The idea of flying from London Heathrow (LHR) to Reading cracks me up a little—it’s like ordering a gourmet meal just to eat the garnish! Realistically, there’s no direct flight because the distance is laughably short, barely 30 miles as the crow flies. Driving or taking the train is infinitely more practical; the Heathrow Express connects to Paddington, and from there, Reading’s just a 20-30 minute train ride away.
If someone insisted on flying (maybe for a quirky vlog?), they’d likely charter a tiny private plane, but with pre-flight checks and taxiing, you’d spend more time on the tarmac than in the air. The actual flight? Maybe 10 minutes—if the pilot doesn’t blink. It’s one of those trips where you’d barely reach cruising altitude before descending. Fun thought experiment, though!
LHR to Reading by plane? That’s like using a flamethrower to light a candle. The distance is so negligible that airlines wouldn’t bother—you’d spend more time checking in than traveling. If you’re desperate for aerial views, book a sightseeing helicopter tour instead; at least then you’ll get scenic Thames panoramas. Otherwise, embrace the train like everyone else. It’s faster, cheaper, and you can grab a coffee while watching the fields blur past.
As a frequent traveler between London and Reading, I’ve never even considered air travel for this route. The logistics alone would be absurd—imagine the carbon footprint for a hop shorter than some commutes! The RailAir bus service from Heathrow to Reading takes about 40-50 minutes, and trains from central London are even faster.
Honestly, the only 'flight' you’d get here is maybe a helicopter transfer for VIPs, and even that feels excessive. I’d sooner recommend biking than bothering with airports. The charm of this journey lies in its simplicity: no security lines, no boarding gates—just a quick zip through the countryside.
2026-04-02 06:13:47
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“I, Alpha Gabriel Abbott, banish you, Paige Abbott, from Sky Moon Pack as my daughter and a member of this pack.”
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“You're a disgrace to this pack. I can't have you as my mate. I, Victor Creek, reject you, Paige Abbott, as my future mate and wife.”
****
From princess to pauper, Paige’s life took a different turn when her father publicly accused her of seducing him, which led to her banishment.
Rejected by her betrothed mate due to the banishment, she moved to the human world, and there she met a stranger at her workplace on an auspicious night, and they had a passionate, unforgettable night together.
As Paige faced her new life, she found out she was pregnant, and the father of the baby was her ex. But that wasn't the beginning; Paige discovered that the stranger she had spent the night with was her true mate. And to her surprise, her true mate was no other than Azriel King, the ruthless Alpha King.
Travis "Punch" Mitchell is not just any wolf shifter. He should absolutely be illegal, everything about him is sculpted by the goddess herself. He is the lead enforcer of the Flying Death, one of the most deadly and notorious packs there is. Alpha Axel "Dozer" Dennison adopted him and knew immediately that Punch was no ordinary pup. It takes a killer to know a killer.
As fate would have it, Alpha Dozer has a beautiful daughter nobody dares to go near. Punch however, is already closer than anyone else to the female. They are in a constant tit for tat with each other, neither ever winning and always walking away frustrated with the other. He's a lot of bark, but no bite when it comes to her.
Hazel Dennison is a girl who knows what she wants but is extremely immature with how she gets it. Punch is not only her ultimate nemesis, he is her crush. Her dream mate who wants nothing to do with her. Little does she know he's the female he loves to hate.
When she takes matters into her own hands and dates another Alpha's son, Punch can't just sit back. Unfortunately for him, pack business interferes in his love life and everything goes upside down.
Excerpt:
I find myself leaning against the wall by his room, grateful my parents’ room is downstairs.
"Go to bed,” I hear, barely above a whisper.
"No,” I say, defiantly, turning to face his door.
Either he sensed my heartbeat out here or he smelled me. Maybe both. I can’t wait to have my wolf. This sucks.
He needs to know I’m not backing down. I’m not a dumb pup, I more than know what I want.
Him.
However I can get him.
During a long holiday, my husband booked flights for a family vacation.
On the way to the airport, I suddenly saw numbers appearing on everyone’s head.
The numbers on my husband’s head indicated sixty years, but my parents and I had only six hours indicated on our heads.
While I was puzzled over the meaning of those numbers, I noticed that the driver next to us only had six seconds indicated over his head through the car window.
Five… Four… Three… Two… One.
When the number turned zero, a massive truck immediately rammed into the car next to us.
