#Izzy's Car

[askizzypleasures]

Ask for Izzy: what sort of "car" do you drive (and how did you manage to fit in one in the first place)

*Pointedly ignoring the fat joke, and then realising something odd*

"Car"? Oh you probably meant "autocarriage"!

I drive a Model G-H '84 with parts from Kudas Auto-Carriages Parts and General Milling! I saved up a lot to get the kit and built it over a year!

[gummycube]

g5 redesigns, in my version of g5 it isn't connected to g4 and it's more of a story about the pony kingdoms uniting after an eternity of mistrust and ignorance

[carrotcakecrumble]

ok but

Izzy’s unicorn-leg grave marker was just such a beautiful choice. He’s buried under the tangible manifestation of all that love he finally accepted and let in and literally made part of him, both physically and emotionally

[faejilly]

I know I am going to regret this, but « You're throwing away our history like it meant nothing. » for the prompt game? *insert puppy eyes*

I am going to be fickle and write you FLUFF for that one. Auctioneer!Magnus AU for no particular reason other than I think it's hilarious.

(It's a car auction. Because Jace is a car salesman. A very nice one who does not cheat people! But still. For context, a car auction like the one I'm writing is basically a giant hanger with open doors on both sides that the cars that are for sale drive through. There's an individual auctioneer at each lane; they have a stand in the middle so they can look down on see all the potential bidders.)

All the dealers know Magnus' name. (Everyone in the building always knows his name.) Even if he wasn't him, even if he didn't say hello to everyone and learn their names and dress to impress -- with a lift of his chin whenever someone starts to get that look in their eyes, daring them to say something about his clothes or his make-up or his attitude, gifting them a toothy smile when they wince and back down -- Magnus always introduces himself at the start of every sale and whenever he moves to a new lane of cars, just like he's supposed to.

Though he makes sure he announces himself extra loud and clear and proud and with a wink towards his favorite buyer whenever he's there.

Alec, from Lightwood Motors. Magnus always says his full name, Alexander, watches to see the tiny hint of a smile that tucks in the corner of Alec's mouth when he does.

Magnus likes the way it rolls off his tongue, never uses just 'Alec' or his dealership's name like the other auctioneers who recognize him every week, never references him by his shirt or jacket or the color of the adorable knit beanie and finger-less gloves he wears when it's cold, not even by any of the bidder numbers he puts on the back of his binder, a neat grid against the dark blue leather, no leftover bits and pieces from last week's badges behind them like half the other dealers.

Alec is meticulous. Precise. Focused on his plan, on what he's doing, on exactly how much he thinks a vehicle is worth. He'll make a counter-offer occasionally when there's no one else bidding against him and the seller wants a little more, but he never jumps back into the bidding after he says no. Never lets another bidder push him up just one more time when he's bidding on a popular vehicle. It's the worst possible trait in a buyer from the auction house's perspective, of course, but Magnus finds it charming.

Magnus finds everything about Alec charming. His height, the contrast between his pale skin and his messy black hair, his ridiculous eyelashes that Magnus can't even blame on mascara, the way he can either scowl or smile just with his eyebrows. The incredibly neat handwriting Magnus has glimpsed when he's taking notes, how he double-checks the run list in his binder for every car, every time, just to be sure, the slight hint of teeth visibly pushing against his bottom lip whenever he's doing extra math in his head, the fact that he's never on the phone with the owner but always has final say on his bids himself.

The way he has never once made Magnus wait for his next bid, ready with the faintest tip of his chin (up with an echoing lift of his eyelids for yes, down and to the left as his eyes almost close for no) as soon as Magnus is looking at him.

Well. That's not quite true. Magnus always has half an eye on Alec. But Alec always bids as soon as it's his turn, always keeps track of who else is bidding, whether it's online or someone else on the floor, never gets behind, never loses his place. Not even when the auction is training a new clerk, and the display is periodically a step or two behind.

(Magnus suspects that Alec is, in fact, completely focused on Magnus, that he enjoys seeing Magnus as much as Magnus enjoys seeing him, but Magnus refuses to attempt to quantify it to prove himself right. He's certainly never going to ask.

Because then he might prove himself wrong, and that would be... unfortunate.)

He refuses to admit to anyone here, or himself, refuses to admit even to Cat or Ragnor on the rare occasions they pretend to care about cars, (only because they care about him, as they're much more likely to appreciate his stories about estate sales or art auctions, but those are specialty events, and he quite likes the steady loop of car auctions every week, NYC to Jersey to Delaware and back), that every time he sees Alec in his lane there's a greedy little voice in the back of his head saying 'mine'.

