#bike wreck

[do-you-know-this-play]

[totallynotamushroominatrenchcoat]

I fractured my inner elbow so that's fuckn great

[mobius-m-mobius]

Lokius in Loki 2x03 - "1893"

[bogkeep]

it's been over a whole month since i had a stupid argument with my parents about driving, a skill that i legally possess but hate doing because i have a special brain illness that makes me fear death and injury, but i'm still chewing over an absurd claim that it's "equally dangerous to go on a 14 hour train ride like you just did". literally how is that more dangerous. in what way. in what world. public transport is nice and good and i like it and i don't have to enter my personal torment nexus

[aiscapades]

out in the middle of nowhere on a bike ride pedaling my life away with barely any phone service and i'm still browsing the touchstarved game tag on tumblr.com

[glow-worms-are-believers]

Misplaced Guilt (dp x dc)

Tim can’t stop moving. He feels like he’s sitting on a bed of needles every time he tries to stop pacing and it is intolerable. His thoughts haven’t let him rest since that day, and every incident up to now has just increased his febrility. Tim closes his eyes as the scene replays itself in his mind.

The man yelling, his head turned away from the road, unable to see the incoming truck bearing down on him. The horrible sound of metal crumpling resonates through Tim's skull as his eyes snap open. He forces himself to take a deep breath. Logically, he knows the man’s death doesn’t solely fall on his shoulders but if Tim hadn’t snuck out, the man would never had been distracted into running straight towards the truck.

Tim’s eyes move towards the newspaper article he printed out, “Fatal Accident near Dixon Docks”. It’s only a few paragraphs, barely anything at all, but it confirms what Tim suspected: the fire spread too fast, there were no survivors.

He’s laid awake for hours in his bed, hoping that the man had not suffered, that it was quick and painless but he fears it wasn’t and when he falls asleep, those fears take form. The nightmares aren’t the reason he can’t stop pacing, though. No, that is not because of the accident, but rather what happened after. At first he’d thought he was being clumsy, too lost in his mess of emotions to act properly, like when he tipped over the bookshelf accidentally or when his model airplane had crumbled in his hands but then it had started escalating. Suddenly, the basement was flooded and his computer had crashed completely and lost everything on it. It was only when it started to spread, when it made Mrs. Mac slip and the nice gardener cut himself deep with the shears, that Tim had known he had to get help.

Because Tim might deserve this punishment, but this curse is now hurting innocent people who do not. And although this is the last person he wants to ask for help right now, Tim has no choice now.

He has to ask for the Batman’s help.

[minisugakoobies]

🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

[neonponders]

Part 24 for @wrecked-fuse ‘s pocketverse 🍜

Part 23

( pt. 7′s art 🎩 ) ( pt. 9′s art 👀 ) ( pt. 14′s art 💨 ) ( pt. 19′s art 🦇 ) ( pt. 20′s art 🍳)

~ on ao3 ~

• • •

“Steve. Explain why you have Christmas lights on bicycles.”

“Because safety,” he answered while putting the tire pump away.

“Uh huh,” Billy hummed skeptically. “Are you sure you didn’t have this prepped up for a date?”

Steve laughed as they waddled out of his garage on the bikes. “Ambiance is everything, isn’t it? You guys tucked in and ready?”

From his pocket came the rallying cry, “Weady!”

“Nighttime smewlls good.”

“Look at our wights on the woad! It’s wike we’re in a movie.”

“You weady, Biwwy?”

Big Billy looked at the littles and smiled at the fluffy collar of small Billy’s aviator jacket and little Steve’s 1920s cocoon coat. “Don’t worry about me. You just stay in there and stay warm.”

“Okay!”

It was not a particularly cold night, but the breeze combed their hair with brisk fingers and fluttered through their jackets. After the initial thrill of movement and wind wore off, the littles started scatting Cyndi Lauper since they didn’t really know the lyrics.

“Bwah. Bwah bwah. Duh duh. Duhn.”

“Nah nah nah! Skee dah!”

“Forw me it’s - ”

“Good ‘nough!”

Steve huffed a laugh and announced, “This way,” for Billy to follow. The melody from Steve’s pocket turned into vocal rumblings as Steve took them off asphalt and onto a dirt road. Soon they steered over as much grass as soil and gravel, finally coming to a tired stop on the hill of the car junkyard. Most of the vehicles were on lower terrain, since tow trucks couldn’t be bothered coming up here, plus it was a safety hazard to pile up cars on a hill without functioning brakes.

