and i'm also very evil

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New borns and grandparents.

I’m not sure what exactly River said, but it was obviously very offensive.

anonymous asked:

I really liked the line 'the dark side of the king' from your question about enforcers. would you maybe be willing to talk some more about Gavin and Ryan being terrible doing Geoff's dirty work??

The Fake’s might joke that Geoff is a pushover, too adoring of his crew-mates to really lay down the law as boss, but in reality there are few men more feared than Ramsey. Few legends with more ruthless reputations, more stories of heartless brutality; for those outside his limited family Ramsey is nothing less than an unmitigated horror.

Still, there are certain things Geoff can’t be seen to be involved in, things he must stay above, be diplomatic about. Times when an issue needs to be taken care of without the blowback, when there must be violence without inevitable retribution; ferreting out moles, persuading recalcitrant informants, dealing with a problem who belongs to a gang the FAHC are supposed to be allied with.

It’s easy enough to think that in a crew with a reputation as terrible as the FAHC there is little need for a designated ‘bad guy’. They’re all the bad guys, just ask the citizens of Los Santos, just look at the bodies in the morgue, track down the ruins of all who have thought to oppose them. There isn’t a single member with clean hands, isn’t one who didn’t choose this, who isn’t having the time of their life every singe day morality be damned. And yet there are still jobs Geoff wouldn’t push any of them into, deeds too dark to be forced onto even the most loyal. In those cases that call for abhorrent action Geoff can’t take on himself there is one pair he tends to turn to.

Few would truly be surprised to hear that Ryan is one of the two who tick this box, but that his partner in absolute depravity is Gavin would catch some unaware. There are, of course, members of the crew more suited to being paired with Ryan for all out violence, and those more apt to accompany Gavin for subtlety, but together the pair of them are unrivalled in their gruesome innovation, their unflinching dedication.  

There is being willing to do the dirty work, and then there is enjoying it. Excelling at it. Relishing in the snap of bones and panicked pleading, in the creativity of cruelty, the intricate art of fear. They are violent and terrible, all wrath and retribution like the stories of old, they are a reckoning. Unlike most others there isn’t even a moment when either of them regret. Not a single hesitation before doing whatever must be done, no matter how terrible, how brutally unforgivable. No threat is too dark, no act is too far, no reaction too extreme. In this there are no lines to cross, no moral code to offend or gods to obey. And worst of all, they enjoy it. They have fun, entertain each other, safe in the knowledge that out of sight of the rest of the crew, with none but Geoff really knowing what exactly they are up to, there is no judgement. No one who matters will think differently of them for unapologetic iniquity when they are each other’s only witness and their ruin matches up oh so well.

Gavin is delightfully petty, can whip out flippant comments and passing jokes from months or even years ago in his monologue, twist them into some pithy one liner on the fly, like a hollywood villain without any cheesy dialogue to detract from the menace. He knows just how to frame their attack, laying out exactly what infraction has brought on Ramsey’s ire and building an awful sense of suspense as he delightedly meanders around what they are going to do about it.

It’s not something that should be appealing, it’s awful really, bitterly cruel, but it makes Ryan’s sense of melodrama sing. Ryan who could have chosen any mask in the world but went directly for a blackened skull. Who drops his already deep voice two octaves when he purrs out threats and has a terrible habit of laying wait in dark corners until he spots the perfect moment to loom in sight. Ryan who’s never crumbled in the face of desperate begging, never seen grovelling as anything but undignified, who can’t help but appreciate the way it merely makes Gavin turn up his nose, roll his eyes, toss Ryan increasingly incredulous looks; Christ isn’t this one pathetic?

They share enough languages to communicate in privacy no matter the situation but even without planning they are synchronised enough to work in tandem, playing into each others proclivities, teasing chatter as much for their own genuine amusement as it is for taunting their prey. There are no hard and fast rules to their partnership- sometimes Ryan’s feeling particularly chatty and sometimes Gavin’s itching to pull out his lovely gold knives- but more often than not Gavin wheedles his way into the mind of their victim before Ryan quite literally pulls them apart. Just as Gavin strokes Ryan’s ego when he leans in and pleasantly explains all the horrific things the Vagabond has done, Ryan pander’s to Gavin’s ever vicious whim; drags things out, slows them down, get’s disgustingly creative.

