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sinisterexaggerator · 6 months

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I know the answers to like 99.9% of these.

But. Here we go! 👀 ⛔️

⛔️ "Do you have a fic you started, but scrapped?"

Hmm, not exactly. I always have the intention of finishing something, even if it takes me a year or more.

Well, I guess there was this one for a young Trevor Philips and Michael De Santa in North Yankton for GTA V. Never got around to adding more to it, and probably never will:

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“Jesus, T! Get us the fuck out of here!”

“I’m trying M, but if you’re not satisfied with my driving skills, why don’t you sit YOUR fat ass behind the wheel?”

“Why the hell did you have to kill that guy?! He’s probably got a wife and kids!”

“Hey! He triggered the alarm! That’s why we’re in this mess.”

“No, we’re in this mess because you’re TRIGGERhappy!”

“Nananana… That snitch got what he deserved!”

Flashing lights, red and blue, reflecting off the crisp, white snow; two robbers running from the cops. Always running, forever, until the end of time, or at least that’s how Michael Townley felt, locked in tight by his seatbelt, the getaway car little better than a piece of shit, found somewhere off the beaten path before the job. It was a small-time gig, just a liquor store, but plenty of people warmed themselves by getting drunk; the register loaded down with money while its patrons were loaded down with booze; a typical, cold winter’s night for the pair of two-bit crooks.

Michael turned around, his weapon drawn, a pair of police cruisers in hot pursuit. They were firing their own rounds, aiming for the tires, and Townley knew he had to do something soon or wind up behind bars. “Can’t this thing go any faster, T?!”

“You know what’s REALLY fast? Your God damn mouth. Quit flapping your lips and get those assholes off our tail!”

Michael took a shot simply to smash the rearview windshield, seeing the cruisers clear as day as they were gaining on them, M feeling that all too familiar rush of adrenaline permeate throughout his entire being; he would tell T that he hated it, but the rush he felt made him feel alive, something he rarely felt at all.

On a good day he was half a man, kept alive by petty theft and diner food, skirting from one town to the next, Trevor at his heels like an obedient, somewhat restless puppy that needed to be potty trained – M taking it upon himself to break him in. He was useful, beneficial, however unrestrained and somewhat uncontrollable; he had it in his mind it was an easy fix, but Trevor had other wild ideas.

Michael pulled the trigger, and one cop spun out in a flurry of ice and squealing rubber, the car being buried conveniently in a mountain of thick, white powder, but not cocaine; that would be saved for their celebration later if they made it out alive.

“Whooo! That’s my cowboy! That’s some rootin’ tootin’ damn good shootin’, Mikey!”

“I don’t ever want to hear those words come out of your mouth again.”

---

👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please!

LOL, you know allllll about my WIPs. Probably before anyone else. I have too many to choose from, but I hope to do these three things first and foremost:

Chapter 15 of Stars Above. Bane is in the bacta tank, forced to endure flashbacks from his past in the form of nightmares, and Zulara is left alone with Todo until he wakes up, however long it takes. But will Cad be pleased to see her there? What will Kayson think about her disappearance over the next few days? What lie or cover story will Hondo make up, if any?

This Hondo x Reader fic, where the reader is a spoiled little rich girl who is the daughter of a weapon's manufacturer. Their fates are hilariously intertwined, and Hondo is going to wind up getting more than he bargained for when he had originally set out to simply steal a little something off her.

A Tech x Reader fic where the Marauder is left in Tech's care during a Separatist attack on the planet Bandomeer. He comes across the reader who is injured and trapped under some rubble. He must help you/her and then pilot you both to safety. An unexpected turn of events causes you and Tech to be stranded until he can repair the ship; you are at the mercy of nature and the elements over the course of the next few days, not to mention any droids who may find you, and the rest of Clone Force 99 is preoccupied and unable to help. Hurt/Comfort/Possible smut. >D

#writer ask #ask game #fanfiction #thank you teeeeeeth #GTA V #Trikey #My WIPs

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rreskk · 10 months

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Here I am again, shamelessly ranting about North Yankton Trevor Philips. No but hear me out

Cos it’s so wintery and cosy, I just wanna force that lover boy down onto the couch and snuggle while he eagerly fondles my ass and occasionally uses my boobs as hand warmers. Then I’ll give him some facial care when he falls asleep (cos he definitely would refuse when awake). Then I’ll beside his mullet because he’ll sleep through Hell and back.

He’ll wake up and it would be like 4am so I’ll make us both some cheap ramen then we’ll just eat together and talk about our days.

IM A SIMPLE GIRL PLS

#trevor philips #grand theft auto 5 #gta v #grand theft 5 #grand theft auto #gta 5

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rfxiii · 8 months

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(Wanted to write a short little backstory/prologue of the events that led up to how my OC, Riley ended up working with the North Yankton boys. It’s also the prologue to the full length fic I’m planning for her of the same name as this little story!)

A Match Into Water

[Summary: After years of working alongside her father in the drug trade, nineteen year old Riley Ramos has grown restless of the monotony and dead end life set before her. Desperate for change, Riley seeks out the man who occasionally delivers her fathers drug shipments, the man who’s stories gave her hope of branching out from her shitty little trailer park: stick up artist, Michael Townley.]