“Too many movies,” Billy teased as they stepped on the kick stands.

“Yeah, sure, dumbbells,” Steve countered. “All that muscle isn’t doing much without cardio.”

Billy stuck a sweaty hand into Steve’s hair to shove his head to the side as he walked by, leaving the illuminated bikes behind. “Hey, hey! Precious cargo, here.”

Billy ignored him and commented, “Are we party crashing the homeless’s neighborhood?”

“No, Hawkins only has a couple, and Hopper lets them stay on their streets: Lafayette and Springton.”

Billy leaned against an old pickup as he gazed out over their view of Hawkins, downtown and rural hills alike. His head turned when he heard little Steve coo beside him, “Pwetty.”

He lifted his gaze to the larger Steve. “You move quiet.”

“Gotta be light footed in my house. Just in case.”

Billy huffed, “Sure,” and peeked down at the littles again. Small Steve yawned while little Billy blinked slowly. “Give me those wrappers. You walk around.”

Billy set to wrapping a pair of joints while Steve wandered through the junkyard, catching the occasional lightning bug. Billy heard the littles scream and coo over the insects from afar, terrified and amazed.

“I don’wanna light buwb on my butt.”

“Does it hurt?”

Big Steve answered, “I don’t think so. It’s how they find each other.”

“They don’t sing?”

“Those are crickets and birds,” Steve said, plenty crickets and evening birds around them attesting to this.

“I wike birwds,” little Steve said through another yawn. “D’you think we could wide birwds?”

“I don’t wanna be high up,” small Billy whined quietly, audibly sinking into slumber.

Large Steve murmured, “I sure do,” as he rejoined Billy and accepted his share of green feathers. Before he lit up, though, he hoisted his shirt up so he could kiss down into the pocket.

Small Billy grumbled, “ ‘M not sweepy.”

“It’s for later,” Steve disregarded.

“Mm...good. Cuz I’m not sweepy...”

“Warm enough?”

“Mmhm.”

Steve lifted a triumphant smile to Billy, who loaned his lighter. “How much will you bargain that he dreams of bugs?”

“Nothing, he’s got a shield,” Steve declared before puffing his joint to life.

Billy’s eyelashes were already heavy over his blue irises - looking like clear glass in the darkness. “You’re real confident about a kiss.”

“I’m the dream kisser,” Steve snorted.

Billy laughed at the sky. “The hell does that mean?”

“I’m the stuff of your dreams.”

“You’re a lightweight to this stuff, Harrington.”

“Let me fly a little bit,” Steve scolded. “It’s a fifty-fifty chance weed sends me into an existential spiral instead of a haze.”

Billy hummed a gruff sound of understanding. A lightning bug drifted in front of them. Billy reached a hand out, easily intercepting the lazy line of flight with his fingers. The long black and yellow body recalibrated on his hand before taking off again, glowing in the distance.

Steve crossed his ankles and leaned back against the rusty pickup. For a while, Billy watched the lightning bugs drift around their bicycles, almost matching the warm Christmas lights illuminating their acropolis of the junk heap.

“Thanks.”

Billy had thought Steve relaxed with his eyes closed, but now he looked at him and found those dark eyes on himself. “What are you talking about?”

“Try not to take this as an insult, but. I didn’t expect you to be so good with them.”

Billy wisely chose to diffuse that with an inhalation of sour smoke and leaned back against the truck. “It’s not some talent like you seem to have. I teach kids at the pool. Lifeguards have to be trained.”

“I am lifeguard trained, remember? And I’m an only child.”

“Max and I didn’t know each other until - ”

“I expected you to be better at taking compliments.”

Billy pursed his lips together in deadpan annoyance. Instead of speaking, he taunted Steve but pushing his leg against the back of Steve’s knee that held most of his weight. Steve saw it coming and easily shifted his weight onto his other leg, only briefly uncrossing his legs and rocking back into Billy’s space.

Billy watched him peek down into his pocket to see that the little ones were not disturbed and reiterated, “Still. There’s a reason Hopper brought them to you instead of me.”

Steve scoffed, “Well talent runs out. That’s when skill hopefully takes over.”

Billy chuckled. “Which coach told you that?”

“Swim. He’s right. Talent is beginner’s luck. All I ever did was coast on beginner’s luck. Sometimes it ran out, or I was skilled in things that weren’t actually useful to me.”

“How much do you charge for this therapy?”

