#silver thread highway

[adventurealldays]

[familyvideostevie]

day after tomorrow

joel miller x reader

summary: joel drops you off and picks you up from the airport. you are definitely falling in love with him. 

warnings: modern no outbreak au, game!joel or hbo!joel, fluff, really just a fluff fest honestly, new-ish relationship, falling in love, sweet enough to make your teeth ache | 2.7k

A/N: this is a christmas gift for my dear friend @strangerfreaks who makes my life better in every way possible. i love you! hope you enjoy this <3

___

He's leaning on the side of the truck when you hurry outside with your stuff. 

"Morning," you call. It's barely that, sky still dark and air still carrying the bite of the night's chill. 

Joel straightens up and gives you a tired smile. Most of his smiles are tired but they're always genuine when directed at you. He tugs the backpack from your shoulder and presses his lips to your cheek, beard scratching your skin gently. 

"Howdy," he says in your ear before pulling away.

The travel mug Joel pushes into your hands is warm to the touch. 

"Tea," he says before you can tell him it's too early for coffee. His voice is deeper than usual, still warming up from sleep. It's not a cup from the local shop -- they're not open yet -- so he must have made it at home. "No caffeine before flights." 

"You remembered?" 

He gives you an unimpressed look and grabs your bags. They go in the backseat of his truck and he jerks his chin at the passenger door. "Get in. S'chilly."

It's also early. So early you were not going to ask him to drive you to the airport but when you mentioned you had to go on a work trip he offered. Insisted, actually, once he found out what time you needed to get there.

"You ain't takin' a cab that early," he had said. "Hell, you ain't takin' a cab home, neither. I'll pick you up."

This thing between you isn't new anymore, not exactly, but it's not solid yet. It doesn't have a name. But it's been a few months and you know what his sheets smell like and the feel of him pressed against you in the middle of the night and how he laughs with his head thrown back, mouth wide and eyes creased at the corners. He likes to take you on long walks around the lake a few towns over and you know all about his daughters even if you haven't met them yet. Your life feels a little more solid with Joel in it and the swell of your heart in your chest when you talk to him, when you see him, when he looks at you, is a welcome feeling. It's nice to want and be wanted in return. 

The inside of his truck is warm, your seat heater already turned on. The radio is down to a low hum and there's a silver cup similar to your own in the holder between the seats. Joel gets back into the truck with a slight groan and glances at you to see if you've got your seatbelt on before he clicks his. 

"Ready?" he asks. You nod. He settles his hand on your headrest and looks out the back windshield as he reverses the truck out of the driveway. "Shouldn't hit much traffic," he says. 

You take a sip of your tea and watch him as he drives out of your neighborhood and towards the highway. Part of you wishes you would hit traffic so you could look at him longer. Even in the dark you know his face pretty well by now. His hair is getting a little long, the dark threaded through with some grey and falling over his perpetually lined forehead. The scar on the bridge of his nose that you love to run your finger across and the bruises under his eyes from too many nights up late working on site plans and employee schedules. You don't think you've met a man who works as hard as Joel, and yet here he is driving you to the airport when he could be sleeping. 

Maybe it's because he's tired or maybe it's because it's dark or maybe it's because you're leaving for a few days but Joel lets you look without teasing. His eyes catch yours for just a second and he smirks.

"Why don't you drink coffee before a flight?" He takes a sip of his own thermos. You watch his throat work as he swallows and look away this time. The sky is starting to look purple out your window, the trees and fields and occasional buildings flying by too fast for your eyes to settle on anything. Joel drinks coffee like it's water. You're still leaning things about each other -- most days you find yourself thinking that you want to be learning things about him for the rest of your life -- and this is a new topic of conversation. You haven't had to be on a plane since you met him.

"I don't really like flying," you say. "Makes me nervous. I figure caffeine will just make it worse."

"Don't like it much either." You look at him again and find see smirk turn to a frown as he merges onto the nearly empty highway. "You gonna be okay?"

He asks like it's within his power to make flying something enjoyable, to cancel your work trip, to squash everything in this world that makes you nervous. Mostly you're just glad he's not teasing you about it. Maybe someday you can take a trip and be grumpy about it together.

"I'll be fine, Joel."

"Hm."

He rests an elbow against the window and rakes his hand through his hair.

"What are you up to this week?" you ask. 

He sighs. "Not much," he says. "Lumber shipment but Tommy's handlin' it. Ellie says her shower head is actin' funny so I'll go to her place and look at that. Probably sit my ass on the couch and try to watch a damn football game or somethin'."

"So what I'm hearing is you're going to miss me." It's meant to be a tease but it comes out a bit more earnest than you'd like. 

He sends you that unamused look of his but the mirth in his eyes betrays him, tells you he sees through it. You're learning that he's good at that -- seeing what you really mean, what you really want, who you really are, all the way down to the core. "Course I will," he says. "What man wouldn't miss cold hands bein' stuck up his shirt when he gets in bed?"

You scoff and Joel snickers. You could remind him how he usually catches your hands in his before you make it to his hemline on the rare nights he does wear a shirt, how he cradles your fingers and blows on them softly while rubbing them with his perpetually warm palms. The memory makes your breath hitch just a bit. 

It's only three days. Some conference your boss wanted you to go to in his stead. It won't require much of you -- you just have to attend a few panels, a dinner or two, and schmooze a little bit. You'll be back before you know it. You tell yourself it's silly to feel this apprehension at the distance, the time apart. But you're used to Joel by now and damn if you won't miss him. Used to him taking up space in your kitchen, used to his arm around you on the couch, used to his short texts and heavy gaze. You know by now that it's only a matter of time before you love him.  

"I'll miss you, too," you say softly. Joel eyes you, smirk turned soft again and reaches for you. He settles his palm on your thigh and you cover your hand with his. 

When you get to the airport aren't many cars around and you're pretty sure the attendants won't yell at you for idling. Joel seems to think the same thing as he gets out of the truck to set your luggage on the ground. You leave your now-empty to-go mug in his car and throw your arms around him when he gets to the curb with your suitcase. His chest rumbles in amusement but he hugs you back, one palm rubbing between your shoulder blades until you pull away. 

"Thank you for --"

"Nope," he interrupts you. "No thanks allowed." He hands you your backpack and you shoulder it. "I'll pick you up on Wednesday," he says. 

You wave him off. "I get in way too late, don't worry about it --"

His hand cups your cheek and the words sputter out in your throat. "I'll be here," he says again. 

"I'll call you," you say. "When I get there." It sounds like a question.

His eyes crinkle at the corners. "Please do."

"Thanks for the tea --"

"Now, what did I just say?"

You wrinkle your nose at him and he rolls his eyes before leaning in to press his lips to yours. You sigh into the kiss just a little though it remains chaste, mouths closed as his thumb strokes your cheek once, twice, before he pulls away. It's the kind of kiss that feels fond, feels familiar. A kiss that becomes routine and for a second you imgaine the press of your mouths a thousand times over just like this. 

"Safe flight, sweetheart."

You smile at him and grab your suitcase before you stand here kissing him all day. "Bye, Joel." 

6:04 am: you make it to your gate okay?

You send him a picture of your breakfast sandwich and the sun rising through the window, painting the sky purple and orange. 

6:05 am: don't text and drive!

He replies with a photo of a full mug of coffee on his counter. It's a silly one, a dinosaur wearing a Santa hat. You think Sarah got it for him as a gag gift. 

6:05 am: home already. let me know when you land

6:06 am: will do. have a good day!

The flight is pretty okay. You spend the bumpy moments thinking about Joel's hand on your leg and get through it just fine. A shuttle takes you to your hotel and you have to hurry a bit to be ready for your first panel. 

You're busy all day. So tired by the time you get back to your room that you flop on the bed with a groan. 

"Ugh," you say, face smushed into the sheets. You're tired and hungry and...you miss Joel and feel a little silly about it.

That sense of puppy love, as most people would call it, hasn't faded. Your feelings for Joel are more than the crush they were when you first started seeing each other but they still linger in the realm of infatuation. You like to look at him, to feel the solid warmth of him beside you, above you, underneath you. You like being near him. But you're also starting to love things. You love the way his voice sounds when he wakes up, the way he says your name over the phone, the way he asks you what you want, how you are, how your day was. You love to see him on your couch, in your kitchen, in your bed. You've started to miss him when he's not around. 

And what you said to him in his truck is true. You do miss him. It's an ache that sits in the center of your chest, an ache that feels like the best kind of bruise -- because it comes from something good. And because you know it'll be soothed soon enough. 

But, because you're only human, you doubt that it's as serious for him. Joel keeps his cards close to his chest and while you feel like you know him pretty well by now you also have so much to learn. So, though you really want to, you don't pick up the phone and call him. Maybe the next time you're away. 

7:54 pm: day 1 done! ready to get in bed. why do men talk so much?

He texts back immediately. 

7:54 pm: god knows. don't forget to order room service on the company dime. sweet dreams.

You laugh and do as he says. 

The rest of the conference goes the same. By day three you're exhausted and your face hurts from smiling at so many people. Your shoes are no longer comfortable and as soon as the closing keynote ends you're out of there, changing into soft clothes and taking the shuttle to the airport. You text Joel a picture of your airport dinner and then your eye bags and he replies with a cute that has you giggling a little too loudly in public. 

You just want to get home to him. Your own bed is a bonus. 

But then your flight gets delayed. Twice. Joel tells you not to worry, he'll pick you up in the middle of the night if he has to. Once you board you get stuck on the tarmac for another half hour before finally taking off. It's a decidedly less relaxing experience because you're so anxious to be home but you make it. When you land it feels like you're sitting in your seat for ages. You're tired and feel gross and you want to go to bed. Your phone turns back on and you've got one text waiting for you.

10:34 pm: i'll be by baggage claim

That was 15 minutes ago. He must have been checking your flight in the air to get here at a reasonable time. God, you want to touch him. You want to stick your nose in his neck and inhale. 

You try very hard not to run through the terminal to the escalator that goes down to arrivals. It seems to move really fucking slowly once you're on it. As soon as it gets far enough for you to see the baggage claim level and everyone waiting there your eyes search for him. You see some families, a few tired children sleeping in arms that hold them tenderly. A group of girls with a sign that reads WELCOME HOME RACHEL!

And then there's Joel.

Once you spot him it's hard to keep a smile from your face. He's standing there with his hands in his pockets, eyes glued to the escalator. Jeans, jacket, boots, and a firm set to his jaw that might be intimidating to anyone else but to you it's familiar. It's him. Once he sees you he stands a little taller and you see his cheek twitch. If someone wasn't in front of you you'd be down the steps in seconds but you wait until you're at the bottom to race forward. 

It's probably a bit dramatic. You drop your suitcase and backpack at your feet in front of him.

"Hi," you say, and then you throw your arms around his shoulders. Joel laughs. 

"S'like you're comin' home from war, or somethin'," he says, though his hugs you back just as tightly. "Should'a made a sign."

"Feels like it." Your words are muffled by his shoulder. 

"That bad, huh?" His palm drags up and down your spine. "Let's get you home, then."

Neither of you pull away. "I missed you," you say softly. 

Joel breathes deep and pulls away, hand on the back of your head as he makes sure you're looking at him. 

"Missed you, too," he says gruffly. Then he kisses you. It's less chaste than your goodbye kiss but still perfectly acceptable for airport arrivals, you think. 

"You hungry?"

"I sent you a picture of my dinner!"

"Not what I asked." You shrug and tangle your fingers with his. His thumb strokes the back of your hand. "We'll get you somethin' on the way home."

"Do you want to stay over?" you ask in a rush, realizing too late he's got no reason to want to. It's late and tomorrow is a workday. "I'm just gonna shower and go to bed but I--"

Joel's nostrils flare. "If you want me to I will." Simple as that. 

"Okay," you say. He squeezes your hand.

You walk in easy silence for a few moments. Once you're in the car you'll ask how his week was, tell him about the gossip you learned at the conference. You'll look at him the entire drive to your place, drinking your fill of him after three days without. Yeah, you're going to love him. It's just a matter of time.

"Thank you for coming to get me," you say. 

Joel looks like he wants to argue but he allows it.

"Anytime," he says. It sounds like a promise. 

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

[fallen-savior-mmz]

Fallen Savior Chapter 1;

Prologue-

Neo Arcadia stood silent and intimidating in the raging sea below, its glowing tower and high walls protecting the last remaining humans and reploids on the decimated planet. The silver moon shone its dim light on the city, casting the stark, white and gold buildings in an eerie light.

Standing at one of the windows, overlooking his bone-white city, Mega Man X watched over the crashing waves with a silent eye. He had never truly felt at home here, hiding out in the waves with only trains and lonely highways being their connection to the land.

The ocean was somber, as if it was in mourning for its fallen comrade in the form of the Earth's soil.

So many lives had been lost, landscapes devastated, entire continents wiped from the map. X had seen it all, had lived through every disaster, and had been utterly powerless to stop it.

Omega, and the Mother Elf, cursed with the power of destruction, had descended onto the peoples of earth like a shadow of death, the accursed reploid wearing Zero’s face personally seeing to some of X’s greatest nightmares. They still didn’t know where the monster had come from, and why the newly named Dark Elf had been with him. X hadn’t had time to contemplate the idea either.

90% of the Reploid race, the very beings that X had helped create centuries ago, had been wiped from the planet. If they were an organic race, that would mean extinction, with not enough individuals being able to keep the species going.

60% of the humans had been lost, and they were avoiding extinction by a mere thread. X honestly wasn’t sure if the humans were quite out of the woods yet, only time would tell he supposed.

X shied away from those thoughts, they never helped on nights like these, where the stuffiness of Neo Arcadia forced him to his window, longing for his home and his friends.

With a huff, X pulled at his hair, adjusting the ponytail he was forced to wear at all times. He had never had hair long enough to pull it up like this when he was younger, he honestly hadn’t even thought it was possible for his hair to grow, seeing as how that was typically a trait of beings of flesh and blood. His father always left him with surprises however, and as the Elf Wars went from weeks to months to years, and the time for silly things like personal care went away, his hair had grown with the time.

Now, his raven black hair drifted past his shoulders when he let it down, and if he didn’t tuck his bangs into his helmet properly, they drifted over his nose, almost into his eyes.

