Vivamus, moriendum est.

A Jack of Many Fandoms: non-binary/pan/poly ✊🏼🌈 they (Gen-X circa 1978)

[trepidatingboarfetus]

Fic Master List

OK, I’m trying to do a master list while I have a minute and keep it updated/pinned because Tumblr’s algorithms are about as wonky as Facebook’s, I’ve noticed, and this keeps things nicely organized (and probably helps my OCD).

YouTube Videos:

Like A Dream: https://youtu.be/KvyZaLe7ijA

Big Daddy: https://youtu.be/2fiU3qqgX7k

Auld Lang Syne: https://youtu.be/BgpjItCJTJw

It’s Just Medicine: https://youtu.be/6R6quiYjW3w

Transgender Dysmorphia Blues: https://youtu.be/ivo2XgfH69k

Monachopic Énouement: https://youtu.be/z_SqaKUeM3w

All You Are Is Brand New: https://youtu.be/Nq-etNePL2I

New Ways: https://youtu.be/ZmySNyydc3I

Whiskey, Nostalgia, And Bobby Vinton: https://youtu.be/LuZvEWD5jNg

Nothing’s Going To Hurt You, Baby: https://youtu.be/FiU97_wE5M4

Déjà Vu: https://youtu.be/8STl3QM_cuE

Maybe We’re Just Sleepwalking: https://youtu.be/7WQ5LWgHu0M

You’ll Never Live Down What You Can’t Forget: https://youtu.be/9NJtjCUpYI4

Habits: https://youtu.be/-4OZn8wzsmE

New Depression: https://youtu.be/wzF3U9OkZHo

From The Hips: https://youtu.be/McZCZOYxV_c

Slip It In: https://youtu.be/McZCZOYxV_c

Warning Signs: https://youtu.be/dfOgHEYQmvU

Little Motels: https://youtu.be/7wxYFZ5kj2k

From The Lost Boys Fanzine Volume One:

(both can be downloaded at Gumroad here)

Sea Water And Summertimes:

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/634885980099379200/sea-water-and-summertimes

Put Yourself In My Hands: 

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/636274385975656449/ok-i-never-got-a-chance-to-add-my-fanzine-stuff

High Enough:

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/636275718898188288/high-enough-trevor-philips-has-always-had

And I Love You So Violent:

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/636276607677530112/and-i-love-you-so-violent-trevor-has-an-aversion

Crying:

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/636278118900006912/crying-what-are-you-supposed-to-do-when-your

Whiskey, Nostalgia, and Bobby Vinton:

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/636278888514895872/whiskey-nostalgia-and-bobby-vinton-from-the-lost

Like a Snowflake Through the Fire:

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/636283183030222848/like-a-snowflake-through-the-fire-will-you-be

Give Up The Thing That You Love:

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/636286227126059008/give-up-the-thing-that-you-love-im-not-whats

Drop The Game:

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/636289152648888320/drop-the-game-his-sun-is-fading-and-he-doesnt

White Winter Hymnal:

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/636290219352702976/white-winter-hymnal-my-retelling-of-the-prologue

Paroles de J’aime:

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/636290867524714496/paroles-de-jaime

Locked Up:

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/636292136189444096/locked-up-my-little-heart-is-turning-black-for

From The Lost Boys Fanzine Volume Two:

Maybe We’re Just Sleepwalking: (the A-side/Trevor to a B-side/Michael song)

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/645986091099406336/this-was-done-intentionally-like-an-a-side-of-a

You’ll Never Live Down What You Can’t Forget: (the B-side/Michael to an A-side/Trevor song)

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/645979478040969216/from-the-much-awaited-volume-two-of-the-lost-boys

(Collab with Jadyn to go here when I can track it down, dammit.)

Random One Shots/Sequels:

Bet You Rue The Day You Kissed A Writer In The Dark: (angst galore and I don’t know what)

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/650679533695074305/bet-you-rue-the-day-you-kissed-a-writer-in-the

Monachopic Énouement: (inspired by @ms-cursed here from an old post)

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/650588197510873089/monachopic-%C3%A9nouement

She Ain’t That Kind Of Girl: (Michael/Trisha AU written for @vulnicurah)

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/649684654648131584/she-aint-that-kind-of-girl

Warning Signs: (sort of a B side to Toxicity, maybe-ish? post-Bury The Hatchet)

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/645793885057155072/sorry-this-came-to-me-the-day-after-i-got-out-of

Little Motels: (gift for @becuzmdsaidineededpersonality and @mourn3d mwua)

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/645143960512249856/ive-had-a-bad-few-days-but-oh-look-i-can-write

Transgender Dysmorphia Blues: (Trigger Warning: one bad old slur Trevor should punt someone for, lots of disassociation, and sexual choking) 

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/643179431966490624/uh-so-this-was-supposed-to-be-up-on-my-birthday

Never Gonna Hurt You Baby: (TRIGGER WARNINGS: ABUSE, OLD OFFENSIVE SLUR, MENTIONS OF ABUSIVE CHILDHOODS, CHOKING; set a year and a half after Ending C, this is follows Michael’s POV and delves into the past as he tries to come to grips with getting over some of his issues, and it’s a long one at about 30 pages, so fair warning.)

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/641542791871283200/here-it-is-finally-oh-my-god-there-is-no-damn

It’s Just Medicine: (TRIGGER WARNING: ADDICTION TALK; set way post game ending.)

