#Car accidents

[whetstonefires]

'Saying things in a funny way' is an op skillset for real though.

Latest example 'when you're late coming home and I don't know why I get worried about you and think perhaps there has been a car accident and this is why I send check-in texts' = distressing concept, explains the texting as something other than controlling behavior but still sounds neurotic and may increase any aversion felt toward it

'When I don't know why you aren't home yet I start to think maybe you got eaten by a car' = funny, sympathetic, likely to make such texts less burdensome to receive.

Why is communication like this.

[heidioph]

[irondadfics]

Hi so I've been trying to find this fic where peter is coming back from a science camp or something driving one of Tony's cars and he gets in a car accident and thinks tony will be more worried about the car and a bystander comes up to him and ask if he's OK and if he can call anyone and he calls tony and that's about all I remember

(I would so appreciate it if you found this for me) <3

this is for you. Enjoy!

Nothing So Valuable by JAWorley

"Why don't you call your dad? Your dad can't be too mad. Insurance will pay for this. If it was my son in a crash I'd just be glad that he's ok," the stranger says. As they stand on the side of the highway, Peter thinks that he really does need to call Mr. Stark and describe the destruction of his expensive car, there's no way around that. But it's not as easy as the man said, because Mr. Stark isn't his dad, as much as Peter would like that. Therefore Mr. Stark can be as mad at Peter as he wants to. OR Peter crashes Tony's car, but when Tony shows up, Peter realizes some things that he hadn't understood before.

[papaziggy-devblog]

Titties

[frangipani-wanderlust]

PSA From Your Friendly Neighborhood 911 Dispatcher

If you have a medical condition that can cause a sudden, catastrophic loss of consciousness, motor function, or any similar scenario, please either stay on top of managing this condition or simply do not drive. At all.

I know that sounds harsh. But, just that I am aware of, medical emergencies while driving have caused people to drive into a restaurant, to drive into a childcare office, to drive into other cars, and to drive down the wrong side of the road more than once.

Not every accident can be prevented. But if you know this is a situation you can avoid, as a favor to me, please avoid it.

[itellmyselfsecrets]

“Men are more likely than women to be involved in a car crash, which means they dominate the numbers of those seriously injured in car accidents. But when a woman is involved in a car crash, she is 47% more likely to be seriously injured than a man, and 71% more likely to be moderately injured, even when researchers control for factors such as height, weight, seat-belt usage, and crash intensity…She is also 17% more likely to die and it all has to do with how the car is designed - and for whom…When men and women are in a car together, the man is most likely to be driving. So not collecting data on passengers more or less translates as not collecting data on women. The infuriating irony of all this is that the gendered passenger/driver norm is so prevalent that…the passenger seat is the only seat that is commonly tested with a female crash-test dummy, with the male crash-test dummy still being the standard dummy for the driver's seat. So stats that include only driver fatalities tell us precisely zero about the impact of introducing the female crash-test dummy.” - Caroline Criado Perez (Invisible Women: Data Bias in a World Designed for Men)

[suguruslut]

Little birds crash the Batmobile

Fandom: Batman (All Media types)

Author: suguru_slut

Words: 5,300

Rating: General

Pairings: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne & Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne & Jason Todd

Tags: Car Accidents, Brotherly Bonding, Family Fluff, Humor, Two Robins, Canon Typical Violence, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Vomiting

Summary:

“But…how will we get around? I get kinda tired jumping from building to building…” “Hmm…” Dick glanced around the cave. There were a million different toys before them, but only one that could get them from place to place—the keys were behind a special glass case, but with one swipe of his fingerprint, access was granted, and Dick had the keys to the Batmobile in his grubby little hands. “We’ll drive, of course!”

