There’s an undeniable crime problem in Los Santos, an affluent city rife with thieves and bandits of all pedigrees, which isn’t in itself all that strange. What’s odd is the incredibly high number of unsolved crimes, of acts no one claims, ones that the LSPD can’t even begin to lay blame for. Even when committed in broad daylight, even when the police arrive on the scene in the middle of a heist, no one manages to catch more than unclear glimpses of the culprits, no bullets hit their marks, and when all is said and done there is somehow never any reliable evidence. No camera ever manages to catch a thing, no trap is ever successful, and never has a single witness managed a coherent report, like somehow none of them ever pay enough attention. Like somehow what they’ve seen can never be put into words.
Throw a stone and you’ll hit a crook in Los Santos, from thugs to conmen to masked killers they all call the city home, all know their place, yet somehow the balance of powers never really makes sense. Like something is missing, like everyone’s fighting to be second best while the title of top dog goes empty. Not that the reluctance to take charge is all that surprising, considering the way any crew which starts to grow big enough to extend their hold over the city is cut down. Driven out or found murdered, often laying in the remains of what was clearly a vicious shoot-out, though the killers are never found. Like vigilantes, only not nearly so altruistic; the spoils belonging to the defeated gangs are always taken, and only reappear at the scene of yet another unclaimed crime.
There’s a crew in Los Santos, so ingrained in the essence of the city itself no one seems to remember how things were before they arrived. The Fake AH Crew; legends in some circles, monsters in others, both consummate enigmas and borderline celebrities, the crew with the world at their feet. The main six players of the inner circle aren’t odd, exactly, each criminals of great renown but still holding pretty standard goals, greedy and bloodthirsty and perhaps more loyal than most but still acting well within their given standard of normalcy. They aren’t unusual, really, but these days they do have their little quirks.
As the leader Geoff has always had to present himself as reasonably level-headed, controlled outside the occasional snaps of frightful anger, a little overbearing in his need to dictate every plan maybe, but what criminal kingpin isn’t? What’s odd is the new fear kept behind closed doors, Geoff second-guessing his own ideas to a degree that is wholly out of character, running over plans again and again, pulling them apart and looking for flaws, debriefing even after successful missions when everyone else just wants to celebrate, unconsciously pressing his hand to his heart like reassurance that it’s still beating.
Jack drives like she’s made a deal with the devil, like every vehicle is just an extension of her being, inherent ability paired with unmatchable knowledge of every backroad and alley in the city. What’s odd is the nightmarish daydreams she gets sometimes, when she looks back at her latest baby and sees flickers of crunched metal and shattered glass, the phantom scent of spilled gasoline and the unmissable click-whoosh of catching flame.
For all his quick temper and flippant attitude Michael can be utterly pedantic about checking and rechecking the timers on bombs, which honestly isn’t an awful trait in the resident explosives guy. What’s odd is the way Michael gets angry about it sometimes, storms about the penthouse yanking out every last alarm clock, the way he swears he can still hear something ticking with furious intention, like the last seconds of a countdown.
He may be happier in a no-holds-barred fist-fight but nobody could say Jeremy isn’t good with a gun, an excellent shot with just about any weapon he can get his hands on. What’s odd is the little burst of panic he gets right after firefights, patting down his own chest, checking again and again like he can’t quite believe he wasn’t hit.
Ryan isn’t wracked by guilt, doesn’t regret what he does the way some might; he’s a killer and he owns it, he chose it, and it truly doesn’t bother him. What’s odd is the way he still can’t sleep, can’t close his eyes some nights when the darkness squeezes close and he feels so cold, like the depths of the ocean are pressing down on him, stealing the air from his lungs.
In terms of his own safety Gavin is as reckless as they come, all slapdash impulses and delighted disregard, chasing amusement at any cost when it’s only his own neck on the line. What’s odd is that sometimes Gavin walks around with a parachute strapped to his back and no intention of flying that day, utterly overzealous precaution without any real explanation as to why, like some part of him is always terrified that he’s going to fall.
Maybe the Fake’s know, on their worst days, that something isn’t quite right, something about them has gone awry, but the concern never lingers in the face of their unmatched success. Because a crew’s a crew, right? Maybe they’re a little luckier than most, maybe they’ve been unstoppable for so long it feels like no one else is really trying, like they are the merciless gods of their city. Maybe they catch themselves drifting sometimes, losing time or memories or thoughts or scars. Maybe they all know something is not quite right, a distant siren in the back of their minds begging them to pay attention, but surely it doesn’t mean anything.
