i support guns

If you’d told Geoff a few months ago that he’d be sitting around his penthouse surrounded not only by his own crew but also all three members of the infamous Cerberus he’d never have believed it. Could neither imagine trusting those killers within his inner sanctum nor winning their favour so completely that they were prepared to trust him back.

It’s bizarre, seeing them here, now, looking like any dumb 20 year olds as they flop all over Geoff’s couches and steal his booze. Michael, Gavin and Jeremy are still made of sharp edges sure, still gravitate to one another, still sink into cold calculation when they’re on a job, but there’s no denying the way they’ve opened up. The way they come to the penthouse to socialise rather than simply to collect missions, will drink and laugh and mess around, the way they’ve more or less stopped waiting for Geoff to tightened a noose around their necks.

On any given day one might find Jeremy and Ryan talking shop about various weapons, enthusiastically joined by Michael from time to time though he’s just as likely to be with Jack comparing specs on their cars. For his part Geoff seems to have acquired a Gavin shaped shadow, nosey and overbearing but endearing in his determination to discover everything there is to know. What a ridiculous leap they’ve made since that first meeting.



It happens at an old warehouse, pretty standard for a first meeting where everyone’s on edge, out of the public eye and in reasonably neutral territory, dim and dingy enough to appeal to even the most ludicrous of overdramatic crooks.

And Cerberus are dramatic; dressed all in black as they slink out of the darkness, perfectly in sync and moving so quietly Geoff almost misses their arrival. Might have all together if he didn’t have Jack in his ear, calm and steady as she plays sentry out the front. Even the clothes Cerberus wear stink of intention, a blazer, a hoodie, a leather jacket; casual but sleek, nothing ratty or worn out but not fancy enough to make Geoff think they’re looking to impress him. They aren’t subtle, though, not with the way they’re all wearing that stylised snarling Cerberus emblem of theirs, printed on Jones’ jacket, the buckle of Dooley’s belt, hanging from Free’s neck. They clearly know what people say about them, what Geoff must think of them, and it seems they’re more than willing to drive their identity home.  

Understandable, really, considering their appearance doesn’t quite match the stories. Confident and openly armed, yes, standing before the infamous Ramsey without a hint of trepidation, but Geoff had expected them to be older. Taller. Maybe slightly less theatrical, though with a name like Cerberus really that was a bad call on Geoff’s part. Still, the most frightening thing about Cerberus was always going to be their reputation, the rumours of what they had done, what they would do, the level of utter depravity they joyfully excelled at.

For all their many talents Cerberus were best known for outlandish robberies, absurd property damage and disturbingly imaginative wet work; deadly, merciless, and utterly impossible to shake once they’ve got their sights set on something. Each of the three have their own talents, complementary and seamlessly overlapping when need be but distinct enough none the less. The Bostonite specialises in long range and trick shots while Jersey is bombs and heavy weapons, but everyone best knows the pair for their fists, born brawlers with fire in their blood. The Brit works in words, in deals and threats and silken promises and, when all else fails, the ruthless application of knives and poisons. With that in mind it’s little surprise when he’s the one who steps forward and catches Geoff’s eye, smirking as sharp and wicked as a razorblade, and speaks.



This was a risk, and Geoff knew it. He wanted to grow his crew, wanted the best of the best, but all too many would tell him this recruitment was doomed to fail from the start. Doomed to more than simple rejection, given how volatile and bloodthirsty his chosen recruits were known to be. Geoff wasn’t worried, exactly, he’d won over the Vagabond after all, everything else should be easy sailing, but he was certainly cautious. Anyone with half a brain is cautious, when it comes to Cerberus.

Everyone knows Cerberus are assholes. Cocky, obnoxious, outrageously antagonistic and generally unpredictable, the group has a pretty chequered reputation.  They’re a roving crew, running jobs wherever they fancy regardless of territories and it’s made them more than a few enemies, but they are efficient. Creative. The kind of vicious that kingpins covet like jewels, if only anyone could keep them. It’s their other key character flaw; apparently unshakably devoted to one another, more loyal to each other than most blood relatives, but iffy on any outside input, impulsive, defiant, bad with authority.