Dick and Jason crash the Batmobile and try to hide the evidence

[surskip]

I hate those things in cars where you can clip your phone into something that rests on the air vents so it's right next to you. it can be useful for directions but there's so many people who are actively texting or watching/playing something while driving using those and it's so unsafe. several times a car has stopped suddenly or almost crashed into me and every time I look and see one of those

[marlynnofmany]

Experience: listening to music in the car, imagining getting in a crash and being stuck injured while that song keeps playing

Normal reaction: "That's messed up; I hope it never happens."

Writer reaction: "That's messed up; I should use it in a story. The song would be ruined for the character, and Michael Jackson's 'Thriller' is so fitting because the zombies look like they're injured anyway, and wow this could ruin any appreciation that character has for zombie movies too, and..."

[thedannyphantomcookbook]

The Ghost Boy (working title)

Hello!

So I have hit some hard financial times and the cookbook is being put on hold because it's hard to afford to buy ingredients. In the mean time, I need something to occupy my mind since I'm not in the kitchen as much anymore to distract me from my intrusive thoughts. So I decided to finally try my hand at writing Danny Phantom Fanfiction. I've had this idea for a long time that what if instead of a human boy becoming part ghost...what if Danny had been a ghost first that became human? It's one part rewrite, and one part AU, this is the prologue chapter to that fic. It's a little rough to read, because it is the first chapter I've written of anything in YEARS. And despite being an English major in college, I was a B average student, I wasn't THAT good haha. So, if I actually manage to complete the fic in it's entirety - because I usually will stop writing if I get to a block that I can't think my way out of - I am hoping to find beta readers or bounce ideas off of someone to help me develop this retelling of Danny Phantom. If you like it, give me a thumbs up, reblog, message me, you know the drill. Enjoy!

As Ryan headed out for his third EMT emergency response call for the night, he thought to himself he’d never feel dry ever again.

It was nearly one a.m. A rainstorm was blowing through Amity Park, bringing torrential downpours. Flash flood warnings had been issued and people were asked to stay off the streets, since the rain and the August heat created thick humidity that made visibility low and driving dangerous. Ryan had been an EMT long enough though to know that despite the weather and warnings, people were still going to be out on the roads. 

As he donned his heavy rain jacket, which wasn’t any drier from the last run, he heard the dispatcher over the intercom. 

“20 year old female driver injured. Possible pedestrian injury, mental health crisis. Assumed juvenile teen male.”

Ryan groaned. His mind started going through all the possibilities. Mental health crisis’ were one thing. But when it was a kid…it’d made these calls much harder to get through. If there were parents involved, they could be hysterical, which would make it harder to give the child treatment. Or if the parents weren’t involved, that added an entire different layer of difficulty to wade through. The parents could be substance abusers, neglecting their child over a needle or a pill. Or instead of abusing drugs, they were abusing the child, which would explain why a child would be out in this kind of weather. Arrests would be made, paperwork would have to be filled out, and CPS would be called. Hopefully the child would have family to care for him, but if not, he’d be entered into the foster care system, moving from one home to another and left alone to process the trauma from that night. The child might even already be in the foster care system, and ran away. Ryan has seen a lot of those cases over the years. Either way, this wasn’t going to be an easy night.  

When they arrived, police had already gone to work setting up a detour. Blue and red emergency lights and bright work lights lit up the scene. A car had veered off to the side of the road and struck a telephone pole which had fallen over the sedan. The driver side door was open, its driver sitting with her legs hanging over the side. There was a large gash in her forehead that was being treated by the Firehouse EMTs who had arrived first. To the left of the car, the Firehouse Ambulance sat with its back doors open. A small figure sitting on the gurney inside, wrapped in a blanket. 

A police officer walked up to him. Ryan recognized him and narrowed his eyes. It was Darrel, his least favorite police officer on the force, who was the least compassionate and cared more about how shiny his badge was than any actual good he could be doing. 

Darrel jabbed a thumb towards the driver and started talking, skipping over basic greetings. “Chick over there is a fucking mess. I gotta get a statement from her but I can’t understand her between the sobs and this fucking rain.” He swiped a hand across his face, wiping rainwater out of his eyes. “Can you try talking to the kid? I doubt we’ll get anything out of him though. He’s a little psycho.” 

