NOTHING-BUT-TEETH

A super-powered version of the FAHC is an awful, unstoppable thing. Powered humans are rare, sure, but not unheard of; the Fake’s aren’t the only group out there defying reality in broad daylight. What makes them so remarkable, so formidable and distressingly hard to combat, is the way they use those powers. The way each member has taken their gift and twisted it, pulled and torn and stretched it to unforeseen territory, used their powers in ways no one else has even dreamed. Ways most could only imagine in their worst nightmares.

Ryan might be the most obvious example, the clearest illustration of the perversion of abilities, power turned on its head and used against its intention. He’s inspired them all, one way or another, to push their powers to the limits, into shapes they don’t belong in, powerful and strange and noticeably tarnished. On anyone else Ryan’s gift would be one of healing, of hope and restoration, empathetic and inherently altruistic. Its not a power most would associate with a life of crime, outside perhaps a medic, definitely not one most would pick for a mercenary, for the infamously deadly Vagabond. Ryan though, he’s never been one to let a little thing like reason set him back, never felt constrained by expectation, and he wasn’t about to let his powers derail his goals. Ryan has taken the ability to heal and broken it down into stages, approached inexplicable magic like a scientist, methodically identifying how to extract the exact elements he was after. He has the power to heal, yes, but what can be healed may also decay, that which can be stitched back together may just as easily be disassembled; it is no more difficult to displace blood than it is to correctly route it. With a touch Ryan can stop hearts, can rend tissue and implode organs. He can push natural reactions into overdrive, can encourage minor ailments into unstoppable disease, convince various systems to shut down without exposure to extreme circumstance. The only limit is Ryan’s own bountiful creativity, and while it might not be what people expect from the Vagabond he wouldn’t swap his abilities for anything.

Jeremy can change his density at will. Becoming immensely dense has some obvious uses in their world; bullets literally bouncing off his skin and fists that can shatter bones with a single punch, but becoming unnaturally light has just as many applications. Jeremy can change his weight mid-jump to achieve inhuman distance, can fall from great heights without a parachute, can climb sheer walls and hold his entire body up on the tip of a finger. There is no weight Jeremy cannot lift, no wall or door that can keep him out, let alone cuffs or bars to contain him. If Jeremy does not want to move there is physically no way to make him, and if he sets his sights on destroying something little can be done to stop him.

Geoff can communicate telepathically. This comes in handy when getting a hold of his crew, so long as they are within his range he can speak to them comms or no, but they are not the only ones he can speak to. All it takes is some connection, long term emotional links allow for greater distance but as long as Geoff is looking at someone he can get into their mind. Can sneer at police officers, whisper threats to rivals, force unsuspecting strangers to have the most peculiar thoughts and terrify anyone who tries to stand in his way. While Geoff can only really scrape through the top level of someones mind, more emotion and direct thoughts than any deep secrets, it is no great difficulty to convince people that he sees a lot more. Let them feel him poking around, quote a few stray thoughts back at them and suddenly not only do his victims believe he sees all but they are much more likely to think loudly about the very things they hope he doesn’t notice. Geoff can push images as easily as word, useful when sharing a story but even more so as a form of torture; he can fill minds with his darkest thoughts, plague dreams with images from his nastiest nightmares, provide a personalised hell that is impossible to escape from.

Michael controls heat. It’s a power people tend to fear, think it synonymous with mastery over fire, imagine sparking fingers and raging infernos. Which, to be fair, isn’t wholly inaccurate, but is hardly the extent of Michael’s power. He can create fire sure, can raise the temperature to extremes in pinpointed locations to ignite a room, but he doesn’t need to. Michael can press heat straight into a body, can warm someone up or cook them from the inside out, can burn slowly or kill in an instant. His powers extend to objects too, he can melt metals, boil water, absorb and deflect heat, and set off explosives. While people don’t associate it with him the way the do fiery rage, what can go up can of course also go down. Michael can drop the temperature, can produce dangerous frost and sharp ice shards, freeze someone in water and induce frostbite with a simple touch. Michael is completely unbothered by extreme temperatures, can render himself undetectable on thermal imaging cameras and change the temperature of objects so suddenly they shatter. Even those who flee aren’t safe; careening into danger as roads are  suddenly coated in black ice or bubble and melt beneath flaming tires.

