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gumnut-logic · 3 years

Text

Air

This is pure fluff. Marks & Wings AU. After writing Callisto all weekend, I needed some self indulgence (well, there was plenty of that in Callisto as well, but that was all planned :D). I needed to fly free for a little while. So I did, with Scotty :D

Thank you to @scribbles97 @janetm74 @tsarinatorment and @godsliltippy for both reading and encouragement :D It has been a lovely few hours to end my weekend. Thank you ::hugs::

I hope you enjoy this, I certainly did :D

-o-o-o-

The air was brisk and startlingly cold on his face, but he revelled in it nonetheless.

It was late afternoon on a lazy day on Tracy Island. Lazy because Virgil had thrown a fit and demanded IR be shut down for twenty-four hours.

Alan was in bed with a broken arm sleeping off a rescue from hell the day before. Gordon wasn’t much better with his back, having over done it pulling Virgil out of sinking ship. Virgil himself had enough bruises to transform him into a groaning hulk of a man no-one wanted to go near. Even Johnny had been yanked from orbit to help corral the three injured operatives.

Not that Scott didn’t have other reasons for grounding his space brother. The man didn’t know what the word ‘stop’ meant after all.

This, of course, caused a rebellious backlash from said brother and Grandma had stepped in, banning both of them from any Tracy Industries work as well.

Scott had literally been sent to his room.

But his room was a boring place. He didn’t want to sleep and the thought of sitting by himself and staring at the holoprojector was just depressing.

He wanted out.

It wasn’t long before he had drifted onto the residential balcony and, with a single word to Eos, lifted his silver-grey wings and leapt into the air.

The air was his comfort zone, his escape, his reassurance. It flowed over his body and his wings in predictable patterns. Bare chested, he could feel its caress as it supported him.

Far below the ocean stretched out before him, the afternoon sun an angled glare scattering sparkles on the blue, not unlike the blue on his wings.

He folded them and dove directly down, revelling in the exhilarating speed. Moments before he would hit the water surface, he edged his wings open again, catching just enough lift to shift his angle, enabling him to spread to his full width and swoop with an eager whoop over the waves.

This close the water blurred into solid blue reflecting the sky above him. His shadowed reflection blurred with it.

A single stoke and he was climbing again, wing muscles grabbing at the air, pulling him higher, high enough to tip sideways and dive again, this time in an arc that saw him closer to the water than before.

Another swoop and he was hollering at the sky.

Stroke after stroke he climbed higher and the air grew that touch colder, chilling his skin even more. He gained enough momentum to stop and hold in the air, wings still, for just that split second before he let himself flip and dive again.

This time he curled one wing and set himself spinning before pulling both wings in tight and spiralling faster and faster, daring the ocean to reach up and slap him out of the sky.

But he was Scott Tracy.

He played the currents as if they were his own and just as if he was in his ‘bird, the fastest aircraft on this planet, he manoeuvred at the last moment and was once again skimming across the surface of the water.

A sudden shadow passed over him and a familiar voice danced on the wind. “If you caught us doing that, we’d be dead.”

Despite the words, Scott let out a laugh and arched back on his flight path, flipping himself upside down and over his younger brother and his gliding span of black feathers.

“Show off.”

Scott grinned like a madman. He’d shown Virgil a lot of his tricks, but not this one and he had no intention of sharing any time soon.

It was far too amusing to watch his expression every time Scott caught him with it.

Virgil was calmly gliding a decent height above the water, just keeping pace with Scott. He was as bare chested as his eldest brother and yesterday’s bruises were well on show. It was sobering, but Scott was happy to see him nonetheless. It had been some time since they had last just flown together.

And as always, it was very fast becoming the usual, almost an echo of their flying styles in the Thunderbirds. Virgil calmly gliding through the sky stroke after long stroke while Scott darted about him, faster and a little too eager to be out with his brother.

The air regressed Scott in age. It gave him freedom.

It was home.

And he was happy to have his brother as a guest to entertain.

Just to stir him a little more, Scott threw himself into a curve that encircled his brother at a safe but still daring distance.

“You tangle with my feathers, and I’ll kick your ass.” But it was said with amusement and Scott didn’t miss the smirk on Virgil’s face. His brother trusted him, otherwise he wouldn’t be out here.

A smile on his face, Scott broke off in an arc and turn to the east, wings climbing fast. He didn’t look back.

He knew Virgil would follow him.

It was a law of physics he was ever so grateful for.

But then a shadow suddenly over took him and Virgil was climbing faster than Scott.

And snickering.

Now that broke the laws of physics.

He couldn’t let a younger brother beat him at his own game, could he?

He threw more energy into his climb. Virgil’s greater wingspan could claw more air and his brother physically had more strength, so much like his ‘bird it was damned scary. So technically, Virgil could outpace Scott on a vertical climb.

But that was if Scott kept to the rules.

Which he didn’t and since he was high enough to do what he wanted, he did exactly that and flipped himself backwards into another plummeting dive.

Air rushed past his ears and he let out another yell as he played dodge with the planet.

Of course, his big brother radar was running the entire time, keeping an eye on exactly where Virgil was. His little brother was strong in the air, but far from as agile as Scott was and with that bruising likely not at his best anyway.

The squawk of protest as Scott dropped away, was proof enough of that.

A tiny flash of guilt at teasing his brother flickered through Scott’s mind, but he dismissed it. Virgil knew what to expect and he also knew Scott was out here to have fun.

To let loose and shake the dull off his feathers.

As Scott swooped into a glide, Virgil broke from his plummet towards the ocean, his huge wings spreading to their full span quite impressively and braking mid-air. A stubborn flap, a glare shot in Scott’s direction and he eased into a simple dive that brought him alongside.

“You won’t give an inch, will you?”

“Do you expect me to?” Scott grinned at his brother.

A grunt was all he received for that. Virgil wouldn’t expect him to be anything other than his best. Certainly not out here.

Wouldn’t stop him from grumbling about it though.

“C’mon, Virg, fly with me.” He smiled at his brother, just happy to have him out here with him.

A flicker of a smile in return that lit up those dark eyes.

Scott’s smile became a grin and he banked, shifting the wind currents around him enough to turn back towards the sun.

Virgil followed, his turn not as sharp but as equally as graceful.

For a while they just flew together, Scott leading, Virgil following his every move, calmly and quietly. Scott didn’t push it. There was consideration for Virgil, but honestly, it was comforting for him as well to just rest on the wind.

Sometimes he wished he could sleep in the air. It was so relaxing.

