Aug 14, 2021
me, reading the bones update through tears, gets the "// farewell wander..." notif: ah shit here we go again
Mamma Mia starts up in the background
seen from China
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Libya
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Yemen
seen from United States
seen from India
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Malaysia
me, reading the bones update through tears, gets the "// farewell wander..." notif: ah shit here we go again
Mamma Mia starts up in the background
I mean, I adore all your work, but I answered the ones I could lol 1) No Future Past Tomorrow!!!! (or anything you've written that I'd requested, like idk how you do it but you always write exactly what I imagine) 5) Were-bear Michael is my fav rn, like yessss 7) Michael!!! (Tbh all of them but Michael has always been my fav so) 12) No Future Past Tomorrow!!!!!!!! I love your writing style, which means that I love everything you write, and you always set up amazing scenes! So like
!!! Thank you, friend!
NFPT is honestly one of the favorit things I’ve written in any fandom I’ve been in. I love soulmate AUs but haven’t written many of them and this was one of those fics that basically wrote itself because it was just a fun prompt to write for these two. <333! Oh my God, were-bear Michael is like. The best cracky fun for me because it’s so ridiculous and hilarious to me? But also super fun to write, especially with Ryan being ??? and a little >:( while were-bear Michael and Gavin make his life just that much stranger?(Also were-bear cuddles. XD)
MIchael is my absolute favorite to write out of the AH bbunch because it’s always just fun. His fondness for his idiots and the sheer why would you do that??? frustration he gets? Pluse being a devious bastard himself and all ??? about it because he’s just standing there, you know? ;D
!!!Ahhhh!!! Thank you, again! I’m smiling so much right now because I’m bad at word when not in fic form?But omg, I’m so happy to know you enjoy my writing and I’m full of feels and flailing and just. Yes. Please know I apprecate you (and everyone out there reading this who also read my stuff) and I love you!!!
<33333333333333!
Would you be up for doing Michael and Gavin in E2 and D2 respectively pls? (I love your art so much)
Communication Breakdown (1/1)
Summary: Matt fucked up.
He really, really fucked up.
Gavin is staring at him in shock and the rest of the crew is in various states of panic and alarm and Matt’s really fucked up now.
Notes: For @queen-bitchiest who asked for something based on this post that kind of sort of got away from me and is somewhat similar. /o\
(Read on AO3)
Matt fucked up.
He really, really fucked up.
Gavin is staring at him in shock and the rest of the crew is in various states of panic and alarm and Matt’s really fucked up now.
(To be fair, Gavin’s been pissing Matt off for the last forever, doing the stupidest shit and thinking it’s just fine and dandy and all of that and Matt has had fucking enough, okay? So much enough he doesn’t have the words for how much enough.)
“...What?”
Matt clears his throat, glancing at the others – still confused as hell and trying to make sense of the scene in front of them - and Matt’s bad knee is not enjoying any of this, okay.
So not.
“I said,” Matt says, clearing his throat again because that goddamn cough is acting up again. “Will you marry me, you piece of shit.”
There’s -
“Wow,” Jack says, first to recover. “Just. Wow, Matt.”
Michael has this look on his face like he’s been sucking lemons, hand clamped on Jeremy’s shoulder tight enough that even he’s wincing. Hissing at Michael to ease up a bit, Jesus Christ, Michael.
Matt has no fucking clue what that’s about, but hey whatever. He’s busy staring Gavin down like the idiot has a gun on him and fuck him anyway.
Idiot looks like he’s been through a meat-grinder, all bloody and beat up. Those fucking gold-framed sunglasses of his hooked into the collar of his shirt, lenses cracked and broken and goddamn him anyway.
“I’m pretty sure that’s not what you said before,” Ryan points out, quibbling just to quibble.
Geoff looks like he wishes these assholes he recruited could stop with their bullshit for like, five goddamn minutes for once.
Lindsay snaps a picture of Matt down on one knee in front of Gavin on her phone and sends it to someone. (Odds are good it’s Trevor who took Alfredo and Fiona out of town for a job because they have an agreement.)
And, okay, yes.
The first time Matt didn’t call Gavin a piece of shit – out loud, at any rate – but they all know he was thinking it. Especially after Gavin’s little adventure today.
“Matt,” Gavin says, strained note to his voice. “Could I have a word with you in private?”
Matt opens his mouth to tell him no, no he can not because he knows what Gavin’s about to say, but this being Gavin, eh doesn’t give him the chance.
No, Gavin pulls Matt to his feet and drags him along behind him as they head for the conference room, catcalls and Geoff’s despairing, “Don’t fuck in my conference room, you assholes!” following them.
========
The décor in the conference room is very...bland.
No-nonsense hardwood laminate and this odd off-white paint for the walls. Glass-topped conference table with brushed-steel legs.
The view’s nice, looks out over the city. You can see the mountains in the distance, and if it’s a clear day you can almost see Chiliad.
“Matt,” Gavin says, a little shaky. “What. What was that?”
Matt staring out the windows, but it’s the opposite of a clear day. Fat, heavy rain clouds with lightning and thunder out over Vinewood and moving towards the penthouse.
Supposed to be one hell of a storm rolling in, at least a couple of inches of rain before night rolls around.
Matt looks over at Gavin, who still looks like shit, by the way, and crosses his arms. (Gavin almost got himself killed today, and Matt is not okay with that in any way, as though that will change things. Make the reckless idiot think twice before pulling those stunts of his.)
“What?” Matt asks, frown on his face and just enough confusion thrown in there that for a moment Gavin looks like he’s doubting himself, what he thinks he heard in the penthouse’s living room. “I didn't say anything.”
And, alright.
That's pushing things a little too far because Gavin’s eyes narrow, all the stupid, reckless decision making abilities he has shoved aside to make way for the sharp-eyed bastard that enjoys playing dumb too damn much.
“There was a plan,” Gavin says, although which one he’s talking about is up for debate. “We had a plan, Matt.”
They did, didn’t they.
“Oh?” Matt says. “Which one might that be, Gavin? The one where you were supposed to stick with Ryan, and not go off on your own? Or maybe you mean the one where you avoid the pack of guards with itchy trigger fingers? Ooh, or maybe - “
God, there are so many plans Gavin could be talking about. And true, they’re all smaller components to the master plan for the heist, but still.
“Uh,” Gavin says, like he realizes he’s stepped into a mine-field here. “None of the above?”
Matt stares at Gavin.
Look, he knows, okay. Matt knows this...thing they’ve been doing the past few weeks is a farce. Knows none of it was real, was just Gavin being Gavin, trying to get the others off his back about his dating dry spell. (And it’s not like there’s a dating site for criminals or anything, so Matt doesn’t know what they were thinking, but whatever.)
Matt drew the short straw and he was fine, just fine with pretending to be Gavin’s plus one because hey, why not?
It was funny at first, watching the others react to the news Gavin was dating him. That he and Matt were a Thing. The expressions of horror and disgust as he and Gavin tried to out-do one another with pet names at every available opportunity, Matt trying to hold his shit together while Gavin simpered at him over the comms and just.
He kind of forgot for a while it wasn’t – look, he knows it will never happen, just.
Matt forgot, let himself get swept along in Gavin’s chaos and had fun. Enjoyed himself a little too much and -
Point is, point is, for the last few weeks Matt’s life has been a super crappy romcom, and he just made things worse.
There was supposed to be this dramatic breakup after the heist, just enough to have everyone else fall for it hook, line, and sinker. Get them to buy it the way they thought someone like Gavin would be interested in someone like Matt – great joke, right? - but Matt fucked that up.
Saw Gavin standing there after everything that happened giving him this look, all well? Get on with it then, we don’t have all day like he hadn’t come so damn close to dying, and Matt snapped.
Just.
Fucking snapped the way the betting pool Jack’s got going Matt’s not supposed to know about says he’s bound to one day with all the shit the crew gives him.
Matt snapped and instead of breaking up with Gavin he proposed to him.
Gavin’s still watching him.
Head tipped to the side and this little frown on his face, puzzling out what the hell’s gotten into Matt.
“Matt,” Gavin says, oddly formal about it. “While I know it can be confusing, breaking up rarely involves a marriage proposal.”
