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tellthemeerkatsitsfine · 9 months ago

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Coached my first tournament in nearly a year today. It was an odd way to start, as I’ve hardly even been to practice since last spring. I haven’t properly returned since COVID occurred. I tried in 2022 to go back, it sort of worked, until a ways in 2023 when I got really disillusioned with it and stepped way back. But wasn’t ready to say I’m quitting, because it was my entire life for about 15 years. You can’t just give that all up. I always assumed I’d do it forever. It was the only place where I knew people or knew what was going on.

There was a really little tournament today, in this small town about an hour away. It was this little thing, nearby and unimportant, in the middle of the part of the season that’s full of major championships. My friend talked me into going with her to help coach. It’s only an hour away.

I always said I love the sport, and I meant it. I love the physical feeling of it. I love the back and forth and the way you can get so deeply focused in the middle of a match that you forget everything else exists. I love the high of when a move works and you bring them down, and I even kind of love the sense of just pushing against a wall when it doesn’t work. I love the strategy and all the little things that you can pick out in a video review. I love the competition.

But more than anything else, I’ve realized, when it’s gone what I miss is being part of something. Having a community, a place where I can go and I know who everyone is and they all know me and I know what all the little connections are and how everything works. That seems like the most irreplicable part of it, if I ever closed the door completely on the idea of being involved again (by, for example, moving out to the East Coast or even across the ocean, as I’ve considered doing, and have no really strong reason to stay besides keeping a door open), I don’t think I’d ever find that anywhere else. The very thing that makes that community feel special to me is the number of years I spent getting to know everything in it. You can’t just replace all those years. I could make new friends but I couldn’t make a whole new community. And friends come and go, you don’t want to count on that for your whole social life. They marry women on the other side of the world or they get engaged to women who live here but want to drastically change his social life, or they have brain aneurysms or they try to a fuck a teenager so you have to cut him out of your life. As, you know, a few completely hypothetical example of where four of my friends have gone in the last few years.

Today was definitely about community. It was a tournament mainly for kids aged sixteen and under, not the level of coaching I did pre-COVID. Pre-COVID, I was mainly involved with really competitive team, of the ones aged 16-24 or so, and I was on the road almost every weekend for tournaments that were usually not just an hour away. The GTA (Greater Toronto Area) is 5 or 6 hours away from us (depending on traffic and on which bit of the area it is), and I used to be there all the time, because that’s where the more competitive teams and the bigger tournaments are. We’d go down there every weekend, pile as many coaches and athletes in one truck as we possibly could to save on gas costs, then pile as many as we could into a hotel room or Air B&B or sometimes the floor of the gym where my friend coaches in Toronto, to save on more costs.

And I constantly complained about it, because it’s not fair that athletes from my city have to pay so much more to compete than the ones who live in the GTA, who can just drive an hour in on the morning of the tournament instead of driving 5 hours the night before. But obviously, once it was gone, it was the biggest thing I missed. The road trips home after a tournament, with kids going between loudly signing along to the music, trying to teach my co-coaches and I Arabic (the athletes who rode in the coaches’ truck almost all spoke Arabic, because by and large they were the ones with parents who weren’t rich enough to drive them down – most of the white kids went with their own families), falling asleep on top of each other, and talking shit about their opponents. I wouldn’t trade that for a team that has a little extra money for facilities due to a much lower travel budget, but they don’t get the bonding time. They don’t get the special moments like yelling at 17-year-old for sneaking out of a terrible cheap motel in the middle of night and nearly getting killed.

But today wasn’t that. It was a little tournament in the valley around our area. I knew everyone. So many people whom I hadn’t seen in years. It was gratifying how many came up and hugged me as soon as they saw me, excited to see me because it turns out the community hasn’t forgotten me no matter how long I’ve been gone. I had some really lovely chats with some people I haven’t seen in ages.

But I did remember: being part of a community can get romanticized in my mind really quickly when I haven’t actually done it in a while (you know, like how doing two 5-hour road trips a week for months at a time seems like a beautiful thing when it’s a bit of nostalgia, but would get much more annoying if I started actually doing it again). In actually practice, the thing about being in a whole community, rather than just a small and curated group of friends, is you don’t get to pick who joins that community. Which means that going to spaces where the community is requires being around people you don’t like.

I didn’t realize until today just how lucky I’ve been in the last few years, really since 2020, to have had to spend almost no time in person around people I don’t like. Not that I never have to do that – we had a fun time at Christmas this year when my brother made some racist jokes and I told him they were racist and then my mother started crying because she hates that he and I don’t get along. But mostly, aside from a few exceptions like that, I’ve been able to avoid that feeling of standing in the presence of someone I think is being terrible and having to bite my tongue and try to get along. And I really fucking hate that feeling. I’ve always hated it, obviously. I know everyone hates that feeling, but I think I might hate it more than most people do. Because my friends can do it while seeming only mildly annoying, and it’s always bothered me more than that. Pre-COVID, it was a running joke among my friends that I hold a grudge forever and have no “poker face” for hiding when I can’t stand someone. But I could at least tolerate being in their presence, if I had to. I think that during COVID, my tolerance for that has gone down in the same way an alcohol tolerance would from lack of use. Doing it today made me wonder how I ever used to get through it all the time.

Here is a list of reasons why I disliked various people who were in the room with me today:

- The coach from another city who met his wife by being her high school teacher.

- The ref who’s been posting on Facebook that Israel has a right to defend itself.

- The other coach from that city who voted for the horrifyingly abusive coach to get on the board during the Big Dramatic Elections of 2016 (no not the American ones, the ones for board spots in our region). The coach he voted for has put three athletes in the hospital (that we know of) by forcing them to cut dangerous weight and train while injured, and also drove a friend of mine/first fully qualified female ref in Canada out of the sport by intimidating her into dropping a sexual harassment complaint against him.

- The coach from my team who used to be very close friends with me and then got a girlfriend and stopped talking to me almost entirely, and now they’re engaged so that’s just forever now, and he still makes vague small talk with me when he sees me as though we didn’t used to share everything and as though it’s fine that we have to catch up on basic details of our lives from the last two years.

- The coach of the host town’s team who told a girl I used to coach that girls aren’t really cut out for this sport.

- The parent from my team who once yelled at me for not having the correct facial expression during her son’s match, and also made a formal complaint against our coaches because we didn’t get sufficiently aggressive in yelling at refs to change calls at a tournament for little kids.

- There isn’t even any point in specifying individual people who post Joe Rogan on social media, because that’s just everyone in the room. In this community, the ones who are super into Joe Rogan but think Andrew Tate takes it too far are the progressive ones.

- And on that note: the random guy I saw wearing a Jordan Peterson shirt. Reminding me that probably at least 70% of that room consists of people who are also into Jordan Peterson.

- There were a lot of shirts with Christian imagery, which is fine and I don’t judge, mostly, or at least, I try not to. I still didn’t love being around it.

- The parent from another team who once complained about how my team was full of “ghetto kids” and the kids from her team should be careful around my team in hotels to avoid having their stuff stolen (because we have a lot of Middle Eastern immigrants, especially as compared to the small towns around us that are all white).

- Several people who drove out during the trucker protests to stand quite close to literally outside my fucking house, holding "fuck Trudeau" signs to protest COVID regulations, and also to be a part of a mob that shut down my entire city and intimidated the locals and caused massive property damage and several assaults on people not to mention to horrifying messaging, a couple of years ago. Not enough years ago for me to have put it behind me. Not enough years ago for seeing if my kids can beat up their kids to all be fun and games now.

- The guy who’s running a team because he used to be an assistant coach to that team when it was run by his brother, but a year and a bit ago, his brother committed suicide, to avoid going to court with the female athlete who had charged him with sexually abusing her since she was 15 years old. So he died, his brother took over the team. His brother who was close friends with him and was an assistant on the team through all of this and definitely knew what was going on the entire time, and never did anything to stop it, in fact tacitly encouraged it by continuing to coach there. And now he’s just in charge of those children and apparently that’s fine. Also, his presence reminded me of how, when the girl posted her story on social media after he died, the general reaction from our region was that she shouldn’t have done so because you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead. Not that she was wrong – the evidence was overwhelming that he did do it. Just that you shouldn’t be mean about him anyway.

- The guys sitting next to me while I ate lunch in the coaches' room, talking about how kids today are so much softer than a few years ago and it's all because COVID regulations have ruined the generation because Kids Are No Longer Tough.

- The guy who’s way too eager about cliché and useless coaching courses that make the coaches who take them think they’re better than the ones who spend that time actually out there coaching. (Actually, compared to everyone else, I’ve turned around on that guy and greeted him today as an old friend.)

But. Also, I've been listening to all these radio shows with John Robins where he's talking about Queen, and sometimes he references We Are the Champions, and every time it makes me remember that that song was on the playlists that we used to play on tournament road trips in the pre-COVID days, and it was the best thing in the world. And I think of this video that I watched so much during the lockdown days, when this still felt recent and like something that might come back soon, that I took once as we drove home in the middle of the night, from the type of tournament that makes us glad for all those tournaments where everything goes wrong, because they make it more special on the rare occasions that every person on our team performs to their potential and we just go down there and take over the whole venue, we were coming home with more medals than we knew what to do with and months of work paying off for everyone, and we had the playlist on and the kids in the back started singing, and you just can't get something that means as much as that without years and years going into it.

One of the guys signing in this video is now way too into misogynistic bro podcasts, even some of the explicitly racist and Islamophobic ones despite the fact that he's a Muslim immigrant from the Middle East. But he saw me today for the first time in months and gave me a big hug and told me he missed me and wished I'd coach him again, and what am I supposed to do with that?

And even if you could create that kind of community without putting years and years into it first, where am I supposed to find one that's better? I guess if I want community and not dealing with that kind of bullshit, then the thing I'm looking for is the mythical liberal bubble. A bubble that's kept liberal by this cancel culture I keep hearing so much about. Geoff Norcott has promised me - he swore up and down - that comedy is such a place. But I've been to a couple of club comedy nights in the last couple of weeks (well, pub comedy nights where comedians work out material to take to clubs), and they sure did not feel like liberal bubbles. I'm beginning to suspect the liberal bubble might be something invented by Geoff Norcott, or possibly by one or two people who might be even worse than Geoff Norcott, to sell terrible books. What I'm saying is I think I could really use a little more cancel culture in my life.

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gtasanandreasapkdownload · 8 months ago

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theprojectreneblogger · 11 months ago

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Grand Theft Auto VI has, after years of speculation, officially been revealed. The game is scheduled to arrive in 2025, and Rockstar's next open-world epic will take us back to Vice City for another adventure filled with carjacking, murder, robbery, and other assorted crimes.

The first trailer for the game is short, but it still packs in quite a bit of information regarding the game's setting, main characters, and activities. Below, we break it all down so you can get a sense of just what you're in for when the game launches.

Tom Petty - Love is a Long Road

Grand Theft Auto games use fictional cities for their settings, but they are heavily, heavily inspired by real locations. Vice City is based on Miami, Florida, and the debut Grand Theft Auto VI trailer uses Love is a Long Road by Tom Petty to set the mood. Petty was from Gainesville, Florida, and given the lovers-against-the-world vibes we're getting from the trailer, the song seems fitting.

Hair physics

Hair has long been one of the most difficult things to animate in video games, and it appears Rockstar is anxious to show players the progress it has made with GTA VI. We get a brief glimpse of this in the trailer, with a bikini-clad woman shaking her head as her hair flows from side to side. It also casts a realistic shadow on her shoulder.

Environmental hazards?

It's not just the Vice City populace that can spell your doom in Grand Theft Auto VI--the world itself appears to be up to the challenge. This is teased in the trailer via the news ticker just after the one-minute mark, which describes a waterspout sucking up a man and ruining his suit. As this is pseudo-Florida, we also see an alligator walking into a convenience store.

Set in modern day

Unlike Grand Theft Auto: Vice City, which was set in the 1980s, it looks like GTA 6 will be set in the modern day. We see multiple social media stars making videos during the trailer. One is twerking on top of a moving vehicle and another is getting out of the driver's seat while the car is still moving. Rest in peace to them both, probably. And let's not forget the man with a terminal case of Hank Hill Ass who appears just afterward.

Callbacks to past games

A few callbacks to previous Grand Theft Auto games are included in the trailer. Around 34 seconds in, you can see a very small glimpse of the Ocean View Hotel, which served as the first safehouse in the original Vice City game. Later, a Liberator monster truck can be seen during a mudding event--these were included in San Andreas and also appeared in Grand Theft Auto V.

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Leonida

No, not the Spartan king Leonidas--this is the state of Leonida. The fictional state where Vice City is located (like San Andreas is for Los Santos) Leonida is referenced by name several times in the trailer. It remains to be seen how far we'll venture outside of Vice City itself, but the multiple mentions of the state at large could be a hint. It appears there is another location called Hamlet, which gets a mention in the trailer near the end.

Preventing and enjoying crime together

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the-wild-wolves-around-you · 3 years ago

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hear those bells ring: chapter 7 (a bakugo x reader fic)

Summary: We learn why Bakugo's been avoiding Reader... and then the two go on a date that's not a date if you ask Bakugo.

(I also jokingly told my best friend that this chapter was unofficially titled "Going on Dates and Giving Kirishima Heart Attacks: GTA Edition lmao)

Pairings: Katsuki Bakugo x Reader; Katsuki Bakugo x You

Rating: M(ature)

Warnings: Adult language. Small CW/TW: Reader does get briefly catcalled (but Bakugo obviously comes to her defense... expeditiously lol)

A/N: Had a lot of fun with this chapter! Hope you enjoy <3

Also question - Do y’all still want the tumblr links to the previous chaps down below?

~*~*~ No spoilers or anything. This is just a self-indulgent AU fic with aged up characters. Everyone’s in their mid-20s. Fic title is from a song called “Achilles Come Down.”

Ao3 Link: Here

Ch 1 Tumblr Link: Here

Ch 2 Tumblr Link: Here

Ch 3 Tumblr Link: Here

Ch 4 Tumblr Link: Here

Ch 5 Tumblr Link: Here

Ch 6 Tumblr Link: Here

Bakugo felt like he’d been run over by a semi-truck, tossed into a pool of agonizing, burning, red-hot lava, and then dunked into the Arctic sea all within the span of an hour.

That fucking villain. Setting up bombs in the subway for after his inevitable capture. The goddamn coward. Bakugo would have been able to save everyone stuck in the rubble, if Kirishima hadn’t seen the blinking red light amongst the wreckage and stopped him, wasting precious time. The blond had been sure he could get in and out before the bomb went off, but his partner had grabbed his arm, dug his foot in, and refused to budge while he tried to call for a bomb squad. They’d argued, but then Bakugo had suddenly heard a rapid beeping, and he’d barely had enough time to grab the redhead and fly them both down the tunnel, at the last moment using his quirk to throw Kirishima further ahead of him. But he’d still been too close when the bomb detonated, which instantly blew out his eardrums and lodged the fucking rebar in his arm.