Which is stupid, he knows it's stupid, he knows Alec buys other cars from other sellers, not just the ones Magnus works for, that he is only in Magnus' lane every week because it's his job, but Magnus can't seem to stop the voice.

And the other buyer from Lightwood is never in his lanes.

Lydia is always impeccably put together, cool and pale and blonde and beautiful, wearing sleek slacks or a pencil skirt most weeks regardless of the weather, an engagement ring glinting on one finger and a single gold chain around her neck. She doesn't quite reach Alec's shoulder, even in her sensible pumps, and the sight of them standing side-by-side comparing notes would be slightly amusing on those grounds. Except they can both judge someone with a single lifted eyebrow at 10 paces, and there are few people with the nerve to survive that.

Magnus only works with Lydia if he's giving a break or covering for an auctioneer on leave. And even then he sometimes thinks he sees Alec in the lane across the way, glancing back as if he's thinking 'mine' too, as if he'd rather be there than let his co-worker bid with Magnus.

Magnus is ridiculous, is what he is, but that's alright. Alec doesn't seem to mind. He's still got that almost dimple every week when Magnus introduces himself at the start of the sale.

_

Until Alec's not there.

One week happens, now and then, and Magnus sighs sadly to himself and does his (less pretty than usual) job.

But Alec's not there the next week either, or the one after that, and Lydia is, Lydia is bidding in his lane. She doesn't stay there like Alec mostly did; he was tall enough he could cover two lanes only by switching which way he leaned, and only occasionally bothered to walk somewhere else.

Lydia is hopping lanes, walking back and forth, looking for whatever vehicles she's saved on her list. She occasionally even looks flustered, which is a rare occurence for her, she's generally terrifyingly competent, but she is trying to cover all eight lanes by herself, and that is, for most of the larger dealerships, a two or three person job. (Big Mike's usually has four buyers, but that's because Mike Jr. is a terrible micromanager and takes up half their time second-guessing them.)

Magnus is afraid to ask her about Alec, isn't sure how to approach her or what he'd say even if he did: 'Hi, we've never technically met, but where's tall, dark, and handsome, I miss him?'

Obviously he could just ask why she's covering by herself, but he's afraid he'd fail entirely at sounding casual, and then he'd be right back at 'please share personal information about your co-worker with a sort-of stranger?'

He looks up the Lightwood Motors website on his break but there's nothing out of order there, and Alexander's head shot is on the about page; he's a Lightwood too, fancy title and general manager of something or other, and Magnus clicks it closed, too flustered to read it properly.

Not just some random buyer, not just Magnus' favorite, it probably all had been in Magnus' head, and it ought to be a relief that he'd never said anything to anyone, never approached Lightwood directly, never embarrassed himself by acting like they knew each other when it was just sales banter, only professional camaraderie while surrounded by car exhaust.

Too much car exhaust over the years had damaged his judgement?

He didn't quite believe himself, but he tried. What else was there to do?

-

Magnus got a call from the Florida office of his management agency; Lorenzo was out for some sort of family emergency, could he cover an auction down there for a few weeks?

It was the day after his Delaware auction, which was the shortest one already, and Florida was an easier flight than California, which he'd done when Malcolm retired until they could find someone more local, so he said yes.

His first week he got moved off the lane he'd prepared for, and ended up selling for Lightwood Motors. The agent on the floor was from the auction, so no luck there, and the seller from the dealer was online.

Just his luck. Jumped south six states and he was still getting teased by the lack of his favorite pretty boy. “And who do we have with us from Lightwood?” Magnus asked before their first car. “I don't suppose it's Alexander?”

The online agent literally keysmashed in the chat box, and Magnus tilted his head. The clerk at the computer even let loose a giggle; she'd apparently never seen that before either.

[Sorry, this is Jace.] The second chat message was more normal. [Alec doesn't do sales, just buys. But it's nice to meet you, Magnus.]

“You too,” Magnus managed without sounding at all disappointed, and once again he did his job.

It was only later that he realized he hadn't introduced himself after Lightwood Motors had gotten online; they'd been the third seller in his lane. Had that 'Jace' just been listening to the lane before he signed in, or had that keysmash meant more than Magnus realized, did he recognize an auctioneer who knew Alexander rather than Alec?

Was Magnus being even more ridiculous this time? Or was it maybe not just in his head?