*TW: none

(Word count:1677)

Riley Ramos had only just turned nineteen, but as she reluctantly prepared for yet another mundane day in the Midwest trailer park she called home, she couldn't shake the feeling that her life was slipping away, destined to remain trapped in this endless cycle. Her father, Manuel, was the reason for her daily despair. They were entangled in a dangerous trade, dealing cocaine to the locals and handling larger shipments for out-of-state gang members. And while the danger and illegality may be thrilling to some, the monotony of it all bored Riley to tears. She’d always hated it here, from the moment they’d moved from the big city she’d been born in down south. But now at nineteen she was sure she would see her last days on earth while she rotted in this godforsaken trailer park.

Her thoughts often wandered to Michael Townley and his odd associates, who occasionally assisted her father with drug transportation. But it wasn't the drugs that intrigued her; it was the thrill of their other career as bank robbers. Riley yearned for a taste of that excitement, a break from the dreary trailer park existence, to just once live exactly how she wanted to, and to feel as alive and untouchable as she’s sure that they do.

Riley's frustration is close to reaching its breaking point, and the tension in their cramped, dimly lit trailer is palpable.

Her father, Manuel, a weathered man with a hardened expression and scar riddled face, meets her in their kitchen- his expression firm and stern, “Mija, listen. There’s something I want to talk with you about.” Riley is used to these conversations, and this morning is no different. She knows exactly where this is going and she’s rolling her eyes and on the defensive before her father has a chance to continue further.

“Papá, please.. Don’t start. I’m seriously not in the mood.” Riley warns, stepping around Manuel to make herself coffee in the ancient coffee pot they’d owned since forever.

Manuel sighs heavily, sitting his beer down on the counter with a firm thud. It may only be eight o’clock in the morning but he had always had a drinking problem. Not nearly as bad as Riley’s estranged mother though. “No. No more avoiding this. You’re nineteen now and you’ve been avoiding this long enough. It’s time we talk about your future!” he argues, setting her with that steely glare that makes it obvious he means business.

“My future?” Riley scoffs in disgust, “Are you kidding? You mean wasting my future here so I can, what? Sell coke to the local skids? Or did you mean our oh so lucrative deals with the gangs out west?” She’s being petty and she knows it. But this anger comes after years of selling coke and wasting away in this Midwest hellscape. Most parents of a girl her age would be looking forward to her going to college, getting a good job, and preparing for her future. But all her father cares about is expanding his territory in the trade and securing Riley’s role as his successor. Of course, she’d never want to go to college, get a boring corporate job, or get married to some straight laced loser. But it’s the thought of having her life mapped out by her father, doing something that she hates, that has her so angry.

“You should be so lucky!” Manuel snaps back, “Do you remember how things used to be?! No food, more bills than we could handle, the electric company turning off the power during that winter, and debt collectors always at the door? This ‘waste of your future’ is the only thing that keeps us off the streets!” He gives her that cold, angry look, the look that always made her back down and remember her place. But not this time. She wasn’t going to let him have his way without at least saying her piece.

“I didn’t say I was ungrateful! I said that I don’t want this future for me! Why is that so hard to understand!?” Riley finally screams with a slam of her palms on the countertop. “This may be good for you. It has been good for us for years, but it ain’t good for me! Why the fuck don’t you care about that?! Why can’t I want more?”

This argument had been brewing for months, each disagreement growing more intense. Riley, with a fierce determination to break free from the drug trade her family had been entangled in, pleaded for a different path. She dreamt of a life without the constant restraint of relying on this dead end life. But her father, dependent on the money he had amassed, refused to let go of his vision for her.

In that final, climactic exchange, with voices raised, accusations flung, and truths laid bare, her father relents, “Fine! You want to go? Then go! Try it out there! And I guarantee you’ll find nothing! This world is cruel and it isn’t going to give you anything but more disappointment. And when you come back, just know I’ll be here. And then maybe you’ll see things how they really are!”

Riley can’t bear the thought of becoming what her father wanted her to be, a cog in this monotonous operation. And the realization that her own father would never understand her desire for a clean break from this life weighed heavily on her.

With tears in her eyes and anger coursing through her veins, Riley abruptly turns away from her father's relentless argument and cold finality. She rushes to her room, a small, dingy space that was a stark contrast to the life she envisions. She quickly packs her essentials, including an old photograph of her and her father from when she was a child, a symbol of the life she had lost to the drug trade.

As she zips up her backpack, the decision is clear. Riley was leaving, determined to find Michael Townley and his enigmatic crew. She had overheard talk of their reputation, of the life they had that she so desperately sought. And with determination and trepidation, she set out, leaving behind the only family she had ever really had, in pursuit of a chance at a different course and a life free from the restraints of her fathers wishes.

Weeks pass as she crisscrosses the Midwest, following whatever leads she could uncover. Until finally, her tenacity leads her to the rotten motel of Michael Townley and his friends. She sucks in a sharp breath, raising a fist to knock as she gets her words straight in her head. She wants this. And despite how scared she is that he’ll laugh in her face, that he’ll deny her, she can’t give up now that she’s come this far.

The knock resounds through the door- firm but not firmly enough to resemble law enforcement. There’s a shuffling in the room, muffled shouts from different men before the chain locks and rusted deadbolts disengage and the warped motel door is swinging sharply open. Michael meets Riley’s gaze and she can tell he doesn’t remember her. It’s not exactly insulting. She’d been barely eighteen the last time he’d dropped off a shipment. But then he gives her an annoyed chuckle before looking over his shoulder and shouting into the room, “T! Did you and B order another fucking call girl? Are you kidding?”

