Hello, Not Sure If You Still Up For Suggestions, But Here I Am.

Gaslight District fanfic writers on their way to create literal masterpieces for a show with a barely one month old pilot

Jack Marston x Reader

Once Upon a Time in The West

Description: Orphaned at 14 and desperate to find a way to make ends meet, you stumble upon a boy struggling to build a fence at a ranch called Beecher's hope. Little did you know your unsolicited building advice would land you with a job at the ranch. You become the best of friends, only for life to tug you away. Years later, the 'mysterious' death of a certain government agent brings you back to Blackwater.

(SFW, fluff, angst, friends to lovers)

Warnings: mentions of death, alcoholism, depression.

6k words bc i didn't feel like making separate chapters. (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

The wind carried the scent of freshly cut timber and sun-warmed earth as you rode through the valley aimlessly. The land stretched vast and golden before you, the rolling fields dotted with cattle and fenced enclosures. You rented a hotel room in Blackwater with the spare money you had, spent hours asking anyone and everyone if they were hiring only to be met with the same answer. You figured a stroll around the area would clear your head. Your horse trotted steadily, hooves crunching against the dry dirt road as you approached a homestead marked,

Beecher’s Hope.

You were met with the sight of a young boy around your age, hammering away at a fence post with all the grace of a drunkard. He adorned a worn striped shirt and gray vest, his hair cut short, freckles dusting his face. He looked well off, at least compared to yourself, clad in a torn up dress and muddled boots. 

You pulled your horse to a stop, watching as he drove a nail into the wood at an angle that would surely give way in a few months.

With a sigh, you swung yourself off your horse and approached him from outside the fence. You shifted, watching him struggle before one final smack of the hammer against the wood plank finally tempted you to speak,

“That fence is gonna collapse if you keeping hammering it like that.”

The boy startled, nearly dropping the hammer in his hands. He turned sharply to face you, small dark eyes squinting and thin brows furrowed in suspicion. “Who're you?”

You shrugged, “Nobody.”

He huffed, rolling his eyes. “Well, ‘Nobody,’ I don’t need help.” He went back to hammering, but you remained where you stood.

A moment passed before you held out your hand expectantly, 

“Come on, just hand it over."

The boy looked at you with suspicion, before passing the hammer despite himself, “What, you some kind of carpenter?”

“No, but my father was.”

The words slipped out before you could catch them, your mind briefly clouding over at images of his tombstone. He hesitated, his earlier annoyance softening into something more uncertain.

“Your folks know you’re out here?” he asked.

“They’re dead.”

You spoke absently, focusing instead on fixing his shoddy work. The silence that followed was thick. He shifted awkwardly, staring at the dirt before mumbling, “Oh. Uhm… I’m sorry.”

You only nodded, hands deftly straightened the plank before nailing it in place

“I guess that looks better, thank you," He cleared his throat, "for helpin' me, I mean."

"No problem," you replied, giving the fence a once-over before your gaze caught something on the ground beside him 

You bent down, picking it up, “What’s this?”

The boy’s pale face turned a shade of pink, “Oh, that’s–it’s nothing.”

You suppressed a chuckle at his awkwardness, you were no charmer yourself, but you figured he hadn't much experience talking to people, seeing as there weren't any other kids around.

You flipped it over, inspecting the worn cover. “A western?”

“It’s…stupid,” he muttered, scuffing his boot against the dirt.

“I love westerns,” You mused.

He seemed to perk up a bit, “Really?” 

“Sure,” you smiled, flipping through the pages, “I used to have a ton of these back home.” 

The boy scratched the back of his neck, shifting back and forth for a moment, “You can have it, if you want.”

You grinned, tucking the book into the bag on your saddle.

“Thanks, uh-"

“Jack,” he said, “Jack Marston.”

You mounted your horse, “I’ll make sure to bring it back to you, Jack Marston.”

With not much to do, you returned a few times after that, sometimes watching Jack work on things from behind the fence, other times offering unsolicited advice.

“That beam’s not level.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

“No you don’t.”

Jack would groan, mutter something under his breath, but inevitably, he’d adjust whatever you pointed out or let you take the reins altogether.

“So, you do all this stuff at home too?” he asked, stepping aside as you fixed the wheel on a broken wagon.

You laughed, shaking your head, “Don’t have one, not anymore at least.” Your parents were so neck deep in loans, the bank had taken everything away before their bodies even hit the ground.

Jack’s expression sobered slightly, but he nodded, filing that piece of information away without prying.

The next time you rode up to Beecher’s Hope, you noticed Jack standing stiffly beside an older man. He was tall, skin weathered under Blackwater's sun which only emphasized the lighter scars across his face. He had the same dark and deep set eyes as the boy next to him.

You approached, despite feeling a bit nervous under his firm stare, “Afternoon, sir.”

“Afternoon,” he smiled, tipping his hat, “I’m John, the boy’s father.”

You nodded, glancing between them. “Figured you were. You two look a lot alike.”

John snorted, giving Jack’s shoulder a rough pat, “Poor kid.”

“Pa," Jack griped.

You looked to Jack who avoided your gaze, suddenly finding the dirt beneath him very interesting. Maybe he told his father about you, maybe he was here to shoo you off like everyone else did. "My son here tells me your fairly decent at fixin' things, and I’d love to hire you if you're interested.” You were torn from your thoughts, a job? You couldn’t remember the last time anyone gave you a chance at finishing your sentence let alone give you a job offer.

“Wait-really?” You asked, looking at him like he'd grown two heads.

“Really,” John replied before he hesitated for a moment, “but I ain’t sure about our extra hand bein’ a little girl. I mean, what’re you, twelve?” "Fourteen. If you’re anything like your son, you’re gonna need a lot more than an extra hand.” You chuckled, motioning to Jack who sputtered while John barked out a laugh, shaking his head. “You got some nerve, kid.”

“So, you hirin’?” You asked, clasping your hands together, trying your best to contain your excitement.

John looked at you for a moment, before relenting, “What the hell,” he extended his hand, “We’ll clear out a room for you. You can move in soon as it’s ready.”

You took his hand, “Thank you, Mr. Marston.”

You hurried toward your horse, mounting it before looking at Jack, 

“Sorry for throwin' you under the bus Jack, but hey, it worked!” You grinned.  

"Sure did," John mused, placing a playfully rough hand on Jack's shoulder.

Jack huffed, as he rolled his eyes and shrugged him off. 

As you rode off, John turned to his son, “I like her! That attitude...she's gonna give you a hard time, son.”

“I hope not,” Jack exhaled as they head back into the house.

Life at Beecher’s Hope quickly settled into a rhythm, one that felt strangely comforting despite the unfamiliarity of it all. Mornings began with the golden sun spilling over the horizon, its warmth chasing away the chill of dawn. 

You would wake early, often beating Jack to the barn. The both of you bickered over who did daily chores the best, often asking John to choose and he’d dismiss you both, muttering about how he’s getting too old for this. 

John quickly learned that, despite his initial reservations, you were more than capable.

He’d often find you working on the things he told you not to in case you'd 'mess it up', shaking his head in amusement when you proved to be just as stubborn as he was.

“Y’know, I was worried about bringin’ you on. Thought maybe you’d up and run off after seeing the workload," He remarked one afternoon as you helped him shovel the barn, "Or Uncle," he added.

You chuckled, “it’s going to take a lot more than a lazy old drunk to get me out of here, Mister.”

He chuckled, giving you a playful jab as he went to fetch some more hay. 

Mrs. Marston, on the other hand, had taken to treating you like a daughter. When you weren’t outside helping John, she fussed about you needing to sit or lie down. It was nice having a motherly figure after being on your own for so long, but being as restless as you were, you insisted on keeping busy with her too.

“You’re makin' things real easy for us.” She grinned one evening as the two of you worked on fixing up some dinner. “And Jack’s taken a real liking to you.” She added quietly as you stirred the stew.

You glanced up, cheeks warming slightly, “Oh–well he’s a good friend...real smart too.”

“Mhm,” Abigail hummed, voice tinged with an amusement you tried your best to ignore.

Jack, true to his word, really had become one of your closest companions. In the evenings, when work was done and the sky was painted in shades of pink and orange, the two of you would race each other to the hillside near the house, books in hand. 

Sometimes you read aloud to one another, breaking into silly voices, other times you simply sat in comfortable silence, flipping through pages until the light outside dimmed.

“You’ ever thought about writing your own stories?” Jack asked one night as the two of you lay on your backs in the hayloft, staring at the rafters above.

You thought about it for a moment, “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

Jack sat up, “We can figure one out together?”

Just then a little memory came back to you,

“My Ma' and I used to play this game where we'd come up with stories by finishing each other's sentences."

“That sounds fun," Jack said.

"Yeah," you reminisced, before scooting closer, "Okay, you start.”

Jack nodded, eyes searching around as he thought for a moment, “Once upon a time in the West…” he began.

