#Pilot AU
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Happy Holidays from KC Air Lines!
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Tanthamore commission for @flowerssintheconcrete 🩵🩵
Kofi
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NAVY (Blue)
Pairing: Lestappen
Max is a pilot in the US Navy. He is also an Alpha like most pilots are. His hatred for authority made him climb the ranks quickly. At the request of his supervisor, he is removed from his current mission and stationed at the ship Nimitz where he will be Commanding Officer for a strike fighter squadron.
Omega Charles Leclerc joins the squadron. The atmosphere between the ship crew is toxic and the political situation is tense. Max desperately tries to not to let the situation slide out of control.
Or: Alpha Max and Omega Charles Military-Pilot AU
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Oh that’s hilarious!
A redraw of one of the official images of them:
#rc9gn#rc9gn pilot#pilot au#series pilot#macchio falls#rc9gn macchio falls au#randy cunningham 9th grade ninja#randy cunningham ninja total#randy cunnigham#howard weinerman#weinerham#punk howard#rc9gn au
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Clearing out drafts and found this, @fandom-hoarder bestie have we talked about this before?
Thoughts/sambrady
Spn pilot au, Sam's powers started on his birthday, it's been almost 6 months of things randomly being thrown around the room, hearing others thoughts, dreaming of things before they happen, not dealing with it well
Brady of course hasn't been the same the past 2 years. He's not in school anymore. Sam's working, going to school, and trying to help Brady with his drinking/drug problem.
Brady has also taken to hitting Sam and gaslighting Sam.
Sam just accepts it because he really does love Brady and has the "I can fix him" mentality.
Brady encourages Sam to test out his powers and while Sam is getting good at everything he's scared.
He accidentally projects his thoughts/feelings/some images to Dean who's hundreds of miles away
"De I'm scared"
Dean doesn't tell John. He just gets in the car and heads for Palo Alto because that wasn't a dream, it felt too real and in their life/line of work. He knows better than to not go with a gut feeling.
He shows up pilot style blah blah blah and Brady isn't happy like not one bit. Sam tells Brady that they're gonna talk and that he'll be back in a bit.
Brady getting really possessive of Sam now that Dean's in their apartment. They' start arguing/shoving and Sam tries to pull Brady back away from Dean and Brady ends up swinging on Sam and knocks him down.
Dean's in shock because Sam tells Dean it isn't a big deal and apologizes to Brady who is over there faking how sorry he is and Dean's had it. He ends up pulling his gun on Brady and Sam's yelling for him to put it away and Dean won't have it. He tells Sam that he don't have to go home with him but he ain't staying here with Brady anymore.
Sam tries to say it was an accident and it only happens when he don't get out of Bradys way. It's just a thing that happens.
Dean shoots Brady, well clips his shoulder to send a message.
He orders Sam to go pack and he hates himself for a second because he used his "john" voice and the defeat in Sam's eyes makes him feel worse.
He knows Sam hated when their dad ordered them around but it was for their own good and their own safety.
They leave and Dean hopes Sam will go back home with him but he knows it more than likely won't happen.
Sam tells him that Jess was his best friend and that she moved in with her boyfriend and he don't want to impose on them. He can't move back in the dorms, they won't give him that option this late in the the semester, he asks if Dean can stay with him for a few days, just until he can try to find something.
Dean gets them a room, he tells Sam that he's gonna get them something to eat and he'll be back.
He ends up calling John, he debated it for a good 5 minutes before he dialed his number.
He tells John he's in Palo Alto, that he's with Sam and John starts in if Sam's hurt, if he's ok.
Dean don't tell him about the abilities, one problem at a time.
Instead he tells him that Sam called him, that Sam's been going through it, that his boyfriend had been knocking him around and that the boyfriend had drinking and drug problems, money problems, all kinds of problems that he made it all Sam's problems.
Dean was kinda hoping John would have said something right away.
Anything, it could even be him getting mad at Dean for taking off to Palo Alto to get Sam.
"Is he coming home?"
"I don't think so dad...I mean i was thinking staying out here with him for a while. Help him get back in his feet."
#bestie tag#tyson brady#sam winchester#dean winchester#powers!sam#psychic!sam#sambrady#pilot au#ash writes#occasionally#spn#supernatural#demon lover brady#sam whump#stanford era
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i reread pilot au (by the lovely @mawofthemagnetar) today :D
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Come fly with me
✈️ pairing: pilot!yunho x gn!journalist!reader ✈️ genre: fluff, love at first sight, bit of angst, slice of life ✈️ summary: Aerophobia - the fear of flying. And clearly, something that your boss has no idea exists. While you curse the universe and the metal bird, your handsome seatmate ponders if it is possible to redirect this flight, from Gwangju, to your heart. ✈️ wordcount: 9.0k ✈️ warnings/tags: language, general cuteness, a lot of hand holding and stealing glances, panic/anxiety, aerophobia, discussion of past trauma, mention of grave injury (side character), you never really know what someone has been through ✈️ a/n: Hello!! Here is a lil one shot bc Yunho is renting out my brain. Thank you so much for your love and support, all reblogs, notes and asks welcome! Much love and big hugs (P.S.: not me reading FAA docs and flight handbooks lol)
The chances of dying in a plane crash are one in eleven million.
The odds of a plane crashing are one in one point two million.
Between the years twenty twelve and twenty sixteen, there was only a one in a one point three seven billion chance of dying in a commercial plane crash, and a one in twenty million chance of being on a commercial flight and experiencing a fatal accident.
But there were fatal accidents.
In those same years there were crashes where people died.
And what about those planes that disappeared?
What about the malfunctions?
What if something happens and two planes just fly into one another?
What if the wing breaks off?
What if one of the windows breaks?
What if something happens to the pilot?
What if everything on the plane just malfunctions?
Those odds… still not in my favour.
Damn this work trip.
And damn how packed it is.
Damn this window seat.
Right. By. The. Wing.
Damn that flappy shit on it that looks like something is about to break off.
Why do I have to keep this blind open goddamn it I am having a stressful enough time as is with the plane vibrating like a hungry beast.
Your mind was racing at the speed of light as you cursed your workplace over and over again for sending you on a business trip. On a plane. Of all modes of transport. The mode of transport that had a track record of making you ill, and one time made you faint. Actually, that had been the best flight of your life since you had been conked out for the most of it. No, this was the one mode of transport that seemed to be fine, but just as you would begin forgetting that planes equaled mass destruction, you would check your colleagues’ freshest news reports and once again, crash, burn, genocide.
It was not that you were a scaredy-cat, not by any means. You were a journalist, for fucks sake. You could handle pretty much anything thrown your way. Well, anything except planes. They were not a pseudo-activist who you could expose for not knowing what they were fighting for. They were not an official figure whose corruption you could bring to light. They were not a dog that you could interview for a fun ‘alternative news’ segment. They were a machine made to trap people for set periods of time, can them like sardines, pop their ear drums, and if all went well, regurgitate them on some other metal bird playground, and lie in wait until another bunch gets loaded up for a ride.
But of course, out of all the people in the office, including those who would kill to get out of Seoul and those who were basically known as the nomadic reporters, your boss had to appoint you to go on a three-day trip to Gwangju. The one person who almost exclusively worked in the capital. Who had no experience in working abroad. Hell, the one person who had literally refused to attend a social event because it was held in Busan and the travel plan included flying there. You were the antithesis to such trips, but your boss could not give less of a shit, apparently.
