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ace-of-pythons · 3 years

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Proceedings of the Men Of Letters on Angels

The following text will examine the Biology, Culture, and Psychology of Angels. These creatures have not been observed since 1901 [See Recorded Angelic Sightings by Matt Powell, pg. 893] and remain mysterious. Many would suggest that Angels are presented well in religion and are covered in their entirety. On the contrary, many paintings from the 1700's and journals from the 1800's depict another side of Angels that show many contradictions. This text is meant to be a compilation of many of the different literary records of the Men of Letters American [A31d], British [B85g], Mongolian [M59u], and Egyptian [E93k] chapters.

Compiled and written by Sebastian Outlander of the Men of Letters British Chapter

1963

Biology & Physiology

Angels are beings that inhabit the waves of light in multiple parallel spaces, or dimensions. The theoretical reason that they are able to exist between spaces, is that they travel at too high a speed for humans or our technology to detect. It is assumed that the energy Angel's are made of is faster than light. Using this speed, a massive amount of Kinetic energy is formed and is possibly how Angels get their power. The light that makes up their incorporeal forms is often referred to as "Grace". [The Journal of William Greyson, The Murder of Grace (painting by Brianna Colt)] The collection of an Angel's Grace is know as a "True Form" as seen in both numerous journals and the Bible. [See Biblical Accurate Angels, sketches by Juliet Robinson] Angel True Forms are too bright for any one person to lay their eyes upon. There have been several accounts of people being found dead with their eyes burned out of their skull. Whether Angels were the cause of these deaths or not is still up to debate.

Angels can not show their true forms to the creatures of Earth but many take a mortal vessel to communicate. These vessels are usually devout followers of the Lord and will follow an Angel's word. Angels need to have the vessel's permission to enter, unlike demons who can possess a person unwillingly. [The Vessel (1875, Mia Partens)]. These vessels may or may not be able to contain the Angel's full power, and in that case, their body will start to disintegrate and their mind will be null and void. This is, in fact, more desirable than meeting an Angel out of their vessel. An Angel's true voice alone is able to shatter glass, make ear drums bleed, and shake the earth. Seeing an Angel's true form is securing a sure destruction, as the image can burn a victim's eyes, and even brain, out of their skull.

Angels are known to be more like soldiers than expected. The Men of Letters Egyptian [E93k] chapter recovered a silver blade with markings of an ancient language. Upon further investigation, it was discovered to be Enochian, the language of the Angels [See Angelic Culture and Rankings] . The blade of the Angel is safely stored in the Egyptian [E93k] chapter house [Building 4, Row 28, 13b]. Other weapons have been recovered from dig sites across the globe. A long sword believed to be used by a subset of Angels [details unknown, American chapter, Main bunker, Room 24, 58c], a curved spiral blade believed to be used for ceremonial reasons [British chapter, Chapter house, A37b], and a peculiar spear also carved with Enochian [Stolen from the American chapter house in 1958]. Angels are believed to be fierce fighters, and precise in their attacks. According to the Daily Musings of a Wanderer, [Mary Wanderer, 1253] a female Angel was able to throw a silver blade around 50 feet and hit the direct center of her target. It is unknown if this Angel was trained for ranged weapons or if she had the same skill as the rest of the Host. [The Heavenly Host, all Angels known in heaven]

One of the oldest books that has been acquired by the Men of Letters is an untitled journal from both an unknown author and unknown date, although our scientists believe that it dates back to before Christ. This book contains information on Angel wings and culture and was discovered somewhere in Africa by townsfolk. A few of the illustrations have been recreated for this index, so in event of disaster, the information in the book will not be lost.

Angel wings are mostly held in the Ether and are rarely brought into our plane. Although they are rarely brought here doesn't mean they can not be. It is unsure how an Angel does this, but a common theory is that they either use an Enochian spell or that they are intrinsically able to control what plane their wings are on. An Angel is extremely vulnerable while their wings are out, so it is understandable that it is a rare occurrence.

The diagrams that have been found [The unknown book, A Complete Study of Angels (1901, Lily Sunder)] are almost exact to the structure of bird wings. It can be assumed that God created birds to mimic his first creation. The diagram shows that Angel wings have primary feathers and secondary feathers, primary coverts and secondary coverts, marginal coverts, and an alula on each wing. While each of the individual parts of the wing are depicted on the diagram, each section will be described in detail.

The largest feathers at the tips of the wings are grouped as the primary feathers, which help the Angel gain thrust. The long feathers on the rest of the wing are called the secondaries, which help the Angel gain lift. The next layer of feathers up is called the covert. The primary coverts cover the primary feathers and the secondary coverts cover the secondary feathers. The top most layer is called the marginal coverts. All sections of coverts are meant to stream-line the wing as to reduce the amount of drag. The alula is the thumb-like feather that is used during flight to lessen the speed of sharp angles and dives.

According to the text, Angels have created a culture around their wings, [See Angelic Culture section of text] as many have different shapes, sizes, and even colors. Not all Angels have white wings like many paintings portray them as. Each color represents a different personality trait, some being more common than others. The book goes into detail on what each color means. It is unsure if this is accurate or not. Below is the paraphrased section on wing colors from the text.

"White represents Heaven and purity, shades of purple represent logic and the ability to use it well, red represents anger and a tendency to lash out, yellow represents bravery and fearlessness, the lightest blue represents intelligence and one's ability to use it in battle, and silver represents loyalty. All of these colors are the most common among Angels.

Indigo represents an Angel's resourcefulness, orange represents an Angel with a cunning nature, dark green represents stealth, jade represents an Angel's stubborn nature, and cyan represents high prowess. These colors are uncommon wing colors in Heaven.

Dark brown represents Earth, rose represents ruthlessness, coral represents power and pride, tan represents compassion, and the darkest blue represents curiosity. These colors are rare and not seen often in Heaven.

Gold, grey, and black are rare enough that only a handful of Angels are known to have them. Gold may represents a flair for the dramatics in such a way that an Angel would go above and beyond to impress. The only Angel known with this coloration is the Archangel Gabriel. Grey is believed to be independence and doubt, as it is noted that before an Angel fell, grey feathers were seen mixed in with their normal colors. Black is the most unknown color. According to the unknown book, Angels have differing opinions on what it means or what causes it. Black could represent an Angel who has been to the deepest pits of hell, or could be what a Fallen Angel's wings would be. Rebellion was also noted frequently."

Angels can display multiple colors at once, or can change their colors during their next molt. Each Angel has a slightly different molt period. It is said that "An Angel will shed their grace of physical form every millennium and begin anew with colors unable to be perceived by the humble human mind." [Life of Light (1534, Leo Morris)] The estimate of one-thousand years between molts may be 100 or more years off, depending on the individual, the state of an Angel, or the inevitable change of an Angel's colors.

Angelic Culture and Rankings

Angels have been a prominent piece of religion for centuries, and many different types and ranks have been presented. Some put the Powers as the highest rank, others have Principalities, while some have Archangels. [Rings of Heaven (1904, Anthony Stine), Angelic Omens (1800, A.Z. Fell), The First (1734, Eve Heartt)]. When averaging all media in the Men of Letter's possession, we can create an accurate ranking system.

Archangels are the highest ranking Angels and the first to be created. There are four documented Archangels. Gabriel, Raphael, Michael, and Lucifer, who was cast out of heaven. The next rank is Seraphs or the Seraphim. They are the commanders and leaders of Heaven's army. There are different sub-categories within the Seraphim, similar to those who lead battles and those who order the battles to be fought. Then comes the common ranking of "Angel". They are the soldiers, the writers, and the guards. They are meant to fill any role given to them. The lowest ranking Angels are the Cherubs, as they are the ones meant to deal with humans and human relations.

Within these ranks many Angels will create some form of sibling bonds during molt. Molting is believed to be quite painful and difficult to deal with, so Angels will help each other. The painting labeled "The Bond" [1634, Paul Theos] depicted two Angels sitting while one is combing through the other's feathers. Outside of molting, it is believed that the partners will fight together and spend much time in each other's company. From a first-hand account of an Angel [Host, (1102, Akobel)], it is known that Angels see each other as siblings. Molting partners seem to have a closer sibling bond with each other then with the rest of the Host.

Due to Lily Sunder's book [A Complete Study of Angels (1901, Lily Sunder)], we now know more about the way Angel's age and train, although it is much different then how humans grow. Because Angels are created from God Himself, they are incapable of being infants or children. The youngest Angels are referred to as "fledglings" when they are first created. Fledglings are not children but are still inexperienced in relation to their older companions. Any fledglings that were created were positioned with an older sibling, to help train, teach, and care for them. The reason that these Fledglings had older siblings to begin with is that not all Angel's were created at the same time. There were multiple generations of Angels created. The first Angels were the Archangels, as they are God's oldest and they represent power. The second generation, or first choir, was meant to represent defense. The third generation, or second choir, was meant to represent agility. The fourth and final generation, or the third choir, was meant to represent endurance. Eventually there were no new fledglings created and the ones that did exist grew older. Today, fledglings are essentially an extinct species.

The fledgling's guardian would care for their needs, help with the first molts, and teach them how to fight and follow orders. Fight training would include training in defense, offence with weapons such as spears and swords, battle strategy, and learning about their enemies, such as demons and monsters. Not all fledglings would be warriors and commanders, but all would receive basic training and knowledge. Many of these Angels would become archivists and shepherds. In regards to care, the guardian would show them how to take care of their wings, help them heal any injuries, and teach them how to fly and properly use their powers. Molting would also be taken care of by the guardian until the fledgling could find a molt partner.

Angels are known to have both the first spoken language and the first written language. It is known as Enochian. The Angels have many weapons and tablets carved with this language. It is unknown what these carvings and texts mean, as no one can decipher them. All songs and communication between Angels is conducted in Enochian, although they understand all of the worlds later languages.

Psychology

Not much is known about how an Angel's mind works, or even how much free will they display. Their culture is based upon worship of God and following orders. Loyalty is an important trait in Heaven, and is rewarded. The Archangels are the highest rank, and by that default, they are the ones depicted to have the most autonomy. There is no room for mistakes in Heaven and it has been seen that free will creates disorder in many cases.

Although loyalty is desired and autonomy is frowned upon, there are Angels who dislike the system of Heaven. These Angels are referred to as the "Fallen". Angels who wish to have more free will can flee from the host to Earth in what seems to be two ways. An Angel can flee to Earth and take a human vessel and use the many Angelic wardings to help avoid the Host. The second way is more dangerous and precarious. An Angel can rip their own Grace out to be born as humans with no memory of Heaven. This has not happened often according to the book Host. [1102, Akobel] The Fallen have been associated with black wings and Lucifer although only one of which is remotely true. The few Angels that have fallen have been seen with a few black feathers, but there is no guarantee they are working with or for Lucifer.

There is much more information now then there was back a hundred years and it is much easier to find. Although an Angel may never step foot on this planet again, it is a curious thing to learn about their culture and biology. They are celestial creatures we may never understand completely, but we live in their world. It is my hope that this text can be of use to understand both Angels themselves and spell work that revolves around them.

-Sebastian Outlander

This work is inspired by many wing fics and Flight by northernsparrow.

#supernatural #supernatural lore #Spn #spn lore #supernatural headcanon #angel headcanons #angel lore #men of letters #this is a project ive been working on for a while #and im so excited i actually finished it #its basically a collection of my angel headcannons #but in a outsider pov #i might make another post showing the details and nods to the show and a little easter egg #i just hope someone finds the interesting or enjoyable

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jamiemackenziefraser · 3 years

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All That Was Fair

Chapter 15: The Woman of Balnain

Summary: Jamie finally sits down with a certain book.

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Read chp 15 on tumblr below the cut

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They spent the afternoon in lazy bliss. Together, they’d gone into the kitchen where Jamie had shown her how to whip up a burrito. Although most of it clearly went over her head, she had such a good time that she asked to make something else directly after he finished eating.

After a brief explanation on how humans get full after eating, he gave in and offered to show her how to make cookies.

Jamie felt distantly like his life had turned into a romcom as they baked cookies together. When Claire bumped him teasingly on the side, he grabbed a handful of flour and chucked it straight at Claire. Her mouth fell open in mock dismay before an impish gleam shone in her eye. Jamie learned that afternoon the true reason the word “impish” had originated to describe the fair folk.

Claire was mischievous and exuberant in her retaliations. Handful after handful of baking supplies had been lobbed in his direction, shoved down his clothing, mussed into his hair, and even discreetly snuck into his pockets when he was later occupied with sticking the baking sheets of cookies in the oven. Long after their initial food fight had ended, Claire continued their little game.

Later that afternoon while they sat together on the couch (the faerie’s legs draped over his, Jamie’s hands shoved under his own legs in order to keep from caressing her soft skin that was right there), Claire had produced a handful of oats from nowhere and shoved them down his collar. He’d flung her legs off, grabbed her waist, and threw her over his shoulder without a second thought as she squealed and thrashed. Stalking to the kitchen like a caveman with his prize draped over him, he unceremoniously plopped her down and then dumped an entire bowl of excess flour over her head.

“I give up,” she screeched, smacking blindly at his chest with her flour-caked face still screwed up, puffs of powder exploding from her lips.

“Promise? No more surprise attacks when I let down my guard?” he asked guardedly, trying to keep his grin out of his voice.

“You have my word,” she promised. She gave him a grave, floury nod.

Feeling quite magnanimous now that he’d won, Jamie grabbed a dishtowel, wet it, and then approached Claire.

He cupped the back of her head, feeling her curls tangling between his fingers, and gently wiped the flour from her face. Once her eyelids had been cleaned, she opened them and stared up at him with a soft look. His bones felt like they had been turned to water to be receiving such a look, and he struggled to focus on the task at hand as he tenderly dabbed at the spots of flour still left on her face. She stayed quiet, just looking at him and allowing him to clean up the mess he’d made.

How he loved her.

When the moment finally broke, their gazes tearing apart, Jamie inspected her hair.

“No way I’m gettin’ this out of these curls. Do ye want a shower, a nighean?”

“I would never say no to a shower,” she beamed.

So, he’d graciously turned it on for her and then explained that he was going to get some work done. Leaving her to it knowing full well that she’d be in there for a long time, he headed for his office.

But it wasn’t work he had in mind.

There was another matter tickling at his brain. One he’d been itching at for far too long. He’d barely had time to breathe, let alone sit down and address it, until just this minute.

He needed to read the book that the eccentric bookstore owner had shoved into his hands.

Unsure how to explain the strange interaction to Claire and disinclined to possibly worry her over nothing, Jamie still hadn’t mentioned anything about it. He’d been waiting to read it until he had a moment alone.

Settling into his office chair, Jamie stared down at the cover of the mysterious book. He was motionless for a few seconds, feeling a strange uneasiness.

The title was The Woman of Balnain. It was short, perhaps a novella, and the description on the back said that it was about a time-traveling lass. Why would the mysterious Geillis give this to him?

He was just about to start into reading, but as he opened the book, several sheets of paper suddenly fluttered out and onto his lap. Warily, he picked them up, turning them over to see what appeared to be hastily scrawled notes.

The words at the top made him draw a sharp breath.

“The Standing Stones of Craigh na Dun.”

The following notes seemed like a jumble to Jamie, the words swimming together in his mind in his haste to take them all in. He began to read so fast that several times he had to pause and reread. Geillis— at least he assumed that she was the author of these notes— wrote about planes of reality, magnetic fields, magical properties of the standing stones...

And below that was another section that was entitled “traveling.”

Gemstones. One could travel from this plane to another— through the stones— by use of gemstones. According to this, only some people (or fae, he supposed) could travel. But those who could had discovered that gemstones ensured their safety.

His hand was shaking so hard that he dropped the papers entirely. He brought his trembling hands up to bury his face into them. The gravity of the situation sat heavy on his shoulders as the realization descended.

If this was true, he’d just been handed the way to get Claire back home.

What followed was perhaps an hour of frantic, mind-bending sorting of thoughts. He read and re-read over and over, trying to ensure that he truly had understood the implications of the document. But no matter how many times he reviewed the words on the page, the meaning was clear: If Claire had a gemstone, she could safely use the stones to return to her plane. To her people and her life. Away from him.

But then he spiraled into doubt. How did he know he could trust this mysterious Geillis and her instructions? But as much as he wanted to deny it— to dismiss the entry as garbage and all thoughts of Claire leaving along with it— he couldn’t ignore the feeling in his wame that this was the truth any more than he could refute the fact that Claire deserved a shot at returning home. Besides, something about Geillis had seemed odd… mystical perhaps. Not in the same way Claire did, but he certainly believed that whoever (or whatever) the bookkeeper was, she knew a hell of a lot more about this stuff than he did. And she’d known about Claire. So in the end, while he wasn’t certain that she was a friend per se, he thought it likely she was at least an ally— and he believed what was written on the page was the truth.

Once Jamie had addressed comprehension and credibility, he moved on to his sorrow.

Grief over the thought of losing Claire.

He was no longer lying to himself about the extent of his feelings. He was in love with her, plain and simple. Infatuated, enamored— all those things— but it went deeper than that. She’d walked her way straight into his heart and burrowed in there as sure as she did when she nestled against him in his bed. And now that she’d filled that empty space in his life, he couldn’t even imagine going back to the hollow loneliness of existence without her.

Every part of him longed not to tell her. He could crumple up the page and throw it away, or better yet, he could burn it up without a trace, and she’d be none the wiser.

But his mind swirled with images, memories eating at him that he couldn’t quite ignore. Claire crying against him only a few days ago, weeping for all she’s lost. Her trepidation as she’d faced the terrifying unknown of the city. The sheen of tears in her eyes that she’d fought back as she admitted Jenny had made her scared…

As he thought about all she’d been through since being ripped from her home, he knew that taking away the chance to return would be unfair. He wanted to be selfish— God, help him, he burned with it…

But he loved her enough to let her go.

A tear leaked out of the corner of his eye— scalding as it dripped down his cheek. He sat motionless in his office chair, his hand squeezing his opposite arm so tightly that the nails made deep red indents in his flesh, but he knew what he had to do.

He’d tell her.

Decision made, Jamie stood from his desk. His feet felt like they were encased with lead, and he was light-headed, as if all that thinking and agonizing had sucked his brain out with a straw. As horrible as he felt, he was resolved, and he made his way sluggishly downstairs.

The scene in the living room nearly shattered that decision.

Claire was asleep on his couch, all curled up and shoulders hunched under the fuzzy throw blanket she had clutched around her. Her bonny pink lips were parted just slightly and tiny whooshes of air tickled a single curl that had fallen over her face.

He ached to see her like this for the rest of his life.

Just as he was about to turn on his heel and leave her to her rest (this was not the time for such a heavy revelation), she stirred. His stubborn feet anchored him in place as he watched her shift, head lifting a bit, and her eyes blinked open.

“Hi, Jamie,” she breathed sleepily.

While giving him a fond but drowsy smile, her head nestled back down onto the throw pillow. She looked up at him with eyes that always reminded him of a fawn’s.

“Havin’ a wee rest?” He asked tenderly.

“Yes,” she breathed. She glanced him up and down appraisingly and then said, “maybe you should too. You seem tired.”

Jamie was tired. He felt like he’d been put through a meat grinder several times over. Still, he knew there was no way he’d actually sleep even if he could tear his eyes away from her long enough to close them.

But if Claire wanted a nap, and was hinting for him to join him, who was he to deny her?

He indulged his selfish desires for a moment and approached the couch so he could bend down and run a hand over Claire’s hair.

She smiled drowsily and leaned into his touch. Her eyes blinked slowly as she gazed up at him.

God, she was beautiful.

“Let’s go upstairs, mo nighean donn,” he suggested quietly.

His sleepy faerie did not seem inclined to get up. Her eyes had fallen closed again, but her hand blindly reached out for him. She caught his cheek, her fingers tracing over the stubble on his jaw.

Then, suddenly, her eyes popped open.

“Are you alright, Jamie?” she asked, her whisky gaze swimming with concern.

Her abruptness startled him, but he quickly snapped himself out of it and put on his brave face.

“I’m fine, Sassenach. Do ye want to stay on the couch or go up to bed?” he softly asked.

Her brows furrowed, disbelieving, but she firmly answered, “with you.”

He felt bad that he’d upset her but couldn’t seem to drag himself out of the cloud of depression that had wrapped around him the moment he’d decided to take her home.

But he’d have this one last time with her, and he wouldn’t ruin it with dark thoughts.

“Alright. Let’s go, mo nighean donn.”

She sat up, eyes fixed on him all the while, and then took his hand. The way she was looking at him, soft and searching, made his heart skip a few beats. He hardened himself to the overwhelming desire to pour out his heart to her, lay all the cards on the table, and beg her to stay. But he knew in his bones that this wasn’t the time.

Her thumb was tracing lightly over his knuckles, patient as he struggled inside himself.

A part of him wanted to bury his face in her neck and let her stroke his hair— she would do it, he knew. All it would take was him to make the motion, take the comfort from her.

But that wouldn’t be fair. If she saw his distress, she would feel guilty about leaving him. He loved her too much to put that burden on her.

His puir heart was breaking, but he managed to wrap it up in a thin layer of composure, scoop up his scrambled thoughts, and put himself back together. He gave her a brave smile, feigning nonchalance.

Breaking the silence, he said, “let’s go, mo calman geal.”

He took her upstairs by the hand. She was still sleepy, but not inclined to let that stop her from caring for him— even if she had no idea what was going on. He could feel her hovering anxiously by his side, trying to figure out what was wrong.