They’re a curious trio, a tiny gang with no aspirations of growing their numbers, no apparent interest in carving out a stationary home and absolutely no intention of bowing to anyone. Which will make Geoff’s proposition a difficult one, to be sure, though he hasn’t given up hope. Geoff’s nothing if not inescapably persuasive when properly motivated, and if all the rumours have done this group justice this is an opportunity he has no intention of missing out on. If for nothing else than because he doesn’t want to be in their sightlines when some other gang inevitably snaps them up.



Given the inherent risks of this particular endeavor Ryan was always going to insist on coming along as backup. Not that Geoff was going to complain, he always did like to have Ryan loom into view halfway through initial meet and greets, a little test to see how people reacted when faced with the walking nightmare that is the Vagabond.

Considering how they’d been treating the negotiations so far, definitely lacking some of Geoff’s experience but still loftily tag-teaming their way through a scathing dismissal, Geoff has Cerberus pegged for a standard flinch and rally, some shock or maybe a flash of fear before they pull it together with a sneering show of indifference. He couldn’t have been more wrong.

When Ryan appears, ghosting out of the dark unannounced in his full Vagabond glory two things happen in quick succession. First, clearly clocking the movement if not the identity of the interloper all three leap into action, Free stepping back without fanfare as Jones and Dooley jerk forward, guns drawn and aimed so quickly Geoff genuinely thinks he’s gone and gotten Ryan killed. Before he can even open his mouth to explain the weapons are lowered again, all three faces lighting up with recognition and as one they grin. Sharp and shark-like and anything but friendly, somehow looking even more dangerous than they had with guns drawn, radiating glee as Free leans forward again and purrs out an overly familiar Well hello Ryan. Which, no. Unacceptable. 

For a brief horrible moment Geoff thinks Ryan must’ve been stupid enough not to mention some prior history with the group before realising that this was, of course, simply a demonstration, Cerberus making a little power play of their own. It’s a good one too, considering how few knew the Vagabond’s name, fewer still who’d be brave enough to taunt him with it. Not that Ryan gives them any sort of satisfying reaction, far too professional to even flinch, simply inclining his head in an unfazed greeting.

Geoff holds back a sigh, knowing the moment they’re back home he’s in for a rant about kids these days. Or perhaps an entreatment about adoption, lord knows Ryan has always liked his pets dangerous. Not that the three before them were the type to be kept like that, nothing more clear than their outright refusal to ever again be beholden to anyone but each other.



Everyone knows Cerberus had a master, once. The one who shaped them, who named them. The one who’d called himself Hades with all the arrogance of a man made of money and power, who’d thought himself untouchable, his control absolute.  Cerberus were Hades’ most trusted minions, his favourite pets, and outside the ridiculous melodrama of it all the name was certainly fitting, the trio becoming so wholly interlaced, thinking and talking and fighting with such undeniable synergy, that they could almost be mistaken for three heads of the same body.

Distinctive as they were it wasn’t long before Cerberus’ reputation preceded them wherever they went. It was not a pleasant reputation, not when they were doing all of Hades’ dirty work, nothing deemed too terrible, too cruel, no order they wouldn’t follow to the letter. Hades’ was the kind of man who demanded nothing less, saw scruples as weakness and gave unforgivable orders meant to test his own people as much as punish his victims. The kind of man who’d thought his dogs dumb and docile until they tore out his throat. 

Hades was no small fish and the news of his downfall spread like wildfire, but with the only living witnesses staying silent everyone’s heard a different version of how that night played out. There are those who say Cerberus were traitors, the lowliest of deserters. They say Hades’ loved them, gave them all they could ask for and still their greed demanded more. Say Cerberus took Hades for all he’d give, then banded together to take the rest, dishonest, treacherous dogs biting the hand that fed them. They were the only ones who could have gotten beyond Hades’ impenetrable security to get at him, they were a large portion of his security, and between their skill and the man’s favour, his faith in their unwavering obedience, killing Hades must have been child’s play.