Darrel didn’t bother to wait for a response and walked away. Ryan watched him walk away, glaring. Of course, Darrel would sum up a traumatized kid as “psycho.” 

Ryan shook off his frustration and headed to the ambulance. A Firehouse EMT saw him approach and hopped out of the vehicle. Ryan glanced at her badge and read her name was Bethany.

“The kid doesn’t appear to have been hit at all,” the Bethany shouted over the rain. “There are no marks anywhere on his body, no bruises or scratches. We scanned his scalps for bumps. Kid seems to be clean. You should probably still get an MRI scan on him at the hospital.”

Ryan peeked around the EMT’s shoulder. The child was wrapped in a thick gray blanket, shaggy black hair hiding his face. He was shivering, despite the hot, humid night.

“What’s his name?” Ryan asked. “Have parents been notified?” 

Bethany shook her head. “He won’t talk. Possible symptoms of shock, but there’s probably something else going on. He was found naked.” 

Ryan grimaced. Again, that could mean any number of things. For now, he would treat the situation as a psychotic breakdown.

“Let me try talking to him,” Ryan offered. “Just me and the kid.” 

Bethany shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She waved to the other EMT sitting in the truck with the kid. “Let us know if you need help.” They walked off to check in with the driver.

Ryan climbed into the ambulance and sat across from the kid. He took a few moments to study him. He was a pale, skinny kid with long limbs. Wide, electric blue eyes stared back at him, and was definitely scared. Ryan put him at around maybe 14 years old.

“Hey there,” The EMT gave a soft smile. “My name is Ryan. I’m here to help. Can you tell me your name?” 

The kid blinked at him, not answering. He continued to shiver at him, hands tucked underneath his arms. He left it open in the center, exposing his naked frame. 

“Here.” Ryan reached on either side of the kid. He recoiled sharply. 

“It’s okay,” Ryan reassured gently, moving slow. “I just want to get you warm.” He folded the blanket over him more tightly. “You can hold on to it if you like.” 

Hesitantly, the boy untucked one of his hands and grasped at the blanket, his knuckles turning white with effort. 

“Better?” 

The boy looked away, and then jerkily nodded.

Ryan leaned back. “Good. Now how about that name?” 

He remained silent. His hand clenched and unclenched at the blanket. Ryan waited, quiet and patient. Rain pounded on the roof of the ambulance above them. From outside, Ryan could hear the broken sobs from the driver.

“H-he c-came out of n-nowhere, I s-s-swear,” the girl wailed. “I promise I wasn’t s-speeding. Oh, god I h-h-HATE driving in the rain at night, my b-boss wouldn’t let me go home early.”

“Miss, take some deep breaths for me, okay?” Darrel said, without a hint of compassion in his tone. “No one is in trouble yet. We’re just trying to figure out what happened.” 

“D-did I hit him? Is he okay? Everything h-happened so f-f-fast,” she stuttered. “Oh, god I’m s-so s-s-sorry.” 

“He is being looked at now by the medical team,” the police officer answered, then added, “He appears to be awake and alert.” 

More sobbing echoed across the street. 

Ryan watched the boy in front him, who still shivered with his head tucked in, breathing quiet rapid breaths. As the silence stretched on, he wondered if the kid was non verbal. He seemed to at least understand English, so he could rule out any kind of language barrier or deafness. 

“Are you in any pain?” Ryan tried again. “Any discomfort anywhere?”

The boy shook his head. 

“What about family? Anyone we can call for you?” 

The boy remained silent. 

Ryan sighed. “Okay, kid. No worries. We’ll get you taken care of.” The kid may not even remember who his family is, if he was indeed having a psychotic episode.

“I’m going to start taking your vitals now,” Ryan stated, pulling out a pulse oximeter. “Can I see your hand?” 

The boy looked up at him. Looked down at the oximeter and back at Ryan, uncertainty etched across his face.

