just a little bit sorry

6

Well… she did know how to open it… (Anna and Remington (my ocs) and 2017) Happy New Year!

Unpopular opinion: I hate when people in the fandom say that Victor fell in love with Yuuri during the dance scene when he wanted him to be his coach and danced with him. I don’t believe in love at first sight though, which I think develops as you get to know someone over time. He clearly developed a crush or an interest in Yuuri that night though. That’s obvious

2

do you feel that too?

5

I’ve been in an One Piece mood lately…so glad Dressrosa is over, so glad T.T

7

Desperate times, desperate measures. Or something like that

(What she’s referring to)

There was a point, during The Rise, when it became abundantly clear to the disreputable denizens of Los Santos that unless drastic measures were taken the Fake’s were going to succeed in their play for the city. Some of those with a vested interest in maintaining the status quo, who wanted the city for themselves or at least the patches they’d carved out as their own, negotiated a deal. A temporary truce between a handful of the biggest names in the area. An alliance to bring down the ragtag upstarts before their unprecedented domination completely took hold.

It was a bloody uprising that had taken them all by surprise. The FAHC had slunk into Los Santos, established themselves well enough to bully their way into a modest little bit of territory but not nearly enough to draw attention, to cause alarm. Wouldn’t have been any different from any of the dozens of little gangs that rise and fall on the fringes of the godforsaken city if not for their leader. The infamous Geoff Ramsey, fallen so far from grace. 

Slumming it in Los Santos, Ramsey appears to have collected what could charitably be called a crew. The only other member of any notable worth is Pattillo; a powerhouse in her own right but too blindly loyal to see the sense in walking away from Ramsey’s downward spiral. The rest of the group is less inspiring. They seem to have contracted some nameless mercenary, a big guy who’s always wearing a ridiculous fur-lined coat and an ever-changing cheap plastic party mask like he thinks he’s some kind of Hollywood villain. That’s pretty par for the course with mercenaries though, melodramatic bastards.  

The other three unknown wonders appear to have been recruited right out of school; bright eyed, bushy tailed and babyfaced, a cacophony of garish bravado, unrefined talent and misplaced pride. Ramsey’s pet British import is a nosey brat with sticky fingers, the short-tempered Jerseyite can’t keep his cool long enough to let his perpetually bloodied knuckles heal, and the wanna-be sniper is more invested in feigning disinterest and painting his guns ironically vivid colours than he is in being more than a halfway decent shot.

Still, disaster or not, more than one group keeps and eye on them at first; Geoff might look down and out but no one just ignores a Rooster. The result of this surveillance is.. unflattering. A series of ridiculously low-level jobs with pitiful takes, messy out-of-sync teamwork, public arguments and complete disrespect; it’s pretty clear Ramsey has no idea how to run a decent crew, not even the kids seem to be scared of him. Even their base is a travesty; where the big gangs have bought up the penthouses of inner-city Los Santos, Ramsey and his menagerie are working with some sort of shoebox apartment somewhere out in the boonies. It’d be downright sad if it wasn’t so funny.

It takes a bit of time to confirm but eventually it is universally agreed that the FAHC were no kind of threat, that Ramsey had totally lost his touch. Eventually everyone stops looking any deeper than the occasional check in following some amusing flop, more a dose of schadenfreude than any true threat analysis.  

So when the ripples start no one thinks much of it; the Fake AH Crew take out and run off a couple of little gangs, not a big deal – the dregs are always snapping at each other, pushing for more territory, if anything the Fakes are overdue. It only makes sense that they’ve started to run bigger jobs, and no one notices the way they’re now pulling them off effortlessly, with no sign of their previous ineptitude, the way they’re starting to make waves.

It’s more or less a fucking tsunami by the time the penny drops, the FAHC crashing in on other crew’s jobs, taking out their warehouses, hitting their bases; maybe whatever dump they’re holing up in isn’t glamorous but the overcrowded rat’s nest of the outer sectors’ of the city prevent anyone from repaying the favour and trailing the Fake’s back home. They’re clawing their way up the ladder with alarming speed, expanding their reach so rapidly it’s nearly impossible to keep track, and Ramsey watches over it all. Dressed to the nines in an extravagant suit to match his shiny new attitude, reserved control and smug satisfaction, already patting himself on the back, celebrating his perceived victory.