X found he liked it down much better than when it was up. The ponytail pulled at his head and felt uncomfortable in his helmet, as inconceivable as that was. The armor already caused him great distress, like many things that the inner council of his own city forced him to do and wear. His armor was to be worn at all times, and his helmet could only come off when no one was around. 

“To keep up appearances, Master X! The people need to see their savior as perfect at all times!”

The android shuddered, remembering that particular conversation.

Halfway through the wars, following a particularly nasty conflict with Omega, X’s armor had been utterly destroyed, the shining blues and silvers being shredded and turned black with wear. New armor had been created for him, a push from what little governments had survived the fallout, giving X a more...ethereal feel. 

His blues that he had lived his entire life with were gone, a silly thing to mourn, but stripped away among the rest of everything X held dear. It was replaced with whites and golds, a false promise that X could save everyone, like some kind of angel or savior for the world.

It made X sick, this falsehood and promises of salvation. As if X was anything but a failure. His armor had been designed to adhere to his body as closely as possible, and had been polished to a shining white, like some beacon of hope in the plains of desolation.

Zero would have said it suited me…

X shook his head at that thought, the idea of his partner’s soft affirmations being the thing to finally tip him over into despair.

He supposed he wasn’t getting any sleep tonight.

“Greetings, Master X.”

There came another headache. Mega Man X cursed under his breath, turning away from his sulking window to face the largest stretch of a “human” that he had ever had the displeasure of meeting.

Dr. Weil approached him, one of the key members of Neo Arcadia’s parliament, and the oldest living human left on the planet. 

Living is not how I would describe him…

X schooled his thoughts into place, letting the tiny spark of pettiness well up and subsequently die inside of him.

“Good evening, Doctor. Is there anything I can help you with tonight?”

X spoke evenly, vaguely aware of the headache pulsing under his tight pony. He would do anything to be able to rip it out and let his hair flow over his shoulders. But, Weil would surely report his “Master’s” disobedience to the Council, and a lecture would surely follow. So much for being the leader here.

“Ah, I just wished to run some paperwork by you, there have been more and more reports of rogue mechaniloid and pantheons along our foraging routes. I know it is informal for someone as esteemed as yourself to take charge of patrols, but it may be necessary. The energy crises grow ever more dire, and the seal on the Dark Elf won’t hold forever.” Weil’s twisted grin remained on his face throughout his report, the paperwork in his hands holding more stress and dread than the man perhaps knew.

Or maybe he knew just enough, being the one who always seemed to be the bearer of bad news, and finding joy in his role.

X knew Weil enjoyed testing the android to see how far he could push X’s limit of stress management. Why he did, he would never know, seeing as how X’s survival and health were directly tied to the Dark Elf’s seal.

X had always kept the man as far from him as he could, but there was only so much he could do.

“I see...and this couldn’t wait until the morning? I’m aware of the good doctor’s rapport for diligent work, but I ask that the evenings be saved for myself.” 

X chided as professionally as he could. God how he hated this.

“My apologies, I was aware of your...nightly activities, but I felt that this should be brought to you immediately, seeing as how your duties have been shifted tomorrow so you can take lead patrol.” 

Weil dipped his odd, encapsulated head, his eerie grin piercing through what little remained of X’s comfort.

“I’m sorry, did you say my duties have been rearranged? Without any consultation with me? Forgive me Doctor, but you are aware of how dangerous it is for me to leave the city.” 

X grit his teeth to keep from yelling. His adopted way of speech driving him insane, he wanted to scream and shout about how absolutely ludicrous the idea was. 

Weil only shrugged, dipping his head again.

“Forgive me, Master X, but the decision is final. We feel it would be best if you protect the salvage teams tomorrow from any..stray threats.” 

With that, the doctor bid X farewell, and left.

The android remained standing at his window, his uncomfortable armor pinching his “skin” and his back aching from remaining ramrod straight.

This didn’t feel right, everything in X’s being was screaming at him that this was wrong. The further he was from the Dark Elf, the more strain on the seal there was. For safekeeping, he had remained solely in the inner sanctums of Neo Arcadia, putting as little strain on the seal as possible.

But now, every day, the Council seemed to be pushing their luck, forcing X farther and farther away from Yggdrasil, with Weil always being the one to give the final push.

This seemed too far. Much too far, this was a risk that they shouldn’t take.

What X would do to have Zero here...to have anyone here...

Mega Man X inhaled sharply at the thought, his disastrous thoughts finally doing him in. He would do the patrol, if only to shut the Council up. Maybe then, he could get some rest.

He retrieved his helmet from the sill of his brooding window, placing it on his head and waiting for it to properly come online. The helmet was the thing least modified about his body, even with the addition of little wings on it, the one thing that had remained a constant, the azure metal comforting in a way he hadn’t had in a long, long time.

If he was to leave Neo Arcadia, and possibly get himself into a fight, then he needed to be fast, and accurate. This meant a trip to the shooting range.

With one final glance, he turned from the ocean, heading inwards into the sanctum to prepare for his first trip out of the city walls in years.

-----------------------------

“I delivered the message. He has been informed of his schedule change, and is leading the first patrol out of Neo Arcadia. Be prepared, we have one shot at this.”

“Approximately how long until he reaches the agreed upon point?”

“It shouldn’t take him more than half a day, if the convoy keeps its speed.”

“Understood...and Doctor?”

“What is it?”

“Are you sure this is the right thing to do? Master X has been as diligent as he can be to help humans...are we sure this is what’s best?”

“X has been humanity’s protector for a very long time. Using the Dark Elf, we could finally give him the utopia he has strived his whole life for. We just need to break the seal.”

“Ah...understood sir, thank you. We will move forward with the plan.”

The line disconnected as the doctor smiled, his plans falling seamlessly into place.

Soon, Omega will return, and the Dark Elf with him. I can finally achieve what I have been striving for since the start of the Elf Wars.

Foolish X...I can’t wait to see your corpse...

[dcbbw]

WIP Wednesday 5.24.23

Hi, tumblrs! It’s still Wednesday where I am, and I have two WIPs to share. It’s two new ideas that somehow cut the line and demanded I write something out.

One was supposed to be my submission for #WorldWhiskeyDay, although it may be better suited for Halloween; not Fingers … I had the idea, but no cohesive thoughts have made an appearance yet. Although knowing me, this will probably post Halloween 2024.

The other is yet another take on the Applewood scandal. This is what, my third or fourth one?

And just to put us all on the same page and keep my brain on track, top priorities during writing time over the holiday weekend are: NYC AU, Waiting Room, and these two stories. The MC lunch ask is still floating around in my head as well and thoughts on a companion piece to Cocktail.

Anyways, excerpts are below the cut. As usual, everything is in a rough draft and final, published version may differ. Hope you like it!

Middle of Nowhere (tentative tile)

Song Inspo: Death Letter, Johnny Farmer, Organized Noize

The house sits on a bluff in the middle of nowhere overlooking a large, lazy river, as it has for the past century and a half. It’s almost picturesque, gleaming white clapboard covered with blue sky and bathed in early spring sunlight. Freshly mown grass is interspersed with wildflowers; pussy willows surround the bases of moss-covered trees.

The house has no postal address; it sits on Highway 62 East at Marker 129, in the unincorporated hamlet of Tannerton, equidistant between two bigger towns; not larger … bigger. Fifteen miles to the east is Potter’s Farm where residents and visitors enjoy the movie theater, gourmet Chinese food, a public library, and shopping at big box stores. Fifteen miles to the west is Easton, home to blue collar businesses, public parks and a hiking trail, and long stretches of road filled with fast-food chains, pizzerias, an ice-cream parlor, and a combination barber shop/hair salon.

The house sits empty as it has for the past five years; rumor, legend, and lore say the domicile is haunted, the land it sits on the site of brutal and unnecessary massacres. History tells of previous occupants who met grisly ends, or simply vanished as if the house’s walls and floorboards had swallowed them alive. There is no way to separate fact from fiction. Tannerton’s population is zero; the once-bustling waterway town is no more, save for the house.

Any eyewitnesses to the horrors of the house are the disappeared.

Except for two.  

The realtor stands on the front of the house’s wraparound porch, her blue eyes taking in the slow-rolling waves of the Acheron River. In Greek mythology, the River of Acheron was known as the River of Woe and was one of five rivers that led to Hell. As far as the woman knew, no one in this godforsaken corner of the world is aware of that interesting tidbit.

But she is. Her husband is, as he should. He named the river.

She is adjusting the long sleeves of her beige linen dress when her husband joins her on the veranda.

“Is everything ready?” she asks as she turns to face him. The realtor is an older woman, but her face gives no indication of that. Her skin is smooth and unlined even devoid of cosmetics, her sapphire-blue eyes clear and alert, her mouth a cupid’s bow with pale-pink tinted lips.

Her glossy brown hair is still long and wavy, but silver liberally threads her tresses. Her hands are liver-spotted and knotty with veins; her fingers are gnarled, the brittle nails yellowed with age. She tells anyone foolish enough to ask she suffers from arthritis.

“Is everything ready?” she asks, her tone distant as if her thoughts are otherwise occupied.

The man nods stiffly. He is tall and trim; like his wife, his appearance is youthful despite his graying hair. Unlike his wife, his hands and fingers were neither aged nor disfigured.

“It is. They’ll be arriving soon, it may be best to set out the refreshments.”

She nods absently as she scans the front yard. The setting is charming, inviting. A frisson of excited energy courses through her body at the thought of selling the house. There’s a buyer; a younger couple looking to escape the three C’s of a growing city: crime, clubs, congestion. Today is the final walkthrough. The house has sat empty too long; the whiskey untouched even longer.

Annabelle Beaumont walks around her husband to pull the screen door open. “Come, Barthelemy; we have to make sure the Walkers feel right at home when they arrive.”

Come on, come on, come on home

Scandal

Song Inspo: Delusional World Champion, Jean Dawson

Tariq Keriakos stared in puzzlement between his room door and Bastien Lykel, who stood in front of it barring the minor noble’s entry.

“There was a flood?” Tariq repeated stupidly.

The head of the King’s Guard nodded affirmatively. “A pipe burst while the hunt was going on. None of your belongings were harmed; maintenance noticed it almost immediately, but at the moment your quarters are without water.”

“Just my room?”

“Yes, m’Lord. The damage was contained in a timely manner, but we are awaiting parts to arrive. To avoid further inconvenience, another room has been secured for you. It’s Room 4 South.”

“South wing? Isn’t that where the suitors are housed?” Tariq questioned while Bastien pressed a key into his palm.

The sentry was briefly taken aback; the housing arrangement for the visitors at Applewood wasn’t a secret per se, but it wasn’t common knowledge. Bastien quickly recovered.

“It is; given that this is the last night, and all rooms have private baths, I do not foresee an issue.”

Tariq exhaled a long breath. The time at Applewood had been exhausting, this day more than usual. Between Lady Penelope passing him letters from Lady Riley, the horse ride to and from the Ruins, and now his room unavailable to him, Tariq was pretty much done.

“Fine. But my clothing? My toiletries?”

“Already moved and set up in your new quarters,” Bastien assured him.

With a resigned nod, Tariq made his way from the east wing, thinking only of a hot shower and a long sleep.

In the south wing, Riley Brooks, the suitor from America, sat at the vanity in her room re-thinking and possibly regretting every life choice that led to her being in Cordonia.

Tagging:  @jared2612 @ao719 @marietrinmimi @queenjilian @indiacater @kingliam2019 @bebepac @liamxs-world @mom2000aggie @liamrhysstalker2020 @twinkleallnight @umccall71 @superharriet @busywoman @gabesmommie1130 @tessa-liam @beezm @gardeningourmet @lovingchoices14 @mainstreetreader @angelasscribbles @lady-calypso @emkay512 @princessleac1 @charlotteg234  @alj4890 @yourfavaquarius111 @motorcitymademadame @queenmiarys @walkerdrakewalker​ @choicesficwriterscreations​

[writing-good-vibes]

you are now leaving illinois

before the weird sex and the american dreams and the realisations that only the open road can bring, there was the beginning (well, almost). or: corey and michael leave illinois for the first time.

WARNING for mentions of shoplifting, carjacking, smoking and very mild angst, but this is actually pretty mellow. idk corey cries a little bit but that's not out of the ordinary for him.

taglist: @slutforstabbings @ethanhoewke @voxmortuus (if anyone else wants to be tagged in corey related things, just let me know !!)

The first stop they make since leaving Haddonfield is at a Walmart about 20 miles from the state line. Corey goes in, hood up and head down, just to grab some essentials for the road.

Bags of chips, cans of soda and bottled water. An armful of cup noodles and a loaf of bread. A half-gallon of chocolate milk. First aid supplies because he knows he's not the powerhouse that Michael is; rolls of bandages and gauze, a bottle of painkillers, antiseptic cream. He grabs the cheapest electric razor they sell.

He thinks about 'lifting his haul, but he doesn't want to draw anymore attention to himself than he has to -- not before they make it over the state line, anyway -- so he pays at the checkout. It'll make a dent in his wallet, but he'd saved enough to last a while, and it's an expense he's willing to spend for now. He's sure Michael won't mind them scrimping a bit in the future. Hopefully.

The checkout lady tries to talk to him, those empty niceties that he was so scared of before now feel maddeningly absurd after the week he's just survived. Even so, he tries to act as normal as possible, giving her a tight smile that has no chance of reaching his eyes.

Michael waits in the car, parked in a dark corner of the lot. He's wearing the mask, of course, he'd put it on as soon as he'd wrestled it back off Corey. He knew he was going to be in big trouble over that one, but Michael would have to wait a while to exact whatever revenge he wants on his new... accomplice? Amid the raging sea of emotion that is churning his gut, Corey feels a sick sort of thrill at that thought, at taking whatever Michael will deal out to him once they're in the clear.

Jogging back to the car, Corey throws the grocery bags in the backseat before sitting up front. Corey slides slightly across the bench when Michael makes a sharp turn out of the lot and back towards the highway.

Darkness surrounds them on both sides again, as they head out of town. Corey reaches back and routes through the bags until he finds the razor. He unboxes it in his lap, finding the charging cord and plugging it into the port on the dashboard.

"They're gonna be looking for us," he says, slumping in his seat and watching the side of the road where their headlights just about reach.

Michael doesn't say anything, but Corey knows he understands. Michael's been on the run before, he should know what he's doing. Although he has no practical experience, Corey had wiled away his adolescence thinking about how he could run away, far enough that Momma would never find him. There are worse people to worry about than Momma now.