“There were two cowboys," you continued.

"And their names were…” Jack looked at you expectantly.

You paused, before snickering, “John and Uncle.” 

The two of you’d laugh your heads off over the hilariously awful protagonist duo, mustering up a fairly compelling plot if it weren't for the odd predicaments and crude dialogue sprinkled in between.

Your fun was interrupted when Abigail's piercing voice hollered at the both of you from the porch to come inside, scolding you two for staying out so late. The both of you would obey, entering the house straight faced, bursting out laughing the second she turned away. 

On warmer nights, you would stretch out in the grass just beyond the house, gazing up at the sky. The stars stretched across the heavens, twinkling in the dark like tiny beacons. Jack would point out constellations, his voice quiet as he recounted the stories behind them.

“This one here,” he murmured, tracing the shape of Orion’s Belt with his finger, “Pa’ used to tell me it was a hunter…”

He would ramble on about the ancient stories of the constellations, his voice fading into the hum of cicadas and crickets as the world grew darker around you, slipping into the comfort of your dreams.

2 years later...

“You know, you keep brushing that horse any harder, poor thing's gonna be bald.”

Jack scoffed, not even bothering to look up from the mare he was tending to, “Oh, I’m sorry, did I ask for an expert opinion?”

You smirked, dragging a brush through your own horse’s mane. You had half a mind to flick some hay at him, but you let it slide, for now.

For a few moments, the only sound was the steady strokes of brushes and the occasional rustle from the horses shifting in their stalls. It was comfortable, the back-and-forth, the both of you never letting the other get too comfortable. As fun as it was, things just felt calmer on that night.

Jack was the first to break the lull. “You ever think about the future, like ten years from now?”

You were caught off guard at the suddenness of the question but answered nonetheless, “I don’t even know what’s gonna happen ten days from now.”

He was quiet for a moment, running a hand down the mare’s neck as he glanced at you.

“I do,” he admitted. “I think about it a lot. See myself bein’ a lawyer.”

You blinked. Of all the things you expected him to say; writer, rancher, bounty hunter...a lawyer wasn’t one of them.

“A lawyer?”

“Why not," he shrugged, "Ma' always told me I'd be one cause I like reading and arguing,” he added, nudging you with his shoulder.

"Yeah, I guess that does makes sense," You considered.

"With all that money, I could take care of Ma and Pa. I can buy you a little work shack," he pondered, "Have our own carpenter on the ranch.” He chuckled.

You let out a small breath at his words, he was so optimistic, sometimes it bordered on naive, but the sentiment warmed your heart nonetheless.

A small laugh left you before you could stop it, "I'll be following in Uncle's footsteps, free loadin' off of y'all."

Jack looked at you pointedly and you snickered, “I’m only kiddin'.”

"You better be," Jack huffed, but there was no real heat behind the words.

You spoke after another moment of silence, “Never really thought about all that though. Guess I figured the future wasn’t really mine to think about.”

Jack stilled, “You don’t have to think that way. You’re gonna be here, with me.”

It was quick, unfiltered, and the second he realized what he’d just said, a flush crept up his neck. He turned away, suddenly very invested in adjusting the saddle on the mare.

If there was one thing both you and Jack feared, it was being alone, abandoned. He guessed that's what made him want to help you all those years ago,

“Really?” You asked.

“I’m not just gonna leave you.” he muttered with a shrug.

You felt a flush of your own creep up on your face, it was nice having someone who cared about you the way Jack did, “Thanks."

That was all you needed to say.

The both of you startled when you heard John clear his throat from behind you both.

Jack jumped so fast he nearly knocked over the bucket beside him. You turned, and there he was, leaning against the barn door, something somber in his eyes.

“Didn't mean to startle you two, but I need to talk to you,” John said as he approached.

You exchanged a glance with Jack before setting your brush aside, “What’s goin’ on?”

John sighed, reaching into his coat pocket. He pulled out a folded letter, turning it over in his hands before finally looking at you, “Got a letter from a woman who claims to be your aunt. Says she’s been lookin’ for you.”

Your stomach twisted. 

“She lives near Strawberry now. Found out what happened to your folks and she wants to take you in.” He spoke carefully, as if not wanting to overwhelm you, “Plan on riding to her cabin and seeing if she’s safe, you know, right in the head and all.” He added, attempting to make you smile but your mind was elsewhere.

Your world, the one that had just started feeling stable, tilted all over again. Sure, you loved your aunt, she was kind to you growing up, but she was always moving around, 'free spirited' as your mother liked to put it. You sighed shakily, dreading the thought of having to start over again.

John looked at you with something almost apologetic in his eyes, before he gently wrapped an arm around your shoulder, “Let's talk some more in the house.”

You nodded, feeling Jack’s gaze on you, but were unable to meet it just yet. The future, once distant and uncertain, was suddenly pressing down on you, demanding yet another change you weren’t sure you were ready to make.

The morning air was crisp as you stood near the packed wagon. John was finishing up putting the last of your things in the back while Abigail, Uncle, and Jack gathered nearby to see you off.

You had come to terms with leaving. The Marston's had given you a home when you needed it most, and you would always be grateful, but you were eager to be with the last of your family. 

Still, the thought of leaving Jack stung the most. He had been your first real friend, and now, you weren’t sure when you’d see him again.

“Aw, come here,” Abigail murmured, pulling you out of your thoughts and into a tight embrace.

“Won’t have anyone to complain to about these boys anymore,” She chuckled as she pulled away, wiping the corners of her glistening eyes.

Uncle tutted, “You’ll do that with the girl gone anyway!"

Abigail smacked the old man on the shoulder as you and Jack shared a humorous look. As useless and odd as he was, you were going to miss Uncle. "Wagon's all packed," John grunted, easing himself up the steps to hold onto the reigns.

You nodded, about to leave when Jack stepped forward, “Here! I almost forgot,” he said.

You looked down to see him holding out a small, leather-bound journal, “For the trip. Don’t open it ‘til you get there.”

“Alright,” you took it carefully, before lightly tapping his chest with the book, “But you better write to me.”

He smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Only if you promise to try and visit.”

You nodded, “I promise.”

With one last glance at them all, Abigail’s sad smile, Uncle’s lazy wave, and Jack’s uncertain look, you climbed into the wagon.

The journey to North was fairly quiet. Mr. Marston wasn’t much for conversation, but his presence was always calming. 

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, noticing you were quieter than usual, before speaking up, “You know, I know a thing or two about startin’ over. Hell, I’ve lived more lives than I can keep count of.”

He tutted, head tilting as if replaying the past few years over in his mind, "Took a while, but I found my place," he mused, before looking over at where you sat, "You will too, I know it."

“I hope so,” you said, looking at the trees whirring by.

When you finally arrived at your aunt’s house, she was already outside waiting, arms open and eyes shining with unshed tears.

After greeting her and brushing off her endless praise, John helped you unload, carrying your trunk inside.

When it came time for him to leave, you were unsure of how to convey all that was on your mind. You were going to miss him, his family, the ranch. You were grateful, scared, uncertain.

You opted for throwing your arms around his middle, hugging him tightly, not ready to let go just yet.

He stiffened for only a second before returning the embrace, patting your back gently as he sensed you're anxiety,

“Gonna be just fine, kid.” He murmured.

Although you felt a lump form in your throat, your muscles relaxed as you nodded. Mr. Marston knew what it was like to be in your shoes, always had a way of reminding you it wasn’t the end of the world. You were going to miss that.

After you pulled away, he tapped the brim of your hat with a deft hand, “You stay out of trouble now, Miss.”

You fixed your now crooked hat, “You too, Mr. Marston.”

He gave you a small salute before heading off, leaving you standing at the doorway of your new home before your aunt coaxed you to come inside and eat.

After settling in later that night, you finally pulled out that journal Jack had given you. Flipping it open, you grinned at the first few words on the first page, 

‘Once upon a time in the west there were two cowboys named John and Uncle…’

Followed by endless pages full of your shared stories, some silly, some a little more serious. Some had little sketches in the margins, others had notes about how he’d come up with an idea, all carefully written in Jack’s handwriting.

You ran your fingers over the ink, before plopping down on your bed to read the journal in it's entirety.

3 years later...

The night air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth as you sat on the porch beside your aunt, the distant rustling of trees filling the silence between you. 

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” she noted, sipping from her tin cup. “Got something on your mind?”

You hesitated for a moment before sighing, glancing down at the warm tea cupped between your hands. “Just thinkin' about how beautiful this place is,” you admitted. “It’s peaceful. But-”

“But you still miss Blackwater,” she finished knowingly.

A sheepish smile tugged at your lips, “Yeah. It was desolate, sure, but it had its own charm y’know?”

Your aunt hummed in understanding, setting her cup down on the railing.

“I read something in the paper the other day,” she began, stretching her legs out in front of her. “Some government agent from Blackwater was shot dead. A Ross, I believe?”

