#wheelie Wednesday

[crownmoto]

[zikbitume]

@WorldSBK #WheelieWednesday @Reddingpower #2023SoFar #AUSWorldSBK

[howlingday]

YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

[melonyfelonyfellonme]

...

[myimaginaryradio]

Shakin' The Blues - Screamin' Cheetah Wheelies

[1d1195]

Toothpaste I

For you: 🐱 I hope you are feeling better and this is a little something to make you happy. Been thinking about this for a while.

~1.6k words

“Okay, don’t write emails to dentists when you’re in pain,” she shook her head tilting her head back to look at the ceiling.

Dr. Styles chuckled. His laugh was warm, like a chocolate fountain. Or a blanket on a cold January day. “I don’t have patients on Wednesdays,” he murmured.

Twenty-eight was her least favorite number. She dreaded the entire year when she finally hit her twenty-eighth birthday. It seemed like an entire year was going to mock her and she was right.

She got two cavities that year.

Twenty-eight was the number of teeth she had left after her wisdom teeth were pulled when she was sixteen. Twenty-eight was the number of brackets on her teeth that held her braces together when she was eighteen. Cavities plagued her. Sensitivity. Special mouth wash and special toothpaste were needed for the upkeep of her teeth.

When the pain started in her mouth again, she was frustrated, exhausted, and sad.

But this was the second time this tooth had to be filled. It wasn’t the first time her dentist had to fill a tooth more than once. She looked up a second office in response. Her heart was fluttering with anxiety. She had brought a book to read but she couldn’t focus. Her head was starting to ache. She left work early which stressed her out to no end because her boss was a dick and even though she should have just found a new job, she knew she wouldn’t find a better pay entry-level position than any law firm nearby. Her phone hadn’t stopped vibrating with messages and requests.

An hour. All she wanted was an hour to read her book and mourn the loss of her tooth enamel. Frustrated tears filled her eyes. Her mouth hurt and her head hurt.

“Dr. Styles is ready for you, Miss,” the hygienist said sweetly. Taking a deep breath, she collected her book back into her bag and headed toward the patient room with the hygienist down the hall. “Have a seat,” she smiled kindly. “M’just going to get you ready and then Dr. Styles will be in to look you over.”

She could feel her phone vibrating against her hip. The to do list she was anticipating was enough to amplify her headache and she was so close to crying the pain in her tooth was practically welcomed to relieve her of the anxiety and stress she was feeling.

“Good morning, love,” the dentist came in. Dark blue scrubs adorned his tall frame. He looked so handsome it left her speechless. He was looking at the computer reading over the history of her work and latest x-rays from the previous office. “Got some pain, hmm?” She nodded silently, trying to figure out how she didn’t know ahead of time that the dentist was hot as could be. That couldn’t be fair. “Y’okay, love?” He hummed glancing from the screen, his eyebrows pinched together.

“Yeah, just uncomfortable,” she murmured. “Busy day.”

He sat on the little wheelie stool and turned to look at her. His eyes were vibrantly green, his smile was sweet but sympathetic at the same time. “S’quite a bit of work y’had done, love,” he murmured and grabbed a pair of gloves to put on. “Y’got beautiful teeth in there,” he assured her.

“They’re always filled with cavities,” she muttered bitterly.

“M’sorry,” he frowned. “I noticed that myself, actually.” She felt like she was disappointing him by getting cavities. Although she had just met him, she didn’t want to disappoint Dr. Styles, which was such a bizarre worry. “Do y’need t’get that before I get started?” He glanced at the bag by her hip.

She sighed, grabbed her phone. “Hello?”

“Where are you?” Her boss snapped so loudly she pulled the phone from her ear. Either Dr. Styles didn’t hear (which she didn’t see how) or he was being kind enough to ignore it.

“A dentist appointment. I sent you an email and put it in your calendar—”

“I need your help. Now.”

There was no argument to be had in his tone.

“Mr. Dalecki,” she started. “I’m very sorry, I’ll be there in a bit but I’m in so much pain—” Her voice cracked, and she felt the tears so close to the surface. Overwhelmed by her work and her pain.