He even had the audacity to praise you in front of your colleagues and say you were ‘just the right person for the interview’ – all when the topic, and the professional background of the individual you were to be meeting, were so far out of your regular scope and within your nightmare space that no amount of reading would make you neither proficient, nor truly appreciative. You were convinced that the universe was out to get you. An alarming interpretation had crossed your mind – perhaps this was your boss wanting to find an excuse to fire you?
A new wave of panic settled in as you made feeble attempts to play a mental game of ‘whack-a-mole’ with your not so friendly musings. Why couldn’t you just exchange the tickets, take the train or a bus, or event drive there yourself? Why did you have to follow orders at your own expense? Just as you were beginning to transition from using familiar curse words to describe the situation to recalling anything and everything you had ever heard either in a foreign drama or in real life, you were gently stirred from the activity by a change in lighting.
You peered to your left – the culprit was a man, broad-shouldered, on the taller side, clad in a stylish sheepskin coat with a white turtleneck and some well-tailored trousers to match. You couldn’t quite see his face fully, but you guessed it would happen sooner than later, seeing as he was in the process of fitting his carry-on into the luggage compartment above where you were sat. Not wanting to intrude any further with your stares, you glanced away, instantly regretting it and exhaling sharply as your eyes were met with the metal wings of doom outside.
An airplanes wings are designed to flex up to ten degrees, and during the average flight the flex can reach up to seven degrees. The wings have been stress-tested time and time again so they cannot break off and the plane will stay balanced and-
But what about the Lockheed L-188 Electra II? What about the Lockheed C-141C Starlifter? Their wings just decided to go on holiday why can’t the wings of a commercial liner do the same? Oh, and the second one had a fuel leak – when do people check that? Did they check for this one? What if something happens and the fuel tank explodes?
“Would you be willing to switch seats by any chance?” a calming voice suddenly interrupted your nervous flow, and you snapped your head in its direction.
That man. Oh no, he was handsome. Dark hair, which was the tiniest bit tousled, kind eyes that you swore glinted at you, and a heart-stopping million-dollar smile. Now you had to keep up appearances too, to not seem like a total wuss, at least for the duration that you had to sit in this can. You heard his question loud and clear, but to allow your mind to process, you asked him to repeat with a quick:
“Sorry?”
He tilted his head and pointed towards the seat closest to him, “Ah, well, technically, this seat is mine, but… would you want to switch?”
Who was this man and why was he reading your ;mind? Was the universe pitying you finally?
“Yes, let’s do that!”
You shot up from your seat, nearly hitting the one in front of you, and slid out to give way to the brave soul who could look out of the window. As you two were settling down and he was giving you his thanks, you were not sure whether your heart was beating fast because of your fear of flying, or because of how you lucked out on your seat mate. Probably both.
It was hard to resist stealing a couple more glances at him while he was checking something on his phone. He had a reassuring aura about him and judging by how well-practiced his motions had been as he was settling in, he appeared to be quite a frequent flyer. He was so relaxed it made you envious. But you had no better way to get back to muting your phobias aside from absent-mindedly fishing out the airplane safety instructions manual from the pocket of the seat in front and reading it with the intensity of a final year student preparing for the KSAT.
You pored over the calls to fasten your seatbelt, to check that there was in fact, a life vest under your seat, to be prepared to pull on some random strings on an air mask if they were to be ‘made available’…
Abandon everything and run ‘in an organised manner’…
No high heels…
Someone probably would try to wear them still, even if we all had to go down that inflatable slide.
Slide down in the Dracula position…
You heard a chuckle to your right, and upon turning a little, you noticed your seatmate studying you, his lips threatening to curl into a grin. He looked you up and down, from the safety manual that you were now gripping a little bit too strongly, and finally locking eyes with you.
“Thought so.” he came to some cryptic conclusion, leaving you perplexed.
“Thought what?” you could not help but give into your curiosity.
“Aerophobia?”
“Is it that obvious?” you groaned and shut the manual to return it to the pocket. You felt as though you turned into a child who wanted to be taken more seriously, with your body refusing to suppress a slight pout. Yes, planes, for all their bird-imitating glory, were never going to be your wingmen. It was hard to ooze attractiveness when you were on the verge of having a mental breakdown.
“Well, there were some signs, but I only noticed them because I was paying attention,” before you could respond to the subtle flirtation, he continued by introducing himself, “I’m Jeong Yunho. Yunho is completely fine though.”
“L/N Y/N. Then Y/N is fine by me too. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. You might just be giving me a run for my money with those deduction skills!” You complimented him, delighted when you could elicit and even brighter smile. This flight was slowly but surely becoming a little bit more enjoyable thanks to the outgoing eye candy in the window seat.
“Are you an investigator, better yet, a special agent out on a mission?” he wiggled his eyebrows, further lightening the mood.
“I doubt I would ever be able to pull Brad Pitt-level stunts and board the plane in an unconventional manner like he did, but the mystery aspect is enticing. I’m a journalist and reporter.”
Something you could only describe as recognition flashed across his face as he clapped his hands together. By now, he had his body turned to the greatest extent possible towards you, his knees nearly touching your thighs. You had to admit, you were worried that a flight attendant would come and scold him, or that this would end up being a hazard during takeoff. But at the same time, the attention was a welcome relief.
“Oh wait! I have seen you before! You mainly cover local news, right? Or at least spanning Seoul Capital Area?”
“Funny to use ‘at least’ there, but yep, that’s me-”
“Your exposé on the fitness center money laundering scheme was amazing, it was like watching an action thriller.”
Well, that fell short. You giggled. Yunho was evidently trying to impress you by praising your work, but mixed things up right at the end. As you were still a junior, the times where you were allowed to as much as breathe in the direction of a live broadcast or even a pre-recording were few and far between. So far, you had only made a couple of appearances, and most definitely not in the crime segments – though you had indeed helped write the script.
“That’s not me. Close enough though. My mentor was the one on the screen.”
The utter confusion on his face spelled disaster for your composure, so you bit the inside of your cheek lightly, eyes sparkling. He covered his face with his hand out of embarrassment, and, once he had regained at least some of his courage, apologized, assuring you that your name did ring a bell and that he had heard it announced.
“Okay, I’ll give you that one. I was one of the writers.”
“Score! Otherwise, I really don’t know how I would be apologizing to you aside from buying you a drink.”
“Something tells me that you were a step away from messing up intentionally.”
“I wouldn’t do that on a short-haul.” Yunho was back to being his cheery self, his only distraction from you being the need to turn his phone on to airplane mode.
This action, meaningless on its own, but in context… left a sour taste in your mouth – a reminder that you were still in a tin can with planks glued onto either side, and that it was about to start grumbling and rumbling across to take off. You saw attendants start preparing for the safety announcement, making you retract into your seat and sigh. How you wished you were as carefree as this charming stranger.
“You know a bit about me, since you are so attentive, but I am intrigued as to who you are.” You inquired, trying to take your mind off what it considered to be imminent danger.
“I don’t want to spoil the fun! Give me a little taste of your own deduction skills.” He challenged playfully, though his tone revealed fleeting notes of concern.
