#it will never stop being funny how both of their designs used the paintbrush hair style

[rmorde]

AU Ideas: KYOTO EDITION 1

MECHAMARU

There is a belief in East Asia about inanimate objects developing a soul if people poured love and dedication to it. I'd like to use that here.

So, Kokichi obviously shows a lot of attachment and fondness to his puppet Mechamaru. Let's say one puppet remained intact after the fight against Mahito.

This puppet developed a soul due to the love and care Kokichi had given to it for all his life. It had awakened when Kokichi's physical body was destroyed.

Imprinted into this puppet are all the "memories" from the other puppets destroyed. So when it became conscious, it immediately claim the identity of "Mechamaru". His first priority was to see if Kokichi made it out alive.

Mechamaru was devastated when he found his maker's corpse. He blamed himself for not protecting him better during the fight against Mahito. He was weak and failed to help Kokichi's dream come true.

After mourning his loss, Mechamaru then laid Kokichi and all of his fellow puppets to rest via burning. He was actually tempted to join them until he felt the activation of other puppets far away. That was when he remembered Kokichi's fail safes.

Mechamaru tries to communicate with Kokichi but was too far away. With a new mission in mind, he races to Shibuya. Maybe there is a chance to salvage their dream.

There is a big problem tho. Mechamaru does not have a flight feature nor the appropriate equipment for fast travel. His CE reserve is not as much as it used to be in his memory. He realizes then how he been spoiled rotten by Kokichi's massive amounts of CE.

But Mechamaru still tries to make it to Shibuya. Since he is a puppet, he does not exactly get physically tired. His only worry was being inefficient with his CE. So, he just ran as fast as he can to the nearest civilization in the area then hitched a ride with some teenagers by pretending to be a cosplayer who wants to join a party in Shibuya.

Sadly, his efforts did not exactly give him what he wanted.

Mechamaru was too late to make any difference in Shibuya. What he only gained was one conversation with Kokichi - the first and last they could ever have as two separate entities.

Kokichi was first shocked at Mechamaru's sentience. Eventually it gave way to joy and contentment because despite of his horrific mistake, a miracle happened - he gave life to his most trusted friend.

But while Kokichi was being sentimental about the whole thing, Mechamaru was bargaining with him in devastation and grief. They could switch "bodies". Mechamaru would take over the small puppet that Kokichi's waning soul is inhabiting. It could then turn his robotic puppet body into a perfect vessel for Kokichi to transfer in. The distance between would not be a problem now. They could do it.

However, Kokichi refused the offer. He wants to live but not at the cost of Mechamaru. He asked for forgiveness because he is hurting him with his choice. Also, the idea of soul transferring is unknown territory and risky from Kokichi's perspective especially with his status. He cannot gamble Mechamaru's new life with it.

Before Kokichi soul faded away for good, he cursed told Mechamaru to live and see the world on his behalf. Kokichi wished for him to find a happy better ending than he did.

And so, Mechamaru let him go. The last thing he wants was to turn Kokichi into a cursed spirit born from his regret in being unable to save him.

After that, Mechamaru became listless for a while. Bereft of any purpose and unable to die, he didn't know what to do. How exactly was he supposed to fulfill Kokichi's wish?

Then the Culling Games was announced. Mechamaru then remembered the entire reason this tragedy and miracle in his life happened - the students of Kyoto. Kokichi's, or as he insisted before dying, their friends.

He has to check on them and make sure they are safe.

EXTRA NOTES:

Mechamaru is less powerful then Kokichi but he can upgrade his body to become stronger.

While he had been imbued with Kokichi's CE and CT, it would fade over time as he develops his own. He is not happy about it and wants to find a way to preserve them.

Technically, he should be categorized as a Cursed Tool - just a sentient one. He is not a Cursed Spirit because he was not born out of negative emotions. Mechamaru was made out of love and hope.

While he prioritizes his friends' safety, he still wants revenge against those who led Kokichi to his death. Good luck with that.

Everyone should never ever insult Kokichi while Mechamaru is around. It is practically his Berserk Button.

The only "senses" Mechamaru has are sight, hearing, "smell", and "touch". As a puppet, he doesn't need to eat. So, he was not equipped with "taste".

Mechamaru has a penchant for black humor through nasty surprises of the dismemberment and beheadings. It is one of the perks of having a puppet as a body.

His friends and allies cannot help but compare him to Pinocchio (puppet). Mechamaru is offended. He prefers Astro Boy (robot).

Mechamaru would build at least three back up bodies: one that is a replica of his puppet body, an android that was designed to look like a brother of Kokichi's*, and a pocket-sized chibified version of his android body. -> *I'm thinking of the android body looking like Aki.

#mechamaru #muta kokichi #kyoto babies baby! #it will never stop being funny how both of their designs used the paintbrush hair style #omg i'm thinking of a xover where they're actually brothers #kokichi was told his entire family died in the gun devil attack #aki is on a quest for not only revenge but also finding his missing 'hospitalized' baby brother

[freddieslater]

Rowing the Rarepair Rowboat: Luke Patterson x Willie (Julie and the Phantoms)

Requested by @phoenixfidelity

Luke can't help but be distracted every so often. He can tell that it's starting to get on the rest of the bands nerves every time he misses a chord or he accidentally glances away from the lyrics so he misses a word and then the whole thing is forced to an abrupt halt. He's really trying to stay focused.

Usually it's a piece of cake! He loves the band and he loves playing, because he gets so lost in the music that he forgets the rest of the world exists half the time.

He catches sight of Willie out of the corner of his eye again as they're building up to the chorus of the new song they've been working on. Luke resists the urge to look away from the notebook in front of him.

His fingers keep moving determinedly... while his eyes dart off to the side. It's just a split second, then they're right back on the page, and he hasn't missed anything!

But his mind is quickly taken over by the brief glimpse of Willie that he got. He's just sitting cross-legged on the studio floor, hair tied up in a messy bun, nodding along to their music while he paints. While wearing one of Luke's hoodies. He found it lying on the back of the couch when they came in and he said he was cold, and so he asked if he could borrow it, and Luke wasn't going to say no, was he? That would be rude!

Besides, the orange actually really suits him. It matches the streaks of yellow paint on his cheeks--

Luke quickly glances back over. Sure enough, there is actually paint smeared across Willie's face. And a paintbrush in his mouth while he carefully paints with a different one. He's so focused, his eyebrows scrunched, his foot tapping to the beat on his knee--

Luke catches the mess up in his chords but not before he can stop it. He abruptly stops playing, the rest of the band once again halting along with him.

"Sorry! Sorry, I didn't mean to--" He takes a deep breath and looks determinedly down at his guitar. "Let's just go again, yeah? I'll get it this time, I promise."

"Yeah, I don't think you will," Julie says, and Luke's surprised to find her smiling rather than being mad about it. She and the rest of the band share a look.

