go FAHC yourself

ABANDONED. fuck haywood. piece of shit motherfucker. i spit on him and everything i ever wrote about his character. i hope people get to heal from all that he did. i will not be writing here anymore.

[fuckthateatshit]

for anybody still following over here, i’m over here now. it’s been a while and i’m still getting back into the swing of tumblr things, but i’m still writing. come hang out if you’d like.

[fuckthateatshit]

hi y’all. formerly vagabuddy here.

given everything that happened last year, i am very obviously not going to be writing ah content here anymore. it took me a long time just to stomach looking at this blog again, let alone posting on it. i may revisit the new fake ah someday, but not anytime soon. i’ll be password locking this blog so i can go through and salvage any non-YouKnowWho related stories before deleting entirely.

i do still want to write on tumblr, though, with different fandoms, so i’ll be setting up a different blog to accommodate my drabbles, fics, and playlists. if you’re still here and interested in reading more (primarily star trek, good omens, hellblazer, a dash of marvel, and some random horror snippets), drop me a dm and i’ll send y’all the url once the blog is set up.

thanks for reading, and good riddance to bad rubbish.

[fuckthateatshit]

i only just remembered that this blog exists, so i’m dropping in to say that i won’t be writing here anymore. or writing any fahc content anymore, ever. i am completely disgusted, i feel completely tricked, and i hope h*ywood’s victims get the justice they deserve. i wish everyone well.

[fuckthateatshit]

vagabuddy :

in this godless year of 2019, here i am making a hunger games au for the fake ah crew, so here we go.

the fakes, a crew not so much in name but in shared action, six former hunger games champions who work together and use their wealth and influence to try to help the people of their districts, who kill peacekeepers and steal food to spite the capitol and every rule they hold over their heads. who mentor the tributes they’re given not because they want to, but because if they can give just one of those kids a chance at surviving the game, they have to take it.

Keep reading

[fuckthateatshit]

Number 7 with the Battle Buddies? (ps I am shy but I love your blog <3 )

7. things you said while we were driving. / battle buddies.prompts list! ( still accepting. )

ryan doesn’t know which is going to kill him first: the ridiculous, insane-even-by-his-standards speed at which they’re taking this winding mountain road, two wheels up on every curve; or the fucking singing.

because jeremy is singing, at top fucking volume, as tiny dancer blasts from the stereo loud enough to shake the car doors, and he’s not even singing words. he’s substituting every lyric to a damn good song with “hap” or “tap”. which, for the first couple of miles, was totally fine and pretty fuckin’ funny, but now an hour and twenty minutes into their drive, ryan is seriously wondering if diving out of the car this high up will kill him, and how fast.

“ for the love of god, use your words, jeremy! “

jeremy looks at him like he’s grown an extra arm, which would be ideal for covering both ears and jeremy’s mouth all at the same time. “ wh — ryan, it’s my signature style! “

ryan gives him the kind of look that turns words into squeaks of fear, the kind jeremy completely ignores. ( it’s really frustrating how bold people get once they’ve seen you trip over a game console with your nightly skincare routine still all over your face. ) “ you’re not gonna have a signature style if you keep that shit up for the next hour and a half. you’re not even gonna have a signature. know why? ‘cause i’m gonna cut your fuckin’ hands off, and slap you with them. “

jeremy snorts, waving at him and taking a turn so tight that ryan has to brace his feet on the dashboard to feel like he’s not about to be launched through the window. “ ehh, i can buy new ones. plus you’d have to drive if you cut my hands off, and only one of us gets motion sick in the mountains, chief. “

“ i don’t get motion sick. “

“ oh yeah? “ jeremy presses down harder on the gas, weaving dangerously back and forth. “ how do you like that, then, huh? you gonna call it bitch disease or somethin’? “

ryan takes it for about fifteen seconds with his jaw clenched before tapping out. “ if i throw up, it’s going to be directly on you. “ and he means it.

jeremy’s smart, even he’s not willing to call that a bluff when ryan’s face is that green. the car abruptly straightens out. “ man, you are just a barrel of laughs today, dude. “

“ y’know, that happens when you have to hear hap me closer tiny tap for two hours straight. “

“ look, you know a better way to pass the time? ‘cause i’m all ears, haywood. and i’m pulling that shit off so good, by the way, i have the voice of a god. “

ryan can’t argue. which is frustrating. but looking out the window, he can make out the brightly-colored backpacks of hikers steadily making their way up a trail. past that, a few more, congregating by the river. and a boat, steadily making its way upstream.

he looks toward the backseat, at the bag of sticky bombs and grenades stuffed under a pile of jackets.

ryan grins.

tiny dancer blares as explosions echo off the mountains, and the battle buddies laugh gleefully as they careen around another turn, two wheels in the air.

