like how he lowers himself down a bit so he's somewhat on eye level with the kid

anonymous asked:

Some mingyu angst would bc nice like due to being an idol you havent seen him latley and hes all stressed and accidently tells u he doesnt love u anymore hehe can it have a happy ending

“I really like you, and it would be amazing if you wanted to go out with me, Y/N.”

It had been a bit over a year since Mingyu first asked you to date him, his eyes full of hope and a small smile playing on his lips. It felt like it had just happened the day before, and a part of you almost wished it had.

Most of that year had been amazing: he had been so loving, so invested in your relationship and so there that it pained you to be reminded of the present reality, where you were always the one to contact him, got late replies if any, and were able to see him only rarely. It was upsetting, to say the least, yet somehow the memories of how good he could be kept you there, hoping that things would change.

Besides, for those short moments that you were able to see him every now and then, he was, more often than not, much like the Mingyu in your memories: cuddly, sweet and apologetic whenever he felt like he had wronged you, in one way or another. 

Although, even that had started to change, and little by little Mingyu started being distant and tense even with you, saying rash things more and more often and apologizing while rubbing his temples and saying that he’s been really stressed lately.

You supposed you were lucky to know the reason behind the change - as a member of a very popular idol group who had a lot of activities, it was only natural for Mingyu to be busy and tired - but it didn’t make it any less of a bitter pill to swallow.

That evening, you had been fortunate enough to schedule a dinner date with Mingyu, which you had been looking forward to for a good while: those, or any kind of dates, were a rarity. When he had arrived at your place, you greeted him with an excited smile and gave him a hug, trying not to mind the fact that his arms didn’t wrap around you like they used to.

“How have you been?” you asked brightly, leading Mingyu to the kitchen, where you had already taken out some food supplies you’d be using to make dinner together. He smiled weakly, and you could hear him sigh.

“Busy and tired,” he mumbled while following you. “We practice around the clock, and it’s starting to take a toll, especially with all the performances added to that.”

“I can imagine,” you said quietly, saddened by the fact that he had to be working so hard, but didn’t mention it. Mingyu didn’t reply as he looked at the ingredients you had set out.

“Are we making steak?” he asked, seeming somewhat disappointed, at which you frowned a little.

“Yeah, I thought you liked it,” you said with a slightly quirked eyebrow and turned to look at Mingyu, who still had a sourish face on.

“Sure, but I’m not really feeling it today…” he trailed off and sighed heavily. “But it’ll do, don’t worry.”

Food had never been an obstacle before, so you felt a bit upset at his words, but tried to shrug the feeling off. After all, you were with Mingyu for the first time in a long time, and you wanted to make the best out of it. …Or try to, at least.

You cooked with an unusual silence over you, considering you normally talked quite a bit, sharing stories about your days and just updating each other in general. And yet now there was none of that, and what made you feel the most anxious was that not once had he asked how you were or what you had been up to.

Far gone were his regular check-ups on you and his interest in you, on many levels.

“Mingyu, is everything okay?” you asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as you possibly could while feeling like you were next to a stranger while he was the person who had gotten closer to you than anyone else, and got back a low, disinterested hum. “You don’t… seem good.”

He let out a sigh. “Like I said, I’m tired. I’m fine. Let’s just get this dinner over and done with.”

Your heart dropped at his words, which he said so harshly that there was not much room for interpretations: he felt like your date was a chore.

Swallowing, you continued chopping the cucumber that your salad was still missing. “…Right.”

The dinner itself was just as disappointing as the cooking, and you found yourself waiting for it to end, even if - or exactly because - it meant you wouldn’t see Mingyu for another few weeks at least. You barely talked, and even your appetite had disappeared on most part: you could hardly finish the small portion of food that you had taken on your plate.

Not much after finishing his food, Mingyu emptied his glass and sighed. “I should get going.”

If the night had gone any differently you would’ve disappointedly asked him ”Already?” yet now you found yourself feeling indifferent as you nodded. “Okay.”

