#car crash cw

[selfshippingquotes]

F/O: S/I, calm down, I'm completely fine.

S/I: No you're not, F/O, we gotta get you to a hospital!

F/O: No, no, not the hospital! Injections are scary and painful!

S/I: And getting run over wasn't?!

#f/o #self ship #selfship #selfshipping #selfship quotes #fictional other #f/o x s/i #hospital tw #tw hospital #cw hospital #hospital cw #injection tw #tw injection #cw injection #injection cw #car crash tw #tw car crash #cw car crash #car crash cw #car accident cw #cw car accident #tw car accident #car accident tw

[clintismoved]

-> The Bartons, alcoholism, and violence

Harold Barton verbally abusive to Barney

Clint and Barney as children

The Barton boys parents died in a car crash as a result of Harold's drinking

Barney Barton after beating Clint and almost killing him (Hawkeye: Blindspot)

Harold Barton verbally abusive to Clint

Clint telling Barney while he's standing over him after beating him that "Dad would be proud" (observation that Barney is mirroring what their father use to do)

Edith Barton being taken to go with Harold

Harold Barton, drink in hand, screaming at his son

Harold Barton drinking

Do not reblog unless you are me

#headcanon spam #alcoholism cw #drinking cw #car crash cw #car accident cw #child abuse cw #domestic abuse cw #alcohol cw #addiction cw #verbal abuse cw #violence cw #[ ABOUT ] I guess I just need something or someone to believe in or maybe I just need someone who believes in me #[ MUSINGS ] Go out fight hard screw up save the world a few times; just keep taking the shots okay #[ COMICS ] Now in ink and color ! #[ STUDY ] Clint Barton and Alcoholism

[comic-art-showcase]

Batman by Carson Thorn

Batober prompt: Crash

#carson thorn #batman #batober #dc #car crash tw #tw car crash #car crash cw #cw car crash

[rslashrats]

i got attacked six times on artfight so far

#car crash cw #flashing images

[shrimp-apocalypse-now]

performative Male feminist ladyship might be going too far. I texted this guy about a "horrible experience" I had last night and his first response was "men are terrible"

it was a car accident

#car crash cw #the saga of the coordinator guy

[dreamlogic]

the profound euphoria i just experienced when a lil white audi aggressively passed me over the double yellow going like 20 mph over the speed limit, only to take a right turn too tight a couple intersections up and absolutely mangle the front end of their vehicle running up over the curb 😌

#ctxt #had a sensible chuckle as i trundled past their chewed up bumper going exactly the speed limit in my dinky old subaru outback #witness me you stupid reckless fuckhead #car crash cw

[aphmau-prompts]

Teony, Nicole, and Nekoette crash a car.

#aphmau #Nekoette (aphmau) #Nicole (aphmau) #Teony (aphmau) #prompt #rolling dice #car crash cw

[von-eldritch]

//hellsa hates people fawning over her when she's hurt for all manner of reasons but it doesn't help that she's purposefully crashed her car so many times it qualifies for the ship of theseus

#I mean I'm with y'all just bc she won't DIE from it doesn't make it healthy #but like. the juxtaposition DOES make it seem ridiculous-- #OOC #car crash cw

[devouringbodies]

when I'm driving and love crime comes on

#why did they put it back on Spotify I lose my shit Every time this is dangerous #hannibal #nbc hannibal #hannigram #when 3:25 hits.........nut #car crash cw

[emberoops]

hmm. need to decide what other injuries my tbi patient suffered. unless it was a freak accident, it wouldn't make sense for her to only have the head injury.

lets see. a pedestrian, hit by a car at night - i need to figure out a way for it to have happened so insurance won't cover the transfer-of-consciousness procedure, although its possible that's a lack of coverage on the healthcare side of things?

hm.

if this was newer than i originally wrote, it looks like insurance wouldn't cover it. that would change the first scene a bit - again - but not too majorly.

otherwise....hmmm.