You can romanticise it all you want, call them the scariest, the most dangerous, devastatingly talented in all the worst ways, but at the end of the day all humans are flawed and all crews will fall. Whether or not falling is enough to shake them from their throne is, however, a completely different issue. If a crew dies in the woods (the city, the sky, the sea), and nobody is brave enough to tell them, did it even happen?
There’s an empty penthouse in Los Santos, one that cannot be sold, one no one likes to talk about, not really. What has been said is that the door sticks sometimes, cannot be opened no matter how much force is applied. What has been said is that things move around all on their own, new stains reveal themselves and furniture appears and disappears like someone’s been squatting, but the dust is too thick for anyone to have visited. What’s been said makes shivers run down spines, hair stand on edge, gives rise to furtive glances and shared discomfort, an unspoken agreement never to return.
Maybe this alone wouldn’t be such a problem, maybe owning the most prestigious penthouse in a city overrun by wealth would be enough to attract some sceptic, but there is of course the matter of the previous owners. The most despicable, untouchable, indelible criminal gang the city had ever seen. Has ever seen, even this long after their passing. They died, at some point. No one quite remembers when, or how, no one really seems to talk about them anymore, not beyond wild stories of their antics, amazing heists and unspeakable terrors fading off into silence, like they did in the end. How bizarre it is that the crime levels didn’t actually drop even after they were gone.
There’s something deeply wrong in Los Santos, something strange and unsettling, like a catastrophic event has knocked the whole city just slightly out of sync with the rest of the world. It’s in the way the LSPD have cabinet upon cabinet of unsolved crimes that never manage to make their way into reports, years of unacceptably unpunished offences that would bring the might of a federal investigation if only they were disclosed. In the way a startling amount of those offences resemble crimes from days long past, copycat plans following acts of a crew long buried, new targets hit with the same old flare, methods and motives impressively in-character down to the smallest details.
There are secrets in Los Santos. Things no one knows, things everyone knows, an awful, impossible, inescapable reality they’ve all been trapped within. It’s in the way unease builds and dissipates without cresting, citizens never quite recognising their own discomfort, never fully acknowledging the oddity of acting without reason, of crossing the street or averting their eyes, of taking the long way home simply because that one corner just didn’t feel right. In the way the city is beset by sudden inexplicable explosions, the way gunfire rattles without a source, the way empty streets echo with chilling laughter like the ghost of a memory, the phantom chill of a nightmare, the ceaseless loop of those who will not be laid to rest.
It was the bitter cold nipping at his ears that caught Jungkook off guard as he made his way through the barren campus to class.
‘Ah, I definitely underdressed,’he quietly chided himself as the chilly winds tousled his hair around– granted, that’s what he got for not checking the weather when he rolled out of bed a half an hour earlier. A cardigan was definitely not enough. It was surprisingly cold for what was supposed to be a spring morning– a steaming cup of hot coffee was the only thing to provide some sort of solace to his hands as he also forgot to wear gloves. Yet as much as he disliked the cold, he disliked morning classes even more. But alas, it was the only block of time he could fit in his schedule – the woes of being a double major.
And so, it was his rambling thoughts that accompanied him to class that morning. ‘I guess the only good thing about morning classes is how quiet it is,’ he mused as he opened the doors to the main building, finally reaching his destination. He always appreciated silence, as it was one of the rarer thing to come by these days. There was a strange sense of tranquility that the morning brought, only to be filled with the bustling chatter of college students as gradually filled up the streets to go to class as the day went on.
Upon entering the classroom, he took a preliminary scan of the seats. Much to his chagrin, a good chunk of the seats in the area that he usually sat had already been occupied by his fellow students.
Maybe getting coffee right before class was a mistake– especially considering that he woke up late.
Actually no, that was a silly thought. If he had to be honest to himself he hadn’t, he probably wouldn’t survive the morning without– the caffeinated drink was a necessity these days more than a want. Ah, but it was his own fault for staying up so late the prior night to begin with …
As he bantered back and forth with his conscience, his footsteps made way to the back row with fewer people where his eyes fell upon a young man clad in all black. But what Jungkook noticed was not the attire nor the presence of the other – rather, it was the drink sitting in front of the bespeckled young man.