The sun began to dip towards the horizon eventually and Scott knew his freedom was coming towards an end.

He rebelled at the thought. He just wanted to stay out here forever.

Virgil had moved a little closer, their wings almost touching. A glance in his direction and his brother pointed down towards the ocean.

A frown and Scott looked down just as an orca breached the surface and flung itself into the air at a considerable velocity before arching backwards and hitting the water with a huge splash.

Scott didn’t need his brother’s empathic connection to know that was no ordinary whale.

“He’s supposed to be resting.”

“So are you.” A different but ever so familiar voice answered him as a pair of artificial wings swooped in to join them.

John’s span made just that slightly different sound to natural feathers that set them apart from the rest of their brothers’, but Scott was determined to not let it affect him.

The Hood had taken far too much from them already.

John levelled off on the other side of Scott from Virgil and it felt ever so right to have a brother either side.

Virgil had slowed their progress, likely for the eager orca below, but Scott didn’t mind.

There was only one missing…

As if he had some kind of telepathic link with is youngest brother, Alan suddenly swooped over the top of all of them, dipping into a glide just below them.

Probably in an attempt to hide the arm he had strapped up. “Alan! What the hell are you doing out here? You have a broken arm.”

“Arm, not wing! I am quite capable of flying, Scott. Besides, you’ve been flying with Virg for hours and he has a bruised rib.”

“What?!” He glared at the engineer. “Why didn’t you tell me? And why the hell are you out here?”

“Goddamnit, Alan!”

“How did he know and I didn’t?”

“Because he doesn’t mind his own business.” The glare sent Alan’s way promised so many words in the teenager’s future Scott might have to intervene. “I’m okay, Scott. I promise. Spending this afternoon out here with you was worth it anyway.” Virgil looked over at the sunset. “It has been so long since we’ve done something like this.”

As if in emphasis, their brother orca exhaled in a fountain of water below.

Scott glanced over at John to find his brother staring at the sunset just as much as Virgil.

Below them Alan’s golden wings shone even more gold in that light and Scott had to admit it was just nice to have all his brothers out here with him.

Out in his element.

Out where he was free of everything…except perhaps the antics of a rapscallion brother or four.

But he could live with that.

The air was cool against his face as it lit up gold with the setting sun, but he had four brothers with him and that was enough to keep him warm.

-o-o-o-

FIN

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Scott Tracy #Virgil Tracy #marks and wings #Wing!fic

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peachcitt · 3 years

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falling, flying

a miraculous ladybug fic

for @softkwami for @mlsecretsanta

Tags: Adrien Agreste/Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Ladrien, Adrinette, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, MLB Wing Au

Summary:

“It’s not supposed to hurt,” she said softly. “Flying, I mean. It’s not supposed to hurt.”

His jaw worked. His mouth settled on a smile. “I know.”

in which marinette and adrien speed toward a foreseeable end on purpose. and also a little bit on accident

read on ao3

enjoy :)

Marinette felt, all things considered, that this situation was not her fault.

Granted, she was the one who threw herself into the fight without coming up with a plan, but how was that supposed to be her fault when this akuma had started making problems exactly seven minutes before her chemistry exam? She’d stayed up nearly all night cram studying (that much, she’ll admit, was her fault), and she’d be damned if she didn’t show up on time to at least get a B minus on it. So she’d barreled into the fight without Chat because she really wanted to get this all over with. She could hardly be blamed for that.

And she certainly couldn’t be blamed for the fact that she was currently speeding toward the hard cement ground right outside a posh business building in the heart of the city at terminal velocity, hands, legs, and wings bound tight.

Sure, there was that comment she’d made to the already very upset akuma about his nose, but, well.

Okay, so maybe this situation was a little bit her fault.

But, like, that was just the nature of being a superhero.

Sometimes, you ended up speeding toward a very foreseeable end, knowing that it’s going to hurt, but not quite knowing how to avoid it. And that’s just life, too.

Not that she was going to let herself become a smear of sidewalk gum. She had her miraculous to protect, after all, and she also had this Daedalus-damn chemistry test that she was going to get a B minus on - no, screw that - a B plus on. There was also the matter of dying at the tender age of seventeen, but that existential dread didn’t touch her as she watched her pissed-off reflection follow her down, down, down on the polished windows of the building she had been thrown off of.

It’s not like she could rely on Chat to get her out of this one. Who knows when he’d show up.

She twisted around in the air, trying to maneuver her bound arms to her hip, where her yo-yo was. If she could grab it, she could summon her lucky charm, and she could stop her fall with the help of a handy-dandy polka-dotted tube of chapstick, or something.

The tips of her fingers brushed against her yo-yo, and her arms ached. Icarus above, the akuma couldn’t have tied her arms in the front of her body? At least then she wouldn’t have to try and bend her left arm at a weird angle to get around her wings.

This, as it turned out, was becoming a dire situation.

She had about ten floors to go before she would eat cement. Her left arm was cramping, and her fingers could only brush up against the feathers of her bound wings instead of anywhere near the yo-yo. She tried to stretch her wings out, test the binds, and only ended up crying out in frustrated pain.

Well. She could always aim for a clumsy rolling landing.

She squeezed her eyes shut, taking a shaking breath through her nose, and braced herself for the inevitable impact. The bitter cold air whipped past her cheeks, and she released the breath she was holding.

This was fine.

She’d had more than a few landings that had left her battered and bruised throughout her lifetime, and this was just another one.

Not that she’d ever fallen off of a thirty story building before, but, like, semantics. She would probably be fine.

Unless she died.

Just as the thought occurred to her, her body connected with something hard, a jolt traveling through her bones, and she sucked in a punishing breath, eyes flying open.

But she hadn’t hit cement, like she first thought. She’d hit-

She’d been caught in someone’s arms.

There was a familiar smell - mint and spice - and she relaxed into familiar arms. “Nice of you to fly by, Cha-”

The person holding her looked down, and her words caught in her throat.

It was Adrien who had caught her.

Not Chat.

Adrien. Adrien Agreste. Adrien with the beautiful wings he never used to fly, Adrien her classmate, Adrien with the green eyes that sparkled in sunshine and glimmered still on cloudy days, Adrien with the kind smiles, Adrien with the nice hands, Adrien with the nice hands that were currently holding her as they soared up into the air. Adrien freaking Agreste.

“Ah,” she said, and she could feel his hand, gentle, cradling her wings, fingertips light and steady on her feathers.