Only now he had to wait three whole days until he'd be back at the NYC auction and could make himself ask Lydia directly.

-

Only when he got to work on Monday, he didn't have to look for Lydia. There was Alexander, leaning against the wall beside the employee entrance, all long legs and ducked head and hands rubbing together.

Magnus almost tripped over his new boots and stopped with a mortifyingly audible stutter of heels against concrete.

Alexander looked up, and his expression softened, but it wasn't a smile, not quite, Magnus didn't know what it was, or what was happening, or why Alexander was specifically here where the dealers generally weren't and, "what?"

Alexander shrugged, making Magnus realized he must have said something out loud, even if he couldn't now remember what.

"Could we?" Alexander's head tilted, just as eloquent with his eyebrows as he'd always been when bidding, and Magnus followed him over to what had once been a smoker's nook, an old empty ashtray around the corner with an ugly green awning to protect it from the worst of the wind or rain.

"Mr Lightwood," Magnus began, which wasn't at all what he'd wanted to say, but he wasn't sure how to start anything else. He stopped as soon as Alexander winced.

"I suppose I deserved that."

Magnus opened his mouth, and shut it again. "I am very confused, Alexander."

That time he got a smile, and he couldn't help but smile back.

"Is it weird to say I've missed you?" Alexander glanced sideways at him, his hands still pressing against each other in what seemed to be a nervous tic. "I mean, we've never even introduced ourselves, but..."

Magnus reached out, and let one hand slide between Alexander's long fingers. His smile widened as he felt Alec's thumb start to rub against one of his rings rather than digging into Alec's other hand again.

"You're throwing away our long and meaningful history! I introduce myself to you every week, and you're just ignoring that? I'm offended."

Alexander snorted, and Magnus grinned in delight, ignoring how his hand felt almost chilly as Alec's fingers slipped free now that he'd stopped fidgeting. "There you are, I thought you had a sense of humor."

"You're probably the only one."

"I don't know, Lydia smiles when you roll your eyes at the other dealers, that seems promising."

Alec's head tilted, and this time Magnus couldn't tell what his eyebrows were saying. "You noticed that?"

I always notice what you're doing. Magnus wasn't sure he should say that. He just hummed instead.

"So I was, uh." Alec stopped. He was, perhaps, flushing very slightly pink. "I kept wanting to send you pictures while I was gone, but I don't, we don't. I only even know your last name because you're registered on the website, I mean--"

"Alexander!" Magnus cut him off, not sure he'd be able to survive any more of the delight that was rising up through his chest as if to drown him. "Did you look me up online?"

Alec's eyes widened, and his mouth opened but nothing came out. He was definitely starting to blush, but he looked almost horrified rather than anything more enjoyable for either of them, so Magnus kept going before Alec thought that was a problem. "I did that too, how did you think I knew you were an actual Lightwood rather than just a Lightwood dealer?"

Alec's mouth closed, and there, there was that almost smile again, the edge of his mouth tucking in tight and giving a hint of a dimple. "We're maybe a pair of idiots."

Magnus laughed. "I guess we are. Give me your number, pretty boy, and tell me more about those pictures, and all mutual idiocy will be forgotten?"

Alec handed over his phone, already open to an add contact screen, and shook his head ruefully. "I don't even know how you managed to say 'pictures' like that."

"It's a gift," Magnus said. He finished putting in his number, sending a heart-emoji as a message to himself before he gave the phone back so he'd have Alec's number too.

Alec glanced down, his smile widening for a moment before he put his phone back in his pocket. "I hate to disappoint you but I was driving cross-country with my little brother for one last 'adventure' before moving him into his dorms, so the pictures are entirely child-friendly."

"Aww," Magnus let out before he could stop himself. "That's so sweet. Did you take pictures of giant balls of twine and slightly out of focus mountains and diners surrounded by fields of corn?"

Alec blinked. "That's pretty accurate, actually."

"And you wanted to send them to me?" Magnus' voice was softer than he'd intended, not really teasing at all. "Really?"

"Every one." Alec reached a hand out and Magnus held it, both of them clearly doing it on purpose this time. “Join me for an early dinner after the sale, and I'll show them to you?”

Magnus almost swooned, and didn't even attempt to hide it. "It's a date, Alexander."

