#they’re just in the airport and make due with the cold weather outside

[cheddarch]

Wip: What if Kevin Cozner was stuck in an airport due to delayed with weather and was trapped by the snow outside, and could only struggle alone until you caught a pilots Captain’s eye.

Yes this is a Kevin Cozner and Raymond Holt first meet cute.

[all-the-things-2020]

Late Night Talking - Chapter Fifteen

Summary: Dieter and Emily spend Christmas with his brother’s family.

Word count: 7000+

Rating: PG all the way

Notes: I’ve never been to Vermont. The Christmas Market on Church Street in Burlington is real but all I know about it is what I saw on a quick Google search. Logan’s Candy in Ontario, CA is real, and so is the Parent Navel Orange Tree in Riverside. Everything else is made up.

Tag list: @rhoorl @avastrasposts @readingiskeepingmegoing @runningmom94 @gwendibleywrites @weho2kcmo

Vermont was cold. I’d been to Big Bear during the winter, so I thought I knew what cold was, but I was wrong. California cold, even in the mountains, is nothing compared to New England cold. I huddled in the puffy coat Dieter had ordered for me as I scanned the line of cars in the pick up line at Burlington International. A blue Jeep Cherokee, Dieter had said, but there were so many SUVs and it was snowing lightly, so I had a hard time. Then I saw a familiar face hanging out of a passenger side window. 

“Emily! Over here!” He waved his arm frantically, as if I wouldn’t notice him after he bellowed my name.

He hopped out and opened the back door for me. “Quick, get in out of the cold,” he said, taking my luggage around to the back. I slid into the back seat of the blessedly warm Jeep. 

“You must be Freddy,” I said to the driver.

”And you have to be Emily,” he said with a smile. “Welcome to Vermont.” He was definitely Dieter’s brother; they had the same warm brown eyes and strong nose, but Freddy was clean-shaven, his hair neatly trimmed in a conservative cut, and the only piece of jewelry he wore was a simple gold wedding band. And his care was immaculately clean. Dieter’s car always had a few empty water bottles, Kit Kat wrappers and stray bits of clothing rattling around in it, plus an assortment of scripts and paperwork that he hadn’t gotten around to taking inside yet. 

Dieter slammed the tailgate and dashed back into the car. “I always forget how fucking cold it gets here,” he said as he fumbled with his seatbelt. “You’re insane for living here.”

Freddy shrugged. “You get used to it. You’re just spoiled by that L.A. weather.”

Dieter twisted around in his seat to look at me. “You should have heard him the first winter after they moved here,” he said with a grin. “You look great, by the way.”

”I’m bundled up in this giant coat,” I replied. “You can barely see me.”

“I can see your face,” Dieter said. “And I missed it.”

”I missed you, too.” He’d been away filming most of the time since our Thanksgiving getaway. The shoot was in Toronto and he’d only been able to fly home for one weekend because of some delays on set due to weather and other complications. 

Freddy pulled out into the Christmas Eve morning traffic. The airport was busy but not as crazy as LAX had been. Thank goodness for the airport shuttle, or I would never have made my flight in time. ”I hope I didn’t mess up your holiday plans too much,” I said. “Having to pick someone up at the airport is hassle enough, let alone on Christmas Eve.”

Freddy shrugged again. “Leila and the kids are busy baking, so I usually get banished to the living room anyway. And this one took a cab last night so I didn’t have to make two trips.”

“I am a very thoughtful brother,” Dieter said.

Freddy snorted. “I consider it a Christmas miracle.”

Dieter shoved his arm and Freddy poked him back with his elbow. Yeah, they were definitely brothers.

*********************************************************************

Freddy lived just outside Burlington so it wasn’t a long drive to his house. I couldn’t help but gawk at the snow. Everything looked like a Hallmark card. 

“So we thought we’d take you guys down to Church Street this evening for the Christmas Market,” Freddy said as we turned down his street. “We went last week, but the kids don’t mind going again.” He chuckled. “Anytime they can have hot chocolate and donuts for dinner they’re happy.”

”Hot chocolate sounds amazing,” I said. “I might need an intravenous drip.”

”Don’t worry, babe, I’ll keep you warm,” Dieter said. “Bet you’re glad I bought you that coat now.”  We’d had a bit of an argument over the coat. I’d told him I didn’t need such a fancy one, since I’d only be using it for a few days, but he insisted I’d freeze without it and we compromised by agreeing I could donate it to a women’s shelter before I flew home.

“I am,” I said. “You were right … this time.”

Freddy laughed. “That’s the way, keep his ego in check.”

We pulled up outside a two story middle class house decked out with strings of Christmas lights and a large plastic Santa on the lawn. “Ignore that,” Freddy said, gesturing toward the Santa, which was a bit faded and listing to one side. “He’s been in Leila’s family for ages and the kids won’t let us get rid of it. ‘But Dad, it’s tradition!’”

”I like it,” I said. “He fits in with all the snow. And traditions are important when you’re a kid.”

Dieter and Freddy exchanged a look and I knew I’d touched a nerve. Dieter hadn’t told me a lot about his childhood, but I knew enough to know that their mom hadn’t exactly been June Cleaver. 

Freddy opened the door and we stepped into the house, which smelled like Santa’s workshop. Sugar, cinnamon, and cloves mixed with the scent of the six foot tall fir tree in the living room. My family had never had a real tree; my dad kept repairing the old artificial tree they’d bought when I was a year old and Mom and I had used it until she died, even though by that time it had shed a quarter of its needles and had to be carefully situated to hide the bald spot where one of the branches was missing. 

“Uncle Dieter!” The kids came barreling toward us and collided with Dieter. Derek was twelve and Sasha was almost fourteen. Both were wearing silly aprons with elves on them. 

“Hey, kiddos,” Dieter laughed, trying to hug both of them at the same time. “You just saw me like an hour ago.”

”We know,” Derek said. “But it’s funny.” He had the same glint in his eye that Dieter got when he had one of his “brilliant” ideas. 

“And it’s not like we could run up and hug Emily or anything,” Sasha said. She seemed a bit more reserved than her brother.

”Why not?” Dieter said. “She’s very huggable.” He demonstrated by squeezing me in his arms.

”At least let me take my coat off first,” I managed to say once I could breathe again. “And introduce me properly.”

”Kids, this is Emily,” Dieter said. “Emily, the kids.”

Sasha rolled her eyes. “I’m Sasha,” she said, holding out her hand. “And this is Derek.”

I shook their hands. “Very nice to meet you both,” I said. “Your uncle has told me all about you.”

”All we know about you is that Uncle Deet thinks you hung the moon,” Derek said. Sasha swatted at him. “That’s what Dad said,” Derek protested. 

“True, but that doesn’t mean you need to say it in front of her.” Leila came into the room, drying her hands on a kitchen towel. She was about my height and build. It seemed the Bravo brothers had a type. ”I’m Leila, by the way. And we are so happy to finally meet you.” She handed the towel to Sasha and hugged me warmly. “It’s good to see Dieter happy,” she whispered in my ear. “Thank you for that.”

”Now let’s get back to the kitchen before that batch of cookies burns,” Leila said briskly. “And let Emily get settled. We’ll have plenty of time to chat over lunch.”

Dieter carried my bags up the stairs. “We’re in the guest room,” he said. “Which is way better than the couch I used to crash on in that apartment Freddy and Leila had before he got the promotion.”

”You loved that couch,” Freddy called up the stairs. “As I recall, you even named it. Marlene, wasn’t it?”

”He’s full of shit,” Dieter said, shaking his head. “It was Maria. Because it was a problem. Like the song in ‘The Sound of Music.’”

”You are such a theater nerd.”

”I tried out for my high school production but I can’t sing to save my life,” he said. “Ended up being on the stage crew. And after that I vowed I’d never work on another play unless I was in the cast. The crew has to work too hard.”

******************************************************************

The day flew by. After I’d stashed my luggage, I joined Leila and the kids in the kitchen while Dieter and Freddy caught up in front of the TV. “I know it’s a total stereotype but that man is absolutely no use in the kitchen,” Leila told me as she handed me an apron. 

“Dieter’s not much better,” I said. “He can cook if he has to, but he’s lazy about cleaning up after himself.”

”Freddy burned water once,” Leila said. “Put a pot on to boil for pasta, forgot about it and it boiled dry. Scorched the bottom of one of my best pots.”

”Mom banned him from the kitchen after that,” Sasha added. 

I helped the kids decorate the sugar cookies and gingerbread men that had already come out of the oven while Leila finished cutting out and baking the last batch. “We’ve got time for one more kind of cookie before I have to start lunch,” she said. “Is there anything special you’d like to make, Emily? Something from your family? We already did the spritz cookies that my grandma used to make.”

”Do you have walnuts and powdered sugar? My mom always made snowballs. The cookbook calls them Russian tea cakes or Mexican wedding cakes, but her grandma called them snowballs.”

”We have that in our cookbook,” Derek said. “I saw it.” He pulled out a battered old Betty Crocker that looked a lot like the one my mom had used.

”Then snowballs it is,” Leila said. 

While we mixed up the dough, the kids asked questions about my family traditions. They were shocked when I admitted I’d never celebrated a white Christmas or had a real tree. When I told them about the year I’d gotten a sweatsuit and a bunch of nice sweaters and it ended up being 80 degrees on Christmas Day and I had to wear a t-shirt to Grandma’s house, they thought I was teasing.

“No, seriously,” I said as I rolled the dough into balls and passed them to Derek to be placed on the cookie sheets. “I wanted to wear my new clothes so bad but it was too hot. Grandma had to turn the air conditioning on because the house got so warm from roasting the turkey.”

”Well, we’ll show you how to do Christmas the New England way,” Sasha said. “We can build a snowman and go sledding and have a snowball fight.”

”But don’t let Dad and Uncle Deet play,” Derek said. “They get too competitive. Last year I got beaned right in the face and Dad just told me to walk it off.”

When the cookies were ready for the oven, Leila shooed us out of the kitchen. “I won’t let them burn,” she promised. “But I need you all out of my way while I fix some lunch.”

We joined Dieter and Freddy in the living room, where they were watching the “A Christmas Story” marathon. We all squished onto the couch together, with me sandwiched between Dieter and Sasha. 

“You smell delicious,” Dieter said. “Like butter and sugar.” He ventured a kiss on my jawbone, but I elbowed him.

”Not in front of the kids,” I hissed.

Ralphie’s dad had just received the Major Award when Leila called us to the dining room. Lunch was tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches, which brought back memories of sick days on the couch watching “The Price is Right” when I was a kid. As I looked around the table, I felt a wave of homesickness. I remembered meals with my parents when I was young, when we laughed and teased each other like Freddy and his kids did. 

Dieter must have sensed my melancholy, because he reached out and squeezed my hand, his eyes concerned. I smiled at him and shook my head slightly to let him know I was okay. He winked and turned back to his soup, but slid his foot closer, tapping his shoe against my boot. He didn’t always know what to do, but he was always tuned into my moods. He claimed it was because the vibrations of our souls were compatible, and I wasn’t sure if he really believed it or was bullshitting me. Either way, it was comforting to know that he was always there for me.

***********************************

After lunch the kids insisted I go outside with them to build a snowman. 

“She’s probably tired from the flight,” Leila said, but Derek starting singing “Do You Want to Build a Snowman” from Frozen and there was no way I could turn him down.

It was still snowing very lightly and I was so bundled up in my puffy coat and a borrowed beanie and mittens that I could hardly move. My boots weren’t as waterproof as they looked and soon my feet were frozen but I gamely helped the kids roll the snow in the front yard into a ball.

”This is hard work,” I managed to say. My glasses were fogging up from my breath and I couldn’t see very well.

”That’s why we made so many cookies,” Derek said with a grin. “We burn up so many calories out here.”

”Yeah, that’s just your excuse for eating more than your share,” Sasha said. 

They started bickering and I took advantage of the momentary lull in snowman construction to rest a bit. I was out of breath and simultaneously sweating and frozen. It was wonderful.

”Merry Christmas!” A voice rang out and we turned to see a woman in a stylish ski outfit carrying a plate wrapped in foil.

Sasha groaned. “It’s Ms. Baker,” she said. “Our neighbor who mysteriously shows up every time Uncle Dieter’s visiting.”

Derek got that look in his eyes that I recognized all too well from his uncle. “Hey, Ms. Baker,” he called out. “Merry Christmas!”

”You guys making a snowman? How cute! I brought a rum cake for your parents.” She stared at me, clearly trying to figure out if she knew who I was. “Who’s your friend?”

”Oh, this is Aunt Emily, Uncle Dieter’s girlfriend,” Derek said with a cherubic smile. “They just flew in for the holiday. She’s from California and she’s never made a snowman before.”

Ms. Baker’s eyes narrowed. “Nice to meet you,” she said stiffly. “So, your uncle’s here? Good thing I made a big cake. I know how much he likes my rum cake.”

”Oh, but Uncle Dieter’s sober now,” Derek said with mock concern. “He won’t want any rum cake, will he, Aunt Emily?”

It took every fiber of my being to keep from laughing. The kid was good.

”A slice of rum cake isn’t the same as having a drink, though,” Sasha chimed in. 

“Right, Aunt Emily? I mean, Mom and Dad let me have a little sliver last year.”

”We’ll have to ask Deet,” I said, silently thanking Sasha for giving me an extra few seconds to compose myself. “But even if he can’t have any, I can,”

Ms. Baker smiled tightly. “Well, you kids get back to your snowman. I’ll just go inside now.”

As soon as she was inside the house, the kids started giggling. “That was hilarious,” Derek said. “She always shows up and tries to flirt with Deet.”

”The look on her face when we said ‘Aunt Emily,’” said Sasha. “Oh, it was okay that we did that, right? It was just to mess with her. If you don’t want us to …”

”It’s fine,” I assured her. “And did your parents really let you eat rum cake last year?”

”Yeah,” she said, making a face. “It was kind of gross. But that might be because Ms. Baker does not live up to her name.”

Derek laughed so hard he fell over. When he had recovered, we got back to work on the snowman. My feet were blocks of ice but I was happier outside with the kids than going inside and pretending to be nice to Ms. Baker.

******************************************

We finally got the snowman finished and I went inside to get my phone so we could take a picture. Ms. Baker had left in a hurry, hardly speaking to us as she passed. 

“What did you say to her?” I asked Dieter as I headed back outside.

”Who?”

”Ms. Baker.”

Dieter smiled, the same glint in his eye that I’d seen from Derek. “Oh, just mentioned I had a very special gift for you that I wanted to give you surrounded by my family.”

”You’re terrible,” I said. 

“Freddy didn’t help,” Leila chimed in. “Dropping hints about ringing in the New Year in style.”

”I hate her rum cake,” Freddy said. “Tastes like stale pound cake soaked in rubbing alcohol. Maybe if she realizes Dieter’s not interested in her she’ll stop bringing us one every year.”

”Tell the kids they have twenty minutes and then they need to get their butts inside to change,” Leila said. “We’re leaving for the Christmas Market at three so we can get decent parking.”

******************************************************

The Market was amazing, like something out of a Hallmark movie. Lights twinkled, music filled the air and shop windows glowed with charming displays. We stopped at a stall that sold hot chocolate while Freddy fetched a dozen freshly made apple cider donuts from another stall nearby. 

“Best. Dinner. Ever,” Derek declared around a mouthful of donut. 

“Worst. Manners. Ever,” Freddy said, raising an eyebrow.

Sasha and Leila were whispering to each other and stealing glances my way. Dieter was absorbed in his own donut, making those weird little noises he always made when he ate something he really liked. I looked up at the darkening sky and watched the snowflakes spiral down. 

“So …,” Leila said. “Sasha has an idea.”

”Um, I think … Emily should get an ornament for the tree,” Sasha mumbled.

”Yeah!” Derek cried. “She totally should.”

Freddy looked at Dieter, who came slowly back from wherever it was he went when he was savoring something. “What?”

”The kids think Emily should pick out an ornament for the tree,” Freddy said slowly. 

Dieter’s eyes went wide. “You sure?”

”Yeah,” said Freddy. “I think it’s a good idea.”

”What’s going on?” I asked. Everyone seemed to be extremely concerned about the idea of me buying an ornament.

”Everyone has a special ornament that they put on the tree on Christmas Eve,” Dieter said. “Freddy and Leila and Sasha and Derek … and me. I only put mine on when I’m here for Christmas. It’s kind of a family tradition.”

”And you want me to get one, too.”

”Yeah,” said Sasha, biting at her lower lip.

I looked at Dieter, who was making puppy dog eyes at me. “Okay,” I said, feeling like I was agreeing to a lot more than just choosing a bauble for the tree.

Sasha and Derek dragged me to a booth that was hung with hand blown glass ornaments in all kinds of fancy shapes. “I have a soccer ball,” Derek said. “You have to pick something that’s important to you. Deet has a rubber ducky because he says he had one when he was little.”

”Dad wouldn’t let him buy the weed one,” Sasha explained. 

I was fairly certain the rubber duck was not a fond childhood memory, because Dieter had once told me a rather off color story when he was still indulging in alcohol that I wasn’t entirely sure wasn’t true, but I didn’t think the kids needed to know that. I browsed the ornaments before settling on a sparkly orange wedge.

”An orange?” Derek asked. 

“Where I live used to be famous for growing oranges,” I told him. “The original navel orange tree is in a protected enclosure in Riverside. It’s kind of a landmark. And there’s a historical park all about citrus fruits out there, too. Plus my mom said her grandma always told her a story about how her mother got her first orange in a Christmas stocking.”

”That’s pretty cool,” said Sasha, although Derek didn’t seem to agree. I paid for the ornament and the shopkeeper carefully wrapped it in tissue and packed it into a cardboard box with a picture of a reindeer on it.

We rejoined Dieter, Freddy and Leila and continued walking down the street. Suddenly Sasha and Derek started giggling and pointed up. 

“What?,” said Dieter, looking around.

”Mistletoe!,” the kids cried out. Sure enough, there was a big bunch of mistletoe tied to the awning above us.

Dieter winked at me and slid his arms around me, dipping me slightly. “Got to give the kids what they want,” he said before kissing me very thoroughly. Finally, Freddy tapped him on the shoulder. 

“Remember, you’re in public,” he said.

Dieter laughed and although he was wearing mittens, I was pretty sure he flipped his brother the bird as he stepped back from me. “They shouldn’t hang that stuff on the street, then,” he said. “I’m just saying.”

Freddy shook his head. “I can’t take you anywhere.”

****************************************************

By the time we got back to the house, it was snowing steadily. Freddy turned on all the lights in the living room while Leila fetched a green storage container with a red lid. “Okay, time for the ornaments and stockings!,” she said.

Freddy went first, hanging his old school typewriter; then Leila hung up her panda bear. Next came Sasha’s owl and Derek’s soccer ball, followed by Dieter’s rubber duck. Finally, I unpacked my orange slice and found an unobtrusive spot around the side.

Then Leila passed out the stockings, which were bright red felt and appliquéd with snowflakes and little trees. A handwritten tag hung from the loop of each one with the owner’s name in perfect calligraphy — including one that said “Emily.”

”Oh, you didn’t have to,” I protested as I looked at my brand-new stocking. The others were well worn and had clearly seen many Christmases.

”Yes, I did,” Leila said. “How else would Santa know you’re here?” She winked and both kids rolled their eyes.

I hadn’t hung a stocking since I was ten years old, when I’d declared that stockings were for “little kids.” I felt a lump in my throat as I placed mine on the hook next to Dieter’s. 

“And now …” Freddy said, pulling out a box of matches. He carefully lit the candles on the mantel and a few others spaced around the room, then Derek flipped off the lights. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the tree lights and candles. Leila started a playlist of old-school holiday songs on the sound system and we all settled down. Freddy and Leila took the couch, the kids curled up on the rug in front of the fireplace, and Dieter pulled me into the overstuffed armchair to the side. It wasn’t quite big enough for two, so I ended up mostly in his lap.

”Are you sure?” I whispered, nodding toward the kids.

Dieter just tilted his head toward Freddy and Leila, who were snuggled up on the couch, her head resting on his chest and his arms wrapped around her. “It’s tradition,” Dieter whispered back.

We listened to Nat King Cole and Frank Sinatra for a few songs, then Freddy started telling a story about the year he was seven and Dieter was five and they found out their next door neighbors were Jewish and the kids got eight nights worth of presents instead of just one morning. Leila followed with the story of how her aunt decided she was going to make Christmas dinner instead of her mom and the turkey wasn’t cooked all the way through and everyone ended up making an excuse to leave early and they all ended up at McDonald’s.

“Tell the one about the air conditioning, Emily,” Derek said when he’d finished his own story about the year he thought he was only getting clothes because Sasha had convinced him that his letter to Santa had gotten lost on the way to the North Pole due to an elvish postal workers’ strike. “Dad didn’t hear it yet.”

Then it was Dieter’s turn. “My story is kind of boring,” he said. “It’s about my best Christmas ever and I’m not sure how it ends because it’s happening right now.” He squeezed me tightly. “I’m one hundred percent sober and I’m surrounded by all my favorite people and it’s snowing. You can’t get more perfect than that.”

”Doesn’t count,” Derek piped up. “You’re supposed to tell a funny one.”

”It just has to be memorable,” Freddy said. “And I think we’re all going to remember this one for a long time.”

”Yeah, it’s the first one with Emily,” said Sasha. 

I felt tears in my eyes for the umpteenth time that day. How was it possible that I felt more at home with these people I’d just met than I ever did with my blood relatives? “Thanks, everyone,” I managed to say. “I’ll definitely remember this Christmas for the rest of my life.”

The clock on the mantel chimed nine and Leila clapped her hands. “Okay, kiddos, time for bed. Pajamas, teeth brushed and ready for tucking in by nine thirty.”

Both kids groaned. “Mom, we’re not five anymore,” Derek said.

”I know, but I need time to play Santa’s helper before I get to bed,” Leila said, “and you know you’ll both be up at the crack of dawn begging us to let you open presents. Besides, it’s tradition.”

Dieter yawned and stretched his arms wide. “I’m kind of tired myself,” he said. “It’s been a long day.”

Freddy shook his head. “Oh, get out of here. I know you just want to get out of helping.”

”I’m a guest,” Dieter said primly. “So is Emily.”

”You’re a freeloader,” replied Freddy. “But it’s Christmas. Consider it your present from me.”

Dieter wiggled out from under me and then helped me up. “Come on, let’s get upstairs before he changes his mind.”

As I unpacked my nightshirt, I remembered something. “I’ll be right back,” I said, grabbing a small box out of my luggage and trotting back downstairs. The lights were back on and Leila was already working on the stockings while Freddy was cursing in the hall closet as he pulled out presents from their hiding places.

”Here,” I told Leila, handing her the box. “I almost forgot. You can put these in the stockings. They’re handmade candy canes from a candy shop back home. They make them with real sugar and premium peppermint oil. I got a dozen, so we can each have two.” I didn’t keep up many holiday traditions anymore, but a trip to Logan’s Candy in Ontario was always on my list. Their canes were the best in the world.

”Thank you,” Leila said. “They look delicious!”

”Do you need any help?”

”No, you get back upstairs to Dieter,” she said. “Freddy and I are old hands at this. And I wasn’t joking about the kids being awake at the ass crack of dawn. You’ll be glad we all went to bed early.”

Dieter was already in bed when I got back to our room. I quickly changed into my sleep shirt and dove under the covers. Despite the heater, the house was chilly.

”Your feet are frozen!” Dieter gasped, pulling away from me.

I snuggled closer. “So help me warm them up,” I said. The man was like my own private furnace, which was good at times like this. In the summer, not so much. I tucked my feet between his calves and he pretended to shiver.

”Blocks of ice,” he muttered. “You’re so mean to me.” 

“Then why are you kissing my neck?”

”Because you still smell like cookies,” he said. “And I haven’t seen you in ages.” His hands worked their way underneath my sleep shirt.

”Whoa, hold on,” I said. “Are you sure? I mean, it’s Christmas Eve. And the kids are right down the hall.”

Dieter snorted. “First of all, you aren’t any more religious than I am. And second of all, I’m sure Freddy and Leila do it all the time with the kids in the house.”

”Still, it feels sacrilegious.”

”It feels naughty,” Dieter corrected me. “And I don’t know about you, but the idea of Santa Claus watching us is kind of turning me on.”

”Eww!” 

“He sees you when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake, he knows if you’ve been bad or good, so be good for goodness’ sake,” Dieter crooned off key, followed by a trail of kisses down my throat. “Be good for me, baby. Let me unwrap this gift a little early.”

”Well, you have been a good boy lately,” I said. “Just try to be quiet for once.”

”So you want a silent night?”

”Shut up and kiss me, Dieter.”

**************************************************************

It was still dark when our bedroom door flew open and something large crashed onto our feet. “Merry Christmas!” Derek cried. 

“You are so rude,” Sasha said from the doorway. “Get off them.” We all sat up, blinking at the overhead light that Sasha had flicked on. “What if they were naked?”

“Why would they be naked … ohhh!” Derek scrambled off the bed. “Gross! They’re Mom and Dad’s age.”

”Mom and Dad still do it,” Sasha said. 

Derek made gagging noises. “That is not the image I want in my head on Christmas morning, Sash.”

”Okay, okay, we’re all up,” Freddy yawned from the hallway. “Give us a minute to use the facilities and we’ll go downstairs.”

”Yay!” Derek dashed out of the room while Sasha shook her head. 

“Sorry about him,” she said. “He’s such a little kid sometimes.”

Freddy tousled her hair. “O wise and solemn adult, why don’t you put a robe on over your Hello Kitty pajamas so you don’t freeze?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re such a dad.”

Dieter was already shrugging into his beloved green bathrobe, which was starting to get bald in spots, but which he refused to replace because it was comfortable. “Yeah, Freddy, don’t be such a dad.”

”You stop talking, or you won’t get any pancakes,” Freddy said.

Dieter mimed zipping his lips and tossed my robe at me. 

After a quick trip to the bathroom and a cursory brushing of teeth, we all trooped down to the living room, where a pile of presents had appeared underneath the tree and our stockings were bulging with treats. 

“You really didn’t have to,” I told Leila as she handed me my stocking.

”And have you sit there without anything while we all dive in? No way.”

My candy canes were at the top, but underneath were chocolates, a tube of hand cream, a glass nail file, and a few other trinkets. “Just some fun girl stuff,” Leila explained. “Sasha’s a bit too old for toys but every woman enjoys a mini spa day.”

“Presents!” Derek said after he’d dumped out the contents of his stocking. “Time for presents!”

I curled up on the couch next to Dieter while the kids tore into their gifts. Dieter had had his shipped straight to the house for Freddy and Leila to wrap, so he was as excited to see them as the kids were.

”No way!” Derek cried as he unwrapped a massive Lego set of the Millenium Falcon. “Thank you, Uncle Deet!”

Sasha squealed as she opened a brand new iPad mini. “This is exactly the one I wanted. Thanks, Uncle Deet!”

Dieter was grinning from ear to ear as both kids danced around. 

“You’re spoiling them,” Freddy said.

”I’m their rich uncle. I’m allowed.”

After the kids finished opening their presents, we all got dressed and Leila made pancakes for breakfast. Mountains of pancakes with real maple syrup. Dieter and Freddy got into a pancake eating contest that ended only when Dieter was forced to concede because Derek had taken the last one and Leila refused to make any more.

“I need to get the turkey in the slow cooker if we want to have dinner tonight,” she said when Dieter tried to wheedle just one more pancake out of her.

”I bet if Freddy needed one more pancake to win you’d make it,” Dieter whined.

”No, she wouldn’t,” Freddy said, carefully cutting up his final — winning — pancake. “But tell you what, since you are my brother and it’s Christmas … you can have half and we’ll call it a tie.” He counted the pieces on his plate and slid exactly half of them onto Dieter’s plate.

”And the winners get to do the dishes!” Leila said as soon as their plates were clean. Both men groaned, but cleared the table with a minimum of grumbling.

”What can I do to help?” I asked. 

“Nothing,” replied Leila. “Which is what I’m going to be doing as soon as I get that bird in the roaster.”

”Help me with my Lego,” Derek said.

”No, help me set up my iPad,” Sasha offered.

”How about if she supervises you both until we get done in the kitchen,” Freddy said. “I want to work on that Lego, too.”

”Me three!” Dieter chimed in.

Soon we were all back in the living room, the boys on the floor sorting Lego pieces and arguing over whether they really needed the directions or not. Leila helped Sasha set up her Apple account, and then we started browsing the App Store. It was cozy, with the tree lights blinking and the scent of maple syrup still lingering in the air. 

“Thank you,” I said to Leila.

”For what?”

”For including me. I know it has to be weird having a stranger in your house at Christmas.”  

“You aren’t any stranger than Dieter,” she quipped. “Seriously, though, you are very, very welcome. Freddy’s told me how different Dieter has been since he met you, and we’re so happy about it. They were pretty close when they were little but things got strained there for a while, especially after their parents divorced. Dieter felt like they had to choose sides and he couldn't understand why Freddy was still talking to their dad. Then when their mom died … Dieter kind of closed himself off from everyone. It’s good to see him connecting again.”

”That’s not just me,” I said. “He’s been on that path for a while, ever since he started rehab the first time.”

”But you’re a big part of it,” Leila insisted. “Freddy said there was a big change after you and Deet started dating. You’re good for him. And I think he’s good for you.”

Dieter looked up, one eyebrow raised. “Are you talking about me?”

”Of course,” Leila said. “Everyone everywhere is always talking about you, Dieter. You’re a celebrity. The world revolves around you. Geez, get over yourself.” She rolled her eyes and when Dieter had turned back to the Lego, we both giggled like kids. 

**************************************************

”I don’t know about this.”

Sasha and Derek had talked me into going to the sledding hill with them that afternoon. Now we stood at the top of a very steep incline with our plastic disks and I watched kids wiping out right and left.

”You’re fine,” Derek said. “It doesn’t hurt when you fall off, anyway.”

”Maybe not if you’re young and bendy,” I said. “But I’m old and stiff.”

”Mr. Gruenberg still sleds,” Sasha said, pointing out an older man with a neatly trimmed white beard who was whooping as loudly as his grandkids were.

”I bet he’s been doing it all his life,” I replied. “I’m from California. I went sledding once, on the side of the road when I was seven and it wasn’t nearly this long or this steep.”

”If you’re gonna be part of this family, you have to learn snow sports,” Derek said. “Sledding is the first one. Next time we’ll get you on skis.”

Sasha shrugged. “You kind of have to learn how to ski and snowshoe and stuff when you live in Vermont,” she said. “Otherwise you’d be stuck indoors half the year.”

I was still stuck on Derek’s offhand remark about being part of the family. I knew that being invited to spend the holidays with someone’s family was a huge step in a relationship, and people would make a lot of assumptions, but it fully hit me at that moment that these kids might just become my niece and nephew someday. That Freddy and Leila could be my brother and sister. For an only child, it was both a dream come true and the weirdest feeling imaginable. 

“Okay, you convinced me,” I said, trying to get my brain back to the present. “So what do I do?”

Derek demonstrated, hopping onto his sled and sliding down the slope with a wild yell. 

“Ready?” Sasha asked. “On the count of three. One … two … three!” She and I jumped onto our sleds and hurtled down the hill. It was disorienting and bumpy and scary and out of control. I loved it.

*************************************************************************

As we were putting our luggage into the back of the Cherokee the next morning, I pulled Freddy aside. “Thank you so much,” I told him. 

“For what?”

”For making me feel like part of the family. I know it must be weird to have your brother bring some strange woman home.”

Freddy held up his hand. “First of all, we should be thanking you for making Deet happy. He’s an asshole sometimes, but he’s my asshole and I love him. And second of all, you are part of the family. Dieter loves you and so do the rest of us. Look, I know Deet’s probably told you I cautioned him not to rush into anything, to take his time with this but … I might have been wrong. Maybe he does know a good thing when he sees it. Maybe his instincts were right. Or maybe he’s an idiot and he just got lucky.” He winked and hugged me. “Take care of him, okay?” 

“I will.”

”You okay?” Dieter asked when he helped me into the car. I might have been sniffling a little.