“It doesn’t hurt, I promise.” Ryan demonstrated on his own hand and wiggled his fingers. “See?” 

Another long moment passed. Then, slowly, the boy let go of the blanket and held out a trembling hand. Ryan felt a quiet relief. He was starting to get through to the kid. As gently as he could, Ryan clamped the oximeter onto the boy’s finger. The boy flinched, but only slightly.

“See? Not so bad.” He pointed to the little digital screen, which was displaying the number 120 beats. “This reads your pulse and tells me how fast your heart is beating.”

“Heart…beat,” The boy whispered, surprising Ryan. The kid stared at the little device, almost wondrous.

“Yeah,” Ryan smiled. “You’re alive, kiddo.” 

______________________________________________________________

He was a John Doe. There were no hospital records of him. No dental or fingerprint records. It’s as if he had never existed until a few days ago. 

Jazz quietly watched the boy through the little window into the hospital room as her parents talked with the CPS agent. The boy sat upright in bed, watching the TV that hung across the room. The hospital gown swallowed his thin frame, making him look smaller than he actually was. It had been three days since he was found at the car accident. His photograph had been shared all over the major news channel, asking the public if anyone recognized him. So far, no one has come forward. 

“Thank you so much again for doing this Jack and Maddie,” Judy, the CPS agent said. “I understand that you stopped fostering years ago, but I’ve called everyone else in the area. No one else had the room.”

“How could we have said no?” Maddie touched a hand to her heart. “The poor child. Someone must be missing him. He looks so sweet.” She looked over at him and frowned, sympathetic. 

Judy shrugged and shook her head.. “I can’t imagine either, but you know how these things can be.” 

Jack clasped a hand on Maddie’s shoulder.”Well until then, we’ll give that kid the best home he’s ever known. He doesn’t know how good my Famous Fenton Fudge is!” He patted his belly. “He’ll never want to leave.” 

As they went over the details and paperwork, Jazz thought about her role as a big foster sister. She had been little when her parents housed the last foster kid. She didn’t have too many memories of that time period. Just older kids using the second bedroom in their house, some of them taking time to play with her, some of them wanting nothing to do with her. She remembered how weird and confusing it was, especially when her friends in kindergarten had siblings that actually stayed and lived at the house with them. 

Before she was born, her parents had a hard time conceiving, and decided to foster kids in hopes that they could nurture young minds into becoming scientists like them. Unfortunately, their specific focus turned heads away more often than inspired them. 

Jazz’s parents were ghost hunters. They believed not only that ghosts existed, but that there was an entirely separate dimension in which these ghosts existed. They also believed ghosts held unique properties that could propel the world decades into the future. It could change medicine, become a different source of electricity, help create new inventions for anything from cars to televisions and more.The opportunities could potentially be endless. 

The only problem is there was no proof ghosts exist. Just a pile of conspiracy theories and hoax videos from online, and some texts theorizing their existence. Technically and literally speaking, ghosts were not real. 

It was always embarrassing having to tell people what her parents did for work. Jazz had learned by now that as long as she changed the subject quick enough after saying her parents were “scientists conducting independent research,” there wouldn’t be any follow up questions. Her parents were also why Jazz wanted to go into neuroscience when she graduated high school. For one, the brain was actually real and for two, there was so much about the brain that was yet to be discovered. How the brain changes its own chemistry overtime due to outside circumstances, circumstances that don’t physically touch the brain at all. How can a single moment alter the way we think, feel, see, and hear? To Jazz, there was no stranger phenomenon.

It’s also why she was so excited to meet her new foster brother. She had eavesdropped on her parents’ conversation with Judy earlier that day. A boy found with no memories of who he is, where he had come from, or who he belonged to. It was sad, of course and scary, not knowing anything about who you are. But what events led to this? Will there be weird behavior patterns that will be linked to the trauma his brain buried deep within his mind? And just maybe, Jazz could help identify what disorder or mental illness he has, get one step closer to treatment, and one step closer to finding himself and his real family. The idea that Jazz could figure out what was wrong with the boy, before the doctors, thrilled her to her core.