They kind of do? (Or maybe Matt’s lived a very different life from Gavin, because yeah. He's seen shit go down like this before.)
“Shows what you know,” Matt mutters.
Gavin sighs, and shuffles over to one of the conference room chairs. Makes this pained little noise as he sits down, winces just the tiniest bit.
“Matt,” he says, and gently pats the table. “Sit the hell down and talk to to me.”
Oh, such sweet nothings.
“I’m good where I am, thanks,” Matt says, always too stubborn for his own good.
Several minutes go by while Gavin studies him, wheels turning in that head of his.
Alright then, love,” Gavin says, and Matt’s fingers dig into his arm at how the term of endearment just slips off his tongue so easily.
Light and soft and not Matt’s alone because Gavin’s just as likely to call one of the others that or someone he bumps into on the street than Matt, so.
Yeah.
Not his, and he’s fine with that, but the past few weeks have fucked with Matt’s head a little too much. Gotten everything he used to keep (somewhat) neat and orderly in and locked down tight in his head all jumbled together and he’s just.
He’s tired.
“Matt,” Gavin says, concern creeping into his voice. “Are you okay?”
Matt kind of wants to laugh, or is it cry?
“I’m fine, Gavin,” he says, because he always is, right? Good old Matt Bragg, always there when the others need him, even if it’s to play fake boyfriend for some dumbshit. “Just fine.”
Gavin sighs, and when Matt looks over he realizes Gavin looks tired too.
Gotta be hurting like a son of a bitch too, after the day he’s had. Too many close calls and an unhealthy amount of explosions in his vicinity and all that.
“You should have someone look you over,” Matt says, done with this conversation. “You look like shit.”
Gavin’s mouth twists, but Matt’s not in the mood for his bullshit anymore.
“I’ve got...stuff to do,” he says. He trusts B-Team to have things in hand, all the post-heist work they have to do to keep the authorities off their backs, but he needs to be doing something. Cant’ just stand around with his thumb up his ass reliving one of the worst days of his life in his head while Gavin sits there staring at him like he doesn’t get it. “I’ll talk to you later.”
He leaves before Gavin can say anything else, pushes past the cluster of idiots outside the conference room doors and ignores the looks they give him as he does.
========
Matt hides out as much as he can for the next week, makes up excuses and flat-out lies to avoid facing the others in any capacity. (Thank God for B-Team running interference or he might have had to talk about his feelings.)
But then, you know.
The food poisoning hits, and he’s vulnerable like a turtle turtle turned on its back. Or is that tortoises?
Whichever one it is, he’s too sick to run when Trevor finally catches him.
“There you are.”
Matt doesn’t cringe, no.
That would just tip Trevor off as to Matt’s horrible life choices even more. No, Matt just feel his stomach clench up on him. (Could be the food poisoning, but he doesn’t get the accompanying nausea, just this all-over dread, so. Probably the feelings thing.)
“Matt?” Trevor asks, and then when Matt pretends he can’t hear him what with his headphones in, sternly, “Matt Bragg”
Matt would keep pretending he can’t hear Trevor, but then the asshole yanks the cord of his headphone out of Matt’s computer and he has to slap at the keyboard to mute the volume before it’s too late and Trevor hears what he’s listening to.
“Is that...Matt. Is that Sarah McLachlan ?”
Matt winces, and doesn’t deny it. (But oh, would he love to.)
“It’s a scientific fact,” Matt says, trying to hold on to whatever dignity he has left. “It's a scientific fact that listening to sad music after a breakup is beneficial.”
He’s pretty sure he just pulled that out of his ass, but whatever. The saddest song he can think of is from that one damned humane society commercial, God knows he feels like shit just thinking about it.
And...you know, the thing where he and Gavin weren’t actually dating, but. Uh. Details?
Trevor stares at him for a moment before shaking his head.
“Okay, whatever the hell that’s all about aside, I came to check on you.”
Well, obviously, what with Trevor picking the locks on Matt’s front door, yes.
“And!” Trevor continues, “I brought you a gift.”
That’s...concerning.
Deeply, deeply concerning.
Trevor’s smiling.
“Uh - “
Trevor’s smiling and Matt’s known him too long not to recognize the warning signs, and yet he’s still caught by surprise when Trevor reveals said “gift”.
“Bring him in!” Trevor calls out, like a demented game show host ushering in a contestant.
Behind Trevor Matt’s front door swings open to show Jeremy and a reluctant looking Gavin. Jeremy all but dragging Gavin inside, this manic grin on his face as he gives Gavin a little shove towards Matt and then blocks the door.
“Hey, Matt!” Jeremy says, and bright and cheerful and not a little terrifying. “Look who we found!”
Would you look at that? The nausea’s back, because Gavin’s not looking at him.
Is, in fact, looking at Trevor and Jeremy, everything thing about him screaming that he doesn’t want to be here, dear God you two, please let him leave,.
Trevor’s smiles kicks up another notch as he leans around Gavin and pins Matt with a look.
“You two kids play nice now,” he says with a wink. “We’ll be right outside.”
What.
“What?”
But Trevor borrows Matt’s earlier trick of selective hearing because he just waltzes right on out of Matt’s apartment with Jeremy and shuts the door behind them.
“Uh,” Matt says again, because what the hell? “Hey, Gavin.”
Gavin flinches, which is never a good sign.
He flinches, and turns to look at Matt.
Still looks like shit, but like. Less so.
The bruises are fading, no longer that dark, ugly purple Matt remembers from the penthouse. The cuts on his face and neck have scabbed over, should heal without scarring.
But there are dark marks under his eyes that weren’t there the last time Matt saw him, and he looks. Tired. Not the way he normally looks, burning the candle at both ends and thriving off it, no, he looks exhausted.
“You look like shit in a completely different way,” Matt says, because he’s never had a whole brain-to-mouth filter, and boy has that gotten him into trouble in the past. “No offense.”
Gavin makes a face at that, mouth quirking into the tiniest of smiles.
“Oh, no offense taken then since you said that, Matt,” he says, dumb little in-joke with them.
And then you know, an awkward pause.
Neither of them want to be here having the discussion they’re about to have because Trevor and Jeremy are assholes.
“I have a fire escape?” Matt offers, waves a hand more or less in the right direction. “But I have a feeling they roped Alfredo into this mess, and you know Alfredo.”
No doubt set up in a sniper’s nest in case they try to sneak out the back.
“Oh, they did,” Gavin says, eyes darting to Matt’s living room windows. “Fiona’s out there too.”
Jesus.
That’s something Matt didn’t need to know considering she has to be itching to take him down for all the shit he gives her.
“Awesome,” Matt says, because really.
Awesome.
Gavin’s watching Matt, this little frown between his eyes. All concerned and shit.
“You look terrible,” Gavin says, takes a step towards Matt before he stops himself, pulls the hand that was reaching towards him back with a jerky little motion. “Are you alright?”
Matt is super not alright, because the food poisoning. (And also his terrible life choices, but mainly the food poisoning at this point.)
“Well, you know,” Matt says. “Food poisoning will do that to you.”
Interestingly enough, Gavin winces. Opens and closes his mouth a few times like he’s got something to say and just doesn’t know how.
Like maybe he knows something Matt doesn’t, or just. Who even knows.
“Gavin?”
Gavin does the thing he does when he’s trying to translate from Gavin to English and failing, so he settles for vague hand gestures and words that are kind of sort of almost right with random noises thrown in.
It sounds like gibberish, and Matt can never tell if it’s some kind of British slang or Gavin’s brain shorting out.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that?”
Gavin sighs, looking at Matt like he’s the idiot here.
“I said,” Gavin says. “You should be nicer to Sarah.”
Matt’s positive that isn’t what Gavin said, but sure.
Also.
“Wait.”
Gavin raises his eyebrows, corner of his mouth ticking up like he thinks something is hilarious but he doesn’t want to look like an asshole. (Too late, but Matt appreciates the attempt.)
“Wait.”
Matt likes Sarah, he does. Gives her a lot of grief because he likes her, because like everyone else in the crew it’s how he shows affection or some shit. (They’re all a fucked up.)
Problem is, Sarah is a monster of a human being.
