#fahc michael
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Lindsey Jones and Michael Jones from Fake AH Crew / Achievement Hunter
#lindsey jones#michael jones#fahc michael#fahc lindsey#fahc#fake ah crew#Achievement Hunter#transparent#free to use
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right-hand man michael
michael has always been a fighter. it starts defending his little sister, moves to the smaller kids at school, becomes defending himself when the names get crueler and the insults get nastier. he becomes a Problem, his name synonymous with broken noses and bloodied knuckles and detention. he doesn’t have friends, too busy defending his body to pay much attention to his heart.
it’s not really a surprise his violence becomes his life. he’s picked up by a gang when he’s 16, wandering the streets when he’s suspended again, and he hits back so hard they decide they own his fists now. from there it’s guns and offensive driving and having his reputation as a snarling wolf built for him. he’s less a bodyguard than a barely-restrained direwolf, made to sic on command. there’s too much blood on his hands to leave.
when he sees golden he sees a way out. gold eyes, gold blood, gold flashing off the honed edge of a knife. he’s tired of being treated as nothing more than a pair of fists and he knows when golden looks at him he sees potential. things change fast: he doesn’t realise he’s waiting to see the flash of a golden pistol until he does and suddenly his current kennel master is dead and he’s killing the pathetic dogs they thought he was no better than.
hello, a dripping hand outstretched. how would you like to build an empire?
#fahc#new fahc origins#michael#gavin#golden boy#mogar#fahc Michael#fahc Gavin#i have horrible brain worms and I’m dragging you all down with me
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Michael 'Mogar' Jones and Gavin 'Golden Boy' Free from The Fake AH Crew are kismeses!
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thinking about good at being bad again
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I don't know who, but I just really want 2 (or more) fakes going on increasingly stereotypical/ cutesy/ romantic dates but always insisting to the others it's just bros hanging out. Like it starts with just getting food or something but eventually they're like, going to build a bear together or spending the weekend away. The rest of the crew has known for a while and now there's a bet on about how far this can go before they have to admit they're together
Honestly first thought is this is peak mavin 😂 Just bros hanging out, giving each other nicknames, getting gifts, going on romantic dates. They both are just so scared of being in a ‘relationship’ they fail to realize they’re already in one 😆. Bonus if its jeremavin where Jeremy has known its been dates the whole time only to be very confused when michael and gavin seem surprised when jeremy points this out
#fake ah crew#fahc#mavin#jeremavin#listen fahc michael and gavin r both smart and idiots at the same time
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Stormy Nights [FAHC]
Been a long while since I've posted any writing on here, huh? Thanks so much to the @rtwritingcommunity's secret "sunshine" fic exchange because it keeps me writing when the world is turning upsidedown. Thank you to @shadeofazmeinya for the huge help and basically co-authorship of this fic!
Please enjoy @fornhaus! <3
AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41001033
Word Count: 2711
--
It starts as a sprinkle.
After a heist, especially when it was raining like this, it was common for the Fakes to hole up for a while, disperse their (now growing) crew to tiny apartments and safehouses across the city to avoid detection. The last heist was more… chaotic … than most, which led the lads to duck and run into a seedier part of the city than they would have liked. The apartment was crumbling around them and Gavin gags at the moldy smell as he slams the wooden door shut behind him and slumps onto the couch, already texting someone or something.
Michael peers out the window at the growing storm and the police helicopters and cars racing around the city, lighting it up in flashes of red and blue on dancing raindrops. Thankfully no one was hurt badly — there was no way they were going to be heading back into the city that night.
“Geoff says stay put,” Gavin announces from his position on the ratty couch. “Storms’ too bad to try to regroup tonight. Last thing we needed was one of the three LS storms to hit tonight, huh?”
“All that praying for rain worked out at the worst fucking time,” Michael mutters, moving towards the kitchen to start rummaging through the cabinets. Neither realize that Jeremy had also retreated to the window, silently — uncommon for him — peering out into the rain. The others chatter turns into a quiet monotone behind him as instead the drumming of the rain on the glass panes and the small balcony fill his ears and turn his stomach.
Slipping on wet concrete, going down hard, an ankle snapping like white hot fire…
The others running on ahead, no one turning.
A rough arm yanking him up, a man’s gross breath on his face, spittle hitting as he was screamed at…
Police sirens…
“What do you want for dinner?” Michael’s voice yanks him back to reality and J turns, blinking owlishly, as Michael brandishes a wooden spoon and repeats the question for what seems like the second or third time. “J! Ramen or spaghetti? We ain’t got many options.”
“Ramen’s fine,” he says quietly, turning back towards the window, unable to look away although he probably should. Gavin gives Michael a bit of a sideways look, but neither really press that response. In a clatter of pots and pans, Michael digs out a good one and starts boiling water for ramen, focusing solely on getting food down his hatch as quickly as possible.
It doesn’t take long for the patter of rain to become a sheet, slamming hard against the roof and walls. Jeremy takes an involuntary step away from the window.
"We’re lucky," Gavin hums lazily from the couch, glancing up from his phone as the drumming of the rain becomes unavoidable. "We could've been caught in that shit. Hell of a getaway that would've been."
“Would’ve gotten those fancy clothes wet. Then what would you do?” Michael teases as he stirs the pot, glancing over his shoulder with a bright grin. Jeremy glances at them both, somehow uncomprehending how they could be so jovial. Laugh so much.
