#check car accident

[whumpypepsigal]

Subservience (2024): “No, no, Nick! …Come on, please. Somebody help. Come on! Come on! Nick!”

+bonus:

[nintendoni-art]

So I'm doing Thumbnails for the Bumblekast now.

Like, officially, which in my opinion is pretty neat. ^^

[restinpeacesensei]

[l3viat8an]

ro you okay? its been awhile

Hiii nonnie, I’m okay!!!

Sorry I kinda disappeared again, I really didn’t mean to jdksjsk but I was in a small car accident last wednesday ‘n have a very minor concussion so I’ve been resting a lot this week-

I’m pretty much fine now tho!- no need to worry about me or anything I promise I took time ‘n took care of myself!!!

[thefandomenchantress]

Okay, so I’ve had a thought. When Teruko and Ace talk near the elevator in chapter 1, Ace lists off various fears he has. And some of them are normal, like spiders. Or sharp things in general (That one I could make an angsty theory about, but carrying a knife across the kitchen gives me a strangely high amount of anxiety so honestly I kind of understand). But the third one sorta mystified me.

Now, this line could simply be for comedic effect, since it’s so strangely specific compared to spiders and sharp things. And it is kinda relatable, I constantly worry about getting run over when crossing the street.

But I had an idea. My idea has no evidence and is basically a shot in the dark, but I wanted to share it.

Ace used to have a friend named Taylor. They aren’t friends anymore, and most people theorize he and Ace had a falling out, or Taylor died.

I bet you can see where I’m going with this. What if that was what happened to Taylor? A hit-and-run of sorts. That would explain why it’s one of the first fears Ace thinks of, since I’m sure something like that would scar you forever.

But again. I have no evidence, it’s just a random thought I had and wanted to share.

[ghcstcd]

Swisstopher, I know you've got the prettiest boyfriend in like the history of the universe, but i'm available-

[tilbageidanmark]

Idiots with driving license.

[randomwriteronline]

His bad leg hurt like hell. Perditus clenched his teeth hard enough for his hairs to begin standing on their ends as he pulled himself out of the wreckage of his Thornatus.

Such a mighty vehicle, reduced to a pile of scraps.

Ain't that the way things go.

He looked down: like some sort of badly cut bread, chunks of fake meat parted to reveal that blasted prosthetic bone he was bound to until his flesh would at last be rotting off of him, scratched and bent and still half melted in places - a cheeky last parting gift from Death after he'd paid the rest of his life to evade it.

The ground beneath him was hard, and rocky, and uncomfortable to crawl upon on all fours. He had no other choice, so the stone kept digging into the heels of his palms and he kept biting back groans.

Then he came.

He made no light, no sound, no nothing, but he had a wire pinned to Perditus's neck, a mental link that grew slack or taut like a puppet's string: and he felt it pull suddenly, and a splendid smile came to into his thoughts before he even turned to see it.

Velika stood. He was tall, like this, unburdened by the broken body he'd forcibly fit himself within for centuries. His back was straight, his hair was long; his eyes had a shine to them, almost mischievous, almost genial, a bright intelligence that made his gaze so innocent, as though he could not hurt even the most insignificant of ants.

Velika stood, like he'd stood before him on that horrible day, identical in every way down to the very clothes he wore, down to his very expression: he stood like'd stood back then, looking every bit divine.

Numb uncaring nihilism squirmed within Perditus.

It fought, it thrashed, it rebelled, it clawed and gnawed and punched and kicked, but its adversary was too great: his last shield was torn apart from within, its guts spilled across oval pupils.

"NO!"

Velika stood, smile dropped.

"NO!" Perditus barked again, scrambling away, pain suddenly an afterthought in the wake of animalistic fear: "NO! NO! NO!"

Velika stood, with eyes wide and still from the surprise.

"NO! NO MORE! NO MORE! NO MORE!"

His hand searched for purchase. It found only a sharp descent which teared into it, ripping its wet flesh apart, and then a long void.

Velika stood frozen and unblinking as the frightened eyes capsized, disappeared from sight, when the body was dragged down the ravine by gravity as the Glatorian still screamed, and screamed, and screamed, and screamed, and screamed, and screamed, and then did not scream anymore.

Perditus laid at the bottom of the cliff, curled up in a strange and ugly pose, at the end of the long intermittent trail of his blood.

He gazed into the rock with the same impossible terror.

Velika stood, staring at his bent neck from so high above him with only a blank expression. Then he simply left, as suddenly as he'd come: with no light, no sound, no nothing.

-

Gelu walked in: "Perditus is dead," he said gravely.

No reply came.

Then softly, very softly, Atakus spoke.

He said something, something indeed, but nobody understood it: his voice was too low, his breaths were too loud. He grasped his chest as he stumbled right into the wall - grasped at his frantically beating heart threatening to break his ribcage and rupture his lungs.

He walked out of the walls that had been his prison unhindered as no Agori nor Glatorian made any move to stop him. The Toa turned to look at them, confused by their paralysis, unsure what to do.

