#raychael maybe?

[ragehappy-archived]

michael jones attacked me personally (and any of the 5 other existing raychaels) when he deleted the My Bro Date With Brownman (No homo!) video and i will not stand for it!

[cockbiteproductions]

what are ur top 5 mavin fics. i need to remember the ones that slaughtered me ❤️ (did u ever read raychael? that was my shit. joelay too but. yikes in retrospect)

OH BOY. top 5 mavin fics oh boy oh boy uh okay IN NO ORDER:

Audeamus (Let Us Dare) by guyi (yujael) - for some reason michael delivering a box of rocks across an entire forest really fucking gets me i lose my mind EVERY time i think of it. also im a sucker for a good wingfic. also i highly enjoy the framing of this as an autobiography. also fantasy. im a sucker for fantasy. idk everything about this fic is *chefs kiss*

A loose bolt of a complete machine by lattefics - robot!gavin and engineer!michael. what can i say? i love scifi and robot aus. this and rvb inspired this one evil little fic i have bouncing around in the back of my head.

Zero by hey-cas (kendra) - the first soulmate au i ever read iirc. if not, definitely my first encounter with the timer soulmate au concept. i loved it when the timer would flicker to 0 when a vid played.

The Wires That Connect Me To You by Kari_Kurofai - HOW STUPID U GOTTA BE TO THINK THE SHITTY LITTLE GAME HAS AN AI THIS COMPLEX. I LOVE IT!!!!

an old-fashioned notion by callmearcturus - well the entire series, really. sometimes you just gotta power through the purple tentacle dick and eggpreg for the plot that you already pretty much know because you watched the avengers movies. it’s the quality writing (i think, i havent read it since 2014) that makes up for it.

idk i cant even say for sure these are my top 5 in terms of quality/enjoyment but they sure are the ones that have stuck with me the most/given me the most brain worms, which i think matters more in the end. my shitty memory means that you have to do something wild to stick in my mind and i havent read any of these since maybe 2016 at the latest.

(i did not ever read raychael rip)

[ragehappy-archive]

back when i had the motivation to write fanfiction.. i wrote a raychael fic and one of the comments was like “i’m one of the 5 ppl who still ships raychael so thank u for this” and that's maybe one of the best responses to a creative thing i've made that i have ever gotten?

[tasksweekly]

[TASK 106: CHICKASAW]

There’s a masterlist below compiled of over 80+ Chickasaw faceclaims categorised by gender with their occupation and ethnicity denoted if there was a reliable source. The Chickasaw are the 15th largest federally recognized Native American tribe, hailing from the Southeastern US states of Alabama, Arkansas, Kentucky, Mississippi, and Tennessee; though the majority now reside in Oklahoma.  If you want an extra challenge use random.org to pick a random number! Of course everything listed below are just suggestions and you can pick whichever character or whichever project you desire.

Any questions can be sent here and all tutorials have been linked below the cut for ease of access! REMEMBER to tag your resources with #TASKSWEEKLY and we will reblog them onto the main! This task can be tagged with whatever you want but if you want us to see it please be sure that our tag is the first five tags, @ mention us or send us a messaging linking us to your post!

THE TASK - scroll down for FC’s!

STEP 1: Decide on a FC you wish to create resources for! You can always do more than one but who are you starting with? There are links to masterlists you can use in order to find them and if you want help, just send us a message and we can pick one for you at random!

STEP 2: Pick what you want to create! You can obviously do more than one thing, but what do you want to start off with? Screencaps, RP icons, GIF packs, masterlists, PNG’s, fancasts, alternative FC’s - LITERALLY anything you desire!

STEP 3: Look back on tasks that we have created previously for tutorials on the thing you are creating unless you have whatever it is you are doing mastered - then of course feel free to just get on and do it. :)

STEP 4: Upload and tag with #TASKSWEEKLY! If you didn’t use your own screencaps/images make sure to credit where you got them from as we will not reblog packs which do not credit caps or original gifs from the original maker.

THINGS YOU CAN MAKE FOR THIS TASK -  examples are linked!

Stumped for ideas? Maybe make a masterlist or graphic of your favourite faceclaims. A masterlist of names. Plot ideas or screencaps from a music video preformed by an artist. Masterlist of quotes and lyrics that can be used for starters, thread titles or tags. Guides on culture and customs.

Screencaps

RP icons [of all sizes]

Gif Pack [maybe gif icons if you wish]

PNG packs

Manips

Dash Icons

Character Aesthetics

PSD’s

XCF’s

Graphic Templates - can be chara header, promo, border or background PSD’s!

FC Masterlists - underused, with resources, without resources!

FC Help - could be related, family templates, alternatives.

Written Guides.

and whatever else you can think of / make!

MASTERLIST!

F:

Margaret Wheeler / Margaret Roach Wheeler (1943) Chickasaw / Choctaw - fashion designer, artist, and weaver.

Linda Hogan (1947) Chickasaw / Unspecified White - poet, storyteller, playwright, novelist, and short story writer.

Leona Mitchell (1949) Chickasaw, African-American - singer.

Allison Adelle Hedge Coke (1958) Metis, Huron, Cherokee, Chickasaw, Seminole, Choctaw, Muskogee, French, Portuguese, English, Scottish - poet and musician (Rd Kla).

Norma Howard (1960) Choctaw, Chickasaw - artist.

Molly Culver (1967) 3/4 Anglo, 1/4 mix of Chickasaw, Choctaw - actress and model.

Tionne Watkins (1970) African-American, Chickasaw (Unconfirmed), Irish (Unconfirmed) - singer-songwriter, model, dancer, actress, author, and producer.

Devorah Lynne Dishington (1976) 1/4 Chickasaw, 3/8 Cherokee, 3/8 mix of Unspecified Middle Eastern, Dutch, English, French, German, Irish, Scottish - actress.

Marie 'Pandora' Medina (1981) Chickasaw, Choctaw - dancer, choreographer, and actress.

Shelia Hamilton (1982) Chickasaw, Seminole, Unspecified Black / Unknown - actress.

Nicco Montano (1988) Navajo, Chickasaw / Unknown Hispanic or Latina - mixed martial artist.

Hayden Hawkens (1990) Chickasaw / Swedish - porn actress.

Riley Reid (1991) Puerto Rican, Dominican, Cherokee, Chickasaw, Irish, Welsh, German, Dutch - porn actress.

Triana Browne / Triana Browne-Hearrell (1993) Chickasaw, African-American, Unspecified Caribbean, Polish, Scottish, Irish - Miss Oklahoma 2017.

Kaylea Arnett (1993) Chickasaw - diver.

Paden Brown (1996 or 1997) Chickasaw - actress.

Zhiane Dempsey (1998) Chickasaw, Irish - model and actress.

Tabitha Fair (?) Chickasaw, Cherokee, French, German, Dutch - musician.

Christie Volkmer (?) Chickasaw - actress, tv personality, and writer.

Katie Barrick (?) Chickasaw - violinist.

Jeannie Barbour (?) Chickasaw - writer, artist, and illustrator.

Raychael Harjo (?) Seminole, Chickasaw, Cherokee - professional basketball player.

Nicolette Blount (?) Chickasaw - singer, actress, songwriter, writer, and vocal coach.

Rebecca Hatcher Travis (?) Chickasaw - poet.

Maya Stewart (?) Chickasaw, Muskogee, Choctaw - fashion designer.

Brenda Kingery (?) Chickasaw - artist.

Katie Callaway (?) Chickasaw - dancer and cheerleader.

Jeannie Barbour (?) Chickasaw - screenwriter, illustrator, and artist.

Courtney Parchcorn (?) Chickasaw - artist.

Judylee Olivia (?) Chickasaw - playwright.

Pauline Brown (?) Chickasaw - actress.

Kobi Crossley (?) Chickasaw - softball player.

Beth Perkins (?) Chickasaw - photographer.

Shay Buchanan (?) Chickasaw - softball player.

Addison Kliewer (?) Chickasaw - quarter horse shower.

Kristen Dorsey (?) Chickasaw - jewelry designer.

Abbey Kliewer (?) Chickasaw - quarter horse shower.

Ryanne Jordan (?) Chickasaw - fashion designer.

Kortney Greenwood (?) Chickasaw - author.

M:

Gerald “Gerry” Brisco (1946) Chickasaw - retired pro wrestler.

Parker Boyiddle Jr. (1947) Chickasaw, Lenape, Wichita, Kiowa - painter.

Kent DuChaine (1951) Chickasaw, French - singer and guitarist.

Daniel Worcester (1955) Chickasaw - bladesmith.

Bo Overton / Glenn Overton (1960) Chickasaw - basketball coach.

Jerod Impichchaachaaha’ Tate (1968) Chickasaw / Manx Irish - pianist and composer.

Kyle Keller (1968) Chickasaw, likely other - basketball coach.

Brent Greenwood (1971) Chickasaw, Ponca - artist.

Johnson Wagner (1980) Chickasaw - golfer.

Wyatt Toregas (1982) Chickasaw, likely other - MLB catcher.

Wes Brisco (1983) Chickasaw, possibly other - pro wrestler.

Miko Hughes (1986) Chickasaw, English - actor.

Bryce Petty (1991) Chickasaw - NFL quarterback.

Ezra Johnson (? Don’t Know Specific Age But Is A Teenager ?) Chickasaw - martial artist.

Louden Johnson (? Don’t Know Specific Age But Is A Teenager ?) Chickasaw - football player.

Jeff Carpenter (?) Chickasaw - musician and songwriter (Ingunuity).

Wyas Parker (?) Chickasaw - pianist, guitarist, and composer.

Zach Garcia (?) Chickasaw - singer, pianist, and composer.

Tryston Skye (?) Peoria, Otoe, Missouria, Cheyenne, Chickasaw - actor.

Chad Burris (?) Chickasaw - producer and actor.

John G. Hampton (?) Chickasaw - film producer and artist.

Eddie Easterling (?) Chickasaw - actor.

Tim Cornelius (?) Chickasaw - musician.

Luke Swinney (?) Chickasaw, possibly other - tv producer.

Branden Hart (?) Chickasaw - singer-songwriter.

Dallas Sealey (?) Chickasaw - football quarterback.

Joey Many Horses (?) Chickasaw - stuntman and actor.

Tristan Manyhorses (?) Chickasaw - stuntman and actor.

Michael Cornelius (?) Chickasaw - flutist.

Ezekiel Walker (?) Chickasaw - tv producer.

Mike Weatherford (?) Chickasaw - footballer commentator.

Dustin Mater (?) Chickasaw - artist.

Mike Larsen (?) Chickasaw - painter and sculptor.

Steve Paniagua (?) Chickasaw - cyclist.

Dakota Brown (?) Chickasaw - actor.

Skylar Wilson (?) Chickasaw - actor.

Robert Cheadle (?) Chickasaw - actor.

Tim Harjochee (?) Chickasaw - actor.

Micah Hart (?) Chickasaw - actor.

Joshua D. Hinson (?) Chickasaw - artist and author.

Paul C. Moore (?) Chickasaw - artist.

Eric Smith (?) Chickasaw - bowmaker.

Commonly Thought Of As Chickasaw But Is Not, Please Don’t Use For This Task:

Julia Jones (1981) African-American / English - actress.

