#street rollerz

[stilwaterangel]

comfort with angel and johnny from the prompt list IMMEDIATELY 🙏

22. Comfort ; prompt challenge - set in sr1 after the vk mission best laid plans. tw for like vague injury mentions, shitty first aid, and a mention of overdosing/death. 2.1k words.

For once, the church is almost empty. Julius is out with Troy and Dex on Carnales business, Lin is doing Rollerz stuff, and the rest of the Saints are scattered about doing whatever they do to rep their purple—typical street fights and the like.

There’s a few random people milling about the pews and loitering outside, talking and laughing, but in the back offices, it’s just the two of them: Johnny sitting in the chair behind his desk, leg outstretched within the tight confines of its brace, and Angel sitting on the desk itself, swinging his feet idly.

It’s only been a couple of days since Johnny got his knee strapped up, but it’s obvious that the exclusion from gang-related activities is killing him more than the actual injury is. He’s visibly and vocally bored—Angel has been on the receiving end of the complaints for the past twenty-four hours now.

He doesn’t particularly mind it, him somehow having been tasked with babysitting Gat despite the fact that no one would ever acknowledge that outloud, if only to prevent Johnny from throwing a tantrum and causing a scene. The thought makes Angel laugh to himself—Johnny waving his gun around and having a hissy fit because he doesn’t need a fuckin’ babysitter and he definitely doesn’t need the newbie to watch over him; not like they haven’t spent enough time together now for Angel to be considered more than just a “newbie”, but still, it’s what he would say during his little strop. He gets particular about supervision.

His little chuckle catches Johnny’s attention, mid-rant about how bored he is and how he just wants to do something, and he looks up at Angel.

“Don’t you have anything better to do than sit here with my busted-up ass?” 

Angel shrugs and crosses one leg over the other, casual.

“Like what?” He holds a hand up, and starts counting on his fingers, “Troy still hasn’t given me my gun back from when I accidentally shot out the window of his car, Dex won’t take me out until I learn to drive better, and Lin won’t teach me because I fucked up her ride that one time. So, no. I have nothing else to do.”

Johnny is positively beaming, his smile wide and his eyes crinkled a little at the edges.

“You’ve been a Saint for, what, a couple months now?” He raises an eyebrow behind his tinted lenses, “you’re really taking your time to adjust.”

“Fuck off,” Angel laughs lightly, hopping down off the desk and landing directly in front of Johnny, “at least I can still bend my knee.”

“Oh yeah?” Johnny immediately gets up, launching out of his chair far too quickly, a normal movement for anyone else but something that his newly-recovering shattered kneecap can’t really handle.

He doubles over, falling and catching himself on the desk as his leg gives way, and there’s a pained mumble of a somewhat frustrated “fuck” under his breath.

Angel reaches out towards him and Johnny quickly swats his hand away.

“Fuck outta here,” he sits back down, baring his teeth in a wince as he adjusts his leg, “I don’t need your pity.”

Angel frowns at that.

“I’m not pitying you, man,” he steps forward, cautious, and looks down at the braced leg, “I’m just—concerned, I guess. You’re barely able to take a step.”

Johnny waves a hand, dismissive, and reaches into the chest-pocket of his jacket to fish out a lone cigarette and lighter. He rests the cigarette between his lips, careful when he talks.

“Yeah, I got fuckin’ kneecapped,” he lights the smoke, dropping the lighter back into his pocket and then taking a drag before continuing, “no shit I can’t walk.”

“Alright, smartass, I meant more like it’s getting worse, not getting better,” Angel squats down, coming eye level with the knee in question, and then glances up at Johnny, “can I take a look?”

Johnny squints at him almost incredulously. Baffled. His mouth hangs slightly open around his cigarette before he closes it.

“You want me to take my pants off? Here?”

Angel bites back a laugh. He doesn’t mind the thought—he considers the situation he’s in, the positioning of it, on his knees between Johnny’s legs, and swallows down any additional comments.

“Nope,” he shakes his head, grinning, and pulls a pair of scissors from the deep pockets of his purple hoodie, “I’m always prepared for anything.”

“Why—actually, I don’t fuckin’ care,” Johnny gives a little laugh and shrugs, “whatever, man, go ahead. You owe me a new pair of jeans after this, though.”

It’s a worthy price to pay for Angel’s increasing curiosity, his desire to look at the injury mostly just a genuine concern for someone he would consider a good friend; he assumes Johnny considers him similarly if he’s willing to let him get near him with scissors, not to mention the fact he’s let Angel loiter around him ever since picking him up from the emergency ward.

Angel starts cutting a hole in the denim around his knee, avoiding the metal rigging of the brace, and then rips it open to get a better look. It’s like, nasty. There’s bodily fluids in a variety of colours, red and brown and yellow soaked into the fabric of the bandage, some of it crusty, and Angel wrinkles his nose up in disgust.

“How long have you had this wrapped?” He looks up at Johnny, “did you not put a fresh one on when you got up today?”

Johnny stares back at him.

“No? The fuck do I look like, a doctor?”

For fuck’s sake. Angel cuts the bandage loose and begins to unwrap it, careful not to get his hands too close to the skin and disturb the injury but also to avoid touching whatever is festering beneath. He’d rather not get someone else’s blood on him—not like this, anyway.

Beneath the wrapping, it’s immediately evident where the issue is stemming from. The prior attempt at mending the gunshot wound has come undone, stitches torn open roughly, and Angel can only assume this is from hundreds of thousands of reasons: bending his knee too much, running, taking his brace off and fucking around when he was specifically told to keep it on until he recovers.

“Gat,” Angel starts, looking up at him, “you know you bust your stitches, right?”

Johnny doesn’t react at all, save for taking a slow drag of his cigarette and blowing the smoke out in a smooth line.

“So?”

“So,” Angel drawls, standing up slowly and reaching into his pockets again, “you gotta get them restitched. If you want to be able to walk around without fucking bleeding everywhere, I mean.”

