im actually going to be kind of scared if layton and gunman joe actually end up having actual romantic tension bc like as far back as the very first trailer while we still knew nothing about him other than that he had a gun i was talking about them having sexual tension. so as far as i know im joelay patient zero. i know its not going to be like that but also im gonna be a little scared if i accidentally threw an apollo dodgeball
*Former Rooster Teeth employes. **Original Character
Word Count: TBC
Dare to read the original on AO3 | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four
Summary: Gavin thought his study abroad trip would be filled with too-large food portions, an abundance of "yeehaws!" and whole lot of American flags. He could never have imagined that he would come toe to toe with the high school quarterback... and like it.
A/N: Eight years ago, I wrote a mess of a fanfiction that spawned friendships, rekindled my love for writing and an unhealthy obsession for enemies to lovers. Sometimes I like to relive such a time by rereading it - almost always I quit because it is so, so, so badly written. Not wanting to give up on my love completely I set about reshaping it into something I could stand to read. I think I’ve done as much as I can and I hope that whoever reads it – whether you’re revisiting it or feasting your eyes upon it for the first time – agrees with me. So, in the words of Bowling for Soup: High school never ends.
Please read the below before you embark upon your journey into the HSAU:Remastered!
First and foremost, for you newbies (and maybe a reminder for you oldies too) – this isn’t just a fluffy high school fic, it gets dark. I will try and remember to put warnings above each chapter but please check the bottom of this post for a full list.*
None of the characters reflect their IRL counterparts and are merely characterisations.
The story is mostly, I hope, a faithful recreation of the original give or take a few pacing issues and (fingers crossed) an evolved writing style. However, as the title says it is a remastered version and there may be some scenes missing/changed/replaced.
A certain someone who was once relevant to the plot has been removed and replaced with ‘Daxton’ and, despite the fact I hope they never read this, as per their wishes Lindsay’s character uses they/them pronouns now. (Although I may slip up here and there, please let me know when I have!)
Finally, I just wanted to say thank you for reading (or re-reading) what was my first major project as a teenager. At the time of posting, the original is eight years old. Despite its flaws, I had a lot of fun re-reading it and if you want a laugh, I’d recommend putting the two pieces side by side and play a game of spot the differences. There are some dialogue choices you just can’t improve upon.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Just posted the 7th chapter of my Joelay fic.
Here’s a smut snippet from the recent chapter (because who doesn’t like a bit of smut?):
“Respond to what, Joel?” Ray shot back with a challenging tone, knowing full well that Joel wanted a confession but refusing to give it. Instead, he gave him something else. Something dirtier. Ray leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Joel’s, “I can respond to a lot of things, Daddy. I can respond to way your hand is gripping my thigh hard enough to leave bruises. I can respond to the way you’re holding me here, in another man’s house, like I’m your own personal plaything. I can respond to the way your cock is twitching against me through the fabric of this sexy suit. Like it’s begging me to drop to my knees and suck until you tell me to stop.”
Most of RT/AH/Funhaus community : Im gonna ship this one with this one but i also ship that one with that one and that one with this one and also this one with that one.
So I was looking through my old WIPs during a little clean-up session. And I found a really old au I was working on while I was in my first bit of college.
Where Ray and Joel were dancers who eventually turned into lovers. And then Joel ended up leaving Ray for a promise of a better dancing partner and more money. Jon, their choreographer, finally convinced Ray to find a new partner so that he could re-enter contests and the such after Ray started to run out of money.
Who brings Ryan in from one of his classes and talks Ray into giving him a chance. And so Jon works with the both of them; a very stubborn Ray who refuses to give Ryan any time of day aside from practice and keeps the man very far away from him, and Ryan who simply wants to impress the tiny man and may have a very gay crush on him.
In which Jon brings out a redemption challenge for Ray when he gets especially salty and proceeds to make him walk around the room in high heels until he gets over himself.
I know nothing about dancing but this was a thing I was working on and it’s so ridiculous I was laughing while reading this. What the hell, past Luna?
Rating: M (language, graphic depictions of violence, they’re gay as shit)
Pairing: Michael Jones/Ryan Haywood (Background Geoff/Gavin and Ray/Joel)
Ch. 1 (You are here!) ⋆ Ch. 2
“You’re telling me a hitman can’t take care of himself?”
“He worked a hit for us. It went sour. Hitmen specialise in takeouts, not protection,” Gus frowns at him. “You of all people should know that, Haywood.”
Ryan sighs. Considers his options. Picks up the file that had been offered to him when the briefing had started. Reads the biography page and is painfully unimpressed by what might as well be a mugshot. “You’re giving me a Jersey?”
“He thinks he doesn’t need a bodyguard. Good luck.”