"Probably better if we take a break for now," Reggie agrees, clearly trying to suppress a smile of his own and failing miserably as he lifts his bass strap over his head.

"I'm... getting kinda hungry anyway," Alex lies, nodding way too eagerly.

Willie looks up for the first time since their last brief pause. "Are you guys done?"

Another look is shared. Luke shakes his head vigorously, staring at them all in disbelief.

"No! No, we're not! Come on, we still have to practice this song or else we're not gonna have it ready for tomorrow!"

"You'll be fine!" Flynn assures him, hooking an arm around Julie's shoulders. "You guys sounded great! Well... most of the time."

"Yeah, you were really good," Willie agrees, beaming at them with such sincerity that Luke's heart melts under the rays of sunshine he radiates when he turns it on him.

He barely notices Reggie muttering, "And that's our cue..." and the four of them scattering around the studio, and practically leaving the two of them alone.

Luke doesn't know why they're acting like this. So, yeah, he keeps getting distracted from the music. But he's trying to stay focused! It's not exactly going to help if the rest of them just decide to give up!

He sighs and decides he may as well put his own guitar aside for the moment.

"You okay?" Willie asks with a slight laugh, but his eyes are concerned when Luke glances up at him.

His stomach flips over like a pancake. It's weird but it's been doing that a lot lately and he can't seem to figure out why. Maybe he's coming down with something? That would be super inconvenient timing considering they have a gig tomorrow!

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," Luke says, but even he feels like he's somehow lying even as he tries for a grin.

Willie isn't buying it either. He takes a moment to think, his eyebrows only creasing the tiniest bit this time as his thumb rubs a circle into the crease of his elbow. Luke finds the movement strangely calming to watch.

Then it stops, and Willie lights up. "Well, since you guys are... taking a break for the time being, do you wanna help me with this?"

Luke finally tries to take a proper look at what he has actually been doing this entire time as Willie moves over to sit beside him on the couch.

There's a poster -- multiple, actually, as well as what Luke swears is a pile of what were once his guitar picks. He doesn't really play his acoustic too much anymore because it never sounds right with any of their songs, and his fingers just got used to the feel of the strings on his electric, so there wasn't ever really a use for them anymore.

Willie notices him picking up one of the plectrums and turns sheepish. "I found them lying about in here and thought they could use a little... sprucing up." He shrugs. "I didn't think anyone would really mind."

Luke shakes his head and grins as he picks up another in amazement. Each one is painted, and not just a solid colour, but a whole piece of art is painted onto each one. Scenes of bridges with the sunset behind them, fields full of vibrant plants, a starry night sky, a gh--

Luke raises his eyebrows at him. "Is this meant to be me?"

Willie peers at the one he's holding up which features a ghost silhouette wearing an orange beanie with a guitar strapped around its translucent little body.

"Yep," Willie confirms, then breaks out into another sheepish laugh. "I got a little bored of the fancy designs, and I thought that it would be funny, seeing as how you're, you know, Julie and the Phantoms."

"So," Luke glances at the pile of plectrums, "did you do one for all of us?"

"I haven't gotten around to it yet. I wanted to start with you 'cause I figured you'd make the cutest ghost. With the beanie and all."

Luke's stomach does the thing again. And he swears his face is burning up. He better not be getting a fever, because the thought of getting sick right before a gig is giving him a little too much deja vu.

"Does that mean you don't think I'm a cute ghost when I'm not wearing the beanie?" Luke teases, mock serious.

Willie laughs, caught in surprise by the question. But he shakes his head, gazing at Luke with creases around his eyes and a soft smile.

"No way. It's, like, totally impossible for you to not be cute."

Luke laughs as well now and gives him a gentle push, his hand lingering on Willie's arm. "Shut up."

"I got you smiling, at least," Willie points out.

"Yeah, well." Luke doesn't really have anything else to say because he's right.

He looks at him for a second as Willie shifts his attention back down to the posters and plectrums. Luke doesn't mean to stare, but there's something about watching his fingers move that feels... comforting, even when they're just moving a stray bit of hair behind his ear.

"Have you ever played guitar?" Luke blurts out without thinking.

Willie looks back up in surprise but shakes his head. "No. I like listening to music and sometimes performing with Caleb was fun but that was only ever singing. I've never really gotten the hang of an instrument. Takes too long to figure it all out."

"What if I helped?" Luke asks, not fully sure why he's offering. "I'm not saying perform with us. I'm just saying it could be a fun hobby, if you had someone helping you figure it all out."

Willie considers it then shrugs, beaming at him again. Luke's beginning to think he needs sunglasses just to be around him because he finds himself grinning back before Willie's even answered.

"Yeah, okay. Let's do it! But I will warn you, I'm not the most patient person."

"Good thing I am then," Luke says.

"No he's not!" Reggie shouts over to them from the other couch in the corner.

Luke glares at him but Reggie just raises his hands with a confused expression as if to say, what did I do?!

Rolling his eyes as Willie laughs, Luke says, "Don't listen to him. We can practice later and use my old acoustic, that way it'll be a bit easier and you can use one of your awesome designer picks."

He gestures to the pile and Willie scans over them, looking for one to use. Then he picks up the one with the ghost version of Luke on it.

"A great choice, if I do say so myself," Luke says, grinning. "Now, what are we painting?"

Willie hands him a paintbrush and one of the posters. He explains the design and they both start working on them. At some point in between Luke finishing one and Willie just adding a few last touches to his own, Luke tries experimenting on one of the blank picks himself.

When he shows it to Willie, his eyebrows raise and he almost doesn't seem to know what to say for a second. Then his face splits into a smile of pure joy and Luke doesn't think he's ever felt so pleased with himself as he does watching Willie gush over the little ghost hovering over a skateboard like it's the best thing he's seen.

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #luke x willie #willie x luke #luke patterson #willie #willie jatp #rowing the rarepair rowboat #myedit* #phoenixfidelity #this is such a cute pairing though?? #they would be disaster dorks together and I love that for them

[athenagc94]

Gust and Piper - Beginnings Pt. 4

This one is a lot longer than the others, but I wasn’t sure how else to break it up based on the next part, so I just put it all in one.  I know the brooch comes from Walnut Grove, but let’s just pretend it came from Atara instead.

You can read the first the other parts here: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

I’m also posting the story here on AO3!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gust wet his lips with his tongue as he peered closely between the canvas in front of him and the setting sun.  It was quiet.  The only sound around him was the lazy flow of the river beside him and the occasional grunt from QQ who snoozed at his feet. He brought his paintbrush to the canvas and added some purple where the sky met the water.  The purple bled into a gradient of pink and orange that mirrored the sky overhead.  He glanced back at the sunset. It was quickly disappearing on the horizon, so he didn’t have much time before it was dark. The pains of being a landscape artist.  Time was rarely on his side and with autumn quickly approaching, the days were getting shorter.