Riley feels herself bristle in anger. She was young, pretty, and she’d dealt with her fathers more sleazy clients making passes at her for years. But Michael mistaking her for a prostitute has her fuming. Before she can argue in the negative, another voice, harsh and grating, shouts out, “We didn’t call nobody, Mikey! Get your panties outta a bunch!” the voice cackles in manic glee, “Hey, wait! Is it that crazy chick that wanted Brad to stay here with her and her kids after he boned her last week?”

Michael tilts his head as he looks at her, trying to place the odd recognition he has of her, “Nah, it isn’t her. But-“

“Ok, shut up! I’m not a fuckin’ prostitute! And I’m not some crazy chick lookin’ for a new baby daddy!” Riley interjects, giving Michael a firm scowl. The interruption causes Michael to balk, blinking in surprise at the young woman at his door, “Wait a minute.. I do know you.. What’s your name, kid?”

Riley hisses at the endearment, seeing herself as far from a “kid” despite this man being twenty years older than her. But she sucks it up, fixing him with a firm look of determination and no intention of backing down, “My name is Riley Ramos. You used to deliver coke shipments to my father, Manuel.”

Michael’s brow knits before recognition clears his expression. He does know this girl. But why she was here of all places, and how in the hell she’d found him has his thoughts reeling, “Alright. Yeah, yeah. I know who you are. But why the hell are you here? And how the fuck did you find me?” He doesn’t feel threatened by this girl. But the fact that she’d been able to find them, presumably on her own, certainly set him on edge.

She inhales sharply, squaring her shoulders and giving Michael a look that makes all of her need, her determination, and her unwillingness to back down almost palpable,

“I wanna come with you.”

Everything seems to fall silent, catching the attention of the other two inside the room, and for a moment, all eyes were on Riley. She could feel the weight of their scrutiny, the doubts and skepticism, and most of all, their almost comical disbelief. But beneath it all, she senses a spark of confusion and curiosity from them that she prays may grow into acceptance of her request.

And in that electrifying moment, the possibility of a different life, one filled with adventure and risks, a way out from a dead end life dying alone in that trailer park, hung in the balance.

#my oc #oc stuff #did I name my oc after me? yes #and did I even name her dad after my dad? also yes #I’m not v creative #ooops #riley ramos

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real-fanta-sea · 2 years

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(hold me for) five more minutes, please

Hello! Here I come with a new addition to the Trikey kiss collection, this time prompted by the lovely @samphiresea - I'm sorry it took me so long! I hope the fic itself will make it worth the wait 😊

the prompt was this: I’d love to see 43/44, soft/tender kisses

I played around with it and actually made it post-ending B Hurt no Comfort (but the soft kiss is there I swear), sooo be aware there are no happy endings for our boys here. Otherwise, it is suitable for anyone who doesn't mind a couple of f words.

Find the fic under "keep reading" or here on my AO3. I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! 😊

The night wrapped around him like a deep blue silk scarf, and Trevor let it pinch goose bumps into his skin while he took another swig of lukewarm beer. The moon was full and shone as a diamond sitting on top of a tiara of mountains above Sandy Shores, drawing the residual heat from the ground and shivering crickets. It would have been an understatement to say Trevor wasn't fucking tired and wanted to doze off. Yet, for once, he was caught up in awe of stars and all that inky celestial shit he often bullied Michael for, so he opted to remain sat in a folding chair on the otherwise repulsive Alamo Sea shore, watching the stars crawl by.

The other reason he didn't want to sleep just yet was not so visible yet inevitable and came to haunt him every time he closed his eyes for more than five minutes. Trevor was no stranger to nightmares, quite the opposite - terrors sticking to him by cold sweat and dirty sheets were his oldest friends. He learned to coexist with them early on and absorbed them as funny little alternate universe takes, as, for most of his life, the waking state wasn't much better than them anyway. But the one that occupied his brain lately? Oh boy, that was really something - and only huffing gas or falling to bed tripping his balls seemed to help.

How many nights had he spent sitting like that since the big one, avoiding the inevitable? Trevor could hardly tell. At first, he tried to keep track by putting out stars with his thumb, mind running back to North Yankton summers and youthful laughter next to him till the Red Wood he forgot about while reminiscing bit his lip. Yet no matter how many burns he collected, the punctures in the night's gown always reappeared the following night - an obscure reminder of the finality of earthly life, unlike the celestial eternity. It was funny, really. Ridiculous. Something he wanted to laugh about so desperately he always ended up heaving his lungs out in explosive fits of wailing.

More often than not, Trevor found himself looking up to the sky - just the way Michael always did - and did his best to catch up with the appeal of all the colours and hues, all shapes of clouds and constellations. He told himself he did it to wind down, to process everything that happened, but if Trevor were honest with himself, he did it to drown out the guilt of not protecting him by doing what they could have been doing together. Michael could have laid next to him on the slowly cooling hood of his Bodhi with his finger pointed towards the stretch of blue. He could have talked about his latest movie, excited and beaming brighter than the sun, and Trevor would have laid on his side, watching his crow's feet and corners of his mouth move - and it would be enough. But Michael wasn't there - not the way Trevor wanted him to be. If he were to believe something, it was that Michael was part of that vast blue canopy stretched over the horizon, as cold as the first glimpse of dawn and just as unattainable.

Trevor yawned and threw the empty bottle into the water. It splashed, angry ripples running in a perfect circle before they disappeared, and the only reminder of its existence was a couple of bubbles on the surface. It was pulling him in against his better judgement - the sound of popping and the glint of glass disappearing with his attention in tow under the surface as if he never stopped holding the damn thing. His eyes followed it till he felt his traitorous lids fall heavily, and that was it - he failed to fight off the sleep and emerged into the darkness.