He took his dishes away and moved on to put his jacket and shoes on while you took your own dishes to the sink, some food still on the plate. Afterwards you went to the clothing rack, where he was getting dressed, but didn’t get too close to him.

Before leaving and mumbling, “Goodbye,” he gave you a quick peck on your temple and briefly placed his hand on your lower back.

As the door closed behind him, you let out a shaky sigh, your apartment feeling a lot colder than it actually was. Anxious, frustrated and sad tears welled up in your eyes at the realization that the only physical contact you had gotten from Mingyu after a month of not seeing him were a quick peck on your temple and his hand on your back for two seconds.

Were you even dating anymore?

The next time you were ’fortunate’ enough to see Mingyu, the tension between the two of you could’ve been cut with a knife. He was visibly tired and you knew how busy he was, but none of it excused the way he had treated you, whether it was via text messages or in person.

That day, you visited him at the dorm, invited by him, yet you were met with barely anything more than a cold shoulder.

“Hi,” Mingyu said when he saw you at the door to his room, and you stared at him.

“That’s all?” you asked, taking slow steps towards him while he sat by the desk in the room. You took a seat on the bed you could somewhat remember belonging to Jihoon, and fiddled with the hem of your shirt. You felt so anxious you might as well have thrown up, but were somewhat able to keep your composure. After all, it had to be done.  “Mingyu… I want to be honest with you.”

“What’s on your mind?” he asked with a sigh and turned to look at you. You clenched your teeth, then clicked your tongue before finally speaking up again.

“I don’t know what’s happening, but I really feel like… you know, if you loved me, you’d put more of an effort into this relationship of ours, or what’s left of it,” you said, articulating each word as well as you could while trying to will your body not to shake so awfully, which was rather futile.

Mingyu blinked. “Exactly.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “What does tha–”

If I loved you,” he said blankly, as though slamming the ugly truth straight into your face.

And just like that, you felt your heart drop, your stomach turn, air leave your lungs, your vision blur with tears…

Something along the lines of the beginning of a heartbreak.

“That’s it,” you said, your voice now shaky and giving away the emotional turmoil you were in, and stood up. Even your legs felt shaky as you walked to the door. “After everything… I’m done.”

It wasn’t until you had slammed the door shut behind yourself that Mingyu started realizing just what had happened, but by the time he had left the bedroom, you were already gone from the dorm. Some of the members had come out from wherever they had been, and having witnessed your rather emotional storming out, were now staring at Mingyu disapprovingly.

“What did you do?” Minghao asked with a pout, his eyebrows in a frown.

Mingyu ran his fingers through his hair and sighed exasperatedly. “Something really stupid.”

“No kidding,” Seungkwan mumbled in dismay and shook his head. Some of the others mumbled something in agreement, and in the end Mingyu groaned and locked himself up in his bedroom.

How had things ended up like that?

You hated going back home, because for most of the journey, there were tears streaming down your cheeks, which attracted way more attention than you wanted on yourself in that moment.

You felt sick to your stomach, your heart was aching, you were cold and shaky, and most annoyingly, your mind wouldn’t stop replaying some of the best memories you had of your relationship with Mingyu.

All of the times he had smiled at you while hugging you, or cuddled you peacefully, or teased you and said he loved you right after, or leaned down to press the softest of kisses to your lips…

“I hate him,” you said through your tears when you locked the door to your apartment behind yourself and threw your bag and jacket to the floor, not caring where they ended up, and toed your shoes off.

Almost blindly, you went to your bed, got under the blankets and grabbed the extra pillow you had lying around, hugging it tight to your chest.

It didn’t stop the ache nor did it make you feel particularly better, but it did give you the tiniest sense of comfort.

Some time later, you heard your phone ring, and upon checking it, saw that it was Mingyu.

Wincing, you declined his call and turned your phone off before returning to hugging your pillow, which you still held close to yourself when you fell asleep around half an hour later, your tears having stained your cheeks and your eyes annoyingly puffy already.