“So is this one of those important tasks you were telling me about?”

Gust tore his eyes away from the canvas.  Piper watched him curiously, hands placed firmly on her hips.  Her fishing rod was strapped to her back and he smelled the distinct odor of marine life that often followed his father after a day of fishing.  He wrinkled his nose at her and turned back to his canvas.  “It is.”

“Oh really?” Her voice was closer now, but he didn’t look up.  He was on a race against the clock.  He wouldn’t indulge her, not this time. “Because this looks a lot like a frivolous activity if you ask me.” “Well, I wasn’t asking you.”

She didn’t respond and he, for a brief moment, believed she had left.  “So you’re a painter too?”  Gust sighed heavily.  He should have known better.   Piper wasn’t perturbed by his temperament.  She never backed down, she always came back, and Gust let her.  It appears they both were gluttons for punishment.  The rank stench of fish was stronger now as Piper regarded the painting over his shoulder.  “This is beautiful,” she said, “but could you maybe save some talent for the rest of us?”

His lip curled.  “I’m good because I practice,” he said firmly, “years in front of a canvas have led me to where I am today.  I can’t rely on talent alone.”  He mixed a little more pink in with the purple to soften the transition from one color to the next.  “It’s not my fault if other’s fall short by comparison.”

“Light, you take everything so seriously.”  

“What can I say, I’m a straight shooter.”  He heard her shuffling around behind him, but he still didn’t look at her.  The sun was almost gone now.  He didn’t have time to argue with her, but after a few moments, the sound of snuffling and squeals filled the air.  Gust glanced down.  QQ had disappeared from around his feet, but he could hazard a guess of where he’d gone to.  A certain builder liked to slip him an aroma apple anytime she visited the office, so it wasn’t hard to put two and two together.

“Can you stop feeding QQ?  He’s getting fat.”

Piper chuckled.  “But he’s such a nice piggy. He deserves all the treats,” she cooed, “besides, I heard an apple a day keeps the doctor away.  Why shouldn’t that apply to pigs as well?” Gust rolled his eyes and turned away from his easel.  Piper sat in the grass as QQ inhaled the sliced apple she’d laid out in front of him.  She scratched him affectionately behind the ear.  “Such a good boy,” she continued, “You’re perfect, don’t listen to your grumpy owner.”  She shot Gust a cheeky smile.

“Well, this grumpy owner is the one who has to deal with that stupid pig at the end of the day,” Gust snapped back, “so I think I know what’s best for him.”

“No offense, but you don’t really strike me as someone who would know or care how to take care of a pig,” she shot back, “you strike me as more of a cat person.  They’re easy to look after, with a mild disinterest in everything and everyone, just like you.”  He glared at her and she stuck her tongue out at him.  “Just saying.”

“QQ was given to me by my Master when I was studying in Atara.  She said I was boring and thought caring for a pet might broaden my horizons.”  Piper scratched QQ under his chin and he nuzzled closer with a happy squeal.

“Well, you’re a lot of things Gust.”  She was cradling QQ in her lap now and the pig looked like he was living his best life.  “But I would never describe you as boring.”  He straightened in his seat, taken aback.  He wasn’t sure how to respond.  Obviously, he didn’t find himself boring.  He had intricate depth and creativity on his side, though those facets of his being were rarely ever acknowledged by others.

“But it must have been QQ this whole time.”  Piper winked and Gust visibly bristled.  “So, maybe there was a method to your Master’s madness.”

Gust snorted.  “I still think it was all an elaborate prank for her.”

Piper hummed.  “I mean, it is a little funny, too.  As I said, you’re an unlikely pair, but I think QQ likes you.  Isn’t that right, buddy.”  QQ gave her another happy snuffle.  “That’s what I thought.  You love your owner.”

“QQ doesn’t have the capacity to love.  He’s a pig.”  With a sniff, he turned back to his painting.  The sun was barely visible now and he sighed.  So much for finishing this piece before the light was gone.  “Still, I care for him because he was given to me by my Master.”

“You’re telling me that you keep QQ out of spite?” He could hear the smile in her voice. “I don’t believe that.”  She was back at his side now, QQ in her arms.  “Look at this face and tell me it doesn’t make your ice cold heart melt.”  Gust arched an eyebrow as she raised QQ at eye level.  He nuzzled up against his cheek.  Gust tried to keep a straight face, but he smiled despite himself.  “I knew it. You care about him.”

“One is bound to get attached to an animal when they’re in your care,” Gust deadpanned as he took QQ and placed him back on the ground.  The pig bounded across the grass to chase some fireflies that had just emerged.  He watched him go fondly.  “But I should pack up,” he continued as he began gathering his paints, “I lost the light, so I’ll have to try again tomorrow.”

Piper looked up with a frown.  “My bad,” she muttered.

“It’sー” He paused, considering his next words.  Piper had pulled him away from his work, as she was known to do.  But he’d allowed himself to be distracted, so it wasn’t only Piper’s fault.  And honestly, he’d take any excuse to get out of his home for another evening.  “It’s fine, I probably wouldn’t have finished the painting this evening anyway.”

“You sure?”  Gust only hummed in response as he packed up his easel.  “I could try to work with the ladies at the Research Center to see if we could make you a light.  In case you ever want to do painting in the evening?”

“I assure you, it’s fine.  I was painting a sunset and that sunset is now gone.”  He threw his bag over his shoulder and balanced his canvas in his hands, careful to not smudge the wet paint.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to head home.”  He gave her a curt nod and brushed past her before she had a chance to respond.  She didn’t follow him .  He tried to ignore that little voice at the back of his mind that was wishing she had.

↢↢↢↣↣↣

The sound of pencil on paper always calmed Gust. It was therapeutic for him.  He could press as hard as he’d like on a pencil and if it broke, so be it.  He scrutinized the messy sketch in front of him.  His lines were heavy and dark today.  The preliminary design for the new relic museum was slowly taking shape.  It was tame compared to his other work.  A classic two storied building with a cross gabled roof, crafted from polished white stone.  He’d add his own flair to it, of course.  

He traced the curve of one of the large arched windows.  They would be the star of the show if he had his way.  Stained glass.  A wonderful mid morning sun would create a fantastical lighting display in the museum.  His own masterpiece to go down in history. “Stained glass, huh?”  Gust’s blood ran cold.  Piper’s breath tickled the back of his neck.  How long had she been there?  How did he not notice?  He swallowed the gasp that threatened to spill out.  “Who’s going to be the poor builder who has to make all that glass for you?”  There was teasing lilt to her voice.

“I’m just drafting some ideas,” he set his pencil aside and swiveled in his seat, “nothing’s set inー”  The words died on his lips as he balked at the sight in front of him.  Piper was a mess.  Her face was flushed, breathing hard, like she’d just finished running a marathon.  Her wheat colored hair was plastered to her skin, drenched in sweat.  “What in Light’s name happened to you,” his lip curled at her the mud and sand she’d trekked up the stairs, “you’re filthy.”