From his hoodie pockets, he pulls out a spool of fishing line with a needle stuck into it, and from the back pocket of his cargos he grabs a mini pack of face wipes. Johnny blinks at him and gestures to his hands.

“Why the fuck do you have all that?” He sits forward, eyes wide, but an amused grin on his face, “the fuck is wrong with you?”

The answer, which is fairly normal really, is just that Angel does a lot of this. Shoddy DIY first-aid, that is. Sometimes it’s just easier to do it yourself than trek all the way to the hospital, wasting time and money on something that takes fifteen minutes and a little gritting of your teeth. You get to sit at home, in the comfiness of your own space and not surrounded by those buzzing fluorescent lights, you stitch it up and you pop a couple of painkillers and you chill out. It’s not that big a deal.

He smiles at Johnny.

“Oh, you know,” he shrugs and kneels back down, supplies in hand, “anyways, I’m gonna fix this shit up for you.”

A quiet settles between them as that’s exactly what Angel does. He starts with cleaning the mess up, wiping the wound down, and he’s careful and cautious in the slowness of his movements. He’s trying to be gentle, not cause any excess pain, but he considers that Johnny probably wouldn’t care or react at all—his response to a shotgun blast to his kneecap was nowhere near as drastic as Angel’s would have been, and he knows he’s seen Johnny tank his fair share of stabbings. He can handle some antiseptic and stitches.

Angel threads the fishing line through the needle, ties it off, and starts stitching the open wound back together. His hand rests softly on Johnny’s thigh, out of the way, and he focuses his attention on the needlework.

“Hey, where’d you learn to do this kinda shit?” Johnny asks suddenly, breaking the quiet, his tone genuine and curious.

Angel hums.

“Y’know how it is,” he tilts his head, looking up briefly to give a wry smile, “Stilwater forces you to fend for yourself sometimes.”

Johnny sighs and lets his head tip back, giving a brief little laugh around his smoke.

“Shit, ain’t that the truth.”

The silence resumes between them, and Angel feels like, slightly weird about it, the tension rising as his fingers gently brush against Johnny’s warm skin, tenderly wiping at the wound before he readies another stitch.

“Actually,” he starts talking just to fill the void, rambling, “my sister taught me, when I was younger. I was always fucking up my knees, clumsy and shit, one time she had to stitch me up at home and I watched. Figured it out.”

“You have a sister?” Johnny asks, looking down to meet Angel’s eyes, and Angel gives a weak smile.

“Had,” he pauses a moment just to shrug, and then works in the last stitch, still careful, “she OD’d when I was sixteen.”

“Ah.” Johnny looks away almost awkwardly. “Sorry.”

It’s quiet again. Not as weird this time. Angel pulls the excess wire and cuts it, tossing the reel aside and tying off the stitches. It’s a little funny, the way his skin is haphazardly holding itself together, but still, it gets the job done. He wipes it clean again just to clear any dried blood, gentle in his movements, and then stands up.

“Not to brag, but I think I should leave the Saints and become a nurse,” he jokes, waving a hand flippantly towards Johnny’s knee.

Johnny grins at that as he looks at his knee, giving it a quick once-over before looking back up at Angel.

“What, you gonna wear one of those little dresses?”

“First of all, they don’t wear those little dresses in real life,” Angel shrugs his hoodie off and drops it on the desk, reaching around for the side of his shirt near the bottom hem and then pulls, starting to rip off a segment, “secondly, male nurses exist.”

“The fuck are you doing now?” Johnny asks, squinting at where Angel is currently tearing off the entire lower section of his shirt, shoddily cropping it to just above his belly button.

Angel holds up the strip of fabric, smirking.

“Fresh bandage.”

It takes a moment for Johnny to look up, and by the time he does, Angel is back to kneeling in front of him. He starts to wrap the bandage around his freshly-stitched knee, careful, one hand gently holding the back of his knee and the other tightly wrapping the fabric around. He ties it to secure it, tight, and then pushes himself up to his feet.

“Perfect,” he grins, “well, except the hole in your jeans. Maybe that’s a new look for you.”

“Fuck off,” Johnny laughs, stubbing his cigarette out on the desk and then pushing himself up. He straightens his leg cautiously and rotates it a couple times, checking out the new handiwork.

Whether he takes this seriously or not is out of Angel’s hands, and he’ll probably end up blowing these stitches in a matter of hours, but that’s just to be expected with someone like Johnny Gat. Still, that he sat still and even let Angel help him at all is something, and maybe he will try and take a little more care next time.

Angel moves to grab his hoodie off the desk, and Johnny quickly reaches out, grabbing Angel’s arm, hand wrapped around his wrist to stop him from walking away. It causes Angel to pause, frozen in his movements, and he looks down at the warm hand on his skin; Johnny lets go.

“Thanks,” he says, voice quiet with a tone that Angel has only ever heard him use when speaking privately to Aisha, something soft and sincere.

Angel’s wrist is still tingling. He shakes it off, nods, a wordless “sure”, and reaches to pull his phone out of the pocket of his hoodie. He waves it at Johnny, grinning.

“Come on, let’s get some Freckle Bitch’s in here.”

[whoredmode]

Please share your headcanons about what Shaundi, Carlos, and Matt Miller doing/what's going on with them during sr1, I would love to hear about them! ;0;

thanks for your interest😭

so i think shaundi actually moved to stilwater like late into her junior year/early into senior year and so she’s still getting used to the place by the time the events of sr1 start up. i think she actually made some friends who were affiliated with the rollerz specifically and so she has a passing interest in things like street racing (it’s why i think you have to do like. car tricks to get her to join in sr2 lmao). she never joined any of the gangs but she was quickly becoming an it girl in stilwater. i actually talked some about my shaundi family headcanons last nite, but basically she started partying in an effort to distract herself from her home life. her parents divorced and she didn’t get to see her younger sisters that often anymore, so she was just trying to fill the void with something.