You paused. You had already taken him to be a frequent flier, though for what reason was beyond you. You did not have enough experience racing through airports to be able to distinguish between different types of passengers. But what did stand out to you, was that comment about the reportage – the event that had been covered occurred within the Incheon Metropolitan City area, thus was presented through local branches only.
“You are in Incheon pretty frequently, right?”
“Terrifyingly accurate comment, but yes.” He confirmed while nodding. You felt proud of yourself for managing to have at least some of your skillset still intact.
“And what is bringing you to Gwangju? If it is okay to ask, of course.” You resumed your miniature interrogation, rushing as the announcement began to resound across the cabin, and a flight attendant was demonstrating how to put on the life vest, top up the air, where the emergency exits were… a flurry of information streaming right at you.
“Visiting my parents.” Yunho’s calmness had not changed a single bit since he had boarded the plane, and he was answering you in a level, measured out manner.
“Not during a standard holiday?”
“Here’s the hint: my line of work limits annual hours of… redacted for now.”
“That just makes me think you work abroad most of the time!” you exclaimed, recalling the shock you had when you had first entered the workforce and experience the full package of overtime, minimal breaks, and high demands. There was no guarantee that it was not the same in other countries, could even be worse, but as the old saying goes: ‘the grass is always greener on the other side’.
After he shook his head, shattering your theories, you fell quiet. Everyone had settled in their seats, and now information that was sending adrenaline to pump right through your veins was being shared. Even the demonstration of the flashlight on the vest was ominous. Once the routine had been completed, the rumble of the engines grew a little louder, and you were still making no move to return to the conversation, Yunho leaned over and exclaimed in a low voice:
“I’m a pilot. Indeed, am based in Incheon, and being abroad is very much part of the deal so I would say your logic was impeccable.”
“No wonder you look to be right at home.” You stated, albeit it came across as a little jealous. The air-mobile and your personal panic inducer began to demand more attention as it steered from the airport, leaving a still outstretched landing bridge behind.
“Maybe you are right. I do spend more time in planes than in Gwangju.”
“Sounds like the triangle between me, my apartment, and the office.” You concurred – at least locally the enforce workaholic culture was universal.
With your fingers, you tapped out an abstract rhythmic sequence with your fingers, then moving to feel for the position of the different buttons, side-eyeing them to make sure your seat, nor the electrics were broken. You were tempted to check if the seat could lean back but you were convinced that if you did that the world would collapse. Or at least you would be in trouble. As it turns out you had a flight law enforcement representative right next to you. A good-looking and so far, so sweet, but still.
“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you crack the Incheon bit?” he detracted you from your near scratching of the synthetic material, and you pressed your hands into your lap to supress their light tremor.
“Ah, you gave it away when you mentioned the news. That was only shown in Incheon.” You curtly responded, your concentration escaping you after you felt the metal bird jolt.
It was crystal clear to Yunho that your phobia was getting the better of you. After not having flown since at least a decade ago, each one of your senses was going into overdrive, screaming catastrophe. Your eyes were slightly widened, breathing becoming more shallow threatening to turn into hyperventilation, and, of course, you not knowing what to do with your hands (or really, yourself) sealed the deal. He needed to help you. Using whatever technique that came to him. And quick.
“Lightheaded?”
“Uh huh…” you could not deny it. That was just how it was. You, alone with your uncontrollable palpitations and a lump in your throat were on the verge of just control alt deleting your consciousness for take-off.
“Uhm… may I… wait, this might be very tactless, and you have every right to tell me to go- …wherever, but may I hold your hand?”
“What?” you snapped out of your thoughts and gaped at Yunho. What strange form of crisis-based moves-making was this? Or was he making fun of you? The engines were becoming almost deafening while you were still struggling to isolate your seatmate’s voice.
Even though he had not shown any signs of malice, you still expected the worst. Always did when it came to discussing travel, since the majority of your interactions often resulted in your conversation partner revealing some aggression-based schadenfreude. They were happy to pity you and diminish all of your other qualities just because you were scared of this one thing. But even though you were actively searching for any form of darkness, you could only find a caring soul, wholly preoccupied with your wellbeing.
“It is so you know that there is someone here with you. Just by feeling. Kind of like a grounding technique?”
“Oh, I would kill to be on the ground right now.” You twisted his words spiralling into dread.
“Sorry, I’d like to live another day, so you’ll have to bear with this. May I?”
Spooked by some noise from outside of the airplane, you did not dare raise your voice and instead resorted to nodding back your confirmation. As soon as you gave the sign, you felt his steady, warm and soothing hand tentatively touch yours, moving it a fraction and intertwining fingers until the palms were pressed together. Yunho gave yours a quick squeeze, as if in mute encouragement.
“This is so embarrassing...” you mumbled, shaking your head.
After the plane had come to a halt before the final turn onto the runway, you felt feverish, and overwhelmingly guilty. You had convinced yourself that you were ruining this wonderful man’s entire flight, by acting like such a child. And on top of this, he was a pilot, so if anyone had the right to consider you ridiculous it would be him.
“If it is the hand holding then I totally understand I can-”
“NO PLEASE THAT HELPS-” you yelped, practically yanking his hand back with yours and returning them to resting between you, “oops I said that too loud didn’t I…” this really was one moment of humiliation after another. Heat rose in your cheeks as you pondered whether it was too late to stop the plane or not.
“You should hear me scream on roller coasters. Now that’s loud.” He countered your insecurity, making you chuckle. You felt Yunho’s thumb brush over the back of your hand – it was not unpleasant. At all. “I must say, you are already doing really well.”
“Funny.”
“No, really.” Now, the engines were really starting up and you gripped Yunho’s hand a little tighter, this led to him making a split-second decision – a final resort. “But how about this. You close your eyes, okay?”
“What are you trying?” you raised an eyebrow, meeting his confident gaze with your own panicked one.
“Just, I know I am a stranger but, trust me for the next couple of minutes, okay?”
“Sure…” you did not have any of the forcefulness and pride left in you, so you quickly agreed and shut your eyes, but that led to you beginning to hyper fixate on the quietest, most insignificant of noises, blowing their impact out of proportion.
“Now, listen to my voice only.” Yunho instructed.
He was alarmingly close, almost right by your ear as he whispered:
“Let me guide you.”
Your heart fluttered, as you tried to push at least some thoughts to the back of your head, in order to focus on Yunho. This surely had to be one of the most original and thrilling ways you had ever been hit on. And terror-promoted-
Oh you had not even recounted the statistics for hijacking and for those types of attacks yet. How foolish of you! How were you going to remain safe if you did not have the likelihood of you perishing because of an air criminal or air pirate in the front of your mind!? You raked your brain for the 'fun facts' you had enjoyed reviewing last night, when Yunho cleared his throat and tapped your intertwined hands with his free one.
“Okay, so, first, let us set the scene. There is this neat thing called the Pilot’s Operating Handbook, which helps the pilot of a given aircraft determine whether it is safe to fly. And they would not do anything until all checks are done."
Where and what was the guarantee of that? You wanted to ask, too aware of the vibrations that were travelling from the floor of the cabin and turning into your jitters. But Yunho sounded so sure of what he was saying... damn it, he was using ethos-based marketing against you. What if he had lied about being a pilot?