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/640352528874291200/this-was-going-to-go-in-the-upcoming-second-wave

Auld Lang Syne: (New Year’s Eve fic set at the end in 2013)

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/639196015157755904/oh-my-god-this-was-supposed-to-be-done-in-time-for

Big Daddy: (written for @mourn3d as a birthday gift because who wouldn’t want to call Michael -- or Ned Luke -- Big Daddy, ijs)

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/639071783880982528/this-is-dedicated-to-mourn3d-for-her-birthday-i

De Santa Baby: (written as the fluffier Michael second piece in a two part Trevor/Michael Christmas present for @shjwacd <3)

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/638534964757053440/this-is-part-two-of-the-christmas-gifts-i-promised

Song for a Winter’s Night: (written as the more somber Trevor first part of the present for @shjwacd)

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/638349162938826752/so-this-is-just-one-part-of-a-gift-that-i-promised

New Depression: (The Michael B Side, post-Ludendorff/pre-2013)

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/637733378511306752/and-now-for-the-b-side-to-trevors-habits-new

Habits: (The Trevor A Side, post-Ludendorff/pre-2013; inspired by a picture by Clover Flynn)

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/637694227094077440/so-i-saw-this-picture-by-cloverflynn-the-other

Slip It In: (The B Side to From The Hips; dedicated to the Bottom Michael Cult)

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/637547747887792128/oh-my-god-i-totally-took-this-song-in-a

You Keep Me Together Like No One Has Ever Done: (And this is the companion piece to ODIWWUAA -- it was all just a dream; dedicated to the best person in the world even if they don’t often believe it <3)

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/637370445596868608/yes-im-alive-as-its-obvious-today-i-almost

One Day I Will Wake Up All Alone: (TW: I wrote this at a bad point, so it’s dark, but I also don’t completely hate something I wrote for once, so if you don’t mind major character deaths -- from their own hand -- then read at your own risk)

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/637068279066853376/i-guess-this-should-go-in-the-next-fanzine-i-just

Tear You Apart: (high school AU stuff inspired by art from @ctrevk)

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/636512222287446016/so-a-while-back-ctrevk-made-this-spectacular

New Ways: (a sequel to Sea Water and Summertimes that was inspired by a picture drawn by @marina-rasteniye for the Fanzine)

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/634993211215167488/written-for-marina-rasteniye-who-also-contributed

Run: (a sequel to Locked Up which was written for the Fanzine)

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/634923141899157504/meant-as-a-follow-up-for-locked-up-which-was-in

Letting The Cables Sleep:

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/632920632155340800/have-you-ever-loved-someone-so-much-youd-give-an

Hooray For Love:

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/632458903277404160/sarah-jaffe-hooray-for-love-memories-are-the

Mi Estrella Oscura:

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/632204505052774400/dedicated-to-the-cult-of-bottom-michael-hugo-and

I Am Trying to Break Your Heart:

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/631735846986563584/finally-adding-this-up-here-like-this-for-those

All Time Love:

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/631204045607092224/to-boldly-go

Nothing With You: (written for GTA V Anniversary)

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/629564455154499584/todays-apparently-the-anniversary-of-what-has

From The Hips:

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/636348005649367040/from-the-hips-is-sex-better-than-dealing-with

Salvation:

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/636359311855140864/salvation-plenty-keeps-michael-up-at-night-and

Déjà Vu: 

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/627406742199877632/ooooh-this-i-like-and-i-can-see-it-like-time

(and the lovely commissioned artwork by Hugo which I’ll never not tag that because dfjdklklhjflkajdflkj: https://thenoman-sland.tumblr.com/post/627924072953790464/so-this-is-a-commission-i-did-based-on-this-post )

Multichapter Stories:

All You Are Is Brand New (The Beginning):

This is the one that @marina-rasteniye and I talked about, the idea of Michael viewing Trevor as a toy, and I got to thinking about Michael viewing everyone in the terms of something to manipulate. Especially given his line in the game about how he gets an attachment to something, goes after it, gets bored, hates it, gets rid of it, etc. It’s dark, but does have good moments. Basically, a flip-side to Toxicity.

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/636016321453309952/ok-this-got-started-after-a-line-i-wrote-in-new

Toxicity:

The one that started it all back in August? It began with watching a person’s video on how they did their college psychology thesis on Trevor Philips having borderline personality disorder, and I thought, “That makes sense,” because I see a lot of my own actions in him and vice versa. I began going through bad bouts of suicidal ideations, and because mental healthcare is a joke where I live, I was told to write my feelings out, so since I found Trevor relatable (similar shitty childhoods, lack of direction, anger/sadness over a lack of affection, etc.), that’s what I did. I understand him probably too well, unfortunately. That said, people with borderline personality disorder are not complete psychos. We have feelings. We’re human. We tend to fall in with the wrong people who use us, and we keep making excuses for them, thinking something will change, that some day will be the day they appreciate us, but they never do. And then we hate ourselves all over again. It’s a cycle I’ve worked hard to break with therapy. I’m not always perfect, unfortunately. I’m a work in progress. 

I wanted to use Toxicity as a means to show how a person gets to the point of Trevor in 2013. And I want to show how he can redeem himself in the future because it is possible. I know, personally. 

Warning Sign/The Beginning: (Chapter One) -- and I can’t edit the post any longer or fix the length behind a cut because Tumblr is being stupid bleh DX

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/625943160212897792/coldplay-warning-sign-i-have-not-written

I’m in the Lights with Him/Late ‘89: (Chapter Two)

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/626127156662222849/to-boldly-go

Amanda, You Light of My Life: (Chapter Three)

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/626859691820056576/so-heres-the-next-chapter-ill-post-a-link-to

I Can’t Make You Love Me/1991: (Chapter Four)

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/627136667950710784/oh-boy-get-out-the-tissues-because-this-chapter

It’s OK to Eat Fish Because They Don’t Have Any Feelings/Part 1 Late ‘93: (Chapter Five)

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/636362645420834816/ok-somehow-i-forgot-to-post-chapter-five-of

You’re My Best Friend But It’s Truly, Truly a Sin/Part 2 Late ‘93: (Chapter Six)

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/628593946878230528/and-heres-part-2-of-the-car-ride-home-up-to-the

She’s a Pretty Thing and She Knows Everything/Early ‘94: (Chapter Seven)

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/629129261105725440/a-bit-of-a-smaller-chapter-but-its-more

The Secrets That We Keep To Ourselves/Late Fall ‘94: (Chapter Eight)

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/630533002105094144/and-now-for-chapter-eight-sorry-for-the-delay

