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yzzart · 1 year

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hi love,

idk if ur taking requests (if ur not, pls ignore this then) but i absolutely love ur fics. could i maybe request more daemyra’s daughter and aemond, with overprotective daemon in the mix? nothing too specific, just daemon trying to keep his daughter away from her lovesick uncle, because he knows firsthand how that is.

im sorry for the delay, my love! school and work are killing me :((

— Father's Instinct

characters: Aemond Targaryen x (F)Targaryen!reader.

summary: Daemon just wanted his eldest daughter to stay away from a certain dragon but he was once that certain dragon with your mother.

warnings: incest, explicit language, explicit words, mention of violence but no deaths or injuries, and references to Daemon and Rhaenyra.

word count: 2.224!

english's not my first language, so sorry for any mistakes!

If Daemon had the right opportunity, he'd gouge out his nephew's only good eye right then and there.

It didn't matter if the sun was shining, with the birds singing, a prime and sacred time for some families. — By the scene he was watching carefully, Daemon would start to hate that whole morning.

He wouldn't be ashamed or trying to redeem himself for having a desire as bloody and deadly as that. — The last thing Daemon was going to do with his last breath was apologize for wanting to commit that act. — But he had a serious reason for it.

And it wasn't for any reason.

Daemon's lovable nephew, who was on the other side of the table, didn't hide his eyes on his daughter. — His first child. — The one-eyed prince's only good purple eye was gazing at the young Targaryen woman in the rebel prince's presence.

It wasn't difficult to identify that Aemond and you were exchanging looks, it looked like the two of you were playing with each other. — A simple little game that you unabashedly loved and was more exciting in the presence of everyone at the table.

It looked like the gods were playing with Daemon, a prank of sorts that was being frowned upon by the prince. — He knew he couldn't anger the gods but at that moment no one could quench a dragon's fury.

It was so ironic to see an uncle openly flirting with his niece without fear of her father's reaction or scolding, and years ago Daemon was in the same situation but being the uncle.

It was intriguing and interesting the fact that Aemond was focusing only on you at that well-manicured wooden table, as if there were only you at that moment. — But in the mind of the one-eyed that, in fact, was true.

The king's brother despised his nephew's action. Daemon didn't even know what feeling was taking over his body at the sight of his daughter being devoured by the one-eyed young man's only existing eye; it could be anger, hate, contempt or all at once. — The father's instinct screamed, mentally to Daemon.

Now Daemon knew, exactly, how Viserys felt.

You knew how risky it was to maintain eye contact with Aemond but it was impossible to stop your eyes from gazing at the prince. It felt like you were hypnotized by it, a kind of witchcraft but deep down you knew it wasn't. — You were in love with your uncle, just like your mother at your age was in love with hers; your father.

Even after your departure, you kept your feelings for Aemond. In your pure and naive age, you didn't believe that those feelings would expand and strengthen in a way that you couldn't believe but the good gods deceived your thoughts. All your passion and admiration for Aemond was as strong and steady as a dragon. — A dragon can recognize and strengthen its feelings.

From Aemond's perspective, every day and night since his departure for Dragonstone, he has thought of you. There was nothing that could take you out of the thoughts of the king's youngest son, absolutely nothing. — Of course, his mother noticed the sad features, both because of what happened with his eye and for the possible reason for his absence in the castle and in the little boy's life, at that time.

But that naive boy, unable to hold a wooden sword, had grown along with his love for you, and with the countless prayers to the gods asking you to return soon to his arms. — Aemond can't remember how many times his feet carried him to your old quarters.

"I hope you're off duty during this majestic morning, niece." — The admirable voice, loud enough for you to hear, was exclaimed directly into your ears. At no time did your eyes meet during the older man's speech, the two of you were trapped in each other's love and didn't want to miss any feature marks.

Aemond's greatest desire at that moment was to spend a moment with you, it would be pure greed if the gods said that the prince didn't just want to spend a moment with you, but the entire day. — And he waited for his plans with you to work out, the way he had planned.

Your father's jaw, after hearing the voice of the cursed one-eyed man, immediately locked itself. He recognized the way Aemond had said those words to you, he had interest and satisfaction. — Daemon could clearly state that his nephew was eagerly awaiting your answer.

It was pathetic how Daemon had looked like Viserys years ago.

"I predict that i will have the morning without appointments today, my uncle." — Your answer came softly from your lips. The way those words left your sweet, delicate lips caught Aemond's attention, he wanted so much to taste the glorious taste of your mouth. — "Would i be being impolite to ask the reason for the question?"

"It would be impolite if you did not accept my invitation to take a walk through the region, with our dragons, if you prefer." — Aemond brought the goblet, which held his favorite warm wine, to his lips and in no time did he dare take his eye away from you.

Daemon couldn't believe that damned one-eyed man, by the curse the good gods had sent the rebel prince deciding that young Targaryen would be his nephew, was trying to malign his dear daughter. — He knew very well how to recognize a tone of audacity and daring coming from another man.

You were Daemon's first child, the first of your name. The daughter he never thought in his life that he would adore, love and protect from anything that could hurt or threaten you. — As a great dragon would do with its helpless eggs.

Daemon could admit to the good gods that he never thought he would see himself as a good father, a father figure. He didn't believe that a child could make him happy or satisfied with the life he'd been given but from the looks of it, his lonely, pitiful thought was burned with his own dragon flames.

As his father's duty, Daemon would protect you from all the claws and teeth of all the men who tried to capture your naivety. — Including your uncle.

With a knife and fork in his hands, your father pounced on the rich deer meat, which had been forgotten for a little while, that was on his plate. The silverware hit the bottom of the plate with Daemon's brutality, making an unbearable sound. — Startled, you end up ending the exchange of looks between you and Aemond to focus on where the hellish noise had come from.

Your eyes landed on the image of your father, literally attacking the red flesh and making countless ear-splitting sounds. It didn't look like he just wanted to cut the meat, in fact it looked like he was imagining a person in the various cuts in the meat.

You couldn't say that scene scared you but it left you only surprised, the reason for that act was already very clear in your mind. — Even so, you didn't dare or feel like questioning your father's action. — The only thing you, mentally, begged him to use was that silverware on someone specific at that table.

Rhaenyra directed a hand on Daemon's arm, trying to calm him down and end that little aggressive act against the poor roasted, dead deer part. — Taking a deep breath, your father dropped the silverware on top of the plate and put his hand under his forehead.

Your eyes continued to stare at your father, without him noticing, hoping that there would be no more acts like that or even worse and soon, you chose to close the looks and remembered the lack of response to your uncle's suggestion. — Your beloved uncle.

"It would indeed be pleasant, uncle." — Your eyes returned to the feared and charming prince, who kept a thin smile and a mischievous tone on his lips. — "I just hope you're not out of shape for a nice dragon race." — Several low laughs echo around the table and you can identify which ones they belong to. — In addition to your brothers, Aegon participates in the group of laughter. — An amused and a little shy smile appeared on your sweet red lips.

Dragons couldn't die with fire, so they chose to play with it. It was such a determined and challenging thing to see. — And you loved doing it.

Across the damned seven realms, your teasing Aemond was an intriguing demonstration of how to play with fire and still right in front of everyone, including your father.

It would be risky to respond in kind, equally and return the provocative answer, but it was not exciting and fun without risks for the one-eyed prince, the rider of the largest dragon in the world. — Aemond was audacious. It can be said that his name can have many meanings and definitions, and the word audacity was included.

"Well, you need to see it and witness it to draw your conclusions, my niece." — He stated sharply and defiantly, those words were so penetrating and exciting at the same time. The expression of satisfaction and pure desire to know what that answer could have caused you was visible to all who decided to observe the prince's features.

From what it seemed, the simple game of looks had become a real game of temptation and fascination. — Your cheeks replaced your normal skin tone with a reddish tinge along with a slightly warm temperature. — Years and years may pass but Aemond would always have a power over you.

"By the seven hells." — Daemon grunted angrily, wanting to put the fork, left by his fingers and forgotten, into the single eye of that young Targaryen. In fact, he would have done so a long time ago, from his first mortal thought that morning, if it hadn't been for Viserys' presence.

Despite this, one side, known only to Daemon, recognized the nephew's actions, it seemed that he was seeing himself there and you resembled, perfectly, your mother and even in the bold and brave way of speaking. — The gods were indeed playing with Daemon.

"Our children have grown up, my brother." — Viserys's weak and almost weakened voice was heard and echoed for the first time at the table, during that heavy morning. The king, even in such a delicate situation, had watched your conversation along with his youngest son and of course, he compared you two to his eldest daughter and his brother.

Viserys was the first to notice how similar you and Aemond were to young Rhaenyra and Daemon. — His fragile, delicate heart warmed a little, more than usual, when he finally realized and admitted his thought.

In response, the king's brother just rolled his eyes not satisfied with the elder's words. He wouldn't dare to answer his brother in such a derogatory way and even more so in front of you. — So what was left was just the action with the eyes and a long sigh, wanting to get away from that table.

"i kostagon daor umbagon, ñuha jorrāelagon." (I can't wait, my dear.) — A startling whisper of the valerian language passed through your ears in a sweet, thoughtful way. Your attention returned to your lover, who had moved a little closer to your chair just to send the appreciative words, which aroused an excited feeling in you.

Your eyes, not as naive as his father might think but could be considered angelic, observed the prince's image once more. — Aemond wasn't just watching you but admiring. He didn't want to show how eager and, a little nervous, he was to have time with you after so many years.

He could define all those years as the very hell he managed to witness.

You remained silent but not for lack of words or embarrassment, you just didn't need to say anything, no words. Your look at Aemond said absolutely everything. It was all the young Targaryen needed.

Promptly, Daemon watched you two. — By your pleas, he couldn't hear Aemond's last words, it was risky and kind of indiscreet but he didn't listen. — And to his damned misfortune, Daemon ended up agreeing to the thought he so despised and tried to ignore all morning, from the moment Aemond laid eyes on you.

He knew that at some point the overprotective side of him towards the man you would choose to marry would kick in but it came so quickly for him. Daemon wouldn't take it easy and understanding but he knows that's a part of a father's life. — But the story of his life together with his lovely wife was repeating itself with his daughter and nephew.

He would be a little offending himself by remembering his own nephew, whom he detests, but is glad that you look identically to your mother.

You and Aemond were a glimpse of Daemon and Rhaenyra Targaryen.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x targaryen!reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x y/n #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #daemon targaryen #daemon #targaryen reader #targaryen #house of the dragon #hotd x reader #game of thrones

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yan-lorkai · 2 months

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Hello! I really loved the Idia fic you wrote for the yandere alphabet letter. If it’s alright, could I ask for something related to one of the other letters? The part about how Idia would hate to break his darling because part of his darling would no longer exist.

I’ll admit, I kind of want to know how he’d react to a darling that became of shell of their former self after the kidnapping. If there was any genuine love there at all, I imagine it would break his heart. Thank you!

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: Angst, I like it. I did some hcs this time, otherwise I would hog this ask for me and answer it much later, like I did with that other fic lol. Only thing I had to say is: poor darling. They deserved better.