Others, though, have a darker version, one arguably more fitting with Hades, the rich, nasty piece of goods who dealt in anything from drugs to guns to flesh, knocking off anyone who stood in his way. In those accounts Cerberus were bound to Hades, all chained one way or another, as captive as their namesake. They say Jones was traded as payment for a debt, young enough to stay loyal even to those who didn’t deserve it, made loaded gun for Hades to point wherever he pleased, blood on his hands whether he wanted it or not. They say that Free was brought across oceans under false pretences, kept at Hades’ side against his will, that the sugared words he spun on command were laced with poison and his constant guards were keepers as much as they were protection. They say Dooley’s already shady contract as an underground cage-fighter was bought out under the table, added to Hades’ collection and made to swap bare fisted beat downs for loaded guns and bloody executions.

Some say the attack was just the final straw, the inevitable mutiny after years of disservice. Some believe there was one last insult, say Hades was selling his pets to the highest bidder, indentured servitude of trained killers for a tidy profit. Some think it was just impulsive, the three beaten so broken and vicious it was only a matter of time, lashing out as senseless and bloodthirsty as dangerous animals.

Whichever circumstances you believe the end result was the same. Everyone agrees that whatever went down that night it was brutal. Everyone knows Hades died slow, body taken away in pieces. No tears were shed for the man but his money was keenly missed, empire left to crumble as his killers made off with a fortune.

The three could have done anything at that point, could have gone their separate ways and dropped into wealthy anonymity, but they didn’t. They stuck together, as tightknit as they’d ever been, even kept the name Hades gave them. It was smart, playing off the reputation they’d already earned, letting the death of their master boost them into even greater notoriety, powerful, feared and free. A freedom they ran wild with, pulling jobs all over the country, following their every whim no matter who they upset in the process.



Geoff can feel Ryan’s stare boring into the side of his head, matched perfectly by Jack’s pointed silence pressing down on him over the coms, and yeah, Geoff knows alright. Geoff wants them too, can already see how untouchable his crew could be with the six of them working together. The three standing before him are so fucking young in so many ways that they make Geoff feel ancient, make him feel sad and cold and furious when he thinks about it too long, but he can’t deny the anticipation zinging through his blood when he pictures what they can do, what they will be. It doesn’t hurt that he can just as clearly imagine what a nightmare his life will be if he lets them slip away, knows Ryan and Jack will tell Lindsay, tell Trevor, get all of the support crew on his case. Knows they’d probably be right to, if he messes this up.

Because, sure, Cerberus are turning them down, showed up to this meeting purely to sneer at his offer, to dare him to try and force them, to ruin him if he thinks to use them. But they still turned up. Still curious enough to hear out the proposition, to meet with the infamous Geoff Ramsey, all bristling violence and wary eyes but here all the same. And honestly that’s all the motivation Geoff needs. He is the king of Los Santos, a former Rooster, the criminal mastermind extraordinaire, and these kids won’t know what hit them.



The Penthouse is as full and loud as it’s ever been, a cacophony of noise matched by an entirely unreasonable number of empty liquor bottles. Jeremy is sitting at the dining table with Matt and Trevor, the remains of a disastrously short lived attempt at monopoly pushed by the wayside as they huddle together and plot, shielding their notes and throwing Geoff increasingly guilty glances whenever he passes by. In front of the TV Lindsay and Jack sit on either side of Michael as the three scream smack talk at one another at the top of their lungs, death threats and personal attacks all fair game in the face of a Mario kart tournament. Then there’s Gavin and Ryan, who’ve been throwing knives at Geoff’s wall without a hint of remorse, game only called off when Gavin’s slurring giggles betrayed the way his vision had started to blur. Even when relegated to the couch Gavin’s still pulling an endless array of blades from thin air like fucking Houdini, Ryan laughing helplessly as he desperately snatches them away for safe keeping.