As they sat down on the bed, Claire tried to tug him down to cuddle with her, but he shook his head. Settling against the headboard instead, he guided her down to lay her head in his lap.

He wanted to watch her. Just this one last time.

Sleepy as she was, but probably even more so because she wanted to do whatever was best for him, she complied. She snuggled down into his lap and settled herself so she was comfortable.

As he carded his fingers through her hair in gentle strokes, Claire began to relax. It wasn’t long before she drifted back into sleep. The lines on her face smoothed, and she seemed to melt into him impossibly further.

His hands still moving soothingly against her, Jamie returned to his thoughts. A terrible weight rested on his shoulders as he came to a realization.

He wouldn’t be strong enough to tell her here— in his home that had become their home (at least he felt that it was theirs)— and still manage to make the drive to the stones. It was selfish to keep this from her, but he simply wouldn’t be able do it. There were limits to his goodness, and he prayed God would forgive him for this one.

So, with his mind made up, a plan began to form.

He would tell her tomorrow that they were going for a hike. They’d drive out to the stones, and he would explain once they got there. His Grandfather’s ruby ring laid on his dresser— that would be what he’d give her to ensure safe passage. And then… then, she’d go home.

And that was that.

This was his last night with her.

He looked down and studied her face for a long time, trying to memorize every tiny detail. He knew it would be the remembrance of her that would warm him on the cold, lonely days that would surely follow. He traced her face reverently, first with his eyes, and then as his selfish, breaking heart took over, with soft touches of his fingertips.

All that was left was to pray that tomorrow he would have the strength to send her away.

***

A/n: I believe now is the time for me to hide 😳

#oh boy #all that was fair #update #claire x jamie #outlander fanfiction #outlander fanfic #claire/jamie #fae claire

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csnews · 3 years

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5 beluga whales flown from Canada make a splash at new home in Mystic

Taylor Hartz - May 15, 2021

In the glow of the moonlight late Friday night, a flash of bright white wriggled against the dark sky — a young beluga whale named Jetta, being lifted by a crane.

Jetta and two other belugas from Canada flew into Groton-New London airport on a private plane Friday afternoon and received a police escort to their new home: Mystic Aquarium. Two more whales caught the next flight out and made the same journey early Saturday.

The whales, all between 5 and 6 years old, were brought to Mystic from Marineland in Ontario, Canada, where they were living in an overcrowded tank with 47 other beluga whales.

Mystic Aquarium has been involved in a yearslong process of moving the whales to their spacious new home, the Arctic Coast habitat, joining the aquarium’s three resident belugas: Juno, an 18-year-old male; Natasha, a 41-year-old female; and Kela, a 40-year-old female. Their goal is to work with the whales to pioneer new research methods that will help protect and save wild beluga populations.

“These animals are really, truly ambassadors for their wild counterparts,” said Allison Tuttle, vice president of biological programs at Mystic Aquarium, who traveled to Canada and flew back with two of the whales.

The whales will be a part of non-invasive research at the aquarium that is meant to help with conservation efforts to protect wild belugas. The decision to transport the whales to Mystic from Canada has been a controversial one, however, with many animal rights groups speaking out against the move. The Canadian government this past week approved a permit that allowed the transport to move forward.

Jetta was joined on Friday by travel companions Havana and Kharabali, both females, on the flight from Hamilton International Airport to Groton. After some delays, the plane touched down about 5:45 p.m. and the whales — kept in large, open-air cargo containers filled with water — were loaded off the plane and onto the flatbeds of three waiting trucks.

It took about 2½ hours to fly the first three whales from the Niagara Falls area to Groton and another three to four hours to get them each from the tarmac to the tank. Jetta is 762 pounds and 10 feet 2.8 inches long, Havana is 924 pounds and 10 feet 3.6 inches, and Kharabali is 818 pounds and 10 feet 7.6 inches.

The last two whales, Havok and Sahara, arrived at Hamilton airport about 6 p.m. and had not yet landed in Groton as of 2 a.m.

Held in hammock-like holders inside their containers — with cut-outs on the sides for their fins — the whales made their journey in a C-130 cargo aircraft operated by Lynden Air Cargo with a team of aquarium staff members that included veterinarians and zoologists. They were met at the airport by local police, state police and agents from Customs and Border Control.

Accompanied by a police escort, three flatbed trucks with the large blue cargo containers fastened on the back, each carrying a beluga, made their way from the airport to the aquarium about 9 p.m. to deliver the first three whales. A few dozen employees and volunteers from Mystic Aquarium, clad in bright blue hardhats, stood under a tall crane and applauded as the trucks rolled into the parking lot. When all three vehicles had parked, the employees and volunteers quickly rushed over to start the process of getting the whales safely into their new habitat.

One by one, the whales were lifted out of their cargo containers by a crane, their fins and flukes flapping as water dripped down onto the pavement. They were gently placed onto a rolling cart, which was pushed speedily across the parking lot and into the Arctic Coast habitat, where another crane waited to place the whales into the pool.

The Arctic Coast habitat is a 750,000 gallon pool — large enough to fill Gillette Stadium — broken up into three separate sections. The whales were first released into the medical area, then allowed to swim into the holding area where the trio swam in circles together, cresting the surface and spouting water from their blow holes.

The whales, who are not yet fully grown, will live at the aquarium for at least five years. They will be a part of studies that will help scientists better understand why belugas — especially those living in Cook Inlet off the coast of Alaska — are endangered.

Tuttle said one of the things they’ll be studying is how whales respond to sound. Due to climate change, she said, ships are traveling through Arctic channels that were previously blocked by ice. It’s unclear now how whales that live in these waters will be impacted by the sounds those ships make. The belugas in Mystic will be safely tested to see how they respond when exposed to such sounds in a controlled way that doesn’t stress or scare them.

The whales also will be trained to provide biological samples, including blood, saliva from their blow holes and feces, which will help scientists collect more data on beluga whale health in a safe, non-invasive way.

"This will allow us to study animals in the wild without handling them," Tuttle said. "This is very important work that will allow us to conduct important research about these animals in the wild."

Right now, she said, blood tests are the “gold standard” for determining if an animal is healthy in the wild, but it isn’t always easy to obtain a sample from a wild animal.

The studies were built off framework released by National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, which published a list of things it would be helpful to know about beluga whales. The team at the aquarium took parts of that list and developed plans to collect data that would help NOAA in its efforts.

“It feels really exciting to be able to continue research that not only expands the body of scientific knowledge we have but also will help us protect endangered populations of these animals,” Tuttle said.

Animal rights groups in opposition

Several animal rights organizations that petitioned Canada's Department of Fisheries and Oceans to reconsider issuing the export permit request. The groups say the transport violated the intent of a 2019 Canadian law meant to phase out the captivity of whales by banning their breeding.

The organization Last Chance for Animals asked the Canadian government to deny the permit, saying the transfer would violate the law in addition to endangering the animals. They also said that the lengthy transfer would be stressful and would result in the animals breaking social bonds with other belugas at Marineland.

The organization issued a statement Friday condemning the transfer.

“The (Prime Minister Justin) Trudeau government promised to protect the whales under the Ending the Captivity of Whales and Dolphins Act, and now they are betraying the whales and exporting their commitment. What they are ending is their commitment toward protecting these whales,” LCA's Canadian attorney Miranda Desa said.

According to Daniel Pesquera from the aquarium's Boston-based public relations firm, Regan Communications, moving the animals was in the best interest of the five whales and their species.

“The import permit is partly to get them into a situation where they’ll be in a better habitat with more individualized care,” he said. “And also to get them into a habitat that’s especially designed for research on beluga whales that will help larger populations of whales in the wild.”

The whales were monitored before, during and after the transport by teams of specialists who were tracking not only their physical condition, but their emotional well-being, aquarium President and CEO Stephen Coan said. The teams on the plane monitored their breathing, heart rates and hormones, he said, adding that the animals’ stress and well-being is always a concern.

“If we weren’t concerned about that, we’d be irresponsible,” he said.

After the first flight landed, Tuttle said Jetta, Havana and Kharabali “were doing really well” and arrived happy and healthy.

She noted Friday’s transport was an exciting, invigorating culmination of years of work.

She also stressed that all five of the whales were born and raised in captivity and that because of that, releasing them into the wild was not an option. They never learned to survive in the wild or hunt for food and would likely die if set free in the ocean.

Mystic Aquarium, Tuttle and Cohen said, does not condone the capture of wild animals and had no plans to breed more belugas to be born in captivity.

One of the conditions of the permit being granted was that procreation among the whales must be prohibited. Coan said the aquarium has developed a complex plan to prevent the whales from breeding, including tracking the female whales’ ovulation cycles and separating them from the males during those times.

Coan said that Mystic Aquarium doesn't have plans to rehome any more of the belugas currently living at Marineland, but plans to continue communication and offer support to the theme park as it moves forward with what is best for all the whales in its care.

The five new whales in Mystic will be introduced to their new roommates — the aquarium’s three resident belugas — at their own pace. The animals will see one another through plexiglass barriers at first as the new whales acclimate to their surroundings. They also will be able to communicate while they remain separated. Then, they’ll slowly be introduced into living in the same waters.

It’s not yet clear when aquarium visitors will be able to see the new whales.

“The answer is that the animals are going to tell us when they’re ready (to be in the same pool),” Tuttle said. “Sometimes they get comfortable much more quickly than we think, other times it takes a little longer. But our priority is what is best for the animals, we want to make sure they’re happy in their new home at Mystic Aquarium.”

#news #captivity #cetacean #whale #beluga #transfer #mystic aquarium #marineland canada

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wishonastar7 · 3 years

Text

Timely Fate1

Life is full of surprises that people should be expecting by now but no one knows when to expect them. These surprises can be pleasant or unpleasant or they could start of unpleasant only for you to realize that it was worth it or the opposite could happen.

Life is unexpected.

It had been six hours since the plane had lifted off and thirty minutes since Ha-Neul had woken up. She looked through some pieces of social media before getting up to use the bathroom. As soon as she closed the door behind her the plane shook, throwing her against the wall. Immediately the captain spoke through the speakers, talking in a calm voice as he attempted to calm down the passengers while giving out instructions to assure safety.

She could feel the plane falling as she grabbed hold of the sink and the doorknob. Cold sweat appeared on her forehead as her head was knocked on the door. It was like this for another fifteen minutes until everything went black.

Pain.

She felt pain everywhere. Her body throbbed and certain parts pulsed. She slowly opened her eyes, a blinding light stabbing into her eyes before she closed them again. Faintly, she could hear voices from outside of her subconscious.

"Don't worry....fine...safe."

Crying. "Are you.....okay?!"

"Of course....no..."

"Thank you...."

A while later, she woke up again. There was still an overbearing sense of exhaustion overwhelming her but this time she was able to open her eyes fully.

A masked face donning blue was the first thing she saw. "It seems like you're awake." A feminine voice said from underneath the mask. "Here," A cup of water was handed to her. "Something to quench your thirst after having been asleep for so long."

Ha-Neul gave her a stiff but thankful smile before chugging down the water, still thirsty for more. The woman took off her mask, revealing a bright smile, and refilled her glass again, waiting for Ha-Neul to finish drinking, before she proceeded to speak again.

"I hope you're not thirsty anymore. My name is Kim Chan-Mi, your nurse. You were in a pretty bad plane accident. You were the only one to survive and have been asleep for the past three weeks. Your grandparents visited you yesterday and will probably be back sometime today after the news of you waking up has been delivered. It's best if you don't move around. You were scabbed pretty badly and there are a couple of burns all around your body that hasn't healed yet." The nurse gave her a pitying look before she continued.

"You have three fractured ribs, a small section of your spine that has been fractured, a broken leg, a twisted ankle, and your left arm is broken. Once you're all healed you'll be able to go about your day normally but for now, you'll need a couple of months of healing in bed before you can stand up alone and you'll need some physical therapy first and foremost after everything has finished healing."

With a hoarse voice, Ha-Neul asked, "How long will it take for me to recover?"

"About six to eight weeks, a week or two extra if the doctor says anything otherwise." Ha-Neul attempted to nod before hissing in pain.

The nurse rushed to help her steady her head, giving her a worried look. "It's best if you refrain from any sort of movement, big or small."

Ha-Neul closed her eyes before opening them again. "Y-yes." Nurse Kim looked at her again before giving her a small smile. "Your doctor, Doctor Lee Ji-Yoo, will come in to check up on you later. If you need anything just call us."

"Can I ask what time it is?" Ha-Neul asked hesitantly.

"8:54 am."

"Thank you." The nurse gave her a small smile before leaving, closing the door quietly behind her.

Ha-Neul let out a breath, closing her eyes as the headache in the back of her mind became stronger and stronger. Flashes of pictures started to appear in her mind, unfamiliar people in familiar places, things that she had never done happening, so on and so forth. Ha-Neul shot a look at the black clock on the wall, nearly a full forty-five minutes.

A groan escaped from her lips. According to the pictures that had flashed through her mind, the airplane crash had given her a chance of transmigrating. Where to? No clue.

She was currently in the body of 15-year-old Park Ha-Neul, starting middle school this year and returning from 3 years of living in France when the accident had taken place. She, unlike her original self, was an only child and a blooming model as well as a well-known child-actress, Her first movie had been as the three-year-old daughter of the second male lead in the movie, 'Hope In a Broken World' an apocalyptic movie set three thousand years after the current century. She currently lived with her grandparents.

Her mother had had a one-night stand with some Chinese CEO and had gotten pregnant with her. Instead of telling the man, Park Ha-bin, Ha-Neul's mother, had kept her and went through the birth without him. Sadly, she had died soon after Ha-Neul had been born, using her last breathes to gift the baby girl both her real name and her English name, Heaven.

This wasn't a setting that she recognized. Although Ha-Neul knew that she had transmigrated, the question was where? She didn't recognize any of the settings that were currently racing through her mind. None of the people in the original Ha-Neul's memories were familiar to her in any way. Could Ha-Neul be a background character? No matter what, being a background character was a good thing. It meant that all the drama that would happen would have nothing to do with her.

She let out a silent cheer.

The door swung open to reveal an elderly couple in a matching set of black and blue along with Nurse Kim holding a stack of files in one hand as well as a tall man with short hair and rectangular glasses wearing a white lab coat.

'Must be Doctor Lee," Ha-Neul thought, her eyes flitting to the group that had just walked in and back. A small smile flickered onto her face as the old woman, Granny Ah-Ju, and the old man behind her, Grandpa Do-Hung, scampered up to her, tears running down Granny Ah-Ju's face as a hesitant smile covered up the obvious worry on grandpa Do-Hung's face.

The two looked so much like her grandparents from her original world that she couldn't help but feel a pinch in her heart as she remembered the two elders that had passed away in her childhood.

"Granny," Ha-Neul called out, a sweet simile enveloping her naturally cold face, "Don't cry. I'm perfectly fine!" She attempted only to have the older woman start coddling her arms and head.

"Oh, my poor A-Neul! Oh, how could this happen to you! My precious little sparkle. Oh, A-Neul!" Granny cried, inconsolable.

Grandpa Do-Hong hugged the older woman, his face facing Ha-Neul. "Ha-Neul," the old man said, his voice hoarse from old age. "Grandpa and grandma can't handle the fear of losing you too. Please be more careful." He said, his brows scrunched up as his hands pat Granny Ah-Ju.

Ha-Neul gave an awkward smile. "Sorry, Granny and Grandpa."

(1228)

#ORV #OMNISCIENT READER'S VIEWPOINT #FANFICTION #OC #ORVSPOILERS #YOO JONGHYUK #KIM DOKJA #YOO JONGHYUK X OC #KIM DOKJA X OC #SLOWBURN-ISH #MUTUAL PINING #FRIENDS TO LOVERS #KOREAN WAS GOOGLE TRANSLATED #KOREANWEBTOONBASED #KOREANLIGHTNOVELBASED

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hshouse · 3 years

Note

Hey. As a Canadian, I researched for Vancouver and I know that the show cannot go forward according to the regulations currently in place and it won’t be reevaluated until September. So Vancouver in August is 100% not happening.

I was curious for Tacoma, since the US is in general much more open than we are, and I read the following:

“Large indoor events are defined as any event with more than 10,000 simultaneous participants located in an indoors enclosed space. Large indoor events are restricted to 75% capacity, unless vaccination verification is occurring. If vaccination verification is occurring prior to entry, and the venue requires all attendees be vaccinated, there are no capacity restrictions. However, we will not allow vaccinated sections as a way to go above 75% capacity unless all attendees are vaccinated. No physical distancing requirements apply and attendees must follow the current masking requirements. We will reevaluate the restrictions on large indoor events on July 31, 2021.”

Tacoma is sold out so 100% of attendees would have to be vaccinated for it to go forward. I don’t know how applicable vaccination verification is to tickets that were purchased in many cases before the pandemic was an actual thing. Like legally? I don’t know.

Things may change re: capacity v vaccination when they reevaluate on July 31st, but rehearsal and tour organization would have to be done before then so it’s not like that can wait for the restrictions to be lifted…

I didn’t look up what’s up in California or Arizona (I have LA show tickets but no time off, no plane ticket, no hotel so I’m fucked if it’s a thing) so maybe they’re open. I know Vegas is open because the Stanley cup (hockey lol if ppl don’t know) playoffs were against my team there and the arena was full and maskless.

In any case, at this point it’s inexcusable to be so quiet. If tour is happening, they have to have a whole team ready and waiting. They aren’t going to hire so many people when it’s 5 weeks away… These people need to travel, quarantine? Be vaccinated? so I highly doubt it’s happening.

Other than my tickets, I haven’t got any money that isn’t 100% refundable, but I’ve seen people buying plane tickets… Most of us aren’t made of money. Harry and HSHQ need to speak the fuck up.

Hi bby,

Oh wow thank you for your research! Incredible! And yes it is inexcusable as you said. I too don’t have any money in but the tickets but as close as it gets the more expensive my goddamn flight to Phoenix will be. So I’d rather know now (ps I already had a flight for last tour but I got the money back thankfully).

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lets-talk-appella · 5 years

Text

Roman Holiday

Bechloe Week 2019 -- Soulmates

Summary: Three years after the events of Pitch Perfect 3, Beca and Chloe meet again on a long-haul flight to Rome.

Word Count: 9k

Rating: G

AO3 and FFN

For @acabellas, who read it first.

Beca shoves her bag into the overhead with a muffled curse. She’d told herself to pack light, but apparently, she hadn’t listened.

“Do you need help with that, ma’am?”

Beca glances over, making quick eye contact with the overly-perky blonde flight attendant (really, just that simple sentence had been coated with enough false sugar to rot Beca’s teeth) before returning her attention to stowing her carry-on.

“No, I’m good, thanks,” she grumbles, then puffs out a breath when her bag finally slides into place and stays.

The attendant walks away, and Beca plops down into her first-class seat, barely taking the time to appreciate the enormous, clearly-able-to-turn-into-a-somewhat-comfortable-bed window seat and the large TV screen in front of her as she reaches for her headphones. She settles back into the cushy seat, places the headphones over her ears, starts the first track, and closes her eyes with a sigh. She’s looking forward to listening to some demos and then maybe watching a movie before passing out on the overnight flight to Rome.

On second thought, Beca thinks as she starts to doze off almost as soon as her eyes are closed, maybe she’ll skip the movie and just sleep. Sleep would be good.

And, who knows, if the seat to her right remains empty, maybe she can stretch out even more on that.

With that hope in mind, Beca lets herself drift off to the sound of her music, which perfectly muffles the commotion of hordes of other people—vacationers, mostly—boarding the flight.

Unfortunately, not ten minutes later, she’s pulled back to consciousness by that same annoying, overly-sweet voice that somehow manages to pierce through her otherwise relatively sound-proof headphones. Rather than opening her eyes to acknowledge the annoyance, she keeps them closed and hopes the flight attendant will leave soon.

However, that isn’t the case.

“I’m sorry, but as the plane is at capacity, we can’t move your seat,” the attendant apologizes extremely loudly, apparently speaking to another passenger. “The best we could do is move you to business class, but as you paid for first class—”

“No, it’s—it’s fine,” comes a softer, almost contrite voice that Beca finds herself straining her ears to listen to. “Thanks for trying.”

Someone has kicked Beca in the stomach. That’s the only explanation for the horrible pang that rocks her gut at the sound of that voice.

Before she can stop herself—she realizes too late that she should feign sleep for the entire flight—her eyes open, first finding the irksome flight attendant, then sliding past her and onto the person she’d been speaking to.

And she looks directly into Chloe Beale’s face for the first time in three years.

There’s a moment, a single half-second, where Beca thinks—hopes—that this is some kind of fever dream brought on by exhaustion, years of failed repression, and expired turkey in her airport sandwich. But her hope is almost immediately crushed, demolished, absolutely obliterated by the simple fact that she can see the trace of laugh lines that had formed around Chloe’s eyes and maybe the slightest hint of lighter streaking in her hair, pulled up into a messy bun. Beca knows herself well enough to know that she isn’t dreaming; she doesn’t dream in that much detail.

She can see a similar struggle of some kind going on behind Chloe’s eyes, can tell by the way her brows furrow just slightly and lips part only a hair in surprise; to anyone else, the signs might not have been noticeable, but Beca can tell. Chloe isn’t happy to see her.

Time resumes in the next beat of Beca’s heart—though for a moment, she’d thought it might have stopped—and Chloe’s face pales. “H—” she starts, then has to pause and clear her throat. “Hi, Bec.”