“Would you like to meet him?” The voice startled Jazz from her thoughts. She looked around and found Judy beside her.

“I think he might benefit from meeting someone close to his age,” she explained. “Make a friend.”

“Oh.” Of course, that would make sense. He would need someone to connect to, to rely on, and confide in. Jazz could certainly be that person. Her chest rose a bit. “Absolutely.” 

Judy smiled. “Wonderful.” She knocked on the boy’s door and poked her head in. “Hey there, kiddo. Do you remember me? I’m Judy.” 

The boy’s gaze broke away from the TV to look at her. “Yes. Hello, Judy.” His voice sounded young, like it hadn’t hit that drop growing older would bring.

“I want you to meet Jasmine Fenton. You’ll be living with her for a bit.”

Jazz stepped around Judy. She waved. “Hi, I’m Jazz.”

“Hello, Jazz,” he said evenly, neither friendly or aggressive. 

“I thought you two might like to chat, and get to know each other.” Judy suggested. “You’ll also be going to school with her.” 

They decided they were going to enroll him in at Casper High School as a freshmen. The doctors hoped that by giving him a normal environment might help jog some of his memories.

“That’s right,” Jazz jumped in. “I can show you around the school, introduce you to your teachers, help you with homework after,” she rattled off. The boy just blinked at her and Jazz wondered if he understood any of what she was saying. 

“I gotta go finish up some paperwork,” Judy said. “Be back in a few.” She left Jazz and the boy alone. 

They stared at each other for a moment, quietly taking one another in. The boy didn’t fidget. If anything he was eerily calm. 

“So…” Jazz started. “How have they been treating you here?” 

“Fine,” the boy stated simply.

“I’m sure it’s been weird, with all these people visiting you.” She crossed the room to sit in the chair beside his bed. 

“Yes,” the boy agreed. “They bring me food and ask me questions I don’t know the answer to.” He looked down at his lap, as if he were disappointed.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to know them yet.” Jazz told him.

“I don’t?” he asked, as if that had never occurred to him before. Had no one told him it was perfectly okay to not know everything about himself yet?

“Of course not,” Jazz shook her head. “Sometimes things happen and because of those things, we forget stuff. Like who we are.” 

“Oh.” He thought about that for a moment before saying, “Do you forget who you are sometimes?”

Jazz laughed. “Oh no, not quite like that. I mean, I forget to do things like take out the trash, but it’s because I’m focused on doing other things like reading. I just meant more like, sometimes a big event happens, like that girl in the car from the accident. It upset her so much that her brain might make her forget the details of the night to protect her.” 

The boy frowned. “Protect her…how?” 

“Sometimes the things we know and remember cause a lot of emotional stress,” Jazz tried to explain, secretly happy she was getting to describe psychology to him. “It upsets us so we don’t remember it. But eventually, and with help, we can remember it so that it doesn’t upset us anymore.” 

The boy thought about it. “Do you think something upsetting happened to me? Is that why I can’t remember things?”

“It is possible, yeah.” Jazz felt a little guilty just then. This wasn’t how she wanted the conversation to go. They were supposed to be getting to know each other, not play psychologist and patient. She looked around the room to change the subject and noticed he was watching an old Batman movie.

“So…you like superheroes?”

The boy shrugged. “I guess. I like this Batman show.” On the screen, the villain The Penguin was at his mayoral rally and everyone had just heard his own recorded voice saying he played the citizens of Gotham city. The penguin bared his decaying, pointed teeth at the crowd as they all booed at him.

Jazz chuckled lightly. “Yeah, I wasn’t a fan of Danny DeVito in this one.”

“Who?” The boy asked quizzically. 

“Danny DeVito. He’s the actor that plays the Penguin.” 

“Oh. Who plays Batman?”

“Michael Keaton.”

