wasn't as sharp




((i got so happy i made a phone screen of it ○゚ε゚○ ))

anonymous asked:

I had an idea, and it kinda made sense to me. What if the cops are also immortal? Or maybe not all of them but Key members, and they and the fakes have been doing this dance for centuries. They chased Geoff through the French Revolution, caught Jack a few times Stealing planes in WW1, so on.

Oooh! I actually thought about bringing in immortal cops (would be probably the only way I’d have RT people in the LSPD because I don’t want to kill them oops) but I tend to always consider it as more of a purgatory type situation, all gaining immortality at the same time in the cursed hellscape that is Los Santos. I love your version, with the long term historic kind of fahc immortality, because there are just so many ways it could go.

I mean

1. You could go for something really ridiculous and full on, something like immortality itself being stolen in the first place, because humans were never meant to live forever were they? Were never meant to have this kind of power, but where something of great importance exists there will always be people willing to steal it. It’s an object of the Gods, maybe, of the Devils, perhaps, something ancient and terrible, something forgotten and far too tempting to stay that way forever. Not when people like the man who would one day be Geoff Ramsey exist to find and steal it, when the original iteration of Jack Pattillo is around to share it with, not when Ryan, still James, kills them both and takes it only for the dead to track him down and take it back. Not when Gavin has always had sticky fingers, always been a thief, or when any version of Michael would follow him into hell and back, not when Jeremy was always going to jump headfirst into action, touch strange glowing objects first and worry about the ramifications later.

But objects like that don’t stay forgotten forever. Objects like that aren’t left unattended. Others have touched it before, of course, immortal beings who were meant to stand guard, who return to their post to find the object missing. Who comb the earth to track the thieves, playing at law enforcement to avoid detection, avoid even more mortals stumbling across secrets they should not know, but while the criminals are found over and over across history the object is never recovered. 

Even when the FAHC settle in one place, choose fight over flight and demand answers to some questions of their own, even when the trackers infiltrate the LSPD and raid every place the Crew owns, even then the object remains hidden. Because immortal beings the pseudo-cops may be but the FAHC are human, at least mostly, in all the ways that count. Human in their creativity, their deviousness, their cruelty. Human in their their unlimited ability to adapt, to learn and conquer, to outwit anything and anyone no matter how old, how timeless. So war is waged right under the nose of society, each side keeping their secrets but neither concerned with collateral damage, a city turned battleground for those who cannot die, the nightmare that is Los Santos.

Then again:

2. It could be far more simple, where immortals just somehow happen at some point, with no connection to one another, except perhaps some sense that there are others, an odd pull to one another. In the way of humanity throughout history the divide between these immortals is simply human nature, the inclination of some to use their advantages selfishly while others look to protect the greater good. 

The Fake’s, of course, are individuals who upon realising their own immortality quickly work out that they are now in a better situation than anyone around them, that they can do just about whatever they want with no real consequences, and go wild with the power. Thieves and mobsters, criminals and cult leaders, notorious names in history and unknown puppeteers - over the years the one-day members of the Fake AH Crew have done it all.  They meet up eventually, hundreds of years apart, perhaps temporarily as rivals but overlapping interests and shared ability quickly sees them joining forces. Sees them becoming the most dangerous group history has ever seen. That history keeps on seeing, in many different forms and under many different names over the years but never any less formidable. 

The eventual immortal members of the LSPD, who’ve been everything from soldiers to international intelligence to vigilantes themselves were never any less dangerous. There have always been famous detectives, always been soldiers who survived the unsurvivable, law enforcement who’ve gone above and beyond, and like the Fake’s these individuals are eventually drawn together under their shared quest for justice. Imbued as they are with a sense of virtuous purpose, assured their role on earth is to police the corrupted immortals and prevent them from raining hell upon normal people, these officers have long been just as merciless as the criminals they hunt. They’ve dogged the Fake’s wherever they’ve gone for centuries, first individually and now as a group, set up for the long haul in Los Santos, doing their very best to curtail the criminal behaviour and prevent the death of those who will not come back to life. It’s a battle they are all locked into now, a duty for the police, a defiance for the FAHC, bloody and vicious and all kinds of unforgiving, on and on into eternity.