Nights of Loveless Love/Winter ‘94: (Chapter Nine)

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/632400884836515840/oh-my-god-you-know-what-time-it-is-time-to-simp

This Is Dangerous ‘Cause I Want You So Much/New Year’s 94-95: (Chapter Ten)

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/635557820469821440/your-music-for-this-chapter-along-with-the-title

The Deep, Deep Feeling Of Pain/Early ‘95: (Chapter Eleven)

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/643536967000293376/the-deep-deep-pain-of-feelingearly-1995-chapter

Nobody Loves You When You’re Down And Out/Early Spring ‘95: (Chapter Twelve)

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/644103803893923840/nobody-loves-you-when-youre-down-and-out-early

OTHER FANDOMS:

Beatles:

Johnny: (written in 2009 for the JHP LJ Community; surrounds the “juh” sound of the third chorus of Oh! Darling)

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/642072723941703680/ok-this-one-got-started-because-of-a-friend-on

Two of Us?: (written in 2009 for the JHP LJ Community; based around the thoughts surrounding the song)

https://trepidatingboarfetus.tumblr.com/post/642071165588865024/holy-shit-i-dont-know-if-i-ever-posted-this

[virginiewoolf]

Stephanie Foo, from What My Bones Know: A Memoir of Healing from Complex Trauma.

[trepidatingboarfetus]

This crackled voice murmurs dourly, into the good night, regurgitating on the perforation in the air which strangle so sourly yet place a touch against gooseflesh way too light.

Come, come hither for I still await your coaxing song. Note how loyally I have rested for so long. Please leave me not to stay here a moment more in unease. Should not even the ruthless be spared to buy a bit o' peace?

#a journey to death #illness #poetry #writing

[trepidatingboarfetus]

It's been a year since I tried. It's not nearly as frigid, but it's enough. With my health issues, it wouldn't take as long.

The bitter cold still begs, only now it's louder. A peaceful pleading though compared to then.

What's done is done.

[anucha4-deactivated20221203]

This really hurts…

[trepidatingboarfetus]

💔💔💔

Bloody liver needs to fail just a smidge faster because I have questions for John, and conducting seances are worthless.

[trepidatingboarfetus]

The pain in Paul's eyes, the sadness... it's difficult to watch. I think some expected actual fisticuffs or something as had been reported by the press, but this is something else. It's the rending of a heart.

[trepidatingboarfetus]

Thanks for playing with me. 👋🏼

[archived-themagicalmysticalboy]

do you think we, as a community, will actually survive seeing the whole documentary?

[trepidatingboarfetus]

I saw the original as a wee thing. I already need help just thinking about this, in its raw form.

[trepidatingboarfetus]

There's a sort of overwhelming nostalgic nausea that sets in like torture, knowing that teenage me's perception of people wasn't off. That people only care if you act a certain way, if you look a certain way, if you have money, etc., and as much as everyone claims to be "woke" and care about changing the world, they're still self-centered at the end of it all because that's human nature.

Just like mental health awareness is a joke. Or domestic violence awareness? Pretend to care about someone's problems only to gossip behind their back to others in a public setting, am I right? Or now, where people want poetry dedicated to to the topic, and I could have plenty to give, but goddamn if I wouldn't be kicked from the internet for posting it openly. But of course, the masses want me to be outspoken.

This is the only place I have because no one cares anymore. He doesn't know I post here. No family stalks me on Tumblr now, so it's the only safe space I have. My post on IG will have to come down eventually, and it's only there now because he has no phone and no means to get on IG.

I'm tired, tired of people telling me about how I fucked up, how I'm going to pay these goddamn consequences, the childish mind games, the hurtful bullshit that bleeds me dry. It's been so many people including the one breathing next to me who threatens me on a daily basis. End me already. If you bastards can't, I will. It's almost December 11th, and it'll be a great fucking anniversary to be had when I can finally escape all of you fucking people who gnawed me to the bones without a care that I'm a human being despite what you think.

[trepidatingboarfetus]

How one of the Beatles’ greatest songs came to be.

So my life is full of these happy accidents, and, coming back to where the name Eleanor Rigby comes from, my memory has me visiting Bristol, where Jane Asher was playing at the Old Vic. I was wandering around, waiting for the play to finish, and saw a shop sign that read “Rigby,” and I thought, That’s it! It really was as happenstance as that.

I do believe this, I do. Our minds work in quirky ways, picking up on nuances as we go about our daily routine, and information gets stored for further processing so we can come back to something later on.

That said, our memories are often faulty, and so is perception. It's common knowledge by now that there is a grave with the name in St. Peter's Church, he and John hung out there, and on some occasion passed by the name in question. Even if the grave didn't inspire in that moment, our brains are these wickedly beautiful masses that do callbacks when we see something that strikes familiarity, issues forth a memory. Often when writing, we don't even recognize we're doing it. I know because I can read it in my own so-called "brilliant" penning that will be the death of me. In the end, it's being creative; that's just how it goes.

I chose to also believe that his mind had that callback moment when he saw that Rigby because elsewhere, he admitted Eleanor may have been attached to Eleanor Bron who was someone John may have dated, so another John connection. Funny again how the mind works.

When I took the song to George, I said that, for accompaniment, I wanted a series of E-minor chord stabs. In fact, the whole song is really only two chords: C major and E minor. In George’s version of things, he conflates my idea of the stabs and his own inspiration by Bernard Herrmann, who had written the music for the movie “Psycho.” George wanted to bring some of that drama into the arrangement. And, of course, there’s some kind of madcap connection between Eleanor Rigby, an elderly woman left high and dry, and the mummified mother in “Psycho.”

This article is definitely a must-read. It's charming, and oh, that ending. Wow, thank you, Geo Martin. Anyway, Paul alludes to Eleanor Rigby being about loneliness, something with which people can identify, and I find myself again wondering if he was pulling from an old hat, emotionally, because, well, when you need material lyrically, you do that.

Maybe it's just me and John, but noticably, some of his best work comes from an emotional high/low, but that's not unusual, by any means. Eleanor Rigby is A+ quality, of course.

