#roadtrip au

[weirdozjunkary]

Ah, mermaids. How…. Lively they are.

Roadtrip Sonic— @donelywell

[verdiris]

✨️ Morning wakeup call ✨️

Six of crows Road trip au!

[mediumgayitalian]

Blue, blue, blue eyes, wet and red-rimmed. White knuckles clenched around worn canvas. Salty cheeks and bitten-bruised lips.

“I’m running away.”

Echoes in a too-large room, quiet breathing in stale air. Freezing toes on marble floor. Struggling lamplight, gaunt shadows.

“Gimme a minute to pack a bag.”

———

“Shh,” Nico hisses, clamping a hand over Will’s mouth to muffle a shriek. A too-warm hand clutches his hip, scrambling for balance. The rickety wooden lattice creaks under their weight.

The freeze, for one, two, three seconds. Nico strains to hear, watching the crystal-clear, freshly-polished Jalousie window.

No light.

They let out their breath at the same time, Will’s exhale making Nico’s cold hands tingle. At Will’s glare, he removes his hand, wrapping it back around the rung.

“Be more careful, you clumsy fuck.”

“I’m trying!”

To his credit, he really is. He checks and double checks before putting his full weight on the lopsided strips of wood only meant to hold up vines. He doesn’t let go of the rung above him until his feet are firmly planted, and he doesn’t stray far enough from Nico that he couldn’t catch him. He knows the drill.

And, yet.

(Truly, Nico has no idea how he climbed up by himself.)

Thankfully, they make it to the soft lawn in one piece. Will stumbles into a hydrangea bush the second he lets go of the lattice. Nico lands with much more grace, snickering.

“This house hates me,” he whispers, pouting. There are several blue flower petals tangled in his hair; Nico decides not to tell him. “Like, actively.”

“You and me both.”

They sneak quickly across the lawn once Will’s upright again, booking it to Nico’s Jeep. Will takes their bags, tossing them in the back, then slides behind the massive, creepy gargoyle-thing that sits between the garage doors as Nico opens the driver’s door as quietly as physically possible. Once he’s seated, he glances over at Will, waiting for his signal — hand held up in wait, four seconds, five, six — then a rapid shooing motion, eyes trained at the security camera. Fast as he can, Nico shifts into neutral without starting the car, craning his neck to watch out the back window as he peels out of the driveway and onto the street. Once safely behind the massive pine tree that marks the edge of the property, he parks, turning the car on and wincing at the noise.

Two minutes later, Will comes barrelling down the driveway, nearly tripping over untied shoelaces.

“I fucked up, they totally saw me, go go go!”

Nico doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s in drive and racing down the empty street before Will has the door closed.

For a while, he lets their heart rates settle back into something normal. The headlights are dim, no streetlights to make anything brighter, and he squints through the windshield, tense. If a deer jumps out, they’re fucked.

“So,” he says, relaxing as they turn onto familiarly torn-up roads. No street lights here, either, but he knows the woods on either side of the road are a farce. Hardly more than a copse of trees — nothing but farmland for hundreds of acres. No risk of death by Cervidae, thank God. “Running away?”

“There’s a rest stop an hour east,” Will says instead of answering, face buried in a map. “We can sleep there and keep going in the morning.”

Go where, Nico wants to ask, but he knows better than that. There’s a tenseness to Will’s jaw, and something transparently pleading in his eyes.

“Okay,” he finally relents. Will’s obvious relief eases his discomfort. “You gotta direct me, though. And, I swear to God, if you get us lost again, Solace —”

And Will laughs, finally, and it’s small and stilted and there are still tears drying on his cheeks, but it’s real, and stars shine brighter, brighter, brighter.

The two hours to the rest stop pass quickly. Nico is used to long drives, and thankfully he’d filled up a couple days ago, so all he worries about is staying awake and watching for cops. There shouldn’t be any, really, because he’s been the only car on this road the entire time, but Nico isn’t going to chance it. Not again. (He doesn’t have Piper to talk them out of trouble, this time, although Will could possibly manage.) 

(Maybe.) 

(Well, never say never.)

“How prepared are we to run away?”

Will is quiet for several long, telling moments.

“Well,” he says finally, and Nico sighs. “I think there’s still blankets and pillows in the trunk from last time.”

“Christ alive, William.”

“It’s June! We’re – sheltered! We’ll be fine.”

“Christ alive, William.”

“Oh, can it.”

He bites his tongue, grinning. He doesn’t actually mind – it is June, and they have blankets, and their certainly not going to succumb to the elements in the Jeep. Will, too, is like a goddamn space heater; if anything, they’ll wake up in the morning with the windows fogged. 

“I suppose I’ll manage,” he says, watching with interest as a flash of bare skin as Will leans over the seat, sweatshirt riding up his arched back as he digs around for the blankets. He turns back right before Will does, huffing dramatically. “Since there are no other options.”

He fully expects the pillow to the face.

“You’re a dickhead.”

“Dickhead with a license and a vehicle, Sunny Boy, so maybe count your blessings.”

“...Lou Ellen has a car. So there.”

Nico snorts, thinking of the piece of shit Bug that broke down for the twelfth time this year in her driveway, earlier this week. Likely story.

“And, yet.”

