#i like how the clock hit announcement time for heroes and they were immediately among the deceased | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ecriter · 4 years

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Kitten

Kitten

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader Word Count: 3k Warnings: Mild language Summary: After a villain battle erupts down the street from your apartment, you happen to stumble across a tiny, aggressive kitten. Coincidentally, Pro-Hero Ground Zero has gone missing...

The explosion rattled the entire city. A thick bloom of smoke and fire could be seen from miles away as it shot into the sky, filling it with choking smog. Everyone along the busy streets paused, turning their wide-eyed faces to the sky. You, among them, clutched your hands close to your chest. You had been part of the crowd evacuated from the section of your city, your apartment not too far from the site. Shit. “Hey, do you think the Pro Hero’s are okay over there?” A bystander called, a smartly dressed man with slicked hair and lined face. “Wasn’t that Ground Zero? He’s a #2 Hero, he can withstand anything!” Cried another civilian confidently, eyes gleaming with the explosion’s light. The crowd murmured their agreement, suddenly erupting with cries of encouragement, despite being too far for any Pro Hero to hear. Deciding it would be better to continue your walk, rather than gaze at the dying mushroom cloud, you hurried on down the block.

You were incredibly lucky that your house hadn’t been decimated by the fight. In fact, your entire neighborhood stood relatively unscathed, save for some debris that had landed from the explosion. You stepped out of the taxi with your suitcase behind you, feeling so tired. You’d been staying with a friend for two days as the city went about cleaning up the streets at it hadn’t been particularly comfortable to sleep on a squeaky couch. As you advanced to the opening of your building, a cry erupted from the ally way next to you. Your head snapped to the side, eyebrows furrowing. What was that? It had sounded like a baby, but it was far too shrill. The cry came again and you rested your bag against the banister to the apartment, creeping cautiously to the darkened ally. You were in no mood to encounter a villain tonight. Instead, you found it cat. It was a big cat, for one thing. It’s had thick, gorgeous blond fur that fluffed up around its neck and stomach. You didn’t notice until you crouched down, hand up for it to smell, but it also had ferociously crimson eyes. It was strange, but you’d seen far stranger things in your lifetime. “Here, buddy. I won’t hurt you,” You cooed out, wiggling your fingers. The cat regarded you apprehensively and made a swipe for your hand, claws splayed. “Hey!” You cried, pulling your hand to your chest. “That was uncalled for! You don’t look like you’ll want to be out here in the cold,” The cat curled in on itself, a deep growl building in its throat. It seemed in no way interesting in your advances, yet you couldn’t just leave it out in the ally, unprotected and alone. So what to do? You turned to your bag. “Fine,” you called over your shoulder to the cat. “I’ll just go to my comfy, warm, apartment--with food!--and you can be out here in that cold dark ally,” You pulled the handle of your bag, slinging it over your shoulder and advancing up the steps of your apartment. The cat let out a mewl, pulling itself out of the shadows of the darkness. You turned, smiling over your shoulder. It came closer, ears flat against its skull, unwilling, but desperate. “Smart kitty,” You sighed, crouching down to hold out your hand again. This time the cat begrudgingly sniffed your fingers and, finding your scent satisfactory, allowed you to scoop the tiny creature securely into your arms. You were lucky your building had a one animal policy. It made bringing the fluffy cat into your apartment much easier, compared to smuggling it in beneath your jacket. Unlocking your apartment door, you set your suitcase down by the shoe stand, allowing the cat to slip out of your arms and make its way around, exploring your apartment. Your apartment was small, just one bedroom one bath, but comfortable. The lights cast an orange glow over the rooms and the ambiance reminded you of your weary bones. You remembered, however, that you had a guest to take care of. “What do cats eat?” You sighed, regarding the thing as it stretched across the floor, making it’s way to your couch. Your stomach rumbled, reminding you that you needed to eat too. “I guess I’m going out again,” You reached for your keys. “Don’t cause any trouble and stay right there,” You ordered the cat, and it hissed at you, despite your distance. “Great,” You scoffed, closing the door behind you. “An egotistical, crazy cat. Let’s add it to the list,”