[tediousdelusion]

the absolutely most chaotic modern steddy hands au i can imagine is established couple ed and izzy with recently out divorce attorney stede.

like, izzy and ed got married young. maybe because they were drunk in vegas. maybe for the spousal immunity since they are and always have been involved in some less than reputable dealings. but they aren't exactly a "real" married couple in their own minds even tho they live together and their lives are needlessly intermingled.

ed is going through his midlife crisis. he's unhappy, wants to find out that there's more to life. and izzy is done with his shit after the most recent flight of fancy. because i love irony, i think that he buys a boat and comes up with some flimsy justification for why he needs it for "business purposes."

and so izzy threatens divorce, like he has a million times. and ed doesn't buy it because izzy is all talk. but izzy is serious this time - or at least he wants ed to think he's serious - and so he goes and hires a lawyer. not some bus stop lawyer either, no. he wants the real deal and his name is on the joint account, dammit, so ed's money can pay for it too.

enter stede bonnet, divorce attorney at law.

stede is from one of those old legal families. his father was a lawyer and his grandfather was a lawyer and his great-grandfather was... well, you get it. and stede doesn't really want to be a lawyer, but he doesn't have much choice in the matter. his biggest rebellion is practicing family law instead of becoming in house counsel for an investment bank.

for forty-odd years he plays the part of the good son, well after his father is dead. marries the girl he is supposed to, has two kids, a nice house, a steady job. and sure, he's never really happy happy, but he's a divorce attorney! every day he sees marriages so much worse than his own that he figures what he and mary have must be the best a person could hope for.

until woops! actually, no! his marriage is just as bad as half his clients' and now he's going through this whole process himself and oh, yes, on top of it all, he just realized that he's gay!

so between chauffeuring the kids, reading about all the gay culture he's missed in the past four decades, and catching up on his other cases, he ends up meeting one izzy hands. sad case, stede hates to see the end of a long marriage, but it seems easy enough.

except things aren't easy at all because 1) izzy and ed don't actually want to get divorced and 2) stede is starting to fall for ed, izzy's enigmatic and charming husband.

ed is falling for stede, too. of course he is! stede is interesting and new - he comes from this old family tradition that ed's never seen before, but he's also creative and witty and fascinated by ed. and so ed takes it upon himself to help introduce stede to gay culture, preferably by a hands on demonstration.

izzy knows what's going on. of course he does. he's seen ed take interest in someone before, knows what it looks like. but what he doesn't like is that stede is starting to return his interest. stede is izzy's fucking lawyer. if anyone should get to fuck him, it should be izzy.

cue a series of rom-com style hijinks where ed and izzy are both trying to seduce stede, stede is trying to save izzy and ed's marriage, and all three of them think they know what the others want. for more angst and more comedy, you can throw in some actual ethical rules, like how lawyers aren't supposed to start fucking their clients. (there's also a lot of conflict of interest here but shhhhhhhh)

of course, this ends in a throuple. exactly how could go a few ways. maybe izzy walks in on ed and stede and stede is waiting to be fired, but izzy just loosens his tie and joins them in bed. maybe they make it all the way to the first court appearance and when the judge asks if they really want the divorce they're like, nah. he's shagging the lawyer but i guess i want to be fucking him too. maybe stede forces them all to go to lucius sponsored couples counseling and they get perma-banned when they start making out on the couch.

anyway, no matter how it happens, i think stede quits divorce work to become izzy and ed's criminal defense attorney and they all have a long and morally bankrupt good time together

[notthewriteryourelookingfor]

Modern OFMD where Stede takes them all to build a bear and Izzys complaining that it's a waste of money but ends up with a pirate bear anyway.

[flashnthunder]

luztoye end of the world au

(snippet under the cut)

The truck rattles along the empty road like an ant marching along a cracked sidewalk, meandering its way with quiet purpose down an endless path. Joe has the windows rolled down, and the midsummer heat of Georgia buffets them with heavy air. It feels better than trying to drive anywhere with the windows up and wasting even a few ounces of gas on something so trivial as the AC had long since become a thing of the past.

Music plays loud enough to let him lapse into silent thought as he drives. The double standard of the air conditioning lies with the radio. The radio and its attached cassette player neatly tucked under the half-cracked display is always on when George is riding. No amount of scolding and dirty looks ever prevented the inevitably of it getting turned on, and only George had the patience to coax the busted volume knob into working. Right now, Joe is subject to a second playthrough of a well-worn Billy Joel album and a private performance by George in the passenger seat. If he had known the world was going to end when it did, he would have made sure to have had a better selection shoved in his glove box.