Gavin scowls. "Are you kidding me?" he says. "I wouldn't have got out of the car in that and you know it. Don't need to be on the field to hack and I’m more than comfy camping in the car to save these threads." He sprawls further across the couch, glancing over to Jeremy, who was still uncharacteristically quiet. It was enough that it was starting to alert Gavin, who often was the least aware of these things. "What the hell are you doing, J?" he asks. "More than enough room on the couch, don’t gotta stand there like a lump.”
Jeremy turns to look at him, trying to school his expression into something normal, when a lot of things happen at once. A crack of thunder bursts through the tiny one bedroom, feeling like it shakes the apartment from top to bottom, volume tremendous. The rain, already heavy, seems to increase. Gavin yelps from the thunder and again as a large drop falls from a brown patch on the ceiling to hit him on the head, whining wordlessly.
Before anyone can really get their bearings or react to what had just happened, the power flickers once… twice…
“This place is bloody shit,” Gavin pouts, sitting up from the couch, wiping the dirty water out of his hair grumpily, and looking over at the others as the lights flicker. “Power’s not going to last.”
Michael glances between the two of them and frowns as he sees Jeremy just sort of … standing there. Face white, as if he had seen a ghost, just staring up at the light. “Lil J?”
Before he can say anything else, the lights plunge into darkness as another huge crash of thunder breaks across the sky, causing all three of them to jump this time. The rain continues, slamming against the ceiling as if it wants to get in. Michael abandons questioning Jeremy as the whole kitchen shuts off, swearing and immediately trying to save the half-cooked ramen that immediately just sort of starts to congeal. "Fuck!"
But Gavin had caught the look in Jeremy's eyes before everything goes dark as well. He pulls out his phone again quickly, fiddling until the flashlight illuminates them both. Jeremy isn't looking at the ceiling anymore, instead staring blankly at the rain hitting the window…
It's dark.
He huddles behind a dumpster, shivering, hoping that the rain would pass before it fully washes away his pathetic shelter. He was kicked out of the fuckin' T stop by a worker who threatened to call the cops. Like it would mean anything to anyone if he just hung out in the dry for a while, but no, they chased him back out into the oncoming storm. Fuckin' Masshole. Although, he was one too, but at least he had the decency to let people stay dry before he tried to rob them.
He could go back to the gym, but his boss was there, and he didn't want to deal with any of them. So he'd just wait out the storm in the dark, trying not to get too soaked, and hope that it passed fast enough...
"Jeremy!" Gavin was shaking him, enough to rattle him out of the memory that crashed over him like a wave. Was he sweating? He felt damp, but maybe it was just the memory.
"Huh?"
“Bloody hell,” Gavin retorts, shaking his head in relief. “I was gonna slap you next if you didn’t answer. You just went comatose on me there, man. You look sick, what the hell’s the matter? You need me to call Jack?”
Jeremy allows Gavin to manhandle him towards the couch, feeling like he was walking through a dream. He keeps trying to look back out the window until Gavin, frustrated, throws the curtain and blocks the view of the rain and lightning outside.
Michael abandons his attempt to get the stove to restart, swearing, and they all jump again as the whole place illuminates with a flash of lightning. "Fucking thing's dead until the power comes back," he grunts. "Guess we're having crackers for dinner. What the fuck's up with J?" He turns to look at the two of them with his concerned snarl, where you weren’t quite sure if you were in trouble or if he was going to angrily ‘mom’ you.
“Spooked of something,” Gavin frowns, sitting beside Jeremy on the couch and gently taking one of his hands, in an uncharacteristic show of comfort outside the bedroom. “Talk to us, J. Are you hurt?”
Jeremy seems to shrink into himself as the lightning continues to crash around them, obvious even through the closed curtains, flashes of light flickering across his face before plunging them back into darkness. They can barely see if it wasn't for the light of Gav's phone.
"I'm fine," he finally says roughly, shaking his head and seeming like he was snapping out of his trance. "I’m just gonna go to bed." He tries to stand up, to shy away from them. Maybe sleep would make him not see the memories flash before his eyes. The trauma that curled like a snake in his gut.
The lulls in the storm always were what got him. That moment when you thought that the rain was over and everything settles, silent, sparkling. When he could come out from wherever he was hiding, start moving down the street, looking for better shelter.
And then the rain comes again, harder, the sky screaming and crashing, whipping across the ground out of nowhere. He's soaked and freezing, trying to run to shelter, but people don't want him around.
Gavin and Michael exchange worried glances but both move to follow him, not wanting to leave him alone like this. It takes a bit of fumbling in the dark to find the bed, using the lightning flashes to direct them. Jeremy still jumps with every one, and even more with the roaring thunder.
Ignoring the others and really trying to swallow back the embarrassment in his throat at all of this, Jeremy just toes off his work boots and climbs into the bed, hoping in the warmth of the covers and blankets he could avoid the thoughts leaping out from where he thought he had banished them. It’s hard, though. They keep piling over each other to take up space in his brain. He wishes they would just go away, thought that by moving to a desert city he wouldn’t have to deal with storms of Boston caliber ever again. It’s certainly been a long time, but every place needs rain once in a while, and the roof can hardly hold up against this monstrosity. The wind howls around the corners, whips through the cracks, screaming and howling as it tries to shake the whole apartment loose from its foundation.