He has gone too far. He has broken you beyond repair. He knows it, he can feel in his bones that something is not right when you look at him with those dead eyes. But he ignores the signals and cope by working as usual. He can pretend everything's fine and that you still love him or else he'll break down crying.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Idia wasn't thinking about the consequences of his actions when he kidnapped you. He was angry, he was terrified to lose you. You were flirting with someone else (you were not, he is just insecure and an overthinker). He can see your injuries half healed, he can hear your shallow breath and barely audible whispers of fear everytime he is near. You used to be so happy to spend time with him, braiding his hair, cuddling into his side while binge watching animes with him. He didn't know he would lose this.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ You break very fast, almost like glass. And he can hears shards of glass exploding every time he looks at you. There's no blood on his hands but he feels like there is, he feels like he killed you and the person in front of him is different from the one he used to love, that one was full of life, happy and had a warm smile on their face. This you, unkept, emotionless, isn't the one who he fell in love.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ This you don't get the motivation to shower, don't have the motivation to eat or to talk, even if only to swear at him. This you is like a doll. A doll he washes and dress on your favorite comfy clothes, a doll he spoon feed you your favorite foods.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ He feels so guilty about what he did that when you're sleeping, when your face finally relax from your usual tense and tired expression, that's when he cries a river. Tears streaming down his face as he silently begs you to come back, to fight him again, to swear at him and hit him. He just want you to come back. The you he used to know and love... The you forever lost.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Now Idia didn't like you talking with other people but he'll try to get you into therapy. He wants to try anything that possible could bring you back. He throws himself at your feets and beg you if you wanted, just so you can call him pathetic and useless and a bad lover. You could spit on him and he would thank you for it.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Thing is you are too tired to respond to therapy, too tired for anything. You can only wish for things to end, to be a bad dream. But of course, Idia won't let you remain motionless on your room, crying as you listens to the silence and feels phantom pain all over your body. From your perspective, he may like this. He always liked the control he had over you, always reading your texts, always arguing with you about your friends.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ But you were broken and nothing he could do, nothing he can plan could fix his mess.

#yandere twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #twst idia #twst idia shroud #idia x mc #idia x yuu #idia x reader #yandere idia shroud #idia shroud x reader #yandere idia x mc #yandere idia x reader #tw yandere #event: yandere alphabet

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delawaredetroit · 1 month

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She's honestly one of the few LOV characters who has consistently had a relatively coherent systemic critique of hero society while actually believing in a future. It's actually not surprising she follows Stain even if she doesn't exactly share his ideology.

Shigaraki and Dabi's systemic critiques are muddled by the involvement of All for One and Endeavor in their stories. In that Shigaraki was groomed to see only the worst in everything and prevented by All for One from experiencing anything that wasn't misery. And Dabi in both what created him and his current goals are tied up too much in Endeavor specific neuroses. There are systemic critiques in there, but you have to pull back a few layers of scheming and circumstances that wouldn't apply to even most disenfranchised people in their society.

Toga doesn't have that problem. She was a "normal girl" from a "normal family". She (and Twice) are the examples of the psychological toll of their society's suppression of all quirks outside of heroics.

Due to the nature of Toga's quirk, she connects to people by drinking blood. This didn't inherently have to include violence. People routinely get small injuries in their day to day lives. Blood banks exist. Even the narrative directly acknowledges this - baby Toga didn't attack other children, she "kissed their booboos".

But because they live in a society based in suppression, she was treated poorly every time her quirk - her individuality - affected her relationships with people. And the fact that her parents, her quirk counselor are faceless - they could have been anyone. The reactions she received by those around her are typical of their society.

And kid Toga did her best to put on that faceless mask too, but it didn't fit right. In a moment of weakness - one bad day you could say - she attacked her crush after seeing him bleed in a fight. And she likely felt connected to another person for the first time in years. But Saito died. And then she was a villain. And thus the connection was established. She could only feel connected to people through violence - through causing harm to the people she wants connection with.

In the end though, Toga wants acceptance and believes a future like that is possible. But her experience has told her that the only way to accomplish that is through violence. Stain also killed to establish a future he wanted. He had a significant fanbase despite having a "creepy" quirk that necessitates the ingestion of blood. This might be the first time Toga saw society interact with a person with a quirk like hers in a way other than outright disgust. It's not a surprise she was also inspired by Stain.

#bnha reread #bnha 68 #bnha #toga himiko #shigaraki tomura #todoroki touya #dabi #twice #bubaigawara jin #hero killer stain #akaguro chizome #the final arc has really solidified how important toga's arc is to the series' main themes #bc you can't deal with her conflict by defeating a particular baddy or fixing one family - the system must change

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wifeofsnowbaird · 3 months

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You Can't, You Can't Catch me Now I'm coming like storm into your town

Part 1/Part 2/Part 3/rest on Masterlist

[Mentor!Coriolanus Snow x time-travel, thg-era, tribute!reader x toxic!Finnick Odair (in the Peacekeeper era)]

Warning: gore, blood, gun and knife violence, serious injury, death, physical assult, possibly non-con...as I said, maybe...

Summary: You are a rebel, the last chance of the rebellion against President Snow. You're told to go on one last mission to kill the man who massacred Panem. It took you years to understand your mission when you became [name] Lily Baird, starting from the age of five till before the reaping day of the 10th Hunger Games.

The day you began your plan to destroy President Snow before he became the villain he was meant to become.

'Both sisters, Lucy Gray and [Name] Lily Baird are a part of the Covey, and though they have been chosen as tribute for both District 12 and 9 because of our own mistakes, we hope they will stay safe.'

You knew about [Name] Lily Baird, named after her because your mother was inspired by her fiery personality and strength, but now you realize that you were transported to a time before the Baird sisters died, one of sickness and one because of Coriolanus Snow himself.

'I will kill you, President Coriolanus Snow.'

Coriolanus stood beside his cousin, lost in his train of thought. Tigris paused to question him about his tribute since he had mentored her during the day before noticing a scratch on his face.

‘Coryo! Why haven’t you put a bandaid onto that cut?’

Coriolanus glanced at Tigris before gazing at the scratch on his hand.

He was sure that the scar on his face was worse than his hand but he abandoned the thought of covering it because…Well, what if [Name] Lily Baird had attacked him because she liked him? He had seen her red face multiple times and she always ended up extending her claws like a cat.

‘They’re her marks on my skin.’ Coriolanus shrugged, glancing back at Tigris as she stood by the stove lost in shock. She grimaced as he gently smiled at the thought and walked to the dining table where Grandma’am sat.

The old woman glanced at him before settling down and calling a maid to hand her the scarf.

Grandma’am has always been stuck in a world before the Civil War between the Capital and the Districts so Coriolanus intervened through the elder woman's anger at a non-existent person and went to fetch it from another room.

Tigris sighed, gazing back at the boiling cabbage in a hot pan in front. Her mind kept on sliding back to her cousin’s answer about why his tribute kept on attacking him.

‘ Her marks on my skin? Well, isn’t he delusional…’ Tigris mumbled before going back to the hot pan on the stove.

‘Sejanus,’ the boy beside Coriolanus looked up at the blonde near him.

‘Yeah? You need something?’

‘Does [Name] Lily attack the other tributes like she does to me?’

Sejanus stopped chewing midway through the sandwich Ma had made.

‘No, she’s nice once you meet her the second time. I saw her with Dill, Wovey, and Reaper once and she was teaching them about how to tell the difference between certain seeds for some reason.’ He shrugged. ‘Apparently, Wovey and Dill were interested…Why though?’

Sejanus then glanced at the scars Coriolanus had received from his tribute and frowned, having heard about what happened yesterday. Tigris had told him about it when he had stopped by their penthouse.

‘So…I’m the only one? I’m special to her?’

Clemensia Dovecote, one of his acquaintances since they weren’t close, interrupted the conversation before Sejanus could respond.

‘Listen, Coryo, don’t get caught up in your delusions. She hates you, I’m sure about that.’

Coriolanus scoffed at the girl in front of him before grinning at you while you were being dragged by a Peacekeeper.

He stepped towards you, ignoring his friends' comments, and wrapped a hand around your waist but was pushed away.

‘Get off me!’ You sneered before stomping away in an angry fit.

Coriolanus glanced back at his friends but ignored them once they shook their heads, mentally telling him that, ‘they told him so.’ But unfortunately, he had lost himself to you.

At least to his future First Lady of Panem.

One sentence kept repeating in his head while he was following you,

‘I’m her only, she made me claim her as mine.’

And without sensing the slight possessiveness coming from your mentor, you glared at the arrogant boy who was meant to keep you safe.

‘Really wish I could destroy you now, Coriolanus Snow.’

next chapter is gonna be Sej x Lucy Gray sooooo be warned ig?

#tom blyth #tom blyth imagine #ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow x reader #hunger games #president snow #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus imagine #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #yandere coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x you #young coriolanus snow #coriolanus smut #sejanus plinth #snow lands on top #thg tbosas

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bokettochild · 2 months

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Day 9 - Bees

@aeghina sure thing, luv!

Wordcount: 2,753

Rating: Gen

Summary: Usually, when Mister hero comes back injured, he's got the decency to pass out on his ed, or the couch, or that dratted rocker. This time though, he just had to collapse by the bee hives. If Yuga doesn't kill them, Ravio might end Link himself! (If the bees don't kill HIM first!)

There are many advantages to having moved his business to Hyrule.

For one, Mister Hero’s house is, while cluttered and overrun with boxes and chests of gear, a far warmer place than his own home. Once he moved the boxes and whatnot out of the way, it’s actually a very nice place to live too. The place needed cleaning to make a serviceable shop, of course, but he’d had plenty of time on his hands once Mister Hero agreed to take on defeating Yuga and rescuing his princess. He really only had to keep an eye out for the hero returning so he could sell him something or another, but otherwise was left free to move things about and tidy this or that as he wished.

Granted, Mister Hero didn’t appreciate having his home reorganized, and they’d ended up arguing over some things. The blasted rocker by the fire is the bane of his existence, second only to Yuga, but it was a concession he has to make because that is the hero’s favorite place to sit when he returns to the house for a brief rest, and much as it is an eyesore, it’s not worth the fights they’ve had over it, although he never puts any effort into hiding his distain over the thing. The rest of the house is very nice though, and the dishware and fully stocked pantry are so very lovely to have at his disposal while Mister Hero darts here and there across the kingdom. The warm bed, multitude of blankets, full woodshed and generous garden are also luxuries it takes him some time to process can belong to someone who, apparently, lacks any sort of title beyond “hero” and holds no power over the rest of the kingdom.

That said, there are downsides too. Hundreds, dare he say thousands of them, and they come in the form of the buzzing yellow and black demons that swarm about in the back garden from the little hives that Mister Hero apparently made on purpose in order to keep the monsters on his property.

Because Mister Hero is apparently as mad as Yuga himself.

Generally speaking, he doesn't go outside anyway. There's enough to do in the house as is, repairing items and cleaning and sifting through the endless boxes of gear he can only just begin to theorize the source of. He’s lucky the hero doesn’t remember half the stuff exists too, because he’d never get so good a price on his goods if the hylian remembered this stuff is here to use for free. (The horror!)