Bakugo was no stranger to pain, but every time the metal rod moved a fucking inch, it was like lightning was shooting through every nerve in his arm. Coupled with suddenly not being able to hear again unless people were shouting, he was pissed the fuck off.

But then you’d come stumbling into his room, into his life yet again, even though he had done his best to ignore you this week.

And now, here you were. Collapsed in his lap on the toilet.

Your breath was ragged in his ear as you sat folded against his chest, tremors running along your body. He had instinctively wrapped his hands around your waist to keep you from falling backward and cracking your head on the bathroom floor, but now he didn’t know if he should move them or not, and he unfortunately no longer had the pain in his arm to distract him.

In fact, he felt little to no pain at all. His back was sore from where the debris struck him when the bomb went off, and he could still feel some cuts stinging in various places, but he’d felt worse after training sessions at UA. The bone deep exhaustion that had been weighing him down since he’d crawled out of the collapsed tunnel had also abated by several degrees, and newfound energy flowed through his veins.

Your energy.

Goddamn it.

He flicked his eyes down to look at you but couldn’t see much besides the top of your head. Your breathing had evened out somewhat, and so had your shaking, but your face felt cold and clammy where it was resting against his bare shoulder.

“Hey,” he grunted, jostling you gently, and the toilet groaned beneath him, not meant for the weight of both of you. “Hey, Stitches. You still alive?”

“Still�� alive.” Your breath tickled across his clavicle, and goosebumps erupted across his chest. Then he felt the tickle of your eyelashes fluttering against his shoulder, and you suddenly went stiff. “O-Oh. U-Um, sorry, I didn’t— let me just…”

You tried to reel back and stand up at the same time, but Bakugo felt your knees tremble along the outside of his, and this time he caught you around the hips before you tipped backwards off his lap.

“Just hold on a fuckin’ second,” he grumbled, turning his head to the side so your hair didn’t tickle his nose. “At least catch your goddamn breath before you go splitting your skull open. There’s enough damn blood in here.”

“Sorry,” you mumbled as you sat tense atop his thighs, like you were trying to keep some of your weight off him.

“I told you to stop apologizing.” He scowled at the tiled wall and abruptly shifted his hands when he realized one of his fingers was touching your bare hip through the holes in your pants.

“… sorry.” It was no more than a whisper, and he felt more than heard you start to take deep breaths. In through your nose, out through your mouth. The pattern was so rhythmic and soothing, the blond felt himself start to relax, until the next words fell out of your mouth. “Just give me a minute, and then I’ll leave you alone, Bakugo.”

The added “-sama” hit him like a slap, and he winced as he suddenly remembered something you’d previously said.

Then I’ll leave you alone, and you can go back to hating me.

Fuck, had he been that transparent? He’d managed to just avoid you altogether for the most part, sticking to the main floor of the agency while he was at work and then going straight home afterwards. The only time he’d run into you was at the elevator yesterday, and he knew he had been a little rude, but his mind had suddenly gone blank when he met your eyes because he just knew you were going to ask questions he didn’t want to answer. He’d hoped he just came off as busy, but now he realized he’d just been a “dick,” like you previously called him out about.

“Alright… I think I’m okay,” you suddenly said and drew him out of his thoughts, and he blinked to find you slowly rising out of his lap, using the sink counter to balance yourself. “I’ll, um, just go and let Kirishima know you’re al—”

“I don’t hate you.”

Bakugo didn’t know who was more surprised by his words, you or him.

You blinked at him as you froze, half crouched over his lap. “What?”

The blond mentally cursed himself, but he wasn’t a coward, and he always meant what he said.

“I said, I don’t hate you,” he repeated. “Earlier, you—”

“I remember.” You were the one to cut him off his time, but you didn’t sound angry. A small crease in your brow belayed your confusion, and you cocked your head at him as you fully rose to a standing position and took a step back.

“Yeah, well, I told you to not be putting words in my mouth,” he grunted, looking away from your calculating expression. But he didn’t like you staring down at him, so he quickly pushed himself to his feet. The tile floor was a fucking mess under his boots, slick in some spots and tacky in others, but at least he wasn’t still adding to the puddles of crimson.

He turned to the sink and flipped the cold water on, scrubbing at his hands and sides to get the majority of dust and blood off and give him something to do. You were silent behind him, so silent he thought you’d left to go find Shitty Hair, but he had said his piece, corrected your assumption, so it wasn’t like he cared—

“Why have you been avoiding me?”

He froze with the sink still running at full blast, and then he glanced over his shoulder to see you still standing in the doorway. Your face, although splattered with flecks of dust and blood, was carefully neutral. It seemed you’d been working on your poker face.

For a brief second, he considered lying, but no, Katsuki Bakugo didn’t lie, didn’t run away like a coward.

“Because I didn’t want to see you,” he said truthfully.

A minute flinch rippled across your features, but you quickly tried to cover it up.

“Was there… a particular reason?” you asked after a long moment. “Was it something I said on Monday? In the laundry room?”

Bakugo pressed his lips into a thin line and turned off the sink. He wasn’t going to lie, but he also didn’t want to explain himself. Even he knew he sounded stupid.

You fidgeted in the silence, waiting for his response, and when none came, you started to ramble.

“So, it was something I said. I— for the life of me, I didn’t mean to offend you in any way. I’ve been trying to remember anything I could have— but truly, it was never my intention to offend you. Maybe I misused a word? I’ve been speaking Japanese since I was little, and I studied it in college, but regional dialects can sometimes be tricky, and I’m still adjusting—”

“Fucking shit, take a breath, Stitches,” Bakugo muttered, and you snapped your mouth shut with an audible click before inhaling sharply through your nose. But your face was still begging, pleading, with him to explain, and the blond suddenly couldn’t look at you, so he turned back to the sink and stared down into the bowl. “I— You didn’t offend me. I’m not so weak that stupid words are going to hurt me.”

“Then… why didn’t you want to see me? The whole reason you brought me to the agency was to use my quirk.”

“I brought you to the agency because I had to,” he said, still without looking at you. “The law requires that we pay for the damages and accommodate you until they’re fixed, so that’s what we’re doing. But I’ve decided I don’t need your quirk anymore. So you’re free to fuck around for the next few weeks until your building’s fixed, and then you’ll be on your merry goddamn way.”

“You… don’t need my quirk anymore.” Your tone was bewildered, and he could just picture your expression behind his back.

“No,” he ground out and tightened his fingers around the edges of the sink. “So, like I said before, get the fu—”

“Why?”

The question drew him up short, derailed the anger he was trying to build up. He darted a look at you over his shoulder, but you didn’t even give him time to think of a response before you were barreling on.

“Why?” you repeated with a furrowed brow. “What changed? Did you find another healer?”

“What?” Bakugo scoffed. “No. I’m not about to go blabbing my weaknesses to everyone and their goddamn mother.”

“So… you didn’t find a healer, or a doctor, and I’m assuming you didn’t request some type of assisted gear like hearing aids,” you said, and when Bakugo just scowled, you pressed your lips together. “Then I don’t understand why you don’t want me to use my quirk on you anymore. I—”

“Because I’m not a fuckin’ monster,” the blond snapped and whirled around to face you completely. “Alright? I’m not going to make torturing you a goddamn habit every time I get off patrol.”

Your eyes widened as your lips parted in surprise, but then your expression grew very shrewd, studying him.

“You’ve been avoiding me because you didn’t want to torture me? Is that what you’re saying?” You spoke very clearly, enunciating each word, and Bakugo did not appreciate being treated like a fucking child.

“I’m the one who’s going deaf, Stitches, not you,” he sneered. “You heard what I fuckin’ said.”

“Yes, I heard what you said.” You nodded calmly. “But I’m trying to figure out what you mean. The only torture you’ve put me through is trying to make me read your mind.”

Bakugo scowled fiercely at you, tightening his hands into fists at his sides. You were going to make him say it, weren’t you?

“You didn’t tell me how your goddamn quirk worked that night on the rooftop,” he spat, and you blinked in confusion at the non sequitur.

“Well, we didn’t have a lot of time, and you didn’t ask,” you said as you cocked an eyebrow at him. “You just told me I was going to help you, and since I knew you could very much ruin my life by turning me into the proper authorities, I thought I didn’t have much choice in my response at the time.”

Bakugo flinched, a tendril of guilt snaking through his chest, writhing and uncomfortable.

“Well,” he muttered as the anger started to drain out of him, and he averted his gaze so he didn’t have to look at you. “If I’d known your quirk made you feel the same pain you’re trying to heal, I wouldn’t have said shit.”

This was it. The reason he’d been avoiding you.

After you had explained how your quirk worked, he thought it just seemed… wrong somehow to literally steal your energy and hurt you in the process. Bakugo was injured often— not terribly, usually, he’d just had a string of bad luck lately— but he knew that you wouldn’t settle for just fixing his ears if he was actively bleeding. Just look at what happened tonight. And even if he could convince you to just fix up his ears, he had no way of knowing if that would fuck you up down the line. You said yourself that you hadn’t used your quirk for much more than smaller scrapes and accidents, so what if there was some kind of delayed backlash that you suffered from after healing his ears— which apparently were supposed to be so much more complicated according to shithead doctors— over and over? Recovery Girl always said healing came at a price…

He just didn’t want your blood on his hands, metaphorically. Especially since you weren’t even a pro. You were a civilian, a seamstress for fuck’s sake. You literally didn’t sign up for this, so he wasn’t going to force you.

An endless stretch of silence grew between the two of you, and Bakugo hoped you would just fucking leave already.

“I’m still failing to see how you’ve tortured me,” you finally said, breaking the silence and dashing his hopes. “The way you ‘asked’ for my help wasn’t exactly nice, but it’s not like you put an actual gun to my head and made me use my quirk on you 24/7. Hell, I basically had to fight you to save your arm just now. You also already promised you wouldn’t get me deported or imprisoned, and you seem like a man of your word. So, I’m not seeing the problem here.”

What… the fuck? Was there a screw loose in your brain?

“You’re telling me you enjoyed feeling like your arm was dipped in magma just now?” Bakugo shot back. “You liked feeling every bone shard wiggle back into place, every shredded nerve restitched?”

Because he certainly fucking didn’t.

“Well, no.” You frowned. “I’m not an actual masochist, despite the jokes you make. But I know the fallbacks of my own quirk, and I made the decision to use it to help you. Just like I made the same decision to save your life the night you crashed into my apartment. I’m not very strong, or talented, but I… I like using my quirk, I like helping people, in spite of the temporary pain it causes, no matter how bad. And someone as talented and powerful as you probably doesn’t understand, but I thought I would never be able to use my quirk for anything meaningful, purposeful. For a long time, I thought this power was wasted on someone like me. So, when you, one of Japan’s best heroes, asked for my help, I thought…”

Here, you trailed off and bit your lip, and Bakugo realized he was leaning forward, seemingly hanging on your every word.

“You thought what?” he muttered.

“I thought… I was finally going to be useful,” you sighed as you wrapped your arms around yourself, glancing away from him. “And maybe that’s selfish. You were looking for someone to help you, and I was looking to feel better about myself. But I thought my actions would at least level out to a net good, if I could actually help you retain your hearing. Still, regardless of my selfish intentions, I did want to help you, Bakugo. I… still do. Not because you forced me, not because you have some leverage over me, but because you have a problem, and I have the ability to fix it in some capacity. So, you really don’t have to worry about ‘torturing’ me. It’s my decision when and how I want to use my quirk, and I want to use it to help you. If… you’ll still let me.”

Your eyes darted back to his, hesitant and hopeful, and Bakugo floundered.

He hadn’t expected this, you fighting back now that he was trying to release you. And he hadn’t considered your perspective. You’d been right. As someone with a powerful quirk and, more importantly, the skill to wield it, he had never even considered what it would be like to not use his power regularly. To not be allowed to use his power. Even though you had tried to laugh it off, he’d heard the regret in your voice when you mentioned failing the hero course entrance exam, and he didn’t know why becoming a doctor hadn’t worked out, but he could tell you regretted that, too.

But you’d apparently been trying to overcome your shortcomings, taking on patients in the back of your shop, breaking the law to do the right thing, despite the pain and fatigue it must cause you.

You were a lot braver and stronger than he, or yourself, gave you credit for.

And now he kind of looked like an idiot.

“Tch.” Bakugo clicked his tongue as his face warmed up, and he turned and marched over to the top half of his soiled hero suit, still balled up and bloody in the corner of the bathroom. “Whatever, you’re obviously too stubborn to listen to common sense, and like you said, I can’t tell you what to do with your own damn quirk, so do whatever the hell you want.”

“So… you’ll still let me be your healer while I’m here? And you’ll stop avoiding me like the plague?”

“Yes, fine, fuck,” he muttered, his cheeks still hot, but when he straightened up and turned back to face you, a mile-wide grin was stretched across your mouth.

“Good,” you said, still smiling. “I’m glad.”

Your words and warm smile made him feel funny, and his reflexive urge was to snap at you, make you leave, but he was suddenly too tired to be angry. And maybe a small part of him— a very, very small part of him— thought that you didn’t deserve his anger after everything you’d done.

But anger, or at least annoyance, was how he addressed everyone, so he didn’t exactly know what to say to you.

“Masochist,” was what he finally settled on, but his tone was softer, less barbed, and your smile only grew.

“Stitches the Masochist,” you mused, tapping a finger against your chin. “That actually sounds like a pretty cool villain name.”

“The day you become a villain is the day I eat Shitty Hair’s boots,” Bakugo said as he dropped the top of his torn and bloodied hero suit. It was ruined, he’d have to get a new one, so he just left it there and stepped across the massacre that was the bathroom floor on his way to the door.

“Why Kirishima’s boots?” You frowned, backing up into the adjacent room to let him out.

“Have you fuckin’ smelled those things?” he scoffed. “They’d raise the goddamn dead. But that’s how sure I am that you and your bleeding heart won’t ever become a villain.”

You opened your mouth, looking like you were going to argue, but then you deflated with a sigh.

“Yeah, I can’t even come up with a good comeback,” you muttered. “I’ll probably think of it tomorrow.”

Your petulant tone and pouting face actually startled a snort of laughter out of him, and you snapped your head up with wide eyes. Bakugo quickly composed himself and cast his gaze around the room for a distraction, settling on the tray of food on the desk.

“What’s this?” he grunted, striding forward. He thought he remembered you mentioning food earlier.

“Hmm? Oh, that,” you said when he came to a stop in front of the desk. “That’s just some miso soup and crispy rice squares. I was making myself a snack before, uh, Kirishima stopped by and told me what happened, so I thought you might want some food.”

He’d been an ass to you all week, and your first thought had been to bring him food?

Bakugo stared down at the bowl of soup for a long moment before he picked it up and brought it to his mouth.

“W-Wait!” You stumbled forward, reaching out for him. “It’s probably cold by now, I can—”

“Too late,” the blond said as he finished draining the bowl, licking his lips before he dropped it onto the tray and picked up the rice squares.