[jeremichal-archive]

and if you weren't him, would that be such a bad thing

honestly, i just missed writing for my boys and i had to live up to my username, so here’s some good old angsty jeremichael. i hope y’all enjoy & don’t forget to let me know what you think! 

WARNINGS: Swearing PAIRING: Jeremichael, past Raychael

Michael hates him in the exact same way he hates Ray.

No note. No warning. A missing car and an empty apartment. It’s two years ago all over again, and Michael can’t help but wonder if it’s his fault; if he’s the problem. Once is just shit luck, but twice means Michael’s just made to be left behind.

He made a mistake with Ray. That much he knows. He didn’t chase, didn’t see the need to when he was so fucking sure he’d come back. Blind faith; blind hope - all it got him was heartbreak and an after-thought message from Barbara saying that Ray’s new girlfriend is “super amazing, Michael. You need to meet her!”

So yeah, this time, Michael does everything he can. He calls his mobile; disconnected. He calls his burner phone; abandoned. He asks Gavin to track him; gone. He sends out a message to everyone in Los Santos and prays for something back.

Find Rimmy Tim, and bring him back alive.

&&&

It’s three days after, when Jack asks, “Maybe he got himself into trouble?” As if Jeremy’s a cat stuck up a tree.

“And he left to protect us?” Gavin adds, and Michael desperately hopes that he doesn’t crack a molar from the way he’s clenching his jaw so fucking hard.

Ryan leans across the kitchen table. His mask is off, but then again, his face paint does a good enough job replacing the loss. “It’s possible,” he hums and Michael’s pushing himself out of his chair before he realises it. The legs scrape against the hardwood floor - a sound not unlike nails down a chalkboard - and four sets of eyes snap to him.

Afterwards, he’ll regret not just keeping his mouth shut. But in the moment, the words tumble out before he can stop them.

“You’re all fucking idiots if you think he cared about us for even one damn second.”

&&&

His old apartment smells like Ray.

It’s why he sleeps at the penthouse. It’s why he still pays its rent. It’s why he hasn’t set foot in the place in about a year.

The last time he was there, he wasn’t alone. Now, the thought just makes him feel sick.

“You sure I should be here, Michael?”

“You don’t have to stay.”

“But you want me too…?”

Jeremy looks so much smaller than normal, hovering uncertainly just outside the doorway. Michael stares back at him, wishing he could tell what was going on inside his head.

“You’re not his replacement, you know,” he mutters, just in case, and Jeremy rears back as if he’s been hit. “You smell nothing like him, for one.”

“Oh…”

His old apartment smells like Ray. The penthouse smells like Jeremy. Michael just can’t seem to catch a fucking break.

&&&

Five days after, it’s obvious that Geoff picks the short straw, mainly because he shoulders his way into Michael’s room at 5 pm. His suit jacket is off, and the top three buttons of his shirt are popped, but he’s still everything that Michael looks up too.

“You’re taking this the hardest, aren’t you Michael.”

“And what, you’re not?” he hisses back, tucking his legs back up and under his blankets. If Geoff thought to look hard enough, he’d see Jeremy’s stupid purple and orange doona peaking out; but either he doesn’t see it, or he lets Michael have this one because he doesn’t comment.

“We are, Michael. Of course, we are… but it’s just- I’ve seen you like this before-”

“Shut up,” he growls. The air around them crackles and Geoff levels him with a look full of pity. “Get the fuck out of my room, Geoff.”

He does, but not without hitting him where it hurts the most. “He’s coming back. We’ll get him back, Michael. It’ll be different this time,” and Michael hates the hope that blossoms in his chest.

&&&

Michael’s smart enough to know that it won’t work, but the pathetic side of him? Well, it’s desperate enough to demand that he still tries. So he puts in the number. He hits call.

It rings.

It rings.

It rings.

Someone picks up.

There’s a moment where he’s stuck in limbo. Sat outside on the pier, head tipped back to face the sun with his phone clutched between his fingers. He pretends it’s both of them, or that it’s neither of them, waiting for him to speak first. Schrodinger’s phone call.

“Where are you?” he asks, because he’s desperate and tired, and so fucking alone. He’s still got Gavin and the others - but they were both something so different, something else and Michael misses them so fucking desperately.

No one answers, but Michael can hear the steady sound of breathing on the other side.

“Are you safe?” he whispers, because he’d throw himself into the damn ocean right now if it meant Jeremy would come back. If it meant Ray would call him. If it meant he wouldn’t have to keep losing the people he loves.

There’s no answer again, and something inside him snaps a little bit. He clenches his hands into fists by his sides, pressing them down against the old wooden pier.

“Did I do something wrong?” he pleads, because once is just shit luck, but twice means there’s something wrong with him, there’s something wrong with him, there's something fucking wrong with him-

“No,” Jeremy whispers and Michael slumps back, feeling his head collide with the hard floor at the same time the line goes dead.

&&&

Seven days after, Michael wonders how he managed to survive the first time.

Ray leaves in Spring and it’s sometime around Autumn when it finally sinks in. He’s not coming back. Ray’s not coming back tomorrow, today or in three weeks time. Ray’s gone, and so are all the promises he made.

“You want to get married one day?”

“No.”

“... Not even if it was to me?”

Ray glances at him over the top of his DS and his eyes look pitch black without the screen illuminating them. Michael does his best to hold a straight face because laughing would give Ray the opportunity to take his words as a joke and he doesn’t want that.

“If we’re not dead by the time we’re thirty, then sure.”

“Sounds like a good plan to me.”

It would be funny, something that he could look back on and joke about with Gavin or even Jack, if it weren’t for the ring he’d purchased, buried in the back of his closet once upon a time ago.  

&&&

In a way, Michael hates Gavin too.

It wouldn’t be hard to add him to the list - the godforsaken list of damaged people that Michael loves - but then again, ignorance is bliss and Michael would rather just keep pretending.

At least this way, when Gavin shows up to the penthouse covered in lipstick marks and that goddamn lovestruck smile on his face, he can pretend it doesn’t hurt. When Gavin asks him if he wants to get bevs, only for Lindsay and Meg to be there when he shows up, Michael can pretend he’s not jealous.

Because Gavin was almost a mistake; he was almost a mistake in the same way Ray was. The same was Jeremy currently is. A habit he can’t seem to break, falling for someone who doesn’t have the emotional capacity to love him back.

It his own brand of torture, one more effective than anything Ryan could ever think to dream up himself.

&&&

Two weeks after, Michael gives up.

It’s three am when he crawls under Jeremy’s empty bed sheets, pulling them up and around him - suffocating himself in Jeremy’s scent. It’s three am when he shoves his face into Jeremy’s purple pillow, letting his tears turn the colours more black than purple. It’s three am when Michael loses all hope that Jeremy will ever come back.

It’s like losing a part of himself. A perfect 5”4 hole. Open, raw and destroying him from the inside out.

But.

But.

It hurt so much more this time.

Why does it hurt so much more this time?

Ray’s hurt. Ray’s still fucking hurts. His best friend left him. His best friend up and fucking left him, with no warning, two days after Michael took a bullet to his shoulder. There was nothing, no explanation, no apology. It was just Michael, a few empty promises and a cheap kiss that didn’t mean as much as he thought it fucking did.

But Jeremy’s? Jeremy’s fucking kills. Jeremy’s tears him apart. There was something there; he was so sure of it. It was an almost. An almost lover, and almost boyfriend. A person Michael thought he could trust. A person Michael told everything. From the reason why he keeps his old apartment, to the fucking ring he brought six weeks after Ray made that promise. He was almost everything he needed, but then he fucking left.

So Michael gives up. Jeremy’s not coming back. Ray’s not coming back.

Maybe he’s just built to be left behind.

&&&

He gets a text message from a burner phone. Gavin tracks it for him and he learns very little, but it’s enough. Purchased in Austin, Texas; paid for in cash.

Can we meet?

Impulse makes him want to text back ‘no’, but he doesn’t. He just stares at it, as the rest of his crew stare at him. No one dares to interrupt the silence that’s settled around them, but Michael wishes they would. The kitchen’s never been so eerily silent before and it makes him uneasy.

Geoff puts a hand over his hand; Michael manages not to flinch. “You don’t have to go. We can send someone else, if it- if it’s too much.”

“It might not be him…” Ryan mutters and Michael can hear how much it hurts him to say that. He knows they’re all hurting too. Being apart of the crew means being apart of a family, so Jeremy leaving hits deep in all of them.

He stares back down at the phone. There’s a slightly visible tremble to his hands that he doesn’t bother trying to hide. “I gotta try,” he whispers and Geoff slowly pulls his hand back, “doesn’t matter how small the odds are, I gotta see if it’s him.”

Where?

&&&

His apartment, ironically enough, sits on Innocence Boulevard. It’s a four-story building, with one dodgy fire escape and a back alleyway that Michael absolutely hates.

It’s the last place he broke something, his fist after punching the fucking brick wall. It’s where he and Ray kissed for the first time. It’s where he had to explain to Jeremy that his place in the crew? it wasn’t merely temporary. Bad things happen in that alleyway, which is exactly why he sits on the front steps of his building and waits for Jeremy, an ambush, whoever’s coming to meet him there.

At five to three, Michael stands. There’s a slight tremor to his whole being, but it makes itself known the most in his legs. They shake, and it’s enough to force him to lean against the wall.

At five past three, a car pulls up at the curb. Michael knows that car. He’s ran heists in that car. He’s joy ridden in that car. He’s crashed that godforsaken fucking car before. He’s the reason why the back bumper is black and not orange. He’s the reason it has a stain on the back seat.

And he’s never been happier to see that stupid fucking car.

At least… he was, up until the moment two bodies climb out of it and Michael’s heart stops beating.

&&&

Jeremy makes the first move.

He approaches the steps slowly, like he’s approaching a wild animal ready to run, and Michael doesn’t blame him. Especially since he’s got one hand on the door handle and the other out in front of him, trying to tell the world to stop.

“Just… give it ten minutes?” he whispers, coming to a stop on the bottom step. Michael stares at him. It’s only been two and a half weeks since he saw him last, but God, it’s felt like years. He looks the same, but somehow entirely different and Michael realises it's because of the look in his eyes.

Fear, apprehension, insecurity and a little bit of guilt. It’s like he’s just joined the crew all over again and Michael hates it. He opens his mouth, ready to say something, but the words die on his tongue. It doesn't help that Jeremy’s already stepping back, making room for Ray, who's stuck hovering awkwardly by the car.

Neither of them makes a move. It's a stalemate. Both of them not quite sure where they stand with the other.

“You flew all the way out here with me, Ray,” Jeremy mutters in the end, cutting through the tension in a way only he could, “and I know you didn’t do it just to stand on the sidewalk the whole time.”

Ray turns his gaze to Jeremy.

“Maybe not,” he mutters, “but it would be a hell of a lot more easier if I did.”

&&&

The second the door swings shut behind Ray, Michael’s moving towards the kitchen. He doesn’t care if Ray follows. He doesn’t care if turns around and walks right back out onto the street. All Michael cares about is dousing the fire that’s ignited inside him with alcohol. It’ll make things worse, he knows, but he can’t fucking find it in himself to care.

He pours himself a glass of whiskey and downs it in one swallow. Ray makes a face. Michael pours himself another.

“So Jeremy left, to go get you,” he hisses, sipping it this time. The alcohol does a good job of masking Ray’s scent; both the one that lingers in his apartment and the entirely different one that belongs to him now.