Or alternatively:

3. For the less serious sort of version of the FAHC - immortal criminals vs immortal justice seekers, still at odds of course, always pitted against one another as the Fake’s fight for selfish gain and power and the cops fight to keep them contained, but maybe it’s all become a bit mundane. Maybe eternity has given them all a bit of perspective, thrown them together for far too long to stay entirely objective, to keep themselves separate. They are all the only immortals any of them know, after all, the only ones stuck in this loop, so maybe they’re on opposite sides but they’d have to talk to one another now and again. Eventually learn more than names, learn like and personalities, not friends, no, but certainly a kind of camaraderie, a familiarity that could almost be fondness in the right light, inevitable after countless lifetimes in each other’s presence. Inevitable when there’s no end in sight, no grand finale, no true winner or loser in this never ending pantomime of life and death. 

Sure, no one likes dying, no one enjoys the pain or the inescapable flicker of fear, no one wants to explain away their lack of injury or, when the death is too public, create a whole new identity, but you can only take murder personally for so many centuries. Can only hold onto anger for so long before it becomes a little trivial. A little childish. No matter how much Hollywood loves to romanticise supernatural grudges the reality is far less passionate - do anything on loop for 500 years and the fire is sure to dwindle, the emotions mute, shit gets fucking boring.

The never ending battle wages on, the conflict between two sides that will never see eye-to-eye, and the ever-changing nature of society and technology keeps the fights themselves from growing too stale, but when you run side-by-side with someone for this long there are only so many righteous monologues you can make before you start feeling a little silly. Sometimes you’re going to see Geoff and Jack at a cafe getting breakfast, or Lindsay and Jeremy at the store debating hair dye brands, and you just have to keep walking. Sometimes you’ll sit down next to Michael and Gavin getting drunk at the bar, will see Trevor and Matt filling a shopping trolley with energy drinks and candy bars, spot Ryan wandering around without that ridiculous mask he’s picked up this time around, and just move on.

Because you’re enemies, yes, and tomorrow you’ll be back at war, but today you’ve got a date or tickets to that one movie or haven’t had a coffee yet. Today you’re tired or hungry or just need to talk to someone who isn’t Frank because honestly fuck Frank anyway he’s been hung up on that one ruined shirt for seventy goddamn years, Christ almighty. So you look away, or they look away, or you exchange awkward nods that are perhaps less uncomfortable than they should be, silent acceptance that you’ll pick this fight up another day. Because hey, there will always be another day.


It’s 2 am and I watched the entirety of the bee movie when I did this sorry

On one memorable Valentines day Ryan gives the whole crew hearts. Not chocolate hearts or candy hearts or even heart-shaped balloons, oh no. Fresh, hand-picked, unequivocally human hearts. More thoughtful than any store-bought gift if he does say so himself.

They’re carefully thought out, each presented differently; If Ryan’s going to do something then he’s going to do it right, wasn’t about to just throw slabs of bleeding meat down on the table and call it a day - he’s not an animal.

While it took the longest to obtain, Geoff’s is the  most simple. Sitting in a basic cooler, nothing fancy, easy to identify and not meant to last. For Geoff the gift is not the organ itself but the inevitable demise of the man it came from, the involuntary donor who’s crew will no longer be trying to push their way into Los Santos.

For Jack there is a necklace, long and elegantly simple, the tapered rose-gold vial engraved with a small heart that makes her smile. Its unassuming, decorative and fashionable, perfectly belying the way the lid is sealed shut to preserve the ash within.

Ryan has never stuffed a heart with explosives before, hadn’t quite anticipated the difficulty of it, but his efforts are instantly rewarded by the involuntary way Michael snorts into laughter at the sight of the fuse snaking out of an artery. Its impossible not to join in when it goes off, humour infectious as Michael’s eyes light up, bellowing his amusement as gore rains down around them.

Ray receives what another might consider a serial killer’s love letter. A dismembered hand left in his favourite spot points him in the direction of a warehouse containing carefully arranged entrails which in turn lead to a breadcrumb trail of teeth. Thoroughly entertained Ray follows blood and gore all around the city before finding himself on the roof of an open-air parking garage, a giant blood red heart painted across the floor with the real deal placed carefully at its centre.

Gavin’s heart is in a ornamental jar, carefully preserved, bloodless and somewhat alien in appearance. It’s an almost shocking display of thoughtfulness, concession to the fact that Gavin, of all of them, would be the most disgusted, yet also somehow the one most likely to want to keep his gift. When he doesn’t have to smell it, feel the muscle gone cold in his hands, deal with the red stain of someone else’s life, Gavin is really quite delighted with the whole deal. Absolutely horrified, sure, but in that squirmy gleeful kind of way he gets, amused by his own revulsion, calling Ryan disturbing and lovely in the same breath.