He noticed an orange drizzle of chili oil on them, and could taste that you’d added some to the miso, and he wondered if you had remembered him saying he liked spicy food.

Then he quickly shook the idiotic thoughts away and shoved the rice into his mouth.

They were cold, just like the soup had been, but the rice was pleasantly crunchy and spicy in turns, and when they were gone, he wished there were more. He’d have to make himself some the next time he cooked.

Your cooking wasn’t half bad, though. Not that he would say anything like that to your face.

“Wow, you must have been hungry,” he heard you murmur, and he looked over to find you frowning at him. “Are you still hungry? There isn’t more miso right now, and I used the last of the leftover rice, but there are still some things left in the fridge down the hall. I could—”

“Nah,” he cut you off, marching over to the wardrobe in the corner. “I’m gonna go out and grab something to eat.”

Unfortunately, the wardrobe was empty except for some extra towels, so Bakugo grabbed two, spun on heel, and made his way to the door.

“Go… out?” you echoed, anxiously following in his wake. “I don’t think—”

“Take your shoes off,” he interrupted as he yanked open the door and tossed the two towels over the threshold.

“What?” You paused and blinked at him.

“Your slippers,” he grunted, jerking his chin at your feet. “They’re soaked in blood, and you’re just squishing out puddles with every step. So, take off your socks and slippers, and wipe your feet on the towel before going into the hallway.”

To demonstrate, he dragged the soles of his combat boots over one of the white towels, leaving crimson smears in his wake. He didn’t particularly give a shit, but he knew Kirishima would be on his ass for making more of a mess than necessary, and he didn’t want to deal with a lecture about trailing blood down the hall.

“Okay…” you said before doing as you were instructed, and a few moments later, you tentatively held your dripping socks and slippers away from your body and looked back at him. “Alright, what do I do with them?”

“Just toss ‘em in the fuckin’ corner, I dunno,” he huffed before he deemed his boots clean enough and stomped into the hallway. “One of the interns is gonna have to come by and clean up anyways.”

He stalked off down the hall, away from the elevators, past your door, and to one of the other empty rooms on this floor. The sidekicks and interns were always leaving their shit behind, extra clothes, phone chargers, some of them even brought special pillows and blankets from home. Bakugo usually didn’t give a shit what the extras did, but he hoped they would be of use to him right now.

His pants were still dusty and splattered with blood, but the fabric was pitch black, so it hid most of the mess well. Unfortunately, the top of his uniform had been torn to shit, so he needed a new shirt. He kept his own extra clothes downstairs in the locker room, but he would have to walk through the main lobby to get there, and Shitty Hair would definitely spot him. Then the blond would have to listen to his partner bitch and moan about how worried he’d been. Not to mention, if he went down there shirtless, he wouldn’t be able to explain how he was suddenly healed now, not without throwing you under the bus, and Bakugo was just really not in the fucking mood for any of that crap right now. He was hungry and looking to burn off this amped up energy flowing through his veins, so he needed to grab a shirt, and his keys, and sneak out of the building without being caught.

Thankfully, there were clothes in the wardrobe of this room, so he blindly grabbed what felt like a t-shirt before he closed the closet back up.

“Bakugo!” you suddenly hissed from the hall, and he turned to find you leaning against the doorjamb as you panted for breath. There were also bags under your eyes that he didn’t think had been there before you healed them, and your brow gleamed with sweat in the low light of the hallway.

“You should head to bed, Stitches,” he grunted as he walked back out of the room, pulling the shirt on over his head.

“No, I… is that your shirt?” You straightened up with a furrowed brow when he brushed past you.

Bakugo immediately knew he looked ridiculous. He could feel how tight the shirt was across his chest and shoulders, and when he glanced down, he could see it was also too short, revealing a strip of his stomach between the bottom hem and the tops of his pants.

“Obviously not,” he scoffed, his cheeks warming up again. “But I don’t have time to grab my own shit.”

Then his eyes flicked over your body as an idea came to him, and he held out his hand.

“Give me your sweatshirt.”

You gaped at him, fisting a hand in the material at your chest as a flush crawled across your face.

“W-What?” you stuttered. “No, t-this is mine.”

“I’ll fuckin’ return it to you,” he shot back. “Washed and everything since it’s covered in blood. Or I’ll get you a damn new one, in the same size since you like to be cozy or whathefuckever. So, come on, hand it over.”

“I… I can’t,” you said, dropping your gaze, and even in the dim light of the hall, he could see your cheeks were bright red.

“Why the fuck not?” He scowled.

You muttered something under your breath, and his scowl only deepened.

“What? Speak up. I told you I hate muttering.”

You let out a long sigh before you lifted your head, and voice, but you still refused to look at him.

“I’m not wearing anything underneath it.”

Bakugo blinked at you, once, twice, and then felt heat flood through his whole body. “What the hell, Stitches?”

You were naked. Under his merch hoodie. His eyes flicked unbidden to the orange X across your chest, meant to look like part of his hero suit, but he immediately forced his gaze back up to your face.

“I’ve been using it as pajamas,” you huffed, stomping your foot indignantly. “It gets cold up here! Besides, I don’t think you should be going anywhere right now anyway. You just—”

“If I wanted to hear another lecture, I’d go find Shitty Hair,” he cut you off and rolled his eyes. “And I’m not asking your permission to leave. I’m going to get some food, one way or another. Now, are you going to go back in your room, change, give me the hoodie, and go to bed? Or are you going to change and come with me?”

The anger drained from your face abruptly, like a plug being pulled, replaced by surprise.

Bakugo was surprised himself. He didn’t know why he’d asked you to come. He had planned to just take the hoodie and order you to go to bed. But that had slipped out instead.

You were still staring at him like he’d grown a second head, so he quickly tried to cover up.

“I-I mean, you’re just gonna fuckin’ pace and worry in your room until you break, go find Kirishima, and rat on me, so at least if you come with me, you know I haven’t dropped dead. And… you need food anyway, too, right? After using your quirk. I’m just being goddamn practical.”

You stared at him silently as he fumbled over himself, and Bakugo blamed the chaotic bullshit of this fucked up night for throwing him out of sorts.

Just when he was going to completely retract his statement and storm off, you finally spoke up.

“Alright,” you said slowly, eyes scanning over his face like you were trying to find something. “Give me a moment to change. But don’t go anywhere without me.”

“You think I want to go down looking like this?” he growled and gestured to his ridiculously tight shirt. “Just hurry up.”

Your gaze flicked down to his torso before darting away, and your cheeks were still pink as you turned and quickly hobbled on bare feet back to your room.

When the door closed behind you, Bakugo exhaled sharply before he ran a hand through his hair, cringing at the grit and dirt he encountered. He needed a shower, but that could wait an hour.

The blond spent the next two minutes and thirty seconds leaning against the wall opposite your room, and he was just considering banging on your door when it cracked open.

“About time,” he muttered as he shoved himself away from the wall.

“Sorry,” you said, your favorite word, but you closed the door behind you and held out a mass of black fabric. “Here.”

He took the hoodie, and it was still warm from your body against his fingertips. He violently shoved the thought away as he yanked the sweatshirt on, and he also blatantly ignored the way it smelled like you.

“Thanks,” he grunted and glanced back at you, and he noticed you’d swapped out your ratty pants for jeans, and the hoodie for a dark green pullover sweater. Your previously bare feet were now covered by sensible tennis shoes, and it looked like you had splashed your face and hair with water, too.

“Did I miss any blood or anything?” you asked as your hand rose to your cheek.

“You’re fine. Come on, let’s go.” He turned and strode down the hall to the elevators, smacking the button until he could hear the car approaching. It was a small thing, but just being able to hear that quiet whirring noise calmed him down a little, and his thoughts cleared as the elevator dinged.

He crossed his fingers and hoped no one was on the other side of the doors, and when they pulled open, the empty car answered his prayers. You followed him into the elevator, and then Bakugo pressed the button for the bottom floor.

“When the doors open, we need to run for the door.” The plan was already formulating in his mind as the elevator jerked into motion around him. “Shitty Hair will probably have everyone in the conference room, but in case there’s stragglers, duck down low and make a beeline for the entrance.”

“Is all this really necessary?” you asked, your eyes anxiously tracking the descending floors. “You could just tell Kirishima where you’re going—”

A sudden chime announced the car’s arrival on the ground floor, and Bakugo didn’t have time for your hesitations.

“Nope, come on.” He made a grab for your wrist but ended up with your hand, but then the doors were sliding open, and he had to act.

The blond crouched down and pulled you along with him. The front doors were to the left and a little behind the elevators, but they were directly across from his and Kirishima’s glass-walled offices, so that’s where his eyes jumped first. Thankfully, the offices, and the bull pen, were almost entirely empty. There were three interns or sidekicks— he didn’t know or care— sitting at one of the desks and reading over something, but they were all faced in the opposite direction.

Now was his chance.

He quickly but silently made his way along the edge of the bull pen, tugging you behind him. He made it to the reception desk in a matter of moments, and he dropped your hand as he yanked open a drawer and started rummaging inside.

“What are you looking for?” you hissed, and in his peripherals, he could see you looking nervously at the desk of extras halfway across the room.

“My keys,” he grunted, right before his fingers closed around the familiar fob. “Got it. Let’s—”

“Hey, guys?” Kirishima’s voice suddenly rang out across the main floor. “Have you finished your reports? I just wanted to… hey…”

Bakugo snapped upright to see his partner on the other side of the main floor, standing in front of the hallway that led to the conference room off to the right of his office. The towering redhead was squinting in the blond’s direction, and Bakugo saw the instant his friend realized what he was seeing.

“Bakugo! What the hell are you doing?” Kirishima immediately started to jog forward, the extras whirling around in their seats, and Bakugo knew he was out of time.

“That’s our cue, Stitches,” he grunted as he came out from behind the desk, grabbed your hand again, and lunged for the door.

You gasped wordlessly as you stumbled after him, and now Kirishima was yelling both of your names as Bakugo came out onto the street and sprinted towards his car. Thankfully, it was only several spots down from the entrance, so he hit the key fob to unlock the doors, pushed you toward the passenger side, and then jumped clear over the roof.

Fuck, either your quirk was super damn powerful, or he was running on pure adrenaline, because that felt too easy.

“Get in!” he shouted as he wrenched open the driver’s door and threw himself into the seat.

You were just falling in through your own door when he slammed the keys in the ignition and cranked the engine, and he glanced in the rearview just in time to see Kirishima shoving past the front doors and turning towards the blond’s car.

“Hold on!” Bakugo threw the car in gear and stomped down on the gas pedal, and the tires squealed against the asphalt as they sought traction.

“Wai— AH!” you yelped as you were slammed back in your seat, just barely getting the door closed before the car shot away from the curb like a bullet from the barrel of the gun.

“Bakugoooooo!” Kirishima’s voice trailed off as Bakugo sped down the street, and the blond glanced in the rearview again to see his partner standing in the middle of the road while throwing his hands up in the air.

He’d get an earful about this later, but that was a Future Bakugo problem.

Thankfully, since it was past midnight, there weren’t many people out, so Bakugo was able to reach the end of the road, turn left, and delve deeper into downtown in under a minute.

The car was silent save the growl of the engine and the sound of him shifting gears, and once he reached a red light, he glanced over at you in the passenger seat.

You were wide-eyed, gripping both the handle on the door and the center console, and your breathing was shallow as you half-hovered over your seat. Then you seemed to sense his gaze on you, because you slowly turned and met his eyes, and the two of you stared at each other unblinkingly for a long moment.

Bakugo expected you to start yelling or scolding him any second now, but what you did next shocked him.

You laughed.

It started off small at first, just some tremors in your abdomen, climbing up to the line of your shoulders. But then you started huffing air out of your nose as your lips twitched, and a moment later you were laughing— no, giggling— pressing one of your hands against your face to try and smother the noise but failing desperately. Your eyes glinted in the red light coming in through the windshield, and the unrestrained glee in them was totally disarming.

One side of Bakugo’s mouth jerked up, then the other, and before he could stop himself, he was laughing along with you. Not hysterically or anything, but a deep chuckle that rumbled out of his chest and provided a bass to your high-pitched giggles.

The two of you continued to laugh for a minute before you suddenly started shaking your head.

“No, no,” you gasped for breath, trying to recompose yourself but unable to keep the smile off your mouth. “No, this isn’t funny. Kirishima is probably so confused and concerned!”

“Oh, come on, Stitches, you can’t lie and say that wasn’t fun,” Bakugo snickered. “Besides, Shitty Hair saw me run out of there, so he at least knows I’m not dying. He’ll be fine for an hour.”

You pressed your still trembling lips into a thin line. “Well… maybe it was kind of fun.”

He smirked, triumphant, but then the light turned green, and he switched his attention to the road again.

“Put on your seatbelt,” he said as he shifted gears and pulled forward. “I don’t need to be getting a ticket.”

“You’re one to talk,” you laughed but did as he said. “You’re not even wearing yours.”

“I’m a pro hero,” the blond scoffed.

“So you won’t go flying through the windshield if we crash?” He could see your arched eyebrow and judging expression out the corner of his eye. “I’m sure a police officer will believe that.”

“Maybe I should have left your ass at the agency,” Bakugo said without any real heat, but he held the steering wheel with one hand as he grabbed his seatbelt with the other and clicked it into place.

Just so he wouldn’t have to listen to you bitch anymore, of course.

You smiled in his peripherals but didn’t say anything, and silence descended over the car. But unlike the other silences Bakugo had experienced tonight, this one felt… comfortable, almost. Easy. He didn’t feel the need to fill it, and for once you didn’t either, your typical nervous babble replaced by a quiet smile as you gazed out the window at the lights of downtown.

Bakugo ripped his gaze away from you and told himself to focus. He’d come out here for a reason.

After thinking about the current time and what places would still be open right now, he made a right at the next street and continued straight for several blocks, Unlike the last time you were in the car, you kept your questions to yourself, only sitting up straight when he parked down the road from a bar he’d gone to a few times with Shitty Hair. The bar wasn’t all that special, too loud and crowded most nights for his taste. But a food vendor always set up shop on the corner just to tempt drunken patrons to spend more money on hot, oily food.

“Can I, um, come with you?” you spoke up as he turned off the car.

Bakugo turned to look at you in the passenger seat, and you flushed as you fiddled with the sleeves of your sweater.

“I know we probably aren’t staying, but I just, uh, haven’t been to this part of town yet, and the shops and the bars on this road look cool, so I just wanted to see them a little closer,” you said, avoiding his gaze. “A-And besides, I’m supposed to be making sure you don’t drop dead, right?”

The blond rolled his eyes. “That’s more like my job, given how many times you trip over your own damn feet. But whatever. You can come if you want. Just don’t go passing out on me and eating asphalt.”

“Deal,” you said with a tentative smile, backlight by the yellow streetlights coming in through the window behind you.

Bakugo grunted wordlessly before he started climbing out of the car, and by the time he came around the hood, you were standing on the curb with your hands clasped in front of you.

“Wow, so you can get out of a car on your own without bloodshed,” he drawled sarcastically.