“And, yet,” Will agrees, voice significantly softer. He’s fully burrowed in his blanket when Nico looks over; seat reclined as far as it’ll go so he can curl up, knees to chest, all six two of him compressed to something small, delicate. The pillow smushes half his face, and the blanket is pulled up to his nose, and Nico swallows, roughly, because his eyes are bright in the moonlight, and his hair fans, frizzy and damp, slightly, out onto the pillow, and Nico doesn’t need to be a poet to compare his freckled forehead to the starry sky. There is a fragility in him, one he keeps firmly locked inside the deepest parts of him, and as Nico watches it he can see it spilling, pouring, bleeding out of him. In the car, in the dark, in front of Nico. “Goodnight, Nico.”

“Goodnight,” Nico says hoarsely. 

By the time he gets the courage to look at Will again, his eyes are already closed, breaths slow and even.

———

“Neeks. Neeks. Nico. Hey, Thanatos. Anubis. Gerard Way. I got more, man, I made a list –”

“Will you stop fucking poking me,” Nico groans, peeking out from his blankets to glare at his aggressor. He regrets it immediately, hissing as the sun burns his retinae.

He can feel Will smiling. “Up and at ‘em, Sunshine. It’s road trip time.” He pauses. “And, also, I’m starving. I packed granola bars for us but I ate them all already. Sorry.”

“Fucker.” Reluctantly, he tugs the blanket fully off, sitting upright and stretching his arms above his head. His back cracks satisfyingly. “Don’t suppose you know where the nearest Dunkin’ is, then.”

“Uh, no.” He looks back to find Will’s eyes snapping back to his, face flushed. “We’re just outside of Arcadia, though? So. I’m. Sure there’s one –”

“Are you good?” Nico asks, squinting. “It’s too early for you to be a weirdo, Will, it’s only –” He checks his phone – “Oh, you motherfucker, it’s like six thirty in the morning! Why the hell are we awake?”

“Road trip!” he says. His face, no longer all screwed up and blotchy, returns to its usual blinding beam. 

Great. Now there are two things trying to blind him.

“C’mon, you dork,” Will says again, laughing. He tugs the blanket from Nico’s grip, tossing it haphazardly in the back and pestering him until he scowls, biting out a “Fine, you prick, Jesus,” and rubs the sleep out of his eyes.

He’s still not all the way awake, but he dutifully sits up, buckling his seat belt and starting the car. “Nav,” he mutters, tuning out Will’s chatter.

He loves the guy, but, fuck. It’s six thirty in the goddamned morning. He hasn’t seen six thirty in the morning in a long ass fucking time – even before he graduated at the end of May, he was late to homeroom every single day, without fail. Six thirty is an absurd time to be awake. 

“Left here, straight for a bit, and it’ll be on the corner.”

“You’re pointing to the right,” Nico says, patiently, not bothering to fight the smirk cropping up on his face. "Am I turning right?"

This, he’s used to.

“I meant right,” Will sulks. “...I said right in my brain.”

“Sure,” says Nico generously, grin widening.

“Fuck off.”

“What? You try very hard, Will. I’m very proud of you.”

“Choke.”

“Few more years, and you’ll be caught up to the kindergarteners.”

“That’s it, di Angelo –”

He laughs, batting away Will’s smacking hands. “Hey! Hey! No hitting the driver, do you want me to crash –”

By the time Will is done trying to beat him up, Nico has long spotted the sad-looking Dunkin’ Donuts, pulling into the empty parking lot and peering inside.

“Is it even open?” he asks, frowning. The lights are on, but it looks…more soulless than usual, somehow.

“Yep,” Will chirps, clicking off his seatbelt. “The chain opens at five. There's a location in Omaha that's open at 4:30, but as far as their policy goes, five is go time.”

“Nerd.”

“It’s okay, Nico. I’ll stay friends with you even if you get dumber than you already are.”

He grins wickedly. “Least I know my lefts and rights.”

He cackles when Will slams the door, stomping to the Dunkin’s entrance. He’s not really mad – he gets quiet when he gets mad – but it’s good to know that he’s won. (Not that it’s hard. Will is witty, sure, and wicked smart, but his buttons are just a smidge too easy to press. Great fun for Nico, who has raging ADHD and could not resist the allure of a shiny red button if it was going to blow up the Earth with him on it.)

Will is nowhere to be found when Nico gets inside, so he assumes he’s in the washroom and walks up to the counter to make their order. A bored girl a couple years younger than him flips a magazine behind the register, nodding as he comes up.

“I’ll have a black coffee and a…” He squints. “God. A butter pecan swirl signature iced latte.”

“With whipped cream and caramel drizzle?”

Nico sighs, resisting the urge to physically wince. “Yes.”

“Anything else?” says the girl, smile pulling at her lips. “I can put sugar in a cup to go, if you want.”

“He’d probably take that, too,” he agrees snorting. “But nah. Just a couple breakfast sandwiches, if you don’t mind.”

“‘Course.”

She rings him up, letting him know it’s gonna take a minute as the machines boot up. He wanders while he waits, curiously observing a wall of what appears to be scrawled pencil graffiti. Nothing talented, but he has to fight the urge to walk out to the payphone he saw outside and call a few of the numbers, just to see what would happen. 