“He told me that you needed- you needed me.”

“He lied. You can leave. Sorry for wasting your time.”

“Michael.”

Something catches inside him, and the burning in his veins turns into a full-blown forest fire. “You don’t get to ‘Michael’ me,” he hisses, spinning around to meet Ray head on, “you left. You fucking left. No note! No reason! You left me all alone and I-” his voice cracks. Ray looks guilty, for what Michael guesses must be the first time in his entire life.

“I didn’t think you’d take it this hard...”

He sets the glass down just a little bit too hard, and the sound resonates through the room. Sharp and obnoxious, just like the anger inside of him. His face feels hot, and it’s either the anger or the alcohol that’s staining his cheeks red.

“Don’t lie to me. You knew exactly what would happen, how I’d feel.” He leans his hip against the counter. “You aren’t stupid Ray, but you are selfish and cruel. I always pretended you weren’t, but we both know who you are and what you’re capable of.”

It only takes a second for Ray’s posture to change and Michael watches him snap upright. He picks at the fabric of the couch lazily, from where he’s balanced on the arm precariously. “We were killing each other-”

“Try again.”

Ray sighs. “Okay. You were killing me. You expected so much from me Michael. You wanted so much. You wanted a happy family, you wanted a boyfriend and a husband and the whole shebang. I couldn’t give you that and I knew you wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“You think I would have forced you to be with me?” he asks, frowning slightly. The anger drains out of him slowly, and then all that’s left is that all too familiar hollow feeling.  

“No, not in the way you’re thinking,” he mutters, looking up at Michael, “you wouldn’t have made me be with you, but you would have made me stay with you, Michael. I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t stay- I couldn’t-”

“Yeah. I can see that now.”

&&&

He tells Ray to send Jeremy up and in after him and pointedly ignores the look that flashes in his eyes. He waits for him on the couch at first, but the nerves get to him and he ends up pacing around the apartment. When the door opens, he’s halfway to pouring himself another glass of whiskey, just to do something with his fucking hands.

Jeremy hovers in the doorway again and deja vu washes over him. He stops. Jeremy licks his lips. Neither of them move.

“You-” he tries, but the words fail and Michael has to look away to keep himself from crying. He sucks in a deep breath, staring at the tattered wallpaper while he pretends he’s alight.

“You left-”

“-I-I was coming back!” Jeremy interjects and Michael holds up a hand.

“You left… to go find Ray… for me?” he finishes. Jeremy slowly nods and Michael takes one step forward. “Why?”

“You brought a ring for him, Michael. You’re in love with him. I was just trying- I wanted-” he looks away, gazing dropping to the floor like he’s waiting to be scolded. Michael swallows around the lump in his throat.

“You could have told me…”

“And what?” Jeremy replies, shrugging slightly, “leave you disappointed when I inevitably failed? Have you tell me not to stick my damn nose in places where it doesn’t fucking belong? I didn't know if-” he stops. Michael takes another step forward. It’s a year ago all over again, but this time Michael’s more prepared.

“You didn’t know what?” he asks, sucking in a breath and holding it. Jeremy shuffles on the spot, looking anywhere but him.

“I didn’t know if I was allowed-” he sneaks a glance a Michael- “no, I mean- I didn’t want to- Michael, you have to understand,” he pleads. He runs a hand over his head and Michael can see the red scratches he leaves behind in wake of his fingernails. “I just didn’t want to overstep any boundaries, and I know I should have asked, but- but you were just so- and I wanted to help! And- and- I’m so fucking sorry,” he babbles, his breath coming out in quick huffs.

“I messed this up, didn’t I?” he whispers, like it’s a secret. Like it’s the end of the world. Like he’s just realised what he’s done. “I shouldn’t have tried to- I just wanted to- I thought it would work. Fucking hell, fuck, fuck!”

He makes the move to do it again, ready to drag his nails across the top of his head and Michael can tell it’s going to draw blood this time. He wants to stop him, wants to stop Jeremy from hurting himself.

So he does.

He reaches out and catches Jeremy’s wrists, holding them down gently. Jeremy instantly freezes, and whether it’s from the touch or the proximity, Michael doesn’t know.

“You’re not his replacement, you know,” he whispers and Jeremy squeezes his eyes shut, face scrunching up. It’s a tell and one that screams to Michael that he’s hit Jeremy so close to home. “I know you think you are, and I’m honestly terrified that you still believe that if Ray comes back, we’ll get rid of you… but we won’t.”

“Michael…”

“Listen to me,” he pleads, squeezing Jeremy’s wrists and waiting for him to open his eyes first before continuing. “Yeah, I brought him a ring. And yeah, I was gonna ask him to marry me. But Jeremy, three days after I told you about it, I realised I didn’t need it anymore and I threw that fucking thing off the pier. Do you know why?” he asks. Jeremy stares back at him with wide eyes as he shakes his head, and Michael licks his lips slowly.

“Cause of you.”

“What? I- I don’t-”

“I- I know I loved him, and maybe I still do-” Jeremy flinches- “but not in the same anymore. He’s different and I'm different, and it doesn't matter how many times you bring him back for me, he’s still going to leave again. The thing is, yeah it hurt like hell when he left, but Jeremy, it felt so much fucking worse when you did.”

He lets the words sink in. He waits for Jeremy to react, but all he does is stare down at Michael’s hands, eyebrows furrowed. “I didn’t think you’d…” he mumbles, words trailing off.

“What?” he whispers back, “notice? Care? Of course, I care, Jeremy. Of course, I fucking care about you…”

He waits for a moment. Jeremy’s chest rises and falls in quick succession and Michael runs his hands up Jeremy’s arms, settling just below the elbow. “I don’t want to do this wrong again,” he continues, “I don’t want to make the same mistakes twice, so if I’m being too much or if I’m ‘killing you’ then please tell me-”

“You’re not,” Jeremy hisses, head instantly snapping up, “you couldn’t.”

He lets out a harsh breath. “You’re not his replacement,” he says again, and Jeremy sways on his feet, gravitating ever so slightly to Michael. “You smell nothing like him, for one.”

“And that's a good thing?” Jeremy asks, and the look on his face is so open and vulnerable that Michael feels his heart skip a beat.

“Yeah, it is,” he mumbles, and then he’s surging forward to kiss him and Jeremy happily meets him halfway.

&&&

Michael wakes up with a body lying along the length of his, and a face pressed into the crook of his neck.

He doesn’t dare move.

It’s much nicer just to enjoy the moment. The way Jeremy’s breath skitters across his skin. The way he can feel the other man’s heart beating steadily against his. There’s no worry that he’ll wake up to an empty room. There’s no threat of heartbreak when he’s got Jeremy right there, sapping his warmth from his body like the thief he is.

He lets his hand move slowly, tracing the length of Jeremy’s spine; following along all the bumps and dips. It’s only when he moves in to kiss the shell of Jeremy’s ear that he gets a reaction.

“Go back to sleep,” Jeremy slurs and Michael laughs softly.

“What time is it?” he questions, turning his gaze towards the window. Light seeps through the gaps in the curtains, but it’s not enough for Michael to believe it’s time to get up. Plus, even if it was, he wouldn’t dare disturb Jeremy. He waits for a reply, and when it doesn’t come, he slides his hand down Jeremy’s side to rest on his hip. The gentle lulling of Jeremy’s breathing makes him close his eyes, and it's hard not to give into Jeremy’s advice.

Before he completely goes under though, he presses his nose into Jeremy’s neck and breathes in.

He smells like apples and gunpowder. Michael loves it.

[lunarlover12]

For the prompt thing, how about 39 and 41 with some Raychael?

39: “All I needed was my friend.”

41: “You left!”

Anon. Anon, love. You can’t give me these and not expect me to hurt my babies.

Michael was exhausted. He had been out all day working on getting some new weapons for the crew, going from one gang to another playing bodyguard for Geoff. He just wanted to go home and go to sleep on his bed. Or maybe even the couch. God, anything sounded glorious at this point.

He made his way up the stairs to his apartment, keys jingling on his fingertips as he did so. But there was an off feeling that only got stronger the closer he got to his door. His senses heightened automatically, trying to pinpoint any noise coming from the other side or to see something out of place. He cautiously grabbed the doorknob and turned, finding it unlocked already. His hand moved to the gun in his waistband and systematically turned the safety off with practiced motions. He mentally counted to three before swinging the door open with his weapon raised.

“Ray?” Michael questioned while the hold he had had on his gun loosened before he let the barrel point towards the ground. “Wha-what are you doing here?”

The ex-crew member had positioned himself perfectly on one of the recliners so that he could see the doorway and still be within reach of either his sniper or pistol laying carefully on the couch. The younger man grinned from where he was perched. “Hey, Michael.” He greeted. “What a great way to greet someone you haven’t seen in ages.” He joked. But he could see that the humor wasn’t shared between the two as the other man’s face hardened.

“Yeah? Well maybe if you so much as texted every so often you’d get a proper hello.” And oh, the dam had snapped because now Michael was furious again. “Or if you had even said goodbye the first time around. If you hadn’t just disappeared like you did and stayed to at least tell us you were leaving!”

“Woah. Michael-”

“You don’t just do that! Do you know how worried we were?! How long we spent searching for you after that?! How long I looked even after everyone else stopped?!” The FAKE was marching his way towards the chair Ray was on with an accusing finger being jammed towards his direction with every sentence. Ray stood from his spot, no longer as confident as he had fooled himself into being with such a dangerous position.

At least this way he had options if things turned too ugly.

“What else was I supposed to do?! Jack was- he was hurt! I couldn’t just stand by and watch helplessly!” The Hispanic defended himself, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“So you what? You ran away?”

“You know what? Yeah, I did.”

“You’re a coward, Ray. We should’ve known that you weren’t going to stick with us. Hell! I should have known! You were never around when I needed you!” Michael accused, his New Jersey accent coming back out a little with his rage. Ray scoffed.

“What are you even talking about!? I was always by your side! Those guys that came after you back in ‘06? I bailed you out! When you got that bullet to your chest, who stitched you back up?” The smaller recalled, standing up straighter now that the finger was on his chest almost painfully and their faces were mere inches apart.

Michael threw his hands up in the air in frustration. “I’m not talking about those times! I’m talking about when all I needed was my friend, not just my partner! When my mom died and you disappeared for a week before claiming you were on some ‘job’. When Gavin and I had that huge fight and you were too high on pot and whatever else to so much as form a full sentence! When Jack almost died and you disappeared for five years before randomly showing back up!”

“Look, man. I’m sorry about all of that, I really am. But I-” Ray managed to get out before Michael interrupted once more.

“You left, Ray! You don’t get to make excuses this time!” And with that, the older man turned around and threw the flower pot that held a single rose in it that he had always kept by the couch. In case Ray came back. He guessed it was sort of his last hope. The pot shattered upon impact and Ray flinched at the sound. Underneath all of the dirt and clay, the flower lay smashed and broken. “Get. Out.” Michael ground out between his teeth, eyes on the floor and his shoulders hunched up high. He was breathing heavily and he could feel his chest tighten with all of the emotions he had kept bottled in for five years, those he pushed down even now.

“Michael..” Ray trailed off. He stood there helpless, his hand raising up to touch his friend. To help soothe the hurricane of feelings that must be swirling around inside the other man’s head.