Despite trying to be, though, Jeremy isn’t alone. Almost as one, Gavin and Michael are quick to curl into the bed with him. Neither were the most tactful “cuddlers” — their current relationship was mostly confined to wild sexcapades — but damned if they weren’t going to try when they see one of their own so distressed. Michael yanks Jeremy into his arms as Gavin wraps his spindly arms around from behind, cocooning Jeremy in a bundle of limbs. “Fuck, Jeremy,” Michael frowns. “You’re shaking.”
It’s awkward and a bit poky, but Jeremy can’t help but relax, the feral part of his brain knowing these boys are his boys and trusting them to somewhere deeply instinctual to keep him safe. A primal part of him saying that it’s ok to draw comfort from them. “...’m fine,” he grunts. A lie, but it feels good to pretend.
“I don’t want you to lie to us,” Michael frowns, laying his chin on his head and dropping a rough kiss there. “You don’t have to. Let us help.”
The thunder cracks again and instead of responding, Jeremy just makes a low noise from somewhere deep inside and shrinks deeper into their embrace. He doesn’t answer, because what would he say? He can't describe a life of trauma in a few minutes. He knows the boys with him won't judge him, that they'll understand and both had shit of their own, but he doesn't even know where to begin.
Gavin just holds him tight, shushing him softly and rubbing his back. “Just breathe, luv,” he murmurs. “We’re here. You’re ok.” It’s easier for him to be comforting without gaining anything from it, a warmth blooming inside him to know he’s helping Jeremy.
"Don't like thunder," Jeremy grits through clenched teeth, somewhere inside the pile. Michael snorts a bit at the obvious.
“That’s alright,” Gavin hums, somewhat more respectful. “We gathered that. Just take deep breaths and we’ll get through the storm together, alright?”
“Aren’t you gonna make fun of me?” Jeremy retorts darkly. Normally it’d be something they’d do, none of the Fakes are above a lot of casual teasing. “I’m — fuckin’ — a bank robber and I can’t handle a little thunder.”
“Gav’s a fucking bank robber too and he gags at wet bread,” Michael teases. “Geoff’s fucking scared of heights every time Jack flies, to the point where he has to sit in the middle of the cargobob or he’ll piss himself. We all have our shit. Doesn’t mean you’re not still part of the team.”
Jeremy’s quiet for a moment before he turns to glance over at Michael, flushing a bit. Despite their … carnal relations… Michael is rarely so affectionate. But it’s nice. “I guess,” he says roughly after a second. “Seems fuckin’ dumb, though.”
“Brains can be stupid,” Gavin chuckles. “But fear is fear. Just means we’re here to help you through it.”
“You gonna let us help you through wet bread?” Michael chuckles as Gavin squawks. The rain continues to rap sharply on the roof and the window and Jeremy is almost thrown once again into another memory of a similar room, a similar rainstorm, being shoved out and alone, his whole world disappearing, but…
Gavin’s arms tighten just gently, the warmth surrounding, and they ground him, connect him to the world around him. Michael can feel him starting to spiral again and wraps his arms again over both of them, only adding more warmth and pressure for Jeremy, like a human weighted blanket. Gavin continues to rub his back and the panic eases, making breathing a bit easier.
He leans against them both as they hold him. “Thanks,” he squeaks. “Appreciate it.”
“We can stay here until the storm passes,” Michael hums. “The good news is they don’t last too long here.”
“I’m not going out in that,” Gavin says immediately. Instead, he burrows farther into the pile, as if it can protect him. “Listen to the wind, and I’ve got my clothes to worry about.”
“No one’s moving from this bed,” Jeremy agrees quietly.
“We can put some music or videos on our phones?” Michael suggests. “Help block out some of the sound.” But he makes no move to untwine himself from the comforting pile. There’s something so warm and safe here that even he can feel.
Jeremy sinks against them, glancing out what parts of the window he can see to watch the pounding rain. But this time, he forces himself to realize, he’s inside with the warmth of his two favorite people flanking on either side of him.
He wasn’t alone, in the dark and the wet.
He was safe. Loved.
Both hold him tight, stealing a kiss or two, just trying to provide as much comfort as they can. It’s not hard to see that they all enjoy this. Maybe this was something they could do often. Not only using each other’s bodies for pleasure, but cuddles too. More soft things. They can be soft, which is a luxury not many in Los Santos can afford.
Jeremy just closes his eyes and releases a sigh, letting them hold him tight against the pounding of the rain. Grounding and protecting him. It’s quiet for a moment before he speaks. “I was kicked out of my old gang during a thunderstorm,” he finally says, more to the ceiling than to the others.
Michael instinctively holds him a little tighter. “Fuck them. Leaving you in the fucking rain. You’re better than them.”
He snorts. “Maybe. Found you guys cuz of it though, so it must not have been all bad.”
“You found where you’re supposed to be,” Gavin agrees fimly. “Though, I wish it had been a kinder road to get here.”
“None of us had kind roads to get here, Gav,” Michael retorts.
Gavin sighs. “I know. But at least we’re here now.”
That statement seems to echo through the old apartment. In different safehouses across Los Santos, the Fakes were shaking off a stressful heist, celebrating in whatever way they wanted, and finding their own beds. And here, three men — a bit rough around the edges but still looking and finding that comfort we all crave — cuddle together. Warm and safe, away from the horrors of the world.
Here now, together.