At the next gas station they make another stop; a run-down mom-and-pop place, the type that Corey had assumed didn't exist anymore. The type of place he assumes won't have company policies or CCTV that backs up to a cloud.

Corey leaves Michael in the car again and heads into the garage. The burning adrenaline is starting the wear off, and he buys fresh pack of cigarettes to soothe his obliterated nerves, then makes a beeline for the bathroom, a single stall with a toilet and basin.

Corey's hands grip the edge of the sink and he looks at himself in the cracked mirror, the aged silver surface mottled around the edges. He'd never thought much of his looks, never had anyone to impress or any real reason to care, especially after the accident. But now, oh god now he feels like this is the last thread connecting him to his old self to everything he's done and did not do, and it's not as easy to cut as he expected.

He picks up the razor, clicks it on and feels the vibrations through his hand. Watching, eyes fixed on the halo of curls around his head, he brings the razor up, runs it through his hair, just above his ear. A tuft of hair drifts into the sink. He looks down at it, and even as he squeezes his eyes shut, the tears make their way out anyway. Pathetic, he thinks.

The sink fills up, tawny like a birds nest, and when Corey is finally finished, he almost doesn't recognise himself. He looks so different like this. Running a hand over his buzzed hair, Corey steels his gaze.

Corey had never been to Missouri before. In all fairness though, there were a lot of places he'd never been. Michael doesn't seem too affected, as they cross the state line, the Mississippi River raging beneath them. Missouri didn't even seem much different than Illinois, though in the dark of the night, he supposes he can't really tell. He's heard there are more cornfields, maybe, but other than that, the long stretches of highway felt the exact same as back home.

Home. Shit.

He wondered what home even meant anymore. It felt strange to even think they'd never be going back to Illinois, though he was pretty sure at this point they never would. Michael's home was gone, razed to the ground in a bid to wipe him clean off the face of the town that had ruined him; Corey had nothing to go back to either, nothing that hadn't ruined him, nothing he hadn't torn to shreds and set a blaze before leaving behind.

For the first time in his life, the open road seemed like the only real, tangible thing. Not just a pipedream or a childish fantasy anymore. He'd been stagnant, wasting, for so long he'd forgotten what it felt like to really move. Corey felt alive and he wasn't going back to the way things were, not ever.

Just on the horizon, Corey can see the watery grey-blue of the sunrise approaching. He doesn't notice that the white-noise rumble of the road beneath them is soothing him to sleep until his head drops to Michael's shoulder. Michael's eyes stay firmly on the road, and Corey decides, like most things about their partnership, that as long as Michael will let him have this indulgence, he's going to make the most of it.

[heavencasteel420]

I finally made a list of all my ST WIPs and fic ideas, and they basically break down into five categories (Cute, Regular, Weird, Dark, and Super-Dark) and three lengths (oneshot, short multi-chapter, and long multi-chapter). Here is the list of working titles:

Cute

Oneshot

The P Is for Perfection (and You Know That We Are Freaks): AU where the Byers family stays in Hawkins after S3, El becomes a cheerleader, and Chrissy takes her under her wing.

Raised on Promises: El finds a new hobby in California, bonds with Jonathan and Will.

Regular

Oneshot

Rock and Roll Is Here to Stay (Come Inside Where It's Okay): Lucas-centric, pre-S4, Lumax but mostly vibes.

I Know It Breaks Your Heart: future fic about Tommy.

Short Multichapter

Oh, I'm Bound to Go: companion to Drive All Night, focusing on the kids.

How Will You Make It on Your Own?: no-UD Stonathan college AU, mostly Cute tbh.

Tomorrow May Not Be Your Day: no Vecna, Jonathan in California, Jargyle.

Let the Broken Hearts Stand: companion to above about Nancy going to Emerson, becoming friends with Carol who’s unpacked some of her hostility towards other girls, maybe they become girlfriends?

Long Multichapter

Drive All Night: in progress.

Tomorrow's a Long Way Off: Robin and Jonathan hot girl summer 1983.

It's All a State of Mind: it’s the 1930s and Jonathan and Will and El are carnival workers with psychic powers who are gonna pull a fast one on the sleepy town of Hawkins. Byler plus Jancy or Stoncy, don’t know yet.

Nancy Wheeler Can't Win: no-UD AU but Nancy has to figure out how to navigate high school cliques and family stuff and the Annual Turkey Trot is tomorrow!!! Jancy eventually.

Life During Wartime: companion to above about Jonathan and Will. This is the one with the Lonnie funeral and Will’s clueless girlfriend. Jancy Byler.

Horse Girl: my nice Stoncy idea where Jancy break up temporarily in S3 and Steve kinda wants to get back together with Nancy but also wants to make friends with Jonathan finally (maybe more) but also is weirdly bummed that they broke up…can he have it all?

Weird

Oneshot

How Well I Remember: Jonathan/Jason, kind of, between S1 and S2. Not that weird tbh.

The Sin Eater's Prom Date: Jonathan/Chrissy, AU where he never got with Nancy in S2 and she never got with Jason and also the supernatural stuff ended much sooner, but the point is that they’re going to date and weird everyone out so much. Feat. a Cunningham family dinner where Jonathan heroically does a terrible job eating corn on the cob to get Laura off of Chrissy’s back.

Silver Threads and Golden Needles: moderately dysfunctional Stoncy, between S1 and S2, feat. a passive-aggressive cornfield handjob.

Ugly as Sin (finished): my Hellcheer one shot.

Long Multichapter

Chiaroscuro: film noir homage. Jancy Hellcheer.

Dark

Oneshot

Catch Me When You Can: Eddie/Jonathan in an unhappier timeline. More sad dark than mean dark.

I Need Noise: Billy/Jonathan, early S2, mostly in Weird territory but it’s Billy.

Long Multichapter

Tonight, Tonight, the Highway's Bright: in progress.

Super Dark

Oneshot

In the Night, but There's No One: this idea happened because I was reading a darkfic (horny) and I was like. Huh. I kind of want to see the sad and unsexy version of this. But only kind of. It might be too sad.

Short Multichapter

Tell the Radio Goodnight: evil Stoncy, between S1 and S2. Steve doesn’t reform but instead becomes Worse. I don’t mean this as Steve-bashing; Evil Steve is just fun to me.

[crookedmoonwonderland]

Do you think they could be friends?

Icarus and Lucifer?

Sitting on either end of a table

Laughing like old friends and

Eating burgers from 

A shop on the side of the road

On the highway to hell

Icarus who wanted to drown, tired of the chase,

Only went higher and higher 

Who’s conviction went beyond burning wings

Refusing to let 

the weight on his back hold him down 

But

Going above the clouds does not make you an angel

Lucifer, who did so many immeasurable crimes and

who so badly wanted to fly

Sunk and sunk

Let the currents whisk him away

And then he swam

And held on to the sharp rocks,

that cut his hands

But 

Going so low

does not make you a devil

Icarus, 

Who’s heart was platinum silver

rotted from the inside out

Left in the rain for too long

Lucifer,

Who’s heart was purest glass

Cracked  and cloudy beyond repair

from years of unuse and tragedy

If fate was different,

The threads spun and weaved in a 

Tapestry of new beginnings,

If two people, both yearning for something greater and knowing they cannot have it, 

If they met, before their lives became tragedies and cautionary tales

Would they see what the world could not?

Would their tragedies have become inspirations?

Would it be enough?

Would they have been enough?

[taylastudio2022]

ARTIST STUDY - KATE NEWBY:

Kate Newby is a multidisciplinary artist, born in Aoteroa New Zealand, and currently living in the States. Newby’s work has been exhibited internationally. 

“Kate Newby’s material is her immediate environment — language, objects, architecture and personal relationships are combined to create sceanarios from quotidian situations in the places she occupies and the actions involved in making her work”. (Adamartgallery.org.nz). 

“Kate Newby has built her career on the principle of ‘travelling light’, responding to locations where she is invited to work by translating her casual observations of things and places into sculptural installations of locally sourced materials, and testing where she can be and what she should do through architectural interventions and site works” (Adamartgallery.org.nz). 

^ “SHE’S TALKING TO THE WALL,” assorted clay, glaze, glass, thread, and wire, 2012-2021.  ^

This my favourite work of Kate Newby’s, and I remember seeing it when it was up at the Adam. I loved the layers and collection of materials, and how engaging it was being hung in this way. I also find this work a lot more organised and linear than how my own work - but I resonate with the cohesive qualities.

^ “I'm actually weirdly exciting” Bronze, white brass, brass, silver, wire, PVC coated wire, dimensions variable, 2018.^ 

“Newby intervenes with the physical fabric of her chosen location to generate conversations that pull, direct, and expand the viewer’s attention beyond conventional art viewing”. (Adamartgallery.org.nz).  

^ ‘Try it with less pennies and direct light’ , glass, jute 36 pieces dimensions variable.  2018. ^

“A standard list of materials for a Kate Newby work might include anything from lip balm, coffee stains and wooden decking to mulberries, hand-written notes and stoneware. Deeply concerned with the intricate textures of the everyday, Newby is an artist who works across a wide range of media including textiles....” (Ocula). 

^ THEY SOUND LIKE EACH OTHER, 2015, Glass wind chimes, 6 elements, Dimensions variable. ^

This idea of droopyness, liquidness, are expressed in these above works. I love those qualities and hope to keep them in my work moving forward. 

^ Kate Newby, YES TOMORROW, Installation view, Adam Art Gallery Te Pātaka Toi, Wellington, 2021. ^ 

^ ‘LILITH FAIR BROUGHT ME HERE’, 2018, Thread, pink silver, yellow silver, silver, Dimensions variable, 30 pieces. ^ 

^ ‘Kate Newby, I feel like a truck on a wet highway’ stoneware, porcelain, glaze, cotton thread, Installation view, Lulu, Mexico City, 2014. ^ 

I adore Kate Newby’s artwork. I especially admire the mediums she uses throughout her work. I think there is something so human and lovely about responding and pulling from what is directly surrounding you. Such as a place, time, people, things etc. Portraying these moments and memories in this was is so beautiful. This idea of collection and assemblage, are things that I am exploring in my own practice.

 I also love Newby’s methods of installation. Specifically those that are suspended in a space, evoking a sense of presence, movement, and engagement. These are qualities I am hoping to replicate in my own installations. Something that cuts a space, that you can walk around etc. 

Responding to a space is also something I hope to progress on...

Links: 

http://www.adamartgallery.org.nz/thefuture/newby/

https://ocula.com/artists/kate-newby/

https://coopercolegallery.com/artist/kate-newby/

https://michaellett.com/artist/kate-newby/

[birdsnflowers]

Silver Thread Highway, Colorado

[adventurealldays]

[southernartcritic-blog]

Darko Highway

The self-proclaimed neo-noir film “Under the Silver Lake” by David Mitchell is of the ilk of films such as “Lost Highway” by David Lynch, “Donnie Darko” by Richard Kelly, and “Vertigo” by Alfred Hitchcock. I viewed it when it was first released in 2018 and then again recently. The scene in it that I found to be most captivating was the scene when Sam, the protagonist, visits Songwriter’s palatial abode tucked away high in the Hollywood Hills. It was metaphorical in regards to the illusions woven into advertising and the subliminal messaging through symbolism that is implanted within various forms of entertainment media. That particular scene also reminded me of the Wizard of Oz behind the curtain. The film also hearkened to some sort of purgatory in limbo between “Night of the Hunter” by Charles Laughton due to the eerie underwater scenes and “Josie and the Pussycats” by Harry Elfont/Deborah Kaplan due to the encoded underlying signaling embedded within music. The ascension near the end of “Under the Silver Lake” also brought “Cloud Atlas” by Lana Wachowski/Tom Tykwer/Lilly Wachowski to mind. 

Still more, there was an inspiration owing a bow to John Huston, Orson Welles, Stanley Kubrick, and Alejandro Jodorowsky threaded throughout the fun movie. It was a light hearted conspiracy theory spin-off from multiple hashes blended with “After Hours” by Martin Scorsese wherein a wild-goose chase unfolds amidst a treasure hunt filled with newly discovered clue after clue that keeps the viewer engaged in a suspense between pleasure and peril. There was even a dusting of Cameron Crowe’s “Vanilla Sky” misting up the ether at times with a medley of silly awkwardness and mild fascination found in mundanely common objects used as props in clever ways, such as Balloon Girl who always has balloons that become a mechanism of her very identity. That alone is a gem in any movie these days, simply to have one’s interest held from opening to final credits. There are plenty of reviews on the film, I really just wanted to note that the character “Songwriter” was really fantastical to me and has found a nesting place in my mind’s hall of memorable moviemaking. That goes to the perfect storm of script writing, cinematography, directing, acting, and all that went into that five minute segment—it concocted an interesting imaginary moment.

If you enjoy movies that are not always linear, that border on surreal, and are both mysterious and ridiculous in an entertaining way, then I’d recommend “Under the Silver Lake” to you. 

If you enjoy movies similar to “Tideland” by Terry Gilliam, “Requiem for a Dream” by Darren Aronofsky, “Antichrist” by Lars von Trier, or Jacob’s Ladder by Adrian Lyne, then you too may appreciate the titled feature of my little overview. Life most good film work, nearly every movie I mention traces back to literature, some very old, such as the overarching theme found in “Jacob’s Ladder” found in the Book of Genesis.

—Jahbulon Melchizedek

[musings-from-mars]

Rosebloom AU - part 5

This definitely wasn’t an Uber. Ruby could tell mostly by how the driver was wearing a suit. She was certain that was not an Uber dress code requirement.

“Good evening, Miss Ruby,” the driver greeted. “Are you ready to go?”

Ruby nodded, then remembered he couldn’t see her in the back seat. “Uhh, yes. I’m ready.”

The driver nodded and pulled away from the curb.

The seats were black leather stitched with silver thread, and it looked brand new. This was by far the fanciest car she’d ever been in. She leaned to the side to see if she could catch a glimpse of the odometer. 1,203 miles. Yeah, this car was new.

Ruby texted Weiss as the car got on the highway: “This car is so fancy!”

Weiss: “Yeah, I know. My mom insisted.”

Ruby: “Sooo...I’m guessing your family is pretty rich?”

Weiss: “Yeah.”

Ruby didn’t know what to respond with, so she decided maybe changing the subject would be correct: “So am I eating at your place? I was a dumb and forgot to eat at home”

Weiss: “Sure! Do you like pizza?”