But he thought better of it. He forced his limb to drop back down and slowly starting picking up his weapons once more. When Michael didn’t so much as look his direction, the younger made his way to the door. “I’ll be staying in the usual hotel if you ever want to talk.” He tried one last time before letting the door shut behind him.

Once he heard the click, Michael felt himself collapse. He quickly sat down on the couch and buried his head in his hands and choked back a sob.

Just when he had started getting better too. What shitty timing.

[writingfromruins]

What about raychael poem? Or maybe something for jackeoff

The two of you have been here since the city was nothing more than a cesspit of petty criminals fighting over sidewalk patches, the two of you have been here since the city corrupted itself into the worst place in the country, the two of you spilled kerosene and lit matches and prayed that the blaze would be under your control.Right before the spark caught, when the two of you were looking out over a messy half made potentially trustworthy ‘crew’ of killers with black reputations and serial liars and kids who never though they’d escape their past and all four people shifted uncomfortably like they didn’t know how to make small talk. The two of you linked hands behind the couch cushions and held your breath and then, and then the city burst into endless flame, and it was all yours.The city was swept over by killers armed with awkward laughs and serial bet makers and takers and kids who were set on reforming themselves and all four people looking up to your command, the eyes in the sky and the foot on the gas pedal, the planner and the getaway driver, the two kings holding court over a whole city. The two of you are sitting pretty in a penthouse, in a private jet, in the backroom of a warehouse, you link hands in the streets just because, you fan the flames and watch as offending buildings crumble to ash, and you kiss, right there in the ruins.

[kinhelpr]

idk if u do ship moodboards but a fahc raychael one maybe- pre crew aesthetic? (please no irl guys 💕)

i just did it!! :)

[nofomoartworld]

Episode 605: Brian Hieggelke

http://ift.tt/2yNHMut download This week on Bad at Sports Center – New City Publisher Brian Hieggelke! Talking movie making and the extensions of publishing!

Future forward thinking and with a little help from our friends at Today at Apple.

EDITION #8

EDITION #3

Raychael Stine at McAninch Arts Center Lobby Gallery

Hot (okay maybe only lukewarm at the moment) Topic Alert: the Crisis in Art Criticism

Wednesday Clips 3/3/10

from Bad at Sports http://ift.tt/2y6x3Y4 via IFTTT

[ragehappy-archive]

Raychael maybe? You are Legit the only person I know of who still ships that and I'm weak

I remember 😔 when we USED to be Better Friends 😭

[disregardthefootsteps]

fucking someone please give me a My Own Private Idaho raychael au, where they're both super young and it's before they meet geoff and join the crew and they're hustlers and Michaels in love with Ray but Ray doesn't love him back (yet? maybe?) just GIVE ME THAT CAMPFIRE CONFESSION SCENE WITH RAYCHAEL

[thatkidpubert]

michael and ray are in high school and michael drags ray out to an underground video game nightclub which is basically like a sick, rigged up garage where a bunch of kids/nerds gather and play video games and drink alcohol and those with highscores are fucking beasts aka legends like geoff and jack and ryan and there is gavin who is like the pet entertainment 

[jeremichal-archive]

16 or 20 raychael !!!!

bone-deep exhaustion

16) things you said with no space between us20) things you said that i wasn’t meant to hear

I went for soft raychael this time, I wanted to build a world where the boys don't need to say they love each other for the other to know because it’s obvious. I want soft raychael with an added touch of young, innocent love and I think I delivered. So I hope you like it & let me know what you think!

Pairing: RaychaelWarnings: Swearing, Death Mention & Implied Child Abuse

Jeremy is curled up against Michael’s side, face pressed up against the hollow of his neck with his hands clutching at the thin fabric of his shirt. Ray is sitting alone, nine feet to the left of them with his face pressed up against his knees and his fingers absentmindedly fidgeting with the pocket knife he found two days ago.

And Michael… well, Michael’s just fucking tired.

He honestly can’t remember the last time he had a proper night of sleep, can’t remember the last time they could afford to waste money on a motel room. The hard, dirty concrete floor has become familiar to him in a way that he hates, almost like a cruel joke. He’d been delusional three years ago, to think that he could just run away to Los Santos and make a life for himself. To think that he could get a job in the underground fights, to think that he could find a place to stay- to think that he had any chance in this stupid city.

At least now he know’s he was fucking wrong.

He sighs softly and subconsciously tightens his grip on Jeremy as the younger boy shifts in his arms. He’s only nineteen, but Michael already feels like he’s fucking forty and when he looks at Jeremy, something inside him snaps. The kid is too young, he’s too young to get caught up in this life with him and Ray. They don’t talk about how they ended up here- it’s an unspoken rule that none of them dares to break- but Michael would kill to know how a fifteen-year-old with his whole life ahead of him managed to get sucked into this life.

But then again, Michael can guess- what with the way he’s caught Jeremy fall silent whenever they each talk about their parents or the way he flinches when somebody mentions Boston- there’s probably a good reason why he’s curled up against Michael’s side.

Ray himself is even more of an enigma, one that Michael’s sure he’ll never crack. But, when you spend two years of your life with someone you’re bound to learn some things- he’s learnt that Ray used to own a gun, he’s learnt that Ray ended up throwing that gun away after he had to use it one night and he’s learnt that a seventeen-year-old Puerto Rican kid has two confirmed kills to his name. Two more than he does.

It’s alright, though, somehow they managed to find each other in this hellhole of a city and it makes things a bit easier. They each carry their own emotional baggage, they each jerk awake late at night thanks to nightmares and they each tremble at the thought of where their future is heading- it’s just Michael’s job to keep them all from falling to pieces.

He squeezes his eyes shut, desperately wanting to turn off his mind. In four hours it’ll be his turn to swap out with Ray and take watch. It’ll be his turn to take the pocket knife and defend his little makeshift family from junkies and pervs. He knows he should sleep, but he’s also smart enough to know that it’s a lost cause.

“Michael… are you awake?”

Ray’s voice cuts through the silence, taking him off guard. He jolts slightly, just enough to make Jeremy groan but not enough to actually wake him. He doesn’t know why he does it, doesn’t know why he holds his breath and stays silent when he’s sure Ray already knows he’s awake. But then Ray sighs and sits up slightly, leaning back on his palms for balance. The pocket knife catches against the only source of light they have, a shitty street light across the street, and the light’s too bright for Michael’s tired eyes.

“We’re not going to make it past twenty-five, are we?” he mumbles and Michael quickly realises he’s talking to himself, but it doesn’t stop him from stiffening, though. “We’re going to die so goddamn young. We’re not going to amount to anything and nobody will mourn us after we’re gone-” he sucks in a sharp breath, “- and fuck man, that’s actually terrifying.”

He’s a half a second from responding, he’s half a second from rolling over and just pretending he didn’t hear anything- when Ray continues.

“I don’t want to kill anyone else, Michael. I don’t want to be that person. You were- you were telling me about the Vagabond a few days ago and I just- I don’t want to be like him,” he hisses. Michael bites at the inside of his cheek, hard enough that he can taste blood, but he stays silent. “I can’t sleep anymore without seeing their faces, I can’t sleep anymore without having nightmares. And I know, I know you have them too- you lurch awake and you sit there on the edge of crying- and then you pretend! You pretend you’re fine and you’re not, and neither am I, and neither is Jeremy.”

Ray’s words trail off, and the way he just seems to give up on his anger makes Michael’s stomach turn.

“We’re not alright. We’re going to die before we’re twenty-five and nobody will mourn us...” he sighs, shaking his head.

“Maybe. Maybe we might end up as another statistic, maybe we’ll draw the short straw and the pigs will find our bodies decomposing in a dirty alleyway. Maybe.” He lets out a breath, pausing for a moment to watch the way Ray’s body tenses across from him. “But maybe. Just maybe. We might come out on top. Maybe we’ll find some place to call home and maybe we’ll end up owning this city. Maybe. You never know, Ray- we’re not dead yet.”

“But we will- we will die, Michael,” he replies.

“Everyone dies, Ray.”

“But not usually at twenty-something years old. Not before their lives have even amounted to anything.”

Michael watches Ray’s body twist around, and it’s just enough for him to catch sight of the hard look in Ray’s eyes. He can’t move, doesn’t dare to disturb Jeremy’s sleep, so instead he just jerks his head slightly- hoping that Ray understands him. It takes a moment of unbroken eye contact before Ray gives in, crawling over towards Michael to slot up against his free side. Like this, Michael can feel how fast Ray’s heart is beating- it’s nice.

“Who said that our lives haven’t amounted to anything?” he asks and the look that flickers in Ray’s gaze is one that Michael’s not sure he’s seen before.

“Michael-” he begins, voice slightly verging on a whine but Michael shakes his head.

“Can you honestly tell me, that if we didn’t exist, that everything would still be the same? Can you say with certainty, that if we weren’t alive, that Jeremy would still be asleep against two other boys- two boys that are just as willing to sacrifice themselves for him as we are?” he mumbles, “I don’t know about you, Ray- but I think we’ve amounted to something great. Because honestly, we’re big brothers’ now.”

The quiet, “Oh…” that slips past Ray’s lips is soft spoken and awestricken, and Michael can’t help but smile in response. He presses his face into the crook of Ray’s neck and breathes out, knowing that his breath is tickling against Ray’s skin.

“We’ll figure things out, Ray. We’ve got plenty of time. I’ve got my name out there now, I’ll start picking up jobs soon and then we’ll start pulling in the cash. You don’t have to kill, we can find you something that easier- we’ve got plenty of time,” he says and Ray nods slowly.

He moves to pull away but Michael slips his free arm around him, pulling him back against his side. “Michael- I have to take watch. Let me go, dude,” he tries to argue but Michael just shakes his head.

“Stay here a bit longer, please. You don’t have to fall asleep- just, stay,” he whispers and Ray nods slowly, falling back against his side easily. Michael knows he won't fall asleep tonight, but with Ray and Jeremy pressed against his side- his small little makeshift family safe in his arms- he just can’t bring himself to care.

He’ll sleep tomorrow night. He has plenty of time.

[jeremichal-archive]

If you're still doing prompts then... ”if i wasnt incredibly happy to see you i’d kick your ass” with Raychael because it's my favorite and I'm desperate for content (fahc if you can, but I honestly will take anything) ❤️

disentangle

Nonnie, honestly thank you so much for this prompt because I fucking LOVE how this turned out. So, I hope you enjoy this just as much as I do, let me know what you think!

Pairing: Raychael & Mentioned JerevinWarnings: Swearing

He’s three blocks away from the penthouse before he even realises it, feet pounding against the concrete as he dodges past the pedestrians blocking his way. It’s purely by instinct that he’s managed to end up so close to the crew again, crossing back into their territory without even thinking about it. He’d missed getting a bullet to the shoulder by pure dumb luck, jumped a fence into some suburban families back yard and hoofed it across the city with pure panic burning through his veins- and this is where he ends up?

He’d laugh if he weren’t currently running for his life.

He doesn’t actually need to look over his shoulder to know he’s still being chased, since it’s not that hard to distinguish between the frightened yells of the innocents on the street and the furious grunts that keep slipping out of the man and lady hot on his heels. They haven’t caught him yet, and that’s all he really cares about, so Ray just keeps sprinting down the street, heading straight for an awkward reunion- something that’s probably more trouble than it’s worth.