Unfortunately, one of his responsibilities, other than supplying the hero with supplies, is also to make sure the man stays alive long enough to actually face off against Yuga, which is honestly harder than it should be. Mister Hero seems to have found every single possible danger between his world and Ravio’s own, and he’s running into them headfirst and with far more courage than is probably healthy for a mortal to have.

He thinks Mister Hero forgets, sometimes, that he is mortal.

It’s usually fine. Sheerow alerts him if the hero’s incoming with some injury or another, and he has ample time to pull together supplies to piece the hylian back together again before watching him pass out somewhere in the house. Usually it’s on the couch, but sometimes he actually climbs into his bed and drops off for a few precious hours.

That’s usually, because usually, Mister Hero actually comes into the house first thing, but not today. No, today he’s gotten the brilliant idea inside his pretty little head to just pass out in the middle of the garden! Honestly, Ravio’s not sure what he’s meant to do with this man, although giving him a good shaking does sound like a particularly attractive idea at the moment. He’ll have to do it after cleaning him up though, because the amount of blood spilling into the flower beds is frankly a bit concerning.

There’s just one problem: the garden is swarming with bees. He’s not exaggerating either, it’s not just twenty or so, but he thinks the full population of the three hives combined, and they’re all buzzing rather aggressively, although none are harming the fallen hero. Rather, it seems the little devils are actually surrounding him, and the most they do is crawl over his limp form, taking turns at the blood pooling on the flagstones but otherwise doing no harm to the man.

Ravio’s watched Mister Hero handle the horrid little things with total and complete comfort many times before, and despite what every book he’s managed to dig up suggests, there’s no use of smoke or protective equipment by the hero while doing so. No, Mister Hero just casually lets the things crawl all over him when he’s home! It’s only after repeated protest from the bunny merchant that he’s stopped bringing them into the house, but even so, that doesn’t stop him doing it while in the garden or by the hives. It’s frankly a bit disturbing, even if seeing the man smile softly at the horrid striped devils is rather endearing, and he's made a point in the past to keep his distance. If he watches, he watches through a window, scolding and fussing to himself and Sheerow at the sheer idiocy of it all.

Really, how can someone purposefully approach when bees are around? They’d have to be totally out of their mind!

Although, considering Mister Hero is actively seeking out Yuga, searching for a fight, he’s pretty sure it’s obvious just how sane the hylian is, and the answer is hardly at all. Technically, that works to his advantage at least on the Yuga front, but right now... Yeah, right now, if he doesn’t get Mister Hero inside and patched up, the man’s likely going to just bleed to death. But hauling his ass inside means braving the swarm that’s clouded up around him, buzzing ferociously in an effort to (most likely) warn away any enemy of their keeper.

And Ravio has no grounds to believe that they will see him as anything less than one such threat.

Lolia’s Moon, he’s really got no choice here, has he?

“Sheerow, wish me luck.”

His little companion cheeps at him, but of course, like he wishes he could do himself, does not approach and instead keeps safely back, perched on a window frame. He’ll have an excellent view of his master being stung to death, Ravio bemoans to himself.

The noise of the bees increases as he steps closer, and even though he’s covered head to toe, hands fisting his sleeve ends to close them up, the reality of the situation is that his robes are not the thickest material in the world, and skin showing or no skin showing, he’s not likely to escape this without a few stings. Thank Lolia he’s not allergic. Sometimes people are, or so he’s heard, and he’d be utterly and totally doomed (more so than he already is) if he was.

The first step towards Mister Hero is met with a few of the little devils flying at him, and despite every warning, he can’t help but try to bat them away, especially with how they seem intent to fly at the eyes of his rabbit hood. They’re vicious little things, and each step closer to the downed hero is made slower by the need to bat a cloud of bees away from himself.

The stings, as feared, do penetrate his clothes.

First it’s one, then two, and then so many all at once that he gives up moving cautiously altogether, darting through the crowd of them and towards the body of the hero. It's a struggle lifting him, he’s not heavy but Ravio has never been accused of being particularly strong either. In the end, he resorts to hauling on both arms, tugging them over his shoulders and shouldering the weight of the other across his back as though he’s just the bag the merchant carries with him most of the time.

The bees fall back, ceasing their attack for a moment as they seem to register that their target is now partially blocked by the body of their keeper, but unfortunately, they appear to actually be intelligent.

Well, shit.

Without so much as touching Mister Hero, they manage to get at him all the same. And pain burns up his arms and across his shoulders from where most of them can get at him. Loose clothing across his face and lower half is his only salvation, as is Sheerow holding open the door long enough for him to slip inside, somewhere the bees have apparently been ordered to not enter, because they don’t follow.

He ends up dropping the passed-out hero onto the bed, careful as he can, but that’s hard to do with his hands and arms full of stingers.

He debates which is more pressing, cleaning the hero’s wounds or freeing himself from the needly hell that is the little stingers stuck in his skin. He settles on binding up the worst of the injuries first and leaving Sheerow to watch their fallen hero, before turning his own attention to stripping out of tunic, shirt and hood and working with his vision unobstructed to remove the countless little stingers that dot his skin.

It takes upwards of an hour to get them all out.

He does, finally, finish though. It’s then he turns his focus on properly cleaning and tending to Mister Hero’s wounds, which haven’t gotten any worse in the time it took him to fix himself up. There are a few ribs to set and a nasty gash on the hylian’s thigh, as well as what appears to be some slight burning on one hand, but at this point in things, it’s not the worst condition that the hero has dragged himself here in.

When Mister Hero awakens, Ravio has already donned clean clothes and his hood again, and all traces of either of their injuries are hidden under ample bandages or else disposed of.

There are so, so many stingers in their waste basket, sweet Lolia!

“Ravio?” Violet eyes blink open slowly, and the pain that creases the pretty face of his doppelganger makes no attempt to hide itself as it usually might, a sure sign that he’s too far out of it from either pain or exhaustion to realize that he’s failing to mask himself. It’s fine though, Ravio can read their shared face easily anyway, even if certain emotions do look so very foreign on the twinned features of his mirror.

“Ah, Mister Hero!” He chirps, because it’s really not the hero’s fault that this happened, even if it is a pain in the ass, “you’re awake at last!”

The hylian moves to sit up, only to stop with a gasp and a groan, falling back on the bed with fluttering eyes and suddenly very pale cheeks.

“Ah, yes, you might not want to move.”

“Thanks for the warning.” And there’s the sharp attitude he’s come to be familiar with! He knew Mister Hero was in there somewhere; he just wouldn’t be him without a scowl on that pretty face.

“My pleasure,” Ravio responds, fully aware of how cheeky it is and fully enjoying the roll of violet eyes as he perches on the bedside. “I won’t charge you for it either, although you do owe me a rather pretty sum as of the moment.”

There’s a faint groan at the words, dark eyes turning up towards him as bejeweled hands clutch at the blankets settled over the injured hero. “What on earth for?”

“Damages, of course. You collapsed most tragically in the middle of the garden, and I dare say that half your hives stung me in my attempts to fetch you back here. Why, I was plucking those little demons’ stingers out of skin all afternoon!”

And he’s still feeling the effects. His skin is on fire, and the contact of his clothes is very much not helping. He can’t go without clothes in front of the hero though, especially not the hood, because he’s not sure the hylian is ready to face that particular truth yet. He’s not sure if he is either, to be honest.

“How is that my fault?”

“Because I never would have been out there if I wasn’t hauling you in here. Now, I should think two-hundred rupees should suffice for compensation.”

“Two-hundred!” Mister Hero surges upwards, apparently forgetting his condition but being violently reminded of it once more as he moves, and a choked off sound quickly follows the motion, the other man falling back against the mattress with carefully controlled breaths and a full body wince.

Ravio nods. “Indeed, and again, mind your injuries. I’m not charging for the warning, but if you undo all my hard work, I’ll be obliged to make you pay for making me fix it.”

The hero’s response is maybe not meant for his ears, but he catches it all the same. “No one said you had to do squat.”

“Yet if I leave you to your own devices, neither of our homes will get saved now, will they? You’ll bleed to death, and I’ll surely do the same without a big strong hero like you to fight off the enemy on my behalf!” Mister Hero, despite what Ravio says, is neither big nor particularly strong as far as he’s seen. Sure, he supposes there’s got to be some sort of power to the man’s frame to swing around a sword all day, but the fact that they are mostly identical does prevail. Sure, the hylian is an inch or so shorter and a fair bit more lithe than he is himself, but that’s mostly on account of lifestyle. Their bodies cannot bulk, not to save their lives, and he knows it.

Mister Hero sighs, fumbling blindly amidst his clothes for his money pouch and soon after producing the demanded rupees. It’s not the full worth of what he suffered for the hero’s sake, but it’s something, and considering what the hero is suffering for his sake, he supposes a discount is in order. “There.”

“Good doing business with you, Mister Hero!”

His only answer is another groan as violet eyes flutter closed and the hero settles back into bed. “Sure, whatever you say.”

And it is. It is whatever he says, because no price could redeem the suffering a thousand stings. Good gracious, he’s going to be so swollen tomorrow!

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu legend #lu ravio #febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #ketto writes

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wangxianficfinder · 4 months

Text

In the mood for...

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1. Itmf best brother nmj/nmj is everyone’s da ge.

🧡 Where's Your Emergency? by trippednfell (M, 64k, WangXian, 911 Dispatcher WWX, Single dad LWJ, Kid fic, Modern AU, D&D Games, Angst with a happy ending)

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2. I randomly came across this video recently of the Japanese Rabbit Hopping Assc. today, and I immediately felt compelled to ask if anyone has written (or possibly is inspired to write) 'actually very serious rabbit agility racer Lan Wangji'

Video link if anyone wants it lol:

youtube

Tumblr story by @/mondengel2 I took it as a prompt

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3. Hii!! I am really looking for fics with angst with happy ending (happy ending for wangxian mostly) coupled with Jiang Yanli betraying Wei Ying if there are any? Thanks!! @yilinglaobunny

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4. Hiya!!! I've got an IIMF request: fic where Wen Yuan is actually a blood heir of the Wen and that somehow factors into the story importantly (like, he's Wen Rouhan's grandson, has special Wen powers, etc). Thanks for all the hard you you all do! @kimboo-york

sami's 'Dream of Youth' and 'Hand in Hand Together' has A'Yuan as Wen Xu's bio son. It's a minor plot point though.

The Dreams of Youth by sami (E, 85k, WangXian, YZY/TLJ, Canon Divergence, Time Travel, Fix-It, Family, Not Lan Sect Friendly, Bad Dads, good dads, JFM's A+ parenting, Qingheng-Jun's F- Existence, Childhood Friends to Lovers, Sort Of, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Some People Live/Not Everyone Dies, Canonical Character Death)

Hand in Hand Together (All Your Life) by sami (T, 41k, WZL/JC, WangXian, Queerplatonic relationship, Implied future MingLi, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon Divergence, Time Travel Fix-It, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Healing, Slow Burn)

When Flowers Spring from Killing Things by windsweptice (B0redaf) (Not rated, 100k, wangxian, Wen WWX, Demonic Cultivation, WWX Has No Golden Core, he's got a resentful one instead, Yīn Iron, WRH pov, LWJ pov, WWX pov, WWX Isn't Adopted by the Jiāngs, Sentient Burial Mounds, XY Is A Little Shit, WQ pov, Protective WWX, Protective WQ, Cinnamon Roll WN, Protective WN, LXC pov, BAMF WWX, Burning of the Cloud Recesses, Fall of Lotus Pier, Cultivation Discussion Conferences, BAMF LWJ, BAMF WN, BAMF WQ, Good Person WX, WWX Has a New Golden Core, Cloud Recesses Shenanigans, Weddings) might not be everyone's cup of tea cause he's literally wen ruohan's son

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5. Hello! ITMF a fic where WWX survived the siege at Burial Mounds and remembers that LWJ saved him that night at Nightless City. Then WWX finds out about the punishment LWJ had to go through because of that. And WWX takes LWJ to Burial Mounds to mend his scars and they end up together.

