#roadrash
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A Rash Decision!
Dinesh Elumalai recalls the game Road Rash, and explores its gameplay and the impact it had on the gaming community.
Read More. https://www.sify.com/gaming/a-rash-decision/
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#scrape #ponytail #twofer #roadrash #deathecho @thegregory_allen #inktober #inktober2022 https://www.instagram.com/p/Cj1Y2OwuoLP/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
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Collateral damage. #carverskateboards #carverskatesa It hurts worse than it looks. 40 still rolling. #roadrash #roastie I got up an carved some more to make sure body still worked. #donttouchmeonmyleftside https://www.instagram.com/p/Cg5_zn8K1pm/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
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7. What color do you associate with them? & 9. What’s a phrase that makes you think of your fo?
For the ask gameeee :)
7 - yellows and oranges and browns. pinks also because his cuteness but mostly i think of warm + muted earthy colors.
9 - my friends know any time i hear the word hog or pig i go HUH. MY WIFE? but also anytime someone refers to the concept of road rash igo hm. ueah? yeah. or anything about being hooked on smth. uaghh lots of things really do make me think of him
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Fuck I think I need to go to the doctor 😐
#i slide down a huge slide at work yesterday and landed on my shoulder pretty hard#I got roadrash from it and now it feels like I need to pop it back into place but it won’t go#I don’t want to go to the doctor and just have them be like ‘uhhh yeah it hurts dummy. you landed on your shoulder?? of course there’s pain#terrifiedofjudgement
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running yourself into the ground because it "feels good" but actually because it secretly feels bad like a cheese grater against all the soft bits of your mind and running yourself into the ground specifically because it feels very bad and right now the roadrash will give some kind of visual effect to the rest of the experience of your suffering and running yourself into the ground because you were raised religious and/or with strict parents and now you feel like you need an excuse any time you burn out or else it's not burnout it's laziness and running yourself into the ground so you can be really sure it's actually depression and not just because you ate something suspicious
and running yourself into the ground because the back of your throat tastes like rotted fish and yet everybody wants you to get up and make a pretty dance about it and running yourself into the ground like a matchstick because if you're going to have to be here you want to blaze about it and running yourself into the ground like a darkened landing strip so the plane wheels spark up and your hometown finally disappears in the distance good fucking riddance
and running yourself into the ground because of some fucked up great-great-grandparent's hard work aesthetic and because you somehow owe it to your parents, who owed it to their own parents, because owing things is normal in your family, like love is a cost-value analysis and running yourself into the ground and getting up and pretending that, like, this isn't burning the candle at both ends. two days is plenty to get back into it.
you're not spiraling, you're just manifesting wealth and happiness. you're not spiraling, the radio in your chest just has low batteries. what do you mean that's the sound of distress. when they went out looking, they never found your pilot. you haven't been in this body for years now. you found yourself and put her into a box and then put her up on a shelf. she's still safe up there and she's still a kid.
running yourself into the ground and the constant knowledge: you don't even know where you're going and you don't like the experience. but where ever it is: you're not there yet.
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life milestone got hit by car
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Delicate
it's been a weird day already.
but not, like, bad: the sky is clear and it's not windy, which is such a welcome break from the weeks and weeks of rain you kind of want to dance down the sidewalk or something (you don't, but only because you have on this cool new pair of pants you thrifted last week and one over-exuberant roll through a puddle and they'd be wet for the day); there wasn't a long line at camila's coffee shop, so you were early to work; none of your appointments, even, have been late. good-weird sometimes feels way more unsettling than bad-weird, though, or at least that's what you've told your therapist who nodded — trauma responses, this and that, or so she says.
your first two clients are easy — small, simple stuff, which is always nice to start off with. chanel is finishing her last session on a wicked cool back piece with a chill client, and it's all pretty vibey until you're outside on the little front patio of the studio eating the pizza you'd grabbed from down the street for a late lunch, casually people watching. it all happens so fast: you're taking a bite and then, bam, there’s someone on a bike skidding out of control and then falling with a thump, tangled up in the metal frame and pedals spinning.
