#Specialized Tarmac

[runwayrunway]

No. 52 - Alaska Airlines Xáat Kwáani and Salmon-Thirty-Salmon Liveries

Did you think I was done with Alaska Airlines?

No, this is actually my last post about them for now (though, mark my words, you will be seeing a post about the Gold Nugget Jet in the not-too-distant future - I just feel like we need a break from nothing but consecutive posts about the same airline, and I have other things I want to cover). But it's something that's both requested and which I've wanted to talk about for some time.

In my last post I discussed the identity of the man on the Alaska Airlines tailfin. It wasn't a major part of the story, only taking up a small piece, but I did touch on how ChatGPT apparently will lie when asked about the background of the livery. Not only does it falsely attribute the livery to Fred Kabotie, who I'm sure had more important things to do, but it also falsely claims Fred Kabotie, who was Hopi, to be Tlingit. As it turns out, though, Alaska Airlines does have a livery designed by a Tlingit artist.

image: Brandon Farris

Crystal Kaakeeyáa Rose Demientieff Worl is a Tlingit artist known for large public artwork which heavily incorporates indigenous artistic traditions and visual motifs across many mediums. Some of her previous work includes large-scale murals in Alaska and throughout the world and guardrail panels at Juneau International Airport. She feels like the most natural choice possible to design an airliner livery, given the scale and diverse canvases she works with, and in May of this year the airplane you can see looming behind her was unveiled in a brand new livery that I, and a lot of other people, immediately fell in love with.

It's safe to say that this is one of the most ambitious and unique special liveries out there. Xáat Kwáani (which means 'salmon people' in Tlingit) is a beautiful and one-of-a-kind take on the often-noticed resemblance airplanes have to fish.

Salmon fishing is huge in Alaska, both now and historically. Today fishing is a major part of the Alaskan economy and something many people making a living off, but historically they were even more directly responsible for making the difference between life and death for those who lived beside them. A major source of food, they were literally life-bringing to indigenous societies, necessary to survival. Humans and salmon were part of the same ecosystem.

Independent of this fact, airplanes seem to lend themselves to comparisons to sea creatures. They may be called 'birds', but time and time again other people confirm that I'm not just imagining it, they do distinctly look like cetaceans and fish. Very early on in this blog the fact that 747s look like Humphead Wrasse was discussed. Amakusa Airlines, Japan Transocean Air, and Southwest Airlines have all leaned into this fish resemblance, and I'm sure over time my sea creature plane tag will continue to grow. This genre of livery will never cease to delight me.

I think it's fairly predictable that I always loved N559AS, the brilliantly named salmon-thirty-salmon plane. I was devastated when I learned that the livery was going to be removed. I mean...just look at her.

The salmon-thirty-salmon was a very unconventional take on the fish-plane, using a much more realistic drawing than any other attempt. It doesn't even try to transform the plane itself into the fish, which I think is potentially a smart way of accepting the limits of doing so. Instead, it fully displays the honestly hilarious and adorable face that salmon have while providing a nice canvas, a bit of water for the salmon to be carried on. At the same time it incorporates thoughtful details like the scales on the interior winglets, and the way the salmon's body is aligned with the empennage and nose feels very precisely done. It can create a somewhat uncanny doubling effect from a few angles, but by no means is it enough to rob the livery of its charm or elegance.

The salmon-thirty-salmon gets an A.

I've lived near the ocean my whole life. I love fish. I loved this plane. I was heartbroken when I learned the livery was going to serve its final milk run before rolling into the hangar for the very last time, coming out repainted and lost forever. It's always a bitter pill to swallow when airlines retire special liveries, particularly when it involves the plane being repainted into the standard colors. A lot of other people were sad to see this design go too.

What we didn't know was that this was not the end of the salmon-thirty-salmon. She was not lost, but transformed. When she emerged from the hangar again she was not wearing Alaska Airlines' default colors but something even more eye-catching, a livery honoring the same fish but with extra layers of meaning added by means of an intricate and beautiful new design.