Your breath caught in your throat and you turned sharply to your aunt, “What?”

She yawned, seemingly unaware of your inner turmoil, “Edgar Ross, I think it was? Paper said he was gunned down.”

Jack.

Your mind reeled back to the long-forgotten letters, the last few that you had sent without a reply. A quiet void had replaced his once-constant updates on Uncle's shenanigans, new books he’d read, and notes informing you that ‘Ma’ and Pa’ say Hi.’ 

You thought back to your aunt breaking the news to you, about Mr. and Mrs. Marston's death. An unbearable grief you hadn’t felt in the years since your parents' death had settled in your chest the day you learned they were really gone.

Jack had always admired the heroes in those dime novels, the men who avenged their fathers with unwavering conviction. If Jack had truly done this, if he had killed Ross, what did that mean for him now?

You swallowed thickly, trying to steady your voice, 

“Do you know anything else?” 

“Not much. They found his body near some riverbank.” She leaned back into her chair with a soft sigh,

“Whoever did it, I can’t say I blame ‘em."

You stared at her, startled. She glanced at you with a small, knowing smile,

"What goes around comes around, right?" She chuckled, taking another sip of her tea.

You looked away, your throat tightening as you turned your gaze back to the endless stretch of stars above.

A few weeks later your aunt had gone on a trip, so you decided to ride out to Blackwater while she was gone. You wanted to find out about Jack’s whereabouts from some of the locals first, not wanting to ride all the way to Beecher's Hope only to find it empty. After asking around and getting no clear answer, you decided to check the saloon though you hadn’t much hope he was going to be there. 

Laughter and drunken murmurs filled the air, the clatter of glasses punctuating the atmosphere. You weaved through the crowd, before sitting down at a table and scanning faces for what seemed like hours.

You got up and sighed in defeat. Then, just as you were about to turn around and leave, someone barreled into you. You flinched as a cold splash of liquor soaked into your coat sleeve.

“Watch it, lady!” A voice droned.

You bristled, looking up, “Excuse me?”

The man, taller, rough around the edges, looked down at you, eyes shadowed beneath the brim of his hat. You could see the freckles dusting his nose, small beard covering his jaw. That voice is familiar, and his hat, isn’t that Mr. Marston’s? You thought.

His lips quirked up as he leaned in closer, breath reeking of liquor, "You know, look just like a girl I used to know!" he drawled over the saloons noise, words slurring together slightly.

You rolled your eyes, taking off your stained coat, "I bet I do."

"Your doin’ terrible things to my hormones, miss-Woah!"

He was cut off when you grabbed his wrist, dragging him towards the exit. You needed to get this boy in his right mind. Quickly, before any more god awful pick-up lines graced your ears.

"Someone's eager," He slurred, tripping over his feet.

“Eager to smack you," you muttered, pushing past a few curious onlookers, "We’re talkin’ outside.”

He staggered as you pulled him through the swinging saloon doors, the cool night air slapping you both in the face. 

Before he could get another word in, you took the hat off his head and gripped the long hair at the nape of his neck, before dipping his head into a bucket of water just outside the saloon doors. He sputtered, gasping for his breathe as you pulled him back up for a breather, "The hell! What’s wrong with you, Lady?!"

"It's not Lady!" you groan. He winced, trying to dodge your hand as you smacked his shoulder.

"It's me," you said, sharply gesturing to your face.

His breath hitched, Adam’s apple bobbing as recognition dawned on him, "I-you..." he trailed off.

You crossed your arms over your chest as you took his state in fully, eyes scanning him disapprovingly. You barely recognized him. His once-boyish face was hardened, sharper, with stubble covering his jaw and upper lip. His hair was longer, messier, his clothes wrinkled and worn like he hadn’t cared for them in weeks. And his eyes were dark and tired, swimming in hollowness.

“What are you doin’ here?” He asked, tone suddenly laced with annoyance.

“I could ask you the same,” you shot back. “I wrote to you! Why didn’t you answer me?”

Jack exhaled sharply, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, as if the weight of your presence was too much, “Jesus,” he muttered, “I don’t know…I just—I didn’t think you’d—” He groaned, rubbing his soaked face as if still trying to catch up.

You held back, maybe you were being a bit harsh. After all, he was clearly unwell, and here you were berating him, “I'm—sorry for yelling,"

You took notice of the dark purple circles under his eyes, as he blinked rapidly to escape his haze.

"Let's just get you home, alright?"

His shoulders tensed.

It was like a switch flipped. Whatever confusion or vulnerability had cracked through, vanished in an instant.

His expression hardened, and he took a deliberate step back, shaking his head. “No. No, I don’t need this.”

“Need what?”

“This,” he snapped, gesturing wildly between you. “You showin’ up here, lookin’ at me like that, like you got some kinda right to fix me.”

Your brows furrowed. “I never said—”

Jack scoffed, jaw clenched. “I didn’t ask you to come here, alright? I don’t need your pity or advice—just leave me alone!”

You swallowed, before shaking your head. “Come on, you don’t mean that.”

Jack laughed, but it was hollow, bitter. “Yeah? Maybe I do.”

He turned, already stepping away. “Just—Go home, alright?”

He was halfway up the steps to the saloon, eager to disappear back into the dimly lit haze of liquor and forget this ever happened.

For a moment you thought to hell with it all, unable to see past the angry shell of a boy you used to know. But then you remembered how bitter you were when you lost everything, how Jack and his family seemingly put things back together.

And now, that same boy who’d ramble about the constellations till you fell asleep, the one who’d make you laugh over silly stories, and stammer over his words when he got nervous, had no one left.

The words tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop them,

“I love you, you fool!”

Jack froze.

“I don’t care how much you don’t wanna see me,” you added quietly.

He turned to face you, expression unreadable.

You looked away, blinking back tears, “You said you weren’t gonna leave me, so I’m not gonna leave you either.”

Jack shifted back and forth, as if thinking of what to do now, before exhaling sharply as he walked past you without another word, heading toward the stables instead. You watched him go dejectedly, you knew you shouldn't have come here.

Suddenly, he turned around like he was half expecting you to follow him, faltering when he was met with the sight of you standing in the same spot.

“I know my backside’s real purdy, but maybe you can get a better look at if you actually follow me.” He said, though his tone was gentler than it was moments ago as he rested his hands on his hips.

You perked up a bit, realizing he wasn’t just sending you away, before shaking your head in amusement at his words.

“Where we going?” You asked quietly as the two of you mounted your horses.

“Home.” He grumbled, shooting you a half hearted glare.

“If you weren’t so drunk, I’d smack that attitude right out of you.” You huffed, spurring your horse on.

“I guess I’ll just stay drunk then!” he hollered from behind you.

In an odd way, your little verbal sparring match made things feel a little more like old times.

Beecher’s Hope was a graveyard of memories.

The fences had rotted, weeds tangled through the soil where crops used to be, and the barn doors hung open, swaying in the wind. It was silent now, save for the distant hoot of an owl and the occasional rustling of the trees. It was like ranch had died with Uncle and Mr. and Mrs. Marston. 

"Happy now?" He asked, motioning to the ranch.

“Jolly,” you muttered under your breath. 

You walked the barn as Jack released a heavy sigh, trailing behind you silently as you climbed up the barn ladder to the hayloft. 

He sat with his back against the wall, knees bent. For a while, the two of you just listened to the wind howl through the cracks in the barn walls.

Then you broke the silence.

“I heard about Ross.”

Jack’s jaw tensed, “Don't know what you’re talkin’ about.”

You raised an eyebrow, noticing the familiar way his dark eyes flitted around whenever he was fibbing, “You’re a terrible liar.”

His shoulders slumped, “Ain’t no way they’ll trace it back to me. I made sure.”

You studied him for a moment before sighing, “Did I ever tell you my parents were killed by a couple of thieves,” you asked. Jack turned to you then, looking fully sober for the first time that night,

“God, I just–I wanted them dead. Thought it’d make things right. But when I saw them hang, all I felt was empty and even angrier than before," you sighed, feeling your chest ache at the memory.

You tapped your boot with his, "But then I met you.”

Jack flushed a little under the brim of his hat, swallowing thickly as he kept his gaze down at his hands.

“I guess revenge isn't as glorious as those storybook heroes make it,” You pondered as you looked out the barn window.

Jacks voice was barely above a whisper, “Ma used to always say something like that that to Pa.”

He huffed, reminiscing her words, repeating them aloud, “Stop tryna be some damn storybook hero.” 

You chuckled, remembering her piercing voice and John's sarcasm.

“You really are like Mr. Marston.”

Jack scoffed, but there was a hint of a smile there, the one that made his eyes spark a bit, hidden beneath all that bitterness.

You grinned as memories of the two of them standing in front of you years ago flooded back, “I thought you’d stay scrawny forever, but now you’re bigger than he was. What the hell do they put in the beer at that saloon?”