'shit,' you say, even though the person is already struggling their way out from under the bike — a good sign, overall. but still, you put your pizza down on the table chanel insisted you buy and wheel down the ramp until you're on the sidewalk, close enough to be able to ask, 'are you okay?'
the person — a very, very hot person, in carhartt overalls, a pristine white t-shirt, and blundstones — groans but then nods, stands up fully from the street and hefts the bike back upright by the handlebars. 'yes. i'll be fine. a minor fall.'
there's an embarrassed blush rising behind freckles and, 'you're bleeding.' it's roadrash, nothing serious, along an elbow, both palms, but still — 'my shop is right here.' you point behind you. 'let me patch you up, we have all the sterile stuff and everything.'
'i — okay.'
you smile, then smile even bigger when this very hot bike-falling blushing stranger takes her helmet off and her short hair — slightly sweaty — is tousled, a little messy on the top, even messier after she tries to brush it back with her fingers. 'sweet.' you offer your hand, even though she's dragging her bike alongside her. 'i'm ava.'
she leans the bike against her hip, grants you a small smile, and meets your eyes, even though her blush gets worse. 'beatrice.'
her hand is calloused and warm and she locks her bike against your railing, then follows you up the ramp.
'so you're who moved in,' she says, not unkindly, and you nod. it's a beautiful studio — you'll claim it was 50/50 design choices all day long, but it really was mostly chanel who chose the perfect shelving, the easy colors, the furniture that was simple and comfortable and cool as fucking hell, all at once. 'me and chanel, the other artist and owner,' you say. chanel's gun is very quietly buzzing behind the partition that separates her station from the front desk, and you lead beatrice back to your station.
the scrape along her elbow — delicate, one of the most difficult places to tattoo properly, all small, sharp bones and live-wire nerves — isn't deep or particularly dirty, so you clean it quickly and without too much discomfort, if her comfortable quiet and measured breathing is anything to go by.
'you're an expert on this, i suppose,' she says, as you get out your second skin once everything is clean and dry.
you laugh. 'tattoos aren't too dissimilar.' you allow yourself to look — after a lot of restraint, thank you very much — at her nearly-finished sleeve: fine lines and tender greyscale of flowers and plants, a few bugs, woven together. there's space on the underside of her wrist, still, a little unexpected. 'this is beautiful.'
beatrice smiles softly, a little sad. 'thank you.'
'no, like, genuinely.' you take your gloves off once the second skin is on perfectly and roll back in your chair to see it a little clearer. 'it really is.'
that blush again. 'i'm a gardener,' beatrice says, as if that explains everything. you have a few silly tattoos along your thighs — some are from you practicing along your own skin, a perk of not feeling anything below your waist — and your favorite along the top of your right hand. it's the first chanel did for you, the start of how you became friends — and business partners, eventually — and it's not hard, really, to remember the control you felt when you got to choose to make your body in your own image, when you had someone you trusted to help.
'that's awesome.'
she nods, once, like it's a finite truth. 'along with my sister, i run the florist shop on the other side of camila's. we farm all of our own flowers, only local pollinators.'
'permaculture,' you say, 'sick.'
it gets a laugh out of her — fucking delightful, and, whew, you want to keep making that happen — 'it is.' she stands, looking almost — dare you say it — regretful. 'unfortunately, i do have to get back to said shop for the afternoon. but maybe i can buy you a coffee?'
'camila gives me my coffee for free.'
she blanches and it takes a few seconds before you reach out and pat her hand with a laugh. 'i'm sorry, i was just messing with you. i'd love to get coffee with you.'
'yeah?'
'dude, are you kidding? i want to know all about your plants.'
she's got the most proper accent of all time, and you're kind of wishing for her to say something like, and i, your art, but instead she just nods, a little tongue-tied, you think, which is endearing in its own way too. 'thank you again, ava.'
'anytime.' you pause. 'well, not the exact same circumstances. don't need you flinging yourself off of your bike just to say hi to me again —'
'i didn't fall because of you —'
'i know i'm, like, cool and stunning, but you really should be more careful.'
she rolls her eyes, but there's still a smile on her face. you know you're, as chanel puts it, dangerously charming, so you'll take it.
you watch her walk down the ramp and unlock her bike, then walk it two doors down to the florist that always had swathes of wildflowers in the windows. you've only been here a few weeks, and you'd been very busy setting everything up and getting your clients in asap, but you'd planned to check it out eventually. now, you have even more of a reason to.
and, like, maybe it's a little gay, whatever, but you transfer out of your chair to sit more comfortably at your station while you wait for your next client and start to sketch some wildflowers and their pollinators. bees, your favorites, and maybe it doesn't mean anything or maybe it means something. you don't really believe in everything but you do think that people can be kind and that the earth itself is overwhelmingly good. that's enough, most days, really.
chanel finishes with her client and it's a good-good-weird day because she offers to order dinner without you even having to whine. you fall asleep later at home thinking abt how warm beatrice's skin had been, how it had been easy to make sure she would heal well, all the flowers there, blooming; her freckles and her blush. maybe, if you're lucky, she's thought of you too.
