Video Games Blog

Giggling, you run up the staircase of Carl Manfred's mansion. He was out on a ride around the futuristic neighborhood, instructing you to keep a close eye on his droid. If only he’d known the relationship you had forming with his caretaker, maybe he wouldn’t have been so lenient.

You see, as Markus had adapted to the corresponding life of Detroit, you, alongside Carl, had noticed some changes. Human-like changes in fact. As you’d read in the magazines and newspapers in Detroit, the robots have similar body structures on the outside, adaptive feelings on the inside.

You hadn’t noticed it then, when you’d first met the small family, but you sure as hell didn’t take long to notice the signs. Attraction. Lust. Want. All different words, all the same meanings between human... and robot.

Smiling curiously, Markus eyes you from the bottom of the staircase, eyes wide and childlike.

“What, are you just gonna stand there? Or, are you gonna chase me?” you laugh, flying up the remaining stairs and down the hall.

Clogs working for a moment, Markus’ LED, a small moment of blinking orange before his mind is made up and flashes back to blue. Smiling, he runs up the stairs after you, following down the hall to the door you’d left ajar. Walking through, he’s yet again left dumbfounded, standing stoic and straight at the sight before his eyes.

Before him, you stand in only a robe, having quickly stripped your body of clothes to leave just your pre-planned black lingerie. Your cheeks ablaze, you spin the tie of the robe seductively, grinning up at Markus with slight regret.

“What’s this?” he asks, a burning sensation curling in the pit of his abdomen.

“Well, I have noticed... how you look at me,” you start, staring at the floor, “And, it’s almost childlike. How you stare openly and so transparent. You want me, don’t you Markus?”

Eyes having roamed your form freely, Markus gulps then snaps his attention back to your awaiting gaze, a swift nod collecting your straggling thoughts. “Yes. Yes I do,” he nods again.

“Then have me,” you smirk.

In two swift strides, Markus’ hands splay at your hips, pulling your body to meld right against his. Then do you feel his arousal on your stomach, poking and prodding in selfish need. Fumbling with the robe, he feels the fabric in embarrassment, his innocence and uncertainty laid plainly before you.

“You don’t have experience, huh?”

He shakes his head again, going to pull away from you.

Grabbing his hands, you pull them to lay on your palms, “Then I’m just gonna have to show you.” You laugh and push him lightly to fall against the bed, a soft smile gracing his lips again.

Removing your robe and tossing it to the floor, you motion for Markus to sit up, helping him out of his shirt, then motion for him to remove his pants and shoes. Once he’s done so, you push him back against the headboard, smiling confidently at him for reassurance. “You don’t need to tense up, I’ve got you.”

Straddling his hips, you place your hands on his cheeks, sensually starting a rhythm when your hips find his begging tip through his boxers, your arousal dampening the soft material. His body tightens again, a wave of pleasure coursing through him as the first grinds start.

You giggle, placing a soft kiss to his lips, soon tracing a line down his neck to his collar. Looking up, his breathing quickens and cheeks heat in pleasure. He was close, but you couldn’t allow the fun to be over yet.

Removing yourself from where you both needed each other, you pull Markus lightly, asking him to lay on the pillows. Submissively, he does so, staring at you in adoration. Sitting up on your knees, you pin his arms above his head with your hands, kissing his passionately. 

Detaching yourself again, you kiss and nibble his jaw, slowly moving down towards his chest, admiring the firm exterior of his chest and arms. “You’re so hot,” you compliment, smiling up at him for a second.

His cheeks blaze, the humane normalcy a complete marvel to you.

Driving down the long, winding roads of the Paleto Forest, you try to calm the rapid beating of your heart. You don’t know what to say to him. You don’t even know how you’re gonna show up. And, if you do show up, how will he react? Will he throw you out? Shoot you? Scream? Cry? Is he even alive?

Shit. You feel like crying. After being split up so long ago, you just rolled with the punches. You never truly knew if the infamous Trevor Philips lived or died on that dirty, amateur mission. You never even allowed yourself the time to mull it over; you needed to rebrand yourself and just move on.

Taking the long road, you drive the 4 hours with trepidation in your heart and mixed feelings in the pit of your stomach. 

Lester had finally reached out to you, and with shaky hands, you picked up that phone with the guilty feeling of owing him at least the tiny bit of communication. Not only did you learn of the death of Brad, but that not everyone had seemingly followed him 6 feet underground.

No, not necessarily.

Michael Townley was dead, but from the ashes arisen a new man, Michael De Santa. And, as for Trevor, that question seemed to be unanswered - unwillingly or unknowingly, you don’t know. That’s what brings you down this long road and into Sandy Shores, San Andreas. 