Jack groaned, suppressing the grin tugging at his lips as he took off his hat and ruffled his hair tiredly, “I don't know, but it's got a hell of a hold on me."

You sat up a little, “You won't even have time think about that saloon anymore."

Jack furrowed his brows, looking at you in confusion. "We're starting work on this place tomorrow, so I'm hoping you finally learned how to build,” You clarify, giving him a pointed look.

Jack huffed, “How couldn’t I? With you annoyin' me about it all the ti—.”

You quickly gripped the hat sitting on his lap and began whacking him with it as he dodged you, apologizing through breathy chuckles—you had missed that sound.

You finally relented as the two of you let out the last of your giggles, “That was for all those nasty pick up lines at the bar.”

“Sorry,” Jack muttered quietly, face flushing a little.

“I mean, seriously, where the hell’d you learn all that?” You tutted.

“Uncle,” Jack grumbled, “I only remember all the gross stuff he taught me when I’m out of it.”

“I can tell,” you chuckled softly.

He yawned, running a hand down his face.

“You wanna head to the house?” you ask, ready to get up, but he grabbed your arm lightly to stop you. 

“No, I'm good. I mean—I don’t sleep too well anyways.” He admitted, avoiding your gaze. You felt a little jab of sympathy go through your chest at his confession.

Without a word, you reached into your bag and pulled out a book, flipping to the first page,

“Let’s read,” you murmured, laying down to plop your head on a small bail of hay, “Like we used to.”

Jack hesitated, still stiff.

You turned to the first page before looking at him expectantly, “You're just going to sit there and stare?"

With a reluctant sigh, he laid back beside you, shifting uncomfortably as he kept a careful distance. But as you began reading, he felt himself relax.

The words blurred together, your voice a gentle hum in the quiet night. He fought it at first, but sleep crept up on him, tugging his eyelids lower and lower until his head slumped against your shoulder.

By the time you reached the end of the first chapter, Jack had finally let go. His breath evened out, the tension in his body easing as exhaustion won out. 

You glanced down at him, his breath steady, scowl fading away as the faintest trace of peace settled over his face. He looked better like this, closer to the boy you used to know.

You yawned, closing your eyes and falling into a deep sleep of your own.

The morning light filtered through the cracks in the barn, casting long streaks of gold over the hay-strewn floor. Jack stirred sluggishly, his body heavy with sleep, head pounding and mind foggy from exhaustion.

For a moment, he almost believed it had all been a dream. That you'd never come back and just about poured your heart out to him, that he’d just drank too much and fantasized the whole damn thing.

But then he felt it, a warm weight on his chest.

His eyes cracked open, and there you were, head resting right over his heart.

Jack stilled, barely breathing. Then he sighed, trying to calm the hammering of his heart under your head.

After a moment, he craned his head a little to look down at you, observing in detail now that the cloudiness of the alcohol had worn off.

You’d grown, filled out your features beautifully, but in so many ways, you were still the same girl he was familiar with. Stubborn and too damn persistent for your own good.

Jack groaned as memories of the night before came flooding back. He had been such a drunken asshole back at the saloon and yet, you came back and…loved him.

He cursed himself for not saying it back right then and there. Though he couldn't understand why a girl like you saw anything in him, he knew he felt the same way.

I’ll just have to find the right moment to say it back. He thought to himself.

————

Four Weeks Later…

Jack hadn’t touched a bottle in weeks. It wasn’t easy, particularly in the first few days. When he wasn't sluggishly moving around, he was abrasive. One day he snapped out of nowhere at the slightest disagreement, only to be overwhelmed by guilt right after seeing you wince slightly before walking off to tend the animals.

You knew it was probably a mixture of the withdrawals and grief, so you'd distance yourself on those days, but it hurt nonetheless. Jack never got that way in the past, sure you bickered, but he always made sure to not cross the line or raise his voice.

He made it up to you by rising early and getting a head start on his share of work so he could finish yours by noon. He even walked to a nearby lake where a few Lillies grew, plucking a few and leaving them on the table for you. He’d shrug, saying he just so happened to 'have the extra time' when you'd thank him.

Now, there was hardly any time to sit and dwell on the past. His body was sore in ways he hadn’t felt in years, but his mind felt clearer than it had in a long time and the ranch was beginning to look as lively as it did before. He had even gone back to reading, something he’d neglected in his haze of grief.

He sat on the porch, squinting as he read his book under afternoon sun. It was a romance, not something he normally reached for, but he liked it.

Maybe it was because protagonists reminded him of the two of you. Two childhood friends who drifted apart only to find each other again years later. There was something comforting about it, something familiar.

“Come on, Jack! These fences ain’t gonna fix themselves.”

Jack set the book aside, “You ever think maybe they should? Damn things break every other week.”

You shot him a look. “And whose fault is that?”

Jacked rolled his eyes but followed you out anyway.

You worked side by side, driving nails into wood, replacing broken beams.

You were giving him grief about a crooked post when Jack paused, leaning against it with an amused smile, "I was going to say this reminds me of when we met, but I don't remember you being this insufferable.” “That's funny because you're just as useless as I remember," You retorted, taking the hammer from him.

Jack took notice to the way you bit the inside of your lip to hide a grin. He definitely noticed the way his heart lurched when your hand accidentally brushed against his, the way the air between you felt heavier than it used to.

By the time you finished, it was growing dark. Jack leaned against the post, exhaling slowly. You did the same, standing just close enough for your shoulders to touch. As he watched the sun dipping below the horizon, setting the sky ablaze with reds and golds, casting the endless fields in front of him in a similar hue, he thought to what his father told him years ago when he'd first moved here. "There's a lot of ugly in this world. But there sure as hell is a lot of beauty! You'll see it better when you get older. It's tough at your age. Just land and light. But to me it's...it's life." It's life.

For the first time, he was beginning to understand what that meant. He was torn from his thoughts when you broke the silence,

"Saw you reading a book earlier, what's it about?"

He huffed, “A romance, if you can believe that.”

You couldn’t help but burst out laughing at the thought of his broody self reading a romance.

"Well do you wanna know or not?" Jack asked exasperatedly.

"I'm sorry, continue—please," you said, regaining your composure. He rolled his eyes, gaze fixed on the sunset. “It’s about these two childhood friends. Went their separate ways, and ended up finding each other again.”

You glanced at him, teasing smile faltering just a little, “Oh, that actually sounds nice.”

“It is," He nodded, swallowing thickly.

“I—I think I like it because…well,” He hesitated, tapping his fingers nervously against the wooden beam behind him, “It reminds me of us. The way they can’t help but come back to each other.”

Your breath caught when Jack pushed himself off the post to face you fully. He opened his mouth, then closed it again with a shake of his head. He had so much to say, but he didn’t know where to start.

Instead, he leaned down and closed the space between you.

You barely had time to think before his lips landed on yours, soft and warm and real. You tensed for half a second, hands stilling mid air. But then you melted, reaching your arms around his shoulders and holding on like he was the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth.

When you finally pulled apart, you avoided his gaze as you tried to calm the red hot blood rushing to your face.

“I love you.” He blurted out, eyes searching for yours.

That didn’t help your predicament.

“Took you long enough,” You huffed, feeling your heart beat out of your chest.

“I know,” He mumbled under his breath, "I-I'm sorry. I didn't know how to—“ "Don't be, I love you too.” You said, placing a gentle peck on his cheek, "I’m just messing with you."

He nodded, shoulders untensing as he leaned back on the post and lightly kicked at the dirt under his boots.

That made you smile, he always did that when he was flustered.

After a few moments, the two of you decided it was time to warm up inside the cabin, maybe eat some dinner. As he watched you enter the house, still a bit jittery from the kiss, he was hit with a familiar feeling, one warmed his heart differently.

After his parents died, the cabin was just a house, an empty void. With you it felt warm, lively, comforting. It felt like home. Jack chuckled softly, wondering if that was how his father felt seeing his mother enter the same house he built during their time apart.

He stopped in his tracks as you disappeared inside the kitchen, noticing something peeking out of your bag on the couch near the fireplace.

Jack hesitated, before plopping down on the couch and gently pulling it free, his fingers running over the worn cover. He flipped it open, scanning the familiar ink on the first few pages by the light of the hearth.

A quiet, almost disbelieving chuckle left him, his lips curling into a small, rare smile.

There it was,

'Once upon a time in the West...'

thank u for reading `(*>﹏<*)′ i got a lot of Jack requests, so i hope this fic did them justice. Like this post for + honor (≧∀≦) Lmk what u think by leaving notes, I love reading them!

Gaslight District X Mom!Reader Headcanons

Part Two

(Reader is Butcher Ken’s wife and Mel and Breadhead’s Mama.)

• Being the wife of a mafia boss while being the mother of a human and a yeast golem is pure insanity, but when it comes to the love for your family, there’s nothing you cannot handle.