Green trees flash by outside the window, and the grass that had turned into a jungle on the roadside almost falls over onto the faded asphalt. The summer peace is only interrupted by George leaning towards him across the bench seat and crooning the chorus with a surprisingly accurate imitation. He’s had more than enough time over the years to really nail it down and never was one to miss a chance to practice. Joe does his best not to smile, but the corner of his mouth must twitch because George dissolves into miming a saxophone with the determination of a man who knows how to crack his audience. Joe shakes his head and lets his fingers drum on the warm paint of the truck door from where his hand hangs out the window. They have another twenty minutes at least before they’ll be back, sparing any stops. As long as they get there before George can rummage through the glove box again, it'll be fine.

He’s pulled out of his thoughts again by a tapping sound on the window behind his head. He glances back, catching sight of Bill with his hand still up to the window to get his attention.

“Open the window for them would’ya?” he shoves at George from where he had halfway squirmed out of his side of the front seat to crowd into Joe. He had only stopped his invasion to avoid having to sit on the busted leather of the middle seat. George cuts off his performance with only mild complaint, reaching to turn the radio down first. The volume knob, predictably, takes some fussing before the sounds of the music finally quiet. He turns to tug the sliding window open, grinning at Bill when he leans forward to yell into the cab.

“Are you trying to break my back here, Joe? Jesus why do I always end up in the bed, one more pothole and you’re gonna get me laid up. How much further we got?” Bill’s scowl grows deeper when they take a curve in the road a little too fast. He grabs the edge of the window to keep from sliding around in the back of the truck.

“Aw wouldn’t want to hurt princesses’ butt back there with no padded seat. We're almost there, maybe fifteen minutes if you stop asking,” Joe eyes him in the crooked rearview mirror. Bill rolls his eyes and swats at George’s head when he laughs.

“Oh I don’t wanna hear nothing about princesses when you got your certified passenger princess up here hogging the front,” Bill says, and George manages to duck away from the second pass at cuffing his ear. He’s forced to retreat in full to his respective side of the truck, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning into the door.

“I’m in charge of the radio and the map, don’t be mad I’m useful,” George half sing-songs. If Joe wasn’t so bitterly fond of the stupid face he was making, he would have joined Bill in his attempts to smack him. The road curves back into a straightaway, and he urges the truck along. For the sake of not rousting Bill anymore, he avoids the larger potholes that pocket the sides.

“Bullshit you are,” Bill says, leaning further in the back window, but still not getting close enough to George to grab him.

“No, Bullshit is in the back with you, I’m up here,” George snarks, feeling relatively safe from his current position. Malarkey’s head pops up from where he’d been slouched down in the back. He looks distinctly less disgruntled than Bill, but still sporting windswept hair from the journey. Both he and George had lingering pink on their noses and cheeks from being in the sun all day. Joe knows that means George will be looking to go take a nap as soon as they get back. Hopefully, that comes after they get the truck unloaded.

“For the love of it, just get us there in one piece, Joe. I ain’t dying three years after the last real traffic jam because we end falling into a crater on this road here,” Bill says, abandoning George so Malarkey could lean in to hear what they were saying. They’re close enough to town now that the gripping dies down and the music goes back up. He leaves the window open, slowing enough that the buffeting of wind out of the cab isn’t quite as annoying. If he has to sit through more singing, Bill can too for all his bitching.

The rest of the drive is uneventful, and the green melts back into a pleasant background whizzing by. The outer fence of town comes into view first, old rusted barbed wire and an even shittier padlock and chain holding the gate closed. He throws the truck into park as they roll up to it and stop. The keyring with the padlock key lays on the dash, having only slid a little since he’d tossed it up there as they left this morning. He’s not sure why he ever expects George to jump up and get it. When he does look over, he’s met with an overly innocent expression and no hint of any intention about grabbing the keys. Joe huffs but swipes the keys off the plastic of the dash without comment and slides out of the truck.

“Not even pretending that he doesn’t got you whipped,” Bill yells from the truck. Joe flips him off without looking behind him. He can hear Malarkey laughing because apparently, all his friends are in on a collective conspiracy to make his life hell. Pulling the chain free, he jerks the gate wide enough to get the truck in before making the three-step journey back to the driver’s side.

“My knight in shining armor, I didn’t want to get my silk dress in the mud,” George says, batting his eyes in exaggerated motions once he’s back in and shifting the truck back into drive. If he had been prone to blushing, his life would be a whole lot worse. He gets by with a dismissive grunt and resolutely ignores the extra heckling from his traveling peanut gallery. He pulls through the gate and turns to jam his hand with the keys still in it out the back window, waving it between Bill and Malarkey.