#book talk #head injury cw #car crash cw #car accident cw #ask to tag

[pyreshe]

sandman verse notes & ramblings:

livvy’s mom, rosana, was a dream of warmth and of light; just as capable of being a blessed reprieve as she was of searing heat. she was loyal for a long time after lord morpheus had vanished, seemingly abandoning them in a slowly dying realm. but eventually, her curiosity got the better of her and she began to roam.

rosana spent twenty-seven years among humankind under the guise of a girl in her late teens before she eventually met a young man by the name of vincent soto. he had charmed her, cared for her, and was truly and deeply kind despite of his gnawing lonelieness. rosana began to age with him. eventually this culminated in the two of them having a child together. a shining little girl they named olivia.

shortly before olivia’s birth, rosana had admitted three things to vincent; that she wasn’t human and that their baby wouldn’t be entirely human either. she mentioned other rogue dreams and the possibility that one day, somehow, dream might come back and she wouldn’t know how he’d react to the baby. vincent, brave with love, had promised her that regardless of what the future held, they had the present and he’d make the most of every minute of it.

they had a year of blissful contentment before rosana left to protect the both the man she loved and their baby. before she left, she told vincent to raise livvy as a human and to love her with all of his heart. and vincent obliged as rosana retreated back into the dreaming.

and so livvy grew, nurtured by vincent’s love and humanity. she always knew, on some level, that she wasn’t entirely human- incidents of burning plagued her for as long as she could remember, sometimes vincent would get this borderline terrified look in his eyes, and every morning, he would practically interrogate her about whether or not she’d had dreams. she never did.

vincent dies at the hands of a drunk driver who doesn’t even bother to stop and check on the damage he’d caused. rosana almost leaves the dreaming for livvy’s sake when she receives the news, but refrains. it’d be too dangerous for her.

after a year and a half of limbo in the foster care system, livvy is placed with the barnette family.

years and years pass this way and then, finally, morpheus is released from his prison.

#✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: v the embodiment of a wildfire starting / sandman #car crash cw #drunk driving cw #parental death cw #ask to tag

[nobully]

mistified timeline

(will update as threads progress)

(pre-threads) wang yi wanders into the mist, spots a few zombies, nopes out and gets a pistol along the way

he gets cornered by bentley and his goons and brainwashes the lot away before interrogating bentley about sun's past. he doesn't get to shoot the guy more than once before both of them run at the sound of qin xian's voice

meanwhile, world 1 qin xian runs into eiden. maybe world 2 qin xian later? maybe wang yi makes a cameo? anyways gluck eiden don't die

wang yi gets a cool military jeep and picks up xerxes break for a joyride! which turns out less joyful when they have to run over zombies, avoid a rabid Chain (actually a dog), and crash into a fountain. but wang yi gets his mansion back! and meets oz vessalius while both of them recover. he sprains his left leg and gets his throat choked/scratched up by break while trying to (ineffectively) brainwash the guy, but manages to take down more notes about his condition anyways. through the process, he also discovers that break is blind.

memory reel: wang yi gets a glimpse into his future in canon and finds out he didn't cause the bus accident that killed his classmates after all. this is a positive. (canon updated to c80)

#ref #car crash cw #gotta do this before i forget my stuff lol #isola event; #realize i have to move break's stuff to the end because Injury

[lunarscaled]

-> The plastic of the basket handle bends beneath their tight grip, the meat of their palm where the joint of their thumb met with the rest of their hand uncomfortably stuff as a twinging cramp radiates into their fingers; they couldn't afford to lose their hands, they anxiously think. Their Stand required that they pull the bowstring to fire, and it was infinitely easier to do with fingers than it was their teeth or any other part of their body. They know people set records all the time for pulling amazing shots without a limb or two, but it really couldn't be them, it wasn't practical for their circumstance. ( not that people choose that. a second feeling beneath their worry bubbles up: they should be more grateful for the body they have, as much as it is used against them. this terrible, blood-stained hull that gave them hands to hold others with also gave them a bile-scorched throat when they couldn't hack it the first few times---dividing up a body, that is. their blessed body, which prays in church pews and crawls on their knees, begging for forgiveness while their shoes are still leaving tacky, red footprints behind them. their disgusting vessel, which protects them not from themselves, or God, or anyone, and especially not from him. )

The following thought comes about that, really, it's not their hands that are the issue, but that they can't seem to find enough space between the two of them. They could put themselves anywhere in the grocery store and they know he would still find them, like a curse. Like a law. Their shoes hit the tile floor in a barely restrained rush that wants to break into a run; they want whatever rope or chain that has caught their ankle to release them. They want people to look away.