He spins left, skidding to a complete stop for a moment before he’s off again, ducking through alleys with uneven steps. It’s hard to keep balance and he almost trips a few times, but luck seems to be on his side today so each time he pulls himself out of it with minimal damage. A swift, sharp turn to the right, a long sprint down the sidewalk and then an over dramatic jump over a trash can that he ties together with an out of breath, “parkour!” gets him a few seconds of respite a street away from the penthouse. He flops against a brick wall, half curled in on himself with his hands on his knees, breath coming out in uneven pants.

They haven’t moved- the crew, that is- he’d know if they’d packed up their shit and switched bases. He might be out, but he’s not out of the loop and thankfully Tina’s pretty good at getting information out of people without needing the threat of knives at her disposal. They haven’t moved, so he’s got pretty good odds on the fact someone will bound to be there waiting for him when he climbs the stairs and spams the call button.

It’s just the question of who- and Ray finds himself pleading with fate for it not to be Michael.

He straightens himself up, throws a hurried glance over his shoulder and then lets out a loud, unabashed groan at the thought of seeing the crew again after so long. He’s fucked, he realises, because it’s not going to be a one-time thing. He’s going to see Geoff and the old man’s going to pull him into a hug. Or he’s going to see Gavin and get bullied into coming upstairs to play a few rounds of Halo together.

Or he’s going to see Michael, and he’s going to have a heart attack there on the spot and then he’ll be dead. There’s no perceivable outcome where things go smoothly, and as hard as the thought is to swallow, Ray knows he just has to fucking do it.

So attempt two comes in the form of Ray biting at his cheek hard enough to draw blood, the sound of his shoes scraping across the sidewalk as he drags his feet and the mutterings of the word, “fuck,” again and again. He doesn’t know if he’s lost his tail permanently or if they’re just waiting for the perfect moment to jump him, so he can’t spend all day out on the street, but he wishes he could.

Taking the steps two at a time, he pauses by the intercom and then just jams his finger onto the penthouse button violently, repeatedly.

buzz, buzz, buzz, buzzzzzzzzzz, buzz, buzz, buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

“Gavin! Fucking asshole, stop! Holy fuck boi, did you fucking forget your key or somethin’?” Michael’s voice cuts through the air and Ray lets his hand drop, hating the way his chest does its weird little flutter at the sound of the other man’s yelling. The breath he sucks in is shaky for another reason, but he ignores it because that’s all that he can really do. His finger pushes speaker button and when he answers he tries not to sound like he’s a fourteen-year-old boy with a crush.

“Aye, Michael. Turns out I have, dude, it’s been missing for what? A year and a half now? Definitely need to get a new one, but for now, can you buzz me up?” he says, sounding way more confident than how he actually feels. “Really can’t be on the street right now.”

Michael doesn’t answer him, and Ray’s stomach almost drops out of his ass, because he didn’t really consider the completely valid possibility of being ignored. He hovers there awkwardly for a moment, not sure if he should just leg it towards his own apartment or maybe Tina’s, but then the door buzzes open and he slips inside- not wanting to ask twice.

It’s only when he’s standing in front of the penthouse door that he realises what the fuck he’s doing and the nerves flare back to life. He’s going to see Michael again, he’s going to see his ex-best friend again after a year and a half of pining after him? He’s going to look Michael in the eye and pretend that he’s forgotten the last thing he said to him?

“Of course we’ll keep in touch man, you can’t get fucking rid of me that easily.”

Yeah, he is. He can handle it.

He kicks the door twice and tucks his hands into the pockets of his jeans, waiting for Michael to let him in. Adrenaline is still somewhat pumping through his veins, but it’ll fade soon enough and once he knows for sure that he’s safe, he’ll head back to Tina. He’ll tell her that the deal flopped, he’ll tell her how fucking cool he looked during his getaway and he’ll tell her that he talked to Michael for the first time in over a year. She’ll be… she’ll have mixed emotions, that’s the best he can say. She’ll probably call him an idiot to be honest.

He looks up when the door swings open and doesn’t bother waiting for Michael to invite him in, he shoulders his way through the doorway and catches sight of two pairs of eyes watching him from over the top of the couch. Michael lets out a huff, but Ray deliberately doesn’t pay him much attention. Instead, he shoulders off his jacket and offers Jeremy and Matt a small wave.

“Hey, assholes. Thanks for letting me up, I needed a piss,” he declares, dropping his jacket on the kitchen bench before retreating down the hallway towards the bathroom without another word. He does not need to piss, not at all, but he doesn’t think he could stomach the idea of standing there while three pairs of eyes stared at him. It’s a bit nerve-wracking to be back here, a place he used to call home, especially since it hasn’t changed a bit. He doesn’t feel like he belongs, which he probably doesn’t, but it’s too late to leave now.

A hand on his shoulder stops him from slipping into the bathroom and hiding in there for an hour, and when he spins around he’s met with the sight of Michael’s brown eyes watching him closely.

“Hey,” he mumbles and Michael’s eyes soften.

“Man, if I wasn’t incredibly happy to see you, I’d kick your fucking ass,” he replies and Ray can’t help but snort. Michael doesn’t hesitate to pull him into a hug and Ray goes along willingly, although his heart does skip a beat at the way his arms tightly wrap around him.

“I guess I’d deserve it,” he replies and the light laugh he gets in return from Michael is just a little bit too much for his gay heart to handle. They pull away from each other, but Michael doesn’t give Ray the opportunity to miss the closeness since his hand slips into Ray’s and it takes all of his control not to look down at their hands clasped together.

They’ve slipped back into their old selves so easily that Ray can’t help but let out a breath of relief.

“Yeah, you would dickhead. But to what do we owe the pleasure, huh?” Michael asks and he glances back over his shoulder. Ray follows his line of sight; Jeremy’s in the kitchen, in perfect position to watch them and with the way Michael turns slightly pink, Ray feels like he’s out of the loop somehow.

“I was being chased, deal gone wrong. But you should have seen me, Michael; I looked like a fucking action hero, parkouring all over the place,” he replies and Michael rolls his eyes. Ray grins at him and then suddenly he’s being pulled out of the hallway, a quiet, “come on,” offered as the only explanation why. But he lets Michael lead him past Jeremy and into the living room and then watches Michael sit down on the couch. He can take a hint, so he drops down onto the couch beside him, twisting his body enough so that he can kick his legs up onto Michael’s lap, who glares back at him briefly before giving in and resting his hands on Ray’s legs.

When Jeremy shuffles back in with a water bottle and a look on his face that Ray can’t decipher, Ray realises something’s up- and when he looks at Michael his suspicions are confirmed. The other man is glaring at both Jeremy and Matt as his thumb lazily rubs circles into Ray’s ankle and it’s honestly ridiculous.

“So how have things been, you know… with the crew?” Ray asks and three pairs of eyes snap back to him. His distraction seems to work, cause Michael loses his glare and Jeremy and Matt switch their focus onto him.

“Uh, we’ve just been planning different heists, I had my own one a few months ago,” Jeremy replies, shrugging and then he suddenly snaps his fingers, “Oh! We settled shit with FakeHouse, plus Lindsay’s in charge now and we’ve been trying to get in contact with a few other crews!”

“Yeah, we’re branching out,” Matt adds, leaning forward to grab the Xbox controller lying discarded on the coffee table. Ray tracks his movement with his eyes and then glances over towards the television, only now realising they must have been playing Minecraft before he showed up. Something in Jeremy’s sentence sticks with him though and he looks back at Michael, who’s watching him closely.

“Lindsay’s in charge? What happened to Geoff?” he asks and there’s just a little bit too much vulnerability in the statement that he doesn’t appreciate.

“Geoff’s fine, Ray,” Michael murmurs and Ray feels himself relax, “he’s just fucking old as dirt and doesn’t want to have to deal with all the serious shit anymore. He’s technically still our boss, but Lindsay can overrule him if she wants, not that he listens.”

“Can’t teach an old dog new tricks,” Jeremy mutters and everyone snorts.

“When are the rest of the guys getting back,” he asks and all three of them shrug, to which Ray rolls his eyes. “Fucking helpful, thanks, assholes,” he mumbles and they laugh. He knows he can’t hang around forever, he’s not a part of the crew anymore and this isn’t his home. He’ll have to head back to his apartment sooner or later, but for now, it’s nice pretending that things are still the same as they were before he left.

The rest of the crew get home an hour later when Michael has somehow manoeuvred them both so that Ray’s basically in his lap, and Matt and Jeremy have switched games three times. There's a bit of awkward silence when they pile through the door and catch sight of Ray squished against Michael, all four of them playing drawful 2. Enough that Ray considers standing up and bolting through the door, just to avoid the tension- but Michael’s arms slither around his waist as if he can read the smaller boy’s thoughts and so Ray stays. He tips his head back and meets Ryan’s questioning eyes and salutes him before looking back at the television screen.

“Should we… are we interrupting something?” Geoff mutters and Matt and Jeremy both laugh in unison and that's honestly creepy.

“No, Geoff,” Matt says.

“Nah, you give them too much credit,” adds Jeremy. Ray feels Michael tense beside him but when raises an eyebrow Michael just shakes him off.

Things settle after that, Ryan filters off towards his room and comes back five minutes later sans his skull mask and face paint. Jack settles into the couch opposite them with a small grin and Geoff lowers himself beside her, tucking himself up against her side. Gavin heads straight for Jeremy and both him and Michael tell them to get a room the second Gavin kisses him. It’s so comfortable coming back, and part of him doesn’t understand why he waited for so long to do it. Maybe he was just afraid that they’d treat him differently, maybe he was afraid that he’d be unwelcomed. But he’s not, and he realises he was right, it’s not going to be a one-time thing.

He’s going to come back, he’s going to stay for dinner and crash on the couch. He’s going to get addicted to Michael’s touch again after being starved of it for so long, he’s going to kid himself into thinking he could come back. That he could come back.

It’s that thought that makes him disentangle himself from Michael’s arms, pulling himself up onto his feet with a huff. Everyone’s eyes shoot towards him but he just grins and levels a thumb towards the door. He needs to leave, being with them is just filling his head with impossible fantasies.

“I better be heading off, gotta let Tina know the shit that went down today,” he says and he’s never seen seven faces all flash with disappointment until the moment he lets his words slip out. They don’t try and stop him, though, they just all nod and stand up to say goodbye, letting him leave without a fight. Part of him almost wants a fight, part of him wants Gavin to whine for one more game and Michael to pin him to the couch.

He ignores that part though, because that’s a dangerous thought.

He grabs his jacket from the kitchen bench and slips it on, pulling open the front door to slip out and it’s only then that he realises he has a second shadow. Michael’s behind him when he glances over his shoulder and the other man gestures for him to keep moving. Michael can follow him if he wants, it doesn’t make a difference to him, he tells himself, even though his stomach does a little flip at the thought.

They don’t talk until Ray is pushing his way out of the building and Michael is hot on his heels. He spins around, ready to say goodnight and goodbye, but Michael beats him to it.

“You’ll come back, yeah?” he asks and Ray freezes. “I don’t think I’ll be able to handle it if this is the last time I get to see you. I know I won’t be able to handle if I let myself think this is it, only for you to come back again a year later. So, I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“I mean…” Ray shrugs, “I can try, dude. But I can’t make any promises-”

“No. That’s not good enough,” Michael spits back and Ray sucks in a breath. “You either come back, or- or you don’t,” he finishes and Ray grimaces. He doesn’t know if he has this in him again, doesn’t know if he could come back and see Michael- touch Michael- and be able to go home again alone. He knows, deep down, that being a part of the crew again is nothing more than a pipe dream. He’s not a FAKE anymore, and he likes it that way- no matter how easy it would be to slip back into his old skin again.