Plays all sweet and nice, but Matt knows she’s plotting behind his back, waiting for the right moment to lay him low so she can take his place and rule with an iron fist or some shit.
Or, you know. Just lay him low because he gives her shit and she’s not someone who takes kindly to that, whichever.
“She brought me my lunch,” Matt says, feeling like a detective in some shitty Vinewood movie putting the pieces together.
Sarah brought Matt his lunch, and the the food poisoning happened and he was too busy trying to puke up his guts to ponder overmuch how the food poisoning happened, or question if it was intentional.
“Oh my God,” Matt says, impressed despite of himself because she was so smooth about it, all happy smiles and kind and generous to get lunch for B-Team, just doing a good deed and dear God she’s far more devious than he gave her credit for. “Oh my God.”
Gavin bites his lip, looks away. Doesn’t laugh at Matt while struggles to come to terms with this most heinous of betrayals, no.
God no, Gavin would never.
“If it helps,” Gavin says, shoulders shaking just the tiniest bit. “I’m certain Trevor put her up to it.”
That...yeah. That doesn’t surprise Matt as much. Trevor would thinking giving Matt food poisoning would give him the perfect opening to instigate this...whatever this is.
(Oh, everyone thinks Trevor’s the nice one. All polite and shit, but no. Trevor is the worst one in the entire crew, including Sarah.)
“Of course he did,” Matt mutters. “It’s Trevor.”
Gavin clears his throat, shuffles his feet.
Catches Matt eye for a moment, this smile on his face before he looks away again just as fast.
Looks awkward as hell and Matt can’t figure out if that little flicker of guilt he saw on his face before he did was real or just a figment of his imagination.
And then -
“I bollocksed everything up between us, didn't I?” Gavin asks, staring at the ugly little garden garden gnome statue Jeremy stole for Matt on a dare with a frown on his face. “Did everything all wrong.”
Matt says nothing. He’s not sure what he can say, so he lets Gavin talk it out since that seems to be what he needs right now.
Something about the crew giving him grief over his non-existent romantic life and Gavin having enough. Wanting just a little bit of peace and quiet on that front as he wrestled with crew business and gearing up for the heist and a million and one other things.
Matt makes noises in the appropriate places because knows all about that, remembers Gavin explaining it to him when he made that indecent proposal of his. (Should have been a warning sign he did it over dinner, took Matt out to one of his favorite places to sweeten the deal. Butter him up, all that stuff.)
“It just...” Gavin sighs, gives Matt this wry smile. “It all got out of hand.”
That’s one way to put it.
“I thought,” Gavin sighs again, frustrated. “I thought I had it under control. Figured it was just for a little while, that I wouldn’t...wouldn’t lose sight of things.”
Matt’s stomach does this little flip, a dip and roll and the nausea is...doing something. Has him sinking down on his couch and giving Gavin a wordless shrug as he mimes food poisoning kind of sucks at him, or something close enough that Gavin seems to get it.
Matt watches as Gavin takes a seat in the crappy arm chair on the other side of Matt’s coffee table. Sees him fiddle with the strings on his hoodie, worrying the knot between his fingers.
“Michael told me it was a bad idea,” Gavin says, mumbles almost. “Said I was playing with fire, going to get burned and all that, but I didn’t listen to him. Told him he couldn’t say anything, and you know how he is.”
Oh, Matt knows.
Asshole would have either gone to Matt the moment he figured everything out to fuck with Gavin or he’d have Gavin’s back the whole way. (Or a little bit of both, give Matt more shit than usual and drop little comments here and there that were confusing as hell at the time, but now? Yeah. That whole hindsight thing is a bitch.)
Gavin makes a face, waves his hand in even more vague gestures.
“Can’t keep a secret from Michael to save my life,” he says. “Bastard’s good at sniffing ‘em out.”
Or maybe he just knows Gavin that well. (Also, Matt’s will pass on the nose jokes because the mood in the room is all wrong. Noble sacrifice on his part right there.)
Gavin shrugs, like he knows what Matt’s thinking.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to go the way it did,” Gavin says, fingers moving on to picking the hoodie string apart, undoing the knot and unraveling the string. “But it was just too much bloody fun messing with the others, but then it...”
Gavin trails off, frowning at the bits of fabric stuck under his nails like he doesn’t know where they came from. Scowls as he sets to pulling them free, making a messy pile of shredded fluff on Matt’s coffee table like an asshole.
“It got complicated,” Matt finishes for him. Because it did. He knows what Gavin means, because it really was fun at first.
The two of them fucking with the others, and just enjoying the ride. Getting the chance to know one another better, which was the main problem. Kicked that crush Matt had on Gavin into overdrive. Made him realize that hey, wow, that little crush he’d had on Gavin since he joined the crew wasn’t middle school infatuation with the guy. That he had feelings for Gavin even though he damn well knew better than that.
Knew perfectly well what a piece of shit Gavin was and he still liked him. (Liked-liked, even.)
But by then it was too late to keep himself from getting hurt and he knew that, he did, he just didn’t give a damn.
Gavin plucks the last bit of cloth out from under his nails and sighs.
“Yeah,” he says, sounding tired and defeated and guilty as Matt’s ever heard him. “That.”
Which, okay, great. Nice to know and everything, but -
“I like you,” Gavin blurts out, still staring at his hands, his nails. “A lot, Matt. I like you a lot.”
Matt doesn’t know what that means in this context.
“Well,” he says. Stops. Thinks, or tries to, but he’s kind of an idiot. “That’s great to hear, Gavin. I like you too.”
God, they sound like toddlers.
No, worse, because toddlers can express their emotions. What the two of them are doing is just sad.
Gavin looks up at him, like Matt’s not understanding him.
“No,” he says, insistent. “I like you, Matt.”
...Okay?
Gavin stares at Matt, who looks back feeling like he’s missing something but no clue what it could be and oh, Jesus, he hates moments like these, okay. Really, really hates them because they end with Matt being used as bait or conned into doing something he super doesn’t want to be part of. (See: Pretending to Date Gavin-fucking-Free as just one example.)
“Oh my God,” Gavin says, laughter a little hysterical at the edges. “Oh my God, Matt.”
Matt freezes when Gavin shoves himself to his feet and climbs over Matt’s coffee table - “Hey, my coffee table!” - to stand in front of him.
Looks down at Matt with that frown on his face again, the puzzle-solving one and sighs as he gives Matt this smile.
Soft and warm and too...too much.
Has Matt trying to move, back away from him because no>, but there’s nowhere for him to go. Can’t climb over the back of the couch because his balance is shit at the moment, and also he’s not the athletic sort.
Also, he might puke if he tries it.
“Matt Bragg,” Gavin says, and gets down on his knees in front of Matt to put them on even ground.
...Even-ish.
“You’re kind of an idiot, Matt Bragg,” Gavin says, and the way his voice sounds is all kinds of unfair, just as soft and affectionate as that damned smile of his. “And I’m not sure why, but I like that about you.”
That’s. Wow. Flattering?
“Um, thanks?”
Gavin rolls his eyes, because Matt isn’t a hundred percent on board with whatever it is he’s doing here – giving Matt backhanded compliments while confusing the hell out of him maybe? - and shakes his head.
“I’d like to date you,” Gavin says in one big rush. Breathes. “Properly, I mean. Take you out to all your favorite...restaurants and to movies and all that.”
Matt squints at Gavin.
He knows that that hesitation regarding Matt’s “restaurants” was all about. Knows everyone in the crew cannot fathom how he hasn’t died of scurvy or malnutrition yet with the way he eats. Knows what Gavin thinks about all of it, and yet here he is being mildly insulting about it.
That’s Gavin making an effort, really trying. More than Matt ever hoped for, and it’s -
Matt likes it.
Likes that Gavin’s making an effort here, letting Matt see him like this when he’s always so guarded about things. (Laughs and jokes, sure, and always, always deflecting.)
He’s still having a hard time buying someone as brilliant, as vibrant as Gavin would be interested in someone as – well. Someone like Matt, but there’s this part of him that wants to because Matt knows Gavin’s a piece of shit, sure, but he’s not someone who’d knowingly set out to fuck with Matt’s feelings.