Together they watched the movie. The Penguin was pelted by rotten food before turning his armored umbrella upon the crowd, screaming.

“I feel bad for the Penguin,” the boy suddenly spoke up. 

Jazz looked over at him, curious. “How so?” 

“At the beginning of the movie, he just wanted to find his parents,” The boy fidgeted with the remote in his lap. “He was raised by…penguins.” He wrinkled his nose.

“Yeah.” Jazz shifted in her seat to face him a little more. “It is kind of a silly idea, being raised by penguins.” 

“But it’s not just that, he…” he trailed off, and then said quietly, “he just wanted to know who he was.” 

Jazz understood how he felt connected to The Penguin, at least from that point of view. “It was a part of his villain arc. He was mad that his parents abandoned him, so he blamed the city.” She paused thoughtfully before saying, “do you think your parents did that? Abandoned you?”

“I don’t know.” His shoulders slumped, and he seemed to curl into himself. “They aren’t here.” 

She regretted asking that question, feeling like she was doing a bad job at this, playing psychologist. She thought she’d be better at this. She wanted to be better at this. There was so much unspoken hurt in the boy, and so much not known about him, and no one was coming forward to claim him.

On screen, the Penguin had returned to the sewers and was yelling at his clown like henchmen to not call him Oswald anymore and that he no longer considered himself a human being, but a cold blooded animal. The henchmen stood around him, uncertain of what to do.

“I don’t even know my name,” the boy said, softly. 

Jazz’s heart ached for him. Suddenly an idea popped into her mind. “You could come up with your own name.”

He paused for a moment. “My own name?” 

“Yeah! I mean, why not?” Jazz grew excited with the idea. “You don’t want to go around being called ‘John Doe.’”

“I guess not.” He thought about it, sitting up a little straighter. “Oswald?”

Jazz bursted out laughing. The boy was startled and then flushed with embarrassment. 

“No, I’m sorry,” Jazz giggled, and then immediately felt guilty. “No one actually uses that name. You don’t want people to call you that, trust me. It’s super lame.”

“Oh. Okay.” He was quiet for one more moment. “What about Danny?”

“Danny?” He was thinking of Danny DeVito. Jazz wanted to giggle again, but fought against. No one needed to know he got his name from the comedic actor. “That’s not a bad one. It’s good, actually.” 

“Is it?” he asked, doubt still lingering in his voice.

“It is.” Jazz affirmed. She stuck her hand to shake and smiled. The boy looked at it before extending his own. Jazz grasped it warmly.

“It’s to meet you, Danny Fenton.” 

And for the first time since he had been discovered, Danny smiled back.

[bomberqueen17]

uhhhhmuhgawhhhh

ok this has been a long fucking month.

i am back in buffalo. i am in my house. i had to find my pillow, which had gotten misfiled. but i have had a slep, i have gotten catsnuggles, i have gotten *cough* we'll call them dudesnuggles. i have awoken. i have made my coffee the way i like it. i am on a couch on my computer and don't have to do anything for at least an hour.

now i can tell to you the Saga of All Of It.

so like ok August was a really rough month. It was just-- busy, and I had been tentatively on a three-weeks-on, one-week-off schedule at the farm, and had thus managed to visit Buffalo like, well once this summer but you know. Anyway the last time I was home I'd spent the entire time helping Dude's mom clear out his aunt's house, so it hadn't exactly been relaxing or let me do any of my own projects, but it had been something. But I got back to the farm and it was go-go-go-go, and then BIL and Farmsister and Farmkid and my mom went on vacation together for a week so I had to watch the house and fill in some farm duties especially dealing with the farmer's market and such, and then they got back and it was a frantic game of catch-up, and then the Livestock Manager got married so he had a week off before and a week after, prearranged but the amount of work was still the same. And it meant that BIL especially was very overworked and was horribly cranky about it and, I'm not gonna tiptoe around it, was real fuckin mean to specifically me for a bunch of it, so that sucked out loud. And in the midst of all of this there were a couple of events where everybody else was invited to a thing and I had to stay home and cover for the absences. And it all kinda piled up and like, I'm a grown ass woman and can handle not being invited to things but it was a lot of things. And I tried, in the middle there, to celebrate my birthday a little bit? but there wasn't a ton of time, I found out Friday afternoon that I'd be able to have Saturday off, so I did scrape together an expedition for myself to a nearby art museum at least but that was the sum total of it, a flying visit from a friend for which I had like four free hours and then had to return to work, and dude visited for the weekend and I got to spend a couple hours looking at art. That was it.