”Yeah, I’m just … gonna miss them.”

”Me, too,” he said, kissing my forehead. “They’re good people.”

”They’re your people, so of course they are.”

*****************************

Toronto was nothing like Vermont. For one thing, Dieter was back on set at 7:00 am the morning of the 27th and working ten to twelve hour days to make up for the lost time over the holidays. I didn’t see much of him except at night, but it was okay. We were together and I got to see what his life was really like for the first time. 

I spend my days reading or shopping or watching movies on Netflix. Not too much different from how I normally spent Winter Break at home, except for having Dieter next to me every night. 

“Now I know why you always looked so tired when you FaceTimed me,” I told him one evening after dinner. He’d been on set for eight hours already and had to go back for a couple more hours of night shoots on location. 

“Yeah, they’re really pushing us on this one,” he said, rubbing his hand across his face. “The studio wants it in on time and under budget and because of the holidays the director is super stressed out. But he did promise we’ll be done by nine on New Year’s Eve and get all of New Year’s Day off.”

Our hotel was holding a New Year’s Eve party in the ballroom but neither of us was really in the mood when the day rolled around. Dieter was tired and didn’t want to be around all the champagne, while I was lonely and just wanted to spend some time alone with him. So at the last minute we kicked off our shoes and ordered a bottle of sparkling cider sent to our room, along with an assortment of hors d’ouerves, for our own private party.

Our balcony faced the harbor, so we’d have a good view of the city’s fireworks display. It was bitterly cold out there, though, so we stayed inside until just before midnight. It was cozy on the little couch and it was tempting to just ignore the festivities and make some sparks of our own.

”No,” Dieter said. “We have to watch the fireworks. I love fireworks. Besides, this is our very first New Year together. We have to do it right. Make a toast. Kiss at the stroke of midnight.”

So at 11:55 we braved the cold, taking our glasses of cider out onto the balcony with us. We had the TV turned up so we could hear the official countdown. Ten. Dieter leaned against the balcony rail, a gentle smile on his face. Nine. He raised his glass. “To us.” Eight. I clinked the rim of my glass against his. Seven. “To us.” Six. We took a sip. Five. He turned around to face the harbor. Four. I leaned against the railing next to him. Three. He laid his hand against my cheek. Two. I tilted my face up toward him. One. He kissed me. “Happy New Year,” he whispered.

I looked out at the fireworks bursting across the sky. Dieter had his arm around me and I felt warm despite the Canadian winter night. We could hear the cheers and noisemakers from the party downstairs but I knew there was nowhere else in the world I’d rather be at that moment than next to Dieter, toasting the year we’d had and all the years to come.

”Can I ask you something?” I said.

”Of course,” he said, laying his cheek against the top of my head.

”Will you marry me?”

[hansolmates]

busted in busan 

summary; you’re snowbound at the airport, when the only thing you want is to be homebound. your anxieties heighten as the snow rises, worried that you won’t make it in time for christmas where your fiancé and his parents expect you—picture perfect. when all flights are cancelled due to a massive storm, you have to turn to the hands of an unlikely, hard-headed hero who knows the fastest way out of busan (and into your heart) pairing; jungkook x (f) reader genre/warnings; a christmas detour!au, fluff, angst, slice of life, strangers to lovers, enemies to lovers, pining, this is a total romcom, hallmark movie galore! tw–microcheating (or not however you look at it) mentions of sex, making out, profanity w/c; 10k   a/n; for @suhdays​ holiday hallmark event! this event was totally up my lane, i couldn’t wait to post it! a huge thank u for @eerieedits​ for making this wonderful fic banner! this is totally unedited, i’ll to go back to it tonight but pls enjoy! for those of u who need a little more christmas charm this year, this is for u

if you loved this icy couple, please consider giving it a like n’share!⛄⛄⛄

“The Korean Air 1102 flight from Gimhae International Airport to Incheon International Airport will be delayed six hours due to the intense weather conditions. Please be on standby for any further updates.” 

You’re twitching, fighting the urge to nibble on your nails because you’ve just got them done for Christmas. They’re a sleek champagne gold, because your fiancé insisted that they’re far more mature than your usual red and brown reindeer art. This is awful, and is only going to get progressively worse as the snow builds and builds. Right now the weather isn’t that bad, the snow isn’t even sticking to the ground and—oh. 

Gnawing at your lip, your fingers brush over the cold window, a clear view of the landing strip you should currently be boarding. The touch is icy, and the pads of your fingers are enveloped in little rings of fog at the sudden warmth nudging the glass. Upon closer inspection and a squint of your eyes reveal that in fact, the snow is now sticking to the ground. Big, fat clumps are covering the freeway and destroying your Christmas plans. 

Your fiancé will understand if you’re a little late for their Christmas Eve party, but you’re not sure if his parents will. You’ve been on livewire all week, wanting to at least spend the morning of Christmas Eve with your family back home. Knowing that your fiancé’s Christmas Eve party would run until very late, you booked a noon flight with enough time to get ready and impress his parents. Evidently, it was an ill-prepared idea. 

Immediately falling into your terminal’s line, you hope that you can talk with the receptionist in hopes they could put you at ease. 

“How soon will you announce our flight’s departure?” A sad smile. 

“Is there any way you can put me on the next possible flight?” A shake of the head. 

“Will the weather let up?” A frown. 

Every bit of rejection weighs you down, and you’ve run out of questions to ask. For a receptionist, she’s not very receptive. 

“C’mon lady, you’re holding up the line,” a voice tugs you from behind, “you’re not the only one who’s gotta get down to the city on Christmas.” 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes, wanting to slap the rudeness off this man’s face. Instead of falling back in line, you move to the side to glare at him. He’s unfortunately attractive, albeit in a rugged sort-of way—nothing like your fiancé. The leather jacket that he carries tall is worn and crackly at the collar. Wavy dark hair he constantly has to hold back, a gesture that looks flirtatious and to your chagrin the receptionist is definitely recepting to him. 

“Your refund should be processed in about two to four business days, Mr. Jeon,” the receptionist murmurs, the simultaneously sultry and chirpy voice making you twitch in your spot. Maybe if you drank a cup of tall, dark and handsome you’d be getting the same kind of treatment. 

“Thanks,” he replies shortly, and it’s then you notice the extremely large luggage next to him. It’s the size of you, and despite the broad shoulders under the baggy jacket, he lugs it with careful force, making sure not to bump into anyone as he wheels it away from the counter. 

It seems that your trainers have a mind of your own as you follow him down the terminal. He side eyes you as your feet pick up the pace to match his long legs, but he waits for you to say something first. 

“Why did you ask for a refund?” you ask, frowning at him, “the flight is only delayed.” 

He scoffs, “Do you see the snow? They’re just saying it’s delayed so they can hold onto your money a little longer. Besides, it’s a win-win. I get my refund sooner and some other poor sap can take the ticket and wait until five in the morning.”��

“Five A.M.,” you exhale to yourself, slowing down. 

It would be too late by then, far too late. Your shoulders slump, people start to bump into you without a care. 

“Besides,” you hear his voice say from your stricken form, “I had a backup plan.” 

That’s when your feet start to burn up, and you whip around to pump your legs, catching up with the man who’s already far down the hall. “What kind of backup plan?” you blurt, raising your voice because the crowds are starting to get noisier and deeper the further you follow him. 

He hooks his lips into a confused frown, “You’re awfully nosy.” 

“I’m in a pinch, my fiancé’s parents will kill me if I don’t show up to their party tonight.” 

“Your fiancé’s parents… will kill you?” 

“That’s an exaggeration,” you cough, immediately feeling self-conscious, “they’d kill me with their eyes. They’re really big, really pretty corporate people. They have high expectations for their future in-law.” 

“Ah, and you're the country pumpkin who managed to sweep the rich guy off his feet?” 

“Something like that,” you reply, rocking on your heels, “my dad was his dad’s former secretary, and we grew up together.” 

The stranger with a plan stops in front of a long line. It’s so long that you’re not entirely sure where it leads to. People are piling out the door two at a time, and you can see they’re trying to get through the process as fast as possible. The window leading outside is blurry and caked in white ice. He hooks one leg over his luggage, the metal and plastic case is so high that his feet barely touch the ground. Like a kid with a flat scooter, he wheels himself through the line. 

“These lines are for busses going in the direction of our flight,” he jabs a finger out the door, “if the flight got cancelled I was just going to ride one of these,” out of his pocket he pulls out two tickets, flicking it in front of your face.

“Are there any tickets left?” your eyes bug, and you immediately pull out your phone to reserve a spot. 

“Nah, been booked since last month.” 

It’s then that your eyes zero in on the second ticket he has in hand. Both tickets are addressed to the same name. You lower your phone in your pocket, narrowing your eyes. “Why do you have two for yourself?” 

He pats his luggage as a response. 

“That’s not fair!” 

“It is when you buy it, sweetheart.” 

“A literal human could be in that spot, wanting to go home for Christmas!”

“You’re just salty you don’t have a ticket, don’t take it out on my luggage,” he feigns a pout, rubbing the handle of the heavy container, “you’re hurting it’s feelings.” 

It doesn’t take long for you and the stranger to reach the end of the line. To others in line the two of you look like two companions bickering good-naturedly, but in reality the only thing you want to do is slap that smug smile off his face. 

“You want my ticket,” he states. 

“I want your luggage’s ticket,” you bite back, staring petulantly at where he sits comfortably between the handle. 

Unbeknownst to you, the man’s face morphs into a teasing grin upon seeing you glare a little too hard at the silver and black case. It just so happens that your eyes gravitate to the middle of the luggage, at the apex between his long legs leading up to a pair of black sweats. Despite the soft, baggy fabric you can see how the bulge of his thighs outline the thin cotton, looking large and inviting which—

Fuck. You’re engaged. Why are you checking out some stranger’s thighs? Your fiancé also has nice thighs, think about those! 

“How much do you want for it?” you cough, crossing your arms and turning to the side to hide your flaming cheeks. 

“Who said I was offering?” 

“I’ll pay that and then some.”

“With your rich-boy’s money?” 

If your hands were not digging into your elbows and you weren’t so concerned about your gold-foiled manicure, you’d deck him. Do the holidays normally make this person so snappy? He simply flips his hair, and you catch the shaved ends of his sides. 

“Three-hundred,” he says easily, and if he notices you staring he doesn’t say anything, “including any extra fees for my luggage.”

“Done,” you hold out your hand for him to shake. 

“I’m Jungkook, if you care,” the man named Jungkook adds wryly, practically swallowing your small hand with his larger one. You shortly reply with your name, and he merely nods, “a thank you would suffice.” 

“Thanks,” and it’s then that you manage a scarily pretty smile, one that Jungkook finds both alarming and amusing. It’s a catered smile, one that you’ve trained yourself to accomplish after hours in the mirror in fear of your fiancé’s parents seeing right through you. It’s the smile you give during work when you don’t give a shit but you need to suck it up. It’s a 9/10 success rate. 

“Scary,” he shivers, and then you realize he’s the 1/10. 

The only bus for you two to pile on is one of the smallest. Probably half the size of a regular coach bus, but at this rate you don’t care. You’ll fly by hot air balloon if the weather wasn’t so crappy. 

“Taehyung!” you startle at Jungkook’s sudden belt, and he does a big, beefy-chested bro-hug to the driver. Ah, so he has connections. You watch the two interact from your corner, pulling up your hood to stop the rapidfire snowflakes from pelting your eyes. 

The driver is a classically handsome thing, dark eyes and dark fluffy hair. His paperbag pants look absolutely frigid however, and his teeth are chattering as he regards Jungkook with annoyed eyes. 

“Listen, so plans have changed—”

“As always, Kook.” 

“—and I need you to do me another solid. Do you have room in the compartment for my babies?” 

“The answer is, and always no. That’s why you bought two tickets.” 

“I know but,” he gestures to you with a jab of his thumb, “like I said, plans have changed.” 

“Jungkook,” Taehyung frowns, “trying to do some Christmas miracles? In this snowstorm?” Taehyung shakes his head, eyes flickering to the running bus. Most of the ticket holders are already on it. “I can save you two a three-seater, but there’s no room in the compartment. It’ll be a tight fight but—” 

“It’s perfect. You’re dynamite, Tae,” Jungkook even has the audacity to reach his hands out and squish the driver’s cheeks, much to his distain. 

The two of you are ushered quickly into the bus, leaving you in the very front diagonal to where Taehyung is sitting. The three seats are tiny, it probably barely fits Jungkook’s thighs with the large luggage nestled in the other two seats. The two of you suggest to put the luggage out in the aisle and take turns holding it, but Taehyung interjects that the luggage is a fire hazard. 

“But not a human,” Jungkook decides, and he gestures for you to sit down in the available seat. You’re practically shoved against the window as Jungkook manages to squeeze his gargantuan luggage in the other two seats. He’s tall enough to grab the metal rungs of the bus, steeling himself in the middle of the aisle.

Taehyung doesn’t fight with that, and finally puts the bus into drive. Pulling out of the airport feels akin to leaving the eye of the storm. It’s going to be a long journey, and it makes you worry as to whether you’re going to make it on time or not. 

Your favorite pastime is watching the window on a long car ride, especially when the snowflakes crystalize and melt away through the warmth of the vehicle. However, you’re irked. You thought Jungkook was a bit of a wank, a little too full of himself and far too mysterious for your own good. 

Exhibit A, the luggage that’s currently threatening to wheel over and crush you against the glass. You wonder what’s so special about this luggage that Jungkook so desperately wants to protect, even so far as to buy its own seat. Sneakily, you lean over to smell the zipper. Surprisingly, it smells a little vinegary, the fumes getting you a little lightheaded within seconds. Your eyes dart to Jungkook, who’s currently engaged in conversation with Taehyung. You tilt your head and sniff again, confirming the slightly rancid smell. 

It’s then you take in Jungkook’s form once more. He dresses a little schlubby, his clothes are old, his eyes are sunken in, and his luggage is filled with weird-smelling things. 

Oh no. Is Jungkook a drug dealer? 

Your fiancé’s parents would surely have a fit if this man gets arrested and you come up in the report as an accused accomplice. It makes sense, he would want to make sure that his goods are in his view at all times, and it explains why he so easily gave you his ticket for triple the actual price. 

A giggle interrupts your thoughts. Yes, a tired, yet bubbly giggle. Jungkook’s face is pressed against his bicep, and you catch the fluttering of his eyes as he tries to keep up with Taehyung’s rambling. His grip is starting to loosen on the metal bars, and you’re worried that he might accidentally slip, or not hold tight enough in the event the car takes a sharp turn or slips on black ice. 

“J-Jungkook,” it’s the first time you’re saying his name out loud, tasting it on your tongue as you regard him steadily, “why don’t we take turns sitting? I don’t mind standing for an hour while you sleep.” 

He regards you with a sleepy smirk, shaking his head against the fabric of his jacket. “You’ll be flung in two seconds, besides can you even reach the handles?” 

Good point, but Jungkook is far more muscular and if he does end up flying he’ll crash through the window and further hinder your commute. It’s why you choose your next words carefully, and you convince yourself it’s the only reason as to why you propose your solution. 

“I’ll sit on your lap,” and since it sounds super weird coming out of your mouth, you tack on, “I’ll put your jacket over your lap as a barrier.” 

He slacks, regarding you with a scrunched face. “Is the jacket supposed to make that situation any better? I’m fine standing like this.” 

“This ride is going to take hours and you’re barely on your own two feet,” your point is made when the bus topples over a speed bump, and Jungkook looks awfully small as he moves to grapple the top bar with both hands, “my fiancé doesn’t get jealous, I’ve sat in plenty of friend’s laps before.” 

“We’re not friends,” he blurts with a raise of his brows.

“Yes, I know that,” you’re a little insulted by the curt reply, but he still looks rather horrified that you’re proposing the following, “I don’t like it either, but I’m sitting in your seat and now I’m feeling guilty as hell.” 

It’s a lot of shuffling and shifting after that. You try not to laugh as Jungkook rips off his leather jacket, folding it into a perfect square, ironing out the corners of the crinkly fabric as he gestures for you to take a seat. You try not to take note of how sturdy his thighs are, or how the muscle stretches across the seat so well that there’s no way for you to fall between the cracks. 

“You’re going to sleep anyway,” you try to assure him, side eying him as he presses his forehead against the window, “it’ll be like being with a dead body.” 

“Didn’t know you were into necrophilia, but whatever floats your boat,” Jungkook mumbles, eyes immediately fluttering shut. 

At first it was easy, ignoring the fact that you’re sitting on top of a human. The drive seems endless however, Taehyung driving further and further into a sea of white ice. You force yourself to thread your fingers together, sitting on the very edge of his knees with your back ramrod straight. Eventually, you tire out and relax against Jungkook’s lax body. Your face is centimeters away from Jungkook’s. Long, dark lashes, and a strand of equally dark hair falls in front of his eyes. His cheeks are flushed from the blaring heater, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in. 

Hm, for a drug dealer, he smells pretty. 

Despite the weird-smelling luggage that looms over the two of you, the white long-sleeved shirt he wears is soft to the touch and smells fresh. 

You huff, and shift in your seat. 

“Stop,” Jungkook mumbles into your shoulder, and you don’t have the heart to look at him. 

“I’m sorry, it’s cramped,” you reply. 

“I get that, but you don’t have to—hike yourself so far up here,” he sounds almost embarrassed saying it, and his hand shuffles to adjust his belt. “Literally can’t sleep because you’re making me pop a boner.” 

“Why, I’m engaged!” 

“God, I know. It’s like your personality trait or something,” Jungkook retorts, “just because you’re engaged doesn’t stop my body from reacting. I’m sure your fiancé has reacted like this, stop acting like a blushing virgin.” 

You tense, your eyes glued to the window in front of you. How do you even make a comeback to that? Wringing your hands in your lap, you feel your palms sweat with nerves the longer it takes for you to reply. This causes the gears to run in Jungkook’s mind. 

“Holy fuck, have you two not—” 

“Shut up,” you hiss, turning your body around to slap him in the chest, “shut up shut upupupshutup!” 

You make seething, burning eye contact with Jungkook. You expect him to have a shit-eating grin on his face, teasing you for your relationship. Instead, Jungkook is wide-eyed, mouth parted open like a confused guppy and his big bug-eyes looking stricken. He says nothing. 

The road starts to get bumpier, and the drive swerves from time to time to avoid black ice. Neither of you are relaxed. Combined with the heart of the storm, your heart is currently wrung on electrical wire, pumping blood with a fervor you cannot stifle. 

“I’m going to put my arms around your waist,” Jungkook murmurs softly, and you lift your arms slightly to see him lace his fingers over your belly button. “Like a seatbelt.” 

You sigh, relaxing in his hold. Now it’s awkward. He feels compelled to hold you to keep you safe, even though he clearly finds it awkward you’ve already put him in this position. 

Jungkook isn’t so bad, you think as you let your gaze linger on his hands. They anchor you to his lap, making sure you’re not jostling during the ride. He may have a razor sharp tongue and gets under your nerves just for the heck of it, but he’s kind of nice. Under the prickly leather jacket, there’s a softness to him you can’t help but gravitate to. 

It’s dark outside, save for the speedily descending flakes and the dim lights of the highway. You’re sitting on the lap of a total stranger, yet it’s a stranger who’s holding your waist like he’s a seatbelt, a stranger who’s making you feel safe to say the words that have been haunting you for the past few months. 

“I’ve tried to initiate sex,” you finally say. “I don’t know why he doesn’t want me, it’s already been two years.” 

Your eyes turn red with bloody horror. Your vision blurred by the insanity of what you’ve just blurted out to this surprisingly kind stranger who’s offered his seat (both times) to you. 

“I didn’t mean to word vomit like that. Forget I said anything—” 

“Must be his loss,” Jungkook cuts you off, and when he says it doesn’t feel impolite at all. However, Jungkook doesn’t continue on, doesn’t give you rhyme or reason, just lets you linger on his reply like a madwoman. 

Maybe it’s because you’re so touch starved, maybe you’re just seeing things, but for some reason Jungkook’s fingers feel more apparent against the seam of your jacket. They tighten a fraction, drum around the metal zipper that holds the thick fabric together. Your palms feel like a fountain, and you try to ignore the burn between your legs, the liquid heat betraying the commitment that sits on your finger. 

You’re engaged to be married, you chastise yourself. All eighteen carats that symbolize that bond glare at you, bright and eager to make you feel guilty. The whole reason why you’re on this cramped bus ride is to get to your soon-to-be husband. Some pretty stranger with strong hands won’t change that. 

“We’re here! Finally!” Taehyung cheers, and you realize now that you’re parked into a tunnel surrounded by other buses. 

Jungkook and you wait until everyone steps off the bus. The pads of Jungkook’s fingers play an unsung tune, absentmindedly drumming to a song you can’t put your mind to. 

“God, you can’t just pay the extra money for someone to take care of this?” Taehyung hauls the large luggage in the aisle seat, and you feel like you’re being revealed under a curtain, doing something you’re not supposed to be doing. 

You hop off his lap, scoop your backpack in your arm and scramble off the bus. The cold, winter air bites into every available pore in your body, replacing the warmth that Jungkook gave in the tiny bus. You hike the collar of your oversized turtleneck higher up your chin, prickling in shivers as you wait for Jungkook. 

“I don’t remember Seoul being this, empty,” you say to yourself, frowning at the lack of humans past the bus station. You peer curiously at the dark, dark road off the terminal. There’s no flicker of light, or a skyline filled with bustling sounds and flickering head beams. 

“That’s because we’re only halfway there,” Jungkook walks past you, luggage in tow. 

“What?” you pull out your phone, it’s already 4PM and it’s pitch dark outside. 

The snow is beating down as you two speed walk out of the hangar, reaching a nearly vacant parking lot save for a pure white minivan. You barely notice the vehicle with all the snow, blending in perfectly as wave after wave of ice beats down on it. The pops of rust by the tires, gaudy orange stripes is the only thing you can focus on as you try to make it to the car as fast as possible. 

“Get in and start the car,” Jungkook practically shoves the keys in your hands, gesturing for you to take the passenger seat. 

When you enter his car, you’re hit with a scent scarily identical to the one in Jungkook’s luggage. You nearly gag when you inhale too much, and your eyes flicker over to the lemon air freshener attached to the exhaust, trying its best to mask the smell. You vaguely remember all the warning stories your parents told you as a kid—never enter the white van. 

Ohmygod, you’re in a white van and all of Jungkook’s drugs are in the back. 

You shake your head, willing the car to start as you arch your back over the console to start it up. You’ve been around your fiancé’s parents too long, letting them fill your head with judgemental gab and crazy assumptions only rich people have about people lesser than them. 

Once the car spurs to life, soft holiday music plays from a pop station. The front window of the car is absolutely covered in snow, you can’t even budge the windshield wipers to scrape the layer of ice off. 

Suddenly, a blanket of ice slides off the window, swept to the concrete. You’re met with Jungkook’s toothy smile and horror-esque stare, and you have this jerk reaction to nervously laugh and jump in your seat. Your nails dig into the cheap fabric of your seat as Jungkook’s scary expression melts into a more softened one, as if happy to have gotten you to laugh in such sucky times. Jungkook continues to brush your windows, meticulously making sure no ice can cause any damage as you two go into the night. 

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road!” Jungkook whips the door open, throwing the snow brush at the space between your feet. 

As soon as he shuts the door, your stomachs growl simultaneously. 

The two of you break into a quick laugh, giggles that overlap the twinkly holiday chimes and the packed snow crunching under Jungkook’s boots. 

“After McDonalds,” Jungkook declares, setting up the GPS for a quick pitstop to the nearest fast food joint. 

Ten minutes into the drive, you pull into a generic food joint, too starved to find gourmet McDonalds. You make it a point to flick your card and lean over his body to meet the cashier, telling him you’re spotting the meal. Jungkook doesn’t complain, and tells the cashier to add in a vanilla sundae for good measure. 

Color yourself impressed, but you can’t help but gawk as Jungkook expertly sets up his food on the dashboard like a five-star meal, with fries in the cupholder and a burger unwrapped perfectly to catch any spills and to keep his fingers from getting greased up. For such a terrible snowstorm, he pulls out of the joint gracefully, a brief intermission in your long journey. 

“So, is my fiancé’s place far from where you need to be?” 

Jungkook shrugs, a stray fry hanging from his mouth. “It’s not far, not close either. I don’t mind, I like driving.” 

“Do you drive around a lot?” 

“Yeah, for work. It’s a little annoying that I have to spend Christmas alone, but it is what it is.” 

Pausing on your speculation, you take a big bite of your burger. You were hoping that your conversation would spur on a little more detail about his drug-esque job. However, all you start to feel is the heaviness of your fast food meal, stemming from your chest and filling your grease-filled stomach. 

“You’re spending Christmas alone?” you say, and you don’t mean to sound so sad saying it, but the thought of him being alone tonight makes you feel pinched with pain. 

“I can practically feel your puppy-eyes,” Jungkook shakes his head, not even needing to look at you as he focuses on the road. “I’m fine, don’t you worry.” 

“Do you wanna come to the party?” you offer, trying to sound as neutral as possible as you throw the suggestion on the dash.

“Not my thing,” Jungkook scrunches his nose, “with my line of work, I prefer to lay low.” 

Trying not to feel a hurt by the sudden (but expected) rejection, you practically eat your burger whole, eyes glaring on the road. You surmise it’s a valid excuse, drug dealers aren’t exactly one for highly-populated areas and with your fiancé’s reputation, you’re sure his parents would smell Jungkook’s reputation in a micro-minute. 

The drive isn’t anything special. You’re sure if it were spring, the foliage would be pretty and the sun would be setting into melty orange hues by now. It’s all black and white, boring shades that are aggressively pelting at the van and hindering your evening. 

“So, what other character traits do you have?” Jungkook cuts through your semi-brooding, as easily as one slices through butter, “other than the obvious that you’re engaged, and that you’re getting married. And oh yeah, you have a fiancé!” 

You scoff at his cheesy joke, folding your arms together. “I like spending time with my family. Watching movies under a weighted blanket. Plants.” 

His stare dips away from the road for a fraction, enough for you to catch that he’s rolling his eyes, “Fascinating. Not a plant person myself. I like those cute little succulents though. Had a bunch of those in college.” 

“I am also a ramen connoisseur,” you say pointedly, turning up your nose. 

“Ah, are you?” you smile a little when you see Jungkook’s eyes light up at the mention of food, “what’s the criteria for good ramen?” 

“Deep, creamy broth. Also, the egg. Gotta look like a custard-y, eggy sunset. It’s just,” you smack your lips together, mimicking a chef’s kiss, “perfect.” 

He chuckles, and goes on to tell you a story about a ramen shop he’s visited on his travels. It’s one he declares that you need to visit, one he still dreams about often. It takes a ferry and it’s a bit of a trek, but he says it’s worth it, and the eggs are as custard-y and sunset-y as you’d like. 

It’s between pockets of his story and pulling yourself out of this little bubble of a van you realize:  are you flirting with Jungkook? 

The longer this trip goes, the more your stares linger. They linger like the snow that sticks to the ground, unable to do nothing but cling. Layer after layer of confusing feelings, building up to a blizzard that you’re unable to quell. 

“So, your family’s also going to be at your fiancé’s party?” Jungkook asks, poking at yet another one of your personal facets. He’s being blatantly nosy, yet neither of you seem to mind. 

“Oh, no,” you shove your hands in your pockets, “they wanted to stay back in our hometown with the extended family. Y’know, the older members can’t really travel as much as they used to.” 

“Ah, so you’re splitting up your time,” Jungkook drums his hands on the wheel, eyes drooped slightly as he continues along the monotonous road, “your fiancé couldn’t make it?” 

“Couldn’t,” you reply lightly, “just, y’know, work.” 

“Been there, done that,” Jungkook replies, “I’m sure he missed out though. What’s your family like? Are they the type to bake cookies until 3 A.M.? Oh, or do they get wine drunk and talk shit about their annoying cousins—” 

“Jungkook,” the words fly out of your mouth before you can even think, “I’m engaged.” 

The weight of your words holds differently now. A whole day has passed with this man, and you’ve developed an attachment that simultaneously scares and thrills you. Not an hour goes by that you have to think to yourself that you’re taken, to the point that you can’t even tell what’s in your head and what’s being spoken out in the air. 

Instead of a snippy comment, a snarky retort of, “I know, I know!” like you anticipate, Jungkook stops the car. 

There’s no human trace for miles, so it doesn’t scare you when he slows down and pulls off to the side. He gears the car into park, roughly pulling the handle. He lays his arm over the steering wheel, turning his body so he can face you fully. The heat in the car suddenly feels too cloying, and you shrink in the seat as he leans in on you. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asks, and from the looks of it, he’s genuinely hurt. 

“I—Jungkook,” you plant your feet on the ground, trying to find some power in this situation, “I mean I, we—you just can’t keep doing this.” 

“Do you feel like I’m trying to steal you away? Or, seduce you or something?” Jungkook is starting to talk himself into a stupor, eyes flickering from the window, to you, to behind you, and back to you. It’s almost jarring, seeing how self-conscious he starts to get without the presence of an audience. Gone is the smooth talker that you met at the terminal, willing to haggle it all for your cash. “Are you uncomfortable? Is it weird I have a crush on you?” 

“Wait, you have a crush on me?” 

He reels back, nearly pressing his head against the window. Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, exhaling deep from his lungs. “Adults still get crushes, y’know.” 

“Yeah, but not to people you met eight hours ago.” 

Jungkook arches a brow, “People fall for people in the most unlikely of ways.” 

That singular statement hits you, hard. 

Jungkook looks like he wants to get out of the van. He seems stuffy, and he unzips his coat and shoves it under his legs. 

“You’re cute,” he echoes the statement like he can’t believe that in a short amount of time, he’s attached to you, “you seem to have good taste, you love family, and your personality isn’t half bad,” the last bit is meant to be teasing, a lighthearted way to end his bout of emotion, but it only makes you ache further, “And it makes me upset knowing that you have to keep convincing yourself that you’re in a relationship that isn’t as fulfilling as you hope. This whole drive, you’ve been anxious about going to his parents, worrying that you’re not going to make it on time instead of relaxing with your family. Where you actually want to be.” 

“I also want to be with Jimin,” you say weakly, a half-hearted attempt to defend yourself. 

You never mentioned your fiancé’s name until this point. It makes Jungkook stiffen a little, finally putting a name to the man that’s supposed to have your heart. It makes the relationship concrete, palpable. 

“I’m sure you do,” Jungkook smacks his lips, evidently sealing the conversation to suffocate under the snow. 

Jungkook puts the car into drive, sliding back into your current route. 

“And to answer your question, Jungkook. No, you having a crush on me is not weird,” and smaller, quieter, you reply, “because it’s weird that I might have a crush on you, too.”

You know that Jungkook catches your statement, because he cranks the volume of the radio harder, effectively shutting you out.  

The first thing Jungkook says when you finally reach the Park’s house is: “Wow.” 

His van looks completely out of place, parked on the side as limos and Escalades drop off more and more people into the large estate. It’s pouring with elegant piano music, and the large window in the middle of their home reveals a century-old chandelier, crystals beaming and winking against the hundreds of guests that lie underneath. 

The rest of the way driving was almost painfully fast. After that awkward wave of emotion, neither of you said anything. Well, you didn’t at least. Jungkook attempted to clear the air by singing along to the Christmas songs on the radio, but it only further attracted you because to your chagrin—Jungkook’s a pretty good singer. 

The estate isn’t in Seoul persay, it’s a sizable plot of land that definitely comes from old money. It’s decked up like the North Pole, lit up and tiny crystal lines dotting the expanse of the rooftops. The snow certainly adds to it, and many guests are outside taking pictures of the picture-perfect holiday show. The blizzard has finally subsided, leaving a clean blanket of snow across their yard.

You scoff to yourself. What they find to be a Christmas miracle only derailed yours. 

Jungkook stares at you while you send a quick text to Jimin. You tell him he needs to come fast, because you don’t want his parents to see you all sweaty and dressed like you’ve been traveling for hours. 