It’s automatic and so, so easy for Beca to say, “Hey, Chlo,” as if it’s been mere hours since they’ve seen each other.

Then, Beca stares at Chloe and Chloe stares at Beca and no one makes the first move until the sugary flight attendant (Beca had almost forgotten she was even there) clears her throat pointedly. “Yes, well, seeing as you have elected to keep your seat, I suggest you take it,” she says, gesturing to the seat to Beca’s immediate right even as she starts walking away. “We will be taking off shortly.”

Chloe’s eyes slide closed and her lips tighten, but then she nods and lifts a large pink duffle to hoist up to the overhead. Beca’s ears ring as Chloe gets settled, and she takes off her headphones automatically even though she knows they aren’t the cause. Her mind races, full of panic and guilt and disbelief and anger—because what are the odds of this happening now, today, when she’s had no time to prepare the words she knows she needs to say but were never intended to leave her lips.

She’s startled when Chloe’s knee bumps hers as she sits. She thinks Chloe even apologizes for the minimal contact but Beca doesn’t hear her, too busy shifting away and doing her very best to make herself small while also fighting back the torrent of memories threatening to overtake her.

Chloe looks a little older, a little more strained (which is probably to be expected after three years—Beca knows she’s certainly looked better), but still so familiar, still so Chloe that being this close to her pierces Beca like a knife.

God, the last time she and Chloe touched—Christ, even the last time she saw Chloe in person…

It’s unfortunate and a shame and absolutely beyond painful that one of Beca’s freshest, most recent memories of Chloe is how gorgeous she looked while kissing Chicago Walp.

Beca puts her headphones back on.

Leaning against the wall of the plane, she pretends to be staring out the window while in fact seeing nothing and doing her best to think of nothing. A feat in which she is only semi-successful.

Their flight is going to last nearly nine hours; it seems like it takes even longer than that for the plane to finally leave the gate and begin its roll down the tarmac. Even then, it’s almost twenty minutes before the real takeoff begins and the plane, along with its 375 passengers, hurls itself forward with a roar.

The takeoff—and the ten minutes immediately following as the plane builds altitude—isn’t smooth.

It’s pretty much the exact opposite of smooth.

Beca doesn’t mind a little turbulence, but she has to admit this seems excessive for a plane of this size. She can hear her bag and Chloe’s sliding around in the overhead, and a particularly hard jump of the plane almost makes her smack her head against the window. After that, she takes her headphones off so they don’t become damaged.

At the next heavy jostle, Chloe lets out a sharp gasp and Beca reflexively glances over. Chloe’s knuckles are white from her grip on the armrests and she’s tense as a board, ramrod straight in her seat. Her jaw is clenched, chin tilted down, and her eyes are squeezed tightly closed.

Beca grimaces; she remembers holding Chloe’s hand during the rocky sections of their flights as Bellas. Or, more specifically, she remembers Chloe’s grip nearly shattering all the delicate bones in her own hand. Beca hadn’t minded, though. Not really. All that mattered was that it made Chloe feel better.

She knows it isn’t her place anymore.

She wonders if Chloe has ever flown with Chicago, and if he ever let Chloe squeeze his hand to death.

Beca clears her throat. “So. Rome, huh?”

Chloe’s eyes fly open and she glances over sharply but doesn’t reply. If anything, she seems to draw in on herself even more, looking away just as quickly.

It’s a clear signal for Beca to stop talking now, please. And maybe she really should. Maybe she should stick with her original plan of music, movies, sleep, and—most importantly—seclusion, because there’s a reason they haven’t seen each other in three years and, going into the flight, Beca had had no intention of changing that. She had no real reason to.

But she can’t just sit in silence when Chloe is right there and is obviously terrified. She just can’t. So, with a promise to herself to cease any and all conversation once the turbulence has passed, Beca leans in.

“I’m not gonna bite, you know,” she shrugs, hoping she seems more relaxed than she really is. “And it’s a long flight, so…”

Chloe glances over again, but this time, she doesn’t look away. Her posture doesn’t budge—Beca wouldn’t be surprised if there were finger indents left on Chloe’s armrest—but she does seem to at least consider the fact that Beca is talking to her.

“Yeah,” she eventually says, her voice clipped. “Rome.”

“No layover?” Beca prods, for no reason at all other than she’s worried about potential damage to Chloe’s spine from being that wound up.

“Nope, just—just Rome.”

“Oh, nice. Uh, me too. Rome.”

And then Beca’s completely out of ideas for conversation topics. She settles for bobbing her head, a move that, in accordance with a poorly-timed jostle of the plane, actually does cause her to whack her head against the window. Despite the sharp pain, she pretends not to notice in the hopes that Chloe didn’t, either. It doesn’t quite seem to work, though, because a corner of Chloe’s mouth quirks up and—thankfully—her posture seems to relax just slightly.

“You’re not too busy being a superstar?” Chloe asks, only the barest hint of teasing leaking into her tone.

Beca’s brain stalls for an instant as she processes the fact that Chloe’s actually engaging in conversation. “Superstars get vacations, too,” she shrugs once her brain defrosts.

Chloe’s hands relax on the armrests, color flooding her knuckles again. “I suppose. They don’t get private jets?”

Beca can’t stop herself from smiling just a little, thinking about how incredulous Theo had been when she’d turned down his offer for just that. “I wanted something more low profile.”

As soon as she finishes her sentence, the flight levels, reaching an altitude that doesn’t attempt to knock Beca’s teeth out. The noise level of the engine drops as Beca pops her ears, and she realizes she had basically been shouting at Chloe to be heard.

The turbulence (hopefully) finished for the moment, Beca settles back into her seat as Chloe moves her hands to her own lap, folding them with a soft sigh. If Beca kept the promise she’d made to herself, she would put on her headphones again and block out Chloe for the rest of the flight. It would maybe be for the best, thinking long-term.

But, as in the case of her overpacking, Beca doesn’t listen to herself.

“So—”

“Um—”

They start speaking in unison, and it’s so awkward and this entire situation is so uncomfortable and unexpected that it makes Beca laugh, and just like that, she can’t quite remember why it was she’d made an internal vow of silence to begin with.

After all, it is going to be a long flight.

“You go first,” Beca suggests.

“Oh, okay,” Chloe says, pushing a strand of hair that had escaped from her bun behind her ear. “H—How have you been?” she asks, her voice light and casual.

“Uh, good. Yeah. Busy.” Beca winces, slightly irritated by her own urge to stop talking. She’s given countless interviews on national television—it should be the easiest thing in the world to talk to Chloe. (She knows why it isn’t.) “The last few years were crazy, uh, tours and albums, and… well, we wrapped up this tour last week, and, you know, I’m taking some rest now before I start on the next album. Theo has been kinda… he’s fine, really, but. A vacation would be good,” she finishes with a huff.

She thinks that’s a decent amount of information, a coverage of the surface-level details Chloe should be privy to. It answers Chloe’s question, in a way, without detailing how truly exhausted she has been, how much this latest tour drained her of energy and happiness and how uncertain she is about her future with the label because she had never really wanted to sing, only produce, and her answer doesn’t even hint—doesn’t reveal so much as a single trace—of how honest-to-God lonely she is and how she puts out so much music in such a short time simply because she never wants to go home to her huge, magnificent, outstandingly empty house at the end of the day.

Chloe doesn’t need to know about any of that.

Chloe smiles. “That’s your third album?”

“Yep, third,” Beca nods. “It’s kinda crazy actually. Three albums in three years is kinda a lot.”

Oops. She wasn’t supposed to let that slip. She shifts in her seat, but if Chloe picks up on anything strange (Beca’s glaring need for rest, for instance), she doesn’t say. No; instead, she leans forward, all huge eyes and excited smile and practically oozes enthusiasm as she assures Beca, “They’re really good though! You’re doing amazing.”

Thrown by the sincerity shining from Chloe’s eyes, Beca stammers, “Th—thanks, that’s really—you listened to my albums?”

“Of course I did,” Chloe shakes her head, as though shocked that Beca would question that. “We all did.”

She’s telling the truth. Beca knows because Chloe’s tells—eyes begging Beca to believe her, lips parted and ready to fling another compliment, her upper body leaned toward Beca in earnest—are all in place. Chloe doesn’t lie about music, and certainly not about Beca’s. She never has.

Beca has to look away; her eyes drop to her hands, which fiddle with one another in her lap. “Yeah, I… thanks.”

She doesn’t need to clarify the “we all” part of Chloe’s statement. Beca has been better about keeping in contact with some of the Bellas than she was with Chloe, but still. She hasn’t seen most of them in quite some time. The most recent was Amy, and that had been before her five-month world tour.

Saving Beca from further awkwardness, the drink cart prattles up the aisle ahead of them, stopping first next to a businessman in a full suit. Unfortunately, the same sickly sweet flight attendant from before is one of the women distributing the drinks.

Beca groans softly in annoyance.

“Problem?” Chloe asks, following her line of sight.

“Just. That flight attendant is so fake-nice. You know?”

Chloe grins back at her playfully. “Maybe you’re too real-grumpy.”

“Whatever,” Beca huffs. “She’s paid to be nice to us. I want to know what she’s really thinking.”

“Well, Bec, she does have to deal with a ton of rude, smelly strangers on a flight.”

“Speak for yourself. I showered this morning.”

Looking surprised by Beca’s teasing, Chloe opens her mouth to fire right back, only for the drink cart to pull up next to her. The sugar-soaked voice asks for her drink order, and Beca’s.

They both come away from the encounter with glasses of white wine, complementary for first-class passengers. Beca sips hers, savoring the flavor as well as the feeling of it starting to roll through her limbs, calming her, and overall doing her best to avoid accidentally spilling it anywhere.

“So, how are you?” she asks after a moment, glancing over at Chloe. She isn’t sure how much she wants to hear, in all honesty, but it seems rude not to ask, and for whatever reason, she desperately wants the conversation to keep going.

“Oh, good, yeah,” Chloe replies, then stops.

It’s weird. Beca vaguely wonders if this is an episode of The Twilight Zone and they’d somehow flown into another dimension where Chloe stops speaking after only three relatively useless words.

So, Beca prods. “Vet school is still…?”

“Yeah, I graduate in December. A semester early, actually,” Chloe admits with a shrug and a pleased-looking smile.

“Dude, congrats! That’s a huge deal!”

“Thanks! It was because I did that internship, actually. I had a lot of the hours required, so. Early graduation.”

“Nice, nice, that’s… yeah. Great job.”

“Thanks,” Chloe repeats, then looks down with what might be a little shyness, or simply a desire to end the conversation.

Once again, Beca isn’t sure what to say. She knows she should ask more, like about Chloe’s classes, or maybe even use Chloe’s old internship as some kind of conversational spring-board to jump into reminiscing about the years spent living together in New York, but she doesn’t quite want to take a stroll down memory lane after all this time.

And Beca can’t ask about Chicago. She can’t.

So, she pretends to look out the window for several minutes, the silence hanging between them becoming steadily more uncomfortable as time passes. Beca has no idea if Chloe has dozed off or has started reading or what because she doesn’t want to look away from all the interesting… shapeless white mist outside, which is growing steadily darker as the plane carries them toward Europe and a different time zone.

It gets to the point where Beca is relieved to hear that increasingly-familiar-and-annoyingly sweet voice of the flight attendant, accompanied by the rattle of a rapidly approaching food cart.

“Sushi, chicken, or pasta?” the woman asks. “We also have a menu if you would prefer something else.”

“Uh, sushi’s fine,” Beca mumbles, accepting the tray of it from the attendant.

Chloe orders pasta, and takes the tray with a “Thank you.” She stares down at the plate for a moment as Beca eats, long enough that Beca starts to become concerned that there’s something wrong with it—maybe it’s grotesquely overcooked or contains an errant used Band-Aid—but then Chloe looks over at her, surprise written across her face.

“So… this is really nice, wow.”

Beca stops chewing. “Hmm?”

“The food. The wine. The… everything,” Chloe says with a grand gesture around the first-class cabin.

“Oh.” Beca swallows the bite of sushi and glances around the cabin. It is certainly nice, though nothing that she hasn’t experienced before. Her (Theo’s) private jet is really much nicer, excessively so. “Yeah, I suppose it is,” she says slowly, wondering for the first time why it’s Chloe sitting next to her rather than some snobby, stiff CEO with money to toss out the window. “Hey, why are you flying—”

“Are these mushrooms any good, you think?” Chloe muses as she peers suspiciously down at her pasta, poking her fork at the limp gray fungus mixed into the sauce.

Beca looks over her shoulder at the mushrooms. “They look okay,” she says with a shrug. “Gotta be safer than anything I’d make.”

Chloe pauses her prodding to grin at Beca. “You were a decent chef,” she says, the pitch of her voice raising rather obviously. Her eyes flick away and she takes a massive bite of her pasta. She always has been a bad liar.

Beca raises an eyebrow and tilts her head skeptically. She had tried cooking for Chloe and Amy a few times when they’d lived together in New York, yielding less than ideal results.

Chloe’s nose wrinkles guilty. “Okay, you weren’t great.”

“Chloe.” Beca stares. “I had the fire department come twice!”

“Yeah, okay, but the little sad face you made after was so cute.”

“Mmph.” Beca rolls her eyes, trying to ignore the tingling heat rising in her neck at Chloe calling her “cute.” She highly doubts that anyone at the fire department would have called her “cute” after almost burning down the apartment complex twice. “Still not as bad as the time Amy almost got arrested for assault when she punched the mailman.”

Chloe laughs, a real, full laugh that makes her eyes shine and brightens the air around her. At the sight of it—of Chloe’s sincere happiness—something trickles within Beca’s chest and clicks in her mind and it’s suddenly so wonderfully, unexpectedly, stupidly easy to sit next to Chloe again.

“God, what was it?” Chloe asks, her lips still twitching in amusement even as she continued eating her dinner. “He surprised her or something?”

Beca shakes her head with a smile she knows is bigger than the situation really warrants. “No, remember, she thought he was Bumper in disguise and she was mad at him.”

“Right, yeah. Those two were really… something.”

“May I take your trash?”

Beca looks up and directly into the eyes of her least favorite flight attendant. She’s steering a cart full of dirty dishes and trash and looking pointedly at their empty dinner plates.

“Uh…”

“Totes!” Chloe says happily, reaching for Beca’s plate to stack it on top of her own and hand them to the flight attendant. “Thanks!”

A moment later, the cart rattles away, and Beca’s eyes flick to the TV screen in front of her seat as she considers what to say now. The interruption had thrown off the progress they’d made—despite the ease with which she and Chloe seem to be able to fall into conversation again, three years is still a long time.

She glances at Chloe from the corner of her eye; she’s examining her nails, something she only does when she doesn’t know what to do or say next.

It’s probably a bad idea, but… “So, do you want to watch a movie or something?” Beca asks.

Chloe looks up, eyebrows lifted. “Beca Mitchell wants to watch a movie?”

“Shut up,” Beca groans. She thought she’d heard the last of that a long time ago, but apparently not. “You know I like movies. Just not boring ones.”

Chloe bumps her shoulder against Beca’s teasingly. “Okay, well, you pick a non-boring movie and we can watch it together.”

“Uh… right,” Beca mumbles, trying to scoot farther away from Chloe without her noticing. Yeah, the movie thing was her idea, but Chloe touching her brought back too many memories of Hood Nights and choreography and competition celebrations and—Beca swallows.

Chicago, Chicago, Chicago. She can’t forget that large, camouflage-wearing detail.

She taps the screen in front of her, waking it and wincing at its brightness. She turns it down, noticing that around them, several people have closed their window shades and have reclined, likely preparing to sleep for the majority of the rest of the flight.

Chloe, though, doesn’t look tired. And Beca is far too wound up to do anything other than search for the movie she had in mind. She makes the selection, ignoring Chloe’s look of deep skepticism, and pulls out a pair of earbuds, giving the left to Chloe and keeping the right for herself. Before Chloe has a chance to protest at her movie choice, Beca starts Booksmart, one of her favorites.

Less than two hours later, as the end credits roll, Chloe takes out her earbud with an expression that Beca can only describe as a mix of pity and regret.

“Good, huh?” she asks quietly, mindful of the few people dozing around them.

“Why is that on here?” Chloe replies after a moment.

Beca rolls her eyes. “It’s a cinematic masterpiece, Chloe.”

Chloe wrinkles her nose and lifts her shoulders. “I… it’s kinda lame.”

“What?” Beca gasps, deadly serious. “You’re kinda lame. You laughed during it!”

“Yeah, I did…” Chloe says carefully. “Some parts were good, and I liked, uh, the crazy girl.”

“Gigi.”

“Her,” Chloe nods. “But... the whole thing with the strawberries and the—the dolls? I dunno, that was kinda unnecessary.”

“Okay, yeah,” Beca admits. “But—”

“And that girl in the bathroom was so rude to Amy, like really, I didn’t like her at all.”

“I mean, fine, but the rest of it—”

“Was lame?”

“Was hilarious.”

Chloe purses her lips. “Mmm…”

Beca slaps her hand down on the wide armrest between herself and Chloe. “That’s it!” she says forcefully, and is rewarded with wide blue eyes and a slackened jaw. “Get off this plane!” She lets the corner of her mouth quirk upward just enough for Chloe’s expression to relax and a soft smile to light her face.

“What, am I supposed to just jump out?” Chloe fires back.

“Yep. See ya!” Beca gives a mock wave. “Don’t forget a parachute.”

“Shush,” Chloe says, and then time slows down. Beca can see it coming as if in slow motion, can track the exact movement of Chloe’s hand as it rises from her lap, arching through the air, then falling, falling to rest perfectly on top of her own. Chloe’s skin is soft and warm, but Beca feels as though she’s just plunged her entire arm into a bucket of ice water. It shocks her enough that she pulls away before her brain catches up, her body’s reflexive protective mechanisms taking over.

Hurt flares across Chloe’s face for an instant before her expression goes blank, but it still hits Beca like a truck when she snatches her own hand back as well. Shame rises in Beca’s neck—which is stupid because she has no reason to feel bad about this, about needing space, about protecting herself from the unexpected and… not entirely unwelcome touch. (She wants more than anything to put her hand back under Chloe’s.) But still.

At this point, she’s sitting next to a stranger, and her body knows that even if her brain refuses to believe it.

Which...

“So, you tried to change seats.” The words that leave Beca’s mouth surprise her just as much as they surprise Chloe, who pales and doesn’t quite meet Beca’s eyes.

“What?”

Beca half wants to take it back, but she knows Chloe heard her the first time. “Earlier,” she forces out. “When you got on. You... tried to change seats.” It comes out as more of a question, made worse by the way she lifts one shoulder.

Chloe’s eyebrows draw together and she looks down at her lap, twirling her thumb ring. Beca notices for the first time that there’s no wedding ring (the thought that she could have been sitting next to Chloe Walp rather than Chloe Beale turns her stomach), but before that information really sinks in, Chloe whispers, “Yeah, I… I did.”

Beca nods, lets that sit in the air before taking a breath. “I don’t blame you, you know. I probably would have done the same thing.”

“Beca…”

“I get it. Three years—”

“Three years...” Chloe cuts her off with a shaky breath. “Three years is a really long time. You just—you vanished. You know?” One of Chloe’s hands runs through her hair roughly. “After we knew you for seven years, Bec, you just—you signed with Khaled, and then you vanished.”

“Not completely,” Beca shrugs uncomfortably.

“No, not completely,” Chloe concedes with a single nod. “We got your cards, and Amy and Aubrey and Stacie always said you’d talked to them, but… you didn’t call me.”

“I did once.”

She did, about two months after she and the Bellas had their huge hug-a-thon on stage in front of hundreds of members of the U.S. Armed Forces. She’d called Chloe from her contemporary, freshly-painted, excessively huge studio office in L.A. She called because Chloe was still in New York but living alone since Amy and her newfound millions had moved out of that cramped apartment three days after Beca had, and Beca had known how lonely Chloe would be. So, shoving aside thoughts of a certain soldier with a stupid name, Beca had called. Only for Chloe to talk all about Chicago, telling her all the dates he’d taken her on when she’d stayed in Europe an extra two weeks to be with him, and how he calls as often as he can and how he writes to her and how it’s just like old time love stories and how he did this and that and on and on and on.

Beca hadn’t really felt the need to call after that.

“Yeah,” Chloe says, likely remembering that call. Her eyebrows draw together, but she doesn’t say anything else.

“I mean… you didn’t call me, either,” Beca mutters, glancing out her window at the now black sky.

“I… no. I didn’t.”

“It’s both of us, Chlo.”

“What happened?” Chloe asks, looking for all the world as if she has no possible clue as to why they’d let their friendship grow stale.

Beca almost wants to laugh at her. Or maybe scream. Instead, she says, “We got busy. Things just changed. It happens.”

“But we always said—”

“What can I get you ladies to drink?”

Beca could hug the flight attendant. Neither she nor Chloe orders anything to drink, but the interruption still ends the line of conversation that Beca had been trying so hard to avoid for the past three years.

Deciding that an uncomfortable silence is the best option at the moment, Beca uses her screen to check how much time remains in their flight: about four hours. Unease rolls through her stomach. She just isn’t sure if it’s because the number is too big or too small. She reaches to close the tab on the screen, wanting to power it off.

“I missed you, you know.”