It's those same old questions. He was with Jane. Yes, he'd understand loneliness but not necessarily then. What factored into wanting to write a song about loneliness then? And to do it so well?

Questions, questions.

At least Here Today is acknowledged as a love song.

[trepidatingboarfetus]

To the ghosts of whenever:

I stood up for myself once again, but it's never enough. Or it's too much.

I'm too tired and have no reasons. It's time. It's growing colder. That's the only thing that helps ease this.

[anima-is-angry-deactivated20231]

“I’m rich. I live in a big house. I have a yacht, cars, and my own TV room. I’m fucking happy…

…right?”

[trepidatingboarfetus]

No, not happy at all, fucking idiot.

[desadnta]

Alternate ending to GTA V

You’re favorite annoying bitch is back with another idea!!!!!

What if after the boys pull off The Big One, things aren’t just calm and relaxed. What if pulling the biggest score of his life, with Trevor by his side again, awakens something in Michael he’s spent years trying to bury.

He missed it. He missed the adrenaline in his veins, the blood pumping in his ears, the butterflies before a score, the high when it was over and it went successfully. He missed looking beside him and seeing that batshit crazy smile already looking back at him, thinking the same thing.

We’re unstoppable.

So he meets with Trevor a few weeks after, and Trevor can immediately tell when he sees Michael that something is off. He looks different, not physically, but in his face. His expression was darker, more like the one Trevor met back in the 80’s.

Michael tells Trevor he can’t pretend anymore. He thought that this is what he wanted, a boring life in the sun with a mansion and a pool, two kids and a hot wife. But it’s not. He exists with them, but he lives when he’s with Trevor.

“You’re just gonna leave your kids?”

“Let’s be honest, T. They’re better off without me. Maybe they’ll actually get somewhere with me out of the picture.”

Trevor argues for a bit, wanting what was best for Michael and the kids. He cared about Tracey and Jimmy, and deep down, Amanda too. But he would be lying if he said his heart wasn’t pounding at the thought of having Michael as his running buddy again. He can almost feel the wind on his cheeks as they speed down the highway together, hanging out of the window shooting at cop cars like it was 1990.

Michael holds his ground. Tells Trevor he made up his mind. He wants back in The Game. He wants to die with a gun in his hand, like how he originally planned when they were young. He wants Trevor to be by his side through it all.

“There’s no one else I’d wanna do this with, T.”

Trevor grins.

Michael doesn’t come home. He doesn’t answer his phone. Amanda gets worried, tries calling endless times, calls Franklin who grows just as concerned, calls anyone else she can think of who might know where her husband is. Weeks go by. There’s news stories about robberies and shootouts on TV as usual, but more gruesome, blood painting the streets.

Amanda gets a letter in the mail, with no return address. It’s from Michael. He explains what’s going on, and why he left without saying goodbye. Explains that he wants to stay in touch with them, make sure they’re okay, but it’s best for their safety that he doesn’t. It was best for them to part like this. He tells her to forget about him. That she can live the life she truly wants too now, nothing tying her down. He tells her to tell the kids he loves them and always will, and never regrets having them. He’s sorry for how they grew up, but at least now they’ll have a chance to make things right. “I was always the problem, darling. They’re fucked because of me. With me out of the picture, they can stop rebelling out of spite, become successful and make you proud.”

Michael mails all the info for the house. The bank accounts, the cars, everything. He surrenders everything to her, wanting her to be happy, safe, and financially stable. He did take some money from the account before giving it up, but only enough to get him and Trevor where they needed to go comfortably.

“I’ll always love you, Mandy. I’ll always love Tracey and Jimmy. I’m sorry it took this long for me to set the three of you free. Be smart, be safe.

You’re always in my heart.”

- Michael

Months pass. More murders happen. More robberies get called in, each bigger than the last. Millions of dollars are stolen in shape of jewels, clothes, cars, drugs, you name it. Then they all just disappeared, like they never existed, the only evidence being the pools of blood shed over them. The cops were useless, stumped as a tree.

Dave wasn’t an idiot.

Amanda had reached out to him, worrying about Michael being missing. Then the letter came. Then the crimes started flooding in left and right, faster than he could do the paperwork for them. He sees what’s being targeted, how brutal the scene is when the cops arrive, and how the trail is perfectly covered each time, not a single clue being left behind.

Two people came to mind. Two very practiced, trained, veteran thieves who didn’t bat an eye at ending someone’s life for something they wanted.

At least, that’s what Dave thought about Trevor. With Michael, he thought it was different. He thought Michael cared, at least a little bit. Looking at his records, he was the driver most of the time during their time on the run, Trevor and Brad doing most of the shooting. Michael got his kills, absolutely, but it seemed there was some guilt to them.

Until now.

His new boss bursts into his office one day, looking as stressed and angry as anyone could possibly seem. He slams his hands on Dave’s desk, glaring into his eyes.

“Few months ago, with Haines. You two did some shady under the hood shit here.” he starts, “Michael De Santa. Or Townley, I should say. You got him involved after his sudden resurrection. Made him your puppet. Then you found Trevor Philips, who was on the run for ten fucking years.” his voice raises with each word now, “And instead of arresting him and doing your fucking job, you got him involved too.”

Dave scrambles. “I was doing what Steve said- the Bureau needed—”

“I don’t give a shit what the Bureau or Steve needed! Do you fucking realize what you’ve done, Norton?” the higher up screams. Dave just stares.

“You clipped them back together, you fucking idiot. Townley was done with him until you roped Philips into your little play dates. You let him get the taste back in his mouth and he started craving it again like a fucking ex junkie. And now,” he pulls a paper out of his back pocket and slams it on Dave’s desk. “This is on you.”

Dave looks at the newspaper in front of him, reading the big black text on the front cover.

MALL MASSACRE

18 DEAD, AT LEAST 12 MORE INJURED IN MULTI-STORE ROBBERY IN EAST LOS SANTOS

Eighteen. Eighteen people dead. Dave felt sick.