“Hey,” Will says, startling him. He’s changed his shirt and tied his hair back, looking a million times better than last night. Nico finds himself relieved, shoulders slumping imperceptibly.

“Hey.”

“D’you order for us?”

“Got you your morning milkshake monstrosity, don’t worry.”

Will grins. “Drinking black coffee doesn’t make you cool.”

“It does, actually. At any given time I am forty-seven percent cooler than you. More, if you’re wearing cargo shorts.” He glances down. “It’s a forty-nine percent day, apparently.”

“Go wash your face,” Will laughs, shoving him. “I’ll get the food, then we can look at the map.”

He doesn’t take nearly as long as Will did. He brushes his teeth, splashes water on his face, decides his hair looks awesome the way it is – of course he didn’t forget a brush, why would he be a big enough dumbass to forget a brush and also more than one pair of socks – and walks back out. He finds Will tucked in a booth in a corner, chewing on a pink straw, eyeing their giant map intently.

“So,” he says as Nico approaches, handing him his coffee, “I did some math.”

Nico notices a napkin scrawled with ink that he could not read even if he wasn’t dyslexic.

“Geek.”

Will chucks his balled up straw wrapper at him. “We can go five hours-ish on a full tank of gas, and you’re a bit above a half tank, so we got maybe three hours before we need to stop.” He circles a little dot about a quarter way into the state, letters too small for Nico to read. “And since going anywhere near Orlando in the summer is asking to stick us in bumper-to-bumper traffic, that puts us in Anthony.”

“I did not know there was a town named Anthony,” Nico says sagely. “That’s a shit name for a town, if I’m being honest.”

WIll shrugs. “Welcome to Florida. Anyways. Want me to drive? You drove last night.”

“Barely,” Nico dismisses, waving his hand. He likes driving – it’s just scattered enough that he doesn’t get antsy. It’s being a passenger that kills him, although he’s sure they’ll switch on the way back so he can rest. “I’ll drive.”

“‘Kay.”

Will turns his attention back to the map, tapping his pen against the table in between bites of his breakfast sandwich. Every so often he returns to the napkin, scribbling something down and making little hums of concentration. 

Nico begins to notice the route he’s drawing extends a ways past state lines.

“So,” he says carefully, eyes trained on his best friend. “Running away.”

Will tenses, again, at the mention of it, although this time he looks more stubborn than lost. Good.

“Road trip,” he corrects. “It’s our last summer, Nico. I turn eighteen in a couple months, and then…” He trails off. Nico waits out the silence, seven seconds, eight, nine. “Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do? One last huzzah, road trip around the nation, or whatever?”

“Did you happen to tell your mother about this road trip?”

Will shrugs. “I left a note.”

Nico hums. “Sounds an awful lot like running away. I would know. I’ve been picked up by social services in three separate states.”

“Road trip,” Will corrects again, stubborn set to his brow. 

Nico decides to let it go for now.

“Road trip,” he agrees. Will looks at him gratefully. “Where to?”

“That defeats the point of a road trip.” He rolls up the map, looking at Nico like it’s obvious. “Duh. Journey, not the destination, et cetera, et cetera.”

Privately, Nico bets that by tomorrow, Will be be restless and guilty and they will be on their way home. Outwardly, he says, “You have seen a truly disgusting amount of movies,” and Will laughs, and Nico follows him to the Jeep, and knows, as he always does, that he will follow him regardless; across the world, across the country, even back to Shit Fuck, Florida.

———

next chapter

[headcanon-fodder]

i only make the most serious of aus

[lyrqxa]

they’re going on a roadtrip… what sights will they see

[bestjeanistmonster]

behold 15 seconds of a sth animatic wip i’ve been working on for months cuz of procrastination for an au with a vague as hell plot that im coming up with as i go

[nuwibo]

When you and your ex bf go on an involuntary roadtrip through the pacific northwest to go see your brother

I was going to write a fic for this but im lazy so i drew some fake screencaps instead :)

[tennessoui]

~ roadtrip au update ~

“We could call her Emily,” Anakin says after several moments pass by in silence. He’s not even looking at his menu, chin propped up on one of his hands as he stares at Obi-Wan. “If you really wanted to.”

“Emily?” Obi-Wan repeats, running through the list of omegas and betas that he’s seen Anakin date. No Emilys jump out at him.

“If you wanted to name the baby after Dickinson, North Dakota,” Anakin says. “We could name her Emily, you know. Like Dickinson.”

“Did you even know who Emily Dickinson was six years ago?” Obi-Wan asks, amused,  even though he knows that’s not really fair. After all, she’s one of the great American poets—perhaps Anakin never had a great interest in literature before meeting Obi-Wan, but he still knew of her.

But Anakin shrugs. “Not really,” he admits. “I read a ton of her work a few years ago though. It was okay.” “Okay,” Obi-Wan repeats.

“Yeah,” the alpha says, “I mean, you were going through that Great American Literature phase or whatever. I had to study up, you know. Keep up with you.”

Obi-Wan blinks. “You read Dickinson for me?” This time Anakin’s shrug is a little self-conscious and he seems to have discovered how fascinating the menu is as well. “Well, yeah,” he says, staring so intently at the list of side dishes available that Obi-Wan is half-convinced a plate of charred broccolini will materialize before them. “So we could talk about it.”

