Tim refuses to ride in a car with Jason driving anymore because he’s gotten like three concussions from Jason constantly slamming the breaks (and throwing him forward into the dashboard, since he’s always so exhausted that he forgets the seatbelt) after speeding up and Jason does this on purpose just to mess with the kid and when it happens he’s laughing like “hahahahahha please tell me you didn’t just break your nose”
one word prompt thingy: gavin, pain, any au you want :)
He’s the Golden Boy with the Silver Tongue, the negotiator, the sweet talker. Ramsey’s precious boy. He’s known for his pristine dress, his silk designer shirts, the $400 jeans, the golden framed sunglasses and sun bleached hair. He’s spoiled. He’s unrelenting. He’s Gavin Free.
He doesn’t get involved in the action all that much. He’s squeamish. He’s fidgety in a fight. He leaves the blood and guns to the others of the crew. Not even Geoff gets involved in firefights all that much. There are some positions in a crew that don’t require senseless violence, and Gavin would prefer to keep it that way.
When he’s on the field, working a job, collecting a payment, dealing out threats, the crew try to keep him out of danger. He has other uses beyond his tongue. He’s a top notch hacker as well.
So if a heist should all go to shit, Gavin is usually far away by the time that happens, shoved into the front seat of a car as it speeds away. He’s lucky he’s avoided the bloodshed this far into being with the crew.
But luck always runs out.
The crew they’re dealing with is a shifty one. Geoff can’t get a good read on them, so he sends Gavin down with some protection to see what he can learn. Immediately, Gavin can tell it won’t end well. The gang leader he’s dealing with seems like a twitchy man. He’s sweating a bit. Could be from the heat of the day. Could be from something he’s nervous about. But the conversation Gavin has with him goes swimmingly. He’s cooperative. He’s honest–as honest as Gavin can tell. He’s not making things difficult for Gavin. Which also puts Gavin on edge.
“I don’t like this,” he hears Ryan say through the earpiece. “It’s too easy.”
But Gavin keeps up the act, smiles like nothing is wrong. Don’t let them catch onto you. Don’t let them doubt you.
The meeting comes to an end. Nothing bad happens. There’s no shoot out. No quick shots taken. Ryan is tense. Gavin keeps his own posture stress free and unassuming. Maybe they’ll get away. Maybe he read this entire situation the wrong–
He hears beeping, the pitches coming in quicker and quicker succession. He looks for the sound and notices a charge on the crates where they’re walking. Just before it goes off, Ryan shoves into him, a large arm thrown about his waist and carrying him off as far as he could before the blast went off.
The blast that close is deafening and blinding. All Gavin can hear is a ringing in his ears. Pain lances up his back and the back of his head. He groans and rolls onto his side. HIs sunglasses are a few feet away from him, blown off in the blast, cracked beyond repair. The ringing in his ears makes it difficult to pinpoint where the sounds of gunshots are coming from. If he’s in trouble, if he should reach for his gun.
He shakes his head, tries to gain his bearings. And then he sees Ryan sprawled out next to him. His eyes are closed beneath the mask. He’s bleeding sluggishly from a wound on his shoulder. Gavin moves his aching body over to him and leans up on his knees. He presses down on the wound, a poor attempt at staunching until the backup arrives.
When the other members of the crew arrive and clean out the place, Gavin and Ryan are taken directly back to the tower to be seen to. Gavin is given a diagnosis of a mild concussion. Ryan’s arm is patched up and stiffly bound against his chest. They’re both on bedrest until the doctor gives them the all clear.
It takes a while to wash the blood off of his hands that night. Scrubbing, scrubbing, scrubbing until the water is no longer pink. He sits at Ryan’s bedside that night before lying down on the bed covers, careful not to disturb him. And just as he begins to doze off, he feels Ryan slip his unbound hand into his.
i want to fire my concussive blast into morrisons ass and launch him deep into space where he will go to winston land and get zapped by them for all eternity and never instantly kill me trying to fly in and flank him ever again
I thought this ask was going in an entirely different direction based on the first ten words. I’m glad it made a complete one-eighty. I am peaceful now.