“Philips doesn’t surprise me, but Townley…” he says slowly, “Michael was never one for bloodlust. He just wanted the money.”

“Well it seems being back with his homicidal boyfriend may have changed his mind, Dave.”

The robberies continue. More people get killed. Each score gets more reckless, seeming to be less about the money or items and more about the screams and pools of red. The cops have nothing. The FIB has nothing. IAA, nothing.

Trevor and Michael have the entire city of Los Santos afraid to leave their homes. The streets get vacant, only a handful of people brave enough to walk around with two serial killers on the loose. People demand answers, or solutions, anything to make them feel safe again. No one can provide.

Dave keeps up to date with everything. He watches as Michael and Trevor sweep into the city, commit their crimes, and leave without so much as a hair left at the scene. He doesn’t understand how they’re doing it. He knows they’re professionals, but how is no one docking their cars? No one recognizing them immediately? No one hearing gunfire and reporting it before they can escape? Do they even have cars? How are they getting into the city, with agents and NOOSE at every entrance? Where are they hiding? Do they have a home, or are they back in motels?

There’s so many questions, so many ropes to tie together to get all the loose ends. It makes Dave’s head hurt. He normally finds himself being unable to sleep at night, his mind racing, guilt weighing in his chest, his boss’s words in his ear.

“This is on you.”

Was it really his fault? Did he really resuscitate two of the world’s most deadliest criminals and unleash all this? Were these gallons and gallons of blood on his hands, forever staining them?

Another sleepless night, he wanders out into his kitchen to get himself some water. The house is still dark, just the small light above the stove providing him enough brightness to see what he was doing. As he’s pouring himself a glass, he hears a familiar click, one he knew all too well from his line of work.

Slowly, he turns around.

A gun is aimed at his head, right between his eyes. Cocked, loaded, and ready to end his life. Dave should be pleading for his life, but finds himself unable to speak as he stares at the person behind the firearm, nearly unrecognizable.

Michael’s hair was longer, nearly touching his shoulders. He had slits in his eyebrow, scars on his cheeks, rough stubble hugging his face. Dave could visibly see he had gotten stronger, his body more bulky with muscle than the last time he saw him. Tattoo sleeves peeked out from under his shirt.

What really got Dave were his eyes.

He remembers Michael’s eyes being lost. This kicked puppy look on his face all the time, torn between wanting to be a good family man but also be the criminal he grew up as. One eye focused on the good while the other targeted the bad. The soft blue that bled with guilt when he killed someone undeserving.

Now, they were wide and dark, pupils like pinholes as he grinned nearly ear to ear. Dave didn’t see any remorse behind them. No mercy. Not even a drop of the man he used to know and always sorted of had a liking for.

Trevor stood behind him, looking the same as he did before minus some physical changes. He also got bigger, his hair was longer, and he was smiling sinisterly, his hand resting on Michael’s hip. He looked proud of the monster he had unlocked and unleashed on the city, his brown eyes reflecting the flames of the destruction.

Dave just stares at the two of them, frozen. Trevor squeezes Michael’s hip with a smirk. Michael tilts his head to the side, unsettling smile not faltering in the slightest.

“Davey.”

[trepidatingboarfetus]

Jesus Christ, this dark plot bunny burns so good.

[trepidatingboarfetus]

You Love Him And No One Else

As @a-shipping-life knows, I wrote this a long while back as a long-time patron for her Patreon because Dark Times was the first thing I stumbled over when I wondered if anyone else picked up the whole Michael/Trevor vibe in GTA V. I've loved this comic a long time and wanted to give back to someone for offering her time and talents to a project when she had a lot going on.

So that began this. I can't remember the conversations on her Patreon now because it's been a while, but Trevor was out a while thanks to Franklin and Lamar lol, so what does one dream when they're able to dream?

Based on some of the lyrics of an awesome Smashing Pumpkins song, Daphne Descends. I think a piece of this was also inspired by an old fanart of Michael looking dead and in his North Yankton gear. (Also inspired by playing RDR2 at the time and thinking of RDR: Undead Nightmare.) So yes, this is fanfic to go along with the awesome comic, Dark Times. Go read it if you haven't (but I'm sure you have).

A last lovers arc

You come apart to intertwine

It was all so simple

As you watched him move

Across the darkness in your room

There are flashes in his nightmares, threatening to break him from sleep, but his body is oh so damn tired, and he doesn’t remember the last time he’s ever been this drop-dead fucked beyond dragged ass, so there’s no responding to this desperate yearning to wake even though Michael haunts him wherever he goes in his mind. Along with flecks of red.

So much red, so much blood, oh God, there was so much fucking blood everywhere, and some of it was Michael’s --

He tries to derail that train right there, but no matter how he tries to avoid him, they are suddenly running together, laughing and carefree, away through the slushy spring streets of some dump in North Yankton, fingers clasped perfectly, and he can barely remember this job because they were all of maybe twenty-one or so, but Michael had never looked so goddamn beautiful in life than when the depressive blues of his eyes slipped and allowed the expansive skies to shine freely as he allowed himself to enjoy and be enjoyed.

They run and run with what feels like time rushing around them, aging them, pushing them forward, forever closer to places he doesn’t want to go again, and he yanks at his own hand, frantically shouting at Michael to just stop stop STOP because he knows where this road leads, goddammit...it’s nowhere good. It’s nowhere he wants to travel.

But Michael keeps a grip of steel on him until it’s slipping away -- until Michael is slipping away -- back onto the reddened snows of Ludendorff, and he feels himself grabbing his head, screaming in pain, holy fuck --

And then he’s back in the dark, covered in so much blood. He’s not even sure what the hell he’s done this time. Is there any coming back from this? Can he be trusted?? How can he be trusted if he’s not even sure what the fuck he’s done or if he was even high, or goddamn, maybe he’s just finally gone 51/50...maybe this is what it’s like to lose his fucking mind after so many lost years of love?