Ray can multiply himself, a series of duplicates capable of drawing fire and completing simple tasks. They were once mere mindless echoes of his actual self, near translucent and noticeably different if you looked closely enough, quickly giving birth to the term Ghost Ray when describing them. They didn’t stay that way though, Ray quietly practising and practising until they not only solidified but he could split his conciousness between them, could act as all bodies simultaneously and be in half a dozen places at once. It’s disconcerting, the way they all look real now. The way they all are Ray now, will fade away like they were never there when Ray lets them go, or when they die, but until then he can be in any and all of them at once. It bears thinking about, considering some die. Considering one stays. Considering the way Ray doesn’t like to talk about it, practises late at night and sends his selves off on private missions, laughs and deflects and fades away.

Jack can manipulate the wind; her jets are always boosted and her cars caught and righted before they can ever spin out, while any who pursue her find themselves shoved off the roads. She can deflect bullets, catch plummeting bodies and stir up various weather phenomena. As though this was not enough Jack’s power over the air allows her to create small vacuums, granting her the ability to suck oxygen from a room. To steal it right out of lungs, suffocating her opponents without lifting a finger to touch them. Alone she is more than dangerous, but Jack has always worked best with others. Her powers are particularly effective when combined with Michael or Jeremy; catching Jeremy up and hurling him like a canon ball and taking ice or flame and whirling them into deadly tornadoes. She can, just as effectively, force them all to calm down when things start getting out of hand; wind separating fights, extinguishing fires, airless pockets keeping anyone from storming away in a huff, and being sudden drenched by rain provides a wholly undignified end to any petty squabbles.

Gavin’s power is all about luck. It’s not the most exciting power at first glance; he can see probabilities, split-second calculations that manifest in inexplicable feelings, knowing just when to duck, when to take a detour, when to blow off a meeting and stay home instead. It’s not a power most people would associate with violent crime, rather imagine lotto winnings and effortless celebrity, but most people aren’t Gavin. It was simple intuition at first; shoot now, trust him, buy the ticket, check your phone. But Gavin, being Gavin, pressed for more. Worked out how to manipulate his own luck instead of relying on chance, concentrating on what he wants so his powers bend around him, gift evolving from simple suggestions into something else all together. When Gavin assures himself that all he needs in the world is to shoot his way out of a situation there is no way he will be unlucky enough have a gun run empty, when he needs to make a purchase he will never have the misfortune of running out of money, when he settles himself as the frontman of the FAHC none will be lucky enough to resist his charms. Now that he knows how to push, the limits of Gavin’s power are completely unknown – the least visibly impressive and yet the possibilities are as astounding as they are impossible. He needed a worthy crew, so he found one; they desired power, so they got it; it would be unlucky to die, so they don’t.

“Here’s the thing about when, uh, a group of guys play UNO… over and over and over and over and over again.
The second time it plays, your immediate thought is not ‘Hey someone’s playing UNO again.’ It’s ‘Hey, UNO is a lot longer than I first thought’.
The third time it plays you’re thinking ‘maybe someone’s playing UNO again’.
The FOURTH time it plays you’re thinking ‘WHOA. Someone just played UNO FOUR TIMES or at least, someone played it TWICE, and it’s just a really long game!’”

Tip #32

LATE NIGHT CRAVINGS? 

  • Cup of (green) tea
  • Cup of coffee
  • Get distracted by tumblr
  • Get distracted by anything eg. put a movie on, work out etc.
  • Hang out with your friends instead of staying at home where temptations are
  • Go to bed early
  • Sip on water - small sips make you forget about your cravings
  • Chewing gum or brush your teeth - nothing tastes more nasty than food that isn’t supposed to be minty
  • Do homework
  • Discipline yourself and don’t give in

You know the FAHC would wear those ridiculous Tron suits on a heist, set to blink on and off, and call it hard mode. Even more visible than the time they ran a job decked out in neon yellow there is no way to hide, not even the darkness can disguise them and the constant flickering thoroughly ruins their own night vision. The whole ordeal is made ten times more difficult by the way they all crumble into helpless laughter every time they catch sight of one another, utterly childish and hopelessly entertained even as bullets fly all around them. 

bluebelladon  asked:

So i had an Idea but I can't think of anything past the concept (+ yr writing for this kinda thing is like 200% better than mine) but what if the Lads founded the Fake AH crew and recruited the gents?