“I thought you might,” he started, his cheeks coloring, “uh, need a hand.”

“Right,” she said rather weakly. They stared at each other for a moment longer, and then he looked away, looking for a suitable place to land. She bit the inside of her cheek, eyes following the strong line of his jaw, up the smooth curve of his cheek, over the sharp bridge of his nose. Her eyes caught on a little crease in between his eyebrows, and she frowned.

Her eyes flicked down to his lips, and she saw they were pinched tightly, as if he was in pain but trying to hide it.

“Are you-” she started, and then stopped, breath catching in her throat. His wings. She was only just now looking at them properly.

“Am I what?” he asked, glancing down at her as they landed gracefully on the next building over from the one she’d been thrown off of. He tucked his wings back in their normal, perfectly straight posture, and his pinched expression relaxed.

But she couldn’t get the image out of her mind. His wings - his golden, regal wings she so admired but had never seen spread - had been littered with spots that had been rubbed raw. Feathers falling, skin red. Raw.

“Your wings,” she said, and she felt his grip tighten on her legs, but he just as quickly relaxed, setting her down with a smile.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” he said, moving around her so that he could untie her hands and wings. “Not really.”

“It looks like it hurts,” she said, shaking out her wings once they were free and bending down to untie her ankles.

“It doesn’t,” he said, and she looked up at him, at his perfect posture that hid his injuries.

She stood, and his gaze followed her. She reached out a hand, shaking fingers just barely brushing along his smooth outer feathers. Her eyes met his, and he took in an unsteady breath. “Doesn’t it?” she asked, and he shrugged half-heartedly, feathers bristling.

“Not usually.”

“Oh, Adrien,” she whispered, pained, and he blinked. And she remembered.

She wasn’t supposed to know him. Sure, she’d saved him a couple times with the mask on, but she wasn’t supposed to whisper his name like she knew him, like she felt for him.

“S-sorry,” she said, stepping away, and she saw, belatedly, that his hand was reaching for her. Her heart ached. “I- you- we.” She stopped, taking a deep breath. “I have to get back to the fight. You should get to safety.”

“Yeah,” he said.

Neither of them moved.

Marinette bit the inside of her cheek. “It’s not supposed to hurt,” she said softly. “Flying, I mean. It’s not supposed to hurt.”

His jaw worked. His mouth settled on a smile. “I know.”

Chat showed up not long after that, and they made quick work of the akuma. Marinette avoided any more comments about his nose, rolled her eyes along to Chat’s dumb jokes, and tried not to think about Adrien.

During her chemistry exam - which she showed up ten minutes late for - she also tried not to think about Adrien. But he was sitting right in front of her, and every time she looked up to think, his wings were right there. Regal, golden. Raw.

How many people had seen his wings spread up close like that? Adrien never flew anywhere - he never had to. Perks of being the son of a famous fashion mogul who owned fancy cars and private jets. In gym, he always ran laps because of a daily doctor’s note - who knows what it said. He always took the stairs instead of flight paths, and his wings were always tucked neatly away, glimmering underneath the crappy public school fluorescents.

She tore her eyes away from Adrien’s wings, staring hard down at her test. Icarus, she’d be lucky if she scraped by with a C. Today sucked.

---

“I’m going to spend the entirety of winter break curled up in a blanket nest,” Alya groaned, flopping down at their picnic table. Marinette scooted to the side to make room, hardly looking up from her lunch. “These tests are killer. I think our teachers are out for blood this year.”

“Speak for yourself,” Nino scoffed. “I have my literature exam on lock.”

“Yeah?” Alya asked, raising her eyebrows. “And what about pre-cal?” Nino made a face. “That’s what I thought,” Alya replied.

Adrien looked away from his friends, eyes focusing on Marinette. She’d been acting strange ever since chemistry - she’d shown up late, no doubt caught up in the akuma attack just like half of their class, including him - but this quiet from her seemed more heavy than the quiet dejection of a student afraid of midterms. She kept on shooting him looks and then looking away, like there was something on his face that made her want to cry.

“How have your exams gone, Marinette?” he asked, and she jumped, not expecting to be spoken to. Her eyes met his, and she quickly looked away, a smile forcing itself onto her lips.

“Oh, you know. Terrible. But that’s fine, I guess.”

“I’m sure you did better than you think,” he assured. “We’re our own worst critics, after all.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” she said, and she squinted her eyes at him, as if trying to mimic a smile reaching up to her eyes, before looking away again.

Well, he was sure she hated him.

Okay, so maybe he was overreacting.

He was definitely - probably - overreacting.

It was just something about Marinette - something about her that always made him think a little too much. He supposed it was a residual rub from the way they had met a couple years ago what with them starting off on the wrong foot, and, yes, he was aware that if he was a healthy person, then he wouldn’t still be overanalyzing their first interaction every time Marinette’s face fell in his presence, but that was beside the point.

He just.

Well. He wanted to be liked by her. And that was natural, to want to be liked by a friend, to want to be liked by someone as amazing as her.

He didn’t want to see her upset. He wanted to see her smile, as much as he was able. She had a wonderful smile, after all.

Marinette’s strange behavior extended through the rest of the week, and on the Friday before break, Adrien mustered up his courage to ask. She normally flew home, so Adrien raced up the stairs to the roof, only just catching her as she was saying goodbye to Alya. Her eyes caught on him, the same color as the bright, cold winter sky, and her eyebrows twisted in something akin to pain.

Alya followed her gaze to him, and her eyebrows raised. She looked back to Marinette, said something that Adrien couldn’t quite hear, squeezed Marinette’s arm, and then lifted off the roof, rust-colored wings causing a wind to rustle through Marinette’s hair. Marinette looked after her for a moment, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, before turning back to Adrien.

“Hey,” he said as he walked closer, and a small smile twitched at her lips - almost as if on instinct.

“Hi,” she replied, tilting her head at him. “You’re flying home?”

“Ah, no, not today,” Adrien said, shaking his head and ignoring the itch of the binds hidden beneath his feathers. “I just, well. Uh.”

This was new. He was normally very good at talking.

Marinette watched him, gaze careful.

“I wanted to ask,” he continued, running a nervous hand through his hair, “if there was anything I’d done. To upset you.”

Marinette blinked. “What?”

“Because,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back to avoid fidgeting, “I’ve noticed that you’re more, um, quiet around me than usual, and I” - he remembered his father normally kept his hands clasped behind his back, cold, professional, and he unclasped his hands, stuffing them in his pockets - “I just wanted to know, I suppose. If it was anything I’d done. So that I could apologize.” The air was cold, and a biting breeze nipped at his cheeks and nose. He swallowed. “I don’t want you to be upset with me.”