Michael creeps toward him, moving sluggishly through the darkness like the old man he’s become, but when the body reaches him, the flesh isn’t living, and Michael is very much dead like he should have been so very long ago.

Trevor whimpers, kicks, pleads...doesn’t know what this shambling monster wants from him until icy skin embraces him and frigid lips tickle his ear with vocal cords long since unused stretching wretchedly just to whisper, “I won’t leave you, T. I love you.”

“But you did!” he howls with grief. “You left me behind and then never once tried to find me! That’s not...fuck,” he sobs violently, wiping at his tears in frustration, “that’s not fucking love!”

The decaying tissue whines and protests again as Michael murmurs lazily in his arms, “I didn’t leave you though, Trev. I’ve always been right here, right in your heart.” The skin in Trevor’s arms shifts and tightens, becoming warmer and more alive again. Michael smiles at him, and it’s always been hard to stay mad at him when those dimples appear, fuck. “I’ve always been where I’m supposed to be if you’d just stop ignoring me.”

The Michael in his dreams takes his hand and intertwines it with his like the days of old, placing them both on his chest where Trevor can feel a beating heart, and he sighs in relief. The scene changes to a summery sunset of years past, somewhere after Amanda but years to go still before their own messy Ludendorff divorce of sorts...yes, back to when everyone was one big happy family, and he can feel the breeze in his hair, ruffling it.

Oddly, it feels like fingers, and if he concentrates hard enough, he can hear voices.

Before he can do so though, glimmering ocean eyes are gazing into his, and this is where it was always the best. They watch little Tracey and barely-out-of-diapers Jimmy running through the grass, terrorizing each other in all of the ways that siblings are supposed to, he thinks to himself fondly, and not in the bizarre way he grew up…the way that’s destroyed him.

“I know what you’re thinking, T,” Michael blurts out from beside him and gulps the rest of his beer down.

Trevor stares at him, tries to recall if this memory went this way or not, but hell, it’s been ages ago now, and he can’t remember what the fuck he had to eat several days before sometimes or if he even had anything to eat at all, so it could’ve gone any damn way at this point.

“What are you, a fucking psychic now?” he chuckles while he watches Jimmy trip over a gardening hose -- why they even had one is anyone’s guess because no one even gardened in those days -- while Tracey points and laughs like a little blond hyena.

“No, I just know you,” Michael snorts and then stops to yell at the kids, “Hey, cut that shit out, Trace!! Help your brother up, don’t laugh at him for God’s sake!” Under his breath where only Trevor can hear him, he mutters, “Your mother would fucking ice me in my sleep.”

“Maybe she should.” He doesn’t know why he says it, but it’s a dream, so fuck it. It’s not like he hasn’t thought it every once in a while. He...he loves the world of Mikey, but it’s not the same. Their bond is not the same. Michael’s feelings are not the same. Sighing, he yields, dramatically throwing his arms in the air, “Please do depart your wisdom upon me, oh wise and wondrous Townley.”

“You’re not a monster, Trevor. You’re not beyond repair.”

How the fuck does he know he had been thinking that?? Oh...dream, right.

“I trust you with my kids, T. I trust you with Frank and Lamar. I trust you to do the right thing even if it takes a while to get there in the end sometimes, and most importantly, I trust you with my life,” Michael firmly states to him, taking his hands in his again, “because I love you.”

Hot tears slide from his eyes. Is...is he crying? Is it possible to cry in dreams??

“You can threaten me, scream at my face, throw a punch or two, but I know you’d never actually hurt me, much less kill me, Trevor.”

And from there Michael turns to him, the blue of his polo shirt turned very, very red, but he beams so widely, oh so exquisitely, as he grabs the blood-soaked straps of Trevor’s dress and pulls him into his arms, whispering, “There is a redeeming quality in you, Trevor. It’s your unwavering loyalty.”

Then scorching lips set fire to his, and he thinks he could die perfectly like this, but just as soon as it begins, everything fades around him, sending him into oblivion as voices mumble in the foggy misery surrounding him inside his head.

Fuck, it’s not fair.

There’s a sound that hits his ears though, above everything else, something beeping, and that pulls a heavy lid open...he can barely make out where he is but remembers he was at the hospital with Michael, and that solid chirping must mean that things are doing as they should so he lets his eye droop back shut, clinging to the man on the bed just a bit tighter.

“Was...was his eye just open? Am I just imagining shit?” Frank’s voice comes from the left side of him.

A hand lingers in his hair, and instantly, he knows the owner, keening into the palm as the fingers caress his remaining strands gently. “Let him sleep. He needs it.”

Mikey always knows what he needs somehow, even when he doesn’t. Trusts him when no one else does. Manages to love him though he can’t love himself.

There isn’t life without him...it doesn’t exist. It didn’t for nearly a decade, and he almost burdened himself with that again like a reckless virgin on his first robbing spree. He has to get better control of himself, has to prove that he’s worthy of breathing the same fucking air as the man doing more worrying over him than over his own goddamn almost previously dead self -- much less being in the same distance as him. There’s no one else that will ever understand him or love him any better than Mikey can.

There’s no one else.

You love him

You love him more than this

You love him and you cannot, you can't resist

[a-shipping-life-deactivated2023]

It's just as good as I remember! 😭💗

Thank you so so much for writing this hon! Will treasure it forever! As always a big fan of your work :')

💜

[trepidatingboarfetus]

Thank you as always!! I don't think I'm done writing for GTA yet. As much as people love my poetry for whatever reason, and I think I've finally found a publishing home for that, I miss writing fiction because it's my "happy little home," as Bob Ross used to put that sort of thing on his painting show.

Plus, working my way through every single part of RDR2 for months has made me miss GTAV terribly!

[trepidatingboarfetus]

You Love Him And No One Else

As @a-shipping-life knows, I wrote this a long while back as a long-time patron for her Patreon because Dark Times was the first thing I stumbled over when I wondered if anyone else picked up the whole Michael/Trevor vibe in GTA V. I've loved this comic a long time and wanted to give back to someone for offering her time and talents to a project when she had a lot going on.