Obi-Wan’s eyebrows furrow. He doesn’t remember ever having a conversation with Anakin about Emily Dickinson. He doesn’t think he ever even noticed the alpha was reading one of her collections, though he must have gotten the book from Obi-Wan’s shelf. “Oh,” he says.

He had been seeing Richard, actually, when he was going through that specific literature phase—and it had been triggered by the man’s own academic interest in the subject. He hadn’t ever noticed Anakin reading along with him. 

It’s so incredibly sweet that Obi-Wan’s throat  suddenly feels tight. He takes a sip of water and tries to convince his body to relax.

Anakin will make an excellent alpha to someone one day.

“I didn’t know,” Obi-Wan says into the silence when it drags on for too long. “I….” he trails off and stares at Anakin. Anakin who is so sweet. Who is so intelligent. Who is so beautiful. “I would have loved to talk about Dickinson with you,” he finally says. The smile Anakin gives him is sweet and small. “I’m not going anywhere, baby,” he says, and it’s really for the best that he tacks on the nickname, the baby, because for a moment there Obi-Wan had completely forgotten they were playing pretend at all.

[valeriianz]

Road trip AU but make it hurt/comfort:

Dream is a runaway, hitches a ride with Hob, who's a traveling chef. Cue a slow trust, a budding friendship, banter, and motel sex. But first...

-

“Seriously?” Hob muttered to himself as he made out the dark smudge along the highway. 

Hob saw the black jacket and backpack before an arm swung out, a thumb sticking in the air.

A hitchhiker.

Something familiar made Hob’s heart stutter, recognizing the tired gait, the heavy arm, the almost hopeless glance behind the shoulder. Hob couldn’t make out the man’s face from this far, but he was creeping up fast, and he swallowed.

A part of Hob told him not to do it. Stranger danger, and all that. This guy could be a weirdo, a serial killer, or anything in between. Then again, Hob’s hands tightened around the wheel, he could get picked up by a weirdo, or a murder instead. Hitchhiking was falling out of style, and for good reason. Trusting a total stranger to give you a ride was extremely foolish and dangerous.

With only seconds to make his decision, Hob sighed loudly, coming out more like a groan, slowing the car and pulling off the road a few yards in front of the lone man. 

Hob’s own experience came crashing into his brain, unbidden. Homeless, hungry, dirty, just looking for some kindness. Hoping, at the very least, for a conversation free from judgment. The experience should have jaded Hob, doubt and suspicion taking over his decision making. But the reality was Hob had somehow softened, not a foolish amount, but with the new desire to be understanding and hopeful. Hob had been this man, shamefully trudging along the road, sticking a thumb out at the sound of a passing car, feeling stupid for it, feeling desperate.

Desperation makes one do stupid things.

The silence that filled the air as Hob put his hazards on was stifling, watching the dark figure approach from the rearview mirror. Anxiety built in Hob’s chest the closer the hitchhiker came, until the passenger side door opened and a backpack, which wasn’t that full, was tossed to the floor of his car. The man came in after, sliding onto the seat and pulling the door closed with a gentle thud.

He turned to look at Hob, and Hob tried– really hard– to keep his jaw on his face.

The man was gorgeous, in a way that almost frightened Hob. Pale blue eyes that looked haunted, sunken into pale skin that looked like it’d never seen the sun. And a mop of black hair that seriously needed a combing, sticking out in odd angles and visibly dry, almost graying it.

He was also incredibly thin, like a gentle breeze would blow him away. 

“Where to?” Hob finally managed to find his voice, turning away from eyes that could probably see into his soul, and back on the road.

“Anywhere.”

The reply startled Hob, causing him to look back at the young man in his car, finding him already slouching in his seat, eyes slipping shut, exhaustion overtaking him. His voice was a trembling baritone, dry and scratchy, like he hadn’t used it in ages, or he was parched to death.

Before putting the car back into gear, Hob reached behind him, fumbling around the floor of the backseat and procuring a water bottle from a large pack.

When he returned the man was looking at him, dull yet inquisitive.

“Here,” Hob offered the water and the man grabbed it with wide eyes.

Hob would’ve laughed if the desperation in his gaze wasn’t so terrifying.

He guzzled the water in 10 seconds, squeezing the plastic and gasping for air afterwards. Hob reached for a few more and the stranger took them, nodding in gratitude.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Hob felt an eyebrow quirk, wondering when the last time this guy ate or drank anything.

“Are you hungry?” Hob finally put the car back into gear and, checking his mirrors, pulled back onto the road. “Want to stop somewhere for food?”

Hob peeked over again, watching his new passenger stare out the door window, his forehead pressed against the glass.

“M’fine…” 

Hob bit his lip, clocking in the sign indicating the next rest stop.