Costs, materials, and man-hours used to paint an airplane vary dramatically from case to case, livery to livery, model to model, airline to airline. The numbers in my description are somewhat conservative estimates used for comedic value. Alaska Airlines actually gave some numbers for Xáat Kwáani - twelve days, 117 gallons of paint. The colors used are Midnight Blue and Atlas Blue for the background, White for the fish themselves, and Pink for highlights, and a clear coat has been applied over the top in order to preserve the livery. Alaska Airlines has every intention of keeping it intact for as long as possible.

The use of colors is beautiful. The waves of darker and lighter blue keep it from ever looking too light or too dark, adjusting to the lighting in order to always remain saturated and vivid, and the irregular wave pattern keeps any part of the livery from looking static. The use of the pink as a highlight is sparing but effective. The white, though, is what makes this livery so fantastic. A central tenet of this blog is a disdain for the dominant trend of livery design in recent history, Eurowhite - that of an almost entirely white fuselage. And there is a legitimate sense of general derision for white, but it can be so powerful as a design feature. There is no contrast more powerful than a stark and complete absence, a space carved out fully from the world and color around it. It is the color of bone and snow.

The balance of each color is just perfect, the blue never overpowering the white, the white never fully blocking out the blue, the pink subtly adding depth throughout, and the shapes of the salmon are placed perfectly, not feeling cramped or confined. They are free to wander the fuselage and they have an amazing sense of movement to them, as if caught mid-leap. I've seen salmon swimming upstream to spawn, and they are so startlingly large and vivacious. The fish on this plane, though stylized, perfectly capture the way that these fish look in motion.

Formline is a style of art historically created by indigenous peoples of the Pacific Northwest coast of North America. It was a common and versatile visual element, present in everything from painting to carving to weaving. It is defined by its use of continuous, curving lines which may change in angle, width, and direction but do not terminate. Though it was diminished in quantity by suppression of indigenous culture by US and Canadian settlers it never went away, and from the second half of the 20th century onwards it has been surging back as more and more indigenous artists are able to produce and display their work. Worl has worked with formline many times before. She is quoted as saying:

Every time I looked at an Alaska plane, I couldn’t help but visualize the salmon being in formline [...] I can’t help but look at things and see how to Indigenize them.

And the idea has now come to life in this absolutely unforgettable livery. I wish I was within the range of the 737-800 from Alaska Airlines' hubs so that Xáat Kwáani could pay a visit to my home airport, because this is among the most beautiful planes in the world right now. And beyond just nice colors and pleasing shapes it represents something important - indigenous artists being given a 40-meter-long flying platform on which to honor fish which have provided countless centuries of life to the people who live beside them.

Worl's work is above and beyond what I would have ever expected for a custom airplane livery. Even the 'Alaska' wordmark is neatly incorporated into the formline, blending into the background to the point it's hard to notice in a good way.

Most liveries are designed by graphic designers and branding firms. Landor Associates design liveries and logo, but they aren't building monuments or putting their work in galleries. I don't mean to diminish their work - obviously I'm passionate about it, I have a blog about it - but it's just fundamentally different from what Worl does. It has different priorities, a different philosophy, and a different level of personal investment.

From my perspective Xáat Kwáani feels less like branding material and more like a piece of artwork. This isn't something designed to go on letterhead, to be put in a press kit, to be widely reproduced. It's something to be looked at, thought about, and remembered. This is a mural that flies.

I mean...A+, obviously.

There is just about nothing else in the sky which has the same visual power as Xáat Kwáani. As far as I'm concerned, every gallon of paint was worth it to give us this flying tribute to the people and wildlife of the state Alaska Airlines takes its name from.

[hellssblog]

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[hizokucycles]

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[styleofthelaw]

📸 with my Oppo Reno 8

[autoneurotic]

i have to work 3-9 on sunday and all i’m saying. alllll i’m saying is i go to bed at 9 every night. i get tired. at 7.