It was from the very same cafe as the drink he had in his hand– one of his favorite spots. The cafe in question was one of the hidden gems he had found – not that many people knew about it as it was off campus. It was actually next to one of the dance studios he attended, but even that was a bit far from the college grounds.
“Excuse me,” he addressed the raven haired male with an inquisitive smile, taking a small step forward as if to make his presence known in the least intrusive way possible. There was a brief pause as the eyes behind the pair of glasses met his own, “is this seat taken?” – First Meeting
There wa nani mo like natsu in the city (ﾉ^ヮ^)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧
Dareka under stress ━(◯Δ◯∥)━ン next to dareka looking kawaii (灬♥ω♥灬)
There wa trouble ni the air, kimi can smell it (」゜ロ゜)」
And Senpaiii （*’∀’人）♥ by himself. Watashi will let him tell it ━Σ(ﾟДﾟ|||)━
Watashi hadn’t slept in a week ／(x~x)＼
Watakushihadatta weak, watakushihadatta awake (⇀⼼_↼)*✲ﾟ*
Kimi have never seen a baka yarou more in need of a burēku (≥_<)
Longing for Angelica-chan ♡(ŐωŐ人)
Missing my waifu4laifu ༼♥ل͜♥༽ (๑◕︵◕๑)
That wa when miss Maria Reynolds-chan walked into my laifu, (ﾉ≧∀≦)ﾉ kanojo said:
Atashi know kimi are a shinshi of honor ʸ(ᴖ́◡ु⚈᷉)♡⃛
Gomen-nasai to bother kimi at home ฅ(*°ω°*ฅ)
But atashi don’t know nani to go, and atashi came here all hitori…( ̵˃﹏˂̵ )
My baka otto wa suru me wrong (ᗒᗩᗕ)՞
Beatin’ atashi !!( *д*):･’.::･(ｰｰ; ) ,cheatin’ atashi๐·°(৹˃̵﹏˂̵৹)°·๐, mistreatin’ atashi °(ಗдಗ。)°.
Suddenly kare wa up and gone ｡ﾟ･（>﹏<）･ﾟ｡
Atashi don’t have any means to iku home ｡:ﾟ(;´∩`;)ﾟ:｡
So watashi offered kanojo a loan ⊂((・▽・))⊃, watashi offered to walk kanojo home ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ, she said:
Anata wa too kind, senpaiiiii ٩(♡ε♡ )۶ (●♡∀♡)
Watashi gave kanojo thirty bucks that watashi had socked away (*´σЗ`)σ
Kanojo lived a block away, she said:
This one wa mine, senpaiii (っ*´∀｀*)っ
Then watashi said, yoku, watashi should head back home (^o^)/
Kanojo turned aka ໒( ͡ᵔ ▾ ͡ᵔ )७, kanojo led watashi to kanojo bed ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
Let kanojo legs spread ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿ and said:
Stay? (つ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)つ
Hey… ( ͡☉ ͜ʖ ͡☉)
Hey… ᕕ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)ᕗ
That wa when watashi began to pray (人>U<):
Sensei, show watashi how to
Say no to kono ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Shiranai how to say no to kono ╮(╯∀╰)╭
But waga kamiyo, kanojo looks so sugoiii (✿ ♥‿♥)
And kanojo body wa saying, ‘mochiron’ ٩(♡ε♡ )۶
In watashi mind watashi wa trying to go ᕕ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)ᕗ
a little comic about this high school au i made up (a while back) were Evan, Marcel and Tyler are all in the same basketball team. Marcel has a crush on the adorably cute nerdy mini and the captain of the basketball team (a.k.a Tyler) is a jealous dumbbutt that doesn’t know how to talk abt feelings. While mini still is oblivious to the whole thing, even to him agreeing on a kinda-ish date.
idk might continue, might not who knows :/ (jfc srry abt the shit handwriting)
You slept in your own bed, in your own bedroom, which was situated next to Negan’s room. It was windy outside and extremely cold although the Saviours had gifted you with thick duvets- you needed a warm teddy bear. You had only been in the Sanctuary for a month and yet everyone loved you, even Negan’s other wives.
