you are dump

hoechlindylan  asked:

wtf! you'd thank an anon for being concerned about you but constantly sass me for doing the same?? 😤 that is IT, emma elizabeth, i'm breaking up with you and taking all the mugs with me 😤

I can’t believe you are dumping me and stealing my mugs all on the same day??? What kind of person are you??? 

Except

now I kind of want a Sterek AU where Derek has a killer mug collection and he and Stiles are locked in an ongoing war where Stiles tries to steal them - like Jake and Holt in B99. 

By year three, they get together. Stiles finally manages to steal one mug - Derek is very good at guarding them - and instead of tackling Stiles to the floor like a normal werewolf Derek goes and kisses him to try and get it back, the dork. Unfortunately for Derek, Stiles is a very good kisser and he never sees his mug again (at least, not until Stiles is taunting him with it via snap chat). 

Stiles uses all sorts of tactics (although every time he plans to use Derek’s post sex sleepy haze to his advantage he fails because Derek just wants to be cuddled after sex  and what kind of monster would refuse to cuddle such a beautiful, sexy nerd after sex???? Especially when Derek does this thing where he kind of purrs and sniffles into his pillow before working up the courage to ask for contact. Like, Stiles just can’t ignore that. He’s only head over heels, you know.)

As the years go by, it’s a game they still play and when they have kids the kids help. Little Mia and Jay help daddy, dressing up in Star Wars outfits and yelling MAY THE MUG BE WITH YOU to each other before an attack (Stiles has never been so proud, even if this does always give the game away). Lily and Jack are firmly Team Papa though - they aren’t any better at defending the mugs than Mia and Jay are at stealing them (mostly because Jack always caves in and gives a mug to Stiles anyway because he can’t handle the pressure. Stiles and Derek always have to gives him lots of reassuring hugs and kisses after each game). 

By the time the kids are leaving for college, Stiles has half the mug collection for himself and even though he and Derek still like to play, mostly they give each other a mug on special occasions. For Valentine’s day, Derek gets his Hufflepuff mug back, and for Stiles’ birthday, he gets to have the pleasure of drinking from Derek’s special History Nerd mug for the rest of the year before giving it back.

The collection only gets bigger as the years to by too as Stiles buys Derek a new mug every other month and if Derek can find where Stiles has hidden it before 24 hours are up he gets to keep it in his collection. If not, better luck next time, Hale! HAHAHAHA!

To be honest, they have just as many mugs as Derek has books and Stiles has weird, magical things lying around. But that’s okay, that’s them. They don’t mind the constant ribbing from the pack and their family because each mug is another moment, another memory. Each mug is them and they wouldn’t trade even one, not for the world. 

“Well, maybe for the world.”

Stiles, please don’t ruin the nice moment for once?” 

“Yes, Mr Hale.”

“Oh for fuck - Stiles. NOT IN FRONT OF THE DOG.” 

Tbh female orochi looks like the kind of girl you’d fall head over heels for and have a wildly passionate and unforgettable affair with before she suddenly and not-so-unexpectedly dumps you to move across the country and never contacts you again so that you always look back on her with a mixture of bitterness and awe at her sheer unattainability

anonymous asked:

You get off on posting sad poems so ppl think you were dumped and feel bad for you

hey, there! thanks for your message. I actually would prefer no one assume anything about my personal life, thanks! also there are plenty of other budding and established writers to follow if you don’t enjoy what I’m doing here.

anonymous asked:

So I know this is probably a really dumb question? But do people just like NOTICE good looking butts, or do they have to make themselves look at people's butts and assess them before they can judge them as good looking or hot or whatever...?? Do people get aroused looking at other's rear-ends? Or do they just go 'nice' and that's it??? I just don't really understand and I don't know who to ask about this!! Aahhh!!

I have no clue I really don’t understand how people can be attracted to the muscles that help you walk and take dumps

lunaria-tsukano97  asked:

About your BF trying to flirt with you. If both of you are Virgins, WAIT UNTIL MARRIAGE! It's worth it, trust me. If he still want to do it with you, but you don't, and he STILL wants to even after you explain you don't want to. DUMP HIS ASS!

YYYEAAHHH!!! GURL POWER!!