#wn fic#avatrice fic#prompts#idk where this is going probably just little snippets bc there's not a lot of plot involved#but i'm so weak always for florist/tattoo artist au#the homoeroticism of hands. of flowers. of hands AND flowers#yes bea DID fall off her bike bc she was staring at ava#will she admit that immediately? of course not!#flowers au#is this fun do u like this lmk#also this is in portland just so everyone knows. it IS in my head lmao
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the brainrot got me and now a fic inspired by this post is in the works. it'll take me a few weeks to finish it up, so for now, let me introduce you to Steve's older sister, JJ Harrington.
Shortly after the ground split open but before the word “earthquake” could fall onto the lips of anyone to explain the unexplainable. Hardly any time had passed, smoke still rising from the "fault lines", some residents still asleep, blissfully unaware of the destruction beneath their feet, the horrors on the brink of spilling out of them.
And yet, here comes JJ Harrington. The clearest image flashed in Steve's brain, gas pedal hitting the floor of her ugly yellow VW Golf, speeding directly into the fire. Passing the trail of cars already on their way out of town.
The adrenaline that had been pumping through his veins when he carried a barely-breathing Eddie through the gate as the Upside Down imploded under their feet, had worn off. As soon as he handed his limp body over to the medical staff, his brain and body finally caught up to one another. The roadrash on his back, every bite on his torso, every muscle in his body, every wound that went ignored, suddenly lit up in and on him like a forest fire, stealing his ability to speak, to ask for help, to walk. Paralyzed by the pain, the tightness in his chest, the ringing in his ears. Just unbearable, immovable, pain.
The squad of Suits approaching their group was an afterthought as his vision started to blur. Every blink made the weight of his eyelids heavier and heavier, only registering Robin’s yelp as his legs gave out under him. Then everything goes black.
He forgot to ask how much time passed in between his fainting spell and waking up in a hospital bed. It looked like the sun was barely rising, so he would probably guess only a few hours, max.
Max. He sat up too quickly, Robin rushed to his side to calm him down as she shouted for the doctor, explaining what Steve had missed while he was out.
It had only been a few hours since it all happened. He's almost positive Robin told the hospital staff not even to bother calling his parents. Hell, Steve didn't even know where they were these days. His parents were a blip in his racing mind, he didn't care about them. He needed to know everyone was alive, hearts were still beating and breaths still breathing.
Eddie is alive, in the ICU, but alive. Both of Max’s legs are broken, but she’s also alive. The doctor explains that he is being treated for his wounds and extreme dehydration and that he’d be released after a day or two.
He felt his own breathing go back to normal, only relaxing for a moment until he saw them. The signs of the aftermath in the form of big men in black suits standing at the door of the room. He didn't realize how long his stare lingered, not until the doctor cleared his throat and snapped Steve's attention back toward him.
“Procedure,” the doctor says, like that’s supposed to mean something to him. “This floor is secure, which means no one is coming in without proper clearance.” Probably because there's an angry mob of Jesus Freaks outside, pitchforks and torches in tow.
He believed him. Until about an hour passed.
Not even an hour after that conversation, Robin started to nod off in a chair at the foot of the bed, the TV was on but muted near her. She was in a set of fresh clothes and for the first time in almost a week, they were bordering on comfortable.
Until they heard a small commotion happening just outside the door. Steve could only describe it as a scuffle, sneakers skidding on the linoleum floors, deep brooding voices on the brink of becoming yells, "I said, stand back."
He thinks the doctor might have missed another concussion when he hears a very distinct, very familiar voice call out a, “fuck you!” And then sneakered feet squeaking down the hallway.
He shared a look with Robin, winced as he sat up to get a better look at the propped-open door. The sneakers skid to a stop at the same time as he fully craned his neck and all the air was pulled out of his lungs.
He wasn’t imagining it.