“I’m not supposed to be here,” he mumbles and Michael’s face morphs into one of confusion. “I left,” he continues, “I left and I’m not coming back, not like that again Michael. Fuck man, I love the crew, I love all of you guys- I love you, Michael- but I’m not coming back again. So that means I’m not supposed to be here, that means that every time I come back I’m just that little more tempted to stay.”

He falls silent, not quite sure if he wants to hear Michael’s response. He doesn’t know how to fix things, now that he’s gone and complicated things again. If he had just stayed away, took a right instead of a left and just gone to Tina’s, he wouldn’t have to face this hollowing sense of homesickness that he has no right to feel.

“You love me?” Michael asks and Ray looks up at him, forehead crinkling because when did he let that slip- fuck. FUCK. “As in, you’re in love with me?” he asks and Ray doesn’t want to be here anymore. His heart is beating too fast and he can feel his poker face slipping away, he might pass out? This wasn’t a part of the plan, this wasn’t a part of the fucking plan. He can’t lie to Michael, the other man will see right through him and honestly, saying yes isn’t a much better answer. He’s screwed, fucked, finished, done.

Michael must see the answer written on his face because he pulls back slightly as if Ray just slapped him. He levels a finger between the two of them, pointing it shakily at Ray’s chest and he says, “Okay, okay, we’re going to talk about that in a minute-”

“Oh God no,” Ray mumbles and Michael shakes his head.

“Fuck yes, we are. But, but first… you know you don’t have to be in the crew to hang out with us, right Ray? You don’t have to pull heists with us and go on jobs, you don’t have to stay with us twenty-four seven. You can stay, but you don’t have to stay,” he replies and Ray frowns.

“But… that’s not how it works Michael,” he says, “I can already feel it, I can already see it in everyone's eyes- even yours. How easy it would be to come back, how expected it would be- there's no way you’ll all be able to handle me staying for a month and then leaving for three? There's no way because sooner or later you’ll resent me for leaving. You’ll resent me for not staying like I used to.”

“Ray.” Michael takes a step forwards and it takes all of Ray’s willpower not to move back, “Having you for one month is better than never having you again,” he whispers, “and we’ll get used to it. We know we can’t keep you here, we know that expecting any different is just stupid. We’ll miss you when you’re gone, fuck yeah we will, but at least we’ll know this time that you’re coming back. You’ll come back to us, you’ll come back to me.”

Ray sucks in a breath, tilting his head back slightly. It’s too tempting, every honey dipped word that slips from Michael’s lips is too tempting. He’d convinced himself after he left that he couldn’t have the best of both worlds- it was either the crew or freedom. It was hell to choose, it was torture to walk away from his family- to take estrangement without a fight and just be free. To be able to leave for Italy without worrying if the crew thought him to be dead, to be able to take a job without clearing it with Geoff first.

Freedom was nice, freedom was everything he’d hoped it would be- but it demanded a sacrifice and he’d paid it.

“Michael,” he begs, but for what he doesn’t quite know. Michael seems to understand, though, because he closes the distance between them and pulls Ray into his arms, tucking his chin into the crook of his neck. His hands rub up and down his spine, his heartbeat is just a little bit too fast, but it’s everything Ray needs.

“You can stay,” he whispers, “or you can leave. You can do both. But you can’t do neither. You just have to choose what you want Ray, you just need to choose.”

Now that one's easy. He could answer that in his sleep.

“I want you.”

Michael sucks in a breath and Ray lets his eyes slip closed, listening to the way Michael’s heart beats faster at his words. “You can have me. You already have me...” he admits, falling silent for a moment. When he speaks again, Ray’s almost completely sure that he mishears him at first. “I love you too, you know.”

“I didn’t, so thank you...” he replies and he doesn’t have to look at Michael’s face to know he rolls his eyes. “Hey, let’s go back upstairs, yeah? You’ve still got that double bed right?” he asks and Michael pulls back enough to catch his eyes.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Tina can wait till morning. I’m exhausted, dude,” he mumbles, “let’s go to bed.” The look of understanding that flashes across Michael’s gaze lets him know all that he needs to and he smiles.

Both. He can do both.  

[jeremichal-archive]

human error

I’ve been working on this fic for months and I’m so glad it’s finally done. I honestly really enjoyed writing this one, and I love these boys to pieces. So anyway, hope you enjoy & let me know what you think!

Pairing: Raychael Warnings: Swearing, Alcohol Mention, Minor Injuries & Guns

They haven’t spoken in six months: there’s been no brief, catch-up phone call full of awkward silences to set the clock back to zero; there’s been no quick text message of a joke shared in the heat of the moment, no followed up embarrassed message because they’d accidentally forgotten about the self-inflicted silence.

There’s been nothing to even suggest that Michael and Ray are even still best friends, or allies, or acquaintances.

It’s in the evenings, though, when things get… difficult. When Michael’s had one too many beers and he lacks that crippling fear that follows him when he’s sober; the one that demands he doesn’t contact Ray. His phone seems to taunt him on those nights, reminding him that his best friend is literally right there within his reach- that he could pick up the damn phone and call him, right now. And he’s come close, hand hovering over “BrownNERD” in his contacts list so many times that he’s lost count. He could call him, he could make the first move- but then he thinks about the last time they talked to each other- and Michael’s phone ends up tossed in his nightstand drawer, hidden away and ignored.

It’s like a song on repeat, one that Michael’s forced to constantly relive; so it’s not really a surprise when he finds himself in the same situation yet again. His phone is in his hand- a beer bottle in the other- so close to just taking that final leap. He’s pretty sure he’s drunk, there's a buzz in the back of his head and his fingers can’t stop twitching. So honestly, it’s a setup for failure, because if there’s one thing Michael knows about Ray, it’s that his best friend can’t stand it when he’s drunk.

(He finds it pathetic that he still calls Ray his best friend, since he can probably guess- for good reason, too- that he no longer holds that title from Ray.)

Back when they talked, back when Ray used to spend the night at Michael’s apartment without hesitation. There was a time- that Michael can only distantly remember- when Ray would crawl between his bed sheets and tuck his smaller body up against his. At first, he’d been hesitant, unsure of Ray’s motives- unsure of his own motives. But like everything else they did, a sense of familiarity quickly settled between them and it became second nature for Michael to wrap his arms around Ray’s waist and pull him tight against him. They’d lay like that, pressed together in a way that was usually reserved for lovers, yet seemed oddly perfect for them.

(Were they lovers? Did they pass some unseen point in time where they could confidently describe one another as their other half?)

“I hated him,” he would whisper, and Michael would freeze, hesitant to even breathe lest it results in Ray falling silent, “I hated him so much. He used to always smell like liquor; used to joke that his blood was ninety percent alcohol too. It was all a joke to him, didn’t give a fuck about what I thought. What I felt.”

If he thinks about it- if he lets himself fall back to that night- Michael’s pretty sure he can still remember his reply.

“I give a fuck about what you think.”

Even now, well into the point where he’s sure there’s no way to fix this, Michael know’s he still means it. God, he’s such a fucking idiot.

Six months will quickly turn into eight months if you don’t pay attention and so Michael tries to convince himself that if Ray wanted to talk to him, he’d message him. It’s a one-way ticket to regret, but Michael’s never been one to back down from a challenge.

He doesn’t call.

They have a timeline. It goes like this.

Michael is currently 29 years old. Ray is 27.

They met for the first time at 16 and 14, respectfully. They don’t become friends; rather Ray steals his backpack and Michael chases him three blocks, finally cornering the small kid in an alley beside a laundromat and a 7/11. He gives the kid a broken nose, a dislocated shoulder and leaves him there curled up in the dirt.

They meet again, for the second time, in a Taco Bell car park at 4 am. 20 and 18; neither of them quite able to forget the other since their first meeting. They don’t become friends; rather Ray breaks Michael’s arm and leave him bleeding out behind a shitty 2002 Toyota Camry- a bullet wound in his upper thigh. Even now though, Michael still doesn’t know if Ray missed his femoral artery on purpose, or by complete accident.

They meet again, for the third time; 23 and 21. They become friends, but how, Michael doesn’t even know himself.

He's standing on the sidewalk, watching his apartment building burn; He’s watching twenty-three years of junk, and memorabilia and possessions burn and yet he doesn’t care.

The fire department is doing their best to save the building, but whatever caused the fire originated from his apartment- so he knows it’s all gone. His guess, a grenade or two tossed through his window by the fire escape; but he’s not going upstairs to fucking play detective.

“I’m guessing this is where you used to live?”

The voice comes from behind him, but Michael doesn’t need to turn around to know who it belongs to. Funny enough, despite only meeting twice, Ray has been cemented into his memory whether he likes it or not. He’s seventy percent sure Ray also shares the same problem.

He can’t ignore the other forever though- not even sure he wants to- so in the end he does end up turning around, catching the sight of Ray’s blinding grin. Part of him wonders if this was Ray’s doing, but then he remembers bleeding out in a Taco Bell car park at 4am and he realises Ray already got his revenge.

They stare at each other for a few moments, both trying to silently decide if the other is worth their time when Ray sighs.

“You can stay at my place.”

So yeah, they become friends; but how, Michael doesn’t even know himself. Instead, he just thanks his lucky stars and thanks anyone who’s listening that he didn't become Ray’s nemesis in that moment instead.

He feels numb- from head to toe- the kind that starts slowly until it's all you can feel.

Maybe he’s dissociating, maybe he’s having a panic attack; all Michael knows is that he’s frozen on the spot- watching them. There was a point, where he’d thought they’d saw him- a brief moment of eye contact that had forced his heart to stop beating- but nothing but boredom flickered over Ray’s face so he chalked it up to paranoia.

He can see them through the front window of Ponsonby's- a clothing store well known for both its high-priced fashion and it’s bulletproof windows- and by God, it’s so hard not to just go to him. To walk up to Ray and say hello, or to hug him, or to get his shit kicked in by Geoff- who is to his left, flicking through the new imported suit jackets.

He knows he’d be unwelcomed, he knows that Ray would blanch at the sight of him; but it would almost be worth the black eye he’d receive to just hear Ray’s voice again.

His feet move without his permission, fast-paced steps that propel him to the clothing store. He makes it to the front door before he’s seen, before Ray’s eyes dart to catch the movement in the corner of his eye, before his gaze falls on Michael. Arm extended to push open the door, he watches his best friend’s face flash with a quick array of emotions. Once upon a time, he could read them all, could pick out Ray’s emotions with a quick glance and a low “What’s up?” Once upon a time, they were inseparable, but time is a bitch and things change relatively quickly in Los Santos.

After a moment, Ray shakes his head- a small movement that’s barely noticeable- and Michael swallows deeply. Geoff’s still not looking at him, Ray’s within reach and Michael’s not sure he can do this again.

It's a decision, it’s a choice: leave now and forget about him, or stay and don’t.