Piper rolled her eyes and pushed her bangs out of her eyes.  They were sticking up straight now.  She didn’t seem to notice.  His fingers twitched in his lap, but he resisted the urge to fix them.  Instead, he chose to stare at them helplessly.  “I just got back from the ruins in the Eufaula Desert,” she explained with a shrug, “I feel the heat out there a little more than I do here.  Trekking across sand isn’t exactly my idea of a good time.”  Gust couldn’t argue with that.  He’d only visited the Eufaula once since the bridge opened and he had no intention of returning.  “But,” she continued with an enthusiastic smile, “I came here for a reason.”

“Oh really?” He tried to hide the smile in his voice.  “You aren’t just here to irritate me?”

“You know that’s my favorite pastime, but no, not this time.”  She reached for the bag slung across her shoulder.  There was the distinct clink of rocks and metals as she shuffled through its contents.  “Here we go.” She tugged a book out of her bag and presented it to him.  “Tada!  Structural Dimension Theory by,” she paused and glanced at the cover, “Vincent Azula!”  

Gust’s eyes widened.  The cover was a little battered and it was covered in a thin layer of mineral dust, but he could read the title plain as day.  He’d been searching for a copy of this book for years.  He’d scoured the Free Cities.  He sent letters to fellow architects.  He even asked his Master to keep an eye out during her travels.  Nothing had come of it.  “How did you find this?”

“I found it while I was digging around in the mine,” she pushed it a little closer, “hence the dirt.”

He reached forward to touch it, but stopped himself.  Why was she giving it to him?  This book belonged in a museum, not his bookshelf.  She could sell it and make a fortune.  Instead, she was just giving it to him.  He didn’t do anything to deserve it.  His hand fell back into his lap.

“Do you know how valuable that is?”

“Do I care?” She tilted her head at him, “Albert told me you were itching to get your hands on a copy and I found one.  I want you to be the one to have it.”

“Well, I don’t want to take it.”

He winced.  That’s not what he meant.  He wanted to take it very much, but she was wasting it on him.  Piper’s expression fell, the disappointment clear on her face.  She was terrible at hiding her emotions.  The exact opposite of him.  He lacked the ability to appropriately convey his emotions.  It’s how he found himself in situations like these.  He couldn’t even describe what he was feeling right now.  Shame? Guilt? A deeply rooted sense of self loathing?  Probably a lovely mixture of all three.  Piper was giving it to him.  He shouldn’t turn away because he felt he didn’t deserve it.  That wasn’t his choice to make.  He turned away from her to hide the angry blush burning in his cheeks.  “You can set it over there.”  Piper didn’t respond.  A part of him was afraid she’d left.  He wouldn’t have blamed her.  

“But you just said…” Piper trailed off.

Gust breathed a sigh of relief.  She was still there.  “That’s not what I meant,” he managed softly, “it’s a rare find and you’re just giving it to me.  I was just surprised.  Set it over there.”  He gestured to table off to the side.  “You went through the trouble of bringing it here, I might as well read it.”  He grimaced.  For once in his life, he wanted to say what he meant.  Thank her, you coward. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome?”  She sounded confused.  That made two of them.  “I hope you enjoy it.”

Gust didn’t trust himself to speak, so he settled for a dismissive wave.  Not much better, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.  Her heavy footfalls retreated back down the stairs, then the jingle of the front door.  When he was certain she was out of sight, he let his head fall forward with a groan.  He tapped his forehead, once, twice, against his drafting table.  A disaster.  He was a disaster.

“And you say I’m bad with women?”

Gust glanced up. Albert leaned against the banister of the stairs a cheeky grin playing on his lips.  He hated when Albert gave him that look.  It meant he felt like gloating and he was not in the mood for Albert to get on his high horse.  He massaged his temples.  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Come on mate,” Albert threw his hands into the air, “You used to be so charming and talkative when we were in Atara.  You had men and women eating out the palm of your hand and now you can’t even thank someone properly for their incredibly thoughtful gift. What happened?”

Gust fiddled with his watch.  What hadn’t happened?  He’d abandoned his family and fled to the city with no intentions of returning.  Now that he was back, he had to face the consequences of his actions.  He doted on his sister.  He tried to make up for the time they’d lost, but it was clear that she’d grown up without him.  They spent time together, but he could feel the unspoken tension.  They never talked about the manner in which he’d left.  There was an elephant in the room and neither of them made any attempt to address it.  His father.  He bit the inside of his cheek.  Well, his father had Mint who was, by all intents and purposes, more deserving of his father’s affection and attention.  Mint could be the man and son Gust never could.  Portia had been his home, but now he was the stranger.  He had no right to feel bitter and alone.  He’d done this to himself.

“I have no interest in charming the people here.”  That much was true.  He couldn’t fix what he’d done, so he just didn’t bother anymore.  It didn’t matter what he did, whether he was kind or mean.  His future was set in stone as long as he lived in Portia.

Albert shook his head.  “You’re allowed to make friends.”

“I’m not here to make friends.  I’m here to do a job,” Gust replied with a pointed look in his direction, “As are you, we’re building our reputation.  When that happens, we can move onto bigger and better things.  This way, I won’t have any attachments holding me back when that happens.”

↢↢↢↣↣↣

Gust wandered the streets of Atara.  He knew these roads like the back of his hand.  He’d spent his free time as a student exploring every inch of the city.  It’s how he found his favorite cafe.  It sold the best coffee and it was where he and Albert had hatched their original plan for A&G Construction.  He almost smiled at the memory.  They had a lot of dreams back then.

Today, he’d decided to meander through the market district before he had to meet Albert for a long day of schmoozing.  People surrounded him on all sides, but he relished the bustling energy around him.  They were strangers.  They had their own lives and they didn’t bother themselves with knowing him or his business.  It was so unlike Portia.  

A gentle smile settled across his face as he followed the flow of traffic.  He was on a mission this morning.  Ginger’s birthday was in a few months and he wanted to find something to bring back home for her.  Perhaps there was a new book that he could get his hands on.  Anything to get her to stop raving about Journey to the East.  If he heard her gush about Albert’s thoughtful present one more time, he might just scream, especially when he knew where the book really came from.

He glanced at the shop stalls with mild disinterest.  Nothing really stood out to him.  Most of these shops sold boring knick-knacks.  Cheap and plentiful.  There was nothing of real value, and certainly nothing worth giving his sister.  Just as he was resigning himself to the fact that he wouldn’t find anything, he paused.  A small display of jewelry and brooches was set up on the side of the road, glistening softly in the mid morning sun.  He examined the pieces for a few moments, but one in particular kept drawing his eye.