I saw a fanart of wangxian with Yilling Patriarch!WWX treating LWJ's scars and that was all I could think about.

❤️ A Myriad of Blossoms by Itszero (E, 56k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Forced Marriage, YLLZ WWX, Hurt LWJ, Cruel wwx, he's cruel until he's not, Protective WWX, Caring WWX, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Eventual Smut, Bottom LWJ, Dark WWX) pls pls read this because based on ur request this is amazing (pls don't hate wwx in the beginning)

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6. Hello! I'm in the mood for fics where wwx is experiencing some kind of delusion or psychosis and lwj (or other characters) try to help him through it. I don't mind wether it's canon universe with the demonic cultivation being the cause, a curse or even modern au.

Thanks!

From Underneath by steppjes (M, 15k, wangxian, Character Death, Major Character Injury, Modern, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery, Supernatural Elements, Demons, Ghosts, Hallucinations, Grief/Mourning, Blood and Injury, Depression, Hospitals, Mutual Pining, The Troubles of Baby Acquisition, Very on brand self hate from wwx, he's going through a lot okay)

Mud on Your Feet by AvoOwO (Not Rated, 59k, WangXian, Nightmares, Sentient Burial Mounds, Possession, Panic Attacks, Night Terrors, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Good Sibling JC, Hurt WWX, Soft WangXian, Blood and Injury, Hallucinations, Delusions, JC Loves WWX, Insomnia, Good Sibling WWX, Sleepwalking, Sleeptalking, Protective JC, POV LWJ, PTSD, Post-Canon, YLLZ WWX, resentful energy, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Soft JC, Yúnmèng Siblings Feels)

let me sing to you by greybird_crookedbranch (T, 61k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, adorable Juniors, Minor Original Character(s)for plot purposes, Minor Violence, Demonic Cultivation, resentful energy, Trauma, Guilt, Protectiveness, BAMF WWX, Hurt wwx, Protective WWX, Protective LWJ, Baby Lans, WWX loving and being loved by tiny Lan babies, LWJ being utterly whipped for WWX, Mental Instability, Possession, Angst with a Happy Ending, POV LWJ, a tasteful seasoning of Yunmeng Bros Reconcilliation, CQL canon except LWJ is not chief cultivator, Nightmares)

out in the garden, there's things you hid away by saltyfeathers (E, 121k, WangXian, Possession, Animal Death, mass death event, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt(s), lotta hurt lotta comfort, wwx-centric, unfortunately there's also a bodily fluids warning, just like a lot of bodily fluids, there is sex and it is all in the last chapter, Serious Injuries, Angst with a Happy Ending, Post canon)

Something at the Door by Pip (Moirail) (E, 50k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Modern Cultivation, background 3zun, Background Yi City trio, Intrusive Thoughts, Horror, Suicidal Thoughts, Temporary Character Death, Blood, Explicit Sexual Content, Mutual Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, Mystery, Urban Fantasy)

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7. Helloooo mods! It’s been a while! 💜 for the next itmf can i get some completed fics that explores wen ning in a romantic way? Like fluff and falling in love? Aside from JC , i don’t mind who he’s shipped with.

Thank you! 😊 @jikcf

the height of summer by la_dissonance (G, 8k, WN/LWJ/WWX, Getting Together, Romance, Accidental Courtship, On purpose courtship, Polyamory, Fluff, a small amount of pining, Love Confessions, WN/Happiness forever otp, Gift Giving, Secret Admirer)

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8. Can you please find a au marvel or Wwx as Wanda or black widow ! Thank you 😊 @brighterthanmagicalfluff

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9. Ok guys, I'm in the mood for your favorite Good Uncle LQR fics. I don't care for any other details besides that, please & thank you

小兔子 | Little Bunny by dragongirlG (T, 6k, LQR & LWJ, LXC & LQR & LWJ, LSZ & LQR, minor wangxian, POV LQR, love language: acts of service, Caring LQR, Character Study, Canon Universe, References to Canon, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Comatose QHJ, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Hopeful Ending, Podfic Available, Good Uncle LQR)

🧡 Stunted, Starving Juvenility by TomatenMark (E, 742k, WangXian, WIP, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Feelings Realization, Getting Together, Sexual Tension, Supportive LQR, Light Angst, Internalized Homophobia, Period-Typical Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, WWX learns about his parents, First Dates, First Kiss, First Time, LWJ is confused, Then he is 100 percent on board, Kink Discovery, Kink Exploration, Bisexual WWX, Dual Cultivation, Slow Burn, Fix-It of Sorts, Not JFM friendly, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fluff and Angst, Blood and Gore, Supportive LXC, Protective LXC, Canon Divergence, Inventor WWX, Eventual Smut, Possessive LWJ, Genius WWX, Cultivation Sect Politics, Scheming NHS, Cultivation Discussion Conferences, Pre-Sunshot Campaign, Minor Character Death, NHS gets himself a beard (not the facial kind), POV WWX, Fluff and Smut, Burning of the Cloud Recesses)

Lessons relearned by Iamnotawriter (T, 44k, WangXian, LQR & WWX, Not Madam Yu Friendly, Time Travel Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inventor WWX, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, No Golden Core Transfer, YZY Bashing)

Skate Happy by cinder1013 (E, 12k, wangxian, Modern, Meet-Cute, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Skate disco waiter outfits, booty shorts, Inappropriate Marriage Proposal, secret wedding plans, Good Uncle LQR, Good Friend JGY, not entirely evil XY, wwx has low self-esteem, but it works out in the end, They buy a farm, wwx wears what he likes, Panties, Anal Sex, A+ parenting all around)

🔒 Baby, Beard and Birds by mondengel (G, <1k, LQR & LWJ, Fluff, Babyfic, Family)

🔒 An old kettle, a tiny teacup, and a new pot. by mondengel (G, 2k, LQR & LWJ)

Between the rotten apples lies a fresh grave by hamlets_ghost (T, 12k, LXC & LWJ, WangXian, NieLan, Modern AU, Twin Jades of Lán Dynamics, Canonical Character Death, (Madam Lan), child LXC, Child LWJ, Child Neglect, implied kidnapping, (madam lan), Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, (also madam lan), this is not a happy fic so mind the tags please, passive suicidal thoughts (but not really?), Angst with a Happy Ending, non-linear timeline, semi-explicit discribtion of a corpse (chapter 3), Slightly hinted 3zun)

When we were small by deliciousblizzardshark (T, 7k, LXC & LQR & LWJ, Implied WangXian, Modern AU, Kid Fic, Good Uncle LQR, Neurodivergent LWJ, Baby LWJ, Baby WWX, Parenthood, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, POV LQR, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Grief/Mourning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort)

Discordant Rhapsody by nirejseki (T, 49k, LQR & WWX, wangxian, JC & WWX, WQ & WWX & WN, LWJ & LQR & LXC, canon divergence, fix-it, hurt/comfort, trauma, politics, protective LQR, protective LWJ, protective WWX, LQR centric, whump, angst)

through the eyes of elders series by Fleetling (T, 13k, LXC & LWJ, LXC & LQR, wangxian, LXC & WWX, LQR & WWX, CQL Canon Compliant, LQR's perspective on wangxian, mainly him being frustrated at wwx wasting his talents and then realising that oh no that backfired wangji's in love, the homeoroticness of sword fights, wangxian DOES NOT get together there's just ust and longing glances like in canon, LQR isn't bad he just wants the best for his nephew, LQR pov, LQR is a good uncle, LXC recovering from the whole JGY thing is a major part, Wingman LXC, good brothers!!!)

Good Guy Lan Qiren series by thunderwear (T, 28k, wangxian, LQR & WWX, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Golden Core Reveal, LWJ's POV, Fluff, Everyone Lives AU, LQR finds out about WWX's core, wwx and lqr are friends?? In My Fic? its more likely than you think, lwj in the bg like whats happening?, WWX goes to Gusu, Mutual Pining)

The stuffed bunny, the beautiful nephew, and other gifts from Lan Qiren by deliciousblizzardshark (G, 8k, LQR & WWX, wangxian, Modern, Single Parent WWX, Good Uncle LQR, Accidental Uncle Acquisition, Found Family, Fluff)

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10. OMG I REALLY WANT TO READ REVERSE ROLES LZ AND WWX (ex: cold WWX and troublemaker LZ, Top WWX and Bot LZ) IDK 😭 @naoenowa

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11. hi! I'd like to make an itmf req for canon era fics that feature a dark(ish) gusu lan/lan zhan, such as "hoards and treasures" by apathyinreverie which i loved. for instance, fics where the gusu lan interpret their rules with a darker lens, and where they might turn to manipulation/deceit to achieve what they consider right.

i know about "A Matter of Time", which is on my read list! but I'm also esp interested in seeing the dark gusu lan/lan zhan trope explored without time-travel elements. thank you very much! @potatokunst

~*~

12. Hola :) , For the next In the mood for, I'm really, really interested in Lan Sizhui fics centric, specially related to Gusu Lan or his relationship with Clan Lan.

you are my chosen family by jinyinhua (T, 14k, LSZ & LJY, wangxian, LJY & LSZ & LWJ & WWX, 5+1 Things, Good Kid LJY, Good Kid LSZ, Blood and Injury, Night Hunts, Drinking, Age Regression/De-Aging, Married Wangxian, Fluff and Humor, Found Family, Gūsū Lán Juniors Dynamics)

Revolution by mrcformoso (T, 8k, WangXian, ZhuiYi, Light Angst, Happy Ending, POV LSZ, Found Family, Toxic Elders, Fatherhood, Growing Up, The Lan Juniors, LWJ Adopts LSZ, WWX is LSZ's Parent, LSZ is a polite menace, Canon Compliant, Canon Divergence, Good Uncle WN) You might need to read the other stories in the series but if you just want LSZ feels then this can stand alone :)

this blood in my mouth by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 3k, WangXian, POV LXC, Post-Canon)

~*~

13. Hi!

For the next IMTF, I'm looking for fics where LXC finds himself a new passion and is hilariously bad at it, much to others' amusement & secondhand embarrassment. Especially lwj or lqr is suffering.

His partners, be it jgy, nmj, jc or anyone, is very supportive of lxc's passion. It could be baking, gardening, cooking, dancing etc.