Slowing just down the road, you park your car to the left of the house just before the single-wide house that matched the address you were given. Turning the engine off, you lay your head against the steering wheel, collecting yourself momentarily with your eyes closed. Then, blowing a hefty amount of air out of your lungs, you open the door and step out.

Just as you were to cross the street, a man jumps over the fence of the porch. Hiding by the fence beside you, you watch from a distance in enough time to see the ghost of your past. Striding up the stairs, you momentarily curse for the possibility of him having seen you, but the seemingly disregard for his surroundings helps ease your tight muscles.

“Get back here,” he calls to the man hunched below the fence, “You’re not even hidden.”

“I’ve been tryin,’ Trevor, I’ve been tryin.’”

The rest you are unable to hear, their voices lowering to a volume you’re unable to detect. You gasp, however, as Trevor lands a blow to the former’s jaw, knocking him back down to the grass. They continue talking from their positions, the conversation not lasting much longer than it started.

Maybe this is a bad time.

Trevor lands another blow to the man as he scrambles to his feet, getting knocked back down again. Screaming, “Don’t you ever not tell me things I wanna know! Run you little bastard, we’re going to Los Santos!”

The neighboring house’s door swings open, a man asking if he is to come as well. Trevor quickly shuts him down, rambling on and on about a Trevor Philips Enterprise. You pay no mind, instead steeling your nerves just enough to get up from your hiding spot and walking up to the steps quietly. 

With his back turned to you, you reminisce of the past. You know that back. You know that man. At least you hope you know that man.

Calming yourself for a final time, you call out to him, “You’re not gonna beat his ass, are you?”

His whole body goes rock solid, his chest heaving as he concludes the conversation with his neighbor, the other beat and bruised man having already made himself at home in the trailer he scurried back inside of. Slowly, he turns himself around, eyes wide and almost bulging out of his head in a delirious and psychotic way.

Smirking lightly, you joke, “’Cuz if anyone gets to have a taste of him, it’s me.”

He doesn’t move. He doesn’t say anything. It almost makes you question if he’d heard you or if you should be running for the hills. That is, until his shoulders slump and a sly smirk graces his lips. “I thought you were dead.”

In a guilty manner, you kick at rocks, “I think I should be saying the same thing to you, too, T.”

“Well look at me, alive and well! Living in a shit-dive, drinkin’, smokin’, fuckin’.”

“Oh, I’m sure you are,” you smirk. Slowly, you edge the stairs, moving to become face to face with him. The memories flood back in the more and more you come in contact with him again; his voice, his musk, his top-dog demeanor...It’s all Trevor.

Your eyes shine a little bit, unshed tears slowly coming back to the surface. Finally, as you move to stand before him, his gaze lowers to find yours, naturally as he always had. His hard gaze softens, seeing the pain that is brought back to the surface.

“I really thought you were dead,” your throat feels tight, a deep and raspy mess. 

Wrapping his arms around you, he buries your head in the crook of his neck. Breathing in your soft scent, he feels a calm reach him; a calm he hasn’t felt in way over 10 years. A scent he’d missed. A face he’d missed. 

Stroking your hair, his head rests atop yours, arms holding you tight as you break down. He rocks slowly, babying you out of your fit, until you finally pull back. Arms lightly resting on his hips, you gaze into his eyes, I swear I would’ve never left you behind, T. Not like everyone else did. I came as soon as I got your whereabouts. If only I’d known sooner-”

“No,” he cuts you off, “We’re not doin’ none of that. You’re here, right? We’re alive?”

“Yeah,” you whisper.

“Then everything’s fine.”

“But, you never got your cut - the money you were owed. Trevor, Michael got it and he ran away with it. He...”

“I know, I know. And, that’s why we’re gonna pay him a little visit, huh?”

“I better bring a bat,” you smile.

“Or a gun.”

“Or a bomb,” you counter.

“Ain’t nothing better than a bomb,” Trevor smiles, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, hand clasping your jaw in order to bring your mouth to his.

You happily oblige him the access, the feeling so foreign but so normal. You missed him, and deep down, you knew he did too.

Smacking your ass, you bite down on his lip and pull away, earning a greedy groan as you jog back down the steps leading to his car. Watching you go, he calls out, “Come on Wade, let’s go. I’m driving. You can jerk me off if I get bored.” Continuing down the steps, he turns back around briefly, “I’m joking,” and turning back around once more, “You can suck me off.”

“Oh, so that’s how you pass your time now?” you giggle. “Shit, all you had to do was call me.”

“Is that an option or...?”