“Shut up,” you muttered, and the tips of your ears went pink, sticking out the sides of your hair. “Where are we going, anyway?”

“This way.” He turned and strode off down the block, feeling his shoulders tighten as he saw the small crowd milling around on the sidewalk between him and the food cart on the corner. The group of about thirty people was a mix of sober extras waiting to get into the bar, and already wasted extras who had stepped outside for some air or a smoke. They congregated in groups scattered across both sides of the sidewalk, and they were all talking and laughing loudly over the music spilling from the bar entrance.

Bakugo tugged up the hood of his sweatshirt— your sweatshirt, he was reminded when he got another whiff of your scent— and put on his meanest scowl as he started to stomp his way through the crowd.

“Move it,” he grunted as a drunken idiot stumbled backwards and into him.

“Whaa— why don’t you move it, huh?” The staggering moron blinked up at him through bloodshot eyes, and Bakugo just rolled his own before he shoved the guy out of his way and continued forward.

And he would have just keep going, if he didn’t hear the fucker’s next words.

“Heyyyy, where’re you goin’, sweetheart? Lookin’ so fine in that green sweater. Wanna show me what’s underneath it?”

“O-Oh, I’m just trying to get through here,” Bakugo heard you stutter. “If you could just—”

“Awww, no, come on,” the man whined, and the blond turned to see the bastard trying to wrap an arm around your shoulders. “Why don’t you come inside, and I’ll buy you a drink? Then we can get to know each other! My name’s—”

“She doesn’t give a fuck what your name is,” Bakugo snapped, and he suddenly found himself holding the bastard’s wrist in an ironclad grip. He hadn’t even felt himself move, let alone cross the several yards of sidewalk that had previously been between you and him.

But at least this fucker hadn’t touched you… because he smelled disgusting, of course, that’s it.

“What the fu— you again?” the drunk grunted as he tried to wrench his arm away, but Bakugo’s fingers were like steel. “Let me go, asshole. I’m just tryna buy the lady a drink. What are ya, her boyfriend?”

“None of your goddamn business,” the blond sneered. “Go buy yourself a drink and fuck off.”

“Come on, dude, if she’s not yours, she’s free game, and I call dibs.” The man tried to tug himself free again and leered in your direction. “Ain’t that right, baby?”

Bakugo scowled and then slapped his free hand, palm first, against the dickhead’s face.

“You have two seconds to get the fuck out of my face,” Bakugo growled as his palm started to glow orange, the residual heat making the brow beneath his fingers sweat. “Or I’m going to blow yours off.”

The man’s eyes widened behind the web of the blond’s fingers, and he immediately started to panic, flailing, so Bakugo let him go. The idiot fell right back on his ass and gaped up at the blond before he scrambled onto his feet, and he scurried off into the bar like the pathetic rat he was.

You were staring at him wide eyed, but so were some of the other people gathered on the sidewalk, so Bakugo ducked his head, grabbed your hand, and tugged you away from the crowd.

The two of you were silent as he led the rest of the way down the block, and thankfully there were less and less people in his goddamn way. By the time he reached the food cart on the corner, there were only two people ahead of him in line, and they seemed to be getting their food quickly.

“Um… Bakugo?”

“What?” he grunted, a little more roughly than he intended, and he glanced down at you.

“I-I, uh, just wanted to say thanks for… back there.” Your gaze met his for an instant before darting away. “And you can, um, let go of my hand now.”

Bakugo’s eyes dropped to see his large hand cupped around yours, your dainty fingers dwarfed in comparison.

He dropped your hand like it was on fire and immediately wiped his palm against his pants. His palm had still been sweaty from summoning up his quirk. He hoped you hadn’t felt it. Then he wondered why the fuck he cared at all.

Thankfully, he was saved from the embarrassment of having to respond by the food vendor calling him forward.

“Yeah, I’ll take four orders of takoyaki and two sweet potatoes,” Bakugo muttered.

The vendor nodded and gave the price before he started plating up the orders.

Bakugo reached into his pocket, frowned, and then started patting himself down. A moment later, a string of curses left his mouth.

“What?” you asked, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“I— fuck,” he growled and dragged a hand through his still gritty hair. “I forgot I was wearing my suit pants. My wallet’s in my goddamn locker back at the agency.”

“Oh.” You blinked before you pulled you phone out. “That’s okay, I can get it.”

“I don’t need you buying my shit for me.” He scowled, embarrassed, but you just rolled your eyes at him.

“Technically, you’re still buying,” you said, flashing the credit card that you took out of the wallet attached to your phone. “It’s your card, so don’t get y-your panties in a bunch, Dynamight.”

Bakugo narrowed his eyes, having recognized you were throwing his own words back at him, but he couldn’t help the way his lips twitched.

“You almost had it there, Stitches,” he taunted. “After you build up a little more confidence, I can even teach ya some swear words.”

You rolled your eyes again, but then the vendor was holding out a bag of food, so you traded him the bag for the card. After you had paid, you smiled and bowed to the vendor before stepping off to the side.

“I’ll take that,” Bakugo grunted, plucking the bag from your hands. Then he paused and glanced at the crowded sidewalk further down the street, and after a moment of thinking about it but not really, he shifted the food into his right hand as he held his left out towards you. “Come on. It’ll be quicker if I don’t have to save your ass again.”

You stared at him, then at his hand, but before Bakugo could huff with impatience, your palm slid against his, and he reflexively closed his long fingers over yours.

“Fuck, you’re cold,” he hissed in an effort to not think about how soft your skin was against his scars and callouses.

“Sor— um, I mean my fingers are always like that,” you said, but he caught how you didn’t apologize this time.

“Need to get you some goddamn mittens,” he grumbled before he started marching forward, tugging you with him.

The crowd on the sidewalk parted for him easily enough this time, flattening themselves along the walls of the buildings or stepping off the curb and into the street. Bakugo kept his head ducked under his hood, but a smirk pulled at his lips as he saw one extra trip over his feet while scrambling out of the way.

Once the two of you reached the car, the blond unlocked it, opened your door, and placed the food in your lap once you’d sat down. Then he closed your door and glared off in the direction of the crowd one last time before he went around to the driver’s side.

“Open that shit up,” Bakugo grunted as he got in the car, started it, and threw on his seatbelt. “I’m starving.”

“Uh, what about your leather seats?” you asked, carefully setting the bag between your feet and then buckling your own seatbelt.

“Just try not to spill shit,” he said and pulled away from the curb.

“Alright… what do you want first?” You bent over and started rummaging through the bag.

“Takoyaki. I got like four damn boxes, so just open one.”

You did as he instructed, and the smell of warm, fried seafood filled the car.

Both of your stomachs growled in near unison, and you chuckled as you picked up one of the skewers and held it out to him.

“Great stomachs think alike,” you said, and Bakugo suppressed a smile at your corny joke, swiping the takoyaki from you.

While the car coasted down an empty street, the blond tore into one of the four bread balls on the skewer. The batter was fluffy and still hot from the fryer, stuffed full of grilled octopus and green onion, and he ravenously tore through the whole rod in under a minute.

He leaned over and tossed the empty skewer into the bag at your feet, and then glanced at you to ask for another one, but he drew up short when he noticed your cheeks were bulging out of your face like a chipmunks. Your eyes were closed as you chewed happily, sighing out of your nose, but then your eyes opened, and you jumped when you noticed his stare.

“S-Sorry,” you mumbled around your mouthful, discarding your own empty skewer in the bag as you swallowed hurriedly. “I’m just… a little hungry.”

“Why do you think I got four damn boxes?” he huffed as he turned his attention back to the road and held out a hand. “I don’t give a shit how many you eat, just give me some.”

Another skewer was placed in his palm a moment later, and then the car was quiet save the sounds of chewing.

“Hey, Bakugo?” you asked almost ten minutes later. The two of you had already gone through all the takoyaki, and you were currently nibbling on your foil-wrapped sweet potato.

“What?” he grunted around his own potato, holding the steering wheel in his left hand while he ate with his right.

“Where are we going?”

“Dunno,” he said as he took another aimless turn. But he could feel you staring at him, could feel the follow up questions waiting to fall out of your mouth, so he beat you to it. “Sometimes, I just feel like driving. ‘Specially at night. Don’t know if you dumped too much energy into me or what, but I was feeling amped up, so I just wanted to drive and eat before I have to deal with Shitty Hair and after action reports and all that bullshit. That alright with you, Stitches?”

His red eyes snapped over to you in the passenger seat, and you froze midbite around your potato.

“Mmmhmm,” you hummed past your mouthful, bobbing your head, and Bakugo watched a strand of hair fall into your eyes.

He was struck with the sudden and stupid urge to move it, but he just turned back to the road, pressing a little harder on the gas pedal since he was nearing the outskirts of town.

Then he turned onto the highway that looped back around the edge of the city, and it was quiet for several more minutes. He finished his potato in that time, balled the foil up, and tossed it in the bag at your feet. You were still nibbling on yours, only half finished, and he could see a hint of your reflection as you stared out your window.

“Oh, wow,” you murmured as the highway turned into a bridge.

“What?” Bakugo asked, glancing over at you.

“Nothing, it’s just the moon looks so pretty on the ocean,” you said, the phantom of your smile reflecting back at him in the glass. “I’ve lived here for almost a year and still haven’t gone to the beach.”

“Seriously?” he snorted. “It’s like a ten minute drive from most parts of the city.”

“I know,” you sighed as you reached out and traced the line of the horizon against the glass. “I was so excited about it when I moved here, too. The ocean wasn’t very close to where I grew up in America, so I was planning on going to the beach every weekend once I moved here. But, well, settling in took a while, and then I’ve just been so busy with the shop and my… afterhours work. I kept telling myself I would go next weekend, then the next, but it just hasn’t happened. Yet anyways. But I’ll make it there someday.”

You covered up your wistful smile with a nervous laugh when you realized he was staring at you, and the car reached the other side of the bridge, the ocean falling out of sight. Then you stared down into your lap, fiddling with the foil around your potato, and Bakugo could see the side of your face was pink.

The blond didn’t say anything, but after a moment, he flicked on the blinker and started to exit the highway. He could see you peeking at him out of the corner of your eye, but you didn’t say anything as he began winding down side roads again.

Until he came around a corner five minutes later, and the sea suddenly spread out across the foreground, glinting white with the reflection of the moon.

“Oh,” you gasped quietly, awe lighting up your features, but then you gasped again, more sharply this time, snapping your head to stare at him. “I-I didn’t mean you had to take me right now—”

“Shut up.” Bakugo rolled his eyes as he continued driving forward, aiming for one of the currently empty parking lots that butted up against the shore. “I never have to do anything. But I need to stretch my legs anyway, so…”

He trailed off, because the lie sounded flimsy, even to him. Well, it wasn’t a full lie. The food was starting to settle in his stomach and making him a little sleepy, so he did need to wake up a bit.

But truthfully, you had stitched his arm back together even when he was snapping at you like a wild dog, so maybe he wanted to do something to make it up to you.

He tried telling himself it was just because he was working on his image, trying to be a people-person like fucking Deku, like his PR manager had been begging him to be for years. But he also logically knew that, at this hour of the early morning, there was no one else around to see his so-called “good deed,” so who was he really doing this for?

He purposefully avoided answering this question by whipping the car into a parking spot, killing the engine with a flick of his wrist. He didn’t look at you as he opened the door and slid out of the car, but he could hear your scrambling with your seatbelt and then stumbling out onto the sandy asphalt a moment later.

Bakugo locked the car and then just started stomping forward, towards the water. The parking lot gave way to sand, and his boots sank deeply into the soft material. He scowled at the thought of having to now get sand out of his hero suit along with the blood and everything else, but he was distracted from his irritation by your stepping past him with this awe-struck look on your face.

“It’s so… big,” you breathed, and he noticed you were holding your socks and sneakers in one hand, your toes curling into the pale sand. A snappy comment sat on the tip of his tongue— something about of course it was big, the definition of “ocean” was literally big fucking body of water— but your soft smile gave him pause, and he turned to stare at the lapping waves.

“Well, do you just want to look at it, or what?” he asked, stuffing his hands in the pocket of his hoodie— your hoodie— and hunching against the brisk wind.

“Definitely not.” You grinned and then started walking forward, picking your way over the small dunes.

Bakugo stayed a few feet behind you, mostly making sure that you didn’t break an ankle, but you made it all the way to the waterline without falling on your face. He watched as you set your shoes just outside the reach of the lapping tide, and then you tentatively walked into the surf.

“Oh, shit!” you gasped in English as the presumably icy water washed over your toes, and you danced back a few steps. Then you started laughing as the wind whipped your hair around you, and Bakugo just stared at how you were silhouetted against the sea and stars. The moon was almost if not completely full tonight, so the full strength of its light reflected off the waves, making it just bright enough that he could see your smile as you turned to face him. “Do you want to join me, Bakugo?”

He noticed that you hadn’t added any honorific to his name that time. Then he cursed himself for noticing.

“Hell no,” he scoffed on reflex to your question. “I know that shit’s cold.”

“Yeah, but it feels nice,” you said, laughter still tinging your words. Then your smile took on a slightly mischievous tilt, and you kicked your leg up, water droplets glittering through the air before they fell to the sand. “Or are you too chicken?”

He immediately scowled, narrowing his eyes at you. He knew you were baiting him, but he also couldn’t take that shit lying down.

He wasn’t a bitch. He could handle some cold water.

“Gonna eat your words, Stitches,” he said as he bent down and started yanking on the laces of his boots. He ripped them off a few moments later, followed by his socks, and a slight shiver raced up his spine just from the cold sand.

But he quickly schooled his expression into a hard mask as he rolled up his pants, and then he marched forward, coming to a stop a few feet away from you just as the next wave hit. He bit the back of his tongue to keep from gasping at the cold, but you must have seen the minute flinch on his face, because you started laughing again.

“Shut up,” he gritted out, digging his toes into the wet sand as he faced you. “I fuckin’ got in, didn’t I?”

“You did,” you giggled, and your face was flushed from both the cold and your laughter. “But I can still see you shivering.”

Bakugo stared at you, and then, while keeping his face perfectly blank, he raised his left arm toward the ocean, aimed his palm several yards away, and fired off a single shot of his quirk, making sure his output was as low as he could get it.

The tiny explosion was muffled by the water so it was barely louder than the waves, but it was still large enough to cause icy droplets to explode up and rain down on the two of you.

You yelped, trying to cover your head, but the damage was done. He hadn’t soaked you, merely a splash, but your hair stuck to your face, and water dripped off your chin as you gaped at him.

Totally worth the icy water sliding down the nape of his own neck.

“Who’s shivering?” Bakugo smirked, and before you could retaliate, he turned on heel and walked back out of the water.

He returned to where the both of you had left your shoes, but he saw you were still standing in the surf, shaking your head. Then you turned to partially face the ocean, your profile standing out in stark relief against the waves, and he thought he saw you smiling before you turned your face fully away.