[insportsday]

Shop On: Specialized Tarmac Sl7 Expert

“Aero is everything”—we’ve been preaching it for years and it’s still the driving force for the new Tarmac. In our quest for tube shapes that deliver the fastest frame that the UCI rules allow, we took a page out of the Venge development book and utilized our FreeFoil Shape Library. Armed with a library of optimized shapes, we turned to the Win Tunnel to plug these shapes into a modular test bike, for more testing and validation. The result? A new Tarmac that’s the fastest we’ve tested. No compromises, just pure speed. While aerodynamics were paramount to the Tarmac’s development, and to the development of all of our race bikes, weight was the co-pilot on this optimal race bike journey. Previously “aero bikes” always compromised in the weight department—the more drag you reduced, the more weight you gained. With the new Tarmac, our design philosophy was to keep it at, or below, the UCI weight limit out of the box, with no sacrifices to aerodynamics. And with the help of the FreeFoil Shape Library, tools like isotopic FEA analysis, and some engineering wizardry by the best engineers in the industry, we delivered. Continuing our quest to develop the perfect race bike, we used our Rider-First EngineeredTM philosophy to ensure that the new Tarmac is the most balanced, best handling Tarmac yet—no matter the size. With an army of the world’s best test riders from our three World Tour Teams — Boels-Dolmans, Deceuninck-Quick-Step, and Bora-hansgrohe — we made changes to the Tarmac based on their thousands of kilometers on the road. We balanced the ride quality between the front and rear end, so even the longest days in the saddle continue to be comfortable—all without giving up anything to the Tarmac’s legendary handling and race-winning snappiness. Building on the learnings from the Venge, the new Tarmac utilizes simple integration to create a clean, fast cockpit that’s easy to live with. We’ve improved the routing for any configuration — mechanical shifting, traditional stems, round bars, etc. — all while keeping its aerodynamic attributes. These same traits also make the new Tarmac easy to work on and easy to travel with. It’s a win-win.

Specialized #Tarmac #Sl7 #Expert

[edwintse-diary]

June 5 2024 Go Go Go!

[bikeaospedacos]

Nova Specialized Tarmac SL8 | Mais leve e aerodinâmica

A oitava geração da lendária Tarmac, que tem sido a bicicleta principal da marca nos últimos 20 anos, surpreendeu ao conseguir elevar o padrão ainda mais.

[zou-pa]

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[tank-head]

[runwayrunway]

No. 32 - Japan Transocean Air Jinbei Jets

Over the past two days, @lillybean730, @whatmorecouldapoorboydo, and @fungaloids have all tagged me in this post, which contains this image.

The link beneath is broken, but based on the text below, I would presume it was posted in response to the introduction into service of Japan Transocean Air's two "Jinbei Jets". ('Jinbei-zame' is the Japanese name for whale sharks!)

That's right, there are two of them! The Jinbei Jet actually comes with a matching Sakura Jinbei! They're both Boeing 737-800s delivered new to JTA (a JAL subsidiary based in Naha which usually just uses the JAL livery, hence the vestigial Tsurumaru logo on the tail) in late 2017; the blue Jinbei entered service in September while the Sakura entered service in December.

These are adorable, there's just no way around it. The low-sitting eyes, combined with the existence of the cockpits, does make it look a little like the plane has two sets of eyes, or one real set of eyes and one set of false eyes to throw off predators, but just - just look at her!

Her little eyelash! The little sakura blossom behind her ear! AAAH!

The methods used here resemble those Amakusa Airlines uses for their absolutely darling dolphin plane. The whale shark design is centered at the nose of the airplane and then allowed to diverge from there, which allows for the general shape of the shark to be expressed well. Together with a very clever use of negative space on the bottom half of the plane, this also very easily renders a white underbelly. Blank space is then left above the dorsal fins to write the name of the airline, and the tail frames the tailplane really nicely.