Ooh that’s fun – i’ve seen versions where they were two little gangs who combined into the FAHC but the idea of the actual Fake’s starting as the Lads is definitely interesting.

There were a lot of names tossed around at the start; it’s the part of forming a crew no one really talks about, the vaguely embarrassing period of building an image, choosing a name, defining yourselves. Like band names there is a lot of bad before the good. Like band names ‘good’ is wildly subjective, particularly when determined by a pack of teenage boys. The humour behind ‘Fake Crew’ isn’t particularly high brow and not a single soul outside the original four Lads, including and especially their future members, have any idea at all what the AH could possibly stand for. Most think its mysterious, assume something clever or at least meaningful, but the shifty looks the boys shoot each other when pressed tell a different story.

Still, they’ve made something of a name for themselves in Los Santos – the FAHC, who pull off unbelievable stunts, who lack any semblance of respect, dangerous in the way of feral animals, of wildfire. In the foolhardy way of children, who care far more about making sure you hurt than they do about protecting themselves. It’s enough to keep other gangs wary, to buy themselves a little breathing room with reckless gestures and bared teeth, but not exactly the glory they are looking for. Not quite the trembling respect they’ve dreamed of.

For that, it seems, they’re going to have to think bigger, smarter. Be clever not just in the tricks they play and jobs they pull but in the way they twist their image, they way they recruit, build their crew. Just being more won’t do it, added thugs for the sake of numbers; it would take an astonishing amount to really match the size of some of their rivals and the Lads don’t exactly play nice with strangers. No, they have to be strategic, have to select a few choice additions who can help them rise, and after much discussion they settle on three names they’d like to pull in; Ramsey, Patillo and the Vagabond. Lofty goals to be sure, but then, delusions of grandeur or not, the Fake’s have always considered themselves to be rather magnificent.

Everyone who’s anyone knows about the Vagabond; none of them will admit it (Ray will admit it, Ray doesn’t give a fuck) but the Lads all have hearts in their eyes every time the Vagabond slinks around, all follow every rumour, gossip over every job. Something between hero worship and healthy respect, without any of the fear normal self-respecting individuals feel, is the perfect cocktail to have the four of them plotting outlandish ways to pull in the mercenary. Patillo has an incredibly solid reputation for someone with no real ties, invariably thought to be smart, dependable, one of the best drivers in the country and definitely not a woman to be trifled with. That she and Ramsey seem to have some kind of relationship, worked together back in the day and while going their separate ways don’t appear to have had any kind of blow up, will hopefully work in the Lads favour. Last, but certainly not least, there’s Geoff Ramsey; the rouge Rooster who’s been traversing the country, constantly on the move and pulling all kinds of jobs from hilariously wacky to darkly perverse. Maybe the Lads are looking a bit outside their paid grade but with Ramsey reportedly looking to build his own crew they can’t not try, not after realising that their crew is unfortunately in need of a proper leader.

Because none of the Lads are leaders, not really, especially not back then. They aren’t incapable, are clearly wildly talented and loyal enough to one another to defer a certain kind of leadership to whomever has the best idea or the most experience with whatever task they’re facing, but no one individual is capable of being the permanent boss. No one individual actually wants that role, not really, they’re all too young, too impulsive, too eager to abandon necessary goals at the drop of a hat.  

Ray, who has arguably the least interest in being the boss of all, is less leader than lone wolf; when he’s taking point a lot of his orders tend to involve stealth, hanging back while he picks off targets, only charging in when long-distance is no longer an option. Necessary for particular jobs, and it’s certainly not an easy task keeping the other three in line until it’s their turn to burst into action, but it’s not a method that works for every task.

Michael makes a magnificent leader, fierce and fearless and unwaveringly loyal, protective of his crew until the bitter end. He is, unfortunately, utterly devoid of tact, of the patience to put up with any kind of shenanigans from anyone he doesn’t personally like, the ability to create and maintain necessary relations with anyone outside his crew. Michael himself knows he makes a far better Lieutenant, busy with duties he actually cares about, walking the line between following orders with absolute obedience and unapologetically calling out anything he disagrees with, reliable and relentless in equal measure.

