#or gta where it costs money to come back to life

[hybbat]

You know a world where your ability to carry something is determined by quantity rather than size or weight is very easy to accept in a video game, because of mechanical convenience, but would probably be so strange in a story in any other medium, and I think a few more books and shows could stand to get a little funkier with the fundamentals of their reality like that.

[abishekmuses]

I'm reading Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Just through the first couple of chapters and I"m hooked already. I used to live like this - i guess I miss those days, somewhere deep inside.

Some part of me still buys into the glamour and sheen of that deranged lifestyle. Some part of me still feels a tinge of excitement at picturing all those adventures - well misadventures rather - scoring drugs off dodgy UKrainians in the middle of godforsaken Soviet Ghosttowns - rocking up at sweaty Ukrainian strip clubs in the wee hours of dawn - after dreary nights spent trying to cook up excitement in dead old Kharkiv.

Man I hate those times. I hate those times with a vengeance. But every once in a while the manic recklessness of those times looks appealing again - you know when you're playing GTA - being a good boy - doing all your missions like you're supposed to - and then suddenly - this manic rush overpowers you and you start killing passers by in a frenzy with a fucking chainsaw?

That's how I feel with life sometimes. Not the killing people part. But the doing drugs, fucking around and driving endlessly part. Something in me craves chaos sometimes. just let the energy loose and let it do its thing with ZERO cortical intervention. Just freeflow. Just hop on planes, go places, strip naked, fuck around, do cocaine, run around in forests, climb mountains - well you get the idea.

And when I think of my 20s as a highlights package, you could definitely see this theme running through - this theme of manic recklessness and hedonistic overload.

Do I want to go back to living like that?

Probably not. Definitely not. I don't want THAT. But I want more romance. More recklessness. Less thinking about consequences. More impromptu. More daredevilry. More crazy friends that would egg me on to join them on their quests to bring some lunatic idea/vision to life.

I mean there is definitely a lot to be said for the stability, peace and health that i've managed to make part of my life in the last few years. But sometimes I think - at what fucking cost?

I have a lot to lose now. I have a sexy red car that I need to make money in order to keep. I have a sexy red bike that symbolises the daredevil lifestyle - but I could hardly have afforded it when i DID live that lifestyle.

I catch myself telling people frequently "I want to burn with life" - I always wonder what I mean when I say that - what the fuck do i actually mean? In my head all I can think of when I say that is driving down some dark country road with some pretty girls, doing drugs at 120 KMPH, blasting some kicass tunes at obscenely high volume.

And then I realise with a sigh that i've done that a million times and that's not what burning with life probably means.

I probably crave that intensity that I get in a situation like that - speed, drugs, women, urgency, mania, aliveness - but I want those things to find a different expression. i want to try new flavours.

And then I think - to hell with it - I want to live that high voltage life.- even if i only know how to live it in that flavour.

I don't know. For now, I'm going to continue in my attempt at monastic life. Abstinence. Discipline. God I hate how this sounds. But there's a reason I'm doing all this - I guess - so I'm going to stick with it for now.

But I'm sure there's going to be some high speed motorcycling and public dancing in the near future.

Maybe that's the fucking thing - it's not so much that the high speed, blaring music and girls are the problem - it's the drugs. I think what I don't want anymore is the drugs part. Maybe adventure is great. sponateinty, intensity, devil may care - it's all good. But maybe, drugs are the problem?

or maybe it's the come down that's the problem?

Maybe it's the part where I would be broke that's the problem? or the part where I wanted to be this while also being that?

I don't know. All i know is when i read something like that, i feel like "man this is a book about folks like me - the crazy fuckers. - the ones who need some chainsaw action once in a while to keep doing this shit!"

Edit - a couple of hours later Something in the way of a reconciliation.

Reconciling this apparent dilemma - chaos vs control. Mania vs health and stability.

There's no contradiction actually. I went on a walk and this is what I figured - the intensity, the cars, the bikes, the beautiful women, the drugs - they make life seem game-like.

What I'm looking for is lightness. Playfulness. Joy. No stakes. Fucking about.

Except when you find only through drugs, it's limited. It's dreary. It causes dependence. And makes life without them seem anything BUT playful and fun.

I want to live like sport.

For this, you need skill. You need to get good at the game of life. You need to get rid of emotional patterns that cause heaviness and anxiety.

That makes life a drag. That makes you want to do reckless things. It's not actually about recklessness - it's about abandon. it's not about self-destructiveness - it's about losing yourself in whatever the heck it is that you're doing with no regard for any imaginary future that you might or might not be alive for. That makes life a drag. That makes you want to do reckless things. It's not actually about recklessness - it's about abandon. it's not about self-destructiveness - it's about losing yourself in whatever the heck it is that you're doing with no regard for any imaginary future that you might or might not be alive for.

this takes skill.

Skill takes time to build.

it's the Alan Watts thing - something along the lines of how kids hate the idea of discipline - it's so dreary - it makes life seem like a friggin' chore. Skill is a concept that's much more enticing. You want to get good at the game. So play it on hard mode and get good at it. That's what I'm doing now I guess.

Or I guess that's fucking idea anyway. Let's see if it works.

Off the top of my head, from where I'm standing - it feels like lots of money, a super-resilient and co-operative body and a loose, pleasant and light emotional structure seem to be the main ingredients in living a life of intensity, play and abandon. At least, for me. There might be other things that come in people's way - but for me, i guess this is what I'm working on.

Hence, the monasticism.

But soon. I'll be ready to play.

[outofcontrix]

Everything has changed.

10 years ago, you, who used to write your name as ‘Aina Trixia Carmela’, would always complain because you have such a long name, and it’s tiring to write the whole name for a 2nd grader. Eventually, they corrected it as ‘Ainatrixia Carmela” which you are still using up until now, Oh! My bad, you just write ‘Aina Lazaro’ now, don’t you? You, who recently just learned how to use the computer, how to type on keyboard, how to open the system unit and the monitor. Remember when you were so mesmerized whenever the screensaver appeared on your monitor? You could even change that, you know? Also, You, who always plays the mouse’s ball underneath and would blame your younger cousin if it gets stucked or worse, if it breaks. You, who just knew Katy Perry, Taylor Swift, Bruno Mars, Justin Bieber, and One Direction at that time. You, who would jam to Katy Perry’s ‘California Gurls’, ‘Fireworks’, ‘Teenage Dream’, ‘Last Friday Night’, and of course, ‘The One That Got Away’, you used to listen to those songs, as if you understand their meaning. Heck! You didn’t even know that time that most of the songs you used to bop are sensual songs talking about making out, having sex… You were 8 years old! Also, to Queen Taylor Swift’s ‘Love Story’ and ‘You Belong with Me’, you were listening to those songs non-stop until your grandmother scolds you for playing it over and over again for the nth time. (10 years later, you’re still playing it non-stop.) You, when given a 20 pesos bill, it was such a huge amount, and would flaunt it to your childhood playmates, who are also your neighbors. With that 20 pesos bill, you already bought your favorite ‘tsitsirya’ Vinegar Pusit and Sweet Corn, bonus, you also could buy sago juice that cost 5 pesos back then. Remember how you would search the web for GTA San Andreas cheats and hacks, you’d write it down on a piece of white pad paper (You don’t use Yellow Pad Papers yet, but soon.) for you to use it and would later on ask for your Grandma to give you several ‘Mamesus’ (one peso coins) because you’ll go to that “piso-net” computer shops not far from your house to play the said game, and then you’ll lose track of the time and your strict aunt would fetch you holding her right sandal that’s ready to smack the hell out of you if you still don’t stop. Also, whenever you hear the “PSSSSSSST!” of her, and you see her standing in front of your gate, remember how you almost lost your shit and peed your pants, as you ran as fast as you can just to avoid getting lectured and eventually getting spanked using clothes’ hanger or her sandals if you did not go home immediately. Those times that scratching your knee and even letting it bleed until you go home, the smell of sweat after playing outside from 4 pm to 7 pm, and your “madungis” look. Remember how your grandma used to threaten you to lock you outside if you didn’t stop playing outside, playing ‘bangsak’, ‘patintero’, ‘langit-lupa’, tumbang preso, and hide-n-seek. Those games are tiring as hell, but it seems that you neve run out of energy, you’re always game whenever your playmates start shouting, “TRISH!! LARO NA TAYO!” Outside your house’s sari-sari store. POV: You just came home from school, your schedule, 06:30 am - 02:00 pm, you haven’t even got your afternoon nap yet, still tired from school, but you’ll immediately run towards the gate. Playing outside somehow is your favorite past-time as a child. Whenever you play you forget all your responsibilities, by responsibilities, I mean your homeworks that is due tomorrow. Life then was really much easier, and fun.

But as One Direction said in one of their songs, “Just how fast the night changes…” You grow older, and even your playmates. Your usual workload then eventually gets more and more as you age. The things that you used to enjoy, suddenly became uninteresting to you. Your urge to go out and play decreased little by little; you now rather stay indoors than play outside below the scorching hot weather, you don’t like feeling hot, you don’t like how sticky your sweat trickled on your skin, you find playing outside a childish thing, because you were older, and they said big girls don’t play game on the streets anymore. Yes, you still play, but you hardly do it then. If you’re really just bored, and you would come out, you’d watch other kids play, laugh when someone makes a mistake and even get irritated whenever they play the game wrong, you would think, “HINDI NAMAN GANYAN LARUIN ‘YAN!!!!”, but would rather stay silent and just watch them foolishly play the game wrong. Back then, You were eager to be a grown-up person, to be an adult, because you see how adults are living that time, they can go out whenever they want despite the time, they have their own money, and the likes. You, who at a young age, I think you were around 9? Or 10 that time, you learned how to commute, how to ride jeepneys and other public transportation all by yourself. You learned which color of Jeepney in Angeles you should ride if you’re going to a certain place. Gray and Purple Jeep to Balibago, Green if you came from Marisol and you want to be dropped off at the Market, Blue if you want to go to Pandan, Yellow if you want to go to Telebastagan, etc. Also, At a young age you learned how to cook yourself a meal, Your Grandma and Aunt are great cooks, you often hang out in the Kitchen whenever they are cooking meals, So one day, you asked them if they could teach you, which they gladly did. They first taught you the basics, like fried foods and as time passed, it got complicated like adding onions and garlic to the pan, and even measuring condiments.

Days, and Weeks, and Months, even Years passed. You and your family need to move out of the house where you grew, where you spent your whole 13 years, where you learned to walk, to think, where you met people that you considered as your own family, where you met your friends who were with you ever since you stood up on your 2 feet. In a blink of an eye, you were gone, and here you are in a new environment, a new house, new neighbors and people you need to get along with. You didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye to the people who were with you ever since, and with that, you were forced to move on and focus on the things that were present at that time. Aside from that, you are now in highschool, in 7th grade to be exact. You first met your Biological father. After 13 years of no communication, he suddenly reached out. You didn’t know what to feel so you were awkward with him. You don’t even like talking to him, whenever you two would voice call, you’ll just answer with ‘yes’, ‘no’, ’opo’, Which I totally understand. You were still a kid back then. Again, you’re a high school student now, new environment and people again. You spent almost 7 years in your last school, and the school you went to in your 7th grade wasn’t really your first choice right? You don’t even want to study in that school because your dream school was Chevalier School and Angeles City Science High School. Remember how you almost dropped out after the first week of high school? Your mother just forced you to attend that school, but deep inside you really don’t like that said school. First week as a 7th grader has passed, and you didn’t really enjoy it at all, you felt... left out. Despite your classmates, other students and teachers being friendly, you just feel like you didn’t belong there, You didn’t have a friend, you were practically a loner for the first week. So after a week of staying in that school, you practically begged you Grandma to drop you out, you were in a private school, you told your grandma that you didn’t like it, that you’d rather go to a public school than stay in that school.Your Grandma gave you a condition. “Please bear it for one more week… After that, I’ll transfer you to other schools. Just please try and bear it for one more week, Trixia.” So you did. You forced yourself to get up, and go to school, you were even counting down, you were eager for the week to end because you couldn’t wait to transfer schools. But, an unexpected turn of events happened. During the course of that one week, you met these people, they were your classmates, 6 girls to be specific. They just started talking to you, and somehow… you felt comfortable talking to them, being around them. So they started asking you to join them during recess and lunch… and then boom… You went to your Grandma one day, after you came home from school, and these words came out of your mouth, “Ma, I don’t want to transfer schools anymore. I will stay in Holy Fam.”