-> They turn a hard right and head towards the nearest aisle with the fewest people in it regardless of if they had business there or not. They're falsely perusing the many stacked bottles of vitamins and holding their basket too close to their body though it is empty, as if taking it were removing an integral part of themselves. They can't hide behind comfort items here---no locked doors or stolen away dark spaces. There was no space under kitchen sink with cold pipes pressing against their cheek, the sound of dripping water steadier than their heart. Their stare, unfocused, darts back and forth between earth-colored bottles with their ears straining to stay in touch with the sounds around them: the buzz of ceiling lights too bright for this late in the day, the squeaky wheel of someone's shopping cart an aisle over, someone talking aloud about their dinner plans and don't forget to grab green onions and the sticky peel of a child's shoe off the linoleum floor. Footsteps, footsteps, footsteps; their tap tap tapping making Lyric's pulse jump on the end of a string. A yo-yo that you can't get to work quite right.

Keep moving. It's all they know how to do.

-> They try to think of anything they might actually have reason to shop for, one hand fisting a bottle of iron pills. They weren't anemic but they had been feeling dizzy lately at the sight of their own blood. Watching it run down a drain in thin lines made their skin itch; they washed their hair so much and yet it still seemed to stink of copper---that's right. They should buy more shampoo. Something stronger, this time it will get the smell out for sure. Their hair was in the best shape it had ever been because they severed its ends with a knife and brushed out loose strands even if it pulled on their scalp and hurt, because nobody would suspect it then, right? No one would look at someone with well-kept hair and suspect their hands were blackened with someone else's life. They sympathize with Lady Macbeth, scrubbing her hands raw, because Lyric felt that way too. They're burning all their clothes with stains on them because they won't come out ( never mind that he told them in extensive detail how to. never mind that he ridicules them for making a mess they didn't ask for. they couldn't be salvaged, like themselves, it was better to just get rid of them and buy new ones even if it meant their whole wardrobe came down to three different colors and as many cheap t-shirts as they could buy because they keep going through them. )

The hair products aisle isn't that far over. Lyric lingers around the corner at the end near the wall and waits for a woman with a basket full of nail polish and new makeup to make her pick, something pink and bubbly, and leave before they shuffle through the space ( and it really is shuffling. little footsteps like they're afraid to walk too confidently, like someone will suspect they've already stolen something. ) There are shelves and shelves of matching bottles promising rejuvenation and dandruff-free and split ends restorer. Lyric cares about none of it. Some even specify specific hair types, and how the hell would they know what that was? Who knew anything about the type of hair they had? It was just hair. Some days Lyric wants to cut it all off with a straight razor, bleach it and become someone else. Some days they want to impersonate the body of their brother because they think it will make them a better person, and yet they cannot. It would be too close to tampering with a dead body, because they were the same.

Lyric picks the strongest smell they can find. It doesn't matter what it is, as long as it drowns the fountain-penny-water smell out.

( just because no one had said anything about it yet didn't mean it wasn't there. )

-> The weight in the basket is some comfort. It grounds them to the space: for now, they are alone ( though it would likely not stay that way. ) If they had made a shopping list in advance and brought it with them, what would they have put on it? Perhaps if they go about their business like any other person, if Kira approached them again it would be easier to put space between them with the facade that he was a stranger, a freak. Who followed "girls" around in the grocery store trying to get their attention but some kind of kidnapper? All those missing persons cases---no one could blame them for being afraid, could they? They were just looking out for themselves! They can't be too cautious, it's dark out after all, perhaps the police should escort them to their car, or home. That was reasonable action for a "young lady", wasn't it? ( not that Lyric was a girl or a lady. not that they had any intention of pretending to be such. but other people's assumptions took an inch for a mile: they kept their hair long and people cast their opinion of them without a second thought. )

They slow their anxious footsteps, stretch the stride more, walk normally. They pick a bodywash in a brightly colored bottle since they're here, something lavender scented to help them sleep, and wonder if all the artificial smells will finally drown out the anxious itching in the back of their throat that they can't seem to get rid of. The ever-present urge to hold back their bangs and vomit all their feelings out. ( ...maybe they should cut it. Ah, but that would prevent them from hiding behind it like they often do. its length kept other people out as much as it seemed to hinder them. )