"Also, the runway, the wind speed and direction, and a grand bunch of other things are all checked, one by one, to make sure that everything works as expected. You following me so far?” he informed, and paused to check up on you.
Yunho was using the opportunity to study you to the fullest. The little squint as you were fighting against the desire to shoot your eyes open and search for invisible troubles. The slightest hint of a pout etched on your rosy lips, signifying displeasure with your surroundings. He could not control his smile as he was admiring your battle spirit.
It was hard for Yunho to imagine you being as vulnerable as you were with him right now, due to sheer circumstance. Had anything been different, he might not have even had the chance to introduce himself to the beautiful stranger in what originally was the window seat.
“Yes but… what if something does not work?” as much as this experience was exposure therapy, in the moment, you did not give a shit and was sticking to your ways.
“That is not in the job description. And the engineers do a damn good job too. Just like you are now, okay, Y/N?” Yunho scolded softly but finished with more encouragement.
“I am so sorry again-”
“Nothing to be sorry about."
Of course, you would not know just how much you were reminding Yunho of himself in the distant past. How, when he had been a child, he was not able to even stay on airport grounds because of the noise, and the images that would flash in his head. He only hoped that for you it was a 'lighter' phobia, not stemming from true disaster.
"You know how the plane was just turning right now and making some noise?” Yunho cut his rumination short and returned to his miniature lecture.
“Yes.”
“Well, this is the pilot using rudder pedals, kind of like pedals in a car, pedals on a piano... whichever is closer to home for you, to steer the plane. Basically, we must make sure that the nose of the plane is well-aligned with the centre of the runway. And now, release of the brakes…”
Just as he said it, you could pick out a distinct change in the mechanical cacophony. You chuckled - it was like Yunho was conducting the actions of the beast.
“Now, do you hear this rise in sound? This rumble? Quite ominous, isn’t it? But it is just the pilot advancing the throttle gently to take off power, while keeping their feet on the rudder portions of the pedals and their eyes on the super cool engine instruments.”
He almost sounded like a technical kid getting a DIY kit for their birthday. The excitement in Yunho's voice did not falter as he continued to dive into more and more detail. Did you understand any of it? No. Was it more than pleasant to listen to Yunho having the time of his life explaining it? Yes.
“As the speed picks up, there is more pressure on the controls, but more specifically the rudder and elevator. Then we quickly transition to having the plane being flown more than it is taxied and having three axis manoeuvrability. What is really cool about commercial aviation, and pilots like the one flying this plane, is that we are actually able to feel plane controllability and are able to adjust pressures to make take off just right.”
The take-off procedure was being presented to you like a picture book. A straightforward scheme of a few steps, a celebration of a pilot's mastery. You daydreamed of how your seat mate would look like in the famous uniform, doing exactly what he was recounting to you.
“Okay so we are passing this stage now… and here we are approaching lift off. How we call the angle at which the plane takes off the ground is quite funny: the attitude. And after this… we are going to adjust the pitch just a little to make sure we get the best climbing rate.”
Yes, keep on talking this odd terminology that you were not even attempting to get a grasp on anymore. Probably would have been a good idea in light of your interview, but you could barely remain conscious as your inner world was experiencing high magnitude worry-quakes.
“Now, do you feel that? this is the pilot beginning to apply back-elevator pressure, and this is done to lift that little wheel at the front of the plane up. This is the attitude being created, we call it the rotation for lift off. Ah there it is now he is adjusting… adjusting… now the wings are being levelled, and the plane is remaining right on track, aligned with the centreline of the runway.”
Good for the plane. Good for the pilot. Good for Yunho. You just did not want to die. You squeezed Yunho's hand harder and harder, an action on which he did not comment. On the contrary, he resumed the soothing motion with his thumb that he had tried a bit of time ago.
“And now… we keep on going and… we are going steady.”
You eased off the grip, cringing at how forward, how ridiculous you likely seemed. It was hard to open your eyes back up again, so you took it slow. One eye. Then the next. You were still there. In the can. Which was now in the sky. Zooming across it at whatever speed. Yunho was still there. And still holding onto your hand.
Thanks to his guidance, you had not gone into a full-blown panic, nor had you passed out – an achievement really. But as you were regaining your senses, returning to a more neutral mode of worry, your need to show that you were an independent adult and did not require support returned, and you gingerly tried to remove yourself from his hold, as much as you wanted to stay in the same position for the duration of the flight.
Though Yunho allowed you to do so and waved off your numerous apologies. He was of the same mindset – the contact had been near electric, making this one of the more exciting of his flights. He would be lying if he said that the thought of finding an excuse to hold your hand again did not cross his mind. But he was drawn in even more by the contrast between the you from a few minutes ago and you who was boring holes in the seat in front, evidently counting seconds as you were measuring out your breathing. He was in awe of your perseverance, and how brave you had been to even book the tickets. To be in the cabin. To just, be there.
He was perplexed by why you were going to Gwangju by plane if you had a phobia. His own mother, over a decade after the life-changing incident his family had experienced, still had not gotten over it. Sometimes, looking at the racing clouds in the sky had caused her to tear up, and choose to spend the day shut indoors. Such was life. Even though his father was still alive, and had recovered for the most part, the fear of planes, the roar of the engine – a lethal predator, of flying like Icarus, too close to the sun, remained.
Flying was in his family. His grandfather, his father, him… had all committed themselves to the life of a pilot. And his younger brother, too, was in training. The lineage was to continue, despite the close brush with death that had nearly made Yunho’s father one with the world above. Prior to sustaining grave injuries, he had been a test pilot with a stellar reputation, and one successful flight after another. He was known for being able to land planes that had exhibited faults mid-flight, was able to tame high-speed jets that grew unstable, and was a gifted aerobatics master when he could unwind and choose a trusty steed for himself. His father was his role model. Regardless of what had happened.
It had been a freak accident. A miscalculation resulting in a catastrophe. Better yet, the company that had commissioned the testing had managed to keep the accident under wraps, and only after his mother near rioted and escalated the conflict to the local government and threatened to take it to the media, did his family receive compensation and as laughable charity, some physiotherapy courses. Nothing could compensate a broken heart of a person who had been told that they would not be able to do what they lived for anymore, however. Yunho was just a child then. But the fear that had had come to occupy his home was ageless.
It was not easy, living every day not sure whether his own father would be able to walk him to school. Play football with him. Stand together with him for a photo during a family trip. It was not easy on his mother, who had almost totally turned into a carer, splitting herself in pieces to raise two boys, to work, and to be her husband’s strength, both mentally and physically. Her sleepless nights, when Yunho had caught her bawling silently in the kitchen, trying to hide away from the rest of the family, had imprinted themselves in his mind.
The bitterness in his father’s words as he cursed everything related to the event, and the forlorn gazes he sent the awards, the books, the photographs in his office. Although he had been able to walk again, after years of forgetting the feeling, his meaning was only a memory. This was what had shaped Yunho’s initial impression of the world of flying. That it was a place of misery, hurt and false promises. He had vowed then to never, ever step onto a plane. Never once to approach an airport. Never once to give himself up to that dream that he had been born with. His personal ‘fear’ was not quite that. It was more the rage, the sense of injustice – why did it have to be his father? Out of spite he did not want to continue the dynasty.