When you arrived back at the house, the clock had hit 9:30. Your belly was full of ramen and your arms were laden with cat food, a litter box, and litter. You figured you’d rather get the supplies now instead of having the cat poop all over your house. Did it even know how to use a litter box? Had it always been a stray? “I’m home!” You announced to the emptiness, closing and locking your door, setting the bags down. You made quick work of setting up the litterbox before putting out a bowl of dry food for the kitty. “Where’d you go, buddy? I’ve got some food for you!” You shook the bowl and it’s contents rattled. The blond cat peeked it’s head up from the back of the couch, where it had not, in fact, moved from. It blinked lazily at you, mowing its protest at your choice of dry food. “What, you don’t want it?” You groaned. “You haven’t even tried it! You might like it!” The cat meowed again and you resorted to popping open one of the tuna cans you had bought, setting it on the counter. “Well, eat if you’d like,” You sighed. “I’m going to bed,” After brushing your teeth and pulling yourself beneath the covers, you settled for some sleep. You had the entire weekend ahead of you to just relax and take a break off from work. It would be so- The door creaked open, bringing in a flood of moonlight from the living room. You sat up in bad, trying to adjust to the darkness. You heard a soft call from the foot of the bed and then the cat appeared, stomping (because it really was stomping) across the covers to the farthest corner away from you. “Making yourself comfortable, huh?” I asked drowsily, settling back into your pillows. The cat spat at you, curling tightly around itself. That was fine by you and you were off to sleep.

You awoke the next morning with the room still dark and thunder crashing outside your window. Rain pelted the panes and you shifted beneath your warm covers, burrowing into the softness of your pillow. You inhaled deeply, the purring against your chest growing louder. Your eyes shot open, met with the golden fur of a certain kitty. It appeared it hadn’t woken up yet and its paws twitched delicately in its sleep. Your heart ached with how cute it was. Reaching out, you stroked the spot between the cat's pointy ears and it let out a content mewl. It didn’t seem yet to be aware of its surroundings when it blearily opened its eyes, red iris half-lidded. When it finally did make out your smiling face, it shot up from its spot and danced away from you. “Oh, come on,” you groaned, pouting at the loss of its warm body. “You were perfectly fine with it a second ago!” The cat spat at you harshly before beginning to groom itself, shining eyes never leaving yours. Groaning, you rolled out of bed, deciding you’d rather have breakfast than mess with the foolish kitty. As you prepared tea and some toast for your breakfast, you noticed the can of tuna was emptied. It made you feel pleased that the cat had eaten something you’d offered. Once your toast and tea were finished, you moved to the living room, taking a seat on the couch and turning on the morning news. Almost immediately, you set your toast down. “-hasn’t been recovered yet. Speculators say he may have been killed in his own blast, along with the villain. Pro Hero colleges remain hopeful that they’ll find him.” Below the prim-looking news reporter was a bar of text scrolling across the screen. It read:

#2 PRO HERO GROUND ZERO MISSING IN FIGHT. POSSIBLY DEAD.

The screen changed to an old interview with Deku, Pro Hero #1. “We maintain hope that we’ll find him, alive. There’s a lot of wreckage still and Ground Zero certainly puts up a fight. Wherever he is, we’ll find him,” Despite the certainty in Deku’s voice, his eyes betrayed his fear. You’d heard that he and Ground Zero had grown up together, gone to the same Middle and High School. You hadn’t realized your own lip was trembling until a tear fell down your cheek. You also noticed the little cat sitting right before the TV, head craned like it understood everything. “It’s just so sad,” You sniffled, wiping your cheek.