You seemed to want to stand in the water a little longer, and Bakugo wasn’t in a rush to go back to the agency and get lectured, so he plopped down on the sand next to his boots. He was already fucking dirty anyway. What was a little more sand?

He brought one of his knees up and balanced his arm atop it. His toes wiggled down into the sand, and even though it was still cold… it did kind of feel good.

His eyes flicked back to you, watching as you walked in the shallows, and every time the tide went out, you bent down to examine the sand, seemingly interested in some kind of shells or sea life.

Bakugo was surprised he felt… well, not shitty. The mission earlier had been shitty, loosing people had been shitty, getting metal punched through his arm had been extra shitty, but this… this was almost nice.

And Bakugo didn’t think anything was nice.

But you seemed to be getting over your awkward, shy stuttering, and you were even quipping back at him here at there. You seemed more… relaxed around him now, and Bakugo had to admit you didn’t have like, a terrible personality. You were way too nice and accommodating— he’d seen how much food you’d bought the damn extras back at the agency— but he had to admit your quirk was pretty strong, and you were obviously intelligent, knowing at least two languages and owning your own business. But even more than that, something about just your presence was calming, soothing even, like the sound of the surf lapping against the shore right now. He found he didn’t hate it, maybe even in fact--

Bakugo blinked as his mind ground to a halt, a record scratch ringing through his mind. What the fuck was he thinking?

Unbidden, Kirishima’s voice suddenly rang through the blond’s thoughts.

Well, doesn’t she look pretty?

His red eyes returned to you without his permission, and he stared at you as you stood there, with the sea up to your knees, studying something in your cupped palms as the breeze swirled your hair around you.

An answer came to mind immediately, and it was one he did not like.

He didn’t do this, do feelings. His hero work kept him too busy, he didn’t have time for a “relationship.” If he needed to get laid, he could just so out to the bars and find someone for a night. Hell, Kirishima was dragging him out to Dunceface’s party tomorrow— or today, rather, since it was close to two in the morning now. But Bakugo could find someone there to help scratch that itch, and then he’d be fine, he’d be…

You suddenly let out a startled peal of laughter, and he watched as you danced from side to side in the shallows, probably startled by some fish.

He hadn’t noticed before, but your laughter sounded nice, too…

“Fuck,” he cursed as he flopped back onto the sand, staring up at the stars. He was too tired for this shit. He needed some whiskey and to sleep for twenty-four hours, and then he could start thinking straight.

Hell, for all he knew, this was a side effect of your quirk, since your power seemed to “connect” you somehow to your patients.

Yeah. That was it. Just your quirk making him feel this way.

Satisfied, the blond let his eyes drift closed, and he was just starting to doze off when he sensed you standing over him.

“Bakugo?”

“Hn?” he grunted without opening his eyes.

You were silent for a long moment, but then he both heard and felt you sit down next to him. He peeked open an eye just in time to see you lie down a couple of feet to his right, but he closed it against when he saw you turn your head in his direction.

“Are you awake?” you whispered.

“No, I’m sleep talking,” he grumbled. “Course I’m fuckin’ awake. I’m just restin’ my eyes before we drive back to the agency. That alright with you, Stitches?”

“Mmhmm,” you said, and he squinted open an eye again to see you staring up at the sky, expression soft and happy in the moonlight.

Bakugo squeezed both his eyes tightly shut and told himself to stop noticing stupid shit.

It was quiet for a minute save the sound of the waves and wind, but then you broke it again.

“Thank you, Bakugo,” you murmured, sans honorific once again. “This was… really nice. Besides the whole you bleeding out thing, I had a good time tonight.”

The blond felt his cheeks warm up at the genuine sincerity in your voice, but he refused to answer, lapsing into silence and hoping you’ll think he dozed off. He would just pretend to be asleep for a few minutes, and then he’d drive the two of you back.

The waves and wind continued to mutter and whisper in the background, and Bakugo felt himself starting to relax into the sand.

Just a few more minutes…

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skullsnsunbeams · 4 years ago

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Please enjoy part 2 my commentary of Outer Banks (you can find part 1 here)! Disclaimer: I started this show because I wanted to see all the hype was; I won't lie, I thought it was dumb and cliche throughout most of it. However, since I've finished I can safely say that I NEED A SECOND SEASON BC HOLY FUCK BRO. Don't come at me for MY OPINIONS, & also, most of what I say is in the spur of the moment. If you wanna come talk to me about the show I will GLADLY DO SO.

Ep. 6

• I don't trust Ward, jot that down

• John B is gonna be blinded

• FUCK OFF WARD YOU'RE NOT SLICK

• I WANNA GO AAAAWWWWF

• But now John B is actually on the property so that might be beneficial?

• Lana said fuck the feds and I did too

• BARRY BETTER BEAT RAFE'S ASS

• It's what he deserves :)

• THE CURTAIN JUST MOVED AND KIE SAW IT

• FUCK YEAH KIE SLAP HIS ASS

• Did he just

• He just slapped her back

• MOSQUITOS MEAN WATER

• YUPPPP THERE WE GO POPE KNOWS

• This is deadass the goonies

• "You love the idea of me" YESSSSS SARAH

• YES WARD CHOKE HIS BITCHASS OUT

• "WHERE'S THE BEACH!?"

• It's actually not okay but okay

• Yes he DID say that

• Desgusten

• RAFE IS GONNA STEAL MONEY FROM HIS DAD AND JOHN B IS GONNA BE BLAMED

• AHAHAHAHAH CAUGHT EM

• I love Pope sm

• Adina is that bitch, man

• Barry's gonna get his ass beat by Ward

• I knew it

• THERE'S WARD'S SHORT FUSE

• RAFE YOUR DADDY IS A PSYCHO

• KARMA, BABY, KARMA

• They're gonna trap Sarah and Kie on the boat?

• That's a got damn STING

• Why are they holding the blunt like a cigarette?

• What a shitty fucking person you are, Sarah. That's fucked up.

• SHE CALLED THE COPS I'M CACKLING

• They're gonna get caught by the scary lady

• "Weed? I could go for some weed" same, JJ

• JJ and Pope being assholes about John B and Sarah is my aesthetic

• NO NO NO WHY HER EYES LOOK LIKE THAT

• She's blind, duh

• Gross gross gross

• He's gonna catch something

• Wait does Corona virus exist in the OBX universe?

• "Any dead bodies?" Does the jaw bone he found count?

• That's shit he's covered in shit THAT'S GOLD THAT'S FUCKING GOLD

• JANIE'S GOT A GUN

• This is so cute but I know it's gonna blow up in their faces

Ep. 7

• I hate Ward he's such a sneaky bastard

• He's gonna take him out to sea and MURDER HIM

• or at least, like, warn him

• HE'S SUCH A GOOD LIAR

• Our boy Barry, he's gonna stir some shit up

• I knew it, pretending to be a cop tho?

• John B is B'ing dumb again

• Maybe not

• JJ NOOO

• CRAIN ESTATE IS FOR SALE

• AND WARD IS GONNA BUY IT

• JJ just wants his dad's approval

• THAT'S FOR HIS RESTITUTION

• How did ik this was gonna happen

• I hate his dad

• ahhhhh I WANNA HUG HIIIIIM

• Sarah do be bailin

• She said FUCK VULNERABILITY and to that I say SAME

• Those candles are gonna cause a fire. Old church? The Outsiders vibes

• Did they not just say they were gonna wait? And then immediately fuck? Okay.

• He spent his restitution money. He did exactly what he fought his dad about.

• He needs a hug so bad

• Thank you for hugging him Kie

• GUESS WHO'S CRYING

• ME IT'S ME

• Mr. Cameron, sir, you are operating a motor vehicle whilst drinking. You're providing a minor with alcohol. You should not be the Grand Knight of Rhododendron!!!

• Ward is an eavesdropping little shitfuck

• Blah blah blah all I'm hearing is a rich man trying to get the gold

• "Equitable split" sir you Didn't Find The Gold therefore You Do Not Get A Cut

• FINALLY JOHN B IS BEING SMART

• WARD JUST SNITCHED ON HIMSELF

• WARD KNOWS ABOUT THE DISAPPEARANCE

• Well, son, the sheriff already kinda knows

• What's he gonna do

• THE GAFFING HOOK

Ep. 8

• Ward is literally psycho so that's fun

• WHAT IS THIS SHOW

• HE STOPPED THE HOOK WITH HIS CAST I'M DEEEAAAD

• This turned into Parasite all of a sudden

• And this right here, folks, is called anxiety

• I love GTA

• Ward is actually psychotic

• "Ward you just got involved" just like his daughter did

• Fuck HE KILLED HIM FUCK YOU WARD

• AND HE DIDN'T CALL ANYONE WHAT A CUUUUNT I'M SO MAD

• BIG JOHN IS A LEGEND

• Ow my heart 🥺

• Ward is a big fat liar!!!!!!

• Oh my god JOHN B GONE CRAZY

• Sarah really switched up like that, huh? Shady bitch

• Where's DCS throughout all of this?

• He's doin a lil memorial I'M SAAAAD

• Pope deserves better!!!

• The gold is gone, just watch

• YUP I KNEW IT

• FUCK YOU WARD

• I feel so bad for Pope's dad bc he's had to work hard too, man

• Going to the Bahamas?????????

• Fuck Rafe

• BLAH BLAH BLAH NO ONE LIKES YOUUUU

• Pope whhhyyyy are you telling these PEOPLE ABOUT THE GOLD

• Oh shiiiit Susan knows about OTHER dirty cops

• I hope the plane crashes :)

• WARD IS A PIECE OF SHIIIIIIT

• SUE YEEEES

• John B's nod should not have been sexy

• RAFE YOU SONOFABITCH

• LIKE FATHER LIKE SON!!!!!!!

Ep. 9

• WARD. IS. A. PSYCHO.

• HOW IRONIC THAT RAFE'S TRUCK HAS A BLUE LIVES MATTER FLAG ON THE BACK WINDOW RHSJDJDBDNDH

• Pope is finally letting it out and I'M SO GLAD FOR HIM

• I shouldn't be laughing about Shoupe complaining about the regulator

• Ward really is a psycho

• FUCK THE POLICE

• All teenagers want is their parents' approval and that makes me saaaaaad

• Why do I wanna hug Rafe rn

• HE'S LIKE, NEVER GOTTEN A HUG IN HIS LIFE BEFORE???????

• OW MY HEART

• When the main character becomes a fugitive with a bounty 🥰

• Sarah isn't gonna do shiiiiit

• "What's gonna happen to Rafe?" Nothing. Because he's a rich white boy who can get away with anything bc of his daddy's money and power.

• They better not do a cliff hanger and make us wait til next season

• Rafe is delusional

• "He's a maniac" Pot, meet kettle

• Whose house is this?

• How are you gonna tell him to get out of your house and then chase him when he's trying to leave

• Pope high is amazing

• AW MY BABY

• He deserves the world and more

• NO PLEASE DON'T CRRRRYYYYY

• Topper is gonna let John B go, isn't he?

• He really locked his daughter in her room like Rapunzel

• "Hey Top, hey man, it's John B, hey" HE'S SUCH A LOSER LMAOOOO

• "My bad" My bad!?!??

• They're arguing over what word to use

• This is kinda gay ngl

• THIS FAKE CRYING EJDBEUSHEH SARAH

• Wheezie better not fuck this up bro or I s2g

• TOPPER DEF LET JOHN B OUT I WILL HOLLER

• I think Rafe is gonna get shot

• I hate this

• THE VEEEEENT

• I love rooting for a criminal

• SNITCHES GETS STITCHES, BITCHES

• Topper is gonna switch up on the Kooks and actually help out I bet

• RAFE NEEDS TO BE INSTITUTIONALIZED EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY

• TOPPER IS WEARING THE HOODIE

• THAT'S HOW HE PROVED HIS LOVE FOR HERRR

Ep. 10

• Aw John B

• Pope said FUCK FEELINGS

• Tf is SBI

• State bureau of investigation, got it

• NO, WARD NEEDS TO BEAR RESPONSIBILITY BC IT IS. HIS. FAULT.

• "Idk how to fix it" kill yourself, easy

• Sell? You mean lie. Rich people logic amirite??

• RAFE HAS VOICES IN HIS HEAD HE'S GONE OFF THE DEEP END

• The officer better know the truth

• WARD IS A PATHOLOGICAL LIAR

• The SBI agent sees right through Ward

• I hate this bastard

• FUCK YEAH

• Rafe is TWEAKIN

• Barry to the rescue?

• "I done worse, I was in the army" LMAOOOO

• Nvm Barry is still trash

• TRASH STICKS WITH TRASH

• They're GONE occifer

• AND THE THUNDER ROOLLLLS

• My heart is hurting so bad rn

• Is he gonna give himself up rn?

• I hate when JJ cries

• AHHHHHHHH HIS EYES OPENED AND I GOT SCARED

• OW MY FUCKIN HEART

• Shoupe is a pussy ass bitch too

• Pause, smoke break

• Lessgo

• He's gonna wait for the keys to be close to the car

• CALLED IT

• That was *chef's kiss*

• This is not good

• YEEEEES POPE

• NOOOOOO POPE

• VENGEANCE

• Holy shit

• Okay I'm gonna say it

• This GOT GOOD

• NO MORE CLICHES

• Holy fuuuuck

• If we get a second season, I wanna see Rafe destroyed

• Woah okay

• JJ is third wheel

• This is crazy

• STOP WASTING TIME

• This is all funny bc these kids are 16 and they think they're in love

• I GASPED OMG

• What did this turn into

• There's a cliche!!!

• Holy fuckitnenehehe

• Fuck you Ward

• He's gonna do it

• Ewwww "I'd rather die than be without you"

• What in the ever living hell

• Fuck fuck fuck

• And JJ is left alone

• OH MY GOD IM CRYING

• Holy. Fucking. Shit.