His mother had been relieved when Yunho had announced at the dinner table that he wanted to be an engineer. And he made a pretty good job of convincing himself that this was what he really wanted. He had even gone to cram school for mathematics and physics and participated in some competitions. Not that he had ever felt purpose or found joy in it. He was just riding the wave of stability. And simultaneously cursing it.
As time for the national exams was fast approaching, and he needed to specify what kind of engineering he was going to do, he had been stumped. How could Yunho pick between a variety of subjects which he had virtually zero interest in, and pursued because of childhood trauma? So, he did what he could only call an act of desperation and approached his father for career advice. Yunho had assumed that the discussion was going to go nowhere. That his father, who had become a consultant and trainer (though permanently grounded), would only dismiss him and say something along the lines of ‘it did not matter anyways, everything could fall apart at any moment’. But surprisingly, he was responsive. Moreover, he had reminisced with Yunho about his early days, ones where he had not been sure what to do.
Then, he had posed Yunho a question: what was it that his heart wanted to pursue? If he were to forget everything, any and all external influence, what would he pick? After much deliberation, he peered at the poster of a Boeing-777 that hung across from him, and merely stated:
“Flying.”
After years of fooling himself. Running away from what his inner self was yearning for. Only this path seemed right. That night, his father and him had made a deal. To not disappoint his mother, and gain some basic understanding of aircraft, he was to pick aero-engineering, and in secret, simultaneously begin flight lessons. His father had activated his network, and once Yunho had gone through that first year, made a smooth transfer to become who he was now. A fully trained commercial airline pilot. True to himself, his dreams and his future.
When his mother had first found out, she was in hysterics. It was as though someone had brought the news to her that her son had passed away. Maybe that would have hurt less – less than the fear for what could happen, the anguish she would be experiencing every time Yunho would lift off. But he had made up his mind. And would indeed rather die than face the prospect of being anything else than a pilot. This was what he was made to do, and it felt right.
On the one hand, the reason why he wanted to help you was because he wanted others to feel the same way he did about flying. It had become his mission to bring comfort to passengers, to inspire future generations of pilots, and to share just how fun it could be. On the other, he had learned the hard way about what phobia and detestation was and could not bear to see you experience it. He had grown far too good at detecting its approach, so much so that he could live through it with you.
Maybe this was a strange way for him to cope and process his own life’s events, but it sure was damn near magical when he saw that he could take away at least a fraction of the weight you carried. After all there was only so much baggage you could bring on board with you.
Yunho’s heart was conflicted. When he had just boarded and got to his row, he had told himself that he lucked out, having an attractive seatmate and one who appeared to be as curious in him as he was in them. And now, he was almost feeling attached to you since he had helped you overcome the take off. It was inexplicable. A little irrational. But he wanted to talk to you. And to keep on holding your hand if you were okay with it.
When you considered yourself to be more or less recovered you sighed in relief. Having Yunho logically talk you through what you had labelled as horror film material had done what you thought was impossible – made you reconsider if planes really were as terrible as you thought. At least the ones where Yunho could be with you and chant plane speak over the screeches and groans of the engines and brakes. You turned your head a little and noticed Yunho watching the Earth transform through the window. He was leaning back and appeared to be deep in his mind palace. You tapped him lightly on his upper arm, which made all his attention come back to you.
“I wanted to say thank you. Thank you for helping me through this, really. You did not have to, Yunho, but you saved me just now.”
“Really, as I said, it is not a problem, Y/N.”
“But still. As you probably can tell, this really is nightmare fuel for me-”
“I am more than happy to continue, just so you know. If you need me, I am right here.” He offered, flustering you.
The sincerity of his words made you dwell on his desire to help. He was nothing short of respectful, but you felt that the story ran much deeper. Perhaps because he knew what it was like. But you were not about to force him into sharing all the potential skeletons and sprinklings of trauma, if anything it would make you appear ungrateful and downright prying. The atmosphere was just right for now, thanks to Yunho.
“You best be worried, because I might just pick you up on that offer, since I have a lot of revision to do before actually doing the job I was sent to do.” You answered, running a hand through your hair. You wondered whether you should use the rest of the flight to actually do some preparation for the interview or… the second option won out immediately, and you were back to enjoying Yunho’s company.
“Ah, so you are on the flight not by your own volition?”
“Yep. My boss is rather creative when it comes to picking out his entertainment.” His chuckle made a dopey grin appear on your face.
“And what do you mean by revision? Will you be joining the ranks?” he realised he barely knew anything about you aside from the odd mix of bare bone basics and auto-completed nonsense, courtesy of his imagination.
“Probably not, still need to sit as a passenger for a long, long time before that, you know, learn by observation!” you joked, attempting to conjure a vision of yourself as a pilot, but the irony of it was too much. “I am going to be doing a mini-documentary and interview with Hwang Taehyuk. He is a recently retired pilot with many accolades and, apparently, a very exciting professional life so-”
“This really keeps on getting better.”
“What keeps on getting better?”
“I had the chance to co-pilot with him a couple of times. Absolutely the most amazing guy on the planet. Total goofball too.”
“Why am I not surprised?” you threw the rhetorical question out into the air, but almost instantly continued, “You know, you are making me glad that I took this flight.”
“Like I said, if you need a plane nerd rundown of what’s going on at any point, just let me know and I can even draw some diagrams for you on a napkin.”
“Not just that, though now you promised me some diagrams and I do want to see them. It’s just, the beauty of how things have aligned. That makes me... quite happy.”
“Seconded.”
For the hour that it took to fly from Seoul to Gwangju, you were in deep discussion with your seatmate, turned acquaintance, turned to something that could not exactly be called a friend – an ‘interest’, rather. It was a process of progressive mutual discovery, stepping beyond first impressions and learning that, in fact, both of you only wanted to know more and more as the minutes and stories flew by.
Feverishly you shared your lives with one another, in a manner not dissimilar to that of someone retelling a missed episode to make sure that from then on, everyone would be moving forward together, at the same pace. You and Yunho explained your dreams, your hopes for the future, whilst inadvertently looking for, and finding similarities in them. You soared through conversation and landed being much closer than either of you could have predicted.
Everything was on the table – from embarrassing stories to going through each other’s camera rolls (under strict supervision, but that was a given). To prove to you that Yunho was truly a pilot and not just a plane nerd, he had shown you some photos of himself in uniform, zooming in to show you that the epaulettes were very much real and that he was earning his stripes. You commended his determination and had even taken an interest in how the career ladder functioned, but really what you could comprehend the best out of that discourse was that he chose the right job even if just for how handsome he looked in the attire. Yunho really was one of a kind, inside and out. He reminded you of a day in early spring, when the days were steadily growing longer, and the winter breeze finally departed, instead letting the budding leaves and blossoming beauties take over and instil a happier sense of tomorrow. He was the one to start to thaw your previously deadest perceptions and blood-curdling associations.
It went without saying that your fear of flying did not go without mention. A dreaded topic for you, you had initially tried to brush it under the table, but it was pointless to do before a person who had just seen you through take off, and for the duration of the flight sometimes paused your dialogue to check in with you. In addition, if he noticed your concentration drifting because of a foreign noise, or because of a little tilt or turn, every time Yunho would explain the reasoning behind it the best he could. Though it would take much longer to get over the phobia, his dedication made you swoon.
