[personal profile] deadboywalking


(any IC contact for will goes here~)

Date: 2022-03-15 02:01 pm (UTC)
From: [personal profile] micycle
[The grin widens, goofy and bright.]

As if I'd ask literally anyone else to help before I asked you. C'mon, man.

Date: 2022-03-16 03:33 pm (UTC)
From: [personal profile] micycle
I got you gloves imbued with blood magic. You can't beat that for weird.

[A challenge for his birthday coming up.]

Date: 2022-03-21 05:18 am (UTC)
From: [personal profile] micycle
[First of all, Mike wishes he'd thought of the papercut thing, because he was absolutely weird about his and Will would have disapproved. Second of all, shut right up because he loves it.]

Only if by weird you mean awesome. [He grins as he lifts it gently from Will's hand, admiring the iridescent stone.] I'm never taking it off.

[It can go right next to his other leather bracelet, the one woven with the bisexual flag colors. Maybe he can collect a whole wrist's worth of bracelets from Will.]

Date: 2022-03-30 02:34 pm (UTC)
From: [personal profile] micycle
[Two years is the weird blood ritual anniversary. Next year is paper.]

Like I'd ever do anything unsafe. [A pause, as he admires his little Boyfriend Bracelet Setâ„¢.] ... On purpose.

Date: 2022-04-12 03:41 pm (UTC)
From: [personal profile] micycle
[For a moment, Mike's expression is one of gentle, quiet surprise. It isn't that he doubts Will's feelings, not after so many years of laced hands and earnest, late-night whispers. But even now, with their lives and hearts so entwined, the words catch him off guard. And deep down in his stomach, he's not entirely sure it's in a good way.

Will shouldn't want to be here, not because of him. But then, they made this choice together. They sat in the blanket fort and mulled over the antlers and decided that their own world was no longer right for them. They were puzzle pieces dropped into the wrong box, and no amount of trips to the counselor's office or encouraging words from Will's mom was going to change that.

They're where they belong, now, for better or for worse.]


Me too. [He presses their palms together, and smiles wider at the gross, squishing sound the tomato sauce makes. Boys will be boys.] There's no one else I'd rather be here with.

[. . .]

Not even Orlando Bloom.