Because there she was, gripping onto the doorway, flinging herself into the room, big brown hair and long limbs flailing as she tripped over her own two feet, stumbling further inside. She had two different shoes on her feet, a white Ked on her left foot and a black Converse on the right. Her glasses sweatshirt was on inside out and backwards, but she still had the same look of determination on her face that had been permanently etched there for as long as Steve could remember.
A familiar sense of relief filled Steve’s chest, seeing her for the first time in years. If he hadn’t already fainted, he was sure this would have done it to him.
JJ froze, stuck standing in the middle of the room and breathing hard, eyes glossing over Steve as she checked out the room. He watched her eyes immediately dart to the corner of the room where Robin was now standing. Robin stared at Steve's sister, bug-eyed, almost identical to the look she was giving her.
Except JJ's look was riddled in something else, something that made it clear to Steve that she didn't expect to find anyone in there with him. Like she expected him to be alone.
He doesn’t know how long they’re all stuck in place before he finds his voice.
“Jesus, did you run here from Chicago?” Steve’s scratchy voice startled everyone in the room, himself included. She snapped her head in his direction, eyes already filled to the brim with tears and panic written all over her face.
“Even in a hospital bed, you’re still acting like a little fucking punk.” Her voice watery as she wrapped up her little brother into a bone crushing hug. Steve didn’t care if she was reinjuring him. Didn’t care to explain to her how he got here. Didn't care if she just got put on a watchlist because she terrorized some federal agents in the hallway. He didn't care if Robin watched them cry and hold onto each other.
He didn’t care. Because JJ was here. JJ's there and he felt like he could finally breathe. He felt like the unbearable weight that had been sitting dead on his chest for the past three years, through the countless horrors, being lifted. All because his sister's hug felt the same as it did when he was 5 and she was 13, when he was 10 and she was 18, when he was 17 and she was 25. He didn’t know how much he’s been needing her.
“Go!” He hears Robin whisper among scurrying feet and he picks his head up from JJ’s shoulder. He watched the tops of Dustin and Erica's heads get pushed to the other side of the door.
He meets Robin’s eyes, also watery. She mouths, “we’ll be back,” before darting out. He winced when her eyes reached his neck, knowing what it looked like. To someone who could only imagine what he went through. What they all had been through. How he could never tell her the full story, even if he wanted to.
JJ moved her hands to Steve’s shoulders, breaking the hug to get a better look at him. Her face crumpled as her eyes scanned over the bandages wrapped around his torso.
her eyes meeting his, something so unrecognizable in them. Steve had never seen such a look coming from his sister. No, she was the bravest person he’d ever known.
His sister, who threatened to punch his childhood bully in the mouth when she was 14. Who called him an idiot and threatened to punch him in the mouth when she found out the bully became his best friend when they got to high school.
His sister, who called their dad a dick to his face before swinging her arm back. Who put out the rest of her cigarette on their mom's ugly floral couch as she walked out of their lives, telling their dad to kiss my ass, as the door slammed shut behind her. Steve's heart racing for her as he watched her ugly lemon colored car peel out of the driveway from the guest room window.
Her eyes were filled to the brim with tears as they sat there, both adults now. Adults technically, and even if Steve felt like he'd grown a hundred times over in the last few years, he still felt like a little boy watching his sister watch him. The fear in her eyes more chilling than any of the monsters he's had to face.
If only she knew what he had been up to these last three years.
#sen writes#my fic#will see this fic in a week (hopefully)#also you have been warned that this will be a longboi oneshot!#esp since the snippet is 1.4k oooops#steve&jj
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as always
Written for day 24. no time for rest of @whumpril.
Stranger Things | Steve Harrington centric | Words: 200 | Tags: double drabble, self-sacrificing steve, angst.
Also here at AO3.
-
Steve is so tired, but he has to push on, there’s no other option, not even when his body is screaming at him, when his eyes are growing blurry and his head pounds like someone’s taking a hammer to it. His throat aches and he shivers in the cold and his back hurts, the denim chafing against the roadrash there isn’t helping, even if the offer made something buried deep within him feel soft.
He allows himself one second of leaning against a tree, a few breaths, just to clear his vision and then he has to push on again.
There’s no time for wet doe-eyes and stolen glances, no time for what-if’s, not now, at least.
He’s been hastily bandaged, but he knows it’s just a temporary fix, a band-aid to a beaten-up face, gently put on by pre-teen hands, and he might not have the chance to get himself seen too and do what needs to be done even if they get out of this hell with it’s horrible air and sentient vines and bats preying their every step.