It’s soft, barely a whisper, and clearly said so that Beca could easily ignore it if she wanted to. Beca pauses, her hand hovering in front of the screen. Slowly, her fingers curl, rolling inward to her palm, forming a tight fist that she lets fall to her lap. She really shouldn’t—but then she looks over and Chloe’s watching her, her face open and honest and so unassuming that Beca knows she could never say another word back in response and Chloe wouldn’t blame her.

“I missed you, too,” she says instead, and Chloe swallows.

“Don’t… let’s not do that again. Promise?”

“I…” Beca doesn’t want to make a promise that she’ll inevitably have to break (she can’t bear seeing Chloe with anyone that isn’t her) and she knows how selfish that makes her, but she also can’t bear finding out whether Chloe’s disappointment looks the same as it had years ago. She clears her throat. “Promise,” she says, and if Chloe knows she’s lying, it doesn’t show.

Instead, Chloe smiles and takes a breath. “So, what are these other people doing in first class? Are they all famous singers, too?”

“Oh, um,” Beca has to take a moment to catch up to the change in topic.

“That guy is a master animal trainer,” Chloe whispers with conviction, pointing subtly to the man seated in front of Beca, wearing a suit. “He’s headed to Rome to meet a caravan of lions being transported to a nearby zoo, where they’ll perform tricks for the kids.”

“Mmm.”

“And the woman in the gray sweater? You see her?”

Beca follows Chloe’s gaze diagonally across the aisle to a row ahead of them, where an older woman wearing a gray turtleneck leans heavily against her window, mouth hanging wide as she sleeps through the duration of their flight. She looks so peaceful that Beca’s actually mildly concerned until she sees the steady movement of the woman’s shoulders as she breathes.

“She’s an assassin.”

Beca snorts loudly enough to make the man in front of her jolt in his sleep.

“Quiet!” Chloe chastises, though her own twitching lips betray her. “She’s only stopping in Rome for five hours, during which she has to arrange the deaths of three high-profile members of the French government.”

Across the aisle, the woman twitches and begins to snore softly.

Beca hums and plays along. “Why are three high-profile members of the French government in Rome?”

“Because they thought they’d be safe there. Little did they know that The Black Widow—”

“Is that her?”

“Yes. Little did they know that The Black Widow has been tracking their every movement and is going to take them down.”

“Clearly they were wrong about the safety thing.”

Chloe nods seriously.

Beca makes a show of looking over at the snoring woman. “Well, someone should tell The Black Widow that the guy in front of her was once a knife-thrower in a circus.”

The beaming smile of delighted surprise that Chloe sends her more than makes up for any residual awkwardness from their earlier conversation.

It’s easy. It’s so easy for Beca to lose herself talking to Chloe like this. In fact, she’s 98.3% positive that even if it had been more than three years since they’d seen one another—if it had been five, ten, twenty, even fifty years—they’d still be able to talk like this. Because it’s Chloe. She’s always been able to be like this with Chloe. She could talk like this with Chloe all night.

But. Maybe it’s not a good idea.

Next to her, Chloe stifles a yawn into the back of her hand, but seems to shake herself out of it, trying to stay awake, presumably to continue talking. And if Chloe wants to stay up, that’s fine with Beca.

In search of their next conversation topic, Beca reaches for one of the magazines in front of her, hoping to find some article in there they can talk about or make fun of. She pulls one out of the slot and is horrified to see her own face—in a somewhat unflattering photo—gracing the cover of one of those trashy tabloids.

“Oh god,” she mutters, trying to shove away the magazine before Chloe can see it, but before she can, it’s snatched out of her hand.

“Did you plant this?” Chloe asks as she scrutinizes the cover and headline, which Beca hadn’t had a chance to read.

“I didn’t, I swear!”

Chloe only grins in that teasing way she has. Her eyes drop to the cover and she reads aloud, “‘Pop star Beca Mitchell seen leaving grocery store in a rage: Her secret war with record label over diet.’”

Beca huffs and rolls her eyes. “That’s the best they could do?”

Chloe gasps sharply and she clutches the tabloid to her chest in mock scandal. “You mean these rags don’t always report the truth? No. Way.”

With another eye roll, Beca plucks the magazine from Chloe’s hands and stuffs it back in the slot it came from. “Honestly, I’m still amazed that they can get away with this. It’s false reporting.”

“Come on, at least some have to be true,” Chloe insists, batting her eyes (rather unnecessarily, in Beca’s opinion).

“Well…”

“I mean, not all of the ones about you dating having to be true, but some, right?”

Beca shrugs, trying to look as unassuming as she can while wondering why, of all the ridiculous things the tabloids had written about her, Chloe would choose to ask about that.

“Oh come on, there’s no way you’re single,” Chloe insists with maybe too much enthusiasm, her voice a tad brighter, somehow, than it is normally. “There’s no way!”

“I—uh… first of all, I am single,” Beca says slowly, her eyes flicking to the back of the seat in front of her even as her neck warms. “But not all of the rumors were false, no.”

“Which ones?”

“Um—did you know these seats, like, recline into beds?” Beca asks quickly. “Here, let me…” she fumbles for the button on the side of her seat, pushing back with enough enthusiasm she’s surprised she doesn’t launch herself to the back of the plane. Her seat smoothly reclines into what is basically a soft, slightly-smaller-than-twin-sized bed, and she lies back, staring at the ceiling of the cabin.

Of course, she should have known better—maybe should have faked a bathroom emergency or something instead—because approximately one-sixteenth of a second later, Chloe is reclining in her own seat-bed right next to her and poking her in the shoulder.

“Which rumors are true, then?” Chloe asks persistently. “I’m not leaving until you tell me, so.”

And that doesn’t help anything at all because Beca’s traitorous mind immediately flings itself to a dorm shower, bright eyes, perfect pitch, and rising steam. She shuts that down as well as she can, turning her neck to meet those same bright eyes, sparkling with amusement and maybe something else that Beca can’t identify.

Beca sighs dramatically and flops her arm over her eyes. “Um… I’m definitely not having an affair with Liam Hemsworth,” she says, sliding her arm to her forehead to peek at Chloe.

“Oh, I knew that one was fake,” Chloe dismisses with a wave. “You wouldn’t do that to Miley.”

Beca pauses. “Right.”

“But other ones?”

Beca really doesn’t know why Chloe’s so invested in this.

“I… fine,” she mutters, flopping her hands down to her stomach and lacing her fingers together. “I did go on a date with Kristen Stewart.” She looks sideways, trying to gauge Chloe’s reaction.

Chloe’s eyebrows raise, but she doesn’t look nearly as surprised as Beca had expected. Maybe a slight downturn of the mouth, but that could mean anything; maybe she just doesn’t like supernatural romance movies or something. Before Beca has a chance to decipher the look, Chloe’s plowing on.

“How was that?” she asks, fully rolling to her side facing Beca and sliding a hand under her head to act as a cushion.

Mirroring her, Beca also rolls to her side. “It was good! She’s really great.”

“And pretty.”

“Yeah, and pretty. But I think we were better as friends, you know?”

“Yeah, I… that’s a trend.”

“Hm?”

“Any other girls?”

“Um, not really.” Beca raises a hand to her nose, rubbing it absentmindedly. “With the albums, you know, my label kinda… Well, Theo thought it might be better for my ‘image’—she uses her hands to make air quotes—“or whatever to not really date until I’m more established. And to date more guys than girls,” she adds.

Chloe frowns. “That’s not… it’s your life.”

Beca can’t stop herself from laughing. “Not really. Not when I’m signed to a label.”

Chloe’s frown deepens, but she doesn’t say anything. Beca could kick herself; she really hadn’t meant to say anything like that. Before she can make up for it, though, Chloe leans forward.

“So, do you… prefer girls?” she asks, her eyes flicking away and back. “You never really said.”

Beca swallows. “Oh, I… is it a problem?”

Chloe’s eyes fly wide and her hand flutters toward Beca as if to rest on her arm. “Bec, of course not! I mean, you know I dabble in the lady pond.” She says this at normal volume and with no trace of shyness. Beca kind of admires her for it. “Come on, it’s totally fine.”

Beca nods, smiling to herself a little. “I tried telling you guys first, you know.”

“Hm?”

Beca lets herself smile properly now as she remembers a European stage filled with all of her best friends. “Come on, Chlo,” she urges gently. “I sang ‘Freedom ‘90.’”

“Oh, right...” Chloe breathes, her eyes again flicking away as she bites her lower lip.

Beca’s stomach drops as she remembers what else happened that night. She thinks Chloe might be remembering, too, now, as her eyes take on some faraway place and time. Beca blinks and behind her eyelids she sees it all again, the way Chloe had strutted to Chicago, pulled him into a kiss that had made the earth crumble from beneath Beca’s feet.

She knows Chloe’s thinking of that, too. She can see it in the way she won’t make eye contact and her teeth toy with her lip.

Reality crashes into Beca, stealing the breath from her lungs and making her feel like the biggest idiot on the face of the planet. She knew this was a bad idea, knew she should never have talked to Chloe like this, because when they leave this plane, it’s going to hurt more than ever.

She might as well kick-start the ending now.

“So,” she starts, not recognizing the sound of her own voice. “How’s, um, Chicago? Are—-are you meeting him in Rome, or…”

A shadow crosses Chloe’s face and she shifts, rolling onto her back again to stare at the ceiling. When she still doesn’t answer, Beca begins to worry that she’d somehow put her foot in her mouth.

“Chlo, I—”

“Do you believe in soulmates?” Chloe breathes, still watching the ceiling.

Oh.

Beca rolls to her back as well, unable to look at Chloe directly. She doesn’t want to hear about how Chicago is Chloe’s “soulmate” or whatever is about to happen. She doesn’t want to hear about the white picket fence house and their eventual two-point-five kids or how they’ll renew their wedding vows every ten years or something ridiculously cheesy like that. She doesn’t want to hear how Chloe is going to dedicate her life to a man who absolutely does not deserve her—though, Beca can’t be sure because she never really even talked to him—and doesn’t want to hear how he’s her “better half” or whatever the hell goes with having a soulmate.

Beca wants to throw herself out of the plane, sans parachute, for being the one to even ask about Chicago in the first place.

“I… don’t know,” she says eventually, risking a glance over.

Chloe’s lips press together and she takes a deep breath through her nose. Beca looks back at the ceiling, unable to face Chloe’s disappointment.

“Well, I do,” Chloe says. “I think there can be different kinds of soulmates.” She pushes herself back on her side facing Beca, but Beca doesn’t move. “I think anyone you connect with—boyfriend, girlfriend, family, friends—anyone who just gets you, and you get them, I think that’s a soulmate. And I think you can have more than one soulmate.”

“You think so? More than one?” Beca asks, feeling Chloe’s eyes on the side of her face.

“I hope so. Not sure though. Maybe you only get one soulmate of each kind, you know? But you can have multiple kinds.”

Beca tries her hardest to control her expression. She clears her suddenly dry throat and asks the ceiling, “What... happens if you think someone is your soulmate, like you really, really think so, and then… they’re not?”

Chloe takes another deep breath, one that Beca can hear is jagged around the edges. “Which kind of soulmate are we talking? Because maybe they’re just—maybe they’re just not the kind you thought they were.”

Beca can’t find her voice. She must have lost it somewhere along the line, it having fallen from her throat to bounce around the inside of the plane and slip out a crack in a door seal to disperse among the clouds.

It’s so quiet in the plane, save for the humming white noise of the engine, that Beca’s sure Chloe could hear how hard her heart was beating if only she listened closely enough.

“You know?” Chloe prompts, sounding so small and needy that it snatches Beca’s voice right out of the air to shove it back into place in her throat.

“So, Chicago is your… soulmate.”

Even as Beca’s heart clenches around the word, Chloe starts to laugh, a surprised bubbling noise that makes Beca finally turn to her in shock.

Chloe shakes her head and stops laughing, though a smile still graces her face. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to… no. Chicago isn’t my soulmate. We broke up eight months ago.”

Oh.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Chloe sighs. “To answer your question, I’m going to Rome, alone, on a first-class plane ticket because I’m treating myself, Beca. I… this was a long time coming.”

Beca’s heart is in her throat now, she’s sure. She knows she’s probably supposed to say something like, “I’m sorry,” in response to the news about Chicago, but she can’t quite manage to lie to Chloe yet again.

Chloe’s eyes drop. “I thought Chicago was my soulmate. I told myself he was. I needed him to be.”

Beca wants to ask the question that dangles there on the tip of her tongue, but she’s too afraid. Afraid of the answer, afraid she knows what Chloe is going to say, afraid that it’s too late. Afraid that she’s wrong.

She feels the moment fading, knows that with every passing second the window gets smaller and smaller, until before long, it’s going to close entirely and she’ll spend the rest of her life wishing she’d said something, wishing she’d had the courage to ask the question and hear the answer that will change everything.

She knows she’ll never forgive herself if she doesn’t say something, so she takes a breath that churns her stomach and opens her mouth.

Chloe snores softly, nothing more than a nasally inhale, but her eyes are closed and she looks more relaxed in sleep than Beca can remember her looking in a long time.

Her window of opportunity closes with a bang and Beca settles back and closes her eyes, mentally berating herself, hoping against hope that all of this had just been a horrible nightmare from which she won’t ever recover.

She is so, so stupid for doing this to herself.

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

The next time Beca opens her eyes, the cabin is brightly lit, a result of both the interior lights and unfiltered sunlight streaming through the one or two windows with shades lifted partway. A blueberry muffin, a slice of banana bread, and a Styrofoam cup of black coffee rest on her tray, the airplane’s offered breakfast.

Frowning at the items, she wonders if the flight attendant had just placed them there or if someone had ordered—Beca whips her face to the side so quickly it makes her neck crack. The seat next to her is upright and empty.

Beca fumbles for the lever on the side of her own seat, sitting up and pushing the recliner back to seat form. Her eyes roam the cabin, searching, both hoping and dreading that everything had actually been a result of her imagination. Then, at the front of the cabin, a light near the ceiling flickers off, and Chloe steps out of the restroom, looking exhausted.

Relief tinged with pain rolls through Beca; trying to hide her reaction, she rubs her eyes then focuses on unwrapping the muffin.

“Morning,” Chloe says lightly as she sits down. “So those restrooms are still really tiny.”

“They are,” Beca agrees around a yawn. She hates changing time zones like this. A glance at her watch tells her she got about two hours of sleep. “Did you order this stuff for me?” she asks, gesturing to her breakfast.

Chloe nods. “I hope that’s okay? The cart went by and I didn’t want you to miss the breakfast.”

“It’s good. Thanks.”

“Totes. Um, I think they said before I went to the bathroom that we would be landing in, like, twenty minutes or so, so…”

“Right.” The breakfast on her tray doesn’t seem so appealing anymore. Still, she picks at it, even if it’s just something to do with her hands. Chloe reaches for one of the magazines in front of them and starts to read. Thankfully, Beca isn’t on the cover of this one.

Beca takes a sip of her coffee. Chloe turns a page. Beca finishes off the muffin and starts on the bread. Chloe raises a hand to rub at her cheek as she reads.

Beca’s mind races, but is simultaneously quiet. It’s a weird state, and she blames it on the lack of sleep, time change, and the presence of Chloe. She knows she could—maybe should—say something about Chloe’s whole “soulmate” thing, but now in the relative daylight, it seems too far away to bring up again.

So, they sit in silence, listening to the engine noises grow louder as their altitude drops. Beca pops her ears several times, the plane rocks back and forth unsteadily (Chloe takes several deep breaths and grips the armrests), and, after only a few moments where Beca is positive the plane is going to crash, they touch down on the tarmac with a small bump and the sudden slowing brought on by strong brakes.

Next to her, Chloe relaxes with a sigh.

Beca pushes her window shade up and looks out at what she can see of the Leonardo da Vinci International Airport, trying to shove down the rising unease in her stomach.

She knew this would happen. She did this to herself, which probably makes her some sort of sick masochist who gets off on things like falling in love for the second time with the same person only to have her walk away without a backward glance. Again, for the second time.

Beca’s problem isn’t that she never loved Chloe back (she likes to think Chloe was in love with her, too, once). Her problem is that she absolutely, totally, utterly sucks at the timing of these things.

The plane comes to a stop that jerks Beca to the present. The stale air fills with the metallic clink of unbuckling seat belts and melodic chimes as people check their phones and take them off airplane mode.

Beside her, Chloe unbuckles and stands with a stretch, reaching into the overhead bin.

Panic rises inside Beca’s chest, making her fumble with her own seat belt before finally undoing and standing with screaming, sore muscles, having to bend her neck awkwardly to avoid bumping her head on the overhead.

“Well, uh, have fun in Rome,” she says, rubbing at the back of her neck.

“Thanks, you too.” Chloe gets her bag down and rests it on the seat, sparing Beca a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Stay in touch?”

“For sure.” Liar.

The falsely-sugary flight attendant opens the door, and immediately passengers in first-class begin to walk out. Chloe’s eyes flick to the queue, then back to Beca.

“Bye, then,” she says, too brightly.

“Bye.”

With only a second’s hesitation—one that might even have been a figment of Beca’s hopeful imagination—Chloe picks up her duffle bag and takes her place in line. She takes a step forward, and Beca reaches out to catch her shoulder.

“Wait, Chlo—” Chloe stops instantly, her eyes wide and maybe a little hopeful. Behind her, the line stalls. “Why were you talking about soulmates?” Beca asks in a rush, desperation driving her voice to a higher pitch than normal.

Chloe’s eyes flick to the growing line behind her, many heads peering around to see what the hold-up is. Her mouth opens, then closes again.

“Please,” Beca whispers, her grip on Chloe’s arm never loosening. “Please.”

Chloe’s eyes finally meet hers. Beca’s stunned to see they’re swimming. “I was trying to tell you,” Chloe breathes. “Chicago wasn’t my soulmate because I’d already found mine wandering around an Activities Fair.”

Surely, the plane can’t have landed. It was impossible for the plane to have landed, because Beca’s still 30,000 feet in the air and falling, falling fast, the floor having dropped out from under her feet.

She recoils, reclaiming her arm, shaking her head, because she’d heard wrong, she had to have, or she’d misunderstood, because there’s no possible way Chloe had said those words.

Beca doesn’t get a chance to ask her to repeat it, though, because as soon as she takes her hand from Chloe’s arm, Chloe’s moving, walking down the aisle to exit the plane and leave Beca behind. Immediately, the passengers that had formed a line behind her press forward, filling the aisle and lengthening the distance between her and Beca by the second.

Beca doesn’t blame her one bit. If their positions were reversed and she had been the one to drop a confession like that, she’d be running away as fast as she could, too.

She has to catch up.

“Chloe, wait!” she calls, but either Chloe doesn’t hear her or purposefully ignores her, because Beca is forced to watch the back of her head as she rounds the corner of the aisle ahead to step out of the plane.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit…” Beca chants under her breath. She shoves her way into the aisle, ignoring the sounds of protest emitted by the passengers that had technically been in line—which, they’d totally butted in front of her to begin with, rude—and whirls, snatching her back from the overhead. It takes everything in her not to rush forward and send people stumbling, shoving her way out of the plane, but she knows that would more than likely just get her in trouble with customs or something.

So she’s forced to wait, to inch her way forward with the rest of them, while knowing that with every moment that passes, Chloe is only getting farther and farther away.

“Come on, come on, come on…”

With one last parting wave and a “Thank you for choosing us,” from Beca’s least-favorite flight attendant, Beca’s free, bursting forward from the plane with so much enthusiasm she almost topples over and into the tunnel connecting the plane and their gate.

“Chloe!” she calls out desperately, but there’s no sign of her.

Beca hates cardio.

She might make an exception, though, just this once. With more agility than she knew she still had in her exhausted body, Beca surges forward, her bag clutched close to her chest, and ducks and weaves around other passengers, trying desperately to get to the end of the tunnel and to Chloe. She’d chase her through the entire airport and across all of Rome if she had to.

She stalls behind a slow-moving couple, tottering along as if this connecting tunnel is their favorite place on earth. “Move!” she shouts at the back of their heads, and the man starts and flings himself to the side, creating enough space for Beca to squeeze through and then she’s running again and there’s the end of the tunnel and now she’s at the gate and—and there’s the red hair.

“CHLOE!” she nearly screams it, and by some miracle, Chloe stops and whirls, her eyes flying wide when Beca doesn’t stop, only runs to her and throws her bag to the ground and reaches forward, her hands cupping Chloe’s cheeks and pulling her into a kiss that Beca knows will change everything.

There’s a beat where Chloe doesn’t respond and fear explodes in Beca’s mind.

But then Chloe’s arms wrap around her waist and the lips under Beca’s soften until Chloe’s kissing her back, and the fear is replaced by exaltation so strong that Beca can’t be sure it doesn’t lift her off her feet.

Minutes, hours, days later, they finally separate, and Beca’s eyes flutter open to take in Chloe’s flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and gleaming eyes.

“I…” Beca has to take a deep breath. “Is that what you meant?”

Chloe’s face breaks into a huge smile and she nods frantically. “Yes, I—yes, I meant you.”

“Good,” Beca smiles. She doesn’t think she’ll ever stop smiling now. “Because I—you—the whole thing—you’re my, uh, you know—”

Chloe stops her babbling by pressing a quick kiss to her lips, one that still makes Beca’s knees weaken. “I know,” she says, then laughs. “So, you ran up that tunnel, huh?”

“Yep, and I’d do it again,” Beca says proudly, standing as tall as she can.

Chloe’s eyes sparkle. “You know you would have caught up with me at customs, right? Or baggage claim? You didn’t have to run.”