There’s always been something distinctly animalistic in Gavin, the way he slinks like a predator, grins wide enough to bare his teeth, the way he can’t help toying with his food, but in this he isn’t Gavin Free, the Fake’s happy-go-lucky wrecking ball of chaos, isn’t the Golden Boy, Ramsey’s unbelievably persuasive frontman; this is another creature all together. On these jobs Gavin is no less the showman, still all insidious cunning and attention-grabbing flash, but for once he does nothing to disguise his own decay. Doesn’t inject false emotion where none exists, doesn’t manufacture empathy, won’t even pretend to give a solitary shit about anything outside his own world, his life, his people. Amusement as chilling as it is cold-blooded, crushing any hope that he might be the tempering force, that the presence of the glittering Golden Boy will reign in the Vagabond.

And Ryan, good grief Ryan. The Vagabond already has so very many tortured tales attached to his name, already inspires so much fear, but people do like to hope his reputation is inflated. Like to think the man behind the mask can’t truly be as terrible as they say, must suffer the same bouts of  guilt and mercy as anyone else. Think the Vagabond’s greatest secret is the fact that at the end of the day he is just a man. The look in their eyes when they realise they are wrong, realise that while the skull may be a mask Ryan has always been the monster, is the stuff nightmares are made of. The Vagabond isn’t soft on a good day, but in this role he is ruthless. It would, perhaps, be a relief if he were cold, detached. Would be an easier pill to swallow if he acted with his usual air of professionalism, but this? This is Ryan in his element. This is the Vagabond having fun.

It’s a tossup who’s better off; the victims who die slow and painful or the ones who get to live. The ones who spill their secrets, who suffer their punishments, and in the end are left to crawl free. Those who never really stop thinking about bloodstained teeth and razor-blade smirks, distressingly fond banter and cold flat eyes. None of them come back right, none of them return the same way they left, have suffered terror beyond words, experienced horrors they will never be capable of explaining. Most wind up leaving the city, even a passing mention of the Fake AH Crew enough to send them shaking, the possibility of another run in utterly intolerable, but those who stay only serve to further boost the duos reputation.

It’s one thing for anyone with half a brain to fear the Vagabond, it’s quite another for well-known crooks to literally flee when he appears, spike classic fear-mongering rumours with far more truthful tales of vicious depravity, go to absurd lengths to steer clear of the FAHC at any cost. In the same vein the denizens of Los Santos can only say Gavin’s name with increased reverence after  a mere wink tossed at some thug playing muscle in the background of a meeting has the man throwing up all over himself. Can only be more impressed when a slow smile and whispered comment has another back-peddling so fast the Fake’s make off with way more than they were owed.

Which, of course, suits Geoff just fine, reaping the boons of the pet horrors he keeps in his pocket for a rainy day; rare, but undeniably memorable. To see the three of them at work is a sight to behold, Ramsey strolling along flanked by his most wicked miscreants, one the darkened menace of death incarnate, the other almost alight with his own glittering hubris, not a scrap of restraint or morality between them. They are apocalypse, are inevitable disaster, the end of all things good and holy and with an unseen signal they peel off, leave their grinning king to walk alone as they melt back into the night, set free once more to hunt.

My friend and I found a portrait of a somewhat deformed ancestor of Trump in little Salazars castle.

Unshakeable Bonds

When a spell convinces Bull that Dorian is a danger to the Inquisition, Krem is forced to try and keep Bull from killing Dorian until he can dispel the magic.

A commission for @shae-c-art​. My commission info can be found here.

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Bull fucking hated fighting Qunari.

They hadn’t sent any assassins after him after the fight–which was barely that, it had been a pitiful attempt–and he doubted they would, but still, each time he encountered them it felt like a personal attack, one orchestrated specifically to throw him off balance. It was worse when the Chargers were there, and even worse, he was quickly discovering, when Dorian was fighting alongside him, too.

“Let’s split up, Krem, it’s a great idea, cover more, fucking ground.” Krem’s voice carried even across the fight, and Bull recognised Krem’s ever popular impression of him, even if the slight hitch in Krem’s breathing as he swung his maul. Bull wondered how Krem got that much sarcasm into his tone, maybe it was a ‘Vint thing; Dorian could do it, too.

“Perhaps your Chief is simply growing old!” Dorian called back. “His mind might be going. It would certainly explain this plan.” Though he denied it, Dorian got just as much pleasure from the adrenaline of a good battle as Bull did, and he had a slightly wild grin as he spin his staff, casting spells both to protect the three of them and attack their enemies.

“Watch it,” Bull growled. He swung his axe up into the closest Qunari, and there was a satisfying noise as it cleaved his enemy more than halfway from hip to shoulder.

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