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All these aus god i missed this in achievement hunter fandom. Aus for days baby. Btw do you have any GTA head cannons for crew dynamics? Your outlaw aus have me rethinking other aus lmao
i'm really glad everyone has been receptive to me and clay's insanity hahaha.
i'm gonna share some of my favs from other members of the community!
mysterious fahc trevor that freaks alfredo out
michael torturing jeremy with you're short jokes
rimmy tim coming out
(my post) rimmy and jeremy are separate people, and twins
(my post) jeremy is rimmy tim but none of the crew recognize him outside of his usual getup
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Two Truths and a Lie - FAHC
(holy shit guys I wrote a Fake AH Crew fic for the first time since 2020)
It was always going to end this way.
The end is the true beginning.
It begins with a card.
Two truths and a lie. The lie is not the one you expect.
Michael idly flips the card between his fingers. It’s a pretty thing, creamy white with golden script, bright white lace-like designs sprawling across the length of it. Two words on one side: be there. An address, date, and time on the other. What Michael should do is throw the card out and pretend he never saw it, pretend that it got lost in the copious junk mail that plagues his apartment mailbox. He should stay on the far, far side of town on that day and time, avoid sticking his nose into whatever is going on. He should expect that it’s a trap, a setup, a bad fuckin’ idea.
He should do a lot of things. Curiosity and cats, and all that, but here’s the thing; nobody ever remembers the end of that saying. Curiosity killed the cat, yes, but satisfaction brought it back.
Sue him. He’s curious.
And why shouldn’t he be? An inconspicuous little business card lands on his welcome mat. Solicitors leave pamphlets and business cards and shit by his door all the time—this one shouldn’t be special. The golden script, though. That makes him pause. Makes him consider. Makes him weigh his options carefully.
And in the end, there’s really only one thing to do.
See, gold is a recurring theme in Los Santos. It’s nothing out of the ordinary considering the millionaires, billionaires, movie stars, models, gold diggers, yada yada—the city is full of rich folks and folks wanting to be rich. Every third guy on the street has a gold watch. Every other lady has something gold—a ring, a necklace, whatever. Movie stars and gang leaders and girls dressed to the nines—they’re all flaunting golden jewelry, exotic cars, fancy clothes.
So why, then, did the color gold become such a tell in the city’s underground?
Michael can’t pinpoint the moment it started. Spray paint, metal plating, smoke, and ink. Something dripping gold sunk its fingers into the city in a way Michael’s never seen before. And while he hasn’t been in Los Santos overly long, he can tell you it’s not the norm. It wasn’t like this in Liberty City or in Jersey, certainly, and it wasn’t like this when he first arrived in LS. The city was gritty. Grey. The pollution is so thick you can feel it between your teeth, like grit after a fight or soot from an explosion. The cement buildings are grey, grey like the fog over the ocean, like the bleak alleyways and bleaker lives of the average people who live here. The first touch of gold was like a breath of fresh air in comparison.
Something stirs in the city of saints, and Michael wants to be there when it wakes.
Jack’s cleaning up shop when she sees it. A little white business card, fluttering in the cool breeze provided by one of three fans she’s got spread in her garage. Every time there’s a heat wave, power cuts out in her neighborhood. There’s little to do besides power up the generator, grab a beer, and settle down to work on her cars. Machines are easy. People, less so. It’s for this reason Jack owns a garage—people drive cars, sure, but they don’t pay her to talk. They pay her to fix.
It’s odd, then, when this little white card flutters towards her, skipping along the floor with a bounce in its step that Jack hasn’t seen in years. This city has a way of beating people down. Even the lucky ones like her have fallen on rough times, and the golden script on the card is therefore what catches her attention.
Four words: I have an idea. A location, date, and time on the other side. Jack considers the card carefully before slipping it in the pocket of her shorts.
It’s a bad idea, is what it is. There’s no reason she should go looking for trouble. Times are hard, even for the lucky ones like her. But the gold script gives her pause.
There’s been a shift in the city, these last few years. Jack has lived here long enough to have felt it. It’s no different than a little rolling earthquake; the rolling sensation means it’s far away, but it shifts the ground and everything on top of it. Sometimes things fall, and sometimes the walls or pavement crack, but life goes on around the reminders of that little split-second event.
The evidence remains, however. Something has settled into the city, cracking the pavement and the walls, and slowly the cracks have filled with gold. Kintsugi, it’s called, the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with gold. Few people would look at the withered and broken city of saints and deem it worthy of repair, but something has. Gold slithers into the city like snakes, and it leaves its mark on things. An influx of exotic cars. Looser lips at the bar by the racetrack. The wealthy place bets like never before, on cars, on racers, and Jack notices.
If she has a chance to see where all this gold is coming from—why shouldn’t she?
Jeremy’s lip curls up into a snarl when a waitress brings them a drink with a business card underneath it. She’s already disappeared back into the throng of the club, or they would have called her out on it. Jeremy lifts their beer in one hand and flicks the business card with the other, watching as it twirls away with a flash of gold.
Wait.
Jeremy reaches out with the toe of one boot and slides it back to their chair, picking it up carefully and quickly. The card itself is white with lacy designs spread across it. On one side is a time and location. The other side reads, Nice job out there =) Bored yet?
It draws an honest-to-god snort out of Jeremy. They take a sip from their beer and tuck the card in their pocket.