“I don’t care.”

She opened her mouth to agree or argue, she wasn’t sure what was going to come out of her mouth but then suddenly her phone wasn’t in her hand.

“Mr. Dalecki, was it?” Harry said into the phone. “Dr. Harry Styles. She’s in immense pain and I’m insistent I take care of her cavity today. It might be a root canal. She’s in no condition to work today and probably not tomorrow either. Doctor’s orders. I’ll write her a note whatever you need, but she will not be in today,” Harry put her phone on the counter away from her as it started to vibrate again. “M’sorry I suggested getting it,” he said and held out the tissue box on the counter.

She sniffled. “I need a root canal?” She whimpered.

He chuckled. “Oh, love, no. M’sorry. I jus’ wanted that man off the phone,” he shook his head. “M’sorry,” he repeated.

“Oh,” she sniffed again. “I’m really sorry. I’m so overwhelmed and upset. I’m almost terrified of being here. I always have issues and my teeth are the worst,” she cried. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, s’alright, love,” he assured her and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Y’take care of your teeth right?” He asked.

“Religiously,” she assured him. “I brush three times a day. I floss daily sometimes twice. I use prescription toothpaste and mouthwash. I don’t eat lots of candy and I drink through a straw and water down juice or anything too sugary,” she had tears falling down her cheeks.

“Okay, love,” his thumb gently moved up and down her shoulder. She had never heard of a dentist having good bedside manners. “S’okay, m’gonna take a look now. Can I have y’sit back?” He murmured and slid back briefly on the chair and closed the door. She sniffled.

“I’m so sorry. I’m usually more put together than this,” she laughed tearily.

“S’okay I can tell y’frustrated. M’sister gets like this sometimes.”

She sniffled. “I’m sorry,” she repeated.

He turned back, put a mask over his pretty face so she had no choice but to look at his gorgeous eyes magnified by the little glasses and light that shone in her face. “Y’have really nice teeth, love,” he assured her.

“You have to say that to everyone,” she mumbled when he turned to mark something in the computer.

He chuckled. “I do not. M’sorry you’re in pain, love,” he was gentle as he placed the little mirror into his mouth. “Hmm,” he hummed.

“S-bad, in’-it?’

“No, love. S’not bad,” he murmured quietly. “Relax y’fingers and shoulders, please. Y’making me nervous,” he chuckled very softly. Like he had stuck his dental tools in her mouth a hundred times. “S’jus’ a little cavity.”

Tears sprang back to her eyes, and she nodded. “I figured.”

“M’sorry, love. S’little, though I promise. Out of here in half an hour. No root canal—I promise.”

She sniffed and glanced away. “I’m sorry,” she apologized again. “I’ve had such an overwhelming week and I put this off and it’s not even a big cavity and I’m in so much pain—” She started to cry again, and Harry pulled the glasses and light off his eyes and listened so intently, his face empathetic and kind as she bubbled with tears. She could hear her phone vibrating. “I’m pretty sure I’m going to get fired,” she croaked.

Harry frowned, turned to the cabinets, and searched for medicines to help her. He pulled his gloves off. “Let’s jus’ sit and relax for a bit,” he suggested handing her two pills and filled a little cup of water for her. She wiped her eyes and took it gratefully.

“Don’t you have other patients?”

“No,” he chuckled. “That intake form y’filled out?” Dr. Styles turned to the computer again and cleared his throat. “I am sorry to bother you, but I am in so much pain and need emergency dental help tomorrow if you’re able. My current dentist has filled this tooth twice and I think I’m going to yank the tooth out with pliers, and I don’t HAVE pliers so I will have to go buy some and I will probably pull it out in the middle of the hardware store and everyone will—”

“Okay, don’t write emails to dentists when you’re in pain,” she shook her head tilting her head back to look at the ceiling.

Dr. Styles chuckled. His laugh was warm, like a chocolate fountain. Or a blanket on a cold January day. “I don’t have patients on Wednesdays,” he murmured. Her heart skipped a beat. His kindness was unlike any dentist she had before. It felt so unnerving but nice in the best way. “But I made an exception,” he explained. “Couldn’t imagine someone pulling out a tooth at a hardware store.”