The last thought before you drifted off to sleep was that you should’ve known it wouldn’t be easy to date an idol.

You should’ve known that you were bound to get hurt.

Days rolled by one by one, and with you having blocked Mingyu in just about every platform you could think of, you were slowly starting to feel a bit more at ease.

You still winced whenever there was something that reminded you of him - which was awfully many things, really - but at least you didn’t have to witness his attempts of contacting you, and finally it felt like a good thing that he was too busy to drop by.

During the first few days, you collected most of his things that had in one way or another ended up at your place, into a box. It wasn’t that many things, really: mostly some pieces of clothing or jewelry, some CDs or scents, among everything else.

It was more and more frequently that you found yourself looking out of the window and getting lost in your thoughts, the main one revolving around how much it hurt to hear someone you had loved for so long suddenly say “If I loved you”.

You couldn’t help but wonder when the feeling had first died.

Whether it was because you were drained from energy or because the ringing of your doorbell brought you back to reality from one of such journeys to your thoughts, you completely forgot about the possibility of the visitor being someone you didn’t want to see as you went to the door.

And indeed, as soon as you opened the door, you were met with Mingyu, holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers and looking almost as horrendous as you were.

“Y/N, I want to ta–”

The sight had made your heart skip a beat, and definitely not in a good way, and suddenly you went from feeling nice and calm to full blown anxiety as you shut the door.

“Go away,” you said through the door, holding your hands against the wood as if you were trying to prevent Mingyu from opening it, despite the door being locked already.

“I’m sorry,” Mingyu said, and it hurt you more than you wanted it to when you heard him sniffle. “I’ve been so stupid and I’m so sorry… I shouldn’t have–”

“That’s right,” you said through your own tears, sniffling as you wiped your eyes with your sleeves. “You shouldn’t have said anything, you shouldn’t have treated me so badly, you shouldn’t have–”

“Been such a lousy boyfriend, I know,” he continued your sentence, and you hummed in a reply, sniffling. Mingyu sighed shakily, looking at the flowers he was holding. “I got you your favorite flowers, Y/N. I know how much you like them. Even if you don’t want to talk with me, please accept them.”

Your heart beat fast in your chest as you processed his words, thinking about all the possible outcomes of whatever you chose to do next, and eventually you found yourself opening the door, although very slowly.

“…Come in, I’ll listen, but only for as long as I’m comfortable with. I’ve got some of your stuff to give you anyway,” you said quietly, looking at Mingyu’s feet instead of his face. He nodded and waited for you to move away from the doorway until he took slow steps into your apartment.

In silence, you went to sit on your couch, and a bit awkwardly, Mingyu brought the flowers closer to you. “So… these are for you.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled and looked at the flowers, cursing the fact that they were the very same ones he had somehow managed to give you on your first date as tears welled up in your eyes again, and you had to wipe them away.

Without much consideration, Mingyu got an arm around you and pulled you close, placing his lips to the top of your head.

And as much as you wanted to stay strong and pull away, it was an undeniable fact that Mingyu’s arms were one of your absolute favorite places to be, and in that moment that was right where you needed to be.

“I love you,” Mingyu whispered, and you could feel his tears fall onto your head. “I’m so sorry about everything.”

You nodded and weakly clung onto the sweater he was wearing while holding the flowers on your lap.

“You should be,” you muttered, and slowly lifted your face, tainted with tears, much like Mingyu’s. Your lips quivered and your voice wavered as you spoke. “You broke my heart.”

“I know,” Mingyu said, his lips forming an involuntary pout. “And I’m so sorry.”

You hid your face in his chest for a while, trying to calm down while a surprisingly comfortable silence hung over you.

“If… if you’d let me, I’d like to help you fix it, too,” Mingyu said suddenly, his voice quiet yet still emotional. You bit on your lower lip.

“You can try,” you whispered, sighing. “I’ll let you try.”

“Thank you,” he merely breathed and hugged you close.

You hadn’t forgiven him, no, but you were willing to see how things would play out if you did let him, indeed, try. If it got too much, you could always end it.