Not many people know what Jeremy does. Rimmy Tim is a fair bit different from Jeremy, with the wild getup and crazy colors and loud vehicles. Rimmy Tim just finished a job up in Sandy Shores, their fists deployed against a handful of rednecks with guns and drugs. Jeremy, on the other hand, because that’s who they are tonight—Jeremy has a job as a pizza delivery person and two clueless roommates they’re lucky enough to count as friends.
So who in the world figured out that Jeremy is Rimmy Tim, and vice versa?
It should be upsetting. It is, to a degree, but not in the way Jeremy would expect. Whoever sent the business card clearly wants something. The location and time are evidence of that. And Rimmy Tim just had a spectacular time with a drug bust. It’s more than likely that whoever is behind this wants their particular skillset. But why approach Jeremy, when Rimmy Tim is plenty easy to find on the frequent jobs they take? Why go through the effort?
The gold inscription on the card calls to mind a particular golden gun. Rimmy Tim has only seen it a few times, and never the person wielding it. It’s small. Silenced. And the hands holding it never miss a shot. The golden gun means a swift end to whatever opposes it, and not in the way that a bullet means death. No; that golden gun stops gang wars in their tracks, assassinates the most corrupt politicians, brings genuine fear into the eyes of the LSPD.
Jeremy sips their beer and steadies themself. Whoever is behind that golden gun is worth standing beside. Things in Los Santos are about to get interesting.
Trevor stares slack-jawed at the wallet in his hands. He’s got half a mind to chuck it off the pier and into the waves below, because it’s way too good to be true. Muggings don’t usually score him one thousand dollars. Either his unfortunate victim was loaded, or this is a setup. He shuffles through the bills quickly, and ah-ha! There’s a little white business card nestled between them.
Want more? It says in smooth golden script. The other side simply lists an address along with a date and time.
Trevor definitely should throw the wallet off the pier. He does, upon further consideration, but only after tucking the bills and card into his pocket. He may be an idiot, but he isn’t stupid enough to pass up what appear to be ten real hundred-dollar bills. After a quick scan of his surroundings, Trevor steps back into the crowds and blends right in. His victim is a quarter mile up the beach, and the LSPD have already given up their search for the mugger. Unfortunate, really.
Could his so-called victim have been the person behind the gold and white card? He wasn’t anything special looking. Messy brown hair so light it bordered on dark blonde, expensive sunglasses, nice clothes. One of Los Santos’ elite, or more likely the kid of one of Los Santos’ elite. Some rich shmuck with more money than sense who poked his nose where it didn’t belong. At least, that’s what Trevor understood from looking at the guy, and his intuition is rarely wrong. See, Trevor’s good at figuring people out. He’s good at finding what makes them tick, at learning how they move and act, and he’s even better at using that knowledge against them. Muggings are easy, then; give him a target, and he can have them all figured out after a few hours of observation. This guy was no different.
So why, then, is Trevor so unnerved by the presence of a little white business card?
The golden script gets his brain going. He pulls out the card again and turns it over and over in his hands, studying it. It’s high quality. The golden text is actually engraved into the creamy white paper, and a textured finish has been added overtop the card in a pattern akin to lace. Someone spent a pretty penny to make this card.
Someone with more money than sense.
Trevor considers this. Considers the fact that this job was a setup, and not an ordinary mugging. His judgement of character is rarely wrong—but perhaps he saw what was meant to be seen, and not what was truly there.
He smiles and whistles as he walks back to his apartment. It’s not the end of the world; he’ll just have to get a second look. And he has a convenient little card that gives him such an opportunity.
Matt is going to scream.
Something’s wrong with his tech. And that’s decidedly not normal. He’s built eighty percent of this stuff himself. He knows his computers and his network better than the back of his hand. Nothing should ever go wrong with it to the point he can’t fix it.
Matt curses under his breath and locks his door. His roommates are home and he’d really rather not have them barge into his, uhm, gaming setup while shit’s going haywire. His lights turn off suddenly, plunging the room into darkness. Matt flicks the switch on and off a few times—no power. And it’s odd, too, because he can hear Jeremy and Trevor playing a video game in the living room. The apartment itself still has power.
It’s just Matt’s setup that doesn’t.
The thought sends an icy chill down his spine. He’s compromised. Someone found his location and managed to out-hack the hacker. Names and faces flit through his mind along with hastily cobbled-together escape plans. Who could have figured him out? Honestly, the weakest links in the chain are his roommates, but he’s been so careful and neither Jeremy nor Trevor have seemed off lately. And they’re perfectly fine in the next room, arguing loudly over Halo.
So who…?
Without warning, the printer comes to life with a godawful clattering sound. Matt shrieks and whirls around to face the offending machine. Fuck, he needs a new printer. If that thing made his whole goddamn side of the apartment short out…
But no, it appears someone is fucking with him after all. The printer happily slops ink on the fake ID he’d been in the middle of designing, spitting the card out with a horrid rattling scream. Matt picks the card up with shaky fingers and flinches when the lights flick on again, allowing him to read what’s been printed.
Lovely little place, it reads in golden ink. The other side lists a day and location.
The computer flickers back to life along with the rest of Matt’s tech. All of his screens should be displaying CCTV footage, but each individual camera’s footage has been replaced with a stylized sunglasses emoji, gold lines stark against a black backdrop.
Matt sits down at his desk and smiles sharply at the screens. Game on, motherfucker.