Jeremy is meticulous, when he’s in charge he plots and plans and double checks, the very image of the perfect boss except for one flaw; more often than not he’s easily swayed. Will put together the perfect stealth plan only to agree when Michael makes a convincing argument for the importance of rocket launchers, conduct an ideal heist until Gavin begs to go after something shiny or Ray inquires about abandoning the sensible get away car for hilarious motorised scooters.

When Gavin is on his game he is fucking glorious, a flashbang of reckless laughter and terrible ideas none of them can resist, the promise that come hell or hand-grenades they will all be going home with a story. When Gavin plays leader he needs a lot of faith, needs the others to trust in things that don’t seem remotely feasible, but the payoff is always worth it. Except for the days when his words are too sharp, his eyes too cold, when he wants nothing more than to pick a fight with the most dangerous crook in the room, to swagger around the LSPD’s station unmasked, jump from a plane without checking his parachute; dancing with death just to see if he can. If they’re not careful on those days, if they missed the clues, the rest of the Lads would follow him down, unable discern between Gavin’s usual absurd genius and those streaks of genuinely aimless apathy until they’re all careening towards destruction.

So, as grating as it seems, there is an undeniable argument for a permanent leader, someone to keep them all on course, to take the responsibilities they don’t want, someone who can captain their ship without trying to push them all overboard. Still, you can’t just walk up to one of these infamous criminals and hand them an invitation; selling yourself – your dream, your crew, your city – takes time, takes planning, so in the end the FAHC’s first recruitment isn’t even one of those big three.

It’s pure luck when Michael meets Lindsay; finds her twirling a nail-studded bat in the wreckage of a bar, sipping a cocktail like she hadn’t just caved a man’s head in, and really nothing on earth could have stopped Michael from offering her a place in the crew. From talking them up in a way he’d never really bother with normally, because honestly how could he not. It doesn’t take much to get the other three onboard, Lindsay was a perfect fit, a seamless addition, and with her the FAHC is unquestionably more efficient.

Strangely the Vagabond is actually far easier to get on board than any had anticipated. After they start actively seeking his attention Ryan can’t help but watch the Lads. Not because their jobs are impressive (they are, actually, but Ryan’s in high demand, so very many crews out there are impressive enough) but because they are endearing eager; nothing like the pathetic begging of so many others, no attempt to convince Ryan he should be desperate to work with them, just genuine enthusiasm to prove themselves worthy of his time. They’re funny, something akin to a pack of reckless puppies; certainly capable of outrageous damage but equally likely to trip over their own oversized paws in their excitement, and in this business Ryan really shouldn’t find it as charming as he does. They take to leaving him all kinds of gifts; generally intriguing , often amusing and near always utterly gruesome, and after a month or so of hanging around the city toying with them they manage to get a former Rooster onside to run the show and Ryan’s run out of reasons to say no.

Gavin’s the one they sent after Geoff, when the Lads decide they’re ready to try to bring the notoriously creative, fortuitously crew-seeking man into the FAHC. Gavin’s first approach, full of deferential respect playing to Ramsey’s ego, is a complete bust; Geoff thought he was sweet, called him kid, laughed in his face and sent him out the door with a crack about coming back when he was old enough to drive. The second approach involves pulling a full blown job on Ramsey, one that starts with the man unknowingly buying Gavin a supercar and ends with the priceless tailored suit he’s wearing being pinned to the wall with a nail gun, Gavin grinning away like a particularly bloodthirsty shark, and all of a sudden Geoff can’t say he isn’t tempted. Deigns to finally listen to the recruitment spiel, as though he’s got any other choice right now, and despite himself is quickly sold on the whole crew.

Jeremy goes out one day and comes back with a handful of people, some they’d been discussing as a group, some the others hadn’t heard of, but all perfectly capable of holding their own agains the Lad’s disgruntled dissent. Steffie, who takes a look at their set up, rolls her eyes, then pulls out her phone and starts making a list, talking dealers and bases and possible new hires. Trevor who immediately sets to soothing ruffled feathers, sidling up to Gavin and gushing about some ridiculous theft, questioning Michael about his preference in heavy weaponry, ignoring the way Ray is skulking around behind him. Matt they’d all agreed on, welcoming the chance to push off all computering nonsense onto someone else, and Mica assures them all that she’s got no interest in sticking around, will work contracts as requested but isn’t about the stationary crew life. In the end no blood is spilt, no tempers flare too badly, and Jeremy is reasonably sure he isn’t going to wake up with a gun to his temple, so all in all it goes pretty well.