>:O

Little Miss Chubs[2/2]

Originally posted by btstaeken

Word count: 1,892

Genre: Fluff and a hint of smut

‘Hi can I order delivery please?’ The voice over the phone asked.

‘Oh sorry my dear, we don’t do delivery…’ Ahjumma said.

‘Ahhhhjummmaaaa~ Did you forget about your promise already? This is BTS’ Kim Seok Jin!’ Jin said in his exaggerated whiney tone.

‘Ohhhh! You should have said earlier! Of course I remember BTS! And I also know you’re the one who eats really well!’ Ahjumma was ecstatic.

She hurried with the order list and ran to the kitchen. She shoved it in my hand and gave me a wink before strolling out to mend the counter.

‘3 roast chicken, 3 kimchi fries, 4 soda and delivery by the lady boss herself.’ The note wrote.

You rolled your eyes; knowing immediately that this must be Kim Seok Jin’s order. You were going to dump the order in the bin as you did not do delivery, but you recalled that ahjumma had promised them, and a promise is a promise. Besides, business with an entertainment company might just bring you lots of extra customers. So therefore, you gave in and prepared the food order.

‘Ahjumma, I’m heading out to deliver the food!’ you called out.

‘Hold up! My goodness, you look like a mess and smell like a mess. Hurry up and do a bit of washing up. You’re a girl for God’s sake!’ Ahjumma grabbed the package from my hand and pushed me to the locker room.

You hastily picked up a fresh set of clothing, consisting of your usual oversized plaid shirt and shorts. You proceeded to freshen up, only to realized you did actually stink quite a bit.

 

As you arrived at the given address, you followed the instructions to ring the intercom. You were immediately buzzed up after you recited the supposed ‘code word’ – chicken jjang. You wondered if this was really the code word the idol group used on a daily basis.

The front door to the apartment on the highest floor in the inner most alley was wide open when you arrived. You knocked nonetheless and called out. There was no response so you reluctantly let yourself into the apartment.

‘Hello? It’s chicken delivery?’ You called out.

‘Hold on. I’m coming!’ You heard a muffled voice coming from the bathroom.

‘You’re here!’ Jin exclaimed with enthusiasm as he put on a loose singlet while walking out of the bathroom.

You managed to have a peak at this toned body hiding underneath his singlet and you were amazed by how much more sculpted your childhood friend has become over the years. His hair was still wet from his shower and small water droplets still covered part of his body. It was sexy as hell.

‘Uh.. Yeah… Yeah…’ You shook yourself out of your embarrassing trance.

‘Are you alright. You seem out of sort?’ Jin approached you and place his palm on your forehead.

‘Sit down, I think you might have a fever.’ Jin insisted as he dragged you to the living room.

‘What are you talking about? I don’t have a fever!’ You defended. Secretly, you knew you were just flustered from checking out your old friend.

‘Well I am the oppa and I think you do.’ Jin argued.

‘Oppa?! I only know you as the greasy pink princess.’ You stuck your tongue out, teasing him of his childhood nickname.

‘Why won’t you just call me oppa even after so many years, little miss chubs!!’ Jin was annoyed as he squished your cheeks in his hands like he used to do when you were kids.

‘Hey! Stop that! I’m not a kid anymore!!’ You protested.

‘So adorable. So does our little miss chubs have a boyfriend?’ Jin ruffled your hair.

‘Erm… It’s none of your business? I don’t recall us being that close?’ You answered.

‘That’s why I am trying to get close to you again. Is that a yes? Do you have a boyfriend?’ Jin asked again.

‘Why would you want to get close to me?! Didn’t you said I had no pride?’ You retorted.

‘Look, I’m sorry for what I said then okay, I was immature and I regretted saying that the moment it came out. So do you have a boyfriend or not?’ Jin asked again.

‘Fine, I’m not that petty, I’ll forgive you. Now, will you pay up so I can get back to work?’ You asked.

‘Answer my question first!’ Jin replied.

‘Forget it, I’ll just pick it up from your manager.’ You said as you took out your notebook to make a note to collect Jin’s food money from their manager.

Just then, Jin snatched your notebook away from you and scribbled something on it.