They're both very well-drawn and pretty designs. While I do wish there was something other than plain white in the background, like maybe a wave design or even just a light blue, I understand the choice, and it's not really what the point is here. The point is the whale sharks. Still, the white feels very sharp as a contrast, and I prefer the way Amakusa Airlines used a lighter blue and limited the white space. The Tsurumaru is also a bit busy. It's a gorgeous logo but I think on a plane like this the whale shark should be the only thing that really pulls any attention. The viewer's eye should be drawn right to the airplane's eye (the drawn on one) immediately, without anything directing it to the tail, like a big bright red logo. While the sharks themselves are incredible, the rest of the plane isn't a particularly good vehicle to present them with.

Again in contrast to Amakusa Airlines, this design is much more realistic and much less stylized. I don't think that's a good or a bad thing. In fact, I think they're both wonderful. Despite both being sea creatures they are very distinct-looking, which I like. One is a very cartoonish and delighted dolphin with two smiling dolphin engines, and the other is a set of two very charming elegant whale sharks with delightful big round eyes. Both of them make me very happy when I look at them. I feel like my job here is slightly redundant because I think my reaction is completely universal.

These are just a pair of really pretty and endearing planes, and I could not adore them more. I think I prefer the vivid pink of Sakura Jinbei, but I also do love the classic blue color. And I think the knowledge that these two are a pair improves each of them even more. They're simply lovely.

An A for Jinbei and Sakura Jinbei!

[ceilidho]

prompt: you keep seeing apparitions of a dead special forces operative who's been haunting the barracks. (light angst; nsfw) (actual ghost simon riley)

-

War dogs chewed up and spat out by the machinery of war.

It is an incalculable blow to learn of his death. Worse still that you learn of it by happenstance, one officer talking to another, only listening in because it’s been weeks since you’ve seen him and their voices go hushed in that way that makes your ears prick up. You’re sitting at a nearby table in the canteen when someone says the single most devastating words that have ever been spoken near you.

“They weren’t able to recover the whole body, just some of it. Pretty gruesome. Don’t know if you ever met him, but he was an alright guy—pretty quiet. Scary, yeah, but—I don’t know. He was fair. Got the job done though. Soap’s taking it pretty hard.”

You barely breathe at the news. Something is squeezing your heart until it overfills on the other side. 

You walk around base in a daze after that. It’s not anyone’s fault that you aren’t notified—no one was supposed to know. Your whole arrangement with Simon was predicated on the knowledge that it would never be revealed to your commanding officers or the rest of the infantry. Made sense at the time. Makes less sense now when your world is falling apart and you have no way of even requesting Ghost’s dog tags. 

Pain holds you upright like a splint while it also tries to smother you. You crawl back to your barracks after training the recruits, voice a hoarse whisper in your throat. Showers are an optimal place to cry, when maybe you won’t be heard. Grief is not grief when there’s nowhere for it to go. 

Maybe Soap was privy enough to Ghost’s life to know. He doesn’t spend time with you, but you see him once from across the tarmac on a flight out and his gaze lingers on you. There are deep troughs under his eyes, dark even with the distance between you. His posture is still, rigid; despite his uniform being pressed and his hair being cut and gelled into place, there is something singularly heavy weighing him down.

He nods from across the way to you. You grit your jaw and nod back. 

It’s the only time you’ll ever acknowledge it. Soap never seeks you out after that—maybe it’s too painful. Maybe shared pain isn’t always enough. 

The worst is only finding out weeks later that Ghost has been buried. That’s your closure. An offhand comment from an operations officer on a smoke break. Your numb hand flicking a lighter. Rain breaking in the early twilight hours and you stand in it so long that you shiver and shake on your way back to your room. 

Lightning that crackles in the storm clouds, illuminating the place where you just stood outside while you stare from your window. Illuminating someone standing where you just were. You squint, but they round the bend to one of the other buildings before you can make them out. 

Every soldier has a story. Conducting barracks checks on staff duty only to find a soldier with half their jaw missing asking for a cigarette. A marine approaching a soldier asking for his rifle, garbed in a ripped vest from early Iraq. Squad bays known for apparitions, known for hauntings. Figures seen from the trees, the half-shadowed remains of old tanks, burned and hollowed out, suddenly upright and mobile. 