The Potori's escape was not a long one: his trembling limbs gave in as he fell on the sands, mere bio away from where he'd started.

A sound came out of his mouth.

And it rose, and it rose, and it rose, until it became a piercing wail.

From inside the small building, the others watched him. They watched him tear his armor off to beat his chest like a fury; they watched him grab at his wool and pull, pull, pull until it was torn off of him; they watched him fold in on himself, howling like a fox doomed to die in a forgotten rusted trap, as he he slammed his head into the ground over and over.

Raanu shot out an arm to block the Toa trying to reach the screaming thing: "Leave him," he murmured. "He'll be done soon."

"He's hurting himself," the artificial being replied, still puzzled, incapable of understanding, brilliant crystal eyes traveling between the elder and the sorry spectacle so close and yet so far from them, "He's hitting himself - what is happening? What is he doing?"

"He's mourning."

Atakus wailed.

He spoke his mother tongue, his old stone dialect, calling helplessly for many things at once - a mother, a brother, a cousin, a lover, a friend, a healer, a patron, a slave, a warrior, a saint... What could he do? What could he do? There was no wail for a gambler, no wail for a beggar. No wail for someone he could not define, and so his grief-stricken mind cobbled together everything, everything, every form and code he could remember.

A voice reached him eventually, after his chest was battered with bruises and his nails had half shaven his head: the words entered his ears and made a nest within, forgotten immediately - except for one.

He turned his head with wrathful crazed eyes and teeth bared: "FRIEND!" he repeated spitefully: "We were no friends!"

He stood fulminously once more with his dagger in hand, unable and unwilling to recognize who he was talking to, unfocused vision incapable of distinguishing materials or colors or armor designs from one another from within the spiraling throes of his madness.

"If we'd met in the War he would have blown my head open!" he shrieked. "He would have run me over until my bones were fine mist, and I would have done the same to him!"

Just as quickly as his rage had come, it submitted to invincible pain: Atakus shivered harshly, losing his grip on his weapon and twisting his face into a horrible grimace, and clutched again his chest with a horrid strangled cry.

"Oh Perditus, oh Perditus..." he sobbed softly between heaving breaths. He panted as he tried desperately to suck in as much air as he could while sinking to his knees; his teeth gnashed together once more, with his horizontal pupils turned upwards towards his spooked interlocutor lit by a frightening fire and his voice pitched high into a garbled growl: "You have no idea what it means...! To be a debtor for life...! To have each new breathing second be an inescapable fee...! To have every moment of your life stolen from your hands, because that is how you paid your survival...!"

A groan left him, foam building in his mouth, trickling from his lips. He sunk blunt nails into his chest before slamming his fists into the hole his faulty heart called home until it adhered to the rhythm of his furious beating, until this body that stifled him like a too warm blanket followed his orders and kept functioning without needing the appearance that blasted loaner of a god, without forcing him to renew that contract he'd signed so young and foolish and close to an anguishing death.

"You don't understand!" he wailed, "You will never understand!"

Something struck him. Something rattled along the drumming of his infernal organ and sparked a wrong connection in his nerves, setting them on fire, devouring part of his brain.

Uncomprehending eyes watched him grab at the air behind his nape with crazed purpose, bringing it to his mouth where his dull straight teeth bit down on it as though it were a wire: he thrashed around it, pulling with his hands and jerking his head back repeatedly, violently, snarling like a rabid beast and desperately trying to cut something that wasn't there.

"BESTIAL THING!" he growled and spat and hissed, "BLASTED GREEDY BASTARD! HORRIBLE, DIGUSTING, DAMNED--"

With a horrid shriek he jolted again: his jaw snapped open, his fists parted with a sudden motion, and he stumbled back panting as if he'd just lifted the sky back into place.

"I DEFY YOU!" he howled into the nothingness. "I DESERT YOU!"

He laughed, horrid and mirthless, for only a moment.

Then he crumbled upon himself, clutching his chest again with both hands, whimpering in anguish.

"Perditus, Perditus, oh, Perditus..." they heard him sob under his breath like a prayer when they approached him, to bring him back in so that his sputtering heart could rest: "Oh Perditus, giatí me áphēses, giatí me áphēses? Ḗmastan oi mónoi pou mporoúsame na kataláboume, oi mónoi… Oh, Perditus, giatí me áphēses, giatí me áphēses móno se autón ton tromaktikó kósmo?"

-

"Perditus has died to evade me," Velika said with a blank expression.

Pohatu felt his heart stop for a moment.

"Do you think he's made a good choice?"

"What?"

"Do you think he's made a good choice?"

He stared into the Great Being's unmoving eyes.

"What sort of question is that?" he asked, appalled.

"Do you think he's made a good choice?"

"He's dead," the once Toa ignored him. He held his disgustingly soft face in his hands, still shocked. He would not pretend he'd liked the man for what little he'd known of him, not after his trap had almost gotten Kiina and Kopaka injured and was the reason he'd accepted to be stuck amongst these infuriating gods to keep them from trying to kill his siblings and friends; but he had still been a sapient living being like the rest of them, and the way his end was spoken of made his flesh seize within him until his mouth tasted nauseous and his vision was swimming. "He's dead - Mata Nui... What happened to him?"