Ruby: “I LOVE PIZZA”

Weiss: “Lol okay, I’ll order some. Any dietary restrictions or preferences?”

Ruby: “No onions!”

Weiss: “Oh gosh, no, I’d never do that to you”

Ruby: “👈😎👈”

Weiss: “;P”

Ruby didn’t realize how much she was smiling until she caught sight up the driver smiling at her in the rear view mirror. “You know, Miss Weiss has been quite excited about you visiting.”

Ruby wasn’t sure how to respond to a stranger telling her that. “I’m...excited too.” It was sweet to know that Weiss’ eagerness for Ruby to visit had been so apparent to those around her. But now that she knew Weiss’ family was rich enough to afford...all of this, she was now much more apprehensive. Did they have an entire service staff? Like, housekeepers and landscapers and personal chefs? That last one may not be the case since Weiss offered to order pizza. Whatever the case, she knew she’d end up feeling very out of place wherever Weiss lived. Hopefully she’d get used to it in time.

They were heading north of town, and Ruby recognized the housing development the driver was entering. This was where her family would always go to drive around and look at the holiday decorations in the winter, because the houses were huge and the people there had the money to hire professional decorators to make their houses look grand and festive. She’d never been around here outside the month of December, and it all looked almost boring compared to the bright lights and snow cover Ruby was used to seeing. But still, it was a huge development of multi-million dollar houses, so still rather incredible.

And yet, the house the driver eventually pulled up to made all the houses they’d passed look like tool sheds by comparison. For one, there was an iron gate that led to the driveway which the driver had to enter a code on a keypad to open. They then drove up the stone-tiled driveway to the front of the house, or rather, a mansion, three stories high with towering marble columns on the front porch. The front door consisted of two massive wooden double doors with iron accents, and standing on the porch was Weiss, dressed in an adorable spaghetti strap white dress with a sash around the waist and a pleated knee-length skirt. She waved as Ruby got out of the car (after the chauffeur opened the door for her, naturally).

“Hello!” Weiss greeted with a wave.

Ruby smiled and waved back as she walked up the steps to the porch. She wondered how much of a contrast her plaid skirt and black t-shirt mast have made in comparison to everything around her. “Hi, Weiss!” Ruby greeted. She was really tempted to say something dumb like “Nice house!” She figured that wouldn’t really be a compliment, so instead, he skipped to the next thing on her mind: Weiss’ gorgeous dress. “Your dress is so pretty!”

Weiss beamed, and Ruby felt she might fall backwards down the steps for a moment. “Thank you! Gosh, you wouldn’t believe how much time I spent trying to pick something to wear.” Then her cheeks turned a faint pink, and Weiss quickly changed the subject. “Uhm, would you like to come in?” She sounded almost apprehensive, in a sort of “let’s get this part over with” kind of way.

Ruby nodded but struggled to think of something to say. “Yeah, uhh...” She gestured up at Weiss’ house. “Maybe the inside will make up for the totally hideous exterior.” Ruby’s gut twisted with regret right after saying that, but Weiss let out a loud laugh, which she cut off quickly, surprised by the volume of her own voice.

“I could give you a tour, to show you just how hideous it gets.” Weiss opened one of the double doors, which swung open almost menacingly, like they were entering an evil sorcerer’s castle.

Ruby chuckled as she followed her. “Show me to the bathrooms first so I know where to run in case the ugliness of it all makes me sick.”

Weiss giggled again, and wow, Ruby was feeling awfully proud of herself so far. The banter! This was off to a pretty good start.

The foyer had the vibes of a room obviously meant to impress visitors as they walked in, and it was certainly impressive. Marble and bronze everywhere, a grand staircase leading up to the second floor, not to mention a gigantic chandelier hanging in the center of the oval-shaped corridor. It’s like Ruby had stepped directly into one of those home improvement shows her dad liked to watch. Everything looked literally spotless.

“Sooo...this is the foyer,” Weiss said.

“It’s so gaudy!” Ruby remarked, her voice echoing up the rounded walls.

Weiss’ giggle followed. “Isn’t it? It’s too much, huh?”

“That chandelier is probably made of plastic, huh?” Ruby asked, pointing up.

“You know, I’ve never inspected it myself, so it probably is,” Weiss admitted, still laughing. 

Okay, maybe Ruby wasn’t as out of place as she worried she’d feel. She was feeling rather confident right now. Weiss was laughing so much. Ruby was drowning in positive social feedback, and in Weiss’ cuteness. She noticed how Weiss would cover her mouth when she laughed, how her nose wrinkled with she smiled like that.

Weiss seemed to head towards the staircase for a moment, but paused. Instead, she turned to the doorway that led further into the first floor.

“So here’s the family room and kitchen. Open concept, of course,” Weiss said. It was a huge space with lots of expensive looking furniture. The flatscreen TV mounted to the wall was huge!

“Boring,” Ruby sang, making Weiss laugh again.

Weiss continued to show her around, and while Ruby was certainly struck by just how many rooms this place had, dunking on everything left and right made it seem less magnificent. Sure, it was a huge house filled to the brim with performative excess, but it wasn’t much of a home.

Ruby didn’t voice that last part, figuring that would be a deep cut.

As Weiss led Ruby back to the main foyer to lead her up the stairs, the same man who drove Ruby here was coming down the stairs. “Your pizza arrived and I have delivered it to your room, Miss Weiss.”

“Thank you,” Weiss said. Her voice sounded oddly stilted, completely different from how she’d been talking to Ruby. She sounded like how Ruby sounded when she had to read aloud in English class. They both continued up the stairs.

“So let me guess,” Ruby said, breaking the awkward silence. “Your room is just covered in boy band posters, right?”

Weiss scoffed and laughed. “No, I’m afraid it’s more of the same.”

“I’ll say right now, I’m not going to roast your room,” Ruby promised. “I reserve that to the eighty other rooms in this place.”

Weiss smiled at her as she stopped in front of a door at the end of the hall. “Thank you.” She opened it and led her inside.

Weiss’ room really wasn’t more of the same. For one, there was more color, especially a lot of blue. The walls, her bedding, and even her nightstand and dresser were a light blue, like a sunny blue sky in winter. Ruby somehow felt calmer just from entering.

“This is my room,” Weiss said with a shrug, grabbing the pizza box off of the bed tray on her desk. “Boring, right?”

“The blue theme is pretty,” Ruby said, slowly turning in circles as she looked around.

Weiss was silent for a moment as she watched her wander around. “It’s my favorite color,” she admitted.

“I wish I could paint my room my favorite color.” And install an attached bathroom, she thought with a glance at the bathroom door near the entrance to the room.

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Black.” Ruby turned her head to Weiss dramatically, glaring at her. “Like my soul.”

Weiss giggled. “I think you have a very colorful soul.” Her face then lit up bright red, and she stammered a bit before holding up the pizza box. “Wow, that was cheesy, uh, want some pizza?”

“Yeah!” Ruby hurried over and jumped to a stop in front of Weiss, pulling the box open. “Mmm, cheeeese.”

“I went basic with the toppings,” Weiss admitted. “Wasn’t sure what you liked.”

“This is perfect. Thanks, Weiss!” Ruby said as she picked up a slice.

“Of course,” Weiss said as she sat the box down and picked up her own slice.

They sat in the small adjoining seating area in the far side of the room, on a window bench with a view of the front driveway.

“So,” Ruby said between bites. “What do you do for fun around here?”

Weiss pondered her answer while chewing. “Uhm…I like to read.”

“Oh, same!” Ruby said. “What do you read? Sappy romance novels?”

Weiss covered her mouth and laughed. “No genre in particular. I do enjoy a fairy tale fantasy, though.”

“Nice. I’m more of a sci-fi kinda gal.”

“Hence your Red Hallow Manor obsession?” Weiss asked.

“Exactly!” Ruby blushed. “But I promise not to ramble on about that for an hour like I did last time.”

Weiss chuckled as she finished her slice. “I told you, I enjoyed listening to you.”

“I know, I’m just…worried about annoying you,” Ruby admitted, looking out the window.

Weiss shook her head. “You shouldn’t worry about that. You aren’t annoying at all.”

“Oh, I am capable of levels of annoying that you couldn’t even imagine,” Ruby joked.

“Well, I guess you’re right. I can’t imagine you being that annoying.”

Ruby looked down and smiled, her face warm and tingly. “Thanks.”

“How about we listen to an episode together?” Weiss suggested.

“Really?” Ruby looked up and smiled.

Weiss nodded. “We can’t just eat this pizza in silence, can we?”

And so Ruby pulled up an episode of RHM on her phone while Weiss retrieved the pizza box. Ruby picked the Season 1 finale, since they’d both listened to it before and Ruby really wanted to talk about it with her. All throughout the episode and Ruby’s ramblings and oddly specific questions about Weiss’ takes on popular fan theories, they’d managed to almost finish the whole pizza.

“Ugh,” Ruby muttered, shaking her head. “I think I’ve had enough. Got too distracted to control my pizza intake.”

“Same,” Weiss admitted as she set the rest of the pizza aside. She let out a slow sigh as she turned back to Ruby. “So, you were saying?”

Ruby stared at her for a moment. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Weiss nodded unconvincingly. “I just ate too much.”

“Yeah, we both did,” Ruby agreed with a chuckle, and she hit play on the podcast.

The last ten minutes of the episode were spent in complete silence as Ruby was enthralled in the closing scenes. Once the episode ended, she looked up and smiled at Weiss. “Okay, so, I gotta know, do you think that…” Her voice trailed away once she realized how uneasy Weiss looked. “Are you…?”

Weiss avoided her eyes and stood from the bench. “I’m sorry, one moment,” she said before hurrying to the bathroom and closing the door.

Ruby stood from the bench as well but didn’t follow, unsure of what to do. Maybe Weiss was just having tummy trouble, and she’d tried to hide it. Ruby could empathize, Weiss must feel embarrassed. She would make sure to reassure Weiss when she’d come out.

But after ten minutes, Weiss didn’t come out. Now Ruby was even more concerned. She finally walked over and knocked on the door. “Hey, uhh, you good?”

“Yeah,” Weiss answered, sounding like she was half asleep. “Could you…grab something for me?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“In my nightstand, top drawer, there’s a light blue pouch. Can you bring that to me?”

Ruby turned toward Weiss’ nightstand and went to open the drawer. Besides the pouch Weiss had asked for, the drawer was filled with what looked like medical supplies—alcohol swabs, syringes, boxes labeled Test Strips.

“Ohh,” Ruby murmured, starting to understand as she grabbed the pouch and turned back to the bathroom.

“You can come in,” Weiss said after Ruby knocked.

Ruby gingerly opened the door and stepped inside. She found Weiss sitting on the floor with her back against the wall, facing the toilet. Weiss smiled at her weakly, her face flushed. “Thanks.”

Ruby came over and handed Weiss the pouch. “What’s wrong? Did you throw up?”

Weiss sighed as she unzipped the pouch. Inside was a small electronic device. “No. I’m just an idiot,” she answered, pulling out a small white strip from a tube and inserting it in the device. “I didn’t correct for that pizza.”

“Correct?” Ruby asked as she watched Weiss pick up a plastic device and cock its base back like a shotgun.

“For the carbs,” Weiss answered, and held the end of the plastic thing against her finger tip. She pressed a button, making a metallic clicking noise. When she pulled the device away, she squeezed her finger, and a drop of blood pooled on her fingertip.

Ruby blinked as Weiss held the blood up against the end of the white strip sticking out of the device. The blood got sucked in, and the device beeped, a spinning loading wheel appearing on the screen. It let out one long beeeep. A number appeared, 476, with an up arrow next to it. “Damnit,” Weiss whispered.

“Is that bad?” Ruby asked.

“Yeah,” Weiss said with a nod, removing the white strip and turning the device off. “My blood sugar is way too high.”

“Sooo, you’re like, diabetic?“

Weiss nodded as she flicked the white strip at the trash bin by the toilet, missing. “Type one.”

Ruby looked down for a moment. “You could’ve told me. I could have reminded you to…correct.” She reused the word Weiss had used earlier.

Weiss chuckled softly. “I didn’t want to make you worry.”

“Hey, I worry whether I need a reason to or not,” Ruby joked, making Weiss smile. “Uhm…do you need, like, insulin?”

Weiss nodded. “In my closet, there’s a mini fridge. Grab one of the white boxes off the top shelf and one of the syringes in my drawer. Please?”

Ruby nodded and stood. “Got it.” She left to retrieve the supplies Weiss had asked for. The mini fridge in her closet was filled with the white boxes Weiss had mentioned, plus bottles of water and Gatorade. Something told her to grab a bottle of water for Weiss, too. She grabbed a syringe from the drawer and returned to Weiss. “Here.”

Weiss noticed the bottle of water and smiled. “Thank you, Ruby.” She took the supplies and opened the white box. Inside was a glass vial. Using the syringe, she drew some of the clear liquid into it. “Don’t look at my underwear,” Weiss joked as she pulled the side of her skirt up, about to poke herself in the thigh with the short needle.

“Wait, don’t you need one of those alcohol swab things?” Ruby asked. “Before you inject it?”

Weiss paused and sighed. She looked up and smiled at her. “I forgot, yeah. Could you…?”

Ruby nodded and saluted her. “On it.” She left and quickly returned with an alcohol swab. She handed it to Weiss, then sat down next to her as Weiss tore open the package and wiped at her thigh with the swab. “Uhm…does it hurt?”

“No, just a little cold,” Weiss joked.

Ruby snickered. “I meant the needle.”

“Only sometimes.” Weiss readied the syringe once again and pressed it into her leg. She didn’t flinch. After a few seconds, the syringe was empty, and Weiss pulled it out and recapped it. She flicked the syringe towards the trash can and missed again.

“So that’ll bring your blood sugar down?” Ruby asked.

“Soon, hopefully,” Weiss said with a nod.

They sat in silence for a moment. Well, silence besides Ruby idly drumming on her knees.

“I’m sorry,” Weiss finally said.

Ruby turned to her. “For what?”

“I didn’t want my type one to interrupt us. I guess I just got too nervous.”

Ruby scoffed. “It’s alright. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“I just wanted this to be a normal…” She hesitated, “Day.”

Ruby looked down and shrugged. “Well, I mean, I wasn’t planning on leaving anytime soon. We still have time.”