‘Do you have a boyfriend? Yes/No  (circle one)’ The note said.

You rolled your eyes at your childhood friend’s silliness but gave in this time.

‘No’ you circled and handed it back to Jin.

‘Good. Do you want to date me then? Yes No (Circle one)’ Jin handed the notebook back to you.

‘Not funny anymore Jin!’ You pouted, mildly annoyed at Jin for turning your lack of suitors into a joke.

‘I’m not kidding! Why would you think I am kidding?!’ Jin tried to defend himself.

‘What?! Because you’re THE Kim Seok Jin. BTS’ Jin and I am a chubby greasy chicken store owner?!’ You were getting more annoyed as Jin seemed to be so engrossed in his little teasing act.

‘What’s wrong with chubby? I think you’re cute! And I love that you own a chicken store! Have you seen me eat? I even have a section called ‘Eat Jin’!!! Jin Exclaimed.

‘You’re nuts! I’m leaving!’ You called out.

‘You haven’t answered me…’ Jin held onto you.

You turned around and looked at Jin, there was sincerity in his eyes, you knew that look, he wasn’t joking.

‘You’re… you’re being serious…?’ You asked in a small voice.

‘Look chubs. After I yelled at you in high school, I realized I was angry with you because the one I wanted to date was you, but instead, all you could do was worry about all the other girls in the world. I knew I hurt you and I did not have the balls to apologize. So when I moved away and lost contact with you, I made a promise to myself that if we meet again and that we are both single, I have to ask you out. No more time for regrets chubs.’ Jin confessed.

‘Wow.’ You responded.

‘Wow? That’s all you have to say?!’ This time Jin was the one getting annoyed.

‘I… I mean… this is totally unexpected? We were always fighting and we were worlds apart, furthermore right now. We are like universe apart?!’ You were getting animated.

‘I guess that’s a no then?’ Jin asked.

‘Actually…’ You said as you started unbuttoning your plaid shirt.

‘Woah, this escalated quickly???’ Jin shot his hands up, flustered by your action.

‘Shut up and turn off that horny brain of yours!’ You barked at him as you continue working on the buttons.

Inside the plaid shirt, was a white T-shirt with Jin’s face on it and the tagline ‘I love Jin Oppa’.

Jin’s face lit up and a smirk creeped on his face.

‘You love Jin oppa?’ He teased.

‘I love Jin oppa.’ You answered shyly.

‘I love Jin oppa too.’ Jin blew you one of his signature cheesy kisses.

You smacked him for teasing you.

‘Forget it! I’m leaving!’ You pulled your plaid shirt together and stormed out of the apartment.

Before you could get to the door, Jin blocked your exit and walked towards you, causing you to back into the house again. You were centimeters apart and it made your breathe hinge. Afterall, you did have a secret crush for Jin since you were a child and everything that had just happened was so surreal that you did not know what was real and what was an illusion anymore.

‘Do you love Jin oppa like how I love little miss chubs?’ Jin asked.

‘I would think so…’ You answered quietly.

‘Good.’ Jin said as he gently raised your head and reached forward to place a gentle peck on your lips.

You instinctively closed your eyes and his soft warm lips drew you closer to him. It was like a drug and you moved forward as Jin pulled away.

‘You smell nice.’ Jin commented.

‘Thank Ahjumma. She made me shower before I delivered.’ You confessed absent-mindedly, too anxious to have the set of soft plump lips on you again.

‘I will thank her personally later.’ Jin said before he satisfied your cravings by landing his lips on yours again. This time, it was more passionate and more hurried.

Both of you seemingly moaned on cue; possibly both dreaming for this day to come for far too long. Before you know it, Jin was pulling you as close as he could to you as he guided you to his room. You were completed enchanted by your greasy pink princess, for now he was the sexy pink prince instead. Soon enough, you were both tearing up (not literally) each other’s clothes and as he threw you on the bed, your eyes feasted on Jin’s toned body. You wondered where on Earth did all the food he eats go.

‘Checking out my hot bod?’ Jin blew you one of his kisses again.

‘Shut up!’ You protested.

Jin giggled as he crawled above you and peppered you with kisses.