Jack scouts the area from her Entity. It’s a nondescript little building up the Great Ocean Highway, well outside of town. She pulls into the nearby gas station at sunset, buys a soda and some snacks, and settles in for a stakeout. She doesn’t plan to go in, but she plans to see who does. She’s got a gun in each of her thigh holsters, a full tank of gas, and a pair of sharp eyes that miss nothing.
The sun sinks below the waves and casts a lovely pink hue across the sky. The light fades slowly to purple, then grey, then the inky blue of night. Stars wink into existence. The time stamped on the white business card in golden script fast approaches, and one man approaches the building across the highway on foot.
Michael eyes the run-down building by the side of the highway as he approaches. It’s old and worn and grey, and from the looks of it, nobody’s been living or working there for a long while. The windows that aren’t boarded up have been shattered. Headlights from the highway illuminate a sea of glass on the concrete foundation. The back corner of the building is nearty tucked into the hillside with a high concrete wall with thick barbed wire warding off any attempts at break-ins. He can’t see inside, but Michael would bet money that there’s no easy way into that back corner from the inside, either.
And Michael has never been the lockpick kind of guy.
He hefts his rocket launcher with a grin, aims, and fires.
Matt’s in.
Despite being abandoned for twelve years and eight months, someone has kept a CCTV camera running in a little decrepit building on the coast. The building itself used to belong to some loan servicing company that went out of business. Everything useful seems to have been stolen from the building, according to LSPD reports responding to break-ins. Except—Matt found plans, blueprints for a room in the back of the building. It has no entryway.
Seems like someone had something to hide.
Matt watches the camera like a hawk for days leading up to the date printed on the card. Nothing changes until five minutes prior to the printed time, when an explosion rocks the building and debris tumbles down the hallway. Through the opening provided, a solitary figure slips inside.
Trevor slinks through the shadows and into the previously sealed room. Someone had blown it open from the far side, causing the rest of the wall to cave in. It allows Trevor to get inside easily. The explosion was a surprise, yes, but Trevor knew there was a possibility of others being here, of this being another part in the setup he’s allowed himself to walk into. The thousand bucks he got the other day will keep him and his roommates fed for several months, easy, but if there’s more…
Well. Trevor knows people. And he knows how to keep them away from his score. Whoever fired the rocket will wait for a response before entering. The woman staking out the place at the gas station has a loud car that he’ll hear long before it approaches his position. And the buff guy with the gun and parachute backpack crouched high on the hillside above will have to get past both of them in order to get down here. Unless—unless they’re teamed up. Shit.
A thump on the roof has Trevor regretting every decision that led him here. He pulls out his pistol and backs himself into a corner, surveying the room around him. Nothing stands out, no briefcase, no vault, no treasure. Nothing to hide behind. He grits his teeth and flicks off the safety.
Jeremy’s pretty sure they’ve got about thirty seconds before the guy with the rocket launcher reaches the building. So, they do the most stupid thing and jump in ahead of him, hoping to secure whatever’s in the sealed room and make a stand inside. Maybe not the brightest idea when they’re up against a rocket launcher, but they’re banking on the hope that rocket-launcher-guy wants this score as badly as they do. Jeremy dives into the room and eats a bullet with their vest.
“Oh, ass!” Jeremy shrieks. They scramble further into the room, away from rocket-launcher-guy, only to roll out of the way of a second shot. Fuck, oh fuck, the gunman is inside the room!
An engine roars. Heavy footfalls in the rubble outside draw closer, closer, and Jeremy swallows thickly. Rocket-launcher-guy comes into view with his own gun in hand, and while it briefly points at Jeremy, it quickly trains on the gunman further in the room.
Fuck. Jeremy whips out their own pistol and points it at the gunman, wincing at the realization that a CCTV camera is pointed directly at the commotion. Not only that, but there are more footsteps making their way through the building.
Oh, they are so fucked.
Jack’s glad she brought multiple guns. She trains one on the tall and thin gunman in the corner of the room, and one on the garishly colored guy crouched in the rubble to her right. The man who’d blown the building open snarls at her, and aww, isn’t that cute?
“What the fuck is going on here?” Jack demands. “What’s the big idea?”
The gunman in the corner shrinks in on himself. Poor guy has three guns trained on him at the moment. Jack doesn’t envy him.
“Fuck!” the guy blurts. “I came for the score! Jesus Christ, you guys can have it!”
The gunman to Jack’s right freezes. “I’m sorry, Trevor?!”
Trevor, if that’s his name, points his gun at the walking fashion disaster. “Jeremy?” he demands.
As if by some unspoken agreement, both of them move. Trevor points his gun at Jack; Jeremy points their gun at rocket-launcher-guy.
“Dude,” rocket-launcher-guy says. “Which of you told me to be here? This is confusing as fuck.”
Nobody answers.
Rocket-launcher-guy does a double take. “Wait, seriously? Then who the fuck was it?”
“Wasn’t me,” Jeremy says. “But I bet you it’s whoever is watching through the CCTV camera.”
Jack looks over her shoulder and, sure enough, there’s a camera pointed right at them. Shit.
“Nope,” a distorted male voice says through whatever shitty intercom system was left in the building. “I also would like to know what the hell is going on.”
Jack lowers her guns. “Did none of you send the business card?”
Rocket-launcher-guy lowers his own gun and fishes a white card out of his jacket pocket. “Not me,” he says.
Jeremy and Trevor lower their guns and pull out their own white cards.
“I got one, too,” the guy on the intercom says. “Someone used my printer to print it out.”