It was a brooch, reminiscent of a pinecock feather.  A gradient of gemstones went from deep emerald to a pale blue and the golden frame was lined with pearls.  It was beautifully crafted.  It made him think of Piper.  He knew she  would appreciate the steady hand it took to make it.  It would also compliment her complexion.  He shook his head, mentally scolding himself.  No.  He was looking for a gift for his sister, not Piper.  He took a hesitant step away from the display, but couldn’t manage another.  His eyes stayed trained on that brooch.

He was conflicted.  On the one hand, getting Piper a gift wouldn’t be completely out of the question.  She had given him a birthday present and that architecture book, so getting her something in kind would be appropriate, wouldn’t it?  But on the other hand, he didn’t want the ramifications that came with giving her a gift.  If others found out, they’d read into it and then rumors would start to fly.  The last thing he wanted was for people to be prying into his personal affairs.

He willed his feet to move, to put these silly thoughts out of his head and continue down the street. He’d find something else for Ginger and he’d meet back up with Albert at the exhibition hall.  They’d charm investors and showcase the wonderful projects he’d spent months working on, then they’d come home.  He’d act like nothing had happened because it hadn’t.  Simple.  A moment passed, then another.  People pushed past him on the streets and for the first time he felt smothered by the city crowd.  Another moment passed and he swore under his breath. He reached for the gols in his pocket, and before he could stop himself, he was waving the shopkeeper over.

↢↢↢↣↣↣

The sun had just broken over the horizon when Gust slipped out into the quiet streets of Portia that morning.  He wanted to catch Piper before she made her rounds through town, away from prying eyes.  In order to do this, he knew he had to get to her workshop at the crack of dawn. He had no idea how Piper did this every day.  He often saw her milling about during his late night strolls with Ginger, so he knew she worked into the late hours of the night.  There were rumors of her passing out on more than one occasion.  Yet, without fail, she managed to roll out of bed each morning with a smile on her face.

He muffled a yawn in his hand as he watched the sun peek over the front gates. Sunrises were never really his thing.  He preferred the calm that came with a sunset and the promise of night.  The rich pinks and oranges of a sunset were richer than the pale hues that currently colored the sky overhead.

As he approached the town gates, he placed a hand protectively over his pocket.  The brooch shifted under his fingers as he walked.  He was only slightly embarrassed that he’d practiced what he was going to say this morning while he was getting ready.  He saw the brooch while traveling in Atara and thought it would suit her.  Simple, easy to remember, there was no way he could mess it up.

The soft, ceaseless, hum of her machines filled the air as he approached Pipes & Bricks.  Piper was currently bent over her skiver, unloading several bolts of fine leather.  Today, she’d traded her usual top knot for a simple braid.  Small wispy curls had already come loose and framed her face.  It was a surprisingly delicate look for her.  He willed his heart to stop racing as he cleared his throat.

“Good morning, Piper.”

She looked up from her machine and he noted the smudged grease across the bridge of her nose. “Gust?” The surprise on her face was quickly replaced by an amused smile.  “Do my eyes deceive me or is Mr. Clean Freak coming to my workshop of his own freewill?  Surely, the Dark Ages are back upon us.”

Gust teased his lower lip between his teeth.  This was out of character for him.  He realized that now, standing on the other side of her gate.  Her surprise was warranted.  He never went out of his way to visit anyone, yet, here he was at an ungodly hour just to give her a present.  Panic began to fester in the pit of his stomach.  He hadn’t even considered what this would look like to Piper.

If she had suspicions, she didn’t let it show as she continued, “What can I do for you?  Got a commission for me?  That’s normally why people stop by these days.”  She sighed wistfully.  “You know, I’d love it if someone stopped by just to say hello.”

“Albert and I went to Atara last week.” Gust wanted to kick himself.

Piper gave him an owlish look.  “Yeah, I know,” she said slowly, “you’ve been raving about your exhibition for months.  Did it go well?”

“It went surprisingly well,” he tried to play it cool but the excitement in his voice was undeniable, “We had a lot of interest from investors, so we’ll see what happens.”  Gust and Albert were pretty happy about this development.  Sure, Albert was still nursing the remnants of a hangover after all the schmoozing and Gust had locked himself away for a few days to recover himself.  People were draining in general, but those events always killed him.  Their hard work paid off though.  Albert had a meeting with an investor later this week.

“Well, that’s great to hear.  I told you everything would be fine.”

“I guess you were.”  He gave her a soft smile and she returned it.  “Oh right,” he tugged the brooch out of his pocket and offered it to her, “I got this.”

Piper set the bolts aside and crossed the yard to get a closer look.  Her eyes widened and there was the faintest hitch in her breath.  The panic in his chest was quickly replaced with a sense of pride.  She liked it.  He could tell by the sparkle in her eyes.  “It’s gorgeous,” she sounded breathless, “is it for Ginger?  Her birthday is coming up in a few months, isn’t it?”

Gust’s expression fell.  She thought it was for Ginger.  It was obviously for her.  The jewels matched the blue flecks in her eyes and the gold inlay complimented her sun kissed complexion.  It was practically made to be worn by her.  That’s why he bought it.

“W-What no, this isn’t herーwhy would Iー”  His brief bout of confidence was waning fast.  He hadn’t anticipated the confusion, but he could still save this.  He just needed to get the conversation back on track and stick to the facts.  “Actually, Albert gave it to me.”  The lie tumbled from his lips before he could stop it.  He sucked in his breath through gritted teeth.  Gust was a lot of things.  Crass, rude, more than a little evasive and standoffish, but he wasn’t a liar.  In fact, he considered himself truthful to a fault.  Still, he found himself lying.  The worst part, there was no need to lie in this situation, but his mouth refused to listen as he continued to spout bullshit. “I have no need for it.  So, you should take it.”  He offered it to her.  “Consider it payment for the book.”

Piper looked taken aback by his abruptness.  “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful,” she scratched sheepishly at the nape of her neck, “but you do realize the concept of a gift, right?”  Gust’s brain was short-circuiting, he tried to respond, but he could only stare at her.  This was a quickly sinking ship and he needed to get away, but his feet wouldn’t move.  He wanted to scream.  “The book I gave you was a gift,” she continued slowly, “you don’t have to pay me back.  I wanted you to have it.”

And he wanted her to have this brooch.  Wasn’t that much obvious?  He narrowed his eyes at her.  “I understand that,” he said tersely, “I’m just trying toー” He paused.  What was he trying to do?  At the moment, he was trying to end this conversation so he could go and sulk somewhere far away from her, but he couldn’t even manage that. His fingers closed around the brooch, its sharp edges digging into his palm.  “Nevermind, if you don’t want it, I’ll find someoneー”

“Woah there buddy,” Piper reached forward and wrapped her fingers around his wrist.  Her grip was surprisingly strong as she tugged him closer.  “I never said I wouldn’t take the brooch.  I just wanted to clarify that what I gave you was a gift.”  She offered him a small smile.  “I appreciate that you thought of me.  It’s beautiful, so I’d be happy to take it off your hands, as a gift.”