*****

A bright ray of light burned into Trevor's eyelids, making him stir. He blinked it away with a growl and eventually sat up, instinctively reaching up to brush cigarette butts and ash out of his hair, but found none - in fact, his hair felt uncharacteristically soft, not greasy or messed at all. When Trevor groggily looked around, he almost didn't recognize the room he was in. Tiny dust particles glistered in the bright morning sun, illuminating the hot pink duvet and a swirl of blanket underneath, reflecting rainbows where his fingers dragged along the smooth seams. The bedframe was new, sturdy and broader than the old one, and the soft new mattress outright threatened to swallow him whole.

When he regained enough consciousness to continue his inspection, he noticed the old brutalized closet next to the bed was also replaced by a bigger and newer one, as well as the nightstands and lamps. He could tell the new design was clearly not his choice - the furnishing was rather industrial looking, all black iron of sharp edges and pink painted panes. Stooping deeper into confusion, he peeked at the opposite wall, and of course, the TV was gone, replaced by a chest of drawers with a mirror on the top. Trevor spotted a couple of cologne bottles and other assorted cosmetics, and, his curiosity peaked, stumbled forward to inspect the unnecessary paraphernalia. Once again, he dragged his fingers on the surface, relishing in the clacking of the plastic colliding, when he caught a glimpse of his appearance and stopped in his tracks immediately.

Oh shit. Trevor looked... well, he looked well looked after, as if someone put genuine care into making him presentable. Instead of the crazy stubble, his only friend on lonely nights, his face was cleanly shaved except for a small stylish moustache perching above his lip. Gone were the bags under his eyes, and for once, he believed he had a good night's sleep. And were those new lines around his mouth? Trevor poked at them idly, not able to believe laughter could mark him in just one night. Or could it? He wasn't sure anymore. A pang of trepidation hit him like a ton of bricks. The Trevor he saw in the mirror looked happy - and the real Trevor was never meant to be happy.

He had a bit of trouble with the curtain that served as the door to the sleeping area. He managed to push through it by throwing his hands around like a mad windmill, but when he finally stood in the middle of the sunlit room, the sight petrified him. It wasn't the clean new furniture or the sleek new TV with loads of DVD boxes put away in neat little towers. It wasn't the new wallpaper and stylish lighting or the fluffy couch and bookcase behind it, full to the brim with books and chubby cacti. It wasn't the snug kitchen island with two bar stools and the simple decorative bowl with fruit - real fucking edible fresh fruit, now that was new. It was the man in apron standing with his back turned to him, whistling.

Please, don't turn around. I can't go through with this again. Please don't. I need to wake up. Please don't turn around.

"Oh hey there, sleepy head!"

Upon hearing the familiar voice, Trevor's heart sunk so deep into his stomach that he feared if he moved an inch, his whole being would fall through the floor and land right in hell. Instead, he gulped the anxiety spreading through his emptied ribcage and watched the man turn around and chuckle after a short moment of clearly being taken aback by Trevor's expression.

"Now, now, T, you look like a deer in headlights." His eyes, those sky blue eyes Trevor wanted to worship just for looking at him as if he was someone desirable, twinkled with something wild and wicked as he leaned his head to the side and grinned, wiping his hands into a towel. "Was daddy too hard for you last night?"

Trevor's feet both trembled in panic and stood still. It was diabolical, the itching and pricks under his skin and the absence of control over his limbs to run away and scatch it. Instead, he stood there and watched Michael slowly close the distance between them, his frame locked in loose jeans and a white tank top ethereal in the morning light. When Michael lavishly put his arms around his shoulders and bit his lip, eyes on Trevor's lips, it felt like someone sucked all air out of his lungs and broke his ribs with it.

"To my defence," Michael's cologne mixed with a hint of tobacco pierced right through Trevor's brain and sent sparks through his every nerve, "you are so fucking hot when you're begging and moaning - I couldn't help it."

"M..Mikey?" Trevor could feel how his whole body vibrated with Michael's low-pitched voice. His own voice, high and choked, sounded pathetic in comparison.

"Hmm?"

There was a faint tickle of Michael's beard before his lips sent shock waves through Trevor's skin. The ripples of the faint touch on his neck picked up and crashed right in his groin, and Trevor gasped.

"N-no, don't do that, Michael."

"Uh, why not?" Michael stood impossibly close to him, his arms still held him in a secure embrace, and the warmth he emitted drove Trevor crazy with want. "Are you ok, T?"

"Yes. NO. I don't know."

Michael shot him a quizzical eyebrow but then opted for a grin and unconsciously began to slick Trevor's hair back to an illusion of hairstyle. "You truly are a personification of eloquence, aren't you, mister Santos?"

Trevor blinked away the prickle of tears, and his throat squeezed tight. "We... we are married?"

"Trevor, what is this all about? Are you sick? Did you bang your head on the headrest last night, and now you have amnesia?" Michael's voice was tense with worry, the back of his hand carefully pressed into Trevor's forehead.

"No, I'm not sick, Mikey, I'm..." he couldn't keep the sigh in when Michael's hand slid down his face and gently cupped it. "I'm afraid, so fucking afraid..."

Michael rubbed tiny circles into his shoulder and let his thumb run across Trevor's cheekbone. His eyes shone with everything Trevor had ever wished for - affection, happiness, worry for him, for him of all people. He had to gulp down the gaze. "I'm terrified to wake up from this."