No one expected it at all. Not even you. So now, those girls were the sole reason you are still here in HFA. They’re the reason you stayed, and also the one of the reasons why you grew to love HFA. until now, you are still friends with them, they’re your best buddies. Then, in terms of school, There were many hardships, culture shock, sudden change of the environment, change of subjects that are more complicated than the ones taught to you during elementary. You weren’t used to this type of setting. So you struggled a lot, in academics, you got low grades, and even had failed grades back then. The ‘7’ never left your report card, your mom’s disappointed in you. That was a hard time for you back then, but you learned your lesson, you were never an academic achiever, so you tried to improve, gladly it worked. Anyway, it ain’t big but still, I’m proud of you for making an effort, at least you wanted to become and strived to be a better person, you are learning from your past mistakes. For your interests, Gosh how much have you changed over the years! You went from being a die-hard ‘Directioner’, a Louis Tomlinson’s girl, from being a KPOP fan, you liked EXO, and then you changed your ultimate group to Super Junior, which until now, you’re still a fan and they're still your main idols. You, who doesn’t like spending money back then because you’re a one stingy person, now… spends money on albums, on merchandise, to concerts and even a small piece of cardboard with their idol’s selfie in it. You have over 30 albums and 80 photocards (and counting) on your collection. You used to fangirl over One Direction, Daniel Padilla, Big Time Rush, and other western artists, now you simp over one korean guy in his 30’s named Kim Ryeowook. Just… What happened? If only you knew you were going to be a kpop fan, You should’ve saved up money 10 years ago so that you’re not broke at the moment. Not a wise choice, but if you’re happy, then so be it.

You thought everything’s going well and fine when suddenly, the biggest anchor in your life, your life support, the one who was with you ever since you came out to this world suddenly… left without notice. Everything shattered, your walls, your heart, your mind, your body, yourself crumbled when she suddenly left you. What hurts the most is that there’s no way that you could reach her now or even go to her, or hear her voice. You were at the rock bottom at that time, you felt like it’s your fault that she’s gone, you blame yourself, and you started to think that you have no sense in this world now, you don’t feel like living anymore because what’s the point now? She’s already gone. But thankfully you overcame that, you started to accept it, you started to forgive yourself for what happened, and you are still in the process of accepting and forgiving yourself. Small progress is still a progress. It takes time. Though you lost this person, please remember that she’s guarding you, she’s still looking out for you. Also, all your efforts and hardwork through the years, I’m actually glad that you made it, that you didn’t give up, and that you’re still here. I’m very, very proud of you for fighting, for holding on, for staying strong despite huge waves of problems that come in your way. I know that sometimes it’s so hard, and you feel like you don’t have the strength to carry on, and you’re thinking of giving up and ending it all, but even all of that, you didn’t do anything. So please, thank yourself, thank you for not doing that, for not giving up, for being strong. I know things aren’t well at the moment, you have so much worries regarding your future, and things aren't going in your way, but all will be well, and they will all pass. Please be strong. At such a young age you somehow learned to be independent, and that’s something to be proud of, even the one above would be proud of you, very much proud of you. You also became mature in your own way, you learned things in your own way, you have responsibilities now, you tried things, you risked, you failed, you succeeded. You are now really becoming an adult, it’s just that… You were so excited to become an adult back then, you badly wanted to be a grown up at a young age, and I know that now, you’re wishing that you just want to turn back time, where you have no responsibilities, without thinking about life, and such. You just want to enjoy things again. Whenever you come across kids playing outside, you can’t help but to reminisce those times, those times that you were the one playing that on the streets, with scratched knees and dirty hands, Oh how you wish that time can turn back it’s arms and just become a kid again. Everything has changed, from the way you dress, the way you talk and converse, the way you think, understand, and rationalize things, the way you prioritize things and decide. So much has changed. You’re not even a real adult now, you’re just beginning, you are just entering the adulthood phase. I know that you would make it. Next month, you’re finally graduating High School, and soon you’re venturing the College life, and then you wouldn’t even notice that you’re already working. I suggest that never make the same mistake again, don’t be so eager, don’t rush things up! You’ll eventually make it. I am rooting for you, Aina! The only thing that I’m looking forward to and is eager to see… is you being successful and finally reaching your dreams in the near future. Best of Luck, Aina!

— Aina, 210321

[marcoselp319]

The Ultimate Guide to Try Use GTA V Online Generator

GTA 5 players are on a regular basis studying and establishing new tricks to get limitless money, along with checking to make certain their techniques stay unpatched. Your garage is the 1st instance of a property you’re gonna get. As we talked about ahead of, some missions are available for you following you reach a specific level and have some prerequisites to enter the mission.

So I would go with Mk2, and save up for / Acquire the TB and NC this week, so you can upgrade the Mk2.

Note that this costs far more than purchasing from Ammunation, so if you want to save money, you can drive to an ammunation to restock as an alternative.

If you are a veteran of GTA Online, you've most likely played all of the Rockstar designed races and deathmatches.

Image by way of Materialized GTA Online could possibly not necessitate animation skips like other games do, but animation skips can nevertheless save the player some time.

If you uncover other loot or such an item, take a picture of it with your smartphone and send it to Parvel. At the Heist you can come back https://brscarlisle.webs.com/apps/blog/show/49174402-gta-5-online-money-tips here and take the loot or tools. In addition to main and secondary targets, you can photograph access points, vanishing points, guard uniforms, grappling hooks and bolt cutters . If you want to steal a lot more loot, you should really carry out the heist in a group with other players. Very first of all, you really should use the cameras to search for the documents about Madrazo . You can pan by way of the safety cameras one by one particular and pan them every single time to come across out exactly where the documents on Madrazo are. Check out absolutely any room much more closely, to spy out additional prey such as money, gold, paintings and Co. .

Bet On Little Winnings In Roulette And Never Bet Almost Everything On One Particular Number

Hit the courts with a single other pal and see who comes out on prime. Driving can occupy a big quantity of your time in GTA Online because it's kinda challenging to get around the game without the need of a quickly vehicle. Occasionally, very simple points are the most fun factors to do GTA Online, biking can be incredibly enjoyable. Grabbing a mountain/BMX bike and ripping up the numerous parks that GTA Online has to offer you can be pretty, cool since the physics method enables for some amazing stunts.

The Evil Inside Two: A Horror Game On Psychedelics

Just like in real life, it needs browsing for the very best presents from real estate agencies by means of your phone. Soon after you get a nice place, you get access to the Mechanic, whom you can call any time with regards to your auto queries. Another factor is guns, start out with acquiring anything easy but efficient. Maybe Micro SMG from Ammu-Nation, you do not have to reload typically with an extended magazine. After you save some coins, you can look at much more costly and exquisite weaponry. Operating about Los Santos, waiting to get your next job or in among robbing easy retailers you will occasionally be able to sell a automobile in the Los Santos Customs shop. You can do this when each and every 24 in game hours, which converts to 48 minutes of real life time, if anybody even keeps track of that any longer.

In Vehicle Vendetta, players can release all their road rage without having caught. Automobile Vendetta pits the player and their teammates against crazed driving maniacs. As the players race about, players can receive energy-ups to overpower the enemy.

To stick to GTA V online tutorial, you might search for the cheapest elite house in Del Perro Heights. If you like this kind of activity and you invested in a quick bike or automobile, you can come to be a star of them. Races adjust each and every week, and they are rather a hobby than a decent revenue. Heists can deliver you with $400k per hour, but you need to have some prerequisites to take these missions.

[zuffer-weird-girl]

May I request a scenerio with Kai and a fem member of the league who fell in love with him and warnes him before he loses his hands. Kai asks her what she wants as a gesture of thank and she says something like: "Just kiss me and we are good" with a bright smile. Thank you ❤️❤️

You winced at the brute movement of the van; it had to be Spinner driving..? Seriously? Neither in GTA he was good on it, imagine on real life; you were currently in, right on the middle of Dabi and Compress, seing in front of you the van were it was the man Shigaraki wanted to take revenge.

Also... Compress with his arm.

"Be sure you idiots take care of the heroes and the cops." Shigaraki muttered before jumping straight to the feline nade of sand. You three following shortly after.

Although, despite your boss orders you made a bee line to the inside the van and knocked out all the men inside, excluding one that was currently layed down.

"Hang in there Overhaul." You said while taking whatever it was on his face before searching for the keys to free his arms.

He didn't even changed glances, numbly staring up at the ceiling.

"Did you come in here to kill me?" He whispered, his voice completely rasped and devasted as you furrowed your eyebrows at him.

"More rather prevent that something even worse happens." You said while freeing his arms. Looking at him with wode desperate eyes.

"Please, you have to listen to me, Shigaraki is outside with some members of the league, they're planning to take both of your arms off as a form of sick revenge, I came in here to take you out before it happens." His eyes didn't changed a bit as he merely nodded and stood up with your help.

"Aren't you that quirkless-"

"Yes but I do have some cards on my sleeve mister yakusa." You smirked up at him before taking off a device from your pocket "This will cost a thing from you okay? Searching for a transportation device was not easy with shigaraki on your back all the damn time."

You crouched down and fell accidentally with the movements of the van, cursing out loud at noticing that the guys sucefully killed or knocked out the heroes and the van was soon going to crash.

You extended your other hand to him with a pleading look as the other was in contact with the device.

"Please Overhaul!" He furrowed his eyebrows before cursing at sudden brute crash and the side of vam falling on the ground, sending you both hitting the wall of the vehicle.

Ignoring his mysophobia he grabbed onto your hand and you turn on the device, just before you both were transported to another place you could steal a glance at a very pissed off Shigaraki opening the doors.

"Little sHIT-!"

In a blink of a eye you both were now at camp, no human life founded near you two neither afar.

"Impressive." Chisaki stated numbly before he picked up the device in his hands, eyeing suspicionsly but with interest.

"I actually would recommend that you let go of that."

Before he could even glare at you the tiny box started to make constantly 'beep' sounds, you slapped the device out of his hands just in time the thing exploded on the ground.

"... Where did you even got that?" He asked monoustly but eyes wide still locked on the now exploded little machine.

"Don't ask. Seriously. Don't ask."

He sighed in annoyance before looking down at you, one eyebrow arched up as his uncovered lips pressed tightly against each other.

"Any explanation for why exactly you stabbed your leader's back? Excluding the fact that he is a horrible and project of one I mean..."

"I couldn't just let them take both of your arms away, even if... you deserve it. At least one for Compress's arm I mean... although Magne did attacked you first-"

"Stop rambling. That's annoying." He spatted and you yelp a apology while he rolled his eyes in irritation.

"You said you wanted something in return... For sparing my arms I guess that I owned it. Spit it out, it can't be money as far as you saw my situation." He growled before he glared down at your expression.

Dumb smile, both arms behind your back... you looked ridiculous, yet somehow he felt... weird.

He couldn't neglect the fact that you were a pretty little thing and a rarity no less, a quirkless person, a fixed one, a pure being safe from those illness.

"Close your eyes for a second would ya?" You pointed at his golden eyes with a smile "I will take my payment pretty quick."

He sighed while slowly closing them, expecting a punch or even a slap straight on his face.

It was a debt so he couldn't neglect that... besides, you did somehow saved him.

He didn't expected the slightest although to feel a pair of warm and soft lips against his own, he opened his eyes wide in horror and embarrassment at feeling the huge wave of electricity that wenf through his body.

He separated right away like he was just burned, with a hand on his mouth, covering it, looking at you like a demon would look at holy water or the cross of Christ.

Ironic right?

You widened your eyes back, hands up in surrender as he took one big step back, you started to laugh the moment you saw the crinsom red spreading on his whole face.

"O-Oh my gosh! Don't act like that was your first kiss!" You said between laughter, not caring about the way his golden eyes were pierving your soul in a murderous way as he scrubbed his sleeve of his jacket on his lips furiously.

It was. It was you wrench.