“I’m not!” Marinette said, hardly before he finished his last sentence, and he blinked. Her cheeks, red with the cold, became a little redder - no doubt from the new gust of wind that brushed past them both. “I’m not upset or angry with you or anything at all like that, not even a little bit! You haven’t done anything wrong, you’re perfect, I promise, I just-” She stopped, biting on her bottom lip, her shoulders travelling up to her ears. She didn’t continue.

“Is there anything I can do?” Adrien asked, and Marinette’s expression travelled somewhere between a smile and a pinched frown.

“Just…” She trailed off, and she reached over, dainty hand settling on his shoulder. He was sure her fingers flexed, brushing along his feathers. “Have a good break, okay? Spread your wings a little bit for me.” She gave his shoulder a squeeze, and then she let go, lifting off from the roof of the school. Her pretty brown wings, speckled with white, carried her through the cold winter air, and Adrien stared after her silhouette.

Spread his wings.

Somehow, Adrien thought, Marinette always seemed to say just the things that made his chest ache.

---

Marinette spent the first half of her winter break thinking. She also spent that first half of her winter break trying not to think. She made dresses and sweaters and pants from old clothes and bedsheets, trying to keep her hands busy so her mind wouldn’t take over. She pricked her fingers more times in those first few days than she had all year.

She looked forward to Morpheusmus by making her friends gifts and dropping them off at their respective houses, determined to keep her spirits high for the holiday.

It was winter, and Morpheusmus was supposed to be all about cheer and friendship and good dreams. Giving gifts to friends and family to encourage peaceful nights through the long dark hours, while nature slept in its cold. And she was giving her gifts with a damn smile on her face, no matter how much she kept thinking about-

She held Adrien’s wrapped gift - a warm red sweater made from the softest fabric she could find - tightly in her arms as she dropped down to the ground in front of the gates of the Agreste mansion. She dropped the package in the drop box, checking twice to make sure she’d signed her name, and then looked up at the mansion. Towering and cold, colder than the winter air.

She’d done some research, on those nights when she couldn’t avoid thinking.

About wing binding.

It was a common practice in well-off families to encourage good posture and to show off wealth. In excessive amounts, it could cause pain and long-term injury to the person binded.

She bit at the inside of her cheek.

So, she was doing something stupid.

It’s not like she decided - right then at the gates to the Agreste mansion - that she’d do what she’d decided to do, but staring up at that awful mansion had certainly encouraged her. It wasn’t her place, to intrude on family affairs, but Daedalus be damned, she didn’t give a shit.

She lo-

She cared about Adrien. It was awful to think about him hurting, every day, all the time. She couldn’t have another friend that meant so much to her living a life of pain - not when she knew that she might be able to do something about it. If she went in and didn’t find any bindings, then she would take her leave and that would be it. But.

But if she did find bindings, then.

Well. It was a stupid plan. A disaster in the making.

But Marinette was quite used to being a step away from disaster.

She found it quite nice, in fact, to step close so disaster for the sake of someone else. It was a nice change of pace from her own disasters.

---

On the last night of Morpheusmus, Adrien walked into his room from a late night kitchen raid to see Ladybug standing before his bed, arms crossed. He froze.

The moonlight stumbled through his windows, reaching out for her, just barely managing to catch its fingers on her red wings, on her dark hair. She turned her head to look at him, bright blue eyes reflecting the stars of the night, and then she looked down at his bed once more.

He realized then that there were things on his bed that hadn’t been there before he’d left for the kitchen.

His bindings.

Each one of them, their unforgiving lines of gold-colored vines, laid out on the bed. But they looked wrong, somehow. He stepped closer, frowning, and he realized, eyes wide, that they’d all been cut apart, each and every one of them.

Ladybug watched his face as he looked over his useless bindings. “Are you wearing one now?” she asked, voice quiet through the night, and Adrien nodded, speechless. He hadn’t gotten the chance to take off the one he’d worn throughout the day. “Come here,” she said softly, beckoning closer, and he followed the sound of her voice as if on instinct.

She turned him around, and he noticed idly that she only came up to his shoulder. But he felt small, smaller than her, and she seemed to know it. But she didn’t do anything with that knowledge, like other people in his life might’ve. She simply moved her hands through the feathers of his wings, gentle fingers finding the clasps of the bindings and undoing them. The bindings fell to the floor, and he turned around, watching her bend down and pick them up.

For a moment, she seemed to consider them for a moment, so little and heavy in her hands, and then she took the pair of scissors she’d left on the bed. And she slowly and methodically cut it apart.

He shivered at the freedom.

“I’ll leave a note for your father, if you’d like,” she said, setting down the remnants of the bindings on the bed and admiring her handiwork. “Say it was me who did this.”

“No,” he said, and she looked over at him, furrowing her eyebrows. He felt his cheeks heat up. “I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

A slow smile spread across her lips, and she touched a fleeting hand to his cheek. “He wouldn’t know where to find me,” she said, and then she looked back down at the bindings, her smile turning a little satisfied. “And besides, I chose to get in trouble.”

“Thank you,” he said, and she turned her smile to him, soft and sweet.

“Merry Morpheusmus, Adrien,” she said, and she turned to leave.

“Wait,” he said, and he caught her wrist in her hand, so small and strong. She turned, raising her eyebrows. “Why?” he asked. He didn’t need to elaborate.

For a moment, it seemed like she wouldn’t answer. And then she sighed, turning and sitting down on his bed. He sat down next to her, heart racing.

“You know of my partner, Chat Noir?” she asked, and he felt himself smile.

“I might’ve heard a thing or two about him,” he said, and her lips twitched up into a smile before it faded.

“When we first met, he was absolutely terrible at flying,” she said, and Adrien raised his eyebrows. She’d never told him that before. “He was like a toddler,” she said, and Adrien bit back a retort. She didn’t seem to notice. “He was all crash landings and giddy laughter, like he was doing it all for the first time. And his wings…” She trailed off, shaking her head.

“His wings?” Adrien prompted, and she let out a small sigh.

“Well, they looked like yours. Damaged. Raw.” She shook her head again, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “At first I thought that was just what the miraculous did to him for his disguise, but the more I thought about it, the more I thought that maybe… That maybe outside of the mask, he probably didn’t fly.”

She paused, and Adrien ached.