In certain barracks, soldiers won’t even leave their rooms at night to use the washroom. They’d rather piss in old bottles or hold off until morning light altogether. It’s common enough to be joked about, for soldiers to trade stories in the mess over supper, trying to spook each other with the things they’ve seen or claimed to see. 

You can tell the ones who’ve actually seen things from those who haven’t though. The ones who have are often quieter, often only laugh a little. The truth is buried in their inability to fully commit to the bit. It’s the knowing that does that.

Knowing that there are things that death cannot hide. 

The first time you see Simon again, it’s not a homecoming. You know there’s something very wrong. 

It’s 3am and someone’s standing in front of your door. You feel it before you see them, feel something like every single hair on your body standing on end and the sudden lucid thought in the middle of a dream that you need to wake up. That you need to wake up right now. 

Heart racing when your eyes snap open. Sweat already slicking the backs of your knees. You’re lying on your side, hands curled close to your face, and you feel its gaze on you like the heaviest dread you’ve ever felt in your life. You stare at the wall that your bed is pushed up against until you find the courage to roll over.

Just a shape in the dark. A dark shape. Distinct from the rest of the darkness in your room. Tall as it is wide. The slightest motion to it, like breathing or the gentle swaying of the human body when it’s allowed to be loose. 

There’s a lamp on your end table. You flick it on without tearing your eyes away from the dark shape looming by the door, but when light unveils your room, it flickers away like a bad illusion. Just a jacket hung up on the back of the door. Your heart races still. 

When the light goes off, the shadow doesn’t reappear.

It might not be him, but something’s haunting you. You spoon cereal into your mouth in the morning with a shaking hand. It’s the massive shape of a body behind the shower curtain in your private bathroom that has you certain—certain—that someone’s there until you whip it to the side and see only tile wall. You know what you saw though, and you know from the way the top of it peeked over the curtain that it was blond. 

Weeks go by. You’re in a bivy sack and a voice you recognize wakes you up for watch. It’s the same voice that used to rumble low in your ear when you let him into your bed on leave (you always used to take them at the same time, no one the wiser). You’re back on base in your room and something leans its full weight onto your bed. You wake up to him sitting on the edge of your bed, blood dripping from an old wound. Him though, skull mask and all. Eyes shadowed always, black staring at you seeing and unseeing. 

You don’t need to ask what he wants from you. He lumbers around the barracks like a wraith that only you can see. Never truer to his old moniker than he is in death. A civilian worker flirts with you one day and he winds up in the infirmary. Fell down the stairs, another sergeant tells you when you ask. You smile tight, brittle. If only. 

He slips into your bed at night when the lights are shut and you’ve turned over onto your side. You can’t see him, but the bed compresses under his weight like it did when he was alive. He’s still for a minute, stare heavy on you while you lie there motionless, waiting him out. When he finally lays a hand on your hip, you flinch at how normal it feels. Like he didn’t go out and die one day. Like it’s really him at your back dragging a hand down the curve of your hip and over your thigh.

He divests you of your pyjamas the same way he used to in motel rooms, your apartment off-base, his cabin up north that you still have the key to but can’t bring yourself to visit. You let him. Shorts pulled down and kicked to the bottom of the bed, then your underwear. Shirt rucked up so he can fit a big, rough hand over your tit. His hands are solid where they touch you, nothing ghostly about them. He squeezes like the memory of your flesh is half-gone, like he needs to sink himself into you again. 

“Missed…you…” His voice comes like a deep rumble, tectonic plates shifting over the asthenosphere. 

The hand on your breast slides up, over the delicate skin of your throat, over where your pulse goes mad and you dry swallow because there’s nothing in your mouth. Over and up the curve of your cheek, thumb pressing against your lips, curling your top lip up until you’re almost kissing it. Then he lets go, hand coming back down to your hip. 