[fjorrd]

hey do you happen to know how The Golden Boy came to be? a lot of FAHC 'canon' seems to have appeared out of thin air (i.e. the collective consciousness of the fandom), but most of it can at least be traced to something (like jack the pilot or geoff the kingpin)... i just can't figure out where this flashy/smooth-talking/double-faced/falsely overconfident hacker-spy persona could have come from when actual GTA gavin drives a shit car and isn't high enough level for anything ever.

i don’t exactly quite know the origins of the golden boy trope-thingy came to be, but i think its a lot of playing off on how just their personas are in game + just some random thing about their real life person to kinda make these fahc gta characters. 

i’m totally going to go into an in-depth analysis of why i think fahc gavin’s persona is like what you said, so bear with me here since i’ve never really thought about this before, and honestly, i think it’s super interesting! so thank you for the thought provoking ask!

 firstly, i think the golden boy came how to be from how gavin made his character. obviously, it looks like him (as much as it can in a game like gta). from personally playing the game, i can def say that the choices that gavin made fashion wise are choices, i think, that are regarded as something that are expensive, i.e. the golden sunglasses and golden accents which even cost a good sum amount in-game money. i think this is where that expensive, dress up, false-identity-for-the-sake-of-conning-people trope kinda came from since gavin’s not like this in real life. he wears rt merch shirts and those salmon shorts for god’s sake. i think this, like, being all gaudy in character is super interesting for people to play around with since gavin’s not like this in real life or his characterization is not like that in a lot of other aus. and then again, a lot of people like being people they’re not in video games. this also might be the case

another way i can trace back this flashy/smooth persona is from gavin’s weird incredible luck. like, gavin’s super fucking lucky when it comes to loot and shit in video games. this also pertains to when gavin got the ‘reach level 100 online gta’ achievement when, at the time, i’m pretty sure he was lvl 60 and hasn’t had a character go above that. i feel like that ties in more with that’s also contributes to the idea of this smooth-talker persona

the idea of which gavin’s kinda this hardcore hacker pairs with gavin’s knowledge of slow motion cameras. like, we gotta factor in that gavin’s fucking brilliant with electronics and is constantly learning and adapting to the technology around him. i think using that real life aspect of him, and putting that into a city where crime is king, people took that part of him and used it as gavin’s a hacker and thats how he made his start (gavin’s the only slow motion camera operator in england who then made enough money to get his work visa to work at rooster teeth = gavin’s an internationally wanted hacker who wanted to make enough money to move to the united states so he became a hacker trope). 

i believe that this hacker trait, shady negotiator, smooth-talker characterization can also come from the fact that gavin indeed sucks at gta. he’s not the best shot, and he doesn’t have a minigun like ryan and michael pull out. he doesn’t really have a violent tie. he’s usually on the side-lines, doing the job that doesn’t require to be in the midst of a fight—just like a hacker. there’s really no GTA lets play where gavin has mowed down people with a minigun or grenade launcher like michael, jeremy, or ryan. he likes to fly planes in gta, but he’s not the one who seems to be the resident flyer like jack because jack has a steady hand and reputation to fly calmly during heists and such. he’s not the one who used to be in charge of AH, like geoff, who naturally assumes a leader role in GTA. however, gavin is the one who used to help geoff come up with the ideas for lets plays. he was kinda behind the scenes, while geoff is more of the one who explains what they’re gonna do in that let’s play. gavin’s kinda always been there, feeding geoff ideas, and that helps fuel the idea of this sweet-talker who’s there whispering ideas into people’s ears, feeding them what they want to hear. 

anyways, i hope this answered your question? tbh, this actually has made me love fahc gavin about 20x more doing this, like, in-depth analysis lol!

[vagrantblvrd]

A Place So Dark (2/?)

Summary: Gavin died on a Thursday.

                 That’s what the official records say, anyway. 

                 They also say he died in an accident.

Notes: This is loosely (very much so) based on the movie The Wraith and inspired by Michael and Gavin messing around in the GTA V Jetpack Joyrides video. (Look, I don’t know what happened either. Also, let’s pretend Tron isn’t a thing in this AU, because reasons.)

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 ||

(Read on AO3)

When Michael turns, Gavin has the helmet in his hands and this small, awkward smile on his face.

He looks...uncertain.

That hesitant little smile Michael knows so well. The one he’d get when he’d done something stupid or messed up and fucking well knew it, couldn’t apologize like a normal person, no.

Just.

A mess of issues and stupid about it all, and hoping Michael would somehow be able to read his mind. Understand that whatever had happened wasn’t his intent. That there really was a reason the toaster was suddenly in pieces, or the plumbing was fucked up.

A whole slew of things gone wrong that shouldn’t have, really, Michael, he didn’t expect it to happen.

After a moment Gavin’s eyes slide away from Michael’s, shoulders hunching because Michael cannot stop scowling at him.

Anger burning hot in his chest because this stupid bastard. This stupid motherfucker who got himself in trouble, got in so deep someone wanted him dead.

Fucking Gavin who made Michael promise him months and months and months ago. Goddamn years, that if he was ever in trouble he’d go to Gavin.

Ask for help and Gavin would give it, no questions asked because it was just that simple. They’d figure it together, no reason to go it alone when it was the two of them against the world.

Partners in crime, the two of them, and this stupid little giggle from Gavin because they’d both had a little too much to drink. Gotten the kind of serious you do sometimes when you’re like that.

Dumb jokes and stories, this sideways slide into the heart of things without a by your leave. Gavin worrying about Michael and the bruises and worse he’d come back to their shitty apartment with sometimes.

“Your arm,” Gavin says suddenly, frowning slightly as he sets his helmet down on the table and moves over to Michael.

Gavin moves slow, careful as he reaches out and pulls Michael’s arm toward him. Looking to him as though he’s asking permission as he examines a cut on Michael’s arm visible through the ripped sleeve of his jacket.

Michael fights the urge to yank his arm back, annoyance rising because now that Gavin’s called attention to the injury he can feel the damn thing. Feel a myriad of small injuries he must have gotten earlier and hadn’t paid attention to with his focus on getting them out of there. Quashes the feeling as he watches Gavin.

Concerned frown on his face so damn familiar it hurts. Sharp ache in his chest that’s almost a physical pain, because he never thought he’d get to see it again.

“I don’t think you’ll need stitches for it,” Gavin says, and looks up to meet Michael's eyes. “But you should put a bandage on it at least.”

He glances at the abandoned bag with the medical supplies and cocks his head just so, a gesture Michael knows so fucking well because he’s seen it so many times before.

Just another one of the things he should have picked up on earlier. Another one of Gavin’s quirks and ticks Michael had seen the biker use and never thought to connect to Gavin.

So much evidence in front of him leading to the biker’s identity and Michael just never seeing any of it because why the fuck would he expect to when Gavin was dead?

The Gavin he’d known was an awkward, clumsy dork who was good with computers and loved playing with his cameras. An idiot who never let on he wasn’t quite who Michael thought he was, but then again the reverse is true because Michael did the same, didn’t he?

Lies upon lies, and all of them mean to protect each other because it was dangerous not to.

This fucking city.

And maybe it’s not just Los Santos to blame for all of this. The secrets they both hid from each other, thinking they were protecting each other and doing more harm than good in the end, but it’s easier to cast blame than it is to face up to how stupid they've both been about this.

The fact that somehow Gavin’s here, looking at Michael with those eyes of his. Big and worried and holding himself like he thinks -

“I can’t do this on my own,” Michael hears himself say as he stares at Gavin’s hands. Fingers curled around his wrist, thumb resting over his pulse point.

Gavin blinks, mouth opening to ask why – always with he questions because he has a curious fucking mind doesn’t he. Never satisfied until he’s picked something apart, gotten a good look at what makes it tick and finds a way to put it back together again. (Not always right, but he tries.)

“I’m right handed, idiot.”

The cut’s on his right arm, and Michael could manage to slap a rough bandage on it, keep from making things worse, but it won’t be pretty. Might as well not even bother for all the good it will do him.

“I’ll fuck it up,” Michael says, and shrugs at the look Gavin gives him.

Michael doesn’t know how any of this is possible. How Gavin is standing in front him, solid and real and so goddamned familiar.

Watching Michael with that worried look he used to get when Michael would come home after a rough job and lie to him about it. Tell him some idiot at work had run into him, or that he’d hit his head on something. Nothing important, serious, so no need to worry about it.

Nothing but lies mixed tied up with the truth like that was just the way things had to be and why change things if it worked?

Gavin patching him up with this little frown between his eyes and so, so careful no to ask even though Michael could tell he wanted to more than anything.

Gavin starts to let go.

“Gavin.”

Gavin freezes, eyes skittering away from Michael’s.

He still looks the same.

Dumb hair that looks like it never met a comb it liked and that fucking nose of his. Laugh lines around his eyes that Michael always hoped he’d contributed to. The mole under his eye, so many other things Michael was worried he’d forgotten, and it’s killing him a little.

This whole mess is killing him because he can’t do this alone the way he was so convinced he could.

Just him against Carmine’s organization like one of those godawful movies Michael loved as a kid.

Good triumphing over evil, white hats against black hats. Scenarios where good always won because that’s how the stories were supposed to go.

Somewhere along the way he forgot on of the hardest lessons he ever learned, forgot that life isn’t like that. Realized just how fine the line between good and evil is, and which side he landed on as he grew up, made the kinds of choices he did.

The way people like Carmine with money and power behind them win out more often than not. That people like him and Gavin get trampled underfoot and forgotten, because they were just a statistic in the end.

Michael’s been lucky so far. Luckier than anyone has a right to be, but that same luck is bound to run out on him sooner rather than later with his hard he’s been pushing things.

And for whatever reason Gavin’s here, he’s back.

He’s the asshole half the city’s talking about.

This incredible force – anger and fury and something else to him Michael can’t explain, doesn’t have the words for - going after Carmine and his organization with equally single-minded determination.

He’s done more to hurt Carmine in these past few weeks than Michael has in the entire time he found out about his involvement in Gavin’s death. Cracked the foundations under Carmine’s feet, but it’s still not enough.

Worse, after tonight they know Gavin’s not invincible. They managed to make him bleed, proved they can hurt him. Kill him, and they’re not about to forget that after what he’s done to them, cost them.

“I can’t do this on my own,” Michael says again, and he sounds like he picked smoking back up. Voice fucked up because he’s not just talking about Carmine and his hired guns, doesn’t think he could take losing Gavin again. “I’ll fuck it up if I try.”

He’s been driven by anger and grief, this need to make whoever was responsible pay and no real plan behind any of it. Belated realization that he never expected to make it as far as he has. Expected Carmine or Rat-face to sniff him out, realize what he was up to and make an example out of him the way they did with Gavin.

He’d only gotten as close as he has through sheer luck, and doesn’t know where to go from here.  

Gavin stares at him for a long moment, and Michael can’t read him. Can’t tell what he’s thinking, or even if he knows him as well as he thought he did to be able to read him.

“Let’s look at your arm first,” Gavin says, eyes dropping away from Michael’s as he goes to get the medical supplies. “Wouldn’t want it to get infected.”

Michael watches him walk away and wonders what the hell he as expecting. For Gavin to jump at the chance to team up with him like this is some kind of stupid superhero movie?

“Yeah, alright,” Michael sighs, and follows Gavin to the cramped bathroom where the lighting is better.

Gavin gives him a small smile as Michael sits on the edge of the tub. Helps him peel off his jacket, managing to reopen the wound a little in the process. Dried blood gluing it to his skin and it's not pretty, hurts like hell as Gavin cleans the wound up best he can with their available supplies.

His hands are cool, which isn’t a surprise because Gavin always runs cold, but there’s a different quality now that makes Michael uneasy.

“I’d hate to be the one to find that,” Gavin says, seeming to pick up on his mood and  trying for a bit of levity as he tips his head towards the pile of bloodstained washcloths he tossed into the bathtub.

Michael snorts.

“I’d hate to be the one to find anything in this dump,” Michael shoots back because there’s not enough money in the world for that.

Gavin makes a face, gagging as his mind pulls up likely scenarios, and Michael’s chest aches because it’s such a familiar sight. Michael fucking with Gavin because it was always so easy, and cackling about it because he’s that kind of asshole.

“You’re a bloody bully Michael,” Gavin says, wounded note to his voice like he hasn't learned better by now.

And Michael -

“Literally,” he says, unable to stop himself as Gavin spreads ointment over the cut and tapes a gauze pad over it.

Gavin sighs, world-weary and such a brave little toaster for putting up with the terrible shit Michael puts him through, and it hurts how normal this feels.

Gavin leaves his hands on Michael's arm, frown on his face as he traces the edges of old scars from Michael’s line of work.

A few are from knives, but there’s a bullet graze near his elbow. Road rash that never healed quite right from a spill off a bike running from the cops once. More scars and marks left from countless fights, scrapes, he’s been in hidden by his clothes.

Souvenirs of a life that’s probably going kill him before long.

“Gav?”

Gavin reluctantly pulls his hands away and looks at Michael.

“You’re not going to stop even if I say no, are you.”

That.

“No,” Michael says, calm, even.

It would be better if they worked together on taking Carmine down because Gavin’s the one with all the cards here. Found something that spooked Carmine enough to have him killed, and Michael’s just been fumbling in the dark.

But if Gavin says no, chooses not to work together with him Michael’s just going to keep going until he succeeds or gets himself killed, whichever comes first. Can’t just let it go, even with Gavin here in front of him now.

The worst part about is that Michael’s still a coward, isn’t he. Can’t tell Gavin why he’s so determined to do this. All those words he had time to figure out after Gavin died, things he swore to himself he’d tell him if he ever got the chance to seem to have dried up and crumbled to dust on the back of his tongue.

