they're addicted to it

anonymous asked:

you did it with Ryan, and kind of mentioned it with the one about them being kids on Los santos at the same time but could you consider team nice dynamite being a thing before the fahc?

What a horrifying catastrophe. Not so much terrifying rumour as neon warning sign; the epitome of collateral damage, less interested in taking over the world than they are burning it to the ground.

They met when they were almost painfully young, when Gavin comes all the way to America to work with a crew only to find that they’d misrepresented themselves. Had sold him on a single job, with the possibility of discussing more work, when in reality they had no intention off letting him go. It’s a big gang, nasty, and while they covert his talents they clearly think Gavin is otherwise more or less harmless; quick and clever but easily cowed. There’s an argument, some unfortunate unpleasantness, then a week or two of waiting for some violent action, some futile stand. When it doesn’t come they know they’ve got him, crew leaders more smarmy and self-satisfied than ever as Gavin slinks about the base with drooping shoulders and a permanent guard.

Michael had been working with the crew, not really a full member yet – they were stringing him along, making him prove himself over and over and he wasn’t exactly rushing the process along. He’d gotten involved without knowing enough about them, young and eager to make his mark, only realising his predicament when it was too late to just walk away. It’s not the way things are done with this kind of crew, and Michael resigns himself to hunting for someone bigger and badder to align with or risk catching a bullet to the back of the head.

Michael didn’t know what was happening with the British kid until the fallout, and honestly he didn’t really care. Made him respect the crew less, made him more eager than ever before to trade up and get gone, but he’s no one’s hero and anyone dumb enough to take an offer from Los Santos at face value, swallow the promise of some kind of utopian partnership from strangers across the sea, deserves what they get. The fact that Gavin seemed interesting, weird and bright and funny before the carpet was pulled out from under him definitely doesn’t haunt Michael’s thoughts. Doesn’t make him consider breaking them both out – he can’t go carrying deadweight after all, and anyone who crumbles this quickly will never be an asset. It’s just sad really, kind of pathetic, and Michael does his level best to stay away from him. Doesn’t want to watch Gavin shrink into an obedient shadow, or worse, make a friend only to abandon him in this hellhole when the opportunity to leave finally presents itself.

What he failed to anticipate was the fact that Gavin doesn’t fold like a house of cards, doesn’t resign himself to a new life or kill himself trying to get away. He doesn’t even make a quiet escape, slip out in the dead of night when even his guards are asleep, oh no. This, it turns out, would be America’s first taste of Gavin’s furious wrath, and they couldn’t have been less prepared.

Having kept himself apart Michael was the only one who noticed it happening, the only one who recognised the source of the slow destabilisation of the crew, the surprising origin of countless petty fights and ever growing tempers. He watches Gavin’s idle chatter seep out, tracks the path of poisonous rumours as they spread throughout the crew, and says nothing. Gavin turns harmless words into knives, bows his head to hide a vicious smirk as he talks the crew into gutting itself and Michael, who tried so hard not to look, suddenly can’t look away.

Bringing down the leaders doesn’t take all that much, in the end; when there’s nothing connecting them but violence and power there is no true loyalty, they’re each as paranoid and selfish as each other and all too willing to believe the others might plot against them. It was terrifying, morbidly beautiful, but not quite enough. Not when they’re armed and Gavin isn’t, free when Gavin isn’t, not when eventually they’re going to put two and two together and maybe Gavin is prepared to go down with this ship, die knowing they cannot recover from what he made them do, but Michael’s not done yet. More than ready to stop sitting on the bench, to exercise his itchy trigger finger, not quite prepared for the most interesting thing thats ever happened to him to end so soon.

It’s not even that difficult, really, not with the whole crew fractured and dwindling, when everyone’s too busy pointing fingers at each other to look for threat from the distant outsider. Michael’s let them think little of him for far too long for them to worry about him now, and it’s the last mistake they’ll ever make. What Gavin ruined Michael destroys, neatly foreshadowing the future of their partnership.

The two stay together even once they leave, recognise each other for what they are, kindred souls, matching violence in their smiles, chaos in their blood. The flame and the gasoline, inseparable once combined, delighting in devastation. The reckless carelessness of youth combined with near heartless violence results in a dangerous kind of confidence, flippant and self absorbed, interested in nothing outside their own amusement, refusing to accept the possibility of any line they shouldn’t cross, any difficulty they cannot overcome. What could stop them now that they’re together? What could anyone do but get out of their way? Gavin talks them into fortunes, Michael tears them out of trouble and they both revel in the mayhem they leave in their wake. Relish the ability to do whatever they like whenever they like with no unwanted master pulling their strings.

Not that no one is interested; their reputation precedes them and everyone from big crews to wanna-be somebodies have recognised their potential. Bar some serious behavioural issues they’re basically the dream team if anyone could keep them. Clever, violent, entirely amoral and quick on their feet, appealingly loyal and young enough that they should have been easy to manage if only they could be convinced to care about anything outside of each other, outside of playing and performing and planning the next wild adventure.