Ryan wishes he remembers anything Gus had said during the briefing when he knocks on Michael Jones’ front door and it opens about two inches, still chain-locked. Jones looks him up and down, clearly unsurprised by the telltale bulge in his jacket. Adjusts his beanie. Speaks with a very vague accent. “You. Asshole, Haywood, whatever. You’re packing in Trenton. You trying to get killed?”
“You going to let me in so I don’t?”
“No,” Jones replies. “I told them not to send anyone. They sent you anyway. Not my problem.”
Ryan stares at him until the door starts to close. He steps forward, shoving a foot in the way. “Let me talk for a few minutes, assess the situation. I’ll talk to my superiors and get the case resolved...I don’t really want to be here, either, to tell you the truth. I don’t know who decided to assign bodyguards to feeble hitmen, but it’s probably a waste of money.”
“I will shoot your toes off,” Jones says, watching him until he removes his foot. His gaze moves to the city moving behind Ryan. A pause. The door closes for a moment, then opens again, unlocked. Jones grabs him by the arm and pulls him inside, closing and re-chaining the door behind them. “Talk.”
“You’re going to want to take a seat. I have a questionnaire.”
Jones’ gaze narrows. “I don’t have time for that shit. A guy has been camping in the building across the street for a week. He just watched you come inside. Definitely knows you’re packing. If you don’t leave soon he’s going to come in here and kill both of us.”
Ryan frowns. “I thought-”
“No, I don’t need someone to follow me the fuck around and shove safety up my asshole. I’m doing just fine by myself on the staying alive front. Now, if you could go pick me up a nice, frosty glass of milk from Milkmart, that would be fucking great,” Jones crosses his arms, gaze stony. “They sent me a bodyguard. What I need is someone to get me some goddamn Chinese food.”
Ryan considers him for a moment. “When is the last time you went outside?”
“I haven’t been out since the boy scout across the street showed up for the fucking party. There’s a back exit, but every time I look over there, he’s monitoring me. He’ll know if I leave for more than a few minutes at a time, and that door doesn’t open from the outside, so I’d have to come back in through the front anyway. I’ve been living on ramen and tortillas.”
Ryan glances at his watch. He’s been inside for less than five minutes. He gives it a few more before the guy across the street comes looking. Not enough time to do much but prepare for a firefight. He pulls the gun out of his jacket and checks the clip.
“What the fuck are you doing, Haywood?”
“Getting ready for your boy scout to come through the front door. If we’re lucky he’ll give us a good shot out the window, first. Pack up whatever you need for an extended vacation. Call one of your contacts. I’ll get you there.”
Jones steps up to him. “I am not leaving. I don’t give a shit about the house, or the stuff, or that piece of ass across the street. I have a hit to take here. I’ve already talked to my client. I’m not leaving Trenton until it’s done.”
Ryan thinks for a moment. “Fine. If he has a pistol, use furniture for cover and we’ll incapacitate him. If he comes in guns blazing, shoot to kill. I need to make a call before he shows up. You should call your closest contact and let them know we’ll need to hide out for a few hours once this is done. We’ll figure out your client then.”
Jones frowns, removes his beanie to run hands through surprisingly curly hair, then nods. “Fine. We’ll make it quick.”
Jones retreats to the living room to make his call, so Ryan stands in the entryway, making an effort to spot the camper through a miniscule gap in the curtains as his own phone rings. Geoff picks up two rings in. “What’s up?”
“I know it’s early in the op and Gavin is supposed to be on break right now, but I’m bringing a firefight to Jones and myself and I’m going to need base in my ear.”
“You’ve been on assignment for how long? Half an hour?” Geoff sighs and hangs up on him. Ryan plugs his earpiece into the transmitter. Gavin is online about fifteen seconds later.
“Ryan! You’re going to shoot a guy?”
“He’s probably going to try to shoot me first,” Ryan replies, Jones appearing in the entryway behind him. Ryan turns to indicate his earpiece. “Base is here. Your guy is still across the street.”
“Nope, here he comes,” Jones says, producing a pistol from his jeans. “We moving back?”
“We don’t want to try to take him in the doorway. Are you particularly attached to your furniture?”
“I’m always open to renovations. Called one of my cleanup guys in, but a little blood stain never hurt anybody,” Jones replies, backing into the living room. Ryan follows, hugging the wall beside the doorway. He leans into the entryway to watch the camper climb the front steps. Pretty mean-looking guy. Full beard, tall, hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt. He blends in pretty well if Ryan ignores the butt of the pistol hanging out of his jeans, barely visible.
“Target approaching front, armed. Will incapacitate if there is no need to SOS,” Ryan murmurs to Gavin. He wouldn’t have had time to set up surveillance even if they were staying, so this is the best he can do. Probably try not to die.