Gavin huffs a laugh, and sits back to look at Michael.

“I can’t stay,” Gavin says, and waves a hand toward the window they can just see through the open door of the bathroom, sunlight breaking through the curtains. “There are rules, limits, to this. To whatever I am.”

Michael feels that uneasiness from earlier rear its head.

“What, are you a fucking vampire now? Do you burn in the sunlight?”

Gavin gives Michael this look, like maybe Michael’s parents dropped him on his head as a kid one time too many.

“What? No. You’ve seen me in the daylight before, haven’t you?” he says, and his tone of voice backs up the look on his face perfectly. “But I used a lot of energy tonight, didn’t I, and I have to go back.”

There’s something about the way Gavin says it that sends a chill down his spine.

“Go back?” he asks, trying to hold Gavin’s gaze but the fucker is a champ at avoidance.

Motherfucking gold medalist.

“For a little bit,” Gavin clarifies, still not meeting his eyes. “Just to rest.”

“Gav - “

“Give it a day or two, yeah?” Gavin pulls the latex gloves he was using off and slings them into the trash can under the bathroom sink. Gets to his feet. “Try not to do anything stupid before then, and we’ll talk about things. Get everything sorted.”

Like they’re talking about whose turn it is to do the dishes or why the fuck Gavin can’t remember not to throw a half empty cup of coffee in the trash from across the room. Like it’s something simple, stupid, small.

Like Michael isn’t terrified that Gavin won’t come back. Will just be gone, or that Michael hallucinated all of this. Hit his head and ended up in some stupid movie coma only to wake up and find out it was a dream all along.

Gavin finally looks at him, bright smile on his face like this whole situation isn’t fucked.

“No promises,” Michael says, hands clenching where they rest on his lap, grasping on to the sting, burn, that runs through his injured arm. “Don’t fucking stop for coffee on your back, you fuck.”

There’s a mirror over the sink facing the tub Michael’s sitting on. Dirty and cracked, and Michael stares at his reflection in it as Gavin pauses to squeeze his shoulder as he walks past, hand burning cold where it touches him.

Michael doesn’t hear the outer door when Gavin leaves, and it’s a long, long time before he can make himself get up.

========

Jeremy knows something is up when Michael slinks back in later that morning.

Would have to be blind not to given the state Michael’s in even after he made an effort to clean up. His clothes are still fucked and there’s no adrenaline to allow him to ignore the fact he’s hurting.

Still, Jeremy doesn’t say a damn thing.

Michael gets this look from him. The kind of worry Jeremy shouldn’t waste on a shitty friend like him, but that’s just like him, isn’t it.

The same way it’s just like him when Jeremy sits down next to Michael on the couch and pushes a cup of coffee into his hands to help warm him up. Sets a plate down with one of the donuts he picked up a few days ago.

Pretends like he’s not keeping an eye on Michael to make sure he’s not about to keel over on him right there and then. Force Jeremy to drag him down to a clinic or the emergency room.

Turns on the television so they can listen to the news, hear all about the commotion the night before in the industrial district. Fire fighters still on site, and various news crews vying for the best  shots. Solemn faced reporters going over what they know so far, batting theories and rumors back and forth with their counterparts behind the anchor desk back at the news station.

“Looks like a mess,” Jeremy notes, taking a sip of his coffee and carefully not looking at Michael.

Michael sighs, slumping a little into the soft cushions of the couch.

It’s so goddamn tempting to just tell Jeremy everything. What’s been going on to make him worry about Michael so much when he doesn’t deserve it, but Michael wouldn’t even know where to start without sounding like  damned lunatic.

Weird shit happens in Los Santos all the time, but this?

Got to be enough to get him locked away, and he’s not sure it wouldn’t be warranted at this point.

“Yeah,” Michael says, and splits the doughnut between them as a peace offering.

He can’t tell Jeremy what’s going on, but he sure as fuck appreciates that he wants to help.

Jeremy snorts, flipping through stations until he lands on an early morning cartoon.

Bright colors and weird animal characters with no real plot to speak of. Simple cartoonish bullshit accompanied by whimsical music that is clearly meant to be a punishment of some sort because it’s all so bad.

Which is fair, really.

Better than what Michael deserves, that’s for damn certain.

========

Rat-face calls Michael and tells him to lie low for now. That Carmine and his top people are coming up with a plan to deal with Gavin once and for all and they’ll contact him when they need him.

Michael plays his part, gives him yes sir, and no sir, and I understand, sir, and feels this thread of fear wrap tight around his heart because he still hasn’t heard from Gavin.

Doesn’t know where he is, if he’s okay. Doesn’t know a goddamned thing, and the  not knowing is killing him, but there’s not a lot Michael can about it until Gavin decides to show his face again. (Michael’s half afraid he won’t, that he just imagined the whole thing and Jeremy’s not wrong about Michael losing his damn mind.)

He makes a few half-hearted attempts to crack Gavin’s password, and watches daytime dramas that he doesn’t pay attention to. Too worried about Gavin and what Carmine and his flunkies are up to to focus long enough to understand the plot.

Pretends like he doesn’t see the worried looks Jeremy keeps tossing his way and does his best to act like he’s not slowly going out of his mind.

After the fifth day it gets old, and something drags Michael back to the apartment building he and Gavin lived in.

There’s not much left to it anymore. It’s been hollowed out by the fire, scavengers and worse in and out picking over the bones, looking for anything of value and coming up empty-handed.

Michael kicks aside a piece of charred wood and carefully makes his way through the rubble left behind from the fire. The place smells faintly of rot and decay over the lingering stench of smoke, or maybe that last is his mind overlaying memories with what his eyes are seeing, who the fuck knows.

“Christ,” he mutters, walking into what used to be the his – their -old living room.

Barely big enough for that stupid couch Gavin made him haul up several flights of stairs so long ago.

Stupid heavy and ugly as all hell, but something about it had caught Gavin’s eye and he’d spent money they couldn’t really afford on it. Big, stupid grin on his face and cajoling note to his voice, and Michael?

He always did have a hard time saying no to Gavin, even when he knew better.

So he lugged the fucking hideous thing upstairs while Gavin fretted and fussed. Offered up completely useless advice as he “helped”. Dropped his end of the couch more times than Michael cares to remember, mumbling sheepish apologies and laughing about it.

The damn couch is a pile of blackened wood now, melted bits of metal.

So much of their lives here gone up in fire and nothing but rubble and ash under his feet and if that isn’t some kind of shitty metaphor, Michael doesn’t know what is.

Michael lifts his head when he hears footsteps behind him, hands curling into loose fists at his side because he knows who it is.

Heard that fucking bike earlier, the low purr of its engine as it pulled up.

“Fire department said it was faulty wiring.”

Bad wiring in an old building, and shit like that happens all the in a city like this where code enforcement is so lax. No one gives much of a damn unless it makes the news, and even then it barely makes a ripple in the news cycle.

Why would it, when this is the kind of place where the police look the other way when it comes to crime all the fucking time? When people tsk over a murder and shake their heads before moving on because it’s just another statistic?

Always such a shame, and so convenient that it happens to someone else.

Gavin doesn’t say anything, but Michael can hear him sifting through the mess, looking for something.

Michael finally turns around, almost expecting Gavin to disappear the moment he does like that fucked up Greek myth about the asshole who went to the underworld in search of his wife after she died.

But this is reality, for whatever that’s worth, and Gavin doesn’t fade away when Michael looks at him.

Seems solid and real as he sweeps a pile of debris aside with his foot, glancing around with this odd frown on his face.

“Michael,” Gavin says, frustrated note to his voice. “Where was the bedroom?”

Of all the things he was expecting to hear from Gavin, that wasn’t anywhere on the list.

“What?”

Gavin looks frustrated, annoyed.

“Well it’s not like I had the floor plans memorized, now is it?” Gavin asks, turning his head away when Michael keeps staring.

They lived in that shitty apartment of theirs for years. Tiny and cramped, hardly enough room in it for the two of them and their shit. The kind of place you learn where everything is real quick or otherwise end up with stubbed toes and bumps on the back of your head moving around in the dark.

Th single bedroom they shared because they were adults who could handle sharing a bed with their couch being uncomfortable as hell. Always a bout of insomnia or work project that couldn’t wait for a reasonable hour, some other excuse that would keep one of them awake and trying to be considerate of each other.

Gavin had been prone to those kind of nights more often than Michael, ended up knowing it better than he did.

Gavin still won’t meet his eyes and Michael lets it drop because looking around now, he can see how it  would be hard to pinpoint where the hallway ends and the bedroom begins. Where everything should have been.

“Over here, I think,” Michael says, and moves past Gavin to gesture towards a pile of debris where the doorway to the bedroom door used to be. “What are you looking for?”

Gavin twitches a shoulder in a shrug as he maps out where the boundaries of the room would have been.

“Of course,” he mumbles to himself, and sets to clearing away what looks like part of the ceiling and half of the wall.

“Don’t just stand there, give me a hand, you bastard,” Gavin calls over his shoulder in a fit of pique, and Michael snorts as he goes over to help.

Follows Gavin’s orders as they dig out a small area roughly where the bed used to be. Stands back when Gavin drives the heel of his foot down on a section of floor to reveal a hidden compartment containing a fire safe.

“Maybe it was worth what I paid for it after all,” Gavin muses as he crouches down to examine it for damage, eyes meeting Michael’s over it. “Did you get the package?”

Nice and casual, like Gavin’s asking about the weather or something equally normal.

As if Gavin hadn’t planned ahead, expected for something to go wrong with whatever he’d been doing.

For someone to kill him.

Like he hadn’t taken the necessary precautions to ensure that whatever he’d found made it to Michael, that he’d gotten him everything he’d need to start up a new life somewhere, like that something people just fucking did.

Goddamn, it makes Michael angry all over again just thinking about it. About Gavin realizing how much trouble he was in and taking all these steps to protect Michael without giving a fucking thought to how he’d feel about things in the aftermath of his death.

As though Michael wouldn’t lose sleep wondering what he could have done differently to get Gavin to trust him enough to ask for help. What he’d done to make him think he wouldn’t drop everything if Gavin had just fucking asked.

“Yeah,” Michael says. “About that.”

Gavin looks up, frown on his face like he doesn’t know what the fucking problem is.

“Why didn’t you come to me with this?” Michael asks, hating the way his voice sounds rough, cracks showing through because Gavin’s secrets got him killed and Michael was too stupid to ask. “I could have fucking helped.”

Gavin stares at Michael like he’s trying to think up a lie, some excuse or reason that he thinks Michael’s just going to buy and that’ll be the end of that. No reason to get bothered over any of it.

“I don’t care if you didn’t know I was involved in this shit,” Michael says, before Gavin can interrupt him, say something that will just make him angrier. “I would have fucking helped you, Gavin. Jesus fuck, you know I would have.”

If nothing else, they were friends and Michael thought Gavin had known that. Known Michael would have done anything for him if he asked.

But he hadn’t, had he.

Had just dug himself deeper into whatever trouble he’d found that it had gotten him killed, and Michael left behind to pick up the pieces of his life. Move on, like it ever would have been so simple.

“Carmine’s a monster,” Gavin says, low and quiet. This fierceness to his voice Michael's never heard. His hand is splayed over the top of the fire safe like he’s keeping whatever secrets are inside from spilling out like Pandora’s box for better or worse. “You have no idea what he’s capable of, Michael.”

Michael can guess, given what happened to Gavin. The things he picked up when he was trying to find a way into Carmine’s organization. Bits and pieces he overheard from the others once he did.

The way Jeremy and others Michael’s come into contact with on his search for answers have warned him away from the fucker. Want nothing to do with him, which says so goddamned much in a city like this.

“By the time I knew what kind of monster he was, it was too late to back out of things, and I wanted to keep you out of it,” Gavin says, gaze focused on the damn fire safe under his hand. “I thought if he didn’t know about you, you’d be safe. That he couldn’t use you against me if he found out what I was doing.”

Oh, Christ.

“He was toying with me the whole time,” Gavin says, and his laugh sounds all broken and wrong, jagged little pieces to it. “Let me think I was getting away with things, that everything was going to turn out okay. That I didn’t manage bollocks everything up.”

“Gav - “

“I had a plan, Michael,” Gavin says. “I had a plan.”

But life – especially here in Los Santos – has a way of fucking you over if you’re not careful. (Sometimes even when you are.)

Michael stares at Gavin.

At this fucking idiot who tried so hard to keep Michael safe with no one there to watch his back, no one to keep him safe. Lying like his life depended on to keep Michael in the dark, and managing it all right up until the end.

Goddamn.