“Oh, uh,” you finally take a look at him, and you immediately regret it because you’re getting sucked into his gaze, “I think you put my bag in the trunk?” 

“Right,” he shakes his head, “follow me.” 

He tilts his head down when he’s outside, as if the snow’s going to start back up and drown him. Your thumb scratches the ring on your finger as you hop out of the van, effectively popping the bubble the two of you have been sealed in for the better half of the evening. Is this going to be it? Is the last you’ll see of Jeon Jungkook? 

All those thoughts evaporate when Jungkook opens the trunk. 

There’s no drugs. 

In fact, you don’t even know what to think. The van is absolutely filled, wall-to-wall art supplies and canvas carefully lined up like Tetris blocks to avoid damage. The floor of the van seems to receive the brunt of the messes, and you catch recent paint stains and spray cans stacked to the side. It explains the smell. 

There’s some clear cases in a corner, protecting completed prints that are already framed. Your eyes cling to a vibrant hyacinth, coral and satin blue petals bunching in the middle of a black background. It’s absolutely gorgeous, if it wasn’t for all the paint lying around, you’d think it’s real. 

Jungkook’s an artist. 

“Holy shit, I thought you were a drug dealer,” you blurt, and you want to smack yourself in the face. 

 “Excuse me?” Jungkook jerks his head towards you, “did you think I was a drug dealer this whole time?” 

“N-no,” you frown petulantly, letting Jungkook loop your arms through the straps of your backpack. “Maybe. You were very shady.” 

He laughs, a genuine laugh. It confuses you, the way he tucks his hands in his pockets and bends his back over to look up at you through his dark lashes. It’s like nothing’s wrong, like he’s trying to erase the past eight hours and leave with no qualms. You don’t know if that comforts you or terrifies you. 

“So, you were willing to let a potentially dangerous man be your travel partner for eight hours so you can make it to your fiancé’s party?” Jungkook’s eyes flicker over to the front door, “you must really love him.” 

“I do,” you say the phrase like it’s second nature. Rehearsed. Practiced. 

“Merry Christmas,” Jungkook pulls out his hand, and you don’t hesitate to grasp it. 

Liquid heat sparks through your skin, one that tingles from where his large palm encases yours, all the way to your heart. 

“Merry Christmas,” you echo, and your feet feel like lead as you back away from him. 

Jungkook waits until you go inside the house, even though the valet is side eyeing him and mentally telling him to leave already. Turning your back to him is rough, like you’re without snowshoes and you’re trudging through snow. 

The goodbye feels rushed. Your heart is cold and heavy. Unfortunately, by the time you realize you haven’t paid Jungkook for his bus ticket and the ride, it’s too late. Jimin has already pulled you in his awaiting arms, and Jungkook has peeled out of the driveway. 

“You look awful,” Jimin coddles you, dusting the invisible dirt off your jacket. You know Jimin means well by the statement, but you can’t help but feel a little unsupported by his words. You did all you could to make it to Jimin in time for this party full of faceless, nameless people. And yet, Jimin inadvertently manages to put you down for finally making it. 

The hallway is relatively empty, save for one staff member who cleans the wet linoleum floors whenever someone with snow steps in. You can easily make out where the heart of the party is, the tinkly holiday music playing from the speakers, along with all the bodies huddled by the extra large Christmas tree that is brimming with presents. 

You do feel like a wet noodle, in comparison to Jimin and Namjoon’s complementary pinstripe suits. Jimin’s deep burgundy suit pops in the endless hallway of marble and light wood as he quickly leads you upstairs to a spare room for you to change. Namjoon’s more muted grey still looks stunning on him, cutting his tall figure nicely. You think it’s cute that Jimin made an effort to match with his assistant, not making him feel out of place in this big party. 

“I hope you don’t mind,” Namjoon interjects softly, gesturing to the garment bag hanging on the boudoir, “I picked out your dress.” 

“I’m sure whatever you bought is beautiful,” you assure softly, stepping fully into the room. It’s an extra bedroom, you’re assuming it might be yours. 

“We’ll give you some time to freshen up and get ready,” Jimin squeezes your arm, a touch you can barely feel due to the puffiness of your down jacket. It’s just an awkward escape of air to you, a sssttt that you catch Namjoon hiding his smile for, “we’ll walk around a bit and bring you some food.” 

“I want cupcakes,” you blurt impulsively, and the two of them laugh on their way out the door. 

Once you’re finally alone, you strip yourself bare. Jacket, shirt, socks, underwear. You make quick work of taking a hot, damp towel to wash your arms and legs, scrubbing your face of any oil and dirt from the day. You wrap yourself in an indulgent fluffy robe, the plush material comforting you as you flop on the bed. 

It’s been a day. 

You take a five minute cat nap, the weight of the day taking its toll on you. When you finally flutter your eyes open however, you see him. 

It’s not exactly him, it’s his art. It’s mounted right atop the headboard, a large blown up painting of a tiger lily. The orange and gold flecks flicker and go perfectly with the decor of the room. The piece is longing, aching for you to go back to two hours ago when you could’ve phrased your words better, balm the situation into something to salvage. This must be a sign, you think. Upon closer look, you see the signature Jeon JK etched in silver in the corner. Who knew the Parks were buying Jeon Jungkook’s work, the world is smaller than you’d originally thought. 

It ignites you. You rip the zipper of the garment bag, pulling on the slinky glittery gold dress Namjoon picked out for you. It’s gorgeous, and you don’t know how he managed to find your proportions, but you figure an assistant of his caliber has access to many things. You don’t have much time, so you slap on some light makeup and swipe some highlights across your eyes. By the time Jimin returns, you’re pulling your hair up and out of your face. 

Jimin walks to the bed with a pretty red velvet cupcake, “You look beautiful,” he says immediately, and you follow to sit with him at the foot of the bed. 

You don’t hesitate to grab the cupcake from his tea plate, nearly shoving it in your mouth. You definitely need a rush, something to curb you over for the plans you have tonight. “Sugar sugar,” you chant like a mantra, and you don’t care that your lipgloss is smudged and crumbs cling to your cheeks. 

Jimin just rubs circles onto your thigh, letting you eat and relax. He knows you’re not a fan of these kinds of parties, preferring to wallflower it, preferably at  a wall closest to the buffet. His touch is comforting, and you chew slower in order to prolong the inevitable. It takes a beat for you to finish your cupcake. 

“I need to talk to you,” the two of you blurt at the same time, and you point and giggle at each other like you’re still five year olds tinkering in the sandbox. 

Jimin pouts, “Can I go first? Mine’s kind of important.” 

“Mine’s also really important,” you don’t mean to invalidate Jimin, but you really need to get this out. “I might explode if I don’t say this now.” 

The blonde scrunches his nose, obviously weak to your unusual distress, “I guess I wouldn’t want that.” 

You clutch his hand, the hand that holds the plain wedding band he picked out for himself two years ago. Your eyes flicker to how your ring kisses his, “Jimin. I love you, like really love you. I can’t imagine my life without you, you’ve been my best friend since we could crawl. But as I traveled down here, I realized that even though I love you, I think I’m not in love,” you wince at how cheesy that sounds, “I don’t want you to feel like you’re not good enough, but the whole trip down here made me realize I don’t think I can commit to this.” 

“Oh, thank fuck,” you gasp, watching relief wash over Jimin’s features. You’re not even done with your whole spiel and he’s already unbuttoning his blouse, “this makes what I’m about to say a whole lot easier.” 

“Jimin,” you trail off, squeezing his palm, “what do you mean?” 

“I mean, I think I’m in love.” 

Your jaw slackens slightly, seeing the sweat that lines Jimin’s slicked back hair. He must’ve been thinking about this all night, waiting for you to tell you this. Your chest aches, weighing in on all the sudden facts. “Who is it?” you ask. 

Jimin shrugs, “The man who does my taxes and makes sure I sleep at least seven hours a night.” 

“Namjoon,” you conclude, eyes moving to the sealed door. You think Namjoon is waiting out there right now, silently supporting you two as you go through this. Of course, Jimin’s parents would be livid if anything would tarnish his reputation. A broken engagement would be sticky to cover up, and Jimin falling for his assistant is a headline right for the books. 

“I’m sorry,” Jimin whispers, despite the room being vacant he feels the need to keep his words short, “You came all this way to hear this. But I guess we’re on the same page, huh?” His soft fingers make a beeline for your ring finger, removing the diamond band, “And by the way, I love you too. Which is why we’re going to come clean in the morning and work this out with my parents, together. I’m sorry if you felt obligated to follow me all this time just because our parents did.” 

“Hey, like you said, we’re in this together. Both in and out,” you chastise, pulling your engagement ring from his grasp and holding it to the light. “Can I keep this? Instead of an engagement band, it can be our best friend band. I’ll even get it re-sized so it can go on another finger.” 

Jimin pulls you into his arms, crushing you. The silky material of your dress bunches and rides, but you don’t care. The two of  you can’t help but be a little crybaby-ish about it, feeling much like your younger-selves when you had to pull each other out of trouble. 

The two of you walk out of the bedroom hand-in-hand, and Namjoon is leaning against the banister in the hallway, a soft smile melting on his tanned skin. 

“I’m so happy for you,” you gush, hugging Namjoon tightly. You’ve only known the man for a few months, but you can tell he’s taking care of Jimin and that’s enough for you. 

“I… really thought you’d be more upset.” Namjoon marvels, patting your back. 

Jimin interjects, “I think she’s found someone hotter than me.” 

“Impossible!” 

You could stay at this party, lay low until you and Jimin have to confront his parents in the morning. They suggest to get all the food they need and sneak out to the home theatre. The three of you hustle it down the stairs to another part of the house, in order for you to make your getaway and avoid Jimin’s family. 

“Hey,” you stop in front of another painting, pulling the two men to a stop. Your eyes lock on a framed droopy peony, tipped with pink dye. You realize you can’t stay here, not when someone’s home alone tonight. “Namjoon, I need you to locate someone for me.” 

Jungkook does not expect to see you at his front door. 

You’re stunning, and look as breathless as he feels. The liquid champagne number that hugs your frame does things to him, and he’s strangely attracted to the fact that you paired this expensive dress with your snow-drenched trainers. 

You showing up at the wee hours of the morning was the last thing Jungkook thought would happen. It’s nothing short of a holiday event, you look like you’ve just walked out of a gala and then ran a marathon to reach him. 

He thought when he said goodbye, it would be the last time you’d cross paths. At first, he was okay with that. After all, feelings come and go, and spontaneity only works a percentage of the time. Seeing you presently however, throws all those half-hearted concedings out the window. 

“Hi,” you finally say, drinking from the fact that you actually found him. 

“Hey,” Jungkook breathes, “you look, beautiful.” 

“Thanks,” you smile. 

“So, is this about you not paying me back for the ticket?” Jungkook suddenly feels guilty, having dipped out of Jimin’s manor once he saw him appear at the door. It was unrightful jealousy, and because of that he needed to drive away as fast as possible. “Because honestly, it was me messing with you. I really don’t need the money.” 

“I figured, from the fact that I had to take the elevator up to the penthouse of the building.” 

“So then why are you here?” Jungkook wobbles on the balls of his feet, unsure of what to do with himself. 

“My ex-fiancé is in love with someone else,” you lay your cards out just like that, and Jungkook’s unprepared to deal.  

“Holy shit, I’m so sorry—” 

“Let me finish,” you cut in gently, “my ex-fiancé is in love with someone else, and that’s okay. We’ve been best friends since we were little, and we want nothing but happiness for each other. And for me? Happiness is right in front of me.” 

You bite your lip, and Jungkook fights down the urge to run up and pull you into his arms. You must be so cold, running out without a jacket and rushing to his home. However, he lets you finish, and he holds himself down by clutching the door frame as casually as possible. 

“I also have a big, fat crush on you,” you say boldly, “and I had to tell you as soon as I could. It took a twenty-minute phone call and some serious leverage from Jimin’s company to figure out where you lived. That receptionist is definitely not letting me use my frequent flyer miles next flight.” 

“You harassed an airport receptionist just for me?” he smiles wanly, placing a hand on his chest, “I’m touched.” 

“You make me excited to try new things, to be spontaneous and do things for myself,” with every statement you take a step further, and soon enough you’re in his dimly lit apartment. The plush couch in his living room looks awfully warm and comfy, and the light music that plays from his speakers is soft and soothing. “So, let’s spend the holidays together and see where this goes. And go to your art gallery tomorrow, because I did research you on the drive and found out you had to rush here because of a big show.” 

“So you’re actually a stalker?” Jungkook teases, tugging you over to the couch. 

He takes the lead, plopping himself on the couch first and inviting you to sit next to him. You take a detour and plant your body atop of him, and with an ‘oof’ the two of you are sinking. 

“A stalker and a potential drug dealer does sound like a promising pair,” Jungkook jests, his hand palming the silky material of your ruched up ball gown. 

“I’m sorry,” you pout, wrapping your fingers around the long tresses of his hair, “can you please stop bringing that up? It was judgemental of me.” 

“I like when you’re judgemental,” he pokes your puppy-faced cheeks, ruddied with embarrassment. “I like picking fights with you and getting you all riled up.” 

“Will you rile me up now?” 

Sexy, he thinks. He figures a vixen has been hidden under you, one suppressed by a complicated engagement and many other factors he’d love to learn about in the near future. The situation at hand however, is far more pressing. Your body is finally warming up, and Jungkook tries to ignore the weight your body is causing, re-igniting an ache he felt hours ago when you two were squished against each other in the coach bus.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” you declare, and you look a little frustrated that Jungkook is taking so long to process this information, “and I hope I take your breath away.” 

You taste like sugar and the softness that comes with the holidays. It’s tender and oh-so comforting, and Jungkook can’t help but squeeze your hips closer as your lips brush fervently against his. The feeling is both new and old, and Jungkook figures you’ve finally uncoiled a flame that you can no longer quell. 

Soon enough your kisses turn hungry, and Jungkook has to remind himself that you two have only known each other for a total of twelve hours, and he isn’t sure of what’s appropriate to jump to due to the speed of your relationship. Once he feels the first roll of your hips, a liquid heat that Jungkook can’t help but return back, he pulls away from your soft lips. Not too far, but a few centimeters apart so that Jungkook and you can catch your breath. 

“We should take this slow,” he starts, trying to make a reasonable impression now that you’re a guest at his home and finally settled from their long trip. “I really, really want to get to know you. And you’re so beautiful and I really do want to have sex but—” 

“Jungkook, I have not had sex with someone in two years,” you speak with a depraved tone, as if it’s been centuries since you’ve been touched. He can’t help but throw his head back and laugh, “a night full of sex sounds like the best last-minute present ever.” 

You bring his hand over to your core, the shiny glassy material of your gown doing nothing to hide the glimpses of pleasure you’re minutes away from experiencing. You whine desperately at the thought, and Jungkook’s a goner. 

“Well, I guess I’m about to pull a Christmas miracle,” he murmurs against your lips, ready to work his magic. 

[wefoundloveunderthelight]

Truth or Dare by GleefullyCaptainSwan

Chapter 1 of 1

Read on AO3 or on FF

Stacy's Tortured Crew: @teamhook @kmomof4 @stahlop @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @mariakov81 @qualitycoffeethings @zaharadessert @jrob64 @jonesfandomfanatic @natascha-ronin @tiganasummertree @xarandomdreamx @therooksshiningknight @batana54 @superchocovian @onceratheart18 @ultraluckycatnd @snowbellewells @karlyfr13s @the-darkdragonfly @xsajx @deckerstarblanche @jonesfandomfanatic @winterbaby89

Summary: When David Nolan sends Emma Swan and Killian Jones on a simple overnight business trip to Denver, the two just want to take care of negotiations and return home. But the storm of the century has other plans as they embark on a night of discovery, learning more about their co-worker than either anticipated.

Notes: This fic really has no point, I've been in a weird place, my WIPs are going nowhere so I wrote this one for fun to shake the cobwebs, so I hope you enjoy this little smutty trip to Denver.

Truth or Dare

“So, I’m going to need to send someone to Denver tomorrow.” Everyone in the room groaned and Emma tried to sink down in her chair. She hoped by making herself smaller, David wouldn’t see her, wouldn’t select her to travel this weekend. It’s not like she had plans, except to maybe binge watch the next few episodes of Bridgerton before Season 2 started up.

“Emma, I really need you there.” She internally groaned but smiled at her boss.

“Of course, I’m all over it, you can count on me, Boss.” He nodded and then turned his head to the other side of the large table.

“Killian, your input might be of use here.”

Emma wanted to slide under the table. Why on earth would David send Killian with her?

“Sir?”

“I think it’s important for you to provide your marketing experience to the executives.”

“Of course.” He remarked and Emma rolled her eyes, she didn’t need Killian’s experience in anything, she could handle a simple business negotiation without him but who was she to argue with David Nolan?

Emma stood from the table and hurried back to her office to book her travel. The moment she closed her door it opened behind her.

“Do you fly United, love?”

Her eyes literally rolled back in her head before she turned around. She looked up to see Killian Jones standing in her doorway. “You already know that’s the preferred partner of Nolan Industries.”

“I can book the hotel if you book the flight, might be easier if we divide and conquer on such short notice.”

“Yeah whatever.” She said, barely looking in his direction as she sat down at her desk.

“Alright, well, just email me the flight information. Did you need a ride to the airport tomorrow?”

“I can get there myself.” She said shortly, hoping he would just leave but realizing he was still standing in her doorframe. She sighed and then looked up to meet his gaze. “I’ll just meet you there.”

He smiled hesitantly as he finally started to leave. “Sure, sounds good. See you tomorrow.”

Emma kept her eyes on the screen in front of her, the last thing she needed to think about was a whole weekend alone with Killian Jones.

It wasn’t that she hated him, he seemed nice enough, she just didn’t spend a lot of time getting to know the people in her office, choosing instead to spend her time alone in her apartment after work, curled up with a glass of wine and a good book.

Killian had started working for the company about two years ago and while every woman at the company tripped over themselves to get to know him, she had better things to do.

Now she was going to have to spend an entire weekend alone with him in Denver. Her only hope was that the negotiations would be simple, and she would be back in her hotel room before he got on her nerves or even worse, tried to get to know her better.

~*~

Killian stared out the window as the plane made it’s decent. He hadn’t expected David to pick him for this trip, yet here he was, landing in Denver to negotiate an important deal for the company. Things were finally looking up for him professionally.

He could see the blonde hair of his travel partner from the top of her seat. He wasn’t surprised to find that Emma had booked his seat three rows behind her instead of beside her. They weren’t exactly acquaintances, in fact, Killian had yet to really make an impact on the woman since joining the company two years ago.

Not for lack of trying on his part, yet she seemed disinterested in talking to him beyond the occasional “how was your weekend” question as they passed each other in the hallway. Normally it didn’t take much for a woman to show interest in talking to him, generally he spent more time running from the women in his office than he did chasing one. This made Emma Swan intriguing, infuriating, and somewhat of an enigma to him.

They sat in silence on the cab ride to the hotel, large flakes of snow falling all around them outside the car.

“It’s the storm of the century.” The cab driver lamented. “Can’t say I’ve seen worse weather in all my time living here.”

“Wonderful.” Emma complained beside him.

“They’re saying the power is out all over town. I’ll be surprised if your hotel even has heat.”

“I’m sorry what?” Emma raised her voice and Killian reached out to still the woman beside him.

“I’m sure it’s fine, Swan.”

“How do you know; you are arriving at the same time as me?”

“Storm of the century.” He smirked, staring at her in annoyance, there was nothing he was going to say to put her at ease. And to his utter chagrin, when they arrived at the hotel he was quick to notice that the entrance was filled with candles, lighting the way to the front desk.

“So, it’s not fine then.” She remarked sarcastically as he held the door open for her.

It was going to be a bloody long weekend.

~*~

Emma looked around the lobby of the mostly dark hotel. Of course she would be traveling to Denver in the middle of a snowstorm. They had received a phone call letting them know that due to the weather, the meeting had been delayed until the morning, so now all she wanted to do was to get to her room, climb under the covers, forget about the entire trip, and go to bed early.

Killian approached her after talking to the desk clerk and she could already see from the look on his face, she wasn’t going to like what he had to say. “Alright Swan, do you want the good news or the bad news?”

She stared at her traveling partner in disgust. “Why is there bad news?”

“Storm of the century.” He said matter-of-factly, a smirk on his face.

“Fine, good news first.”

“Due to the storm, the restaurant isn’t open tonight, however they are providing dinner to our rooms for free, and the bar is included in the room service.”

“Lovely, then what is the bad news?” She scowled.

“Well love, apparently there was some sort of mix up in the reservation and well…”

She stared at his face, the frown growing on her lips as he hesitated to share whatever horrid news he had. “Spit it out, Jones.”

“They only had one room and well due to the storm, they are booked solid.” He held up the key in front of her. “So…roommate?”

Emma groaned loudly. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I assure you love; I would not joke about such a thing.” He tried to smile but Emma could see he was just as anxious as she was about the situation they were in.

“Fine, we’ll share the room.” She stated begrudgingly, following him up the stairs toward their floor. She was happy that they only had to climb three flights instead of higher into the darkness.

By the time he pushed the door open on room 322, she wanted to just hop in the shower and forget the entire debacle, however the moment she saw the room her heart dropped.

“It’s only got one bed, Jones.” She growled.

“About that, Swan…did I forget to mention the bed situation?”

“Bed Situation? This is more than a bed situation; this is a nightmare.” She complained, dropping her bag on the floor.

“I’ll take the floor, no need to worry. Everything will work itself out.” He shrugged, setting his bag in the corner, and lighting a few of the candles the hotel had offered them.

Emma sighed. “Fine. But I have dibs on the shower first.”

“As you wish, I hope a grilled cheese is satisfactory for dinner? They didn’t have a lot of options.”

Emma exhaled harshly, at least dinner would be to her liking, but she didn’t want to tell Killian that. He was the one who screwed up the reservation after all. She knew she should have planned her own trip. “It will do.” She said shortly as she stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

~*~

Killian set the food out on the table, listening to the shower still running in the bathroom. The last thing he expected on this trip was to be sharing a room with Emma Swan, The Ice Princess of the Boardroom.

The bathroom door opened, and Emma stepped out in a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, her wet hair was pulled up into a towel on top of her head. He had never seen her look so relaxed outside of the office.

“Dinner is served, though it seems a bit cold.” He shrugged. “I supposed I’ll shower now since it won’t affect the temperature of the food if I wait or not.”

He retreated to the bathroom, quickly closing the door behind him to step into the hot shower and wash away the stress of the trip. He knew it wouldn’t be long until all the hot water was gone.

To be honest, the trip wasn’t a total nightmare. It wasn’t that he minded traveling for Nolan Industries, he had been grateful to David Nolan for taking him on, glad that there were still people willing to put their trust in him after what had happened at Gold Enterprises.

But being stuck in this hotel room with Emma Swan in the middle of the storm of the century was going to take more than just grilled cheese and some blankets on the floor for the trip not to end in a nightmare. He heard a knock on the door and quickly dried off to dress for the night.

When he left the bathroom, he saw the bottle of rum sitting on the table as Emma sat chewing on her sandwich. “You ordered rum? Really?”

“Figured it would keep us warm without the heat.”

“You want to drink a bottle of rum? With no mixers?”

“Sorry Princess, they didn’t have anything else. No need to partake if you can’t handle it.” He groused.

“I didn’t say I couldn’t handle it.” She scoffed defiantly.

They sat through dinner in an uncomfortable silence, chewing their food while ignoring the tight quarters they were being forced to share. He reached for the bottle and poured two glasses. “What do you say? Wanna play a game, love?”

“Excuse me?”

“Fancy a drinking game…unless you have a better idea? Never have I ever?”

“What are you twelve years old?” She laughed, reaching out to take her glass from the table and looking around the room as if she were considering her options.

“Come now, lass, I’ll start…” He paused. “Never have I ever played a drinking game while sitting in the dark with a co-worker.” He quickly took a drink. He watched as she looked at him in confusion. When she didn’t drink he exhaled. “If you’ve done it, you have to drink, Swan.”

“I know how to play the game.” She said dryly, putting the glass to her lips as she swallowed the liquid, her face immediately puckering. “God that’s not even good rum.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers; it warms the blood.” Emma wrapped the blanket around her shoulders.

“Fine, never have I ever gotten a tattoo.” She sat her glass on the table watching him suspiciously. He lifted the glass to his lips and took a sip. “Seriously? Where?”

He lifted his sleeve, showing the ship’s anchor on his shoulder. “Got it when I turned 18.”

“An anchor?”

“Aye, my brother Liam, he was in the Navy when he passed.” Her face dropped.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I had no idea.”

“No harm, lass.” He lowered his sleeve and thought about his next question, wanting to change the topic. “Never have I ever been in love.” After he took a drink, he was surprised when she didn’t. “Bullshit.” He scoffed.

“What? I haven’t.”

“It’s hardly a fair game if you aren’t going to be honest.”

“I am being honest; I’ve never been in love.” She stood up from the table and walked over to the bed. “This is a stupid game, let’s play something else.” She took another drink from her glass.

“Fine, truth or dare, love?”

She giggled loudly, “You’re kidding right? Do you play anything that’s not meant for high school students?” She sighed. “Fine, truth it is, but this is ridiculous.”

~*~

After the third question, Emma was starting to feel the alcohol spinning in her head. “Ok Jones, truth or dare?”

“Let’s shake things up, I’ll take a dare.”

“Oooh, brave.” She giggled and then thought about her options before coming up with something delicious. “Ok then, I dare you to go into the hall, knock on a door of your choosing, and flirt with whoever answers. Gender doesn’t matter.”

“That’s all you’ve got? Dare accepted.” He jumped up from his chair and peeked into the hallway, knocking on the door directly across the hall. The door slammed shut and she jumped up from the bed, peering through the peephole. She could hear his voice on the other side as an elderly woman opened the door.

“Good evening, gorgeous.”

“Can I help you, son?”

“With the storms brewing I thought I would check in on you, make sure that you are doing alright, love.”

“What are you playing at?” The woman asked with a cranky tone.

“I would hate a lovely lass such as yourself to find herself alone and without warmth on a night like tonight. Perhaps you are in need of some company, if you know what I mean?”

Emma put a hand over her mouth to stifle the laugh that escaped, pushing away from the door when Killian returned to the room, his hair and shirt soaking wet. “What happened?”

“Can you believe it; she threw a glass of water on me. Apparently she was not in the need of any company.” He said exasperatedly. Emma couldn’t contain her laughter until he tore the shirt over his head and tossed it to the ground. She swallowed hard as she stared at his naked torso, dark tendrils of hair covering his chest. She climbed back on the bed, dragging the pillow over her lap as she tried to hunker down into the mattress.

Killian plunked down into his chair and stared at her. “Your turn love.” He sighed, finishing his glass of rum, and pouring another round. He held the bottle up to her and she leaned forward, holding her glass up for him to fill. She knew she shouldn’t continue drinking but there was nothing else for the two of them to do anyway.

“I’m not ready for payback, so I’ll choose truth.” She shrugged.

“Have you ever cheated on a partner?”

“That was a waste of a question, never. I wouldn’t do that to someone I was with.” She took a sip of her drink and gestured for him to take his turn.

“Alright love, give me your best truth question.”

Emma bit her lip. “What happened to your brother?”

He seemed surprised by her question, taking a long sip of his drink. “Um…” He paused, almost hesitant to continue. “It was a training incident, his unit got cut off from the rest of the group and he made the call to save his team instead of returning to his family.”

Emma watched as he spoke with sincerity and sadness. Maybe it was the alcohol, but she had never seen Killian seem so genuine before. She almost felt guilty for the way she had been behaving toward him all day, none of this had been his fault, unless he was somehow responsible for the weather.

“He will always be a hero to me.” He lifted his glass and toasted toward the sky. Emma sat in silence, taking a sip of her drink in support. “Alright Swan, your turn.”

“I’ll stay with truth.” She smiled.

He narrowed his eyes. “What’s the most recent lie you’ve told?”

Emma stared at her feet, rocking back in the bed, she bit her lip as she contemplated her answer. “Fine, maybe I have been in love. Once.” She took another drink of her alcohol.

“Why lie about that, lass?”

“I don’t know, I guess being in love with Neal is a piece of my history that is more embarrassing to admit. I mean, he played me, he made me feel like a total idiot.”

“Honestly, I always thought Neal was kind of a douche.”

She cackled loudly. “He was a terrible person but an even worse lover.” She snorted as if she had just told her girlfriend a close secret.

“You alright there, love?” He asked as she buried her face in her pillow. She pulled the pillow away and stared at him.

“Who were you in love with?”

“Sorry?”

“You drank on that question, so who were you in love with?”

“I’m not the one who chose truth, love. That was your question, not mine.” He took another drink before getting up from the table and sitting on the floor. “Alright, bring it on, Swan. Dare.”

~*~

“Truth.”

“Hmm…” He pursed his lips and took another drink. “Best orgasm you’ve ever had?” His eyes never left her face as he watched her cheeks blush.

“Oh God no, no, no, can I change to dare instead?” She laughed, her face looking on in horror.

“I think that’s against the rules, but I’ll allow it.” He brushed his fingers against the stubble at his jaw. “Ok, Swan, I dare you to serenade me with your favorite song.”

“Oh God, I can’t sing…”

“Either you answer the question or give me your best Beyonce. Come on Swan, I believe in you.” He teased with a wink.

Emma took a long swig of her drink and stood up on the bed. “Oh God I can’t believe I’m doing this.” She covered her face with her hands and Killian couldn’t help but recognize how beautiful the woman truly was.

And then she sang, in the loudest voice she could muster, so loud that he half expected the grumpy old woman across the hall to come banging on their door.

“Kiss me beneath the milky twilight

Lead me out on the moonlit floor

Lift your open hand, strike up the band

And make the fireflies dance, silver moon's sparkling

So kiss me”

She held her arms out as she finished her last note and then collapsed on the bed, burying her face in the sheets. “Oh my God I can’t believe I just did that.”

He clapped loudly, holding his drink up toward her. “Well done, Swan. Truly remarkable, loud, but remarkable.”

~*~

After a couple of hours, Emma was starting to feel like she was getting a better understanding of Killian Jones. With each question he shared more of his personality, something that was starting to intrigue her. But…she felt like he was holding something back. She thought about her next question, asking before he finished his glass.

“Why did you leave Gold Enterprises?” She immediately saw the way he flinched at the question. She expected it honestly, the details surrounding Killian’s previous employer was shrouded in mystery. David had only shared that Gold Enterprises loss was Nolan Industries gain.

“Bloody hell, a little bit of alcohol and you go right for the jugular.”

“Are you choosing dare instead?” She asked with a tight smile.

“Fair is fair…” He sucked in a deep breath. “I guess the truth is I wasn’t really given a choice to stay.”

“So, you were fired?” She asked, confirming her earlier suspicion.

“Aye, but to be fair, it was a fate I deserved.”

“Stealing from the company?” She joked.

“You’re not far off.” He said seriously and Emma’s mouth dropped open. She was not expecting that.

“Wait, seriously? You stole from the company and David still hired you?”

“Not from the company, love.” He poured another glass of rum. “I suppose you could say I stole from Mr. Gold.”

“You stole money from Robert Gold?” She asked, a complete feeling of shock overwhelming her.

“Not money, but something he treated with just as much disregard.” He responded sadly. “Robert’s wife, Milah Gold.”

“Oh my God, you had an affair with the boss’s wife?” She dropped the pillow into her lap.

“It’s not as nefarious as you might think. I didn’t seek out an affair, I never intended something so distasteful. You remember when you asked me who the woman was that I loved from our earlier question? Milah was that woman.” He said solemnly.

“I’m guessing you got caught, hence Gold firing you.”

“I wasn’t aware she was Robert’s wife. We met at an office party; it was love at first breath to be honest. We began seeing each other, I should have questioned her insistence on keeping things private, but I only saw what I wanted to see. I was just as surprised as Robert when he caught us in my office, suddenly I saw a completely different side of her. And of course, her husband would believe her word against mine.”

“That’s terrible. I can’t believe she lied to you both.”

