sarahinara:

I have this weird little headcanon that living as a civilian in achievement city isn’t… that bad? like,

the fahc are borderline insane with the heists they pull, stealing from every bank in the city and getting away in absurdly painted cars. decked out in weird outfits that are always so pristine despite the fact that they seem to wear it all. the time.

it becomes normal to hear laughter on top of the engines of motorcycles, or to see a helicopter swerving madly in the sky as it threads through skyscrapers while getting away from the police.

achievement city’s organizations, the little ngos that try to make it better, receive donations on the regular, any truly innocent person doesn’t stay missing for very long – always returned home with an unbelievable story to tell

(it was the vagabond, I swear – skull and all – he came for me)

you see the golden boy shopping at calvin klein and all he does is hold up two shirts when you stare, asking which looks better? before you hear sirens in the distance. he says I guess both is fine, shoving them in his bag and escapes out the back door, slipping a few hundreds into one of the retail employee’s jean pockets on the way

a mugger pushes you into an alley with a gun to your back and you barely get a word out before you hear a knock that shit off and they’re shoved off you by the jersey devil, more annoyed than anything else. the mugger gawks and runs off and you’re still frozen as the curly haired criminal brushes off your shoulders with a stern stay safe out here

you’re sitting under a tree at the park one afternoon and the kingpin walks up to you, asking mind if I join you? you nod meekly and he plants himself down beside you, pulling out a book of his own, occasionally asking what was happening in yours and leaving you with some recommendations when it was time to go heist

a job is pulled off near your work and roads are crammed with police and traffic, every person within a 100m radius being questioned. the next day you walk in to a fully catered lunch, a small note placed on top reading sorry about the mess – beardo

the self-proclaimed rimmy tim shows up to the bowling alley, cowboy hat and all, and smiles kindly to the teenager working behind the counter while paying for a game. he grabs the lane next to you, saying watch this, and throws the ball in the gutter

and it really was the vagabond breaking down the door that locked you in after what seemed to be like endless gunfire from the main floor, cutting off your restraints and letting you hold onto him on his motorcycle as he drives back to the city, stopping in an abandoned parking lot and offering to walk you home from there

because it’s an unspoken rule of the underground to keep civilians out of it, and you better believe that ramsey enforces it. the little boy who grew up watching the people he knew disappear, swearing on his heart that he’d do whatever he could to change that, even if his methods were a bit unorthodox

then when you post it online later, you get the expected amount of disbelief and yeah right’s, but then you get a comment – fun, but maybe let’s not do that again – v