Leap of faith, trust fall. Something like that.
“Wow,” Matt says, and he doesn’t know if the way his heart kicks him in the chest is related to the food poisoning or something else, or if it’s anything to do with how nervous Gavin looks right now. “That really hurt you to say didn’t it.”
Gavin’s eyes widen, and Matt can see him jumping to all the wrong conclusions, so he just.
“Okay,” Matt says, and laughs at the way Gavin chokes a little bit between trying to apologize harder and the confusion at Matt’s easy agreement. “Yeah, okay. We can do that. The dating thing. I’m super on board with that.”
Gavin’s not wrong about Matt being an idiot, because talk about smooth, but hey. Gavin’s the idiot who wants to date Matt, so what does that say about him?
And yes, for the record Matt knows he’s insulting himself there, but seriously.
Gavin could have anyone he wanted and he’s choosing Matt.
And sure, there’s every chance this won’t work out between them, but that’s the risk anyone takes when they date someone, isn’t it?
Give him a little hope and he goes all optimistic, doesn’t he? Because it’s possible this can still blow up in their faces, but Matt’s trying to ignore that for the moment. Wants to believe it can (it can) work between them if they’re both willing to put in some effort, be a little more honest with one another.
“...I feel like you’re laughing at me, Matt Bragg.”
Matt pastes on an innocent expression, because good lord no, Gavin. He would never dare do such a thing.
“Perish the thought,” he says, and laughs at the look Gavin gives him because they’re both idiots and this is such a bad idea, but that’s kind of what they do, so there’s that.
Gavin sighs again, but there’s a smile playing on his lips and he looks. He looks happy, like he can’t believe Matt’s giving him a chance, second one or whatever this is, and that can’t be a bad thing.
“Hey,” Matt says, leans forward and waits until Gavin does the same. “I kind of like you too, Gavin.”
i just wanna say that i adore all of your fics and not-fics equally. you put just as much effort into the not-fics as you do fics. and its nit like you have had a normal update schedule (or at least since i started following you) in the first place! appreciate all you do vagrant!
Thank you, friend! I have a lot of fun writing both. There’s something ~liberating with not!fic where I get to explore whatever weird/wacky idea or scenario my brain comes up with and not overthink plot or structure the way I do with fics.
Ahaha, yeah, no. Unless it’s something I’ve got written ahead of time I’m terrible with keeping to a regular writing schedule. (Maybe One Day, though. XD)
Thank you so much, friend, I appreciate you and all you do very much! <333
No Future Past Tomorrow (1/1)
Summary: These are the things Ryan knows about soulmates:
1. Everyone has one. (Except for the people who don’t, but no one talks about that.)
2. There’s a whole industry built up around it. (Because capitalism.)
3. Everyone gets their happily ever after. (Except for the people who don’t, but no one talks about that either.)
Notes: Prompt fill for @queen-bitchiest who wanted Myan and soulmarks and then Things Happened. :D?
(Read on AO3)
These are the things Ryan knows about soulmates:
1. Everyone has one. (Except for the people who don’t, but no one talks about that.)
2. There’s a whole industry built up around it. (Because capitalism.)
3. Everyone gets their happily ever after. (Except for the people who don’t, but no one talks about that either.)
There are other things Ryan knows about soulmates.
The fact some people are born with their soulmate’s name written on their skin, and some gain a soulmark later in life. Some have ugly black smears on their skin where their soulmate’s name is supposed to be because life isn’t like the movies and sometimes people miss their soulmates. (Born too soon or not late enough. Maybe the life is more unfair than you thought and they die young, leaving you with their name blacked out and this ache in your chest for what could have been.)
He knows being soulmates doesn’t guarantee happiness and love because his parents were soulmates and they hated each other. Fought just about every damn day of his life he can remember, loud shouting matches and hurled dishes and crockware. Slamming doors and cold, heavy silence that filled the house like smoke in a burning house.
This bitter anger and resentment to them about the lives they could have had cut short because of their soulmarks.
Fate and Destiny and their kid who tied them to a shitty little town in the south because that’s what you do when you have a kid. You sweep all your hopes and dreams into the gutter and hunker down to take care of the little shit, because that’s how it goes. (Or maybe they were wrong, but the damage was done years ago and Ryan gets to carry that with him wherever he goes.)
For the longest time he thinks he’s been lucky enough to dodge that bullet. No name indelibly inked into his skin meant to guide him to his soulmate, and it’s -
It’s a relief, because even after his parents die in a car accident when he’s a kid he still remembers the anger in their voices. The way they twisted something meant to be a good thing into something so ugly. (How terrified it made him, checking again and again and again just to make sure he didn’t have one.)
But then he goes into the foster system, gets bounced all over the place because he’s different.
Quiet and solemn, and no soulmark – a freak - even though it’s widely accepted that most soulmarks don’t appear until puberty at the earliest.
It’s an excuse, flimsy as it is, for people who can’t, won’t understand the ten-eleven-twelve-why bother keeping track year-old kid who they let into their home. Look at him and his situation and think about how kind, compassionate it will make them seem to others, taking him in out of the goodness of their heart. (Poor little orphan without a name on his skin, so tragic.)
Making a token effort to get to know him before realizing kids are work, and Ryan, strange little Ryan more than they imagined. (Kindles that little spark of anger, deep in his chest he inherited from his parents, each new set of foster parents who take him in adding fuel to the fire.)
Puberty hits, and when his soulmark doesn’t appear it gets harder and harder for the social workers to place him into a suitable home.
(No one talks about it, but there’s a bias towards those who don’t have a soulmark.)
When he’s fourteen, there’s a program, and he’s sent to the Midwest.
Somewhere with corn, or something like that, he doesn’t care about the details. (Doesn’t expect to be there long.)
He gets placed with a family that has another foster kid like his staying with them. Precocious little brat with dark hair and dark eyes and all these questions about the world and how it works.
The moment he meets them, Ryan knows he has no place there in their happy little family, but they bring him into their lives anyway.
Give him his own room and let him settle in at his own pace and he’s just so tired after being moved from place to place for so long he doesn’t have energy to be angry about things anymore.
Their little boy watches Ryan with wide eyes, uncertain about this stranger taking up space in his home, and Ryan doesn’t blame him.
Keeps his distance and careful not to infringe. Doesn’t want to scare the kid or risk getting attached because Ryan knows something this good can’t last, but the little brat has other ideas once he gets over his initial wariness.
All wide eyes and this hopeful little “Ryan, Ryan, come look at the stars with me tonight, please?” one day.
He’s only allowed to stargaze if there’s someone there to keep an eye on him, so Ryan knows it’s more self-interest than anything else, but he gives in anyway.
Ryan’s a feet on the ground sort of person. Life lessons and just the way things go, but he does some reading, learns about things he has a passing interest in if at all just so he can sit on the back deck with the brat and point at the constellations.
“That’s Orion.”
He starts with an easy one and bites back a grin when he gets a withering look and a snarky little “I know that one already, Ryan. It’s in my book,” and moves on to Ursa Major and Ursa Minor. Tries not to laugh when the brat crosses his arms and pouts at him because Ryan promised to teach him the ones he doesn’t already know.
“Alright, alright,” he says, resists the urge to smooth the brat’s hair down because it’s always this wild mess, chaotic as the thoughts and ideas crowding his head. “Why don’t you tell me the ones you know so I know where to pick up?”
The brat gives him this look like he thinks Ryan’s just humoring him. There’s hurt in there because he’s so damn smart, but no one seems to realize just how smart he is and for whatever reason thought Ryan would be different.
After a moment he sighs and points out constellations from the book he’s shown to Ryan. Big hardcover with beautiful pictures of the night sky and beyond and more consideration for someone’s interest Ryan’s seen so far in life.
He knows it can’t last, that it’s too good for him, but goddamn does he wish it could.
========
Ryan’s sixteen when he sees it.
Almost misses it, glancing at his reflection in the bathroom mirror after a shower. Blood freezing in his veins when he does, hand shaking as he wipes condensation off the glass and leans closer to see better.
Bold black script curled around the back of his neck spelling out a name, and there’s no conscious thought to it when his fist goes through the mirror.