It almost shakes them apart, sometimes, that need to do something drastic. Something grand and unforgivable, cataclysmic. Chasing after any flashy thing that catches their attention, forever wanting bigger and more thrilling but lacking any real direction. It has them at each others throats as often as not but they always pull it together in the end, unshakable affection winning out over frustration every damn time, and woe to any who tried to capitalise on their momentary troubles. Who try to pull one away, encourage the rift, who think this priceless opportunity rather than a minor bump in the road.

The more harmless opportunists, the ones who just try to sell their own grandeur, to recruit Michael and Gavin, or worse, one or the other are merely jeered out of the room, left confused and humiliated but still whole. Those who try to contain them, restrain them, pull them back to some degree of responsibility for their actions and force them into deals they have no interest in complying with are simply torn apart. Left as warning, as promise, a reminder that for all their inexperience, their aimless wandering and lack of allies, Michael and Gavin are the furthest thing from harmless.

It’s not that they’d never work with another crew, theres something to be said for a steady home, for someone else to watch your back, to plan your attacks, its just that they have a hard time trusting anyone else. A hard time believing that joining a crew won’t land them right back where they started, that any boss would truly understand that loyalty can’t be taken by force, that allegiance needn’t look like subservience.

So when the infamous Ramsey comes along and offers them a job they turn up their noses, bare their teeth and laugh in his face. When he offers again they try to disappear, ghost away like they have countless times before. When he tracks them down regardless they take out one of his safe-houses in explosive retribution. He comes back and they taunt him, sharp words and defensive sneers. Still again he returns, to threats, to violence, to childish graffiti and a layer of furious distrust coating possessive fear. They push and shove and snap and snarl and do everything in their power to chase him away and every time they think they’ve managed he turns up again, unnervingly mild mannered and relentlessly insistent. He offers and is met with complete disbelief, offers and is met with a million and one questions, he offers and somehow winds up in a negotiation that costs him his car and all the cash in his wallet with nothing in return. Geoff offers more than a job, offers a home, a family, a surprising tolerance for their many quirks; he lays all his cards on the table and lets them try to shred him apart, faintly amused but never condescending. He offers and offers and offers but never takes, never forces, never even alludes to the fact that he could, the way his position of power is so disproportionately greater than theirs. Geoff offers, and in the end they say yes.

8

“No one knows what tomorrow will bring… But I know we will walk slowly together for our tomorrow..” - Guhai & Bai Luoyin / Huang Jingyu & Xu Weizhou

6

A few designs turned into eighteen! @ A @;

Despite D’ly being our lovely model, these are currently not face paints that she wears. That may change down the line.

As for the colors, I picked what I could see best when drawing them. Those might also chance as at some point I want to write an in-depth “behind the meaning” chart of different face paint colors used in Dodo and/or Basilisk tribe.

Inspirations: Padmé Amidala/East Asia, Star Wars, Aboriginal, Mayan, theatrical Lion King, and I really like dots. 

Please, don’t forget me
Cherish me, so that you could feel me
Sing me, remember me
So that I could last forever

staying true to the alcoholism/substance abuse metaphor, can you imagine if Angel acted more like your average recovering addict on media? like Angel going to meetings every other week to talk about not being evil and what’s like to have a soul and being a demon or the rest of angel investigations giving him a sobriety coin exactly one year after the last time he tasted human blood and throwing a big party and Angel finding a more experienced Former-Evil Demon™ to be his sponsor and being a sponsor to Faith himself and guiding her through all those steps and sigh

  • Me: I want all of these new books. OMG. I want them all.
  • Logical Thinking: I have too many books on my tbr and I should probably work on reading those before I buy any new books.
  • The Way My Brain Actually Works: But they're so pretty and they sound amazing and I'll read them eventually. I want them!
2

aty challenge: day eleven ~ sam x poppy day

“It’s not too late to back out,” I add and shove a tray of fish sticks into the oven. “If you have important shit to do, we can call someone else.”
    “Like what?” she asks, arms crossed, more “chill” than even her mother, Poppy. And I really didn’t think that was fucking possible. “Homework? I dropped out of Dalton Acaddemy this year, remember?”
    I slam the oven door closed harder than I intended. “You didn’t drop out.” I already hear her dad in my head. Samuel Stokes couldn’t shut up about the whole ordeal.
                               My daughter is choosing acting over a traditional education.
You’d think Captain America would be upset over the choice, but Sammy was over-the-moon. Like actually proud. I forgot that Sam had been into art growing up, kind of like Poppy, but he ditched his dreams for her. And he ultimately ended up working at Fizzle, her father’s company.
                                           He’s happy she chose her passion.
- Some Kind of Perfect, chapter 33