“I asked him once, if it hurt,” she said softly. “He told me it didn’t. Not then. Not with the magic.”

He remembered. Remembered the way her expression broke.

“Chat gets to fly - during fights, yes - but still. He gets to fly. Without pain.” She turned her eyes to him, and he saw all the weight of the world there in her eyes. “I saw your wings, when you rescued me, and it reminded me of him. And the more I thought about it, the more I thought…” She trailed off, letting out something that might’ve been a laugh. “Sorry, it’s silly.”

“Please,” Adrien said, voice breaking of its own accord, “tell me.”

“I just thought,” she started, eyes finding his again, “that if I couldn’t help him, then I might be able to help you.”

And, like, Adrien was no stranger to the rush of emotion in his chest; of course he wasn’t. But he always chose not to act on it most days because he was always afraid - afraid of losing her.

He leaned in.

This was a bad idea.

She leaned in, too.

But sometimes.

Well.

Sometimes it was perfectly understandable to act on a bad idea, wasn’t it? It’s not like he could be blamed for doing so, not when she was in front of him, soft and vulnerable, powerful and beautiful. She’d given him more than he could ever have asked for, and she’d done it simply because she cared.

This was a bad idea, but that was alright.

Their lips met.

It was a gentle, fragile thing - their kiss. It was soft and it was hesitant, and Adrien hoped even as he didn’t that she could feel how much she meant to him. His hand reached up, and he cradled her cheek, thumb tracing along the edge of her mask. She let out a small sigh against his mouth, pushing closer.

He felt, almost, like she was trying to tell him something. Something important.

And then she pulled away, blue eyes heavy on him. She stood, and she cupped his face in her hands, something sad and indecipherable travelling across her face. She rubbed her thumbs along his cheeks, and he reached up, holding on to her wrists, loosely. He wanted her to stay. He knew she had to go.

She brushed the hair away from his forehead, and she pressed a kiss there, soft and caring. “Sweet dreams, Adrien,” she whispered against his skin, and he closed his eyes. Her hands left him, and he mourned the loss. “Spread your wings a little bit for me, okay?”

His eyes flew open, but she was already gone, his window open and welcoming in the cold night air.

He ran to the window, leaning out and letting the wintry air bite at his cheeks as he stared after her silhouette.

“Marinette,” he whispered.

He was probably wrong.

But he didn’t feel wrong.

He felt - awfully, terribly, wonderfully - right.

---

Marinette spent the next few days thinking about mint and spice.

It’s what Chat always smelled like - not that she’d, like, made an active effort to notice. It was just that in the heat of a battle, he’d catch her or she’d catch him or they’d be huddled close and she would smell it. Mint and spice. That was what Chat smelled like.

It was also what Adrien’s room smelled like.

What Adrien himself had smelled like - when he’d caught her, falling mid-air. When he’d kissed her, sweet and gentle.

Against her better judgement, Marinette was having thoughts. And feelings.

A whole lot of feelings.

So when Adrien showed up at the bakery, wearing the soft red sweater she’d given him for Morpheusmus, Marinette had done what any rational person would do.

She sprinted out the back door of the bakery.

Was it the best possible thing she could do in that situation? No, absolutely not. She knew that. And that was fine.

She was speeding toward an end, an end she wasn’t quite sure if she would like, so she squeezed her eyes shut and pretended that she was alright with free-falling just so she wouldn’t have to look down at the fast approaching ground.

“Marinette!”

Her eyes snapped open, and she looked up at the sky, following the sound of her name. It was Adrien, above her, beautiful frame backlit by the bright winter sky. His wings looked better - still a little raw, but better.

Marinette considered running.

Adrien landed in front of her, graceful and intentional, and his eyes searched her. “Why did you run away?”

“Bug,” Marinette answered immediately, her mouth providing her with a lie. “On the cash register. A bug.”

He tilted his head at her, stepping closer, slowly, carefully, like she was a flighty bird.

Which.

Yeah.

“You mean it wasn’t because of me?”

So that was super rude of him, to look so honest.

Marinette let out a strained sound from the back of her throat, throwing her hands up into the air and turning away from him.

“It’s because of the- the Daedalus-damned mint!” she exclaimed, whirling around to face him again. He had a confused sort of smile on his face. “And the- the stupid spice! And your wings, a little bit- no, a lot a bit. It’s all so much- which is. Which is absolutely-” She cut herself off with a frustrated groan, shaking her head and meeting his gaze.

His eyes were so green. His hair so gold, the strands wind-blown and familiar.

“It’s all just so much like him,” she said, her voice breaking into quiet.

Something in his expression cracked open, and he smiled, bright and honest as the sun. “I knew it,” he said. “I knew it!” He laughed as he said it, throwing his arms around her and pulling her close.

“Adrien-”

“You said the same thing that night,” he said, pulling away and holding her by the shoulders, grin wild. “‘Spread your wings a little bit for me.’ I didn’t want to hope I was right.”

She felt like she was falling.

She felt like she was flying.

“You know,” she said, and he nodded, excited.

“And you know, too,” he said, “don’t you?” And she realized that she did. She’d known for a while.

“Oh, Icarus save me,” she breathed, and then she grabbed Adrien - Chat Noir, her partner, her best friend - by the collar of the soft red sweater she’d made for him, and she kissed him hard.

And he kissed her back, just as hard. She could feel his smile, pressed up close to her mouth, and she laughed, breathing in the wonderfully familiar mint and spice.

---

Looking at this rationally, Adrien was absolutely certain this was a bad idea. His father wasn’t going to be happy about him getting a girlfriend, let alone getting a girlfriend that cuts up all the new bindings he buys with a gleam in her eyes that is, quite honestly, downright terrifying.

However, Adrien didn’t like being rational. He did like this bad idea, though, and all it was speeding toward.

And Marinette felt far from a bad idea, she felt like soft feathers and softer kisses, gentle smiles and quick laughs. She felt like everything absolutely and totally right, and he couldn’t exactly fault himself for falling - flying toward her.

It was only natural.