But for the time being, you wanted to enjoy the comfort of his embrace, which you had missed more than you could express with words, after months and months of not experiencing it.

“I’ve missed this,” Mingyu noted quietly, his hand stroking your arm soothingly. You hummed. “I’ll make sure that things will change.”

Nodding slowly, you sighed and relaxed against him.

“I’m tired,” you said, and got an amused huff of breath from Mingyu.

“You should sleep. I can go,” he mumbled softly, and blinked in surprise when you shook your head.

“Stay,” you said just as softly, and looked up at him, “I want to be with you for a little more.”

He melted into a warm smile as he nodded and took you to bed, and held your hand while you got comfortable under your blankets and fell asleep in a blink of an eye.

You were surprised to find Mingyu there even when you woke up, but you felt surprisingly serene at the sight. Stroking his hair slowly, you smiled a little when his eyes fluttered open.

“Don’t you have places to be?” you asked quietly, and got back a goofy smile and his hand slowly reaching for your cheek, and when you didn’t pull away, he cupped it gently.

“Not today.”

Admin Scooter

Peaches (Part II)

Here it is, earlier than expected! Hope you enjoy, let me know what you think of it! /Kass x

A mini series about a first meeting between Y/N and Harry, and maybe a start of something great…

Part 1

Word count: 1800

Warnings: None, so far…

Keep reading

one day

In which Garrus Vakarian has his complacency checked by two asshole kids who can’t keep themselves out of trouble.

So @stormcallart-blog​ and @toolatetofall​ made this post which made me spiral into Garrus feels again and I felt like I needed to write something with my two trouble-makers. I hope it’s okay to tag you guys?

There were some days Garrus really, really hated his job.

Sure, he’d never been particularly fond of pushing pencils and pouring over manuals on proper etiquette, navigating rules so convoluted they seemed specifically designed to treat low-level desk jockeys like himself worse than most waste ejection systems on trash freighters treated bodily fluids, getting wrapped up in so much red tape he felt like maybe today was the day his head finally exploded from an asinine mixture of boredom and frustration, but some days were better than others. Some days where he could convince himself that he was making a difference, doing good work keeping the Citadel safe.

Most days he felt like he was repeatedly slamming his forehead through panes of glass, and then being asked to apologize for making such a mess of his slow and inevitable descent into sanitary madness.

It was a matter of pride, though, that he try to keep at it. He understood the family legacy and reputation, how important it was to keep his mandible down and stay in line with all the rest of the sorry idiots working in CSEC just waiting for that tiny beetle beep coming down from command that let them know that somewhere on this damn station someone had looked the wrong way at one of the topiaries and offended the prime minister of some ass-backwards mining empire out in the middle of nowhere.

It was his job. And spirits-damn him, but he was nothing if not a stubborn bastard.

Keep reading

Chapter 37

Jump City. May 24th, 2018. 12:45 AM.

Raven sat cross-legged on her bed staring down at her fiancé’s face with a look of disappointment. They both figured they’d eventually have to get around to it, they just… they didn’t want it to be so soon. Damian’s eyes stared back at Raven’s, mirroring her expression. It was actually rather strange how it worked out; any normal person would be ecstatic at the chance to magically recover from a car crash in seconds. But getting thrown through that windshield had, while rendering him wheelchair-bound for several weeks, allowed Damian to take great strides in his relationships with all of his friends. Among those strides were learning to cook with Jon (for someone who spent most of his time in Kansas as a farmhand, Kent made a surprisingly good pot roast), studying meditation with Garfield and Tara (Beast Boy was surprisingly tranquil at heart, especially for someone who called himself “Beast Boy”), helping Jaime learn more about the previous Blue Beetle Ted Kord (Damian never met the man directly, but his father spoke fondly of him; of all the heroes he’d known, Bruce felt that Kord was the most down-to-earth, the most human), and discovering that Kori had been developing her relationship with Todd and veteran Titan Roy Harper. (To what end this relationship was building, Damian didn’t bother asking. He finally realized that not everything that goes on in Titans Tower was his business.) But of course, Raven knew all this… since she was there for nearly every second of it. She enjoyed spending quality time with everyone just as much as Damian. She even got the opportunity to get to know Cassandra a bit better. While there had been something of a language barrier between them (Cassie was still getting accustomed to English), Raven found a kinship in Orphan quite similar to the one she found in Damian.