Weiss was quiet at first, then she took a deep breath. “I guess you’re right.” She started to stand, and Ruby quickly got up to help her to her feet. Ruby held Weiss by her wrists until she was upright. Weiss looked at her, holding her breath.

Ruby blinked, then quickly let go off Weiss’ wrists. “Uhh…” She reached back and scratched her back of her head. “You mentioned you have a game room?”

Weiss smiled at her. “So, you want to lose to me at table tennis, then?”

Ruby grinned. “Oh, we’ll see about that.” They both began to leave, but Ruby paused. “Hold up, doesn’t that need to go back in your mini fridge?” She asked, pointing back at the vial that Weiss had left on the floor.

Weiss turned and chuckled. “You’re right.” She went back to grab it, looked at it for a moment, the smiled. “Thanks for reminding me. I’ll just keep it with me for now.”

“Hey, if you need reminders to check your blood sugar again later, I can…try my best to overcome my crappy memory,” she joked.

Weiss rolled her eyes and laughed. “You’re such a dork,” she said as she walked past her, the water bottle Ruby had brought her tucked under her arm.

Ruby lingered behind and smiled. Her heart was hammering in her chest at the moment. She wasn’t sure why, but it felt like a good reason. Weiss had smiled at her so much. Maybe she really was being helpful. “Hey, Weiss?”

Weiss stopped just before opening her bedroom door. She looked over her shoulder, striking an inadvertently cute pose. “Hm?”

“You know,” Ruby said, fidgeting with her hands. “I can’t in good conscience leave here until your blood sugar is, like, absolutely perfect. So, I’m staying no matter how long it takes.” She straightened her back and crossed her arms.

Weiss rolled her eyes fondly. “So you want to sleep over?”

“If that’s what it takes,” Ruby said with a nod.

Weiss giggled. “I’d love it if you did. But I’ll have to ask my mom.” She opened the door and waved for Ruby to follow. “Now come on, dork. The sooner we get down there, the sooner I can destroy you at ping pong.”

[thefinalcinderella]

Kaze ga Tsuyoku Fuiteiru Chapter 9 - To Beyond (Part 1)

We’re finally here folks. After two years we’re finally at Hakone and boy is it long

Full list of translations here

Translation Notes

1. JR stands for Japan Railway and refers to the trains operated by the company

Previous | Next

January 2nd, 7:45 a.m.

The start of the Tokyo-Hakone Round-Trip College Ekiden Race was fifteen minutes away.

After the roll call twenty minutes before the start, Prince tried to go down the subway’s pathway again. Earlier in the morning, he had been able to run on the sidewalks above ground to loosen up, but now that was impossible—there was a large crowd of people in front of the Yomiuri Shimbun’s Tokyo headquarters in Otemachi, waiting to watch the start of the Hakone Ekiden.

From the Yomiuri Shimbun’s headquarters to the Wadakura Gate along the inner moat of the Imperial Palace, the sidewalks were lined with walls of people which consisted of cheering squads from each school, staff, and Ekiden fans who were celebrating the New Year with cheerful faces. The echoing sound of drums and the school songs of each school. The colorful flags and banners in the cold wind that eddied around the buildings. The rising noise and excitement.

“Where are you going?” Kiyose, who was accompanying Prince, stopped him. “Your body’s already warmed up. What will you do if you get tired before the race starts?”

“I know, but I feel sort of uneasy when I’m not running.” Prince paced on the spot. “I didn’t think there would be so many people here.”

Kiyose never thought the day would come when he would hear the phrase “I feel uneasy when I’m not running” come out of Prince's mouth. He smiled reassuringly.

“You’ve had plenty of practice. You’ll be fine. Did you go to the bathroom?”

“Many times,” The Yomiuri Shimbun’s staff entrance was open for athletes and officials to use the restroom and change clothes in the waiting room. “It’s always crowded with the runners running in the first leg.”

“You’re not the only one who’s nervous. Don’t worry.”

He couldn't let his body be chilled by the wind. Kiyose took Prince to the back of the newspaper building. There were not many people there, and Kiyose and Prince ran lightly side by side.

The final entries, announced at 7 a.m., were posted on the wall of the building.

“Rikudou didn’t assign Fujioka-san to the second leg.”

Prince tilted his head curiously. Rikudou had put Fujioka as an alternate for the leg entry. Fujioka was the captain of his team and the best runner in Rikudou, but he hadn’t heard any rumors about him getting injured, so he wondered if he wasn’t feeling well. Each school had been paying attention, but Fujioka still wasn't announced in the final entries for the outward journey that morning.

“They probably plan on putting him in the ninth or tenth leg,” Kiyose said.

It seemed that Rikudou was trying to assess the situation carefully; it was thought that if anybody could stop them from winning again this time, it would be Bousou University. In the leg entries, Bousou had made it clear that they were taking the fight to the outward journey.

If Rikudou were to only face the elites of Bousou, the outward journey would be quite a tough battle, even for Rikudou. Perhaps the plan was to hand over the victory for the outward journey to Bousou and take the return trip and the overall victory, which was determined by the total time of the round trip. There was no doubt that Rikudou was trying to decide which leg of the return trip to put Fujioka in depending on their ranking when they reached Lake Ashi and the time difference with Bousou.

“But don’t think about Rikudou right now.” Kiyose lightly pushed Prince’s shoulder. “It’s almost time to go back to the starting point. Do you remember what I told you?”

“Yeah.” Prince nodded vigorously and took off the thick bench coat that reached his knees. The gathered spectators made way for Prince then, who was wearing Kansei’s black and silver uniform.

The cold didn’t bother him anymore. As the first runner, Prince had a sash hanging from his left shoulder—it was black with the words “Kansei University” embroidered in silver thread. The plasterer’s wife had been steadily working on it since they passed the qualifiers.

Prince gently touched the precious sash. It would connect the ten of them and return to this place tomorrow. He definitely wouldn’t let the sash be interrupted midway.

Kiyose adjusted the length of the sash and tucked the extra parts into the waistband of Prince’s shorts so that it wouldn’t get in his way when he was running.

“Prince, sorry for making you go along with us until now,” Kiyose said.

The music being played by the cheering sections grew louder. “Athletes to the starting line!” A staff member called out.

“Haiji-san, I don’t want to hear those kinds of words,” Prince laughed. “Wait for me at Tsurumi.”

Prince entrusted his coat to Kiyose and stood at the starting line along with the nineteen other people running the first leg.

It was 8 a.m. in Otemachi, Tokyo. Clear skies. 1.3 degrees Celsius. 88 percent humidity. Wind from the northwest at 1.1 meters.

For a moment, the area was completely silent, and then the starting gun sounded.

Prince started to run. There was no need to look back. Because Kansei University’s first Hakone Ekiden was only created by advancing down this road.

---

As Kiyose had predicted, the race unfolded at a leisurely pace. With Tokyo Station on the left hand side, they passed Wadakura Gate. The cheers of the spectators and the wind around the buildings tore away at their backs. As the group spread out horizontally, they moved forward along the damp road at a pace of 3 minutes and 7 seconds per kilometer. Even Prince could keep up with this.

Perhaps it was because of the wide road, but it didn’t seem like they were making much progress no matter how much they ran. Around him, he could sense people checking and restraining each other, wondering who would be the first to break out.

“Keep going slowly,” Prince recited in his mind.

The wind blowing through the gap in the buildings made the temperature feel cooler than it was. Remembering Kiyose’s advice, Prince got behind a slightly larger runner from Teitou University; it would be bad for Prince, who had a speed disadvantage, if he had to use his extra strength to secure a place. Having secured a good spot to guard against the wind, Prince concentrated on keeping up with the group.

The pace remained almost the same even after they entered the Daichi Keihin highway from the intersection at Shiba 5-chome. They passed the five kilometer mark at 15 minutes and 30 seconds.

The coaches from each school were following the runners in their coach cars. The coaches were allowed to talk to their runners over a speaker connected to a microphone at the beginning of the race, during the last kilometer, and every five kilometers. However, no coach gave instructions before the five kilometer mark; there was so much tension in the group that it was impossible to speak out carelessly.

Rikudou and Bousou were battling for the lead, but every time they tried to put on a spurt, they repeatedly got swallowed up by the group. The first leg was 21.3 kilometers long and it was only the start of the Hakone Ekiden. If you failed in putting on a spurt and got worn out here, it would trouble the runners in the following legs, and the mentality of not being able to take the plunge was swirling through the group.

Forgetting about the presence of the lead car and the TV cameras, Prince moved forward desperately, but with a composed expression on his face.

At the same time, Kiyose had just transferred to the Keihin Express after having arrived in Shinagawa from Tokyo Station on the JR line. (1) Holding Prince’s bench coat, he put the radio earphones in his ears. Picking up the sound from the TV and learning that the group hadn’t broken up yet, Kiyose let out a small shout of “Yes!” He drew attention from the passengers around him, but he couldn’t care less.

The TV announcer and commentator spoke as though they were bewildered by the slow pace.

“There has been no change in the race at all.”

“I think the stronger runners can be more aggressive and go for the record.”

“You don’t have to say unnecessary things,” Kiyose snapped without thinking. The slow pace is fine. Nobody make any moves. Run as a group for as long as you can.

His phone rang. He looked at the display and saw that it was the landlord in the coach car. Kiyose hurriedly pressed the button, wondering if Prince had begun to drop out.

“I don’t know what to do, Haiji,” the landlord said easily.

“What’s wrong?”

“They’ll be at ten kilometers soon. Should I shout something at Prince?”

“Does it look like he’s having trouble?”

Kiyose gripped his phone.

“No? He just passed Yatsuyama Bridge, but he’s holding on well. The group is still staying in a horizontal line.”

“Then you don’t have to say anything.”

The Yatsuyama Bridge was just before the eight-kilometer mark. There were gentle ups and downs as they crossed the railroad tracks on an elevated level. If they were still in a horizontal line after that, they should be able to stay like that until they reached Rokugo Bridge, the most difficult point in the first leg. Endure it, Prince. Kiyose called out in his mind.

“But what kind of coach would I be if I just sat in the car and stayed silent?” The landlord seemed bored. “It’s like I’m just driving to Hakone.”

“All you have to do is to be at the ready. If Prince is having a hard time, encourage him.”

“How? I can’t sing the school song, I’m tone deaf.”

“No coach would encourage their runners with the school song nowadays,” Kiyose sighed. “In that case, I want you to give him a message from me: ‘I have something I want to tell you. So come to Tsurumi even if you have to crawl.’”

Prince heard that message at the fifteen-kilometer mark. The landlord in the coach car, with a microphone in his hand, shouted that at him in a hoarse voice.

What do you want to tell me? Let me hear it.

His breathing was becoming more and more labored, but Prince felt inspired again. He had also been successful in receiving water, at which point he was informed by a member of the short-distance track and field team that “this kilometer was exactly three minutes.” The pace was speeding up. As expected, victory would be decided at Rokugo Bridge, which was the 17.8-kilometer mark.

After twelve kilometers, there had been a situation where the race seemed likely to move—the runner from Eurasia University had made a move and the group had stretched out vertically. However, Rikudou and Bousou had quickly followed, and the others had chased after them like they were being dragged along. Ultimately, no one dropped out of the group.

In this situation, the Rokugo Bridge would decide everything. Prince could tell that everyone tacitly understood that.

Rokugo Bridge was a large bridge over the Tama River, and it was 446.2 meters long. There was an uphill climb to reach the bridge and a downhill climb to get off the bridge. The ups and downs were physically demanding after running nearly twenty kilometers.

When he finally started to climb the slope of the Rokugo Bridge, Prince's legs suddenly became heavy; he couldn’t believe how steep the slope felt. Prince gasped and swung his arms to try to move his body forward.

At that moment, there was a change in the rhythm of the group. The breathing of the strongest runners suddenly became quiet, and right at the moment Prince realized “it's coming,” the Yokohama University runner put on a spurt. Bousou and Rikudou followed suit.

The group quickly broke apart and stretched out vertically. What stamina these guys have! Prince couldn’t do anything but stare in amazement at the growing distance between him and the rest of the group. He wanted to keep up with them, but it was impossible; as they descended Rokugo Bridge, the top group was getting faster and faster.

“Don’t rush. If you can keep up with them until Rokugo Bridge, there won’t be much of a time difference. Besides that, just think about running at your own pace.”

Kiyose’s instructions before the start of the race came back to mind.

That’s right, I just started doing track. No matter what kind of spurts other people do, I can only run with all my might.

He was already about a hundred meters away from the head of the group, but Prince didn’t give up—didn’t get pessimistic—and ran patiently.

Just started, huh? So, am I going to continue doing track? Even though I’m in so much pain because I got dragged into it.

Prince opened his mouth for oxygen and a small laugh slipped through as he exhaled.

The gentle and warm morning sun shone down on him from the front.

---

At the Tsurumi relay station, Kakeru and Musa were huddled together, looking at the screen of a portable TV—an electronics store in the shopping district had lent it to them for free.

“Oh, Prince-san has been outstripped,” Musa said sadly, staring at the TV in Kakeru’s hand like he wanted to see Prince disappearing from the screen for as long as he could.

“But there shouldn't be much time difference from the top runners.” With Prince’s heroic figure properly burned into his eyes, Kakeru looked up. “Musa-san, let’s catch up in the second leg.”

“Yes. I will do my best.”

It was about time for the first leg runners to arrive at the Tsurumi relay station. Musa took off his woolen hat and scarf. The temperature was 3.3 degrees Celsius. There was almost no wind, and it was clear, but it was still bitterly cold for Musa. He had consulted with Kakeru and decided to wear arm covers that would cover everything from his wrist to his elbow; this way, if it got too hot, he could take them off and just wear his running uniform.

“Did you drink enough water? Even if you think it’s cold, you don’t want to get dehydrated while you’re running.”

“If I drink any more water, I would have to urinate standing up while I run.”

Musa laughed. This was the first time he had used words like “urinate standing up.” “It doesn’t suit you,” Kakeru also laughed.

The voices of the announcer and commentator came from the portable TV Kakeru was holding.

“In the second leg, each school is fielding their ace or ace-level runner. Eleven out of the twenty runners can run ten-thousand meters in twenty-eight minutes. Four international students are also making their appearance here.”

“Manas from Bousou University, Iwanki from Koufu Gakuin University, Jomo from Saikyou University, and Musa from Kansei University.”