At first, Sherry hated you and tried to sway the other women to hate you too but when you sung and calmed down the wives and spoke to each other about music, you and Sherry began to have the closest friendship ever. But that was until she went. No one told you what happened to her and you didn’t ask.
As you lay in bed shivering, there were walkers groaning outside. You sobbed, crying yourself to sleep but it didn’t help. You were so tired but you had no other choice. You slid off your bed and put on one of dad’s old rock band t shirts before quietly tiptoeing to Negan’s bedroom.
Surprisingly, he lay alone. He wasn’t snoring, which meant he was awake.
“Negan.” You whispered, standing by his bed then you crawled to his figures and sat on your knees,“Negan, I can’t sleep…”
You shook him and he turned around, one eye open and a lazy smile on his lips. He had one hand rested under his pillow and the other arm opened to allow you to climb in.
He saw your shirt and tensed,“Whose is that?”
You crawled under the duvet and snuggled in yourself, smiling,“It was my dad’s.”
The smile returned on Negan’s face then he wrapped his arms around your waist, tangled his legs with yours and nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck.
“Do you really want to sleep, babydoll?” Negan asked, a smirk playing,“We could have some fun.”
A crown has
arrived in Los Santos. Not just a crown of course, a whole array of finery,
gold and jewels and an ornamental sceptre, even a smaller secondary crown, but
the true prize in the collection is clearly the extravagant domed affair, huge,
bejewelled and topped with a hefty gold cross. It’s for a show of sorts, a
traveling display of some ancient European royalty, and it couldn’t be a more
obvious trap if the Fake’s had received a personalized invitation.
Los Santos doesn’t
have a big arts scene, doesn’t have fancy museums or cultural influences; to
bring so much wealth to the city, the crime capital of the country, to roll it
right under the noses of the self-proclaimed royalty of organized crime and publically advertise its arrival is so
laughably on the nose it can only be the LSPD’s latest pathetic attempt at a
sting. An embarrassing police endeavour to draw the FAHC out, ludicrously
obvious and yet, despite all reason, it’s working.
It might be
offensively over the top but there are, of course, two members of the FAHC who
live for offensively over the top, who can’t even focus on the obvious jaws of
the trap, knowing all too well that the bait is poisoned but unable to help
being hooked anyway. Geoff and Gavin, the big boss and his most ostentatious
little snake, both lost the second there were crowns on the table, both shiny
eyed and hopeless, full of longing as their hurricane of plans tips into the
Gavin keeps making
puppy-dog eyes at Geoff, begging and pleading and carefully explaining exactly
why he deserves to be the one who wears the big crown; everyone already knows Geoff’s the king, he doesn’t need
it, and anyway it just wouldn’t suit his look at all. Geoff is batting off
every argument, some with considerable difficulty but he’s determined to hold
out, heart set on keeping the absurd thing for himself. Half out of affection,
half out of desperately placating bribery Geoff’s instead promising Gavin the
slightly smaller, more classically spiked crown; the fine filigree diadem
obviously the lighter of the two, easier to wear and arguably more pretty,
still obscenely ornate and look how gold it is Gavvers come on.
Boss and conman
aside the rest of the crew aren’t quite so blinded by the frankly insulting
attempt at a trap. Except, well. Except that they kind of are, in their own
Jack and Lindsay
spent a whole morning tracking down sources, ensuring that while the display
was fake the actual items were authentic. And boy, the LSPD didn’t go halfway
in their bid for stupidest plan of all time – not only is everything
certifiably real, it’s worth an actual fortune. They aren’t kidding themselves
about fencing the crowns, it’s important to be aware of one’s weaknesses and
sometimes that means acknowledging that you work with egotistical children, but
there is still more than enough extra gubbins in the display to make such a wildly
ill-advised heist worth considering.
Ryan, Michael and
Jeremy aren’t particularly hung up on the money end; it’s always nice, sure,
but honestly the FAHC hasn’t been strapped for cash in a long, long time. These
days the jobs they do tend to have some other purpose, amusement or revenge or
displays of power with monetary gain a secondary factor, definitely not
sufficient to barrel headfirst into a guaranteed trap. But then the trap is so clear
to see it’s pretty much a dare, a middle finger, the suggestion that the Fake’s
are too stupid to see what’s right in front of them. If there’s one thing the more
rough and tumble side of the crew have in common it’s their inability to stand
down from a challenge, their dislike of any insinuation that there’s anything
they cannot do, any prize outside their reach. Screw the gold, Michael, Jeremy
and Ryan are, as always, just out to ruin the LSPD’s day.