Jack holsters her guns and frowns. “What was the score, anyways?”
Trevor shrugs. “I dunno,” he admits. “I mugged a guy with a grand in his wallet, plus the card. I figured there’d be money in this place.”
Jack fishes out her own card and shows it to them. “That’s not what mine said.”
Rocket-launcher-guy crosses his arms. “So there’s nothing here? Well, that fuckin’ blows.”
“Aww, Michael,” a new voice coos. Jack whirls around and has both guns up and aimed at the newcomer before he can blink. “I wouldn’t say there’s nothing.”
Jack hears the sounds of guns being raised behind her, but the newcomer seems completely unintimidated. He leans back against the wall of the hallway, arms crossed loosely over his chest, smirk on his face. He’s got messy brown hair, a blue dress shirt, jeans, and sneakers. He’d look completely uninteresting if not for the golden sunglasses, the golden gun holstered at his hip, the golden watch on one wrist.
“You’re the guy I mugged,” Trevor says. “Who the hell are you? And what do you want?”
The golden boy grins. “I had this idea,” he says. “There’s this lovely little place that’s never successfully been broken into. I’ve robbed every other bank in the city. I’m bored. I want more. And I need a crew if I’m going to pull this off.” His grin turns sharp, menacing. “Will you be there?”
Los Santos has a way of beating even the most stubborn and resilient of its citizens down. It’s easy to get lost in the grit and grey of the city, what with the pollution and fog and bleak concrete everywhere you look. But something, someone, looked at the city and saw an opportunity. A fresh start.
The end is the true beginning. And it was always going to end this way.
The true beginning, then, was not with the card.
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i haven’t even thought about this kin in a hot fuckin MINUTE but recent events have me reminiscing sooo. shoutout to my crew, i miss and love you guys. not to be cringe for a minute but WAFFLE-O or whatever. - FAHC michael
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Hey, I know the fandom's long gone now and you're not on here as much, but I just wanted to tell you I'm really glad I got to meet you through AH. Your writing for fahc stuff always made me smile and I still have a bunch of it saved in my drafts cause I used to go back and re-read it so much, every so often I think about the think about the writing prompt you did once for Michael, Gavin and Jeremy with "the happiest we ever were" and it makes me feel some sort of way I can't even describe. Anyway, you're really cool and an amazing writer and I'm very lucky I got to share a fandom space with you <3
First, thank you so much, this is incredibly sweet (and flattering) and although I know it might be lame to say back at you, I mean... back at you. I'm pretty sure I'm the lucky one here, because I'm just some guy who wrote some words one time, and yet it introduced me to some of the best people I've known, yourself included.
I think back on that time so often, and I'm always wishing to go back to it, to not have let myself lose it. It was so much fun and it brought me so much joy I can't even begin to put it into words.
I could go on and on about how much the fandom means to me, but suffice it to say I am forever grateful to have shared the space with you, and you're in my heart always 💚💚
#this is less sappy but as I'm typing this 'stressed out' by 21 pilots is on and it's like...#'wish we could turn back time/ to the good old days' yeah man I feel that.#also in case anyone wondered#yes I am still as awkward as I've ever been.#for real though I think about this stuff...constantly. I miss having that connection.#and whenever I write stuff that's like... tangentially related/inspired by the fahc writing we all did#I want so badly to have someone to share it with like I did then#apologies that this became me rambling but some things never change you know?
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Michael 'Mogar' Jones from Achievement Hunter / The Fake AH Crew.
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okay so I have a new fahc au where everyone is from California bc I started getting ideas and I couldn’t stop. these are based on living in California for the last five years and being in a relationship with a Californian; I’m sorry if I’m insulting where you’re from but know it’s with love lol 🫶🏽
Jeremy: the Antelope Valley. during poppy season the ground everywhere is Rimmy Tim colors so it just makes sense [also my gf said he gives off big “dropped out of AVC vibes” and like. iykyk they’re SO right]
Alfredo: San Francisco. duh
Gavin: LA. if you don’t think the Golden Boy thrived in WeHo what are you doing
Trevor: Sacramento. boy starts out so buttoned up ofc he grew up in the capitol
Matt: Humboldt County. it’s like the South Carolina of California
Michael: Bakersfield. you don’t get that fighty without some kinda complex
BK: San Diego. idk she just gives me beach girl vibes
Lindsay: Marin County. woodsy; isolated rich people; it’s close to SF so proximity to gay but it’s very insular so it fits the characterization I have for them
Ky: Palo Alto. it’s cute, a little stuck up (not that Ky is but I think it’s a fun background for her), but not as soulless and soul sucking as Mountain View
Joe: Irvine. it gets shit on but it’s still a big university town so it’s easy to get a complex about it and get really defensive of it, and I think it would be really funny if he got teased to shit about it by everyone else
#fahc#this was genuinely just for fun but I cracked myself up doing it#and I ran it past my Californian gf who doesn’t really know a lot about fahc but they agreed w me based on what they do know#jeremy#michael#gavin#alfredo#trevor#matt#Joe#bk#Ky#Lindsay#and yes I didn’t include Geoff or Jack bc they’re no longer part of my fahc sorry#bonus points though: Weems is from Mountain View Larry is from Dublin Shelby is from Daly City Ash is from Union City#also I feel like bk ky or fredo could be from Oakland as well but idk I like what I went with#original
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Michael ‘Mogar’ Jones and Ray ‘Brownman’ Narvaez Jr from the Fake AH Crew are moirails!