“You fucking idiot,” Michael snarls, and drags Gavin into a hug. Closes his eyes at Gavin’s startled intake of breath, like he was expecting Michael to hit him instead, like he would have deserved it, and holds on tighter.

There’s no way to change what happened, no point in second-guessing Gavin’s choices when it would be nothing but cruelty now. Salt in fresh wounds, but maybe, maybe, they can find a way to make things right now if Gavin will let him.

“I have to go,” Gavin says, some time later, even though he makes no move to let go of Michael. “Michael, I have to go.”

Michael wants to ask him why. Plead with him to stay, maybe, because he knows Gavin’s not going to give up on Carmine. Knows he’s still going to after him even though it almost got him killed (again, a part of Michael’s mind points out, again) last time.

“Be careful, asshole,” he says, because he knows he can’t stop Gavin even if he tries. Might drive him away altogether if he does. “They’re planning something.”

Gavin laughs, like this is all a fucking joke.

“Of course they are,” he says, and then he’s untangling himself from Michael's hold, this sad smile on his face that’s breaking Michael’s heart. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Like he has any fucking right to say something like that after everything that’s happened.

Still.

“Same goes for you, asshole,” he says, and watches Gavin walk away.

========

Gavin goes on his hit and runs, and Michael hears about it on the news afterwards.

Watches the so-called experts attempt to analyze what little data about him they have. Pinpoint his methodology, reason for his attacks, with little success.

Gavin’s smart about things, switches up his plan of attack even as he focuses on Carmine’s allies with his organization laying low after the ambush.

Chipping away at his support, whittling away his options one by one by one.

In the midst of all this, Jeremy’s crew has him running around doing damage control. He’s out at all hours and starting to look like shit warmed over.

According to him Gavin hasn’t gone after them, shouldn’t have reason to, but they’re understandably concerned. Their allies are understandably concerned, and there’s not much Michael can do to help him without revealing too much.

Feels like an asshole as he watches as Jeremy spends less and less time at the apartment until he might as well not be there at all.

So of course, of course, that’s when Gavin comes to visit.

Picks a day when Jeremy’s out, or maybe he’s been watching them the whole time and waiting for just the right moment.

Either way, there’s no mistaking the sound his bike makes when it pulls up outside.

When Michael opens the door, Gavin has his bike helmet tucked under one arm and he looks -

He looks tired.

Exhausted.

Like someone at the end of their rope and barely hanging on, and he asks  after the package he sent to Michael.

“Why do you want it?”

Gavin opens his mouth to speak, and stops.

Eyes narrowing as he looks at Michael.

“You don’t know.”

Michael doesn’t bother denying it. Not when he’s been trying to crack Gavin’s fucking password for so long, been tempted to drag Jeremy and Matt into this whole mess when he couldn’t.

“No,” Michael says, and decides to try on some honesty between them for size. “But I sure as hell want to.”

He wants to know what Gavin found that was so important, so fucking terrible that he couldn’t tell Michael about. What Carmine wanted him dead for.

Gavin stares at him for a long, long moment. Long enough that Michael thinks he’s going to pull another one of his disappearing tricks. Claim he can’t stay, that he has to leave and then fuck off the was he’s been doing for one reason or another, but he doesn’t.

“If I show you,” Gavin says, like he’s still not convinced Michael's serious about this, or maybe just doesn’t want to pull him in any deeper than he already is, “there’s no going back.”

Christ, be more melodramatic.

“Really?” Michael asks. “Really?”

Gavin makes a face, looks away because even he knows that was a little over the top, even with everything else about this clusterfuck.

“It’s...complicated,” Gavin hedges, not quite making eye contact. “And it’s dangerous.”

No shit.

The fact Gavin’s still trying to protect him is as sweet as it is heartbreaking, but it’s a little too late for that now. Michael’s not giving up until Carmine’s dead, and while he’d be thrilled to work with Gavin on that, he’s not going to be deterred if he has to do it on his own.

“Alright,” Gavin says, because he must see all of that in Michael’s expression, or maybe he’s just tired of going it alone. “Alright. Bring the package along because we’re going to need it.”

========

Gavin takes them to several stops around the city. Has this cagey look to him as they pick up packages and other shit he’d stashed, all of them under different names and aliases.

Sends Michael on ahead with combinations or passwords. Shuffles his feet when he hands over a key and runs a hand through his hair when he tells Michael they’re almost done.

Avoids Michael’s eyes when he looks up from studying the scorched key chain singed tag attached to it like he wouldn’t recognize it as one of Gavin’s. (The way the metal of the key itself feels hot to the touch. Hot enough to burn.)

“There are only three people authorized to access it, and it would be awkward if I went in to collect it,” Gavin says, and flips the visor of his helmet down to end the conversation, a new habit of his that’s already gotten old.

It’s another storage facility. The kind of place that has the kind of security that requires ID to get past the main desk. Only one like it of all the places they’ve been to, and it has him paying even closer attention to things once he goes inside.

Unlike the others, this one is under Gavin’s real name. Paid for in cash with no paper trail to lead back to it and a certain air to the whole thing that feels borderline legal. Very discreet and hush-hush. Guards with weapons showing under their jackets and this veneer of civility that does nothing to hide how dangerous they are under it all.

The woman behind the counter gives Michael a cursory glance when he walks in, finishes up what she’s working on before turning to him with a polite smile.

“I’m here about locker 339?” he says, holding up the key Gavin handed off to him.

Her eyes narrow, but apparently she’s seen worse because she just asks for his driver license to verify he is who he claims to be. Spends a moment to make sure everything is in order before she buzzes him through the security door.

There's an attendant on the other side of the security door to escort him to the lockers, standing just inside the door while Michael checks the contents to Gavin’s.

There’s an external hard drive instead of the USB drives they’ve collected today, as well as several envelopes with Gavin’s handwriting on them.

Feeling oddly guilty, Michael flips through them. There’s one for the dead reporter Gavin wanted Michael to go to, and another addressed to Michael.

It looks older than the others, including to the one he had sent to Michael.

Battered, worn, almost as though Gavin kept it with him for a while before deciding to put it here.

“We have secure rooms,” the attendant says, because Michael's just standing there like an idiot staring down at it. “If you’d like to view your items privately?”

Michael blinks, realizes he’s taken longer than he should have. Was supposed to collect the locker’s contents. Gather up whatever Gavin had squirreled away here and close out his account, not whatever the hell he thinks he’s doing wasting precious time like this.

“No,” Michael says, sliding the letters into the interior pocket of his jacket along with the external hard drive and shuts the locker. “No, that won’t be necessary.”

He gets an odd look for that, but the attendant lets it slide. Probably attributes it to grief – their records are up to date, after all – and quietly leads the way back to the front desk.

Michael settles things with the woman there, something final about it that has him hurrying back out to Gavin. As though sighing his name on the dotted line is what’s going to be what sends him back to wherever he keeps disappearing off to, ridiculous as it sounds.

It’s raining outside the way it had been threatening to all afternoon and Michael instinctively pulls his jacket around him tighter to protect the external hard drive and letters.

There are dark gray clouds overhead, flashes of lightning in in the distance and the faint sound of thunder rolling in off the hills around Los Santos. Heavy downpour that cutting down on visibility, and the world around them muted.

Gavin, thank God, is still out there on that bike of his. Head tipped up to stare at the sky, rain trailing down the smooth face of his helmet.

“You got it, then?”

Gavin turns to look at him, and something about it – his posture, the slow movement – looks tired.

Far more so than when he appeared at the apartment earlier, like the weather is sapping his energy away.

“I – Yeah,” Michael says, nervous and unsettled for no reason he can name. “What - “

“One last stop,” Gavin says, and starts his bike, low growl almost drowned out by the rain, something almost like laughter in his voice. “Try to keep up, Michael.”

And then the damn cheater peels off, tires squealing as he gets one hell of a head start. Manages to weave through lanes of traffic the way he damn well knows Michael can’t in his car, the fucking asshole.

========

Michael catches up to Gavin at a red light a few streets over.

Glares when the asshole looks straight back at him and revs his bike’s engine. This full-throated growl he can feel through the floorboards of his car. It rises in pitch to a scream when the light turns green and Gavin speeds off, just missing the asshole who thought he could beat the yellow coming the opposite direction through the intersection.

Michael leans on the horn, flips the fucker off and races after Gavin who, terrifyingly enough, has gotten even more reckless now than he was before if that’s even possible.

Maybe it has something to do with what he is now, whatever that is. Doesn’t think anything can hurt him now, or maybe he just doesn’t care. (Michael isn’t sure which possibility scares him more.)

Gavin takes them through back streets to a quiet little neighborhood in just one more rundown part of the city. It’s late enough by now that most of its residents are either asleep or working the night shift.

A handful few people are outside smoking or talking bullshit, bursts of noise every so often, laughter echoing off the brick and stone walls of the buildings around them. Shady figures lurking just out of range of the streetlights.

“Safe house for when I’m...here,” Gavin says, entirely too cryptically as he gestures at himself when Michael gives him a questioning look. “No one else knows about it.”

That’s -

“Huh,” Michael says, adding it to the things he never knew about Gavin and wondering how many more there are left to discover.

Gavin lets them inside an apartment on the third floor. Shabby little place a few steps down from their old one. Decked out with tacky furniture and terrible carpeting. Has one hell of a lived-in look to it.

There’s a goddamned murder board up on one wall. Maps of Los Santos and the neighboring areas with what seems to be color-coded pins. News articles and other shit hanging up alongside the maps, and a laptop on the coffee table.

Goddamned plethora of old mugs of coffee and empty energy drink cans next to it. A medical kit or two, rust brown splotches and smears on the lid, the latches.

Michael looks up, catches Gavin watching him taking all of it in.

“You - “

Gavin smiles, this twisted thing, and gestures for Michael to set the boxes and packages on the coffee table as he shoves things aside to make room for them.

“I’m not invincible, Michael,” he murmurs, and leaves it at that as he starts his laptop up.

Like that’s not a fucking kick to the chest, hearing Gavin admit to it even after seeing the proof for himself. Imagining Gavin retreating here to lick his wounds alone, even with that healing factor he seems to have. (Knowing how fucking much Carmine and Rat-face want him dead, how hard they’ve tried to make it happen.)

Michael watches him for a long moment, feeling too wrung out to argue.

Much.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, looking around at the mess.

Gavin winces, slides him a look. A Little defensive, a little annoyed. Dumbass all the way.

“I’ve been busy Michael,” he grumbles, because they lived together too long for him not to know what Michael’s thinking. About all yelling that isn’t happening because what even is this situation right now? “Haven’t had the time to tidy.”

It doesn’t hold the usual bite it would because Gavin’s distracted. Rooting through the pile in front of him to organize the drives and memory cards according to some bizarre system of his. Doing his damnedest to ignore Michael as he works.

That’s so much like him that Michael can’t help but laugh, scrubbing a hand over his face as he gets up to collect empty cans and dirty mugs to put in the sink. Give them both a little time to gather themselves for what’s ahead.

Shakes his head at how familiar this much is in spite of the circumstances, following along to clean up after Gavin. Oddly soothing as Michael finds an old grocery bag for the cans and shoves as many of them in there as he can.

Opens the fridge to find more energy drinks and – of all things – a box of baking soda. Containers of take-out shoved to the back that are well past being remotely edible that immediately go in the trash.

Apparently still human enough to eat and drink, or as capable of it as still being the same fucking slob he always has been, whatever that means.

Christ.

Michael’s contemplating the task of cleaning out the cheap little coffee maker when Gavin calls him back into the living room.

“Michael,” he says. Stops. Fidgets. “Michael, you don’t have to – You can still leave.”

Michael stares at him.

“Take the money and leave, go back to Jersey if you want,” Gavin says, flicking a hand at the packages they recovered earlier, more than just USB drives and memory cards.

Enough money to get both them far, far away from Los Santos. False identities and all the paperwork to go along with them to go somewhere Carmine can never find them and disappear, if such a place exists.

No.

Where Michael can disappear while Gavin stays in Los Santos to finish what he started, make sure Carmine won’t find Michael.

Lie to him, claim he’ll be right behind him and Michael waiting for a day that won’t come, because he knows this little idiot, doesn’t he.

All the lies between them and some things that never changed because they’re such an intrinsic part of the people they are under it all.

Gavin’s looking at him like he wants Michael to just give in. Take the easy way out even thought they both know it’s too late for that. That Michael was fucking clear about things from the outset, and still.

He’s still trying to get Michael to see sense, to do the smart thing. Give up on his stupid quest for vengeance like it doesn’t mean anything. Like Gavin was never worth it.

“No.”

Soft and even, every last bit of Michael’s conviction behind it, because he’ll be damned if he walks away now. Turns his back on Gavin when he can help him this time, do something worthwhile.