So that began this. I can't remember the conversations on her Patreon now because it's been a while, but Trevor was out a while thanks to Franklin and Lamar lol, so what does one dream when they're able to dream?

Based on some of the lyrics of an awesome Smashing Pumpkins song, Daphne Descends. I think a piece of this was also inspired by an old fanart of Michael looking dead and in his North Yankton gear. (Also inspired by playing RDR2 at the time and thinking of RDR: Undead Nightmare.) So yes, this is fanfic to go along with the awesome comic, Dark Times. Go read it if you haven't (but I'm sure you have).

A last lovers arc

You come apart to intertwine

It was all so simple

As you watched him move

Across the darkness in your room

There are flashes in his nightmares, threatening to break him from sleep, but his body is oh so damn tired, and he doesn’t remember the last time he’s ever been this drop-dead fucked beyond dragged ass, so there’s no responding to this desperate yearning to wake even though Michael haunts him wherever he goes in his mind. Along with flecks of red.

So much red, so much blood, oh God, there was so much fucking blood everywhere, and some of it was Michael’s --

He tries to derail that train right there, but no matter how he tries to avoid him, they are suddenly running together, laughing and carefree, away through the slushy spring streets of some dump in North Yankton, fingers clasped perfectly, and he can barely remember this job because they were all of maybe twenty-one or so, but Michael had never looked so goddamn beautiful in life than when the depressive blues of his eyes slipped and allowed the expansive skies to shine freely as he allowed himself to enjoy and be enjoyed.

They run and run with what feels like time rushing around them, aging them, pushing them forward, forever closer to places he doesn’t want to go again, and he yanks at his own hand, frantically shouting at Michael to just stop stop STOP because he knows where this road leads, goddammit...it’s nowhere good. It’s nowhere he wants to travel.

But Michael keeps a grip of steel on him until it’s slipping away -- until Michael is slipping away -- back onto the reddened snows of Ludendorff, and he feels himself grabbing his head, screaming in pain, holy fuck --

And then he’s back in the dark, covered in so much blood. He’s not even sure what the hell he’s done this time. Is there any coming back from this? Can he be trusted?? How can he be trusted if he’s not even sure what the fuck he’s done or if he was even high, or goddamn, maybe he’s just finally gone 51/50...maybe this is what it’s like to lose his fucking mind after so many lost years of love?

Michael creeps toward him, moving sluggishly through the darkness like the old man he’s become, but when the body reaches him, the flesh isn’t living, and Michael is very much dead like he should have been so very long ago.

Trevor whimpers, kicks, pleads...doesn’t know what this shambling monster wants from him until icy skin embraces him and frigid lips tickle his ear with vocal cords long since unused stretching wretchedly just to whisper, “I won’t leave you, T. I love you.”

“But you did!” he howls with grief. “You left me behind and then never once tried to find me! That’s not...fuck,” he sobs violently, wiping at his tears in frustration, “that’s not fucking love!”

The decaying tissue whines and protests again as Michael murmurs lazily in his arms, “I didn’t leave you though, Trev. I’ve always been right here, right in your heart.” The skin in Trevor’s arms shifts and tightens, becoming warmer and more alive again. Michael smiles at him, and it’s always been hard to stay mad at him when those dimples appear, fuck. “I’ve always been where I’m supposed to be if you’d just stop ignoring me.”

The Michael in his dreams takes his hand and intertwines it with his like the days of old, placing them both on his chest where Trevor can feel a beating heart, and he sighs in relief. The scene changes to a summery sunset of years past, somewhere after Amanda but years to go still before their own messy Ludendorff divorce of sorts...yes, back to when everyone was one big happy family, and he can feel the breeze in his hair, ruffling it.

Oddly, it feels like fingers, and if he concentrates hard enough, he can hear voices.

Before he can do so though, glimmering ocean eyes are gazing into his, and this is where it was always the best. They watch little Tracey and barely-out-of-diapers Jimmy running through the grass, terrorizing each other in all of the ways that siblings are supposed to, he thinks to himself fondly, and not in the bizarre way he grew up…the way that’s destroyed him.

“I know what you’re thinking, T,” Michael blurts out from beside him and gulps the rest of his beer down.

Trevor stares at him, tries to recall if this memory went this way or not, but hell, it’s been ages ago now, and he can’t remember what the fuck he had to eat several days before sometimes or if he even had anything to eat at all, so it could’ve gone any damn way at this point.

“What are you, a fucking psychic now?” he chuckles while he watches Jimmy trip over a gardening hose -- why they even had one is anyone’s guess because no one even gardened in those days -- while Tracey points and laughs like a little blond hyena.

“No, I just know you,” Michael snorts and then stops to yell at the kids, “Hey, cut that shit out, Trace!! Help your brother up, don’t laugh at him for God’s sake!” Under his breath where only Trevor can hear him, he mutters, “Your mother would fucking ice me in my sleep.”

“Maybe she should.” He doesn’t know why he says it, but it’s a dream, so fuck it. It’s not like he hasn’t thought it every once in a while. He...he loves the world of Mikey, but it’s not the same. Their bond is not the same. Michael’s feelings are not the same. Sighing, he yields, dramatically throwing his arms in the air, “Please do depart your wisdom upon me, oh wise and wondrous Townley.”

“You’re not a monster, Trevor. You’re not beyond repair.”

How the fuck does he know he had been thinking that?? Oh...dream, right.

“I trust you with my kids, T. I trust you with Frank and Lamar. I trust you to do the right thing even if it takes a while to get there in the end sometimes, and most importantly, I trust you with my life,” Michael firmly states to him, taking his hands in his again, “because I love you.”

Hot tears slide from his eyes. Is...is he crying? Is it possible to cry in dreams??

“You can threaten me, scream at my face, throw a punch or two, but I know you’d never actually hurt me, much less kill me, Trevor.”