[rikurobo]

[fuckthateatshit]

rikurobo :

And to this day no one still knows where he actually was.

Based on this post [x]! 

[rikurobo]

[fuckthateatshit]

rikurobo :

Ryan was sent to the raveyard. The buff purple man will not accept being out-punned by any circumstances.

[fuckthateatshit]

okay but imagine ryan building his own PC when the crew is forced to hide out at some safehouse for an extended period of time. because why the fuck not.

they probably have the parts lying around, gavin has enough hacking equipment of various models, ages, and varieties for them to pick and choose from ( well, technically all of gavin’s stuff is the newest and the shiniest and the best, because he wouldn’t be caught dead without the latest tech, but he’s a magpie who never throws anything out and likes to tinker so there’s plenty of old tech in storage ) and ryan has always been an IT guy at heart.

so one day geoff walks into the living room to see members of the crew settled on various couches and chairs and beanbags ( and in ryan and gavin’s case, the floor ), bitching and moaning about the golden boy and the vagabond squabbling and “taking up the whole fucking living room, assholes!“ but watching them anyway because there’s nothing fucking else to do while they’re all laying low.

ryan tinkering with the graphics processing unit with a little furrow in his brow and a nerdy little look of contentment on his face ( he’d rubbed the paint off some time earlier, but there’s still streaks of red and white clinging to his hairline and eyebrows. ) when it’s not screwed up in frustration and disbelief as he argues with gavin about stress-testing and VR headsets and how PCs are always going to be better than a fucking macbook, look at that thing, it’s gonna shatter like glass if you so much as breathe on the screen.

and finally the thing is done, and ryan takes the kind of breather everyone needs after putting something together --- and believe him, this was easier than ikea furniture, but that doesn’t make him want to put his head through a wall any less --- and goes and eats a proper meal, and swishes around some water so he doesn’t have to break his daily routine and brush his teeth at goddamn six in the evening, only to come back to the lads crowded around his beloved new hand-built, hand-customized machine arguing amongst each other and . . . and are those fucking stickers in your goddamn hands. are they. why is the sheet half-empty, gavin, i’d like to know now please.

ryan plays PC games in silent defeat, on his brand new PC with happy little rainbows and butterflies and emojis and some lisa frank bullshit that he tried and failed to scrape off all over the side of it. geoff laughs until he wheezes, and then immediately tries to download fortnite when ryan leaves the room. for professional, personal reasons that you uncultured motherfuckers wouldn’t understand.

[fuckthateatshit]

it’s 8:03pm on a friday night and ryan haywood/the vagabond’s last words are “that was fun”.   /  based on this.

it’s 8:01pm on a friday night and there are fires raging through the maze bank’s second and third floors, lovingly crafted and cheerfully set, and the firefighters come in through the bank vault, through the hole they’ve had to knock into the wall because every other entrance is booby trapped or blocked by flame.

the vagabond watches them from the alleyway across the street, grinning under his mask. it’s a big enough heist to keep them in the news for at least a week, before the cops get frustrated with not catching them and the news reporters get annoyed with all of geoff and gavin’s taunting notes and find something else to talk about.