For example, "The evolution of the heart" by Uglybeautiful, Radiencia..(lxc takes up magic/the art of illusion and joins a circus) @imstillthinkingaboutithmm

Magic Mishap by Regency_Bunny (T, 8k, WangXian, NieLan, Modern AU, Single parent WWX, Fluff, Humor, Kid Fic, Meet cute, Love at first sight, Himbo LXC, Magic tricks)

The Shape of Your Love (is Horny) by Vamillepudding (T, 25k, WangXian, XiYao, Urban Fantasy, Getting Together, Romantic Comedy, WWX is Bad at Being a Demon, LWJ is definitely a Monsterfucker) had a running gag about LXC taking up new hobbies that he is horrible at, including ceramics, perfume-making, knitting, etc. JGY is very supportive and LWJ and LQR try to ignore it out of politeness

~*~

14. Hi! I’m itfm

a) tattooed lwj agenda. Specifically when his arms are tattooed and they show when he pulls up his sleeves, but anything and everything is fine

b) Ceo lwj where his employees find out he’s married or dating wwx or regular office worker lwj and his coworkers find out

Thank you! @wangxian-is-my-life

14A)

(our friendship) up against the ropes by daltoneering (E, 36k, WangXian, Modern AU, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, lan zhan FUCKS, Fluff and Smut, Experienced LWJ, Oblivious WWX, Mutual Pining, Friends With Benefits, Pining while fucking, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Masturbation, Spit Kink, Dirty Talk, Light Bondage, Praise Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, Kink Negotiation, Pride and Prejudice 2005 (dir. Joe Wright), mentions of Wei Ying/others and Lan Zhan/others)

🔒 Craquelure & Coverups by Inessencedivided (E, 27k, wangxian, Modern, Tattoo Parlor AU, Reincarnation, Tattoo Artist WWX, Tattooed LWJ, Dreams and Nightmares, Past Lives, trauma discussions, Mutual Pining, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Chronic Pain, First Kiss, First Time, Body Worship, Non-Penetrative Sex, Happy Ending, further tw in the notes)

Tattoos for Broken Hearts by TriviasFolly (G, 1k, WangXian, Modern AU, LWJ has a Tramp Stamp Tattoo, that's the fic) lower back tattoo

14B)

like strawberries on a summer evening by ritualist (E, 15k, WangXianChengYi, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Modern AU, Accidental Voyeurism, Office Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Choking, Light Dom/sub, Light BDSM, Bratting, Light breathplay, Wei Ying says no when he means yes (and everyone understands this to be the case), Mild S&M, Spitroasting, Rimming, Porn with Feelings, Polyamory) lawyers, poly 4some

~*~

15. Hi! For ITMF, could you recommend me a heavy plot fic in canon era before WWX died and revolve around him. It can be fix it/time travel/canon divergence/etc. No bashing except several character like YZY, JFM, LQR, JGS, WC, WLJ. You can bash them but i prefer not.

Thank you @idontknowwhattowriteforusername

~*~

16. I saw a lwj whump in the itmf some time ago but I can't find it.

I believe it was physical lwj whump specifically, can u help please?

hope you're having a nice day

Alter by Solmae (E, 162k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Drama & Romance, Slow Burn, Canon-Typical Violence, Rape/Non-con Elements, Gang Rape, Forced Prostitution, PTSD, Top/Bottom Versatile | Switch WangXian, Explicit Sexual Content, Sexual Slavery, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Torture) LWJ is taken as a sex slave by the Wen, so definitely counts as whump

Bring Your Wonder (Lose Your Faith) by kianspo (M, 75k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Different Sunshot Campaign, straight boy wwx, Feelings Realization, Protective LXC, Protective WWX, BAMF WWX, Angst with a Happy Ending, Twin Jades of Lán Feels, POV Multiple, LWJ Whump)

~*~

17. Hi! I know this isn’t your normal ship, but could I itmf WWX/NMJ fics? I recently read “Better Things To Do With A Flute In Wartime” (a WWX/NMJ/ eventual also LWJ fic) and really liked the dynamic between WWX and NMJ. Particularly how blunt NMJ was, how he valued WWX’s mind and strength from a kind of unbiased viewpoint as a sect leader and war general, and also that they bonded over unorthodox cultivation methods. Would love to see more of this couple! Thank you so much!

An Elegant Solution by giraffeter (E, 205k, niewangxian, canon divergence, arranged marriage, friends to lovers, fix-it, everyone lives au, courtship, polyamory, smut)

Crowned in Glory (fear no more) by Pip (Moirail) (E, 19k, NMJ/WWX, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Loss of Virginity, Size Difference, Sunshot Campaign, Sexual Tension, Certified dage fucker, Dirty Talk, Oral Sex, Rimming, Canon Divergence, Butterfly Effect, Canon-Typical Violence, Blood and Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Dubious interpretation of resentful energy)

Resent & Blossom by manaika (T, 26k, NMJ/WWX, JC & WWX, LWJ & WWX, NHS & NMJ, NHS & WWX, Love Triangles, Pining, Arranged Marriage, Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, eferences to Fatal Journey, Strangers to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Murder Attempt)

Pastime (With Good Company) by nirejseki (Not rated, 25k, NMJ/WWX/LWJ, Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, WWX is very thirsty, and not straight at all, same for LWJ, WIP)

~*~

If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic recs #i'm in the mood for a fic #the untamed #wangxian fic search #wangxianficfinder #long post

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dvzaiosamu · 30 days

Text

The dulcet taste of your lips — osamu dazai.

Hello :3 I was bored, so I decided to make this oneshot about Dazai (yes, again... Ik I'm obsessed over him sometimes). I hope you all are doing good. Take good care of yourself, drink water, don't forget to eat!

The theme for today's oneshot is: A sticky (too sweet) morning after having a tough day at work yesterday. Slight angst at first, slight fluff and then slight nsfw scenes at the end.

The night before, Yokohama, Japan.

The night illuminates your room that you share with Dazai, a soft light that helps you see the big moon in the sky, everything generated a melancholic feeling in you. The memories of all those times, your dark age where the light of the moon meant you had to go out and kill on orders from your superiors. The cold colors of the night are variants of many shades of colors that appear on your tired face.

You were sitting in front of the large window that gave way to views of the city. You observed the moon and the surroundings, although you did not really understand why, it is as if you had settled into an infinite trance that repeats itself every time you open yourself and begin to unconsciously read the pages of your past, which torments you like a terminal cancer, stabilized in your brain; This has made your perception of the world mostly negative, but now you were alone, Dazai had not yet returned from work, you understood that he had a night shift, it would probably not take more than an hour for him to appear with his charismatic smiles to hug you tenderly.

What a nightmare it was to be alone. It's not because it scared you, it wasn't for any reason that it provoked an inner fear in you, an intense dread, no, it wasn't like that. It was a nightmare because all the time you had thoughts running through your head, regretting that there were once people who, after your feline agility, scratched them, but not with nails, but with a sharp katana that you no longer have because you had just passed page. Although you are no longer the same, the past is still there, unconsciously you go deeper into the pit into which you had originally fallen.

You move uncomfortably through your thoughts, and in order not to continue looking at the moon, you get up slowly, rubbing your sleepy eyes, sighing when the change of position causes you terrible fatigue, increased by the long and terrible day you had had at work. Your bones seemed to creak like a bird's wing when you broke it in half, it was all in your imagination, but you would swear you heard some bones crunch, you get confused, but you still understand that those were the bones of people you killed in the past, that now replay in your mind.

You rub your temples, in a circular motion, but you can't get rid of the less than happy memories. You walk towards the small kitchen that housed the Agency's dorm. You take a clear glass and fill it halfway with fresh water. You hold it in your hand for a relatively long time, watching the artistic light of the kitchen projecting itself onto the glass in yellowish tones. The moment comes where you finally direct the surface of the glass towards your lips, drinking the water slowly, as if you were afraid that if you drank it too quickly, the glass would fall and break into millions of crystals that you would then step on, causing painful injuries.

"What's even happening to me..." You whisper these words once you place the glass in the sink. Your words come out like a ghost's whisper, almost unpredictable, a soft tone but slightly distorted by your own head that made you hallucinate voices or things that weren't really there and never existed. "What is wrong with me?"

For about a minute you remain motionless, thinking about the possibility of somehow eliminating those thoughts and freeing yourself. You were trying to organize yourself, your thoughts were rebellious, they didn't pay attention to you, and this wasn't just now, reversing time, you were a little girl who had a single order stuck in your head, "Kill when it's night. When it falls and the moon is seen". Even as an adult now, that order repeats itself like a broken record in your brain, and once again, another sigh leaves your mouth. Exhausted by suffering and the invisible rope that keeps you between the future and the past, you decide to walk towards your shared futon with your sweet partner, the tatami around it gave it elegance, but that was not what you were worried about at that moment.

You lie down and your head falls on the white pillows, freshly washed yesterday. You try to close your eyes, and although it is difficult, you finally manage to sleep.

─────

The morning comes as at the beginning of summer and the warm rays of the sun make the eyes open slightly. Outside now you see a sun, a yellow sun that shines, although you know that in hours that will be a moon, but that no longer torments you, since the orange colors of the sky make you calm down and think that you are in paradise. The sun's rays simply hit your skin and warm it pleasantly.

Beside you, you feel arms embracing you possessively, and it's just then that you realize that Dazai has returned. You could feel his heat hitting your back and his head on the back of your neck. With a slow movement, not even realizing if he was asleep or just waiting for his sleeping beauty to wake up, you stretch your arms, and you know it was a pleasant stretch as you hear your bones stretch. You yawn slightly, and turn your head to see your partner.

"Good morning, dear. Did you sleep well?" A voice soft like honey, cloying like melted sugar and a serene look, even maintaining his charisma makes you feel better after that night.

"I can't assure you of that... I didn't have a very good time last night, the memories torment me again, Dazai, I don't like to be alone when there is a moon in the starry sky," you explain with a slight complaining tone, as if you were blaming him for not coming ooner. "I only slept well the moment you came with me to sleep."

"I'm so sorry, belladonna... Kunikida made me finish my report and didn't let me go until it was ready," a drama in his tone of voice makes him sound like a whining puppy. "Believe me... I missed you a lot too."

Dazai's arms grab you and pull you towards him, so that you fall on top of him, your breathing changes slightly to a faster one, you watch him calmly, although in his eyes, your figure simply seduces him. You have Osamu at your mercy, and you notice how a pointed smirk appears on his face, one of his legs bending so that his knee is between your legs.

"You have to miss me a lot to be so hungry now, huh?" You scold him, gently grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. He just smiles.

“I have to say… the only thing I’m hungry right now is dessert,” his words pause, in which his hands rest on the sides of your torso, bringing you closer to his desired position. His body lifts and sits up only to let the weight of your body rest on his lap, a shy look coming from you. "And that dessert is you."

“I don’t think cannibalism is ideal,” you reply, mildly bewildered.

A joyful laugh comes from him and his warm smile only widens as he looks at you tenderly. "No, silly, I didn't mean that... I meant something else!"

"What 'something else'...?"

A sudden kiss falls on your warm lips. A voracious hunger emanating from him doesn't allow you to react and you are taken by surprise by the flame that burns inside him every time he looks at you. Your lips fight to stay firm, but his insistence on having you close to him while he devours you makes you give in at one point, small bites on your lip, and you know that his way of kissing is passionate when he feels like it and soft when he thinks it's romantic —something that turns out too well—. The warmth of the morning envelops Osamu, and sooner than expected, his tounge joins the kiss, dancing with yours hungrily. What had you done for yourself, an innocent lamb, to fall into the clutches of a wolf?