When his name was spoken, Musa and Kakeru looked at the TV. They saw themselves on the screen. They looked around in surprise and saw a TV crew approaching them from behind. Musa smiled awkwardly at the TV camera.

“Kansei’s Musa is a bit unique: he is a government-sponsored engineering student and it seems that until last year, he had no experience in track and field. Kansei is taking on Hakone with only ten runners, but most of them have no experience with track.”

“I can’t believe they were able to make it this far. It’s quite a feat.”

The screen cut to the studio, where the commentator was nodding in agreement. “They must have put a lot of effort into their training.”

“The Kansei team is rich with individuality. I am looking forward to seeing how they will perform in their first ever Hakone.”

The screen cut to a commercial and the TV crew left. Oh no, Musa seems to be getting nervous again now that he got introduced on TV, Kakeru thought.

Kakeru’s phone rang. It was from Shindou, who was at the Odawara relay station to run the fifth leg. As soon as he pressed the answer button, Kakeru passed the phone to Musa.

“Musa, you were on TV!” Shindou said. He sounded very muffled.

“How is your cold?” Musa asked worriedly, and Kakeru also leaned in to listen. Shindou had gotten a fever on New Year’s Eve and still hadn't been feeling well that morning.

“I’m fine. Are you okay, Musa? You’re probably nervous right now.”

“Yes, a little bit,” Musa answered. Could Shindou see what was going on at the Tsurumi relay station? Kakeru was stunned at the depth of the bond between Musa and Shindou.

“Hey, Musa. Think about something fun,” Shindou said in a nasal voice. “Once this is over, it’s finally New Year’s for us. I’m thinking of going home to my parents’ house during winter break. Do you want to come with me, Musa?”

“Is that okay? You’ll be spending time with your family, won’t you?”

“My parents are waiting for you to come and visit. We live in the boonies where there’s nothing, so there’s nothing to do there except building snowmen.”

 “What is a ‘snowman’?”

“That’s right, you've never made one. Then, it’s settled. Let’s go back to my home together.”

“Yes,” Musa nodded. “Thank you very much, Shindou-san.”

After hanging up, Musa’s eyes showed no more hesitation or fear. The cheering along the road grew even louder—they could probably see the runners now. Kakeru and Musa approached the road.

Kiyose came running from Keikyu Tsurumi-Ichiba Station carrying a bench coat. He saw Kakeru and Musa and exhaled loudly, saying, “I made it in time?”

“Musa, how are you feeling?”

“I am feeling good,” Musa assured them strongly. Kiyose checked his expression and his shoelaces, and made sure there was nothing out of place.

“Good. Prince will probably come here in last place. But don’t get shaken by that and just run as usual.”

“If we are in last place, then I will feel better, because we cannot get any worse than that,” Musa joked. “Besides, I am more comfortable chasing than being chased.”

“That’s the spirit,” Kakeru said, accepting Musa’s bench coat.

The Rikudou runner arrived at the Tsurumi relay station in the lead. The relay station was set up in front of a police box along Route 1—it was a nondescript tree-lined street, and since it was straight and level, one could clearly see the runners arriving one after the other.

The staff member who received the message hurriedly called out the school names. The runners of the first leg came in that order, so runners of the second leg went to the relay line to wait for their teammates.

Rikudou’s sash was relayed from the first-leg to the second-leg runner. His time was one hour four minutes and thirty-six seconds from the start at Otemachi. After him came Yokohama, Bousou, and Eurasia, handing over their sashes in that order with almost no time difference. It was a very close race, as the runners had been clustered together until the end.

Musa bent down. Kakeru leaned out into the road. One after another, the runners of the first leg came and handed over their sashes, and the runners of the second leg ran out of the Tsurumi relay station. There was still no sign of Prince. It was thirty seconds since Rikudou had passed.

“It’s Prince-san!”

In the shadow of the competition cars, they saw Prince, running with his teeth clenched. The staff member was calling out the names of the schools that were still at the relay station at the same time. “I am going,” Musa said. He stepped out onto the road and stood on the relay line.

Musa turned towards Prince and raised his hand. Prince was running desperately while swinging his arms, but when he noticed Musa’s figure, as though remembering, he removed his sash from his shoulder. The elastic waistband of his shorts snapped lightly against his side as though to scold him.

Just a little more, just a little more.

“Prince-san! Prince-san!”

Musa and Kakeru were shouting. Kiyose was standing next to Kakeru, waiting patiently for Prince to arrive.

After crossing the relay line, Prince put the sash he had been gripping in Musa’s hand as Musa began to run. The sash connected the two of them for a moment, and then it quickly slipped through Prince’s fingertips.

My heart hurts. I can’t even keep my eyes open. I wonder if this wild breathing belongs to me?

Prince stopped and pitched forward, almost falling, but then realized he was caught in someone’s arms.

“I take back what I said to you at Otemachi,” Kiyose’s voice was right next to him. “I wanted to say this to you: Thank you for coming all the way here with us.”

“You passed,” Prince muttered.

Kakeru and Kiyose took the Keihin Express to Yokohama and then the JR to Odawara. Since they were short of hands, they planned to go on ahead to Lake Ashi and meet with Shindou, who was running the fifth leg.

They were worried about leaving the exhausted Prince at the Tsurumi relay station, but Prince told them this:

“You two, just leave me behind and go to Hakone. I already finished running. When I can walk again, I’ll go to the hotel on my own.”

Prince had the role of keeping track of the race on TV in a hotel near Yokohama Station. Kiyose and Kakeru were also planning on returning from Hakone that night and staying in the same hotel to prepare for tomorrow’s race.

After rehydrating, Prince managed to get up, so Kakeru and Kiyose left the Tsurumi relay station.

The bench coat Kiyose had brought from Otemachi was once again being worn by Prince. Now, Kakeru was carrying Musa’s bench coat. Shindou would be wearing it after his climb. If they just barely had enough manpower, they also just barely had enough clothing.

On the second day of January, the seats on the Tokaido Line were almost all filled with people running after the Hakone Ekiden and families who seemed to be going for the first shrine visit of the New Year. Kakeru spotted an empty box seat and sat Kiyose in it. Kiyose took out a notepad and ballpoint pen from the pocket of his bench coat.

“Prince’s time?”

“One hour five minutes and thirty-seven seconds,” Kakeru answered after checking with the stopwatch function on his watch. Kiyose wrote down the data on the notepad.

“The time difference with Doujidou University, which was right in front of us, is eleven seconds. The difference with Rikudou, which is in the top position, is one minute and one second. We still have plenty of chances. Prince fought bravely.”

Kansei’s sash was handed over from Prince to Musa at the Tsurumi relay station, and they were in twentieth place out of the twenty teams competing. The Kanto Athletic Union’s selected team, which was made up of runners who had participated in the qualifiers, would use the individual times of each runner as an official record, but wouldn’t enter the rankings as a team. Therefore, Kansei was ranked nineteenth, but when they finished running the first leg, they were still unmistakably in last place in both name and reality.

But Kiyose was right: it was a time difference that could be overturned. The slow-paced development was a blessing for Prince and Kansei. The race had only just begun.

Kakeru was carrying the portable TV, but reception in the train was bad. “Try this one,” Kiyose told him, and gave him the radio. Right when he was twisting the knobs to try to get sound, Kiyose’s phone got a message. It was from King in the Totsuka relay station, who was with Jouta, the one running the third leg.

“Haiji, we’ve got a big problem! Look at the TV!”

“I can’t,” Kiyose said.

Previous | Next

[samsoleil]

you can now read the homeschooled au on ao3! or you can keep reading here. in this installment, the boys go to a mall for the first time and have an Experience™

(cw for sensory overload, if that's something that doesn't quite butter your bread roll)

One day, Sam realised that their dad was just a person.

He can’t remember the conversation, if it could be called that, in its entirety. But what he does remember with a surreal vividness is seeing Dad’s face, cold and hard with rage and frustration, and thinking, I don’t understand. Real life doesn’t have those scenes where the camera cuts to the perfect moment to explain the characters’ motivations. Dad had a whole life before Sam and lives most of his existence separate from Sam, with his own ideas and interpretations and some sort of equation that added one dead wife and two kids and came up with the mess that’s been Sam’s life so far. This experience of the world, a mark of being human.

And that thought was like a spotlight had been shone on Sam’s little corner of the world, this glaring thing, an unavoidable truth. It isn’t always there but, when it is, it’s inescapable. If Sam’s honest, it’s fuelled the fire in more than one of his arguments with their dad. Sam wonders if this is how Eve felt after biting into the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge, cursed with a realisation that can’t ever be unlearned.

But Dean’s different. Dean’s life isn’t this impossible, untouchable thing like Dad’s is; it’s Sam’s life, too, this thing they share, and Dean lives life more than anyone else Sam's met. Admittedly, Sam can name the amount of people he's actually met, beyond the handful of cashiers he's made uncomfortable eye contact with, on one hand. But he can't imagine that anyone who's ever spoken to Dean has left the conversation thinking, Well, he doesn't experience life as much as I do.

That’s not the point. The point is, Sam’s become accustomed to the concept that people in the real world have thoughts and feelings and lives that Sam will never know. But he and Dean had wanted to try going to a mall for lunch, instead of their usual cafés, and Sam had no idea that you could find this many people in a single place.

"Wow," he says, standing with Dean in the doorway.

There really are just so many of them. Parents with their kids, old couples, gaggles of teenagers laughing and shouting. Sam sees a group of girls around Dean's age in bright colours, hair falling in a sheet around their shoulders. He sees two young parents with their baby, jostling them up and down as they wail, drawing dirty looks from a couple of older women chatting over coffee. Everything is fluorescent bulbs and colour and sound. It's wonderful. It's horrible. There are so many of them and Sam has no idea who any of them are. It’s the Tree of Knowledge again, if biting into fruit was comparable to plummeting off a cliff, and he doesn't think he’d be able to handle feeling like this all the time. It's almost too much, to think that everyone here is just as alive as Sam and Dean.

Sam reaches out slightly to tangle his fingers between Dean's. Dean's hand relaxes easily, less soft and larger than Sam's, and grips him reassuringly after Sam's fingers are threaded with his. He feels better, after that. He watches the small family as the baby suddenly stops crying, their mother pressing a pacifier into their mouth and receiving a gummy smile. Genetically, a person's DNA is half their mother and half their father. Sam has a matching theory about himself as a whole. Half of Sam is characters from books, TV shows, movies, and half of Sam is Dean.

He follows after Dean as they move out of the doorway, away from Sam's sudden movie moment, and they melt into the crowd. It's even worse once they get in there, and Sam keeps overhearing snippets of conversation, fragments of this bustling chaos of lives.

"-working Friday, and I don't know if-"

There's a girl with an ear full of piercings, silver and solid, wearing all black with ripped jeans and a leather jacket-

"-assignment? I haven't-"

-and the sun streaming in through one of the windows flashes off the glass of one of the stores, momentarily turning Sam's vision white, and it's enough to make his eyes sting-

"-Sarah, Katy, wai-"

-while the air is filled with the scent of a hundred different foods, sweet as spun sugar one second and then the smoky thickness of meat, and Sam's head turns to follow the smell of flowers carried by the curls of a dark-skinned man in jeans-

"-long black, two sugars. Do you ha-"

-who greets an older woman with greying hair, and Sam turns back to face the direction they're heading and sees a crowd of people too thick to move through.

"-believe, I mean, it was so-"

He squeezes Dean's hand. Dean squeezes back. Sam squeezes again, and they have a back and forth for a minute or so as they wait for a space to open up in the crowd ahead of them. Sam knows what the person at the counter is ordering and what the people at the table behind them did for their weekend and what Donnie did to Amy, did you hear?

I heard, Sam thinks viciously, Everyone in a ten mile radius heard, can you shut up?

And then he feels bad, because it's not their fault it's so loud in here. He can barely hear himself think. He can't even hear himself breathe, can just feel his lungs inhaling and exhaling in his chest. The functional unit of the lungs are small sacs called alveoli that have walls one cell thin, and the culmination of Sam's can usually run a five minute mile but today, now, they're barely keeping him standing.

"-diagnosis, it all happened so fast-"

It's been a minute since he last squeezed Dean's hand, so he squeezes again. And Dean squeezes back, hard, and that seems to help the frantic energy building in Sam's body, so when Dean starts to relax his hand Sam squeezes again and he doesn't let go.

"-don't know what I'd do-"

And Dean looks back, and something must show in Sam's face, because then they're moving, the crowd be damned. Someone brushes against Sam and he feels every part of it, too aware of the fabric of their shirt brushing against Sam's flannel. Someone else steps on the side of his shoe and he wants to step on them back, wants them to finish the job, wants to break out of his body. Dean's squeezing Sam's hand hard enough that he feels the bones in his hand shift, but it's all he has, right now. The rest of him is too busy paying attention to everything else.

"-rotten leaf in my salad, I want-"

There's a group of children laughing and stumbling over their feet, their mothers following behind with gentle smiles and chattering conversation, and Sam feels this tug of want-

"-failed my midterms, so I just-"

-and there's someone in a bright, multicoloured jacket holding hands with a girl dressed in all denim, laughing as they reach up to gently grasp her chin and lean in-

"-loud in here, do you want-"

-so Sam looks away, and no matter where he looks there's another person, another family, another store, another thing bright and beautiful and he can't take it, okay, it's just too much-

"-I said, that's crazy, no way-"

-for him to handle right now, the everything of it all, the thought that, all this time, the entire world has existed just outside of their motel room and he's barely a part of it.

"-beautiful, Mary-"

Sam's heart jolts in his chest.

I can't do this, he thinks desperately, still moving with Dean, pulled along by him, his hand encompassed by Dean's. He tamps down the visceral urge to just lie down here, press himself into the tile and be consumed. He sidesteps a puddle of someone's chocolate thickshake, his stomach turning over. He can feel the slick of his sweat between Dean's large, warm hand and his own. Part of him wants to tug away to dry his palm on his jeans, but he feels like he might fall apart if he does.

Dean leads him into a store and the temperature change shocks him, sending shivers cascading down his spine, and Sam feels suddenly unwell, like when he has the flu. But it's quieter in here, the cacophony of the mall muted by the racks of clothing. The fluorescents take all the red away, leaving Dean wearing an ugly brown flannel, and that sick feeling grows stronger. Sam closes his eyes, letting Dean guide him. He flinches at the clatter as Dean pulls something off the rack, the hanger tapping plastic against metal railing, and lets himself be swept along, around a corner and into a changing room, Dean pulling the curtains closed.