The cat turned to you, seemingly taken aback by your tears. “I remember seeing that explosion. It was so bad, I don’t know how anyone could have survived it,” You sniffled again, taking a sip of your tea. “It really makes you appreciate what Pro Hero’s and their families go through, all to protect the city,” The cat mewled turning to approach the couch. It seemed anxious to do so like it was out of its comfort zone, but it hopped onto the cushions anyway, pawing at the throw blanket. You reached out to stroke its back with initial hesitation and finding that it didn’t spit at you, you ran your fingers through its soft fur. “I suppose we should come up with a name for you, hm?” You sighed. The image of Ground Zero flashed across the screen and gave you an idea. “What about Bakugou? You look a little bit like the Hero, and I heard that his name was Bakugou Katsuki. How do you like that?” The cat loudly mewled it’s affirmation and you settled into the couch. “It’s decided then!”

The days with little kitten Bakugou passed by. It seemed that the longer he was with you, the more tolerant he grew of you. You would never say he liked you, for there were always instances where he would hiss if you got too close. But the two of you developed an easy schedule together and you found yourself happy you finally had a companion. Your life was finally settling back down and you were back into your rhythm. That was until the news announced the capture of the villain whom Ground Zero had been fighting when the explosion had taken place. Many had presumed the villain incinerated in the explosion. In reality, he had been badly burned and had taken shelter in an abandoned building for his wounds to heal. It was lucky that some small Pro Hero had been patrolling and found him. Bakugou seemed particularly rowdy when they announced the villain. He hadn’t allowed you to touch him and was spitting at the TV like he understands everything going on. It was certainly strange behavior, but nothing too out of the ordinary. You figured the flashing of the television or the loud noises bugged the cat, and so you ignored it. That night, you prepared for sleep. You tucked yourself beneath your blankets as you always did and, later, once you were on the precipice of sleep, Bakugou would join you, curling up at the foot of your bed. In the morning he would be curled up against your back, but for now, he slept at the end. For some reason, as you slept tonight, you thought of the villain the police had uncovered and wondered if Deku had been right and if Ground Zero, who everyone presumed dead, was out there somewhere.