Just when you think you're going to run out of air, he finally stops feeding on your lips, which would probably have a few small bruises on them. Both you and him take a breath and observe each other in silence, you feel how passion envelops you, although a shyness for such an intimate act knowing that you were not the type of person who liked sudden and rather soft kisses.

You are surprised how his cold hands sneak under your pajamas, touching your abdomen with an innocent smile, trying to escape a judging look from you, but you really didn't have the strength left to scold him, now you were just surprised. You absolutely hated this moment.

"I didn't expect you to do that..." you murmur sheepishly, a slight frown appearing on your face when he dares to move his hand downwards, you grab it and hold it down.

“What can I say… Hunger eats me up inside,” he sighs, his hand resting on your cheek. You really wondered why he liked to touch you whenever he could, no matter where he was. "The dulcet taste of your lips has left me satisfied, but I think I still have a little piece left to taste..." His eyes lower slightly down your body, and with a wicked smile he rolls you to the side, taking advantage of your confusion to be the one who had you immobilized.

"Dazai... Please, I just woke up earlier, do you really want me to go to work tired after what you're going to do?" You ask him, a small fear is present that swirls in your abdomen, and he seems to read your thoughts as if he lived in your brain, and an icy hand presses your abdomen, you squirm in place, and this increases Dazai's desire by seconds. "Please, let's just do this later?"

"You see, I can't really wait... You've done this, you're the one who's gonna solve it..." with his hand releasing pressure on your abdomen, he unbuttons his pants, eagerly anticipating it. Your nerves are starting to get to you, this is probably the second time in your life you've done this with him, and you don't expect it to be the last. "I'll go slow... I promise. Well, you might just see a few stars, but nothing too uncommon, really," his voice caresses your ear when he leans to whisper these, and you freeze when he also attempts to lower your pijama shorts.

You blink, nervous.

"We still have all morning... Well, shall we get started, my dear?" a smug on his lips as he pulls down the remaining underwear, so slowly it's like a torture for himself.

Ok, this is my first time writting suggestive scenes... I don't know if it's good or not, so comments about what you thought about this oneshot is appreciated.

#bsd #dazai osamu #bungou stray dogs #osamudazai #dazai x reader #osamu x reader

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koshercosplay · 5 months

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Her sword was out before the creature could even blink.

"Don't come any closer," she snarled. "I know what you are."

The goblin in front of her bared it's teeth. "And I know what you are, princess."

She gave a start. It knew that about her? Or was it just a petty insult?

"Doesn't matter." She lifted her chin. "I want you out of this kingdom. Your kind don't belong here." It was thrilling to finally put her training to good use. One by one, the goblin menace would finally be over in her lifetime.

The creature tilted its head to the side and began circling her. She swallowed thickly and followed it's path with her sword outstretched. It's pale green skin seemed to shift in the sunlight, and the pointed ears poking through it's thick hair reminded her of toadstools peeking out from the soil beneath their feet.

"The princess finally comes out of the castle. Finally getting her hands dirty for the first time." It stopped moving and swooped into a condescending bow, never taking it's eyes off her face. "Please accept my most heartfelt congratulations," it sneered.

She bristled at the implication of her softness and tried to match the goblins' jeering tone as she responded, "I've been training for this my whole life." She narrowed her eyes. "I'm not afraid of you."

"Then why haven't you killed me yet?" It's yellow eyes glinted.

"Why-" She couldn't believe her ears (which were blissfully rounded, thank you.) "Would you like me to apologize for allowing you a few more seconds of your slimy existence?"

"Slimy?" It ran a finger down the length of a bare arm and made a show of holding it up in mock ignorance and examining it closely, before dropping it to hang loosely at its side. "The fact that you believe that shows me what good your training has done for you."

It held its arms out to either side, as if initiating some bizarre attempt at an embrace.

"Come on, then. Kill me."

Her sword was still pointed at it's chest. It would be an easy kill. But even as she leveled her gaze and prepared to strike, something stopped her. She could already hear her father scolding her for taking so long, but there was something wrong.

Against her better judgment, she dropped her arm and let her sword rest by her side, keeping a firm grip on it, just in case.

"All the goblins I've heard about put up a great fight with our warriors." The goblin had the nerve to roll its eyes. She pressed on. "Why are you being so... so- boring!"

"Oh, I'm so sorry, princess. Would you like me to be more entertaining?"

In a flash, the goblin was entirely too close to her, and she could feel it's breath on her face as it closed its hand on hers over the hilt of her sword. And to her immense embarrassment, she froze. Absurdly, she noticed that the goblins' skin was not, in fact, slimy. Interesting.

In another second, the goblin had twisted the sword out of her hand and thrown it halfway across the clearing and took a few steps back.

"Oh no! The poor helpless princess was set upon by a goblin!" It called out loudly, and she cringed. "She couldn't possibly hope to defeat its superior intellect and battle skills!"

She shook herself out of her frozen state and dared to step forward.

"I would thank you to stop talking now," she said coldly.

It appeared to consider her words.

"Yes, you're quite right," it said, mimicking her lofty tone. "You're too boring to bother fighting with."

It turned and began walking away with an infuriating spring in its step, as if she wasn't standing right there, armed to the teeth. She silently drew out the tiny dagger from her right gauntlet and took careful aim. This time she wouldn't hesitate. The goblin paused, and then turned around so quickly that she didn't have time to hide her actions. Caught in the act.

"You're preparing to throw something at me, which will only end in your injury, not my death. Come now, let's part friends." It grinned at the look on her face.

"Don't worry. I know we'll never be friends." It turned away from her and began walking again. "You're too busy trying to kill me."

"What- but-" she spluttered. "Only because you lot are trying to kill us!"

That made it pause again, although this time it didn't say anything. She started walking towards it, closing the distance between them and wondering at how silent it's footsteps had been in comparison to hers. It was still keeping its back to her, either in foolish bravado or sheer confidence in its speed. It turned quickly when she approached some invisible boundary.

"Are we?" It suddenly said, fierce and low.

"Are you... what?" She responded, confused.

"Are we trying to kill you?"

She bit back the urge to make a derisive comment. What was the point of this circular conversation? Time was marching on and she still hadn't killed a goblin.

"Yes. You are. It's been well-documented and you know it."

It looked at her in disbelief.

"You really believe that?"

"Why wouldn't I?" She said defensively. "Everyone knows goblins are vicious thieves who will do anything to snatch a penny. I'll have you know my uncle was killed by a goblin in cold blood!"

The goblin was silent for a moment, yellow eyes searching her brown ones.

"I haven't tried to kill you."

"You are clearly the exception."

"Hm, well I know plenty of goblins who have never gotten into a fight."

She scoffed, this time letting her derision show freely. The goblin seemed insistent on continuing the conversation instead of fighting, which was incredibly frustrating. It wouldn't be honorable to kill it while it refused to fight, although it sure would be easier. She decided to voice her confusion aloud, again.

"Can you tell me why, exactly, you are so determined to avoid fighting me?"

"I heard humans smell so bad, you can tell they're coming from a mile away. I had to see for myself."

She began to get offended, and opened her mouth to give it a piece of her mind, before she realized it was grinning again.

"What's your name?" It asked her, taking her by surprise.

"Fern," she said instinctively, too taken aback to remember she wasn't supposed to answer that question.

"Fern. What a good goblin name." It winked at her. Asshole. "My name is Ash." It started walking away again, but this time, it motioned for her to follow it.

Was she insane? She came out here to kill her first goblin and take her place alongside her mother. She should be wiping its blood off her sword and heading back to the castle in victory, not standing around chatting history and exchanging names with it!

On the other hand... she tilted her head as she took the first few steps to follow the goblin- Ash. No one else that she was aware of had ever been invited somewhere by a goblin. History was littered with failed agreements, betrayals, victories and defeats. But who'd had a conversation with a goblin, been left alive, and then invited somewhere?

As far as she could tell, Ash was leading her along a fairly well-traveled path through the forest, although it was leading her unnervingly far from where she was supposed to be. Someone would come looking for her soon. Most likely Arvit.

She groaned inwardly. Arvit would chastise her, loudly and publicly, if she didn't make it back by nightfall. And she wouldn't be allowed this opportunity again for a long while.

Ash was silent ahead of her, unaware of or uninterested in Fern's movement. She studied the goblin from behind even as she kept careful track of their journey, so that she could lead her soldiers here in the future. It was lean in body, and it's skin had an unhealthy pallor, from what she could see of its bare arms and legs. It's simple tunic and well-worn, knee-length trousers, gave the impression of someone who traveled a lot and lived simply.

She surprised herself by wondering where Ash had gotten her clothes- Wait. Was Ash a woman? It was always so difficult to tell with goblins. And since when did she care anyway? It was a goblin. It's not like they were going to end up best friends. She lifted her chin and straightened her shoulders, trying to give off an air of confidence. She was the one in power here. Not the goblin.

Their surroundings slowly changed as they kept walking, going from dense, lush forest to darker, more sinister woods. Fern started jumping at every distant creak or snap of a twig. Something hooted nearby and she nearly dove behind a tree. Ash resolutely kept walking, paying no attention to any of the sounds around them, although it did take the time to point and laugh at Fern when she stumbled and fell into a pool of mud.

Finally, she planted her feet and declared, "I'm not going any further until you tell me what's going on."

Ash stopped and turned around, and deadpanned, "Don't worry, I didn't bring you here to kill you."

Fern snorted. "You can't kill me. You would have already if you'd been able to."

Silence fell between them, and Fern realized that the darkness around them wasn't just from the woods. It was truly past sunset, and she was so screwed.

#my writing #this is based on that post i made a while ago #about turning the antisemitic jewish goblin trope on its head #ive been playing around with the idea of actually writing it for a while #(fern's gonna unlearn her internalized antisemitism REAL QUICK lmao)

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clockwork-ashes · 2 months

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All You Have Is Your Fire - Part V

Find Part I here :)

Summary: 'I can hear your heart beating through the stone.' For the briefest of moments, Lucien wondered if his mate would know exactly when his heart’s steady rhythm came to a sudden stop.

Note: A huge, huge thank you to the lovely @bettdraws who literally deserves all the credit and whose post inspired me to start writing this. I could not stop thinking about this head canon, and it was so kind of you to let me try and make a story from it :) And a huge thank you to everyone reading!

Tag List: @anishake / @nocasdatsgay / @mybestfriendmademe

Part VI >>

Jesminda had been killed on a night like this, Lucien thought.

The sky had been clear of any clouds, a blue so deep it was nearly violet. Stars had sparkled to life in the distance, and Lucien had been able to see them, jewel-bright, when he had looked out of the arched windows of the throne room.

His father had been wearing a crown of golden oak leaves, his brothers had held him down with rough hands, and Lucien had begged for his lover’s life to be spared.

Lucien had turned his head in the end, a betrayal in itself, but watching Jesminda’s execution would have been unbearable. Her screams, sharp and grating like knives on marble, still haunted his worst nightmares. Lucien knew he had failed Jesminda then, the female he had claimed with such certainty as his mate.