Her heart was fluttering. “I hate dentists.”

He laughed, wholeheartedly. “Even me?”

“Well...you haven’t drilled my tooth yet,” she mumbled. “But you might have gotten me fired.”

“I couldn’t in good faith let y’go back t’work, love. Not when you’re in so much pain.”

She looked at her lap. “I always have cavities.”

“M’gonna get to the bottom of it, love. Right after we fill this little guy.”

“My second bicuspid?”

“Should have been a dentist, hmm?” he smirked at his computer making notes.

“I’ve had so much work done,” she explained. “Half way through law school I thought about becoming a dentist.”

“Well, if he does fire you,” he turned back to her with a pointed expression. “And based on the reaction y’had, I think only an idiot would fire you. I’d gladly have y’work here,” he assured her. “Match whatever he paid you and then some,” he promised.

She frowned, feeling overwhelmed, sad, and relieved beyond belief.

“Thank you, Dr. Styles.”

“Call me Harry, love.”

--

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If you like this, check out my masterlist for more of my writing.

[suzukiblu]

For WIP Wednesday: YJ accidental baby acquisition

"Kenley, Super-Cycle. Super-Cycle, Kenley," Kon says. "They're ours. Some assholes in lab coats made 'em so I broke their shitty lab and busted Kenley out."

The Super-Cycle beeps excitedly and pops a wheelie, then loops another circle around Kon and Kenley. Kon laughs. Kenley frowns that threat-assessment frown of theirs again. Tim continues to be wary of said frown.

[tracingpatternswrites]

Wednesday WIP

Thanks for the tag @heartofspells, my darling 😘 Since it's past midnight, I guess this is officially a Wednesday WIP.

I also gently nudge @soloorganaas in the hope of another RBWWB snippet because I am obsessed as we all know. Also poking @theresthesnitch and @puuvillaa if you feel inspired and have something to share.

I'm behind on Mafs but I promise you all that the next chapter is very, very close to being finished and I can't wait to share it with you. I'll share this little snippet while you all wait so patiently.

(If you haven't read it yet, this is a good time to catch up here)

There was something about stepping out of the train station in Brighton that immediately made Remus feel at home. The air was somehow higher there, the sound of seagulls constantly present in the distance. Even though the sea was a bit of a walk away from the station, Remus imagined he could still sense it underneath the usual smell of cigarette smoke, exhaust and chips from the chip shop. They had been granted a couple of hours on their own before Matt was due to join them in order to properly document their last night together before they were due to go their separate ways. Remus was grateful for it, and he was relieved that they had agreed that putting cameras into his flat for this one day was too much work. Sure, it was awkward to have Matt trail behind them at all times, especially when they were out and about, but by now they were both so used to it that they barely thought about him. He paused by the side of the road as he took a deep breath, and he felt Sirius stepping up behind him. “I haven’t been in Brighton for years,” Sirius said as Remus turned to look at him. Sirius looked good, as always, dark sunglasses obscuring his eyes and shielding them from the bright sun that was beating down on them. There were a lot of people in motion around them, they clearly weren’t the only ones deciding to spend the day by the beach. Remus tightened his grip on his wheely bag, but before he could start moving he felt Sirius’ hand cover his. His husband gently pried his fingers off the handle to replace them with his own. “Let me take that.” “I can drag my own bag,” said Remus, but when Sirius grinned at him he couldn’t help but to smile back at him. “I know,” Sirius said easily as he started walking. “But I want to.” Remus didn’t argue, simply shook his head a little as he followed Sirius. They didn’t talk much as they walked, there wasn’t much point as they squeezed past students and couples and families who all seemed to be moving as one towards the lure of the water. Remus tried to make sense of what he was feeling. They had had a good few days since Sirius had spoken to Minerva and their conversations flowed easier. They hadn’t made any decisions yet, but at least they had started speaking about the things that mattered. Remus still couldn’t shake the feeling that they were running out of time though. They had two more days before they were going to meet with the experts to decide whether or not they wanted to stay married. They would spend the day together but tomorrow Sirius would go back to his house in London and Remus would stay here. Two more nights before their entire future was decided, and this time it would be different. Remus would know what he was walking into. It wouldn’t be the complete shock of marrying a total stranger; this time it would be them choosing each other… or not.