8:01pm and there’s a crowd gathering, shaken hostages and partygoers ready to get an early start on clubbing who’ve been drawn in by the commotion. some of them will go home, frightened by the chaos, whispering to each other about whether the fake ah problem will ever be solved. but most won’t. most are used to it. most of them half expect to see the lads waltz in later that night to blow all their explosion-earned cash on expensive drinks and shitty jukebox songs. ryan thinks he might join them, for once. after all, it’s been a while since he joined the crew, and they’re good kids.

he’ll wear the mask, of course. he pulls it down a little more snugly on his face as he thinks about it. they’re not ready for that yet. that’s the friendship boss battle and they’ve barely beaten world six. they’ve got time, though --- he’s got time to figure out if he can trust them or not. he’s starting to think he can.

mind back on the plan. 8:02. the dynamic duos lindsay-geoff and michael-gavin are leading the cops on a high speed pursuit down the highway right now, empty duffle bags dangling out the windows; he can see the chopper floodlights from here, curling around the mountain in pursuit. jack is airborne, slipping silently away with the actual haul in a news copter they stole off the nearby helipad. he, ryan, had stayed behind to cause some extra chaos, keep some eyes on the bank, and now he’s waiting on jeremy with the motorcycle to come pick him up and take him back to the safehouse of the month to await the rest of the team. easy take. they’ve done it so many times before.

8:03. an engine roars up the street and skids into the alleyway. fast. cops must have caught the trail for a bit, but ryan isn’t worried. lil j is good at dodging cops. he waits for the engine to cut, for footsteps to echo his way, but keeps leaning in the shadows. it’s fun, after all. dramatic effect or whatever.

8:03. the cowboy hat rounds the corner. jeremy’s panting, must have been a hell of a chase. ryan waits until he gets a little closer, waits for him to glance behind him to make sure it’s all clear, then calls out “that was fun.”

8:03. jeremy’s head whips around. there’s blood on one side of his face, road rash. pupils shrunk to pinpoints with adrenaline. he looks stressed, ryan realizes. jumpy. nerves worn thin. really close chase. he leans out of the shadows and sees those frantic eyes zero in on the skull, no sign of recognition.

adrenaline. jumpy. armed. no recognition. hair pin trigger.

he starts to put up a hand.

8:0 --- BANG.

[fuckthateatshit]

ryan someone or other --- haywood eventually, but he didn’t really have a name then --- met death in a diner in georgia. they ate undercooked chicken tenders, crashed at his place, and both got food poisoning, and it sucked ass.

then death offered him a job, and after death sees you moaning miserably with your chin on the toilet seat for four straight hours and then sticks around to chug water, watch cupcake wars, and bitch about health code violations with you for the next six, you’re kind of obligated to take that job, just out of respect.

death had a really impressive mustache at the time, but it’s gone by the time they both get to LA, and ryan thinks that without it, death kinda looks like an asshole.

[fuckthateatshit]

literally any of your fake ah crew ships but a good omens au where one’s a demon and one’s an angel and they just misplaced the antichrist (lindsay)

[merlinemryspendragon]

It’s all worked out for the best, though. Just imagine how awful it might have been if we’d been at all competent

[kadywicker]

@obaewankenope asked for “crowley in the bookshop and it’s on fire”

[emilemiblem-deactivated20250119]

A thought about the most recent GTA video: can you imagine a mugger approaching a vehicle, ripping the door open to rip the driver out to steal his ride, and sees the fucking Vagabond. 

and the Vagabond just looks at him and says, “Do it.” 

[funfahcts]

#yesss #ryan so would #grinning and laughing with glee he whole time #BUT #imagine the mugger does it anyway #and as ryan is sprawled across the pacement as the others follow the mugger in cargobobs #ryan is just like     #we have to hire that person via @shadeofazmeinya

Clearly this is how Fiona joined the crew.

[marvel-lous-things]

Bartender: thanks for stopping that bar fight, spiderman. Can I get you a drink? It’s on the house

Peter: thank you, but I can’t

Bartender: why not

Peter:

Bartender:

Peter, trying not to give his age away: I’m pregnant

[eldritchcannon]

Bartender, shook: oh, congratulations, boy or girl?

Peter, now in full-on panic mode: it’s an uh, spider

[moonbeamdagger]

I’m seeing stuff in the notes about “Miles would do this” and I just want to say: you’re absolutely right. All Spider-folks across all universes share one (1) singular brain cell and most of the time it’s Gwen’s.

[seananmcguire]

As the current author of Spider-Gwen, I can attest that Gwen has not seen the brain cell in years.

[marvel-lous-things]

[awesomefitnessrecipes]

Easily Paleo-ified with some tweaks to the stir-fry sauce.

Love healthy food & fitness? Follow Awesome Fitness Recipes on Instagram

[lilesindiecorner]

Caleb|Fjord