#fahc michael#fahc ray#fahc#fake ah crew#raychael#rage happy#mod lollie#cw homestuck#moirails#lollies requests#ragehappy
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This isnt what you asked for sorry, but idk anyone else who is into AH anymore, but I've been rewatching Camp Betrayal and Michael sitting with his arms protectively around Alfredo and Fiona while Fi comfortingly pats Alfredo's leg has reawakened something in me and now I'm full on back into FAHC, god help me
Aw dude, you can always come to me with anything AH!! I will be happy to talk about it :)) And yes oommgg Camp Betrayal was SO good!! Love that all three of them were the baddies in the end, definitely gives off a good good AH vibe. And welcome back to FAHC!! What a good universe to mess around in!! Enjoy the reawakened feelings, my friend ;3
#hey a question#anonymous#fake ah crew has everyone in its clutches it seems#and i mean can u blame us?? like what a fuckin good au to have#ugh i love it#rtah
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A Shoulder to Lean On
It’s been a minute but it’s time for @rtwritingcommunity secret springfairy! Happy Springfairy, @shadeofazmeinya !
Prompt: Recovering from an injury (nothing drastic). And of course the best medicine is cuddles and comfort food in bed. Could be an injury from an accident, a fight (like in fahc au), or in protecting one another.
Summary: When a heist fails in a big way, no one is exactly pleased. But Michael notices that Gavin is even less pleased than the others, and decides to investigate what's got his friend down.
Preview:
To say the heist didn’t go well would be an understatement. The Fake AH Crew had had their fair share of chaotic heists, but this was a new record just for how poorly things could go. It hadn’t even happened in a fun way that they could laugh about later, but in a just downright Not Good way. Somehow, the cops had gotten tipped off about their plan, so the crew aborted Plan A in favor of Plan B before they’d even started. This normally would have been fine, as none of them could remember a time that something hadn’t gone wrong, except this time, they’d been on a time crunch. Plan B was nowhere near as well researched or planned as Plan A had been, and thus, a whole bunch of their information was just plain wrong. This would also normally be fine, since improv was what they did best, except the universe was extra not in their favor that day. Their comms system hadn’t been stable, and every warning they tried to yell at each other sounded like they were going through the world’s longest tunnel that was also somehow underwater. To add to this, no one felt at the top of their game physically, which could most likely be blamed on the intense Wii Sports competition the night prior.
So yes. The heist had ended before they’d even made it to their prize. Not the finest day for the Fake AH Crew.
“That sucked,” Michael declared to the silent car for the fifth or sixth time as they drove lazily around the upper hills of Los Santos. They didn’t know if anyone was following them, and as much as everyone wanted to get to the penthouse and sleep for the next year, they needed to make sure they weren’t leading the cops right to them. Jack had taken half the crew in her minivan for a tour down by the water, while Geoff had taken the other half and squeezed them into a small hybrid car to venture into the hills. “How did that go so bad?”
Read the rest on AO3!
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I've been doing some thinking about classic FAHC and I've been binging Leverage and I just wanted to sort of share my redefined ideas about the roles people have on the crew. It's much more blended than the original fahc where everyone had distinct roles.
In the "new" FAHC:
Geoff has sort of taken a back seat. He's around and still 100% has his fingers in the pie but Trevor is now the Mastermind of the organization. It's him who really plans the heists and really sits down to work them out. Trevor is also partially a frontman and mainly (in my head), their Thief. I see him in a pair of leather gloves to cover his (metaphorically) sticky fingers, smoothly talking to someone or stealing a keycard from their pockets. He's just as comfortable in the vents as he is directing the crew. Ky is also a huge protege with Trevor, working hard in the background to learn the job of the mastermind and producing a heist from start to finish.
Jack is still in the crew, of course, but has sort of taken a bit of a step back with Geoff. She's there to drive the getaway car but has left the more dangerous pieces with the younger crew, although she's still on hand to patch them up when they get themselves into Situations. She's the Getaway Driver and the Medic.
Michael is sort of the Head Dog in the Hitter pack, which encompasses Joe and Alfredo as well. Michael's a hands-on Brawler, down to fight, but also enjoys teaching the other two. Joe is also a Brawler, just gets in there, but Alfredo is sort adjacent as their Sniper. He's better from a distance, a sharp-shooter, although with Michael's influence he can get a bit fighty up front (where Trevor has to drag him back to the plan). What surprises them is how much Ky gets involved in the physical parts of the crew and how she ain't afraid to throw a punch. Of course, when needed, they can always count on Lil J to throw up and wreck shop when he's in town.
Gavin is their frontman and is their Grifter. He's the one that runs the longer cons, the one who can wear a million hats and pivot on a dime to charm even the most reluctant of Marks. He's left the hacking mainly to Matt, who acts as the main crew Hacker. He not only manages the basic hacking but is good with gadgets. BK also focuses mainly on being a secondary Grifter, providing the feminine energy to Gavin. The two can make a very deadly pair when set on crews together. BK is also a pretty powerful sharpshooter when she needs to be.
The thing about Lindsay is that they are truly still, as always, the Wildcard. Lindsay will brawl when they need to, they will grift and be incredible at it, putting on any voice and nailing it. They are very good at planning heists (especially when they need the element of surprise) and really can fit in any role. Ace of Spades, they are.
Thoughts?
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