That much, at least, he was sure of.

hey apple i hope you loved this as much as i loved writing it (can you tell i got carried away a little bit? because i did. i totally did) and i hope anyone else reading this enjoys at least one sentence. it doesn’t really matter which one

happy holidays everyone!! i hope you’re able to spend this winter, no matter what you celebrate, safe and happy and surrouned by things you love

thank you so much for reading<3<3<3

#ml secret santa #softkwami #miraculous ladybug #mlb fic #adrinette #ladrien #mlb wing au #tbh? i saw ladrien on your likes list and blacked out and now we're here. god i love ladrien so much #also YES if youre wondering i DID look up mythological beings with wings to create a new holiday for fanfiction bird people #so. if you're wondering. morpheus is the greek god commonly associated with dreams and sleep and he is commonly depicted with wings #why greek? it followed the daedalus/icarus theme #see? i think about things sometimes #ANYWAYS thank u so much for reading (if youre still reading these tags) happy holidayds love u goodnight

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dragonrajafanfiction · 4 years

Text

Unforgiveable

“Carli, you have truly outdone yourself.”

“Eh?” I blinked at the principal. “Uh... I did?”

I hadn’t done anything remarkable lately. At least not in my personal opinion. Sure, my presentation on draconic language variants between subspecies was pretty good -- if I could pat myself on the back about anything -- but I had the feeling that Principal Anjou had something else in mind.

“Yes. I don’t know what transpired between you and Chisei Gen... However, it opened a wellspring of cooperation between the branches. And often, the young Patriarch asks specifically after you.”

I chuckled. “Oh dear.” I winced.

“Would you be willing to return to Japan on a brief assignment? To further strengthen ties?”

I pursed my lips, silent a moment.

But I did eventually agree.

Once I’d arrived, Chisei met me personally coming off the plane. Much to my shock, he and his dark trench-coated delegation bowed first. It was odd for me in my button down shirt and jeans and light blue roller bag to be greeted so formally. “Are we still strangers?” I asked, tilting my head.

He smiled at me. “Hopefully not,” he turned and I followed him. “How was your flight?”

“Long!” I sighed. And then yawned. “Chu Zihang says hello. I’m sorry he couldn’t come with me. He’s busy menacing the engineering students while the professor is out on assignment.”

“Heh.” Chisei smirked. “I can see that. And Caesar?”

“Oh who knows? Probably doing something stupid with incredibly expensive objects?”

He chuckled again. “I can see that too.”

Sakura opened the door for me and I got in next to Chisei. It was broad daylight here, but as soon as the car moved down the highway my eyes shut and I was fast asleep.

“Ms... Miss Carli?”

I opened my eyes and looked up at a flushed Chisei. Then I sat up. I’d fallen asleep on him! My hands flew to my face. "I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”

“It’s fine. I understand. Jet lag can be hard to fight. Sakura can help you to your room to rest up.”

I came down to dinner afterwards, dressed in a black and white pantsuit to match the muted color palette I saw around me. I wore colorful little cloth geisha dolls in my ears for flair.

“Sleep well?” Chisei asked me.

“Like the dead. The pillows were really comfortable.” I sat next to him.

It was never business first with the Japanese. Always food. So there was sushi and sake and rice, and soup. I’d become adept at chopsticks at this point.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you about you background.” Chisei said.

“Ah... well, I was dropped off by my mother at a group home for foster children. She ran away and wasn’t seen again.”

“Ah... sorry...” He said with some regret.

“It’s fine” I smiled up at him. “I couldn’t have landed in a better place. I was raised by two loving people surrounded by my foster siblings. Even though we were never rich, I was always happy. Pretty much all the time.’

Chisei tilted his head to one side. “Really?”

“Yeah. I’ll give you an example.” I shifted towards him. “My foster dad, couldn’t always afford to buy us all new clothes. So, he helped us take care of the clothes we had. If we stopped wearing something he would put it in a box and put the box in the closet and then not open the box for about a year.”

“Then...” I lifted a finger, “...he opened the box and spread out the clothes like a store! By then, we’d forgotten what was in there. And we could pick anything we wanted. So even though we were poor, on that day it was like a shopping spree!”

I sighed a bit. “Robbie understood feelings. He knew that the objects and the events themselves weren’t what made something special. But it was the feelings around it. He was a special guy. I really wish...” I looked down at my lap. “...some of my friends could have met him.”

Chisei’s eyes shifted a moment. “You are... a good ambassador for him.”

“Really?” I asked.

“Absolutely.” He reached under his collar and pulled the thin chain around his neck. The words “Forgiveness” in Chinese characters hung as a pendant. I’d given it to him for his birthday. “You seemed understand my feelings very well. More than I expected.”

“That gift meant that much to you?” I asked.

Chisei let out a short sigh of a laugh. I couldn’t take my eyes away from his gaze, the deep pain that resided there. “Carli, I never take it off.”

“Young Chief!” A man in a suit and sunglasses hurried into the room.

“We’ve got a problem. Rampagers Verses the Firehouse gang!”

Chisei’s eyes narrowed. “What? We established a truce last week. Why are they breaking it?”

“I don’t know sir.”

I glanced between them all. “Oh, well this sounds exciting.”

“I’m sorry, I have to take care of this.” He said, standing up and getting into his coat.

“Take me with you!”

“I... I couldn’t possibly risk you coming. It’s an incredibly dangerous situation!”

“Tch. Please...” I stood up, only rising to three fourths his height. “Sweetie, I grew up in Chicago.”

The man wasn’t kidding, though. The two gangs were going at it like cats and dogs, rolling in the street, brandishing knives and clubs and baseball bats. Chisei’s sword was the most deadly weapon in the chaos, however, and he drew it. It flashed in the moonlight.

“Stay behind me.” He said.

I didn’t want to seriously hurt anyone, but the fighting had to stop. As soon as Chisei and his posse arrived, we were surrounded and set upon by gang members. A baseball bat flew with deadly velocity near my face. Before I could respond though, Chisei had leaped in front of me, ramming the hilt of his blade into the man’s throat.

He fell to the ground, gagging and vomiting which shook the stomachs of a few others in the group who were pummeled and chased off by Sakura and Yasha.

I approached the retching man and crouched. “So uh... I get this is personal right? You can’t even fight.”

My lack of fear seemed to make him angry and he swung at me. I dodged it and he fell over.

I pointed at him. “Hey... can you ask this guy what’s going on? Like... who died?”

Chisei turned to me confused. “This is not time for diplomacy!”

“There’s always time for diplomacy. Just ask him! Most of all gang violence is tit for tat... ask him!”

The gang members attacking Chisei realized they were in over their heads and all started to flee. Chisei sheathed his sword and asked him in Japanese.

The word he spoke was clear to me, since I liked watching subbed anime with Lu. His brother.

The Rampagers had killed his brother.

He then went on a tirade, eventually breaking down into tears right there on the asphalt. Another word I knew from Anime.

“Yurusenai” -- Unforgivable.