Walking through the door as quietly as possible, you stumble about in a tipsy haze, attempting to stay stable enough to flop on your bed without further disturbances. Your wishes go unanswered as you slam your thigh into the hallway cabinet of Franklin’s house, successfully knocking the piece of shit over and crashing on the floor with a big bang. You also topple over in an attempt to save it, having fallen nowhere close to where you’d desired.

Shuffling to get back up, you raise your hands as innocently as possible as your eyes burn with the flip of a light switch. There, you are met with the owner of the huge mansion overlooking the city and his tall companion/roommate, Lamar Davis.

“God dammit Y/N!” Franklin yells in frustration and relief, lowering the bat he previously held in a death grip. Sighing, he elbows Lamar, who lowers his gun with apprehension.

“Y/N?” Lamar questions, finally realizing who you were.

“Hey guys,” you mumble quietly, slightly embarrassed.

“Shit...I’m going to bed. Don’t pull that shit on me again Y/N/N, and pick up your shit sty too,” Franklin groans, dragging the bat behind him as he waddles back into bed in his boxer briefs and cap backwards.

Waiting until he’s finally gone, you snicker as quietly as possible, Lamar chuckling along with you. Staying grounded on the floor, you start to pick up the pieces of broken glass that had fallen off the table stubbornly, busying your foggy, one-tracked mind momentarily.

“Ah, let me help ya,” Lamar insists calmly, a soothing smile playing on his lips as he crouches down beside you, cautiously picking up the pieces.

“You don’t have to,” you remind him, still clumsily picking at what you can until the mess dissipates. Lamar had taken up the brunt of the pieces from you, not wanting you to accidentally cut yourself on the sharp shards.

“I know...” he muses, grabbing the handful of glass you picked up into his own hands alongside his, carrying it to the trash can in the kitchen, then stalking back to you. “Come on,” he leaves out his hand, waiting for you expectantly.

You smile gratefully, grabbing a hold on his hand and being hoisted up easily. With his tall, buff frame, his long arms scoop underneath your armpit, the other grasping your hand as he leads you to your room.

It was quite a lavish room, adorned with many glass and gold decorated furniture and a huge window that overlooked the city with a stoop to sit on, a fluffy bed with curtains that drape around it, and a huge closet with clothes you’ll never touch unless you’re out partying at a nice club. 

Trying his best to lead you to your bed, you refuse childishly, the many lights catching your line of sight instantly. From this distance, the lights were like colorful stars; ones you wanted to admire forever if you had the chance. It was just so peaceful.

Sighing again, Lamar sits on the other side of the bumped-out nook beside you, looking between you and the city.

“When did we get so lucky?” you peer at Lamar, turning your head to fully face him in the soft moonlight.

“I don’t know,” he answers, not yet sharing the moment with you.

“I remember...when we were kids,” you giggle, “We always wanted to get out of this hellhole of a city. We wanted to go to some magical place like Alaska, or Canada, or Africa.”

“I remember that,” Lamar smiles, turning towards you. “We wanted something better.”

“Yeah...” you smirk, “Something better. To achieve all of our dreams as quickly as possible.”

Lamar nods at you, looking down in slight disappointment.

You look back out the window again, watching as a flock of birds pass by in the soft sunset starting just above the beach. “It’s never too late. To do all that stuff, I mean.”

“Yeah it is. If we wanted to do all that shit, we should’ve done it ten years ago when we had a drive for more. When we wanted to actually do all that shit. We’re just stuck here now. We fucked up,” Lamar scrunches his eyebrows, fiddling with his hands in self-hatred. 

“That’s not true!” you blurt out, grabbing into his face. “Come on Lamar! We could still do all the shit we’ve always wanted to do! We just have to want to do it now! “ you jump up in excitement.

This arises a sneaky smirk from the corners of Lamar’s lips. “What about everything here? What about Franklin?”

“What about him?” you smile, “He’s happy where he is. Besides, you know I’ve always liked you more.”

Lamar laughs, pulling you in by the chin to catch your lips in his. It catches you off-guard, but you don’t fight it. You’ve always wanted this: to have your life-long partner in crime with you for as long as physically possible in your hard lifestyle, to travel the world and do whatever your hearts desired.

Pulling back, you give him a goofy smile, hand laying on top of his lovingly.

Waking up as a slight chill starts to creep into your bones, you sit up in your slipping bed on the floor, shivering slightly. The fire had died out not too long ago, the chill of the winter snow easily escaping into the dilapidated house you’d chosen to shack up in for the night. Turning to face where the other bags were placed, you jump out of the sleeping bag and onto your feet. They’re gone.

Quickly, the chill of the weather doubles tenfold, the fear of being alone intensifying the cold inside of you. Right before you drifted off to sleep, you were accompanied by two others: Ellie and Joel. But now, they’re nowhere to be found. All except for a small letter scattered near the exit Joel was had instructed for you to use when in danger.