#emily rambles #emily watches #outer banks #outer banks netflix #netflix outer banks #obx #outer banks spoilers #obx spoilers #netflix original #netflix orignal series #outer banks liveblog #obx liveblog #sorta

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darklydreamingdevil · 4 years ago

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Madman Ch. 1 Preview

GTA V Fanfiction : Trevor Philips x OC

Livia Wallace was late for work. She should've clocked in at the office at nine and it was fifteen minutes past already. She knew her boss was going to chew her out and the thought of having to look at Ken Pruitt's greasy, pockmarked face or at the beer belly straining at the buttons of his shirt as the smell of the Juicy Fruit he constantly chewed invaded her nostrils was almost too much to bear. She didn't want to deal with that insufferable jackass any more than was absolutely necessary. Not today, not ever. Ken had it in for her anyway. Ever since he'd gotten drunk at the office Christmas party and cornered her by the bathrooms over a month ago, he'd been waiting for an opportunity to stick the knife in and twist. He'd ambushed her in the hallway, blocking both sides with his bloated toad body, and slurred some cheesy pickup line at her. She couldn't remember exactly what he had said to her but she'd shown him her wedding ring, grimly reminding him yet again that she was married and therefore totally uninterested. Rather than be put off, however, he'd laughed drunkenly at this and then proceeded to attempt to grope her anyway. Thankfully, she'd seen it coming and stopped him before he could touch her with a single digit. She'd slapped that wad of sickly yellow gum out of his mouth and told him to keep his goddamned hands off of her if he wanted to keep them attached. The look of embarrassment and shock on his face had almost been worth the whole encounter. She'd thought that maybe he would forget about it, considering how wasted he'd been at the time, but there'd been no such luck. Ever since that night he'd been itching for a reason to bring the hammer down on her as payback for that little love tap across the jowls. She could imagine the smile that would twist those thin, prissy lips of his and it made her want to puke. She briefly entertained the idea of quitting altogether and looking for something better. There had to be something, anything, better than working there. Something more lucrative but less stressful that she wouldn't dread seeing again almost every single morning. Sure, she thought, scowling at the red light as if she could make the colors change by sheer force of will. And that'll happen right after hell freezes over. Sitting in her ten year old Landstalker, she watched the light change from red to green to yellow and then back to red again; never moving more than a foot or two the entire time. Fucking Los Santos traffic. Mostly the congestion of vehicles didn't bother her so much, after twenty years here she'd actually grown used to it, but Ken would cause as many problems for her as he possibly could. Self-important pricks like him always did. She was only a mile away from work when she finally noticed the low fuel light on the dashboard blinking insistently. She groaned in frustration and slapped the steering wheel with one hand hard enough to hurt. Now she'd have to waste another ten minutes or so just gassing up. Why did this kind of crap only seem to happen when she was in a huge rush? Livia turned into a 24/7 less than two blocks away from the red light and pulled up to the nearest pump; parking right behind a battered, dirty red truck that had definitely seen better days. She grabbed her purse off of the seat next to her and hopped out, dashing for the door of the little building in her sensibly low black heels. Approaching the door, she stuck one hand out and quickly pulled it open, stepping inside. The bell overhead chimed as the pneumatic door swung shut behind her and then she noticed the Indian man behind the counter staring at her with huge brown eyes. For some reason he had his hands in the air high above his head as if he were... Warning bells went off in her head and Livia spun around, meaning to dash back outside, but she was two seconds too late. A mercilessly hard hand clamped down on her arm just above her left elbow and she was rudely jerked backward, causing her to cry out in surprised fear. "Hold it right there, sunshine."

#gta v #trevor philips #fanfiction #michael de santa #franklin clinton

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fahcandall · 5 years ago

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Fictober 2019 - 4 (FAHC)

Prompt 5: "I might just kiss you."

Fandom: Roosterteeth/Achievement Hunter (Fahc)

Characters/Pairings: Ryan Haywood, Jeremy Dooley, Michael Jones, Gavin Free, Geoff Ramsey, Jack Pattillo, Trevor Collins, Fiona Nova, Matt Bragg, Lindsay Jones, Alfredo Diaz, Ryan Haywood/Jeremy Dooley

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Death, serious injury, guns, knives, blood, torture - mentioned, mature language, gta 5, rpf

...

"What the fuck do you mean they got Jeremy? Michael! What-"

"Ryan. Shut up." Geoff cut in, stepping forward and holding up his hand. "Jack! Can you-?"

"Yeah on it already." Jack had pulled out the first aid kit while Ryan was staring at Michael, frozen still. "Michael-"

"Help Gav first." Michael said. Gavin was swaying on his feet, blood seemingly all over him. Michael himself had a bloody rag wrapped around his arm and a bloody nose.

"Fuck. Gav sit." Geoff said pointing to a chair and pulling out his phone. "Actually both of you sit. Ryan, snap out of it." He held his phone up to his ear. "Yeah, Trevor. Send up the best medic you have here right now. Michael and Gavin are hurt. Jeremy's been taken. Tell Matt to track his cell, see if he can find anything. I'll call when I know more." Geoff paused listening. "Fine, just send them up...Fine." Geoff hung up and looked over at Ryan again, now staring at the ground as both Michael and Gavin had sat down. Ryan looked up and met Geoff's eyes.

"Let me go find him."

"Not until you have enough information to be useful out there. When they're not bleeding they can tell us what's going on and we can decide what to do."

"Jeremy could be being tortured! They could kill him in that time, we have to go look now!" Ryan said angrily.

"You can't find anyone if you don't know where to look." Geoff answered back. "Once Gavin and Michael are patched up-"

"That could take too long!" Ryan interrupted.

"We don't have a choice! It's our best use of resources."

"Geoff!" Michael said. "I can tell you what happened. We were doing a pickup, usual shit, but they were late. When we finally saw the truck pull in, I guess we'd let down our guard, from impatience. When Jeremy and I walked forward with the money, some fucker grabbed Gav. It wasn't the weapons dealers, it was the Black Wings." Ryan almost growled. Upstart little gang that thought they could play big leagues, but this was pushing the line too far. He'd deal with them, once and for all. "They tried to grab us, they tried to threaten us, then they threatened to cut Gavin's throat right in front of us. I managed to get Gav, and get behind cover but they knocked Jeremy out when he tried to cover me. When I tried to get to him they shot. Got a lucky hit. Gav was out already, and I'm not much good hiding without a fucking shooting arm."

"So what, you left him there?" Ryan said, not exactly angry at Michael, well, maybe a little.

"No. They grabbed him and left. I couldn't get to him in time. But if they just wanted to kill us they wouldn't have taken him. So I got back here as fast as I could."

"I'm gonna go burn down their whole fucking building." Ryan said calmly, turning around.

"No! Ryan. We don't know where they have him. Let Matt trace it first. Michael do you remember the vehicle or anything?"

"I'll call Matt on the way. Send anyone else who can help after me."

"Ryan." Geoff said in warning.

"Geoff." Ryan answered in a matching tone.

"At least talk to Trevor and take whoever he has in? I think Alfredo should be in at least."

"I'm not waiting for him to get ready. He can catch up." Ryan turned to leave but Michael's voice stopped him again.

"Ryan! Check with Fiona. She's been keeping an eye on them recently. She's probably somewhere near there anyway, take an extra gun for her." Ryan nodded briefly before heading out. Geoff was already on his phone with Trevor again.

"Ryan's on his way down, he probably won't stop anywhere except the armory. Tell whoever you have to follow him and get Matt or maybe Fiona to connect with him. The Black Wings have Jeremy. Ryan wants to burn their whole operation to the ground...yeah, I'm not opposed either but I'd rather he had more backup. Ryan's good, but so are the lads."

...

Ryan pulled up around the side of the building Fiona and Matt had identified. There was no door on this side and apparently no one looking out of upper windows because no one shot at him as he moved toward the back corner, and the Vagabond was a pretty recognizable enemy. Ryan knew why Geoff was worried, one man going in where all three of the lads had been taken by surprise? But Geoff was forgetting, the Vagabond wasn't really a man, he was a monster, and anyone who thought they could take his crew from him, could take Jeremy from him, were very, very wrong.

There were two men standing outside the back door, smoking and talking. Neither had a chance to lift a gun before they were dead. The door wasn't even locked, Ryan could just walk right in. As soon as he did there were two more guards and an alarm started to blare. Like the first two, these guards didn't stand a chance, though one did get the chance to recognize him, fear crossing over his face before Ryan shot the expression off. Sure Ryan intended to kill everyone in this damned crew but he needed to find Jeremy first. So as he heard feet and shouting coming his way he stepped back into an unlocked room. They were checking doors, he could hear them opening down the hall, but he also heard some of them run off again. The smart thing would be to wait for then to come to him, but the waiting was grating on him, he didn't have unlimited time. So when he heard them slam open another door he opened his and slipped out, a few quick shots and the group was down, the ones in the room having stupidly come out to try and get him. One groaned as Ryan stepped closer and he bent down to fist a hand in their shirt.

"Where is he?" Ryan growled.

"Go back to hell!" Was the response and Ryan snarled and dropped them again.

He stepped around a corner just as two people came up on it from the other direction. This time Ryan grabbed one, gun to their head. The other pointed a gun at him but didn't risk a shot.

"Where is he?" He asked.

"Let her go!"

"Play dumb, and I'll make it hurt." Ryan threatened, pressing the gun hard into the woman's neck. She made a small noise of fear and her partner looked between the two of them quickly. Ryan gripped her neck tightly with his hand then slid the gun over and shot her foot. She screamed and tried to move but Ryan held her up and pressed the gun back to her neck. "Done playing?" He asked the one staring at him.

"Fine. He's in the interrogation room. Second floor, first hallway to the left, third door. It's locked and guarded." The person seemed to suddenly grow a spine, or they remembered who he was and that he wasn't letting them go anyways, because they suddenly spoke with a lot more heat than they had been. "They've had him in there since they got him here. I bet he's cracked under what they've done to him. They'll kill him before they let you get him back." Ryan considered the two of them for a second before shooting the one who'd spoken in the head. The one he was holding screamed again and he shot her too before moving to find stairs.

He was halfway up the stairs when he heard gunfire coming from the front of the building. His backup must have arrived, and as usual, the Fakes weren't subtle. That alarm was still going off and he could only credit that as to why he hadn't been completely swarmed despite his own gunshots. Stupid idea that alarm. And stupidly annoying. Ryan pressed back against a wall as footsteps thumped down the stairs above him, but they didn't check lower before he heard the second floor door swing open and shut again.

As had been predicted, the second floor was swarming with guards, though many of them seemed to be moving toward the front. Ryan glanced through, then leaned back against the wall beside the door. He reloaded his gun and considered waiting for Fiona and the others to get up to this floor and clear some of the guards. He considered what they might do to Jeremy if they had a chance to think they were being overrun while still holding him. Then he pulled a knife and pushed open the door. The first person who saw him tried to shout a warning but got a knife in the throat instead. The next person who saw him was far enough away to get a bullet instead, which ended his hope of a more stealthy approach. So he mowed them down. Anyone who came near him got reminded exactly who he was, not that it would help them any.

He had lost track of the directions he'd been given, but he reached what must be the room based on how many people had tried to stop him from getting to it. This door, at least, was locked, so Ryan broke it down.

Inside the room were two men. Jeremy was handcuffed to a chair, bloody and breathing heavily but he looked up when Ryan came in. The other man held a knife pressed to Jeremy's throat.

"Stay back! I'll slit his fucking throat right in front of you!" The man's voice was shaking and Jeremy let out a strained laugh.

"You're fucked. He's the fucking Vagabond, don't know how you think you can beat him."

"Shut up!" The man yelled pressing the knife in harder. Jeremy winced and Ryan growled.

"Let him go."

"No way in hell. Drop your weapons or I'll kill him!"

"How about this, you let him go right now and I'll shoot you in the head. You'll be dead before you feel anything. Or-" The man started to speak but Ryan just talked over him. "Or, I'll show you just how much pain your body can feel. You know who I am, you know what I do. Let me tell you, my reputation is only based on the stories people can stomach and the hint of more. But trust me there is so much more. If you don't let him go right now you'll be on the fast track to finding out just how far I can go." The man wasn't going to remove the knife, that wasn't what Ryan was counting on. He was waiting for the moment the man was distracted enough by his own imagination to let his attention stray from holding the knife to Jeremy's throat. As much as Ryan wanted to tear this man apart for touching one of his crewmates, he just needed Jeremy away from him, and so he would get a quick death, regardless how little he deserved it. And there it was, that moment he got lost in his own head. That's when Ryan shot and Jeremy jerked back to get away from the muscle spasm. The knife made a shallow cut instead of a fatal one and Ryan rushed to Jeremy's side. He popped the cuffs off quickly. "Are you okay? Can you walk?"

"Shit. Yeah, I should be fine. They didn't break anything. How are Gav and Michael? Wait, who's with you?"

"Gavin and Michael are back at the penthouse. Lindsay and Fiona are here, and maybe Alfredo? I'm not exactly sure. I didn't exactly wait for them."

"You're telling me you came alone to the main base of a group who took down Gav, Michael and I? And just walked in shooting?"

"Um, kinda?"

"You're crazy." Jeremy said. "I think…" he paused then grinned. "I might just kiss you. You crazy man."

#fictober19 #achievement hunter #ah #fahc #fake ah crew #rpf #writing #mine

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onpoli · 5 years ago

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Enrico Miranda was a trim man with a kind smile who spent two decades working abroad to support his family. After 20 years of separation — Miranda in Dubai, his wife and two children in the Philippines — moving to Canada represented a simple aspiration: to finally be together.

To support that dream, Miranda would spend 10 years as a temporary employment agency worker in Toronto, about five of them at North York industrial bakery Fiera Foods. He would never have the chance to land a permanent job, to put his lengthy experience as an engineer to use, or most importantly, to see the birth of his second grandchild.

Instead, he was crushed to death by a machine as he cleaned it. He was the fifth temp agency worker to die at Fiera or one of its affiliates since 1999.

“Our dream was for our kids, our children, that’s why we are here,” says his wife Tay. “It is hard to believe, you know.”

Tay and Miranda met at Holy Angel University in the Philippines in their early 20s; she was studying business administration, he was a civil engineering student. Miranda’s first job was with the Filipino National Irrigation Authority, a job he loved but that paid poorly. So in 1988, when his first born was 3 years old, Miranda moved to Dubai to work as an engineer.

Tay was determined they would one day unite. In 2004, she came to Canada as a migrant caregiver so she could eventually sponsor Miranda and their sons Richard and Patrick. They followed her to Toronto in 2009.

“I was happy because I reached my goal,” she says. “We all lived together.”

Now, as the family prepares to take 57-year-old Miranda’s body back to Pampanga province, they are still grappling with what to tell his mother and siblings — mostly due to what they call a maddeningly slow quest for answers.

The family says the Ministry of Labour has not reached out. The police have told them Miranda’s chest was fatally crushed in the accident, but little else. Amid the confusion, the family was distraught to hear from workers that the factory didn’t stop production in the wake of his death. (When the Star arrived at the plant on the evening of the accident, employees were still on shift.)

“It’s unbelievable in a very developed and rich country,” says Miranda’s eldest son Richard.

The tragedy is harder still to process because Miranda had recently taken steps he hoped would keep him safer on the job. Three months ago, Richard says he received a phone call from his dad, who had injured himself at Fiera. Miranda, who was working in production at the time, had fractured his ring finger using a dough mixer at the plant. He wanted to know what to do.

Richard, who now works as an accountant in Alberta, could speak from experience. Having just arrived in Toronto in 2009, Richard found a job working 16-hour days at a sausage making factory. In his first few months at the plant, he almost lost an arm after it got sucked into a machine. He submitted a workers’ compensation claim for the injury, and told his dad to do the same.

But according to Miranda, this ran counter to Fiera’s advice. Miranda told his son he was asked not to file a Workplace Safety and Insurance Board claim and to instead take a break from work while continuing to punch in at the factory so he got paid. (It is illegal under Ontario law to prevent or discourage workers from reporting injuries to the board.)

This is a long excerpt but it’s really worth reading the entire article.