There are guns on the coffee table, scattered across the kitchen bench, tucked into the cookie jar. Someone’s left what is hopefully an unloaded grenade launcher propped against the wall in the bathroom. There are wads of cash stashed all over the living room, poker chips scattered everywhere in the wake of an upended card table. A nearly unrecognisably charred deck of Uno still smokes from a metal wastepaper bin and someone has definitely smuggled another stray cat into one of the spare bedrooms. 

Despite all that it’s still the fridge that always grabs Geoff’s attention, entirely covered with articles and headlines cut from every newspaper in Los Santos, a variety of different handwriting artfully editing and rebutting when need be, like a living history of crew shenanigans as seen by the press. The newest addition, stuck dead centre in pride of place, is a photo taken midway through a heist pulled only last week, headline packed with delightful alarm as it heralds the apparently permanent addition of three new members of the Fake AH Crew.

I hate when I tell my family I support gun control and they try to argue by saying “but if somebody breaks in with a gun we won’t have a gun to shoot them with” like….. THEY wouldn’t have guns either so you wouldn’t NEED them………

EDIT: I signed up to vent, I didn’t sign up to have a huge dramatic political discussion. Anyone arguing with me will be blocked.
4

Viktor Nikiforov is questioning his position as a detective with the Detroit Police Department and spiraling after his partner is critically injured in the line of duty. When Yuuri Katsuki is assigned as his new partner on what he thinks may be his last case, he has no idea what he’s in for. 

Behold, a new poster for Vita Brevis bc the old one was. well. anyway! The next chapter of VB will be up tomorrow (Tuesday, 13 June)! Thanks everyone for your patience and support! 

anonymous asked:

Hi! I know that the post about super powers was like a year ago but... do you have any headcanons for the members of B Team being super powered?

Hmm not in nearly so much detail but before it got too long i was planning on including a couple of them in the original post so i’ll do my best. Sorry a few are particularly vague and uninspired, aka i feel like Steffie’s power - the ability to process and analyse information at a highly accelerated rate, multi-tasking to a degree not remotely possible for a normal person - would be incredibly useful for her job but it’s not all that exciting.. On the other hand there’s Kdin, who for reasons completely unrelated to her job is absolutely a shade walker, gaining the ability to get around by slipping in and out of the darkness as needed, keeping various weapons tucked away in her own shadow. 

Lindsay can fly, can flex her shoulders and roll enormous flaming wings from thin air. They crackle and flicker and will scorch anything they brush up against though Lindsay herself is somehow immune, clothes and skin remaining untouched, and even if her long hair beings to glow and smoulder it never actually catches. The wings take an enormous amount of energy to use so she can’t just constantly whip them out and fly around, but Lindsay has found them to be almost as useful with both feet still on the ground. Aside from the way they’ll burn the wings are strong enough to do real damage when she slams them into someone, can shield from external heat and flame and if she brings them out at night the bright flare is enough to ruin anyone’s night vision. And then there’s the factor of image; there is no doubt that they are awe inspiring, Lindsay’s friendly personality aside when her wings are out its hard for anyone to look at her and not feel some kind of fear, respect, to think her anything less than something divine and terrible.  

Matt can communicate with technology, which in and of itself is helpful if not particularly unique, but Matt is no less creative with his talents than anyone else in the crew. He is a complete wizard with computers, sure, but that’s hardly his limit; there’s technology in near everything these days, from bank vaults to navigation systems, from the pacemaker in the police chief’s chest to the locking systems in prisons. Matt has to be reasonably close to use his ability, sometimes must even touch what he is working on, but as the world evolves to become more automated, more instant and interconnected his abilities only grow.  

Mica’s power lies in nature, she can move earth and manipulate plants; not puling matter out of nowhere, she can’t move or grow what isn’t there, but she can force earth into great barrier walls or plunge it into sudden sinkholes, can pull plants and seeds from great distances and push them into sudden growth, unnatural size. Mica can catch someone up in vines, can block doorways and trap cars, starting with the smallest seedling she can call on roots to slip through cracks and crumble concrete walls. Mica’s picked up a habit of keeping little packets of seeds on her person, cultivated a particular affection for anything exotic or highly poisonous, but even unprepared she is not helpless; from grass to moss, algae to fungus there’s always something growing, always something close enough to hear her call. 