Sam bypasses the bench to sit down on the floor, gaze fixed on where the curtain brushes against the faux wood linoleum. He can still hear the chatter in the store, muffled as if underwater.

Dean crouches down in front of him, breaking his line of sight, but Sam can't move. He can't stay still. He's going to fall apart. He's going to turn to stone. He wants to run, run, out through the mall and back home, he wants to crawl into Dean's chest and stay there forever and never go outside again. Fuck outside. Outside is overrated. Outside is filled with people who couldn't give less of a shit about Sam, going about their days while he falls apart in the middle of a food court. Outside is filled with people who aren't Sam and Dean, living TV lives while they spin out on some highway in Nowhere, America.

"Sammy?" Dean says, and it's so loud, what the hell, Dean.

Sam untangles himself from his little ball of limbs to silently shoosh him, and he watches as the tense line of Dean's shoulders relax infinitesimally from where they were hitched up around his ears, all worry. Dean bats his hands away gently, fine, fine, he'll be quiet.

What happened? asks the moue of Dean's mouth, the furrow between his brows.

Sam shrugs.

That's not an answer.

And Sam knows it's not, but how is he meant to explain it when even he doesn't know what happened? It was just everything, all at once, and it crept under Sam's skin and into his head and he couldn't escape it. He looks up at Dean, helpless, and Dean's hands come up to cradle his face and it's alright. It'll be okay. Sam tips his head into the warmth of Dean's skin, lets his eyes fall closed.

Someone laughs from in the store and Sam flinches, then feels Dean's hands move to cover his ears instead. Sam sighs and leans into Dean's chest. He expects to hate it, being touched, worries that he'll want to shed his skin in a heap at the feeling of it, but it's Dean. Sam presses his forehead into Dean's ribs firm enough to bruise, and Dean pulls him along as he reshuffles on the floor so that Sam is between his legs, wrapped in warmth, anchored to the world. He moves his hands away from Sam's ears and Sam, with a bitter-sick feeling of betrayal, clamps his own over them, pressing hard. But Dean puts his hands on Sam's back instead, rubbing soothingly, and that's better than anything else.

A few moments pass, quietly, just the two of them. Sam’s still stuck in his head, which is tuned into the world like a radio turned up too high, but he does his best to focus on the smooth movements of Dean’s hands up and down his back, fingers running over the knobs of his spine. They’re called spinous processes, and they lengthen throughout the cervical spine but are mostly the same size in the thoracic spine. Sam checked. Dean kicked up only a little bit of a fuss. And when Sam realises that he’s playing that memory in his head, eyelids heavy, he notices that he’s feeling a little better.

As if reading his mind, Dean moves his hands to rest on Sam’s arms, and Sam settles back. He takes his hands away from his ears, blinking hard. His chest feels a bit tight, but he’s okay. He conveys as much to Dean, who looks over him, expression doubtful. But when he sees Sam watching his face he plasters on a grin, rubbing Sam’s arms quickly through his shirt before he moves back, too.

Dean signs for Baby. They don’t have to stay.

Part of Sam wants to leave, but it feels like giving up. And he wants to try the mall, was excited until he became overwhelmed and, if he tries, he can make the adrenaline feel more like anticipation.

“I want to stay." He accompanies the words with their signs. “Can we get pizza?”

Dean kept bringing it up in the car, subtle as a truck, and Sam saw some slices of a vegetarian pizza through the glass of one of the counters. It’s an easy choice to make. Sam doesn’t really feel like pizza, but he knows that Dean will try to cheer him up the same way he cheers himself up. And it works, for the most part. Dean just hasn’t quite realised that the main reason why is because Sam likes seeing Dean happy.

And, fine. Sam knows Dean needs him to be happy, too, and maybe that plays a bigger part in it all than Sam would care to admit. He knows that if he asked to leave, they would be as good as gone. It's enough to make him feel lightheaded, sometimes, the things that Dean would do for him. And it's not even because he has to. He chose Sam, over their dad, over hunting, over the chance to be free from Sam's drama forever. So they'll stay, and they'll get pizza, and they'll buy jackets and underwear and Dean's paraphernalia, and then they'll be gone. Sam just needs to hold on for a few more hours.

Dean beams and Sam feels his cheeks flush in response. Dean's so, so proud of him. He circles Sam's heart through his shirt and Sam feels something bright and beautiful settle in him. It’s contagious.

"That's my boy," Dean says, ruffling Sam's hair.

Sam pushes him away gently, reaching up to fix his hair, and Dean rocks back, still wearing that easy smile. Sam has to look away, eyes settling on the amulet sitting on Dean's chest and shining dully in the crappy change room lighting. Sam doesn't know how he does it. Sam knows better than anyone that life isn't always sunshine and roses but, even with Sam losing his grip over and over, Dean's still here. Maybe it's selfish, but Sam can't help but be desperately grateful. He wouldn't trade where they are now for anything. They're alive now in a way they weren't before, and Dean seems to be genuinely enjoying it. Sam wants to love existing that much.

Dean stands and offers him his hand.

One day, maybe I will, Sam thinks, and he reaches out.

[morbidlongings]

write a fluffy sapphic oneshot with whatever characters you want

... please ?

i'm really shitty at writing fluff but ... here's a little piece about a movie star, her best friend, and a pair of mirrored, heart-shaped sunglasses <3

The girl considers herself a collection of fragmented pieces of poetry.

Her name is Kat and her smile is glamorous. Her hair is dark and pinned into retro waves, sometimes tied behind silk scarves and other times beneath fascinators and felt hats. Her lips are red, her clothes are vintage, and her lovers are many.

But right now Kat isn’t a movie star with an award-winning smile. The top of her convertible is down and her dark hair is being whipped in the wind; her red lips are split into a wide, uncharacteristic grin. Beside her, her best friend is laughing, honey-colored hair streaming like a golden banner behind her as she whoops and sings along with the radio, a girl as full of the sun as Kat was with the moon.

Elise’s lips move along with the lyrics of the song, her hair getting caught on her glossed lips as the wind off of the Pacific ocean tosses it. Her eyes are half closed with ecstasy, her mascaraed lashes fanned across her lightly freckled cheeks like feathers. Kat smiles, her hands on the wheel. Elise could always make her smile.

She is a collection of fragments of poetry, pieces that yearn to settle her head on Elise’s shoulder, to have Elise’s fingers tangle in her own, pieces that imagine Elise doing carelessly, casually intimate things. Adjust the scarf settled in Kat’s hair, clasp a necklace around her neck, smile up at Kat from their bed in the morning, her mouth a rosebud and her honey hair spun sunshine.

Elise sings a lyric, her eyes closed and her hand over her heart. Her blouse’s sleeve slips off of her shoulder - Kat, without taking her eyes off of the highway in front of them, reaches over and tugs it back up. Elise’s hand catches her own, brown eyes like coffee meeting hers. There is something in Elise’s eyes, Kat notices. Her breath might have caught in her throat.

Your glasses are ridiculous, is the only thing Elise says. Her coffee eyes glitter. Kat scoffs a laugh, extracting her hand from Elise’s and steadying the steering wheel. In the rearview mirror, Kat catches Elise’s eye.

Her sunglasses are out of place on her, an icon painted in vintage clothing and red lipstick and glamor like an Old Hollywood starlet. Kat had bought them with Elise months ago, when they had gotten drunk and went to a drugstore to go shopping for orange juice and miscellaneous groceries. A stupid thing, a silly thing, a reckless thing that only two drunk girls in their early twenties would even dream up.

Elise had picked the mirrored, heart-shaped sunglasses from a cheap display and crookedly pushed them onto Kat’s face. Kat had drunkenly laughed and bought them, then and there. Seven-dollar sunglasses on a million-dollar face. The next morning, waking up beside Elise hungover and feeling nothing like a movie star, Elise had put them on Kat’s face again, gently pushing her hair behind her ears.

Kat’s heart might have stopped.

What was it that the articles said about her? Her lips are red, her clothes are vintage, and her lovers are many. How many men had she fucked, women she kissed in bars and alleys and in the dark, people she had left heartbroken and hanging? How many lovers has she kissed and tossed aside, pinning her dark hair back and putting on another layer of lipstick, putting up wall after wall after wall? The industry was brutal, and Kat had to be even more so if she wanted to make it out alive.

They fucked her because she was beautiful and powerful and cold. They fucked her because if they did, maybe that made them beautiful and powerful too. They fucked her because maybe it gave them power over her, made them hope that they could thaw Kat Carter’s cold heart.

But Elise is singing, a living sunbeam who’s been beside Kat’s side for almost two decades. She catches Kat looking at her and offers a glittering, glorious smile - Kat smiles back, genuinely laughs, says you have hair caught in your lip gloss before turning back to the road. The Pacific Coast Highway is long and winding and beautiful. Ahead of them, the sun is setting; maybe Kat and Elise will park the car and go to the beach, chasing the sunset like they had when they were children.

Park the car, Elise says, her eyes crinkling in the corners. Kat wants to smooth the creases out with her fingertips. There’s a scenic outlook there, Elise points. Her nails are painted dark purple, slightly chipped. Always chipped. The sunset is beautiful.

Kat parks.

Elise steals Kat’s hair scarf, tying the pink and gold silk over her hair. Kat beams. Before she opens the convertible’s door, she slips a tube of lip gloss out of her purse and holds the applicator to her rosebud mouth - Kat makes to open her door, but Elise’s hand on her cheek stops her.

Wait, she says, voice teasing. Hold still.

She uses the mirrored, heart-shaped lenses of Kat’s cheap drugstore glasses to apply the gloss to her mouth. Kat’s flushing, her heart beating out of her chest. Elise’s hand is still on Kat’s cheek, her sweet coffee eyes focused as she swipes gloss onto her lips. Despite herself, Kat can’t stop watching.

Strawberry, Kat says, her voice hoarse. Your gloss is strawberry, right?

Peach, Elise replies. Her smile turns devilish. Want to try it?

Yes, Kat wants to plead. She’s never believed in any God, but she wants to sink to her knees right here in her old silver convertible off the side of the PCH and beg. Yes, she wants to pray, let me kiss the gloss off of your lips and taste it, drink in the taste of you like sweet nectar. I never believed in any God, but please.

Peaches are my favorite, is Kat’s only reply. She swings her door open and steps out, her loose dark hair in beachy waves across her shoulders. Elise’s honey hair looks almost strawberry blond in the sunset, two strands pulled in front of her face beneath the scarf. Her lips shine in the light, flecks of glitter and a sheen of gloss. Kat wants to kiss her so badly it’s a tangible ache.

Fragmented pieces of poetry, like this moment. Peaches and gold leaf; sunsets and the California coast; rose-gold, dying sunlight turning the cold gray water into a Monet painting. A beautiful girl, roses and honey and sunshine, smiling at Kat with nothing but affection in her eyes.

Maybe Monet’s paintings had been chasing this.

Kat had fallen in love countless times, on film or in secret or in front of flashing, merciless cameras. But here, she falls in love with the same girl again and again.

It’s always Elise. When would it - why would it ever be anyone else?

Her lips are red, her clothes are vintage, her lovers are many. But here and now, her lips are red, her clothes are off the sales rack at a department store, and her lovers are but dust in the wind. She is Kat Carter, movie star and heartbreaker, and she is in love with stardust.

The poet longs to be the poem, the painter to be the painting. Kat longs to be what the sunset was to Elise. She was completely mesmerized, honey hair fluttering in the wind and her eyes turned towards the water. Kat stands next to her, puts her hands on the outlook’s stone railing.

Elise’s hand gently covers her own. It’s beautiful, she says, her arm pressing against Kat’s. Kat wants nothing more than to hold Elise’s hand, press her fingers to her mouth, put her arms around Elise’s neck and thread her fingers through her hair. It makes her ache, the yearning.

She is beautiful and she is untouchable. She is light on water, a mirage shimmering on burnt asphalt roads, the flick of a paintbrush that gives a painting life; the Mona Lisa’s smile, the look in the eyes of the Girl with a Pearl Earring. She is a breath, a heartbeat, a single step away.

Elise looks over at Kat. Her brown eyes don’t turn gold in the light; Kat has never wanted them to. Her eyes don’t need the romanticism of light eyes to be beautiful. They are deep and dark and rich, slivers of dark chocolate and the depths of the Pacific at night, the exact shade of freshly-brewed coffee in the morning and glittering like the city of angels at twilight.

Kat takes the step, raises a shaking hand and places it on Elise’s cheek. She is gilded in dying sunlight, gold and gloss and peaches and silk. Her lashes are lowered, shadows streaking the rich brown of her irises. Elise’s lips part, and she places her hand at the nape of Kat’s neck, idly twisting one of her dark locks between her fingers.

Suddenly there is hardly any space between them, just Elise’s faint freckles like constellations that Kat could never see and her parted lips, covered in glittering peach gloss. A breeze stirs up Elise’s honey hair, and she briefly smiles as she extricates a few strands from her lips where the gloss caught them. Kat’s heartbeat is on the high line she once saw in New York.

The sun sinks below the horizon. In the afterglow, there are two silhouettes in a scenic outlook on the PCH, beside a silver Mercedes convertible, so close that there was only a sliver of sunset behind them. Kat almost wants to laugh; her movies could never fabricate a moment like this. She didn’t think that a camera could pick up what a moment like this meant.

Elise’s mouth curves into a smile. You’re beautiful.

When her lips touch Kat’s, it’s barely a brush. A butterfly’s touch, there and gone. And then she smiles against Kat’s red lips and kisses her, harder, her other hand buried into Kat’s dark hair. Kat’s fingers are twisted in Elise’s not-quite-strawberry-blond locks, brushing bits of hair away from her face as the wind blows harder. Elise laughs, comes up for air, kisses her again.

And Kat, Kat is flying. She has played lovers and the loved, had played at love herself for a year or ten. But nothing could ever come close to this. It is every swig or shot of liquor, every minute spent burning rubber and soaring just past the speed limit on the road, every reckless decision or movie premiere or brokenhearted ex-lover Kat has ever made, attended, or left behind.

In that moment, the girl is no longer pieces of fragmented poems. She has found her other half and been rendered, even for just a moment, whole.