[charlesandmartine]

Wednesday 25th December 2024

Happy Christmas, everyone from Sydney.

We awoke with the sun already climbing the totally, wall to wall, cloudless blue skies and the sound of bin collections being made! No rest there. It is always fascinating to watch the bin man here, and I refer to him in the singular because often they have trucks operated by one person, a mechanical arm appears to the side, grapples with the wheelie bin, lifts it high and tips the contents to areas we would not wish to visit. The bin is then returned, upright to whence it came. That's efficiency. However, having praised them such, on walking down to the beach, a truck came along with a full crew of three. Maybe they all wanted to work on Christmas Day.

We joined a long stream of people heading for Manly Beach, passing a garden proclaiming, I assume, that the inventory of animals in the Holy stable has expanded to include 4 kangaroos. We have never seen the beach so crowded. Beach and sea safety are taken extremely seriously on these large public town beaches. Currents are the main concern when there are no jellies or sharks to worry about. The strategy is to confine bathers into managed areas. Therefore, flags are erected about 50 metres apart, and that is your allocated bathing space with an undetermined sea space out to sea. There will be a few of these designated zones, and a lifeguard is positioned to ensure there are as few drownings as possible. Outside of these zones are non-designated areas where you shall not go. A spare lifeguard will patrol these areas on a quad bike with a huge tannoy on the front. Any sighted miscreant will be hunted down, and the bike will be aligned with a swimmer such that the horn is directed precisely in their direction out to sea. What follows is an incomprehensible barrage of hysterical abuse with the intention of redirecting the felon back into safer waters or removing them altogether from the sea. The words may not be entirely deciphered, but the message is seemingly understood, and usually, the desired result is achieved.

In between beach sessions, a stroll to Shelly Beach, and to celebrate Christmas in our own special way; a Coles mince pie washed down with coke.

It has been a quiet but reflective day today. We were thinking back to the carols yesterday at the Cathedral. It very much reminded me of our last visit here watching a Shakespeare play at the opera house. It was entirely odd hearing the beautiful language of the bard being uttered in Australian nasal tones. The same might be said for the liturgy. When an Australian voice speaks it, it sounds somehow incongruous. But I guess we became familiar with it after a while. The Dean said he has been told to start and end his address with a joke. So he asked, "What is King Wenceslas' favourite pizza?" Answer, Deep Pan Crisp, and Even. Well, you can imagine the thigh slapping laughter, can't you. Imagine away because we didn't get it, but there was a slight snigger. The second joke was indistinguishable from the rest of the chat.

In due course, the Coles pork joint struggled to an agreed completion in cooking, the potatoes kind of looked roasted, and we sat down in the sunshine to celebrate an antipodean Christmas dinner, with of course a glass or two of SB.

Tomorrow, Boxing Day is the Sydney to Hobart Yacht race. We intend to position ourselves to watch it leave the harbour.

ps. The nativity story last night was translated and updated slightly to suggest that the reason for the adoption of the stable was that there was no 'spare room'.

pps. Forget the myth of Aussies on the beach having BBQs on Christmas Day. We walked the length of Manly Beach and smelt one BBQ, and actually saw another. That's it.

[katytheinspiredworkaholic]

WIP Wednesday

Dreamwalker (Eddie’s Story) Summary: Steddie Canon compliant/fix-it fic paired with a corresponding story in Steve’s POV, each chapter happens in tandem with the other. Eddie wakes up alone in the Upside Down, not knowing how he survived, and unable to reach anyone topside in Hawkins. Wounded and alone, he finds shelter at the Harrington’s house (the place is a damn fortress after all), and while hiding out there discovers that he has gained the ability to walk into other people’s dreams.