carlos is also in high school, just a few grades below shaundi. they may have seen each other in passing but i don’t think they ever really knew each other. carlos knew of shaundi, but had never really spoken to her. carlos is definitely aware of all the specifics of the gang shit going on because his older brother is in the saints. carlos wants to join but his brother refuses to let him, so he’s just watching from the sidelines.

gonna take a quick detour and talk about the school itself real quick? just given stilwater’s state in 2005-2006, i can’t imagine there’s much in the way of schools. i imagine there’s only two, a K-6 and a 7-12 school, both old catholic schools. so it’s just where everyone who lives in stilwater goes. there were more at one point, but shut down due to lack of funds. i think post-2006 when ultor comes in there’s definitely wayyy more schools built (outside of the obvious stilwater university).

anyway back to the main question. i think matt is an only child, and his parents travel a lot for work and he has to come with them often. this means he doesn’t spend a lot of time in one place and doesn’t get the chance to make friends, so he retreats back to his imagination and to his computer. his family never went to stilwater, but i do think he’s probably been to steelport before, prior to the events of srtt. didn’t live there, was just tagging along with his parents on a day trip for work. matt only learns about all the stilwater shit years after the fact. only when he’s researching anteros/the saints does it ever come up.

[kikidewynter]

anyway here are most of my favourite lin hcs in one place

age: i think 23, her canon age, really suits her. she seems mature but still a little hotheaded and inexperienced

sexuality: lesbian. no explanation required, we all picked up on the vibes

scent: smoky, leather, wood, etc. probably uses men's cologne

tea: favours black tea, can't drink anything sweet. likes a little citrus in her tea, bergamot for example

alcohol: likes a glass of wine when relaxing by herself, keeps cans of cheap beer in the fridge, always has a few drinks with her meal when she's eating at restaurants

media: has a subscription to at least two car magazines. doesn't watch a lot of tv, only whatever women's sports are currently playing, or championship car races. listens to the radio when tinkering on her car

fashion: black leather. jackets, pants, boots, you name it. has a lot of dark t-shirts with prints on the front. go-to comfy clothes are track pants and sandals. when she's working on her car—overalls, a basic white tank + sneakers

property: rents a studio apartment in chinatown and a small garage, able to fit one car, in the alley behind her place

music: listens exclusively to 90s + 00s music. likes to listen to r&b and neo-soul (including artists like tlc, who she also likes for their 'no scrubs' attitude) while cruising around the city at night. riot grrrl punk, edm, and other loud, fast paced songs are perfect for when she's racing. and any female artist of the time with attitude, like lil kim and p!nk

tattoos: in addition to her canon tattoo, she has a large dragon tattoo on her back, no colour

jewellery: has a few extra ear piercings that she’s always swapping out depending on her mood. owns a few different gold necklaces, including a chain

cigarettes: she smokes a brand you can only find in chinatown's liquor stores. the scent reminds her of home

upbringing: only child, parents were kind of strict, forming in her a rebellious attitude. definitely always got into trouble at school for cussing, defacing desks, and getting into fights

stilwater: lin's ability to go undercover + the fact that nobody claimed her body has always given me the impression that she's from out of town. personally i think of her as being from hong kong, already quite fluent in english, and having moved to stilwater or somewhere nearby to attend college (and to get away from her parents)

education: i can see her studying mechanical engineering, working on her projects in the shop—she seems used to standing up for herself in male dominated environments

pre-saints: she dropped out of college shortly after finishing her car + has been street racing since. she occasionally sends a portion of her winnings back home, with the vague explanation that she got a job

recruitment: lin got arrested for street racing + was secretly released by troy. he later approached her in the street to recruit her, as he knew julius would want a specialist to deal with the rollerz

[and-its-with-one-l-bitch]

i would like to know . about frankie. particularly their relationships w the other saints!!! all i know about them is Theyre Insane and im very interested in how they get along (or dont get along) with the saints. either sr1 or the sr2 liuetenants im not sure at what point frankie joins them

HIIII finally answering this because I'm in Frankie mode. Under a read more for convenience.

So, as you know, I've been obsessing over SR1 Frankie all week, so now's the perfect time to answer this.

The main thing about Frankie is that their identity is made up. That's not the "real" Frankie. We know their surname, Delacruz, but that's about it. We know they're probably from Stilwater, but depending on who they're telling the story to, this changes wildly. They told Troy they're from Cuba, and they told Julius they're from a Russian circus. Neither answer is true. The most common answer is that they just grew up near what would become the trailer park district, and got into some dark shit when a low-budget circus rolled through town. Hence, the nickname, "François", which just became "Frankie". Mostly, they just enjoy lying.

Most of the crew throughout SR1 and SR2 are cautious around Frankie, but Frankie's more or less harmless around the people they consider their friends. More or less. Johnny thinks "they're a fuckin' riot" and is over the moon to have someone around who is just as eager to bust heads as him. Dex - and Troy particularly - feel a little uneasy around Frankie, but Dex gets over this in time. Troy doesn't. Frankie is uniquely enamoured with Lin, and with annoying Lin. This starts off with Frankie being as annoying and smug as possible around Lin, until she either smacks them upside the head or caves to their unending attempts to hit on her. Sometimes both. In my Frankie canon, Lin definitely survives; Frankie doesn't care about their own wellbeing, what's some underwater heroics between lesbians, anyway?

By SR2, Frankie's a little different. Worse, maybe. They've taken to leaning into the whole "François the mime" thing, painting their face and dressing in striped clothes. Of course people think Frankie's weird, but nobody really wants to say that to their face. Unlike most mimes, though, you couldn't pay Frankie to shut the fuck up. They're still smug and arrogant and cracking jokes in inappropriate situations, but there's an edge that wasn't there before the coma. SR2 Frankie really wants to show Julius a demonstration of what happens to people who betray their crew, and Frankie's struggling with getting dumped by Lin. After escaping death at the hands of the Rollerz, Lin's at her limit, and Frankie getting blown to shit? Well, no reason for her to stick around the gang life. It's five years later and Lin's laying low, doesn't want shit to do with the Saints. Frankie's not so good at accepting that.