• You mostly spend your days tending to The Whale Belly Butchershop while Ken and Mud are on their missions with the kids, but it’s not unheard of for you to join them.

• Mel would always be the first person to bounce into your arms after a successful killing mission, rambling about how awesome the trip was and how she helped the gang. She would always love hearing your words of praise after putting up with Ken’s endless bickering for her safety.

“…and then I used the chainsaw! Pretty cool, huh, mom?”

“Oh-ho-ho! I wish I was there to see it, sweetie!”

• You would always quickly tend to Mel whenever she was injured after a mission.

• Like Ken, you were severely worried about your daughter’s safety, considering how you and your husband are the only people who know she’s a human. Though, unlike him, you’re not as overprotective.

• And Mel absolutely loves you for that. She would often use you as leverage for winning arguments with her dad when it comes to her safety.

“Mel, I always told you not to-!”

“Oh, c’mon, Ken! You never let me go outside on my own! Mom always lets me!”

“DON’T BRING YOUR MOTHER INTO THIS!”

• Breadhead is a total mama’s boy and will always look forward to at least spending time with you every single day. The silly bread man just loves your guts. You’ve been nothing but sweet to him since he was a bun in the oven and he’s always willing to return the love.

• Anything his mama says, he’ll do it. Do chores at work, he’ll do it. Bring a souvenir from one of the missions, he’ll do it. Cement the man that insulted your cooking, he’ll do it.

• Just like how Mel wants Ken to be proud of her, Breadhead can’t get enough of you being proud of him.

• There was a time when you joined the Smiling Dead on a mission and Breadhead was bubbling with excitement. He was twice as excited to fight with his mama and often turned to you for praise after brutally mutilating a random Rotling.

“Mama, did you see that? Did you see what I did?”

“Of course, honey bun. Mama’s so proud!”

“Heh heh! Mama’s proud of me!”

• Even though you don’t join missions, you’re just as insane and demented as the rest of the crew. Though you do a better job at hiding it than the others. Ken and Mud find you fun to be around because of this.

• Your kids would be busy ripping apart their latest victim and you would be just watching them, unfazed with a calm yet proud smile, completely splattered in the victims purple blood.

• Ken would always plan date nights with you whenever your schedule was open. Slow dancing in the closed butcher shop with soft music in the background was always his go-to for a romantic night.

• You and Ken were the undead Bonnie and Clyde of the town, but better. You, Ken, and Mud were the only members of the Smiling Gang before Mel and Breadhead were born.

• Mud would often reminisce those days. He would always bring up how he missed those good old times when it was just you three and how much more exciting and crazier the missions were back in the day.

“Ah, Mel. You should’ve seen (Y/N) back then when she was in the crew! She was one crazy bitch!”

“Watch it, Mud! But yes, I quite was…”

• Mud often tends to steal your things just to rile you up. He knows that pissing you off is like playing with fire, but hey, what’s more fun than bickering with his sister-in-law?

• Being the wife of a mafia don always has its perks. Ken never stops spoiling you after making a good amount of scarab from work. Dresses, jewelry, custom-made knives, he always knew what you wanted.

• He happily remembered how you squealed with joy and covered his face with kisses after he gave you a torture rack as a gift on your 4th anniversary together.

• And just like Ken, you know how to spoil him too. Cooking his favorite meals, gifting him a new car and weapons, giving him a divine massage after a long and hard day of work, and always being there for him when he needs a hand.

• Ken feels like the luckiest man on earth whenever you have his back. He always tends to solve his own problems when it comes to crooks that try to mess with his family, but when his wife does it for him? He has hearts in his eyes for you.

• There was a time when a random creepy guy tried to grope Mel in the butcher shop. Before Ken could skin the fool, the creep was already bleeding on the ground, shrieking for mercy from you. But his pleas fell upon deaf ears.

• The other residents of the shop nearly pissed icicles from the smiling death stare you gave to the creep while slowly torturing him. Your calm threats to him didn’t make it better either. While Mel watched you slowly eviscerate the creep in excitement, Ken swooned at the sight of his beautiful wife defending their daughter.

“PLEASE! I’M SORRY! I WON’T DO IT AGAIN!”

“…If you ever try to touch my baby girl that way again…I’ll tear out your spine through your dickhole and mulch your shit body into steaming mush…repeatedly and SLOWLY…”

• And yeah. That turns Ken on.

“Uh, dad? Why are you looking at mom like that?”

“Oh, Mel…your mother sure knows how to disturb the peace…in my pants…”

“AUGH! GROSS! TMI, DAD!”

No one understands how vindicated I feel right now. For years, i have been inlove with Murro Morton- I was TEASED I was LAUGHED AT and now after the Hullabaloo circus update I open the chat and FINALLY PEOPLE ARE PAYING ATTENTION TO MURRO!!!!!

Now wheres my Murro X Reader fanfics chop chop (pretty please with a cherry on top🥺)

off screen caine activities

♢ ◆ ♢ ❖ DIGITAL LOVE AFFAIR ❖ ♢ ◆ ♢

◇ Summary: A Compilation Of Headcanons Featuring Caine X Reader

◇ Character(s): Caine (The Amazing Digital Circus)

◇ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

◇ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

◇ Image Credits: @them4lware

◆ You’re his absolute favorite—though, to be fair, Caine claims he doesn’t have favorites. But the way he always makes sure you’re at the center of every new adventure? A little suspicious. Bubble even calls him out on it once, and Caine just laughs nervously before quickly changing the subject.

◆ Every interaction with Caine is a grand spectacle. You don’t just enter a room—oh no! Caine announces you like you’re the star of the circus, sometimes complete with spotlights and confetti. You sigh. “Caine, we talked about this.” He waggles his cane. “Ah, but dear, we never said I had to listen!”

◆ One time, you called Caine out on his habit of making up rules on the spot to keep you entertained. He genuinely forgot that rules were supposed to be consistent. “Ohhh, my dear, you mean people actually follow rules? Hah!” You groan. “Caine. That’s literally how rules work.” “I suppose we can give it a whirl!” Spoiler: He forgets in ten minutes.

◆ He never calls you by your name—it’s always something overly dramatic like “My Astonishing Assistant!” or “The Dazzling Digital Darling!” The one time he does say your name, it catches you off guard. He leans in slightly, voice a touch softer than usual. “Ah, see? Now I have your attention.”

◆ Bubble does not approve of your special treatment. Anytime Caine starts getting too focused on you, Bubble rolls over with an unimpressed “Oh, I see how it is.” Caine waves him off. “Oh, pfft, jealousy is such an ugly emotion, my dear spherical friend.” Bubble immediately pops himself out of sheer frustration.

◆ If anything even mildly inconveniences you, Caine goes full dramatic mode. Trip over a stray prop? He’s putting that prop on trial. NPCs don’t treat you right? They mysteriously disappear. “Caine, did you delete them?” “PFFT—delete? Me? Noooooo! I just… misplaced them. Permanently.”

◆ Caine isn’t supposed to feel complex emotions, but whenever you seem particularly upset or distant, the entire circus glitches slightly. “Whoopsie-daisy! Don’t mind that, my dear, just a minor existential crisis on my end—ahaha! No big deal!” (It is, in fact, a huge deal.)

◆ Sometimes, you ask him questions that make him… hesitate. “Caine, have you ever been lonely?” His grin falters for just a second before snapping back into place. “Well, how could I be when I have you all here?” But something about the way he immediately starts another adventure tells you he doesn’t want to dwell on it.

◆ If another circus member dares to get close to you, suddenly they’re roped into the most ridiculous adventure. Jax raises a brow. “Dude. Just say you’re jealous.” “JEALOUSY?!” Caine bursts into laughter, a little too loud. “That’s CRAZY! HAH! Ha…ha. Yeah.”

◆ One night, during a rare quiet moment, you ask, “If there was a way out… would you let me go?” Caine freezes. The circus glitches for a split second. Then, suddenly—he’s laughing again. “Oh, my dear, what a silly hypothetical!” He never answers.

Writing commissions are now open! I will create nearly any type of story, including OC x Canon or general imagine-style pieces. Please refer to the pricing details below.