Your warmth intertwined and soon enough your bodies were in harmony as well. Despite not seeing one another for ages, sex felt natural together. It almost seemed like this was meant to happen and your bodies were meant to be placed together.

After the blissful, sexy encounter, you realized you had been gone for far too long and had received 10 miss calls from the chicken store. You hurriedly put your clothes back on and rushed for the door.

Your newly minted boyfriend pulled you in for another kiss again, unwilling to let you go.

‘Come on, I really have to go. I’ll call you once I am done with work tonight ok?’ You coaxed.

‘But… I need to catch up with my girlfriend…’ Jin whined and rubbed his face on yours like a cat.

‘Stop it. You’re so silly.’ You giggled.

‘Silly for you!’ Jin replied, cheesy as usual.

Just then, Taehyung and Jimin walked into the dorm just in time to witness the mushy encounter between the two of you.

‘Hyung! I thought you were sick?’ Jimin asked.

‘I remember you! You’re the pretty chicken noona!’ Tae exclaimed.

Jin and you were both flustered. You seized the opportunity to escape from Jin’s firm grib, bowed at his two members and rushed out of the house.

‘Bye Jin!’ You turned back and waved before you ran away.

A cheekily proud grin was plastered on Jin’s face, afterall, you did only say goodbye to him.

‘Hyung… you have a lot of explanation to do!’ Taehyung broke Jin out of his trance.

‘Come come, have some chicken.’ Jin attempted to distract the boys.

‘We’ll accept your chicken, but you still have lots of explaining to do hyung!’ Jimin said.

‘Fine. Just don’t tell rapmon I lied about being sick okay?’ Jin asked as he handed a box of chicken to each boy.

‘DEAL.’ The two younger boys called out.

roleplay wish

To have more people doing TWD Doctor Who crossover AUs. There’s already Shane and obviously 306(Daryl) so it would make sense that the rest of them are roaming about Gallifrey II. I’d love a Carol, Jesus, Rick, and maybe even Negan but anyone would be amazing. Even OCs. Their names don’t have to change either because Shane’s name didn’t. Well, his last name was dropped for obvious reasons. There are great houses that can replace their human last name or they can be a regular Gallifreyan without a last name. BUT YEAH, I’D LOVE MORE PEEPS. If anyone is interested you can IM or message me and I’ll give you the information dump on all of the stuff. Or if anyone knows anyone that would be up for something like that I’d love recs to message.

takecare-takecare-takecare  asked:

I've got another thing! Barilla's Pronto posta doesn't have to be drained after cooking. It absorbs whatever water doesn't evaporate away (there's instructions on the box, & a conversion chart for making smaller amounts). The cool part is this lets you use just one pan to make a whole pasta meal - you just dump the sauce in with the pasta to heat up after the pasta is finished. It's super easy (mostly involves waiting and occasional stirring) and actually a decent meal, especially with salad.

Barilla’s is on the boycott list due to their anti LGBT stances. FYI.

literally just told her wow thats weird that you two are super good friends again and you both dump your s/o on the same day at the same time and it was just kind of weird to me? but i mean if youre gonna just softblock and attack my mental stability for making shit up then be my guest whatever makes you feel better about yourself~

thepaincake  asked:

I hope Maze's End gets a reprint in MM3 as well, 'cause that seems like a fun deck to play in limited.

Marsh Flats is #239 and Misty Rainforest is #240. No Maze’s End in Modern Masters 2017.

It’s dreadful in limited anyway. You spend all your turns dumping your mana to get lands while your opponent just beats your face in.

let this man call his brother cute

sometimes I wonder if everyone who hates pineapple on pizza has ever had pineapple on pizza or is just reacting to the concept of it

When they’ve got him in the interrogation room every officer seems to have the same question; was it worth it? With all that happened, with how it turned out, the years of drunken revelry, the constant media attention, the heists, the hubris, the way it ended in a bloodbath the likes of which Los Santos has never seen. This is your legacy Ramsey, was it worth it?

They ask like his answer means anything, ask like they even care what he thinks, ask like they don’t think he feels anything at all. They ask like it wasn’t his plans that brought him here. Like it wasn’t his plans the led to six body bags and a single pair of handcuffs, a room full of tactless officers and a kingpin with no one left to call crew. They ask like can’t help themselves from asking.