Beca blinks. “Uh.”

“It’s okay,” Chloe grins, lacing their fingers together. “I’m glad you did.”

#bechloe #bechloe fic #my writing #beca mitchell #chloe beale #bechloe week 2019 #i'd suggest reading on ao3 or ffn cuz formatting

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makeupproduct7 · 4 years

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Beauty advice You've Never Heard

youtube

Your personal morning beauty regime goes exactly 12 minutes. Initially comes the face wash, then astringent, followed by the moisturiser. And the list goes on. They have become such a chore, although wasn't there a time any time this routine was enjoyment? Well, we decided to have you back to the days if applying makeup was a cure by giving you some progressive beauty tips and tricks to help spice up your routine. Beauty

To have this insider information, most of us contacted Carmindy, resident cosmetics artist on TLC's "What Not to Wear, " in addition to author of The 5 Tiny Face. Here are her 12 beauty tips to leave you experience fresh and fabulous.

Magnificence Tip # 1 instructions Make perfume last.

A number of spritzes of perfume early in the day will not carry you over the day, no matter how expensive your current bottle may be. To make your own personal scent last, try this magnificence tip: put an unscented moisturizer on first and spray on your perfume a short time later. "There's so much booze in perfume, " Carmindy explains, "that if you bottle of spray it on dry body, a lot of times it evaporates consequently quickly. But if you have humidifying on your skin it follows much better. "

Beauty Hint # 2 - Top gloss without the goop.

In place of directly putting the water line of gloss to your mouth, Carmindy recommends adding a supplementary step to ensure less amount of time readers stay. "I like to put top gloss on my fingertips initially and then just pat this onto the flesh involving my lips. And this means you'll get a little bit of glow, nevertheless it won't be too goopy. inch Also, try a moisturizing lipstick or a lip stain before you add the shin to make sure the color stays placed.

Beauty Tip # three or more - A sweet detail.

"The best exfoliate worldwide is regular white dining room table sugar. " If just about every scrub out there contains a certain amount of sugar, like "Almond Sweets Scrub" or "Brown Carbohydrates Scrub, " why not only use what's in your house cupboard? "What happens is the small crystals dissipate with water so they don't dissect your skin. " And, should you have sensitive skin, don't guitar fret. "It even works better mainly because with other products you might not being a fragrance or a lot of materials, " states Carmindy. If you are in the shower, all you have to accomplish is lather your face right up like normal and then purchase a handful of sugar and rinse your face. And if you be depleted you'll be able to ask your pretty neighbor for a spot connected with sugar!

Beauty Tip # 4 Ditch your position concealer.

Instead of fumbling all around your makeup bag to get multiple concealers in the morning, just simply stick to one, advises Carmindy. The reason why? Because you can actually makes use of the foundation stuck to the the top of the cap of your liquid all-over concealer as your spot-treatment. "It oxidizes there so it turns into a little bit thicker. " Additionally, she says, "It's the same color as your foundation, so it will probably instantly erase your spot. " To apply, just take a compact tip concealer brush as well as dip into the cap on your foundation, or the nozzle when you use a spray. Then brush that on the spots and occur to be ready to go. Now it will be good when your foundation lid obtains cakey.

Beauty Tip # 5 - Recycle: Suitable for the earth, good for your mouth area.

What are you supposed to do an excellent leaf blower four best lipsticks usually are almost gone and your kids finger is tired from scraping out the remnants below? Carmindy suggests combining the half-used sticks into your own lips pallet. "Go to the substance store and purchase a cheap pill box and seek out the lipstick that's eventually left in the tubes. Then fit each color into a several little section of the pill pack. " You can mix and match the colours or even put Vaseline within the sections to make your own top gloss.

Beauty Tip # 6 Celebrity-size lips.

To acquire fuller lips people typically outline them with a pen, but most of the time it appears to be noticeable and unsophisticated (especially when the lipstick comes off of and you're left having just that awful line). For getting invisible enhancement, Carmindy advocates you take a Q-tip and also dip it in a amount of white shimmer eye darkness and lightly trace the exterior of your lips. "What you can do is that the shimmer will take the light and make your pure seem larger. " You simply won't be able to see it, but the bit of a glimmer will do the trick. Good if you don't have any collagen practical.

Beauty Tip # 6 - Bronzed but not witty.

Dusting bronzer all over see your face can make you look like you've been recently rolling around in the orange sand box all day or have got a part time job for a chimney sweep. Carmindy wants likes a spray bronzer to get the overall look of a fresh summer color. "I like to spray the sponge and then what I complete is just push it on top of the skin--on the wats or temples and then right underneath the face because this is kind of the place that the sun would kiss your mind. And if you like powder bronzer you could apply it in the same sites too. "

Beauty Word of advice # 8 - Brow breakthrough.

If you've been accorded barely there eyebrow GENETIC MATERIAL, you've probably tried everything to make sure they are visible--and figured out that most and the majority these products end up rubbing away from by the end of the day. If you still need eyebrows at five k. m., Carmindy advises shopping for waterproof liquid eyeliner this matches your hair color including black, brown or taupe. Then, she says, "You might take an angled brush along with feather the liquid eyeliner on to your eyebrows but it will surely stay put all day long. It appearance more natural than a pad and stays longer. inches It's a win-win.

Now for anyone who is like me and are for the opposite end of the brow spectrum you might need some guide keeping your out-of-control eye-brows in check. To do this, "Take any spooly brush or an oldtime tooth brush, put a little bit hair gel on there and brush it onto your brows to have them stay put. very well

Beauty Tip # in search of - Not your normal smoky eye.

"What I enjoy do is take a colouring like a navy blue or a shining kind of burgundy purple and line the inside rim in addition to right along the upper and lower sexy lash line and then smudge the idea with a Q-tip. That way, extra fat eye shadow pushing along with back, but you still have often the smoky effect because these people lined with color. Should you have deep-set eyes, Carmindy advocates you to avoid putting black shadow on your eyelids given it will make them seem all the more pushed back. "There a number of ways to do a smoky vision, but people always assume there's only one way to do the item. "

Beauty Tip # 10 - Save some eye shadow

Running past due in the morning? The best thing you can put on is definitely white shimmering highlight powdered ingredients. "If you highlight several key places you set on the planes of your face--you have a tendency even need eye of an, " says Carmindy. These kind of key spots are beneath eyebrow, on the inside corner with the eye and on top of the cheekbone. "It brings sparkle into the eye; it lifts terrific lid and draws in order to the top of the cheekbone. micron Now all you need is a significant cup of coffee to actually feel seeing that awake as you look.

Does anyone say your beauty routine ought to be boring--especially now that you can take some sort of box of sugar to you in the shower or turn a new pill box into a personalised lip pallet. With these beauty advice You just might have to rethink your personal 12 minute routine of course.

References Cosmetics https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cosmetics

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mgrgfan · 4 years

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Past of the future, future of the past...

Chapter 4. Breaking the blockade.

"Finally," said the Emperor, looking at the monumental machine, placed in the largest temporary sort-of-a-VAB built so far. "Finally! FINALLY!!!" Officers, which were standing not too far away from this genius, but a crazy one at that, exchanged looks of understanding. After all, this was his dream made real, even if forced to be remade for destruction… and protection. The ship itself - the first real, atomic explo-flyer, envisioned long ago, but built only recently - was truly a masterpiece of technology. Massing 4000 tons fully loaded, equipped with the most advanced sensors, protected by the arcanotech-enhanced composite armor, armed with railguns, howitzers, rotary cannons, space combat missiles and retro-missiles for planetary bombardment, this was the most powerful warmachine of the Soris Empire... so far. The nuclear fission reactor of this ship was built with inclusions of components from the reactor of Space Lab 2, as a way to drive the point of revenge and attract the blessing from the Red Spirit (though barely anyone believed in this one). After all, according to the mythology, this spirit gave its blessing to anyone, who was fighting to avenge the fallen comrades. Right now, the giant rocket was quietly sitting on the launchpad (built specifically for it) and receiving final checks. The first stage - the NUCLEUS booster - had simple, but pretty efficient chemfuel engines, which used liquid hydrogen as fuel and liquid oxygen as oxidizer. A titanic tank of fuel in center of rocket, a sectionalized torus-like oxidizer tank around it, a monstrous plug-cluster aerospike engine right in the middle of bottom and several blocks of control engines near the edges - all of that could lift two thousand tons to orbit just by itself and then safely come back and land. However, that was not needed - it only needed to raise the payload roughly halfway to the space... The payload - the first manned interplanetary spaceship in the history of the world, remade into first space warship - had the nuclear pulse engine. When the separation happens, the shock absorbers, collapsed for the duration of the first phase of launch to make the rocket more compact, will first extend to full length, then the shaped-blast charge will be launched from gas gun between them and fly through the trapdoor in the pusher plate, before exploding and launching a wave of superheated nuclear plasma, which will impact the plate, protected by the layer of graphite, and transfer the momentum to the ship through two stages of shock absorbers. Then the auto-sprayers will apply the new layer of graphite, the new bomb will be launched and explode, and then it will repeat again and again... "Comrades, I think those nine months of accelerated work weren't for naught!" the Emperor finally stopped laughing like maniac and got himself together. "Prepare to remove the building shell. Prepare to fuel the NUCLEUS booster. All cosmonauts - prepare to board the ship. Begin the launch countdown." "Aye-aye, Your Majesty. Countdown begins, T-72 hours and counting. Beginning the launch pad preparations. Beginning the VAB final disassembly." Most of the stuff in the giant building was already removed in the preparation for launch. Now, the only thing they've needed to do was to activate fast-disassembly mechanisms, which will safely collapse the roof and walls outwards, without damaging the launch pad and the monstrous ship on it. ---- Empress knew, that her husband was crazy. She knew, that this launch can - and, likely, will - worsen the already-far-from-good terms, on which the Soris Empire now was with the Pokemon Nation (culture clash did not help, especially with the whole thing about decent amounts of nationals worshipping Legendaries and Mythicals). She knew, that Nation can see it as an act of war. But for some strange reason, she was nearly as excited to see this launch, as her husband was. Or, actually, like the most of sorisians will be very, very soon, when the "Red Explorer" gets finally unveiled. After all, her internal political campaign about honoring the memory of 11th expedition to the Space Lab 2 really helped. The sheer growth of the metal processing and nuclear, chemical, arcanotechnological and many other industries, amongst other developments… it was wonderful. Besides, this launch, should the ship survive the upcoming battle, will majorly lift her support. Even after all those years (The Shift not included), "Bread And Shows" still worked great time - both for the Soris Empire (some parts of the space program, along with most entertainment) and Pokemon Nation (League and Contests). And if the Nation decides to try to attack them… well, that's what for the ship has several "Lightning" retro-missiles with city-buster warheads! ---- "Look at this," said one of the operators in the Mossdeep Space Center, showing the director, who was walking nearby, transmission from the kantonian research plane, which was flying near the Soris. Right now, the biggest building in the complex of Zemlino Space Center has just… fallen apart, slightly reminding them of a flower, and revealed a giant rocket inside. This rocket was roughly comparable to those, which Pokemon Nation used for the Moon missions… except much, much thicker. "Are you even sure, that this is a rocket?" wondered director. "It's so huge… How would it even take off?" "No idea," replied the operator. "I suggest we get some Cornn Berries and watch the fireworks, when the Rayquaza destroys this thing!" "Be careful with your words!" notified him superior, then quietly added, "I agree. If they didn't get yet, that as soon as it flies to strato - it dies, then we can have some good views. Though I wonder, what they are overcompensating for…" ---- "T-10 minutes and counting," announced one of the operators in Zemlino. After several very hard days of final workings and pre-flight checks, the "Red Explorer" was finally preparing to leave the ground. The nuclear reactor of the ship was now working at minimal capacity, cooling through external loop, the NUCLEUS booster was checking the thrust vectoring and aerodynamic control surfaces, the cosmonauts were getting more comfortable in their chairs… The final launch poll resulted in "go" and now there was only one way - the way up. ---- "… Seventeen, sixteen, water suppression system online, twelve, eleven, ten, nine, ignition sequence start, six, we have ignition, four, three, two, all engines are running!" reported the announcer. "Liftoff! We have a liftoff, thirty-two minutes past the hour, liftoff on "Red Explorer"!" With a horrifying roar, the giant rocket started to slowly, but surely rise above the launchpad and accelerate, shock diamonds visible in the exhaust flames of working plug-cluster aerospike engine, rest of the launchpad clouded in steam, created by evaporating water from the water suppression system. "Tower cleared!" happily screamed Emperor Ivan the Second, tearing the microphone from the hands of announcer, when the giant machine passed the tower - the last remain of VAB's scaffolding. "T plus ten seconds, tower cleared, speed increasing as planned! The roar is terrific! The building is shaking! Look at that beauty go!" People, who were in this room, saw the Emperor going flat-out childish, jumping around while laughing like a madman and crying tears of joy. The last time he was like that was during the launch of Imperial Moon Mission on the Water Dragon rocket. ---- "Holy crap," mumbled one of the telescope operators in the Mossdeep Space Center. "Josh - do you see what I see?" "If you're about the unreasonably giant rocket finally going up - yep, I do. Honestly, what in the name of Ray… sorry, but still, what is this thing?" "No idea." Image from kantonian observatory was quickly routed to the main screen, allowing everyone to have a nice view on the rocket. Finally, the main engine in the first stage has gone silent. "The stages separate… Wait, what? The first stage is actively decelerating, and the second… What it this? I don't even…" The second stage indeed looked weirdly. Instead of the usual great bell of the rocket engine or the cluster of smaller engines, there was a thick plate with some kind of a tube in the middle of it, installed on several shock absorbers, a cone between the shock absorbers - and that's all. On the screen, suddenly, something was launched from the cone, flew through the plate, and… "Feed from O7 is dark. No idea, what the Reverse World was that, but the telescope's matrix is dead." "Routing the SolOb6 to screen… Arceus the Original One, what the frak?" "..." entire room got speechless, as the telescope camera, designed for studying the Sun, showed ship steadily accelerating on what seemed to be huge explosions - probably, nuclear in nature. Thick plate (which, for some reason, was varying in thickness as the explosions were going - probably, serving as an another shock absorber) and long piston-based shock absorbers served well to protect the giant ship from explosions and soften the acceleration. Blast after blast, the giant ship was surely rising higher and higher... ---- "Separation commencing," reported the pilot, looking at the screen, which displayed the data of active autopilot. "Separation complete. Booster is out of the danger zone. Initiating nuclear pulse propulsion. Stand by for acceleration. Bomb drive now firing." Entire ship shook, when the drive bomb, launched from the gas gun, detonated behind the ship's aft. Wave of superhot tungsten plasma, along with aerial overpressure wave, struck the plate, but thin layer of graphite worked well, ablating, but protecting the arcane-enhanced steel alloy underneath from getting damaged. Under normal conditions, the sheer acceleration would've instantly killed the cosmonauts and collapsed the hull of the ship. However, thanks to the gas bags right behind the plate and heavy, two-staged hydropneumatic shock absorbers, the fraction of second of acceleration got elongated, proportionally lowering the loads on the machine and men inside it. Milliseconds after the plasma from the detonation of the drive bomb dispersed, auto-sprayers deployed themselves and created a new layer of graphite on the plate, then retracted back, right before the new bomb was launched and exploded. And then it repeated again, and again, and again, and again... ---- "So, if I'm understanding even remotely right, the first and, so far, only launch table for ultra-heavy rockets got destroyed by the exhaust?" Empress Svetlana asked her husband. "Yep," replied Ivan in surprisingly jolly voice. "Launch Table ST-1 has partially melted now due to insufficient power of water suppression system, but the ship is in space and there is barely any radiation trail in the atmosphere! By the way, launch stage recovered successfully." "That's good to know, but still, we've lost our only launch table for this kind of rockets and it'll take a long time to repair it." "I know. It's not like the Sea Launch Platform was an option for us at that time, though…" "On the topic of the sea launch - are you planning to use the Water Dragon rocket for building the replacement space station, since the Space Lab Two was destroyed by the Rayquaza? I've seen some suspicious increases in funding…" "Yep. The NUCLEUS rocket will remain for launching explo-flyers mostly, while the Water Dragons take lesser operations. One of them is getting prepared right now for launching the supply block to the "Red Explorer", when it gets to the orbit." "Uh-huh. And what about your spaceplane project?" "The Project BLUEBIRD? So far, so good, tests of the final version should begin in a week or so. I must admit, the hypersonic hybrid air-breathing nuclear rocket engines are still somewhat problematic, but we are very close to ironing those problems out." "Range?" "Unmanned - all the way to the Red Planet. Manned - to the Moon in a reasonable amount of time." "Docking to the "Red Explorer"?" "Possible through the expandable top adapter, but the spaceplane won't be able to fit into the docking bay." ---- "We are on the action orbit now, comrade captain," said pilot, getting himself more comfortable in the acceleration chair. "Drive bomb magazines and propellant storages for the reaction control system are at optimal level after orbital injection, we can go to the Moon and back on those reserves in just a day!" "Nuclear ordinance for anti-space engagements and planetary bombardment is nominal, awaiting codes and targets," reported weapons operator, scrolling through the lists and making some mental notes. "Point defense rotary cannons ready, main caliber railguns ready, Lance Howitzers ready." "Targeting telescopes nominal, thermal scopes nominal, radars nominal," sounded the report from the sensors operator, who was already switching through the feeds, monitoring the surroundings. "Radiators deployed, cooling system nominal, reactor nominal," said the engineer, feeling proud of his participation in creating power plant of this ship. "Shock absorbers are fine, pusher plate is fine, drive bomb launcher, graphite sprayers and plasma deflection cone are fine, RCS nominal. Oh, nearly forgot - life support is also nominal and will be in this condition for at least a year. We'll run out of food much earlier. And landers, along with space workpods, are also fine and ready." "All comm systems are ready and tuned," added the comm officer, fiddling with headset, then suddenly turning pale. "Uh-oh. Comrade captain, FCC just told us, that Rayquaza is exiting the atmo and will engage us in few minutes, arrives from the east." "Then all hands to battle stations!" ordered captain, feeling shivers. Of course, their ship was the technologies of tomorrow embodied, a state-of-art space warship, armed with the most advanced, yet reliable and efficient weaponry Empire has created, but their opponent was no less than the Sky High Pokemon itself, who was once considered by less developed humans to be god of the skies and even now, it remained a great force to be reckoned with. However, this battle was a decisive one. There can be only one winner… and all of the humans aboard the "Red Explorer" will do their best to make sure, that the Rayquaza won't be it. "Aye-aye, comrade captain! Retracting the radiators, reactor output set to combat levels," reported the engineer, trying to keep his confidence in the great machine. "Railguns and point defence are deployed, the capacitors are charging up, anti-space missiles are armed, Lance Howitzers are loaded," calmly stated the weapons officer. Among the fellow crew members, he was the calmest and most confident one - mainly because dozens of nuclear missiles and howitzer-launched shaped-blast bombs, along with electromagnetic railguns (with nuclear and canister shots) and rotary cannons, were now under his control. "RCS and bomb drive are ready," said the somewhat unnerved, but slightly cocky pilot. The drive bomb counter and RCS propellant storages indicators told him, that the battle can go on for a decent amount of time - the NUCLEUS chemfuel booster allowed them to save a lot of bombs during the ascent. "Radars located bandit retrograde-breaking the atmo west and a little south, but no definitive lock so…" began the sensor operator, suppressing his nervousness with deep focus on work. Calling the Rayquaza "bandit" helped all of the officers to distance themselves from the fact, that they were fighting an actual Legendary now. "Yeah, telescopes acquired it! Locked on!" "SCMs away, 3 "Firestorms", 4 "Firelances"!" nearly screamed weapons operator, pressing the launch trigger. On the ship's hull, several round armored hatches opened, revealing missile silos. Right after it, seven of the streamlined machines of death were ejected by small explosive charges, turned around and engaged their solid-fuel engines, accelerating at 100 g and doing their best to track and intercept the designated target. Even with remote guidance from the ship, sensors of which were far superior to those, which could be installed on space combat missiles, it was not an easy task. The Sky High Pokemon, seeing several dots leave the more massive target, started to perform the evasion maneuver, as uneasy as it was during the already-ongoing Dragon Ascent. It was a wise decision and, probably, would've helped… were it not for the missiles with Lance warheads. When four of the missiles, armed with shaped-blast charges, reached the optimal distance, the "Red Explorer" sent a very simple command to them - "detonate". Under normal circumstances, this command would have served only for performing self-destruct… but the circumstances now were anything but normal. The small stars of exploding 10kt thermonuclear warheads grew for a split-second in space. It would've been a nearly-harmless firework for the Rayquaza… but, unfortunately for it, for each of the "stars", more than 80% of the thermonuclear power got channeled and concentrated onto a small tungsten disk. Even this metal could not withstand such a magnitude of energy, so, it turned into plasma and, shaped and accelerated by the still undergoing fury of the fusion reaction into a tight stream, flew in the desired direction at the recognizable fraction of the speed of light. Four jets of very hot relativistic plasma impacted Rayquaza. Even with the energy of Dragon Ascent surrounding the Legendary, it still hurt major time… and then the rest of the missiles came. When the Sky High Pokemon was distracted with the pain from the nuclear lances, warship directed the last three small machines of destruction to come in-close and detonate the neutron warheads. Even though the effects of fireballs were negligible (as it was with most of the nuclear detonations in space), the neutron flux from explosions was pretty decent, especially with overlapping irradiation areas. Now that the Rayquaza's body was irradiated like this, the combat capability of this Legendary will be lowering and lowering as the time goes, until the radiation poisoning takes the max effect and turns it into the agonizing wreck, before the death finally comes. As a nice bonus, those explosions have also caused enough of a shock to the Rayquaza to cancel out the Dragon Ascent. "All hits scored. I think the battle has started pretty good, comrade captain," cheerfully reported the weapons operator. "Don't get too cocky," warned them all commander of this ship, silently reminding, that they were still fighting a being of incredible power, which held the atmospheric and orbital superiority undisputed for who-knows-how-many years, only occasionally leaving its position and allowing a few travels up there. "Bandit has recovered from the shock and prepares to use the Hyper Beam," grimly stated the sensors operator. "Acknowledged, stand by for rotation. RCS now firing," warned everyone the pilot, slightly smiling to himself. The relatively small attitude control jets expelled streams of superhot hydrogen, turning the massive ship around. The Hyper Beam is a powerful move. Really powerful. But it has some drawbacks - the first one being exhausting user and forcing it to spend some time recovering and the second being relatively low velocity of the energy beam itself. The space is big. Really big. Even in low Earth orbit, dozens of kilometers are still considered pretty small distances. Between Rayquaza firing the Hyper Beam and it getting to the "Red Explorer", a pretty long time has passed. Long enough for the ship to turn and take the stream of destruction not the nose- or side-first, but on the pusher plate, built to withstand close nuclear explosions and covered by ablative layer of graphite. "Attack over, no damage to drive. Graphite layer restored. Stand by for acceleration. Bomb drive now firing," reported pilot, smiling even wider. Wham. Wham. Wham. Only the crew of the ship, who got pressed into acceleration chairs upon the drive's operation, heard those sounds, as the vessel began to change its trajectory. "Railguns charged, #2 locked on, "Firecracker" loaded. Firing," said the weapons officer with a slight smirk, as he pressed the trigger. Deep inside the ship, a one of three groups of electric capacitors of tremendous, well, capacity, already charged by the energy from ship's nuclear power plant, discharged all at once, transferring the power to the two parallel rails of one of the simplest electrodynamic mass drivers. The railgun spat out a projectile with barely any fireworks (save for plasmified remains of launch assist armature). In the vacuum of space, there wasn't even a characteristic "crack" of sonic boom… and the projectile experienced no aerodynamic drag, keeping the velocity at constant level with no need for active propulsion. And since this velocity equaled more than 2503 meters per second, and the projectile carried a small nuclear warhead… ---- ""Red Explorer" is firing "Thunderlance" railgun, "Firecracker" 1kt nuclear shell"- emotionlessly said one of the operators in the Zemlino's FCC. "Hostile Rayquaza's biological armor is being damaged." "Is she always like this?" whispered Emperor to the FCC's director. "Sometimes." "Huh. You know, I'm still unpleased, that we weren't able to make guidance system being capable of directing more than seven space combat missiles and two howitzer charges at once before the ship was launched…" ---- "Bandit is temporarily inoperable, trajectory - full retrograde orbital, roughly similar to ours," reported the sensors operator. "The respite will be brief, assume re-intercept in 45 minutes." "Acknowledged," said the engineer. "Deploying the radiators, beginning cooling." Several small square hatches opened on the hull of the ship, allowing the thin metallic structures to unfold from them and start barely noticeably glowing dull-red, allowing the waste heat to leave the heat accumulators and prepare the machine for the new round of combat. Combat, which will need a lot of energy and leave a lot of waste heat. ---- The big digital timer above the main screens in the "rubber room" of the Zemlino Space Center ticked off the seconds since the launch of the "Red Explorer". When it passed half-hour, Emperor said, “Try it now.” He put on his own headset. Far outside of the armored launch bunker, across the entire Empire, both on the ground and on the sea ships, many giant parabolic antennas started turning around, trying to lock onto signature of the first space warship and establish connection. "Routing through the Grey Sea fleet… link established!" happily reported the comm operator. "Dancer, this is Pothouse, report!" said the Emperor, deciding to use codenames of both ship and flight control center for some reason. Sometimes, it was really hard to understand this man. "Pothouse, this is Dancer. No big scratches so far, re-intercepting bandit in five minutes or so. Radiators are now retracted, cooling is internal, preparing to launch SCMs." "Dancer, this is Pothouse, acknowledged. Be careful - bandit is likely to employ new tactics, don't let it hit the shock absorbers!" "Pothouse, this is Dancer, understood." "That's good. May the Red and Green Spirits bless you, guys!" "Thanks. Warning, bandit is in range, engaging!" The link cut off, as the ship resumed the combat. ---- "Go, Dragon Lord, blast this thing!" young Draconid cheered, looking at the TV screen. An hour or so ago, the live broadcast of telescope and radar surveillance of the Imperial warship started and, less than an hour ago, Rayquaza started the battle with it. So far, the battle was going… strange. The giant weaponized spaceship of the Soris Empire was constantly turning around, engaging her explosion drive from time to time and attempting to take beam and projectile attacks on the aft plate, which was more than capable of withstanding them without getting scratched, since the nuclear explosions were the primary method of propulsion for this ship. In addition to this, most weapons of this warship, as the TV commenter pointed out, were also using nuclear explosions to cause damage. Few Draconids knew about nuclear technology enough to understand full ramifications of it, but those, who did, were really worried. If the sorisians have harnessed the power of atom and truly mastered it, then even the mighty Lord Rayquaza was in danger. ---- "Bandit now re-engaging!" warned everyone sensors operator. "Ancient Power, two seconds!" "Incoming projectile attack," noted weaponry operator, who was obviously enjoying this battle. "Point defence firing… Attack neutralized. Seven "Firelances" away… Hits scored." "Warning, damage to the lander bay #2 armor!" reported engineer in somewhat worried voice, then eased up. "No penetration, no damage to contents." "Stand by for acceleration and rotation," said pilot in steel voice, while his eyes were burning with excitement of being among those, who fought the Rayquaza itself. "RCS and bomb drive now firing." Hiss. Hiss. Wham. Wham. Wham. Wham. The whole battle turned into series of reports and memorized actions, which happened a dozens of times on the ground simulator already, combined with sounds of propulsion and reaction control systems, weaponry and occasional hits to other places, than the pusher plate. Rayquaza was a formidable opponent… but the ship, originally intended for peaceful space exploration, then remade into warship, was designed to be capable to take on even the most powerful opponents and be victorious. Entire nuclear industry of Soris was recently redirected to supply the ship with enough propulsion bombs and weapons. Hundreds of millions were watching their battle right now. They've had no right to fail, lest the humanity forever become prisoners of this planet, with insanely territorial feral dragon ruling the skies and killing everyone, who dares to try to break free of gravity's hard embrace and turn their eyes towards the distant stars. Not to say anything about the Pokemon Nation, which, probably, will consider starting the war with Soris Empire, if the ship goes down, along with all the nuclear armament. "Bandit prepares Dra-Met, five seconds," noted the sensors operator, monitoring feeds from targeting telescopes, radars and thermal scopes at the same time. "Acknowledged, railguns charged, #1 locked on, "Dustbin" loaded. Firing…" half-reported, half-mumbled the weaponry operator, looking at his screens. "Draco Meteor dispersed and denied." Indeed, shooting a canister shell, loaded with tiny pellets of depleted uranium - byproduct of nuclear industry - right in the direction of Rayquaza's mouth was not a bad way to prevent the dangerous attack from being performed. As a nice bonus, several pellets hit eyes of the Legendary, causing it great pain and making it squirm. "Stand by for acceleration. Bomb drive now firing." Wham. Wham. Wham. ---- The old dragon was hurt. Really hurt. For thousands upon thousands of years, it ruled sky undisputed. It showed the inferior beings their places. Even the Eon Duos were rightfully afraid of it. A few… days? Weeks? Months? ago the Sky High Pokemon has destroyed the human constructions, which violated its territory. It thought, that this time, they'll learn, that higher skies and space are not meant for them… but they didn't. They've decided, that they can force their point. They've built a giant machine, far beyond any previous constructions. It wasn't like old ones, which were frail, sacrificing everything to save the weight - no, this one was huge and sturdy, capable of taking hits and unleashing inferno in return. More than just capable, in fact. The battle was going on for a several hours already, filled with constant flybys and intercepts, where the combatants did their best to injure the opponent as much as possible and don't get killed at the same time. The whole body of the Legendary was either in pain, like from fire (even though the dragon's body should've been resistant to it), or slowly going numb. The machine, however, was still kicking with no visible major problems and unleashing attacks like no tomorrow. In fact, for one of the combatants, there indeed will be no tomorrow. Someone will remain victorious and hold the control over skies, someone will be destroyed and burned upon re-entry. The old dragon prepared for the final, death-or-glory attack… and suddenly the entire world for it turned blinding-white for less than a split-second, before everything disappeared and the complete abyss came. ---- "All nine hits with Lances scored - seven SCMs, two Howitzers with "Matchsticks"." "Bandit… completely inoperable and will re-enter atmo in two hours," reported the shocked sensors operator. "Guys… did we just... win?" "I hope so," replied the engineer. "I really hope so, since the heat accumulators are nearing critical and if it goes on like this for another dozen minutes or so - it's either scramming the reactor, dumping a decent amount of our hydrogen for open-cycle cooling or deploying radiators mid-battle!" "Deploy the radiators," gave an order the captain. "Power down the weapon systems and retract the weapons. Set reactor output to non-combat level. Return the ship to patrol orbit. Activate the habitation centrifuge. Report to the ground… that we've secured this frontier and avenged the 11th expedition to the Space Lab 2. Red Spirit should be proud of us now." "Aye-aye, comrade captain!" replied all officers in unison, before the attitude control jets hissed again, the pulse engine thumped a few more times and commlink received happy screams from the FCC. Captain of the "Red Explorer" barely cared about all of that. He was just happy, that this battle ended with them as victors… and he also hoped, that, whatever this dragon was doing to keep the balance on this boulder, humans will be able to do just as fine. "Comrade captain, FCC congratulates us! They say, that, when we return to the ground, Emperor and Empress themselves will give us the Medal of Skies!" happily screamed the comm officer, who still could barely believe, that they've done what was considered to be next to impossible - they've successfully defeated the higher-grade Legendary! "Yeah? Okay then. And what shall we do now?" "... Emperor told me, that we should just… "Soar over space"? What does that mean?" "It means, pals, that we did fine and we can take a break. A well-deserved break. Tell the service team to start total damage evaluation and repair." Author's notes: Green Spirit - yet another mystical being in Sorisian mythology, which patrons those, who protect and help others. Launch configuration of the "Red Explorer" and the "Red Explorer" itself were based on the data about the Orion Battleship, gained from here. SCM-1 "Firestorm" - mid-range solid-chemfuel space combat missile with TD-ENF-10K-1 enhanced radiation thermonuclear warhead (a.k.a. "neutron warhead"), 10kt yield. Radio command guidance. SCM-2 "Firelance" - mid-range solid-chemfuel space combat missile with TD-SB-10K-1 shaped-blast thermonuclear warhead (a.k.a. "Lance warhead", based on the real Casaba Howitzer project), 10kt yield. Radio command guidance. PBRM-1 "Lightning" - planetary bombardment retro-missile with liquid-chemfuel engines, armed with TD-CB-25M-1 heavy "city buster" thermonuclear warhead, 25 megaton yield, or six TD-CB-1M-1 1mt yield "city buster" multiple independently targetable maneuverable reentry vehicles. Combined radio command/inertial/active terminal homing guidance. Lance Howitzer - simple auto-loading mortar for firing "Matchstick" shaped-blast thermonuclear warheads. STW-10K-1 "Matchstick" - shaped-blast 10kt thermonuclear warhead with basic radio command guidance system and some tiny attitude jets, launched from Lance Howitzer and detonated shortly after. ERMA-2-S "Thunderlance" - 127mm electromagnetic rail mass accelerator (a.k.a. "railgun"), adapted for space and capable of accelerating shells up to 2506 m/s. NRS-1K "Firecracker" - nuclear shell for the ERMA-2-S, 1kt yield. Contact/remote/timer detonation. CRS-3 "Dustbin" - canister shot for the ERMA-2-S, depleted uranium pellets. RC-6-20-S "Chestnut" - 6-barrelled 20mm rotary cannon, adapted for space and used in the PD-1-20-S "Sweeper" space-adapted point defence system.