You had revealed to him that you had been diagnosed with aerophobia back in early primary school. It was genetic, with your father’s family line showing particularly strong symptoms – so any reunions were either planned with military precision, or simply did not happen, because Jeju Island was not so ‘all modes of transport’ -friendly. Back then, you had no idea how serious your condition could be, seeing as you were minimally exposed, but the times you were had been haunting you since. Your choice of work had not helped with your condition either, since you were constantly exposed to the worst locally, nationally, and globally. Though you had to be an objective messenger and remain unperturbed, aviation-related accidents often left you a whimpering, misty-eyed mess. At least you had become an expert in reading and responding to emails while your vision was blurry.
This was probably the first time ever that you had shared this aspect of you without either being interrupted or misunderstood. With Yunho, he listened carefully, and bewilderingly, drew parallels between your reality and his. It was obvious that he was holding back on some more upsetting facts out of care for how you would react, but you could figure out that his path to becoming a pilot had been on the bumpier side. He did end up drawing some free body diagrams for you and explaining the aerodynamics involved in a flight, lighting up every time you would ask him a question, or even when you would lean in, so your heads were almost touching, brows furrowed and processing.
Yunho had provided you with more anecdotes about the pilot you were going to interview, and even suggested that he could come along to introduce you – apparently the guy liked to keep his circle small and was not one to trust outsiders until they gained his respect. There was something surreal about being on the plane with Yunho – it made you believe that you two would last forever, and that what he was initially proposing, and then downright promising you to do, would really happen. Here was to be hoping that you would not part ways and at least be able to recognise one another in a crowd.
Landing went a little smoother for you than take off, perhaps because you had automatically searched for Yunho, and gingerly placed your hand on his lower arm. Too shy to do the same as before, you had remained in that position, focusing on the fabric of his coat. Meanwhile Yunho was frozen, like a person who had been chosen by a cat as the perfect napping spot. He remained close to your ear, once again whispering through the steps, though seeing your lowered anxiety, allowed himself to veer off the script a little more and crack a couple of jokes.
You left the plane as if you had been companions to begin with, checking if the other had left anything behind, chatting as you made your way across the jet bridge. Unlike the rest of the passengers who had decidedly become track and field athletes as soon as they were hit with airport air conditioning, Yunho and you moved slow, off to the side of the giant glass corridors, just so that time would not pass by you. For the first time, you were grateful that the line for passport control had gotten quite long by the time you reached it – all the more time to sneak glances at one another, kid around, and act like you had known each other forever. When you had reached the front of the line, the border control officer had even mistaken you as a couple and let you through together. Not that you would correct them.
Baggage claims. A time to reminisce, as it turned out. Standing side by side, you recollected each other's musings and theories as though you were revising, flipping through cards and supporting each try at a response with ripples of laughter. This was a plane that neither of you wanted to land, and kept on praying, repeating the same wish like a mantra: may this last.
If only this damn luggage could continue spinning forever, or would just be lost in the metal bird's belly. Somehow, life on the ground appeared to move faster than that high above. The hustle and bustle, people moving to and fro with their identities shoved into flimsy wheeled boxes, kept together by duct tape and overpriced cling film. Everyone had to have a plan. A destination. Up in the air, that could be removed. Troubles minimised for the duration of the flight. The only direction being to a random dot of choice, labelled as a city, town, base, important only because of plans that resume upon landing.
To Yunho, this was the biggest disillusionment he had experienced in his first flight. When he had been a little boy, he believed that everything radically changed after such a journey. That pilots were like wizards. But, as it turned out, he was only serving other people's plans. Just like this time, he was following a specific agenda. But you had made it colourful. Meaningful. The time suspended in mid-air well spent, and in need of a ‘to be continued’. As you made your way closer and closer to the airport exit, after having collected your belongings, he only had one thing on his mind. How could he prolong this metaphorical flight with you?
Without any prior agreement, nor any feat of telepathy, you and Yunho halted. It was time to part. Both you and him knew it, and yet neither of you were making the decisive move to do so. Instead, you chose to dawdle and stand, facing each other in the middle of Arrivals, luggage by your sides.
“Are you... going to be taking a taxi? Or is someone going to meet you?” he broke the silence with some small talk, while his heart was threatening to burst out of his chest – somewhat comical, now it was his turn to be panicked.
“I’ll catch a taxi. Yeah. And yourself?” You asked, not caring for the response, but for the prolongation of time that it brought. You were not looking forward to departing from this bliss between destinations. Back to rushing somewhere. Trying not to lose yourself amidst the events you had to pursue.
“Car rental.” Yunho swore he could hear turbine noise in his head as he was dashing from one idea to the next. Was he about to lose you?
“That’s neat.” You kicked the air with your foot, and stuffed your hands into your pockets, readying yourself for an unwanted goodbye.
You raised your head and faced him. Two people, fumbling for a way to stay like this. Were both of you waiting for some divine intervention? For a third person, a passive observer to suddenly step in and give you a friendly nudge? All the signs were pointing to a sure-fire success, and yet hesitation, doubt and insecurity remained as the devil on both your shoulders. Perhaps this was not meant to be, and you merely served one another as a time passer, a cure for boredom, and eventually destined to bid your farewells. Your lips parted, and you inhaled, about to say the dreaded words, when-
“I can drive you.”
“Huh?”
“If you want.”
He officially short-circuited as he could not wait any longer. Had Yunho been a poet or a writer, hell, maybe even if he had stayed an engineer, he could have come up with something more impressive, but at the end of the day, the message would be the same. Let’s go together. Let’s go anywhere together. Come fly with me.
Now, it was one thing to hope, and a wholly different one to expect, and you sure as hell had not been doing the latter. So, when Yunho took the leap and reached out to you, and to your future self, you needed to take a moment to internally squeal. And then try your best to keep it cool and answer like a proper adult, rather than the inner giddy schoolchild who was on their umpteenth celebratory somersault.
“I would want that. But aren’t your parents waiting for you?” your response was light and breezy, and an attempt to showcase, once again, that you had paid attention to him and could recall why he was here in the first place.
“Well, I mean, I don’t usually do this… but if you are into meeting parents so early…”
“Oh, come on!” you giggled, playfully hitting Yunho’s upper arm as he grinned wide.
“Totally serious, Y/N, I am totally serious.” He responded, sarcasm dripping from his words.
He pointed in the direction of the car rentals and took the small suitcase you had brought with you in his free hand. Ever the gentleman.
“And if you are free at any point, I would love to show you around.” He continued as you ambled on, barely any space between you.
“As long as it is by foot or car, I am free today and tomorrow afternoon.”
“I wish I had the car from Back to The Future so that I could impress you with my piloting skills, alas, I’ll have to disappoint you with… are they advertising new Kia models? Y/N, not all is lost!”
“Now to figure out which one looks most like a Yunho-mobile.”
“We’ll figure it out, take an online test that matches MBTI to a car or something.”
“Don’t tempt me, or I might actually do that.” You warned in jest and proceeded to take out your phone to make a point. This seemed to have an effect on Yunho, as he stopped abruptly and began searching for his own device.