“You live and learn. She is and always will be my biggest regret and my greatest weakness.” He took another long drink from his glass, setting the cup back on the table and locking eyes with her. “But damn the sex was good. Best sex of my life…” He winked. “So far.”

Emma buried her face in her hands and laughed. “Oh God. I’ll never have a story like that. I’ve never even had an orgasm during sex much less had the best sex of my life.”

“That my dear is a bloody shame.” He shook his head. “There is no excuse for any man who doesn’t desire being able to make his woman fall apart either by his hand…” He sat up in his seat, “On his tongue, or buried inside of her as she screams your name.” Emma’s cheeks warmed and unconsciously she felt the nervous snort build inside of her before it escaped her mouth, Killian’s brow rose in amusement.

“Those men only exist in porn, fanfiction, or wet dreams. Men are only interested in getting their cocks off.”

He grabbed his chest and exhaled loudly. “You wound a man, Swan.”

“Just being honest.” She shrugged. “At least in my experience.”

He passed her the bottle of rum. “Just who are you, Swan?”

She took the bottle and poured it into her empty glass, trying to ignore the stare of his piercing blue eyes. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He looked down at his hands for a moment before meeting her eyes again, something dark, yet honest swirling behind his pupils. “Perhaps, I would.”

She swallowed thickly, bringing the glass to her lips to have another sip of her liquid courage before passing the bottle back to him. She sat back on the bed again, trying not to settle her eyes in his lap. Wondering exactly what was behind those delicious sweatpants.

The silence sat thicky between them and Emma bit her lip. “Um it’s my turn…” She closed her eyes and breathed out. “Dare.”

She heard him chuckle before her lids opened, drawing up his body until she met his eyes. His tongue darted out to wet his lips and Emma admonished herself for wondering what he tasted like. “Alright Swan…” He paused, swirling his glass in front of him. “I dare you to let me show you what a real orgasm is like.”

She laughed loudly before realizing that he was serious. “No way.”

“I can’t sit by knowing that my gender has failed you, I think it only fair to right that wrong.”

Emma thought maybe she had drunk too much rum and had obviously passed out. There was no way he was suggesting what she thought he had said. “That’s not happening…we’re not…no.” She laughed, more certain now that if she herself hadn’t had too much to drink, he certainly had.

“Are you refusing the dare?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Seriously? It’s not happening, you and I…never going to happen.”

“I’ve not proposed marriage, love. Are you that terrified of an orgasm?”

“I’m not afraid of…you’re crazy.” She couldn’t think straight, suddenly images of Killian Jones touching her were invading her thoughts, causing reactions she wasn’t prepared for. Was it suddenly hot in here? She fanned herself without thought, seeing the immediate amusement on his face.

“Are you quite sure it’s that crazy? Come now, we’ll make rules, Swan.”

“Rules? No…” She squeezed her legs together, covering herself with her pillows. “No, we’re not making…what kind of rules would we even…?” Oh God, was she considering this?

“You can stay fully dressed, not a stitch of clothing would need to be removed.”

“Yeah right, because that’s possible.” She snorted.

“I can assure you lass, it’s very attainable.” He said seriously, his eyes dark and dangerous. Was he real?

“How are you going to…you know, without even touching me?” Oh God she was talking about this like it was a normal thing. This was not normal, it was crazy.

“I’m quite talented, Swan.” He winked and Emma flushed.

Fuck, she really was considering this.

“So fully clothed…and no kissing.” She heard herself say, barely recognizing her own voice.

“On the mouth.” He smirked. “I think I can accept those terms.”

“You think you can…” She scoffed. “This is crazy.” She shook her head, pulling the pillow up to her face.

“Fully clothed, no kissing on the mouth, anything else?” His voice was deep, did he always sound like that? She thought about what he said, none of this was possible, he was going to touch her through her clothes, he couldn’t kiss her, there was no way she was going to get off that way. Even when she tried to do it herself, it took her a frustratingly long time to get where she needed to be.

“Besides not doing it all, no, there isn’t anything else. I think those rules have already set you up for failure.” She chuckled nervously.

“Then we have an accord.” He sat up in his chair. “Come here, love.”

She swallowed hard. “Over there?”

“Aye.” His eyes locked with hers as she stood from the bed and walked toward him, her legs shaking with each step. She stared down at him as he sat back in the chair. He took her hand and pulled it to his mouth, brushing his lips against her palm. Good Lord, just watching him touch her was enough to leave her shivering. “Sit.” He demanded as he put his hands on her hips and turned her away from him, pulling her down into his lap. “Relax love.” His hands wrapped around her waist, and she felt his breath against her neck, sending electric shockwaves down her back. Her jaw tensed the moment she felt his mouth skim her earlobe.

“Most men fail in this complex task because they don’t pay attention to the cues.” His tongue glided against her neck. “It’s not about what you say, it’s about how she reacts to your words.” Emma shivered as the tenor of his voice vibrated in her ear. “Do you want me to touch you, Emma?”

Her entire body reacted the moment he said her name, she was either lost in a sea of alcohol, or drowning in his voice, currently she didn’t know which but the wetness forming between her legs made it clear that either one was working for her. She bit her lip. “Come, love, use your words.” He teased as his hands slid between her legs. She sat back in his lap, immediately intrigued by the bulge protruding against her backside.

He paused his hands at her thigh, his mouth hot against her ear. “Emma…”

“Yes.” She moaned, feeling his smirk grow against her skin.

“Good girl.” He mewed and the moment the words brushed against her, she melted into his touch. She was putty in his hands, and he was only touching her through her clothes. She could suddenly imagine him doing so much more, thoughts that had her entire body on fire. One hand palmed her mound through her sweatpants while the other traveled up her body, resting under her breast.

She wanted his hands on her, anywhere, as he continued to breathe heavily against her ear. When she moved her hips she heard him groan, a sound so simple yet so full of wanton desire that she thought she might fall apart in that very moment.

His hand slid against her breast, her nipple pebbling against the thin material of her pajama top. His thumb slid against the erected nipple, his tongue languidly pressed against her neck, it was so much and yet not enough all at once.

The noise she made was soft, yet the squeak that came after was not. He chuckled against her. “That’s the sound I want to hear.” He growled. His hand pressed against her center, pulling her against the bulge in his pants, grinding her down against him as they both moaned with an irrational need she never knew existed.

It felt like his hands were everywhere, his fingers were hard at her puckered nipple, the friction from his hands against her crotch had her soaking with desire. She couldn’t believe she was so close to the edge, so ready to fall into oblivion. “Let go, Emma.” His whisper was dripping with sex, the very definition of dangerous. She leaned back against his chest, feeling him grind his hips into her backside as his mouth brushed against her jaw, his lips dangerously close to hers.

It was overwhelming, but everything she needed before his name fell from her lips and her body released against him, her breaths coming out hot and heavy, her head swirling in thoughts she couldn’t even admit to herself. She could feel him breathing against her neck, a feeling that reminded her of the fact that she was still sitting on his lap as she came down from her high.

She stood quickly, removing herself from his embrace, she retreated to the safety of her bed, terrified of meeting his gaze. When she looked up he was watching her, his eyes still lost in a haze, not completely focused. “That was um…quite surprising and yet satisfying.”

“Aye it was…” He let his words hang in the air, not finishing his thought, simply drifting off as he stared at her.

“We should order dessert.” She announced, suddenly feeling like it was vital to eat something before the alcohol threatened to remove all her inhibitions.

He remained serious for a moment, almost lost in thought before the corner of his mouth upturned. “Dessert sounds delightful.”

~*~

Killian’s tongue darted across his lips, wetting them as they threatened to dry completely. He watched Emma sitting on the bed, enjoying each scrumptious bite of her cheesecake. Each moan of satisfaction she exclaimed from the delicate treat threatened to send him into oblivion.

He wasn’t sure how he had survived her dare, how he managed not to slip his hands into her pants and slide between the heat of her wet folds. He knew it was bad form to break an accord but the moment he had her writhing and moaning in his lap he had almost forgotten his manners.

The alcohol wasn’t helping either. With dessert came another bottle of rum and Emma seemed eager to continue their previous game of Never Have I Ever. He couldn’t tell if she truly enjoyed the information she gleaned from the game or if it were an excuse not to have to go to bed with him in the room.

“Never have I ever ridden a motorcycle.” She said excitedly as she watched him tip his glass to his mouth and drink.

“I’m fairly certain you’ve set these questions up in order to ensure I end up drunk.” He mused. “You know damn well I ride that bike to work every day, I park next to that awful yellow vessel you captain.”

She grinned, her tongue slipping out of her mouth for a moment and suddenly he felt his pants growing tighter, the woman was driving him mad with that mouth of hers. “Never have I ever died my hair pink.” He smirked.

“That’s cheating, David mentioned that in last week’s meeting.”

“If your motorcycle question wasn’t cheating, neither is this. Now drink, love.”

She tilted the glass back, downing the rest of the liquid in her drink. “Time for truth, answer me this…”

“Are we just making up the rules now?” He laughed.

She sat up on her knees, her pillow in her lap. “Have you ever thought of doing that before?”

“Doing what?” He questioned.

“That, what we did earlier.” She said as her cheeks blushed red.

“Have I ever thought of bringing you to orgasm through your clothes, love?” He responded with a look of pleasure, enjoying the squirm of discomfort it brought her. She nodded uncomfortably. “Just helping a lass out, couldn’t stand to hear you’d never experienced that before.”

“So, you got no enjoyment out of it?”

“Ah, so you want to know if I…”

“Did you, you know…” She pressed on, not making eye contact with him.

“Got off, ejaculate, jizz in my collective pants…”

“Oh my God, stop.” She wheezed anxiously. “I’m just curious, you know if you…”

“Came to completion?” He smirked. “A gentleman never tells.”

“Oh, now you’re a gentleman.” She teased.

“I’m always a gentleman, love.” He stated emphatically, his eyes not leaving hers.

“So, you didn’t?” She asked with an almost pouting frown. “I just thought you might have with the sounds you were…”

“Trust me, if I had you would have known.” He looked down at his lap with a smile.

She bit her lip, sitting up on her knees and he thought that although he managed to hold off before he might just jizz in his pants now. “I dare you to show me…”

“I’m sorry, what? I just did truth, now we’re suddenly doing dare?” It was at this moment that he realized that Emma Swan was bloody perfect and was going to be the death of him before the end of the evening.

“That’s because you wouldn’t do it anyway.” She said with a shrug of her shoulders.

“You intend me to show you what exactly?”

“You know…” She asked shyly, covering her face with her hands.

“Are you asking to see my dick, love? You seem to have trouble tonight using your words, Swan?” This evening was shaping up to be quite the surprise, but he was going to make her work for it.

“I want to see how you…you know, get off.”

“Bloody hell.” He swore, shifting immediately in his seat. “Who are you and what have you done with Emma Swan?”

She sat back on the bed and bit her lip. “You watched me get off, I’m just curious, because I kinda thought you did too but if you didn’t, then that’s really not fair is it?”

“Fair?” He scoffed. “Suddenly there’s fair in truth or dare?”

“You got to see me in that state, in order to lower the playing field, I think it’s only right.”

“Lower the playing field?”

“I mean we work together and now anytime I see you I’m going to know that you watched me…you know, and I think it might be better if at least I could say the same.”

“You kept your bloody clothes on, I’m hardly seeing how watching me…”

“I didn’t say I thought you’d actually do it.” She said sharply.

“Is that so?”

She nodded slowly and he stood defiantly, pulling his sweats down his hips, and pushing them to the floor in one sweep. His cock stood at attention against his stomach, begging to be touched.

Well, he had bloody done it now, he was either going to end up fired or lose his mind.

“Holy shit…” She whispered from the bed, leaning back against the headboard. He waited for her to scream or yell or say something even remotely angry, like threaten to take him to HR, but instead she simply wet her lips with her tongue and stared at his crotch.

Before he could stop himself, he settled back into his chair, grasping himself in hand as he gave himself a pump. His eyes closed for a moment and his head fell backwards. What the hell was he doing? He opened his eyes again, glancing toward the woman on the bed who seemed entranced with the way his hand moved. His arousal grew as he watched her squeeze her legs together, her fingers white as she gripped the sheets beside her. He could only imagine what her fingers could do to him.

He stroked himself in a fluid motion, keeping his eyes on the woman in the bed, wishing like hell he could touch her again, to have her touch him. He heard a noise from across the room, a moan he was sure she tried to stifle, and it only seemed to propel him further, increasing the speed of his hand.

“Fuck.” She whispered as he trailed the full length of his erect cock with his fist, pumping quickly as his eyes traveled her body, the thin material of her shirt barely concealing her erect nipples.

“See something you like?” He whispered breathlessly. Her eyes locked with his and the moment they did he felt his entire body tense as ropes of white streamed out across his stomach and chest, eliciting a loud groan. “Fuck, Emma…” His eyes squeezed shut as he fisted himself until his movements slowed, his hand dripping with the sticky substance as he tugged along his shaft waiting for his breathing to return to normal.

When he opened his eyes she was staring at him, blinking silently. “I’m uh, just gonna clean this up.” He stood quickly and entered the bathroom, closing the door shut behind him as he slid down the door toward the floor.

~*~

Emma stared at the closed door, hardly able to breath after what she just witnessed. Killian Jones had just jerked off in front of her. It was the most sobering and intense thing she had ever witnessed. She had been frozen to her spot in the bed, her body aching, the tension inside of her winding up again after her earlier release. She didn’t know how to describe what she had just watched. She couldn’t even believe he had gone through with her request, much less that she actually had the nerve to watch him do it.

It was the hottest thing she had ever seen. But now what?

They just go back to work and pretend they took a trip to Denver, completed their work, and returned home? How was she ever going to sit across from him at the meeting table again without seeing him sitting in that chair, his eyes glued to her body as he pumped himself to completion?

She was screwed.

The door opened and Emma jumped slightly. He walked over to the closet and pulled the extra pillow and blankets down from the shelf, arranging them on the floor across from the bed as if nothing had happened.

“What are you doing?”

“Going to bed.” He shrugged.

“On the floor? I mean, after all that tonight, I think we can manage to share a bed. We’re adults, right?”

“Emma, I wouldn’t want to impose.”

She snorted. “You just gave me the best orgasm of my life, but you don’t want to impose by sleeping next to me in this shitty ass hotel we got forced to share.”

He smirked, “Best orgasm of your life, eh?”

“Just get in the bed, Jones.” She demanded, pulling the covers down on the other side of the bed.

“As you wish.” He bowed before blowing out the candle and climbing onto the mattress. Emma laid on her back, staring up at the dark ceiling. She couldn’t turn off her brain, she had so many thoughts swirling around in there.

“Truth…” She said softly. “What were you thinking about?”

She heard his quiet chuckle before he spoke. “I was thinking about what would have happened if you had still been on my lap.”

She slapped his chest. “I’m serious.”

“So was I.” She felt him roll over onto his side, facing her. “Just imaging what it would have been like without those ridiculously intrusive sweatpants in the way.” Emma swallowed, almost choking on her own spit. “Emma.” He said in a whisper, the heat of his breath only inches from her face. “Truth or dare…”

She felt like she was holding her breath. “Dare…” She replied softly.

She felt his mouth against her neck. “I dare you to kiss me.”

She turned quickly, her lips seeking his in the dark, he met her with a fury as he buried his hand in her hair, a groan escaping his throat.

His tongue pressed against her lips, and she opened her mouth to give him access. His hand lay still on his hip, the other still tangled in her hair, she needed more.

“I Dare you…” She moaned. She felt him chuckle against her lips. “Please touch me…” It was almost a whine, full of desperation and want but it had the impact she was hoping for. He rolled her over onto her back, his mouth still attacking hers until she felt the skim of his teeth against her jaw as he worked his way to her neck.

Emma was positively humming in anticipation when his fingers skimmed her waist, slipping under her t-shirt until she felt flesh against her abdomen, sucking in a breath, she let out a moan she couldn’t suppress. She had never done anything like this before. The entire evening with Killian was out of the realm of “normal Emma Swan behavior”, and yet with Killian, she wanted this, she wanted him, she wanted to feel this insanely powerful freeing feeling that being with him gave her.

His fingers continued to travel upward until she felt them brush the underside of her breast, and she arched toward his hand, pressing herself against his palm. “So needy.” He groaned against her neck.

Needy didn’t describe her desire strongly enough, she wrapped a leg around the back of his thigh, pulling his body against hers as she grinded her hips into his. “Want more.” She said breathily.

“Patience, Swan. I’ll give you what you need.” He promised, his eyes suddenly meeting hers when his fingers finally found her nipple, kneading it against his thumb. The wanton moan escaping her throat loudly.

“Yes…” She sighed. “More.”

He smirked, tugging her shirt up her body and dipping his head to press his lips against her flesh, sucking her pert nipple into his mouth. She mewed softly, her fingertips lightly scraping his scalp as she tugged the dark strands of hair in her hand, pulling him against her body.

His other hand trailed down her body, her flesh on fire everywhere he touched, and the only thing that could stop the burn was more Killian. She felt his fingers playfully dipping under her waistband, the anticipation of his touch growing more desperate.

His fingers dipped between her folds, almost teasing as he slipped inside of her only to immediately withdraw. She groaned in frustration and felt his smirk, the hairs on his jaw scratching against her breast, his fingers plunging inside of her again. Her head was spinning as she arched off the bed. “God yes.”

“I want to hear you sing, my beautiful Swan.” She had no chance to react the moment she felt his breath against her core. Her fingers tightened in his hair, needing to feel him closer. She could feel the spring winding inside of her again, similar to earlier in the evening when he touched her through her sweats, only now it was divine, now he was driving inside of her, his wet tongue licking a stripe against her, her legs tensing as he continued to drive into her.

She could feel herself getting closer, his fingers weren’t enough, she needed more.

“I need to feel you inside me.” She moaned.

He paused his movement, glancing up to meet her eyes before he slid up her body. “Never have I ever wanted a woman so badly in my life.” The kiss was desperate and full of intention and Emma matched the intensity as his tongue invaded her mouth. She dug her feet against the back of his knees, grinding her body against his erection, her hands desperately tugging at the waistbands of his sweatpants.

“Then take these damn things off…” She whined, anxiously tugging at her own to pull them from her body. She hadn’t felt this desperate in years, an urgent need welling as the fire burned inside of her. The clothes flew around the room before they came together again, she could feel his erection at her side, hard and waiting. His mouth was hot on hers as he slid between her legs, and she felt the welcome intrusion press against her center.

“Wait, wait, wait…” She scrambled, pulling away from him. “When were you last with someone?”

He pressed his mouth to her cheek, “It’s been a while love, if you’re nervous about…”

“I haven’t been with someone for months, I mean I’m protected, I take the pill, I just…”

“I’m not usually impulsive, though the situation we are currently in may seem to say otherwise.” She pulled him against her, pressing her mouth to his. “Emma…”

“Dare…”

She felt his smirk against her mouth. “No more need for dare’s, love. Your heart’s desire, Swan. I promise, that’s all I want you to have.” His lips ghosted against hers.

“I need…” She whined, her voice sounding foreign to her, begging for something she couldn’t put into words.

“I’ve got you.” He pressed against her entrance, and she felt him slide between her folds, the tip of his cock sliding inside of her before pulling away. She moaned in frustration before he slid in again, filling her, stretching her, and then leaving her empty once more. He was driving her to oblivion with each tentative thrust.

She nipped at his lip with her teeth, sucking his bottom lip into her mouth, eliciting a groan from his mouth. His thrusts increased, his kiss becoming almost animalistic as his thrusts became harder, driving into her with each plunge. She could feel her walls tighten around him as she met him thrust for thrust as she arched against him, needing the friction the closeness gave to her.

She could feel it building inside of her again, teetering closer as Killian took her to the place she needed to be. “Let go…” His breath was hot against her ear as he drove into her, sending her over the edge as the string inside of her snapped.

“Killian…oh God…yes…” She screamed into the darkness as she heard her name against her ear over and over again in a beautiful whisper.

He rested his forehead against hers, as his breathing came out in shallow breathes. “That was….”

“An interesting development.” She laughed.

“Is interesting good or bad?” He asked as he rolled over onto his side.

“Honestly…”

“We’ve been playing truth’s all night, why would I want you to lie now?”

“I always found you to be kind of annoying.” She said shortly.

“Bloody hell, that’s not exactly…”

“But…” She teased, cutting him off. “Maybe I was just unable to see past your rugged good looks and boyish charm.”

“Swan, it’s bad form to attack a man simply because he’s devastatingly handsome, one might even say dashing, but I would hope that I have proven tonight that I’m no boy.” His lips grazed the corner of her mouth. She couldn’t stop the smile from growing on her face.

“I don’t know, I might need to see some more evidence.” As he pulled her onto his chest, she was sure that neither of them would be getting any sleep tonight.

~*~

Killian showered quickly when he heard the knock on the door. Breakfast was being served to all hotel guests, the power had returned shortly before they woke that morning. He wrapped the towel around his waist and entered the room. Emma smiled from the table, dressed only in one of his t-shirts. “Morning.” She grinned as he sat down across from her.

She pushed his plate toward him and then took a bite of her toast. “Someone’s chipper this morning.” He teased.

“It was all the orgasms.” She whispered seductively with a wink. Grabbing the bottle of rum, he watched as she poured a shot into his glass and slid it toward him. “Never have I ever had sex with the boss’s daughter.” He had no idea what she was talking about but stared at the glass. “Better drink up, you might need the courage to explain yourself when we get home.” She chuckled.

“I’ve never done that, love, I already told you, she was the boss’s wife.”

The phone rang and Killian caught a glimpse of David’s name on the screen before she answered. “Hello, Daddy…”

Shit.

[anotherimaginethatblog]

Family Gatherings

Meet the parents.

Pairing: Kenny x reader

Warnings: small mention of something cheeky ... maybe more in part 2

Summary: you finally make the trip to meet Kenny’s family.

so i finally found the time to sit and write a little and this ended up being a lil longer than expected bit ive enjoyed writing this one, probably be a part two (possibly 3) so let me know what you think x 

hope you like it 

You were nervous, you had been since the day Kenny booked your airline ticket to Winnipeg so you could finally meet his family. You had heard all the stories about them, and they sounded lovely, but you were still, naturally nervous. Constant thoughts had flown through your head since the day you packed, what if they didn’t like you? Didn’t approve of you? you took another sip of your drink hoping the soothing flavour would relax you.

An hour later the pilot informed the plane full of weary passengers that the flight would be making its late arrival at the airport shortly, you began to gather your things up and pack them back into your designer backpack Kenny had bought you as a gift but couldn’t help thinking you’d made a mistake by bringing it, what if they thought you were showing off? Too gaudy? “breathe” you told yourself “it’ll be fine, they’ll love you” you said trying to boost your self-confidence.

“sorry mam, but would you mind stowing your bag? Were going to land soon that’s all” asked the kind stewardess who had given you that extra miniature off the drinks trolly earlier, probably due to the anxiety she saw on your face after striking up a conversation about why you’d be visiting Winnipeg in November.

“sure, sorry” you smiled back.

 Finally, After the stress of the queue at passport control, your bag coming off the plane last and trying to find your way out of the baggage hall altogether you were here. You grabbed your phone out of your bag to see a text from Kenny already, “waiting in the arrivals hall, ring me when your out” it read. You dialled his number and he picked up immediately, so quick he must have been waiting for you thought. “finally, you here yet?” he laughed.

“yeah, just got through, been a nightmare” you replied, “where you at?” you asked him.

“just at the coffee shop with my dad, well wait here for you. You’ll see it if you walk to the end”.

“okay babes see you in a sec” you replied before hanging up, instantly feeling nervous. His dad. You were going to meet his dad for the first time in an airport after hours of travel. Fantastic.

You saw Kenny straight away, those two-tone curls where recognisable anywhere. He looked relaxed and rested whilst he sat chatting to his dad unbeknown to you about how nervous he was for you to see his home and family. “what if she thinks I’m a huge loser once she’s seen I’m just a weird kid from Canada?” he asked his dad. His anxiety spiking in anticipation.

“she won’t, she sounds a great girl and clearly likes you so stop worrying.” His dad replied smiling at his son.

So deep in conversation they hadn’t seen you approach, “hey ken” you said, smiling from ear to ear at finally being reunited.

“babe, you look amazing, I missed you so much” said Kenny, words spilling out with a huge smile in his face as he looked you up and down, clearly appreciating the effort you had made. “this is my dad, (y/n)” he said stepping to the side to introduce the older gentleman who looked very much like his son.

“hi, I’m (y/n), I’m so happy to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you Kenny always talks about you” you replied any nerves melting away at how normal and nice he seemed, internally laughing at why you were so nervous in the first place.

“nice to meet you too, we’ve heard everything about you I’m so glad you managed to make it out. Big freeze on the way” he said. “let’s get home, before it’s too dark and your mother kills us for being late.” He laughed.

Kenny grabbed your bags and you both followed to the car as soon as you left the terminal you regretted your choice of coat. The leather jacket though warm was not enough to keep your heat against the cold Canadian weather “I told you to get a good coat (y/n)” said Kenny shaking his head at you.

“okay, I just thought you where exaggerating” you replied shivering.

“your so cute, its not far to walk” he said.

After realising Kenny’s definition of short walk was not the same as yours you reached the car and were incredibly grateful when his dad opened it for you so you could jump straight in. “thankyou” you told him while he cranked the heat up for you.

“no problem, its not a far drive either so well have you home and warm in a little while” he told you smiling at your lack of appreciation for the Canada winters.

 After a 40-minute drive you were at Kenny’s childhood home, it was just what you had imagined after hearing all of the stories from him about living in the suburbs as a kid. It was your classic suburban home with a lawn out front and a porch to sit on. It was actually really cute, you where excited to see inside. Kenny’s dad got out and left you two to make your way in, all of a sudden you where back to the nervous girl on the plane with the millions of questions about whether you where enough flooding your brain. All of a sudden Kenny planted his lips on yours and you snapped out of whatever you where thinking of immediately “they’re gonna love you, because I love you” he said. It was like he could read your mind and you kissed him back, you’d missed him so much in the time you’d been apart and if it wasn’t for being in his dads car outside his parents house you’d have climbed over and had him right there in the car. The moment was perfect for it … but the location was severely lacking. “we better get in the house before my mom sends my dad back out to get us” he smirked pulling away, clearly thinking the same thoughts you had been a few minutes prior.

“okay” you smiled back “lets go”.

 Once inside the house you felt relaxed all of a sudden, it felt like a home and all the stress you had had about the visit faded away. You took your coat and shoes off and followed Kenny into the kitchen where a beautiful blonde lady stood at the counter. “Tyson, and this must be (y/n). your so pretty” she said patting her son on the shoulder in an approving manor.

“thanks mom, I’m glas you two finally get to spend some time together. It’ll be nice to have the family all under one roof again.” He replied, with his mum giving you the once over.

“I’m so glad you’ve finally brought us a girl home, I thought you’d never setlle down to be honest” she said teasing her only son.

“mom” he said laughing back “I’m gonna take our stuff up, my room yeah?” he asked

“mhmm, and (y/n) across the hall” she said trying to gauge her sons reaction.

“your joking, I’m a grown man mom” said Kenny laughing trying to cover for the fact he’d been wanting to get you into bed since he’d seen you in the airport in those skin tight pants he loved so much.

“Its fine” you interjected not wanting to upset Kenny’s mum and to stop a fight over a room before you’d even settled in. “its fine, I totally respect that. We respect that don’t we ken” you said looking at him with pleading eyes to drop it.

“fine, its fine” he said turning to walk upstairs leaving His mum feeling guilty, though she would never admit it. Honestly she had no problem with the two of you sharing a room but who wants to hear the inevitable through thin walls on the first weekend of meeting your sons possible future wife.

“thankyou” she mouthed quietly to you smiling at how gracious and kind you had been at trying to avoid an awkward situation on your first meeting. You smiled back and followed Kenny upstairs to your room for the next few days. It was a gorgeous guest room, you dropped your bags off and crossed the hall to see Kenny in his childhood room. It was painted blue and like you expected there where wrestling and hockey pictures and posters all over the walls. “cute,” you said smiling at him

“its changed a little but not much” he said smiling back “my mom painted but put all my pictures back up” he laughed.

“that’s sweet, she probably wanted it to be the same for when you got back” you said.

“not that I ever got the chance much” Kenny sadly replied.

“she understood why though” you mentioned reassuringly with your arm on his back.

“you know, I never thought id get a hot girl in my room” he said laughing

“you still wont” you said getting up to go downstairs “come on lets go hang out” you laughed Kenny following reluctantly.

 you spent the rest of the evening chilling out in the kitchen, drinking wine with his mum while him and his dad watched sports on tv. “I’m glad I got to meet you” his mum said to you smiling

“me too, I’m so glad to finally meet everyone and happy for Kenny to spend some family time at home, he’s always on the road I’ve told him he needs to make more of an effort” his mum appreciating your words.

“yeah but he’s busy doing what he loves, I would never tear him away from that” she said laughing at him and his dad.

A few hours later it was time to head to bed, his mum and dad had called it a night a few hours earlier but you and Kenny had stayed up to chill and watch a little tv together. “I’m heading up babe” you said pecking him on the cheek

“okay babe me too then” he said getting up to turn everything off  before following you upstairs

You waited for him at the top of the stairs, pulling him into a hug “guess ill see you in the morning” you teased

“unless you wanna sneak over in a little bit” he teased

“Kenny … no, I don’t want to disrespect your mom” you said back shrugging.

“okay okay, can I at least get a hand job in the bathroom” he laughed  

“goodnight Kenny” you said turning to walk away.

After completing your evening routine you settled down for the night, it was hard to drift off knowing your man was just over the hall, who you had been dying to touch since before the last time you had said goodbye all those weeks ago. Eventually your eyes began to feel heavy and just as you where settling in for the night your phone began to buzz, straight away you knew who it was. – im lonely- it read, you rolled your eyes, it was gonna be along night.

[daikini-in-the-twilyhtmist]

Oracle of the White Rabbit

I was recently quite excited to learn about the newest Matrix movie, which was kind of weird for me, as I haven't been much into tv & movies for quite a while now. To my surprise, it was the soundtrack to the preview that immediately captured my attention - almost more then the preview itself... and then it got stuck in my head - for DAYS, on repeat. 

**Cue the Morpheus voiceover: "What you know you can't explain, but you feel it.... You don't know WHAT it is, but it's there - like a splinter in your mind, driving you mad."** Yeah, that song was dead set on getting my attention.

When I finally got rid of it, I started realizing a few days later that I understood it beyond the surface meaning; and basically, I decoded the story that it was telling - it turns out to be all about right NOW. Is it prophetic? Subconscious social engineering? Quantum entanglement between the life and the art, so that they mirror and reflect each other? Who knows...  

It appears to me to be a sort of trigger, or a reminder of what to do when the time comes, of what you NEED to do - and yes, I realize that this sounds very MK ultra secret agent-y; but it is what it is. I assumed it was probably just a message for me, but then I had 2 separate YouTuber's basically confirm the message in their own unique way, and then supplied additional info that is... quite compelling and pertinent to keep in mind, and utilize. So I'll link those two vids below the song decoding portion, but please watch them as they have some VERY helpful info in them - especially the 2nd half of Naughty Beav's vid, the Alba Weinman part. Anyways, here's the song with lyrics, and the decode I got for it:

https://youtu.be/YE3ZXm92CJ0

Preface: The story overall is describing the multidimensional aspects of the human being, and how certain "controllers" have manipulated the general population into thinking that we are only ONE SINGLE aspect (i.e. this linear 3D realm template of a human) of our various extended selves - and have waged war (and still are) to maintain that control over us to keep their positions power.