[gascansposts]

I’ve been erm. Thinking about this. I think it would be fun and cozy and what’s more cozy than a roadtrip? Idk I like driving and I like driving at night so that’s when most of the drawings will be (it’s a good horror vibe) and I’ve got some more ideas for some horror stuff (can you tell I like horror?) so I might draw em or try to write em out, but I’m no good at writing so not likely

I’ve actually got an idea from a wendigoon video that I think could make for some cool imagery so y’know. I’ll try that

(As always I’m always open to asks and your always free to use my art for pfps with credit of course)

[chocochococoffee]

red valley roadtrip au

after episode 4 gordon decides, after a sudden bad feeling, that is better to do the roadtrip of his dreams before going directly to red valley. warren thinks its hilarious and agrees with the plan. karen cant be more angered at him anyways so?

they take a lot of photos and piss off karen even fucking more

[halftheway]

have you seen me posting incessantly about "rtau"? want to know what it is? well hello bc this will be my official promo post for life is a highway, otherwise known as roadtrip au<3 it's a fic about estranged friends, lovers, and strangers and how they deal with loss. while cooped up in a minivan.

a semi-tragedy poorly masquerading as a comedy, this fic has received rave reviews such as "AUGH", "YAYYYY YIPPEE YAHOO", "AAGAGAGAGAGGAGAGAGAGAGAGGHHH YOU YOU YOU", and "(french accent) ah, le homosexuals."

come read if you want to see mariana failing miserably at trying to make small talk, roier being a passenger princess, and cellbit ogling charlie<3

[hilarioushilarity]

ROADTRIP AU

"Okay," says Simon, ever the practical one. "But where are we going?"

They're somewhere outside Linköping, parked at petrol station that's deserted save for the disinterested kid behind the counter who barely gives them a second glance when they pile through the door, giggling. Perhaps they look like any other group of teens, letting loose after another year of school. Perhaps, Wille thinks to himself, they look normal. The thought is euphoric.

There's a nudge to his side. "What're you smiling about?" asks Felice. He can hear Simon and Sara bickering about whether they should stay the night in Linköping or try to make it to Norrköping.

"C'mon -" that's Simon. "It's going to take another hour to get there and I'm starving."

There's a disparaging noise. "It's literally forty minutes, you'll live."

"Forty minutes!"

From his side, there's a soft laugh. "I see," says Felice. Wille tears his gaze away from Simon's smile to see Felice's knowing look.

"Sorry," he says, wincing. "I just, um."

"Say no more." Felice's smile is mischievous. "Any thoughts on how long the honeymoon period'll last?" Wille feels his cheeks go warm. "Right. It'll last forever, obviously."

"It's not going to last forever -" Wille protests, although she's probably not wrong, not if Wille gets his way on this.

"Just a very, very long time," Felice finishes for him, at the same time Simon laughs, loud and joyous, in a way Wille realises he hasn't heard Simon laugh in a long time.

Distracted, he says, "Yeah, that," before he can stop himself. "Stop laughing," he grouses, when Felice immediately starts snickering. "Okay, okay, you're probably right."

Simon tucks himself into the space beside him. "What's Felice right about?"

"Everything," Wille sighs, as Felice snickers harder. "I think I just need to start accepting that."

"Damn straight you do," Felice informs him before wandering off to see what Sara is up to, leaving Wille behind with Simon under his arm, warm, comforting.

"So," he says. A part of him still can't believe that he's here, standing in a random petrol station in the middle of nowhere, the love of his life beside him. Hardly anywhere he's been to has been anything less than utterly premeditated within an inch of its life and completely devoid of any warmth. "What'd you and Sara decide on?"

"Oh. Well, we settled on a compromise."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, we're having lunch here and then we're going to Norrköping for the night." Simon pauses, before pulling back to look at Wille. "Wait. What do you want to do, though? You and Felice. Sorry, we should've asked you guys first."

Wille shakes his head. "Anything's fine."

"Anything?"

"I mean, ideally we'd eat something edible at some point and sleep somewhere that's not in the car, but yeah." He watches Simon blink, visibly baffled, and feels compelled to add, "I'm not the Crown Prince anymore. I can do whatever I want now."

"Yeah, but -" Simon trails off.

"But what?"

There's a pause, then Simon squares his shoulders, the way he always does when he's summoning the courage to say something he doesn't want to say. "I just don't want you to feel like you're slumming it."

"I won't. I promise. Even if we sleep in a tent," he adds. "Actually, maybe especially if we sleep in a tent. Because the last time we did was -" Wille winces at the flood of shame. "Sorry. I never actually apologised for that. I never actually - oh god, I never apologised for so many things these past few months, have I? I'm sorry, Simon. For everything."

He looks up, still wincing, to see Simon biting his lip. "Sorry," he says again, for good measure. He wonders if he sounds like a broken record, although in fairness, he does have a lot to be apologetic about.

One of Simon's hands slips into Wille's. "Hey," says Simon. "It's okay. I forgive you." There's a squeeze to Wille's fingers when he opens his mouth. "I promise, Wille. It's okay. I mean, we should talk about it more at some point, but just know that I forgave you a long time ago."

The thing about Simon, Wille's discovered, is that he has a seemingly bottomless well of forgiveness and patience in his heart, one that Wille himself has been a beneficiary of since the day they've met. Now, he feels a surge of protectiveness, an urge to never let that heart be hurt again.

"Okay," he says, rather than giving voice to any of those thoughts which would earn him a fond sigh. He resolves to lock it into his own heart instead, hopes that it'll guide him for the rest of his life - which, even more hopefully, will be the rest of their lives.