“Oh! That reminds me! Your five-star guarantee Uber driver would like to have your number. You know, for announcing his arrival, of course.” As you typed in your digits, and then proceeded to save his number on your phone after he had texted you a string of airplane emojis you ideated out loud:
“I can already see the review I shall write: car may or may not take off and grow wings during journey. Passenger discretion is advised."
“If that’s the case, I’d be more than happy to hold your hand again, or maybe something more serious to protect against turbulence?” he winked, and you felt heat rising to your cheeks.
“I think I’ll have to write a piece about your methods.”
“Just make sure to mention that they are exclusive to Jeong Yunho, your private pilot,” well that was an original, yet explicit expression of interest, “and speaking of reporting, I am taking you to teacher Hwang’s for some proper networking.”
“Yeah, and what about my crew?”
“Pilots are no strangers to crews, trust me on that.” he answered promptly.
“I can imagine.”
You and Yunho stood still, eyes locked. Your 'spring' ahead of you.
“Now, shall we be off?” he gestured towards the rentals office, but not removing his gaze.
“Go on ahead, be my guide.”
Given half a billion potential soul mates, your chance of finding your true love is one in 10,000.
1 in 50 airplane passengers meet the love of their life on board an aircraft.
And when it came to you and Yunho, the probability was simply 1. 100%. No other way.
Perhaps it was a good thing that you were scared of flying.
#k-labels#yunho x reader#jeong yunho x y/n#jeong yunho x reader#ateez yunho#ateez yunho fluff#ateez jeong yunho#pilot au#ateez fluff#ateez fanfic#ateez#yunho x y/n#pilot yunho#ateez au#ateez x reader#hwaightme#kpop writers#kpop writing#yunho fluff#jeong yunho fluff
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I have no art direction yet again so I leave everyone with some more outfits for various Alex AUs/timelines.
#;alezart#trollhunters#tales of arcadia#alex lanford#geck#pannfora#wotw au#pilot au#//she looks so different with short hair
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Floating Through the Stratosphere Part 2 🛩 (nsfw)
Rating: E. I couldn't resist bumping it up sorry
Words: 30,747
Summary: Thousand Sunny Days Air was a decently sized independent business. Their fleet was large enough to have a few chartered jets at most major airports, but they mostly dealt in private transatlantic trips. A lot of New York to London, with rare hops from LA to Tokyo. Robin didn’t mind, though she always liked it better when the destination was a little more exciting to explore. That is, until she's stuck for two extra nights in Paris with an incorrect room booking and a pilot that seems incapable of wearing proper pants.
Fate, though, has other plans. After Franky's caught in a motorcycle accident, Robin needs to decide if she'll stay the course or alter her route. Healing takes patience, and the amnesia isn't helping.
Content warning for: drunk driving accident, significant hospital stays, surgery, suicidal ideation, alcoholism, and rehab
#one piece#my fic#frobin#cyborg franky#nico robin#modern au#hits my blorbo with a train#what you guys didn't think i was so much of a coward that i wouldn't keep him a cyborg did you?#I wrote allllll of ch1 going “there's something off about this franky but i just can't put my finger on it”#uh its that he wasn't cyborg franky lol#ao3#this things at a point where you dont even need to know op lore to read this#its just a romance novella#pilot au#cheesy romance amnesia hospital recovery fic oml#minors dni
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// body horror (at least mild)
Now that that's done
Hello
I welcome you to this 24 hours project of a visualization of a scene from chapter 29 of the Pilot AU written by the very talented MawoftheMagnetar
I love this AU a lot and you will too when you read it on Ao3 and indulge yourself in a riveting story with the Hermits and friends
Anyway I had a lot of fun drawing this
#Pilot AU#mcyt fanart#mcyt#keralis fanart#keralis#skizzleman#skizzleman fanart#xbcrafted#xbcrafted fanart#impulseSV#impulsesv fanart#zedaph#zedaph fanart#hermitcraft au
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pilot!Max x backpacker!Daniel 👨✈️✈️💼
Part 5!
Part 1: Part 4
"Well, when I'm not being hunted by interpol," he says after a beat, the laughter still playing on his lips. "I'm a tattoo artist."
Max's gaze darts down, taking in the lengths of tanned, tattoo skin; dark ink woven onto Daniel.
"Ah," he says after a beat. "Possibly slightly more likely than a teacher."
"Hey, I'm a teacher of life," Daniel says, and then flushes, no doubt hearing how presumption he sounds. Max laughs, cheeks warming.
"A teacher of life? Go on?"
"Well," he shrugs modestly, a mix between proud and bashful. "It is my Instagram username."
"Is it now?" Max asks dryly, watching as Daniel takes out his phone and unlocks it to reveal a wallpaper of bright, blue ocean.
"Yeah, well, something like that," he says, tapping on the screen and then twisting the device around so Max can see. Rows of neat squares great him, patterned in alternative art and lifestyle themes.
Max gaze flickers to the top.
Tattooed.teacher.of.lyf
1747 posts, 915k followers, 1,324 following
"Impressive," Max says, taking the figures in.
Daniel laughs. "What, my misspelling of life? 20 year old me thought he was a genius. Here," he taps on the most recent post, a black and white tattoo. A whale jumping through stars, it's body detailed with feather- like strokes of ink.
"This is the one I did last week," he says, note of pride clear. "Cool, right?"
"Very," Max replies, earnestly clicking to the next photo of a cartoon racecar inked into someone's ankle.
"Maybe one day I could give you a tat," Daniel says. Max's head jerks up, and then he lets out a surprised laugh when he realises Daniel is teasing him.
"I don't think so," he says smoothly. Sebastian would kill him before F1 Wings had a chance to fire him. Professionalism is the first article in the code of conduct they all have to sign. No tattoos is the third article.
"Why?" Daniel cocks his head. "You don't like them?"
"Not on me," Max replies. He's always known his appearance is more akin to an office worker than anything remotely exciting. If people were colours, he'd be a fine beige hue. Tattoos are cool and dynamic and interesting, all things Max is most certainly not.
"I think you'd suit a few tattoos," Daniel continues, gaze turned critical as it runs up and down Max's body. He shivers, trying to resist the urge to cross his arms across his chest.
"You have a wonderfully cool colouring; tattoos would really take to you I think."
"You mean pallor," Max says dryly, but Daniel shakes his head.
"No, I meant what I said. Cool colouring. Opposite of warm. Tattooing you would be like painting on a canvas, the colours would be so beautiful and bright, I can just tell. I mean, look at me," he rolls up his sleeve, revealing tanned skin adorned with ink. "I'm a bitch to tattoo with colours because you constantly have to work out colour theory, and how the inks will show up against my darker complexion. You wouldn't have any of that worry - your colouring is perfect, a tattooist's wet dream."
"Am I really?" Max says with a grin, delighted in the way Daniel's cheeks instantly darken.
"I didn't mean," he blurts out, and then shakes his head. "Well, I mean, I idn't not not mean - The flight."
"The flight, " Max repeats, smiling at how flustered Daniel is.
"How'd you find it?" He asks, clearly desperate to move the conversation on and to ease the burning in his cheeks.
"Good," Max says with a shrug, taking pity on him and letting the topic change. "What about you?"
"Er good, yes, very good. I mean, I pretty much slept the whole time, so that helped. How about you?"