When the High Lord’s guards had taken him from the dungeons, Lucien had been quick to think that Eris had been unable to convince their father of sending him back to the Night Court. The Mother’s scales of justice balancing once more for what happened to Jesminda, a sense of fairness to it all.

Not for a moment had Lucien even considered that Elain, lovely and quiet and sheltered Elain, had prompted his release from the suffocating cell in the deepest parts of the Forest House.

Alarm choked him at the feeling of Elain pulling at the thread connecting them, horror gripping him as the memories of Jesminda flashed clear as river water in his mind.

Lucien’s eyes met Elain’s from across the room and her unease washed over him.

She looked out of place in Autumn, the light blue dress she wore more fitting in Spring or Day, Lucien thought. Loose curls framed her beautiful face, lips parting in surprise and relief. Her slippered feet made no sound as she took a few careful steps towards him, eyes flicking desperately from his injuries to his bound wrists.

Elain was an excellent actress, Lucien noticed. If not for the emotions of dread and apprehension flooding their bond, even Lucien would have been convinced at how well she played the part of a concerned mate.

“Lucien,” Elain called, her voice cracking in distress.

The way his name rolled off her tongue clashed loudly in Lucien’s ears, metal against metal. He wanted to be near her, he wanted her to be as far away from Autumn as possible. Both reactions warred within his mind.

Why was Elain in the Autumn Court?

Lucien could not find it in him to believe that Feyre and Nesta would have let their sister throw herself into unquestionable danger for a male she barely talked to. Rhysand must have considered him a very important emissary if he was willing to risk Elain’s life.

Elain looked like she would rush to him, and Lucien wondered if she could feel the bond’s pull just as he did. Lucien only noticed that Eris was standing beside Elain when his eldest brother put out his arm to prevent her from moving.

He was unable to stop the low snarl from escaping his lips, the guards tightening their hold on him. Who else would be to blame for Elain’s arrival in the Forest House but Eris, Lucien asked himself. He silently prayed that if anything happened to his mate, Rhysand would do him the favour of ending Eris’s miserable existence.

“Look, Lucien,” his father’s voice rang out in the near-empty space. “Your mate has come for you.” Lucien turned his attention to Beron with great effort. He did not want to take his eyes off Elain for a moment, barely trusting his own senses.

His father’s grin was cruel, almost knowing, as he waited for Lucien to respond. When Lucien kept quiet, Beron shrugged, not deterred by the silence. Lucien saw as his mother tightened her grip on the armrest of her throne, knuckles white.

“Your mate wrote to Eris, her words bleeding with concern for you, my son.” Lucien had to hold his back straight so as not to rear back at the words. Beron had not addressed him as such in decades.

Lucien was trying to piece everything together, knowing that he was missing valuable information that would prove navigating the conversation with his father difficult. He cursed Eris for not having warned him at least.

“Being apart pains us,” Lucien offered, hoping it would satisfy Beron. He glanced at Elain and tried to relax, to calm his nerves. She clung to Eris, surprising Lucien with how trusting she seemed. He had to remind himself that she was merely acting, doing her best to do as the Night Court had obviously pushed her to.

“She thinks she has a claim to you,” Beron shook his head, false sympathy carved into the frown on his face. “But you know Autumn’s laws, an unaccepted mating bond means nothing, a seed not yet planted.”

Lucien responded on instinct, everything about it familiar, as if no time had passed between his exile and his current presence in the throne room. “Yes, High Lord.”

“It was a great betrayal to see you siding with Spring at our border, Lucien,” Beron continued, “but the young lady’s concern for you has been touching.”

“Let her return to Night,” Lucien interrupted, agony clawing at him. To lose a mate would be torture, and he knew his father well enough to guess he would be taking Elain’s life first. “Rhysand would thank you for it.”

Beron replied, bitter but not angry. “You never could hold that tongue.”

“Owing the High Lord of Night and his Lady would be of great use to us,” Eris intervened, his words always holding more weight in their family. Briefly, Lucien was thankful, was reminded of how often Eris had put himself in the way of Beron’s wrath when they were both so much younger.

Beron cast a long look at Eris, clicking his tongue, before he faced his youngest son. “I ask only that you answer one of my questions, Lucien, and I will grant your mate her wish.” Lucien heard Elain’s sharp inhale, but he kept his eyes on Beron. The metal one whirred in anticipation, pausing into place when his father spoke once more. “When is your mating ceremony?”

Lucien felt as though someone had pulled the rug from beneath his feet. He was unsteady, his answer needed to be quick, natural. “We wanted a spring wedding,” he blurted, the response dragged out of him. He did not know what possessed him to refer to it as a marriage, but he would have bet his life on the fact that Elain would not have talked about a mating ceremony.

Beron raised a dark eyebrow, but by the way his frown deepened, Lucien guessed the response was correct. “We’ve set the date for the equinox,” Lucien added as he felt relief from the bond, Elain’s emotions influencing his own. “On a night with a full moon.”

Lucien watched as the Lady of Autumn reached for her husband’s arm, her fingers clawing at the sleeve. “Beron,” she murmured, a quiet plea for mercy.

Lucien was unsure if his father had even heard his mother, but he turned away from Lucien, a clear dismissal, as he addressed Elain. “In Autumn, marrying on the night of a full moon brings blessings.” Beron cocked his head to the side like a wolf, “Did you know?”

Elain shook her head in response, choosing honesty. Lucien could barely see her the way Eris was standing, as if he too was ready for the worst case scenario.

Time itself seemed to still as they all waited for Beron to declare his wishes. Lucien attempted to ease Elain’s nerves, tried to comfort her through the bond, but he was not sure if he was successful. Moments or hours could have passed, and Lucien would not have noticed.

“My son,” the voice of the High Lord, never that of a father. His words the toll of a bell as he spoke to Lucien once more, breaking his silence. Beron stood from his throne, “We should let bygones be bygones, what happened all those years ago was unfortunate, but your mate is here now.”

Lucien wondered if Beron understood just how much those words made his blood boil. Lucien had begged for Jesminda’s life to be spared, had claimed she was his mate at the time. He had been so sure, and it was like a blow to have his father mention it. Lucien could feel his face heating with anger, but he kept his mouth shut.

“Let this be my gift to you,” Beron gestured with his hand to the windows, stars winking. “Have your wedding in Autumn, Lady Elain Archeron of the Night Court, and I will lift your mate’s exile. He would be free to come and go as he pleased.” The High Lord smiled, wicked, “and it would be a great honour to see one of my son’s married.”

Beron did not even look at Lucien, embers in his eyes flaring as he focused solely on Elain. Lucien wanted to scream.

Elain flashed his father a smile, it seemed so genuine that Lucien was taken aback. “How kind,” she stepped past Eris, curtsying elegantly. “You have my thanks.”

Elain sounded so very fae, Lucien remarked. With a wave of his father’s hand, the guards removed the binds from Lucien’s wrists. As soon as Lucien was freed from his restraints, Eris moved out of Elain’s way so she could run to him.

She threw her arms around Lucien’s neck as though she had done it countless times. He could do nothing but put his hands to Elain’s waist.

“I was so worried,” she spoke just loud enough for everyone to hear, but it was still soft, as though she had only meant for the words to be heard by Lucien’s ears.

Like she was his lover, Lucien breathed in deeply, held Elain close. “Everything’s alright,” he murmured, lips pressed to her hair.

We both lie so well.

The thought was like a knife to the chest, but Lucien hoped that the two of them had been able to dispel Beron of any doubts. Lucien knew his mother was convinced, he could see it in her russet eyes. For a moment, Lucien felt guilty, but he pushed the thought aside.

Elain was the first to pull away, a scarlet blush staining her pale cheeks. She tucked a stray curl behind her ear with one hand, but the other held tightly to Lucien’s. It was smart of her to look embarrassed, Beron would have found their affection distasteful otherwise.

Lucien wondered if Elain knew how perfectly she had played her part, that she could have convinced kings to kneel if she set her mind to it.

Elain certainly seemed to have the High Lord of the Autumn Court wrapped around her finger.

“Take some time with your mate, Lucien,” his father declared. “Two nights from this one, we can celebrate your return home.”

Lucien wanted to be back in the human lands, he wanted to be in the home he had made with Jurian and Vassa, the unlikeliest of friends. Instead, Lucien bowed his head. “Thank you, High Lord.”

Beron angled his chin, “The guards can show you to your rooms.” Flames flashed in his father’s eyes, familiar enough to make Lucien flinch. “I must speak with Eris.”

The guards pushed Lucien forward, the gesture rude but not painful. They kept a respectful distance from Elain, and Lucien wondered if they had simply been too charmed by her to even consider treating her poorly.

Together, they were escorted from the throne room, Elain still holding tightly to Lucien’s hand.

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #elucien #elain x lucien #elain archeron x lucien vanserra #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #eris vanserra #beron vanserra #the lady of autumn #autumn court #i wanted to include more in this part but it was too long #elain and lucien talk more in the next one #is this a slow burn? yes i think it is #ashes writes sometimes #all you have is your fire

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cakesandfail · 1 year

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Actually, I think what I want to talk about regarding Feet of Clay is something that's often overlooked, which is also my favourite thing to talk about regarding serious Discworld topics: Vetinari, and perception, and ableism.

In Feet of Clay, we're already seeing the turn from "let's get rid of the Patrician entirely, possibly by murder or at least Guild-approved inhumation" to "let's make him seem unfit to govern so that he has to step down, giving us a proper transition because we know everything will turn to shit if he's instantly gone." And that's progress of a sort, right? People are acknowledging his skill as a politician, and the fact that removing him from power with no plan for what comes next will cause the whole city to collapse.

But why do people want to say he's unfit to rule, specifically?

We know that at least some of the answer is that 'concerned citizens' think he's too soft on immigration, and he's not a king so why does he get to tell people what to do, and shouldn't he just rein Vimes in a bit instead of letting him go poking around in people's business. But I'm not sure that's the whole story.

What I would like to know is: why does this change to "make him look incapable" happen now? Is it coincidence that people make that switch once he starts walking with a cane? I don't know if it is.

On the one hand, they might have just given up. Even the gonne couldn't kill him, he's got a few people around him he can trust, maybe assassination isn't even worth trying any more. Things are stable, anyway, no point fucking everything up when you can have a nice, peaceful, planned transition of power to whoever is going to do what you want to do.

But on the other hand... Vetinari is disabled now. He uses a mobility aid. It's visible to everyone that he isn't the same as he used to be. I imagine the kind of people who don't want dwarves and trolls in the city, or who think that it's fine if poor people are treated like shit, are also not particularly liberal when it comes to disability too. Would it really be so hard to say "oh, well, he's not getting any younger... and of course with his bad leg..." and imply that any sudden decline in his physical or mental state is to be expected? That it's all just getting too much for him? An injury like that, well,he must be on some strong medication for the pain, surely? And so on. Putting the idea in people's heads that a disabled person in this job is at an automatic disadvantage- it doesn't matter if they actually believe it, personally, because the point is that somebody will.

And the thing is... it looks like kindness. It looks like acknowledgement of pain and understanding of new limitations. But having been on the receiving end of that shit, I can tell you it's not. It's an assumption that you are fundamentally Less Than, and that rather than using the people and things around you to maximise what you can do, you should just go away entirely.