So they brainstorm,
they plan, they get into more than one argument about the authority bestowed by
fancy headwear and, in the end, after enduring numerous scornful complaints
from members the Support Crew regarding always doing things the hard way, they simply
call up one of Geoff’s rats on the force and have her unlock the door and look
the other way. It is perhaps the most anticlimactic ‘heist’ of the FAHC’s
entire existence – not that you’d know it from the way Geoff and Gavin swan
about in their crowns. Not that you’d know it unless you were there to witness,
actually, considering the hilariously inaccurate rumour that spreads like
wildfire, the tale of an epic showdown between the police and the Fakes, the
crowns simply the spoils of war in a greater battle that took out half a city
To be fair, that battle
definitely happened, it just had literally nothing to do with any heist.
Disappointed by the appalling lack of action Ryan took Michael and Jeremy for a
leisurely drive down to the police station, car full of everything from flares
to SMG’s to a full-blown rocket launcher, and the three of them had a little
party. By the time the rest of the crew shows up, somewhat overdressed but
still drawn as always towards the sound of senseless mayhem, the street is a
warzone, a building is on fire, and the LSPD have completely sworn off ever
again trying to entrap the FAHC.
- will s p o i l you shitless
- I mean seriously he’s practically made out of money
- “luci don’t you think this sword replica from the Han dynasty is pretty cool?”
*is already on the phone calling* “sure thing, bella”
- prepare for sudden hugs from behind, hum
- he also smells your hair while he’s at it
- and sudden classy af dates
- usually calls you with pet names and endearments (bella, tesora, mia cara,
etc) rather than your actual name
- but when he does you’d know that shits about to go down
- may it be sexual or not *wink wonk*
- you two might be dating but his smooth advances never fail
- his attitude doesn’t really change that much
- his hugs are like the bEST HUGS
- puns, puns, & more puns
- you two probably take baths together and it doesn’t even have to be sexual
- but it could be
- will spoon you like every time you two cuddle
- absolute dork
- goes to the gym with you and spends 147% of the time showing off his abs and
- is always down for sex I’ll give ya that
- PDA is his religion
- he sometimes doesn’t even realize it istg
- don’t ever worry of him hurting you or cheating on you this piece of shit is
smug af - he’s so damn blunt that it leaves you speechless - also can I tell you that hair is like absolute p e r f e c t i o n - everyone who touches it dies with the exemption of you - tries to recreate those cheesy shoujo manga scenes -t r i e s - always ends up with you in a hysterical fit of laughter - he’s pretty chill with affection and all the shit - would leave you with a shit ton of hickies - his way of marking property - kinkshamed to hell - baths with him - he’ll ask if he could wash your hair - sarcasm
- smartass replies - “kuro your sass isn’t needed hERE” “so are your clothes but I don’t see you
doing anything about it”
alright folks, I know it’s 2:51AM where I’m at but imagine coming home to Luke, witnessing him eating ice cream with a fork because he just couldn’t be bothered grabbing a spoon. or there was no clean spoons because he was a bit lazy to wash one. he knows you eat ice cream with a spoon, you know it, the rest of the world knows it. so anyway, you guys are just staring at each other in complete in utter silence until you go into the kitchen leaving Luke in the living room all by himself. he’d probably expect you to return with a spoon but no. you come back with your own fork and a straw for when the ice cream melts so you guys can drink the remains. imagine his eyes sparkling with appreciation. that smile popping up on his face because you’re joining him instead of changing his ways lolololol. imagine that laugh and him shaking his head as you sit next to him with that same smile plastered on your face. he’d probably say something like, “no spoon?” and you’d say, “I was too lazy to wash one and we have straws so it shouldn’t be that bad of an idea. at least it wasn’t soup or cereal.” then you guys watch some tv together, just chilling and relaxing from a stressful day when you decide to be a bit cheeky and say, “we should invest in some ice cream cones or popsicles for days like these.” and he wouldn’t even argue because damn, you’re right (you always are). so you guys continue doing whatever and omg, you guys become couple goals. like, this is the kind of support you want in a relationship.