Gust stared at her.  She was able to say what he couldn’t.  He’d come to her workshop to give her a gift and he couldn’t even articulate his true intentions.  He’d lied to her.  Anger boiled in the pit of his stomach, but there was something else in the mix.  It was a feeling he felt in the quiet hours of the night or when one of his concepts was ripped apart by a client.  Shame.  He was ashamed of himself.  It had taken a brooch to make him see how socially stunted he’d become.  Now he really wanted to go home and sulk.

“Payment, gift, whatever.  Just take it.”

Piper plucked the brooch from his hand and fastened it to the front of her coveralls.  The jewels glistened faintly in the early morning sun. “What do you think?” her tone was bright as she placed a hand on her hip, “I think it brings out the grease stains on these things, but in a cute way, ya know?”

Gust swallowed the lump that was beginning to form in his throat.  He wanted to feel good.  He’d given her the brooch after all.  But this entire ordeal made him feel empty.  He forced a smile across his face, but he knew it came out more like a sneer.   “You’re hopeless.”  There was a brittle edge to his voice and he wasn’t entirely sure if he was calling Piper hopeless.  Or himself?  He needed to leave before he made things worse.  “I should go,” he spun on his heel and hurried back up the path, “try not to visit the office today.  You’re loud and distracting.”

“I make no promises.”

“Goodbye Piper.”

“Hey Gust.”  He paused and turned back over his shoulder.  She offered him a small wave.  “Thanks for stopping by to say hi.  Don’t be a stranger.”

#my time at portia #mtap #mtap gust #mtap builder #mtap albert #mtap qq

[argylemikewheeler]

102 Peach Street

|| started by this ask. will and mike are married and very happy ||

On Sunday mornings, Mike always liked to spend the early sunlight hours pulling weeds out of the garden. He’d stand in the warm sunshine, feeling the morning breeze on his arms and through his hair– he refused to cut it above his shoulders in the early nineties. Will would often stand at the kitchen window, washing the dishes, and smile down at him and their full green country yard.

It was part of Will’s therapy to tend to something that would grow and thrive if loved and taken care of– just like he would. The summer they moved out of Hawkins and into a place of their own, Mike helped Will plant greenery all along the front of the house and by the porch steps. Will watered and fixed the soil frequently, but Mike always offered to do the weeding; Will’s knees had gotten bad in his early college years from a childhood of incorrectly running (for his life) and couldn’t spend the hours hunched over like he used to.

Of course, though, Mike didn’t mind. He lovingly got his favorite pair of worn and tearing jeans and knelt in the dirt, reminding himself what it was like to actually do something with his hands– he really had something going as a kid with all those Lego projects. Those days, he really only spent time at his desk shuffling papers. Mike would willingly trade paper cuts for all that dirt under his fingernails. He didn’t dislike his job though, let that be known. Copy editing was a joy and writing in his free time reminded him of planning campaigns, but Hawkins just never had sunshine like this.

Will and Mike didn’t runaway from Hawkins necessarily, but they did give their (unwanted) family a very short notice before packing their car up and driving east. They unpacked their boxes in their small cottage, faint sounds of the ocean reminding them they were far from their childhood, but had finally come home. They eloped– in the way that they could– in ‘95. Neither spoke a word, but quietly changed the single, default name on the mailbox to both. Will painted it on with his best attempt at a flower that seemed to have a face of some kind– but maybe that was Mike’s interpretation.

Will’s middle school art students seemed to like the plant’s “face” when he drew it on their work too, understandably so: Demogorgons looked cute when they had googly eyes and smiley faces.

“Good morning, Mr. Byers.” Mike stood up and turned at the sound of a young voice behind him. A girl was standing at the end of their front walkway, holding up her bike. Her hair was in two pigtails on the top of her head, wrapped in pink fuzzy hair ties.

“Hi. What can I do for you?” He couldn’t remember her name, but he knew she lived just down the road. Her parents made them a pie when they first moved in. He was allergic to it– but he didn’t hold that against them.

“Do you know where Mr. Wheeler is?” She asked. They’d traded names so technically they weren’t noticeably married, but could still enjoy answering to the last name of the other. Mike really liked being a Byers.

“He’s just inside, I can get him if you want. What’s wrong?”

“I messed up my bike.” She sighed, holding it out to him.

“Oh! I can help with that.” Mike wiped his hands on his jeans and used his shoulder to nudge some of his curls out of his way.

“It’s not just the chain– I fixed that myself. When I fell I scratched the paint up pretty bad… and I know Mr. Wheeler has good paints in his garage.” She looked down at her accident’s handiwork– a long scrape going along the entire length of the frame.

“Oh! You need an artist’s help. I understand– I’ll be right back.” Mike grabbed the banister and swung up the front steps. He made sure not to leave any smudged fingerprints on the door as he opened it and stepped inside. He kept his dirty shoes on the doormat. “Oh, Mr. Wheeler, the girl from down the street is here to see you. She has an art emergency.”

Will ducked and emerged under the hanging cabinets in the kitchen. He’d cut his hair above his ears, almost to balance out Mike’s, and finally started letting his hair swoop back and show his forehead. He was the most handsome man Mike had ever seen, and Mike thought it every time he laid eyes on Will. He knew he was lucky just getting out of Hawkins alive, but he considered his greatest luck finding Will all those years ago.

“Sara?” Will placed his dish towel down on the counter and walked around, coming toward the door. “What happened?”

“She crashed and needs some new paint.” Mike held the door open for Will, letting him onto the porch. “Here he is, Sara.” Mike was glad someone remembered people’s names.

“Hey, sweetheart! What happened!” Will gripped Mike’s arm and braced himself as he took the stairs. Mike could practically hear Will’s joints squeaking as loudly as the wood steps.

“A car blew a stop sign and I skidded to stop so fast it went sideways and slid right out from under me!” She groaned, rolling it toward him and exposing the scrape.

“Oh, God. Are you alright?” Will asked, squeezing Mike’s arm in response.

“Yeah, I had my elbow pads and helmet on. I’m fine.” She said. “But Sandra here really got it.”

“You named her Sandra?” Will smiled and braced his knees to crouch and admire the flaking paint. His knees popped as he sank down. “I don’t think I ever named mine when I was growing up– did you, Michael?”

“Nope. Me neither.” Mike shook his head. “If I did, I completely forget by now.”

“That’s fair.” Will muttered. He adjusted his weight on his feet and ran his hand over the exposed frame. “I don’t know if I have the same color as your bike, so how about a stripe? I can give you a racing stripe right down the side!”

“Can you?”

“Of course I can.” Will laughed, nodding. “I can even do a little design for you– Michael, you know where my really nice white paint is, right? On the–”

“Top shelf of your metal cabinet, just by the garage door? Yeah. I know where.” Mike touched the top of Will’s head as he stepped past them. “I’ll get your good brushes too.”