He can’t even put a name to the emotions he’s feeling as he stares at the shattered glass, fragmented images of a wide-eyed teenager staring back.
His little brother (not-brother, not) knocking on the door to ask if he’s okay and their foster parents (not his) shushing him while they try to coax Ryan to open the door.
Worry and concern and Ryan closes his eyes and focuses on getting himself under control because this – he always knew it wouldn’t last. (Broken, wrong.)
========
Ryan knows what it takes to be a problem.
Being himself worked for a while, but then came this program and Indiana and this mismatched family that somehow worked.
But now -
That anger he could ignore, shove down deep, it’s back.
All those memories of his parents and all their arguments. The yelling, the fighting. The resentment. Anger so bright it hurt to look at.
He remembers their funeral.
All the adults offering him their condolences because it’s what you do in that kind of situation. Brave smiles on their faces and telling him he looked just like them, spitting image. All the ways he was their child, took after them and the fear he felt taking root because they didn’t know. (His parents saved the fighting, the anger, for home. Played happy family where others could see.)
And now there’s a name on the back of his neck like a collar, a chain, heavy and choking and why? Why now?
He thinks about it, what it means to be his parents’ kid.
The bitter anger and resentment because they’d found their soulmate, and it ruined them.
Worries what will happen if (when?) he finds his soulmate because he doesn’t want that kind of life, can barely manage to get through the one he has now.
Thinks about his little (not-brother, never his) brother and how he doesn’t want him to know what Ryan really is.
He gets in fights.
Bigger, stronger than the other kids and he’s got anger behind it.
Gets in fights and ignores his foster parents when they try to help (all wrong, because they care) and people take notice.
Worry about Ryan’s little brother, the other kids the foster parents want to bring into their lives and it’s -
It’s a goodbye in the middle of the night because Ryan’s brother (not-brother) is still so smart.
It’s Ryan and the bag on his back and all these words choking him because it was nice, for a little while. (A year, two, and long enough to think maybe his parents were wrong about everything, so of course it wouldn’t last.)
It’s Ryan and the money he’s saved from little jobs here there. Lawns mowed, sidewalks shoveled.
Small things to help out, make him less of a burden and gently refused because no, honey, no, that’s not what this is about. (A bank account that will never be opened in his name, but that’s fine, it’s okay. No paper trail.)
Ryan leaves, promises to write his brother but knows that won’t last either. Harder to disappear if someone has your address.
He keeps up with it for the first month, lets it trail off until he stops writing altogether and swallows the guilt and regret down deep. (More fuel for that anger deep in his chest, blaze waiting to catch fire.)
========
Ryan doesn’t stop moving once he starts.
Just goes and goes and goes wherever he can, however he can.
Hitches rides with the lost and the lonely on their way to somewhere. Friendly truckers looking for someone to listen to the stories they’ve told a hundred times before.
Has a few run-ins with assholes and creeps who see a kid on their own on the side of the road and get ideas. (You’ve got such a pretty face and it’s so lonely on the road kid, what d’ya say?)
Ryan’s never broken anyone’s jaw before but he can’t say he regrets it.
He starts carrying a knife after that. Cheap little thing he picks up at a gas station somewhere in Nebraska with a bald eagle etched into the handle.
Tacky as hell, but it saves his life enough times for him not to mind as much.
Ryan grows his hair out to keep people from asking about the letters on his neck, want to know whose name he carries around with him. Starts dyeing it black when he ends up in one of the Dakotas and he catches a segment on the new. Police sketch of someone with his face wanted for aggravated assault of a good samaritan who picked up a hitchhiker. (Calls in an anonymous tip, tells them they should look a little deeper into their good samaritan’s story and they might know why someone broke his fucking jaw.)
Life blurs together after that, Ryan slipping deeper and deeper into the wrong side of life and that anger in him grows and grows and grows with everything he does just to get by until he doesn’t recognize himself anymore.
========
Los Santos -
It’s a cesspool.
It’s wild and mean, plays for keeps.
Ryan’s still a kid when he gets there, nineteen going on twenty and tired down to his bones, but the anger keeps him going.
He’s got scars now, souvenirs from fights and scuffles and the work he’s been doing. Playing muscle for assholes here and there for a handful of cash before he moves on.
Hair long enough to pull back into a ponytail, cover up the name branded on his skin to the point he can almost forget about it. Still dyes it, although it’s more out of habit than anything else. (Bigger and better crimes he’s wanted for and the memory of his first kill still haunting him.)
Easy to lose himself there, carve out a little niche for himself.
Works for the same guy for a while. Old cranky bastard who shows him the ropes here in Los Santos, calls him a Vagabond when Ryan offers a little bit about his past.
Places he’s been, things he’s seen. (Gets called a Vagabond, and it sticks.)
Realizes, when people don’t take him seriously – still got a pretty face, still breaking jaws and worse, because he’s got all these knives now, and his aim is nothing to sneeze at – he needs to do something about that.
The mask is a joke at first.
Ryan with a few extra bucks burning a hole in his pocket wandering along Vespucci and a little shop that catches his eye.
It’s fall, and there’s a horror movie playing in theaters and Ryan figures why not?
He wears it the next time someone hires him to handle a problem of theirs, some asshole in La Mesa who owes money and no intent to pay it back and send a message, would you? Louder the better.
Ryan gets incredulous laughter and hurled insults, the asshole just gets dead.
And then the rumors start, because it was a foggy night out. Someone remembers seeing a skull mask, and there’s a monster out there cutting people down, better watch your back or you might be next.
He wears the mask when he’s working after that, and the face paint happens later. People stop laughing when they see him coming because Ryan gets better. (Watch out or the Vagabond will get you.)
========
Years pass and the anger settles into something Ryan can finally breathe around.
He learns to pick his jobs, pay attention to the power plays in motion. The way the city moves and breathes, crime in its blood and rotten to its core.
Isn’t surprised when Ramsey comes looking for him to build up that crew of his. (He’s not the first.)
What is surprising is the way he goes about it.
No expectations, demands.
Just a simple offer, and Ryan?
He’s curious. (Bored.)
Agrees to that first job, and the one after that and so on until he’s in too deep to back out.
Likes the way Geoff runs the crew, the way they give him grief for everything he does but stand with him every step of the way.
It’s...fascinating.
Different from anything he’s seen in Los Santos.
Shouldn’t work at all, but somehow does and there’s a part of him that wants some of that for himself. (Little house in Indiana and the night sky spread out above him, stars shining down and a voice naming the constellations.)
So he stays on and gets to know the others.
Geoff and Jack with their hands full keeping the others in line.
Michael unapologetic about everything he is and this look to him like he would go toe-to-toe with Ryan if he even thought about fucking them over.
Gavin with his everything, so damned annoying and painfully brilliant. (Smart and clever and more capable than he lets on.)
Ray, who comes and goes as he pleases and deadlier than Ryan any day of the week.
Jeremy and his everything that included garish color combinations and a cowboy hat, because why not?
Lindsay who is just this side of terrifying, because she’s the most chaotic person Ryan’s met in his entire life and then some.
A whole slew of others Geoff reassures him he’ll meet at some point because they’re assholes and like knows like, and other flattering things.
It’s the closest thing to family Ryan’s had in a long time and he knows it can’t last, but he’s tired of roaming the streets of Los Santos like a specter. (Wants somewhere to rest once in a while.)
========
Geoff’s a meddler.
Claims he isn’t, but he’s not as smooth as he likes to think he is. Pairs Gavin and Jeremy up on jobs every chance he gets and rationalizes it away by saying Jeremy keeps Gavin focused. (He’s not wrong, but it’s not the only deciding factor involved.)
“They’ll figure it out eventually,” Michael says, wry twist to his mouth as they watch Gavin and Jeremy argue about the best way to hotwire a car.
They’ve got overwatch while the other idiots get the car Geoff wants for the upcoming heist. Dull little soccer-mom car, won’t draw any attention and slow as hell.
Older make and model, and a snap to steal.
Or would be, but there are a lot of hand gestures and squawking from Gavin. Snarky quips from Jeremy and this headache right behind Ryan’s eyes, because they’re two of the densest, oblivious assholes he’s ever met.