(unbeta’d snippet from Chapter 02; the second dream that Eddie encounters where it belongs to Steve and not himself. He’s still learning the ropes on the dream-walking, rules tbd. Some more information is revealed on both sides, although Steve still believes Eddie is dead, and Eddie is just glad to be around another human being. Especially one that is comes in the shape of Steve Harrington. There are talks about his death, as well as some characters that appear or are mentioned in the dream that Eddie does not know are alive/hurt/dead, and in this particular fic Eddie is gay instead of bisexual. I personally support all orientations for him. We just love Eddie given the chance to love in this household, no matter what shape or form that comes in.)

—

When Eddie dreams that night, he’s surprised to find himself in a very vivid version of Hawkins.

It’s evening, and the sky is a beautiful watercolor dusk of blues and pinks and purples. It’s not too hot, like summer, but no chill of autumn creeps under his clothes, and if he’s not mistaken – he can hear the sound of laughter and bike wheels clicking just down the road. He blinks himself into awareness, sitting atop the picnic table outside of his trailer like he’s done many a night with his Uncle Wayne. Smoking cigarettes and talking about everything and nothing at all. But Wayne isn’t there, and when he looks over to the road that runs alongside Forest Hills Trailer Park he can see Max booking it around the corner with her skateboard under her feet and the rest of their crew on their bikes waiting for her. Looking up to no good. Eddie’s favorite kind of activity.

He tosses his cigarette to the gravel, and starts making his way over – hoping to catch them – and finds another person walking along the road a few yards ahead of him. A very familiar person, and Eddie (God help him) actually grins at the sight. Ever since the first time he’d dreamed of Steve (or with him, jury’s still out on that one) Eddie had had nothing but nightmares and the deep sleep of blackness that was almost just as scary. Steven Harrington was a sight for sore eyes.

“Harrington!” he calls into the evening air, making Steve pause and look back at him. He’d been keeping an eye on the kids, the group making their way somewhere on this side of town with the kids doing wheelies and trying to hop the curb while Max flipped her skateboard and schooled all the boys with her skills.

“Munson,” Steve greets him, a smile curling at the side of his mouth handsomely and hanging back until Eddie caught up to him. Such a gentleman. “I see you’ve decided to join us.” 

Eddie has no idea what he is talking about, but it’s a dream and Eddie was born to role-play so he just shrugs his shoulders and gives Steve a grin that’s more devil-may-care than mischievous (like he was going for). “Yeah, well, I figured it was time for me to make an appearance in the land of the living.”

Steve frowns at him, hands in his pockets, and the change in expression is so quick it's comical.

“That’s not funny.”

Eddie cackles, despite himself. “It’s a little funny. I almost died, man, let me own it.”

He doesn’t mean to say it the way he does; but just like that, the tension leaks out of Steve’s stupidly broad shoulders – and the dream makes sense once more. It can continue without bringing up the awkward fact that Eddie did die. Out there. But right here, right now, he’d made it, and they were walking the weirdly vacant streets of Hawkins while the sun set as slow as molasses on the horizon.

But it’s nice, this atmosphere around them. The day laying itself to rest, the kids in the background, he and Steve shooting the shit as they walk at a leisurely pace. Yet, the kids never go too far out of sight, and the sun never sets too low, and the streets seem to go on for miles no matter how many blocks they walk. Eddie eventually pulls out a blunt and lights up, offering it to Steve as they walk. Only about a foot of space between them, shoulders bumping when they meander too close.

“So where are we going, again?” he asks, taking the blunt back from Steve after letting him have the green hit. The guy's lung capacity from being a swimmer all those years really comes in handy, there, the cloud of smoke he lets out is impressive to say the least.

“The Byers place? Family dinner?” Steve says it like questions, although they are very much statements. Eddie had no clue that was their destination. “Joyce and Hopper have them all the time, and you better be glad you decided to come tonight before you got on their bad side. You’ve missed too many already.”

Hopper.

This really was a dream.