Song: White Rabbit by Jefferson Airplane

ONE PILL MAKES YOU LARGER AND ONE PILL MAKES YOU SMALL These “pills” are alternate dimensional perspectives - the actual embodiment of them from a larger and smaller POV - Annunaki are generally around 10-16 feet tall, and the Fae are considered to be tiny little elemental beings; BOTH sizes make you visit WONDERLAND though! You can SEE & FEEL that there is MORE beyond just this vessel and life viewpoint, more to YOU that goes on to other places where this particular body-ego cannot. AND THE ONES (pills) THAT MOTHER GIVES YOU DON'T DO ANYTHING AT ALL The world perspectives and programs installed in our parents are for a different agenda, time and place - they've since expired and are therefore useless to us... those POV's just don't do anything, except stagnate you. GO ASK ALICE (<your inner child, direct connection to Source Creator) WHEN SHE'S 10 FEET TALL (<in her Annunaki 5th dimensional or above form) Oh yeah, I'd LOVE to see you try and argue those belief systems with THAT version of her/YOU, that'll be fun! Good luck with that, BwahahaaHaahaaa!!!

AND IF YOU GO CHASING RABBITS This "You" ISN'T YOU - it's a hypothetical scenario. As in: If YOU were part of a group of dark, nefarious beings, who CAN'T timeline jump to higher realms on their own, but wanted to... wouldn't YOU chase those 'rabbits', to sneak in after them, (or somehow piggyback on them) to go thru the (portals) tunnels that they naturally create? Well... wouldn't you?!!! AND YOU KNOW YOU'RE GOING TO FALL These beings know their time is limited; as the energetic  frequencies of the earth raises - LITERALLY - we have to ELEVATE with Earth (or die, as it’s not compatible); but they can only FALL since they cannot follow us - their heavier energies & choices aligned with that vibe basically anchor them down. When the Earth sheds those lower energies, they appear to “fall’ - Earth rides a sine wave up and down in a continuous cycle; right now the rollercoaster is ascending. TELL 'EM A HOOKAH SMOKING CATERPILLER HAS GIVEN YOU THE CALL Say it with me: COVER STORY!!! So just tell them that you've contacted extraterrestrials, or "Ashtar Command" in a higher dimension, who relays "guidance" to you while you're in a channeling state of mind... exchange your religious/guru worship programming (it’s SO last year) for an unvetted channeled source to worship and obey blindly instead. Pick your poison, ‘cuz dying is fun (whether that be literal, spiritual or otherwise).FYI: I am anti-establishment regarding religions; your connection to Source Creator is meant to be direct & personal, always growing - those outside things are GUIDEPOSTS for consideration and participation when you deem it useful. Not necessary, though, and CERTAINLY not mandatory... they can be helpful though, nevertheless. CALL ALICE WHEN SHE WAS JUST SMALL No doubt they WOULD try to contact you while you were young and vulnerable (and they might have already) - train a child up in the way they should go, and all that. It applies whether it be physically done or in the astral/dream state - it's also prime alien abduction time, in both cases, too: it happens most often around the 3-10 years old timeframe, generally. **Alternatively, this could mean that YOU need to recall your inner child/younger self, when you were more pure - and RECONNECT to (the true you, prior to life’s enforced programming) yourself from there, as a means of counteracting and recognizing any false “messages of light”.**

WHEN THE MEN ON THE CHESSBOARD This is the Masonic, Illuminati and other controller group factions (alphabet agencies included) - The chessboard is primarily associated with the Masonic lodges, though, like the ladder - it's their way of bypassing the middle path (opening the 3rd eye, spiritually evolving through kundalini awakening and such), but still attempting to climb up to 'higher planes'... through magickal rituals and workings of one sort or another, I think. The Sun and Moon pillars are on either side, the battle of fire and Ice. THEY are the ones that "play the game" with humanity, as it were, and “set the stage” on the gameboard in many ways.

It’s like this in their art and iconography...

But it’s like THIS in the physical body structure, see:

Side Note: I learned this and wrote it down/drew it up by watching and following Lavette's channel on YouTube - her channel is under this (her real) name, so if you want to understand & decode the esoteric symbology and all that, check her out, she has a wealth of knowledge to share...  it's great stuff!!!

Anyways, moving on with the decode...

>> when the men on the chessboard << GET UP AND TELL YOU WHERE TO GO Or where you CAN'T go, or things you can’t go DO - lockdowns, anyone? AND YOU'VE JUST EATEN SOME KIND OF MUSHROOM Or taken some kind of drug, to check out (with alcohol, pharmaceuticals) as a means of coping; or perhaps just a medically coerced and/or forced untested injectable... that shall remain unnamed. (a la Voldemorte)  AND YOUR MIND IS MOVING LOW Because your consciousness and/or interdimensional capacities are capped, having been anchored down into lower frequencies due to your choices. ASK ALICE I THINK SHE'LL KNOW Ask your inner child/spiritual connection WHAT TO DO

WHEN LOGIC AND PROPORTION HAVE FALLEN SLOPPY DEAD That's RIGHT NOW, with the media, the actions of the government, corporations & the alphabet agencies - everything from them is WAY out of proportion, (they're self contradicting) and illogical...  it's “fallen sloppy dead” is about as literal of a description as you can get. AND THE WHITE KNIGHT IS TALKING BACKWARDS Is this Biden? Maybe Trump? Could be whomever you deem to be our hero, or fixate on as a knight "in shining armor" charging to our rescue, I suppose. AND THE RED QUEEN'S "OFF WITH HER (THEIR) HEAD!!!" The red queen is the sentient A.I. computer located under the airport in Colorado from what I understand... so this could be indicating the weather warfare or DEW, the internet consciousness battlefront, or a whole host of other things that could be directed by that (besides the jabs), which seeks to kill off a great swath of humanity. The Red Queen could also be a means to direct the jib-jabbed peoples like zombies when they're "turned on" like antennas, once the graphene in the injectables does its work. It would certainly explain all the “zombie apocalypse” protocols and policies that have been made by certain corporations and agencies - all of which was done in a serious manner... so here’s that.

So, now THIS is where it gets interesting (for me, anyways).

Every. Single. Time. That I hear this next verse, I hear it spoken a DIFFERENT way, like a glitch that simultaneously layers a different version on top of the other one, so that they are both communicated at once. This is the 'secret key', the ANSWER - remember, this part of the song says: When this & that happens, and when this person and that ‘person’ are acting THIS WAY - THEN:

REMEMBER WHAT THE DORMOUSE SAYS Dormouse - a tiny squirrel-like mouse, that is rather famous for being able to HIBERNATE for EXTENDED PERIODS OF TIME - sometimes 6 months of the year, or more, if the temperatures stay cold enough. The lower the frequency, the cooler the temperature, usually. (The Sleeper MUST Awaken! ~ Dune) << This word - Dormouse - transforms into DHARMA. So the verse: "Remember what the Dormouse said" turns into "Remember what the DHARMA SAYS". For more on dharma, see here:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dharma

The dormouse speaks of the head - waking up and remembering mentally; but when it morphs into dharma, it speaks of the heart waking up; and returning to it’s inherent wisdom, returning to the spirit-soul self. So that is the key message that keeps coming thru on this:

Remember what the dormouse/dharma Says: FEED YOUR HEAD-HEART CONNECTION (and stack your dharma)!!! Spiritual GAINS, baby!

The final verse is repeated twice; I believe this indicates that the areas to apply it to are your outward actions here in the outer world, and your inner realm locals: your thoughts and feelings. FEED the CONNECTION on each level, to be and do good, and to stand up in integrity and defend that sacred space on EACH LEVEL whenever it's needed. The mind-heart connection and coherence part is actually mentioned specifically in The Naughty Beaver video linked below, too... but there will undoubtedly be internal emotional and mental attacks that only you can recognize and shield against, or fight back against to maintain your inner calm and wholeness of spirit. The stronger the mind-heart coherence is, though, the higher you vibe naturally; so it grants you a certain level of protection automatically - I feel that's why they push the jab-berwocky so hard through social/economic pressure, and emotional guilt and gaslighting; to block that potential before you ever reach it, so you can still be "hacked", or locked down, energetically. 

Feed your head = higher mind = higher perspective. Maintain THAT, then ACT FROM THERE. (Faith without works is dead, yo) See the other two vids below, and thank you for reading thus far. You/We’ve got this - Be Excellent to (yourself and) Each Other... and Party On!

The “Naughty Beaver” confirmation, perspective & guidance on this: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wHeDnhc8Jfg

The “YellowRoseforTexas” standpoint and confirmation:

https://youtu.be/tmYdSFj3WYE

As a final thought... look how unbelievably FREAKING CUTE dormice are IRL! ! ! ! KAWAII ! ! !

[smolbeandrabbles]

Winter Night - Malcolm Bench x Reader (Vertical Limit)

Holiday Fic 2! ⛄⛄

@wltz-bby​ @happyskywhale​

Author’s Note: @mandy23b​ I know you still have to get to the end of this week to finish your finals. But Congratulations on your graduation! 🎉

I’m so proud of you - And I know I keep telling you that, but I’m just going to keep telling you!

Thank you for requesting - here’s some Malcolm for you, as a treat 😉😘

Disclaimer: Vertical Limit Not Mine / Basically a massive excuse to have 4000 words of banter / you better believe I got Tom McLaren in here / gifs and lyrics not mine

Premise: Malcolm Bench is back from K2 for winter break. You love snow, having to work in it 24/7 he does not - today you’re determined to change his mind...

Words: 4133

Warnings: swearing / sexual connotations

____

Have you seen the mistletoe? It fills the night with kisses Have you seen the bright new star? It fills your heart with wishes Have you seen the candlelight? It shines from every window Have you seen the moon above? It lights the sky in silver

Have you heard the boys all sigh When all the girls are skating? Have you heard the sweetheart's cry For all this time they're waiting?

Green is in the mistletoe And red is in the holly Silver in the stars above That shine on everybody Gold is in the candlelight and Crimson in the embers White is in the winter night That everyone remembers

Have you seen the children playing? Tiny hands are frozen! Have you seen them hurry home When suddenly it's snowing!

---

Waiting for Malcolm to return home from K2 was always painful, especially at this time of year. People liked their winter climbing getaways - but he liked to come home when it was a little too dangerous out on the mountains. He also wanted to take breaks to be with you: although wintertime was not always his favourite period to do so… because he saw snow 24/7 at work. He didn’t need to see it at home with you too. There was always the fear that it would be too dangerous for him to come back, and it wasn’t just the weather patterns there that mattered, but where you lived too. There had been plenty of times when his flights had been delayed, or he’d had to spend time in the airport overnight, because no planes were going to move under any circumstances. Luckily yesterday the plane home had at least taken off, and although the weather reports were all threatening snow storms here & the air was cold, the sky had been clear all day and not a flake had fallen yet. You prayed it would stay that way at least until you got him inside the house. But then you liked the look of the blanket of white across your front yard and the roads. Especially when it was freshly fallen and no-one had walked or driven through it yet. How it looked so crisp and sparkled in the sunshine; it always felt like you were a child again, when you used to play out in it for hours without a care in the world. Nowadays the cold got to you a little quicker, but that didn’t make it any less magical to you. As you drove to the airport, the weather again was interrupting your favourite tunes to warn of a particularly bad storm front coming. You didn’t think you’d greet Malcolm with this information - he’d probably grumble and turn right around to get on the flight back. 

 You received a text that he’d landed before you’d even reached the arrivals waiting area, which meant you wouldn’t be standing around too long for him. Bonus! But as you leant against the barrier you couldn’t help but watch everyone with their brightly coloured signs - awaiting the arrival of family and partners. You thought back to the day previous; all the girlfriends of everyone up on K2 had their own texting group and you all found it fairly cathartic to fret together (luckily that was seldom necessary) or share K2 news, or climbing photographs (at least one of you was up there every so often), or whatever you felt like really. And Tom McLaren’s girlfriend had texted you yesterday to let you know her man was back home, with a little note ‘And yours tomorrow! x’. If Tom was home then it really must have been end of season. They were due to get married soon - and their engagement often had you poking fun at Malcolm and subtly dropping hints as to when and where he was going to pop the question. Only for him to narrow his eyes at you and scoff and say “Well, I won’t be doing it like Tom fucking McLaren, that’s for sure!” You could only laugh. You had to agree though, the picture-perfect life of the Colorado Kid was not for either of you. Seeing Malcolm again always made you nervous, and you tapped your foot to a silent beat, taking controlled breaths - you supposed it was the effect of him being so far away for so long. Almost like figuring someone out all over again - as much as it was like no time had passed at all; always so giddy, like it was the first time you realised you had a crush on him. You received relentless teasing about that - probably because the Bench brothers were the two biggest idiots on K2. BUT they both had an insane amount of climbing knowledge, it made for an interesting combination; and you were definitely dating the sweeter of the two. You stood straight, on high alert, as the arrivals doors opened and Malcolm walked through, backpack slung over his shoulder. You were just going to give him a casual wave and let him walk over but his eyes scanned the crowd, looking fairly tired from his long-haul flight - and as soon as they locked on you, he lit up completely. And that cheeky little smile of his had you running - Malcolm stopped, bracing himself for your hug. “Ooof-! Geez, Y/N! Okay I get it! You’d think I’d be away for MONTHS!!!” He laughed so loud people started turning towards you but you didn’t care, you’d missed this goof like heck. And damn, that Australian accent. “Just let me miss you for 5 seconds dammit!” You pulled back with a smile, “Okay flight?” “As good as can be expected.” He checked his watch, “Annnnd that’s your five seconds, so I suppose within the hour you’ll be wanting to get me on the first plane back!” Your face burned; that was a joke one time and he’d never let you get away with it. “Weather permitting.” You placed a hand over your mouth, misremembering that you weren’t supposed to be saying anything about the snow. “Oh.” His face fell, “I knew it was all a little too good to be true.”

“Well, I suppose I should get you home before you grumble anymore…” He gasped, “You mean all that way and I don’t even get a kiss-!?” “Malcolm!” Okay, you took it back, his voice just had to be that loud, “I was getting to it!” You still had your arms around him and pulled yourself back to his lips. It was gentle and sweet and he wound his arms around you too, running a hand through your hair. Although when you pulled back you were a little shy, looking into his big brown eyes, “...Welcome home.” “Glad to be back!” He grinned, stepping out of your arms to take your hand in his, “Ah, civilisation!” You noticed the Colorado accent he put on and snorted, “Is that what you think he says when he gets home!?” “What, Mr. Fucking Perfect? Prince Charming of K2, Tom McLaren? Oh yeah.” “Well,” You shook your head and kissed him again, “I much prefer my little Australian hot mess.” There was a small smirk on his face, “Oh, you think I’m hot? I knew it!” “For sure! You can melt the snow all on your own-!” You winked, knowing he’d love that tease. “Ah, Fuckin’ have it-!” *** He was out of the car and bounding up to the front door before you’d even switched the engine off; you could do nothing but chuckle and roll your eyes. “So eager to be stuck in a house?” “Well,” Malcolm looked up at the outside for a minute, hopping from foot to foot and craning his neck, “it’s stuck in a house with you, ain’t it?!” He turned with a grin as you unlocked the front door, “I mean there’s plenty you can do stuck in a house…!” You gave him a sideways glance, “Give it a couple of days you’ll be screaming and wishing that you’re back in the great outdoors on top of a mountain.” “NOOOO-! Give it at least a week! I get to sleep in a proper bed!” “Mal, every time you come home you spend at least the first few days sleeping on the floor because you can’t get used to sleeping in a bed-!” “A’right, just pin me there-!” You blinked at him a few times as he leapt into the house, “I mean don’t tempt me, but I’m gonna need to tape your mouth shut too.” “Kinky, but I’d do it for you…!” He winked before hurtling towards the stairs and taking them in twos. You sighed, head in your hands. Why did you miss this? Maybe you’d be the one wishing he was back on a mountain… You glanced up at the ceiling - he also hadn’t noticed all the winter decor yet. But you supposed you’d give him time. You always liked theming your house for the season - not just the holiday within the season - and you always liked sending Malcolm aesthetic pictures, where he would graciously (if he was homesick) tell you that he wished he was there, and how pretty they were. Or sometimes just ask ‘what the heck is that!?’ and you’d have to put your phone down for five minutes whilst trying not to give up and throw it all away in a huff. When Malcolm trudged down the stairs slowly you noticed him looking around, although you broke the silence, “Did your brother get back okay too?” You knew Cyril was heading back to their hometown for the break. “Uh, he’s probably still in the air somewhere!” Malcolm leant around the banister, “I’m glad there’s no fake snow.” “Why have fake when you can have the real thing?” “Please no.” “Mal, I already told you the weather forecast says it’s on the way.” He pressed his lips together in his best attempt not to grimace; “Why can’t it be tropical when I get home?” “Babe, it’s wintertime, if you want a tropical vista you shoulda said and I’d have booked a vacation-!” Or he could have asked you to meet him in his native Australia, you knew it was summer there. He froze suddenly - so you knew he wasn’t listening - and when his face lit up you knew he’d spotted it; hurling himself over the banister Malcolm dropped to the floor none too gracefully - leaving you with your head in your hands one again. “My house isn’t a mountain face.” “Duly noted…” He pointed to the ceiling, “That’s mistletoe!” Yes! And mostly because he was coming home. “There’s mistletoe in here!? Come make out with me----!” You laughed as he joyfully whined the last word, and you were only too happy to walk forward into his arms, “Promise no more griping about snow?” “I’ll make no such promise.” You huffed. “Can’t blame me for trying…” He wound his arms around you and pulled you into a short sweet kiss. You were already giggling a little as you looped your hands around his neck, running them through his hair. You supposed it was just because you were giddy about him being home - getting to hold him this close again. With Malcolm’s body pressed up against yours, you were surprised his hands were staying so respectful; but there was time yet! The kiss was slow and soft, his tongue running your bottom lip gently, almost cautious about it. If you weren’t so caught up in it you would for sure have teased him about whether or not he’d forgotten how to kiss. This was your first ‘real’ intimate moment with him for months and months, and you were right, it was about getting to know each other again; even with the familiarity of this feeling. Like a jigsaw piece being put into place once more. You knew you fit right with him, you were happy to be back where you belonged. *** Inevitably his hands didn’t stay put, and you ended up laying back on your couch, his hands roaming over your body. You knew that it would be a few days before you actually slept together: you weren’t joking about him sleeping on the floor. If Malcolm slept in bed he was restless, and there was too much to get used to. Room temperature, mattress, sheets and you… sharing a bed with someone else. There’d be a lot of suggestive remarks and a bunch of almosts, like this one. Or forgetting himself for a moment over morning coffee, where he’d push you up against the kitchen counter - but you had to let Malcolm ground himself back on… well, the ground - a normal altitude - before he’d really be up for anything like that. Still, you weren’t about to lie - you kinda wanted to take that shirt off him when his hands were cupping your ass or grazing your bare skin where your own shirt had ridden up. You’d missed him a lot, and besides having him back, you had none of that other ‘normal’ stuff to get used to. You knew you had to be patient; but steamy making out on the couch was a good substitute, for sure. As you’d been doing this, the weather outside had been steadily changing; and you’d noticed the light changes in the room, but both of you had been far too absorbed in other things. However, when you paused for breath for just a second, both panting - clearly just not able to get enough of each other after months of waiting to kiss again (especially when the lingering memory of the last one was always the kiss goodbye, and hurt like hell) - you looked up to the window and immediately gasped. Flakes of snow were already falling; although not so thick yet, you could already see it settling over the grass and sidewalks… and on the road. You leapt off him, excitement rushing through you as you ran to the window. Immediately full-on child-like wonder. Malcolm stared at the snow for a minute and grimaced, hadn’t he just left enough of this? Why did it have to follow him here!? “What!? You’re kidding right!? You could be making out with me!” “Mal! Malcolm!!! Oh my gosh look-! LOOK! It’s settling!!” Snow had never lost its charm with you. It made you think of too many good memories: staying out in it and playing with your friends and family until your face was red and fingers and toes freezing, long romantic walks you had taken with past lovers, and ice-skating, you’d had skiing trips too, and some of your best snow memories truly were half way up a mountain with the Bench Brothers. But snow meant so much more: cuddling up under blankets with hot drinks and watching trashy movies - or good ones - both with family and the person you loved the most. And you loved those quieter moments with Malcolm too, even though he was so high energy. Those moments where there was nowhere to go, and nowhere to be but than with each other. You were grinning to yourself as you sprinted out of the room and up the stairs. Malcolm sighed to himself: “Oh my god- Y/N! What are you doing!?!” “Getting dressed!” You yelled back, rushing around to pull on a good coat, hat, scarf, boots and gloves. (Only because you knew Malcolm was about to lecture you on safety precautions, even when he sometimes sat out there on K2 in literally nothing.) As you finished getting ready and approached the window again the flurry was crazy - and you could barely see out of it for flakes of snow, building up nicely on the ground. That only made you even more excited, Malcolm looked from the snow to you and back. “Now before you go crazy, just remember, it may look nice but it’s a death trap!” “Malcolm. I’m not 10,000 feet up a mountain in thin air with no oxygen, will you stop lecturing me!?!” “You haven’t seen what I’ve seen! There is nothing good about that white stuff-! Even if you think it looks pretty!” That gave you pause for thought for a second - though truly only a second - had he seen bodies out there on his expeditions? Had he seen people die out there…? You shook that thought clear of your mind, now wasn’t the time to think on things like that. “- Then there’s frostbite! Hypothermia-! Heck, even a common cold is a bad thing; I don’t want you to get sick!” You reached for the door and he wedged himself between you and it, “What about when it pelts you in the face, huh!? Cold and painful! What about when your skin gets all dried and cracked and you start bleeding-!?” “Malcolm. Will you please shut up! I’m not listening…!” You yanked the door open, moving him, “You don’t have to come out, but you’re not spoiling it for me!!” By the time you had run to the end of your drive the cold air was already filling your lungs and you couldn’t help but laugh, tipping your head back to catch the snowflakes on your tongue. The neighbourhood kids were all outside now, parents on close watch, also shrieking and laughing and enjoying the first - but certainly not the last - heavy snowfall of the year. You didn’t know what Malcolm was getting at - couldn’t he just see the good side of snow, for once? You were a far cry away from what he was used to; out here everything was safe. You had a nice warm house to return to, what was his problem? Malcolm stood in the doorway, shaking his head at you and still grumbling to himself about the falling snow, before he closed it to keep the cold out and returned to the window to watch you. But as you stayed outside, admiring the scenery and greeting your neighbours, and passers-by - some of whom were asking how Malcolm was, considering they’d seen him come home (and of course you’d been talking about this day for the entire week) - you started walking up and down, and talking and laughing. Some of the kids were even throwing snowballs at you and you had no trouble joining in once or twice. That laugh was so infectious to watch, the way you lit up like that, the unbridled joy of being able to once again be stuck in a pretty winter scene and reminisce, the cold heightening the red in your cheeks. Malcolm found himself smiling and knew he was immediately done for. “Aw. Shit.” He laughed to himself, “Dammit… she’s gone and done it now…” Trudging outside and pretending that he wasn’t just so happy to see you happy, Malcolm put on his best grumpy face. You ran to him, but couldn’t help laughing at the fact he was dressed like he was about to attempt a summit climb. “Sooo it’s not all that bad huh!?” His eyes narrowed, “You’re kiddin’, I’m worried about you! Helloooo, bad things happen in the cold, weren’t you listening!?” “No. Not at all.” You gave him a teasing grin before trying to kiss that grumpy look off his face. It half worked, and Malcolm couldn’t help but grin before he tried to make himself look stoic again. You looped your arms through his as you walked slowly to the end of the drive and he also watched the kids rolling around in the snow and shrieking and having a good time. Growing up in Australia he didn’t have a lot to compare to this, but he could draw enough comparisons from other childhood memories to know what this must feel like for them. You nudged him; “See! The kids enjoy it, why can’t you!?” He pretended to grumble again, “Yeah, they’re kids. They’d hate it if they worked in it too!!” “I bet if you asked them, they’d love your job.” He laughed, “Great, they can have it and I’ll stay here with you-!” “Well, if you could be so persuaded…!” You leant into him and Malcolm turned to you with an eyebrow raised, ‘just jo-king.’ Although you caught that tiny smile lifting at the corners of his mouth as your joy bled into him. Malcolm could only admit, he was very happy to be out in the snow with you. The way the snow fell and settled on your coat, the tiny flakes in your eyelashes, and where it was melting and leaving sparkles on your skin. You were admiring the same on him; how it settled in his dark hair, and how the ones in his eyelashes were really bringing out that deep brown in his eyes, that were already getting accentuated against that white background. You looked back to the neighbourhood for a moment, glad that the cold could hide your blush. It was very cute; this winter scene just looked like one of those little painted postcards you’d often seen sold around this time of year.  

You didn’t get to admire the cold for long and almost screeched in surprise as you were hit in the face with just a little bit of snow. The cold against your skin was shocking. You spluttered as you turned back to your boyfriend; “What was that for!?” Malcolm smirked, raising his eyebrow slightly, “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you liked snow!?” You shoved him, which only made him laugh. “Not when your boyfriend is throwing it in your face like that!” “Just admit I’m right!” You swayed backwards, arms folded, look on your face set hard: “To you?! About snow!? Never!” This scrabbling around in the snow continued for a few minutes, until you were both flushed and giggling. You wiped droplets of water from your face, still not ready to concede his point about snow. He knew you weren’t going to either, rubbing the ice from his own cheeks - he was still right about it hurting as it pelted your face, though. You couldn’t help but sigh wistfully as you turned back to him, voice barely above a murmur. “I’m so happy you’re home to see this. And the good things about snow.” Malcolm’s smile almost became a knowing smirk as he hesitated for just a second: “Yeah yeah, what do you really want?” With the snow falling around him like that and the little look on his face, now his cheeks were flushing too you couldn’t help but take the tiny step to kiss him once more. He was only too happy to reciprocate and you shuffled a little closer to his body warmth, already looking forward to getting cozy back in doors afterwards. Even if he’d probably give you some kind of ‘I told you so!’ lecture. Right now you got to kiss him in snowfall and it got to be romantic - no-one's brother yelling at you to get a room, or other idiots at camp wolf-whistling at you (or getting emotional at not having their other halves right there. Which Malcolm said he never did, but how were you to know. You bet he did, secretly.) You just got to kiss him and enjoy the moment, and the soft snowfall. Suddenly you realised that Malcolm had snaked his hands under your coat and your shirt and he didn’t have gloves, AND he’d just been throwing snow around. And you shrieked as his freezing fingers touched your warm skin. “MAL! NO!” But it was too late, he grabbed you, laughing, putting his cold hands on every bit of skin he could possibly reach. You were screaming at him, but also howling with laughter as you tried to wiggle from his grip. “OH GOD! STOP!” You wouldn’t be surprised if the whole neighbourhood was watching you now and shaking their heads, muttering ‘crazy kids’. “Only if you admit snow is bad-!” “Shut up, you are so enjoying this!”

He dropped you back to the floor, chuckling, before he cleared his throat and folded his arms. “A’right. I concede. Probably about as appreciative of snow now than I’ve been in years.” Your face lit up again and you opened your mouth, taking a deep breath for your loud ‘I KNEW IT’ but he held his hand up to stop you, “But only because you’re here.” You immediately deflated, and knew you couldn’t fight him saying something so sweet, instead you punched his arm, “You sap.” Malcolm’s face became unnaturally serious; “You best be careful, Y/N, my hands are still cold!” “NO!” You were screaming again as he grabbed you, but this time he simply lifted you up into his arms, “You drop me in the snow, Malcolm, I swear to god.” “Pretty sure you wouldn’t have a problem with that-!” He grinned; but you weren’t about to let him win twice. Instead you looped your arms around his neck once more touching your nose to his. “Ah-! Now you’re cold-!” But he reciprocated. “I best think about getting you in doors.” “Just shut up about how bad the snow is, and kiss me already!” “Aw, the snow isn’t that bad… really… If I get to share the infectious joy of it with you. And maybe get you warm every so often.” Malcolm grinned, with a cheeky wink, before once more obliging you with a sweet kiss. Oh, you were so glad to have him home.

---

Thank you for requesting!! Thank you so much for reading! 😘😘

[benhardyisdaddy]

1 Room For 2

MASTERLIST 

RogerxReader 

Word Count: 3,068

The employee that travels around the world for her boss and company. That’s exactly what you were. Your boss stayed at the company while you fly around and meet with clients, talking about work and how to expand. Your latest client was in the state of Minnesota and you had finished meeting with them, making more money than what you had expected. You were in the best of moods and nothing could ruin that. Especially since you found out where you’re flying out to next. 

You’ve never been to England before, but apparently a new client was based there so, of course, it’s your job to go greet them and up-sell whatever you could. Your boss even told you that after this meeting, he was putting you up in the best hotel and giving you a weeks vacation for all of the hard work you had done. You were in need of a vacation, so you couldn’t wait to begin. 

You had never been to Minnesota, so you weren’t exactly sure how bad they got when their annual snow storms hit. Well, today you got to find out. That good mood you thought nothing could ruin, well, it was now ruined. Snow gushed down from the dark sky and coated everything with thick, white sheets. The cab ride to the airport was excruciatingly slow as traffic was backed up due to the hard effort of seeing anything around you. It was like you were in a real life winter wonderland.

You were in the back seat as you continuously keep looking down at your phone and checking the time. It was nearing noon and you were supposed to have been at the airport an hour ago, seeing as your flight leaves in thirty minutes. You huff loudly and look out the window, praying that you get there on time. You weren’t far from the airport, in fact, you could see the building from where you were stopped. You groan and look back down at your phone when the cab began driving once more. 

“I apologize for the delay,” your cab driver tells you. “I haven’t seen a storm this bad in a while. I’m trying to get there as fast as I can.” 

You relax by his sweet tone and smile. 

“Oh, this isn’t your fault at all. The weather clearly has an evil sense of humor.” 

The cabby laughs and agrees with you as you get closer to the airport. It’s packed with cars and other cabs outside of the entrance. The man hurries to find an empty space and parks. He jumps out and rushes to the trunk and retrieves your luggage. You hold your purse close to you as you step outside and gasp. The numbing, cold wind hits your face and your eyes instantly water. It was almost hard to breathe by how freezing it is. You curse yourself and your boss for not checking the forecast before you flew here. You sweetly thank the cabby for his patience as you grab your luggage and hurry inside. The doors slide open and you’re greeted by warmth and far away voices. From the amount of cars outside, the airport was actually pretty dead. Your answer was the insane snow storm outside.

You quickly speed walk and find your check-in lane for your bags and ticket. You’re stood in line behind one person as the women helps someone else. You can’t hear what they’re saying, but the person walks away and takes their luggage with them. You watch them confused as the next person walks up to the counter and suddenly does the same. Someone behind you sighs and curses a bit as you ignore them and walk up to the desk. 

“Flight to England?” asks the women. 

You nod and dig through your purse to pull out your ticket for her to scan. 

“Ma’am, I’m so sorry, but that flight has been canceled as of right now. All flights for that matter.”

Your heart sinks as you listen to her. 

“Canceled?” asks someone behind you, as they walk up next to you. 

You look over quickly due to the person being so close to you. You watch as a handsome man has his face scrunched up in confusion and impatience. He looks to you for a moment, causing you to look back to the lady fast. 

“Yes, sir. Everything’s canceled until the storm has passed and it’s clear. I’m so sorry, but I can guarantee you that the airport will provide you a room to stay in at the hotel just next door. Let me scan your tickets and you both will be contacted via phone when your room’s ready. Once again, I apologize.” 

You sigh and allow the women to scan your ticket and then the mans. You thank her as you grab your luggage and walk away in search of a cafe nearby. You were frustrated and hungry as you find a table and place your luggage beside it. You walk up and order a drink and food, making your way back. You sit down and are quickly typing away on your cell phone, explaining to your boss what’s happened. You’re continued looking down when someone walks up and clears their throat. You look up fast and it’s the same man from before, awkwardly smiling at you. You smile back and raise your brows, looking around real fast. 

“Can I help you?” you ask, confused. 

“Sorry, yeah,” he says flustered. “I saw that you and I are flying to the same destination. Not sure how long it will be until we get to the hotel. Um, do you mind if I join you?” he asks. 

You smile and nod, moving your food back towards you. He grins and quickly takes a seat across the table from you.

“I’m Roger by the way.” he says, reaching his hand out for you to shake.

You take it and smile, your stress slowly melting away. 

“Y/n.” you say back.. 

“So, y/n, what does England have in store for you? Business or pleasure?” 

You sit your phone down and lean back against your chair. 