Jeremy, who knows he definitely hasn’t been with them long enough to warrant a heart of his own (thank god?) watches it all play out with a bizarre mixture of amusement, horror and the tiniest pang of longing that comes along with feeling left out. At least until Ryan appears before him, as silent and terrifying as always, and thrusts a black plastic bag into his hands before ghosting away. The moment of shocked dread (whereupon Jeremy instantly realises that yeah nope warm-fuzzies of being included aside he did not need a human heart in his life actually thanks) is instantly washed away by helpless laughter when he opens the bag and catches sight of the anatomically-correct toy heart smiling cheerfully back at him. 

anonymous asked:

I like your concept for the rest of the season regarding Legends and Time Bureau. I gotta ask what happens when the mandatory season crossover happens? Does the Time Bureau get panicky when Legends disappear for a bit? Rip's never been part of the actual big crossover so he'd have no idea what happens. Do they pop up all jealous like to take the Legends back from Teams Flash and Arrow? What happens?

This is early on in their relationship, so the Time Bureau doesn’t even notice for the first few days (assuming the crossover time period lasts about a week). Then someone, probably Rip, notices that things are running a little too smoothly.

“Oh no,” he says. “When was the last time one of you ran into the Legends?”

The rest of the agents look around at each other and shrug. “Um, it’s been a few days,” Gary offers.

“This is bad.” Rip scrambles for the nearest pieces of Time Bureau technology he can reach and starts hitting buttons like a madman. 

“I don’t understand,” Sharpe says. “Isn’t it a good thing if the Legends aren’t around? Maybe they’ve stopped their ridiculous quest to fix aberrations.” 

“No, no, no–they’re the Legends.”

It hits the rest of the Bureau at the exact same moment. Sharpe sums it up the best, her eyes going wide in sheer terror: “Oh no.”

The rest of the week is filled with panicked jumps to various points in history, either ones with aberrations the Bureau has yet to mop up or just the largest fixed points–because it’s the Legends, if they’ve gone radio-silent that probably means they’re about to destroy all of time. 

…which is why it’s such a surprise when one of the Bureau’s time ships nearly runs full-on into the Waverider. 

“Where have you been?” Rip demands once he recovers from the shock. Note that he and Agent Sharpe have teleported themselves onto the Waverider, and he’s standing arms-crossed and frowning in center of the bridge. 

Sharpe assumes the exact same position a couple feet behind him. “We’ve been worried sick.”

The Legends exchange confused glances. 

“Are… you here to try arresting us again?” Jax asks.

“We haven’t even done anything this time,” Nate says.

“Except helped save the world,” Mick adds. “Again.”

Rip blinks. “You did what now? It’s been a week and you haven’t interfered with a single time aberration…”

“Oh!” Ray grins. “No, we got a message from our friends back in 2017. They needed our help–something about evil doppelgangers on an alternate Earth? Don’t worry, we defeated them.” 

“Wait a second,” Sara says, turning to Rip and Sharpe. She smiles, and Rip remembers the many times he thought she was going to kill him. “You were worried about us.”

“We were worried you’d broken time again,” Sharpe huffs. She glances down at her stance and quickly uncrosses her arms, changing her frown into a glare. “Um. It was a valid concern.”

“Yes, it was,” Rip agrees. 

Sara’s grin only widens. “Aw. Next time we visit our friends, we’ll text you first.”

“That’s not–” Rip starts, but the Legends have all begun to wander out of the bridge. Mick raises his beer bottle in offhand acknowledgement. Jax mutters something to Amaya, who laughs. “That’s not what–” Rip tries again.

“Say hi to Gideon before you leave!” Sara calls over her shoulder. 

Rip and Sharpe, alone in the bridge, look at each other in exasperation. 

“Hi, Gideon,” Rip says mournfully.

“It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Hunter,” Gideon says cheerfully. 

Sharpe clears her throat. “…Let’s just go back.”

“Yeah,” Rip agrees quickly. “Please,” he adds under his breath.

This is worse than the time the Legends got him a Father’s Day card.

Los Santos is toxic, a poisoned paradise destroying gods and demons alike, the evil and the innocent and everything in between. The city draws in victims, providing wealth and fame, power and anonymity, but nothing comes for free.

You don’t get to be top dog without accepting some losses. You sure as shit don’t get to stay there without making sacrifices. It’s all fun and games in the heat of the moment, terror and exhilaration one and the same when blanketed in adrenalin, but this life of theirs doesn’t come cheap.

