Lindsay, like so many others, doesn’t talk much about her upbringing but when pushed she likes to say she was born with a gun in her hands. In reality it’s more that she was born into a war, into the end of an era, into the criminal royalty of Texas burning to the ground around her, golden finery turned to bloody ash. Her childhood was as luxurious as it was tragic; opulence in a world on fire, she never wanted for any material thing but every moment was undercut with a air of tense finality – even as young as she was Lindsay knew it was bad, knew they were ceding more and more territory, losing foot soldiers faster than they could replace them.

Lindsay took a teddybear to her first self-defence lesson, learnt horseback rising while surrounded by armed guards, went to the gun range in designer dresses and had a favourite diamond-encrusted dagger before she’d grown out of dolls. She could handle her own security better at 12 than most could at 20 and knew with absolute certainty that she would eventually have to prove it. By the time Lindsay was a teenager the writing was well and truly on the wall, and before long her family’s reign was no more.

She didn’t lose everyone; was incredibly lucky really, the Tuggey’s always did cultivate ruthless strategy over senseless brawn, and when the tables tipped so far that they could not be recovered her close family gathered what they could and disappeared. They weren’t left utterly bereft, had enough tucked away to live out their lives in comfort, but their near timeless empire had crumbled and few were prepared start over from the bottom.

It didn’t bother Lindsay though. For all she’s been given throughout her life she has never been afraid of hard work, and she wasn’t prepared to give up on the world she grew up in, the world she was made for, so as soon as she’s old enough to make it on her own she leaves behind the safety of retirement and walks right back into the lions den. Lindsay doesn’t go back to Texas, isn’t interested in coexisting with the gangs who had taken so much from them, but eventually she makes her way to Los Santos.  

With talent, money and anonymity on her side Lindsay can take her time, scope out any crew who takes her interest and make sure she’s fully informed before trying to catch their eye. She skips over most of the big gangs, violent and cruel with none of the cleverness or bone-deep loyalty her family were known for, but when she comes across the fledgling beginnings of the FAHC, penniless and more or less unknown, Lindsay is almost instantly sold.

Lindsay practically hired herself, walked right up to Geoff and Jack and politely offered her interest, all starstruck praise and pretty deference, like she didn’t have a nail-studded bat slung over one shoulder, like she didn’t know just how to win them, playing on Geoff’s ego and Jack’s careful scrutiny, like she hadn’t just stepped in and helped take out the last of a gang who’d been making a nuisance of themselves for days. Revealing her family name straight away would likely have landed Lindsay a job on the spot, but waiting until after they’d made their decision, inviting her in on her own merits, kickstarted the respect that would only grow over the years.

No one expects it when they look at her, with her soft clothes, cutesy jewellery and undying smile, but Lindsay can play muscle with the best of them. Wields that goddamn bat with brutal efficiency, unflinching in the face of blood and violence, joyous in the thick of a fight.

The sweetness isn’t false, she’s genuinely friendly, happy go lucky and unerringly polite, right up until someone tries to use it against her. Lindsay lives to prove people wrong, and she’s never content to just show up their ignorance, oh no. It’s almost bullying, the way she rubs their face in it, the way she completely destroys them. It’s mesmerising. Michael’s never been a closed-minded kind of guy, never thought Lindsay needed protecting just because she was a woman, but the first time he saw her more or less curb stomp some dickweed mercenary who’d been running his mouth like he had no idea who exactly arranged the payment of his fees, well. The less said about how Michael ended up at the bottom of a flight of stairs with a lump on his head and hearts in his eyes the better.

In the end it was Lindsay who promoted herself too - didn’t ask for more duties or demand a bigger cut, just slowly started taking on more work, restructuring things that weren’t working, reassessing their goals, building up the support crew and taking point on their management. It’s this group, her crew within the crew, who notice first. Who realise, with endless amusement and shockingly fierce pride, the way she’s stepped up, the way she’s making decisions the others follow without a hint of complaint, running things without express permission to do so.

It could have been nasty when it came to a head, could have torn the crew apart, one more gang fallen victim to deadly power plays, but this isn’t just any crew. There’s a tense few days, closed-door meetings and meaningful looks, but in the end it’s talked out with minimal frustration.