So I was really tired and really done, and this final week BIL was just like outright shitty to me, yelling at me about things that either 1) went against a policy he'd made up earlier, like using a particular method of cleaning on a particular floor drain which he had specifically told me not to do, clearly changed his mind about, and then was furious i hadn't done, but see I wasn't notified of the mind change there so I didn't know? anyway, or 2) were things that I'm not in charge of and I just happened to be the person closest to him when he noticed that something hadn't been done the way he thought it should have specifically been done today even though there would have been reasons at other times to not do it like that, and in fact in this case later it became useful that it had been done as it was, and-- just anyway. It was stuff normally I'd not be so upset about but at the culmination of this extremely thankless-grinding month I was just distraught.

So I got my work done early enough to leave at midday on Friday. And I did, after lunch I did a tiny bit more work but left the farm before 2pm, absolutely giddy at the thought of getting home to Buffalo in time for dinner.

And traffic was annoyingly heavy on 787, but all was fine and doable and not a problem until some jackass decided to cut into the entrance ramp for the 90 at the last possible second and some even bigger jackass decided that the only way to react to this was by theatrically overreacting by coming to a complete fucking stop and so

well i hit the person in front of me, and the person behind me hit me, and the person behind her hit her, and we all pulled off on the side of the road and had to wait for the cops. My hood was crunched shut, and my exhaust system, already having become noisy from part of a pipe rusting through, snapped clean in half.

But nothing was leaking. And nobody was hurt. The lady in the car behind gave me her number and left, because she had dogs in the car who were likely to overheat in the 90F high humidity, and also recently a woman had been killed on the side of this very road in this very situation and she was too afraid to wait. But the ladies in the car ahead were nice and offered me a drink from their cooler and just seemed tired but not mad, and had already called the cops which was great because I had forgotten how to operate my phone in all the kerfuffle.

So we waited for a state trooper to show up-- and notably, he was actually really nice, very reassuring, understanding of how I was also on the phone with my insurance company (also very nice, and I had to have her on the car speaker because the traffic noise was so much i couldn't hear my phone microphone at all, and I was so distracted I kept being like "you want me to what" and then not hearing the answer-- telling her my license plate number was like the most difficult thing for some reason), and he got us to move our cars to a different off-ramp where there was less traffic, and we filled out all the paperwork and stuff and he gave me directions for how to get back to the westbound interstate. He called the lady from the car behind me, for me, and the two of them explained to me that since there was negligible damage I didn't actually have to report that accident if I didn't want to, and so I was like okay fine let's not even bother, since it has to be a whole separate accident report and none of the damage to my car is from that accident. (Not visibly anyway, though I expect it's probably why the exhaust system did what it did-- still though, not likely to be relevant. Even though surely the accident I did report is going to be determined to be my fault, but this second one wouldn't be-- it wouldn't help anything.)

I took off and immediately realized I wasn't going to be able to drive the car as it was, and helpfully a man pulled up next to me at that light and said "your exhaust system is definitely dragging, do you know about it?" and I said wearily "I was just in an accident so thank you for helping me identify what the problem actually is", and went past the on-ramp into the parking lot of a fire hall right there that happened to also be a pokemon gym in my color. I sat for a moment, put a defender in the gym (thanks, random team instinct person, for having taken that gym half an hour previous, that cheered me up a bunch), and then got out of my car, found a work glove I knew I'd thrown in there, crawled under the car a bit, and tucked the muffler pipe up to sit on top of the catalytic converter so it wouldn't drag on the ground. (I don't know that the glove was necessary but I do know exhaust systems get real fuckin hot so i do recommend gloves if handling any of those parts on a car that's been running lately.)