[speedypandaweasel]

One Big Adventure - a Wilford Warfstache and Abe story (Non-Ship) (2,914 Words)

Thank you for the request @canceltheact! I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

If you would like to submit a request, see the information at the Masterlist and submit through the Q and A!

PSA - THIS IS NOT A SHIP oke, let us begin...

Dazed images fog up the minds of two *very* hungover men as they stagger their way up to the apartment. Abe fumbles his way through the door and over strewn clothes. He continues on and manages to put together the kaleidoscope of scenery that is right in front of him. To his left, a saggy sofa sits and a cheap TV dangerously hangs off the stripping wallpaper by a thread. To his right, a grimy kitchen is on display which even the worst chef in the world wouldn't waste his time in. The other man, however, is blabbering away, slurring his words like a car on an icy motorway. "HA!, I tell *hick* you Abe, I'm so glad I remembered you, you see *hick*, I can't even remember where I put my-" Aaaand he's gone. His body moulds into the cushions that poorly support his droopy frame, and his scuffed platform boots dangle over the side. Abe smiles, slightly soberer than before. Who would have thought that this stock still of a man, whose only aesthetics were the colour beige and veterans, would somehow have a goofy, lighter side to him? All the criminals he's met and caught among the years...

Hold up, has he met anyone? He can't remember any experiences where he HAS met any, so why did he think that? Hm, must be the Tequila talking. Abe hopscotches over the empty Wine and Martini bottles that are decorated across the stained carpet. Damm, William has not been taking care of himself. Mind you, neither has he so he can't really say anything. He arrives into the walk-in kitchen and opens a dusty cupboard. His tired eyes only meet with shot and tumbler glasses.

How much does this Man drink!? Shuffling used plates and greasy cutlery out of the way, he fills a scotch glass with water. Dowsing the liquid felt like heaven. His exhausted physique felt like a body that's been stuck in the desert for a considerable amount of time and didn't know it needed water to survive. Oh, now he feels the headache coming on.

Reader, you know when water tastes funny? It's because your brain hasn't been receiving enough H20 because you've been drinking too many energy drinks. Yeah, that feeling is exactly what Abe is feeling right now. CONTINUING ON!

The scotch glass watches from the draining board whilst the Detective plays the quietest game of the floor is lava, whilst the moustached man is making much more noise. He manages to reach a corridor which he thinks leads towards the bedroom and tiptoes down the tight hall to find a vacant room. On the way, he passes another room. It was Barnum's. His mind was split in two, Does he go in? Or stay out? Through the crack in the door, the catastrophe has indeed spread into his sleeping quarters. A mountain of flamboyant disco clothes gathers dust in front of his Chester draws, the bed's not made and more liquor bottles are having a social gathering on top. Oh William, you may be a murderer, but you need to prioritise yourself. He takes a last look at his passed out flatmate down the hallway, before shutting the guest bedroom door. Grey. It's all he's met with. Much like his exterior. He slips his shoes off and starts to unbutton his off-white shirt. he runs a hand down his chest and over the scar. How the Hell did he survive that? He can't be bothered to go into it right now, he's too tired. He snuggles into bed and does the infamous cold bed dance.

You know the one.

Abe gets out of the tempting bed once more and walks back into the living room. He creeps over to William, the man's mouth catching flies. He carefully takes his enormous shoes off and places them on the floor. Barnum's mismatch socks disappear underneath the blanket. "Night William."

~ A gorgeous smell of Breakfast wanders its way through the apartment and Abe groggily wakes up. His eyes peel open and with a yawn, he trudges through to the living room. Remembering from earlier this morning, he needed to position himself for his dance routine around the non-existent floor. "What are you doing my main man?" Barnum brightly asks, a hearty chuckle accompanies the question. Resided in the pristine kitchen, his big, strong hand holds a Skillet and two China plates are centred on the pebble grey marble island. Abe, however, is currently squatting as though he was playing a game of leapfrog with some imaginary friends. The Detective goes to jump but then is taken back at the sight. The apartment is now spick and span, no more Wine Bottles, no more strewn clothes. The windows are tied wide open and it overlooks the sketchy neighbourhood that they reside in. "How did you do this?" "Do what?" "You know, clean up this quickly?" Barnum checks his watch. It's 7:30 am "Oh well you see, I ironed a nice pair of jeans and found a lovely dandelion coloured shirt. Accompanied by some rainbow braces I think I look quite dashing don't you think so?" "No William, I-I mean the Apartm-AAH!" Abe clings his hand over his head, damm this- "Headache is killing you?" William slides a glass of water over with an Aspirin pill. "And no, I didn't clean the apartment, she did." Wilford looks- wait, why are you looking at me!? "Anywho, we need to get going my slightly hungover companion! But first, breakfast!" Wilford sets a serving plate down of a full English Breakfast: Sausage, an Egg, two cooked Tomatoes, Bacon rashes, Baked Beans and a slice of Buttered Toast. Wow. He didn't know William could cook? The two men got stuck in right away and the TV is turned on. Two bright and very similar faces appear on the screen "Badgers the secret Killer?... And now for the weather, Jim?"

The camera pans to, what they believe, is Jim. Their face resembles a deer in headlights. "I swear, they don't know what they're doing. It's hilarious!" The Detective says with a mouthful of Toast. Barnum laughs, wipes his mouth with a napkin and takes a swig of his Orange juice. "Right! I mean, who is their boss anyway?!" The men eat and laugh their way through their plates talking about what topics they would cover if they were reporters. After a while, they both recline back into their bar stools and the cook starts to tidy up the dirty dishes. "Oh, no, let me do it. It's the least I can do." "You're alright my man, I've got this. Besides, you need to freshen up!" "But whe-'" "First door on your left"

They share a light chuckle. "Thanks Wilford, I really appreciated that," Abe says before going back down the hallway, whilst Wilford rolls his sleeves up and starts to clean the less-silver cutlery.

He smiles. That's the first time he's ever said that to him. "No problem Abe."

~

The passenger door slams shut on the Detective's Vintage SUV and Wiford pulls out a gigantic map from his pocket. This map includes hundreds of paths scrawled with crayons and a hint of Martini can be smelt.

"Are you sure, you know where you're going?" Abe questions. Judging by what that map reads, they are going to get lost very easily.

"Of course I know where I'm going! I am Wilford Motherloving Warftsache after all." A pang of guilt hits the Detective, he genuinely can't remember who he was.

"Ok, Wil, you can drive."

After playing at least 3 rounds of rock paper scissors, or when Wilford won, Abe hesitantly let the murderer drive. God knows where though.

Wilford excitedly thrust the keys into the ignition. He couldn't wait for what the day entailed!

"Careful Willford, you're gonna break the keys!" Abe says through gritted teeth.

"Oh pah-lease! I know how to drive" he retaliates. His brown boot floors the pedal and reverses straight into the iron fence.

"Yep, it's working."

The Detectives face, now pale, grips tighter onto his seatbelt and his feet are glued to the floor. "Wil, of course it's working. Now, step on the ga- nope, that's the brakes Wilford."

Pedestrians quiver in fear as they see a horribly driven brown vehicle screech to a stop and then start again. They have to clamp down on their ears as the monster of a car drives past them down the alleyway, swerving left and right much like the driver's speech the other night.

The SUV survives to the end of the road and dents a stop sign perched, well once, straight on the kerb.

"Will, which route are we taking?" Abe asks as he takes the map from the driver's hands.

"It's the one marked Highway of Life, it's gonna be a good one, trust you me."

"Well, this has got off to a surprising start so why not go for an adventure?" Abe says. He's given up at this point.

~

"LIFE IS A HIIIGHHWWAYY! I WWAAANNNA RRIIDDEE IIT ALLL NIIGGHTT LOOOOONNGG!" The two pop stars start belting out of the car as Wilford drives them to their last stop. Who would have thought that two polar opposites positions of the law would be in the same car together, let alone blasting Disney songs out of the car.

Wilford's hair whips away from his face as the SUV's top winds down.

"LIFE NEEDS A BIT OF MADNESS EH ABE?"

"HELL YEAH IT DOES"

The Afternoon sun blazes down onto their blacked-out sunglasses and the Golden Gate bridge paints a picture for the Detective that prescribes him with a carefree attitude.

Life was his to choose and he was here for it.

~

The SUV turns off the Highway onto Richmond Street. The Afternoon sun glowing dimmer.

Just in time.

Now reader, if you haven't read my WKM Tumblr Song series, then you won't understand this next section.

The SUV passes bountiful shrubberies and picket fences. Cherry Blossom dust drift its way into the car and Wilford starts to tear up.

"You ok Buddy?"

"Yeah, I'm ok." After all his years of interrogation, Abe knows that that answer was a lie. Yet, he didn't want to push it.

The car comes to a halt and is parked underneath a summer coated oak tree.

"Why'd we stop?"

"I want to show you something."

Abe opens the vintage door and steps out. In front of him, wildflowers and grass sway on the cliffs breeze and small pink flowers grow on its edge. Overhead, a sea glistens with sunlight rays and pink and amber hues dust the sky.

Man, this is enough to make a grown man cry.

The cars driver door can be heard shutting and a shadow walks up behind him. An intimate silence roots itself between the two men.

"You may be wondering why I brought you here."

Abe nods, still looking forward, yet intriguingly listening.

The man sighs, "I used to come here all the time as a young lad. We used to have picnics and dance until dawn. We were so free up here. Away from life, away from Duty, and she was away from Him, that was all that mattered. "

His voice breaks.

"But things change, people change and suddenly, I couldn't do that anymore.

That's why I want you to see it."

Wilford wanders over to their spot and picks up one of the pink flowers sprouting through the grass.

"You may have thought of us as the scum of the Earth Detective. But there are two sides to every story."

The Detective joins the Murderer and puts a hand on his shoulder.

Wilford chuckles. The last time he was here, he was completely and utterly alone. He was like- like a freshly born fawn still trying to find his legs into this world that didn't make sense.

But now...but now things are looking a little brighter.

"If there is anything I can do to make it up to you, just name it."

"You can't do anything really, it's just the way this messed up world works."

The two friends sit down in the grass, making fresh new imprints into the cliff edge, next to two fading ones.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure" "How many people have I killed?"

...

That question lingers in the air for an uncomfortably long time. All that can be heard are the lapping of the waves below them and the occasional swallow talking in the trees.

...

"I don- don't know Wilford," Abe breaks the silence, "I should know, but I-I don't.

...

Abe looks at Wilford, his broken and tear-stained eyes manage to glance back before returning to look out at the sunset.

Abe must do something here. But what? He said himself that nothing can be done so what can he do?

He reminisces on the day they were reunited. So much anger, so much confusion. But Wil was so cheerful, not a care in the world!

Now look at him.

And it was all his fault. If only he didn't get involved...

A second flashes by and Abe does something he should have done the second Will did it.

He hugs Him.

...

"I'm sorry Will."

...

Moments cling on for seems like forever and the embrace is broken. The two tear-stained friends look up.

The afternoon sun has now gone beneath the horizon and is replaced with the all too familiar twilight scenery, which glows softly for miles and miles, each star a lantern that has been entrusted with keeping something special.

"There was another reason why I wanted to bring you here."

Wilford wipes his eyes with his sleeve. "Do you see that star, the big one?"

"Yeah" "That's the Evening Star. That Star is the reason why I have hope. And now I want to share that hope with you. I know we got off the wrong foot but since we're in the same boat now, I think it's time I opened up about where I've actually been."

Abe swallows, this man is truly broken, and he can't do anything about it.

"Thank you for trusting me." "We're not done yet. It's your turn!" "What?" "Make a wish." Cautiously, the Detective slowly stands up from his permanent grassy imprint and walks towards the cliff's edge. The man looks around and sees only patches of shrubbery and wildflowers.

And his newfound friend encouraging him to proceed.

He clasps his hands together and wishes hard. His eyes scrunch together as he becomes a child once more as well. His once tight shoulders have finally become relaxed. After so many years of searching for answers, he doesn't need to worry any more.

A single tear is swept away from the Murderers face as he watches on from the patch of grass. He remembers that feeling and the dream he wished for all those years ago. Yet now, his wish is slowly changing.

Granted, he can't remember who he was but bully does he know what he wants to be. And being here for him, at this very moment, is a wonderful way to start it.

Abe's hands fall to his side and he stares out onto the ever stretching view. His feet are glued to the spot and his mind is only fixated on that one goal. Wilford slowly joins his side, already having a hunch on what he dearly wants.

"What did you wish for?" The Murderer asks.

The Detective huckles, "Now if I told you, it wouldn't come true, would it?"

"Very true my friend."

Little did the men know that their newly found wishes were the same.

"Don't you mean, Best Friend?"

CRACK

The heartwarming moment is abruptly stopped by the sky blasting wide open and millions of sounds exploding across the cliff. The light breeze has rapidly sped up into a storm and is propelling thick gusts upon the two.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL NOW!?" Wilford yells at the hole, completely unfazed.

"YOU KNOW WHAT THIS IS!?" Abe yells at his Friend.

"OF COURSE I DO, IT'S TIME FOR WORK."

"WORK!? SINCE WHEN DO YOU HAVE A JOB!?"

"WE ALL HAVE A JOB - WE'RE ACTORS! I'LL EXPLAIN EVERYTHING IF WE DON'T GET SPLIT UP."

"IF WE DONT GET SPLIT UP!? WHERE ARE WE GOING!?" "I HAVE NO IDEA! BUT THAT'S THE FUN OF IT! AFTER THREE, WE WALK IN."

"ARE YOU CRAZY WE'RE GONNA FALL!"

"TRUST ME, WE WON'T."

Wilford grabs Abe's hand and he stares at him. Abe stares back, fear-stricken. Finally, he nods.

"TOGETHER?" "TOGETHER."

"ONE"

"TWO"

"THREE!!!!" The two Actors charge straight over the cliff and into the blinding light.

~

Wilford finds himself in some kind of leather chair with neon lights surrounding him. A script in one and his prop gun in his other.

No pants on, no wonder he feels too comfortable.

He scans his scene and sees his co-actor, Kathryn, running her lines on the other side of the room.

A chair sits opposite him and behind that, a red T-30 minutes until showtime sign is displayed for him.

Abe, however, isn't needed on set yet. His adventure hasn't begun.

But both of their characters will have to cross at one point or another, it's just a matter of time. Yet for a fact, no one can edit their Friendship; Their Joint Wish.

Because, as they say, Life is a road that you're travelling on, when there's one day here, and the next day gone.