“Like hell, I’m getting out before we’re back,” Bill says, and any further argument is spared by Malarkey grabbing the keys and jumping over the side of the truck bed to go lock the gate. Joe scans down the fence line and ignores the bickering.

“See Bill, chivalry is alive and well,” George lounges out a little further if at all possible, legs spread and back sliding down against the worn leather seat. In letting down his guard, Bill finally manages to poke him in the ear and George shoots Joe a withering look when he doesn’t fall over himself to defend him.

Malarkey swings back over the tailgate of the truck, his boots landing in the small space between the crates of supplies, “Alright, we’re all good to get going.” He settles back down in his spot near the window next to Bill, and they start moving again. There’s a relatively short distance between the outer fence and the inner one that encamps the buildings in town in some amount of security, and Joe takes the distance slowly. He's in no rush to come careening up to the second gate. Singing and complaining or not, he enjoys getting away from this pocket of their world sometimes. Supply runs were a necessary evil in the eyes of people too scared to poke their heads outside, but to Joe, it teased some level of freedom he missed. George making it his god-given mission to follow along didn't hurt either.

Babe must have been on the watch patrol today because as soon as he hears the truck’s engine, he comes jogging toward the inner gate. He’s got a hunting rifle slung over his shoulder, and as the truck rolls in he saves the argument of who is getting out again as he pulls the gate open for them. He gives a lazy mock salute, his free hand still curled around the rifle strap. Joe’s mistake is slowing to a near stop, which gives Bill time to vault over the side and land on his feet near Babe. No doubt to gossip about whatever it was they managed to talk about. George groans, head flopping back to give Joe a mournful look about having to unload supplies with three guys instead of four.

[g5mlp]

New Pony Racer toys found at Five Below!

These are by Forever Clever, a company that creates novelty items for multiple kids brands. 

The toys are two cars featuring Sunny and Izzy molded onto them. They feature a pull back mechanic where if the car is pulled backwards, it races forward. This can be used to have both cars race each other. 

There are no online listings of these as of yet.

[inkkey-studios]

Gen 5 Air Fresheners!

They are here finally and available over on my etsy! https://www.etsy.com/shop/InkKeyStudios

Posted using PostyBirb

[trve]

a 10+ minute song is not excessive it's actually something that can be so holy to a person

[chrysalis-the-butterfly]

Every list of autistic headcanons should include...

A substitute mother...  

A bimbo...  

A mean bisexual...  

An even meaner lesbian...  

A she/they...  

A he/they...  

A non-binary legend...  

A pan with a plan...  

A token straight who’s on thin ice...  

An astrology dork who has everyone’s birth chart memorised...  

A chaos agent with no brain cells who cannot be left alone for long...  

And a short king.   

[bluebelleisabelle]

tour of all the strange things I’ve found in my new (but used) car:

a (probably cursed) ring!! :D

a mini marshmallow wedged against the windshield (I’m saving it as a snack for if I get hungry)

Oh and say hello to Percy!

He didn’t come with the car, but I thought I’d let him say hi! He’s in a perpetual state of deep concern, but I promise he’s okay. He’s my little car buddy. We go on many adventures together

Oh yeah, and here’s the car in her full glory ✨

[labelleizzy]

I should maaaaaybe not have decided to go for a 3 mile walk home... In shoes 👟 I've owned less than a week.

Also the first three mile ANYTHING in months

I was that guy I call out as an idiot, when I see them no sunscreen 🧴 no sun 🤠 hat, I did have water, which was good, I needed that

Probably mild sunburn, definitely new blisters under my foot calluses. Argh 😫

My poor wittle tender feets!

But, I've gotta start walking 3 miles if I wanna be able to walk 3 miles generally, and I do wanna do that.

I will however take advantage of the ride the repair shop offers, to go BACK for my car.

[kindkiosk]

izzy is the type of neurodivergent who's anxious and early to everything.

ed is the kind that's at least fifteen minutes late to all planned meetings.

stede is the girlfriend who texts you "omw" while getting in the shower

[kicktwine]

this is the result of too many thought trains colliding at once so like - s. sorry paranatural likers. I only had one cool idea all day and it was to turn King C into a spirit fusion hostile takeover gundam situation

like this (very rough wip gif under the cut)

[oddittt]

i did another one of those tw*tter promps 🤩

we got foxy izzy and hunter all in a car together.