Eddie coughs on his exhale, choking on it more like, and spits onto the ground frantically to get the taste of marijuana out of his mouth. “Shit! Jesus Christ.” He immediately puts out the blunt on the bottom of his dirty white high-tops, hopping on one foot to do so while Steve hovers nearby incase he topples over. “You coulda warned me! Fucking Hopper.” But Eddie is all smiles as he says it. Because Hopper, man that had been a blow to the gut when he’d died last year. He missed that man’s hard-ass mug, even more so during the whole ‘hiding from the police’ incident that just occurred. Eddie couldn’t help but think that if Hopper had been around he wouldn’t have been on the run, or hunted down so viciously by all of Hawkins. 

“He’s not a cop, anymore,” Steve informs him, laughing at his scatter to hide his contraband.

“Yeah but he’s busted my ass far too many times for me to show up at his HOUSE reeking of the devil’s lettuce.”

Steve laughs loud and carefree into the night, and Eddie wishes he could bottle up that sound and keep it forever. He doesn’t know if he’s ever heard it from Steve before.

He spends the rest of their walk doing his utmost best to get him to laugh like that over and over again.

Eventually, they make it down the rows of suburban houses and into the wooded outskirts. Where the Byers live. Everyone in town avoided it after the youngest Byers kid died and then came back to life. Eddie never really got to ask the more in-depth questions about that, Henderson and Mayfield had kind of glossed over it. But it definitely had something to do with the Upside Down.

Then, before he could blink, they arrived at the little one-story house hidden beneath towering trees and bracketed by the forest. Eddie has never been here before. He imagined a decrepit place, after it being empty for so long and no one buying the property. But it looks well cared for. The driveway is full of cars and the kids' bikes are tossed in the grass, and there’s laughter coming from the backyard. And Eddie hesitates. This place, this home, it feels so established. There’s so many details. Is this what was actually happening out there, right now?

“So this is your dream, is it?”

Steve stops when Eddie speaks, turning around to find him still standing in the middle of the driveway among fallen leaves and not taking another step towards the house. He looks at Eddie weirdly, confusion creasing into his expression as he squints his eyes.

“What?” It would be a weirdly specific question, if Harrington realizes he’s dreaming. Eddie isn’t sure, so he swallows and kicks at the leaves on the ground. 

“This,” he nods to the house. “This is what we fought for? No one is dead. Everyone is here. Family dinners.” It hurts Eddie’s empathetic little heart more than a bit, that this is what Steve dreams of. This is what makes him look so content, unlike the state of stress and distress he’d seen for days on end over Spring Break.

“Yeah, Munson. This is it. This is everything I’ve ever wanted.” Steve tries to say it sarcastically, it sort of comes out that way, but the real meaning behind the words shines so genuinely in his eyes Eddie feels fondness blossom in his own chest. ((This is everything he’s ever wanted. Family Dinner. Everyone alive and safe.))

God, Eddie was so fucked. And about Steve fucking Harrington, too. How was this his life?

“...are you sure I should come in? I mean,” Eddie kind of gestures to himself. Every inch of his appearance screams he’s someone that doesn’t exactly fit into a ‘family dinner’ scenario. He’d spent a long time cultivating that look, don’t get him wrong. But he’s not exactly the guy you bring home to meet the parents, anyway. Drug dealer, three-time senior, closer to being able to buy beer than getting his diploma or a real job. Eddie has no illusions about his situation.

Steve looks legitimately offended.

“Of course you should come in.”

As if there was no other explanation. No argument whatsoever. Not to him. It makes butterflies the size of those damn demobats start to flutter about in Eddie’s stomach. He covers the sensation the best way he knows how.

“Aww, Harrington,” he coos, twisting a little and swaying like a schoolgirl in pigtails – dragging a strand of hair across his face for good measure. He can pantomime with the best of them. “You’d miss me that much if I wasn’t there?” 

“Yes.” 

Steve doesn’t hesitate, and doesn’t take the bait of Eddie trying to twist this into an unserious scenario. Hell, Eddie isn’t sure Steve pauses to breathe first before he answers. And Eddie’s eyes go a little wider when that about knocks the wind out of him. His charade shattered and broken apart in his hands. 