Of the five temporary contractors who’ve been killed while working at Fiera Foods, three died because of the company’s abysmal failure to keep their workers safe from their machines, including Enrico Miranda (two others, Aydin Kazimov and another unnamed man, were hit by trucks).

In 1999, 16-year-old Ivan Golyashov, a recent immigrant from Kazakhstan, died inside a dough-mixing machine he had just cleaned. He asked a coworker to unlock the top of the machine to let him out, but the coworker accidentally turned it on instead. Neither of them had received training for the use of the machine.

In 2016, Amina Diaby, a Guinean refugee, was strangled at Fiera Foods after her hijab was caught in a conveyor belt. Because the conveyor belt did not have an emergency stop mechanism, her coworkers could not save her.

As of 2017, non-clerical temp workers “were more than twice as likely to be injured on the job last year than their non-temp counterparts” according to the WSIB.

#canadian politics #canpoli #onpoli #ontario #toronto #labour issues #precarious employment #death #fiera foods

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imagineaworlds · 6 years ago

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(1) brandewyn

summary: Thais Bolton lives in the OASIS. Well, sort of. Her dream is to one day live in the OASIS as Brandewyn with her best friend Wade. But he’s more concerned with the three keys James Halliday left behind after his death. The two of them embark on a familiar journey through the OASIS to save it from corporate assholes who want to take it away.

pairing: wade watts x female!oc

word count: 2,725

warnings: cursing. panic attack. ptsd.

(1) - (2) - (3) - (4)

My nose wrinkled back at the smells of 2045 Ohio. After all of this time, one would think I had gotten used to the rotten food, the spreading rust, and the chemical fumes surrounding me in every step; but, no. Every morning I still wished that I could smell fresh air for once, see the sun as it once was, and run in the grass. My parents would tell me stories of them chasing each other in the meadows, pushing each other on a swing roped to a large tree branch, and watching the clouds when they got tired. But then they moved here. Well, really everyone did. Ohio was the place to be once the OASIS opened.

All of my life I’ve lived in the OASIS. Every day was the same. I got out of bed, got dressed, and headed out for the day. When I walked out of the house, I noticed that Wade had already left, the rope tethered down to the first level. From the ground, he was waving at me, inviting me to join him. Like my parents, Wade and I had been friends since we were born. My parents knew Wade’s before they died, and they even offered to take him in, but his Aunt Alice wanted to look after him. Unlike my parents, however, we didn’t have some epic love story about love at first sight and growing up with your soulmate attached to the hip. Instead, Wade and I were just close friends. And I promised myself that I would never tell him that I wanted more.

I grabbed at the rope, and slowly lowered myself towards Wade. As I got closer, I could see his disheveled dark brown hair more clearly, and his index finger pressing the bridge of his glasses further up on his nose. Another thing we shared, our poor eyesight. Wade had these terribly small glasses with no frame, while I had big glasses with large white frames. He teased me about it, saying I looked like I was from the 70’s. Just a decade shy of what he considered to be the best decade of all time. Wade was obsessed with everything 80’s, and that was mostly to do with his obsession with Halliday. His fascination showed by his badly stained Star Wars: A New Hope white t-shirt. He tried to hide the embarrassing stains under a blue flannel, but I knew that shirt well enough. I had bought it for his birthday a few years ago.

As I tethered the rope, I listened to Wade dig the toe of his shoe into the dirt while he waited impatiently. I rolled my eyes at him. It wasn’t like he had to wait for me. He always chose to wait. I kicked his shin playfully before walking past him. Wade shook his ankle out as he hopped after me. “Morning to you, too, sour pants,” he joked. I responded with a fake laugh. “So, what’s your plan today?”

I looked at Wade, watching as his hands gripped onto his backpack straps to keep it high on his shoulders. In the OASIS you could do anything you wanted. Dancing, singing, racing, sports, shooter games, etc. You name it, Halliday created it. “I dunno,” I told him. “Probably join the race.” That was something I hardly ever did. I left that kind of stuff to Wade and Aech because they were always better at it than I was.

First time I ever raced, I nearly zero’d out; and if it weren’t for Wade, I would have. Thing was, I had just gotten past the dinosaur when an IOI car rammed into mine, sending me spinning into a brick wall. The car was totalled, and more IOI cars were approaching, I’d be hit again, and zero’d out. When I tried to jump out of the car, I found my legs stuck. I couldn’t move. My heart was racing in my chest, and I kept glancing over my shoulder to watch the cars getting closer. All I could do was keep trying to pull my legs out of the wreck, and scream for help. In the craziness of it all, I hadn’t even noticed that Wade turned around to come get me.

Too close for comfort, I would tell Wade every time he encouraged me to give it another try. So, I thought that I would never try the race again. But what else was I going to do to pass the time?

The rest of our walk was quiet— unusually quiet. But it was close to Wade’s parents’ anniversary, so I tried not to pry. When we got to the junkyard, Wade went to his bus, and I went to mine. Wade was first to discover the junkyard as a great place to hide out all day, so he got the bigger bus. Coincidentally, there were only two buses there, but they were on opposite sides of the pile of trashed cars.

I had only been in Wade’s bus a couple of times because he claimed that it was his “sacred place”. I didn’t blame him, though, for not wanting anyone to invade his privacy, I didn’t want that either. The few times I had been in there, iti was to help him look over some new information he found about Halliday. His entire bus was covered with news clippings, magazine covers, posters, pictures— everything Halliday.

We weren’t separated for long, of course. Once I was logged into the OASIS, I tracked down Z, who last logged off at the Halliday’s Journals. A friend of mine named Soyzie passed me, she was wearing her famous Rosalina from Mario Kart skin. Everyone on the track knew her because it was nearly impossible to get Rosaline, yet she did.

“Brandewyn!” she called after me, her blue dress flowing behind her.

I turned towards the tracks to look at her. Alright, I’ll be honest. No one played Mario Kart anymore… unless you were under the age of twelve. The two exceptions were myself and Soyzie. Both of us had a rough time at Halliday’s race, so we found comfort in the little kid’s sport which we dominated. “Hey, Soy,” I high fived her. She asked if I was staying for the next race, claiming that Black Power Ranger, as we knew him, was back. He was our only true competitor, but he loved to troll us. “No, I’m actually meeting up with a friend of mine. I’m gonna give Halliday’s race another shot.” Soyzie looked shocked. “I know, but someone has to get that key, right?”

Soyzie nodded, “Have fun,” she waved as racers dressed in Mario and Pokemon outfits lined up.

When I arrived at Halliday’s Journals, Z was waiting for me at the portal. “Wasn’t sure if you’d actually come.” I shrugged. “You’ll be fine. Just bail if something’s wrong.” Z put a hand on my shoulder, “Aech can fix a car, not a zero’d out player.”

As we jumped through the portal together, we found ourselves in the midst of complete chaos. Sixers were marching in their ordered lines, and there were few Gunters left, so they filled the other spots. At the front we found Aech standing proudly with his monster truck. It was infamous on the race track for squashing other cars underneath its large tires. For the most part, Aech only tried to get the Sixers, but there was always the one unfortunate noob who thought it would be smart to go under him.

Next to his large truck was an empty spot. Him and Z shared a handshake, “I saved a spot for you,” he said to his best friend. Then he looked to me, “Sorry, Brandy, didn’t know you were coming.”

“That’s alright, Aech, I’ll head to the back. Probably safer, anyhow.” Both boys nodded in agreement. As Z was about to set up his car in the free spot, he froze. “What is it?”

Z shook his head, “I have to go in the back. You can have this spot, Brandy.”

“Oh, man, really?” Aech laughed, “You have to steal gas coins from zero’d Sixers. That’s a new low, even for you.” Z hit Aech’s large arm.

Aech pretended to be hurt, whining like a baby, while I set up my car in the front spot. Quietly, Z walked away from us. I only had two cars, the one from my old racing days, and my Mario Kart bike. There’s only one rule amongst my friends at the Kart tracks, bikes only. Everyone knows that bikes are better than cars, only the little kids used karts. But that bike wouldn’t survive this track. That bike was used to dodging banana peels, not wrecking balls; and skidding along paved tracks, not normal streets. There was only one other option.

As the car set up, I thought about how Aech fixed it for me after the wreck. It was totalled, but with Aech’s mods and coins, he made do. The car was a GTA based maroon Jester sports car with the number 53 on the sides, and the number 8 on the hood. The 53 was obviously based on Herbie the love bug, but it also represents feeling free to do what you think is right even when the world is telling you no. That number is on the sides to remind me to stay grounded and level headed. The number 8 represents power, which is why it’s on the hood of the car.

I opened the car door, and jumped in. Every sound set my teeth on edge, the engines revving and the cheering from Gunters were just a few small examples. But the minute the light turned from red to yellow, nothing else was on my mind except getting to that finish line. No fucking this up. I thought to myself just before the light turned green and green fireworks shot into the sky. At the same time, everyone pressed on the gas pedal and we were off. Aech, having a heavy truck, started a bit slower, but sped up.

Off the bat, Sixer cars were crashing all over the place, and we weren’t even off the bridge. Old Gunter friends of mine were catching up to me. And soon I had to start weaving through the sea of Sixer and Gunter cars. I pushed my car as much as I could, eyeing the broken, twisted ramps ahead. Everything was moving fast— faster than I ever recalled. Against the wheel, my hands were shaking, and my palms were sweaty against the leather.

One by one, cars flew off the ramps; and some crashed, while others made it across. My grip tightened, and my foot pressed harder on the gas, and then I just prayed. For a fleeting moment, it was peaceful. I didn’t have to weave, curse other drivers who cut me off, or worry about any upcoming obstacle. I was free flying through the air, and then the car dropped back onto the track on the other side of the jump. I cheered loudly as I made a sharp left turn.

“Guys, are you seeing this?” Z asked myself and Aech. I didn’t know what he was talking about, but Aech did. He described a bike from Akira, a movie I had seen only about a thousand times. And then I realized who he was describing.

My eyes shot wide, “Art3mis is here?!” I exclaimed.

Aech scoffed, “No way is it her.”

“No, I have seen all of her Twitch streams, read all of her blog posts. It’s her.”

“Where are you guys, anyways?” I asked while driving under a bridge. Around the next corner would be the obstacles before where I crashed last time.

Z sounded like he was in a struggle as he spoke, “Just landed off the ramps. Where are you?”

I looked ahead. Swinging from the sky, seemingly attached to nothing, gigantic wrecking balls rained down upon us. To my right, a Gunter got scooped away by one, coins falling from where they once were. I didn’t think twice before collecting the coins. I looked around to see who my nearest competition was, thinking it would be a Sixer, but I saw no one. Just in case, I looked in the rear view mirror. Nothing. Over my shoulders. Nothing. What the hell? I thought to myself.

I jumped the construction sight small ramp with ease, and started to slow my speed. I didn’t mean to, it was just instinct. Ahead, there was China Town, where I crashed last time. If my heart wasn’t pounding hard enough in my chest from adrenaline, it was about to explode from anxiety. In my stomach, I felt a pit growing like I was about to puke. My breathing was short and wavering, and my eyes started to water. “I can’t to it…” I muttered as I bailed. Just before I reached the trigger for the T-Rex, I came to a halt, my brakes shaking under my shoot, and the tires tried to grab the ground as I skidded to a stop.

“What are you talking about?” Z asked worriedly.

A Sixer car zoomed past me, triggered the T-Rex who picked up the grey car and crushed it between its large teeth. “I can’t pass the dinosaur,” I said as more cars started passing me. It hadn’t even occurred to me that the Akira bike had passed me, and then the Back to the Future car passed me. My head hit the steering wheel, the siren sounded like a whisper compared to loud clamor of cars and roars from the T-Rex. “I’m sorry…”

“It’s okay,” Z said, determination now ringing in his voice.

“I had to bail to,” Aech added angrily. Then his voice cheered, “Go! Go! You got it! Go, Z!” The way he was cheering, it sounded like Z was about to win, and I wasn’t even there.

Suddenly, it didn’t seem like I needed to worry about that. “Shit…” Z growled. “Art3mis isn’t going to make it,” he said. “King Kong will zero her out.” Quiet. “Bail!” he shouted at someone. “Bail!”

I put the car in reverse and started slowly heading back to the start where we would always meet up after bad races— and all of them were bad races. I waited for Z and Aech, sitting on the hood of my car, playing on my in-game Gameboy. In the real world you could never find old technology, it was really hard and expensive. But in the Oasis, I had three Gameboy’s, two of which were customs. It was weird to be playing a video game inside of a video game at first, but I got used to it, and it’s how I started passing the time.

More and more Gunters trudged back with low health and their damaged vehicles pocketed. Some were drinking healing potions and putting “bandages” on for more health. Others, who had nothing, slowly let their health come back. In the exodus, I saw Aech’s giant avatar next to two smaller avatars. I recognized one as Perzival, and the other as the Art3mis.

As the neared, I pocketed the Jester after dismounting it, and greeted the three of them with a smile. Z was glowing with excitement, and Aech was rolling his eyes at every other word. “Oh!” Z exclaimed, “This is my friend Brandewyn,” he said it like I was an afterthought before continuing on his nerd rant. I couldn’t blame him, though. Who could? He was meeting one of the greatest OASIS streamers, someone he aspired to be like.

I cleared my throat to grab their attention. “I’m headed out. But I wanted to give this to you, Aech.” I threw the miniature figure of my car at him.

He caught it and looked at me, bewildered. “The Jester?” he questioned with both excitement and disbelief. I nodded. “You’re giving me the Jester? Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. My Copper Key Race days are over. I figured if anyone was going to take good care of it, it would be you, Aech. Treat her well or I’ll cut your balls off in the real world.” I laughed as I waved goodbye and took my OASIS visor off, Z saying something about wanting me to stay. I didn’t hear him.

#ready player one #ready player one imagine #ready player one imagines #ready player one smut #ready player one series #wade watts #wade watts imagine #wade watts imagines #wade watts smut #wade watts series

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2pgaming · 2 years ago

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Best Games PlayStation 3

Friendly Games Today. Best Games. The Best Games for PlayStation 3 (PS3) - Internet

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Red Dead Redemption Rockstar games watch lad habit of alive holding play fad under add-on to producing the typical tall under summit every and each appointment correlated below themselves. Red Dead Redemption tropical isle as well stress of the finalized blown-away productions among the all sorts of goods PS3 games grown because of them. This cerebrovascular event shot excursion western third girl shooter huge galaxy variant paradise poker paradise poker a traditional masterpiece getting longer squeaky toy probability using option bigger according to good graphical representation.

#playstation 3 games list #playstation 3 games download #all ps3 games #ps3 games free #top ps3 games #ps3 game price #ps3 games online #ps3 game cd

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kayla1993-world · 2 years ago

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Being homeless wasn't how Lynn Spiegel pictured retirement. About four years ago, she found herself in her mid-60s living out of her car after having worked since the age of 15.