#Ancient Soris Empire #Shift Universe #mgrgfan writes a new fic

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rogersradio · 5 years

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1970 | queen (part 1)

Summary: After working at a record store and discovering a record player that can transport you back in time, you find yourself in London of 1970. After scrambling to get back, you realize that something has gone terribly wrong with an infamous band, and you are the only one who can fix it.

Author’s Note: The beginning is very rushed (this whole chapter) only because I have big plans for the next couple of chapters. Please give feedback if you want this series to continue - it’s my first Queen work.

“They always say that time changes things, but actually you have to change them yourself.” - Andy Warhol (1975)

You worked at a record store in an old London strip, sandwiched between an ice cream shop and a children’s boutique. The building had been there for more then fifty years, according to the owner, and anyone who got close enough to look at it could tell. The concrete outside was stained with age, and the paint on the inside was beginning to peel. The man who ran the store knew of these things since you and your co-worker had begun to more frequently make remarks about the damages, but he would only shake his head with a smile and remark, “It makes it more authentic - a little more magical, don’t you think?”

With its dingy carpet floors and flickering sign, you didn’t understand how he could find anything magical about that store. It smelled of old paper and coffee, occasionally hosting the scent of a Bath and Body Works candle if you remembered to bring it. The cases for the vinyls were ridden with dust, and there was always Queen playing from a record player in the back corner of the store. It always played the same album: A Night At The Opera. You didn’t mind, since you had been a fan of Queen since you were little. Growing up, your dad would play it almost 24/7, and you grew to love the band and their music. No one dare change the album, and it’s been rumored that the same record has been playing for years straight; which, you must point out, is highly illogical. No vinyl record could play for that long without becoming damaged and scratched, especially if nobody has tried to take care of it.

It was a rainy Saturday when the owner, Mr. Jay as you called him, decided to stop by. He leaned against the register counter and cleaned his glasses with the handkerchief he kept in his pocket. “How’s everything going?” He asked, smiling. He was a short man with a semi-full figure. He had thick salt and pepper hair that dragged down into stubble along his jaw. He wore jeans, a plain white t-shirt and an olive green bomber jacket that stored a variety of items in its pockets: altoids, kleenex, money, you name it.

“Slow,” You said honestly. You were making your rounds of all the records, checking to be sure they were all in the right place: sorted by date. Your co-worker, Gabriel, let out a breathy laugh and kept scrolling on his phone.

Mr. Jay looked over to him with a sad smile, and then focused back down to his glasses. You began to feel guilty; you knew how much this shop meant to him. Who were you to talk about this man’s possessions like you were? You were a college student in need of a summer job that paid well so you could get your car radio fixed. Before you could speak up to apologize, or atleast end on a happier note, he spoke up, “It always is.”

He lifted his glasses up to the dim light to check for smudges and squinted. Dull thunder rolled in the background as a gentle shower of rain began to fall, hitting the tin roof above and echoing throughout the store. He slipped the clear-rimmed spectacles back on and sighed, strolling towards the isles of records. He dragged his finger tips along the top of them, stopping under the “1960’s” section. He pulled out a Beatles’ album and examined it. “Did you know there’s a conspiracy that Paul McCartney is dead?” He asked. You shook your head and he laughed, “It’s silly, it really is. Many believe that this,” He turned the revord to show the popular Sgt. Pepper’s Lonley Hearts Club Band album cover. “Depicts his funeral. There’s a left handed guitar made of flowers down in the corner, but It really could be a right handed one flipped the other way.” He continued to mumble on about the theory for a few more moments until he stopped and looked up at the two of you, who were both staring at him awkwardly. He slipped the album back into its slot and took a deep breath, “Well I guess it’s my time to leave.”

He took several large strides and picked up his hat and phone off of the counter. “Have a good one,” He called out as he slipped out the door. You both stood silent as you watched him pull out of his parking space and drive out of eyesight. It was always a weird, somewhat sympathetic, feeling after he left. Neither of you didn’t really know what to do. You stood and fiddled with the belt loop on your jeans.

“He’s an odd man,” Gabriel spoke quietly. You nodded. “Gives me weird vibes; like he’s seen way too many things. Did you see the way he spoke about that conspiracy? It was like he was genuinely amused, like he was the one who created it or something.”

“He’s just different,” You said, “I don’t think he means any harm.”

Gabriel shook his head with wide eyes. “I don’t know Y/N. Something isn’t right about that guy. He came in here to do what? Be a spokesman for the “Paul McCarney Is Dead” club?” He shuddered.

You didn’t say anything. Brushing off any questions you had about Mr. Jay, you continued to do your album sweep. By the time you had reached the 1970’s, the song playing from the record player began to skip. You waited a moment for the skip to pass, but it just kept going. Already agitated from the creeping day, you stormed over to the old machine and stared at it for a moment. The spinning Queen logo made you dizzy. The player was covered in dust, and it was clear to you that nobody had touched it for a long while. You blew on it first, and then reached for the tonearm to fix it.

As soon as your fingertips touched the arm, you felt yourself being thrown from the record player. It was as if you were in a plane during takeoff: insane amounts of pressure were building on you, squeezing your body and twisting it in jerking motions. Your head felt as though it would crack and explode in any moment, and you squeezed your eyes tighter than they ever had been before to avoid seeing your insides being blown out. Before you could fully slip out of consciousness, you felt your feet firmly on the ground again. You stood still as your hearing began to come back, keeping your eyes still closed tightly shut. It wasn’t before you heard the commotion of voices that you decided to open them.

You were standing in the same place you had been: next to the record player that was sitting on the wooden stool. Except for this time, the player was brand new, and the music that was playing wasn’t queen; it was “Hey Jude” by The Beatles. You took a few moments to stand there, trying to calm the pounding headache in your head and figure out what in the world had just happened. Maybe I blacked out, you thought, or maybe I’m dead. Is this Heaven? Kind of dissapointing. You shook the thoughts out of your head and tried to stable your shaking body. It took a few moments for you to realize that you weren’t alone, so you slowly turned around and caught your breath. There was atleast thirty people in the record shop, browsing through the albums and talking amongst themselves. You couldn’t hear much since you were standing right next to the speaker, but something wasn’t right. The shop was lively and colorful, and Gabriel was nowhere to be found. Okay, this has to be Heaven, you convinced yourself, Where else would there be this many people in here? This has to be a dream.

A voice pulled you back into reality. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

You jumped and turned to your left to see a girl who looked about your age. Her hair was short and feathered, and she wore a long patterned skirt with a purple blouse. Her teeth were shining white and perfectly straight, and you could tell she wore a thin layer of lip gloss. She resembled Princess Diana when she was alive. “No,” You croaked, “Just looking around.”

“No problem, just let me know if you need anything. My name’s Michelle,” She said as she smiled. She turned to walk away.

“Thanks,” You hesitantly said. Nobody seemed to care that you were there; like you had been there all along. Realizing that you couldn’t stand there and people watch for forever, you took a deep breath and went to walk outside. You needed to figure out what was going on, and where exactly you were.

You wobbled at the first step, and it was more than just uneasy legs. Looking down, you realized you weren’t in your jeans and sweatshirt anymore. You were wearing tight, bell bottomed baby blue pants and a blue ruffled blouse. You wore white boots with a slight heel and quickly realizing something was seriously different, you frantically grabbed for your hair and realized it was long and straight, down below your shoulders. It wasn’t like that before. You were beggining to panic, and rushed out the door as fast as you could. You brushed past employees and young children cradling vinyl records, offering quiet apologizes as you did.

Once you busted through the doors and onto the street, you were taken aback. The streets were full of life. People passed you and offered friendly smiles. The smell of cigarette smoke and burnt rubber filled the air, along with hairspray whenever a girl walked by. Men’s hair was slicked back with gel to resemble Elvis and the women on their arms wore patterned dresses and jumpsuits with their hair up in high ponytails or curled. This definitely wasn’t 2019.

Looking around, you spotted a boy who looked around your age standing by a wooden post. He was fumbling tape on one hand and a small poster in the other, and eventually turned his back to you to apply the poster to the pole. You scurried over to him, still getting used to your shoes, and called out, “Hey!”

He quickly flashed his head around to you and paused what he was doing. He has slightly shaggy blond hair with big blue eyes. Slight bangs were hanging in front of his eyes, but as you got closer he brushed them out of the way. He wore tight pants and Lou Brock Converse, with a long, tan trench coat that was partly buttoned up. “Yes?” He said, lowering his arms.

You eyed the poster in his hands. “Could I have that?” You asked slightly out of breath.

He widened his eyes a little at your question, but gave you a quick look up and down and cautiously handed it to you. “Sure,” He said, biting his lip. “Are you interested in coming?” He asked eagerly.

“Um,” You faltered. Coming to what? You didn’t even know what decade you were in. Quickly scanning the paper, the headline “SMILE - MUSICAL PERFORMANCE” caught your eye. “Yes, actually. I’m new around here, and I was, uh, looking for something to do.”

The blond boy smiled. “Well, I hope we see you there,” He exclaimed. Giving you a smile, he turned and began to walk away. “I play drums, by the way!” He called.