But Steve doesn’t act any wiser to Eddie’s minor melt down, just shakes his head with no playfulness in sight. He can’t seem to look away from Eddie for anything, either. It’s so quiet his ears ring. Even the slight breeze has stopped blowing against them. 

“It’s not right. If you’re not here. With all of us. With me.”

Eddie feels like he’s having heart palpitations.

“You… you died, Eddie,” Steve presses, earnest, and when did he start walking closer? “You actually died down there. I did CPR on you forever trying to bring you back.”

“You did?” Eddie asks, the words nearly lost by the hum of the evening air around them.

“Yeah. I did.” Steve blinks, a shutter of a thing, and then he smiles at him softly. “Thank God, right?” And then the dream story tries to slide back into place, a little more disjointed than before, and Eddie isn’t quite sure Steve believes it to be true either. Grasping at it desperately, for his own sake. Not knowing that Eddie is aware it’s a dream, too.

But that’s an existential ideal for another day. Eddie still has to recalibrate everything that just transpired for a minute. Holding up a hand to get Steve to stop talking for a moment so he can wrap his head around it.

“You,” he points to Steve, then turns the finger back to himself, “gave me mouth-to-mouth.”

“Yeah,” Steve shrugs. Completely unbothered. “I’m certified. Lifeguard, remember? Co-captain of the Swim Team?”

“How could I forget,” Eddie laughs, a lightly maniacal thing, running his hand through his hair just to ground himself. “Jesus Christ, Steve Harrington gave me the kiss of life and I wasn’t even awake to appreciate it. My poor little gay heart, high school me would be devastated.”

“You’re still in High School,” Steve points out with an incredulous smile, Eddie flipping him off on instinct. But then Steve does a full physical double-take. “Wait – what did you just say?”

Eddie stares at him like a deer in the headlights for all of 2.3 seconds.

Okay, dream-sharing time is over.

“And that’s enough for this round of ‘Eddie Munson Opens His Big Fat Mouth’.” He steps up into Steve’s space, turning him by the shoulders and backing him up against the side panels of his own BMW. Eddie would know that damn sedan anywhere. “Time’s up, big boy. Back to bed.” Steve looks confused, as if Eddie is speaking in tongues, and a spark of alarm grows in his widening brown eyes. Eddie is close enough to watch it dawn on him. Like he remembers. 

Can’t risk that shit.

So Eddie winks at him, all bravado, and taps the other man twice on the cheek. 

“Until next time, Harrington.”

—

tbc

—

Series Snippets:

- Dreamwalker (Eddie’s Story) (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)

- Subconscious (Steve’s Story) (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)

[klcthebookworm]

WIP Wednesday

And in true Biker Mice mentality, Hannah's not about to let Vash face an enemy alone.

Vash pushed up and out of Monev’s grip, stepping on Monev’s face mask to leap over him. The manacles hit the floor as Vash darted through the hole in the wall. Milly-ma’am dodged to the other side where the desk used to be. Hannah and Chuck shoved back against their wall where the sheriff was frozen in terror. Vash snatched his gun up off the floor and is out the door before they can blink.

Monev fired briefly through the open doors as he slowly sauntered to them and paused as he looked. “It’s true what I was told about this guy. He’s a complete chicken shit.” And then the muscle-bound wrenchhead loped after Vash.

The sheriff wasn’t moaning now, but he was breathing like he had done all the running Vash had. Milly-ma’am ignored him as she went into the cell block. “Meryl, are you okay?”

Hannah scrambled for the outer doors. She can’t seen either Vash or Monev on the dark street, but she heard people still enjoying their early evening. And some alarmed screaming from the direction of their hotel.

Inside the office, Chuck said, “We told you Vash didn’t do it. Now do you believe he was framed so that guy could get him?”

A bright light filled the street before the riderless black bike squealed around the corner. Hannah ran out to meet her, swinging on while the bike still rolled. Her new boots grabbed the foot pegs she installed for her legs much better than her sneakers had done. She thrust her helmet on and activated the face shield. “Battle mode activate.”