"It was hard," Spiegel told CBC Toronto in an interview. "I would go and stay in a park all day long and then sit in front of a McDonald's." Spiegel had recently left her long-time job as a supervisor with a trucking company. She was having trouble keeping up with payments on her condo, so she sold it. At first, Spiegel stayed with her sister, but it didn't work out.

In all, she spent seven weeks sleeping in her car. Her only income was the old-age security benefit, and she couldn't afford to rent an apartment. She moved from her car to Toronto's shelter system; an improvement but still a struggle, she says, because of her age. "For a first-timer, for an elderly person, you know, it's very difficult to be in a shelter."

According to Homes First, an organization that helps people get off the streets and into supportive housing, Speigel's story is becoming increasingly common in Toronto as more elderly people experience homelessness. That's due to the city's aging population, rising inflation, and an increasingly expensive housing market, Homes First says. Spiegel says she did what she could to adapt while in the shelter system.

"I got along with the young people and I was kind of like a mother to them. I would talk to them, I would listen to them," she said. That time came to an end in July 2020, when she was referred by a doctor to Homes First. She was approved to move into subsidized and supportive housing owned and operated by the agency. Now, Spiegel not only has her own unit, but the building is for people over the age of 59 and is tailored for older residents.

"It's a blessing," she said.

According to Homes First, older individuals also tend to have smaller support networks and can wind up experiencing homelessness as they lose the friends and family that help them live independently. Jamie Facciolo, Homes First's director of development and homelessness initiatives, says over the past three years, the organization has been serving more and more seniors. He claims that when seniors lose their homes, they are 60% more likely than younger people to experience chronic homelessness.

"The alarm needs to be sounded on this because this is our most vulnerable population and something needs to be done," he said in an interview. Facciolo said the solution isn't just a home to get someone off the streets, but a specific kind of home to keep them from going back.

"We need to build in very specific support for seniors to allow a pathway out of homelessness. The pathway to sustainability is much more challenging," he said. Homes First is tackling the problem through its $2-million Homefull campaign. The program is aimed at tailoring supportive housing to the needs of seniors, including nutritious meals, better access to primary health care, and providing social programming and digital literacy workshops to help residents connect with their communities.

Housing is becoming a prominent political issue not only in Toronto but across the GTA and other Ontario municipalities where the cost of renting or owning a home is also becoming out of reach for many. The two most prominent Toronto mayoral candidates in this month's municipal election, incumbent John Tory and challenger Gil Peñalosa, both say they have policy ideas to address the problem.

In a written statement, Peñalosa says too many seniors are getting evicted thanks to rent increases that outpace the rate of inflation. If elected, he says he would double the Tenant Defence Fund, which helps residents oppose rent increases at the Landlord and Tenant Board. "I will do everything I can to keep seniors in their homes, where they have often established a community over decades. It is better for the individual, and will ultimately cost the city less to keep seniors, and anyone else, out of the shelter system," Peñalosa said in the statement.

Tory, meanwhile, points to his record as a two-term mayor. Over the past eight years, he says he's worked with both the federal and provincial governments to help low-income seniors and reduce homelessness. Tory says he led the creation of the separate Toronto Seniors Housing Corporation, which helps to ensure the social housing stock has the distinct support seniors need.

"The mayor is committed to making sure the city government — with the cooperation of the other governments — does everything it can to keep life in our city affordable for seniors and to ensure they have the support they need to stay in their homes for as long as possible," a statement from Tory's campaign said.

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we-killed-parker · 7 years ago

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Things you said while I cried in your arms, Steven/Cib? (You don't have to if you don't want to! Love your writing!)

Hey, this is a LOT longer than I intended it to be, but I hope the 2,350-ish word build up for a 22 word sentence works for you. Also hope you’re ok with GTA au, cause that’s what you’re getting! My first time writing it, so hope there isn’t anything too awful. I feel kinda bad cause everyone else doing this is popping out 2-3 paragraphs worth for each prompt, but apparently I can’t do things in moderation/without some sort of context, but I should know that already because of who I am as a person. Anyways, thank you so much for the prompt!

Warning for blood and language I guess.

On Ao3

~~~

Steven had already had a horrible feeling about this recon mission before James and Cib had even headed out and now an hour after they should’ve been back he felt like he was on the verge of an anxiety attack, waiting for any word. He paced back and forth behind Autumn as she flipped through the different traffic cams she had access to. Unfortunately there were some dead spots in the map of the city that they hadn’t yet been able to hack into and they had lost Cib’s car somewhere in there. Their setup was new and Autumn claimed she couldn’t get into everything all at the same time or she would be easier to detect, and so they’d sent Cib and James to check out a couple of the so called ‘dead zones’, two of which they were currently uncertain of which gang was in control of. He had already put Jeremy and Parker on high alert when the guys were twenty minutes late getting back.

Stevens shoes squeaked on the linoleum floor as he spun on his heel and took three large steps across the room and repeated. Autumn glanced up at him in annoyance and put her half off headphones back into their proper position.

He checked his phone for the millionth time, waiting for any sort of notification. He hadn’t set it down in over an hour, the case well and truly warmed by his hand at that point. Same as before, nothing.

Autumn huffed as his shoes squeaked again. “Will you stop-”

Stevens text notification went off and both of them jumped at the sound. Autumn pulled off her headphones and craned her neck to see the phone as Steven unlocked it. It was a single word text message from James with his GPS marker attached.

Help.

~~~~~

Ten minutes later Steven was racing through the streets heading for the outskirts of the city, a pile of weapons on the back seat next to Jeremy and Parker navigating from the passenger seat. The GPS marker was out in the mountains, along the road running through Raton Canyon. How they had wound up that far out of town Steven had no idea. The atmosphere in the truck was tense, everyone silent asides from Parker directing him when to turn.

He’d tried calling James several times, but it rang through to the answering machine every time. Cib’s phone didn’t even ring, going straight to his voice recording.

“Slow down, it says he’s just around the corner.” Parker said.

Steven did as he was told and eased the truck around the corner, coming to a stop when Cib’s destroyed car came into view. It lay on its roof in the middle of the narrow road, it’s nose pointed uphill and the drivers side door hanging open towards them.

Steven and Parker both swore under their breath, all three men vacating the truck with their guns drawn. Steven went straight for the open car door as Parker and Jeremy fanned out, Jeremy going to the edge of the road where it dropped away into a steep slope towards the river and Parker going around the front of the car to the other side.

Stevens could feel his heart pounding as he scrambled into the car, broken glass pricking at his fingers. It was empty, no bodies, which could’ve been a relief asides from the fact he still had no clue where they were. There was blood though, and not just a little. The passenger seat was stained with it and the steering wheel smeared red. Just as he was about to crawl backwards out of the car he spotted Cib’s phone in the pile of blood splattered glass, the screen smashed to bits. Well that explains the lack of ringing.

Parker joined him by the door as he stood up. “Have you tried James phone again?”

“No, but the GPS says he’s right here,” he pointed to where Jeremy stood on the edge of the road, looking down at the few trees between them and the river. His stomach twisted as the thought of either of them winding up in the river crossed his mind. He fought the thought back and hit redial, listening for the first couple rings.

“I hear something!” Jeremy hollered at them, starting to slide down the hill, catching himself on one of the sparse pine trees ten feet below them. The next one over had branches low to the ground, completely hiding anything within four feet of its base, which Jeremy was now peering at.

“He’s here!” Jeremy called out, disappearing under the branches. Steven didn’t even hesitate, tucking his gun into his waistband and skidding down the slope on his heels before catching himself on the trunk and pushing the branches out of the way from where he saw Jeremy disappear. His heart stopped as he found Jeremy crouched over an unconscious James, already trying to apply pressure to his bleeding shoulder. Jeremy turned to Steven. “We need to get him out of here. Help me get him on my shoulder.”

Working together they managed to fight through the tree and get James onto Jeremy’s shoulder and Jeremy started climbing the hill again, Parker ready to grab onto him when he got into range and Steven supporting him from behind. Halfway up James came back to consciousness and immediately started fighting.

“Put me down, you fucker!” He yelled, reaching up with one arm to wrap his hand around Jeremy’s face and pummeling his lower back with the other. Jeremy grunted, nearly slipping but stubbornly keeping an iron grip on James’ flailing legs.

“James! James, stop!” Steven grabbed for his arms, but Jeremy slipped, sending them both toppling forward. James landed hard on his back, the impact and Jeremy’s shoulder landing on his torso knocking the breath out of him. Parker managed to grab him under his arms and drag him the rest of the way up and onto the road.

James finally drew in a breath and immediately started coughing, his face screwed up in pain. Steven clambered up the last bit of the hill and to James’ side, taking the rag Jeremy handed to him and pressed it into the apparent bullet wound through his shoulder. The pain was enough to make James take another hacking breath and his eyes flew open. “Steven!”

“Yeah, James, it’s me, you’re ok, we’re going to get you out of here.” James lifted his head and saw Parker helping Jeremy back to his feet and kept searching around the area.

He looked back at Steven and asked, “Where’s Cib? Is he ok?”

Steven’s heart sank. If James didn’t know where Cib was, they were screwed. “We haven’t found him yet, what the hell happened?”

James clenched his eyes shut and groaned. “It was the Fakes, man, we were in the FAHC’s area and they saw us. One of them got a hit on me before Cib could get us out of there and the Vagabond chased us all the way out here. We almost lost him, but one of their helicopters caught up. We flipped and I think Cib hit his head and wouldn’t wake up, but I could hear the helicopter coming back and the Vagabond was coming, so I crawled down the hill. They mustn’t have seen me move.”

“Shit.” Steven looked up at Jeremy, who already had his phone out, his thumbs flying across the keyboard as he alerted his network of contacts to keep their eyes open for any of the Fakes with a hostage. “We need to get out of here, get back to the Office.”

Parker nodded enthusiastically as he moved to help him lift James to his feet. James groaned and leaned heavily on Parker, putting his hand up to hold the rag on the wound himself as they walked past the destroyed car to Steven’s truck.

The drive back was just as quiet and tense as the trip out, except for Jeremy’s nearly continuous conversations on the phone. Steven kept looking in his rear view mirror, checking on James. He had passed out leaning against Parker’s chest, who had taken over applying pressure and had found a wad of gauze to hold to the wound on the back of James’ shoulder.

An hour later James was sleeping on the couch against the window with Mimi tending to his wounds while Steven returned to his pacing behind Autumn’s chair, much to her annoyance, and occasionally going to the back room to check in with Parker and Jeremy, who was equally annoyed by his hovering. Parker was more understanding and tried to at least be gentle while informing him they had nothing for him yet.

It continued like that for the next few hours, until James awoke late in the evening and finally managed to get Steven to stop moving for a moment and sit down on the couch. He somehow managed to keep him there long enough for Steven to fall into a fitful sleep, leaving the rest of the office to do their jobs without a living, breathing ball of anxiety sitting on their shoulders.

Autumn stretched in her seat, yawning loudly, as she looked over her shoulder at James, Steven asleep with his head on James’ lap. The shoulder of his t-shirt had been cut open and he looked exhausted, but he still broke out into a smile when he saw her looking at him.

“You look like shit, bro.”

“Thanks!”

She smiled at the goofy grin he was giving her. “I’m glad you’re okay.”“Me too.” His face turned serious as he looked down at Steven. “But I don’t think any of us are going to be okay if we don’t find Cib.”

~~~~~

It was nearly twenty four hours after they’d retrieved James that Parker and Jeremy were able to charge into the main office and present the group with some good news.

“We got him, one of our contacts just spotted a Fake Crew vehicle leaving the docks. Apparently they left a note with our name on it on a sea can.” Parker looked like he was nearly vibrating with excitement, grinning from ear to ear.

“And what’s the likelihood that’s a trap?” James asked the room in general.

“Definitely.” Steven muttered, rubbing his hands across his knees. He was shaking so bad, finally getting a lead was such a relief, but god, they couldn’t just walk down there and open the container up. What if it was booby trapped, set to blow when they opened the door? “You happen to have a bomb team in that network of contacts?”

“Sorta. He can meet us there though.” Jeremy said.

“He? Singular?”

“He’s good enough he doesn’t need a team.”

~~~~~

And so Steven, Parker, Jeremy, and James, despite Mimi’s protests about his arm, arrived at the docks, almost immediately finding the sea can meant for them thanks to the comically large green and black gift wrapping bow slapped on the front of it. A guy Steven and James didn’t recognize was slowly circling it, waving a small box in his hand along every seam he could find.

“Andrew! What’s the word, buddy?” Parker called as they all exited the truck.

The guy, Andrew, turned to them, squinting in the sunlight despite the ball cap turned backwards on his head. The brim is literally designed to protect your eyes, who the hell thinks they look so cool with their hat backwards that they squint at the sun, Steven thought to himself, his tiredness and missing his friend turning to irritation. He kept his mouth shut though, they needed this guy.

“I can’t find anything, seems to be clean. Pulled this off for you though,” he held out a folded piece of paper with a strip of tape on it out and Steven immediately snatched it out of his hand. His hands shook as he opened it.

We know you’ve been looking for him, and he’s useless to us, so you can have him back. Of course we didn’t kill him, we’re not barbarians. Who are we, Fake Chop?

“Can you open it?” Steve hated the way his voice broke over those four words.

“Yeah, of course.” Andrew pulled off the huge bow and unlatched the two handles on the first door, not noticing as the other four men took three steps back before he pulled it open. They all breathed a sigh of relief when nothing happened and then Steven was running for the door.

The afternoon sun lit the interior, one beam in particular highlighting the tall skinny form of Cib slumped on his side against the wall, hands bound by rope in front of him. Any risk of further trip wires and traps were immediately forgotten by Steven and he skidded to his knees next to Cib. He had blood dried to the side of his head, the dark circles around his eyes were even darker than usual and the exposed parts of his arms were mottled with bruises. And that was only what Steven could see, who knew how bad he was under his clothes? Steven felt sick just thinking about it.

He desperately clutched at Cib, pulling him partially upright and hugging him to his chest. The movement startled Cib awake, his eyes going wide and body tensing, bring his bound hands up near his bruised throat as though he were protecting himself.

“Hey hey hey, it’s me, it’s Steven, I got you.”

Relief blossomed across Cibs face and tears immediately flowed as he pressed his face into Stevens shirt. “I didn’t think you were coming for me.”

“What- why wouldn’t I?” Steven was baffled. They’d never really officially defined their relationship before and he did love the dumb bugger, but Cib was always so affectionate to him he had assumed it was a mutual attraction. Obviously now Steven remembered he had the emotional capacity of a teaspoon and was even worse at showing it, mentally kicking himself for not having said anything before.

He put his hand under Cibs chin and angled his head up so he could look into Cibs tear filled eyes. “Of course I’d come for you, Cib. As long as I have life in my body, I will always come for you.”

#Ship Pine 7 #CibXSteven #Fake Pine 7 #my fic #C: Steven Suptic #C: Cib/Clayton James #C: Autumn Farrell #C: James DeAngelis #C: Parker #C: Jeremy Sauder #C: Andrew Sigils #R: Cib/Steven

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