“You’d think,” he says, and leans against the railing to watch the show play out.
Gavin’s got a name curling around his ribs, snug up against his heart.
Ryan saw it once, covered in blood and Gavin making these pained noises because a cop got lucky and they almost lost him in the back of a stolen van. Jack barking orders and Michael pale-faced and grim, Jeremy driving like a bat out of hell and fear Ryan hadn’t felt in a long, long time crowding his throat because he liked these idiots.
Jeremy doesn’t have a name.
Drunken confession from him after they got Gavin stabilized, Michael asleep in the chair next to his bed and Jeremy’s hands shaking and Ryan at a loss as to what to say to make things better, so he listened. Leaned all about the angry black smear across Jeremy’s shoulder blade, the phantom pain he gets in the cold sometimes.
Gavin’s got a name and Jeremy doesn’t and it’s been a hell of a ride watching them dance around one another.
Makes Ryan uneasy, but no one else seems too bothered about the potential for disaster.
Michael doesn’t seem too bothered, and Ryan’s willing to trust Michael’s judgment when it comes to anything involving Gavin.
========
Michael tinkers.
Turned a room in one of the lower floors into a workshop where he cooks up explosives he uses on heists. The jobs Gavin or one of the others comes up with from time to time.
At the moment he’s got a row of rubber duckies set out on one of his worktables and a series of sketches on what looks to be a bar napkin.
“Look,” Michael says, when he catches Ryan’s totally non-judgmental reaction. Pauses when he realizes there’s no good explanation for any of this. “…Fuck off.”
Ryan hmms as he puts the napkin down, pokes one of the duckies on its beak.
He’s...not bored so much as restless, and Michael’s good company when Ryan’s in a mood like this.
Will either focus on what he’s working on and leave Ryan to his own devices -
“Fucking what the fuck?” Michael mutters to himself, because he has a row of rubber duckies and drunk sketches to go off of. “What the fuck?”</i>
- or he’ll talk to himself like a lunatic and provide Ryan with hours of entertainment.
They’ve come a long way from the early days. Time when all Michael had to go on about Ryan were the stories and rumors that have turned the Vagabond into one of Los Santos’ very own cryptids. Always looking for signs Ryan was about to turn on the crew, just another bloody story to add to the rest.
“Should I ask?” Ryan asks, because he’s an asshole and Michael is hilarious when he gets like this.
Determined to turn some harebrained idea someone had into a reality, and going by the fact rubber duckies are involved, this is Gavin’s doing.
Something he saw somewhere once, or heard a story from a friend and wouldn’t it be wicked, Michael, if we did something like that? (Stars in his eyes and Michael more of a pushover than he’d ever admit.)
Michael shoots him a glare, but since he doesn’t yell at Ryan to get the fuck out of his workshop, Ryan figures he’s good to stay and heckle.
Gently.
“Go to hell, Ryan,” Michael says, but there's a smile curling his lips and this warm sort of amusement in his voice and Ryan chuckles at it, because he never gets tired of hearing it.
Gavin and Jeremy aren’t the only ones dancing around one another, but this – them – is a little more complicated.
Ryan’s old hangups and Michael’s everything.
Brash and loud, fearless in all the ways Ryan isn’t.
Someone’s name on his skin that got burned away years ago because this life isn’t kind and there are real monsters out there, far worse than Ryan. (Got a tattoo to cover up the scar tissue because he got tired of looking at it, but it doesn’t bother him.)
Shrugs it off as unimportant when someone brings up the matter of soulmates and soulmarks, the string of letters everyone looks for – excited and hopeful or terrified – that’s supposed to lead to their happily ever after.
”The way I see it,” Michael had said the one time Ryan heard him talk about it so bluntly. It’s bullshit, you know? Like what. Some fucking mystical force slaps a name on you and that’s it? You spend your life looking for some asshole you don’t even know and everything's supposed to be rainbows and sunshine? Fuck out of here with that.”
Not the most eloquent way to put it, but Michael had been drunk at the time, working to put Jeremy under the table thanks to one of Gavin’s bets, and honestly, Ryan doesn’t even know with this crew half the time.
He and the others never ask Ryan if he has a name, don’t ask if he’s still looking. Don’t really talk about the whole thing unless it’s a hypothetical of Gavin’s or alcohol has loosened their tongues, and even then, even then it’s different.
A courtesy, almost, for the ones like Geoff who’s covered himself in tattoos to camouflage the lack of a name inked into his skin. Jack who smiles politely and tells no lies. Gavin who guarded his name like a dragon with its hoard until that was taken from him by a lucky bullet. Jeremy with a grin on his face and no name marring his skin (just an angry black smear where one used to be), but like hell does he let it hold him back.)
========
The name on the back of Ryan’s neck isn’t uncommon. The last time he checked (years and years ago) there were at least four million people in the US who shared it.
Have to be more now, the world being what it is and people being who they are.
He’d have a hell of a time trying to find someone in all of that, spend who knows how many lifetimes looking if he even wanted to.
(Part of him scared as hell at the prospect even now. Memory of his parents and the misery they made of the own lives, let bleed over into his all these years later so damn vivid.)
He’s happy here in Los Santos when he never thought he could be again.
Has a family in every definition of the word that matters, people he cares about. (Who care about him.)
It’s not a perfect life because he can’t see a good end in store for himself, but he’s learning to take what he can get for as long as he can and be grateful for it. (Just a little longer and he’ll have it down.)
========
He stumbles on the two of them by accident. Headed down to the garage to look for his phone that must have fallen out of his pocket during the getaway chase portion of the heist earlier and ducks around a support pillar when he hears voices.
Quiet, serious, the way they rarely are.
Jeremy and Gavin and -
“I love you.”
Jeremy, heart in Gavin’s hands and a million reasons why this thing between him and Gavin’s shouldn’t work. (Fate. Destiny. Call it whatever you want, there’s something to it people can’t fight no matter how hard they try because Gavin’s got a name that isn’t Jeremy’s and Jeremy’s lost his and this is why, this is why.)
There’s a heavy silence, and Ryan closes his eyes. Tips his head back and wishes like hell he wasn’t here to bear witness to this.
Gavin say something too low for Ryan to hear. Jeremy answers.
All Ryan hears are the crickets. (It’s summer and the little bastards are everywhere.)
“Gavin - “
There’s a shuffling sound, scuff of shoes on cement.
Gavin paces sometimes, too much going on in his head and all this energy to him that has to get out somehow.
“What.”
Short, sharp bark of sound from Jeremy and this quiet little laugh from Gavin.
Ryan leans around the pillar to look, and sees the two of them staring at each other.
Gavin’s biting his lip to keep from laughing like he clearly wants to, mischief and joy and something else written in every line of him. Jeremy’s staring at Gavin, open, vulnerable, and this smile slowly spreading over his face and Ryan’s missed something here.
“I - “
Gavin doesn’t get to finish whatever he was about to say because Jeremy's pushing forward, disbelieving laughter. This look on his face that equal parts exasperation and fondness and something like love. Hands coming up to frame Gavin’s face and Ryan decides he can look for his phone later, give the two of them some privacy.
========
“I told you,” Michael says when Ryan gets back up to the penthouse. Knowing grin on his face and Ryan’s phone in his hand. “And here, you left this in my Adder.”
He tosses Ryan’s phone to him, jerks his head to the game console because Ryan’s...jittery.
All the things he said he was past rising up to cast doubt on everything he thought he knew. (It can’t be that simple.)
“You want to do that rematch now, Rye-bread? I know your ego was bruised when I completely destroyed you last time, so I promise I’ll go easy on you.”
Cocky, arrogant, and this little curve to his mouth because he gets it, he does.
Knows how messed up Ryan is over the name branded on the back of his neck and how all these assholes go against everything Ryan thought he knew like it’s nothing.
“Like hell you will,” Ryan says, luckier than he deserves. “I’m going to make you eat those words.”
Michael snorts, gives him a look like he thinks Ryan’s an idiot (he’s not wrong) and won’t be walking away from their rematch the winner. (Reply hazy, try again.)