Everything seemed fine when you initially woke up. Warm sunlight dappled your room. Your clock blinked 8:00 am. The familiar warm pressure of your kitty against your back was present. As you gained more awareness of the conscious world, something began to shift in your head. The cogs began to turn because, suddenly, everything was not fine, and you weren’t sure why. You shifted beneath the covers, pushing yourself up, but found yourself weight down. Your eyes trailed long fingers resting on your tummy, up to a well-muscled forearm, then bicep. Finally, your eyes met the unperturbed face of #2 Pro Hero Ground Zero. At first glance, it seemed like he was a figment of your imagination, some mini-hallucination. You’d watched a lot of the news recently and Ground Zero was certainly a staple at the moment. This was all a dream, right? Besides, the way his lightly scarred skin glowed in the morning light, ethereal tendrils beams parting his pale hair, it had to seem like a dream. You blinked a few times, trying to clear your mind, but he was still there, soft breaths against your propped up arm. When the Hero shifted against you, eyes fluttering beneath his lids, arms tightening around your hips, was when you realized this was very, in fact, real. Breath catching in your throat, you scrambled away from Ground Zero, practically falling off of your bed. The sudden shift awoke him, crimson eyes popping open, half-lidded. It painfully reminded you of kitty Bakugou and you suddenly looked around the room for his fluffy form. “What the hell are you doing in my room?” I demanded, grabbing a pillow for defense (though you had seen his quark and knew a pillow was about as useful as nothing at all). Ground Zero seemed dazed and confused, still trying to process where he was exactly and who you were. “I’m not asking again!” You squeaked out, trembling. You held the pillow over your shoulder, ready to hit him over the head if he made any moves. “What are you doing in my room? In my bed?” This seemed to fully awaken the Hero. He pushed himself up on his forearms, rubbing his eyes. He’d become alert, tense. “Don’t be an idiot, (Y/N),” He grumbled. “You know exactly who I am. We’ve been living together for, like a week and a half,” You looked at the man like he was insane. I had absolutely lost it. “What are you talking about? You’ve been missing for a week and a half after that villain fight. I don’t know you!” The Hero grunted, pushing himself out of the bed and stretching. Your eyes fell to the prominent belt of muscle that encircled his hips before snapping back to his face. Now was not the time to admire the intruder in your home! Luckily, he hadn’t seemed to notice you checking him out. “Are you that dense?” Ground Zero sighed. “Look, here’s what happened. I was fighting that villain and he got me with his quark, right? I think it was some shape-shifting quark, because next thing I know you’re picking me up in an ally and bringing me home,” He ran a hand through his spiky hair, seeming unbothered by the events transpiring. You felt like you were losing your mind. “Are you telling me you’re my cat?” You asked incredulously. The Hero clicked his tongue. “Now you’ve got it,” You dropped the pillow out of your hand, not really sure what to think. On one hand, this hero in front of you exemplified Kitty Bakugou perfectly. The pale, fluffy hair, watchful crimson eyes, frigid personality. Even the way he had gotten up this morning, slipping out of bed and stretching deeply, reflected that of your kitty. On the other hand, it was nuts to think that the #2 hero presumed dead had been living with you. “I...I don’t even know what to do,” You gulped. “H-how did you even turn back?” Ground Zero shrugged, already making a b-line for the kitchen like your kitty would have done. He seemed to know where everything lay, navigating your cabinets easily to pull out eggs and fruit. “His quark might have run out or he might have released it, I’m not too sure,” He called from the kitchen. “I don’t really give a shit. I’m just happy to be back to normal,” You scrambled after him, following the man into the kitchen. “H-hey, wait,” You protested weakly, as he set about preparing breakfast for himself and, seemingly, you. “Y-you can’t just act like you own the place. Y-you’re Ground Zero, you should be calling your agency and telling them what happened! Everything thinks you’re dead, you know,” You scolded. “Well, first, you can call me Katsuki, dummy,” said the hero. “You’ve been calling me Bakugou for a week and a half and we’ve lived together that long, so I’d say we’re fairly familiar,” “O-ok, Katsuki,” You liked the way it sounded. “And second, the first thing I’m going to do is eat a real breakfast. Not that tuna shit you’ve been feeding me,” Katsuki snorted, slicing some banana. “Hey!” You protested. “You really like it when I gave it to you. Besides, how was I supposed to know you were really Ground Ze--er, Katsuki?” You pouted. Bakugou snorted. “Shut up. Anyways, thanks or whatever for taking care of me, I guess. That could have sucked a lot more. Do you want money or something for helping me?” Your brows furrowed. “Money? N-no, I mean, it’s fine. I guess it was the least I could do?” You said awkwardly, rubbing the back of your neck. Bakugou grunted, placing a plate of fruit on toast and some tea in front of you. “Fine, then let me take you out for coffee as thanks,” Your head shot up, a blush painting your cheeks. Likewise, Bakugou seemed equally as bashful, hiding it beneath his bangs. “Coffee?” You asked. “Well, I guess. Coffee couldn’t hurt,” Bakugou sat across from you, stuffing eggs and toast into his mouth. “Good,” He said through a stuffed mouth. “It’s time you finally learn a little about me. I’m sick of hearing all about you for a week,” He offered a coy smirk. “Hey!”

#bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #mha #mha bakugou #my hero academia #my hero imagines #bakugou katsuki imagines #katsuki bakugou imagines #mha fanfiction #mha imagines #bakugo x reader

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itsworn · 6 years

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2018 Trans-Am Racing at the Monterey Historic

We all have them: the automotive bucket lists that we’ve compiled in our heads over the years. As teenagers growing up on the East Coast, we would sit around drinking beer and talk about how one day we’d roll in the Hot Rod Power Tour, break records at Speed Week, and then rumble down Woodward Avenue in Detroit as part of the Dream Cruise. These were the events our adolescent psyches lived for; excursions that we’d mentally plan out but that would most likely never come to fruition. We would talk about what we’d drive there, how we’d scoff at the law by doing burnouts and donuts and then ultimately, be discovered by a news crew or magazine publisher and then become instantly famous due to our radiating coolness. That is were our minds were at in those days, and it was the weekend b.s. sessions like that which got us through the winter months when two-feet of snow lined the streets.