As for the SR2 crew, I think there's a mixture of camaraderie and tentative respect for Frankie's authority. They run the gang with Shaggy, and both of them are high on some combination of experimental drugs most of the time. Shaundi's cool with it, maybe she helps supply sometimes, and maybe she parties with them; Pierce likes to give them their space; Johnny loves them. If the most out-of-their-mind crackhead you'd ever met told you they ran a prolific street gang, would you call them out on their behavior? Yeah.

Overall, Frankie's not a lover, they're a fighter, but they're a fighter who's a lover, but mostly they're a fighter. Maybe mostly a biter. They should be on a leash.

[bigboyplaya]

in my Saints AU, there's this primarily Chinese gang, but generally accepts people of any race, called the Huang Clan. Or 'Clan', for short. It's not part of the Triads or any big gang, it's a family that's blown up over the years and basically runs part of the international drug market. They also have a deal with the West Side Rollerz, as both gangs jack cars and car parts, and participate/run illegal street races.

It's run by Jian Huang during Saints Row 1, but most of the gang leaves, including his own son, Andrew Huang, when they protest against his decisions. They think he's running the gang into the ground and is too old and stupid to run the gang anymore. Some leave to join the Saints, others pursue different criminal ventures or go quiet until Andrew takes the Clan back. Those that don't leave the Clan in Saints Row end up joining the Ronin after losing Chinatown to the Brotherhood, who outnumber them after Jian's death.

Andrew wants to take the gang's territory back, and with the Saints help, he does just that, and the Clan becomes a leader of the drug trade.

Why am I world building seemingly randomly? One reason is that I'm bored, second is why not and third is it ties into my Johnny storyline. And pretty much the main storyline.

Johnny is killed in my version of Saints Row: The Third, but much much later. Not on the plane. I haven't thought through many details as of yet, but I do know Johnny isn't against defecting against the corporate Saints as he feels like it isn't so much the gang he fought and cared about anymore. He plans on joining the Clan, who takes in the other Saints who feel the same way, which I like to think is a pretty even chunk of the Saints. Because of this, the Clan is basically the Saints but in black and gold, and Johnny can go back to shoot outs and vandalism without worrying about public image and scandals.

I really need a title for my fic sorry for putting my unrelated alternate universe rambling in the main tag >_<

[boricuacherry-blog]

What you gonna do, what you gonna do,

Times is hard on the boulevard

What you gonna see, who you gonna be,

A doctor, or a lawyer, or a politican

Life ain't easy

January 5th was the date of my birth,

It gave my moms crazy pain as I entered this earth,

Pops stood with pride, in his arm his baby girl,

As he dreamt of the many things I'd be in this world

Watch me grow, let me flow, never wanted always had

Teachers, nonbelievers, always made my moms mad,

Many people told me, I'll never make it

Had to survive, cause the streets isn't fair, but I'm still here

-High Rollerz, Life Ain't Easy

[celestialecho0es]

🌞🎝🎜♫🎝ᕻᔾ🎝🎜e  n  j  o  y♫🎝ᕻᔾ🎝🎜♫🎝ᕻᔾ🌞

[danthepest]

Imagine being one of the Saints grunts/wannabes when the Boss joined up. You’ve been with the crew for a while and Julius is finally ready to take the fight to the other gangs. Then this nobody shows up and ends up beating the tar out of the ones who were supposed to canonize them.

So whatever, Johnny kicked ass too. So what. They’re still on the same level as you. Hell, even below you because they just joined. You keep reminding them to step up and who they represent. Then you hear how they’re getting the gang rerspect from various pimps, dealers, hijackers and crime lords.

B-but whatever, they still need to prove themselves useful in the fight against the VKs, LC and WRs. And before your very eyes, this newbie overtakes you and becomes to the go-to person for Dex, Lin and Johnny because they get shit done. It doesn’t take long before they go from being #2 for the lieutenants to being Julius’ #2 and then finally, actually running the gang. All without saying a word.

This mute motherfucker literally appeared out of nowhere, took out the gangs and is now leading yours. And it scares you. You can’t tell what they’re feeling or thinking. their body count and trail of destruction speaks volumes. Gone is your bravado, replaced with fear and doubt of your place in the gang. You start kissing up to them because you know you’re fucked if they turn their sights on you.

[nocturnofshadow]

Sound off, fellow Saints Row fans

With SR5 on Volition's main burner and slated for an info dump later this year, I figure this might be a good time to stir the fandom pot. How many of y'all would like to see/be part of an active RP server for the series?

This has been an idea I've been playing with for a while now, and I want to make sure there's an interest before I kick this off officially.

So! Anyone interested, sound off in the notes!

A few key points, to give y'all an idea what to expect:

-Paragraph style default/recommended. As a writer- and RP-scener myself, I find this style of RP the most satisfying and engaging. Multi-para isnt expected but equal effort will be, as a courtesy to all players.

-Multi-role/Multi-faction. The server will cater primarily to SR 1-3. IV will have its own little section if there’s enough demand, given it's more player vs aliens and not exactly faction-based. This means that you can stretch your legs into more than just the Saints. You want to roll with Los Carnales and fuck up some VK ops, or be a Luchadore and smack down some Saints? This is the place to really stretch your creative legs.

-Reward System. These are plans for the future, if and when the server really takes off, but how fucking satisfying would it be to see your OC rise through the ranks of their gang? Active (and sometimes ballsy) roleplay will net you attention from your superiors, with potential for promotion. With events, this means you can call the shots with your Boss (or, if you're particularly good, potentially take the mantle of Gang Boss for yourself).

-Social networking. Whether you're roleplaying or just hanging out in chat to gush about how much you love the games, this is meant to be a central hub for fans of the series. You're bound to make friends (even if you're real fuckin shy like me lmao), and that's the biggest plus to this server.

[saintlexii]

Masterlist

- I just wanted to do a little off track betting. 

- I have a family, I can't afford to be a hero!

- This thing still better run!

- You better have insurance!