"How about me what?" Max asks, piercing a lump of chicken. It's beyond stupid, but he takes a sprig of pride in the fact the flight was smooth enough for Daniel to sleep, despite the turbulence they went through.
"Did you catch some Zs?" Daniel asks. He tilts his head slightly, as if searching Max's expression for evidence of exhaustion.
Max huffs a soft laugh. "No, not really. I can't really sleep on planes. I think I got about forty-five minutes? But not a lot. It's fine, I'm used to it." Forty-five minutes in the cramped chair as Lando took his seat, listening to Sebastian carefully instructing Lando and knowing it was advice Lando would promptly forgot.
Daniel's eyebrows draw together. "You must be wrecked then, right? As you didn't sleep on the bus either."
Max shrugs. It feels nice to have someone fuss over him, even a stranger like Daniel.
"Not really," he says, piercing another lump of amorphous chicken in the sea of mayo. "Like I said, I'm used to it."
Daniel just scoffs, as if Max has done something particularly impressive. "Wow, if I had gone over 24 hours without sleep, I think I'd be fit to kill."
"Good thing for me you slept on the plane then, right?" Max quips.
Daniel looks at him, and then grins. "Yeah, I suppose it is."
-
When they've moved onto their second coffee, Max can't resist any longer. He has to ask about Lando's overhead announcement.
"So," he broaches the subject. "Had you fallen asleep yet when the first pilot came on the comms?"
Daniel snorts, and Max feels his lips turn upwards reflexively.
"No, and thank fuck I did not get to miss that. The most entertaining thing I've ever witnessed on the plane, and that includes watching the Fast and Furious films in one sitting and watching a toddler drawing with a Sharpie on her sleeping dad's face. I don't think I've ever heard a pilot be more enthusiastic while being so undeprepared. How did he manage to get every detail wrong?"
Max smirks at the memory. The first comms announcement typically fell under his responsibilities as Second Officer. This time, ostensibly as a reward for officially being promoted to Cadet, but in reality simply to prevent Daniel from hearing his voice, he had convinced Sebastian to let Lando do the welcome comms for the first time.
"Come on Seb," he'd said as they all belted. "It's three sentences, how bad can he fuck them up?
Clearly, Max had vastly underestimated Lando's talented for fucking things up.
"He sounded like he was 12 or something," Daniel says, not unkindly. "The woman sitting beside me looked like she was checking whether it was too late to bolt for it when his voice cracked for like the tenth time."
Max laughs. "Considering he also got his am and pm mixed up, the date wrong, and mispronounced about five words, I can't really fault her logic."
Max had been sitting beside him in the cockpit, hissing corrections, which in turn only made Lando panic more and somehow mess up even further. When he'd finally switched off the comms, successfully turning the simple, routine welcoming address Max does on each flight into about ten rambling sentences, Sebastian had looked up from his final checks.
"Let's not do that again, okay?" He had said mildly, and for once Lando had just meekly nodded in agreement, and Max had had to turn to the window to hide his grin.
"Speaking of ages," Daniel says, drawing Max from the memory. "How old are you?"
"Me?" He replies stupidly, as if Daniel could mean anyone else. "Twenty-three."
Daniel's eyebrows shoot up. "No shit. I had you figured to be at least in your mid, if not late, twenties."
Max tries for a teasing smile. "Do I already have so many wrinkles?"
Daniel huffs a laugh, and gratification spools in Max's chest, tighter and tighter.
"Fuck you, you full on know you look like an extra in, like, Baywatch."
"Oh yes, because I am clearly so tanned, " Max deadpans, and Daniel laughs again, his cheeks warming.
"Well, okay, but -"
He's interrupted by a shrill alarm and swears as he taps at his phone.
"Sorry," he mutters, leaving over to rummage through his bag. "Normally I'm fine, but when I'm traveling I have to set alarms to remember to take my meds, or else the jet lag would completely ruin it."
Max watches as Daniel sits up again, a neat medicine box in his hands, the same one Max can remember his grandmother using.
"Health is wealth, as they say," Daniel clips open the section labelled Monday, revealing one circular white pill and one blue tablet.
"Do they?" Max asks, and Daniel shrugs as he scoops them into his palm.
"I keep forgetting English isn't your native language. So this one," he holds up the blue tablet, "is keratin, to ensure these lovely, luscious curls continue being just that while evading the male baldness gene which haunts my paternal line." He pops in his mouth, swallowing it dry. "And this one," he continues, holding up the remaining pill, "is a wonderful combination of various vitamins and minerals to keep me looking young, vibrant and ridiculously attractive."
"And humble as well?" Max asks as Daniel swallows that one dry too.
"Of course," Daniel gives him a grin, finally reaching for his water. "Naturally, Maxy."
Part 6
#im really sorry i feel like this is not very good#the cafe scene just wasnt doing it for me🙃#next update will be much better i promise haha#my fic#maxiel#pilot au
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au wherein,
Pilot James Potter tries to save his plane from a storm but unfortunately crashes in a deserted island.
Out of 187 on the plane only 9 survived. James himself, flight attendant Remus Lupin, Musician Sirius Black, Sirius Black's younger brother Regulus Black among other collage students Barty Crouch and Evan Rosier, business woman Lily Evans, and two other women on vacation Dorcas Meadows and Marlene McKinnon.
All wounded and in bad shape. Through the next days they attemp to survive relying on instincts and knowledge from the strange depressed kid.
One thing James knows, without Regulus Black they won't stand a chance.
#adventurous au? why not#Regulus couldn't sleep one day and James was on the watch#the two had a fight only to end up with their first kiss#by the fire and under the stars listening to the ocean waves from afar#so cheesy guys#regulus black#james potter#jegulus#starchaser#the marauders era#marauders#dead gay wizards#pilot#pilot au#lol
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Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Formula 1 RPF Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Charles Leclerc/Max Verstappen
Max is a pilot in the US Navy. He is also an Alpha like most pilots are. His hatred for authority made him climb the ranks quickly. At the request of his supervisor, he is removed from his current mission and stationed at the ship Nimitz where he will be Commanding Officer for a strike fighter squadron. Omega Charles Leclerc joins the squadron. The atmosphere between the ship crew is toxic and the political situation is tense. Max desperately tries to not to let the situation slide out of control.
Or: Alpha Max and Omega Charles Military-Pilot AU
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It's finally here!!!! It's finally finished!!! The Sky Weighs Heavy Tonight is a phenomenal hermitcraft fanfiction by @mawofthemagnetar that everyone should check out here
I printed it out as a book and designed a cover for it because this story lives incredibly rent free in my mind and I wanted to hold on to it forever
Sometimes however mistakes are made, and as seen below I accidentally ordered it in A4 instead of A5 first, so now I have a normal book sized version and a textbook sized version. For fun I suppose
#Hermitcraft#Hermitcraft fanfiction#The Sky Weighs Heavy Tonight#Mawofthemagnetar#Pilot au#Book printing
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pilot au. yeah
#my art#omega ghoul#illustrators on tumblr#the band ghost#digital#character design#illustration#pilot au
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Them! :D
[Pilot AU by @mawofthemagnetar]
#welsknight#tinfoilchef#hermitcraft#pilot au#myart#hope i got things semi-accurate#[thumbs up emoji]
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