“Thank you, Mike.” Will grinned, somewhat shyly due to their audience, and watched Mike cross the lawn.

The garage was disconnected from the house and held all of Will’s art supplies as well as Mike’s old typewriter. Will’s easel was leaned up against the model bench and Mike’s old manuscripts were still in a bit of a mess on the lid of one of Will’s toolboxes. He’d clean that later, after he found that one passage he’d written ages ago and suddenly found a way to repurpose.

It was a short paragraph, maybe three sentences, about a brief memory Mike remembered having as a kid, but knowing he’d never lived it. It was a image of this figure– this boy– passing in front of his vision and drawing him farther and farther in to him. It had been a dream Mike had, knocked out and lying on his local mall’s floor. He’d thought he was being drawn to death then, but it turned out he was brought back to consciousness by the faint tug of his heartstrings.

He wanted to find it and rework it for an upcoming anniversary. The manuscript had never seen the light or day or the desk of any publishing house, but it had stuck with Mike since he’d buried it under boxes of old bike parts and vinyl records.

Mike grabbed the paint and Will’s brushes by the door before backpedaling and going to Will and their neighbor. Will was sitting on the grass by then, legs stretched out and hands gently patting his left knee as he spoke.

“– it’s supposed to rain soon too, so my knees aren’t any better. I’m okay though, Sara. Mr. Byers and I are just old.”

“You aren’t even thirty.” Mike quipped, placing the paint beside Will and gently nudging his leg.

“I’ve got old man knees though.” Will said, rubbing them slowly. “Sara was just asking my why bones sound like popcorn.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No! No!” Will laughed, reaching over for her arm gently. “It’s alright! It’s funny. They do, they really do sound like popcorn. I got it from an old childhood accident.” He used the back of a paintbrush to pop the lid to the paint. Mike held the can still, letting his already dirty hands get covered in the flakes of dried white paint.

“Did you play a sport, Mr. Wheeler? My dad said he hurt his knee back in high school playing football.” Sara asked, gripping Sandra tightly by the handlebars.

“No, nothing like that. I just fell when I was a kid. I was running inside– which I shouldn’t have been doing, that’s never safe– and I tripped over something and took this big spill. Rolled myself up into knots and really bumped up both my knees.” Mike didn’t remember Will getting so good at telling that lie.

In reality, Will was running toward Hopper’s cabin, deep in the woods, completely barefoot. The ground was uneven and Will’s legs were flailing out in unhealthy and painful directions as he forced himself to go ahead another inch. It was pitch black and the rest of the Party was standing on the porch, waving him forward and screaming to go just a little farther. In the last stretch, and last jump over a fallen tree, Will’s ankle caught on a branch and brought him tumbling down to the ground. The growling behind him grew louder as he tumbled through the fallen leaves and into rocks and sticker bushes. Mike didn’t remember leaving the safety of the porch, but he remembered pulling Will out of the foliage and dragging him the rest of the way to the house. He remembered crying too. That’s all.

“I’m fine, Sara. Don’t worry, I’ve got Mr. Byers here to help.” Will looked over his shoulder and winked at Mike before leaning back to the bike with his dipped paintbrush.

“Is he your helper?” Sara looked at Mike with such innocence and kindness. There was an instinct to feel guilty– like it would all go away if she only knew the truth. But Mike knew it was a false sense of guilt. Their marriage was the best thing in Mike’s life. He wasn’t ashamed.

“No, actually Michael’s my husband.” Will said, his hand moving steadily and making a clean stripe on Sara’s bike. “I’ve known him since we were kids.”

“Oh. T-That’s cool, I guess.” Sara said, obviously taken aback. She didn’t seem bothered, just wildly surprised. She’d lived next door to them for most of her life, and apparently it never occurred to her that young, happy men could be married too.

Part of Mike was pleased to be a surprise. Typically, that meant the person had never met a gay couple before. Mike was glad he and Will could be her starting example.

“I’m going to leave you two to your work, alright?” Mike said, wiping his hands on his jeans again. Sara had stopped staring at him, but had now moved on to Will. Mike was sure she had more questions. “I want to clean up the garage, Plum. I’ll be back.”

—

Mike sat down on the garage floor and started separating the loose pages and clipped manuscripts. Mike avoided reading any of his very old writing– it was still embarrassing to think he was published in his college lit mag forever with such sappy love poetry. At least he still had the work’s muse living with him. Helped him improve and write the same message again, far better: later, said embarrassing poem became Mike’s wedding vows so it wasn’t all a loss.

Before Mike could reach the bottom of his stack, the garage side door opened. Will placed his paint and brushes down on the floor and slowly approached Mike’s sporadic piles.

“What are you looking for?” He stood tall but squinted to try and read the pages below him.

“Something I wrote in college. I remembered it the other morning– remember when I stumbled out of bed for my notebook?” Mike laughed, turning to look up at his husband.

“When you tripped three times just getting across the room? Yeah. I remember. I thought we were being robbed. But it was just you having a stroke of genius?”

“If you want to call it that.” Mike held his arms out to the scattered organization with a sigh. “Did you fix Sandra up?”

“Sara’s already on her way home! Gave her a stripe and even wrote ‘Sandra’ on the side. Gave her flowers and swords, the whole nine.”

“Swords?”

“She told me she’s learning about Joan of Arc.” Will shrugged. “I thought it was pretty cool.”

“It is. And so are you.” Mike placed his unsorted pages down, frankly not needing their words anymore. His world was right there. Being absolutely adorable. Will placed his hand over Mike’s face and shoved him playfully.

“Help me inside, Mr. Byers?”

“That bad?” Mike’s tone changed in a snap, pushing off the ground and getting to his feet. “We should change out those stairs, Plum.”

“No, it’s just the barometric pressure. They’re fine.” Will took Mike’s hand. “A convenient excuse to keep you around though, have to say.”

“Don’t make me carry you again.” Mike jokingly went to sweep Will off his feet. Will yelped and jumped back with a giggle. “I’ll only hit your head on the doorway a little bit this time.”

“I love having to tell the story of ‘no the bruise I got on my wedding night was because my husband walked me into the doorway’. My mom thought we were idiots.” Will sighed, following Mike out of the garage.

“Babe, we are idiots.”

“Yeah, but she didn’t need to know that this late in the relationship. We’ve kept it a secret for quite a while, I like to think.”

"Will, for every monster we fought on a school night is another ten reasons we’re both idiots.” Mike reasoned. He stepped up onto the stairs first, letting Will pull up on his tensed arm for leverage. “You taught me that.”

Will grunted quietly as he pushed himself up the rest of the stairs. At the landing, he broke into a smile. “I know. I’m just testing you, Michael. Just testing you.”

“Shut up and get inside.” Mike laughed, swinging the front door open. “Make sure all the windows are closed before it rains, I’m going to make you some tea.”