Simon gently squeezes his hand again. "Okay?"

Wille nods, wrapping his free hand around Simon's, cradling those precious fingers between his palms. "Yeah. Let's talk about it more, but thank you. For forgiving me."

Simon's smile is the sun breaking through the clouds. "Let's go have lunch, now. I'm hungry."

"I know," Wille tells him, letting himself be tugged to the counter, where Felice and Sara are busy checking out what looks like a small mountain of snacks. "I heard. D'you think they heard your stomach grumbling all the way back at Hillerska?"

Simon's mouth drops open in outrage. "You take that back, my stomach does not grumble that loudly."

"Oh yeah it does."

"It does not -"

"Maybe I should call up Nils and see if he heard it -"

Wille gets tackled around the midriff. "You really should eat more," he says, mock-thoughtful, as they stagger about the store in a tangle of limbs. "It's like being attacked by a kitten."

"I am going to fucking -"

"Boys," says Felice from where she's tapping her card against the machine. "Can you keep it in your pants for two seconds?"

"Felice!" Wille yelps, feeling his cheeks go flaming red. Simon doesn't look like he's faring much better. Sara bites his lip, visibly holding back laughter.

"Hey," says the kid at the counter, looking engaged for the first time since they walked into the store. "You guys look familiar."

"Um," says Wille. They all exchange glances. "Do we?"

"Yeah. Aren't you like that guy from TV, the Crown Prince?"

"Oh, well, in that case, definitely no," Felice says. "No Crown Princes in this store."

"Nope," Simon agrees.

"Nada," says Sara.

"Oh, okay," says the kid. He shrugs, not looking too torn up. "Well, have a good day I guess."

"You too," they chorus. They manage to file out the store and back into the car, before Simon cracks, snorting, and promptly setting the rest of them off.

"Oh my god," says Sara. "Oh my god."

"D'you think he's going to post about it?"

"Who cares," says Wille, feeling incandescent. "Let him."

"Fucking amen," says Felice. "Alright. Where are we going for lunch?"

Simon and Sara share a look. "Okay, so I know you're not the Crown Prince and you don't represent Sweden anymore," begins Simon.

Oh no. "Where are we going?"

"IKEA," says Simon, and goes down laughing when Wille tackles him.

[mediumgayitalian]

prev chapter

———

“Okay,” Will says, when they’re comfortably on the road. This early in the morning, Highway 17 is practically empty; nothing but sunny skies and clear air rushing through the open roof. The emptiness may also be attributed to the fact that it is a random Tuesday. “Pick a number between one and nine.”

“Uh, five.”

“Good choice, good choice.”

He opens the centre console, digging around Nico’s – well, and his, at this point – collection of CDs to find the right one. He makes a little noise of triumph when he finds it, blowing on the back and wiping it on his shirt before sliding it into the port.

“One half-assed polish isn’t gonna fix those scratches, Solace,” he teases.

“If you weren’t such an emo fuck, Playlist Five wouldn’t be so scratched.”

Nico laughs, conceding this round. Will looks inordinately pleased, nose scrunching along with his tiny smile even as Linkin Park starts blasting through the speakers, which he hates.

“Three songs ‘til Britney,” he grouches as Nico starts hollering along to Points of Authority. Nico shakes his head, still grinning – as if he didn’t make these playlists. If he is truly so miserable, he wouldn’t have put the song on at all.

(Nico knows, in the very back of his mind, that Will actually and truly cannot stand Linkin Park. To him, it’s not music at all. He has never been able to get into it, as much as he truly likes music of every genre. If Linkin Park is on this playlist, and they’re on more than one of the playlists Will has made specifically for their shared car rides, it’s because he cares about Nico more than he hates the band. Nico shoves this knowledge deep into the dustiest corners of his mind, because that’s more than he can afford to think about.)

The next couple hours pass by comfortably. There isn’t much to remark on the side of the road except the odd fruit stand, or farm advertising eggs and honey, so onward Nico drives. He keeps an eye on the odometer, but mostly trusts Will’s calculations. If he says they won’t need gas ‘til Anthony, wherever the hell that is, Nico believes him. 

“Highway changes to the 98 through here,” Will says, nodding to the tiny sign that boasts nothing except Ft. Meade CITY LIMITS, right next to the giant banner half the size of the church it's attached to that reads, REPENT OR BURN. 

Ah, Florida. Please one day change.

“Do I need to exit?”

“Nope, the road just changes to a different number.”

He eases off the gas as they approach the tiny town, watching carefully for state troopers. And, like, children, probably. So far he’s passed twelve gun ranges and one school, but whatever. He can have priorities, even if this garbage state doesn’t.

“Hm. 98 is a better number.”

“Absolutely not,” Will tells him, aghast. “17 is a prime number!”

“Ninety-eight is more fun to say. Also, prime numbers suck.”

“You take that back –”

Nico slides up his sunglasses, shaking his head fondly. Nerdiest nerd to ever nerd. He would be embarrassed if he wasn’t so endeared.