You looked up and laughed a little. He blushed and swiveled around once more, this time not turning back. You immediately looked back down at the paper and searched it for any type of date. The only thing you got was June 2, not any year. Sighing, you slowly began to turn the other way to start heading back. You didn’t look up from the flier in your hand, your mind and heart still rushing from adrenaline, and before you knew it you had run right into somebody. You bounced off of each other quite aggressively, and instant apologies started spewing from both of your mouths. The boy you had ran into reached out for your arm to balance you. “I’m so sorry,” He said.

“No, no, don’t apologize! I wasn’t paying any attention to where I was going,” You admitted, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. You both chuckled a little bit and looked down at your shoes. He picked at the ends of his long black hair and gave one last apology before walking away. You took a few steps but turned to watch him. He walked up to the wooden telephone pole and scanned the posters taped to it. He definitely was looking for something.

What was happening to you didn’t feel real; everyone you walked past or bumped into you felt like an illusion, even though you could touch them. It was like you were stepping into a movie. How did you get here? Where even were you? It’s like you were in a different dimension - a different chapter with the same setting.

You blinked a few times to get out of your trance and began looking for a new source to get the date. You would look insane if you asked somebody for the year, and Converse boy’s poster didn’t help very much. Slowly spinning around, a newspaper stand a few yards away seemed to glisten. You quickly made your way over, folding up the band flier in quarters as you did. Grabbing The Times off the stack, you read the headline: “D-Day for Europe as Dutch Vote”. You quickly scanned the small writing for any sort of date and by the grace of the Heavens, the year was finally printed before your eyes.

June 2, 1970.

#queen #queen imagine #writing #1970s #1970 writing #1970 fashion #queen fanfiction #bohemian rhapsody #roger taylor #freddie mercury #john deacon #brian may #queen fanfic #freddie mercury imagine #roger taylor imagine #brian may imagine #john deacon imagine

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yourcoolfriendwithallthecandy · 5 years

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Keep Your Eyes On Me Part 2

So this is part 2 of my submission to @waiting4inspiration ‘s 2k follower challenge. In case you missed part 1

Warnings- implied nudity, language, I think that’s it. That good good (smut/lemon) is in part 3 tho so heads up.

Part 2

You got up and stretched before you took off your dragon armor and dragon wool outer layers and lounged around your home away from home and made yourself something to eat before you got into bed in just your dragon silk under layers, what essentially looked like a tank top and leggings and got into your own bed and read from your ‘journal’ all the “history” you’d be changing if things went according to plan as the fire in your shelter stayed ever burning, keeping things comfortable which lulled you into sleep too before long.

You woke up only moments before Bjorn did and barely had your dragon wool outer layers on by the time he opened his eyes.

“Am I in Valhalla?” He asked as he looked around, this..didn’t look like Valhalla. Although he wasn’t in nearly as much pain as his mind told him he should be in, so maybe…

“No,” you shook your head no as you continued getting dressed and put your armor on over your wool layers because you didn’t trust him to not harm you yet. The way any wounded animal bites.

“What is that?” He questioned as he gestured to what you were wearing.

“It’s my armor.” You answered as you fastined it and ran your hands over it.

“What’s it made out of?” He asked as he eyed it’s texture.

“Dragon scales.” you beamed proudly.

“What?” He shook his head in confusion.

“I’m a Valkyrie from Asgard remember? Well, more specifically Neveah. Dragons still fly free there, they’ve died out here a long time ago. At home we’ve also domesticated them. Dragons are like…big scaley horses as far as temperament goes. When dragons shed their scales so that they can grow new, bigger ones, we collect them and make armor out of them. When they do, they reveal the dragon’s down, the way a duck or goose has down, like a soft fuzzy hair under each scale. However for some breeds of dragon, we’ve bred them so that the downy hair grows more abundantly instead of the scales, it grows like sheep’s wool, mare dragons, their down is much finer than a stud dragon’s is, mares grow what’s called dragon silk, stud dragon’s down is much thicker and it’s a bit rougher, they grow dragon’s wool. It’s really hard to dye to make different colors, ten times longer than it takes anything else to dye but once it dyes, the color never fades, ever. It’s also super durable while being breathable and depending on how you weave it, it can take the sweat off of you while not letting you get wet like if you’re out in the rain and it’s a bit stretchy. But it’s so tough that only dragon’s teeth can cut it decently well, Thankfully dragons regrow their teeth every shed and then once they reach full size, they regrow a new set every ten years or so. Baby dragons’ teeth, we use those for needles, medium teeth, perfect for small knives and scissors, the larger teeth, swords.” You explained as you pointed to the different layers of clothes you were wearing to show the differences in fabrics as Bjorn reached out to feel the fabric before you gestured to your dragon toothed sword on your hip before you handed him your dragon tooth knife to look at. It looked like rainbow titanium. It was always important to mix the truth in with the lies so that the whole was more believable because the truth was, back at home in the future medical science brought back dragons, all the varieties in ancient lore but with a twist of being domesticated. And you were really from an island nation called Neveah.

“You really are a Valkyrie.” He breathed in awe before he handed the blade back to you.

“Well on this plane I am, back home I’m a Dragoner.” You smiled proudly as you put the knife back in its place, and that was true, you and your whole family were Dragoners. Some of the best in Neveah. “Are you hungry?” you asked thoughtfully. As you got another pillow and helped him sit up in bed a bit better and more comfortably.

“Yeah,” he nodded.

“Ok, let me make you the dagmal then.” You offered as you began to make some breakfast for you both. You made him griddle cakes with berries in the batter, drizzled with honey and some ham and sausages, scrambled eggs along with making him a fresh loaf of bread from your breadseed.

Breadseed was something special that grew only in the poles in your time, it was discovered when some of the ice caps melted and looked like super large milo plants when it grew in the dead of winter, sunlight tended to burn the leaves of the plant so it only grew in the light of the moon and from the northern lights when the temperatures were consistently -50°. Because anything above zero, the plant wilted and turned to mush, but when picked when you harvested the seeds and very carefully and very slowly brought it up to room temperature while you dehydrated it, they were fine, they made a delightful tea when steeped in hot water and was world renowned for its superb and surprisingly sweet and fruity flavor and longevity benefits. A handful of breadseed seeds looked like bronzer pearls, the more pearlescent the seed, the sweeter it was and came in varieties and flavors that most would recognize as bread and cake flavors. How the breadseed itself worked was you took a kernel which had a waterproof husk and once that was peeled away right before consuming since the husk kept it fresh, you put it into water, it expanded exponentially and grew very hot, baking itself and became something that mimicked and perfectly resembled a new loaf of bread and had all the health benefits that bread had and then some including added vitimins and minerals that were easy for everyone to digest, the loaves were the size of a soccer ball with a pocket, the size of your fist, on the inside in the middle, where still more breadseeds lined it. A handful of breadseed could feed an army. Back home they were international currency, but here and now they were just plain food.

You took the round loaf and split it, one half was two thirds of the loaf and the other was about a third of the size of the whole, you didn’t need to eat a lot, this poor man hasn’t had a good meal in a very long time, he would appreciate the larger half but the action helped you to get at the pocket in the middle and scooped the breadseeds out and added them to your breadseed pouch before you went back to Bjorn and served him his breakfast or simply, his day meal which is what the dagmal was to him- in bed. Using the little table you had attached to the bed to set everything on so he didn’t have to balance it all in his lap.

“Here you go.” You offered before you got him a large cup of buttermilk. Vikings liked buttermilk to drink for their day meal. Or so you’ve read.

“Why are you doing all of this for me? There were others there that deserve this more than I do.” He asked as he looked at all the food and hesitated in eating it.

“Odin has a path for you, I’m here to help you find it, walk in it and follow it. Once you do, I’ll be gone as quickly as I came, because by then, you won’t need me or my guidance.“ You informed him.

“What is the path?” He asked as he slowly started to eat.

“I’m not allowed to tell you, because if I do, it won’t happen. But you’ll know it when it’s in front of you.” You gently urged before you gave him a reassuring squeeze of his shoulder with a gentle smile before you left back into the kitchen area of your tent as Bjorn thought over your words and brought your food over to the little table and one of the chairs and ate yourself, drinking your freshly squeezed orange juice and bacon and omelet with pancakes and sausage as you low key looked at him out of the corner of your eye and noticed how he suddenly seemed to try to eat everything all at once.

“This is so good,” he praised between bulging mouthfuls.

“Thank you.” You smiled proudly.

“So what’s your name Valkyrie?” He asked curiously.

“What would you like to call me?” You returned, knowing he’d probably like you better with a norse name rather than your own.

“Astrid.” Bjorn decided since you were still, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his life and that name suited you perfectly.

“Astrid it is.” You smiled back.

After he ate, he fell back asleep and once he was out, you took away the dishes and put them in the sink before the automatic washer washed them for you before you pulled up his biometric readouts from him into the simulation model and were pleasantly surprised when he was healing at a much higher rate than estimated before you recalibrated your algorithms to get a better and more accurate prediction for when he would heal. He should be out for the next…2 hours or so. Plenty of time for you to get a bath because your deodorant was dying and you could use one since back on Neveah, you bathed twice a day. Once in the morning to be clean for the day and then again at night, usually a bath to relax and unwind before bed.

You got undressed and went into the bathroom section of your tent where a large tub was already full of swirling hot water and you undressed and stepped into the water and blew out a breath of relief as you stepped into the hot water and sat down before a tray lifted from the side, showing you a bath bomb and a vile of bath oil.

You happily took it and dropped the bathbomb in before you smelled the bath oil. Ooh, jasmine with hints of lilac and gardenia. Hell yeah, you poured it in before you took off your face mask that morphs your face to appear however you wanted it to look and took it off and put it on it’s holder before you took the headband off that made your hair take on the long blonde hair Vikings loved and revealed your blue razzberry blue hair in it’s ponytail and pulled your hair down before you took the universal translator out of your ears and the projected screen in front of your face so that to everyone looking on, your face moved with your ranslated words and set them down on the tray and blew out a breath of relief and flexed your face as you rubbed your eyes before you slipped under the water and relaxed for a moment before the inside of the bathtub lit up and alerted you Bjorn woke up early which had you coming up out of the water to hurriedly put on your disguise again before Bjorn hobbled into the room and you ducked back into the water to press the hatch at the bottom of the tub to release an emergency bathing suit which you quickly put on under the water before you emerged because you were running out of breath.

“Bjorn?” You said as you wiped the water off your face and looked at him questioningly. “You should be in bed, do you need something?” You asked as you moved to be closer to him.

“A…bath.” Bjorn offered as his mouth went dry because your bathing suit was strapless and it appeared that you were naked because the waters were milky white from the dissolved bath bomb.

“Oh, uh, sure, yeah,” you nodded in agreement and stood up and noticed the small pout he made when it was revealed that you were not naked and stepped out of the water to help him out of all of his clothes except for his underwear before you helped him into the water before you handed him a bar of soap, a washcloth and a comb.

“You could join me.” Bjorn suggested sheepishly.

“Only if you swear not to touch me.” You returned a little warily.

“On my honor.” He immediately agreed before you joined him but sat across from him in the large tub and watched as he lathered the soap and began to clean himself up.

“So how did you become a Valkyrie?” He asked.

“I was recruited and trained like any soldier.” You answered simply.

“So do you have a family back on Asgard?” He questioned.

“I do. I have my parents and a sister and two brothers.” You revealed.

“Is your sister a Valkyrie too?” He prodded, trying to get to know you.

“No, she cares for the bloodlines of the family dragons as well as helping them lay successful clutches of eggs. My brothers handle the training of the dragons so they can take riders when they’re juveniles while my grandparents mainly care for all the grandchildren of the family and the baby dragons. My mother makes jewelry out of the shed scales of the babies as they grow while my father builds armor as do my brothers when they’re not training. That armor that I wear, my father built it just for me and it has never failed me.” You revealed with a fond smile.

“Do you have a husband and children of your own?” Bjorn asked.

“No, as a Valkyrie, I’m not allowed to have a husband or birth any children unless I retire first and I’m nowhere near retirement age.” You answered.

“Do you want them?” He posed.

“I’m sure I will eventually. But not at the moment.” You shook your head no.

“What about you? Do you have a family back home that you’re anxious to return to?” You asked curiously as you tilted your head to the side.

“I have a sister and her family are back in Kattegat. I haven’t seen her in a year, everyone else is dead.” He answered. “I was hoping to gain a fortune on this raid but so far there hasn’t been much to gain.” Bjorn explained.

“The places you raid are learning and adapting to you and your tactics and word spreads faster than wildfire.” You surmised as Bjorn found himself nodding in agreement to that. “It means in order to get what you want, you may have to change your tactics.” You hinted which caused you to grin. “By the way, moving forward. There are rules for keeping my company. First, I am your guide to your path so that means when I give you advice, it would be best if you followed it because my purpose in giving it to begin with, is keeping you alive and keeping you safe but if you grow reckless, and abuse my help and support, I’ll call in a replacement and she will not be nearly as nice or as pretty as I am or worse yet, I’ll go back in time and leave you to die the way I found you. I’m as good as it gets. Second. I am not your slave, or thrall as you would call it or anything like that. You don’t boss me around. Third, this is as close as we get. I don’t mind being your friend on your journey, but anything more than that, especially anything romantic is out of the question and if you even hint at anything like that, I’m out and I’ll be replaced. Fourth, anyone who touches me without my consent, they loose their hands, including you. You can walk on your path with just one hand. Understood?” You proposed as you leveled him with a look.

“Understood.” Bjorn nodded with a gulp.

“Let’s shake on it.” You suggested before you shook hands with him as your materializer made him new clothes and armour.

After that the conversation flowed much easier and you both got a better sense of who the other person was in terms of character until the water grew cold and you decided to get out.

“Here, new clothes for you.” You said as you handed him the freshly made clothes made out a blend of dragon silk and dragon wool with dragon silk boxers which he had to get changed into himself.

“This is really nice.” Bjorn said as he felt the fabric, nothing he had ever put on his skin had ever felt this good before.

“Now, when you’re all healed up, I have new armor for you. It’s not dragon scale like mine, because giving you dragon scale is forbidden by The Code, but it’s the toughest thing in this world. Way down south of here, in a place called Africa, is a large lizard that they call the crocodile, it’s large enough that it can kill and eat people. This is it’s hide. It’ll stop most weapons. It’s the best I can give you.” You offered as you showed him his suit of armor.

Getting him travel ready only took you four days rather than the seven you thought it would at first because he took the serums you injected into him better than anticipated and continued to make improvements and he surprised you every day by how well he was able to progress. This mission may take less time than you anticipated.

Once he was ready, you set up a neural link between both of you, that way you could keep communicating without talking which would come in handy if you were in a form other than human and transformed back into a horse, your tent changing in appearance to that of a normal tent of the time period from the outside and you were able to make it so that Bjorn could easily set it up and take it down before he put it on your saddle and rode you back to the camp where some of the survivors were and still nursing their own wounds and regrouping.

“What happened to you?” They asked Bjorn.

“I got caught in this horse’s reins and it dragged me north, I was able to tame it a little since she’s still green broke and half wild but obviously I was able to bring her back.” Bjorn answered since that was the answer both of you had agreed upon would be the most believable as he got off of you and lead you towards the rest of camp.

“What are you wearing?” They asked as they eyed what he was wearing now.

“Oh, this is what the dead fucker that was tied to her saddle was wearing, once I got him off of her and got her settled down, I saw that it was still good, I tried it on and it fit and it was better than what I was wearing.” Bjorn shrugged. “I think he was deserting the fight because she was packed with a tent and a bedroll and food.” He explained as he gestured to everything on your saddle.

“Serves him right, filthy coward.” his surviving friends sneered but beamed proudly at Bjorn as they eyed you appreciatively as the shield maidens who had survived came over to you curiously as you greeted them sweetly and endeared yourself to them.

Getting Bjorn and the others back home to Kettegat was more arduous than you expected but you and Bjorn grew closer as friends along the way, only appearing in your human form when you were alone with him, otherwise you were a horse and because of your senses and abilities you were always the first to alert the group of wolves and bears and even other people before you joined back up with another raiding party and traveled back home to Kettegat.

#Vikings #Viking imagines #Vikings crossover #OC viking #history vikings #viking reader insert #Keep Your eyes on me #Keep your eyes on me part 2

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find-the-eyes · 5 years

Text

I’ll Try Anything Once: Chapter 45

Written by: Allegra, Sol

Edited by: Allegra, Beth

That night, Nick woke up with sore legs and a dull, throbbing pain in his chest. He opened his eyes slowly, hoping it wasn’t anything serious. He saw Alex peacefully sleeping next to him on the beanbag chair and knew that if he gathered up his strength, he could wake him up. Nick didn’t want to worry Alex. Worrying Alex was his worst fear. Although they talked everything out, Nick was still afraid that Alex would overstep his boundaries again if his condition worsened.

Shaking his concern and dazed by the pain, Nick reached his arm out to wake Alex, gently poking his shoulder. Just a small amount of pressure on his finger sent waves of sharp pain shooting up his arm and to his chest. He tried not to cry as he waited for a response from Alex.

“...Nick?” Alex asked as he opened his eyes, his voice soft from sleep. “What’s wrong?”

Nick could barely answer, anxiety about the pain piling on top of the pain itself. He struggled to verbalize fragments of various words and phrases.

“Does something hurt?” Alex asked, sitting up so he could face Nick.

Nick nodded as he tried to sit up as well. He couldn’t read the emotion on Alex’s face through his blurred vision, his tears welling up and turning everything hazy.

“Ah, okay…” Alex stroked Nick’s hair gently. “I think your pain meds have worn off. They’re supposed to be given every eight hours, but I think you had them early because you went to sleep early. That’s not a problem. Would you like to come with me to get your meds?”

Nick nodded again and helped as Alex sat him up. The pain in his chest was still dull. Nothing to worry about. Right?

“Do you want to walk or go on wheels?”

“Wheels, please,” Nick choked out, wheezing against the pain in his chest.

Alex lifted Nick into his wheelchair and began wheeling him to the kitchen.

“It’s… dark?” Nick asked, wondering if Alex would turn on a light.

“Oh, uh, I’ll get a flashlight!” Alex ran back to his room to grab his flashlight from the top drawer of his dresser. “There we go.” He shined the flashlight towards the end of the hallway.

“Why not just…” Nick motioned at a light switch.

“Wouldn’t want to wake Steck.”

Nick shrugged and adjusted his ventilator mask. He felt another wave of pain radiating from his chest.

“You alright?” Nick nodded. Alex opened the refrigerator and got out Nick’s pain medicine. “Do you need the full dose?”

Nick nodded again. He smiled at Alex’s concern, and his smile widened when he felt a soft tail brush against his legs. “Steck!” he said, leaning awkwardly over the ventilator to pet him. Alex walked over with the medication dosing cup and a glass of water and grinned at the sight.

“Do you want to hold Steck after you take this?” Alex asked, sliding the mask off Nick’s face.

Nick nodded earnestly, quickly downing his medicine and a few sips of water. “Ready!” Alex giggled and placed Steckrübe in Nick’s lap after he put Nick’s mask back on. Nick held him close, scratching between his ears and whispering to him in German. Alex’s heart thumped in his chest and he wondered how he had gotten so lucky.

After a few moments, Alex instinctively grabbed the handles of the wheelchair to roll Nick back to bed, but he stopped himself. “Are you ready to go back to bed now?”

“Wait,” Nick said quietly. “I want to…” He let go of Steck, who hopped down onto the floor, and shifted to get a better hold on the ventilator. Then he grabbed the wheels on his chair and began rolling himself into the living room. Alex walked behind him, fighting the urge to help. Clearly Nick had something in mind.

Nick rolled himself to the window and pulled the shades open. Although the lights of the city were bright, Nick could see the stars outside, finally. It had been a long time since he had seen them. When Nick pointed to something, Alex leaned in to join him. “Moon…” Nick smiled.

Alex wrapped his arms around Nick’s shoulders. “The stars are beautiful, aren’t they?” Nick just nodded, his eyes still on the sky. “We could go stargazing sometime, if you want…”

“Really?!” Nick leaned his head back to look up at Alex. “I’ve never been…”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything, right?”

“Yeah,” Nick said, excited at the prospect. He looked up at Alex again. “I think I’m ready...for bed now.”

Alex wheeled Nick back to the bedroom and helped him back out of the chair. He then helped him get into his bed, smiling as Nick curled up beneath the blankets.

“Are you feeling better?” Alex asked as he settled into his beanbag chair.

Nick blinked a few times and then shook his head. “It still hurts.”

“Want me to sleep with you tonight?”

“Can you…?”

Without a word, Alex slipped under the covers beside Nick, tangling his legs with Nick’s and pulling him close. “Alright?”

“Of course,” Nick smiled. “And thank you…”

“For what?”

“For asking…for listening.”

Alex smiled as Nick nestled himself into his pillow and quickly fell asleep. “Goodnight, Nick,” he whispered.

That morning, Alex awoke to a loud buzzing on the nightstand. It was a phone call from his mother, who immediately began asking if he was planning on coming home for Christmas. Alex half-listened to her rambling, still groggy after only a few hours' sleep.

“I was planning on it, but…” Alex said once he was able to get a word in edgewise. He looked back at Nick, who was still peacefully asleep, Steckrübe by his side and the ventilator humming on the nightstand. He had to tell her. "I don't think I can come home."

"What?!"

"I'm sorry for telling you so late, but...Nick has been...not well lately. He's been really sick and he's not even supposed to leave the flat. I can't leave him here alone."