- Do I look like some poor person you can just hit?

- You think you're a big man, don't you?

- To sit in sullen silence on a dull dark dock.

- China Town is a poor substitute for the real thing.

- I'm going to Rico's club tonight, it's not like I we him money.

- How much do you cost?

- I can't believe that bastard had the balls to hold the door open for me.

- I can't believe my nephew joined up with those Westside - whatever they're calleds.

- Why those mother fuckers keep asking me what time it is?

- Ain't no way around it, my crew's gonna fuck you up!

- Men like you make me sick.

- I don't wanna lower myself by speaking with you.

- People like you turn the Barrio into a warzone.

- I've heard all about you, so don't think you're getting any of this!

- You wanna head on back to my trailer, baby?

- I'm pressing charges!

- I'm surprised Julius would get mixed up with someone like you.

- My people don't really know your people.

- I wanna read about this stuff, not live it!

- Oh wow, she's gotta be a hooker!

- The police will take care of you soon enough!

- Thanks for checking if I'm okay, asshole!

- Can't believe my parents still give me a curfew.

- Get lost drop out.

- Maybe Tanya will hire me back.

- My grandpa says Julius ain't nothing but a bitch, that true?

- Trust me, you don't know who you're dealing with.

- You hear what they sell under the counter at Brown Baggers?

- I hope I have better luck tomorrow.

- I don't know what people are talking about, you don't seem like a bitch.

- You bottom feeders only make things worse.

- Wow, that's so big... Really, I mean it.

- Why are you strapping that on?

- You're prettier than that last girl I had.

- Is this your first time or something?

- Use the cigarette lighter.

- I thought you said I could keep the panties.

- Don't be shy, use as many fingers as you want.

- You deserve a uh ticket!

- I gotta hit the showers, I smell like a whore.

- You woman hating jackass!

- It'll wash out of your hair eventually.

- Sorry about your handbag.

- I got some pills if you wanna party!

- You missed me, asshole!

- I swear, the next person to call me twinkie gets their nose broken.

- I wander what happened to Luz. I haven't seen her since she started dating Angelo.

- Hey, are you a pimp?

- Have you ever thought about getting a real job?

- Why don't you ditch those skanky hoes and be with a real woman?

- It's not all about material possessions, man.

- I wish my parents would let me shave.

- You look familiar... Did I defend you once?

- When Hughes is elected, all of your ghetto friends are gonna be history.

- You tell that scrub, Dex, that I'm on to him.

- It takes more than running the Row to impress us here.

- You got something you wanna say to me, bitch?

- Up to no good, son?

- You got your work cut out for you, Playa.

- Any good clubs in Saints Row?

- You don't think being in a gang is a turn on, do ya?

- How the fuck did they make child support mandatory?

-It breaks my heart seeing a sister disrespecting herself by turning tricks.

- You lookin' lonely, honey.

- You know a guy named Troy? That asshole never called me back.

- When are men gonna get that talking about cars is a bigger turn off than syphilis. 

- I think all the rap music is making kids violent.

- Fur is murder!

- So what is 3rd Street? A modeling agency?

- Those Rollerz are a blight on the suburbs.

- I have seen you friend Johnny in court. He has quite the temper.

- So you hang out with that Johnny guy, right?

- Oh darn, I forgot to wear those panties he likes.

- Since I'm a gentleman, I'll let you pick the hoe.

- Be careful, flashy clothes don't stop a bullet.

- We need to save the trees!

- Look, I don't want any trouble... homie.

- How am I supposed to pay for a hooker when I keep getting held up?

- Are you one of those awful gang boys?

- Could you give Johnny my number?

- Stay away from the drugs, you hear me?

- Shit, my baby sister's more gangster than you.

-I wander where I can meet some Asian chicks.

- If you want some high grade dick, just let me know.

[whoredmode]

had a dream they released a remastered(?) version of sr1 but one of the main gimmicks was that you could play the game in like. alternate perspectives? you were still playa, but you could play through the story in versions where it was the vice kings, rollerz, or carnales who saved you from the street corner. like the main game was still there obviously but it was interesting to see the same story but from the POV of playa where they were never a saint.

i remember i was playing the vice kings route, and playa got brought to tanya and warren, and they were just discussing what to do with them in front of their face. impressed with the skills playa had shown, they wanted playa to work with them specifically to take out ben, offering an automatic lieutenant position if playa would help them overtake the VKs from ben.

[kikidewynter]

also i feel like if lin wasn’t from the row, it’d be troy who recruits her. he knows that jules has been looking for a way to get at the rollerz and he’s trying to prove his worth. so when lin’s arrested for street racing, troy gets her released and later approaches her in the street trying to act all casual

[writerofblocks]

Nostalgia Isn’t a Bad Thing, Chapter 2: On a Bullet and a Prayer

Summary: Troy has doubts. Bridget has a bad day.

Author’s Notes: God, this took a while. Thank you all for waiting, and thank you to @chyrstis​ and @eulerami​ for the encouragement, reassurance, and accepting me elbow dropping into their DMs at odd hours rambling about one plot point or another with good grace.

Quick side note to clear any confusion: due to the different perspectives having different levels of information on the Playa's gender, Troy's sections will refer to Bridget/the Playa with he/him and Bridget's sections will refer to herself with she/her until further notice.

1 / 2 / 3 / ?

Ao3

=======================

Summer never left Stilwater without a fight. It clung to life even as the calendars flipped to September, digging its claws into the old brownstones with a stubborn, stagnant air. Humidity hung heavy even as it lifted and frizzed people’s hair to new heights. People in t-shirts mingled with those in overcoats on the city streets, no one ever guessing right what the weather would be like that day. Fall might have been just around the corner, but summer was determined to stay.

The night held no relief either, as Troy was quickly finding out. The oppressive weight of the air only increased as he and Julius walked down one of the Row’s main roads, making it even harder to breathe. Didn’t help that it tasted like stale piss and exhaust. Why Julius insisted on dragging him out here to have their weekly discussion was beyond him.