But that was then, and now I live on the West coast, in Northern, CA, a mere 118-miles away from one of the greatest automotive events the world has to offer. I speak of course about Monterey Car Week, that yearly orgy of automotive gluttony and excess that takes place mid-August in and around the Monterey Bay Peninsula. During this week the streets are literally filled with billions of dollars worth of automobiles, auction houses, and individuals whose wristwatches are worth more than most new cars. It’s a true spectacle, and if it’s not on your automotive bucket list, then add it immediately, because it’s something you’ll not want to miss.

One of the highlights of car week comes in the form of the Rolex Monterey Motorsports Reunion (a mouthful, I know) that is held at WeatherTech Raceway Laguna Seca. This event plays home to all manner of racecars stretching over the last 100 years. There are vendors, celebrity drivers, thousands of like-minded enthusiasts, and automobiles that have been borrowed from some of the finest collections.

The various grids are made up of everything from pre-war Bugatti and Alfa’s, to early Formula One cars and the Trans-Am Series hot-rods of the 1960s and early 70’s. We’re talking about vehicles with dollar values in the high six-figures (and beyond) that are piloted by drivers who don’t hold back. Ever see a 1952 Allard go head-to-head with a ’54 Porsche? You will here. How about a 1984 Nissan 300ZX Turbo roll in the same field as a 1973 BMW CSL? It’s crazy I know, but this is where it happens. We’re talking about an automotive Disney Land that your imagination would be hard pressed to topple if given the opportunity.

Races aside, one of the best aspects of the Motorsports Reunion is the unbridled access that everyone in attendance has to the vehicles, personnel, and the drivers. There are no security guards in black suits or velvet ropes keeping folks out. Instead the paddock is filled with EZ-Up tents that house tools and the crews who work feverishly to make sure that the cars are ready for the next race. There’s also an understanding that everyone in attendance respects: look but don’t touch, ask questions and be polite and above all else, enjoy. For the teams participating, this is serious, and it costs big dollars. Therefore, keep your distance when work is underway, and more importantly, understand that being here is a privilege, despite what that $110.00 ticket says.

As a standalone track, Laguna Seca is pretty damn good. We’re talking about a 2.2-mile road course with 11-turns, a ¼-mile+ long straight and of course, the legendary corkscrew that, when taken properly, makes you feel like your falling off the Earth. From a technical perspective it’s somewhat of a point-and-shoot affair, but that doesn’t mean it’s not entertaining. I’ve driven everything from a Porsche GT3 RS to a Dodge Caravan through these bends, and each and every time, I’m reminded that I’m rolling on hallowed ground.

Wandering around the pits is enough to send your brain into sensory overload, especially when your childhood heroes are sitting in front of you. Vehicles like the 1971 championship-winning AMC Javelin driven by Mark Donohue, or the ‘70 Boss Mustang that was wheeled by Parnelli Jones (1970 Trans-Am Championship Winner). There was also Sam Posey’s Sublime Green 1970 Dodge Challenger (complete with Keith Black small block), along with some lesser-known cars like Rusty Jowett’s red 1968 Camaro Z/28, the ’68 Ford Mustang Coupe of Dean Gregson and another one of my favorites, the 1964 Pontiac Tempest (known as the Gray Ghost) that debuted at Lime Rock in 1971.

As a muscle car guy, the Trans-Am Championship Series of racing that took place between 1966-1972 was my favorite series of all time. We’re talking about racecars that looked almost identical to their showroom brethren and that would rip a hole in the atmosphere every time they cranked to life. It was the golden age of motor racing in the United State,s and it was one of the few times in history when racing was still relatable to the common enthusiast. Camaro’s, Mustang’s, Javelin’s, Tempest’s and Challenger’s would all mix it up and grind fenders, while at the same time, igniting the imaginations of every kid who had their faces pressed against a showroom window.