“Fuck you, no,” he says, anger starting to bleed into it when Gavin looks like he’s going to try another tack. Come at Michael sideways like he won’t see it coming. “Stop trying of get rid of me and just let me fucking help.”

If his voice breaks a little on that last, neither of them mention it.

Gavin’s hands clench into fists before he lets out his breath on a long exhale that goes a little ragged at the end.

“Okay,” he says as he reaches for his laptop. “Okay, then."

Michael eyes him warily because Gavin folded too easily, backed down way too fast for him to believe this is the last time they’re going to do this.

“I had a system,” Gavin says, darting a look at Michael when he sits next to him. “Didn’t want Carmine or any of his people to figure out what I was doing, so I was careful about it.”

Gavin clicks on a file, smile on his face that says he was too naive about just how careful he was.

“Thought I was, anyway,” he admits with a humorless laugh as the file opens.

At first it’s meaningless to Michael, letters and numbers laid out in some kind of code.

Before he can ask about it Gavin plugs one of the USB drives they recovered into the laptop. A prompt pops up and Gavin enters a password and drums his fingers nervously as he waits for it password to be accepted.

“Shipment schedules here,” he says, gesturing to the spreadsheet while they wait for the USB drive to load, taps the screen as a new window for the drive opens. “Codes here.”

It’s empty.

Gavin flashes Michael a cheeky little grin and plays around with file options until hidden folders appear, and opens one showing several files that he clicks on.

More gibberish once they open, but Gavin resizes the windows and places them side by side with the spreadsheet open behind them.

“What the hell am I looking at?” Michael asks, even though he thinks he knows, focus flicking between the windows.

Gavin laughs, tapping the laptop screen again.

“A cipher key,” he says, and highlights a row on the spreadsheet. “Broken up a bit, but you see it, yeah?”

Michael looks at the spreadsheet, and down at the open windows. The cipher key isn’t complete with just the two files he has open to work off, but he can see what Gavin’s talking about. See how it lines up with the spreadsheet, able to figure out just what kind of information he’s looking at.

“This is all outdated,” Gavin says. “Old files I got my hands on in the beginning. Waters – the reporter I told you about in the letter – got a little too close around that time. Spooked Carmine into upping his security around his files. Made getting my hands on them harder.”

Gavin falters there, smile fading.

“Guess I should have known Carmine would know about him,” he says with a tired little laugh. “Bastard was always three steps ahead the whole time.”

Michael watches helplessly as Gavin goes through the files on the other USB drives, the memory cards. Connects them together like a fucking puzzle, shows him more shipping manifests and other incriminating evidence that could put Carmine and his people away for life.

Hesitates before the connects the external hard drive to the laptop and brings up a media player.

“I planted bugs, listening devices where I could,” Gavin says, palms flat on the coffee table as he plays goddamned audio clips of Carmine ordering hits against his enemies. “It was too risky to try to sneak a camera in, but even this is more than enough to incriminate him.”

Rival crews, gangs that didn’t bow and scrape fast enough for his liking. The rare few willing to cross him, testify against him for protection. Politicians and public figures in Los Santos and beyond who ended up dying in unfortunate accidents here and there.

The ones he wanted to serve as messages to anyone getting ideas about bringing him down.

Michael’s blood goes cold when he realizes there are several folders listed on the external, and they’re just listening to the first one.

Wonders distantly if there’s a recording out there Gavin wasn’t able to retrieve in time ordering his own fucking death. (Given the way Gavin’s hands shake a little when he stops the playback on the final recording, he’s had the same thought.)

Carmine’s a bigger deal than anyone realized. His influence is spreading through Los Santos like a disease, creating what threatens to be a vast criminal empire for him and he’s still not satisfied.

“Gavin - “

Gavin shakes his head, and holds up the package he had sent to Michael, pushing on because he promised he’d explain everything, didn’t he. Let Michael know what he’d been doing, what got him killed.

“I put copies of the most recent files I’d gotten on here,” he says. “Along with instructions on how to find the rest.”

All of it neatly packaged up for Waters, items he’d entrusted to Michael. Knew he would have gotten it to Waters because Gavin asked him to in that letter of his, told him it was important and to leave Los Santos when he’d done that and stay the fuck away from it afterwards.

Christ.

Michael stares at the USB drives and memory cards, the contents of Gavin’s stashes spread over the coffee table and can’t help but wonder would have happened if he’d just been able to figure out his fucking password.

Wonders if this could have been over by now, all this damning evidence in the right hands and Los Santos turned upside down to rip Carmine from its underbelly like cancerous growth. If Michael would have found a way to fuck everything up, gone to the wrong person without realizing it, and all of this buried with Michael the way Carmine had tried to bury it with Gavin.

Wonders where they hell they can even go now.

“Christ,” Michael says, mind reeling.

Gavin laughs again, the one that’s all wrong on him. So full of bitterness, angry at the edges.

“Carmine knew,” Gavin says, staring blankly at his laptop screen. “He knew I had...I had someone I was protecting. The whole time I worked for him, I thought I was being so goddamned careful. Never let anyone know about you, but he knew there was someone.”

Gavin looks up at him, crooked smile on his face.

“I guess he thought it was Waters. Must have had someone follow me, or someone told him about the two of us when we’d meet. I don’t know.”

And then Carmine had had Waters killed after he’d dealt with Gavin, leaving Michael to fumble in the dark on his own once he got his head out of his ass.

“It was a bit of a shock,” Gavin says, and there’s something to his voice that has Michael worried. Has him watch the way Gavin’s picking at his thumbnail, worrying the skin there. “When I saw you at the compound, I mean. Wasn’t expecting that.”

Oh, fuck.

Gavin laughs, mouth twitching like he’s trying to remember how to smile, make it convincing.

“I thought - “ Gavin shakes his head, frowns. “I thought it was my mind playing tricks on me back then, kind of new to everything and all. Not being dead, you know. Thought I was seeing things.”

There’s a stinging sensation at the back of Michael’s eyes, this ache in his chest he’s grown used to since Gavin died as Michael listens to him talk. Explain how he thought Michael had betrayed him, gone from being the one thing he’d been certain of all this time to -

“I wanted to be sure,” Gavin says, more to himself than to Michael. “I needed to be sure.”

Wanted to be sure Michael wasn’t involved with Carmine, Michael knows. That he hadn’t been working with him all along, or just sold him out for the right price, Jesus fuck.

“Gavin - “

Gavin keeps talking, like if he stops now he won’t be able to get the words out later.

“I followed you for a bit after that, figured you wouldn’t be doing all this if you had been working with Carmine the whole time, it just didn’t add up,” he says, like it’s not a fucking knife in Michael’s chest digging deep. “And you were so stupid about it, Michael!”

Gavin’s glaring at him now, all hurt and anger and fear under it all, because he’s already died because of goddamned Carmine. Somehow came back – and fuck if Michael isn’t going to get that story out of him – and here idiot Michael is trying to do the same fucking thing.

Only stupider.

“What the fuck do you want me to say?” Michael asks, so fucking tired. Feels cracked open and bled dry because he hadn’t stopped to think what he was doing might have looked like to Gavin. “The bastard killed you, what did you want me to do? Was I supposed to just walk away? Let him get away with it?”

It sounds so stupid out loud, like a kid angry at the world for not being fair, because this is Los Santos and so much worse goes on here every fucking day.

No one cares in this city.

People like Gavin, like Michael, they don’t matter here.

Go missing every fucking day, and no one thinks twice about it.

“Yes!” Gavin yells, getting up in Michael’s face. So fucking furious, and this light flaring in the back of his eyes.

The same blue-white of that fucking bike of his that gives Michael pause almost as much as the fact Gavin’s angry enough to yell, to mean it.

“He’s dangerous, you idiot! You should have taken everything I left you and gotten out of the damn city! Started a new life somewhere, been happy!”

Gavin’s breathing like he’s run a goddamned marathon, chest heaving and so damn scared under that anger he's wearing like armor.

“But you didn’t, did you. Just marched right on into the lion’s den like you had a bloody playdate scheduled!”

“Oh my God, no,” Michael says, even though Gavin’s uncomfortably close to the truth with that. “I had a plan too, asshole.”

Gavin’s still so fucking smart, though. Knows Michael well enough to know the kind of plan he’d come up with.

The stupidly suicidal kind, because he’s an idiot. Blunt fucking weapon compared to Gavin.

“What was your plan then, Michael?” he asks, so very quiet. “Tell me, Michael. What was your plan?”

It feels like Michael’s chest is caught in a vise, no way to shake it loose with Gavin this close after losing him the way he had. Everything Gavin showed him, told him, tonight and stupid, stupid Michael trying to play catch-up the way he always has when Gavin’s involved.

“He took the most important person in my life away,” Michael says, because that’s always been at the heart of this for him, this one simple truth. “And I’m going to kill him for that.”

Whatever it takes.

Gavin freezes.

Goes so still Michael doesn’t think he’s even breathing, and Michael lets him see everything. No point in hiding anything anymore when all their secrets haven’t done them any goddamned good.

Knows he’s probably fucking things up here. That there has to be a better way of doing this, damn sure there’s a better time and place for it, but he’s just so fucking tired of waiting on them to come around. (Already wasted too much time before, and  Gavin had died without knowing what he means to Michael, and goddamn but this is selfish of him.)

“You stupid bastard,” Gavin hisses, pulling away from him as he stumbles to his feet.

Michael reaches for him, but Gavin ducks away. Expression shuttered as he grabs his helmet he carelessly dropped onto a side table earlier, makes his way to the front door.

“Gavin!”

Michael follows, but stops just short of arm’s length when he sees the way Gavin’s holding himself. (Fragile in a way he’s never been, like the slightest breeze might be enough to shatter him and send the pieces flying.)

Gavin stops, ducks his head as he pulls the helmet on and glances back at him.

“I need to think,” he says, and then he’s gone.

========

Michael doesn’t know what to do after Gavin leaves, suddenly terrified that he’s pushed him too far too fast this time. That this is the thing that makes him leave.

Go back to where he goes when he’s not here, wherever that is, and Jesus Christ there’s still so much he still doesn’t know. (Might never know now because he just had to lay his cards on the table like that, think doing so would make things better sometime.

Jesus Christ, but Michael’s an idiot.

As much as he wants to go after Gavin, he knows he can’t. Has already pushed him hard enough as it is, doesn’t want to risk making things worse.

And he doesn’t want to leave the evidence Gavin worked so hard to gather, sacrificed his fucking life for just sitting here without anyone watching over it, so he waits.

He waits and hopes like hell Gavin’s going to come back at some point and feels useless and stupid as he does.

Picks his phone up off the coffee table where he left it before his cleaning spree and Gavin’s reveal, and fucks around with it. Deletes old apps and other shit he doesn’t need anymore and ends up scrolling through his contacts.

Stops he lands on Gavin’s, and wonders what would happen if he called him now.

Gavin’s phone was lost in the “crash”, but his account is still active. Bullshit clerical errors and something having to do with company policy because his name is the only one connected to his account and they won’t give Michael the time of day.

He doubts Gavin would pick up now, would probably just let it go to voicemail and delete whatever message he’d leave.

And honestly, Michael can’t find it in him to blame him if he did after that little shitshow, so.

“Idiot,” Michael mutters, and keeps scrolling.

Stops again when Jeremy’s name pops up, and almost calls him before he thinks better of it. Jeremy’s with his crew handling the city-wide crisis Gavin’s caused, managing to put the scare into anyone with criminal leanings.

All the crews and petty little gangs in a panic over what his next move is going to be, like they haven’t figured out that he only goes after very specific targets.

And even though Jeremy reassured Michael that his crew is sure to be safe from Gain, they’re smart enough to be concerned.

It’s still tempting to call him though, because Jeremy is a hell of a lot smarter than Michael. Solid and steady and has more common sense to him than you’d expect given his life choices. A voice of reason when it’s needed, and goddamn is it needed now.

Michael fucked up tonight, and he knows it. Spooked Gavin because he was an idiot and now -

“Fuck,” Michael sighs, gaze drifting back to Gavin’s laptop and the files still open on it.

Flips his phone back onto the coffee table as he slides over see if he can make better sense of them.

He spends a few hours slogging through the sheer amount of information Gavin’s put together, learning more about Carmine’s operations than he honestly ever wanted to.

Michael knew the fucker was involved with just about everything you’d expect to find in a place like Los Santos, but never suspected the extent of his involvement.

Traffics drugs, weapons. People, and Michael wants a shower just reading the damn files. Can’t imagine how Gavin must have felt being involved in it, taking the risks he had.