========
Every so often Ryan will catch Michael rubbing at his arm. The intricate tattoo over scar tissue, an old hurt that never healed right. It acts up when the weather changes and less tolerant of everyone’s bullshit.
Snaps and snarls a little harder, finds somewhere to go to ground until it passes.
Usually Gavin’s the one to seek him out, pull him out of his head and whatever thoughts sent him spiraling somewhere dark.
Provokes him until Michael’s yelling, real anger to his voice as he spews out all that ugliness that’s been left to fester too long.
Tonight -
Gavin’s back with the Roosters because he owes Burnie a favor or two, and Jeremy went with him as backup. (Gavin’s good, and God knows Burnie would never let anything happen to him if he could help it, but shit goes wrong and they all know it.)
Geoff took Jack with him to negotiate a new truce with the Fakehaus crazies, and it’s just Ryan in the penthouse with him.
Watches Michael head up to the roof, wound tight and hurting and Ryan is so beyond not qualified for this.
He still takes the stairs up there, steps out onto the roof to find Michael leaning against the low railing staring out at the city.
Ryan looks up out of habit. (House in Indiana and stars as far as the eye can see.)
Los Santos isn’t the place for stargazing. Too many lights, pollution, but every so often they shine through clear enough he can forget all that for a little while.
Michael glances at him when Ryan settles next to him at the railing.
Doesn’t tell him to fuck off, so Ryan figures he doesn’t mind him being here. He doesn’t know what to say to make things better (he never does), but Michael’s hurting and Ryan -
“I used to go stargazing with my little brother,” he says, only trips a little over that last word. Realized he’s a bigger idiot than he thought. “Fucker loved them.”
Michael doesn’t say anything, but Ryan knows he’s listening. Head tilted towards him the slightest bit, tension easing out of his shoulders.
Ryan’s told him about his brother before, one of the few still alive who do. Moment of weakness or whatever you want to call it. (Close call and everyone reevaluating their lives, people, things, they’ve left behind and why.)
Ryan points out a constellation, picks an easy one.
“That’s Orion,” he says, echoes of a better time even if he had a hard time recognizing it then.
He doesn’t know how much Michael knows about constellations or if he even cares. Decides if he’s not telling Ryan to shut the fuck up about them, it’s not hurting anything.
Ryan knows more of them than he did when he was just a dumb kid scrambling to keep up with the stupid smart kid brother of his. And he talks, and talks and talks and talks until his voice feels a little rough, sounds hoarse.
Points out constellation after constellation and the stories behind them, myth and legends and all that.
Rambles for a few when he thinks he spots a planet. Might be a satellite though, or maybe something else? It’s been a while since he looked this shit up, cut him some slack he’s not an astronomer, okay.
Michael snorts, shoots him this look. Soft smile and fondness to it that kicks Ryan in the heart, has him ducking his head.
“You fucking nerd, Ryan,” Michael says, the way he always does, and it means something Ryan’s always been a little afraid to put a name to.
Ryan shrugs, because Michael’s not wrong. Gives Michael this look, and doesn’t say a damn thing about it when Michael moves closer, shoulder brushing his and points to a little cluster of stars just over Chiliad.
“The fuck’s the deal with those ones?”
========
They say there’s this bolt of lightning moment, zap and you know when you meet your soulmate. Sparks or something like that, Ryan doesn’t know.
He’s never felt it, never expects to.
Thinks back to the first time he met Michael in a dingy warehouse down by the docks. Geoff in his suit, smug grin and so damned confident he could win Ryan over. Jack beside him, Ray watching through his sniper scope on a roof a few buildings away. Gavin watching him keen interest and a glint in his eye Ryan hadn’t learned to dread yet.
No Jeremy at the time, just those idiots meeting the big, bad Vagabond to have a little chat.
Geoff and his spiel, hopeful lilt to his words and a business card - “Call us if you interested, big guy. We could use someone like you.” - and tip of an imaginary hat as he left, the others following.
Michael walking up to him while Gavin watched, little grin on his face because he’s always been a menace. (The three of them alone, and Gavin having Michael’s back like it was never up for debate.)
“Look,” Michael had said, scowling up at him. “I don’t have a problem with you working with us, but if you even think about fucking us over? Don’t.”
Not a threat so much as a promise and it’s stuck with Ryan since then. In the back of his head when Geoff sent him out Michael to keep people in line. Let their rivals know the Fake AH Crew wouldn’t tolerate all the little insults thrown their way. Hold a refresher course to remind them.
Later on when they got paired up for other jobs, heist preps. Geoff telling them with this long-suffering look to him they were just about the only people he could trust not to fuck things up.
Because Jack on his own is solid. Throw Gavin into the mix and you get a taco truck where you wanted a box truck and those idiots laughing it up. (Geoff, no listen, Geoff, it’ll be brilliant.)
And on and on and on to the point they just. Worked well together, didn’t get sidetracked the way Gavin or Jack or even Geoff himself. Or at least not as much. (The times they did, though. Fantastic.)
Even when Jeremy joins the crew and Ryan finds a kindred spirit in him, because who doesn’t appreciate a little chaos now and then? There’s just something to working with Michael that Ryan likes.
It’s easy.
Michael gets him, knows Ryan’s a disaster and compensates for it without saying a word.
It’s not really a lie, because Michael will bitch about Ryan being a madman, but that’s more for show, because he’ll already be in position to cover his back or his flank. Take out whoever is trying to sneak up on Ryan without thinking about it. (Ryan does the same for Michael.)
And -
There are over four million Michaels out there, so what are the odds the name on the back of Ryan’s neck is meant for this one?
========
“You stupid son of a bitch,” Michael snarls, hand in the collar of Ryan’s jacket as he hauls him down, presses a wadded up shirt against the gash on his neck, something fragile under the anger. “What the fuck did you think you were doing?”
They’re in a bolthole the crew uses when things turn to shit on them. Old building that’s falling apart, sign on the front claiming it’s slated for demolition any day now.
Michael’s looking a little wild-eyed, bottom lip split from a stray elbow and blood all over his hands as he keeps Ryan from bleeding out. (It’s a scratch.)
Ryan rolls his eyes because it’s not that bad. Got a little too close for comfort maybe, but the guy with the knife was an idiot who had no clue what he was doing.
Didn’t even have proper throwing knives, and the balance was all wrong. Dumb luck he hit what he was aiming for.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Ryan says, taking the hint when Michael grabs his hand and presses it to the shirt against his neck while Michael turns to dig through the first-aide kit. “Maybe something about saving you life? It was a blur.”
Michael stiffens.
Slowly lifts his head to glare at Ryan, the kind that would have killed a lesser man, or maybe someone smarter than Ryan, whichever.
“Ryan - “
Michael’s always had this confidence to him, like he wouldn’t stumble no matter what. Would just keep going and fuck whatever – whoever – gets in his way. Places to be, things to do, and fuck you if you think you’re gonna stop him.
Right now...not so much.
Right now he looks – he looks scared. Like the ground under his feet is suddenly treacherous, unstable, and he doesn’t know where is safe. If he takes the wrong step, everything crumbles, and he’s lost. He’s covering for it with bluster and anger and it hurts to see him like this.
“Hey,” Ryan says, nudges him with his knee. “I’m okay, Michael. I’m alright.”
Bleeding like a stuck pig, and he’ll have one hell of a scar, but it’s better than what could have been. (That spike of fear that settled in his stomach when Ryan saw that fucker going after Michael – it’s still there. Rolled over into this ball leaden and heavy in the pit of his stomach because Ryan’s never been good with what would have beens.)
Michael’s breathes out through his nose, hands clenching into fists before he shakes it off, reaches for that anger of his and shoves his fear down deep.
“You’re an asshole,” he mutters, low and tired in a way that resonates in Ryan’s bones. “And I fucking hate you.”
Ryan doesn’t laugh, because he’s pretty sure Michael would actually kill him for it, but -
“Stop smiling, you fuck.”
========
There’s a moment when Michael's fingers brush up against Ryan’s name as he’s cleaning the blood away that Ryan thinks maybe, but it’s just wishful thinking on his part.
========
Things are weird after that.
Weirder?
Michael’s not avoiding him, but he sure as hell isn’t not avoiding him..
A couple of weeks of awkward go by before the others have enough.