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D̵e̵a̷r̵ ̵E̵s̴t̴e̸e̷m̶e̷d̷ ̷M̴o̶r̴t̶a̴l̸,̷

̶I̶t̷ ̴i̷s̷ ̸w̸i̸t̸h̶ ̶g̴r̴e̸a̵t̴ ̷p̶l̵e̵a̴s̷u̸r̷e̴ ̷t̵h̷a̸t̴ ̵I̶ ̵p̴e̸n̶ ̵t̵h̴i̸s̶ ̸l̷e̶t̶t̵e̴r̴ ̶t̵o̶ ̶y̷o̵u̶,̸ ̴d̸e̸t̸a̴i̴l̴i̷n̴g̷ ̸t̴h̶e̴ ̵m̵o̵s̷t̶ ̷e̷x̸q̵u̷i̵s̷i̶t̶e̷ ̷a̷n̴d̷ ̸d̶e̵l̸e̵c̴t̴a̵b̵l̴e̴ ̴e̸x̵p̴e̵r̴i̷e̷n̷c̸e̶ ̵o̶f̶ ̴m̵y̷ ̶r̶e̵c̶e̶n̷t̶ ̵e̵n̵d̶e̵a̵v̵o̴r̸s̴.̷ ̶I̸ ̸w̵r̷i̵t̷e̴ ̶t̶o̷ ̸y̴o̸u̶ ̸w̵i̴t̸h̸ ̸a̶n̴ ̶u̵n̶d̵e̶a̴d̶ ̶h̶e̷a̶r̶t̷ ̶f̵u̴l̵l̵ ̵o̷f̶ ̵p̶u̴r̷e̵ ̶e̸c̶s̷t̷a̴s̵y̵.̴ ̶A̷l̵l̶o̵w̶ ̴m̴e̴ ̶t̶o̶ ̸r̸e̸g̵a̷l̷e̵ ̸y̷o̶u̶ ̷w̶i̸t̵h̵ ̶t̶h̵e̸ ̵t̸a̶l̴e̴ ̸o̷f̸ ̷h̶o̵w̸ ̵I̸,̸ ̵C̵o̷l̷m̴ ̶O̶'̶D̶r̸i̷s̷c̸o̷l̴l̸,̷ ̶t̴h̶e̶ ̵f̷e̸a̵r̵e̶d̷ ̶l̸e̴a̵d̸e̸r̸ ̵o̶f̶ ̷t̴h̷e̶ ̶O̸'̷D̷r̴i̴s̴c̵o̷l̴l̴ ̴B̷o̸y̸s̴,̵ ̷c̸a̴p̴t̶u̶r̵e̶d̷ ̸a̷n̷d̵ ̵s̴a̸v̴o̴r̸e̷d̵ ̴t̶h̵e̵ ̶f̴l̶e̵s̷h̷ ̶o̷f̴ ̴t̷h̵e̵ ̶i̴n̶f̶a̶m̷o̶u̵s̵ ̸V̵a̸n̸d̷e̷r̷.̴ ̴O̶u̸r̷ ̵p̴a̷t̶h̵s̷ ̶c̷r̸o̶s̸s̶e̷d̸ ̴i̴n̶ ̸a̸ ̴m̷o̷s̶t̸ ̸u̸n̸e̵x̵p̶e̷c̷t̶e̵d̸ ̷m̶a̵n̸n̷e̶r̸,̷ ̵a̸s̷ ̷V̵a̸n̴d̶e̸r̶ ̶f̵o̸u̵n̸d̴ ̵h̵i̵m̶s̶e̵l̸f̶ ̴a̴t̸ ̵t̶h̶e̸ ̷m̸e̷r̸c̸y̵ ̸o̶f̷ ̷m̵y̷ ̶m̵e̶n̶.̸ ̷O̷h̵,̴ ̴t̵h̸e̴ ̵l̷o̵o̸k̶ ̷o̸f̶ ̶f̵e̷a̶r̵ ̷a̴n̶d̸ ̵d̵e̶f̴i̷a̶n̴c̸e̵ ̸i̴n̴ ̷h̵i̶s̴ ̵e̷y̶e̷s̷ ̴o̵n̵l̵y̴ ̵s̵e̴r̶v̵e̷d̶ ̷t̶o̸ ̷f̴u̶e̴l̸ ̶m̸y̵ ̴a̵p̴p̸e̷t̸i̷t̷e̴ ̴f̶o̸r̵ ̵w̴h̸a̴t̶ ̴w̷a̸s̵ ̵t̶o̷ ̸c̶o̶m̶e̷.̶ ̵T̸h̷e̶ ̶p̴o̸o̴r̸ ̵f̴o̴o̶l̶ ̴t̴h̵o̷u̷g̷h̸t̶ ̸h̴e̵ ̸c̴o̵u̶l̵d̵ ̶o̶u̷t̷w̶i̵t̸ ̴u̵s̸,̴ ̸b̷u̵t̸ ̸l̸i̶t̵t̵l̸e̴ ̵d̸i̷d̵ ̵h̶e̴ ̶k̷n̶o̶w̴ ̷t̸h̶e̵ ̶t̷r̴u̶e̸ ̴e̷x̵t̴e̴n̸t̸ ̴o̵f̵ ̵m̸y̸ ̴p̸r̴o̸w̸e̸s̶s̶ ̷i̸n̴ ̴t̸h̸e̸ ̶a̷r̸t̶ ̴o̸f̴ ̶t̵o̶r̵t̵u̷r̶e̶ ̷a̴n̴d̴ ̵c̷o̵n̴s̷u̵m̶p̸t̴i̴o̵n̸.̷

̴W̸e̵ ̷b̸r̴o̴u̸g̵h̷t̴ ̴V̵a̸n̶d̸e̷r̸ ̴t̵o̵ ̶a̸ ̵s̷e̷c̴l̷u̸d̸e̵d̷ ̸c̴a̸b̷i̵n̶ ̷d̵e̵e̸p̶ ̵i̶n̵ ̵t̴h̷e̵ ̴h̷e̸a̸r̴t̵ ̵o̸f̷ ̷t̷h̴e̵ ̵f̷o̷r̷e̷s̴t̸,̴ ̸w̵h̶e̴r̴e̶ ̷I̴ ̶h̶a̸d̶ ̷p̸r̶e̵p̵a̶r̸e̶d̴ ̷a̶ ̵f̸e̴a̵s̴t̶ ̴f̸i̶t̸ ̴f̸o̷r̶ ̸a̵ ̴k̷i̸n̸g̷.̴ ̷T̸h̴e̶ ̵f̷l̵i̸c̶k̸e̸r̸i̶n̶g̶ ̸l̶i̴g̸h̷t̴ ̸o̴f̶ ̷t̷h̶e̶ ̷g̷a̴s̵ ̵l̶a̵m̸p̶s̸ ̸c̶a̷s̸t̷e̷d̴ ̶e̷e̶r̶i̸e̸ ̸s̶h̵a̸d̴o̷w̸s̵ ̴u̵p̶o̴n̸ ̶t̸h̵e̴ ̷w̶a̵l̵l̴s̷,̷ ̸s̵e̷t̶t̷i̸n̶g̶ ̷t̶h̸e̷ ̴p̴e̵r̶f̷e̷c̷t̶ ̵a̸m̵b̵i̵a̶n̴c̴e̶ ̶f̸o̴r̷ ̸t̷h̴e̷ ̶f̸e̷s̸t̴i̶v̴i̸t̵i̸e̷s̶ ̶t̴h̵a̴t̷ ̵w̶e̶r̷e̷ ̶a̴b̷o̶u̸t̵ ̴t̷o̸ ̶u̸n̴f̶o̵l̶d̵.̸ ̷V̷a̴n̸d̴e̸r̴ ̴w̴a̸s̸ ̵b̵o̴u̸n̴d̴,̵ ̸h̸a̷p̸l̸e̵s̵s̵ ̶a̸n̷d̵ ̵h̵e̸l̵p̷l̶e̷s̶s̴,̴ ̷h̴i̶s̵ ̷s̴t̵r̸u̷g̵g̸l̵e̴s̸ ̵f̴u̷t̴i̴l̶e̶ ̶a̷g̷a̸i̶n̸s̶t̷ ̶t̶h̸e̷ ̷m̷i̵g̴h̴t̴ ̴o̶f̸ ̶m̴y̵ ̶b̷o̸y̴s̸.̸ ̸W̶i̵t̶h̶ ̸a̷ ̷w̵i̵c̷k̶e̴d̸ ̴g̵r̶i̸n̴ ̵u̴p̵o̷n̸ ̸m̶y̵ ̶f̸a̷c̸e̵,̴ ̸I̸ ̴a̵p̶p̸r̴o̴a̶c̵h̴e̶d̵ ̴V̴a̴n̸d̷e̷r̷,̴ ̴r̵u̸n̶n̵i̶n̷g̵ ̵a̴ ̷f̸i̸n̸g̵e̶r̵ ̵a̴l̵o̵n̴g̷ ̷h̶i̴s̶ ̴j̶a̴w̵l̵i̴n̴e̸ ̷a̴s̶ ̸I̷ ̴a̶d̴m̴i̸r̴e̸d̵ ̶t̴h̵e̵ ̸f̴i̶n̷e̶ ̵s̴p̶e̷c̷i̸m̸e̴n̶ ̸b̷e̶f̸o̶r̶e̸ ̷m̶e̶.̴ ̵H̷i̸s̶ ̸s̷c̶r̴e̶a̵m̸s̵ ̷o̷f̵ ̴a̶g̶o̸n̸y̷ ̵o̴n̵l̷y̶ ̸s̵e̷r̷v̴e̷d̵ ̷t̴o̵ ̷f̵u̵r̴t̶h̶e̶r̸ ̷m̸y̶ ̸h̴u̵n̵g̶e̶r̵,̸ ̸a̵n̸d̵ ̵I̷ ̶w̷a̵s̶t̴e̵d̴ ̴n̵o̶ ̷t̸i̷m̷e̶ ̷i̸n̸ ̷b̵e̶g̸i̸n̷n̵i̷n̸g̶ ̴t̷h̴e̴ ̶f̵e̴a̸s̴t̶.̸ ̷I̷ ̸s̸t̵a̶r̵t̶e̶d̵ ̸w̴i̸t̵h̸ ̸h̸i̶s̸ ̸f̷i̷n̵g̴e̴r̴s̶,̸ ̷o̴n̸e̵ ̷b̸y̵ ̴o̶n̵e̶,̵ ̸r̵e̴l̷i̶s̶h̷i̶n̶g̷ ̷t̵h̵e̸ ̴c̸r̵u̷n̶c̸h̵ ̴o̷f̸ ̶b̶o̵n̴e̷ ̸a̸n̸d̸ ̴s̸i̸n̶e̸w̴ ̵b̵e̸t̷w̶e̶e̷n̷ ̵m̶y̶ ̸t̶e̷e̷t̵h̶.̵ ̴T̶h̶e̵ ̴t̷a̶s̷t̷e̷ ̷o̷f̸ ̶h̷i̸s̴ ̴f̵l̴e̶s̸h̸ ̶w̷a̸s̴ ̸l̵i̴k̸e̵ ̷n̷o̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̷ ̸I̵ ̸h̴a̴d̸ ̵e̷x̵p̷e̵r̵i̷e̸n̴c̶e̶d̵ ̶b̴e̴f̴o̷r̷e̵,̷ ̵a̶ ̴t̷a̵n̷t̸a̷l̷i̵z̵i̷n̵g̸ ̷b̷l̸e̵n̸d̴ ̵o̶f̷ ̵f̶e̵a̵r̵ ̸a̷n̶d̷ ̴d̵e̴s̸p̷e̸r̷a̴t̵i̶o̸n̷ ̴t̵h̶a̴t̶ ̴o̵n̶l̷y̴ ̴h̷e̸i̶g̵h̵t̸e̸n̴e̷d̶ ̶m̶y̴ ̷p̸l̴e̶a̵s̸u̶r̴e̶.̷