Listens to the recordings again, struck by how cold, indifferent Gavin sounds in the ones he must have been wired up to get. Like he’s not affected at all by what Carmine’s doing. That it’s all just business to him, another callous bastard in a city full of them, when he used to think Gavin was a shit liar.

Used to think Gavin couldn’t bluff his way through a game of cards for anything, and yet -

And yet, it makes a surprising amount of sense with how much time they spent lying to each other about what they did. Lies come so goddamned easily to them about it in order to protect one another from the truth that Michael hadn’t suspected a damn thing until the end.

When Gavin must have been under so much stress from dealing with Carmine he didn’t have anything left to lie convincingly to Michael.

And why should he, when Michael was so fucking clueless about it, caught up in his own lies? All Gavin had to do was offer up what scraps he had left and let Michael do the rest, so fucking simple.

Michael gives up then, puts his phone back in his pocket and freezes when his fingers brush up against paper.

Gavin’s letters, forgotten in the face of everything that happened. That odd reaction of his when Michael met up with him outside the storage company, like he’d known Michael would find it, but he’d never actually said anything, had he.

Michael feels strangely guilty, like a damn snoop going behind Gavin’s back as he takes the letters out of his pocket. Part of him so damn scared about what Gavin would have put in it after everything that had been in the letter he’d meant for Michael to have.

Why he locked this one away like this, kept it somewhere only Waters should have had access to if something happened to him. Where it would have been his choice whether or not Michael ever saw it.

“You idiot,” he mutters, not sure who he’s talking to, and takes care not to tear the envelope or the letter itself as he opens it.

The letter spans several pages, folded and folded again, uneven creases that Gavin bothered to go back to fix, which is telling in itself.

It’s clear he struggled with this one, Michael able to see the starts and stops in the flow of words. Dark blots where the ink from the pen bled into the paper, realizes Gavin must have used that old fountain pen his father gave him to write it.

The ink’s a certain kind of blue Michael remembers seeing staining Gavin’s fingers in the past. His bright laughter as he threatened to smear blobs of it on Michael before they dried. Use it’s refill cartridges as weapons when Michael bitched about what a mess he was making, papers everywhere and goddammit you asshole.

Michael’s chest aches because the pen was lost in the fire, just one more thing among many but so important to Gavin even if he always tried to play it off like it wasn’t. (Another thing for Carmine to answer for.)

He stares at the letter in his hands, and starts reading.

========

Gavin comes back a few hours later, moves with a  stealth and grace Michael’s never noticed before. Never bothered to look for, when Gavin’s always been his own best distraction, noise and flash and an uncanny ability to piss Michael off with a single word.

“Bloody hell,” Gavin says, when he turns around and finally notices he’s not alone in the living room.

Skirts around Michael warily after flipping the lights on, head cocked when Michael just watches him.

“Michael?”

Gavin seems...tired still. Slump to his shoulders like he’s carrying the weight of the world on them.

“I read your letter,” Michael says, glances at it sitting innocently in its envelope beside Gavin’s laptop. “The one you put into storage at that last place.”

Gavin sighs, moves to sit in one of the chairs across from the coffee table, picking the letter up as he does.

Michael watches him playing with a bent corner on the envelope like it’s something he’s done countless times before. Is the reason the damn thing’s bent to start with, and avoids meeting his eyes.

Has to be a goddamned pro at avoiding eye contact at this point, which is funny in all the ways it isn’t.

“We’re both idiots,” Michael says, another one of those simple little truths.

A couple of idiots who’ve been too afraid of risking ruining one of the best things in their lives. Always though they’d have time to do it one day, and ran out of time when they weren’t looking.

Gavin tenses slightly before forcing himself to relax, make it look like he’s calm and relaxed. Absolutely nothing to worry about here, really.

Worries the corner of the envelope over and over, nervous energy and this deep-rooted fear.

Michael doesn’t ask why Gavin never told him how he felt in all the time they’ve known each other because it would be insulting to them both, not to mention hypocritical as fuck.

Gavin laughs, turning the envelope over in his hands, seems to find it so damn fascinating.

“Always had a problem with terrible timing too,” he murmurs, one part truth, one apart deflection.

Michael smiles, stupid little thing.

Thinks about Gavin’s letter, all the excuses and rationalizations he gave himself that he explains to Michael. Lays out so plainly in a way he’d never been able to say out loud. So much easier to spill everything into a letter, leave it behind for Michael to find one day and read the truth of them. Where Gavin wouldn’t have to sit there waiting for the rejection he was so sure he’d get if he told Michael how he felt.

All of it so close to everything Michael’s told himself that it would be funny if it didn’t mean so fucking much, and his heart hurts at the thought of all the time they’ve wasted.

“I love you,” he says, words he’s choked back so many times before coming so easily now.

Gavin looks at him helplessly, so Michael pushes on.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before,” he says, holding Gavin's gaze because this is important, something he doesn’t want to fuck up. “I’m sorry I didn’t see what was going on until it was too late. I’m sorry you had to do that alone. I’m sorry - “

Gavin’s face twists, strangled noise caught in his throat as he pushes himself out of his chair, closing the distance between them until he’s looking down at Michael.

“You stupid bastard,” Gavin says, nothing like anger to it this time as he searches Michael's face for something he must find because then he’s bending down to kiss him.

Awkward angle and graceless as hell, simple stupid human want, need.

Something heartbreakingly desperate to it, hands shaking where they cradle Michael's face, and so fucking sweet because of it. Pulls back to rest his forehead against Michael's, breathes out a little sigh.

“You stupid bastard.”

Far from being a confession of undying love except for all the ways it is, and Michael refuses to let it slip through his fingers this time as he pulls Gavin down for another kiss.

========

Waking up in a strange place is never a great experience.

That initial moment of disorientation where you try to remember how you even got there, and why.

If you should be worried, or just deeply disappointed. (In yourself, the universe at large, it all works out to be the same in the end.)

This time is no different as Michael closes his eyes. Hand coming up to massage his temples because of the steady, low-grade headache that’s taken up residency there.

Not enough sleep, or water. Too much stress, maybe all of the above, who fucking knows.

He bites back a groan when it spikes right behind his eyes, painful enough to make him grasp at any distraction at hand. His idiot brain deciding now would be a good time to retrace his steps to answer the questions of where the hell he is, and how the fuck he got here.

Flips back through flashes and glimpses of moments, remembers Gavin showing up at Jeremy’s apartment. The jumbled series of events that followed falling into some kind of order as his mind sorts itself out bit by agonizing bit.

Running all over the city to pick Gavin’s stashes clean, the drive back here. Gavin finally showing him why Carmine wanted him dead, what got him killed. The relentless soap opera level drama that followed, and -

“Oh, fuck.”

Jesus.

The two of them with their emotionally stunted confessions. The kisses that had lead to the bedroom because hell if they were both going to fit on that damned couch. Both of them too tired after the day they’d had to do much of anything pass trading kisses and giving voice to the things they couldn’t before. Things too fragile for the light of day, protected in the bubble around them under the overs with the lights out, whispered to one another in confidence.

Falling asleep, only for Michael to wake up alone and the other side of the bed long gone cold. (Waking up alone if never a great experience, but it’s so much worse after something like that.)

Michael looks toward the direction of the living room when he hears noises coming from there.

Footsteps and something heavy hitting the floor, the low murmur of someone’s voice pitched towards annoyance that follows not long after.

Gavin.

Michael breathes out a sigh of relief that he hasn’t managed to spook him again. Chased him away again, but trepidation comes creeping in soon afterwards because he doesn’t know what to expect now.

He listens to Gavin moving around in the other room until the ridiculousness of the situation forces him into action. He’s still dressed, jacket dropped by the side of the bed and his shoes kicked off by the doorway.

Michael feels more rested than he has in a long time even with that bitch of a headache, and remembers Gavin’s medical kits. Probably aspirin to be found in one of them he could take to get rid of it.

Nothing to be gained hiding in the bedroom anyway, so Michael shuffles out to the living room.

Gavin’s pacing restlessly in front of the wall he's turned into a murder board, arms crossed and a frown on his face.

He turns when Michael somehow manages to find the one goddamned squeaky board in the whole damned place. Just plants his fat fucking foot right in the middle of it to alert the goddamned world to his presence.

Michael almost misses the guilty look that flashes across Gavin’s face. Chases the frown away only to be replaced in turn by a small, hesitant smile.

“Good morning, Michael,” Gavin says, even though it has to be closing in on noon with the way sunlight is slanting through the spotty curtains on the windows.

Still, he Michael will give him an A for effort and all that bullshit as his attempt at normalcy, strained as it is.

The laptop is humming away on the coffee table, files from the previous night pulled up.

Gavin must have gone out, because there’s a new batch of empty energy drink cans that weren’t there the night before littered around the room, which might explain the pacing.

“Morning,” Michael greets cautiously. “What are you doing?”

Gavin tips his head as he considers Michael, and turns to look at the murder board like he’d forgotten it was there. Licks his lips nervously when he looks back at Michael.

Comes to some sort of decision and holds his hand out to him in silent invitation.

Michael goes, easy as anything. Lets Gavin pull him in close, feels the vise around his  chest loosen at the soft sigh from Gavin as he does, tension bleeding out of him.

Smiles at Gavin, small and shaky and closes his eyes when Gavin kisses him, slow and sweet.

Laughs a little when Gavin makes  a noise in his throat, muttering about morning breath when they break away for air, cheeks tinged red as he feigns annoyance to avoid meeting Michael’s eyes.

“Gav?”

Gavin elbows him for the teasing note in his voice. Turns his focus back to the damn murder board and Michael does the same, his smile fading as he takes it in.

Gavin’s been busy, it seems.

There are more pins in it this morning, overwhelmingly red with a few other colors scattered across it.

A healthy amount of black pins, along with a thin band of yellow and a broad swatch of green.

“I started this using locations of Carmine’s operations I knew about, remembered,” Gavin says, gesturing at the main map. “I needed the files on the drives and memory cards for the rest.”

Michael studies the map, eyes narrowing when he sees where they’ve been placed.

Matches it against the dodgy mental map he has of Los Santos and territories claimed by various crews and gangs.

“The black pins are for places I’ve hit. Yellow ones are for Carmine’s allies, and the red ones mark the rest of Carmine’s operations,” Gavin says, and shrugs. “The ones I’m still sure about, anyway. He’s probably moved some of them by now, or will before too long.”

There’s still a hell of a lot of red up, outer edges starting to bleed into the green.

“What the hell is the green for?” Michael asks, even though he’s pretty goddamned sure he knows what Gavin’s answer is going to be.

There are only a handful of crews in Los Santos that would have that large of a presence, that kind of reach. Really only one that might pose any sort of threat to Carmine and what he’s attempting to do, even without outside backing. One with more than enough reason to want to push back with him encroaching on their territory.

Gavin hesitates, arm around Michael tightening briefly because he has to know this has a significant chance of backfiring on them if they’re wrong about this.

“People we might be able to go to for help,” he says, and gestures to the side of his damned murder board covered in photographs and stills he must have taken from security cameras and God only knows what else. “The Fake AH Crew.”s

[oldnintendonerd]

Prime Hunting Season Starting Soon

Official hunting season for 2018 is long over. With another season in 2019 just around the corner. I visited what was to be the final yard sale of the 2018 season on October 25th 2018. A brave older couple was downsizing and held a yard sale when it was 36 degrees out. Unfortunately, they were not gamers. Nor did they have any games from any kids or grandchildren. They did have some stereo equipment, and a surround sound speaker system. No music, or blu rays either though. The stereo was a shelf system, not a component type unit like I would be looking for to match the Sony TC-WE805S tape deck that I got at the start of the season. An all around bust of a sale for me. I wished them luck and headed on my way.

I closed out the last post with the PS3 find from 09.01.18. Giving me access to HD console gaming. A new era for this Old Nintendo Nerd. I do primarily game at 240p being that NES, SNES and N64 are the consoles nearest and dearest to my heart. GameCube and Wii weigh in at 480p at their absolute best, still falling short of HD. But now, with a PS3, we’ve got 720p gaming (mostly, some is 1080p). I have no problem with collecting a little for this system, I’ve heard good things about Uncharted, The Last of Us, and a smattering of a few other games that I will be looking out for.

Before we get into finds for the last, freakin 5 months, I have sold a couple things since the last post, and I should hope so, since its been forever! Right? Sorry. Life.