He coughs, grimaces and bears it with a grin, hiding his pain as always, it’ll keep.
It’ll have to.
#whumpril2024#whumprilday24#no time to rest#angst#double drabble#steve harrington centric#stranger things fic
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youtube
🎮 Clash Road (Arcade)
Complete Gameplay: https://youtu.be/AGntIDL3PDY
#ClashRoad #Arcade #bike #DataEast #bicycle #mountainbike #race #TourDeFrance #racer #bicicleta #racing #RoadRash #Viciogame #Gameplay #Walkthrough #Playthrough #Longplay #LetsPlay #Game #Videogames #Games
#Clash Road#Arcade#bike#Data East#bicycle#mountainbike#race#Tour De France#racer#bicicleta#racing#Road Rash#Viciogame#Gameplay#Walkthrough#Playthrough#Longplay#Let's Play#Game#Videogames#Games#Youtube
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Hi, could you maybe do one where Austin is on set but gets a call that his girlfriend was involved in an accident and he goes there immediately and is super soft spoken and gentle with her? Thank youuu
Austin was in the middle of a scene when an assistant ran onto set, holding out Austin's phone which said it had at least six missed calls from the local hospital. "I'm sorry for interrupting, sir. But this is important." He nodded and as soon as he realized a hospital was calling him, he ran off somewhere quiet while his heart began to pound.
"Is this Austin?" A female voice on the phone asked
"Yes, this is he?" He said, as he began to panic. "I'm Dr. Jones calling from Baptist Memorial, you've been listed as YN's emergency contact and unfortunately she came in about an hour ago with road rash, a few lacerations to her face and a broken wrist. She's alright but we haven't been able to reach you and I wanted to try and call myself."
"Yes, yes my phone was off... I-I-I'll be right there. Is she okay?"" Austin asked. "She's going to be okay sir, only minor injuries but she's been asking for you constantly."
Austin took a deep breath, trying to keep calm as he ran his hand through his hair. "I'm sure she's so scared... I'm leaving now."
Austin jumped and his car and sped to the hospital. He haphazardly parked his car and ran into the ER. Out of breath, he asked, "I'm Austin... my girlfriend, YN was in an accident and she was brought here?"
"Oh yes sir, she's in room 3416." Before the nurse could finish saying the room number, Austin sped off to your room.
He realized as soon as he got to your hospital door that he probably looked all crazy terrified. And the last thing you needed was to be stressed out or scared so he took a minute to try and calm himself down before he saw you.
He ended up pacing a bit, trying to control his breathing so he wasn't visibly freaking out when he walked in. "Okay, okay Austin," He whispered to himself, "the nurse said she was okay... get yourself together!" He yelled at himself. "Breathe.. she's fine... she's fine... she's fine!"
It took about ten minutes before he felt calm enough to even put his hand on your hospital doorknob. Here we go he thought.
He expected you to be covered in tubes and wires but thankfully you only had a wrapped wrist and a smile on your face along with a few bandages on your face from the roadrash and lacerations they said you got in the accident'. Leave it you to be thrown around in a car a bit and still be smiling.
"Hi baby," you whispered, gesturing him to come over with your good hand. He hesitated, afraid giving you a hug would hurt you. "I... I don't wanna hurt you." You chuckled a bit but stopped as you held your ribs. "I-I'm okay, I'm okay I promise. Just the wrist and a few bruises. Come give me a hug bubs."
Hearing the permission, Austin rushed forward and carefully hovered above you so you could finally give him a hug. "Hi baby.." you said again, relaxing into the loose hug. "Ugh, you scared me bug." "I didn't do it on purpose." You reminded him. "I know, I know I just... I never wanna be that scared again. Especially when it comes to you. I love you bubba." He says, looking down at your joined hands. "Hey, hey," You unclasp your hands and cradle his cheek in your good hand. "Austin, I'm okay. I'm totally okay I promise. It could've been a lot worse and yes I'm lucky but I promise you I'm good. I'm just gonna have trouble not being able to use both my hands for a bit."
Austin's face lights up at the thought of helping you while your hand and wrist heal. "I can help!" He says almost excitedly. "I know you will baby boy. And I wanna thank you in advance. And I love you too by the way."