He pushes open the door, listening to the small bell jingle above him- but his eyes never stray from Ray’s face. Michael doesn’t understand how Ray can look so small standing beside Geoff. Like all of the fight has drained out of his body; it just looks wrong and Michael hates it. The man standing before him, it’s not his Ray, and it’s infuriating. So when he catches the slight flicker of fear in Ray’s eyes- his hands curl up into fists by his sides.

Because he’s the cause of this. This is his fault.

Geoff spins on his heel, reading the panic in Ray’s body language. His hand automatically moving to the gun tucked into the back of his pants by pure instinct- but when he sees Michael though, he pulls it out completely. It’s loaded, aimed and seconds away from being fired when Ray speaks.

“Oh, Michael. You weren’t the one who had to leave.”

To understand something, you must have the full story, that’s just how it goes.

He and Ray haven’t spoken in eight months; yeah, that’s true. But- that’s not all there is- there's a fact that’s been left out by purposeful omission. Michael hasn’t spoken to anyone in the fake ah crew in eight months, not just Ray.

And if there's one thing he knows, you can’t just leave the crew without consequence.

☾ ☽

They have a timeline. It goes like this.

At age 27, on March 16th, Michael takes a job for a man named Geoff Ramsey. He does what’s expected of him, doesn’t ask questions and goes back to his apartment to find Ray waiting for him. It’s fine, they’re fine.

At age 27, on June 3rd, Michael takes another job from Geoff Ramsey- his seventh? Eighth? He hasn’t kept count- but this time Ray joins him. They do what’s expected of them, they don’t ask questions; but while Ray’s waiting for him in his Adder, Geoff asks him a question. “Are you and that Brownman kid fucking? No sweat off my back if you are, just curious.” The question sticks with him so much, that Michael can’t sleep that night.

At age 28, on November 5th, Ray jumps off a roof after being chased by the lspd and breaks his ankle. He calls Michael- Michael who is halfway through a Mario Party game with Gavin and his girlfriends’ Lindsay and Meg; Michael who is slightly drunk and not at all in the right state to be driving- who rushes to meet him, catching his friend curled up in a dumpster with wet tear tracks drying on his face and an ankle that’s turning purple.

At age 28, on December 25th, Michael has six presents hidden in his bedroom closet, all for Ray. A new bong, two tickets to a Blink 182 concert, keys to a new motorcycle, a new pair of shoes, a snickers bar and grey beanie.

At age 28, on December 26th, Michael gets four presents from Ray. An engraved pocket knife, blue hair dye, a pair of socks and keys to a Volatus helicopter.

At age 28, on January 1st, Michael kisses Gavin when the countdown hits zero and everyone laughs. Everyone except Ray.

At age 28, on January 3rd, Michael corners Ray at the penthouse and asks him- no- demands- to know why he’s ignoring him. Ray tells him that he's not but then proceeds to bolt from the penthouse, leaving Michael doubting the truth of his words.

At age 28, on January 7th, Michael realises he’s an idiot.

Michael’s learnt Ray- a side effect of spending so much time together- so Michael knows, clear as day, that Ray is angry with him.

He just doesn't know why.

Watching Ray now- spine riged and shoulders tense- cursing at the coffee machine, it's obviously a situation he’s not going to be able to get out of with just a quick apology. He sighs lowly and moves quickly, leaning against the counter- staring at Ray’s back.

“What did I do?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

Ray sighs, something so defeated and spins to face Michael. Eye contact makes it worse, makes a low level of guilt settle in his stomach because of the hurt- pure, unhideable hurt- on Ray’s face cuts at him. He doesn’t know if Ray understands that Michael can read his so well, he doesn’t know if Ray thinks he’s still hiding his emotions, but he’s not.

He opens his mouth to say something, whether it’s too apologise or just to ask again what he's done to cause this, when Gavin’s bedroom door swings open.

The golden boy doesn't notice the thick smog of tension suffocating them, either out of obliviousness or ignorance, so he doesn't linger. But Michael’s fast- quick-witted and observant- so he can't help but notice the way Ray’s eyes harden when he catches sight of Gavin; the way his mouth falls open ever so slightly.

A tell, pointing directly at the source of his upset.

Oh.

Ray seems to realise that Michael understands in that moment too, eye contact breaking and fingernails digging into the skin of his palms. Michael wants to stop him, lest he draw blood and end up hurting himself, but he doesn’t dare touch Ray.

“Can we not- can we just not do this, Michael?” He whispers brokenly and Michael- the man known for his bravery- runs.

He nods slowly, takes a few steps back and then rushes to the front door- doing his best to avoid looking at the destroyed expression he knows is on Ray’s face.

So yeah, it takes haphazard love admission for Michael to run. He leaves and he doesn't come back, because love in this business is a death sentence and Michael’s not sure he could do that. Get attached, halve his soul and give part of it to Ray, only to watch it get destroyed when the inevitable happens- when Ray leaves… Or... when Ray dies.

Days turn into weeks, weeks turn to months; phone calls go unanswered and messages get ignored. The silence cuts at him, just enough for him to realise what he’s done- what he's invertedly lost.

He doesn't go back, because it's been to long and he’s missed his chance with Ray- messed up the life he had and could have had. He can't go back- because you don't just leave the crew by choice. He can't go back- because you don't just break your best friend’s- lovers- crushes- heart and then get to come back and ask for a second chance.

He's out. He stays out. He’s weak. He comes back.

Geoff lowers the gun pointed at him even so slightly, but it’s very obviously still aimed at his chest and Michael knows the threat is still there- unspoken. He knows that Geoff won't hesitate to shoot him if he presents himself as a risk, if he tried to start something inside the small clothing store. If he even so happens to look at either of them wrong, Geoff will shoot, no hesitation- even if they were practically family before he left.

Michael knows he’s not a risk- at least, not to his family, to his crew- but Ray has taken a step back from him and Michael can see that he’s a second away from running. Ray’s afraid of him, and he’d be stupid not to know why. The last time they saw each other, the last time they talked to each other, Ray let slip his feelings and Michael crushed them under his feet on his way out of the penthouse.

The words stuck to the tip of his tongue would be easier to say if Geoff weren’t standing in the room with them. He hadn’t thought this far ahead when he pushed open the glass doors, he hadn’t thought at all really- an action based on a whim that he can’t back out of now. So he doesn’t- instead he stands a little taller, puffs out his chest slightly to give the illusion of confidence and glances at Geoff out of the corner of his eye.

The older man’s a mind reader- Michael’s absolutely sure - because he jerks the gun back up and shakes it at him. “Nah, no way buddy. You’re an idiot if you think I’m leaving you alone with him for even a half a second,” Geoff says. He plants his feet firmly in a stance that tells Michael there’ll be no arguing with him and Michael sighs, looking back at Ray.

He feels like he’s seven again, trying to apologise to his foster-mother for very deliberately starting a fire in the backyard. He feels like he’s ten again, trying to apologise to his teacher for calling her a ‘stupid bitch’ for giving him homework on a Friday. He feels like he’s twenty again, trying to apologise to a Puerto Rican kid in a Taco Bell carpark because he just can’t seem to stop. He can’t seem to just stop provoking those types of situations, the one’s where he knows he’s in the wrong, but his words of apology never come.

Ray takes pity on him, or maybe he’s just trying to end the conversation faster, because he ducks his head slightly and mumbles, “Don’t worry ‘bout it, Michael- I get it.” It’s an out, he’s offering Micael an out- but he can’t help but grit his teeth at such a submissive action. That’s not Ray, that’s nothing like Ray; to give up without a fight, to let Michael get away without retribution for his actions- it’s almost as if he’s talking to a completely different person.

“What?” he spits, something a bit too aggressive for Geoff, who furrows his brow and gives Michael a dark look. So he tries again, removing all trace of harshness from his tone. “What? What is that supposed to mean?” He’s not finished, he shouldn’t be finished; he should tell Ray that this is all on him, that he’s the one to blame for this whole shit storm. He should apologise, he should just do anything really, other than just stand there and stare at his best friend.

But he doesn’t, because Michael doesn’t know how to apologise.

Ray just shrugs, hunching in on himself but he still holds eye contact. “Come on man, don’t- don’t play stupid, yeah? I fucked things up, brought feelings into this- into us - and so I get why you left. Don’t- don’t make me, fuck, please don’t...”

Michael’s stomach drops, and the breath he sucks in sounds harsh even to himself.

Ray’s taking the blame, he’s taking Michael’s fault and putting it on his own shoulders; Michael has the small thought that maybe that’s why he stopped calling, why he stopped messaging- not because he blamed Michael for just leaving, but because he thought Michael blamed him for making them complicated. He opens his mouth- to apologise, to beg for forgiveness, to just get Ray back - but all that comes out is dead air and Ray sinks in on himself, curling up on himself and ducking his head.

“Alright, fuck off Michael- you useless prick. You had your chance, now get out of my sight,” Geoff spits and Michael jerks back, finding himself agreeing with Geoff’s cutthroat words.

He looks down at the floor, mind quickly filling with self-loathing as he realises that he’s doing it again; he’s seven and he’s getting sent back to the group home again because he’s too difficult to look after. He’s ten again, getting a week's suspension for the fifth time already that year. He’s twenty again, bleeding out with a bullet wound because he just doesn’t know when to stop. He doesn’t know when to stop.

He doesn’t know when to stop.

He sucks in a small breath and lets it out through clenched teeth, glancing back up at Ray one last time before he has to leave. His best friend isn’t looking at him, eyes deliberately turned away and Michael hates it.

“This isn’t your fault, Ray.”

The words just slip out without a second thought, and Michael catches sight of Ray’s head snapping up so he can meet his eyes. But Michael’s already pushing his way out of the clothing store, heartbeat pounding in his chest because it might not have been an apology, it might not have been what Ray needed.

But it was a start.

It’s two days later when his phone buzzes from its place on his night stand, that he realises just how much he missed this. Just how much he missed Ray- missed talking to him, missed being with him, missed knowing him. It's a simple text, nothing more than a basic ‘hey’ - but it means the world to Michael. He just sits there for a while, reading and re-reading the one-word text again and again, trying to convince himself that it’s real. They’ve got to talk, that’s why Ray is texting him of course, but Michael just needs a moment first- before things get heavy. He sucks in a breath and shoots back a quick, ‘hey’ in return.

He needs things to go back to how they were- no, he needs things to get better. He doesn’t want Ray to hide from him, he doesn’t want to run from the people he cares about- he wants. He just wants.

From brownNERD

‘Uh, I’ve missed you,’

Michael doesn’t know how Ray can just throw himself out there so easily, as if he still trusts Michael. God knows he couldn’t do that, but Ray’s always been just a bit better than him at everything, so it shouldn’t really surprise him that much. He swallows down his own unease and quickly types out his reply, fingers shaking.

To brownNERD

‘I’ve missed you too.’

Don’t leave the conversation dead, Michael tries to tell himself, don’t force this onto Ray; don’t make him have to keep this alive - but he can’t and he grits his teeth. He can’t keep it going, because everything he want’s to say is too much. He wants to apologise, he wants to tell Ray just how much he misses them falling asleep together, he wants to tell Ray just how much he loves him and how much that scares him- but the words stick to his tongue and he can’t.

He’s stuck in his own emotional incompetence and it’s aggravating.

From brownNERD

‘So, ah, what did you mean?’

‘Like, when you said it wasn’t my fault?’