I had a bundle of 16 total PS1 games that I let go of. Titles were the likes of Syphon Filter, Driver, Test Drive 5, Rainbow Six, and a smattering of other luke warm titles. I’ve posted all of them up here at one point or another, so you have an idea. They were nothing I’d ever want to play, and since I only paid around $16 total for all of them at $0.99 a piece, I thought if I could average around $2 a pop on eBay id be doing OK doubling my money. They all added up to a value of about $95 on pricecharting. Now granted, that is fantasy prices, even those prices aren’t the prices the sellers MAKE when sold. Ultimately they all went for $52.99 as a lot. After fees and shipping it netted me $38.44, which comes to right about $2.40 each. 40 cents higher than I was hoping to get per game. Not bad!

The end of the last post left us with $9.73. Put that in with the $38.44 for a total of $48.17.

Additionally, I sold a disc only copy of Animal Crossing on eBay that I had laying around for $18.99. This came to $13.58 in pocket after fees and shipping. Tack that on and we now have $61.75 game hunting money moving into this post.

I’ll be honest, it’s been thin, it is cold here in the winter, there are no yard sales through the cold months at all. Places like Arizona or Florida where you could sale year round are lucky. Not here. Even donations to Goodwill slow down significantly as well, making the hunting quite a bit more difficult. I had zero finds for basically all of September. Which was surprising, it is really the last warm month here with temps still reaching 70′s and sometimes low 80s. But it wasn’t until the end of the month I ran across something at the Goodwill.

De Blob - Found 09.29.2018 at Goodwill

Disc, case and Manual all in pretty good shape, but nothing to write home about. If it were June and prime hunting season and I’d been getting finds, I probably wouldn’t have bought it.

But I did, and it cost me $3.21. Takes the total down to $58.54.

Next up was the first official game for my new PS3. Again nothing fantastic, but at least it rang up at the DVD price instead of the game price. Saved me $1.

Gran Turismo 5 Prologue Found 10.04.2018 at Goodwill

Minty fresh.

But, again nothing special, not even a full game. But I sat and played it for an hour anyway. Probably already had $2 worth of fun with the thing. Despite being labeled $5.99, they still only charged me the DVD rate of $1.99. Hah! So, $2.13 out of the till leaves us with $56.41.

The next find was literally the next day. Different Goodwill though.

Grand Theft Auto San Andreas on PS2 and Grand Theft Auto IV on PS3 - Found 10.05.2018 at Goodwill

This was absolutely minty fresh as well. Both of them were. Discs, cases, and manuals / maps. I wasn’t going to buy San Andreas but when I saw that it was in as good of shape as it was, and had a bonus inside, I couldn’t not get it.

First time I’ve found a game in Goodwill with a Memory Card inside. Those are $8 to $10 each right there, and I am a little short on memory cards, so I had to get it. The game was technically the bonus, I bought it for the memory card. Heh.

Great shape for two Goodwill games, they look brand new. Plus I heard that while GTA V is superior graphically, GTA IV is better with exploration, in that you can enter buildings, and enemy AI is a lot better as well. So I thought, what the hell?

Those two ran $6.42 together taking us to $49.99.

The next find was from 10.15.2018, from Goodwill, another few halfway decent games. Borderlands, Alice, Dante’s Inferno, Marvel Vs. Capcom 3,  and a Disc only copy of Skyrim. It was actually in the same case as Alice, just under the Alice Disc for some reason. I wasn’t arguing with that so I left it there.

PS3 Lot - Found 10.15.2018 at Goodwill

Sucks about the two basically disc only games. Marvel Vs Capcom and Skyrim. One being from Best Buy pre-owned. The other hiding under Alice in the same case. not that I’m complaining about that one. Free game? Nothing wrong with that. How Best Buy even gets disc only copies of stuff is beyond me. Game system trades or returns with games still in them? I wasn’t aware they did pre-owned anything.

In any case... They are all in good shape. Minimal labels and damage.

Especially Alice. I dig the art on this one, and it is in very good condition.

As for Skyrim, well, I had a spare case laying around for FIFA 09, and I figured, why not print out a cover for it. I couldn’t give a shit less about FIFA Soccer. You can see the print lines, but it’ll do to hold the disc.

All of this ran me $12.86 being I paid for four games at $2.99 each plus tax. This takes the hunting money down to $37.13.

Moving into November, I had a spectacular find. At least, for the hunting money total. Not so much on the video game front, because it was just a Blu-Ray movie.

Wing Commander Blue-Ray - Sealed - Found 11.08.2018 at Goodwill

This thing, just looks like cheese from the cover. I picked it up, and immediately put it back down and walked around the corner to where some more shelves are. Then I said to myself you know what? No, let me check that, immediately dismissing something out of hand like that loses people money. Pulled up eBay on my phone and about pooped my pants. A sealed one was listed for $180. I thought that has to be some looney toon’s listing. I kept scrolling and no, used ones were just under $100. Check sold listings and there were real sales for $80+. Suffice to say I bought it, of course. Listed that sucker up, and I was hoping to get over $100 for it since it was sealed, but, there was some damage to the corner. The plastic was not in tact anymore.

This made the listing go for a lot less than $180. However, I was still pleased to see it sell for $85.00. For a $2 item? That’s a home run! After fees and shipping it netted us a nice cool $68.67. To be fair I will pull the money I used to buy it from the game hunting money, it was $2.12 ($1.99 plus tax) dropping us to $35.01. Then, adding $68.67 gives us...

**** DRUM ROLL****

$103.68!

We are now officially above the original $100 I started this game hunting journey with.

Not a bad note to end this post on. I’ll post up the finds for the very end of 2018 in the next post. Hopefully I can cobble that together here in the next couple of weeks and have it up much faster than I got this one up. There’s a really nice co-worker find to detail.

2018.03.25

[myfriendpokey]

promissory notes

Complete satisfaction OR your money back!!! - is something I don't think anyone in videogames has ever willingly said,so maybe it doesn't make sense to talk of anything as stable as a "guarantee". Maybe it's more like a system of overlapping promises, designed to contain the idea that a videogame exists in at least some kind of provisional relationship to human happiness,  even if the rate at which the two could be converted is never quite nailed down. We have the promise the game will work on a given system or set of minimum requirements, the hazier assurance it might at least resemble the screenshots on the box, the genre assurance that it formally and hence experientially resembles some other game you like. The assurance, in press leading up to release, of passion and artistic intent rattling around in there somewhere as well, the assurance that the game will have x y and z new features and scope. Press and external reviewers can so to speak cosign a guarantee or write their own more ambivalent one on the basis of their reputation. Storefronts as well can tacitly endorse some promise - that this thing exists, functions, falls into the category of "entertainment" - when they put it on their shelves, virtual or otherwise. There's the promise of personal reputation, that the people involved wouldn't want to associate themselves with a bogus product, and the promise of monetary interest - this game obviously had a fair bit of money put into it, they're expecting  to make that back, therefore we can expect some moderate fidelity to customer expectation and the sort of general polished feel that comes with being able to hire lots of people to create bark textures.

Most of these institutions aren't specific to videogames, but I do think they have a greater prominence there, owing both to the higher amount of fussy technical variation in the format (it's hard to imagine a book, say, refusing to boot or secretly installing a bitcoin miner in your head) and also to its historical novelty. The idea that something called a "videogame" exists, is an entertainment format, is linked to some kind of prospective emotional value - all these have to be rhetorically insisted upon, particularly as the format moved from spaces with immediately visible analogues (pinball tables, mechanical amusements) to a more diffuse place  alongside the family television or home computer. They had to insinuate, and to an extent still have to insinuate, the exact role they played in everyday life. And the shift from being a sort of weird, garish, once-off toy into an ongoing home-improvement project, with new games and consoles to choose between and new add-ins to improve your machine, had to be accompanied by the emergence of institutions that could offer some reassurance this ongoing investment wouldn't be a waste.

So you can maybe glibly think of videogames as a form of currency, built on the premise that they can be "exchanged" at any time for some measure of enjoyment, where this exchange rate is underwritten and co-signed by various institutions. And as having something of the abstraction of currency, as well. If one videogame is a moment of enjoyment then 6000 videogames are in principle 6000 moments of enjoyment - never mind that you may never have a chance to play all those discounted games in your Steam library within one lifetime. Think of it as saving them up for a rainy day. And I suspect that as this relationship between possession and affect grows more abstracted and tenuous, institutions take on a correspondingly more important role in confirming that the central exchange relationship still holds true. A bit like debt rating agencies - it's not so much about actually untangling the complicated sale of good, bad and nonexistent debt packages from one financial institution to another, it's more the promise that at some point this untangling COULD occur, that all this imaginary money still bears some kind of distant relationship to actual human needs.

I wonder if the paranoid style in videogames culture stems partly from this sense of underlying contingency. It's not that games are just experiences, which can't be taken away - they're more like deposits on hypothetical experience, and those deposits can indeed depreciate in value if not turn out to be worthless from the start. Bad reviews, spoilers, the general reputation of a game can all cause it to drop in expected value. The fuss that happens every time a new GTA game gets below 9.5 on IGN or wherever is not so much that the game might really have problems so much that having those problems flagged from the start can marr the sense of occasion, the I-was-there-ness and anticipated retrospective value that's part of the package being sold. And of course the consistent anxiety around corrupt reviewers, incorrect press releases, "fake games", all those other things that could adulterate the currency...

And maybe we could consider the current anxiety around "asset flips" on Steam in the same light. After all, who's really playing these things - besides Youtubers doing so ironically? They're easy to spot and easily refunded and even if some kid really does buy "Cuphat" or "Battleglounds" by accident, well, the worst that could happen is that they develop the same misplaced affection for exploitative consumer garbage as everybody else who grew up playing videogames. And indeed the fact that nobody really buys them is part of the critique - what's unsettling is the fact that they seem more connected to the shadow economies of cheap bundles and trading-card-store manipulation (which is so easy and widespread that PC Gamer could publish a how-to guide with no apparent pushback from anyone). You can easily unpick the specific arguments about what constitutes an asset flip versus a game that just uses premade assets, or how to tell a "scam" from just a regular bad videogame - demonstrative sincerity?? Producing cynical knockoffs with premade asset packs is not necessarily the act of poorly-funded fly-by-nights, as witness the recent news about Voodoo recieving $200 million from Goldman Sachs. But of course they're the chief source of anxiety around the issue, and the ways in which that anxiety manifests is often weirdly racialised - the automatic bad faith extended to the Global South, the fear of nameless hordes overrunning our valuable, exclusive institutions, even a sort of weird variant on the “welfare mother” imagery - the asset flipper with 100 interchangeable games, driving a cadillac... Leaching off the accumulated value stockpiled by the Steam brand, devaluing our libraries and the institutions that have been telling us they're worth something...

I don't really have a lot of sympathy with the asset-flip discourse, both because exactly the same anxiety has been rolled out in the past to Unity, walking simulators, visual novels, Game Maker, Twine, and basically anything else that lowers the barriers to entry around making videogames; and also because I love many games I think those anxieties would try to exclude ("The Zoo Race", GoreBagg games, the Johnny series, even Limbo Of The Lost is as close as Oblivion ever came to being creatively exciting), and I think the calls for hard work and sincerity and so forth function as just so much evasive kitsch. We already HAVE a ton of games like that; and that's maybe the real problem. Why is there so much anxiety about discovering good games when, say, people are complaining about having to choose between the two different, polished, labour-of-love, years-in -the-making narrative platform games being released the same week? Doesn't this just mean the "enjoyment standard" of the videogame promissory note is just by now so abstract and intangible that it's basically just an empty convention, useful for nothing but perpetuating itself - perpetuating the idea of an unadulterated good-game-ness, stretching aimlessly into space like a 1950s radio broadcast.  It's a convention which is basically exclusive, which works by trying to put a cordon around the vast swathes of human culture it thinks it's safe to ignore.

Which is maybe fine - nobody can pay attention to anything, and some "rating institutions" are presumably less pernicious than others (the advice of a friend? a critic you enjoy? your own intuition?). There are obviously a lot of critiques that can be levelled at the existing one for videogames, including in particular the assumption that anything that cost a lot of money is worth at least checking out. But there's also something more generally sad about this kind of enforced, perpetual scarcity in a time of abundance, about a model that just pines for less shit so that it can start to feel relevant again, about one that can think of nothing to do with the sheer volume of things being made and rabbit holes being burrowed than wish they didn't exist and try to shut them out entirely.

More people being able to make things is good, and hard to get to; it can also be unnerving and disorienting and also push against some of the happier ideas we might have had about the democratization of art-production (for example, that this wouldn't co-exist with monopolies of arbitrary unaccountable control of the kind exercised by Youtube, Steam, the App store, Google, etc...), it can be a space to view some of the weirder machinations of capital as they leave traces through the culture (money-laundering $9000 books on Amazon and viral Pregnant Spiderman youtube vids). I don't think continuing to defend the value of the medium will help think about these, or become anything but more and more paranoid and quixotic over time.

[devotedlprincess-blog]

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