Grabbing some sort of blanket, you wrap it around your body with confusion and hurt. Nonetheless, you walk over to the crisp material that was torn and bent in all sorts of places. Sitting down lightly, you pick up the note and stare at it for a moment. Opening the crumpled piece of paper, you noticed it’s unfinished thoughts scribbled in a long yet messy set of words that form a small paragraph. The penmanship, however, is unmistakable. Years of being around the broken man had told you who wrote it.

Joel.

Sucking in a breath, you read the lines thoughtfully, hoping for a sign or beacon. Something to ground you and tell you that everything will be okay.

Y/N,

The writing starts, your name striking as a surprise that has your eyes reading even faster.

Your probably gonna hate me for what’s gonna happen when ya wake up, but I’ve gotta go now. You said in order to go fast, you go alone. To go far, you go together. Well, I gotta go fast. I have to in order to get back to you faster. I’m gonna get this girl the rest of the way through. We got her this far, all we have to do is return her.

Tears form at the corners of your eyes as a sinking feeling fills you with dread.

I wanna do this for us. For what we’ve always wanted. Freedom. And, in some ways, what I’ve always wanted. To settle down with you. I can’t risk losing you now, so I’m leaving you here in Pittsburgh where I know no one is around. Where no one can take you away, and I can protect you. I love you, Y/N. Please, just survive a little longer. I’ll come back for you, I promise. Joel.

You smile softly at his abruptness, still able to see his person through his writing. The weight on your heart lifts slightly, knowing that your feelings are oddly reciprocated, but the feeling still remains. Although he claims he can take care of himself, you still fear the possibilities of what could happen when you’re not there. 

Clutching the note to your chest, you breathe in through your nose calmly, hoping for the best. For the rest of the night, you stayed up and stared out at the starry sky, only hoping that the twinkling lights could grant you a swift reprieve; to give you something other than shit you’ve put up with your whole life. 

You finally had something good, you can’t lose it like everyone and everything else. You already lost your family. Your friends. Tess. Ellie was your only hope.

///

For weeks you stay grounded to a certain barrier, never overstepping the bounds of common ground. You hunted when you needed and slept when your eyelids were too heavy to push open. You were alone, but you had hope, even as the time was running thin and the weeks turned to months.

And finally, as the clock struck 3 months, you succumbed to nothingness. Your heart was shattered, crushed even. You let the cold overtake you, pull you into its sharp embrace and leave you rock solid in the corner of the building’s bare bones. 

The winter came and the winds were harsher. With wind came snow. With snow came ice. And, with ice came many hardships you were too weak or uncaring to overcome. 

///

Curling into a tight ball, you shiver harshly, the snow having destroyed any possibility in igniting a fire safe enough to not burn you alive. It was pitch black outside and there was nothing you could use for protection. You only relied on your hearing, which was dulled out by the squealing of the wind’s harsh blows and only the faint growls of the dead.

In minutes, your eyes watch as the snow starts to pile into the makeshift campground, collecting on your eyelashes, nose, and lips painfully. But the storm carries on, not afraid to take your weakening form with it. Your body seizes to move, almost as solid as the ice that covered all surfaces of the outside world exposed to the weather’s great power.

About to give in to the harsh cold, you make a final attempt at grabbing something else to warm your body, but a light in the distance temporarily halts your actions.

Squinting, you make no attempt to move. And then, you head someone. Him.

“Y/N!” he screams through the storm, begging.

“Joel!” you attempt to scream back, but your voice is cracked and quieted.

Over and over, you scream his name to the best of your abilities, slowly quieting as each breath in inhaled.

“Y/N!” he screams again, treading to the building he’s left you in, throwing a hand over his eyebrows in an attempt to see farther and shield his eyes from the thick snowflakes.

It’s almost like he was drawn to you; that his body just knew yours and the hearts were connected by a thick rope. He didn’t have to hear you, he just knew.

Stomping into the threshold of the old house, he scans the room as best as he can, oil lantern outstretched in front of him.

“Joel,” you call out, a tired smile on your lips.

Snapping his head in your direction, he smiles in relief, the expression falling as he finally takes you in. “Y/N...” he mumbles, lifting your body and cradling it in his arms. “You’re fine. You’re fine. I’ve got you. I’m not letting you go again,” he promises, kissing your freezing forehead.

You feel your body heating against his strong build, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. “Please,” you start, panting, “Please don’t leave me again, Joel. Please.”

“I won’t, I promise,” he states earnestly, pulling you in tighter atop his lap.

“I’m gonna have to hold you to that,” you giggle, stealing one from his chest as well, shivering violently.