Something had to be done. Individual attacks are mounted, of course, but the FAHC have grown wily, have revealed themselves to be more of a threat than any had anticipated. The trust-fund baby stops fumbling and shows his fangs, their loose canon gets his hands on a seemingly endless supply of explosives and out of nowhere the questionable sniper never misses a shot. Indisputably the worst reveal of all, though, is the mercenary. Dropping his ridiculous fur coat and plastic masks for a jacket he wears like a second skin and a skull no one could mistake, his name whispered all over the city like a collective gasp, a shared curse; Vagabond.

So all of a sudden those in power in Los Santos found themselves with a hell of a fucking problem on their hands. It was getting out of control, they were losing everything, so they band together. Four of the most influential groups in Los Santos’ underbelly, usually at violent odds over contested territory but prepared to set it all aside until this matter is dealt with. Until the Fake AH Crew have been taught exactly what happens to upstarts in their city.

The plan, when they settle it, is a basic as can be: divide and conquer. If they can seperate the group, keep the two in charge occupied then tell the rest their leaders have fallen it will all be over. Clearly Ramsey’s got something of the Roosters in him still, and Jack is a goddamn demon when she’s protecting her boss, but the remainder of the crew will surely crumble under pressure.

As horrifying as he is the Vagabond is still a mercenary, is still driven by nothing more than money at the end of the day, and when he hears that his payday is gone his facsimile of loyalty is sure to follow. After that the kids won’t last long, cocky little shits or not once they’re all alone they’ll flee the city with their tails between their legs or die trying, and there there will only be two. Ramsey might have more bite left in him that they’d thought but he’s made no friends in this city, has no nearby allies to fall back on, and veteran’s of the business or not two people can’t hold up against entire gangs for long.

But, of course, it doesn’t exactly work out that way. It’s all going to plan, almost textbook, but the one thing no one took into account was the ludicrous ingenious of Geoff’s ability to play the long game.

See Geoff wasn’t wasting those early months, tiny hauls didn’t bother him at all because the target had never been the money. Geoff had money for days, for years in fact, what he need was a crew. A crew who knew each other’s every strength, flaw and habit, who’d dealt with living on top of each other; forced through sheer proximity to start lowering walls. The little jobs let them feel each other out without much consequence, find their rhythm as a group, test relationships under pressure, boredom and frustration. Maybe they hadn’t looked like much, had been intentionally avoiding showing their true colours, but Geoff made himself a crew who not only worked as one but had come to actually care for one another, trust each other and were, above all else, loyal. That’s the kind of connection no amount of money can buy, no degree of fearful respect can fake, and no mere threat can shake apart.

So when they say Geoff and Jack are gone, torn away right at the precipice of everything they had been working for, the reaction is somewhat less than desirable.  

When the Vagabond hears he doesn’t cut and run, doesn’t consider himself duty-free, an impartial witness to the death of a client. Ryan thinks liars, thinks no chance in hell, thinks kill them anyway. His knee-jerk reaction is to leap into action, relish in the wholesale murder he’s been putting off for months, but he isn’t just the Vagabond anymore. Ryan’s got the Lads to think about, standing a few steps behind him in a move they’ll surely mock him for later but it’s second nature now, trying to keep them safe. For a given definition of safe. The FAHC has given back a part of himself that he’d thought was lost forever, shattered bone-deep loneliness and rekindled joy and security and meaningless affection. Ryan would die before losing that all over again; he might be more than just the Vagabond but Ryan has never been particularly forgiving.

There’s a choked off sound from behind him and in that split second Ryan has a choice to make. Geoff would call their bluff, demand to see the bodies; Jack would tell the Lads to be smart, to think about the flaws in the story; the Vagabond would execute the threat for their insolence before slipping off into the night, but Ryan just takes a deep breath. Smiles his nastiest smile and steps to the side, waving the Lads forward with a jerk of his head, bracing himself for the carnage.