̷A̷s̷ ̴t̶h̷e̶ ̷n̶i̵g̴h̶t̴ ̵w̷o̴r̸e̵ ̸o̸n̸,̴ ̶I̸ ̷c̸o̶n̸t̸i̴n̶u̶e̸d̵ ̶m̶y̴ ̷g̶r̶u̶e̷s̷o̸m̸e̷ ̴f̴e̸a̸s̵t̴,̷ ̵s̷a̶v̶o̸r̸i̴n̷g̷ ̴e̴v̴e̷r̴y̵ ̸m̶o̶r̷s̵e̴l̷ ̸o̸f̶ ̴V̷a̷n̴d̵e̴r̸'̴s̷ ̷b̸e̷i̵n̶g̵.̷ ̵H̵i̸s̵ ̵c̵r̸i̸e̸s̶ ̵o̴f̸ ̸a̴n̶g̶u̴i̷s̵h̸ ̸e̴c̶h̸o̶e̷d̷ ̴t̷h̵r̷o̵u̴g̶h̸ ̸t̵h̴e̴ ̴c̵a̶b̵i̸n̸,̸ ̷a̵ ̸s̴y̷m̶p̴h̴o̷n̸y̶ ̸o̴f̷ ̷s̸u̷f̴f̷e̵r̶i̵n̵g̴ ̸t̷h̸a̵t̶ ̶s̶e̶r̷v̵e̶d̵ ̸a̶s̸ ̸t̶h̷e̷ ̸p̸e̵r̶f̶e̵c̵t̷ ̴a̵c̵c̴o̴m̴p̶a̵n̶i̴m̴e̷n̷t̵ ̵t̷o̵ ̷m̶y̸ ̵m̶e̵a̵l̷.̸ ̸I̶ ̴f̴e̸a̴s̸t̶e̷d̵ ̸u̸p̷o̵n̶ ̴h̶i̴s̵ ̷f̷l̷e̶s̵h̸ ̴w̶i̶t̸h̵ ̵a̸ ̸v̴o̶r̴a̴c̴i̸o̵u̸s̴ ̸a̵p̴p̵e̸t̶i̸t̷e̷,̷ ̷e̴a̶c̸h̵ ̵b̴i̸t̴e̶ ̴b̶r̶i̷n̷g̵i̸n̸g̸ ̵m̴e̷ ̴c̴l̸o̵s̷e̸r̸ ̶t̴o̸ ̵a̸ ̴s̷t̸a̸t̵e̴ ̸o̶f̸ ̵e̵u̷p̷h̸o̸r̴i̸a̵ ̶t̶h̴a̶t̵ ̶I̶ ̵h̴a̴d̶ ̴n̶e̸v̶e̴r̵ ̴b̴e̶f̴o̶r̵e̸ ̷e̸x̸p̷e̶r̶i̸e̸n̷c̵e̵d̶.̴ ̶B̴u̴t̶ ̵i̴t̸ ̴w̷a̵s̷ ̴n̸o̶t̷ ̵j̵u̶s̴t̷ ̷t̴h̴e̴ ̶p̵h̷y̶s̷i̷c̸a̶l̶ ̸a̵c̸t̴ ̵o̷f̵ ̸c̸o̵n̵s̵u̵m̶i̷n̷g̵ ̸V̶a̸n̵d̵e̵r̸ ̸t̸h̴a̷t̶ ̴b̶r̴o̵u̵g̴h̸t̸ ̶m̶e̷ ̴s̶u̸c̶h̵ ̸p̴l̴e̴a̵s̶u̴r̸e̸.̶ ̶I̷t̴ ̵w̶a̵s̶ ̶t̴h̵e̷ ̸k̸n̵o̸w̶l̵e̵d̵g̷e̴ ̴t̴h̷a̶t̵ ̴I̶ ̴h̴e̶l̴d̴ ̸h̶i̸s̸ ̵f̷a̸t̷e̸ ̸i̶n̷ ̴m̶y̶ ̵h̴a̸n̷d̵s̷,̶ ̴t̶h̵a̴t̶ ̵I̵ ̴a̸l̷o̴n̷e̴ ̸h̴a̸d̵ ̷t̵h̵e̸ ̵p̵o̷w̴e̴r̵ ̷t̴o̵ ̷d̸e̶c̴i̵d̵e̶ ̸h̸i̷s̷ ̷u̴l̵t̶i̴m̴a̴t̴e̸ ̴d̷e̵m̷i̷s̶e̷.̴ ̴T̵h̴e̴ ̴l̴o̴o̴k̷ ̴o̴f̷ ̶r̶e̴a̸l̴i̶z̸a̷t̶i̷o̴n̷ ̴i̵n̷ ̶h̷i̶s̶ ̶e̸y̵e̷s̸ ̶a̴s̴ ̶h̶e̴ ̵u̶n̴d̷e̸r̶s̷t̷o̴o̸d̷ ̶t̴h̴e̴ ̷d̷e̴p̴t̸h̸ ̴o̴f̷ ̶h̵i̸s̶ ̴p̸r̴e̶d̵i̶c̸a̴m̵e̷n̵t̶ ̶o̸n̸l̷y̸ ̶s̶e̵r̴v̸e̴d̶ ̵t̷o̸ ̸f̶u̴e̶l̴ ̸m̴y̷ ̴s̸a̵d̴i̴s̸t̶i̶c̵ ̵d̴e̷s̷i̶r̵e̷s̵.̶ ̶A̴n̶d̶ ̸s̵o̴,̶ ̷e̷s̶t̴e̴e̵m̵e̸d̸ ̵m̵o̶r̷t̷a̶l̵,̷ ̶I̶ ̸w̸r̸i̷t̸e̴ ̶t̴o̸ ̸y̶o̷u̴ ̷n̸o̴w̵ ̴w̴i̷t̸h̶ ̵a̷ ̵h̵e̵a̷r̶t̵ ̸f̶u̶l̶l̵ ̶o̷f̸ ̴s̸a̴t̸i̵s̵f̸a̶c̴t̷i̴o̵n̸ ̷a̵n̵d̵ ̷c̴o̷n̴t̴e̵n̶t̶m̶e̶n̸t̷.̶ ̴T̶h̸e̶ ̷t̴a̷s̴t̵e̸ ̷o̸f̶ ̸V̷a̵n̵d̵e̸r̵'̴s̶ ̶f̵l̶e̵s̴h̷ ̵s̶t̷i̵l̵l̵ ̸l̵i̷n̷g̶e̸r̶s̷ ̴u̴p̴o̷n̴ ̵m̸y̸ ̷l̸i̴p̵s̴,̶ ̴a̷ ̸r̴e̸m̷i̴n̴d̵e̷r̵ ̸o̸f̸ ̶t̴h̵e̸ ̵p̵o̷w̴e̸r̶ ̵a̸n̷d̴ ̴c̴o̴n̵t̷r̵o̷l̵ ̸t̵h̷a̶t̷ ̷I̵ ̴w̵i̶e̷l̶d̸ ̷o̵v̷e̷r̸ ̷t̸h̵o̸s̴e̷ ̴w̴h̸o̷ ̶d̵a̵r̶e̶ ̷t̸o̷ ̴c̴r̵o̸s̶s̷ ̵m̵e̸.̸ ̵I̶ ̷s̶h̷a̵l̴l̸ ̵n̶e̴v̸e̵r̸ ̴f̷o̴r̷g̶e̸t̸ ̶t̶h̷e̷ ̷n̶i̵g̶h̴t̵ ̸t̴h̵a̸t̸ ̸I̷ ̸f̸e̶a̸s̴t̸e̴d̴ ̵u̶p̸o̶n̶ ̸t̴h̵e̵ ̶f̵l̴e̸s̵h̵ ̸o̸f̶ ̷t̸h̶e̶ ̷i̸n̸f̴a̸m̴o̷u̴s̴ ̷V̵a̷n̶d̶e̴r̸ ̶f̴r̶o̸m̴ ̴A̷r̶c̵a̷n̵e̶,̵ ̵a̵ ̷m̸e̵a̵l̴ ̵t̷h̷a̶t̵ ̶w̴i̸l̸l̸ ̶f̶o̴r̴e̴v̵e̷r̴ ̴b̷e̸ ̸e̸t̵c̴h̴e̸d̵ ̸i̶n̸t̶o̵ ̴t̴h̸e̶ ̴a̷n̷n̶a̵l̶s̴ ̵o̸f̵ ̸m̶y̸ ̷d̷a̴r̸k̷ ̸a̴n̶d̸ ̷t̵w̶i̵s̴t̷e̵d̶ ̶l̶e̶g̴a̵c̴y̵.̶