-> They're careful not to linger in any aisle too long, lest they be discovered again, but their attention can only be drawn in so many directions; every time they tried to focus on browsing normally so they didn't end up with a basket of useless things, they could not spread their focus thin over all the sounds around them. Could not listen for anyone approaching to flee in advance. They avoid the crowded spaces for the open-late interior garden section, full of bouquets and blooming house plants, smelling like soil and mist---maybe they should have one. They used to keep plants as a pass time when they had the space, but the apartments in Morioh were cramped at best and prisons at worst. There wasn't much room for anything except them and a futon and some necessities in the kitchen, an old tv they got at a used appliance store, a little radio some old lady was getting rid of anyways. But maybe they could make space. Maybe a houseplant would bring them ease in a way they hadn't thought of before, they had always liked being closer to nature than to people. If they could abandon this life right now and vanish into the woods, they would ( but is that because you want to be free or because you want to escape? are you releasing your bonds or hiding like an animal? )

Buried in their thoughts, they are unaware that someone has come close to them. When they are aware, it is already too late. The broad leaves of a standing fern cast a shadow over their head, one front obscuring their vision, but they know. Their organs seem to drop right out of them; the mess on the floor is humiliating, just like their terrified face, passing over for a second with pinprick pupils in the same second their feet are already turning away. The basket no longer feels like a comfort. They want to throw it at him and run.

They don't get far enough to even start.

"--- ---Nn!"

-> He doesn't have to bruise them further for them to wind up, shoulders hunched, some scream on the tip of their tongue of don't touch me! that never comes out. Before they can find their footing or their lost guts, he has reined them in to match pace, hand on their far shoulder that helps him keep them in place like a handle or a bridle. They know when they go home and look at themselves in the steamed-up bathroom mirror and wonder if the person looking into the mirror and the person looking back are the same, they will see the bruise where his fingers are digging into right now and it will make them sick. They will push the heel of their palm into it like a dirt stain, try to rub out of their skin and only succeed in giving themselves more pain and no relief; it will haunt them for days, a reminder: he doesn't have to be there to keep them in check. They will hide it with wrapped bandages and long sleeves like an open wound, cover themselves in layers---a sense of guilt will fill their gut. Every time they remember it, their appetite will diminish, their hands will shake. Right now, the feeling of his fingers digging into the joint that makes them visibly twist and wince is just someone pushing their handprint into soft clay. The permanence doesn't come until its dried up and fired.

-> They try to open their mouth. His fingers, splayed in their thick hair ( they don't want them there! don't touch them don't touch them don't touch them--- ), suddenly are a weight that pushes them forward with a quiet hiss that burns in their neck and spine ( both hands on the handle of their basket squeeze down. they want to hit him with it. they want to drop it and fake a tantrum, or a seizure, or anything that will get someone's attention, but they are stiff. they are desperately clutching their shopping like a terrified bystander to a car wreck---their own tragedy is the body caught between shrapnel and the wheel and the front of the truck that collided with it. nobody could hope of getting them out in time, and so they are forced to hang with a shard of glass lodged through their abdomen until they bleed out, all the agony of their broken ribs finally setting in. ) They don't feel good. Lyric can see the little blue, worn dress shoes the woman next to them wears when she comes close only to keep walking away. They almost reach a hand out to her. Almost dare to beg for help, but who were they kidding. Who would believe them? Who would even think to look at them as anything other than a complaining teenager trying to cause a disturbance, and while that could draw attention to them, it would not get them away. If anything, they'd be expected to leave with him, as a real child. They would be expected to forfeit all control to the "adults" of the situation. They grind their teeth.

"Fuck you." they seethe under their breath. He might not even hear it. It's probably better if he doesn't.

-> They're being hauled around again and they hate it. Their anxiety self-preserves by catalyzing into anger, the more frightened they become of him the more angry they are that they should have to endure being frightened in the first place. Who was he but a man? Mortal, faulty, prone to ego and assumptions. Who was he to be dragging them around like this, their shoulder and skull sore, rushing them through aisles with their head kept tucked with politeness---excuse me, pardon me, do you mind? Every time they drag their heels he just pushes them straight through it until they're afraid they'll trip and land in their face; every turn he chooses is one Lyric wants to try to seperate from him, knowing they may be openly dragged back if they continue to resist, and yet they must. In every small way, they must. They don't feel like they have a scrap of dignity left without it and it frightens them.

They see the bathroom before they recognize where they're going to end up.