Because rather than breaking their will, when the Lads are told Geoff and Jack are gone they flip their goddamn shit. Gavin loves this crew unlike anything he has ever loved, emotions so fierce he’s surprised even himself, the found family he’d burn down the whole world to keep. Michael breathes loyalty, has always done, but his devotion has never been unquestioning obedience and the FAHC is the first crew who have rewarded his refusal to be a blind pawn; for all he huffs and complains Geoff has always welcomed intelligent debate, no matter how irreverently it’s proposed. And then there’s Ray, who’s learning that having a crew doesn’t require the sacrifice of independence, that leaning on others won’t always be a let down and sometimes coming down from his perch and getting amongst the action is worth the mess; it’s a work in progress but he’s not ready to lose it yet.

It doesn’t matter how implausibly convenient the boasting sounds, how easily calm heads could pick apart the lies; the thought alone is more than enough to have all three seeing red. Things were going to get messy no matter what, but Ryan’s explicit blessing was fuel on an already considerable fire, and they don’t hesitate tear past him and into the fray. Ryan follows, of course, and there’s something almost cathartic in it, an assassin amongst a hurricane of fury, infinitely more efficient alone but surprisingly proud of their merciless bloodbath, an amused artist cleaning up after enthusiastic students.

It’s Ryan who gets them moving again afterwards, when street’s have fallen quiet and there’s no one left to punish, feeling very much the responsible adult as he herds them down the road, a shepherd with a particularly murderous flock.

It doesn’t take them long to track down Geoff and Jack, alive and well and just finished cleaning up their own mess. Geoff’s suit, proudly protected from all but the slightest singeing despite this ordeal of a day, is completely written off when he’s tacked into a filthy hug, Jack graciously allowing herself to be drawn into the mess despite grumbling about her aching ribs as Ray and Ryan stand to the side and share a look that is as much look at what we have as it is look what we put up with. They’re all bloody and bruised and strung out on too much adrenaline and too little sleep but they’re back together, they’re all alive, and it still tastes like victory. Like succession.

With the city’s former top dogs burning in the street, an irrefutable display of terrifying talent to overwrite all past assumptions and a ruthless reputation that’s spreading father in every passing moment, the FAHC couldn’t be in a better position to claim ownership of Los Santos. The infamous City of Saints, safe-haven of sinners, bowing under one supreme power for the first time in it’s less than illustrious history, newfound royalty slipping in like poison and bringing the city to its knees.

interesting how Mark’s speech about love and respect and tolerance is in defense of someone who literally paid people to write a death threat to an oppressed minority and then monetized the video of it

i n t e r e s t i n ggg……….

Everyone out there acting like he made some big revolutionary speech and is such a Good Youtuber but like

A) Respect is not a right, it’s something you EARN. I don’t have to respect someone who is not doing something worth respecting. I do not respect Pewdiepie as a professional, as an “artist,” so why would I treat him with respect?

B) Markiplier literally said that “if you think someone is an awful person, it doesn’t mean you can treat them unfairly”

unfairly????? I’m sorry, what is UNFAIR about trashing someone who made a blatantly anti-semitic joke and then made money from it and then in his apology said that people who got upset about it “were triggered”

So no, Mark, I don’t respect ur good buddy Felix because he’s an ASS, and I don’t care what kind of person he is in ur friendship, as a professional in the public eye, making videos that I have to see and that Jewish people have to see, he’s NOT worthy of any sort of respect.

Why tf do people keep going on and on about respect like it’s something I HAVE to give you when you’ve done NOTHING worth respecting?

Mark says that we should “treat others the way we want to be treated” so apparently Pewdiepie WANTS to be treated with disrespect because THAT’S what he puts into the world.

Man… as a fan of Houdini and escapology in general, it’s always really funny to watch action movies where a character is tied to a chair or something really poorly. The dramatic tension of the scene is lost once you realize how incredibly easy it would be to slip loose if they were to just shrug their shoulders a little bit.