These are racecars that ran carburetors and manual transmissions and employed drivers whose nether regions were so massive that they overcame the need for self-preservation. Drivers aside, this was also when the engineers and pit crews from back in the day cheated so tastefully that it would drive the tech inspectors insane. As a case-in-point, consider Sam Posey’s ’70 Dodge Challenger that had been acid dipped to reduce weight. The roof material was so thin, when a tech-marshal rested his elbow on it, it actually dimpled it was so thin!

Want to cheat like the professionals? Well then, that’s how you do it.

Throughout the day, we watched everything from the pre-war cars on their pizza-cutter sized tires to the wild-looking IMSA rigs that dominated the 1970’s and 80’s. And while they were a sight to behold, it was the 8-cylinder symphonies of the Trans-Am cars that had me glued to the fence. One after the other, they roared passed while I camped out at the corner of Turn 4. The red, white & blue Donohue Javelin, Posey’s Challenger, the Grey Ghost Tempest – for me, and without getting overly dramatic, it was a dream.

Lap after lap, they swapped positions while four-wheel sliding through the bends. Some of these cars were more than 50-years old, and the drivers were pushing them like they had every modern safety feature incorporated into them (*see nether regions). Between the sonic booms emanating from the open exhausts, the fans and the announcements being made over the P.A. system, if you closed your eyes you may have actually thought you’d gone back in time. The race lasted around 25-minutes with the tri-colored AMC Javelin driven by one William Ockerlund taking the checkered flag. The yellow and black ’69 Z/28 Camaro wheeled by Chad Raynal took second, with third place going to the Grey Ghost 1964 Pontiac Tempest with John Hildebrand behind the wheel.

The cool down lap was filled with drivers, hands out of their windows, waving to the crowd like victorious gladiators. The cars, now a bit dirtier and with a few more paint chips, seemed to be relieved that the race was over, yet in their heyday they would’ve covered 90-laps or more. We followed other fans down from the grandstands and through the paddock to watch the cars pulled back into their stalls. As we walked, I heard those around us comment on how awesome it was to be here, and it was great to know people felt the same way I did. We had all traveled long distances to witness a mere 25-minutes of awesomeness, and I highly doubt if there was one among us who left disappointed.

We muddled around the paddock for another hour or so before heading home and once there I headed straight for the Internet to find original Trans-Am Series footage. As I watched, I wondered what it must’ve been like to experience these cars in their prime with the cheating, balls-out driving, and competition. I suppose in some respects it’s not much different than today, sans the advanced technology and safety regulations we’re all privy to. Then, I began to think about the track days we do out here in our own cars. Head to any HPDE event for instance and you’ll see Mustangs, Porsches, Camaros, Challengers, and all manner of Corvette and Miata ripping around with the drivers involved in mental battles with the clock and those around them. Is it real racing? No, at least not in the literal sense anyway. Yet for those of us who still yearn to see semi-modified street cars run flat out on the track, it’s about as good as it gets.

The vintage races that are run at the Rolex Monterey Motorsports Reunion are spectacular. There are events from Thursday on, with races held on both Saturday and Sunday at the track. Then there’s car week in general, which brings together automotive enthusiasts from around the globe. From a people-watching perspective, it’s downright hilarious, as Botox and overpriced shirts seem to be the norm. If you’re into auctions there’s Mecum, RM Sotheby’s, Gooding & Company, Bonhams and more. As for the high-class meet-ups, you can always hit up the McCall’s Motorwerks Revival, the Quail Lodge at weeks end, or the Concours d’Elegance on the lawn at Pebble Beach on Sunday. If these are your types of jams, though, just be prepared to spend upwards of $375.00 for each ticket (we know, it’s nuts).

Automotive enthusiasts will gravitate to anything with an engine, be it a barstool or a HEMI ‘Cuda. We love them because it’s how we’re wired and there’s nothing anyone can do to change that. Car week is everything we love about the automobile in excess, and the Trans-Am Series races are just icing on what we view as the world’s greatest cake. Are these events expensive and time consuming when you factor in hotels and food? Sure they are, but believe me when I tell you that with all the stress that everyday life can bring, knowing that gatherings like this still exist make me feel pretty damn good about being in this hobby.

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