“So where do we stand?”

Troy resisted the urge to groan. So many questions Julius could have asked, and the one he did was the one with an answer he wouldn’t want to hear. With the Row being the city’s last piece of unclaimed territory, all three other gangs were desperate to stake their claim. Yes, the Saints may have a neighborhood under control, but they only had- Troy counted in his head- around two dozen people to defend it, let alone take over the rest of the neighborhoods. They were up Shit Creek without a paddle, to put it artfully.

He wondered (not for the first time) why Monroe felt the need to have a plant. The “Third Street Saints” had hardly a bark, even less of a bite. How was he supposed to get information on the other gangs when the extent of his connections could be reached via a telephone tree?

Whatever. This was his job, he was going to do it, end of fucking story.

Sweat welded the collar of Troy’s polo to the back of his neck; he tugged at it with a quick, aggravated motion to release the grip, and reached for the crumpled pack of cigarettes in his pocket. “Well, we have at least Mission Beach locked down.”

Julius was keeping pace with him as they walked down the main road together, his steps even. Despite the purple turtleneck and dark coat, he didn’t seem to notice the heat. “I would hope so, considering where the church is.”

“Look, you wanted to know how we’re doin’, so I’m gonna give you all of how we’re doin’, aight?” Troy said, gesturing irritably with the cigarette he’d retrieved before placing it between his lips. “Anyway. Other than that, word is there’s Carnales operating out of an old liquor store in Athos Bay.”

This bit of news Julius gave more consideration. He tilted his head, a brief furrow crossing his brow. “That’s close by. Have someone check it out, see if there’s any truth to the rumors.”

The response With what men? formed on his tongue; he bit against it, forcing it to the back of his throat and choosing something else to say. “Right… other than that, seems the Rollerz have made a move into Harrowgate. Fresh tags’ve been goin’ up, not to mention all the shootouts between the Rollerz and VKs.”

Julius’s fingers drifted to the chains around his neck, fiddling with the crucifixes at the end of them as he thought. “If we want to hold onto those neighborhoods for more than a few days, we’re gonna need more members.”

Yeah, no shit. “We ain’t gonna get more people as it stands, Julius,” he replied, frowning. “We’ve gathered all the people willing to step up from Mission Beach. If we’re gonna get new people, we need to do something big-”

Troy stopped. They’d reached the intersection that marked the end of Mission Beach, and the beginning of Harrowsgate and Athos Bay. No man’s land. Silent for now, save the few cars going through the lights, but there was something more in the air that was making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Paranoia, maybe. Anticipation, also likely. Or maybe it was the booming thud of a song he recognized from Gen X, steadily growing closer- 

A garishly scarlet Hollywood shot out from the road leading to Athos Bay, tires screeching loud enough to make Troy jump back on instinct, pulling Julius with him. Horns blared as the lowrider roared past, swerving close enough to the other cars to scratch paint. Men with red bandanas hooted and shouted insults as the car rounded the corner, the large assault rifles they carried leaving no doubt as to who they were.

“Carnales,” Troy muttered. Shit. 

Julius made a noise of acknowledgement next to him. “Seems like it.” He watched where the car disappeared for a few moments, an unreadable expression on his face. His mind apparently made up, he began walking in the direction the car went. “Let’s go.”

Wait. What? 

“You can’t be serious,” Troy protested, breaking into a jog to catch up to Julius. “Did you see the heat they were packing? We’d be dead in a second without backup.”

Julius pressed his lips into a thin line. “If you want to run, then run,” he said, gesturing irritably. “But you’re the one telling me five seconds ago we needed something big to happen. Doesn’t get much bigger than that.” With that he swept forward, eventually disappearing around the corner.

Troy slowed to a stop. This was a shit idea. This was a shit idea and if they went through with it both of them were going to end up being used as target practice. Never mind figuring out what they were up to, what they needed to do was get the hell back to the church. What the hell was Julius thinking?

...He could just leave Julius to it. Julius would get killed, the Saints would dissolve, he’d go back to Monroe with a shrug and say there was nothing he could do. Two birds with one stone. All he had to do was turn around and walk away.

Troy pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing at it as if that would make the headache beginning to bloom under his skin disappear. “Goddamnit,” he muttered. He broke into a run after Julius, the sinking feeling in his stomach growing with every step.

===

She should have run the moment the Rollerz appeared on the scene.

No, scratch that. She should have run the moment she spotted the Vice Kings throwing that tag up.

No, what she should have done was taken her car in for maintenance when it was due so it didn’t fucking explode and force her to walk to work, rent money be damned.

Forget it. Her life was a series of “coulda, woulda, shoulda”s; trying to pick out the exact reason she ended up caught between three gangs in an open shootout was an exercise in stupidity. The thing she needed to focus on now was finding an opening in the fight she could take advantage of to book it.

She crouched low behind the trash cans, the gunshots battling her heartbeat for the loudest sound in her ears. It was poor cover, but it was better than standing out in the open and turning into swiss cheese. Not that most of the gangs were in the habit of killing random civilians, but she didn’t feel like rolling the dice to see if these assholes were in the mood to take potshots after they were done comparing dick sizes via their guns.

Anger settled in her stomach, dragging her thoughts down with its weight. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fucking fair. All she wanted to do was live a normal fucking life- no more hiding, no more scraping by, no more fearing for her life every time she stepped out of the house- but no, apparently that was too much to ask. She’d already lost everything today, what was one more sack of bullshit added to the pile-

No. This was no time to get wrapped up in her own head. She’d figure out what came next in her life once she actually knew her life had a “next”. She let out a shaky breath and rose to a crouch, readying herself to run for the narrow alley nearby once the gunfire was directed elsewhere.

At least she knew what rock bottom looks like now. There’s no way her life could get any worse.

===

Troy wasn’t sure what he’d expected, following after the Carnales. Obviously a shootout of some kind, given the guns. A big assault on Harrowgate was unlikely; this was the only Carnales car they’d seen driving this way. Could just be a simple drive-by- get in, wreck shit, get out. 

Whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t the total fucking chaos that he and Julius had found.

“Christ,” Troy hissed, pressing his back against an alley wall and peering around the corner. Rollerz and VK bodies dotted the street, spent brass strewn about them. Everyone with half a brain was getting as far away from the all out brawl as they could, prostitutes and contraband salesmen screaming as they fled the scene.

Everyone, save one.

The man was crouched behind some garbage cans, unable to move for the hail of bullets. From what he could see the man had brown hair that was short and messy, tufts sticking out in all directions. A grey backpack was slung over his shoulders, and- Troy noticed with a sudden drop in his stomach- he wore a purple hoodie, oversized to the point of swallowing his form.

“That one of ours?”

Troy turned. Julius’s brow was furrowed, mouth set in a thin line. His hand hovered over the pocket where his gun was kept as his gaze darted around the skirmish, always returning to the figure in purple across the street.

“Could be.” He had to yell over the sudden screech of tires peeling out- evidently the Carnales had decided to cut their losses and run. “Can’t tell for sure, but-”

Troy didn’t have time to finish his sentence. The rhythmic booming thud of an AK being fired close by shattered all chance of being heard, the bullets finding their mark in the Carnales driver. The driver slumped, dead where he sat- but the car kept accelerating. It flew over the curb, careening wildly towards the trash cans- and the unidentified man. He sucked in a breath through his teeth. Come on, man, get out of the way, come ON-

===

Okay, it was official. The universe could kiss her ass.

She sprang forward, adrenaline kicking in before fear could take hold. Behind her the sickening crunch of metal meeting brick filled the space she'd been in a heartbeat ago, the wind of the motion catching at the straps of her backpack. No time to think about the grisly fate of the people in the car. Even with the crash taking out a good number of the gangsters remaining, it wouldn't be long before bullets started flying again. Just keep running. Just keep running. The alleyway's right in front of you-

Her left foot hit the pavement, she felt something twist with a sharp bolt of pain, and she fell.

Of course.

Loose bits of asphalt gouged her hands and cheeks as she skidded from the force of her fall, scrapes opening up on her skin. She tried to rise, but the rattle of another automatic rifle had her hitting the deck again. How many could be left? She tried to count in her head- Don’t think of the bodies-

The deep, final thud of a pistol cut the rifle fire short. The echo rang hollow, taking all other sound with it save the ambient crackle of the car fire and the rabbit-fast thud of her heartbeat in her ears. 

She chanced a glance behind her and saw the last Roller crumple, the final VK standing over his body. It was the one with the sweatband and basketball jersey, the one who’d goaded that first VK into tagging over the Rollerz tag. He was breathing heavily, the battle high all too visible in the tight way he held himself upright.

Don’t look at him. He won’t know you’re there if you don’t look at him. Don’t look. Don’t look.

The VK turned to her, a murderous, agitated glint in his eyes.

She feebly pushed herself back with her good leg, but in her heart she knew it was already over. She knew the look he had on his face, seen it too many times to fucking count, and at this range he’d have to be blind to not hit her. Clamped teeth, a snarl on her face- she wasn’t going to leave this world looking as afraid as she felt. She wasn’t.

A sneer twisted the VK’s face as he leveled the gun at her forehead. “Wrong time, wrong place, dawg.”

She closed her eyes and braced for the end.

BANG.

===

He’d never get used to the feeling of firing a gun. This wouldn’t be his first shot, sure as hell wouldn’t be his last, and yet a part of him still jumped at the heart-stopping thud as he pulled the trigger. It rattled through his bones, resonating all the more for the way he held the gun sideways in the effort to blend in with the other Saints.

The Saints, Troy mentally corrected himself. Not the others. There’s the Saints, and then there’s me.

The VK crumpled to the ground, blood and cranial fluid pooling where his head landed. His hand was still clenched around the pistol, the finger curled around the trigger.

Too close.

It was justified, Troy told himself. A life for a life. So why were his hands still shaking?

“You okay, playa?”

He hadn’t noticed Julius moving past him, bending down to offer a hand to the prone man. Troy shook his head. Now wasn’t the time to space out. “Julius, let's move.”

Julius looped his arm under the man’s shoulder and helped him stand up. Together they started shuffling toward  Troy followed behind them, head on a swivel- there could be reinforcements coming at any moment, not to mention the cops. Plus the on-fire car that was about to-

The Hollywood exploded with a heart-stopping boom behind them, sending them all stumbling forward.

“Shit!” Troy cursed.

The man looked pale, but said nothing.

It wasn’t until they reached the nearby alleyway and Julius set the man down that Troy was able to get a good look at him. He was in his early twenties at most, though the cluster of freckles across his cheeks and forehead made him seem even younger. Sharp cheekbones sat under hazel eyes and thoroughly tousled brown hair. He drew in a breath between his teeth as Julius manipulated his ankle, testing it out, but otherwise didn’t react.

Julius hummed under his breath and set the man’s ankle down. “That don't look so bad, you should be fine.” He jabbed a thumb in Troy’s direction. “That's Troy. You can thank him later."

Troy blinked. He wasn’t expecting to be addressed. He gives a brief wave with his gun hand. “Hey.”

The man’s eyes locked onto his pistol.

Troy winced, mentally kicking himself. Sure, go ahead and wave your gun around the person who just got threatened with one three minutes ago. Moron.

"The Row ain't safe no more, son,” Julius continued. “We got gangs fightin' over shit that ain't theirs, and you in they way.” He poked the man in the chest. The man looked down at his hoodie, seemingly noticing the color for the first time. “They don't care if you representin' or not.”

Troy gawked. Of all the things he could say, Julius was pulling that shit out? Was he fucking serious? “Julius, this is no time to recruit!” he hissed.

Julius looked at him in astonishment. “We need all the help we can get, son,” he said aloud, but the brief, irritated furrow of his brow provided the subtext. ‘You’re the one who said we needed more people.’