I’m sorry… am I supposed to believe that you’re a world-class spy/superhero/otherwise talented and experienced adventurer and you *can’t* escape from two loops of rope over your chest?

Continuation of this fluffy fic for Annabeth’s 23rd birthday; Just demigods being dorks. I laughed a lot while writing this, I hope you enjoy reading it!

“I always knew you were his favourite,” Clarisse growled. “It’s so obvious.”

Annabeth laughed. “What are you talking about?”

“Come on!” Clarisse waved a hand at the dining pavilion, which was decorated with a huge Happy Birthday banner and far too many blue and silver balloons. “Who else would Chiron extend the curfew for?”

It was the early hours of the morning, and while Chiron had sent all the younger campers to their cabins he’d given his blessing for the party to continue on with just Annabeth’s special guests - which was really more than enough. With ex campers from both Camp Half Blood and Camp Jupiter in attendance, Percy had done a great job of completely blowing Annabeth’s no fuss birthday request.

She blew a stream of air out from between her pursed lips. “Well, technically, none of us are really campers anymore -”

“You Athena kids and your technicalities,” Clarisse snarled, but there was no menace in it.  “Just admit you’re the golden child and get it over with.”

Thankfully, Chris asked Clarisse to dance before she could get properly annoyed with Annabeth, who was too busy laughing to respond to the accusation.

Just as the Ares camper left, Frank stepped in to take her place. “Golden child, huh?”

Annabeth smiled at him, softer than the smile she’d given Clarisse. “Apparently.”

Grover snuck in between them, chewing on his plastic cup. He bleated a laugh. “I can believe it.”

She narrowed her eyes at him over the rim of her cup. “You can?”

“Yeah.” He smiled at her. “You’ve been practically running this place since you were seven. And look at all these people who travelled to celebrate with you…”

Annabeth swept her gaze out over the pavilion, which was packed with all of her demigod friends - people she’d grown up with at the camp, people who had quested with her and fought by her side, people whom she loved. And at the centre of it all, Percy, blue icing smeared across his chin from where Piper had just mushed her piece of cake into his face.

“I don’t think any of these people consider me to be the golden child of camp, though. That honour probably goes to Percy.”

“Eh.” Frank shrugged. “Everyone knows that you two are a package deal, anyway.”

She watched her boyfriend chase after Piper with a cup of blue soda as she shrieked, “No powers, no powers!”

“I don’t need powers to pour this over your head, McLean!” Percy shouted, scaling a table and spilling soda on Calypso’s shoulder as he went. “Sorry!”

Annabeth laughed. “Lucky me.”

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anonymous asked:

You know, I came to this blog for rinch but I must say seeing your posts on my dash is so much more than that. There is the quality fic and the adorable gifs but then there is also the text posts that remind me on a daily basis that it's ok to be who i am. It's ok to say fuck the gender binary this shit is not for me. So thank you! Following your blog makes my days a bit better on a regular basis and I appreciate it so much! <3 <3 <3

i… i’m…… sitting here absolutely stunned and crying literal tears you wonderful anon. I don’t even know what to say to something like that. For me this is by far the nicest anon message ever and i have to gather my thoughts a bit to figure out how to reply.

After several hours of trying to gather my thoughts (emphasis on the word ‘trying’ lol) all i can say is you have absolutely no idea how much this message means to me, really! i am so incredibly happy to hear my blog can remind you that it’s ok to be you! (i have tears in my eyes again btw) Because it most definitely is ok to be exactly who you are! Please always remember that ok. You are good enough and valid whether you have a gender or not and whether your possible gender is binary or non-binary. It has absolutely nothing to do with your value as a person. (i know you know all these things already but i feel like i want to say them anyway)

I really want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking the time to send me this ask! I’m more touched than i can say. please drop by any time if you feel like talking, on or off anon, it doesn’t matter, which ever is more comfortable for you! I hope you’re having a wonderful day/night my dear anon.