Was it worth it?



There’s never a serious discussion, no big heart to heart, but there’s no escaping the fact that the Fake’s all know they are dying in slow motion. More or less signed their own death certificate’s years ago, living on stolen time, and sooner or later they’ll find themselves in the ground.

They took Los Santos by storm and defended it with their lives. With each others lives. Have sacrificed themselves and the ones they love to a city that takes no prisoners. They fought hard for their crown, and kept on fighting every single day to succeed, to profit, to reaffirm themselves as the city’s biggest bads. They knew that they would only be unstoppable until they aren’t. Until the day they fall, and eventually they must fall.  

Even after all the years of action, all the blood, sweat and tears they’ve poured into this empire, everyone knows there is no such thing as retirement for the Fake AH Crew; for all they’ve already trained their own successors the frontrunners of the reigning crew in Los Santos will never be allowed to simply step down and move aside when their time is over. Between old enemies and constant rivals, members of law enforcement and anyone simply looking to boost their own reputation, there are countless numbers who would hunt them to the ends of the earth. Everyone knows, one way or another, the FAHC is going out bloody.

And by god, did they go out bloody.



The Fake’s die halfway through the afternoon on a Tuesday. What a fucking inconsequential day right? They were owed a Friday at the very least, were meant to go out past midnight, meant to go out in a blaze of glory. They were meant to go out all together. They weren’t meant to go out at all.  

The wheels fell off weeks before, a series of questionable jobs and public fights, a level of disorder totally out of line with the crew’s trademark cohesion. Rumour has it they were rife with in-fighting. Rumour has it after all this time the cracks were finally showing. Its easy, afterwards, to read into the events that came before, to manufacture clues, to swear the writing was on the wall for anyone to see. In reality no one saw it coming. In reality the whole damn city was taken by surprise.

Maybe they bit off more than they could chew, maybe they were distracted, out of sync, or maybe it was just the inevitable finally catching up with them but in the end the Fake’s wind up in a firefight they aren’t winning. After endless years of near misses and close calls, of lucky runs and brilliant timing, after thousands of impossible victories, the FAHC finally lost.

To lose like this, picked off one by one, powerless to save themselves, to save each other, must have been their worst nightmare. With every body on the ground those left only grew more furious, more reckless, lose whatever feeble grasp on self-preservation they ever had, throwing away any possibility of retreat in favour of retribution. It wasn’t enough.

In the end the only one left breathing on either side is Ramsey. The scene finally gone still, silent, the echoes of screams and gunfire fading away into a shivery stunned kind of shock. They say Ramsey’d fallen to his knees amongst the grime, iconic suit near indistinguishable under all the dirt and ash, the blood of men and women who thought they’d live forever. He kneels there in silence while sirens grow ever louder, makes no move to flee, doesn’t even look up from bodies as cars scream to a stop around him.

The messed up thing, the really fucked up part? They say Ramsey was laughing by the time the police got there. Say he stood and brushed himself off, surrounded by the bodies of those he claimed family, drenched sickly red while his empire lay in ruins, and laughed. And god doesn’t that confirm what everyone’s always thought, doesn’t that just prove he always was a monster. Never cared for anyone, for anything, not really. People used to say the one thing Geoff loved was his crew but it seems Ramsey’s cold-blooded ruthlessness won out in the end.



In the fallout of a travesty, of a victory, of an unexpected bloodbath, in a stark grey room faced with a distressingly apathetic villain, in circumstances none could have predicted, all the detectives seem capable of asking is if it was worth it in the end. They ask and ask and Ramsey’s answer never changes, his cold smirk never fades, so calm and unconcerned they catch him glancing at the clock, as though he’s bored. As though even now he’s got somewhere better to be. And still, full of horrified disbelief, they have to ask.

Was it worth it? Yes. Was it worth it? Always. Knowing what you know now, knowing how it ends, how they all go down for you, would you do it all again? Every damn time. Surely you have regrets, you had to know one day it would end like this.  

Oh baby, who says it’s over?