It was Steve’s turn to nudge him back. “I’m saying thank you, asshole. For being around when my luck ran out. Somebody with skill needed to be here for them.”

Billy rotated and gripped the lapel of Steve’s jacket, bodily moving him so they faced each other. Steve let him.

“Don’t call me an asshole.”

Steve, the brat, lifted his joint between them and took his time inhaling. “Then it’s butthead.” But then he exhaled upward, making the curl hanging over Billy’s forehead wiggle. Billy watched, dumbstruck, as Steve wagged his own head in Billy’s face, making his voluminous arching hair swish around Billy’s curl.

“We could joust. Or. What’s jousting?”

“You mean sword fighting,” Billy supplied, his voice barely over a whisper.

A dopey smile lifted Steve’s features. “Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Billy exhaled.

“Yeah.”

Billy couldn’t really say who closed the distance. He lifted his face and Steve’s mouth was already there. Billy’s heart crushed under the softness of Steve’s lips. By the time cold panic tickled Billy’s mind like raindrops from the sky, Steve was already kissing him more, making Billy feel hot all over.

Steve inhaled Billy’s smell: all clean clothes, smoke and sour, and something darkly sweet. Fresh, even. Multifaceted, like the man he let his eagerness kiss and kiss and kiss again; a long burning curiosity finally being quenched...

Satisfaction turned the page into new demands. Billy felt the wet, hot tickle of Steve’s tongue against the seam of their lips. Steve’s brows floated up as Billy’s tongue pushed between his lips. In all the ways Billy smelled good, he tasted better, and the vocalized sigh that came out of him made Steve’s face go slack, free for Billy’s mouth to plunder.

Steve felt himself stir in his jeans, even more so as Billy got a grip on his belt loops and pulled their pelvises flush together. He had no idea when his hands lifted to rest on Billy’s shoulders, but they were there now and one was creeping up to hold the side of Billy’s neck, the basin of his thumb fitting underneath the curve of Billy’s ear.

For how hot and heavy they got, the weed made them groggy and worse -

Steve’s stomach growled as loudly as if a ghost engine had awoken in one of the cars. Billy retreated enough to make eye contact with him. Steve both defended and dodged his accusatory gaze with, “We left the food at home, didn’t we?”

“That was a terrible idea.”

“Will you make out with me after second dinner?”

Billy grimaced slightly. “When we reek of garlic and soy sauce?”

“We already reek of garlic and soy sauce.”

“Oh. Well, that’s fine, maybe.”

“Maybe!” Steve huffed, but it got swallowed up by Billy kissing him loudly and tugging him toward the bikes.

[plumbogs]

transparent bike image... where are they going

[shitpost-it-tristan]

I can't believe OK, LOOK

I was messing around while writing..extremely long contractions, and holy shit. The process of it, yall need the entire process.

It started as

y'all'dn't've

Then

y'all'dn't've'ed

And the FINAL FORM WAS—

y'all'd'nt've'd'd'I'd'nt've'd'y'all't've'd✨️

WhaHT,,, thE FUuHYUuGH'cK, IsS WROoNnGWItHmMM—

Tamora after hearing ✨️that shit✨️:

*starts the sentence inNA sOft toNe💀*

Felix, 😊

(Man the emojis,,, She's going through the stages of GRIEF—)

No cause she's like,, "where's your hammer. You—

what😐 t h E 🤨

Ffff—

😮‍💨🤚

What. 🥲

The F U C K😫

A R E Y O U s S A Y I N G👹

yo O U K N O W W H A T,,,,

*laARGEINHALE* ✨️I ✨️

c A N F I X 🔨— "

(Oh boy I'm cringing😬)

[youngpettyqueen]

they should've done an episode where BJ crashed a motorcycle just because Hawkeye deserved to have an episode where he could spend the majority of it telling him 'I TOLD YOU SO'

[jdramastuff]

Murasame? Why is he here?!

[thompsborn]

WEEWOO WEEWOO IM CRYING AGAIN

[kalosstarters]

I just suddenly realized that the only person who actually got her bike back after Pikachu destroyed it was Misty :’D Rip in pieces May and Dawn’s bikes.

[orcelito]

Ok but seriously imagine a 5'3" they/them wearing all black with 2 inch heel leather boots sitting on the floor beating the Shit out of some wooden boards with a hammer and cracking jokes about how the nails need to come out (along the lines of "it's okay, we're accepting!") with their lesbian manager

And you just got a snapshot of my day

[fire-in-the-goat]

It's just like the movies! =o