The FAHC is still Geoff’s crew, it will always be Geoff’s crew and nothing and no one could change that, but as it has relentlessly grown so too has the requirement for someone to step back and lead from the sidelines. Someone who can keep cohesion and doesn’t throw themselves headfirst into every exciting altercation the FAHC gets involved with. Who can make objective choices and take command when shit hits the fan and everyone is left scrambling to keep up.

Geoff is the boss, and Jack is his right hand, but Lindsay is the advisor, the overseer, the one whose eye is always on the bigger picture. Her name isn’t synonymous with the crew like Ramsey, isn’t unintentional branding like the reputations of so many of their more colourful members, but she is by no means unknown.

Any who survive getting close enough to the FAHC to see the way flames seem to flicker around them, a phantom air of ferocious disaster, of controlled devastation, the way the crew follows its path fearlessly and without question, cannot help but learn Lindsay’s name, and by god they won’t forget it. Will spread her story far and wide as they flee Los Santos.

The rise of the firebird; born from ashes only to recreate herself into something more, something magnificent and untouchable, torching anything and anyone who tries to stand in her way.


“Lets catch another fish”

anonymous asked:

Spoiled brat Gavin who is taught to manipulate people’s emotions through crying so he gets brought into the station by the police and immediately starts blubbering and the more he's shouted at the more he cries until the crew is in the holding cell is snickering and Michael says something to the effect of “Oh lord you made Gavin cry.” And they don’t know what do with him because he's just wailing and eventually they let him go because he’s given every single detective a headache.

mjsdfhusu jesus christ.  ANd you know the second they let him go he immediately just shuts up and stops his face is completely dry there’s maybe some remnant of tears and his eyes are maybe a bit red but he’s just totally fine the second he’s free.  What a little shit.

But nope, you said he was free to go, goodbye officers, see you later o/

Never Been Kissed: 5SOS Kids

“Okay, that was good! I think the second song could use a bit more work, but I’m wiped out!” Jett exclaimed.

He had worked an excessive shift after school that Friday afternoon and working on music took a lot of energy from the teen.

“I’m gonna go shower. Jack, you staying over?” Jett questioned from the doorway.

Jack was in the midst of placing his guitar into its case when he turned to face his best friend.

“Yeah, why not.” He replied as he slammed the case shut.

“Cool.” Jett responded promptly before dragging his feet up the stairs.

Jack was fiddling with the locks on his case when he overheard a small yawn and suddenly remembered there had been a third presence in the room.

“Are we boring you, Lark?” Jack teased with that smile of his that could turn any girl’s knees to Jell-O.

Lark shook her head of curls vigorously from side to side.

“No, no, not at all. I just…I guess I’ve had a long day too.” She explained as Jack moved to sit beside her.

“Yeah? What’s up?”

Lark wasn’t sure why she suddenly felt she could confide in her brother’s best friend. His brown stare was comforting instead of invasive; which is how she felt underneath just about any other male’s stare.

“It’s really lame…but…no, nevermind, forget it.” Lark mumbled, looking away as her face flushed red.

Lark. Come on, you can tell me!” He insisted.

Lark’s baby blues scanned his sincere expression.

“Alright, but you can’t laugh at me!” She said, sternly pointing a finger in his direction.

Jack held up both hands as if in complete surrender.

“I’m starting to think I’ll never be kissed…” Lark confessed, glancing downward and holding her breath as she waited for a response.

“Lark, that’s crazy. You’ll be kissed.” He assured.

“But what if I’m not?” She whispered in return, her voice weak as tears brimmed her lovely eyes.

“You will be. You’re the kind of girl that guys like us write songs about, Lark…you’ll get a kiss.” He replied, softly smiling at the shy redhead.

“Right.” She replied, with a roll of her eyes.

“I’m about a day away from just finding any random guy on the street, kissing him, and running away.”

“Well, you shouldn’t rush it. I mean, my first kiss was just awful. It was awkward and messy and just…yeah, not good.” Jack confided as Lark giggled at the thought of Jack Hemmings having anything but a smooth encounter with any girl.