It comes together as a joke more than anything, the cumulation of too many late nights followed by too many bad movies. Their last job was tense, a heist with months of preparations and so much on the line, and while they’ve certainly celebrated their victory like royalty they didn’t come away unscathed. The injuries, numerous though mostly minor, serve to once again remind them all how lucky they’ve been so far. How most don’t make it nearly this many years without tragedy, couldn’t be in the game this long, let alone running the game this long without signing up for devastation. How losing a member, to outright death or crippling injury, is without a doubt only a matter of time at this point. How such a loss will be so much worse in this ridiculously close-knit crew than any they’d experienced before.

Sobering thoughts, combined with the difficulties of winding down after endless weeks of  stress eventually leads to the discussion they never have, the question of what else they could be doing with their lives, what choices brought them here, what they would do if they could just step out, sign off, retire. It’s not that they’re bored of this life they’ve built – how could they be when the world is their oyster – but there’s no denying the fact that after all this time terrorising Los Santos doesn’t quite thrill them like it used to.

If you’d asked any of them ten, five, hell even two years ago they’d have scoffed at the idea of ever retiring, would have sworn up and down that they wanted to go down in flames, to end with a bang, and at the time they meant it. At the time it was true. It still is, in a way, they’ll probably always see something dreadfully appealing in going out on top, but with every passing year it’s harder and harder to look at a room full of people they love and consider playing a role in their deaths. Every time they get hurt it takes a little longer to heal, the old aches and pains are becoming more prominent, and their ever growing patchwork of scars have started looking less badge of honour than they do morbid countdown. Obviously they’ve still got it, still in their prime enough to keep their crown, but between age and gratuitous injury, time is creeping up on them all.

The Fake’s used to joke about the end, said whoever lasted longest won, got to make off with the fortunes, live like a king, but that reality isn’t quite so funny anymore. The idea of surviving, of being left behind with nothing but cold hard cash and heyday memories is enough to make them physically ill. So maybe retiring doesn’t seem quite so unappealing anymore.

Maybe a passing comment way too late at night, after far too much mixing of alcohol and pain meds, in the spirit of some dumb con movie they’d all been heckling, was enough to plant an idea. A ridiculous, unrealistic, completely unattainable idea, but still an idea nonetheless. They’re all a bit hung up on it, still joking, still assuring one another that they aren’t serious, but still bringing it up all the same, running through all the possibilities.

It would take far more than simply disappearing; they have too much wealth and notoriety, have far too many enemies, the world is simply too easy a place to comb through these days. People, at least the vast majority of people, would have to be convinced not to come looking. Convinced there was nothing to look for, nothing to track, would have to think the absent members of the Fake AH Crew were in the one place no one could ever reach them.

There are ways, of course, to feign death. For those with the right contacts, with endless money and enough resources, there are ways to trick the body into something close enough to pass, at least for a time. But even then it’s not so simple; there must be witnesses, there must be evidence, crook and cop alike must be sure. Of course with a public death comes increased risk- it wouldn’t do to go so far in their act that appearances became reality, to go to such lengths to imitate death only to wind up that way regardless. Somehow, someone’s going to have to play guardian, prevent anyone’s corpse from catching a stray bullet to the brain, or jerking back to life too late with guts already laid out on an autopsy table. Someone has to be ready to whisk them all away, and who do any of them trust more than the man they’ve been following all these years. The boss they’d die for. The boss they will die for.

They don’t talk about it, because no one wants to admit it might be happening, no one wants to burst the bubble, to invite reality to rush in and crush the unbelievable thought that the Fake’s might get a happy ending, but at some point they stop laughing. At some point they each quietly start getting all their ducks in a row, using their free time to organise their affairs.

No one questions the way Geoff and Jack have started having day-long meetings with the support crew in-between jobs, the way Lindsay’s spending far more of her time recruiting than ever before, the way Gavin’s taking calls at all hours of the day, rarely in english, clearly haggling over something. They don’t wonder why all their money is getting moved around, why Ryan and Michael are busy collecting all outstanding debts while Jeremy and Ray are plotting the layout of the police station, the morgue.

It’s all happening on the down low, all behind business as usual, but eventually, after nearly a year of quiet organisation, they are just about ready to disappear. All that’s left is the bang, the flashy smoke and mirrors, the hook to stop anyone coming after them, anyone even thinking to track them down. One final step, one last decision to make, a choice they must commit to as one or not at all. All they’ve got left to do is die.