Gavin sighs whenever he sees Ryan, like he’s the stupidest person he’s ever met, fucks sake, Ryan.
Geoff tells him to get his shit together because he’s too old to keep doing this, whatever the hell that means, and Jack?
He laughs.
Like an asshole.
Jeremy looks shifty, mumbles something about idiots and blind as fuck and we were never this bad, which is both mystifying and a little terrifying.
Ryan’s an idiot, but even he’s not that dumb.
========
Probably?
========
Fuck.
Fuck.
He is.
========
Michael does one of three things when he’s in a Mood, as Gavin calls it.
Twisted up and angry, touch of fear wrapped up nice and neat so you wouldn’t notice it right off.
1.) Go to one of the dive bars the Lads are always sniffing out and get shitfaced drunk and someone will drag him home to let him sleep it off. (If he finds a fight before then, all the better.)
2.) Find one of the races around the city that are always happening somewhere. Throw himself into it until he stops thinking and starts reacting, burn it all out and leave it scattered behind him on the asphalt or dirt roads outside Los Santos.
3.) Gear up like he’s going to war and find a fight or start one himself.
3. a.) When it’s really bad, he’ll take it out to one of his testing grounds. (Places Ray used to practice his sniping and joke that the explosions and gunfire coming over the hill made for soothing background noise while he kept an eye on Michael.)
Ryan goes down to Michael’s workshop first, because he’s got a hunch.
The rubber duckie explosives he’s been working on for the last however many months are gone. So is the pelican case Gavin had made for them with the rubber duckie-shaped cutouts in the foam inserts.
He thinks about for a while, wanders over the whiteboard set up on one wall and Michael’s notes regarding how much firepower he packed into the damn duckies. Uses them to whittle down the places he would have gone to fuck around with them under the guise of testing them.
Realizes he’s gone to his testing grounds in Blaine County because no one gives a damn what happens up there, which is fantastic.
========
Really.
========
Michael sees him coming a mile off, and Ryan assumes he hasn’t completely fucked things up between them when he doesn’t have to dodge exploding rubber duckies as he gets closer.
Parks next to Michael’s Adder (shiny and chrome), and makes his way over.
Cautious about it, because Michael’s an asshole like the rest of him and he has one of his rubber duckie explosives in his hand, this look on his face Ryan’s never been able to read.
“Hey, asshole,” Michael greets, eyes darting to the bandage on Ryan’s neck before skipping off again.
He’s got another week until it comes off, and a few more after that until the stitches come out.
“Michael,” Ryan says, takes in the carnage he’s missed in the time Michael’s been out here.
Torn up ground, blackened bits of rock and scattered debris. Stack of paper targets pinned under a grenade to keep them from flying away in the wind before Michael can use them. (Maybe Matt has a point about their flippant disregard for silly little things like safety.)
“Douchebag,” Michael says, corner of his mouth ticking up at the look Ryan gives him. “What do you want?”
Ryan sighs, because, yeah, okay.
He’s an idiot, but Michael knew that going in. He’s had ample time to appreciate how much of a dumbass Ryan is in all the ways.
Just needed a little time to file this latest offense away, add it to all the rest and determine if everything that goes along with it is worth it.
No reason to worry, no.
Not like Ryan’s heart is on the line here, stupid and hopeless and in Michael's care for the longest time.
Michael snorts, tosses the rubber duckie he’s holding to Ryan and laughs when he flails before he catches it.
The loud, ridiculously infectious cackle he gets when something is just so damn funny he can’t help it. Apparently Ryan fumbling one of his explosive devices is one of those things, which is good to know.
“Jesus Christ,” Ryan says, because why.
Michael’s still cackling, but it’s quieter now, trails off to a chuckle and then this crooked little smile on his face. Warm and fond and the way Ryan’s hear-rate kicks up at seeing it has nothing to do with near-death experiences via rubber duckie.
“Big bad Vagabond scared of a little rubber duckie? Man, if people could see you now.”
Ryan rolls his eyes because Michael's never been intimidated by Ryan or his overblown reputation.
Thinks it’s hilarious that just about everyone in the city buys into it, always finds ways to give Ryan grief over it.
“Well, I mean,” he says, holding the damn thing up to eye-level to study it. “They don’t have the full story.”
Probably for the best they don't, might take the shine off the reputation the Fakes have spent so much time building for themselves.
Michael rolls his eyes, points at the duckie Ryan’s holding.
“You're fine, you big baby. That one’s just a rubber duckie.” He kicks the pelican case at his feet, and the lid pops open, revealing its contents. “These on the other hand, will kill a motherfucker.”
Ryan looks at the rubber duckies in the case.
Knows Michael came up with a color-coded system for them, varying levels of deadly, and they’re arranged in the case accordingly,
Ryan looks at the rubber duckie he’s holding.
Back the case.
Gets this little itch, just so -
“For fuck’s sake,” Michael says, and snatches the rubber duckie Ryan’s holding to hand him one of the ones from the case. Pristine white and pretty as hell. “See if you can get it past that boulder with your shit aim.”
Ryan slides a look at Michael.
He has fantastic aim, thank you very much. It's just that sometimes he gets a little excited, doesn’t take the time to focus so much when you give him a big shiny gun or something that will make a big boom.
Michael smirks, like he thinks Ryan won’t be able to throw the damn duckie that far or with anything approaching precision.
Which, fair.
It’s a rubber duckie, weighted down with a fair bit of explosives and far from being aerodynamic in any way.
“Betting against me?” he asks, like there’s any question.
Michael shrugs, loose and easy, and punches Ryan in the shoulder. Hard, of course, wouldn't pull his strength for this one.
“Ryan,” he says, definitely lying. “I would never.”
========
Ryan shows Michael one night.
Pulls his hair away and lets him trace his fingers over the name on the back of his neck. Tells him all about some dumb kid with shitty parents growing up in the south.
Feels the tremor to them as Michael rests his hand over the back of Ryan’s neck and tells him about a really bad day he had once back in Jersey.
Assholes who wanted to teach him a lesson because some scrawny idiot of a kid crossed into their territory without realizing it. Brought out a blowtorch and then it was all screaming and pain and tissue damage where a name used to be.
Lets Ryan pull him close, laughs through what sounds like tears when he tells him what it the name was. Four little letters and one hell of a journey to get where they are.
Fate or Destiny or whatever you want to call it puts that name there, sure, but it’s what you do with it that matters, and that’s a hard lesson to learn.
Some people never figure it out, lets it turn them angry and bitter to the end, others?
They don’t get a guarantee for a happily ever after, no. They get the chance for something good, and there’s something about that Ryan likes better.
Feels like it’s within reach when nothing was before, and he’ll take it for as long as he can keep it.
hi! just took your quiz and was *seen* (i got quynh), am a lil shook, and have came to tell you the fun fact! I was watching TOG with my friend tonight and we decided this about the train scene: Nicky/Joe is what we wish we were, Andy is what we think we are, and Booker is what we actually are! We giggled about this and proceded to miss half the next scene (i filled her in, no worries), so I hope you enjoyed it as much as we did!
lol omg this is a big mood lol! i feel like deep down we’re all booker lol...
i’m happy you enjoyed my quiz lol!!
When you get this you have to answer with 5 things you like about yourself, publicly. Then, send this ask to 10 of your favourite followers (Non-negotiable, positivity is cool!)💖💖💖
I'm so sorry, I know you've sent this forever ago but I wasn't really in a mood to think up any good things about myself because I've been having kind of a not so cool time lately so I waited until I was a bit better which is now soooo:
1) im good with plants, I've managed to keep about 20/25 alive so far and they bring me lots of joy
2) im good at cooking? like i randomly mix stuff together in a pot and it usually turns out edible and tastes good so I guess I'm a natural
3) um, I'd say I'm intelligent? 😬 sometimes dumb tho but like generally
4) i guess im a decent writer if i can ever bring myself to writing but it's been a while
5) tbh i can be pretty funny ngl
Thank you so much for sending this. Like I said I've been having kind of a bad time lately but now that I've tried to think of good things about myself I keep having more ideas so I could actually continue this list. Which is pretty good, right?
So thanks for that 💖