“Both. I’m going for business first and then taking my vacation there. I suppose you’re from there?” 

Roger laughs and nods, leaning back as well. 

“Was it my accent that gave that away?” he asks. 

You laugh with him and the two of you begin talking about anything and everything to pass time. You find out he’s in a popular band over in the UK and he was over here in the states visiting. He was in California for a meeting with his band members, but when they all left to head back home, he flew to Minnesota to visit a friend. And, well, now you’re both stuck. 

An hour passed and you found yourself laughing at everything he said, something you haven’t done in a long time. You also couldn’t deny the fact that he was appealing to the eye, if you might say so. You both talk a while longer when you get a call on your phone, telling you that your room was available. You both stand up as he shakes your hand again. 

“Well, it was very nice meeting you, y/n. Guess I’ll see you when our ban is up.” he teases. 

“Likewise, Roger. Stay warm.” you tell him as you grab your luggage and walk away. 

You couldn’t stop smiling as you walk around the corner and up to a desk marked HOTELS. You give them your name and they order you a bus ride over to the hotel. The ride was short and sweet, much better than the cab ride before. You arrive at the hotel and check in to your room. 

“You’re in room 303.” says the lady at the front desk. 

You thank her and make your way to the room. The hotel was absolutely packed and you realized no wonder the airport was dead, they were all here. You finally find your room and walk inside. It’s decent with a queen sized bed and large flat screen TV in front of it. The bathroom had a jacuzzi tub and you knew for a fact that you were going to put that to good use. 

You prop your luggage in the corner and walk into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you. The hotel had a large, soft bathrobe so you slipped from your clothes and put it one. You were in the middle of pulling your hair up when you hear your door handle jiggle a bit, as if someone was trying to open it. You freeze and listen closely, hearing your door open then shut. You jump and look to the bathroom door, your heart pounding. 

You spot the hotels mini hair dryer on the counter. You pick it up and hold it forward, using it as a type of weapon. You slowly walk to the door and take in a deep breath before turning it fast and jumping forward, looking into your room. A man is stood with his back facing you, but when he hears you jump out, he turns around and you both yell loudly. You stop when you realize who it is.

“What are you doing here!?” you yell at him. 

“I could ask you the same!” yells back Roger. 

“Um, this is my room!” 

“No, this is my room! See, I have a key!” 

“Well I do too! What’s happening?” 

“I’m not sure!” 

***

“What do you mean you overbooked us!?” 

You both were at the front desk of the hotel as the lady apologizes over and over again for the inconvenience. 

“I’m so sorry. All of our rooms are packed and someone made a mistake.” 

“Are there any other hotels nearby?” you ask. 

“I’m afraid not ma’am.” 

“So, we’re supposed to share a room together? Me and a stranger?” you ask. 

“I mean, we have met and already spoke to one another. Look,” says Roger. “There’s only one bed. Do you have a cot you could bring up?” he asks. 

“I’m afraid not. They’re all being used right now.”

 Roger looks to you and exhales while shrugging. 

“Do you want to sleep in the airport?” he asks you. 

“No way.” you tell him. 

“Neither do I. Who knows how long it will be. I promise I’m not weird, I’ll stay on my side-” 

“Are you serious!? You’d really share a room with someone you don’t know!?” you ask, shocked. 

“I’d choose that before sleeping in an airport on their tiny chairs.”

You think about it for a moment and close your eyes, sighing. You slowly nod your head and turn around, walking away. You can’t believe you were doing this. 

***

“I’ll take the left side and you can have the right. There will be a pillow between us at all times, got it?” you ask. 

Roger puts his hands up fast in defense. 

“Got it.” 

You nod and look around awkwardly, not knowing what to do. Roger sits on the bed and stares forward at the empty TV. 

“We could order room service?” you ask. “They say it’s comped.” 

Roger sits up straight and nods. You make a call and order it fast. 

“Oh,” you say before they hang up. “And send us up the strongest thing you’ve got.” 

Roger watches you impressed as he smiles. 

“Strongest thing they got, huh?” he asks amused. 

“I think we’re gonna need it.” 

“Now listen, I don’t know how long we’re gonna be stuck for, but don’t you go and fall in love with me.” he randomly and cockily says.  

You’re taken back by what he just said and you laugh loudly, shaking your head. 

“Wow. I can assure you that won’t happen.” 

“Good. Same for me.” 

“Well good.” 

“Good.” 

Good.” 

***

“Oh, Roger…” 

You’re not sure how it happened, but it did. You both had a drink and then another and then another and so on. Your mind was cloudy and the more you drink, the yummier Roger got. Something you didn’t think could happen to this gorgeous man. You both were sat on the bed with your drinks in hand while he was telling you stories about his band mates. 

“That Freddie guy seems really fun.” you tell him. 

“Yeah, he’s amazing. He’d really like you.” 

Your confidence was high as you leaned forward and wiggled your eyebrows playfully. 

“Do you like me?” you ask in a fake seductive tone. 

You were just being funny, but Roger went serious. 

“I do.” he whispers, looking from your eyes to your mouth. “A lot actually… And I just met you.” 

Your smile slowly falls as you stare into his blue eyes, shocked by his blunt statement. You weren’t sure what to do or say to this stranger as you both just stared at one another. Before you can do anything, he had leaned all the way in and kissed you, causing you to gasp. You definitely weren’t expecting that. You never kissed strange men you didn’t know, but this was different. He didn’t feel like a stranger to you anymore. You felt like you had known him your whole life. 

So, now the two of you were wrapped around one another as his mouth was attached to your neck and you were groaning loudly at every hard thrust he did. Your hands were pulling at his hair and you were high on this moment, feeling like you could melt at any moment. 

“That feel good?” he whispers against you. 

All you could do was moan out a noise, telling him yes. He speeds up his thrusting and before you know it, you both are gasping and moaning out as you reach your high.

“Fuck,” he whispers out harshly. 

You’re both breathing hard as he lays on top of you, exhausted from your previous activities. 

“I-” he breathes out. “I never do this.” 

Your chest heaves as you laugh and nod. 

“Neither do I.” you whisper back. 

Roger laughs with you and sits himself up on his elbows. 

“I don’t even know your last name.” he says, smirking. 

You roll your eyes and shove him away playfully. 

“Taylor,” he says. “Roger Taylor.” 

You sweetly smile to him.

“Maybe if you’re lucky enough, I’ll tell you.” you whisper. 

He laughs and continues to look into your eyes.

“This is weird, isn’t it?” he asks, suddenly insecure. 

“Do you regret it?” you ask, bringing your hand up to move a piece of hair from his eyes. 

Roger shakes his head and smiles. 

“No. I don’t.” 

“Then it’s settled. Not weird. Unless if you’re going to keep talking and officially make it weird-” 

Before you can finish, you’re giggling as he leans down and kisses you. 

“No talking, yeah?” he asks, a smug look on his face. “I think I can make that work.” 

You’re laughing loudly as he begins kissing your neck and all of a sudden it’s time for round two. 

***

RINGRING RINGRING 

You’re startled awake as your cell phone goes off. You’re sore and exhausted as you reach around for it and bring it to your face. You notice sunshine beaming in from your window and your heart almost falls. The clock on your phone reads exactly 8am and you answer the unknown number. 

“Hello?” you ask, your voice groggy. 

“Hi, Miss Y/l/n? This is Julie calling about an update on your flight. We are ready for take off and your flight will leave today at 10am.” 

You sit up straight and look over at Roger, who’s sprawled out still in a deep sleep. You thank the lady and hang up fast. You shake Roger a bit, causing him to stir awake. His face scrunches up as you lean down and sadly smile to him. 

“We fly out today.” you whisper to him. 

He can’t help but frown. 

***

“32 F. This is my seat.” you tell Roger as you slide by the window and sit down. 

He frowns when he realizes he’s sitting rows behind you. He finds the man who would sit next to you and starts up a conversation. Before you know it, Roger slides next to you with a smug smile on his face. 

“Did you trade seats with that guy?” you whisper to him. 

He nods proudly and you can’t help but smile. A flight all the way to England would be long and tiring, so you’re happy that you have him beside you to make it easier. 

***

“Enjoy your stay in England.” says the pilot as you all begin to land. 

You were exhausted, but excited as you finally land in England. Roger was just happy to be home. He helps you out of your seat as you all walk off of the plane. He helps you find the way to retrieve your luggage as you all stand there and wait for forever. You spot yours and he helps grab it. When you both have your luggage, you realize it’s time to go your separate ways. You both stand in front of each other and awkwardly smile, but secretly hoping this wouldn’t end. 

“Well,” you start, not knowing what to do. 

You hold your hand up for him to shake and he just smiles and takes it. 

“It was very nice to meet you, Roger.” you tell him. 

“Likewise, y/n.” 

“Perhaps we’ll run into each other during my stay.” you say, smiling sweetly. 

“Perhaps we will.” 

You both stand there and continue looking at each other until you grab your luggage and take in a deep breath. 

“Well, I guess I should go…” you say, not wanting to. 

“Oh, yeah. Me too.” 

You sadly smile and walk around him and towards the doors. Roger’s still standing there until something clicks. He turns around fast and yells for you. 

“Y/n!” 

You stop and turn around fast, happy he said something. 

“I still don’t know your last name!” 

You smirk and bite your lip for a moment. 

“I’ll be staying in the heart of London at The Brewery. Find me there and maybe I’ll tell you.” 

Roger’s face lights up as you both just smile. You hold your hand up and wave, receiving a small wave from him. Maybe he’ll go to the hotel. Maybe he’ll find you. Maybe you’ll tell him your name. Maybe you both will fall in love. Just maybe. 

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[bscully]

Protecting yourself against the Corona Virus

So the death toll reached 1300 people recently. I'm not here to spread panic but rather educate.

---

Update: I originally created this post in 13rd February. It’s 23rd February now and there are 2300 dead and 77000 infected. The virus managed to take foot abroad:

[source]

It has become a real danger at this point. 

----

Infection rates strongly depend on our performance as collective. Currently it does still have potential to grow into a pandemia with today's international travel. (When I typed this out 3 days ago (Update: on 10th Feb), a day later the German Robert Koch institute voiced the same concerns... Lol)  If we don't take this Virus outbreak seriously enough it's gonna spread even more. Taking it seriously does not mean panic. There are things you can do. You’re not helpless. Please protect yourself.

Also do not ever trust the government with this shit. THEY HAVE BEEN NEGLIGENT in handling this.

Update: What we currently know about the virus:

The virus spreads via droplet infection

Incubation time was corrected from 14 days to up to 27 days (consider that and think about how people from many different countries were sent home). To me it seems like the virus has a very long “dormant” phase and lingers inside of your body until it manages to destroy your immune system

The virus is sneaky because even if you are infected, you show no symptoms and can still infect others in that state

It multiplies inside the throat which explains its high infectiousness (the SARS virus multiplied in the lungs)

Symptoms include breathing troubles, coughing, fever. It causes the lung to transfer less oxygen into your blood which can lead to cardiac arrest.

The death rate is supposedly about 2-5%

Supposedly around 80% of coronavirus patients only have mild symptoms while 20% have the serious form which can potentially lead to death

(This is what I managed to read in my local, non-english news, I will provide english sources later)

How to protect yourself:

Avoid large groups of people

If you use public transport (metro, bus) you might be at a high risk due to the confined space. Even more so if those transport systems are connected to international airports. In that case make sure to wear appropriate breathing protection (see below)

Cancel your travel plans, especially regions affected by the Virus

Avoid travelling to China or countries bordering to China. Ideally avoid asiatic countries altogether. Cancel your travel plans if you have any. (There was this person from Britain who infected many people in many different countries, e.g. Spain/Mallorca) 

In fact, the less people travel, the better.

Take care of yourself

Because the Virus appears to have a large incubation time and might be slowly draining out its host until they become sick, take breaks, take off from work, take care of yourself. Especially if you’re feeling signs of exhaustion, or are struggling with a cold or fever. You might be struggling with an infection, or worse, the corona virus itself. Do anything that helps you recover and spare yourself.

Boost your immune system

You can boost up your immune system by

a healthy, varied diet (lots of veggies and fruit e.g. broccoli, carrots, sweet potato, citrus fruits, tomatoes, to name a few healthy crops)

dietary supplements work as well, but a healthy diet is preferred

frequent outside activities, no matter the weather

taking cold showers and breathing exercises (e.g. a la Wim Hof method)

Wash your hands frequently

20 to 30% of influenza infections can be avoided by washing your hands frequently, e.g. after using the toilet or every time you go outside, use public transport etc. etc.. It might help against the corona virus as well.

Desinfect your electronics 

Tablet, cellphone, keyboard and mouse are touching our hands frequently and we hardly ever clean them (at least I don’t). Now is the time to change that. However, make sure to use the right disinfectants (see below)

Wear Breathing Protection

If you get protection masks, make sure you get the right ones. Paper masks without filter won't help. There are filtering classes that protect against different particles and need to fulfill certain norms, EN 149:2001+A1:2009 in particular for europe.  You will need at least FFP3 class masks to effectively protect yourself from viruses. Surgical masks also provide FFP3 class protection IF they fulfill that specific norm (very important!!!) If it’s not normed, its not gonna help you.

Most FFP3 masks go with a ventile and are meant for single shift usage (8hours), they are marked properly with a N in that case. I have seen FFP1/2 masks being sold out in my local craft stores - lol those aren't gonna help ya much... Maybe against large dust particles, e.g. from busy streets, at most.

Use Desinfectants

Just like with breathing protection, there are different grades of desinfectants. I personally do not think that desinfectant tissues or spray you can get at most grocery stores will also kill off the Corona Virus. Desinfectant supplies intended for medical usage (surgeries) most likely will, they particularly have to fulfill the norm EN14476 in order to protect against viruses. [more info]

Stockpile on Breathing Protection and Desinfectant Spray

I keep hearing in my local news that desinfectant spray is useless and there is no point in using it at all (lol the stuff at the grocery store maybe, yes). Don’t listen to that shit. Governments and News Agencies are trying to manage the high demand and control public perception. Protect yourselves. Breathing masks and desinfectant spray are usually sold out in many online stores and local stores alike and you should get them when you see them. You don’t have to buy a 5 months supply (yet), but they’re good to have until production rates meet the high demand.

[dynowrites]

Oooh how about Stomaro and "The hotel accidentally booked us into the same room because it’s overbooked and every other hotel in the area is also completely booked" 🍑

Nick was coming back to NYC to visit his mom to make sure she was okay. Other than a few phone conversations here and there, the two haven’t talked much since Nick moved to California. Sadly, when Nick arrived at JFK airport, they had told everyone they weren’t allowed to travel due to the bad snowstorm outside. They were allowing everyone to stay the night at the airport until the storm died down or the hotels around the area. Nick had ventured to the nearest one and waited in the line before getting his key card.

“You’re in room 315, sir. Have a nice night. Sorry about the weather.” The receptionist as Nick dragged his luggage to the elevator and up to the third floor. Once he got there, he found his room and unlocked the door. When he opened the door, he noticed a bag of luggage by the bed.

“Hello?” A voice called out. Nick from as he turned to the door.

“Sorry, I must be in the wrong room. They told me 315 was the room I was in…” Nick called out. A male came from the bedroom and raised a brow.

“This is room 315. They said there was only one key to this room…” The male said to Nick. Nick groaned as he walked over to the phone to call the desk.

“Yes, hello. I was put in room 315 and there is already a guest here… yeah… uhuh... well can’t call another hotel in the area to find me a room? Are you serious?” In the middle of the woman at the desk talking, Nick slammed the phone on the receiver with a huff.

“You okay?” The male asked Nick. Nick covered his face and sighed.

“They overbooked the hotel and didn’t have all the information in the system of who was here. They’re saying the snowstorm is making the computers run slow. All the hotels are booked and I can’t get out to go visit my mother.” Nick said as he sat on the fire bed. The man frowned and checked his watch.

“If you want, you can stay here tonight. They say by morning the snow should stop and roads should be clear. I’m Peter, by the way.” Peter smiled as he sat on the opposite bed and watched Nick.

“Nick. You visiting the city?” Nick asked as Peter sighed.

“I’ve been here a few months. My father has been really sick and he just passed away. I was actually heading back to Chicago to pack up my apartment to move here but my flight was cancelled and they got me a room here.” Peter sighed out. Nick looked over at him with a frown.

“Sorry, man. Really.” Nick said as he watched Peter. He shrugged and watched Nick.

“I just got a job here actually. A bit of a change but at least I’ll be closer to my sister.” Peter watched as Nick shifted and moved to grab his suitcase to pull it by the bed.

“What do you do?”

“I’m a lawyer. I transferred from Homicide in Chicago to SVU in Manhattan. The Sp-“

“Special Victims Unit. Yeah. I worked with them for a few years. Is Olivia still in charge?” Nick chuckled as he thought about the job he had before moving.

“She is. Barba left and they needed a new ADA so I said I would take the job.” Peter said as he glanced at the time. “You want something for dinner? I can order some room service, my treat.” Peter went to find the menu but Nick held his hand up.

“I got it, Peter. After what happened with your father, I can spare some money to buy you dinner.” Nick said as he pulled his wallet out and took money out of it.

The rest of the night, the two sat around and talked about work. How Peter wasn’t exactly ready to go from Homicide to SVU after what happened with Barba, but he was ready for the career change. Nick has talked about his transfer from SVU in New York to working patrol in LA.

Once the morning came around, they were both ready to go on their ways. Once they had showered and ate breakfast, the two stood at the entrance of the hotel and shook hands.

“I wouldn’t mind talking to you again. How often do you come to the city?” Peter asked Nick. Nick shrugged some and frowned.

“Depends on the holiday. I have my kids every other holiday but I’m coming down for Easter with my mom and sister. So maybe we can catch up then?” Nick said causing a smile to cross over Peter’s lips.

“Here’s my number. Call me next time you’re in town.” Peter said as he pulled a piece of paper from his backpack he had on and quickly write his number down. Nick smiled and nodded.

“Alright, I’ll see you then, Peter.” Nick said before him and Peter ventured out into the cold, got into separate cabs and went on their way.

[patricia-von-arundel]

The Campaign - Part 1

So, uh... some of you may remember me. I’m going to try to track down some old friends a little later on.

I have some stories I want to finish. This one, because people really enjoyed it. Some others will come later. I can get this one up because the amazing @no-escape-from-the-storm-inside kept some of my stuff and got it to me. I should have more up in the next few days, and then will work on new material.

So that being said... let’s return to the ‘80s with Elsa and Anna. I’m putting this up before I lose my nerve. 

The story is set in 1985.

Rated: T

The clouds were rolling in by mid-afternoon, and Anna let the other girls leave at four. She stayed until four-thirty, just in case someone came in wanting batteries or bottled water or a spare electric blanket, then taped the sign to the door: CLOSED DUE TO WEATHER. This was going to be a bad one, the news had said the night before. And her father - with her mother in Key West for the one vacation they took each year - had called her at lunchtime: “Use your judgement. If it looks bad, go ahead and close up.”

The sky was low and heavy and dark as she checked the locks, her hands clumsy in thick mittens, and the wind was already whipping up something fierce. She pulled her hat more snugly over her ears, tucked her scarf into her coat. It was going to be a long walk home.

She had no one to blame but herself - she’d been putting off getting a driver’s license for over two years - but that didn’t make the distance any shorter. There was nothing to it but to get going. She shoved the keys in her purse and her hands in her pockets, and started out.

The small, neat town of Arendelle was already battened down and silent, save for the wind lashing at bare branches and streetlights; schools had let out for Christmas break the week before. She saw one of Sheriff Weselton’s deputies cruise by as she reached the edge of Market Street, but otherwise, she might as well have been the only soul left on earth, like in those creepy magazines Elsa had liked when they were kids - Weird Tales, stuff like that.

The sky was spitting snow - thick, heavy flakes - by the time she left Applewood for CR1113 - the road that would take her home, but not for another mile and a half. Hunched and buffeted as she was, she didn’t hear the car until it was almost on top of her. She stepped to the side to let it pass - she’d been walking down this narrow country road all her life - but instead, it rolled to a smooth stop, and a moment later, the passenger door was pushed open from within.

“Looks like you could use a ride.”

The voice was vaguely familiar, but she didn’t recognize the car - nobody in a town like Arendelle drove a Mercedes; of that she was certain. She squinted at the dark exterior - and finally made out the face she had first seen only two days before. “Oh! Mr… Mr. Westerguard, right?”

He smiled - he had a friendly, open face. “Right, but Hans is fine. Can I give you a ride home?”

“Oh, uh, if… if you’re sure you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” He patted the smooth leather of the passenger seat. “Hop in.”

The inside of the car was deliciously warm, and it smelled of cologne and clean leather. She pulled her mittens off to hold her hands to a heater vent. “I didn’t know you were still in town. Mom and Dad are on vacation.”

He turned smoothly around a curve, then another. “I have a couple more meetings. They were postponed until after the storm. I’m stuck here a few more days.”

“Lucky for me,” Anna said, and he flashed her another smile. The Westerguards ran an enormous wholesale business - her father had been excited about a potential partnership, especially because of the new mall going up on the other side of town. She had been briefly introduced to young Hans Westerguard when he had come by the store for his appointment with her parents, but her only real impression had been whoa. “But… what are you doing out here?”

“Following you,” he said, but his tone was so guileless she laughed. “I was trying to find someplace to get some food - not a burger - before the storm hit. And I thought I recognized you.”

“It’s the hair, isnt’ it?”

He laughed. “It does stand out.”

She made a face. “Eddie Lang got everyone calling me “carrot-head” in first grade. Until I punched him in the nose.”

“I like it. And I promise not to even compare you to a carrot, Miss Agdarsson.”

She looked away quickly then, out the window, feeling the flush rising in her cheeks. “Anna,” she said softly. “You can, uh… you can call me Anna.”

“Anna,” he said - as if trying out the sound. His voice was very rich, she thought. “Your parents talked about you a lot - your dad says you have a good head for business.”

“He did?” Genuine surprise - she had always felt like the family afterthought; everything had always been Elsa-Elsa-Elsa: Elsa’s so smart. Elsa’s got to get ready for college. And since last spring, Elsa’s just having a tough time right now.

“He did!” Hans had such a warm, easy smile. And - she risked a glance; he was watching the road - really gorgeous green eyes. She liked his hair, too, the way it was just long enough in the back to touch his collar - a tiny hint of rebellion. “He said he can always count on you to keep everything straight, and all the customers love you.”

She waved a hand of dismissal, despite the warm pleasure settling all around her. “Oh, they’ve just known me for, like, forever. They just see this way cute little girl, not now-me.”

He looked over at her for a long, hushed moment - she felt her breath catch - his eyes making slow, intent way around her face. “Not little,” he finally said, turning back to the road. “But definitely way cute.”

It didn’t happen often, but it happened now - Anna was left speechless. She looked away again, because her face was likely the same color as her hair. Boys at school had seemed to like her well enough, and she’d liked some of them back - she’d broken up with Logan after eight months back in June, when he joined the Navy and left Arendelle - but it wasn’t anything like whatever was happening here. Hans was not only from outside Arendelle, he was also older than her. A real adult. Anna was 18, a high school graduate, but she usually still felt like still just a way-cute little girl.

She bit her lip, and watched the cold world pass by.

“Any turns I need to make?” he asked after a minute or two. He sounded casual and natural, not at all self-conscious at what he had just said.

“Oh, uh… no. No, just us at the end. My dad says he gets enough forced small talk at the store, he wants his privacy at home. My mom’s the social one - like me, I guess. I’ve thought about getting an apartment downtown, but there aren’t very many of them, and they’re pretty expensive.”

“Bet it seems worth it, on days like today, huh?”

She laughed. “Totally. Just around this bend, you’ll see the house.”

The house in question, even she had to admit after a lifetime of resenting its remote location, was beautiful - a baroque Victorian confection of pastel blues and whites, gingerbread molding and turrets and peaked roofs. She was, then, not surprised by Hans’ “Wow.”

“Home sweet home,” Anna said. “Will you come inside for a drink or something? Since you drove all the way out here just for me..”

“Sure.” He pulled the car in to park next to her parents’ Volvo. They had gotten a taxi to the airport, despite neither Anna nor Elsa driving.

“Do you have a large family?” he asked as they stood in the cold while she dug through her purse for her keys. Elsa might answer if she rang the bell - but she just as likely would not. “Your parents only mentioned you and a sister.”

“Yeah, it’s just the four of us - a-ha!” She twisted the key hard; the lock was always stiff in winter. “My parents, my sister Elsa, and me.” She held the door for him to step first into the warm foyer; he nodded thanks.

“I should admit, that makes me envious,” he said. “I would have loved a small, close family.”

“Yours is big?” He wore only a fine leather jacket, which he hung in the little closet as she peeled off hat, scarf, mittens, parka, and snow boots.

“Twelve older brothers,” he said, and paused as she let that sink in, her eyes widening and her mouth dropping open.

“No way.”

He grinned, unsurprised. “Way.”

“Seriously? That’s insane. The kitchen’s just through here. Coke? Coffee? We may have orange juice…”

“Water’s fine.” She got a Tab for herself - her mother refused to buy Diet Coke, so Anna had to make do - and joined him at the table. “Thanks.”

She put her weight on her elbows, learned closer to him. He had a spray of freckles across his nose and cheeks. “You’re kidding, right? Twelve brothers?”

“Totally serious. Caleb’s so old he hates rock-and-roll.”

“Get real!”

He was smiling, enjoying this. “Want all their names? Sometimes, I can remember them all.”

“That’s crazy. And you’re the youngest?”

“By almost three years. I was an… unplanned final surprise.”

Anna shook her head, trying to imagine a life with that many Elsas. Though honestly, she thought, it might not be all that different: twelve closed, locked doors instead of just one. “I’m youngest, too,” she said. “It kind of sucks.”

He laughed, raising an eyebrow. “Not close to your sister?”

“Not, uh… not anymore.” Smooth, Anna. She’d been too eager to keep the conversation going to stop and consider what dangerous waters she was treading into. “We kind of grew apart, I guess.”

His expression, now, was all sympathy - and, to her pleasant surprise, despite the niggle of discomfort in her midsection at talk of Elsa, his hands reached across the table to wrap around one of hers. “I’m sorry to hear that.” His fingers were cool and damp from the water glass.

Anna swallowed hard - something was happening fast, and she wasn’t even sure what it was. She shrugged. “Yeah, well, that’s… that’s life, I guess.”

“Is it just you here until your parents get back? This storm sounds like it could be a bad one.”

“Oh, Elsa’s here, too. She’s just holed up in her room upstairs.” Like she always is.

Anna knew Elsa had always been a little… different. Quiet and shy, Elsa struggled with making friends, with doing anything to make herself less conspicuous as a target of torment and bullying. It only got worse with the coming of adolescence - Anna suspected Elsa was oblivious, but no one else was: Elsa was beautiful. Blue eyes, all that white-blonde hair, a slender, graceful build - and she still kept her nose buried in physics textbooks and graph paper. 

Anna loved her more than anyone else in the world. What was harder to accept than any of Elsa’s quirks or strange obsessions was the stark reality that Elsa seemed determined to reject that love.

“Ah,” Hans said. “I hope I’m not intruding, then.”

“No, not at all! I appreciate the company.” She hoped it didn’t sound just pathetic and over-eager, but it was true. The house, even when her parents were home, often now felt very cold and lonely. “Really.”

“Well, in that case-”

“Anna?” The voice was hesitant, speaking from the darkness of the hallway. “I thought I heard - oh.”

Her hair was half-tamed in a loose braid, her eyes wide, a battered notebook clutched to her chest. Her sweater fell almost to her knees.

Anna pushed up from the table before she could bolt. “Elsa! Hi! This is Hans - Hans Westerguard. He was in town to meet with Mom and Dad, and offered me a ride home - the snow, you know? Hans, this is my sister Elsa.”

Elsa leaned against the doorframe as Hans approached and held out a hand. She stared at it for a long moment before shifting her notebook to shake. But her gaze never rose to meet his - it was fixed firmly on a point halfway up the cabinets on the other side of the kitchen.

“Pleased to meet you,” Hans said.

Elsa managed a ghost of a smile, pulling her hand away. Anna allowed herself an internal sigh.

“Want something to drink?” she asked. “We’re just talking - you’re welcome to join us. Or - dinner! How about dinner? I can make spaghetti.”

Hans had taken a step back from Elsa, which was probably a smart move. “Spaghetti sounds wonderful.”

“Elsa? Spaghetti?”

For no more than a second, Elsa’s eyes met hers. Then they risked a glance at Hans, raking up, down, and staying there. She shook her head. “No. Thanks. I’m… I’m working on something. I just came down to get a drink and… thought I heard voices.” She was clutching that notebook like it was the only thing keeping her anchored to solid ground.

“Just me,” Anna said - attempting a chipper tone. Elsa was being even cagier than usual. Because of Hans, or something else? “Well - us, I guess. Did you want Coke? I think there may be a couple of cans of Sprite left at the back.”

“No, uh… Coke. I wanted Coke.” But she made no move toward the refrigerator. She would have to pass by Hans to get there. She just stood there, one hand playing at the coiled binding of her notebook, staring at the floor. Her cheeks were flushed deep red.

“Elsa?”

Elsa hunched as if Anna had raised a hand to hit her. “Sorry. I’m… I’m sorry.” A moment of hesitation - and then she fled, and a few seconds later, Anna could hear her heavy footfalls, taking the stairs three at a time.

Anna sighed, rubbed a hand over her face. “Sorry - she’s going through some stuff. I better… I’ll be right back.”

“Sure, of course,” Hans said.

Anna grabbed a can of Coke from the fridge and made the age-old journey to Elsa’s closed door - right next to her own. She knocked firmly. “Elsa?”

Silence - but that was no more than she had expected.

She knocked again. “Elsa, I know you can hear me. What was that all about? Are you okay?”

A pause, then: “I’m fine.”

“I brought your Coke.”

“Just… just leave it outside the door.”

Was she for real? “C’mon, Elsa. It’s just me. Hans is downstairs. I want to see if you’re okay. Please?”

She imagined she could hear Elsa sigh with exasperation, but she didn’t care. A moment later, the latch clicked, and the door pulled inward. Elsa had put down her notebook, but was now clutching the edge of the door instead. This close, Anna could see the dark, swollen crescents under her eyes. “Okay?” she said.

“Thanks! Here’s your drink.”

She took the can with the hand not on the door - then made to close it. “Thank you.”

“You sure you don’t want spaghetti? Or something else?”

Elsa shook her head. All Anna could see was one eye, the curve of her cheek.

“You’ll tell me if you want something later?”

The eye looked away. “Yeah, but, I’m… I’m almost done. Maybe then.”

“What are you working on?”

“A… Just a project.”

“Can I see it when it’s done?”

For one final, brief second, Elsa’s eye met hers once more. Then it closed - and a moment later, the door did the same.

Elsa was gone. Anna just stood there, a hard weight in her chest. She was afraid, so often afraid, for her sister. Her parents had refused to speak of why she had come home; Elsa certainly hadn’t said anything - but Anna knew. Just a month or so ago, taking out the trash, a wad of papers had fallen as she tried to tie shut the overflowing bag.

She had at first only glanced at them - they were all addressed to Elsa, all on official-looking letterheads. Curiosity had gotten the better of her.

They were letters from graduate programs - for math of types Anna had never even heard of - and they were rejections. All of them. The anger had flared up in her that day, strong and fierce and bright, and it burned there still - but no one knew, and no one could know, Elsa especially.

But what Anna longed to tell her, could never tell her without giving herself away, was that every school that had turned Elsa down was staffed by idiots. Anna’s sister Elsa was smart and talented and creative and hard-working. She was a little weird, yeah, and pretty dorky - but she was better than any person those programs had admitted, and Anna would fight anyone who said otherwise.

But Elsa didn’t know any of that.

And all Anna could do was stare at her closed door. Again.

“Elsa?” Tentative and soft.

She didn’t expect a response. She was turning away when it came, as tentative as her own: “Maybe.”

Downstairs, she found Hans thumbing through a catalog left on the table, but he closed it and looked up when she came in, eyes concerned. “Is she all right?”