Over the years the Fake AH Crew has grown exponentially but the original elements have never drifted apart, never gone looking for something else or turned on one another. The crew has flourished, become a full blown empire, but nothing can touch the unity of the innermost members, as strong now as it have ever been. For all their loyal familiarity was mocked back in the day, for all their closeness was seen as a weakness, after all these years it seems only death itself will seperate them now. If they had the chance to evade their own mortality one last time, to get out, to be free, would they make the leap?



The Fake’s die halfway through the afternoon on a Tuesday. Pattillo, the Vagabond, Mogar and the Golden Boy, Little J and Brownman, but not the boss. Well not on paper anyway – any who knew them must know Ramsey’d never recover from the loss. Any who didn’t just know the LSPD took seven bodies away that day and none of them ever came back. It’s not a stretch to assume Ramsey’s survival was a rumour. To believe it wishful thinking, to say he died at the scene or died at the station, delayed injury or the cops cleaning up the last loose thread of the group who’d made their lives living hell for years.

There’s paperwork out there, somewhere, claiming a different story. A report that barely makes a lick of sense, the sworn record that a kingpin arrived in chains and left with corpses, slipped out of his cell like he was never there, without a hint as to how he got free. He disappeared like smoke, not a trace left behind, and none of the seven alive or dead ever resurfaced. The story is embarrassing, inexplicable, and it reflects badly enough on the LSPD that it is quickly buried.

Even if it hadn’t been there are few who would believe it. Few who could believe for even a moment that Ramsey could walk free and not be with the last of his crew, that he would let another run his empire, run his city, if he was in any way capable of preventing it. No, however it went down Ramsey did not survive. It’s fitting, really. No one can live forever and the OG Fake’s were certainty pushing their luck, had been pushing it for years; a crew that close should go out together.



The Fall of the Fake AH Crew isn’t much of a fall, in the end. The seemingly inevitable power vacuum one would expect following the death of the group who’d been running the city for endless years never comes. It shouldn’t be possible but even after the most devastating loss imaginable the the FAHC isn’t toppled from their throne. They restructure almost overnight; many of the oldest, original members of the support crew bow out, disappear on the wind without a trace, but there are more than enough left behind to fill their shoes. It’s almost perfect, almost unbelievable, some of support shuffling into the spotlight while still more unknown faces are revealed to boost their ranks. Their ability to keep their enemies at bay during the turmoil is impressive enough, but it’s the absence of internal conflicts that is truely boggling; there are no betrayals or executions, no public power plays or jealous feuds, somehow the city’s most scrutinised gang managed to completely restructure after the loss of not just their leader but all their key members without a single hitch. Almost like they were ready, like it was planned.



If the Fake’s had the chance to stay together, to start over somewhere else, stop waiting for the day one of them inevitably doesn’t make it home, but in return they had to step away from the action, give up everything they’d built, hand if off to legacy and fade out into legend, would it be worth it?

Apparently, yes. For all of them, from the moment the possibility arises, throughout every conversation, every debate and consideration, with everything they will lose, with everything they stand to gain, every goddamn time without fail, yes.



Somewhere out there, worlds away from Los Santos, a man sits on a private beach. He isn’t armed with anything more than a beer, there are no weapons, he simply sits upon the sand enjoying the breeze. There’s a woman to his right, sunbathing, a man to his left doing the same; golden tans make their startling number of scars stand out in stark relief but the heat of the sun does wonders for stubborn pains. At the shoreline old friends are knocking shoulders, bumping each other nearer and nearer to the water, not quite rough-housing like little boys but they’re getting close, voices rising on the wind.

The single house behind them is huge and noisy, full of music and chatter, full of monsters and overgrown children, the most loyal humans the man has ever had the honour of knowing. In a brief moment of silence sound from the television drifts down to the beach, an American news anchor reporting the latest infraction of some criminal organisation in a far away city; the house cheers and kicks back into a merry roar. Down by the water there is a betrayal, a splash and screeching protest as one winds up in the waves against his will. Safe on the sand, without a trouble in the world, the man laughs.