I saw flickers of fire, flesh and blood exploding before my eyes. People were screaming for help, but I could not hear anything. I trembled as cold sweat drenched my entire body.
It was because my flight would be taking off in six hours.
On the flight home, the plane starts shaking violently.
Certain I'm about to die, I call my husband, Rhys Callahan, to say my last words. He hangs up on me, and his auto-reply flashes on the screen.
"Driving. On my way to pick up Daphne."
I've taken 86 flights in our five years of marriage. Every time I'm about to land, I ask him to come get me, and every time, the answer is the same.
"Daphne's getting in too. I have to pick her up."
He picks up Daphne Langston all 86 times.
The lowest point comes during a rainstorm. I drag my suitcase through the downpour outside the terminal for two hours, unable to get a ride. When I call him, Daphne's voice comes through, laughing.
"Oh, Rhys is helping me with my luggage right now. He can't come to the phone."
Now the cabin fills with screaming and sobbing. The plane spirals out of control at cruising altitude, the left wing shearing away as flames light up the windows.
My phone buzzes with a message from him. "Just picked Daphne up. What time do you land? I'll come get you."
I stare at the screen and let out a bitter laugh. After five years, he's finally offering to pick me up.
But fire swallows the plane as it plunges toward the ground.
He doesn't know I'm no longer coming home.
Brandon Smith has flown for eight years. I've been with him since the time he was an assistant pilot, all the way until he successfully rose to the ranks as the head pilot.
In the year Brandon's busiest with his career, I resign from my job and begin cooking according to his aviation schedule.
Just once, I bring up the question, "Can you please show me the sight of being thousands of feet in the air in the near future? Just once, please!"
Brandon continues eating from his plate. "The plane is a workplace, not an amusement park for you."
I reply, "Okay."
Since then, I never bring up that matter in front of him.
That is, until I find myself suffering from insomnia one night. That's when I accidentally come across an encrypted photo album tucked away in Brandon's phone.
There are over 40 photos in the album, all from his perspective as a pilot. There are seas of clouds, sunsets, double rainbows after a downpour, as well as the Milky Way in the night sky when the plane is over thousands of feet in the sky.
Every photo has been sent to the same person with a bear's emoji as their name.
The latest photo is a photo of the beautiful evening colors from three days ago. Half of the sun can be seen in the clouds.
The caption that comes with the photo says, "Today's sky is still beautiful as ever. When you come over next time, you can take the observation seat on the right. It gives you the best angle of the sky."
The bear emoji person responds with a hugging emoji and a short sentence. "Wait for me to go on my break."
I put Brandon's phone back where it belongs without changing the password and deleting the album.
Once the morning sun is up, I brew myself some coffee as usual before finishing it quietly. Then, I turn on my computer and book myself a flight ticket to Dalco.
It's been eight years. Finally, I don't have to chase after Brandon's flight routes and wait for his mealtimes. I no longer have to stay in an empty house while guessing which flight destination he's headed to right now.
Since Brandon's sky refuses to tolerate my presence, I shall move my roots elsewhere and watch the sunset on my own.
I have been in a long-distance relationship with my boyfriend, Eugene Walsh, for three years. I finally have enough leave time to visit him after working overtime for an entire month.
But when I arrive, I can't reach him. I wait alone in an unfamiliar city for ten full hours before he finally replies.
When the call connects, my best friend, Haley Woodward, greets me with a cheerful laugh.
"Surprise! I explored Oakhaven for you in advance. It's so much fun! Eugene is an amazing tour guide!"
She chatters nonstop about all the fun they've had, as if she never notices the 30 missed calls displayed on Eugene's phone.
I listen quietly.
Only when she says she's cold does Eugene finally take the phone from her and say to me, "I'll take her back to the hotel first. Wait for me a little while more."
The moment he is done speaking, I ask, "Do you know how long I've been waiting?"
Eugene pauses for a second before saying icily, "She's your best friend. Do you really have to compete with her over this?"
The unmistakable accusation drains away any desire I have to keep talking.
I hung up.
Just then, the cab that will take me back to Centuria arrives.
The driver takes one look at me and can't help but comment, "Miss, it's already past midnight. This area isn't very safe. How can your family leave you here all alone?"
I look down at my shoes that are soaked through by snow and slush.
In a soft voice, I say, "Yeah."
Then, I smile and add, "They won't. Not anymore."