Trevor can make himself unseen; he’s not invisible, he can just go completely unnoticed when he chooses to. It’s not an infallible power, it will only work from a certain distance and doesn’t make him invisible to technological security, but there are still plenty of ways to make the most of it. While he certainly makes an excellent thief Trevor uses his power for far more than simply sneaking around unseen; plays bait to draw away enemies only to disappear and pick them off one by one, uses camera’s to his own benefit, framing cops and enemy crew-members alike when their superiors watch security videos of them seemingly spending time with a Fake, has even haunted a few particularly disliked victims, walking right up close unseen and speaking to them, either as a disembodied voice or as a spectre flickering in and out of sight as he saunters ever closer. More than anything though Trevor uses his power to freak out the rest of the Fakes, particularly Jeremy, who tends to assume Trevor is everywhere and anywhere he goes, constantly standing in empty rooms shouting about needing privacy. 

Gun control, why I support it.

People are often shocked to discover that I support gun control and background checks. Gun control is something that cannot be abandoned without serious consequences. The key components of gun control, that we ignore at our own risk, are:
1). Grip
2). Stance
3). Trigger control (not to be confused with trigger discipline, which is also important)


As for background checks, they are an important safety measure. You should never fire without being aware of what is behind your target, in case you over penetrate or miss.

Do you know what makes me mad?

I am almost twenty. I am on the verge of real adulthood. I am in college, I am preparing for the rest of my life, I am being exposed to the world.

And I live in a world that hates me.

This is especially relevant to this website– I love tumblr and I have met some of the closest friends I have on here, but this site has also shown me how much the culture I am surrounded by wants to purge me and people like me from it. Let’s make a list:

1. I am a middle-class, well-off white girl in a beautiful neighborhood.
2. I am genetically a girl, and I identify as a girl, and I am straight.
3. I am pro-life, and I support citizens having guns.
4. I am Christian; I don’t cuss, I won’t have sex until I am married, and I don’t like when I see sex or extreme language in film.
5. I support gay rights and gay people because God tells me to show grace and love to everyone, but that part doesn’t matter to anyone because, at the heart of the matter, I believe that sex is between a man and a woman.
6. If you haven’t guessed, I am a Republican.

And there’s the rub. I am a straight white well-off Christian girl in a head spinningly, overwhelmingly liberal world. But Cas, you say, the whole world isn’t liberal! Of course it’s not. But the only people who are allowed to speak are those who lean left. In my experience, which I will admit is limited, but not naive, any opinion that does not fall in line with liberality is crushed and anyone who does not also fall in line is also crushed, and shamed, and cast out, and laughed at.

The world, television, and tumblr especially, have this interesting paradox in which I am told to 1) Express myself and love who I am, and love everyone despite our differences, but also to 2) Conform, or die. Is it only me who can see how glaringly hypocritical this is? “We love everyone no matter what you believe– unless it’s ______.” What does it say about the world we live in that this is acceptable, and even normal? We spend countless hours representing diverse minority groups and rallying and protesting and showing love, but we can’t also take care of those who disagree with us? How does that make sense to anyone at all?

And here we come to the issue of equality, which is the most laughable phrase ever to exist in modern times. Equality used to mean that both sides were equal. Both sides were the same color, the same number, the same amount or quality or anything. 2017 tells us a different story. Equal now means minority groups have the same rights, but their rights are inherently better than the majority’s because we are common, unimpressive, normal, and because they are a minority group and we are not, we are automatically despicable people, if not for real, active discrimination, which is the real thing that should be destroyed, then for simply existing in a greater volume. “Pride, pride, pride”– until it’s straight pride. “Nationalism, patriotism”– until it’s Republican. “Faith, loyalty”– until it’s conservative Christian. We need to shift the meaning of equality back to where it should have always stayed: Both sides stand out equally, and both are loved and accepted equally.