The tone of Alex's mother's voice shifted. "What? Nick is sick?! What happened to him?"

"Long story. I really can't leave him, and he's not allowed to travel right now, so…"

“Oh…”

“I promise I’ll be back sometime soon, alright?”

“Alright.” Alex noticed the hint of resignation in his mother’s voice. “You’re sure Nick can’t just come with you? He’s always welcome here, you know.”

“I know,” Alex said sadly. “But he can’t go on a plane until he’s fully healed. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Alex’s mother’s voice was lighter now. “I’m glad you have each other. You’ve seemed a lot happier since you met him.”

“Yeah,” Alex said quietly. He wondered if his mother could tell that he was smiling. “I am.”

By the time Alex hung up with his mother, Nick was awake and patting Steckrübe gently. Alex heard Steck’s soft meows and turned around.

“You’re up early!” Alex went over to Nick and sat down next to him.

“I heard you… on the phone,” Nick said softly, looking up into Alex’s eyes.

“Oh! Are you okay with staying here for Christmas?”

Nick nodded, “Can’t go… anywhere else.”

“That’s very true. Want breakfast?” Nick nodded vigorously. "In bed?" Nick's eyes lit up and he nodded harder. Alex kissed his forehead. "Alright. Be back soon!"

Unfortunately, when Alex opened the refrigerator to grab the smoothie ingredients, there were none to be found. There wasn't much of anything left, aside from a few slices of shrink-wrapped cheese, some butter, and a few assorted condiments. He figured that Nick would be fine with just some toast - until he checked the counter and discovered that they were also out of bread. Alex groaned and made his way back down the hall, where Nick was still petting Steck.

"That was fast," Nick said, looking perplexed.

"Yeah, we have, like, no food," Alex said with a grimace. "We're going to have to go to the store..." He envisioned the entire process - getting Nick changed into some proper clothes, putting him in the wheelchair, bringing him down to the car and helping him get in, folding up the wheelchair, repeating the entire process in reverse at the store…

"I can...stay home."

"What?'

"I'll stay home," Nick repeated, more firmly this time.

The next words out of Alex's mouth were almost I'm not leaving you home by yourself before he remembered his promise from the previous day. He swallowed hard. "Okay…you're sure?"

"I'm fine…I'll just rest...with Steck," Nick said. He scratched Steck's chin.

"Okay. You'll call me if you need me, right?"

"I'll be fine…" Nick sensed Alex's uneasiness and added, "I'll call you...if I need you."

Alex nodded and gave him a wave. "Alright. Be back soon."

Alex stood in the produce section, examining boxes of strawberries and deciding which more fun and exotic fruits they would go with. Maybe Nick would like a starfruit smoothie? Was it worth it to spend five quid to shred up a starfruit, or would Nick like to eat it sliced instead? Alex sighed and picked up a starfruit, considering it before placing it in his basket.

Every time Alex bought something new for Nick, like fuzzy socks or a new type of fruit or a brand new sweatshirt, he realized that it was often the first time Nick had ever experienced it. How had he gone his entire life without wearing fuzzy socks? Alex eyed a box of cherries and went to examine it to make sure they were ripe. You could never trust ‘fresh’ produce in Glasgow winters, at least according to Paul. Alex decided that the cherries were fresh and put them in his basket. As he went to shop for bread and some other essentials, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

“Alex?” A familiar cheery voice said from behind him.

Alex turned around to see Julian with a basket full of sweets and other snacks. He greeted him politely, not sure why Julian was so eager to see him. He had only spoken to him when picking Nick up from class a few times after Julian walked him out.

"Where's Nick?" he asked with a bright smile, clutching the basket in one hand and running the other through his floppy curls. "I haven't seen him in so long! Is he ok? Did he go back to Germany? I miss Steckrübe too! Is he doing alright?"

“He’s doing alright now,” Alex smiled, “and so is Steckrübe.”

“What do you mean, now? Did something happen?”

“Yeah, uh…” Alex sighed, “Nick was in the hospital for a month. He popped his lung trying to stage dive and went into respiratory failure. He’s doing alright now, but he’s still on a ventilator and quarantined in the flat.”

“A ventilator? That doesn’t sound good! How does that work? Can he breathe alright? What happens if Steck's fur gets in it?!” Julian, although quite alarmed, somehow still looked cheery.

Alex explained how the ventilator worked and told Julian that Nick was completely fine and on his way to a full recovery.

“So he’ll be able to walk soon and go to class?”

“Yeah, hopefully,” Alex affirmed Julian’s concerns.

"Great! Can I bring him a get well gift later? Does he want some snacks?"

Alex was amazed that one person could be full of so many questions. "Yeah? I guess he does?"

Before Julian could embark on another barrage of questions about Nick, a woman with curly brown hair pushed her trolley up beside them. “Who’s this, Julian?”

“Mum! This is Alex, Nick’s flatmate! I told you about him, remember? He brought his cat to class and then disappeared? Well, I just found out he’s been really sick and quarantined in his flat and I’d like to bring him a gift later! Is that alright?”

“You’re sure you can bring a gift if he’s quarantined?”

Julian looked to Alex for an answer. Alex nodded. “As long as you don’t have any particularly harmful germs about you.”

“Is he contagious?”

“No, it was an injury.”

Julian’s mum looked back and forth between the two men. “In that case… I guess you can go after we’re done here. I’ll walk you there.”

“I’ll go look for a gift, then! See you later, Alex!” Julian took off to look for a plushie for Nick, leaving Alex with his mum.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Alex,” she smiled warmly. She was a calmer presence compared to Julian, and Alex wondered how she was so patient with him.

Alex made his way to check out after finding everything he needed for Nick’s breakfast and meals for the next week. As he paid for his items, he couldn’t help but wonder how Nick was such good friends with Julian. They were complete opposites in every way, and Alex knew that Julian had definitely latched onto Nick rather than the other way around.

Once he reached his flat, Alex greeted Nick and immediately started throwing together a breakfast for him. He decided to slice the starfruit rather than blending it.

“Julian’s coming over today,” Alex said to Nick as he placed his breakfast down on the nightstand.

Nick grinned as Alex removed the mask and gave him his breakfast. Breathing without the mask was still a bit of a challenge, but being unable to consume solid food for weeks had truly made him appreciate eating, so he was happy to put up with it for a short time. He picked up a piece of toast with both hands and nibbled on it carefully. "Really? When?"

“He said he was coming as soon as he finished shopping, so… he should be here soon. Do you want to get ready?”

As soon as Nick nodded and put his toast down, Alex heard the doorbell. “That must be him. Stay here, I’ll get it.” He slipped Nick’s mask on and ran to get the door. Alex welcomed Julian into the flat and noticed that he was holding a gift bag.

“Where’s Nick? Is he awake? I’m sorry I came so early; I wasn’t expecting to visit!”

Alex just laughed in response and led Julian to Nick’s bedroom. He opened the door slowly, anticipating Julian’s reaction and his onslaught of questions. Julian peeked around the door frame and gasped at the sight of Nick. Alex could have sworn he saw Julian visibly deflate. And for once, Julian didn't have words.

When Nick saw Julian, his eyes instantly lit up. He nudged Steckrübe, who was sleeping beside him.

Julian took a deep breath and slowly approached Nick. He opened the gift bag and smiled. “A birthday gift and a get well gift!”

Nick reached into the bag and pulled out a lobster plushie and a koala plushie. He hugged the plushies with as much strength as he could and then placed them down next to Steckrübe.

“Can you talk with that mask on?” Julian asked, wondering if Nick was being quiet on purpose or not.

Nick nodded. “A little.”

“Does it hurt?”

Nick thought for a moment. “Without medicine… yeah.”

Julian nodded thoughtfully. “Is Steck happy you’re home? I heard you were away for a month! Do you remember any of it?”

At the mention of his name, Steck’s ears perked up and he let out a small meow. Nick didn’t answer any of the questions, too tired and out of it to speak that much.

“Steck!” Julian gasped and patted Steckrübe’s head. “Are you alright, Nick? Can you breathe? I’m sorry if I’m interrupting your breakfast. Did you finish your breakfast?”

After Nick once again didn’t answer fully, Alex intejected. “Nick’s still not feeling well. He can’t talk all that much. Right, Nick?” Nick looked up at Alex and nodded, relieved that Alex had jumped in to help this time. After this reminder, Julian sat down in the beanbag beside Nick and tried to talk a bit more slowly.

Alex smiled and went to the kitchen to clean up from breakfast. He could still hear Julian rambling away in the other room about what Nick missed in class and how bad he felt for him, although he couldn’t hear Nick offering anything in return. But Julian was obviously responding to something, considering he was taking little breaks between his rambles. By the time Alex came back into the room, Julian was telling a story and using Steckrübe to act out one of the characters as Nick laughed along quietly. Holding Steckrübe was a huge sign of trust from Nick, and Julian had entered the VIP friend-of-Steck club.

Julian was mid-sentence when his mum rang to tell him that he had been at Alex and Nick’s flat for too long. He sighed as he listened to her and then hung up. “My mum wants me to go,” he sighed, reminding Alex of just how young he still was. “It was nice seeing you guys! Can I come over again soon?" He looked expectantly between Alex and Nick.

Nick nodded furiously, which made both Alex and Julian giggle. "I think that's a yes," Alex smiled.

"Ok! See you guys!" Julian gave them a wave and headed out of the flat, a noticeable spring in his step.

Alex turned back to Nick. “What did you two talk about?”

Nick smiled, “School, music… Steck…”

Alex laughed softly. “That’s great, Nick. I didn’t know you were so close with Julian!”

Nick nodded, “he’s my… only friend at school.” He paused, then added, "I think I'm...his only friend too."

"Yeah? I guess I can see that." Alex admired how perceptive Nick was, even if he didn't always show it. "But I'm glad you two found each other."

"Yeah," Nick agreed.

“Want to get ready for the day now? I think you need a bath…”

“I’m smelly… I know…” Nick looked up at Alex with a grin.

"I mean, I wasn't going to say anything, but..." Alex returned Nick's smile. It felt good to see Nick so happy. He leaned down and gave Nick a kiss on the forehead. "Love you."

Nick beamed and bonked Alex's face with his mask. "Love you too."

#illtryanythingonce #allfanfic #franz ferdinand

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katsens-writing · 5 years

Text

Meeting the Team

Summary: You’re a SHIELD agent doing some research on your future co-workers... until you run into one of them.

Word Count: 2.1k (give or take a few)

Content: Fluff, maybe a little angst? Let me know if I need to add any!

A/N: This. This thing right here was supposed to be just a simple, short and sweet meet-cute. Three stories and three weeks later, I’m done. This and the second story, Meeting the Agent, are parallel running stories but you should read this one first. The third story is called Meeting the Sergeant. It should be read before or after Meeting the Team and Meeting the Agent. Let me know what you think! I might make more from it...

As soon as you got through security at the museum, you went straight to the exhibit you were looking for. It’d been a while since you had been to the Smithsonian, but you knew the way from memory. You smiled wistfully as you walked past other familiar displays and cases. Weaving through them was like walking down memory lane for you. Finally reaching the exhibit you had come to see, you opened your notebook and pushed the brim of your black baseball cap up with the end of your pencil. You remembered the first time you went to see the Captain America exhibit with your mom. You must have been only four or five then, but you loved it so much that you wanted to go there for every birthday and special occasion. By the time you went to see it on a class trip, all the museum employees in that wing knew you by name. Eventually, you guys moved away when your mom was assigned to an embassy. You hadn’t been there in years when your mom heard from some old work friends back in D.C. that the Smithsonian had added an Avengers exhibit. As soon as she heard, she immediately booked some plane tickets to go see it opening day, as a surprise for your birthday. The second you saw it, your jaw dropped in awe. After walking through it you whipped around and told your mom that you were going to be an Avenger one day. You remembered your mother’s amused expression as you marched off to the Captain America exhibit.

When you got your acceptance letter from the academy years later, you both jumped up and down screaming and crying. Just a month after that, you said goodbye to your mother and moved back to the States. Two years later, your mother wept in the audience as you walked across the stage to receive your badge from Nick Fury and shake his hand at the SHIELD induction ceremony. When you met her for lunch last week in Prague and told her about your new assignment with the Avengers, you could’ve sworn she was going to pass out. Now here you are in D.C., reading up on your future coworkers. You already knew so much about most of the team, but you wanted to refresh your memory before meeting them.

You read over the story of Captain America again, even though you practically had it memorized even after all these years. As you walked through his exhibit, your eyes fell on the section dedicated to the Howling Commandos. You remembered hearing talks of the museum restoring the mural of Captain America and the Howling Commandos, so you quickly jotted down a reminder to check it out later before you moved over to the panel about them. You read through the brief articles on display about each of the commandos, for fun more than anything.

‘Caporal Jaques “Frenchie” Dernier, France, born January 2, 1911. Explosives and demolitions expert. French resistance.’

Frenchie? You thought with a smirk. How original.

‘Private Gabriel “Gabe” Jones, United States. Born August 14, 1918, in Macon, Georgia. Translator and Communications Specialist. United States Army, 92nd Infantry Division.’

I remember learning about him in high school. You blinked thoughtfully. I think he was the one that arrested Zola.

‘Corporal Jim Morita, United States. Born October 20, 1919, in Fresno, California. Marksman and Medic. United States Army, Nisei Squadron.’

Brigadier James Montgomery Falsworth, Great Britain. Born January 2, 1914, in Birmingham, England. Tactician and Marksman. British Armed Forces, 3rd Independent Parachute Brigade.

Huh. He had two kids. You blinked, pleasantly surprised.

‘Sergeant Timothy Aloysius Cadwallader “Dum Dum” Dugan’.

Your eyebrows rose a little and you tried to stifle a laugh but it ended up coming out as a small snort. That’s a mouthful. No wonder he went by Dum Dum Dugan.

You kept reading. ‘United States, born April 11, 1912. Transport specialist. United States Army, 69th Infantry Regiment.’

You tilted your head curiously at a series of panels you hadn’t seen before, covered in newspaper articles, headlines, and various official reports. Drawing closer, you realized they were a replacement for the old panel ‘A Fallen Comrade’. You began reading the first panel titled ‘James Buchanan Barnes: War Hero, Winter Soldier, Avenger’. You casually scanned the headlines and titles until one caught your attention. Your eyes widened in shock and you froze as you realized just what exactly you were reading-- you had been there.

You had been working for SHIELD for almost a year when it fell. You were in the control room when Alexander Pierce ordered the manhunt for Captain America and declared him a fugitive. You were in that same room when Captain America revealed over the P.A. system that Hydra had taken over and you did everything you could to fight back, passively and physically. After the helicarriers were launched, you and your coworkers managed to retake the control room, but it was too late. You contacted the aerial commander and told him to gather all SHIELD pilots. You lowered your head, a wave of guilt washing over you. One of them must have been Hydra. They never made it off the ground.

You were literally forced to watch helplessly as Steve fought the Winter Soldier on the helicarrier and your heart stopped when you saw him plummeting to the earth, watching in horror as the fiery wreckage rained down upon him from the sky above. You were five floors below where one of the helicarriers crashed into the building. The impact was bone-shaking and caused your Hydra captor to stumble, allowing you to gain the upper hand. After subduing him, you grabbed his radio. Without hesitation or authority, you took charge and immediately organized and coordinated search and rescue teams. You scattered the teams all over the SHIELD compound, the river, and its banks to look for any survivors, before joining one yourself. Now with SHIELD reforming, you were one of the first agents to return. After having already proven your loyalty, you were an easy choice for your new assignment.

You shook your head to clear your thoughts. ‘James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, aka the Winter Soldier, possibly the world’s deadliest assassin and Hydra’s greatest weapon and asset.’

You winced as you read that part. Why did they have to include that? You wondered. He’s not some tank or fighter jet.

You continued reading. ‘Originally suspected in the terrorist attack on the Sokovia Accords Summit that led to the deaths of many ambassadors and political figures, Barnes was later found to be innocent, another victim of the real culprit, Sokovian nationalist Baron Zemo.’

Your eyes narrowed as you read exactly how much the article had on the summit bombing. You were one of the few who knew the whole story. After SHIELD had fallen, you went to work for Stark Industries, where you met up once again with Maria Hill. When the news came out naming Barnes as a suspect in the bombing, you were one of those assigned to keep tabs on Steve, though you never found anything... as far as anyone knew. When Maria quietly slipped off the grid without a word to anybody, you were the only one to notice, and you made sure of that by covering her tracks.

You never really believed that Stark honestly expected you to turn in Steve if you located him, not when he knew your history. He knew how painful it was for you to track Steve and how it reminded you of when Hydra had taken over SHIELD. He knew that for you it felt just as wrong tracking Steve then as it had before, yet he still assigned you to the task. You smiled to yourself, in spite of the painful memories. You would never forget the day when Tony received the call saying everyone had escaped from the Raft; you could hear Ross yelling at him on the phone from two rooms away before Tony sauntered into the main office with a barely concealed grin on his face. He definitely looked far more amused than he should have, considering.

After you finished reading the new panels, your eyes drifted back to another old one about James. ‘Born in 1917, James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes was the oldest of four kids. He lived in Brooklyn where he was an excellent athlete and student. He enlisted in the Army shortly after the attack on Pearl Harbor and was assigned to the 107th. His unit was sent to the Italian front where they were captured by Hydra. Separated from his unit, Barnes was starved and tortured...’

You blinked your eyes and looked away; you knew what happened after that. Your eyes fell on a display of pictures of Captain America, Bucky, and the Howling Commandos. You drifted over to it. Scanning the pictures, you couldn’t help but smile as your eyes fell on one of Steve and Bucky at one of the allied camps. They were standing side by side with lopsided grins, but Barnes looked like he’d just woken up from a nap.

“Ugh, of all the pictures they had...” you jumped at the sudden voice behind you and spun around to find a man shaking his head, looking down at the ground. “They just had to pick that one.”

The man lifted his head, revealing his face that had been hidden by the brim of a grey baseball cap, and your eyes fell on a familiar lopsided grin accompanied by a pair of startlingly blue eyes. The man looked a little embarrassed. Your own eyes widened and your mouth opened slightly in surprise.

“Bucky!” you gasped softly.

The former assassin just stared at you blankly for a moment. Realizing what you had done, your face reddened in embarrassment. You began to apologize, but Bucky simply waved it off. Shaking his head with a grin, he reassured you.

“No, it’s ok, really. People just don’t usually recognize me.” His smile faded slowly as his eyes shifted to the notebook in your hands, tilting his head curiously.

You looked down at the notebook you had forgotten you were holding and quickly pulled it closer to yourself, realizing how you must look. “It's just some research I’m doing for work,” you quickly offered.

Bucky’s face scrunched in thought before it lit up. “You must be the new SHIELD agent assigned to the compound.”

“Yeah, I am,” you replied, relaxing a little, but still a bit uneasy.

“I thought you weren’t due in until next week?” Bucky looked at you, still curious.

“Well, I wanted to get some research in. I like to learn a bit about who I’m going to be working with,” you shrugged, a little embarrassed but not apologetic. Looking into coworkers was a habit you had formed in the aftermath of SHIELD falling, out of caution and perhaps a little guilt. You had been caught off guard and you vowed you weren’t going to let that happen again.

“Well that makes sense,” he nodded thoughtfully, almost like he understood what you were thinking. He shook his head lightly and with another lopsided grin, he held out his hand. “I’m James Buchanan Barnes. Or Bucky.”

You took his hand and shook it, your gaze rising to meet his with the slightest hint of awe. “Y/N. Agent Y/N Y/L/N. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Y/N,” Bucky repeated, a smile growing on his face. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

You lowered your eyes to the notebook in your hand, fidgeting awkwardly. Bucky cleared his throat, almost making you jump again.

“Well Y/N, if you have any questions, I’d be happy to help. The information here isn’t exactly complete...” his voice trailed off.

“I noticed,” you replied, glancing to the side at the section about the bombing at the summit. Clearing your throat, you turned back to Bucky. “They don’t really have anything on Black Widow or Hawkeye.” That didn’t really surprise you, after all, what good is a spy with their face on display at one of the world’s busiest museums?

Bucky arched an eyebrow with only the slightest hesitation. “Well, if you would like, I can fill you in on the team.” He glanced down at his watch then rubbed the back of his neck before completely throwing away caution. “Heck, I can even introduce you to some of them if you want.”

Bucky looked up at you and grinned again, his eyes shining, and you just couldn’t help the smile spreading on your own face as your shoulders relaxed. “I would appreciate that, thank you.”

Bucky looked down at his watch again. “Great, I’m meeting Clint- that’s Hawkeye- for lunch in an hour. You’re welcome to come,” he looked up at you and hesitated. “In the meantime, have you seen the Howling Commandos memorabilia exhibit?”

You nodded. “Yeah, it’s been a while though. Are you sure Clint won’t mind the extra company at lunch?”

“He’ll get over it,” Bucky replied with a grin and you couldn’t resist a small chuckle. Turning back to the direction of the memorabilia display, Bucky nods his head. “Shall we?”

With a smile you walked alongside the super soldier, laughing and asking questions as he told stories about the items on display. You may not have learned much about the team like you had wanted to that day, but as it turned out, you learned more than you could have ever hoped.

#The Avengers #the winter soldier #bucky barnes #insert reader #short story #marvel #fanfic #MCU #avengers fanfic #marvel fanfic #the howling commandos #Steve Rogers #captain america #Captain America: The Winter Soldier #Captain America: Civil War #Meeting the Team by Kat #katsens-writing

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