He presses back on the accelerator as they exit the town, turning up the music as Will’s rant ends. He shucks off his shoes – Feet off my goddamn dash, Solace – and curls up into his seat, burying himself in a book. Nico glances away from the road to try and read the title, but quickly gives up since the font is bright fucking purple, for some reason, and in some horrible looping shape that he knows will give him a migraine. All graphic designers should be in prison. 

“Hey, there’s apparently a gator reserve forty-five minutes ahead.” Nico squints again at the book. Barely, he can make out “roadside” and “weird”. “‘Weird American Roadside Attractions’,” Will reads aloud, noticing Nico looking. “Such as a very nice and highly rated gator reserve –”

“No.”

“Road trip, Nico. Adventure.”

“I’m super happy to adventure away from living fucking dinosaurs, Solace.”

“Aw, come on, they’re kinda cute –”

“Two thousand pounds per square inch of jaw strength! You are the one who told me that!”

“You don’t think you could take one in a fight?”

Nico stares at his best friend incredulously. He’s got a thoughtful little frown on his face, looking at the sky as he contemplates. Nico notices, vaguely, that the shade of his irises is the exact same colour. 

“No, I do not. Obviously.” He pauses. “You think you could take a fuckin’ gator?”

“I think it’s possible.”

“See, that’s crazy, because fifteen seconds ago I genuinely believed you were an intelligent person.”

“Do not lie to me and tell me you don’t have a list of animals you know you could take in a fight,” Will says, instead of rising to the bait. He waits, meeting Nico’s glare, eyebrows raised.

“An ostrich,” Nico admits, begrudgingly. “I feel like – one good punch to the throat –”

Will smiles smugly at him. “That’s what I thought.” He turns back to his book, fiddling with the corner of a page. “Also, ostriches are more closely related to dinosaurs than alligators. So. Check and mate, motherfucker.”

They pull into Anthony at around eleven, at pretty much exactly a quarter tank – just like Will predicted. He looks inordinately pleased about it, so Nico shoots off a quick prayer to the karma gods. 

He trips on his way out of the Jeep. Nico smirks.

“I’m gonna go stretch my legs,” he says, unaware of Nico’s hand in his humbling. Nico waves him off, attention turned to the gas pump.

Annoyingly, as he pulls out his card and handles the pump, he remembers Will’s scrunched nose and pursed lips as he’d explained, when they were 16, how gas station pumps were frequently more germy than their toilets, and cleaned approximately one hundred percent less. Suddenly, his hand begins to feel grimey.

Twelve bags of chips, a gas station slushie, and a pair of clean hands later, Will is still nowhere to be found. Nico frowns, craning his neck to look around the tiny parking lot as if he somehow missed Will’s neon orange shirt the first time he looked. Still not catching sight of him, he walks hesitantly back to the Jeep, tucking his snacks away and biting his lip, contemplating. Will is both very fast and very easily distracted, but he has enough sense not to go too far in a random town five hours from home. If he sticks by the car and waits, Will’ll be back soon. 

But, on the other hand, waiting is torture.

Easy decision, really.

He locks the door, hopes that no one will show up with a pair of wire cutters and a flathead screw driver, and sets off. The first thing he notices, and he adds it to his mental list of things to loudly complain about when Will is locked in the car with him, is that it is fucking sweltering. In the hours approaching the afternoon, the day has gone to pleasantly warm to so hot the air is actually thick with it, and he doesn’t have wind ripping through the open windows to cool him down. Plus, he’s wearing jeans, and for the first, and hopefully only, time in his life, he envies his friend’s cargo shorts. 

The second thing he notices is that Anthony, Florida, is empty as shit. All the love in his heart to the people who call it home, but also, move, maybe. He’s hesitant to stray too far from the gas station, in case Will comes back and finds him gone, but there are no hills or anything. He can see quite far down the road. The only thing he sees is a possum starting a fight with a poor random guy – which, actually, is kind of fun to watch. 

Perhaps he has judged Anthony too harshly. 

“Nico!” shouts a voice, startling him. He whips around and finds Will, standing in the goddamn centre of the road, the dumbass, waving like a lunatic.

“There is no possible way I was going to miss you,” Nico informs him when he’s close enough. “You are approximately the height of the Washington monument. I could not miss you if I tried.”

“I wasn’t waving to get your attention, I was waving to shoo away the eagles that mistook you for a mouse.”

Nico kicks him in the shin. Will, well used to his violence, dodges, grinning, except in the act of hopping away from Nico’s dangerously hardy boots, he somehow wraps his foot around his own ankle and goes sprawling.

Nico smirks. “Who’s the short one now.”

Faster than he can even follow, Will’s hand darts out, wrapping around his ankle, and tugs, yanking him yelping on the asphalt next to him. 

“Foul!”

“All’s fair in love and war, Neeks.”

Shut the fuck up shut the fuck up shut the fuck up, Nico screams at the alarm bells blaring in his brain, he doesn’t mean it like that and you know it oh shit he’s looking this way quick look normal look normal –

“I can do war if that’s what you want, Solace,” he manages, honestly quite proud of himself for managing speech with approximately fourteen percent of his brain still functioning. Damn.

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway.” He crawls to his feet, offering Nico a hand. He takes it, dutifully fighting the urge to pull Will down again, just to be an asshole. He’s cool like that, and most definitely being normal about the scrape of Will’s callused fingers against the inside of his forearm. “I found maybe the funniest thing I’ve ever seen, and I need you to come look at it immediately.”