“Simon, are you—” you start, cut off on a gasp when he lifts your leg over his hip and something presses against your opening. Notches there, sinks in hot inch after hot inch. Head spinning and breath wild when he spears you on his thick length, half-tumbling over you until you’re lying prone on your bed. Simon’s as heavy as you remember, the full weight of him keeping you trapped there. You can only take. You can only draw in a deep breath and let out the softest sounds while he presses in, 

“Had to…come back,” the ghost of your old lover says, growling into your ear. “Couldn’t…leave you here…alone.”

You wonder what’s really behind the mask this time. His hands and dick feel flesh enough, but fear still quivers in your belly because you know that whatever it is pressing you down with a firm hand on your shoulder blade, it’s not fully him. 

You’ve heard of ghosts haunting places but never people. There’s something achingly loyal about the way he fucks you though. It’s dark and hot under him, and he mouths where he can, mask pulled up finally. Not that you can see. Better that you can’t, maybe. Pulsing in and out of your cunt, silent but for his shallow intakes of breath. He feels enormous and terrifying at your back. 

A big arm still clad in his old uniform jacket is braced beside your head. Simon whispers apologies into your hair; that he pulled himself out of a grave for a second time because he couldn’t untangle his soul from yours, but he got it wrong this time around. He didn’t make it in time. 

“I won’t leave you though, love,” he says around kisses laid tender on the nape of your neck. He bites the meat of your shoulder hard enough to leave an imprint of his teeth. “Never gonna leave you.” His words make you slicker, hotter; tightening around him until he snarls and fucks more viciously. A promise you thought he couldn’t keep. 

In the morning, you stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror. You take off your shirt and turn around. There’s a red bite mark on your upper left shoulder and it aches when you touch it.

[official-cvntified-gay]

Flight Attendant: A Pilot's Special [Abby A. x Reader]

❥ Pilot!Abby Anderson x Flight Attendant!Reader

❥ note: ugh I'm a whore for captain abby, I wrote this after I read a captain abby oneshot in ao3. Also request is open<3

The plane was getting prepped for another day in the sky. The sun barely peeked over the horizon, casting a warm orange glow on the tarmac, and you could feel the buzz of excitement mingled with nervousness coursing through your veins. It was your first day as a flight attendant—something you had worked hard for—and you wanted everything to go perfectly.

Dressed in your crisp uniform, you made sure your hair was in place, your name tag shining proudly on your chest. You took a deep breath before stepping onto the plane, your heart thudding against your ribs as you imagined the hundreds of things that could go wrong.

"Relax, you've got this," you muttered under your breath, trying to psych yourself up.

“First day, huh?” A voice broke through your thoughts.

You turned to see a woman standing tall with an air of authority, her blonde hair pulled into a sleek ponytail, her uniform neat and immaculate. Abby Anderson, the captain. Her reputation preceded her—known for being efficient, cold, and not exactly the warmest person on board. People whispered about her strict demeanor, her professionalism that sometimes felt intimidating.

"Y-yeah," you stammered, taken aback by her sudden presence.

“Captain Anderson,” she introduced herself, not offering a handshake. Her blue eyes bore into yours, unreadable, as she nodded. “I expect everything to run smoothly.”

“Yes, Captain,” you replied quickly, trying not to let her intimidating presence throw you off.

She gave you a curt nod before turning away. You could feel the weight of her authority, the way she commanded attention without even trying. As you went about your duties, you noticed how the other crew members seemed tense around her. She wasn’t mean, exactly—just...distant. Detached. Every movement was precise, every word clipped, like she was too busy to waste time on pleasantries.

But then, something strange happened.

Every so often, you caught her glancing your way. When she passed by, there was an almost imperceptible softening in her expression, a flicker of something warmer. You thought it was just your imagination, but then it happened again—and again.

It wasn’t until halfway through the flight that she approached you directly.

"You're doing well for your first day." Her voice was still professional, but there was a teasing edge to it now, a hint of something more.

"Thank you, Captain," you replied, trying to sound as professional as possible, but you could feel your cheeks heating under her gaze.

"Abby," she corrected, her tone softer. She took a step closer, and your breath caught in your throat. "No need for formalities when it's just the two of us."