In no way am I saying that I hate gay people or liberals or think that people should have unequal rights. If you have come to that conclusion, please re-read everything before this before continuing.

Oppression is an absolutely terrible thing, and from some of the things that I told you at the beginning of this post, one could assume that I have never experienced oppression before. You would be completely wrong. Do you know how many Trump jokes I’ve heard over the course of my freshman year of college? Do you know how many times I’ve felt insulted, put down, and silenced by my classmates? And do you know how many times someone has defended Trump or any Republican policy in response? You can guess the answer, and it’s definitely not the answer a “privileged” straight white girl would be “expected” to give.

So what do you do about this problem? You say you stand for love, and I’ve just told you that I am being hated– what are you going to do about it? Will our difference of opinion be a wall between two human beings supporting each other? Do you see the problems? Do you see that the other side of the coin is struggling as well? Every building that gets burned down or looted, every anti-Trump, anti-Republican protest, rally, post, sentiment– it has an affect. This isn’t to say, of course, that constructive debate is bad, or that protesting is a bad thing all the time, or that any kind of criticism should be forbidden– my hope is that no one reads this that way. What I am trying to do is to make the world realize that there are more people out there than liberals, that there are people who do support Trump, who do strive to obey God, and who love their country, AND THESE PEOPLE HAVE FEELINGS, JUST LIKE YOU.

So scratch that. This isn’t something that makes me mad, it’s something that infuriates me. The hypocrisy and hatred in this world is overwhelming, and the love that is supposed to connect every human being is corrupt beyond recognition. How do we survive? How do we come out of this on top? The only way to turn this around is love, but it feels like such a far-fetched idea in this culture that I worry for humanity’s safety. I’m struggling not to lose sight of the  glimmer of hope in a population that is blinded by their own sense of righteousness and contempt, but it’s getting dark out there. The world seems to be breaking into nothing more than a cynical series of tactical maneuvers in the biggest civil war the world has ever seen– that of humanity against itself.

I have been asked many a time by people I know in real life and on here if I am serious when I say baseball bats are my weapon of choice.
Fuck yes they are. I would, in full confidence bring a baseball bat to a gun fight. Moving targets are hard to hit, I was a sprinter in high school, and moving targets that are bashing your skull in are even harder to hit. Sure I have stellar aim with a gun, but I fully support gun control laws, and many of them would not let a bipolar, anxious, panic-prone individual like me own a gun. But a baseball bat? No fucking problem.
Hell, you can pick up a metal one that makes a nice ping when you smack it. You can buy those wooden ones too and jack them up. Go to town on it with a box cutter so the mother fucker you’re whacking walks away with huge ass sprinters. Drive nails through that thing for special occasions. Wrap that fucker in barbed wire. Heck, I’ve had a buddy sand his down and soak it in gasoline for a week and then go into a fight and light it on fire. Risky to you, yes, but damn near guaranteed to get anyone threatening you running? FUCK yes.
I will never understand why society abandoned clubs as a weapon for hand to hand combat. You can run me through with a sword and sure, I’ll probably die eventually. But a baseball bat, something infinitely cheaper, can be deadly with a single blow.
Now I’m not encouraging violence by any means. But, I will say this. Don’t punch a nazi. Don’t punch a pedophile. Don’t punch a rapist. Take a pimped up baseball bat straight to their cranium.

me watching a scene from Rogue One:


Greg Rucka watching the same scene from Rogue One:

who else is on team “i like guns but i’m not one of those conservative knuckledraggers who voted for trump or thinks we need to arm ourselves against the guvment or supports the NRA in any way shape or form and i 100% support gun control but i also rly like guns”

the solution is, i see a whole room of these mutant kids,
fused at the wrist, i simply tell them they should shoot at this,
simply suggest my chest and this confused music,
it’s obviously best for them to turn their guns to a fist.

- guns for hands // twenty one pilots