Does any of this work? Nope. Is Vetinari aware of it and taking advantage of ableist assumptions? Yep. But those assumptions, I feel, still have to have existed in the first place if they're going to be disproved.

#gem rereads the watch #patricianblogging #discworld

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luvxiem · 2 years

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the stars aligned for us

word count ! 【idk】idk【idk】 pairing ! luxiem x gn!reader (separately) genre ! fluff, mild angst on luca's part summary ! different soulmate au tropes w our faves bc i'm weak and love self indulgence 🤭 soulmate aus my beloved cw ! non-explicit violence/injuries on luca's part notes ! this was written on my phone so sorry for the uggy formatting and any typos 😭💔 btw tysm for 100 followers 🥺🫶 i appreciate y'all lots for enjoying my shit LMFAOOO it's just me projecting on here but i'm glad u guys enjoy it anyways when u wanna read a fanfic so bad but it doesn't exist yet so u gotta write it urself also kindred plz don't kill me for calling vox an asshole i meant it endearingly (insert "'i hate him' while putting up his picture" meme here)

.｡.:*☆ IKE EVELAND !

TROPE: SEEING COLORS

ike's world has been black and white for as long as he could remember

his friends have always told him how beautiful everything be came after they made eye contact with their soulmate for the first time

despite them trying their best to describe colors (what does a "warm" color even look like anyway?) it was hard for ike to really care

after all, how can you miss something you never experienced?

but more than seeing colors, the novelist just wanted to meet his soulmate

it wasn't that he was lonely; ike had his fair share of relationships in the past with others like him (those who haven't had the chance to meet their soulmate just yet, but wanted to date anyways)

however being a writer comes with a certain sense of romanticism and a lust for life, and ike was no exception

he's always loved the thought of meeting someone who was perfect for him in every way; a person who he could be his honest self around and love with all his heart

this is why when he suddenly started seeing colors he never could've imagined on a busy sidewalk, he immediately started scanning the crowd for you

he spotted you under the canopy of a nearby cafe. you were looking around with clear awe on your face, mouth slightly agape as you took in the new world around you, not even noticing the grumbles of passerby who narrowly avoided you.

you looked almost ethereal in your (now known as blue) button up, the sunshine leaving your skin in a warm glow. the gentle breeze ruffled your hair just right, and the novelist couldn't tear his gaze away.

as much as ike wanted to admire his new view too, he was more focused on making sure he didn't lose you. he's thought about it countless of times—dreamt of it, even—of somehow meeting his soulmate and losing them right away, never to be seen again. ike's lost enough sleep over it and he was determined to not make his nightmares a reality.

pushing past shoulders with rushed "sorry's" and "excuse me's," ike rushed to get to you as quick as possible; and soon enough, he was now standing face to face with you—the person who would become the love of his life.

your gaze fell onto him and an unspoken realization was met. you could feel it to; the ecstasy blooming in your very core at finally meeting your other half.

"hi," he breathed, a broad smile adorning his face. "i think i'm your soulmate."

.｡.:*☆ LUCA KANESHIRO !

TROPE: MUTUAL PAIN

woe is the soulmate of a certain blonde haired mafia boss

injuries came with the job, unfortunately, but the soft-hearted man couldn't help but feel sorry for his soulmate

luca knew some most of his injuries weren't normal. civilians don't get bullet wounds in their arm or knife slashes to the chest

did his soulmate worry for him? or were they wishing they weren't fated at all? as much as it hurt, luca couldn't find it in himself to blame them if they did

the small pricks he felt on his fingertips from presumably paper cuts can't compare to literally getting stabbed in the back

eventually it came to a point where luca tried to stop going outside altogether

he can't obtain any further injuries if he's always at the base, right?

but that fantasy couldn't last forever.

the one day he had to be escorted to a different location, him and his guards got ambushed

luca was the only one who got away, but not without sustaining a bullet wound to his shoulder

it wasn't as bad as it could've been but it still hurt like a bitch

stumbling into an alleyway, the blonde collapsed next to a dumpster, creating a loud thud that echoed into the night

luca was ready to rip off a piece of his shirt to wrap his shoulder when suddenly a bright light momentarily blinded him

standing a little bit away was you, pointing your phone flashlight on him while gripping your shoulder in your other hand

"so you're a med student?" luca asks, gritting his teeth when you dab at his bullet wound with rubbing alcohol. tossing the cotton ball, you reach into your first aid kit for gauze.

"yeah," you say quietly, starting to wrap his shoulder. the blonde frowns noticing how you refuse to meet his eyes. he opened his mouth to say something but you beat him to it.

"i chose this path because of you." at your words luca's eyebrow raises in question. you finished wrapping him up and now rest your hands in your lap, fiddling with your fingers. "you got so many injuries growing up and i didn't know what to do. i was worried you didn't have anyone to help you so i wanted to learn how," you explain quietly. at this the mafia boss's gaze softens.

"how'd you know? that i'm your soulmate, i mean," he asks. reaching up, you gently grazed the large scar on his abdomen with your fingers.

"i recognized your injuries," you said. luca shivered at your touch, raising his non-injured arm to cover your hand with his.

"i'm glad i ran into you then, soulmate."

.｡.:*☆ MYSTA RIAS !

TROPE: COUNTDOWN TIMER

mysta's known since he was five that he had a soulmate, just like every other five-year-old in his class

but there was one teeny little problem

ok actually it was a major problem

his timer seemed to be broken

instead of the few years or days or months like his friends had, his timer was set to decades

because of how long his timer was set for, mysta was teased mercilessly for "having a soulmate who doesn't even want to meet him"

this followed him for most of his youth until eventually he covered up his wrist and tried to forget about it alltogether

if he wasn't going to meet his soulmate until he was old and gray, why should he even care

that was until he fell through that damned portal and landed in 2022

he noticed it after he got out of the shower, spotting his wrist in the mirror while brushing back his hair

mysta's mouth dropped open in shock, dropping his arm to gently run his fingers over the numbers

the timer that was the bane of his younger self's existence was down to the hours

the detective was antsy, understandably.

a lifetime of thinking he wouldn't ever meet his soulmate suddenly turned into meeting his soulmate in twenty minutes. mysta wasn't sure what to do, how he should act. should he go outside? he should, right? how else would he meet you?

filled with a newfound sense of determination, mysta grabbed his keys and darted into the london night.

there was hardly anyone out this late; maybe his timer really was broken? what were you doing out at one in the morning, don't you know that's dangerous? who knows what kind of dangerous people were prowling outside right now.

mysta started walking briskly toward a more crowded area of the city. if he had to meet you, it would be somewhere safe.

settling on standing in front of a pub he's been to a few times with friends, the detective started counting down the minutes till he would meet you. he kept glancing at his wrist, watching the numbers go down one by one until there was only a minute left on the clock.

mysta tapped his foot impatiently as he glanced left and right down the street until suddenly, he felt the lightest tap on his shoulder. he spun on his heel and low and behold, there you were.

grinning, you spoke.

"nice to finally meet you, soulmate."

and mysta couldn't be happier.

.｡.:*☆ SHU YAMINO !

TROPE: SWITCHING BODIES

in all honesty, shu couldn't care less about having a soulmate

the idea of the universe choosing who he would fall in love with didn't sit right with him

not to mention how frustrating it would be sometimes when the two of you switched bodies at inconvenient times

like in the middle of one of his experiments

or when he's talking to one of his fellow sorcerers

or how about that time he was meditating in a lovely, perfectly quiet room for the first time in ages as a way to destress only to suddenly wake up in your body in the middle of a bustling city

yeah, shu wasn't all too happy about it, but what can he do?

so while all his friends were out actively searching for ways to meet their soulmate in person, shu was directing his energy toward mastering his powers instead

but the thing about having a soulmate is that you can't exactly reject them altogether

they're your soulmate for a reason, after all

so despite his resistance, the purple sorcerer found himself falling for you all the same

he grew antsy at particularly long periods without switching and eventually started leaving notes behind for you for when you would eventually switch

including a bright purple post-it with an address and a time and date

shu sat inside the cafe anxiously, bouncing his leg under the table while sipping his drink. he hoped that his note was obvious enough that you saw it the last time you guys swapped bodies, but how could he know for sure? you didn't leave a reply on his note, and the swap period was rather short that time too.

minutes passed the written time and the pounding in shu's chest grew louder and louder in his ears. he looked up at every tinkle of the bell above the door, hoping that it was you only to be disappointed when it wasn't. he kept glancing out the window rather obsessively, and soon enough his cup was empty too.

after 40 minutes had gone by, the sorcerer had just about given up. letting out a disappointed sigh, he rose from his chair to leave his tray and finished drink on the counter only to pause when the bell jingled one last time. shu looked up on instinct and his breath got caught in his throat.

in the doorway was you, slightly sweaty and definitely out of breath, looking frantically around the cafe before your eyes landed on him. shu was still holding the tray in his hands when you ran up to him, still in shock at seeing you in the flesh for the first time and not just through a mirror.

"h...hi..." you stutter, gripping the strap of your tote bag tightly in your fists. "i'm sorry i'm late. but i'm so glad i found you." shu broke out of his trance and smiled, setting the tray back down on the table.

"i'm glad you found me too."

.｡.:*☆ VOX AKUMA !

TROPE: FIRST WORDS

fitting for a voice demon that the first words his soulmate says to him is permanently printed onto his skin

"you're gonna have to try harder than that if you wanna impress me, pretty boy" decorated his ribs under his right pectoral

now vox knows he's hot

he's well aware of the power he holds fucking asshole and uses his charm and good looks to his advantage

the demon spent most of his early years dropping one liners and introducing himself with various pickup lines in an attempt to find his elusive soulmate

and many have tried to pretend they were his fated one but they never succeeded

after the death of his clan and being transported to the future, it took vox a long time to feel ready to find his soulmate again

slowly he started visiting pubs and parties in an attempt to socialize

it was at one of these parties that he met you

beer in hand, vox pushed past a group laughing with each other in the hallway to slip out onto the balcony. he was hoping to get a chance to breathe and get away from all the sweaty partygoers, but there was already another person out here with him. figuring it wouldn't hurt to say something, the demon let a familiar smirk slip onto his face as he approached you.

sensing his presence, you turned your head to look at him in curiosity, fiddling with the many rings on your fingers.

"why hello there; what's a gorgeous person like you doing out here all alone?" he drawls, sliding up next to you. a breathy laugh escaped your lips, dropping your head to your chest for a moment before you looked back up and meeting his gaze dead on.

"you're gonna have to try harder than that if you wanna impress me, pretty boy."

at your words vox faltered, the smirk falling from his face as his lips parted in surprise. the skin where his soulmate mark was seemed to tingle.

it seems like you figured it out too; your eyes widened and suddenly you were tugging your shirt up to show a matching tattoo on your ribs. you let the fabric fall back down and looked back up at him, a softer smile now gracing your features as vox reached over to intertwine his fingers with yours.

"would you look at that," you laughed happily. "guess you really did impress me, pretty boy."

WRITTEN ! 080222

1K notes · View notes

hwaightme · 1 year

Text

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.

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