I’m no longer just concerned about Sidney Crosby as a hockey player at this stage, and him missing time playing. I’m genuinely, terrifyingly concerned about what’s going to happen once he retires. What’s going to happen once ten years of severe concussions, rushing recoveries and getting repeatedly thrown headfirst into the boards is going to do to his brain and his quality of life. No hockey series, no cup, no game, is worth endangering the future life of a person. I wouldn’t have cared if he didn’t play another game this series, or this season. Letting hockey players play through head injuries is fucking ridiculous, because they exist in a culture where Peverley literally had his heart stop on the bench and wanted to keep playing in the game. I don’t want to see someone who changed the face of the NHL getting CTE because concussions are so poorly managed within this league.
given recent developments, i thought i’d draw attention to this. so the other day willie mitchell (907 career nhl games and 2 stanley cups) tweeted a link to an awesome article that you can find in his tweet here, but just to summarize:
Chris Nowinski, co-founder/CEO of the Concussion Legacy Foundation (an organization dedicated to educating athletes on concussions and CTE), has called out the NHL for not admitting that there is a link between head injuries and CTE (chronic traumatic encephalopathy, a neurodegenerative brain disease that has been linked to head injuries sustained playing professional sports, most notably football). NHL commissioner Gary Bettman, aka “that asshole again?”, has gone on record saying that there is no proof linking CTE and hockey and that hockey is different from football. which, you know, repeated traumatic head injuries are repeated traumatic head injuries, but obviously the fact that there’s ice means they’re totally different! Bettman’s (headass) refusal to acknowledge a link is probably due to the lawsuit going on right now in which former players are saying that the NHL is total shit about handling concussions. it doesn’t make it any less headass.
anyways, the nhl sucks with concussions and i’m sure that proving that link between hockey and CTE isn’t too far off, but basically go follow willie mitchell on twitter. it is great and he doesn’t take shit and is educated and has great sources for issues on environmentalism, the nhl, and various other things.
‘You were singing really loudly in the shower when I broke into your apartment but then i heard you slip and crash and oh god i should probably check on you in case i get done for murder instead of just robbery’ AU
It took all of fourteen seconds for Derek to realize he was in the wrong apartment.
First, he noticed the very large and scuffed up sneakers and boots ditched haphazardly kind of near the door but half into the living room. Cora was meticulous about her shoes and kept them neatly arranged in a shoe rack right next to the door. The only time they touched the floor was when her feet were in them.
Second, the stuff. There was so much stuff everywhere; clothes thrown over the back of the couch, dishes across the coffee table and all over the kitchen counters, books on every surface, a gaming console dragging wires across the floor and surrounded by games, in cases and out of them. Cora was an unintentional minimalist, in that she threw out anything she didn’t need and lacked a single sentimental bone in her body. Derek and Laura regularly made trips to wherever she lived to save family keepsakes and memories from her ruthless cleaning sprees.
Then he noticed the manly warble coming from somewhere deeper in the apartment, and Cora’s favorite topic of rant floated lazily to the forefront of his mind.
—but my neighbor, oh my god this guy! I’m going to kill him if I ever see him in the hall! His bathroom shares a wall with my bedroom and he sings in the shower, every shower, at all hours. Literally all hours, like 4am, and he only sings Christmas carols at 4am. I’ve have Jingle Bells stuck in my head for a week!
One of the most awesome supports I played before and decided to make a design of her. I think I might continue making more LoL designs :) We’ll see. Anyways, I’m personally happy with how she turned out.
On Friday, February 3rd, I was having a beautiful round in the junior hunters at HITS Coachella in Thermal, CA. As we came to the first jump of the last line of the course, the horse I was catch riding didn’t pick up his feet to jump (likely distracted by a light, shadow, or any number of other things). Instead, he hit the 3'3" jump with his chest, his hind end came up, and he flipped completely over, throwing me headfirst into the ground. (I have no memory of the event or the day that it happened; I know all of this only from descriptions by witnesses and people who watched the video of the incident.)
It’s a miracle that I was thrown far away enough to not be crushed by his body, and that my brain trauma didn’t exceed that of a bad concussion. My helmet (and a bit of raw luck) saved my life.
It was a freak accident unrelated to the horse’s ability, rider error, or jump height. No matter your (or your horse’s) age, level, or experience, please: wear a helmet. It takes so little for a situation to go so wrong. #mindyourmelon
(The horse I was riding is eating, drinking, begging for carrots, and continuing to make stable improvements at the rehabilitation center.)
One of my favourite things about Dirk Gently as a person is that he’s spent sixteen years being hunted by violent psychic vampires and he still attempts to hide under the bed when they break into Todd’s apartment.