Chisei lowered his eyes. I didn’t understand what he said, but it was clear everything was starting to die down in the wake of raw emotion on display on a public Japanese street.

He then addressed the other gang members who were standing around, raising his voice so they could hear him. He was commanding them to forgive the wrongs for now, brandishing my necklace as if to show his own example.

They picked up their clubs and bats and knives and began to walk away. The man lying on the pavement though appeared to be unmoved. I paid him no mind, making my way back to the group. I heard him shout something and turned to look when I was suddenly knocked over. I hit the ground and a loud crack rang in the air. I sat up.

Chisei was already down, Sakura working on getting through his clothing to examine the wound. The man I had just spoke to dropped his pistol and tried to flee.

“Chisei...” I whimpered.

He gave him a chance... and that idiot didn’t take it. He was so bent on revenge, he shot Chisei...someone who had nothing to do with his brother other than tell him to let go of his pain.

I stood up, my eyes blazing as a glowing spear appeared in my hand.

I aimed at the fleeing man, through my tears. “Yurusenai....”

Master List

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jjmichie · 4 years

Text

Stone and Dave drink Eddie’s Wine

Chapter 4 of ‘Some Words When Spoken’

Disclaimer: the following is fiction, not true. While inspired by real people, it is not a depiction of any actual events.

“Another glass of red, sir?”

The flight attendant made no attempt to mask the sarcasm in her tone as she said the word “sir,” and also didn’t bother to lower her volume enough to keep surrounding passengers from hearing her sarcasm.

Stone had already noticed that he was the only one in first class without gray hair, without a suit, and without a Wall Street Journal stretched across his lap, and really didn’t need her to single him out with her attitude. However, in his current state of mind, the desire to soothe his brain with a glass of wine seemed to win over the desire to start up an argument.

“Yes, thank you . . . ma’am,” he retorted with a glare, feeling an inexplicable sense of camaraderie with her when she glared back.

He looked out the window. The snow that he and Mike had just been trudging through was still visible, like wrinkled wrapping paper over the pine trees, but it was quickly becoming blurred by the layer of hazy atmosphere that grew larger and larger moment by moment between the ground and the lofty heights he was hurtling through.

Too fast. They were hurtling too fast. More than anything he wished the flight would never end. After talking to Mike he now understood that something needed to be done to change the dynamic that had been developing. And he knew what he needed to do. But how? The thought of it made the knot in his stomach grow larger despite the warming effect of the wine, which Ma’am had at some point silently placed on the tray in front of him.

He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the turbulence that mercilessly threw the plane about in the winter sky.

Forget it.

He took another gulp of wine and pulled down the window shade, hiding the blinding whiteness and the ominous progress of the plane as it slouched towards the west.

He had right now. To himself. If nothing else, at least for the duration of the flight he could flood his mind with whatever over-ripe memories and images of his own making that he wanted, anything but the reality that awaited him.

The bus made an ugly diesel-spitting grunt as it thrust itself onto the freeway and struggled to gain the velocity needed to join the steady flow of traffic. The sound of angry horns had by now become so routine that the occupants of the bus didn’t even hear them, and they were oddly comforted by the familiar moans of the aging machine, a machine that at some point had become their shell, their shield, their world.

Inside the bus, underneath a naked light bulb, Stone was alternating between staring at the built-in TV, which was erratically displaying a basketball game, and paging through an issue of Kerrang!, which was splayed across a wooden plank that the bus tried to pass off as a “dining table.”

Dave was beside him. He had somehow acquired a billiard ball, most likely swiped from the pool table at their last hotel, and was rolling it across the wooden plank. He repeatedly slapped it against the faux paneling on the wall, then let it roll back into the safety of his hand, keeping a surprisingly catchy rhythm against the unpredictable motion of the bus.

Stone closed his eyes and leaned his head back, only to have his neck violently jolted by the turbulence of unforgiving shocks. “Uhhhhh,” he moaned. “We really need more pillows.”

Dave looked up and smiled sympathetically at Stone’s discomfort. “I know . . . “ he sighed. “We’ve been out here way too long.”

Everyone else on the bus was asleep.

“Hey, do you want some wine?” Dave suddenly asked, stopping the ball mid-journey. “I think Eddie still has some left . . .” He got up to explore the cupboard against the opposing wall. “Yes!” Dave triumphantly returned with a bottle of vintage red. The cork had already been opened, the pristine contents already exposed, waiting to be taken, waiting to be relished.

“But . . . it’s Eddie’s,” Stone protested, realizing what they were about to do would surely piss off Eddie.

Dave hesitated, and glanced towards the sleeping area of the bus. He raised his shoulders innocently before yanking the cork off and handing the bottle to Stone.

“Sure, make me do it,” Stone smiled devilishly and took the bottle. Dave watched as Stone wrapped his lips around the opening. He took a long relaxing drink, savoring it, closing his eyes, letting the velvety warmth of it envelope his tongue. “Mmmm,” he moaned. “It’s perfect.” He handed the bottle back to Dave.

But Dave continued to watch Stone. Seeing his lips reddened by the wine, his hair being ruthlessly tossed by the night which roared in from an open window, and the strobe-like dance of light across his face as the bus passed by street light after street light after street light, Dave suddenly felt as if he were seeing Stone for the first time.

“What?” Stone asked, noticing how Dave was staring at him.

“I’m just admiring you,” he said after a smile and a pause. Dave toyed with the bottle, eventually lifting it and letting his tongue circle the lip of it just once before placing his mouth exactly where Stone’s had been. He took a large gulp of the wine, still not taking his eyes off his friend.

Stone squirmed in his seat, feeling slightly violated by Dave’s unrelenting gaze. But at the same time feeling . . . flattered. “Wow, my neck really hurts,” he said, abruptly breaking their eye contact. He rolled his head forward, trying to distract them both, trying to escape the intensity that was suddenly filling the space between them. But as he did so he realized his neck really did hurt. The stiffness and discomfort from weeks and weeks of shitty pillows really was awful. He winced.

“Here, let me . . . “ Dave immediately rose and slid into the seat beside Stone. He placed his husky hands over the back of Stone’s neck, squeezing lightly, applying gentle pressure as he rubbed up and down.

The warmth and strength of Dave’s hands sent an unexpected tingle down Stone’s back, and he immediately felt the tension melting away. Or maybe it was the wine kicking in . . .

“Thanks . . . “ Stone whispered, pulling his hair out of the way, to the side, over the front of his shoulder. “That feels good.”