-> They wonder, for just a moment, if he's going to honestly swirlie them like some kind of prank. It's almost hysterical to think about. Just one more humiliation for the chart; first you can't defend yourself in public, now you can't save yourself in private either. ( the bathroom door squeaks on its hinges. just as they enter they smell smoke but can't learn where it comes from. the inside smells of drain cleaner, wet tissue, bleach and hand soap in an awful mixture that makes them feel displaced. unreal. ) They lose their footing when he turns into the closest free stall and shoves them first; they feel their heel slip on a waxed tile and fall, twisted and clutching their basket to not spill, onto the toilet seat ( they're lucky it has a lid. ) In the small space their cowardice climbs up their throat: bile, trembling mouth, a cold sweat in an already cold space, a hole being seared into their gut. In their unwanted recline the toes of their shoes reach just past his, legs sprawled to not be heel-first against his shins. He looks down on them. It both terrifies them towards compliance and also makes them want to throw a fit. To stomp and kick and bang their shoes against the door until someone HAS to come, loud beside his abdomen, over and over again; BANG! BANG! BANG! they want the door to hang pitifully from it's hinges---they want to see him disheveled and destitute, with his teeth broken on the porcelain rim. They want to get up and scream in his face until their throat is hoarse and they feel better, because what really matters here is how they feel, right? Isn't it? Didn't they matter?

They mumble something under their breath.

They don't have to look up to see his eyes when the door latch clicks. They wouldn't want to even if they could.

"I don't need your help."

Was this help?

" 'M not gonna follow this fake-ass domestic shit. I'm going home."

@quirofiliac moved from X for beta

#quirofiliac #⭐ well you're a 'real man' and you do what you can. you only take as much as you can grab with two hands ( quirofiliac. ) #⋇ SO CATCH ME UP I’M GETTIN OUT OF HERE: JOJO’S BIZARRE ADVENTURE #⋇ DIAMONDS ON THE FLOOR: PART 4 #long post cw #car crash cw #its just used as a metaphor but jic

[rslashrats]

can i run into your car window anad explode all over it pleaaaase

#car crash cw

[engagekiss]

this one loves mock trial! this user is in college (graduating this year ahahaha... fawn is not ready for that!) and its case this year is a civil case about negligence~

this deer enjoys being a witness (this one never did mock trial in high school so he does not know if the goddess's case involved students studying to be witnesses specifically... he knows that law school mock trial doesn't have that though) and likes to play defendants~ it gives this fox a chance to pretend to cry....

we did not study roles, per say, the teacher moreso auditioned us or did it based off vibes — for example, for the sake of anonymity the kids names will be T ( she / her ) && J ( he / she ), while our teacher is called S ( she / her )

S : now we need a defendant …

J : T seems like the type to run over a kid

T : no i don’t ???

S : J, you’re right. T you get to play defendant

^ we were not allowed to ask for role changes unless someone left, lol … most the witnesses were random people ++ the crossing guard ( as the case involved a school zone ) …

the goddess hopes yours goes smoothly !! graduating must be scary … may life bring you the best of luck !

#🤍 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 prayers #car crash cw #child death mention

[kailianaflores]

TOBIAS HARTWICK    —     son  of  rear  admiral  langdon  hartwick  (  also  known  as  cobra  )  and  julianne  hartwick.  spoiled  military  brat  with  a  heavy  paycheck  thanks  to  his  mother’s  family’s  involvement  in  the  oil  industry,  parents  too  lenient  on  their  little  miracle  –  too  late  to  discipline  him.  family  moved  to  california  when  he  was  starting  high  school  –  his  father  moving  up  the  ranks  and  getting  transferred  to  vfa-2.  pursued  kai  flores  for  months  before  she  finally  gave  into  his  antics,  dated  for  almost  a  year.  stayed  faithful  for  two  months  before  other  girls  turned  his  head,  unbeknownst  to  kai.  drove  under  the  influence  with  her  in  the  passenger  seat,  crashed  the  porsche,  multiple  flips  before  she  went  through  the  windshield.  tobias  remained  relatively  unharmed.  everything  was  covered  up  in  the  media  thanks  to  family  money,  only  mentioning  the  expensive  car  and  not  its  owner  –  the  hartwick  family  left  california  after  that,  a  single  “it’s  over”-text  while  kai  was  in  a  coma  was  all  she  got.  tobias  is  put  through  the  naval  academy,  his  dad  pulling  multiple  strings  to  get  him  in  –  but  if  he  wants  to  get  his  inheritance,  he  has  to  serve  his  country,  become  a  man  as  his  dad  would  say.  cocky,  arrogant  and  a  know  it  all  –  earning  himself  the  callsign  IKEA  (  i  know  everything  already  ).

#&&. npc #&&. tobias hartwick #car crash cw #cheating cw