There’s a debt that must be paid in blood and sweat, in tears and fears and panicked pain. In last breaths and dying wishes, regret and loss and bittersweet survival.

Accepting your own demise is one thing, easy really, the inevitable outcome of the choices they’ve made, the lives they’ve lived. Accepting that you might not go first, that you’ve attached yourself to people who’s deaths loom as imminently as your own, well that’s a truth far harder to swallow.

Most crews create a kind of distance, keep professional loyalty separate from deeper emotions, know that in Los Santos even family can only be temporary. The FAHC displayed no such restraint, but maybe they should have, maybe then they could have saved themselves from the greedy, desperate kind of love that comes with an expiry date. The inexplicably accepted promise that one day it will all be over, their carefully constructed kingdom will come crashing violently down, and there’s no chance they will all make it out alive.

But then maybe it’s not so surprising, such recklessness from a crew who treat devastation like devotion, who smile wide around bloody teeth while they rip their city to shreds. The crew who seek no salvation, who look for comfort in gunpowder and gasoline and find solace in each others ruin.

Los Santos is a deadline, the last stop disguised as endless opportunity, a cemetery that will bury them all, but the FAHC aren’t running. All things end, after all, and what is there to fear when even death itself is merely one last vicious victory.

Big Ben's Big Introduction
  • Jamie Benn: Hey, have you seen Tyler?
  • Jason Spezza: The last I saw he was butt-naked on the top deck of the bus trying to conduct a drunken choir, so I really have no idea.
  • Patrick Sharp: Wasn't he with you, Jamie?
  • Jamie Benn: Uh, he was staring at my dick at the urinals, then looked at all the other guys' dicks and fist-pumped yelling, "I win!" Then he wandered off.
  • Ben Bishop: ...

500 words of messy angsty unrequited soulcest because there’s never enough of it floating around. would probably continue and rewrite this when I’m not swamped with acads lmao


tommy can’t help the clench in his chest when he sees that face, so achingly, hatefully familiar yet wondrously foreign, staring straight at him and only him, for one heart-stopping moment.

his world freezes and it’s an alien feeling, because he isn’t running but the world is still. he isn’t running but everything around him is slowing down. it should feel impossible, it should terrify him and strike him down with panic and fear, but instead he just feels calm. billy’s here. everything is as it should be.

later he’ll wonder why he didn’t take the chance to run the moment they broke him out. or, more accurately, the moment he’s had his fill of looking at billy, immortalizing the way his face looks with dark hair and dark eyes in his mind, then sprinting off before any of them would notice. but he listens to kate and he fights alongside eli and they all come together to bring teddy back. it’s a hollow victory, standing to the side as billy throws his arms around him, around teddy- this otherworldly golden-haired prince of a boy who had loved and protected billy when he hadn’tdidn’tcouldn’t. Ididn’tkowyouwerewithmeinthisworldIfeltsoalone- with all his might.

and it’s not as if he expects to suddenly have a space in billy’s life, that the other boy would just drop everything to keep him by his side but- who is this boy? and he is just a boy, as green-skinned and super-powered as he may be. why does he get to hold billy and pull him close and lay a hand on his shoulder or his back so easily, so perfectly and casually intimate? what gives him the right to have what tommy never knew he wanted, what he never knew he’s been missing all his life?

he’s not entitled to anything from billy, he knows he’s not. not his time, not his concern, not his brown-eyed gaze nor his toothy smile. certainly not his home. not the open invitation to become part of his new- no real, loving, supportive and entirely deserved- family.

and the drs. kaplan tell him that if he’s billy’s brother, then that’s good enough for them. and tommy doesn’t cry but he thinks he kind of wants to because in this life, his own parents were never this kind, never this selfless. in this life, billy calls him brother and it hurts more than it should. I don’t know you, he wants to shout. I was supposed to be your mirror, I was supposed to be the one at your back, I was supposed to be the one who knew you more than anyone else did. why don’t I know youit’snotfairIwould’velookedforyouIwould’vefoundyou but he didn’t. and he doesn’t know this billy.

so he runs.


he meets another dark-haired boy and he’s got scars and he’s got lightning shooting out of his fingertips. it’s not blue like billy’s, not as hot and not as familiar. but he likes to think their mouthlipsthroatthighs would’ve tasted the same.

his sadness doesn’t stare out of windows like billy does. sometimes, when he feels it creeping in, he climbs up into rooftops and runs in place as fast as he can for what feels like hours but is probably just a couple of minutes until it’s gone again. 

there’s no misery tommy shepherd can’t outrun.