‘Of course it’s my fault, Michael,'

‘You don’t have to lie to me,

He’s dialing Ray’s phone number before he even realises it, and when the line clicks over and he knows Ray’s listening, time just seems to stop. Because he can hear Ray breathing through the phone, can picture him so clearly sitting in his apartment, in the penthouse, waiting for Michael to talk- and it’s definitely Michael who has to speak first, he called, he talks.

“It’s not your fault,” he whispers and Ray’s breath hitches audibly. “It’s not your fault. It's mine? Cause I’m an idiot? You know that right?” He poses it like a question, but he’s not waiting for an answer. Ray tries though, a small, “Michael-” slips past his lips but he effectively cuts him off. He’s gotta get it out, he can’t just keep giving up- he has to stop.

“I am, it’s not a question. I-I’m an idiot and I’m so s-sor- fuck. Look, I left- I ran, because I can’t- I can’t, shit. But you need to understand, that this isn’t on you, it’s on me,” he says, words tumbling out in a rush and Michael’s not even sure if Ray can understand him. His heart is pounding, because this is it? This is all he can muster for an apology? He grits his teeth, wishing he could do better; wishing he could be better. Be something that Ray deserves, be someone that Ray deserves- instead of what he is now, an emotionally constipated criminal that can’t tell his best friend he loves him.

“Michael, Michael stop- you can’t, you can’t take all the blame, yeah? I fell for, uh, I complicated things, and you don’t do complicated, so I should have known better,” Ray replies, just as rushed and just as panicked as Michael. He’d laugh, in any other moment, at how ridiculous they sound- trying to convince the other that they’re not to blame- but right now Michael can’t do anything but squeeze his eyes shut and argue back.

“No, I can- I can, I swear. I can do complicated, we were doing complicated, right? I wasn’t imagining it? We were doing complicated long before we even realised it ourselves. It just, scared me? To realise, so explicitly, what we were becoming. It scared me and I ran, leaving you alone- but I won't do it again. Fuck, never again,” he swears, and Ray’s quiet on the other side of the phone. He doesn’t answer, and Michael’s stomach drops. He can’t stand the silence, so he tries again, words a lot more hesitant this time.

“Ah… I just, I fucked up. I made you think, for eight months, that this was all on you- all because I was too afraid to call you. So yeah… this is my fault, I should just- I should just go.” He lets his words sit for a second, waiting for something from Ray; whether it’s angry yelling or a cold dismissal, he just wants any sort of reaction. But Ray stays quiet and Michael sighs, pulling his phone away from his ear and hanging up the call.

Now that Ray knows, now that Ray realises that it’s Michael’s fault- he doesn’t want to deal with him, not that Michael blames him. It’s just a bit to hard to stomach the idea, to know for sure that nothing is salvageable between the two of them and so Michael turns off his phone, discarding it into the top drawer of his bedside table. He rolls over, tugging the sheets over his head and presses his face into his pillow, trying to block out the world.

He still hasn’t apologised.

Something rouses Michael awake at 4:49am, and he just lays there, staring at the ceiling above him. He’s going to be useless today, he can just see it- the heavy fog of depression settling over him so early in the morning. There’s a small amount of light filling the room, and he blinks his eyes a few times to adjust to the change, but he doesn’t have the energy to climb out of bed and fix the curtains. He wants to go back, back in time to when they were simpler, back to when Michael could pull Ray into his arms without questioning if they were something.

He sucks in a shaky breath and deliberately ignores the sound of footsteps shuffling around his apartment. He’s got nothing worth stealing here, everything he owns is at the penthouse- which he hasn’t been to in eight months- and if they’re there to kill him, then he’ll get a few good hits before he goes down. He rolls over onto his side the same moment his bedroom door opens, and squeezes his eyes shut. He waits for the press of a knife or the click of a gun, but all he gets in return are fingers touching gently against his face and the sight of Ray when he opens his eyes.

Part of him wonders if maybe he’s just hallucinating since Ray shouldn’t be there in front of him, Ray shouldn’t want anything to do with him- but he’s there, he’s real and Michael’s heart starts pounding in his chest. Ray moves slowly, hands pressing against Michael’s shoulders to push him backwards until there’s enough room for him to slide in underneath the bedsheets and press his body up against Michael’s. It’s an instant reaction, the second Ray relaxes against him, that Michael’s arms encircle him and pull him tight against his chest.

And then he realises what he’s done.

He’s about to let go, about to apologise for touching him like they used to, but Ray presses his face into the hollow of Michael’s neck and his grip involuntarily tightens. They lie there for a while, neither of them daring to utter a single word and Michael relishes the feeling of having Ray in his arms. He tried to commit the feeling to memory, so that if he never gets the opportunity to have this again, at least he has something.

He feels Ray shift against him, pulling back ever so slightly so that they’re face to face and Michael glances down at him, hands resting in the hollow of his spine.

“You scared the shit out of me, Michael,” he mumbles and Michael opens his mouth to try and apologise, again and again till Ray knows how much he means it- till the words don’t seem real anymore. But Ray reaches up between them and presses a finger to his lips, effectively quieting him and Michael’s not sure if he’d be able to anyway. But it’s not his turn to talk, so he’ll keep his mouth shut and just listen, he can do that, he can do that for Ray. “You left, and I thought I’d never get to see you again. I told myself that I could handle a bit of rejection, that I would bounce back and we’d move on- and it would be fine. But then you didn’t come back, week after week you were gone and I thought, fuck I’ve ruined us.”

“I was afraid,” he whispers back, and Ray meets his gaze. “I was afraid that I’d missed my chance with you, I was afraid to come back and find that you’d moved on and I wouldn’t be able to do anything about it, cause it would be my own fault.”

Ray shakes his head, a slow deliberate movement and mutters, “You broke my nose, remember? I was fourteen and trying to steal shit so I could pawn it for money, so my dad could pay some bills. You broke my nose and yet I still fucking fell in lo-” he cuts himself off and Michael feels the way Ray tenses in his arms. Love. He was going to say love. “I still fucking… didn’t leave...” he finishes lamely, and Michael can’t help but squeeze his eyes shut.

He remembers that day, watching the fear flicker over Ray’s face before he desperately tried to hide it behind false bravado. He remembers being so angry that someone was trying to take something of his, when he barely had anything to begin with. He remembers the pop sound that echoed throughout the alley after he dislocated Ray’s shoulder and the pained scream that followed after.

“Yeah, I remember,” he mumbles, because how could he forget.

“And then I shot you.”

That one's a bit harder, mind fuzzy from the blood loss. He knows they argued, he know’s they tossed insults at each other like they were playing a game of tennis. And he knows that he went too far, cause that’s what he always does.

“Yeah.”

“My dad told me, before he died, that if you ever wanted to kill someone quickly, shoot for their femoral artery. He showed me where to hit.” He pushes himself up onto his elbows, catching Michael’s eyes with a serious look and says, “I knew how to kill you, I could have killed you, but I looked at you and I thought, four years. It had been four years since I last saw you, and I wanted to see you again in four years time. And four years after that. I wanted to know why you fought for a shitty backpack so damn hard, I wanted to know why you were at a Taco Bell carpark at 4am, I wanted to know why you didn’t flinch when I pulled my gun on you. And I couldn’t do that if I killed you.”

Michael stares back at him, letting Ray’s words sink in for a moment. “You kept me alive… because my stubborn ass refused to let you think that you intimidated me?”

Ray laughs, shaking his head slowly before lowering himself back down again. “When you put it like that, it sounds stupid- but yeah. That’s exactly why.”

Michael huffs, but on the inside he’s happy that Ray deliberately chose to keep him alive. He’s glad that it wasn’t just a fluke, a lucky miss. “Nah- it’s perfect,” he says, “it suits us.” And the smile Ray offers him in return makes his heart stop beating momentarily. Something must show on his face, something a bit more tender- something that resembles just how much Michael loves him- because in the next moment Ray is tugging his face down until their lips meet and then Michael sees stars.

He doesn’t waste a second, hands gripping Ray’s waist so tight he’s afraid he might leave bruises. He pulls him in close, until they’re chest to chest and he can feel Ray’s heart pounding beneath him- and he kisses the boy back for all he’s worth. It’s like being kissed by lightning, and Michael can’t help but enjoy the burn. It’s everything he wanted it to be, it’s everything he imagined it to be and he doesn’t want to stop. He doesn’t want to stop.

Ray pulls back with a gasp, and when Michael tries to dip in for another kiss, he laughs, tilting his head away slightly. “C’mon man, need to breathe,” he mutters and without a word, Michael just shifts his attention to Ray’s jawline- peppering little kisses across it’s length. He has Ray right where he wants him, and he’d be damned if he’s going to let him go just yet. Ray, for the most part, seems content to be littered with little kisses and he lets out a soft sigh. “You’ll come back to the p-penthouse with me, yeah?” he asks, “G-Geoff will get over himself, he can’t stay mad forever- and I know everyone else misses you. Come back, yeah?”

Michael pauses his onslaught, pulling back just enough to catch Ray’s gaze with a sigh. “I left,” he says and Ray nods.

“Yeah, you did. But that doesn’t mean you can’t come back.”

“Geoff almost tried to kill me the last time he saw me,” he argues and Ray snorts, shaking his head.

“He was just being pissy cause he thought you broke my heart- you know good old daddy Geoff.” Michael watches Ray’s hands drift upwards, until the come to rest on his chest, fingers rubbing small circles into his skin. “We’ll go back, I’ll tell Geoff that were-” he pauses and Michael’s not going to let him out of this one so easy.

“That were dating. That I love you.”

Ray’s breath hitches the same moment Michael’s anxiety spikes, but he ignores it, because this has been a long time coming. It takes Ray a few moments to respond, but when he does it's with a wide grin. “Yeah. I’ll tell Geoff that were dating and that you love me. But I’ll also make sure to tell him that I love y-you too- because I do. I love you, Michael.”

Michael doesn’t answer, instead he just leans in quickly and captures Ray’s mouth in a kiss. He kisses Ray until he feels light headed, he kisses him until they have to pull away lest the pass out, he kisses Ray with everything he’s got, because he can . And when they do pull back, Ray’s lips are pink and puffy, and he looks completely ruined- and it’s everything Michael’s dreamed it to be.

But he still hasn’t apologised. And he needs to fix that.

He offers Ray a small, hesitant smile and rests their foreheads together, watching Ray closely as he whispers, “Hey- I need to, I have to say something, yeah? I can’t- I suck at this sort of thing. Never was able to, never could quite take responsibility for my actions growing up. But I need to-” he sucks in a breath- “I need to say I’m s-sorry, yeah? These last eight months, I put you through hell cause- cause I freaked out, but I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, and I swear I’ll never do that to you again.”

Ray smiles back softly, hands moving to frame Michael’s face. “I’m sure the last eight months were just as bad for you, as they were for me, Michael,” he says, and Michael nods, albeit a bit awkwardly with Ray’s hands holding him. “But thank you. Yeah, I-I accept your apology. And just know, that if you do fuck up again, Geoff will be coming for you with a shotgun next time.”

Michael laughs, something loud and carefree- and it doesn’t take long before Ray joins in too, both of them giggling messes, wrapped around each other on Michael’s bed. It’s so much better than before, because now Michael can press kisses into the curve of Ray’s neck and he can run his hands underneath Ray’s shirt. It’s so much better than before, and Michael doesn’t know why he needed eight months to realise it.