"I-is there anything I can do.. now?" He hesitantly asks, giving your laid up body a full onceover. "Can you just lay with me? Just be careful of my arm." He nods. "My feet will hang off the bed though.." He says smiling as you two attempt to get comfy in the bed meant for one. "You're my gentle giant." You whisper as you lay your head on his chest. "Hey, hey are you allowed to sleep?" You nod, feeling his heartbeat pick up anxiously through his shirt. "Yes baby, I'm all cleared. Now can we please take a nap?"
Austin already knew he wouldn't be sleeping much, he'd be too worried about you to get any real sleep but he nodded anyway. "Just wake me if you need anything okay?" You nodded dutifully and sighed against your boyfriends chest, happy to be back where you belong. In his safe embrace.
***
protective boyfriend austin... there we go!
<3 I hope you like it and if you want to request anything else, just put it in my inbox
see you soon, happy reading!
@elvisthesillygoose @austinbutlernews @austinbutlerr @mooodyblue
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Haruka’s scars include extensive roadrash scars along her outer arms, thighs and back area.
#artbucky#yakuza#ryu ga gotoku#rgg#sawamura haruka#forever yours#injuries realistically like this would also include full back paralysis but whatever it’s yakuzas world.#but yakuza 6 really had her get hit by a car and all she got was a bandage on her forehead.#it’s fucked up no matter what. but she’s going to live her life no matter what#she got hit by a fucking and survived meaning she can literally do anything she sets her mind to fuck you kiryu
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You gave us the (delicious) physical descriptions for Soap, Ghost, Rudy, and Alejandro, but what about Price and Gaz?
Gaz:
Canonically not as fit as the others. He's still fitter than the average citizen, dw, but he's stated a few times his job is more mental than physical so he focuses on that
Various scars that he can't even count from over the years
Roadrash from falling out a helicopter twice (Cannot wait for him to do it a third time in MWIII)
Has a long scar from his knee to his hip on the side of his right thigh that the story of how he got it always changes
A scar under his jaw in a straight line from a time when he was captured and they almost slit his throat, but it's usually hidden by how he naturally keeps his head
Not as many tattoos as the others but he still has them. Has 141 tattooed on his left side.
Some small, non sentimental, tattoos here and there
A burn scar on his arm from where he'd been doing something with Price and Price accidentally stuck him with his cigar
Price:
He's ONLY 37 so he's still very fit. I love Dad bods, don't get me wrong, but he's in the military for fuck's sake
Also he's not balding, I don't care
Lots of bullet scars
Has a huge gash scar on his ribs
A smaller one on his back
All the way through bullet scarring on his right shoulder
Has an all the way through knife scar from where someone pinned his arm to a wall with a knife and he yanked it out
Lots of other scars that he likes to tell people about
He definitely got an "only god can judge me" tattoo as a dumbass teenager and had to get it covered up because that's fucking embarrassing
It's been covered up with a lion which is arguably also embarrassing but we'll let it slide
Hand tattoos.
Has lots of thigh tattoos
Has a tattoo on his inner thigh that says Survive that he got as a bet when he was younger
He and Laswell have matching tattoos. Hers is a coffee mug, his is a tea cup.
He has the UK flag tattooed somewhere, don't @ me.
--
Hey, do you want to earn arbitrary points that mean fuck all? When you leave me an ask, add one of the following teams: Team Red (Valeria, Farah, Alex, and Graves), Team Bugs (Rodolfo, Soap, Roach, and Gaz), or Team pros (Price, Laswell, Ghost, and Alejandro) and
your chosen team gets five points.
#god I am biting the table thinking about Price#MJ you don't see this#John Price#Kyle Gaz Garrick#Gaz COD#Price COD#A father and his son#Call of Duty#Call of Duty Modern Warfare II
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i am so sorry u have roadrash on ur ass like /gen that probably hurts like hell but i am giggling at the idea of u looking at ur creeper, looking at the road, looking back at ur creeper, back at the road once more, and smiling like the grinch. if i were there i woulda gotten it on video for u
ALDKSKDDLKDKD ONLY THING MISSING IS MISTY CHASING ME DOWN THE ROAD AND TRYING TO CLIMB ON ME WHEN I ENDED UP STARFISHED IN THE STREET
I was left unsupervised for TEN minutes
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That's good 😊 My friend has been visiting so I have been good lmao went to the lake for the first time in years
hell yeah!!!! i think i haven't been to a lake in at least 3 years. the last time i went to one i ended up w 3rd degree roadrash bc i fucking tripped and fell 🤠🤠🤠🤠
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