“It’s been great, hasn’t it?” Damian sighed as he let his eyes turn back to the ceiling.

Raven smiled as she traced her fingertips along his chest. “Yeah… but we have to get this done.” She sighed, and carefully helped him pull himself up, until he was eye-level with her.

“Well… it’ll be nice to walk on my own again, I’ll say that.” Damian smirked back at the witch-girl before leaning in and giving her lips a quick peck. Raven rolled her eyes and began to tug at Damian’s shirt, which caught the boy off-guard.

“Yeah, I know, it’s weird. But for really extensive injuries, I have to be able to see it to heal it,” Raven explained. Damian nodded, blushing as he carefully removed his shirt and lowered himself onto his stomach in front of her. Raven looked down at the expanse of skin before her, and she had to pause for a moment. Even ignoring the bloody smears from where her lover in his infinite wisdom decided to remove his own stitches, Damian’s back was already covered in battle scars; bullet holes, blade strokes, even what appeared to me claw marks from what had to either be a bear or some kind of big cat…  but beneath all those marks, Damian’s skin rippled with toned muscles and curved with his shoulders and spine. Damian was more on the lean side, no hulking muscleman, but…

It was a good few seconds before Raven realized she still hadn’t laid a hand on him. She was just staring down at his back, running her eyes over every mark, every curve. Damian, however, noticed soon enough, grinning back at her over his shoulder. “Ohhhhh. You’re kinda into this right now, aren’t you?”

“Shut up,” Raven snipped with a little smirk before gently placing her hand on his back, over his still-open wounds from where the glass of the windshield had been. Slowing her breath, her hands began to faintly glow with a familiar violet light, which slowly made its way into the wounds in Damian’s back. In mere moments, the wounds in Damian’s back had faded into more scars covering the canvas of flesh. Raven let out a heavy sigh; the wounds were not deep, but they had been numerous enough that healing them all had been somewhat taxing for her.

Damian swung his legs out in front of him and sat up straight, sliding right off the bed as he picked up his Red X top off the floor and slid it over his head. “God, it’s good to walk again…” the Son of Batman let out a low grunt as he pulled the shirt down the length of his torso. “Now I just have to keep my mother in check while we hunt down this impostor.”

“About that, Damian…” Raven slid across the floor, wrapping her arms around Damian’s waist as she gently rested her head on his shoulder. “Are you sure it’s really her? I mean, if it’s been this long since you even heard from her, how do you know she’s still…”

“Because she’s more than just League…” Damian’s expression went grim as he spoke. “… she’s an Al Ghul. Al Ghuls are like roaches… we’re tough to kill.”

“How much do you know about her?” Batman busied himself at Damian’s computer screen, filling in a brand new file for this mysterious “false X” as he tossed the question over his shoulder to the mother of his child. Talia paced back and forth across their son’s room, wracking her brain to come up with any information she could recall about their adversary.

“She was second in line to be the head of the Demon’s Fist,” the Phantasm began, “before my father died. She was trained alongside Damian for years, and they were nearly equal in skill… but Damian was just a hair’s breadth ahead of her. I terminated the Demon’s Fist project shortly after Deathstroke’s assault on the League, and sent her to handle our chapter in Gibraltar.”

“You gave her her own chapter?” Bruce cocked an eyebrow as he filled out the bio. “You must have had a lot of faith in this kid…”

“My brother’s daughter was bred for the same purpose as my son and myself,” Talia replied. “We were to supplant Ra’s if anything happened to him. Damian was put at the top of the list only because he was male.”

“What exactly happened to your brother, anyway?”