"Trevor," the strict edge to Michael's voice made Trevor shiver, but his touch didn't falter. "Have you been smoking crack again? Because I thought we had already had enough talks about it and -"

"What? No! But you don't understand, Michael!" At last, Trevor's hands moved, and he brushed them along Michael's sides to squeeze his shoulders and hold on for dear life, pink apron crumpling under his fingers. "This is a dream. Life, this perfect life with you, is nothing but another cunningly sweet way for my brain to try to drive me insane, and when I wake up, it's always in the world where this place is a dump, and you're... you're..." words caught at the tip of his tongue. "For fuck's sake, Michael, you are dead!" Oh fuck, and there it was again - the wetness spreading in tiny lines down his cheeks and disappearing into the fabric of Michael's top, making it translucent. "You are dead, gone, buried, and I..." Trevor's head fell to Michael's shoulder, not caring about letting out heaving sobs and torrents of tears. "I still love you so fucking much it's killing me!"

The world around them shrank into a bubble filled with Michael's warmth as he let Trevor ruin his top, and the scent of cedar and tobacco hidden away under Michael's jaw that Trevor latched onto like a lifeline. Michael's hands were everywhere and nowhere at once, gently brushing his spine and ruffling his hair, his lips planting feather-light kisses to the crown of his head. Trevor, for a second, let doubt creep up his mind, thinking it was good everything he experienced at the moment was nothing but a fabrication of the night. His Michael, the real Michael, would never allow him to break down like that, not to mention ride it out in his arms and ruin his clothes. When he dared a glance up, Michael brushed his cheek and smiled, a sweet, slowly blooming movement of his lips that made his eyes crinkle at the edges.

"Hey, there, handsome."

"Hey." Trevor sniffled and did his best to mirror a fraction of the smile that lit up the whole room, straightening back up slowly.

"You had one of your nightmares again, right?" Michael's fingers slid down to his chin and gently pulled him forward. "Well, how about I show you how dead I am, baby?"

The first touch of his lips, soft and almost chaste, sent ripples through reality, stopping time. Trevor's body suddenly felt like molten gold, ready to be poured into the mould of Michael's mouth, and he let it flow, enveloping his lover's form from all angles, chipping away crumbs of the succulent treat under him. Michael moaned softly into the kiss and ran his fingers through the scalding metal Trevor became, reshaping him with a tremble of his lips and the way he savoured being slowly burned alive. So unlikely of him, Michael didn't press to deepen the sensation - he scraped the surface of Trevor's rapidly building want gently, with care, slowly.

"Mikey, please..."

Trevor gasped when Michael peeled off his lips for a second, only to reclaim them under a different angle. Above them echoed thunder out of the blue sky, and Trevor desperately pressed against Michael in hopes it would work this time, that they won't be separated. He screwed his eyes shut against the bright light flooding their trailer as the roof of it flew clean off as if someone had cut it. He grasped a fist full of Michael's silky hair and buried fingers under his belt to fight the grip an invisible power got on him and pulled him towards the sky. When their lips parted, he already was pulled feet first into the light, looking back down at Michael, who grasped his hands and squeezed them in horror.

"Mikey, please, please come with me! Don't leave me again!"

The blood was rushing into his ears, and the angry buzz of the light tuned out what Michael had said - his puffed-up lips were moving, and Trevor's heart almost stopped when he saw tears collecting in his eyes, but he couldn't hear him. He couldn't hold on.

"MIKEY!!!"

His fingers gave in, and the vacuum sucked him into the nothingness with incredible speed. The trailer, Michael, Sandy Shores, and the whole earth was soon reduced into a tiny blue-green spot, and when he blinked, it disappeared entirely in a gigantic explosion that boomed through the universe. The shock waves full of debris flew through the empty space, closing in on him. The last thing Trevor could do was to shield his eyes and scream till his throat was silenced by the impact.

"MIKEY!"

Trevor woke up with a sport, his spine immediately bitching because of the weird angle he fell asleep in. He blinked rapidly, not entirely sure where and what he was or whose body he returned into, and promptly stumbled right into gold plated waves of the Alamo Sea. A moment of splashing and cursing later, he sat upright, water gently lapping on his breasts. The sky mocked him with a pale pink glint, the sun peeking over the horizon, bringing another insufferable day without Michael. Trevor ran his hand down his face and punched the water, only to land on a familiar object with a growl.

Right back at him stared the bottle he threw into the water not four hours prior. Yeah. Just what he needed when he was on the verge of a fucking breakdown. A solid proof Michael was just an illusion to be savoured for a moment and then be forcefully torn out of his arms. Trevor's heart kicked about in his chest and pumped out thousands of pictures he could watch on the dark background of his closed eyelids like it was a fucking film. Michael's warm smile, his fingers, his eyes, his lips closing in, the way he slid his arms around his shoulders. Trevor trembled and desperately tried to push the memories out with the balls of his hands but merely made them burst with colours. There was nothing else left for him but to suffer through the aftermath and hope that he won't fall back into the pit of unfulfilled desires the next night. And as the quiet morning in Sandy Shores emerged into its full meaningless glory, it did so laced with heavy, pained sobs of a broken man.

#trikey #gta v #trevor philips #michael de santa #gta v fanfiction #gta v fic #kiss prompts

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dappledpaintbrush · 2 years

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“It’s you and me.”