The last missing piece, Jack, is actually tracked down by Ray in the end; he wanders off one day and comes back with a very amused woman in tow, decked out in a hideous Hawaiian shirt and driving an obscenely nice Lamborghini. Apparently after finding her, not particularly difficult considering she wasn’t trying to hide, Ray simply told Jack all about Geoff’s fumbling attempts to simultaneously familiarise himself with the mess that is Los Santos, integrate himself into, and begin to take control of, an already close-knit, functioning crew, and do it all while pretending he’s not at all rattled by the Lad’s unwavering fascination with the horrifically notorious assassin who insists on sticking a straw through his mask to pound down a truly irresponsible number of diet cokes. It took a while for her utterly joyous, completely uncontrollable laughter to die down, but when she finally calmed Jack immediately started packing.

Lindsay and Mica are both amazing and people need to quit hating on them in Lets Plays/AH content for NO REASON. If you don’t like them, why do you watch AH content that they appear in?

Summer’s Weapon

I have seen a few post about Summer Weapon. All of them were about her having this over the top mega weapon with a combination of 3 or more things. 

But I have a better theory. I theorise that Summer Rose was the most Powerfull hunter alive, a master of Aura and of Silver eyes. Her level of strength was greater than Ozpins. So what could her weapon be? I think that her weapon a knife. Not a Knife that turned into a mini-gun a gernade, a sling shot or what ever this is.

Originally posted by tacticalnorwegian

No, I think that Summer Rose was the exception to the Gun rule because well she was a badass and didn’t need one. She had such precision and skill on the battle field that she was just as deadly if she had a gun. I think Summer was something like the black widow or something like her. and for some reason is getting an Annabeth Chase vibe from her.

She had beauty and grace and if you crossed her she will carve out your face

Either that or she had a gun gun

images: @dishwasherultimate1910  and @djlemmiex

Criminals of the FAHC’s caliber hardly need tangible christmas presents - when you spend all year taking whatever you want whenever you want it the idea of requesting something then patiently waiting around to see if someone else steals it for you seems utterly laughable. That said, the Fake’s have their own take on Kris Kringle; they all draw a name out of a box, and on Christmas they deliver that person a head.

Not always a literal head mind, they aren’t actually all bloodthirsty enough to want to deal with decapitated parts, and Geoff swears he’s going to kill the next person who leaves corpses around the penthouse, but vengeance on a platter is the name of the game.

It might come in the form of the bank details of a sworn enemy, or the keys to their shiny prize car. It might be the disappearance of a problem or the unwilling reapperace of someone who owed a debt, might be the news that that one annoying gang has been run out of the city or a video presentation of CCTV footage displaying the moment a particularly aggravating detective got his comeuppance. It all depends on who is doing the giving; the more technically inclined go for digital displays, the smooth-talkers cheat and swindle, the bruisers break, maim and murder and Geoff overcompensates.

There are many strengths in the greater FAHC but they are all, to a fault, showboaters of the highest order and the Christmas bonanza is their biggest chance to show off. The Kris Kringle was born as a way to give gifts their crewmates would actually enjoy but over the years it has devolved, like most anything the Fake’s are involved with, into a glorified pissing contest. A talent show as much as an exchange of gifts, everyone competing to come up with the best present of the year, the most impressive undertaking, the most appreciative recipient.

For citizens of Los Santos the period running up to Christmas is basically a hellscape, members of the FAHC running around on a a dozen different completely bizarre missions, serious and driven in a way that comes only with fierce competition. For any enemies of the crew the period running up to Christmas is more or less open season, the possibility of attack as high as it is unpredictable, standard revenge tactics abandoned in favour of elaborate plans and ingenious traps. For the FAHC the period running up to Christmas is the most high stress, hectic, entertaining internal arms race of the year, rife with secrets, subterfuge, red herrings and, invariably, at least one headless corpse.