"He's died to evade me." Velika repeated once more, empty tone unchanged. "Do you think he's made a good choice?"

Patience depleted, Pohatu snapped: "What does that even mean?"

"Would you consider death a viable path to escape your situation?"

Their brown eyes mirrored each other as they both stared.

"How are you this crosswired when you have no wires to cross?" the once Toa asked back.

Velika's mouth opened: "Ah ah," he said without intention. The sound fell from his parted lips like change from a broken vending machine. "Would you consider death a viable path to escape your situation?"

He stood across him, blocking the door completely with his silhouette: his back was straight, his head held still.

Pohatu bolted further away from him, suddenly terribly frightened, hitting his spine hard against the wall: "What is wrong with you!" he cried out.

Velika remained perfectly still, a pillar of salt unmoved by any and all passions: "Would you consider death a viable-"

His hand startled.

The words died on Velika's tongue, and he widened his eyes. He looked down to his palm: his ring finger stood out, dislocated, as if it had been yanked or bent with great force.

A strange hissed whine left him.

His eyes (not as blank as before, alight with pain and something close to fear) settled back on the Toa with a snapping movement as he hurriedly held his injured appendix in its twin: "You'll answer later." he decided for him.

His clothes rustled like leaves caught in a temperamental wind as he walked away at a quick pace, relieving the doorframe of his terrifying presence - abandoning only the vague shape of his own afterimage there, like a large spot of darkened static lingering in the vision of one who has looked into the sun too long.

Pohatu waited, and waited, until the sound of his steps disappeared.

"There's something wrong with him," he murmured.

"I noticed," Takanuva tried to joke from his hiding spot as his armor slowly reflected the light in the room in a way that colored it white and gold once more.

But his older brother did not laugh, gazing past the door, still fearing the return of that unnatural empty voice, those unnatural empty eyes: "I mean it," he whispered, dead serious, thinking of Bohrok: "There's something wrong with him."

-

shout-out to The End Of Hope by @bread-into-toast, which grabbed me by the fucking throat this evening and is the sole reason any of this got written. wonderful zine. delightfully unsettling. go read it.

[antibayern]

so we move to LA. my father gets a job at the palm restaurant. my uncle junior works there who was a jehovah’s witness, believe it or not. he went from catholic to jehovah. so basically, my grandmother wanted us all to switch from catholic to jehovah, you know? meanwhile, we’re from harlem, my father’s doing coke, you know? my mother thinks she’s ann margaret, she’s teasing her hair with a bottle of vodka, you know? so dysfunctional, cross-addicted family, still cooking pasta on sundays… um, and uh, and the meatballs, they- they wind up being burnt, you know? it just got so dysfunctional. it got pretty bad

[honeyvenommusic]

❗️NEWGLASSANIMALSGLASSANIMALSGLASSANIMALSGLASSANIMALSGLASSANIMALSGLASSAN-

[fantasmadelaciudad]

anyone else violently afraid of dying in a mass preventable accident or is it just me. asking for a friend.

[vamuelle]

Real fucked up that in America when you get into a car accident your first thought is

oh God of fuck how am I going to pay for all of this and not

Am I ok?

[bunnyseahorse-blog]

when I got into my car accident I felt perfectly fine for a few days afterwards

when I got checked out it was to confirm I was as okay as I felt. Turns out I had several badly herniated discs and whiplash. Like it’s been almost two years and I’m still going to specialists for it. I was hurt but didn’t feel an ounce different. Why?

Because I was still in shock and according to the doctor my swelling hasn’t set in yet.

Last year late in winter my dad had a near death experience. I babysat my younger siblings, I cooked and I cleaned and I never once cried. I felt evil because it never hit me like I felt it should have.

Two months later I break down into a panic attack over him having a cold, one that he’s already had checked.

Stuff hits us differently and to add to that it hits at different times. If something has happened and you feel like you didn’t react right, it’s not so. We process slowly. We don’t always know we are injured so to speak. It’s ok if you don’t cry or freak out. It’s okay if you can’t make sense of something right away or know what to make of something.

check your body, check your mind, but ultimately trust your own timeline and your own process

[itsseriouslyridiculous]

so people are driving really unsfely. endangering themselves and others. but how do we fix this? the hard part is that the most problematic drivers aren't interested in being safe or following rules they just want to go as fast as possible to where they are going. so if required to take a defensive driving course they probably would rush through it and not retain any knowledge.

how could we best keep people safe? Is there a way to make people care about safety?

[meteortrails]

still thinking about that hyperrealistic dream where I purposefully ran Charlie xcx over with a car and then covered it up and spent like, literally half the dream morally reckoning with what I had done. what the actual fuck was that about.

[pinkydude]

Valentin & Mitch | 561/??  | Bumpy Ride 😋 🚕