Michael would always listen to Running Up a Hill back in their North Yankton days. Trevor never thought much of it, and, actually, seldom teased him for it.

But after Ludendorff, he would listen to that song, in the midst of his grief and reminiscence. And oh, how those lyrics would take on a whole new meaning.

“Say if I only could, I’d make a deal with God. And I’d get Him to swap our places.”

Leaving him ugly-sobbing in his truck, kind of meaning. More times than he ever would admit.

But after finding out Michael was alive? Betraying him, every single day, with each breath he took?

“Do you wanna feel how it feels?”

Those lyrics would change again.

“You don't want to hurt me,

But see how deep the bullet lies.

Unaware I'm tearing you asunder.

Ooh, there is thunder in our hearts.

Is there so much hate for the ones we love?

Tell me, we both matter, don't we?

You, you and me.”

#gta headcanons #gta v headcanons #gta prompt #michael gta #trevor gta #michael de santa #trevor philips #trikey #I’m sorry I’m an absolute wreck at how this is THEIR SONG #someone put me in a ward

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eternally-smitten · 1 year

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Trevor! 🎵, 🏖, 💘, 🌹, and 🌟 for the recent ask game?

🎵 - a song or lyric that reminds you of s/i?

Can't explain why, but something about Head Over Heels by Tears for Fears reminds me of her.

⛱️ - if you could take s/i anywhere, where would it be and why?

Back home, up in North Yankton. I want to show her around where I grew up.

💘 - at what point did you realize you fell in love? what was your initial reaction? what was theirs?

All I know is that I wanted to beat the fuck out of anyone who so much as winked at her. It was like a "Ah, fuck. I fuckin' love her." moment. She says for her, the feelings just kind of crept up on her. Especially when we'd talk or call.

🌹 - what's your love language? what is theirs?

Physical affection. Hers is words of affirmation.

🌟 - describe how you met

Lester sent us to her because we needed weapons for a heist. He said she was our best option. We arrived at her shop and no one was there. She was late to her own fuckin' meeting. She also assumed we were a couple of dumbass customers who just entered without reading the "Sorry, We're Closed" sign. I was sick of her shit at that point, so I tried to scare her a little. It didn't work. She quipped back with some snarky, smart-ass remark. That's how I knew we'd get along just fine.

Hey, Courtney. Thanks for the questions. Real sorry about how late I'm answerin' them, this app is a bitch. Hope you have a good one.

(Ask game here!)

#sxnlit waves #notes from secret admirers 📝#"=⌕ unprofessional professionalism/#f/ovember

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nutlong · 2 years

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Transloader in south dakota

TRANSLOADER IN SOUTH DAKOTA PRO

Transloading bridges the gap between multiple methods of transportation so you can leverage the best logistics for your dry bulk and liquid bulk products, including hazardous and non-hazardous materials, petroleum products, food-grade products, chemicals and petrochemicals, and industrial and construction materials. *2021 year-end statistics View our Terminal & Transload Map Connect your markets Operate multiple facilities each handling 50+ rail-and-truck transloads daily.22.8 million tons of product moved annually*.Connect 400 shippers to 3,500 consignees* The study expanded to a double loop track transloading facility where crude oil could be brought to the site by truck and pipeline, then piped into three 90,000.Established transload relationships spanning decades.Operate 50+ transload facilities in North America.The Savage Transload Network can help you reap the benefits of rail freight without the onsite rail access at your facilities utilizing Savage-operated facilities owned by Savage, Customers, and third parties. S&A is proud to present our TL 11.5-15 Belt Conveyor, which has been designed by users in the field with easy maintenance, versatility, and of course durability, foremost in mind. Transloading can help you leverage the best logistics for your company. (j) DPTS Marketing Inc., (k) Dakota Plains Transloading LLC, (l) Dakota.

TRANSLOADER IN SOUTH DAKOTA PRO

Internal applications, then our B2B based Bizapedia Pro API™ might be the answer for you.Whether it’s by boat, train, or truck, business relies on the efficient transit of goods at a low cost. Transloading means the transfer of Recyclables and other Solid waste(s) from one. If you are looking for something more than a web based search utility and need to automate company and officer searches from within your ForeRCP MgLight 20/40 Fores MgLight 20/40, 30/50 and 40/ Certified Gallery Images of Fores operations Meet Fores about our company News Industry Updates Contact sales, support. Ceramic Proppants Learn about our products. The facility is capable of transloading to and from. loading, unloading, hazmat, hazardous material, transloading, tank car Tank Car Loading-Unloading Regulations Revised June 10th 2013.pdf (7.86 MB) DOT is committed to ensuring that information is available in appropriate alternative formats to meet the requirements of persons who have a disability. North Dakota Ohio Oklahoma Pennsylvania Texas 41. WHAT'S INCLUDED IN THE ADVANCED SEARCH FORM? RRVW operates a 16,000 sq ft transload warehouse in Wahpeton, ND near the Highway 210 bypass road. The companys principal address is 101 W 2nd. The Registered Agent on file for this company is Robert W Klimisch and is located at 101 W 2nd Street, Yankton, SD 57078. The companys filing status is listed as Dissolved and its File Number is DL023639. Utilize our advanced search form to filter the search results by Company Name, City, State, Postal Code, Filing Jurisdiction, Entity Type, Registered Agent,įile Number, Filing Status, and Business Category. We’re a creative team that enjoys rising to the occasion for our customers, no matter how complicated or particular their needs are. Creative Transloading Solutions, LLC is a South Dakota Domestic llc filed On January 28, 2011. Transloading Transloading Professionals Rail to Road transloads and delivers rail-shipped products to locations in Iowa, Minnesota, Nebraska, and South Dakota from our loading facilities in Iowa, Minnesota, and South Dakota. While logged in and authenticated, you will not be asked to solve any complicated Recaptcha V2 challenges. In addition, all pages on Bizapedia will be served to you completely ad freeĪnd you will be granted access to view every profile in its entirety, even if the company chooses to hide the private information on their profile from the general public. Your entire office will be able to use your search subscription.