“And I mean, it really should be all those things, you know? I mean your first anything is gonna be awkward, there’s just no way to avoid that, but I think it makes it better if it’s with someone who actually cares about you. Or that’s what I hear anyway.” Jack said, with a slight shrug.

Lark bit into her bottom lip.

All of the Irwin children desired a love like their parents. A love where one would bring home flowers every so often, or cook the other’s favorite meal. One where they were always the first person they went to for advice and the only person they ever wanted to sleep beside and wake up to. One where they would do anything and everything to see the other smile and “fights” lasted a matter of minutes before they were back in each other’s arms with whispered apologies and confessions of love.

Lark knew that Jack wasn’t the boy who would bring her flowers, and was probably the last person she would consider going to for advice, and a fight with Jack lasted days at the least; that much had been proven. But Lark also knew that Jack cared for her. Even if it was only in the ‘best friend’s little sister’ way.

Jack seemed to have the same thought swirling around his head as he proposed quietly, “You know…I could be your first kiss, if you want.”

Lark’s heart started to race and madly beat against her chest as she nodded her head. Jack moved in close; so close that she could smell the intoxicating mixture of sweat and cologne that was his scent and so close that he could clearly make out each freckle on her face. He leaned in just a bit further, after flicking his eyes to hers and finding them closed in preparation, and touched his lips to hers.

Jack had been right. It felt awkward. At first, Lark had no idea what to do with her lips or her hands or the overwhelming feeling of butterflies taking flight inside of her stomach, but Jack was a good coach. His lips gently massaged hers and his hands moved to delicately hold her face. Lark sighed into his mouth briefly before reconnecting their lips. She leaned her body into his, feeling comfortable at last. He gently pried her mouth open with his tongue and Lark stiffened. He pulled back and smiled, his hands leaving her face to anxiously run through his hair.

“Sorry, might have gotten a little carried away there.” He laughed.

Lark swallowed thickly.

“No, it’s okay!”

It was, in fact, far better than okay.

“Are you okay?” He wondered, his brown eyes falling to meet her stare.

“Yeah! I’m-I’m good.” Lark spoke, trying to hide the smile that was fighting to pull at her lips.


Jack smiled and stood up. He crossed the room to grab his guitar in its case and headed for the door, but not without throwing Lark one final smile over his shoulder.

As she watched him leave, a thought made her giggle with delight.

Jack Hemmings may not be the boy to bring a girl flowers, but damn is he a good kisser.

fake ah crew aesthetics
  • Geoff:minimalism, abstract art, sleek cars, suits, hot pink against black and white, hand tattoos, whiskey, stacks of money, high rise apartments
  • Jack:wild orange hair, jet cockpit, tropical shirts, fist fights, bruises, black eyes, jet trails in clear skies
  • Ryan:dark alleys, blood stained hands, black skulls, house plants, throwing knives, clumsiness, face paint, flares, leather jackets
  • Michael:red neon signs, bruised and bloody knuckles, molotov cocktails, explosions, motorcycles, joyrides in the afternoon, graffiti
  • Gavin:gold aviators, gold plated weapons, apple products, tanned skin, computers and wiring, fire trucks, hot afternoons
  • Jeremy:pale blue skies, cowboy hats, crooked smiles, bright colors, hair dye, sniper rifles, laughing, flying stunt planes
  • Lindsay:day old makeup, fireworks, blonde hair, train yards, embroidered leather jackets, lipstick stained cigarettes
  • Trevor:blue glow, dark eyes, writing on bathroom stalls in sharpie, smirks, fast cars, secluded areas, distant cities, stars
  • Matt:bloody noses, car engines, rusted tools, garages, leather seats, spiked baseball bat, maps and red sharpies
  • Mica:shiny briefcases, white paper, purple lights, warm nights, hidden knives, perfect lipstick, whispering, cellphone charms
  • Kdin:pink knives, bloody knees, threads and needles, medical supplies, pastel pink hair, japanese streets, lipstick shaped knives
  • Meg:abandoned streets, blue and purple glow, empty buildings, skin tight leather suit, sharp claws, shadows, beaches at night, dark red lingerie