The camper knocks on the front door. Ryan turns back to make contact with Jones, and they share a nod. Silence for a moment. The safety on both guns clicks off at the same time they hear the first rattle of someone trying to turn the doorknob. A pause, then the telling clicks of someone picking the lock. Ryan shoos Jones in the direction of the couch. Hopefully he’ll hide behind it if he’s smart.
The camper gets the door unlocked fairly quickly, but it doesn’t take long to catch on the chain. He grumbles a little, briefly rustles something, and Ryan hears the chain slide open. Probably the loop trick, if he had to guess. The door creaks as it’s pushed wide. A few footsteps. Ryan shifts his hold on his gun, moves just a little closer to the doorway, and lashes out with an arm. The camper catches it before the butt of the pistol can make contact with his skull.
Okay, Ryan thinks. Fistfight was not in the agenda. He twists his arm toward himself to pull the camper in, but he doesn’t manage much distance before the hold is broken. The guy reaches for the gun at his waist. Ryan has his pointed at his forehead before he has a chance to pull it.
“What are you, some kind of half-assed bodyguard?”
“Full-assed bodyguard, actually.” And then Ryan shoots him in the forehead. Fuck that guy anyway.
“I thought we weren't shooting to kill,” Jones says. Looks like he never actually moved behind the couch. A shame.
“He called me half-assed. Gavin, target’s out, Jones and I are on the move,” Ryan says, then waves Jones in the direction of the dead guy. They each take an arm and move him behind the couch so the cleanup team can deal with him when they get in. He won’t be visible from the door, which is closed and rechained as the curtains beside it are drawn.
“Roger roger,” Gavin replies. Jones picks up what is obviously a bug-out bag as they exit through the back door. Ryan leads him to the car he has parked in a backlot down the street, keeping an eye out for any angry camper buddies. They are safely in the car, air conditioning on and Jones’ bag in the back before anyone speaks again.
“Still don’t need a bodyguard?” Ryan asks, adjusting the rearview mirror to look at Jones without looking at him.
“Now that I’ve seen you in action, I think I’m okay with someone else doing the dirty work. It was kind of hot.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Jones offers a nice glare, settling his phone - definitely a burner - in the center console, GPS set. “Shut the fuck up and drive. I’d like to see you shoot a guy in the levator scapulae at three hundred meters.”
“That's Michael, right?” Gavin is audibly smiling again. “Can I talk to him?”
Ryan unhooks the earpiece from his own ear and forks it over. Jones looks kind of confused, but Ryan leaves him to figure it out on his own. He has traffic to pull out into. It's pretty obvious Gavin has made contact when Jones starts to sound very irate.
“It's Michael, dumbass, not - no, I'm not cute, I fucking shoot people for a living. Fuck you.”
Ryan probably could have let them talk for the entirety of the drive if it weren't for the GPS’ first interruption about thirty seconds in.
“‘The roundabout, you must take’?” Ryan asks, not quite sure if he should be surprised or incredulous.
“Yeah, my GPS is Yoda. What the fuck about it?” Michael replies, distracted again almost immediately by Gavin. “I pirated it from this European website.”
“Your guy knows we're coming, right?”
“Yeah, he’s fucking overjoyed. He'll be waiting on the front lawn with a rotisserie chicken and at least three strippers.”
Ray is not waiting with chicken or strippers, but there is someone wearing an appropriate amount of clothing standing next to him when they pull up.
“Shit, Joel’s here,” Jones grumbles, unbuckling and practically climbing over the console to grab his bag from the backseat as Ryan clips his earpiece back into place.
“A bad thing?” he questions.
“When Joel is around, Ray is fucking starry-eyed or some bullshit. He’d let him stick his dick in his ear if he said please.” A pause as Jones picks his phone up from the console and stuffs it in his bag. “Joel is also my client. I’m taking care of an old friend of his.”
“I don't think your ‘taking care of’ means the same thing mine does,” Ryan says, but Jones is already out of the car and walking with purpose. Ryan follows, maintaining some distance. No need to hover. Or spook his friends. Or both.
“Yo, Michael, you killed anyone lately?” the one that must be Ray asks, grinning as he raises a hand to meet Michael with a high-five. The other one’s arm is slung around his shoulders.
“Nah, but Haywood got a good one in twenty minutes ago. Right in the fucking forehead.”
Joel looks pretty dangerous and is probably packing. If Michael called Ray first, he’s definitely not a poster child for legal anything. Ryan turns away for a moment to speak to Gavin. “Get me a check on these two in relation to Jones. If they’re clean, we’re good until we go out for the hit.”
“On it,” Gavin says cheerfully, and Ryan turns back to the group to Michael saying something about DiGornio’s. Ray is grinning at him.
“Don’t trust us?” he asks, but it’s more of a statement than a question.
“Just doing my job,” Ryan replies. “I wouldn’t trust you with my client as far as I could throw you until I’ve gotten a check in.”