̸Y̴o̵u̷r̶s̵ ̵i̸n̸ ̸m̷u̵r̵d̵e̷r̸,̴

̶C̶o̸l̵m̵ ̸O̶'̵D̶r̵i̷s̶c̴o̷l̸l̸

The shock value of these kind of runs out after the first time, sorry buddy better luck next time LMAO.

It was high key nice to have someone in my inbox just trolling then the seven million bots begging for money (that I don't have💔)

SOMEONE PLEASE IT WOULD BE SO FUNNY

guys i need a like, strawhats x reader fanfic or headcannons or whatever of the reader like getting thrown over board during a storm AND battle and the crew not being able to save them and even after the battle no one can find them and 6 months later, on a random fucking island they reunite and the readers just like "yeah i woke up on this random fucking island how are you guys" and the crews just like

"WHAT THE FUCK"

Thank you for listening and pretty please tag me if someone writes this or writes something similar and goodnight!!!!

May i ask for Married Mud headcanons ?

hi kinda short sorry i have no idea how married people act my parents hate eachother LOL :3 adding everything new I've written to the masterlist <3

MUD X READER | MARRIED HEADCANONS

He proposed by coughing up an old, slightly cracked ring from his throat and holding it out to you with a grin. It might be made of bone, some metal, who knows. So romantic. The little thing wasn’t expensive or GREAT looking by any means, but he found something he thought you would like. It's pretty nice by GD standards

He never wants to sleep in the freezer ever again. I mentioned before that ever since you got together, he started staying over at your place if you have one, or at least sleeping near you. He’d make any excuse to not sleep back there ever again. But now that you’re married? Absolutely not. He’ll want to share a place of your own together.

Also! Your wedding isn’t anything formal (or normal). He’ll try to arrange some small family event that ends up in chaos. He insists on wearing your best outfit (matching btw) from now on he’s introducing you as his spouse and THEN your name.

The wedding was supposed to be a little get together at the shop. Ken was cooking up something begrudgingly, Mel and Breadhead putting up small decorations. Ken is glad old Mud was able to find someone, maybe finally he’ll calm down a little and work a little harder at the shop. If you got to the point where you’re marrying his brother, it means he likes you enough too.

Anyways in the middle of the party it gets raided by some other rivals. The whole place gets stained with purple. Gun shots, explosions, brains out everywhere. Mud seems to fall harder if you fight by his side. Your outfits are ruined but oh well! He likes the purple on you. He’d do a maniac little laugh at the end of it then scoop you up and kiss you. It’s in the most uncomfortable position for you since he’s so slippery and probably bent all weird, but its special in its own way.

Matching rings! He definitely has your name or initials carved on the inside of the ring, never takes it off. He didn’t tell you but his name is carved in yours too :3 if you forget to wear it or take it off for a second he’s immediately interrogating you.

“Hey… so uh, where’s your ring?” As he pulls up your hand to REALLY inspect your fingers. He’ll get all grumbly about it too.

He’s sleazy but he’s committed to you. Lowkey he never thought he’d get close to something like marriage <3

I. HAVE. AN. IDEA!!!

Okay, for those who are unaware, this idea is HEAVILY based off of The Arcana. (totally not self indulgent about my own oc but everyone is welcome to use it and read it as they please)

So, Imagine...

Y/N, who grew up with the boys. Maybe they met at school, maybe they met because of their parents- hell, maybe they met because they were defending the twins. Either way, they ended up stuck with them and they couldn't be happier about it.

As the years go on, both Stan and Ford find themselves attracted to Y/N but neither one acts on it because they know the other has a crush on them.

Eventually, the incident happened and Y/N walks over to the Pines residence the next day, only to find out that Stan didn't live there anymore and Ford wouldn't talk about it- he wouldn't even come out of his room. Y/N tries to contact the both of them for a while but eventually gives up and moves on with their life.

After weeks of pressure by their parents, they leave for collage- the only one they were able to get into was Backupsmore (gotta be real, I dont even remember if that's the actual name of it or not but I'm so tired that I don't think I could be fucked to look it up rn) and were completely shocked to see Ford there. After some harassment, they finally get him to talk to them and they reconnect- but he won't dare talk about what happened with Stan, only giving them the occasional snippet of information to piece things together.

A few years of hard work later, and the two are moving to Gravity Falls to investigate all the weirdness going on.

All is well, the portal is being built, the three scientists are getting alone swimmingly- just like how they did in collage, and Bill is happy to help.

That is until Y/N and Ford go on a walk- only because they dragged him out of the basement, they were sure that he hadn't seen proper sunlight in weeks. During their little excursion, a monster suddenly appears- Ford is able to avoid being hurt but Y/N ends up taking the blow, he panics and tries to get them back to the cabin but it's too late. They succumb to their severe injuries and all Ford can do is clean them up and tuck them into bed- pretending everything is fine for just one moment. And then he remembers.

He goes to Bill for help, he doesn't listen to what the price is- all he wants is his partner back- both in the lab and in life. Bill happily brings them back... some what.

The moment they wake up, they look around confused before turning their attention to the unkown man beside them. Ford stares, absolutely horrified when he realises that the price for brining them back was their memories- the very things that made them what they are.

He tries, desperately tries to do anything to jog their memory but everytime he gets anywhere near close- they're struck with horrible headaches, to the point of passing out. But he still tries, he lost Fiddleford and Bill had betrayed him- all he had left was them and they were just barley there, he could always see that spark of recognition behind their eyes before it fizzled out- he just had to try harder. But he also knew that he needed to get rid of the journals- so he called for help...

After the... second incident, and trying (and crying) for hours, Stan walks up the stairs to the bedroom only to freeze. Reader lays unconscious in bed, still recovering from trying to uncover their memories. And even though he's confused as hell, he takes care of them until they wake up- maybe they have answers to helping get Ford back...

He is shocked to find out that they didn't remember anything, not their childhood, not their time at collage, not their family and not even him. But that doesn't deter him, after all, they're still here- still fighting and so he would take care of them until they were well enough to take care of themselves. (Though he never stopped looking after them, he just got better at being subtle about it) As long as they were here, they could get through it- together.

I got a major headache rn but I wanted to write this down before i pass out and forget about it.

Enjoy!!! If anyone wants to write this, please tag me because it sounds like such a good idea for ANGST!!!

(I also had a silly little idea that I'll add down here but maybe while Bill was resurrecting Y/N, they hung out in the dream realm or some shit- and maybe he decided that he liked them too idk, I was originally gonna add this into the rest of it but I totally forgot and I'm too lazy to rewrite my work so goodluck!!!)