And from there Michael turns to him, the blue of his polo shirt turned very, very red, but he beams so widely, oh so exquisitely, as he grabs the blood-soaked straps of Trevor’s dress and pulls him into his arms, whispering, “There is a redeeming quality in you, Trevor. It’s your unwavering loyalty.”

Then scorching lips set fire to his, and he thinks he could die perfectly like this, but just as soon as it begins, everything fades around him, sending him into oblivion as voices mumble in the foggy misery surrounding him inside his head.

Fuck, it’s not fair.

There’s a sound that hits his ears though, above everything else, something beeping, and that pulls a heavy lid open...he can barely make out where he is but remembers he was at the hospital with Michael, and that solid chirping must mean that things are doing as they should so he lets his eye droop back shut, clinging to the man on the bed just a bit tighter.

“Was...was his eye just open? Am I just imagining shit?” Frank’s voice comes from the left side of him.

A hand lingers in his hair, and instantly, he knows the owner, keening into the palm as the fingers caress his remaining strands gently. “Let him sleep. He needs it.”

Mikey always knows what he needs somehow, even when he doesn’t. Trusts him when no one else does. Manages to love him though he can’t love himself.

There isn’t life without him...it doesn’t exist. It didn’t for nearly a decade, and he almost burdened himself with that again like a reckless virgin on his first robbing spree. He has to get better control of himself, has to prove that he’s worthy of breathing the same fucking air as the man doing more worrying over him than over his own goddamn almost previously dead self -- much less being in the same distance as him. There’s no one else that will ever understand him or love him any better than Mikey can.

There’s no one else.

You love him

You love him more than this

You love him and you cannot, you can't resist

[trepidatingboarfetus]

So I have been battling suicidal shit and whatnot for whomstsoever the fuck cares lol. Don’t know, don’t care. Anyway, I’ve missed writing for this corner of the R* universe.

Last August, I started writing for the GTAV community as a coping skill to battle suicidal thoughts, not to be involved in fucking stupid drama with immature adults. This is a release. It’s my “happy place,” so to speak. Poetry is my emotional vomit wasteland, sometimes. I am miserable without my happy place. So either read it and like it or fuck off. I no longer care.

This is what happens when I miss writing for GTAV, and my spouse has listened to Harry Styles on fucking repeat. Thanks for that. But Adore You has a decent beat, and the lines “I’d walk through fire for you/just let me adore you/like it’s the only thing I’ll ever do” kept ruminating in my mind along with this scene with Trevor…so yeah. Let’s just tentatively call this Adore, I guess? Whatever. I decided to combine fanfiction and poetry…kind of took a page out of the book of my poetic friend Baron since I love gaming poetry.

So maybe I’m not done with writing. I don’t know. Maybe I should be lmao. Depends on the fucking feels game and if I win that. So whatever, hopefully everyone else wins my writing. Enjoy.

[trepidatingboarfetus]

So more stuff was said behind my back. After first blocking me on Discord and Instagram on the public account, but spying on my stories like someone else we know with your private one. Well no. Not doing that. That's why you were blocked. Originally, you said you needed time, and I thought, "OK, fine," because our mutual said your feelings were hurt by Kagome vagueposting (which was unintentional), and I felt bad about it, but then yes, FOLLOWING MY STORIES ON INSTAGRAM ON YOUR PRIVATE ACCOUNT AFTER REMOVING ME FROM THE PUBLIC ONE IS FUCKING CREEPY JUST LIKE WHEN "THEY" DID IT. That's why after days of no response but doing that, I figured you're either up to some weird shit or you're never going to answer. So I left the server and blocked. As another mutual said, I can't trust. I can't trust anyone anymore. So much shit that's half-assed is being said behind my back like high school drama when I was said to "go away and take a break if it's that much." Like I'm supposed to sit here and be happy that this is happening. That I'm losing friends over this dumb bullshit. Over a fucking person who can't seem to tell the truth to even themselves, and now someone I'd considered a great friend who's -- yes, if you must know -- doing similar stupid shit. Actually, I'd forgotten I had these conversations in my admin chat for Facebook with my long-time friends, Lilly, Luis, and Salem (yeah, that person remembers Salem, I'm positive, despite attempts at acting like they have a shit memory because they sure could remember my ex-girlfriend's/friend's name after months to track her down on Instagram in December). Both about what they were doing and a conversation you and I had in December I'd forgotten clear about where you said you talked to them (supposedly about how much they care for me, but I was told by them in a conversation I remember from around that same time someone was responsible for making them think that December was all about them, and I have to wonder what else you talked about then). See, so much crap is getting flung at me to make me look bad when you and I both know a different story. You said you even told them you knew another side to everything. But then of course, I'm sure like what goes on over in shitposting groups on Facebook, it's "come into my DMs" where people can photoshop shit or crop stuff in order to make things look like they want them. And I'm not even sure why you addressed it in the first fucking place because I never mentioned you by name to keep you out of it. Just like I never mentioned them by name, technically (or their "name" because I'm not that fucking mean), but they still read things or whatever. That they could have just bypassed. Like they said they were already doing.

I hate this fucking drama shit, and honestly, I'm done with Tumblr. I am just about done with writing again after all of this. No, that isn't "manipulation" or whatever to get anyone to reach out. Leave me alone. If I write, I'll upload to AO3 or Insta, and that's it. Right now, I don't know. Even what's about done, I don't know. Yeah, this has fucking stressed me out too. I won't say how because I don't want to be accused of more shit, and no one but me needs to know how I'm feeling. But I do know that if it continues one more fucking time, I'll post those fucking chats with certain conversations, and where I was told about certain sus behavior, the red flags, and other shit. I'm tired of being dragged. Grow the fuck up and get help.

(I'm not unchecked or untreated or whatever either and have never been, so thanks for trying to make it seem like I am just because I had to go to the hospital in March over physical illness, offline stress that's been piling up for two years, and then stress created by a friend being a fucking jerk while messing with my head, something my friends elsewhere could see right away. Identifying with something, writing about it, and being untreated are different damn things.)

[funnypages]

Wish I had those powers 😔