The bike’s main laser cannon and the front fork’s side missile and bola bolt slid out. A grid of the town with two blips moving fast on Hannah’s face shield. Good, the bike’s sensors already had a lock on Vash and Monev.

Hannah grinned. “Let’s show this town how we ladies dance.”

The bike popped a wheelie and charged after Vash and Monev.

“No fair!” Chuck yelled over the radio transmitters between the helmets. “I want to help too!”

“Help Meryl and Milly-ma’ams!” Hannah yelled back.

The bike turned on her speakers and blared out one of Metallica’s recognizable opening riffs, that made the guitars sound like revving engines. “Give me fuel, give me fire. Give me that which I desire, ooh!”

Hannah howled during the solo music and focused on the town map. Vash was in the lead, taking the shortest route to the town’s limits, but it was the side of town filled with saloons. And that’s were all the people who were still awake were. “Battle plan: get ahead of Vash and clear the road so we can get that wrenchhead Monev and his firepower away from the civilians.”

“Battle plan accepted. Intercept course plotted.” The bike printed along side the map grid as she beeped affirmative and fired her rockets.

“Yeah! Turn on, I see red. Adrenaline crash and crack my head. Nitro junkie, paint me dead. And I see red.”

Hannah held on as the bike drove up the sturdiest building on this street and shot across the rooftops. These buildings were only two to three stories tall, no problem for the bike and she was free to really pour on the speed with Metallica singing encouragement.

“A hundred plus through black and white. War horse, warhead. Fuck 'em man, white-knuckle tight. Through black and white.”

The taller buildings were all clustered around the plant bulb. They reached the end of the buildings and the bike fired her rockets again as they dropped off the roofs and back to the street. The civilians gaped watching them settle on the ground again. “Aooooow!” Hannah howled. “Take cover! Bullets will be flying!” The bike revved and surged forward as the chorus blared.

“Ooh, on I burn. Fuel is pumping engines. Burning hard, loose, and clean. And I burn, churning my direction. Quench my thirst with gasoline. So give me fuel, give me fire, give me that which I desire. Hey!”

The civilians screamed and dived through the doors of the buildings.

“Good! Stay there until Vash the Stampede has left town!” Hannah yelled. They rode toward the fast-moving blip that was heading toward them. And people scattered off the built-up sidewalk and street.

[crownmoto]

[zikbitume]

@MotoGP #WheelieWednesday #MotoGP

[fluttering-by]

I know I shouldn’t be panicking right now but to think this was happening just around the corner from me and Fuwafuwa is so frightening. If I’d have even just needed the bathroom in that moment then god she could have gotten hurt. 

[koogssixx]

Wheelie Wednesday, courtesy of Michael Dunlop.

[j-nipper-95]

WIP Wednesday

Writing and editing for ASR is still happening. My editor was down for the weekend, so we were actually really productive (between binging Clarkson’s Farm season 2) and now I’ve got plenty to be getting on with. 

As a result, here’s a section I finished today, featuring our favourite anxious bean, Rachel. She’s severely people’d out after attending pre drinks the previous evening with her friends, who made it all the way to the Student Union.

Rachel had woken up an hour or so ago, but she refused to leave her duvet cave for anyone. She could hear her housemates moving about, running up and down the corridors of the catered hall they shared, laughing, prepping for a game of wheelie chair curling that she preferred to stay out of. Thankfully, after she first asked about it and seen one of her housemates end up crashing into a wall as he’d careened down the hall on a desk chair, she’d never been asked to join a game again. Apparently, screaming and panicking and wanting to call an ambulance when she saw even the smallest hint of blood was a bit of a buzzkill. 

So, in the duvet she hid.

Tagging: @artsyunderstudy​ @captain-aralias​ @fatalfangirl​ @prettylightsbigcity​ @stardustasincocaine​ @letraspal​ @martsonmars​ @you-remind-me-of-the-babe​ @hushed-chorus​ @fatalfangirl​ @confused-bi-queer​ @palimpsessed​ @krisrix​