stuck in the back of the plane, and there isn’t such a marked difference that the people in the front are all laughing and drinking champagne while those in the back scream and clasp their chosen religious texts to their chests.

Landing: Landing is another problem for a lot of anxious fliers. I always love it because it means I’m about to be on the ground again. lmao It’s also a great way to get a really fabulous view of a new destination. I love to watch the landing when I’m travelling somewhere new. Be prepared for the landing, because the descent is almost always going to produce some bumps, sometimes some pretty good ones. Again, this is all fine and normal; I just want you to be prepared for it, because if you’re expecting it, it’s not so frightening. In the next section, I’ll go into the various exercises you need to be using during any point of the flight that makes you feel anxious. If the landing scares you, you can implement these exercises during it. Also remember that a lot of noises are going to come into play here as the speed changes and the pilot manipulates the flaps. This might be a good time to listen to your music/audiobook/show if those noises make you nervous. I usually have music playing during the landing, but tbh, that’s mostly because I’m a really over-dramatic asshole who thinks their life deserves its own soundtrack.

The Exercises:

These are your tools for combating your anxiety before and during your flight. Do not be ashamed of using them, as many times as you have to. That’s what they are there for. Use the shit out of them; I want you to be really vigilant about using them every time you start to feel anxious, ok? You can’t just do it once and go, oh, wow, all better!! Anxiety doesn’t work that way. You are retraining your brain; it’s going to take at least a few attempts.

The 54321 Exercise: We’ve already covered how to do this one, so I won’t spend as long on it. I just want to add a couple of things, those being, mainly, that I want you to do this any time you start to feel nervous about your flight, and if you don’t have five objects (or four or whatever number you’re on), it’s perfectly ok to repeat something. Any little prickle of anxiety, any little what-if scenario that starts chewing at you--go into the exercise. Do it as many times as you have to until you feel calmer. Every single time you start to feel anxious, do this exercise. Do it before you leave, do it at the airport, if you must. You can do it aloud or in your head; if i’m alone I’ll do it aloud, if there are people around me I’ll do it quietly, to myself, so I don’t disturb them. 

The Get It the Fuck Together Exercise: I may have changed the name of this one slightly; it’s more fun to say, “Hey, leave me alone; I’m doing my ‘get it the fuck together’ exercise and I don’t need you distracting me.”

Here’s how it works: we anxious fliers like to play out a whole disaster movie in our heads. As far as we’re concerned, everything that can go wrong, will. We imagine ourselves plunged into all these dramatic scenarios as we cling impotently to our chairs, completely helpless. But you know who can’t be hurt by anything?

Cartoon characters. Look at Wile E. Coyote; that fucker has survived some shit. You can use any you want, really, but I like to use Shrek. So here’s what you do. When you’re on your flight, any time your brain starts throwing those disaster scenarios at you, whenever some turbulence hits, whatever it may be that’s causing you anxiety--imagine a cartoon character experiencing it instead. So, let’s use Shrek as an example. Shrek is sitting in a seat, and some turbulence hits. No matter how hard the plane is bouncing, nothing happens to him. Whatever happens to the plane, he’s still sitting there. Maybe he’s pearl clutching a little, but he comes through it just fine because he’s a cartoon character, he can’t be harmed. You are lending this little disaster film playing out in your head exactly the amount of reality it deserves. I always like to picture Shrek getting nervous and clutching his arm rests and then the turbulence stops and he gives that little chuckle and he’s like, “That was scary, wasn’t it?” It sounds silly, but it definitely helps. Remove yourself entirely from the equation; you’re not in that little disaster film. Shrek is. Shrek can’t be harmed. 

You can use this during the flight, but also throughout this week if you start picturing anything scary happening on the plane. Picture Shrek in that seat instead; picture ridiculous things happening to him, and him coming through them all just fine. We’re trying to associate the frightening pictures in your head with something removed from reality, so your brain can recognize that these scenarios are not real, and they are not going to happen to you.

The Make Love Not Soiled Undergarments Exercise: I may have slightly altered the name on this one as well.