"Abby," you repeated, the name feeling foreign on your tongue.

She smirked, her eyes sparkling with something mischievous. “You look a little nervous, you know. Is it me? Because I swear I don’t bite... unless you ask nicely.”

Your eyes widened, heat rising in your cheeks. "W-what?"

Abby chuckled, a low, deep sound that sent a shiver down your spine. "Relax. I’m just messing with you.” She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice so only you could hear. “Or maybe I’m not.”

You swallowed hard, trying to focus on anything but the way her presence seemed to engulf you. Was this really happening? The stoic, cold Captain Anderson was flirting with you?

For the rest of the flight, you couldn’t shake the feeling of Abby’s eyes on you. Every time you passed her in the cockpit or while making rounds, her gaze lingered just a little too long, a teasing smile pulling at her lips.

By the end of the shift, you were a bundle of nerves and confusion. You were standing by the exit, helping passengers disembark when Abby approached you once again, standing a little too close.

“You did good today,” she murmured, her voice low enough that only you could hear. “I like a woman who can keep her cool under pressure.”

“I-I try,” you managed to stammer, your brain short-circuiting from her proximity.

"Mm, I noticed." She leaned in, her lips brushing your ear as she whispered, "You should let me take you out for a drink sometime. Help you unwind after a long day."

Your heart was pounding in your chest. Was this a joke? Was she serious? But when you turned to meet her gaze, the playful glint in her eyes told you everything you needed to know.

“I— uh— I don’t know—” you started, but Abby cut you off with a smirk.

“Think about it.” She winked, her voice dripping with confidence. “I’m a patient woman.”

She turned to leave, walking off with that same air of cool detachment she always had. But this time, there was a sway in her step that told you she knew exactly what effect she had on you.

For the next few weeks, Abby didn’t let up. Every time you were on the same flight, she found some excuse to be near you. She'd make a casual comment, brush past you just close enough to make your skin tingle, and offer you those teasing little smiles that left you breathless.

One day, you were struggling with a particularly heavy overhead bin when Abby appeared out of nowhere, easily pushing it into place with one hand.

“Need some help?” she asked, her voice dripping with amusement.

“I had it,” you muttered, embarrassed that she had caught you in such a moment of weakness.

“Of course you did.” She grinned, leaning in slightly. “But I’m here if you need me. Always.”

Her words lingered long after she walked away, leaving you standing there with your heart racing and your thoughts spinning. You couldn’t deny it any longer—Abby Anderson had a hold on you, and she knew it.

Every time she smiled at you, every time she teased you, you found yourself falling deeper. And Abby? She was relentless in her pursuit.

She was the Captain, after all—and she always got what she wanted.

And this time, what she wanted was you.

[styleofthelaw]

🚴We are in Puglia♥️

[dancinglikebutterflywings]

Family No Matter What | Bang Chan

-> Pairing: Bang Chan x Single!Mom Reader

-> Request: from anon

-> Synopsis: Chan didn't expect to find his family on a flight back to Korea.

-> Warnings: Mentions of an absent father.

-> Word Count: 1,023

-> Requests: Open until 31st June 11:59pm

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Chan is on the plane heading back to Korea after spending time with his family. He starts to unwind after the plane takes off, when he suddenly hears a soft whimper nearby. As he opens his eyes, he notices a mother and her baby sitting next to him. The mother appears exhausted and overwhelmed and is desperately trying to calm the baby before he starts crying. Instead of being annoyed, Chan's heart immediately softens at the sight and he does what he can to capture the baby's attention.  

Once he has the baby's attention, the baby's cries start to subside. Chan starts playing peek-a-boo and making silly faces with the little one. The little boy starts to giggle and clap his little chubby hands, causing Chan's heart to completely melt into a puddle of goo.  

The mother looks at him with gratitude in her eyes, silently thanking him for his help and kindness. As the flight continues, Chan continues to entertain the baby, until he falls asleep. 