#Transloader in south dakota

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neon-mooni · 2 years

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Hey Rockstar? The fact that Michael and Brad didn't get along. That Brad tried to convince Trevor to ditch Michael. That Trevor introduced Brad to Michael is vital information. Where is our North Yankton prequel DLC?

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weheartchrisevans · 3 years

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On the day of his inauguration, President Joe Biden issued an executive order that revoked the permit for the long-disputed Keystone XL oil pipeline.

“The world must be put on a sustainable climate pathway to protect Americans and the domestic economy from harmful climate impacts, and to create well-paying union jobs as part of the climate solution,” read the Jan. 20 order.“Leaving the Keystone XL pipeline permit in place would not be consistent with my administration’s economic and climate imperatives.”

Now, less than three weeks later, more than 200 people have signed a letter addressed to Biden and Vice President Kamala Harris urging them to shut down the Dakota Access Pipeline after a court ruled that President Donald Trump’s administration broke the law when it pushed forward with construction during his tenure in the White House. The letter, dated Feb. 8, was signed by actors, artists, filmmakers, producers, indigenous leaders, climate activists and nonprofit founders, among others. Signatories include Leonardo DiCaprio, Cher, Ava DuVernay, Jane Fonda, Robert Downey Jr., Chris Evans, Chris Hemsworth, Scarlett Johansson, Don Cheadle, Jason Momoa, Kerry Washington, Sarah Silverman, Amy Schumer, Chelsea Handler, Jennifer Connelly and Paul Bettany, Joaquin Phoenix and Rooney Mara, and newly engaged Aaron Rodgers and Shailene Woodley. Also putting their names behind it are members of the We Stand United collective: Mark Ruffalo, producer Bruce Cohen, Julia Walsh, Marisa Tomei and Rebecca Chaiklin.

The letter recaps the battle over the Dakota Access Pipeline and details how, over the previous four years, the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe, Cheyenne River Sioux Tribe, Yankton Sioux Tribe and Oglala Sioux Tribe have fought to keep it from being completed. In July 2020, a court ordered that it be shut down and a hearing is set for Feb. 10 to determine a final ruling. The pipeline carries oil from North Dakota underground through South Dakota and Iowa, ending in Patoka, Illinois, and has long been protested by activists, including celebrities like Woodley, who was once arrested during such an event.

“We urge you to remedy this historic injustice and direct the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers to immediately shut down the illegal Dakota Access Pipeline while the Environmental Impact Statement process is conducted, consistent with the D.C. District Court’s decision and order,” reads today’s letter. “Additionally, the U.S. Army Corps must ensure a robust environmental review with significant tribal consultation, tribal consent, and a thorough risk analysis. With your leadership, we have a momentous opportunity to protect our water and respect our environmental laws and the rights of Indigenous people. This is our moment.”

#chris evans #dakota access pipeline #keystone xl pipeline #news

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lornasarts · 3 years

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Getting tied into a recent love affair with Michael de Santa makes you relive the relationship you both once had in North Yankton. Although it makes you realise that it may have gone too far.

A smut one shot with Michael de Santa.

#michael de santa #grand theft auto v #grand theft auto 5 #michael townley #love affair #oneshot #fanfic #gta v #gta 5

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dark-t1des · 3 years

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Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Grand Theft Auto V, Grand Theft Auto Series (Video Games) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Trevor Philips/Original Female Character(s), Trevor Philips/Original Character(s), Trevor Philips & Original Female Character(s), Michael De Santa/Trevor Philips Characters: Trevor Philips, Original Female Character(s), Lester Crest, Brad Snider, Original Characters, Amanda De Santa, Michael De Santa Additional Tags: Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Age Difference, Older Man/Younger Woman, Sexual Tension, Explicit Language, Drug Use, Past Relationship(s), Loss, Heartache, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst Summary:

Los Santos Bounty Hunter, Rory Brown, has flown out to North Yankton on the hunt for a small time local thief, but a chance encounter with a mysterious man in the woods threatens to change the course of her life forever.

#gta v #fanfic #trevor philips #michael de santa #is this how tumblr works

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madamlaydebug · 3 years

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We need a national day of mourning for the coronavirus. ⁠

⁠

As the first vaccinations began in the U.S. on Monday, bringing with them a ray of hope, the nation hit a grim milestone: more than 300,000 people dead from the virus so far. ⁠

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“We’ve been struggling,” said Douglas Yankton, chairman of the Spirit Lake Tribe in North Dakota. Native Americans have been disproportionately infected, hospitalized and killed by the virus. Yankton lost four family members — an uncle and three cousins — in the span of a week. ⁠

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“It’s a burden not only on the families but on the community when we keep having to bury our people,” he said. ⁠

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Scott Davis, a member of the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe, who lost two cousins and a friend to COVID-19, said that there’s been “no closure” as coronavirus protocols have prevented people from visiting hospitalized loved ones or gathering for funerals. ⁠