So here’s what we’re going to do with this: I want you to find a moment in your life when you really connected with another person, or even a pet. A moment when you felt totally at peace, when you were flooded with feelings of love. We are looking for something that overwhelmed you with oxytocin, a moment when you felt safe and loved. What we’re going to do with this is superimpose it over all the phases of flight and all the things that scare you so that your brain instead associates flying with a really good moment in your life. Some examples from the book: if you’re married, when you first saw your spouse walking toward you, and the look on their face; for mothers, the bond they felt while breastfeeding, and their child’s face during this moment; even a pet looking up at you with absolute unadulterated love in their eyes will work. I like to use my parents’ St. Bernard for this exercise, so that’s the example I’ll use when talking you through it. I have loved many other pets equally, of course, but he’s such a big dumb mook who demands ALL THE PETS with his giant, battering ram head that it’s easy to plaster his giant YOU WILL LOVE ME I DEMAND IT eyes all over everything.

We’re going to start right from the beginning. When you arrive at the airport, look around at everything. Instead of a chair, or security, or the windows through which you can see those big, terrifying planes, picture the face of this person or pet; remember that moment and that bond. Superimpose their face on everything. Do this as you’re boarding; project their face and eyes on everything, as you’re walking down the boarding tube, as you’re getting on the plane itself. When you sit down, project this face onto the seat in front of you, onto the tray table, the window--whatever is within your range of vision. As the engines are firing up, associate the sounds of the engine with this face and that moment when you were connected and at peace. As you’re taxing, do the same thing. When you takeoff, keep projecting this face onto the seat in front of you, or the ceiling--wherever. We are linking this image with each thing you experience, so we override your fear and teach your brain that you are not in danger, in fact, you are as safe as you have ever been. When you hit turbulence--link the experience to this face that you’re using. 

So what I see when I fly, is this big dumb mook St. Bernard looking up at me like I’m the best thing since steak. I picture this during every phase: takeoff, turbulence, landing, any unfamiliar noises. If you’re seated at the window, look out at the wings; project this image onto the wings. You will see them flexing a bit; this is also completely normal. Link this image to the mechanisms in the wing and their movements; you are not in any danger. You are safe, comfortable, loved. 

Putting It All Together: Ok, so I’ve discussed the exercises in-depth. Let’s summarize briefly, then. Whenever you feel anxious at any point before your flight, do your 54321 exercise as many times as you need to until your anxiety starts to abate. I usually only have to do it a couple of times, but if you have to do it four or five or even more, that is perfectly fine. Take as long as you need. If you start to picture something bad happening on the plane, if your brain starts to spiral into those disaster scenarios: remove yourself from the situation entirely. Plug Shrek into that plane and that scenario and see that he is absolutely fine. You are not on the plane while something bad is happening; Shrek is on the plane, and no harm can come to him.

When you get to the airport, start your ‘Make Love Not Soiled Undergarments’ exercise (fun to say, even more fun to successfully implement). Project that loving face onto everything you see; do it as you’re getting on the plane. Do it as the plane hits turbulence. Do it as every new noise and sensation crops up, so that you’re linking them all with something really good. At any point during the flight if that anxiety starts to kick in and you need to distract yourself, whip our your handy 54321 exercise. As I said before, these are all tools to help you combat your anxiety; do not be afraid to use them.

Flying is actually really fucking amazing; there’s so much incredible technology and engineering that goes into modern aircraft. It’s not something to fear; we just need to make sure our rational mind has the chance to override our fears and let us experience and enjoy that. 

At any point during this week, if you need to talk, come back to my blog. Any questions, any concerns you have--lay them on me. Let me know how you’re progressing; sometimes just having someone to talk to can help a lot. If you want me to track your flight, I can do that too (you don’t have to give out any personal info, just the flight number.) 

Above all, remember that it is possible to suffer from these anxieties and still get on a plane and not absolutely lose your shit. I use these same exercises when I feel nervous, and I’ve done a few roundtrip transatlantic flights in the last couple of years, plus domestic flights. I’ve also got at least two flights planned this year. 

Also: it’s ok if you get a little nervous. That’s normal. My flights to and from the Czech Republic all went pretty smoothly for me (emotionally speaking, at least; we did encounter some turbulence), and I had a few brief moments of anxiety that I was able to get past pretty quickly. You’re thousands and thousands of feet in the air, in a metal tube; it’s not a normal situation. You have not failed if you feel a brief jangle on your nerves now and again. Our goal is to make sure you are not a petrified wreck for the entire flight.