“Yeah.” Anna pushed one long braid back over her shoulder and sat down across from him once more. “Yeah, I think so.” She felt suddenly very tired.

“I hope so,” Hans said, and she managed a weary smile. “Did I scare her?”

Anna shook her head, though she was far from sure that was true. “She just takes awhile to warm up. She’s shy.”

Hans nodded, almost absently. He pushed back from the table, glancing towards the window, curtains still open, that looked out over the backyard. “Speaking of warming up, I’d better get going before I’m stuck.”

Anna looked out for the first time since she’d gotten home - and felt her eyes widen. “Oh, wow.” The news last night hadn’t been kidding - the air was a swirling, angry mass of pure white. “Wow,” she said again.

“Yeah,” Hans agreed - and there seemed little else to say.

“Stay here,” she said. “We have spare rooms. That’s crazy, the weather.”

“I wouldn’t want to take advantage.”

She turned back to him. “You wouldn’t be here if not for me.”

He smiled at that. “Fair point.”

“At least stay for something to eat. Since that’s what you were doing in the first place.”

“Master Chef Anna Agdarsson?”

“No way. All I can do is, like, pasta and sandwiches. Maybe scrambled eggs.”

“The right amount of scramble is an art.”

She’d made the mistake of taking a drink, and wound up laughing and choking trying not to spray Tab out her nose. The burn - and ridiculousness - of it all just made her laugh harder.

How long had it been since she’d laughed like this? Before graduation? It must have been - and maybe some part of her had believed she never would again, that it had gone the way of childhood. It overshadowed even Elsa.

And - shoving guilt to the back of her mind - she allowed it. It might never come again, the way her life was going lately. And Hans was patting her on the back, and laughing with her, and it all felt so good.

“Let’s do sandwiches,” he said, when Anna had finally been reduced to gasps and giggles. “I am a master - nay, a king! - of sandwiches.”

Their eyes met, and held, and Anna could feel the perfect, potential magic sparking between them. When she gave over to a goofy, lopsided grin, he gave one right back - and wrinkled his nose besides.

He was the good kind of adult. Maybe she could be, too.

They ate turkey and cheese and tomato on plain-old Wonder Bread, but somehow, with the storm raging outside and Hans keeping her company, it tasted like the finest gourmet meal from an awesome city far from Arendelle.

“Okay, so tell me,” she said, leaning over the table, “how’d you wind up in the family business? Or is it, like, something you and all your brothers do?”

Hans smiled and shook his head around a mouthful, swallowing before he answered. “No, definitely not - most of them had no interest beyond the money. It’s not exactly romantic work.”

A little frisson worked its way along her spine when he said romantic. She took a quick bite of sandwich to try to hide it showing on her face.

“My brother Caleb - I mentioned him, right? - pretty much runs the company now, and Lars cooks the books… or as he calls it, does the accounting.”

Anna laughed again, quickly covering her mouth to keep from spraying him with crumbs. “How’d you wind up there?”

His face sobered, his eyes wandering to the window, and the thought arrived unbidden: I’ve found his Elsa.

“Nobody expected much from me,” he said - then his expression cleared, and he mustered a smile, though she thought it looked forced. “But I’m competitive. This seemed the quickest way to prove them wrong.”

“Elsa was like that, too - she couldn’t just do something, she had to master it.”

“Admirable,” Hans said. “Though in my experience-”

He was cut off by a banging noise, loud enough it reverberated even over the sounds of whining wind and snow slapping at the windows. A moment later, it came again.

Hans’ gaze, wide-eyed, was locked on Anna. “Elsa?” he asked.

Anna shook her head. “No,” she said. “Someone’s at the front door.”

“The front door? In this? Anna, are you sure-”

Anna was already up and heading down the hall. “Of course I’m sure. Every person in Arendelle knows this house. Probably someone ran into a ditch in the storm, on one of the sideroads. It’s happened before.”

“You think it’s safe?”

She would bet her inheritance he lived in some big-city highrise - a yuppie; cute, mature, but yuppie nonetheless. She unlocked the door and opened it carefully - against the wind, not the axe murderer waiting on the other side.

She did take a step back against the sheer size of him, though. Hans caught her elbows, a loose hold - but one that felt almost possessive. She let her eyes take in enormous boots, the well-worn jeans tucked into the tops, the enormous overcoat and the scarf covering most of the visitor’s face, the shapeless hat atop shaggy hair, and all of it liberally coated with a thick layer of snow.

“Anna?” The voice was muffled by the scarf, but after a moment, she placed it:

“Kristoff?”

The only color in the world outside was the sudden, bright flush of his cheeks. “Uh, yeah.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Checking.”

“On what?”

He was rubbing the back of his neck now, and his eyes couldn’t quite meet hers. “Uh… on you. And your sister.”

“Does he want to come in?” Hans asked.

There was some kind of subtle change to his tone, but she was too flustered to try to figure it out; she pulled away from him, back to the door, gesturing wildly. “Oh my god, yeah, sorry, sorry, come in. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Kristoff said.

When Anna turned back from forcing the door shut, she thought she caught a glimpse of movement at the top of the stairs - but when she looked up, it was to a silent, empty hallway.

She looked back to Kristoff - likely an easier puzzle to solve. “You were checking on me and Elsa?”

He glanced at her. “Yes. But your parents pay me well, so if you want me to keep this particular job, I probably shouldn’t ruin their floors.” His tone was snide, but what she could see of his face was still bright red.

“Here,” she said, and reached around him for the door to the coat closet.

“I mean, if everything’s okay, I’ll just go.”

“No way - are you out of your mind? Just look out there!”

“I know. I just walked through it.”

“Walked?”

“Just from my car.”

She huffed. “Anyway. No. Neither one of you is going anywhere tonight. I won’t be responsible for, like, manslaughter.”

“Yeah, right,” Kristoff said - but he pulled his hat off and shook melting snow from his shaggy hair.

“I take it you know him?” Hans asked when Kristoff had disappeared into the closet. There was still something weird in his tone, and he had a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently but rhythmically.

“Yeah, of course - that’s Kristoff. He went to school with me and Elsa. He does some work for my parents now, around the yard and stuff. He’s cool.”

“Hmm.”

“He’s fine. Not an axe murderer. And if he is, Elsa’s probably secretly like a witch or something, she’ll take care of it.”

He made another noncommittal noise. He seemed a little less adult now, but she hoped that might actually be a good thing - she might feel a little less like a kid dressed up in her mother’s makeup and heels.

Kristoff reemerged swiping a hand through his damp hair. “Elsa’s here too, right?”

“Of course she is. She’s upstairs, working on some super-secret project.” Anna knew he remembered, just as she did - a pigtailed, shrimpy first grader, already notorious for beating up Eddie Lang earlier that year, marching up to the biggest kid in the fifth grade and tugging on his sleeve.

“Hey - what’s your name?”

“Er… Kristoff?”

“Do you know my sister Elsa?”

He had just stared at her for a long time, but she crossed her arms and stared back - stared far up. “Yeah,” he finally said, “I know Elsa.”

“Do you know kids are bugging her on the bus and making her cry?”

“Not me!”

“I know. I want you to protect her.”

“…Me?”

“I’ll pay you a quarter.”

He had refused the money - but had sat pointedly close to Elsa for the rest of the school year. And over a decade later, he still made sure she was okay. And Anna smiled at him.

“We’re having sandwiches,” she said. “Want one?”

“Nah, I already ate.” He nodded to Hans, who still had a hand on Anna’s shoulder. “Don’t think we’ve met. I’m Kristoff Bjorgman.”

“Hans Westerguard.” That was it - no “pleased to meet you” here. Anna forced herself to keep a straight face.

“Come sit with us anyway,” she said to Kristoff. “I feel like I haven’t had a real conversation in days, and Mom and Dad only left yesterday. Anyone else shows up, we’ll call it a party.”

“Is that likely?” Hans asked.

“Nope.”

What also proved unlikely was the conversation she had hoped for - Kristoff she knew was often monosyllabic, but Hans’ earlier ebullience and easy banter seemed to have drained away completely. Still, between bites of her sandwich, Anna tried.

She was so tired of endless, tense, heavy silence.

“Has there been plenty of work lately?” she asked Kristoff, then informed Hans, “Kristoff practically keeps Arendelle running smoothly. Seriously.”

But Kristoff just shrugged and said, “Enough, I guess. The Palmers paid me 20 bucks to put up Christmas lights.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No.”

“What do you think of Arendelle?” she asked Hans. He had finished his food, and was now tapping a desultory rhythm on the table with his index finger. “Pretty choice, huh? Midwest heaven?”

He managed a smile that reached nowhere near his eyes. “Bitchin’,” he said.

Anna risked a tease: “Does your mother know you talk like that?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Probably not.”

Eventually, she sighed and gave up. She gathered the plates and Hans’ empty water glass, dumping them in the sink, where her morning cereal bowl still sat, unwashed. “Oops,” she muttered, and made mental note to remember to clean it all up. There was nothing from Elsa, in the sink or drying on the rack. Another mental note, to take something up later, whether she wanted it or not. Elsa was skinny enough already. It wouldn’t kill her to stop her project for 10 minutes and eat a damn sandwich.

Hans and Kristoff were still engaged in some bizarre, manly silence game, so Anna said, “Bathroom break. I’ll be right back.” Don’t kill each other while I’m gone, she added silently. Apparently, instant mutual dislike was very real.

There was a half-bath off the living room, but she went upstairs. And she allowed herself a moment to pause outside Elsa’s door - resisting the childish temptation to try to look through the old keyhole - but from the other side came only silence. What was she doing in there?

A question Anna had been trying to answer for most of her life.

Similar silence greeted her back downstairs, and she had to bite back a sigh. This was ridiculous. “Are you guys going to do this weird alpha-male stuff all night, or do you want to play a game or something?”

Both at least had the decency to look abashed, though Hans hit it better than Kristoff, and the way he then said, “Games, huh?” made Anna flush in turn - and she suspected he had done it deliberately.

So she gave him, both of them, the most innocent smile she could muster. “Boardgames, sure - we have lots. Monopoly, Scrabble… I think we still have Risk, too. That was Elsa’s favorite. And stuff like chess and checkers. Oh, and Twister!”

Kristoff grimaced. “No way. No Twister.”

Anna grinned at him. “Not too flexible, Bjorgman?”

“I don’t hate myself that much.”

“Harsh,” Hans said.

Kristoff hardly glanced at him. “Wouldn’t want to split those flash seams.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

“Yeah, right.” Kristoff spoke under his breath, but clearly intended to be heard.

Anna was sorely tempted to renege on her insistence that they stay the night, and if they froze to death, so be it. “Chill out, both of you, jeez. You’ve only known each other for 20 minutes.”

Hans glanced at his watch. “Thirty.”

“Whatever. Less than a hour. So just… cool it. All right?”

“Who is this guy?” Kristoff asked. “Do your parents know he’s here?”

“My parents? I’m not in second grade, Kristoff.”

“You trust him just like that?” How long have you known him?”

“Like two days, but that’s none of-”

“Who are you?” Hans asked - speaking over her, but his tone still mild. “Coming to the home of two young girls in a blizzard, knowing their parents aren’t home?”

“Young girls?” Anna didn’t bother hiding her disdain.

“You know what I mean.”

“That’s not the point, and you-”

Again, she saw a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye - but this time, when she turned to look, there was-

“Elsa?”

Hans and Kristoff had fallen silent - could they feel it, as Anna felt it: like a charge had been added to the air, just by Elsa’s appearance?

Elsa was still in the oversized sweater, still with her hair barely contained, her feet bare despite the stone tile that Anna thought must be painfully cold.And she was still clutching that beat-up notebook to her chest. She was looking around the kitchen as if seeking possible hiding places, teeth worrying at her lower lip - but when her eyes met Anna’s, she managed a smile.

“I finished it,” she said softly. “Do you… still want to see?” Her eyes darted to Hans and Kristoff at the kitchen table, then quickly away again. “I mean.. if you aren’t in the middle of something.”

“Not a thing.” Anna jumped to the table, pulling out a chair before Elsa lost her nerve and fled again. “Here, sit! I want to hear all about it. What is it?”

Elsa took a step closer - then hesitated. “It’s a game.” Her voice was hardly a whisper - and somehow, tentatively hopeful. Whatever she had done, Anna realized, it might have been everything to her, since that long, rainy day last spring.

So Anna went to her, offered a smile. “That’s so cool! C’mon - come tell us about it. How do you play?”

Elsa allowed herself to be ushered to the table - Anna knew better than to risk touching her when she was this nervous, but just kind of gesturing beside her worked. She sat the very edge of the chair, laying the notebook across her knees but nonetheless keeping a tight grip on it. She was taking visible deep breaths.

Anna leaned as close as she dared. “Thank you,” she murmured.

Elsa’s eyes met hers as she took her own seat, and for only a second, an incredulous look was there, and Elsa’s lips twitched into what Anna would have sworn was a genuine smile.

Anna smiled back. She had no more control over it than Elsa.

A strange hush had settled over the kitchen, like even the storm was muffled. Anna had been kidding earlier, calling Elsa a witch, but sometimes it did seem as if she might truly have magic, kept under tight control but still surrounding her like a cloud - or a shield.

“Hey, Elsa,” Kristoff said, with none of his earlier snide tone. “Long time no see.”

She managed a smile for him, tremulous but true. “Hi, Kristoff.” She didn’t ask why he was there. Had she been listening at the top of the stairs? She must have heard him banging on the door.

She took another deep breath and dug into the pocket near the bottom of her long sweater. When she held out her hand, there were several small, bright objects in it. They reminded Anna of once, as a kid, going to a science museum on a trip to some long-forgotten city. The gift shop had sold a rainbow of smooth little stones. Each color - pink, red, blue, purple, green - had its own bin, and there were velvet drawstring bags, tiny ones, that could be filled with stones for 35 cents.

Anna took one of Elsa’s proffered stones - but it wasn’t a stone at all. It had the same vivid blue coloring, the same smooth, cool surface, but it was multifaceted, and each identical face was stamped with a number in gold.

“With these,” Elsa said. “You play with these.”

Hans leaned closer, close enough that Elsa pulled her hand back - only a fraction of an inch, but Anna saw it. “Are those dice?”

“Yes,” Elsa said. “It’s… Have you heard of Dungeons and Dragons?”

“Oh, yeah,” Kristoff said. “That’s the one they banned in high school, right, because Principal O’Malley thought it was about satanism.”

“Yeah.” There was a wistful note in Elsa’s voice. “Yeah, that was the one.” She looked up then, quickly glanced at each of the others, as if gauging their reaction to this confirmation. “It’s not, though. It’s… just a game. Roleplaying games, they’re called. There’s lots of them, D&D’s just the most popular.”

It was the most Anna had heard her say in months - maybe since her winter break a full year before, the last time she had been home before dropping out of school. “What do you do?” Anna asked. “To play the game, I mean?”

Elsa put the dice down at the center of the table, and Anna added her blue one. “It’s about… about chance. Kind of.” She was still very nervous, clearly. “I’ve never really taught anyone to play before…”

“I assume you roll dice,” Hans said. He had pushed his chair back on two legs, apparently attempting to show disinterest, but his eyes never left Elsa. I’m competitive, he had said earlier.

Elsa was like that too, Anna had said.

Well, she thought now - tonight could be about to get very interesting.

“Of course you do,” Elsa said- and to Anna’s abject surprise, she was looking right back at Hans, with something very like challenge in her eyes.

“Wait, back up,” Kristoff said. He was leaning across the table, fingering the dice with idle curiosity. “What’s the point of this game? The goal?”

Elsa’s smile was brief and somehow fierce. “Survival,” she said.

After a minute of silence, Anna said, “Rad.” And again from Elsa, she got wide eyes and a quirk of the lips.

“Okay, so…” Elsa finally let go of the notebook, placing it almost reverently on the table before her. It was a five-subject, the pages thickened and roughened with hard use, and the whole swollen further by additional sheets of looseleaf packed into all the pockets. And in permanent marker on the cover, Elsa’s neat capital letters: THE SNOW QUEEN.

“Whoa,” Anna breathed.”You did all that yourself?” It had to be hundreds of pages, and on the few that stuck out from the top of the notebook, she could see line after line of Elsa’s small, dense writing, or graph paper with what looked like layouts, multicolored ink marking details within boxes. “Elsa, that’s incredible!”

Elsa was looking at the notebook, biting hard on her lower lip, a flush rising her cheeks. “Thank you.” She paused - gathering courage? - and opened the notebook, flipping to the second set of pockets. Anna was still amazed at how packed it all seemed to be - the one page she could see was drenched with ink, most in black, but blue and red corrections, notes in the margins.

From the pocket, Elsa took several identical, blank charts, clutching them in both hands, staring down at them as she spoke. “I guess this is the best place to start - at the beginning.”

It was raining, chilly and damp, when her parents arrived to take her home. The dorms were silent and empty, everyone in class, the library, the cafeteria - everyone but Elsa, eternally the outcast, the one who couldn’t quite figure out all the unwritten societal rules, standing at the window, watching rain spatter and roll against the glass. She pressed a finger to it, tracing idle shapes with her fingers and wishing desperately her heart would stop pounding. There was nothing to be afraid of - she was just going home.

Failure, her mind whispered, sharp and insistent. Such a disappointment.

There was no argument to be made.

Her parents said little - though her mother wrapped her in a tight, warm hug - and Elsa almost nothing at all. She had packed the day before in a numb daze, after all her withdrawal paperwork was completed and filed. She didn’t have much anyway. A box of textbooks and notes, a duffel bag of clothes, and her backpack, with her D&D and Palladium manuals, her folder of character sheets, several paperback books - Ray Bradbury, Robert Heinlein, Harlan Ellison - and the calculator she had gotten for Christmas. The few things she thought might keep her going, when all else had burned away to ash.

The four-hour drive back to Arendelle was a gray, rainy blur, Elsa staring out at newly-turned farmland and wondering at the simplicity that must surely come from living such a life. Routines, satisfaction of a good crop, early to bed and early to rise. Those who lived in those neat little farmhouses, secure of their places in the world, small as it might be - she envied them.

Her mind would never allow her to live such a life. It never settled, never stopped buzzing, insistent and hungry. Perhaps worse, it also refused to forget.

We had such high hopes for you, Miss Agdarsson. Why are you giving up now?

The last thing stuffed into the backpack at her feet - the rejection letters. Thirteen of them. She had pulled several all-nighters to complete the applications before January deadlines - all for naught.

She should have known better.

“Need any help?” her father asked as they pulled into the driveway at home, and his voice was not unkind, but Elsa shook her head. She would bear this burden, as she did so many others, alone.

She stood in the downpour, fighting to get the trunk closed with the heavy box of textbooks in her arms, and when she finally lost the box, watched it land in the muddy grass, she felt too numb to care. A part of her wanted to cry. Another part wanted to kick the box until it tore, and then more still, four years of worthless paper and ink left to be reclaimed by nature. But neither desire proved stronger than numb resignation.

She left the box where it was, and hauled the duffel bag and backpack to her bedroom, dumping them unopened on the corner next to her desk. She said nothing about the abandoned textbooks, but when she next looked out the window, the box was gone.

She spent the afternoon, as she had most of the day, staring out that window at nothing in particular, trembling in her soaked clothes but without the strength to change them.

What have I done?

The words echoing through her brain like pinballs.

As the light faded from the sky, the high school bus made its lumbering way down CR1113, stopping at Norsk Lane, the only place on the narrow road where it could turn around. Despite the rain, Anna - her red hair and green jacket the only bright spots in a world gone grey - turned to wave and call goodbyes before running for the house. She was hardly through the door before she was calling Elsa’s name, and the thump of her backpack came a split second before the reverberating rhythm of her race up the stairs.

“Elsa!” Knocking hard at the door, clearly struggling not to pound with all her strength - she sounded breathless, excited. It made no sense.

Four years ago - suddenly, though Elsa had said nothing about it, not so much as a word, people had begun approaching her at school to offer congratulations on her college acceptance. Teachers, mostly, but some students too, and Elsa had been honestly baffled; she even checked the school newspaper, to make sure they hadn’t printed a list of everyone who had been accepted.

She mentioned it at home one night, just a comment in passing when asked about her day over dinner, and Anna had piped up and said, “Oh, yeah, I told some people. It’s so cool, Elsa!” She was in eighth grade, with braces on her teeth and her hair cut into an attempt at feathered layers.

“Why?” Elsa asked. She didn’t like being noticed; in her mind, attention at school reminded her too much of her tormentors in elementary school. Being invisible and ignored was always better.

“Because it’s awesome?”

“First in the family is pretty impressive, Elsa,” their father added.

“I guess…”

Anna had been so proud - so why was she back now, sounding so eager and happy? Elsa had failed her. She had failed everybody.

“Elsaaa, I know you can hear meee!”

She closed her eyes, curled her hands to fists.

“Elsa, c’mon, open up. Please? No tackle hugs, and my fingers are definitely not crossed.”

She tried to take deep breaths, but her lungs seemed to have ceased to function.

“Elsa?” Concern, for the first time, in Anna’s voice.

Don’t - !

But Elsa forced the words out, around resisting throat and teeth and tongue and lips: “Go away, Anna.”

Anna said nothing else, but it was a long time before Elsa heard her footsteps, slow and even now, walking away. Then, finally, Elsa cried - silent, heavy tears rolling down her cheeks, a mirror of the outside world.

When she was called down to dinner soon after, she went. She was dry-eyed - and she had long since learned how to hide her fear beneath a serene exterior. But she ate little, and said less, and resolutely refused to meet Anna’s gaze.

She heard Anna sigh, but ignored that, too.

Time passed in a hazy blur, schedules lost. Elsa kept to her room because nowhere else felt like a place she belonged anymore - she was supposed to be readying for college graduation, for a new life on her own. Instead, she had placed herself in some strange limbo, neither child nor adult, and even if her bedroom, too, felt alien, it was at least quiet and secure and safe.

She slept very little, at whatever hour exhaustion took her, without regard to the time. She picked at food when called down for meals, but sought out nothing else. She felt them watching her - her father, her mother, and most of all Anna - and knew they must talk about her after she disappeared, once more, to her room, but she couldn’t muster up the energy to care.

When she slept, the same nightmare came again and again: she was walking across the stage at graduation, and Dean Ferrera looked at her degree, then stopped cold - and so did she, heart already pounding.

“Elsa Agdarsson?” he proclaimed right into the microphone, his incredulity already clear. “Thinks she has earned a degree in mathematics? This girl right here? You?”

And she couldn’t move, or breathe, or blink, even as the laughter rippled out across the hundreds of people gathered: students, faculty, family. All of them - laughing and laughing and laughing at this absurd, silly girl who had believed she had earned a degree in math.

She woke from these dreams trembling and cold, still feeling eyes crawling all over her.

But it was another graduation that changed everything - again.

Anna’s.

“You’re coming right?” Anna asked one night, Elsa as usual called down for dinner and uncertain how to refuse to attend, stirring chicken and asparagus around on her plate. She knew there was excited talk of something, but she had missed the start of the conversation, arriving at the table as Anna contemplated seafood at Eric’s or the amazing chocolate brioche at La Lumiere - “I mean, yeah, mediocre steaks and stuff, but that caramel glaze on the brioche? Oh my god.”

Apparently, there had been more to the conversation than restaurants. “Huh? Coming where?”

Anna rolled her eyes, but was smiling when she said, “Earth to Elsa! Graduation. Saturday night. And your pick - amazing lobster or amazing dessert?”

“Graduation?”

“High school? Mine? Mortarboards and ‘Until We Meet Again’?”

“Oh.” She looked down at her plate - stirring, stirring, stirring. How long had it been since she’d felt hungry? “No.”

“No?”

In the long silence that followed, she finally forced herself to look up again. “I’m sorry.”

Anna’s face fell - just like that, the excitement was quenched and gone. “Oh,” she said. And nothing more.

And for the first time that Elsa could remember, nobody asked again. There was no “offering one last time!” or Anna asking for the third round, “Are you sure?” She heard her father demanding photographs, Anna laughing and protesting that she needed to finish her makeup. She watched them leave - Anna, despite her curled hair and smoky eyeshadow, was flapping her way across the twilit front yard like some overexcited, green-plumaged songbird.

The car was long gone, the sky fading from purple-blue to black, when Elsa finally left her watch. She collapsed at the end of her bed, clenching her trembling hands tightly together, letting her head fall forward, too much weight to hold, curtains of blonde hair enfolding her.

The numbness, whatever had shielded her from reality, from the emotional abyss as weeks became months, was cracking away, shed like old skin. She wasn’t ready.

And she was afraid.

It hurt. She didn’t move from the bed - likely her legs wouldn’t have carried her if she had tried. She rocked, and trembled, and finally, she broke.

She fell to her knees, clung to the deep carpet, and barked a sob - just one. But the voice was too loud: Failure. Weirdo. Creep. Disappointment. Overachiever. Loser.

“I know!” But the scream was only in her head, and had no strength behind it. “I know…” Aloud but weak, so weak. She hadn’t asked to be what she was. Did they think she wanted to be this way, alien and monstrous and broken, an embarrassment, a freak?

Elsa’s being weird again.

Ew, no, I don’t want to work with her.

Hey, Agdarsson, you see any other girls here? Get out.

Don’t be a show-off, Miss Agdarsson. No boys will ever like you.

She’s so ridiculous. What’s wrong with her? She could be so pretty if she tried.

Why can’t you be more like your sister?

“I don’t know.” She was whimpering now, a lifetime of fear and isolation finally breaking free. “I don’t know. Leave Anna alone…”

The words she had never been brave enough to say, even when Anna risked her own social standing - first with fists, then with words - at the slightest insult to Elsa. Anna should have had a sister she could look up to, someone as open and vivacious and clever as she was, someone with whom to trade clothes and secrets. That was what sisters were supposed to be.

Not freakish, sub-human, a Frankenstein’s monster of feminine appearance and traits the world reminded her again and again and again were masculine, incongruous.

She fell asleep there, on the floor of her room - the kind of dark, deep, dreamless sleep she had believed no longer possible. She did not hear her parents and Anna, now officially a high school graduate, return home. When she woke, to the misty-grey dawn of early summer, she was stiff and sore, and something was digging into her temple - her backpack. She had never unpacked it. And sometime in her unconscious night, she had used it as a makeshift pillow. There was the sharp corner of something, and when she unzipped her bag and pulled it out, she found herself staring at the closest thing she’d had to a secure sanctuary - the lurid red-and-black cover of the Advanced Dungeons & Dragons Player’s Manual.

Senior year of high school Allan Hubert had invited her to play with him and Manny St. James and Lukas Irving. They were the type to embrace being outcasts, wearing corduroy and Star Wars t-shirts and ending conversations with “live long and prosper.” They had all accepted Elsa, taught her patiently how to play. “A party of three is a lot stronger,” Lukas said, and the others were quick to agree.

But a parent complained, several months later, that such games were “satanic” - and Principal O’Malley promptly banned them. Allan and Manny and Lukas remained friendly, but they had little in common with Elsa outside the game.

People who liked her had nothing in common with her, people who had something in common with her didn’t like her. That didn’t change in college. And she didn’t know how to change that - but she had kept her books.

A shred of hope.

She stared at it. Her lip trembled, but she fought back the tears. No more crying.

She waited until the house was empty before creeping out. The world was still and silent - waiting. She walked to town, to the grocery store, because they might not know her there.

A thick notebook. A cellophane packet of multicolored pens. Graph paper.

She set to work.

[hellagaymccree]

Oatmeal

day one - snowed in

----

After the call from base, and trying his best to get a shuttle to reach them, he ended with nothing. The blizzard was too strong, and all the airports had closed; it would be too dangerous to land, even for a Blackwatch pilot. Gabriel hung up and mad his way to the motel’s front desk and paid for an extra night and day, not knowing when they would be able to leave. He sighs as pays and rubs his temple, the mission had gone great. They got the intel they needed, and Jack already has his hands on it to plan their next move, but they didn’t count with a snowstorm. This things happen, and Gabriel is used to them, but what he’s not use to its the storm that hits him when he’s near Jesse, when they spend hours together, mostly talking and doing the most normal touches of hands and shoulders. He doesn’t know how to deal with that kind of disaster.

He goes back to their room, a little chill hanging on his skin due to his body adjusting to the weather. The SEP fucked it up so bad, he can hardly feel it. Sadly, he it’s not the same for McCree, who’s sitting on the bed, wrapped in blankets and still shivering. This motel was not built to stand a cold weather, the heaters broken down during the first half hour.

“How’re you holding up?” Gabriel asks him.

“P-peachy,” Jesse trembles. “I-If I open t-the water it’ll f-freeze midair.”

Gabriel scoffs, it couldn’t be that cold. “We should try to sleep, God knows when we’ll be able to leave.”

“And risk my fingers fallin’ o-off, nosir!”

“I won’t let it happen,” Gabriel makes his way to the bed, the only bed in the room. He hadn’t paid attention to it before, they only needed the room for a day, so there weren’t plans to sleep over. He still tries to keep it out of his mind. He remembers the time Fareeha had fallen asleep on his back when she found him taking quick naps because he was too warm and cozy. Even Ana lingers in their hugs when base is too cold. If she doesn’t find Gabriel, she’ll go to Jack, since he also has this gift.

“Make room,” Gabriel says and Jesse pays no mind as he scotches more to the middle and unwraps the blankets. Gabriel lies by his side and Jesse does the same and quickly moves closer to his commander. It’s only for the heat, Gabriel tells himself, the way the younger man wraps his arms around his waist and nuzzles his nose under his neck.

“They always s-say hell’s hot, but nah. I’ve f-felt it, and i-it’s freezin’ cold.” Gabriel laughs to Jesse’s words and almost chokes when the cowboy moves even closer, practically sticking to his skin. He starts feeling it, a pinch of cold over his skin, like a coat, but when the blankets wrap completely around them, and the warmth start spreading through, it ceases, along with Jesse’s shivering.

--

Jesse had heard of Gabriel’s body temperature. He was a freak of nature, like a lot of agents called him due to his enhancements. He had felt brushes of that heat, it was soothing when they did stealth missions and Gabriel whispered in his ears, it was welcoming during breezy nights on the roof while they smoke, he wasn’t much of a fan when they sparred and his body was already hot enough, but even so, he would always enjoy his commander’s body pinning him to the ground.

His own body was melting in the fort Jesse had created with the blankets and Gabriel. His breathing had gone down to normal and he felt he could speak again. If it were up to him, he would keep this blizzard blowing in the sky for a day at least, just so he could stay in this kingdom, be shielded from the world and drift into a warm slumber.

When he wakes up, his body is better, practically back to normal except for a slight chill that makes him move closer to Gabriel, still asleep close to him. His nose is pressed to the collar of Reyes’ shirt, between his collar bones. He couldn’t stop smiling when he took a deep breath and Gabriel’s scent over took everything else. The best thing about the situation wasn’t just the heat his commander offered, but once Jesse had calmed down, and took a real good breather, the smell of warm oatmeal entered through his nose, reminding him of lazy Sunday mornings and cozy evenings by a fire. He wrapped his arms around Gabriel tighter, and smirked to the sharp intake of breath his commander took, probably waking up to the stirring. Jesse lifts his head until his lips touch Gabriel’s neck, tempted to taste it, to mark the beautiful dark skin until it changed to purple.

Gabriel swallows hard before whispering, “Go back to sleep, Jesse.”

“I’m wide awake now,” Jesse teases as his lips brush skin, feels his Adam’s apple bobbing in another swallow, before Reyes turns to face away from Jesse. But the cowboy is relentless, and too drunk on the scent to pull away. Besides, if he breaks away too far, the cold with embrace him again. He wraps his arm around Gabriel’s hip once more, and presses his nose to the back of his commander’s neck to inhale the smell again. “And you smell s’good, jefe.”

“Jesse,” Gabriel hisses sharply.

“Do you really want me to stop?” Jesse murmurs, as provocative as he can. By the way Gabriel growl and pushes his hips back, Jesse believes it’s a no, but he asks again, as clearly as he can, “Do you want me to stop?”