“What? That’s not how that works.” Will laughed, shaking his head as he kicked off his shoes. “You know we didn’t open any windows last night.”

“Welp, looks like you have to sit down and let me make you tea.” Mike said, dramatically sighing and starting off toward the kitchen. Will shuffled after him, trying not to slip in his socks.

Their house was about the size of Will’s childhood home, maybe a bit smaller. They didn’t need much room, if Mike was being honest. All their childhood they’d practically lived right on top of each other, being able to do so as adults was a bonus. Between the foyer and the kitchen was only a small alcove with their round wooden dining table. It only held the two of them; they rarely had guests anyway.

Every time he passed by the table, he remembered that first month, sitting in the morning silence and staring out the window at the long stretches of trees. Will was sipping tea, careful not to slurp too loudly and get under Mike’s skin at seven in the morning. Under the table, Mike could hear Will gently rubbing his feet together: a habit of comfort Mike had learned to observe. Mike had been drinking coffee and eating a bagel, definitely getting crumbs everywhere. He’d placed his breakfast down and cleared his throat– twice– and placed his hand on Will’s. Will still made him nervous sometimes.

“Hey, Will?” Mike had said, careful to break his peaceful look.

“Yeah, Mike?”

The words were so easy to say. Mike couldn’t remember a time when they seemed so far off: “Will you marry me?”

“So, what stroke of genius did you have?” Will asked, easing himself down into his chair. Mike placed the kettle onto the stove with a furrowed look. “You said your old writing– a new idea came to you?”

“Oh! Right. I got confused when you said genius.” Mike teased.

He got out Will’s favorite mug and placed it on the counter beside his teabag. Originally, it had just been a random floral mug his mother had found at a thrift store, just trying to get enough mugs for when the entire Party– and monster hunting congregation– found its way into the Byers house. Will had been drinking out of it when they solved their last mystery; was steeping tea when he got accepted to college, and nearly spilled it diving for the phone to call Mike; and brought it to his dorm for his four years at MICA. And, obviously, it was the one he was drinking out of when Mike proposed– if you want to call it that. Mike considered it a waking up of sorts, of finally getting his shit together and asking Will the most obvious question.

“So, what’s the idea?” Will asked, placing his feet up on Mike’s seat. “You know I like hearing about them.”

“Yeah, I know. But this one’s boring.”

“Your ideas are never boring, Michael. I love them.” Will said sternly, although his smile ruined the effect. “I’m listening.”

The kettle began to whistle and Mike tried to use it as a distraction, but he could feel Will’s eyes patiently watching him.

“It’s an old something I wanted to fix up… it’s from college, but it’s about back from before we started high school.” He waved it off before pouring their water.

“You say that like it’s not any good.”

"It’s just about… this dream I had once.” Mike sighed. He rolled his eyes at his own preface. “It was when– okay, so do you remember that time in Starcourt when I was hit? I fell down and smacked my head really hard?”

“Do I rememb– yes, of course I do.” Will exclaimed. “I thought you’d shattered your skull right open in the goddamn food court while we were running for our lives.”

“Well, it’s just about that. The dream I had while I was completely knocked out for five minutes.” Mike tried to nudge it away with another shrug. He returned to the table quickly, still trying to maintain a feeling of nonchalance. Will took the mug slowly, narrowing his eyes but still thanking him. “What!”

“You’ve never told me about this before.” Will said, moving his feet up off Mike’s seat so he could slide under them. Mike always let Will rest his feet on his lap. “How is this new to me?”

Mike set his jaw, trying to defeat his growing smile. “It’s supposed to be a surprise! Don’t ask too many questions. It’s your anniversary gift, so don’t go poking around.”

“Michael, you don’t have to do anything for me!” Will reached over and grabbed both of Mike’s hands. “I don’t want you to.”

“You married me and let me buy you a house.” Mike said, like it was the simplest rebuttal. “I have to thank you every year. Afraid my luck will run out.”

“How many times have I told you,” Will said, pulling Mike’s hand up to his lips, kissing it quickly. “It’s not luck. That’s not why we’re together. It’s–”

“I know, I know.” Mike sighed, smiling. “It’s fate.”

Will grinned, his face lighting up; it was what Will had said in his own wedding vows. The moment Mike heard it, unprepared and already wonderfully weak at the altar, he started weeping. Before then, he’d never thought that everything in his life had all been for something. All of his past suffering could stop hurting, even for a moment. It wasn’t going to come back and haunt him; he had finally reached his own, permanent happiness. The one his family never said he’d have, the one he started to believe he was never meant to experience– only write about, growing envious of his characters.

But Mike’s happiness was there, sitting across from him and all around. It was 102 Peach Street, house of Mr. Michael Byers and Mr. William Wheeler. It was waking up to the same faint sound of even and slow breathing– the reassurance he’d still get to live his best dream another day. On the hardest days, it was the paint-smudged young man that would come through the front door, smiling from ear to ear, already somehow knowing that Mike needed extra love– and an overly dramatic mwah of a hello kiss. On Mike’s best days, it was just Will.

No matter what, it was always Will. Mike had found his happiness, run headstrong into his fated future, and nothing was ever going to take it away.

Mike blinked, tears suddenly welling in his eyes, and thought of his dream. The floating figure was one he had always assumed as an angel– a sign that death was closer than it had ever been– and it was an angel. It was just that this one looked a whole lot like his childhood friend. Looked like his husband.

“Why are you crying?” Will moved his legs off Mike’s lap in order to pull his chair in closer. Will cradled Mike’s face, his thumbs moving over his cheeks slowly, waiting for a tear to fall. “Michael, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” Mike laughed, sniffling. “I just forget how kind fate was to me… I got the perfect house, the most beautiful husband with the most extraordinary heart, neighbors that bake us pies for fuck’s sake… Did you ever think we’d get all this?”

“No.” Will said, shaking his head. “But I always knew I’d have you. And that was always enough.”

Mike hiccuped a short but loud sob, laughing wetly. “God, you’re making me cry more. I love you. So so much.”

Will didn’t speak– he often never did when Mike was in his moods of disbelief. He just pushed Mike’s hair back from his eyes, looking at him with a sense of wonder, before leaning forward to kiss him.

When Mike closed his eyes, he knew the vision was no longer a memory and it definitely wasn’t a dream. No, it was a feeling. It was this feeling. One of comfort and relief, of letting Mike’s whole body relax into the warm touch of another person– another man. Laying on the floor of the mall, in danger and unconscious, Mike had been given a glimpse into his own future– and it was gloriously simple, safe, and sweet. It was Will.

ao3

#byeler #byler #will byers x mike wheeler #byeler hcs #stranger things writing #i'm not even going to lie writing this was the happiest i'd been since the wedding #i had so much fun and definitely cried doing this #i really had thoughts about love i guess #please love her i loved writing her so much thank you #xoxox #prompts