“Sick,” Nico says, immediately intrigued. He and Will have their differences, sure, but if there’s one thing they can agree on it’s their sense of humour. 

He follows will down the road, passing the gas station again. (His car, thankfully, remains in one piece and beautifully not-robbed.) They dark across an empty intersection, walking across a yellowed lawn as they approach a run-down, patchy, one-storey bungalow with a rusted sign that reads: The Iron Works.

“Behold,” says Will gleefully, “the Abstract Iron Centaur.”

And behold, Nico does.

Gaping, he observes the structure standing proudly under the sign. Striding proudly, rather, its front legs bent to simulate movement, its human arms poised as if ready to strike. It wears a medieval knight’s helmet, and holds a rusted axe. The entire structure is a little taller than Will, and made of, presumably, iron, rusted into a light roan red.

“Abstract Iron Centaur,” Nico repeats, after several minutes of silence.

Will still looks delighted. “It was in my book. I had no idea what to expect and also I didn’t believe it was real. Isn’t it the greatest thing you’ve ever seen?”

“It’s…something.”

“We gotta take a picture, Neeks. I never want to forget this thing.”

Nico allows himself to be pulled, still somewhat bewildered. It’s not even the oddest thing he’s ever seen, it’s just – he has many questions, like, for example, why? How long has this creature existed? How long will it persist? Who created it? Why is it in Will’s dorky book? Does it house a soul?

“Okay, squish in, this camera is older than your elderly ass and doesn’t have a timer.”

The familiar jab breaks him out of his stupor. “Seven months older than you, fucker.”

“Geriatric.”

Without warning, Will crowds them under the Abstract Iron Centaur’s lifted arm, and then presses his widely grinning cheek right flush to Nico’s, raising his beat-up camera to the air.

Nico’s brain goes static.

“Say cheese!”

“Hnngh,” says Nico, as the camera blinds him.

Luckily for his continuously worsening blood pressure, Will pulls away the second he hears the click, shaking the ejected negative to help it develop, and Nico has a second to remind his lungs that they have a function, actually, get your shit together, I am not dying in fucking Anthony, Florida. 

“You look like a dork!” Will says, delighted. “Look!”

Blinking at the photo shoved one sixteenth of an inch from his eyeballs, Nico indeed looks. The Abstract Iron Centaur looks more foreboding on camera, somehow, but Nico barely notices it – instead, he finds his gaze drawn to the beam so wide it forces Will’s eyes shut, and the dazed, dopey look on his own face; eyes wide, mouth dropped, slightly, and posture undeniably leaning into Will’s magnetism. 

Humming to himself, Will slips his wallet out of (one of) the (many) pocket(s) of his shorts, tucking the photo inside it. Nico melts into a puddle of goo on the dead grass. His mortal soul escapes his body, descending rapidly. His atoms return to star dust. Et cetera.

“Oh, shit, we gotta go if we want to reach Georgia in good time.”

“Right,” says Nico, voice cracking. He clears his throat and tries again. “Let’s go.”

He absolutely does not haul ass to his car. He walks at a normal pace, for normal reasons, thoughts in a normal place. 

“Back on the 75,” Will instructs as they peel out, sliding sunglasses on his nose. “We gotta scoot around town a bit to get to the entrance, but it won’t take long.”

“D’you know this place?” Nico asks, even though he doubts it. As far as he knows, Will was outside of Sarasota one time: in the move from Austin. He supposes his mother might have had a concert up here, or something, and unusually, let him tag along, but he doubts it.

“Nah, just memorised the map.”

Nico hides a smile. “Oh, of course.”

It’s all too easy to tease Will, but there was a reason he was valedictorian. There’s a reason for his many shining scholarship offers, his endless well of ridiculous facts pulled from nowhere. He is, genuinely, the smartest person Nico has ever met.

Even if he genuinely believes he can fight an alligator and win.

“Two hours ‘til we cross state lines,” Will says brightly, shouting slightly over the wind as they merge onto the highway. “And then on to infinity!”

“Onto infinity,” Nico agrees, matching his smile. 

Already, he’s proved Nico wrong. They’re farther now than Will has been since he was seven, and there’s nothing in his expression that suggests he wants to slow down. 

Privately, and quietly, Nico lets himself start to hope. 

———

next chapter

[prowerprojects]

I often think about the roadtrip au when I'm sad, because it's supposed to be an uplifting story in my head, but I never post anything about it… here's a little fake screenshot exercise for y'all!(Tails's hair is a mess to figure out, as always :p)

This dress is… well. But in the au Tails rarely wears subdued colors, they moreso more often look as if a rainbow or a pack of crayons threw up on them, so let's just say they weren't prepared with a better outfit, haha ^^"

(Picture without filters under the cut)

[bestjeanistmonster]

Roadtrip au- wanted to update her design a little

This is kinda like a coming of age, slice of life au where Amy makes an ill advised purchase while sleep deprived.

She buys a bus. She buys a yellow school bus.

And for reasons she decides to go on a trip to get away from home for a while.

She ends up picking up a series of hitchhikers on the way, making friends, enemies and discovering things about herself on the way!