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“They go to the hospital, you can’t see them, you can’t be around them, and all of a sudden it happens, and then the families are left struggling to have closure,” he said. “You gotta mourn.”⁠

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With an average now of 2,400 people dying each day of the coronavirus, Black and Latinx people have also been disproportionately affected — not only by the deaths but also by the economic fallout from the pandemic, including high rates of joblessness. ⁠

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Grief coach Breeshia Wade said that a national day of observance for the coronavirus losses would be important for “accountability and acknowledging the massive failure in how this played out.”⁠

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“It’s not just the death toll. There’s the loss of a way of life, of American identity and what it means to be a cohesive country that comes together to protect its citizens,” Wade said. “There’s a loss of trust with our neighbors, with some wearing a mask and some who aren’t.” ⁠

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“We need something to bring us together to honor what has been lost if we’re going to have any hope of healing,” she added.⁠

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dear-indies · 4 years

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hey cat&mouse! i'm wondering if you could possibly help me find a faceclaim for my oc! they (i'm not particularly concerned with gender, so m/f/nb is fine) are late 20s early 30s & pretty quiet and reserved. they're a librarian, and my thoughts were along the lines of jenna coleman or anna popplewell, but i;m looking for a mixed (arab/north african or indigenous american) faceclaim

MENA & Indigenous Americas mixed:

Sahar Khadjenoury (1981) Navajo / Iranian.

Celeste Thorson (1984) Korean, Mexican [Mescalero Apache, Spanish], 1/8th Lebanese/Syrian, Scottish, Irish, Scots-Irish/Northern Irish, English.

Cristina Vee / Cristina Valenzuela (1987) Lebanese, Mexican, Unspecified Native American.

Habiba Da Silva (1994) Lebanese, Syrian, and Brazilian of Unspecified North African, Unspecified West African, Unspecified Indigenous Brazilian, Spanish, Portuguese, and Italian.

Brianna Gurdzhyan (1995) Mexican [including Unspecified Indigenous], Syrian, Armenian, Russian, Spanish- younger but worth a mention!

Natalie Weaver (1996) Choctaw, Lebanese, French - younger but worth a mention!

Esfir Khan (1997) Naskapi, Ojibwe, Oglala Lakota Sioux, Hunkpapa Lakota Sioux, Sihasapa Lakota Sioux, Yankton Dakota Sioux, Nakoda Sioux, Jicarilla Apache, Iranian, Armenian, Russian - autistic - bisexual - younger but worth a mention!

Tarrak / Josef Tarrak (1998) Inuit / Moroccan- younger but worth a mention!

Jenny Marlowe (?) Algonquin, Mizrahi Jewish, French, Scottish, Irish, Cornish, Welsh, Ukrainian, German.

Emma Apgar (?) Palestinian Arab, Jordanian, Lebanese, Iranian, Iraqi / Unspecified Native American, Polish, Lithuanian, German, Spanish - younger but worth a mention!

Other mixed:

Yasmine Al Massri (1978) Palestinian / Egyptian.

Michael Malarkey (1983) Palestinian, Italian-Maltese / Irish, German.

Adila Sedraïa / Indila (1984) Algerian, Egyptian, Indian, Cambodian.

Martin Sensmeier (1985) Tlingit, Eyak, Koyukon-Athabascan, German, Irish.

Kalani Queypo (1986) Blackfoot, Native Hawaiian, Swedish.

Denise Bidot (1986) Kuwaiti / Puerto Rican.

Alexander Koch (1988) Lebanese, German, possibly other / Italian, ¼ English.

Dana Jeffrey (1988) Ojibwe, Cree, Afro Guyanese, Icelandic.

Sofia Pernas (1989) Moroccan / Galician Spanish.

Alia Shawkat (1989) Iraqi / Norwegian, Irish, Sicilian/Italian [including likely Arbëreshë] - has made comments on her gender which you can find on our non-binary masterlist here because it’s lengthy but hasn’t given herself a label - bisexual.

Q'orianka Kilcher (1990) Peruvian [Quechua, Huachipaeri] / Swiss-German, Swiss-French.

Malese Jow (1991) Chinese / English, Scottish, Cherokee.

Maria Alia (1993) Palestinian / Puerto Rican.

Sierra Ashkewe (1993) Mohawk Jewish / Ojibwe.

Sofia Carson (1993) Colombian – including Arab [Syrian-Lebanese, Palestinian], Spanish, possibly English, possibly other.

Natacha Karam (?) French, Lebanese, Northern Irish.

Brittany LeBorgne (?) Mohawk, French.

Sarah Podemski (?) Saulteaux, Ojibwe / Polish Jewish.

Not mixed but worth a mention!

Nada Moussa (1982) Egyptian.

Buthaina Al Raisi (1983) Omani.

Edy Ganem (1983) Mexican [Lebanese].

Firass Dirani (1984) Lebanese.

Amina Khalil (1988)Egyptian.

Shawn Youngchief (1988) Metis.

Ashley Callingbull-Burnham (1989) Cree.

Frank Waln (1989) Sicangu Oyate Lakota Sioux.

Jeremy Dutcher (1990) Maliseet - two-spirit - he/him.

Zeeko Zaki (1990) Egyptian.

Mina El Hammani (1993) Moroccan.

Jimmy Blais (?) Plains Cree.

Hey anon! I’m not sure if you’re aware but there’s a post here about people using nb to mean non-binary so please use some other alternative in the future or just say non-binary! -C & @olivaraofrph!

#fc help #rph #rpc #Anonymous

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