Dave was using both hands now, not holding back, kneading every muscle in Stone’s neck, then his shoulders, then his upper back. Stone folded his arms on the table, and rested his head on them, giving Dave full access to his back.

“Mmm,” Stone couldn’t help but purr. “Oh my god, that really helps . . .”

Dave continued to work on him, moving even lower. He let both hands slide under Stone’s shirt, pressing his fingers deeply into the stressed and knotted flesh. He leaned forward, smelling Stone’s hair, placing his mouth close to Stone’s ear, so close that Stone could feel the heat of his breath and the tickle of his hair against his cheek. “Can I ask you something?” Dave finally said.

“Hmm?”

“Have you ever . . . done it with a guy?”

Stone felt a jolt from somewhere inside himself, and pulled away from the comfort of the warm hands. He turned to look at Dave in confusion. Dave’s eyes widened. He had misjudged. He shouldn’t have asked that. Shit. He couldn’t read Stone’s expression at all any more. He looked shaken, unsettled . . . and something else. He couldn’t quite interpret it.

“Why?” Stone finally said. “Why did you ask me that?”

Dave raised his shoulders. A long moment passed. “I don’t know . . . I’m just . . . making conversation? Trying to get to know you better . . .” Dave swallowed hard.

“There was someone . . . “ Stone finally replied, looking Dave directly in the eye.

Dave waited, unsure of what to do with that.

But Stone just turned away. He looked out the window. The traffic had dwindled by now and the street lights were far behind them, but he wasn’t seeing the lights or the traffic or even the darkness. He was somewhere else. Seeing something else. Someone else.

“Who was he?” Dave asked gently, leaning forward, close to Stone’s ear once again. Then he corrected himself, realizing the question might be too intrusive. “I mean . . . who was he to you? Were you in love with him?”

“He was everything to me.”

“Are you still close? Do you keep in touch with him?”

“I still talk to him. He just . . . doesn’t answer.”

They both were silent. The hiss of another bus overtaking theirs was the only sound. Dave opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. Shyly, tentatively, Dave returned his hands to their position on Stone’s shoulders. Stone flinched slightly at his touch, then shivered, despite the hot stuffiness of the bus. But Dave didn’t let go. He massaged him as gently as he could, hoping to work it away, work away whatever memory he had accidentally triggered.

“I’m sorry,” Dave whispered. He could feel Stone responding, beginning to relax, slowly succumbing.

Stone finally turned his head towards Dave, and pushed his forehead into Dave’s neck. The warmth of his neck was more soothing than he had expected. He could hear, or maybe just feel, the rhythm of Dave’s pulse, which was much faster than normal. He breathed in deeply, letting the scent of Dave’s aftershave fill him.

Dave responded too, playing off Stone’s movements, just like they always did in rehearsals and on stage. Listening to each other, reading each other, riffing off each other’s familiar cues. As Stone pressed against him, Dave pulled him closer, cradling the back of his head, petting his hair.

“Wait, wait!” Stone suddenly pulled away, his hands on Dave’s shoulders. Dave was staring at Stone’s lips. He was trembling. Stone looked back towards the sleeping quarters of the bus. “We can’t . . . I mean . . . anyone could walk in. At any minute.”

Without hesitating Dave reached up to turn off the naked light bulb and the TV set. He also shut the window. “We’ll hear it if anyone gets up. Now . . .”

He pulled Stone down onto the booth-style seat near the wooden plank, so that he was on his back, his hands up, near his face, clenched into fists. Dave’s strong hands easily encircled both of Stone’s slender wrists and forced them down against the seat cushion.

Stone let out a gasp and closed his eyes.

“I want you,” Dave whispered gruffly.

Stone nodded, his mouth open, breathing hard. “I want you too,” he panted.

Dave leaned down to press his mouth firmly over Stone’s. He felt the heat of his breath against his lips and took it in, tasting him, smelling him, devouring him. Stone struggled a little beneath him, perhaps in resistance of his own feelings, perhaps in fear that it would go too far, too fast. Dave tightened his grip around Stone’s wrists.

As they kissed, Dave’s hair fell like a curtain over them, creating a world that was theirs alone, a safe warm place where all that mattered was the taste of each other, the warm soft wetness of each other’s tongues pressing firmly together, and the heat of their breath and the pounding of their hearts.

They almost didn’t hear it.

The grating screech of a “privacy curtain” being opened from one of the bus’s bunks, and the soft patter of footsteps behind the door which separated the sleeping area from the living area.

Eddie staggered into the room in his boxers, stumbling with the motion of the bus as he rubbed his eyes and scratched his stomach.

“Hey . . .” he muttered, opening the refrigerator, barely glancing in their direction. “Why are you sitting in the dark?” He grabbed a water out of the fridge then turned and went back to his bunk, without waiting for an answer.

Stone and Dave had pulled apart just in time. Stone covered his mouth with one hand and widened his eyes in Dave’s direction. Dave widened his eyes too and giggled.

But the moment had passed. The interruption was an interruption. The wine-euphoria had given way to sobriety and the odd intensity of the spell they had each experienced a moment earlier had dissipated into a reality of ugly faux panels and moaning pavement under tires and the too-familiar stench of another endless night.

“He’s right, we probably should get some sleep,” Stone said, although he was fully aware that Eddie hadn’t said anything about needing sleep.

“I know,” Dave agreed, and repeated the statement he had made earlier, which now seemed like a lifetime ago. “We’ve been out here way too long.”

But neither of them moved. Several minutes passed.

Dave was the first to finally get up and walk towards the sleeping quarters. When he arrived at the door he stopped and looked back at Stone. He tucked his lower lip beneath his upper one, the way he often did, and blinked twice before saying goodnight and disappearing into the black chamber of bunks and bandmates.

Stone stared at the emptiness where Dave had just been standing. He slowly let out the breath he had been holding. He could still taste him.

“Good bye,” he whispered back, but the words didn’t reach Dave. Instead they collided against a beige reclining seat in front of him, as overhead lights appeared out of nowhere and Ma’am’s arm reached across him to remove his empty glass of wine.

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen, we will be arriving at Seattle Tacoma International Airport shortly. Skies are overcast and the temperature is currently 54 degrees. Don’t forget to reset your watches to Pacific time, and please return your tray tables and seats to their upright position. Flight attendants prepare for arrival . . .”

#fanfic #pearl jam #if I don't just freakin post this today I never will #I know I lose points for a meandering POV but it just is that way #vitalogy #stone gossard #eddie vedder

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