It’s quiet, and neither move until Gabriel answers, “No.”

--

He shifts so easily under McCree’s command, turning to face him again, ashamed that he’s allowing something to happen. The barrier he had built up when he realized the cowboy meant more to him crumbles after one touch from said cowboy himself. But the shame disappears when Jesse smiles at him, it’s not wicked nor sinful, it’s genuine. It tells Gabriel he’s okay if Gabriel decides to respond.

Jesse moves closer again, and tucks himself under Gabriel’s chin, where he had started. He hears him taking a deep breath and when he exhales, it tickles his skin. While Jesse remains warm, Gabriel can smell a bit of sweat still lingering on the cowboy’s wild hair. He hardly stayed two minutes in the shower after it came out cold. Yet, he doesn’t mind it. It’s Jesse, and the younger man doesn’t seem to wanna pull away any time soon.

It’s not long after that lips kiss his neck and he freezes. Jesse peppers soft kisses where he can reach without moving too much, and it’s enough to make Gabriel’s heart beat faster with each peck.

“Not even in my dreams did I imagined it’d feel like this,” Jesse comments, and the caress of his lips, his breath brushing his skin and the lust hanging in Jesse’s tongue, it’s enough gasoline to burst the flame in Gabriel. He pins Jesse’s shoulder to the bed, turning him on his back and catches a glimpse of a proud smirk before he closes the gap to kiss the cowboy. Jesse grabs his shirt as if he will fall through a hole in the bed, and wake up from a nightmare.

It feels too nice to let go of, too innocent to try beyond this. The kisses are soft, but the holds are strong, keeping each other in place, making sure they’re still solid and don’t melt in the heat. The blizzard keeps blowing outside, rattling the cheap windows, but the storm in Gabriel has ceased for now. He doesn’t know if my morning, when the snow calms down, he’ll be able to say the same, or if seeing Jesse in the same bad wake up something else in him.

[captainkirkmccoy]

Hallmark movie: two strangers are forced on a road trip together when the airports close due to weather and they both need to get home.

“I swear on Bing Crosby’s balls if you don’t get me on a goddamn plane, I will transfer every single mile and make this shit stain of customer service go viral.”

Jim wasn’t sure what was more impressive–the use of Bing Crosby in an oath or the fact that the guy in front of him–stubbled, built, with just enough southern twang to sound polite while he was cursing you out–looked so good while doing it. 

He missed what the concierge said, which was a shame because Jim would have liked to tape that reaction and play it whenever he felt pretty fucked up. 

“Can I help you?” The next concierge asked, taking his hopeful boarding pass and ID. 

“I’m sorry, sir. We’re completely booked due to the delays.”

Now it was Jim’s turn to curse. 

***

Two hours and two shots later found Leo at the rental car desk. He was sober, thank fuck, but he was boarding on livid, ready to throw a temper tantrum that would have put Joanna’s three-year-old ones to shame. 

“I’m sorry, sir, but I just gave my last available car–a Honda minivan to that gentlemen.” 

Leo swiveled his head with such speed that might have been comical if he wasn’t ready to pounce on this asshat who took his ride. He needed that car. Without a word to the clerk–and really he knew it wasn’t their fault for weather delays–he stalked toward the blonde man in the leather coat (who the fuck wore a leather coat in Iowa in the Winter?)

“Hey, kid.”

The guy, a few years younger and most definitely not a kid, blinked at Leo with the most beautiful blue eyes that Leo had ever seen. His words caught in his breath. 

The man sighed. “Where you going?”

“What?”

“You want to buy these kids. They’re not for sale. But I might be able to drive you halfway.”

“Hell no. I’ll drive myself. And everyone has a price.”

“I need to be somewhere, same as you. No price. Where are you going? I’m only offering once. I’ve got to get on the road.”

“Georgia. Just outside Atlanta. You?”

The kid’s grin was slow and delighted. “Georgia. Just outside Atlanta.”

***

“Turn that goddamn music off for Christ’s sake.”

Leo was sleeping off his hangover with his head reclined on the passenger headrest, his scarf over his eyes. He had dozed for a bit but woke up to an annoying off-key rendition of White Christmas along with the radio. 

Jim, his new traveling companion, gasped. “You don’t like Buble?”

Leo grumbled in response and reached down for the cup of donut holes, popping a powdered one in his mouth. 

“So, what are you risking life and limb for with a rackish yet impossibly handsome stranger?”

Leo chocked on some powder and Jim reached over and thumped him on the back. 

“What are you risking life and limb for?” Leo countered. 

“Touche.” Leo watched as Jim starred ahead, the light from the passing cars lighting up his eyes briefly. “I’m half Jewish and half…well, we celebrate Christmas. I mean, technically I’m more agnostic but…” Jim shrugged. He cleared his throat. “Anyway, my mom and dad met around Christmas and Hannukah and it was their things for years. And then he died. If I don’t get home this will be the first Christmas my mom will spend alone.”

Leo nodded, looking out at the passing snow drifts as they drive farther and farther down the interstate. 

“My ex-wife and I got divorced last year. This is the first Christmas that I won’t be living with my daughter. I couldn’t not be there.”

Jim flexed his fingers on the steering wheel, changing lanes to get around a semi. 

“Good reasons,” Jim said finally. 

Leo popped another donut in his mouth so Jim wouldn’t be able to tell how raspy his voice would get. 

***

Two flat tires, one near accident and a terrifying moment when Leo, now Bones, had to jab a epi-pen into his new friend’s thigh and they were crossing the boarder into Georgia. 

Jim whooped from the passenger side. He had refused the hospital but Bones didn’t trust the pale complexion and bruised skin below his eyes so Bones forced him into the passenger seat. 

Bones pulled into the nearest rest stop and took a shaky breath. 

If Bones got off this exit, he’d be to Jo in a half hour, a day and a half before his worse case scenario had planned for. 

If he continued down the thruway for another hour and then got off an exit then, he’d get Jim to his mom just before sun down on the first night of Hannukah. 

“Hey,” Jim said, suddenly, reaching a hand out to pry Bones’ white knuckled grip on the steering wheel. “It’s okay. You take the car.”

“What?” Bones exclaimed, wrenching the emergency break on. 

“I can take the bus or–”

“If you say something as asinine as hitchhike, so help me, James T. Kirk.”

Jim ducked his head. “You sound like my mom.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Now let’s go get something to eat, you look like death and if I don’t piss now we won’t be getting our deposit back on the rental.”

Jim snorted. 

***

A half hour later, Jim was dozing in the car when it eased to a halt, a street lamp burning bright behind Jim’s closed eyes. 

“Hey,” Bones, this stranger, accidental new best friend and potentially the love of his life, said softly, one hand gently nudging him awake. 

He blinked his eyes, passing a hand over the grit collected there, and found that he was staring at his mother’s new house. The one she had bought because Iowa was getting too cold, too lonely, too full of memories of a husband that had died years ago but had lingered for years like a vengeful ghost, kept alive by her guilt and refusal to move on. Jim had found the house and called the broker and had moved her down here himself, somewhere warm and bright and as far away from the gossip and shadows of Riverside as they could get. It didn’t matter if Jim couldn’t leave behind the Kirk homestead quite as easily, his mom deserved a change. 

“What?” He asked, blinking again just in case he was seeing some other house or the bus station that Bones had agreed to drop him off at an hour ago. 

The door opened and his mother stepped our, wrapping a coat around herself as she raised a hand in greeting but not to him–to Bones. 

“How?” He asked, his voice a tired wave of confusion and wonder. 

“Made a phone call. Your mom is quite lovely. Not sure where a shit stirring menace like you comes from.”

Jim laughed and got out of the car. His mom took a step out onto the lawn, which was damp, and then ran to him, engulfing Jim in a bear hug that only people who claimed you as theirs were capable of. 

“Jim,” she breathed. “You made it.” 

“I did,” he said, still full of wonder. He squeezed her for a few moments, taking in her mom scent–from lemon from her favorite dishwashing soap, to lavender and vanilla from her shampoo, and cinnamon from her homemade crust and morning buns. 

“But, Jo?” Jim asked when he finally pulled away. 

Bones pursed his lips, his eyes a happy glint of mischief. “Apparently, my dear ex’s new in-laws live about ten minutes from here? And they’re spending the holidays with them?”

Jim threw his head back and laughed. Then he reached forward and grabbed for Bones’ hand just as he wanted to since they first got into the car, and every time in between. 

“Thanks, Bones.”

“Nah. I think it’s you I have to thank,” Bones said and squeezed his hand back as they all walked together toward the house and toward whatever their first holiday together would bring. 

***

Prompt me with your best Holiday Hallmark Movie Prompt!

[multipleservicelisting]

What happens to an airplane after it retires

(CNN) — Deciding when and how to retire an aircraft is a complicated job for airlines, even in normal times. With Covid-19, the world’s fleet has been largely grounded. Many aircraft that might have flown for five, 10 or even more years are being sent to have their valuable parts and systems stripped, and their metals and other materials recycled.

Finnair is starting to retire its Airbus A319 airplanes — small, two-engined jets that it has spent more than two decades flying around Europe to connect to and through its Helsinki hub. Director of Fleet Management Miika Haatio sat down with CNN to explain how it works.

Every individual aircraft has a natural life, Haatio explains: “Each aircraft, and especially the airframe, has a design service goal. In this case, Airbus has designed the airframe for a certain amount of flights, and done all the testing for the structural integrity for that number of flights.”

Some airlines do keep aircraft flying longer, however, for a variety of reasons.

These might include not having a direct replacement newer aircraft, like for the Boeing 767-300ER, a relatively small long-distance, two-engined, widebody plane that many airlines were still operating before Covid-19. Some planes have been put on longer routes, so they have flown proportionally fewer flights. And sometimes it just makes financial sense, even outside a pandemic.

Finnair’s first A319, registered OH-LVA, takes off from Helsinki to be recycled in the UK.

Mikko Pylkko

Calling time on an airplane

As we talk to Haatio just after noon on a cold Helsinki December day — the sun rises at 9:20 a.m. and sets at 3:11 p.m. — there are only nine Finnair flights in the skies of the world: an Airbus A321 heading to Malaga, Spain; an E190 regional jet to Berlin; two ATR turboprops to Oslo, Norway, and Gothenburg, Sweden; and widebody jets inbound from Bangkok, Tokyo, Seoul, Beijing and Shanghai.

Meanwhile, 1,194 miles away, on a quiet airfield in rainy Gloucestershire, a couple of hours west of Heathrow in the English countryside, Finnair’s first A319, registered OH-LVA, sits waiting to be recycled.

The Airfleets database shows that LVA’s first flight was August 25, 1999, and was delivered to Finnair on September 20 that same year. The airline reports that, in its over 21 years of service, LVA performed 32,710 flights across 55,367 hours. If all of the 144 seats on board had been filled on every flight, that would be some 4.7 million passengers transported over its lifetime.

In general, some airlines might prefer from a point of financial principle to spend money maintaining older airplanes such as the LVA rather than buying new ones, although the counterbalance for this is the impressive fuel efficiency gains of newer aircraft. That’s why some planes will fetch quite a sum on the second-hand market.

For LVA, however, the writing was on the wall: Airbus’ A319 is a smaller version of its A320 aircraft, and a “shrink” aircraft often loses some of the efficiency of its larger sibling.

“In the Finnair operation,” Haatio says, “larger aircraft obviously are more efficient and have less fuel burn per passenger than smaller aircraft. We see a shift towards larger narrowbodies other than the smaller ones. That can be seen also, for example, in the Airbus order books for new aircraft: the larger ones are more preferred than the smaller ones.”

Indeed, Airbus’ most recent orderbook data show that only 84 A319neos have been ordered, in comparison with 3,925 of the larger A320neos and of the 3,446 even bigger A321neos.

In Helsinki, Finnair employees painted over the airline’s livery on an A319 bound for the scrapyard.

Mikko Pylkko

Salvaging a few parts

So would LVA have been retired this early if the Covid-19 pandemic hadn’t happened?

“We can speculate,” Haatio says. “Technically, this aircraft could have been flown a bit more, but obviously, due to Covid, there’s a huge surplus of aircraft in the world, at least in the short term, and prices have gone down quite a bit.

“Potentially it could have gone to some other operator for a further life, but in this market situation, there were basically no takers for it. So nobody’s — we could say that very few airlines or operators — are buying an aircraft at the moment, because everybody has too many for the short term.”

And so Finnair appointed AerFin, a company headquartered in Cardiff, Wales, that specializes in end-of-life aircraft, to disassemble LVA, sell the various parts of the aircraft that still have value — and to return the landing gear to Finnair.

“For this particular aircraft, the landing gears are quite new, or newly overhauled,” Haatio says. “So we decided that we want these landing gears back. Once they’re removed off of the aircraft, they go through Safran for recertification then come back to Finnair and we reuse them on our remaining fleet.”

The actual dismantling and recycling process can take place in several different airports. For LVA, it’s Cotswold Airport in Kemble, in western England.

Finnair covered the livery with its signature blue rather than the usual white because it had extra blue paint.

Mikko Pylkko

So long to the livery

Before departing Helsinki, Finnair removed quite a lot of the aircraft’s interior: for example, the cabin curtains can be reused on other aircraft, as can the leather and seat covers — although the seat structures themselves flew off with the plane, for AerFin to try to sell on to other airlines.

The requirements for oxygen bottles and fire extinguishers in the cabin, meanwhile, are based on the number of passengers, and with zero on board these were also taken off in Helsinki.

So, too, were the ovens and coffee makers, so any retiring aircraft’s final pilots had better bring a flask onboard with them.

One of the final jobs before an aircraft takes its last flight to storage or recycling is usually to paint over the airline’s logo, symbols and other branding, known as its livery.

Essentially, airlines like other companies want to control how their brand is used, and once the aircraft is in the hands of the recyclers or being sold on, they’re no longer in control. And nobody wants pictures of their brand being crunched by a piece of heavy machinery during recycling.

Unusually, in LVA’s case, Finnair chose its signature blue rather than the usual white, not for any symbolic reason, but because it had extra blue paint that needed to be used up rather than ordering new white, and thus her unusual stripes on the body and tail of the plane.

AerFin is a company specializing in “aircraft end of life services.” This is a disassembly facility at Cotswold Airport near Kemble in western England.

Courtesy AerFin

Everything (well, almost everything) out, please …

After arriving at its disassembly location at Cotswold Airport near Kemble in western England, AerFin (in this case, in collaboration with Air Salvage International) started splitting out the aircraft components into various categories.

AerFin Operations Director Simon Bayliss explains that, first, anything to be returned to the airline is removed, like LVA’s landing gear, as well as anything to be sold on. That would normally include avionics: systems like those used for communications, collision avoidance, weather, and other flight deck equipment.

“Then,” Bayliss says, “we’ve got what we call the major assets and the structures. That’s things like the auxiliary power unit, the landing gear, the thrust reversers and nacelles. There’s what we call the flight control, that’s basically the flaps and the rudders. Then we’ve got the interiors: everything from the seats, the cabin equipment, the coffee, the tea makers, the toilets, the galleys. Once that’s done, then you’re left with basically the fuselage.”

From there, the flight deck might be cut out to be reused as a simulator, while the doors might also be removed for cabin crew training units.

Everything else is split into four categories of recyclable materials or waste. First is metal (whether that’s steel, stainless steel, titanium, aluminum or something else). Then there are recyclables such as flight deck glass, tires and so on, then hazardous components such as fire extinguishers and batteries, then composite materials such as the interiors and seats.

And that’s the end of LVA’s story: useful systems and parts removed continuing to serve passengers, the rest being extracted for onward sale, and her materials recycled to be used again in something else — perhaps, even, a new airplane that eventually might take to the skies once more.

from Multiple Service Listing https://ift.tt/2LnsTbm

[rememberthattime]

Chapter 52. Finnish Lapland

I’m writing this introduction from our flight from London Gatwick. It is 6:14 AM. Cold and rainy. We’ve been up since 4, and even my few hours of sleep were interrupted by relentless coughing. I should feel tired and angry.

But instead I’m bursting with anticipation - like my body can’t handle the excitement (maybe that’s the reason for my cough?).

This is Chelsay and I’s first weekend trip, and as the plane makes its way to the runway, I’m remembering the #1 reason we moved back: accessible travel, starting with this weekend’s trip to the Finnish Lapland.

Our second round of European adventures began with this road trip to Nellim, Finland, an extremely remote town of 150 people tucked 250 miles into the Arctic Circle, just five miles from the Russian border.

However, before writing about our three days in Finland, I want to quickly cover our first three weeks in London.

I could talk about our return to Richmond Park, about our walks through Soho and the reminders of how “cool” London is, or about how we found our flat in Hampstead within 24 hours of arriving... All of that was great, but I really only want to write about one thing: Indy.

Yes, 12 year old Chelsay’s dream finally came true. As a kid, she’d tell her mom she was going to live in London (...she watched a lot of Mary Poppins). She would have a great job and a nice husband. But most importantly: she would have a border collie named Indiana Jones. This dream came true when Chels and I traveled up to Derby, England to visit a puppy litter. All of the puppies had chubby butts, but our little Indy was easy to spot: tail wagging, stomping over his puppy siblings, and already showing affection to his new parents. It was love at first site.

We won’t get to take little Indy home for a few more weeks, but that hasn’t slowed Chelsay’s “puppy mom” obsession. We bought his crate and fence on the ride home from Derby. We’ve been watching hours of dog training videos on YouTube. I’m receiving dozens of texts each day with the same puppy picture. ...Who am I kidding though? I’m just as much of an obsessed “puppy dad”.

That one Indy story means you’re caught up on our first three weeks in London. Back to our first trip.

There’s always a buzz when you’re going somewhere new, and that’s especially true in Europe. Every country is so accessible yet so unique. Spain is nothing like Sweden nor Morocco. They’re all just three hours away, but might as well be on different planets.

This was proven true as our plane descended into Finland. The landscape was whiter than a Dave Mathews concert. Snow everywhere. No patches of civilization, just patches of evergreen forests covered in more white. We took off in metropolitan London and landed literally in the Arctic Circle.

If this was evident on the flight in, it became especially clear as we left the airport. I asked our rental agent for the car keys and he looked back at me as if it were obvious: “They’re in the car - I started it 30 minutes ago.”

As we stepped out the airport doors, I realized why this should’ve been obvious — and also why his directions to the car were so emphatic. Everything was frozen, including the car had he not started it earlier. Chelsay and I would’ve been frozen too if we didn’t literally dive into the car.

After barely avoiding frostbite, my first thought upon hitting the road was “How can people survive here?” It’s just snow, ice, and sub-zero temperatures for months!

But the Finnish rightly play up their winter wonderland. In fact, it’s close enough to the North Pole that Lapland claims to be the Home of Santa. Yes, of all the places in the entire world, Santa chose Rovaniemi, Finland to set up shop. What an honor.

After a brief stop at Santa’s offices, we hit the road for our four-hour drive to Nellim. This place is remote, and that was exactly the intention. My two goals for the trip were (1) to see the Northern Lights and (2) to walk through snowy, silent Finish forests. Heading as far into Lapland as possible gave us the best chances for both.

The drive was a breeze: we had studded tires for the icy roads, and a James Acaster audiobook for entertainment. Plus the landscape kept us in awe - tall spruce forests lined the roadway and the black concrete was covered in ice, loose snow whipping around in the wind.

We were conscious of daylight on our drive up. In winter, the sun technically rises at 9:30 AM and sets at 3 PM. I say “technically” because there is actually far more daylight thanks to Nautical and Civil twilight, two things I’d never heard of before this trip. Given Lapland’s latitude, sunrise and sunset last about two hours each — rather than have a defined light time and dark time, Finnish days are just caught in perpetual semi-visibility... In addition to being “Home to Santa”, Lapland is apparently also the Twilight Zone.

Stop it Mike.

Anyway, we arrived at Nellim Wilderness Resort after sunset and nautical twilight and civil twilight and any other twilight. It was dark, but there were still a few activities available our first evening.

First, our resort had an illuminated sled hill. We didn’t know about the sledding beforehand, but once we’d seen it, Chelsay and I couldn’t resist.

Our riding styles were absolutely on brand: Chelsay laughed and screamed the entire way down (reminding me of our ride on The Mummy roller coaster at Universal Studios).

Meanwhile, I took sledding to an extreme by riding headfirst (likely breaking my ribs with what Chelsay called “The Salmon Jump”), then later trying to surf down (likely breaking my back with what Chelsay called “The Concussion Tumble”).

We were in the right country to recover from our (my) frigid falls, because the Finns love a hot sauna. In fact, they invented it! 1000 years ago, some Viking named Olaf probably tried that sled-surf thing, and a smoky sauna was his novel therapy!

Luckily the resort’s saunas were private, because similar to sled-surfing, I introduced a new twist to an old tradition: no one in the history of saunas has ever sweat as much as I did. Olaf included.

Outside of sledding and saunas, the other big nighttime activity in Lapland is searching for the Aurora Borealis. The Northern Lights are fairly common this time of year: about 50/50. The problem was the weather was due to be overcast & snowing throughout, so Chelsay and I came in with zero expectation.

We mentioned this to the receptionist at Nellim, but she wasn’t giving up hope. She said to keep our eyes peeled for stars: if you can see the stars, there’s a break in the clouds and a chance to see the Aurora. It didn’t hurt that our room was 50% window.

Just as the receptionist predicted, we saw stars from about 10:30 to midnight. Staring out felt like being on a hunt, eyes dashing from one side of the sky to the other in hopes of seeing a green flash. Eventually I fell asleep, but the resort offers an Aurora alarm in case the lights appear.

Unfortunately there were no alarms either night.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed - the Northern Lights were one of the main reasons for visiting, and the brief star sightings provided a cruel tease of unwarranted hope. But the Aurora is just weather after all, and as the sun rose the next day, we remembered how cool it was to be in Nellim, Finland. Plus, the flip side of this snowy cloud cover was a clean and white-coated winter wonderland.

The fresh snow was perfect for our first activity of the day: dog sledding. These huskies were dying to get out and run, and I’ll never forget their excited gallop as we burst through the trees onto an open, frozen lake.

Chelsay and I switched off as driver, both flirting with danger. Chelsay nearly led us into Russia, while I ghost rode the sled. If you’re not familiar with ghost riding, it’s where you hop out of a moving (now driverless) vehicle and run beside it. Based on the look in our dogs’ eyes, I’m not sure they’d seen this before.

After the morning excitement, Chelsay and I had earned extra whipped cream on our hot chocolates. I’ll briefly mention the dining, which we both surprisingly enjoyed. Finnish food is not traditionally exciting (a lot of lingonberry and reindeer), but the Wilderness Resort came through for each meal: tasty lamb shanks, potatoes gratin, mushroom risotto, panna cotta, and more. And obviously a lot of hot chocolate.

We regained enough energy over lunch for our afternoon activity: snow shoeing. We planned to be out for a few hours, so bundled up in three layers of everything: socks, leggings, sweaters. We even doubled up on gloves.

Now insulated from the sub zero temperatures, we were motoring around the quiet, empty wilderness in no time. Nothing but clean snow and creaky timber for miles. Chelsay said it reminded her of the land of swirly twirly gumdrops from Elf: “Byeee Buddyyyy”

We climbed up hills, slid down slopes, trekked across frozen lakes, forged our own paths through the deep snow, and tracked the only other footprints we could find: wolf and reindeer.

Just as the sun was setting (at 3 PM), Chelsay and I stumbled into a peaceful and perfect grove. It was a beautiful setting and the most memorable moments I’ll take from the trip.

The evergreen branches were coated in snowy white clumps, the crisp air was cold in our chests, and the only sound we could hear was crunch... crunch... crunch... as we gently shuffled across the deep snow.

We returned to our room with that “exhausted but content” feeling. Our quads were burning but we’d accomplished what we came for.

That night, we enjoyed another remedial sauna - this one was somehow sweatier than the last. We didn’t have any energy or unbroken bones left for sledding that night, so we instead stayed in our room and watched Parasite (great movie) while sipping hot chocolate. I doubt I’ll remember what JOMO meant when I read this in 20 years, but this night describes it well.

We were making the long drive back to Rovaniemi around lunch the next day, but had plenty of time for morning walk. This time we attempted to go without snow shoes, but quickly realized that walking through deep snow is hard! Your feet sink with every step, and you have to contort your legs up & out of the snow to make any progress.

Chelsay compared it to the Sahara, except instead of sinking ankle-deep in sand, we were literally waist-deep. Luckily we persevered long enough to stumble across a pack of reindeer.

With our quads burning, we figured the reindeer sighting was a good enough cap to our Lapland adventure. Sure, I wish we’d seen the Northern Lights, but Chelsay and I are still very content with our first trip back in Europe.

I say that without any doubt. Rewinding to our flight from London: Lapland’s frozen landscapes exceeded the “new city” excitement I felt as our departing plane rolled toward the runway.

Lapland is a different planet: part winter wonderland, part uninhabitable wasteland. Its frigid wilderness is unlike any of the previous places we’ve visited, but the craziest part is that it was all so easily accessible. Chelsay and I were 250 miles into the Arctic Circle, literally a short walk into Russia’s northernmost territories, yet remained just a three hour flight from London.

That’s why we moved back: because every trip Chelsay and I take has the potential to bring us somewhere new, special, and completely different from anywhere we’ve ever been.

I can’t wait for our next departing plane to roll its way to the runway.

[adhdoxford]

Your Visit to Newfoundland - Planned by A Newfoundlander

@comefromawayy So some of ye may be thinking about flying to the rock after seeing Come From Away. Which is amazing and we’d love to have you. Here are some tips in case you do decide to visit:

1. Itinerary - Depending on what kind of trip you’re looking for, there are a number of ways you can visit:

      a. Fly to St. John’s then drive around the island - I would recommend this route as St. John’s is the biggest “city” on the island and there is a lot to see and do here. (More on that later) Plus, your flight is much more likely to get in if the weather is crappy (and it always is.) You can rent a car at the airport and drive around the island though do take into consideration how big the place is. If you wanted to drive to, say, Gander, it would take you upwards of three hours on the Trans-Canada highway. There is a bus line that takes you across the island so if you want to take that route find out more here.

      b. Take the ferry - If you live on the East Coast, you can drive up to North Sydney, Nova Scotia and take the ferry to Channel Port-Aux-Basques and then drive to either St. John’s or wherever it is you want to go from there. We’ve done the road trip from Portland, ME to St. John’s and it takes about 36 hours door to door. More info here. That bus goes from Port-Aux-Basques to St. John’s so here’s the link again. 

      c. I think there are a few flights directly to Gander or Deer Lake but more on that later...

2. Visit during the summer - Summer in Newfoundland is stunning. Icebergs are in the harbour throughout May until July, the East Coast Trail and Gros Morne are ready for hiking, and there’s a ton of festivals as well as special tours during the summer. But for the love of Christ, don’t try and fly to Newfoundland during the winter months. And for the record, the winter months include the beginning of November until the middle of May. Visiting during the winter is a terrible idea because your flight will almost certainly be delayed or cancelled but even when you make it here, you won’t be able to do a friggin’ thing due to weather.

3. Dress for the weather - “It’s never nice above” - yeah they weren’t making that up. I guarantee you that the weather will get cold while you’re here so make sure you pack fleeces, wool sweaters, windbreakers, hats, mitts or just anything that you need to stay warm. That being said, if you’re planning on just hanging out in St. John’s area in the summer time, there’s really no need to break out the Canada Goose Jacket. The wind is also friggin’ insane so forget about bringing umbrellas.

4. DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT visit Labrador - Labrador is simply not a place you can visit. Yes, there is an airport. Yes, there is some civilization and a severely unappreciated First Nations culture. Yes, there is miles and miles of untouched nature. But no, you do not want to be there. Unless you want an extreme nature adventure, I’d keep your visit to the island. 

5. The outport communities are definitely a place to visit but if you only want to see a few here are some suggestions:

a. Trinity/Port Rexton - Fischer’s Loft is a lovely (if a bit pricey) place to stay and it has some seriously incredible food grown right in the garden. There’s also Two Whales Café and Aunt Sarah’s Chocolate which are must visits. My high-school chemistry teacher gives walking tours of Trinity and he’s probably the most adorable and quintessentially Newfoundland person you’ll ever meet. Also, Skerwink trail was rated the best hiking trail in Canada and its fairly light if you’re not used to hiking. 

b. St. Pierre et Miquelon - Pardon my French but this place is fucking wild. So Newfoundland has this crazy long history of being a battle ground between the French and the British. St. Pierre et Miquelon switched hands multiple times but in 1816, it stopped switching and returned to France. Like, as a proper French colony which it still is today! They still use the Euro and speak Parisian French. They even voted in the recent French election. 

c. Gros-Morne doesn’t even need explanation.  Hikers/Kayakers, take note. 

6. Here’s the thing about Gander...it’s not much. You can visit Gander, the people are indeed lovely, and I believe they’re offering a bus tour of the different towns to which planes were diverted during 9/11. However, Gander is a small town. It’s definitely a place you can and should visit but not for as long as the “plane people.” The show did not lie about how little there is to do in Gander and how “on the edge” you will be. 

7. VISIT ST. JOHN’S- It’s the biggest “city” on the island, it’s gorgeous (see Jelly Bean Row houses) and there is just so much wicked stuff you can do that I’ve compiled an itemized list: 

St. John’s History and Nature - We’re the oldest city in North America (I think) so there’s a buttload of awesome history based mostly around cod fish. 

Whale Watching (Dress warm and bring a camera.) 

Stan Cook Sea Kayaking (We do this at the end of every semester. Such a good time) 

The Rooms (Great food in the café. Kids and seniors are free, student discount is $6.50, adults are $10. Most beautiful museum in Atlantic Canada. I volunteer there and you can literally just walk up to one of us and have a gab about CFA) 

Signal Hill/Cabot Tower (There’s cannons and a chocolate store at the top) 

East Coast Trail Hiking 

Johnson Geo Centre (This place is good if you have young kids, like geology/oil, or have an interest in the Titanic which sunk just offshore) 

The Basilica of St. John the Baptist (If you’re an architecture nerd, you’ll love this place. Gothic on the outside, Baroque-Classical on the inside) 

St. John’s Food - For some reason, we’re really good at food. 

Raymonds ($$$) - Canada’s No. 1 Restaurant for a few years now. Not even kidding. Traditional Newfoundland food combined with haute cuisine. 

Merchant Tavern ($$) - Affordable version of Raymond’s. Try the poutine. (See adorable Chef Jeremy Charles) 

Bacalao ($$) - Traditional Newfoundland food. Fast service. 

Fixed Coffee ($$) - If you like a strong brew, this is your place.

Piatto Pizza ($$) - Neapolitan Pizza. We met a couple from New York City in this restaurant and they told us it was the best pizza they had ever tasted. It’s hard to get a table and they don’t take reservations so come early. 

Rocket Bakery ($) - Good vegan food, good coffee, GREAT chicken burritos. Nice owners. If you meet Kelly or Mark, tell them Claire sent you!

Formosa Tea House - ($) Not even remotely close to Newfoundland style anything but they’re cheap, friendly, and delicious. 

Afghan Restaurant - ($) Again, not Newfoundland and it looks like a hole in the wall kind of place but trust me its fantastic. 

NOTE: - If you’re 19 and you feel like drinking in St. John’s, George Street has you covered but please be careful!

- If you want some decent food along with your booze, Loose Tie is a great place. This missus named Lor owns the place and bartends on Fridays and she’s best kind. Tell her Claire sent you! 

-The number for cabs is (709) 722-2222.

- Our public transit sucks but here’s the website

St. John’s Culture -

There’s always a million arts festival on so that’s all that’s left for you to find but I have one recommendation that you really can’t miss: 

SPIRIT OF NEWFOUNDLAND DINNER AND SHOW  - You know the whole “Screech In” part of Come From Away? That’s done there! You can get screeched in (if you’re 19) and they get you to kiss the cod as well. These guys are the whole Come From Away package. They’ll do “Heave Away,” bring you food, and will really make it feel like you’re a part of the show. 

Anyways that’s most of it! If there’s any other Newfoundlanders who want to add anything giv’er.

 Best of luck b’ys!