Do you really think now is the best time for a canoeing trip?
Of course. I know how important it is to you. That's why we constantly mention our plans to go canoeing. Not a day goes by that we don't curse the newest villain for trying to destroy the town because it delays our chance to canoe.
When have we ever talked about canoeing?
This might be our only chance to go off and do this before Gideon regroups and attacks me again.
Was the canoeing trip even my idea?
Let's go make one last memory as mother and son before the forces of evil attack again and the show remembers that I'm the main character.
Oh! This is a plot dodging trip.
Obviously. And it would work a lot better if you played along.
You're still bringing your gun in case Gideon decides to poof in and attack us on the river though, right?
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
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
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
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
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 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
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
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
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.
Hey bendy? I need some help... I'm trying to reanimate my own cartoons via satanic ritual to save time from animating it myself... I'm following a dummies guide to satanic rituals and I did all the steps but nothing HAPPENED. What do I do??
*comes back to life*—Aha, bitch, you think you can kill me?
*shoots at you multiple times but nothing happens* then what will kill you?
*thinks about ships* bitch the power of straight, gay, toxic, love. Bitch love will kill me. Bitch hand touching will kill me. Bitch names will kill me. Bitch, sex, fanfics, picture, lies—truths, groans, moans, killing, stalking, characters, ice skating, etc. of thy beloved ships will kill me.
I’ve had some time to think and I know what’s bothering me about this season. It lacks emotion. Mary is stone cold. At first I was understanding- she was thrown into this after being yanked out of her heaven where she lives with memory-versions of her sons as children and her husband. But a lot of time has passed now and she seems to have no desire to even get to know the men her sons are now. She helps every other hunter who needs her but can’t be bothered with Sam and Dean unless she needs help. And now she’s betraying everyone by working with the BMoL and doesn’t seen to give even one fuck that they tortured and almost killed Sam.
Then there’s Dean. In some episodes like Regarding Dean, he’s nails it. Jensen was acting his damn heart out and killing it. But most of the time, there’s just nothing there. Even tonight when Cas was dying, he looked mildly upset but he wasn’t invested. It’s like he was just going through the motions. There was no attempt at deal making or OTT dramatic gestures or even tears. He just kinda stood there and said “hang in there, buddy” and then got his butt kicked while Sam and Crowley came through with the save. I heard that Jensen said something in his m&g about how they’re downplaying a lot of emotional stuff on purpose but WHY. I don’t get it.
Sam is the only Winchester doing great in the empathy department but Jared has to add 90% of that with his facial expressions and body language. And they’re basically just using him like he’s a supporting character in this Dean and Mary drama anyway.
Hell, when the characters displaying the most real human emotion are Cas and Crowley WHO AREN’T EVEN HUMAN FFS something weird is going on but for the life of me I can’t figure out what the endgame is on all of this.