“Dusan? No idea…” the former assassin shrugged. “He’s probably dead. Either way, if Damian is right about this false Red X, then she needs to be our first priority.”

“Of course. Now assuming she’s roughly the same height and weight as Damian, I just need a little more information…” the Dark Knight scrolled back up to the top of the page. “Hair.”

“Black, with a red streak over her face.”


“Heterochromic. One green, one brown.”

“Notable features.”

“A scar over her right eye.”


Talia grimaced. “… Mara. Mara al Ghul.”

Damian stood on the edge of the roof overlooking the river, watching the flowing water shimmer as it moved around Titans Island. It felt good to be on his own two feet again, and even better to be back in uniform. He had been on the sidelines quite long enough, and he was ready to hunt down the false X once and for all. Unfortunately, the false X turned out, if Damian’s assumption was correct, to be his greatest rival: his cousin Mara. He hadn’t even thought about Mara since he was a child. He figured she was stilled holed up somewhere in Gibraltar where his mother had sent her when Ra’s was killed. He figured she’d probably die there, and it honestly never bothered him that much… to put it mildly, he was not particularly fond of Mara. She was every bit as aggressive and arrogant as he himself had been as a member of the League. The difference was that Damian had had family and friends to help him mature into something more than just the living weapon he believed himself to be… Mara had no one.

“Hey. Good to see ya up and about again.”

Damian looked over his shoulder as Garfield Logan stepped up onto the edge beside him. There was a tired look in his emerald eyes, a look that spoke of far more than just physical exhaustion… Garfield had been struggling lately. A moment passed between them, and the Changeling glanced down at his stub and smirked.

“Did you know you can still feel it?” Garfield asked in a low voice.

Damian blinked for a moment. Was this… was this conversation actually about to happen? “Feel… what?”

Beast Boy looked over at Damian before raising what was left of his arm up for him to see. “I can still feel it… it itches. And I can’t scratch it.”

Damian winced at the thought. “That has to be rough…”

“Could be worse…” Logan continued. “the worst is when it gets numb. Like pins and needles… I can’t smack it against anything to get it to wake up, so it just tingles until it burns. It’s brutal.”

Damian sighed. “Garfield, I’m sorry… I never meant for this to happen to you…”

Beast Boy smiled over at his teammate. “Relax, man. You did what you had to do. And it really wasn’t too hard to adjust.”

Damian knew this was a lie; he’d watched Garfield’s transition into a one-handed lifestyle, and it was most definitely “hard”. And slow. And excruciating. Even his transformations were one-armed… even one-winged, in the case of birds. Still, the shape-shifter somehow managed to learn to gallop as a three-legged stallion, cut through the waters as a one-finned shark, and he almost was able to discover a way to stay airborne with only one wing (sadly, he was unable to overcome the laws of physics in this case).

“But y'know what makes it all easier?” Garfield smiled as he turned and looked down to the grassy area just outside the Tower entrance, where Tara lie gazing up at the stars. “Waking up next to that girl every morning. Makes everything worth it.”

Damian let his mind drift to Raven. In his head, he could see her reading on the couch in the livingroom, and he smiled. “Yeah… I can relate.”

Five Time Gold Medalist

Written for @rollertoasteroflife <3 I know it’s not your birthday where you live anymore, but I’m still counting it as such. Happy Birthday!!!

1. When Viktor turns six, everything changes.

He receives his first pair of skates, leather soft and blades slightly dull from their previous owner, but they are magical and lovely and unequivocally his

There, while sliding on the rink, fumbling for hand rails and tending to bruises, the ice seems to caress him like an old friend, welcoming him with each turn and and flick of his blades, simply overjoyed at his arrival.

Where have you been, it seems to say. I’ve been waiting for you for so long. Viktor breathes in the cool air and lets it’s icy presence settle deep into his lungs.

It spreads into his soul, settling a dissonance he wasn’t even aware of. 

The ice, his first and most formative friend, provides him a path to a new life.