It worked, it held, and I was like well. Car runs. Hood's all cattywumpus but it's definitely not going to fly open because it's literally crimped shut. Already had some front-end damage on this thing from an accident we mutually decided not to report a couple years back-- very minor but the plastic is cracked and the foglight mount damaged. Well now it's proper fucked, so that's fine. I was going to have to find a mechanic to repair the muffler assemblage anyway, it was already loud as fuck, so now it's just done with the polite fiction of being an exhaust system.

So I walked around the car, open and shut all the doors to make sure they still did, and then got in and got onto the Thruway. Fuck this shit, I was not going to drive back to the farm and then have to rely on a bunch of people of whom I'm slightly tired and who are clearly also slightly tired of me to have to ferry my ass around, and miss my extremely extremely necessary week off of work (because you know if I'm there I'm going to fucking do work on the farm, that's how it works, I have no boundaries).

All I wanted was to see a person (and cat) who actually enjoy my company and want to see me.

So I put in earplugs because the noise was not great, and drove 300 miles, and arrived just before dark, and pulled into the driveway and Chita was so surprised to see me that she came right out to me even though i was still sitting in my car. She doesn't like cars, hates them when they're moving and really doesn't like being in them, but she does like to sit under them when they're off.

[image description: a small gray cat with her paws up on the running board of a blue car, peering in the open driver's side door with motion-blurred interest; the foreground is my bare leg and the hem of my dress and my filthy car floor]

So I'm home, and I have already done all the awkward phone calls, and I was expecting I'd need to call the garage my insurance company has set up to do the assessing (that's how my insurance company does it) but the text of it says they'll call me. i still might call them midmorning today to see if they're open. IDK I don't even care what happens now, I'm home and I've had my own coffee and my cat missed me and my dude missed me and i'll just figure the rest out later.

[girlnextdeer]

Haven’t seen a single pair a fucking headlights

[sailoreuterpe]

Help Buy Zack Another Car After the Accident

[irondadfics]

Haii!! Can you help me? Im looking a story about Peter save Morgan from car crash? Thank youuu for your help. Have a nice day!!

could any of these be be your fic?

[hclib]

Tragedy at the 1923 State Fair

One hundred years ago, auto racing was a major attraction at the Minnesota State Fair. Despite the sport's popularity, the State Fair's board unanimously voted on the evening of September 5, 1923, to ban amateur drivers from competition. The swift change came because of the tragedies that had unfolded at the fairgrounds just a few hours earlier.

At 2:00 pm, roughly 50,000 people had gathered in the State Fair Grandstand to watch the auto races and auto polo competition. Not long after the events began, however, tragedy struck. Owen Van Drake, a 31-year-old driver from St. Paul, lost control of his car and hit the wall or fence. An ambulance arrived swiftly, but Van Drake died before making it to the hospital. Only a short while later, another 31-year-old driver, Joseph Lehman of Minneapolis, accidentally drove through the fence. With his car and clothing afire, Lehman was able to escape from the wreckage. He survived, but only after spending a week in the hospital badly burned. Finally, in the final competition of the race program -- an auto polo match between the Canadian and American teams -- Walter Sterling, a 27-year-old Canadian player, was injured when his car rolled over.

Perhaps because of the traumatic outcomes of that racing day, a program for the September 5, 1923 auto races is in our Minneapolis and Hennepin County Subject Vertical Files. We do not know how the program came to the library, but it may have been donated by one of the spectators at those frightful races. Whoever that spectator was, he or she noted Lehman's "smash up" in the program.

[2022dirt]

An Oscar Mayer Wienermobile was involved in a rollover crash on the Tri-State Tollway in Illinois.