“That’s probably pretty far. Be careful, he might actually throw you,” Joel is smiling. No one is taking the situation seriously. Awesome. Anything goes wrong, Ryan will shoot first and ask questions later.
“Are you going to invite me inside and feed me now, or what? I haven’t had fresh food in a week, Ray. I’ll pay for pizza and mozzies if someone else calls the delivery place.” Michael heaves his bag over his shoulder, moving toward the house. Ray and Joel keep pace, and Ryan follows a few steps behind. He’s a little out of his element, here. Bodyguarding a hitman is weird enough, but meeting up with his hitmen friends to order pizza while they figure out how to kill another guy is going to be a little weirder.
“What do you have in that bug-out, Michael?” Ray asks as they climb the front step, reaching forward to hold open the door. “Some bricks? A body?”
“My life,” Jones replies, stepping inside. “One forty-seven, an SR-25, a Barrett, and a fuckton of ammo.”
“I still think you should settle down,” Joel sighs.
“I still think you should mind your own damn business. Who’s calling? I want garlic bread, too.”
By the time the pizza shows up and Ray is breathing its scent like oxygen, Ryan is ready for a nap. He’s just resting his eyes for a moment, in fact, when Gavin starts yelling in his ear again. He only startles a little bit.
“They’re clean, Rye. Joel Heyman has some weird stuff on his criminal record, but nothing we haven’t seen before. Ray’s record is sparkling like a baby’s arse.”
“Thanks, Gav. You can go AWOL until we head out again.”
The connection beeps as it goes mute. Ryan looks up to the group at the coffee table to meet Michael’s gaze. He’s been staring. “See anything you like?”
“It’s fucking weird having someone follow me around and talk to people that aren’t there all the time.”
“You’ve spoken to him. He’s definitely there.”
“No, like,” Jones reaches for another slice of pizza while he thinks. Ray is already reaching for a third. “I’m doing my own thing and I hear you talking out of fucking nowhere. I’m used to that being a really bad thing, but you’re just talking to Gavin or whatever trying to make sure everyone knows what’s going on. That people are safe. There’s an entire fucking who-knows-how-many people doing the same thing you and Gavin do. I don’t get it yet. I can’t hear someone talking behind me and not turn around ready to punch a bitch out.”
“Don’t think too hard. You’ll hurt yourself,” Ray says through a mouthful of pizza.
“Sure seems like a lot of people want you dead, kid,” Joel says, biting a mozzarella stick in half. “You sure you can hit Sonntag?”
“Easy,” Jones replies. “That’s what my hot bodyguard is here for. Have you seen his handcuffs?”
“We buy in bulk,” Ryan says, glancing at his watch, then looking back up to watch Michael throw a pizza crust at Ray. “We need to work out what we’re doing for your hit. We’re losing light.”
“Demarais gave me what he had.” Joel turns to dig into the drawers of the sidetable behind him, pulls out what looks like a lot of information on a few pieces of paper, and slides the packet across the table to Michael, who peruses it for a moment.
“What he has is a lot of weird shit and some useful schedule shit,” Michael frowns, flipping a page.
“It’s Chris. It’s probably not safe to expect any not-weird shit.”
“Fair,” Michael says, flipping to the last page. Reading for a moment. “If we get there after six, he’ll be in his room at Homewood Suites. This hotel has two wings, so if we’re lucky I can shoot from the roof. If the angle is too sharp, I can set up on top of the maintenance shed once it gets dark, but we’ll have to book it out of there the second I get it in.”
“What if the information is inaccurate?” Ryan asks. There are probably a lot of things that could go wrong, here. He doesn’t like any of them. Everyone at the table turns to stare at him.
“There are a lot of things we don’t do the same, Haywood, but everyone knows how to improvise,” Michael replies. Ryan frowns. He’d really like there to be a minimum of improvisation. His job is great when people don’t do that.
“Where are we heading after it’s done?”
“You could come back here,” Ray offers. “It’s been a while since we’ve gotten drunk and played Super Mario until four in the morning.”
“We can’t,” Ryan says before Michael can agree. He gets a glare for it. “If anyone is on our trail, they’ll know we came back here and you’ll both be targets, too. I’d rather not."
Michael regards him warily for a moment, then pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts typing. “I have a safehouse in Pittsburgh. I haven’t been there in a few months, so it should be clear of any parasites. It’s a few hours of driving, but if we move fast we can make it before tomorrow.”
“I’d like to get a few hours of sleep before you run off and take three more jobs, so it’s a good plan so far,” Ryan replies. “We need to go as soon as you’re done here if you want to make six-thirty.”
“This is almost as good as Chinese food,” Michael says, waving a mozzarella stick in his direction to flip him the bird. “Fuck you.”