Keep reading

Radio Chaos (Pt. 4)

Genre: Smut, Angst, Racer!Jungkook

Word Count: 2,474

Warnings: Trigger warning, sexual content, swearing, etc

Summary: The dark hoodies and jackets they’re wearing hugging and touching their bodies in places every girl is dying to and you find yourself yearning for their warmth. While the unforgiving November wind creeps up your body, you wonder how soothing it would feel in the embrace of a notorious boy.

A/N: You should probably read it from the beginning, otherwise, you won’t know what the hell’s happening

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Originally posted by jengkook

“I heard a song on the radio today..

think it was called six million ways to fly..

And I realized – there’s not a single one for me.
I have nothing to live for.

Oh, come on, haha, you always ask me that! ‘Why am I so sad’… don’t know kid,

I don’t know. 

Life just fucked me up real good before you came
and now, not even a pretty thing like you can fix me.”  

Keep reading

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.

Terrorised x3

1 - 2

Amelia and Owen decide to get a nanny to help out with their 3 naughty children and the 2 latest additions…


Owen had to stifle a smirk as soon as he opened the door. His kids were going to eat her alive. She was a petite girl, no older than twenty, blonde and perky. So very very perky.

“Hi,” she chirped, holding her hand out for Owen to shake. “I’m Susie.”

Owen shook her hand and introduced himself, stepped aside and gestured for her to come into the house. All the coats were on their named pegs, all the shoes were in their assigned places, and unusually there was a clear pathway from the front door, through the hallway and to the living room. Yes, yes, yes- the Hunt family had tidied up.

“You have a lovely home,” Susie complimented.

“Oh thank you,” Owen nodded, amused that she thought two surgeons with five children lived and maintained this ridiculously clean and pristine lifestyle. “Here’s Amelia, you spoke on the phone.”

Amelia smiled and briefly caught eyes with her husband. They needed less than a second to share a look and understand what the other was thinking.

“So nice to meet you Susie,” she greeted. “Please sit down.”

Amelia and Owen took a seat on the sofa opposite the small armchair that Susie chose.

“We’re really impressed with your qualifications. What was your time like at Didcot? I’ve heard that’s one of the best nanny schools in the country…” Amelia opened up the conversation.

“Really good thanks. I was there for a year when I was 18. The kids were so well behaved, I barely needed to raise my voice. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever shouted at a child I’m pleased to say…”

“Wow, that’s impressive,” Owen pondered.

After a short interview and a quick tour of the house, Owen and Amelia decided to introduce Susie to the children and leave her alone with them whilst they went upstairs to discuss their thoughts. Within five minutes, the couple heard a high-pitched ‘STOP IT!’. They looked at each other and grimaced.

“If any child was going to make her scream for the first time, of course it would be one of ours,” Owen sighed. “They love a good challenge.”

“LET ME GO!” they heard from the almost pleading nanny.

They jogged down the stairs, reaching the hallway where Susie was holding a baby in each arm. Maddie was by the front door feeding a garden hosepipe through to Jasmine, who was wrapping it around the nanny’s body in a trap whilst making an Indian war call with her hand to her mouth.

“Jasmine!” Owen yelled, running the rest of the way and grabbing the hosepipe from his middle child. He unravelled Susie, her cheeks flushing and a temper becoming clear.

“HOW DARE YOUR CHILDREN DO THIS,” she screamed. “I was with them for less than ten minutes- I’ve never seen behaviour like it!”

“I’m so sorry,” Amelia apologised, “I don’t know what’s got into them.”

“Well,” Susie huffed, scowling at Maddie who was winding the hosepipe back to its home, “I certainly will not be the one to find out.”

“I’m sorry,” Owen said. “Shall I take them back?” he asked, pointing to Oliver and Evie in her arms.

Susie dumped the twins onto Owen and muttered about disrespect and shocking disobedience as she collected her coat and bag. She stormed out the house.

“Bye Susie,” Maddie called, sweetly smiling and waving her off by the front door.

Keep reading