The mother relaxes as she sees her baby fast asleep, his little fist clutching her shirt.  

"Thank you so much," she says turning to look at Chan. "This is his first flight. I had prepared for him to be grizzley and unsettled." 

"I'm glad I got to help," he smiles. "I'm Chan or you can call me Chris." 

"I'm Y/N and this little guy is Haneul," she introduces. 

Chan and Y/N engage in casual conversation while baby Haneul peacefully sleeps. Y/N reveals that she is a single mother, as Haneul's father left before his birth. It has been just the two of them since Haneul came into the world 9 months ago. Y/N also shares that she was in Australia visiting family whom Haneul hadn't met until this trip. Half way through the flight, to give Y/N's arms a break, Chan even offers to hold Haneul for a while. Haneul remains asleep until the plane touches down on the tarmac.  

After the plane lands, Chan stays behind to help Y/N with her luggage, offering his assistance. Although he offers her a ride, Y/N assures him that her sister will be picking her up. Y/N once again expresses her gratitude for his kindness and company, to which Chan waves it off, happy to have been able to help. 

Spotting her sister as they leave the luggage claim, she waves to her older sibling before turning to Chan one last time. "If it's okay, I'd like to buy you a coffee sometime, when you're free of course." 

 "I would love that," he smiles. 

"Great!" she exclaims, her face lighting up as she looks relieved.  

Chan takes out his phone and unlocks it. They exchange phone numbers and part ways with Chan promising to text her as soon as he finds out when he’s got some free time. 

 3 YEARS LATER:  

"Chris? Haneul?" Y/N questions as she enters their home finding the lights off and no one seemingly home. She’s just gotten home from spending the day with her sister, getting the full spa treatment and getting her nails and hair done. After hanging her handbag on the hook and removing her shoes, she walks further into the house. 

Upon entering the living room, she switches on the light and is completely taken aback by what she sees in front of her. Her boyfriend and their son are dressed in their finest attire, surrounded by a beautiful arrangement of rose petals in the shape of a heart. To her astonishment, Haneul, who is now almost 4 years old, is holding a sign that reads, 'please say yes'. 

"What's happening?" she stammers, taken aback.  

That's when Chan takes out a ring box and kneels down. Haneul stands beside him, brimming with excitement. 

"We wanted to make this moment special for you," Chan says looking at Haneul before looking back at her, his voice filled with emotion. "I love you more than anything in this world, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?" 

Tears well up in her eyes as she looks at the two most important people in her life, her heart overflowing with love and joy. 

“Say yes, Eomma!” Haneul shouts before she can answer. "Say yes so he can be my Appa!" 

She takes a deep breath and looks into Chan's eyes, her own filled with love. With a trembling voice, she lowers herself to their level, cupping Chan’s face in her hands and whispers, "Yes, Chan. I will marry you." 

Chan's eyes light up with happiness. He pulls her into a tight embrace, tears of joy running down his face. Haneul jumps up and down with excitement, knowing that they are now becoming an actual family.  

Letting go of each other, Chan kisses her, slipping the ring on to her finger before pulling apart again to bring Haneul in for a family group hug. Y/N kisses the top of her sons head.  

After a moment, they young family pull apart. Y/N takes her sons hands into her own and looks him in the eyes. "You know we've always been a real family right?"  

He nods, but his eyes betray him. Y/N and Chan have always been honest with him about everything including Chan not being his biological father, especially after all the rumours that started after Y/N and Chan started dating. Even though he would only be four in a few months' time and couldn’t really understand what was being said, they thought it would be best, if he knew the truth from the start instead of questioning all the rumours as he grows older. 

Chan also notices the uncertainty in Haneul's eyes and gently squeezes his hand, reassuring him. "No matter what anyone says, you and your eomma have always been my family, and nothing will ever change that. You're my son and I'm your Appa." 

Haneul's doubt slowly fades away, replaced by a radiant smile. He wraps his small arms around both Y/N and Chan. 

"I love you both so much," Chan continues, his voice filled with pure happiness as he embraces his family once more. 

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