Troy gestured pointedly in the direction of the sirens that were growing closer. “What we need right now,” he replied, leaning heavily on the ‘now’, “is to get our asses outta here.” 

"In a minute!” Julius called back, then turned to look at the kid. “Look, the Row's got a problem. Come to the church when you wanna be a part of the solution." With that he stood up and swept further down the street, disappearing around a corner.

Finally. Troy began to follow, when something in him told him to look back.

He would never know why he did. Sometimes he thought it was because he heard something. Other times he thought it was that paranoid instinct to double-check he’d cultivated already in the short time he’d been with the Saints. On the days he believed in fate he wondered if it was that kicking in, making sure things happened the way it had to be. Whatever the case was, he looked back.

He looked back, and the kid was still on the ground where they’d left him.

Goddamnit.

Troy shoved his pistol back into his jeans (safety on, he wasn’t about to shoot his own dick off, thank you) and jogged back to where the man still sat. Without fanfare he grabbed the man’s hands, dragging him to his feet. “Go,” he hissed, grabbing the man’s shoulders. The man started, his eyes finally focusing on Troy’s face. “Run. Get out of here before the cops show up and think you’re one of us, okay?”

The man blinked.

For fuck’s sake. Troy spun the man towards the nearby alleyway and shoved. “I mean it, get going!”

He didn’t stick around to see if the man listened to what he said, taking off in a sprint after Julius the moment his hands left the man’s shoulders. The sirens were only getting closer by the second, and he wasn’t about to get his face slammed into the hood of a cruiser by an unsuspecting colleague. He’d done what he could to get the man to safety. Simple as that.

Maybe-

No. He had to focus on the bigger picture. Right now, his priority was the Saints. He’d be saving more lives overall if he concentrated all his efforts on figuring out how to take the Saints down, not stopping to save every civilian caught in the line of fire. He did what he could, and that was the end of it.

Besides. It wasn’t like he’d ever see the man again, even with Julius’s extended invitation. After witnessing something like that shootout, he’d have to be crazy if he wanted to join the Saints.

===

She doesn’t remember how she got back to her apartment. The memory is a blur of brick buildings and back alleyways, frantic with pain and driven by animal instinct to flee. It wasn’t until she was over the threshold with the door slammed shut and the deadbolt firmly in place that she became aware it was her destination at all.

Normalcy. She needed normalcy. Laundry was normal. She peeled her windbreaker off- ignore the blood, ignore the blood- and threw it at the laundry basket. Her pants, shirt, and socks swiftly followed. Her backpack was unzipped next, the contents rifled through. Wallet; emergency book to read on break; old dancing outfits that were quickly tossed at the basket; termination of employment letter-

Her hand froze around the letter.

“I don’t fucking care if he was harassing the girls, you kneed one of our best paying customers in the face! What else am I supposed to do with that?”

She tossed the letter to the side and hobbled towards the bathroom. Shower first. Laundry could wait.

The water was molten hot, as always, but tonight she didn’t mind it as much. The scalding sting felt like a deep cleanse, burning away the night’s events. She watched the dirt from the alleyway swirl down the drain until the hot water ran out, shocking her back into the present.

Towel. Ankle brace. A thin robe, threadbare in places. She could do this. She could calm down, let it all fade away. This was all normal in the Row.

This was all normal.

She limped back to the living room, grabbed the remote and turned the TV on. There had to be something mind numbingly-stupid on at this time of night.

“Terror tonight as Harrowgate became the scene of a deadly shootout-”

He was there. The EMTs were covering him with a plastic sheet, but he was there. She saw the yellow headband, the basketball jersey. The gaping hole in the back of his head.

“Wrong time, wrong place, dawg.”

She slammed the power button, throwing the remote away from her as if it was a snake primed to strike.

Deep, shuddering breaths, her hand to her throat as if she could shove the terror back down her windpipe.

She should have died. The gun should have fired with a heart-stopping thud that always made her think of fireworks, and she should have fallen to the ground in a heap. There she’d have stayed until the police coroner came to pick up the mess of bodies. They wouldn’t have found any next of kin, if they bothered to look at all, and her death would be forgotten as yet another casualty in a never ending turf war.

She should have died, but she didn’t. She didn’t because some chucklefucks in purple happened to be there, happened to swoop in and decide she wouldn’t.

She was so, so tired of feeling helpless. Of being helpless. Every time she thought she had her life in order, that she’d finally taken control, something stepped in to remind her that no, she didn’t and no she hadn’t. No matter what she did, no matter how much she tried, her life’s course would always be directed by things she’d never understand.

She couldn’t ignore it anymore. This wasn’t something she could shove under the rug like the rest of her dirty secrets. She’d done the “keep her head down” thing already, and it didn’t fucking work. Something needed to be done.

...That Saint. The older gentleman- Julius, that was his name. What was it he said?

“The Row’s got a problem. Come to the church when you want to be part of the solution.”

She owed them. At the very least, she owed them enough to hear them out. See if it was worth throwing her life away for the very people who went out of their way to save it.

What did she have to lose?

[stonerindia]

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[saintsrowplaya]

The timeline I envision for Troy during Saints Row

Let’s say the he joined and graduated from the police academy ASAP, he’d of been 21

And giving him like 2 years the earn the trust of his peers to go undercover he would’ve been 23 when he joined the saints

I know a lot of people think that the saints had started recently around the time of the Playa joining but I can’t find that to of been enough time for Troy to gain julius’ trust

I think the saints were a big thing for a while but ended up getting stomped out by other gangs. Take for example Julius saying “the saints used to own these streets”, or the West-Side Rollerz who can, assumably, have originated from the west side and now have spread to the east (I know I’m reading too much into this but it’ll make some sick lore).

I think Troy joined the saints a good few years back and slowly worked his way up from another crew memeber to a liuetenant.

With that I’d say Troy was around 25/26 when SR1 started, and that gives a helluva lotta time for back story and relationship building between Troy and the reader

[megafreeman]

Okay but what if Saints Row series followed the story of Westside Rollerz instead of Third Street Saints?