Reblog If You Have Skilled Writer Friends And You're Damn Proud Of Them

Porch Light

Wally Darling/Reader, Wally Darling & Reader

Contents: Gen, fluff, comfort, very mild Canon-adjacent spooks, gender-neutral reader, can be interpreted as romantic or platonic relationship, reader is a neighbour, bolded parts of Wally's dialogue are to convey his slow speech and stress on certain words and syllables

Word count: 3,272

Notes: Part of the @fluffbruary 2025 event! Check it out! This is from the day one prompts "Dark" and "Wander". I've written a handful of these already, and as much as I'd like to port them over to Tumblr I feel it would take too long ^^;; -- but feel free to explore my other oneshots for this event over on AO3!!

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You hadn't meant to be out so late.

Frank had invited you over to their house that evening to watch the fireflies gather in their backyard. He had been cultivating the perfect environment there for the little lightening bugs, sprinkling a special mix of wildflower seeds he had ordered from a gardening catalogue and letting the grass grow long. Julie had been there when you arrived in the late afternoon, bouncing a ball against the siding of Frank's house. The three of you chatted as the sun slowly crawled to the horizon, talking about what you had done during the day.

Frank turned out their porch light when the sky began to turn yellow, explaining that the fireflies disliked the artificial light. You leaned your elbows on the railing, listening to Frank as he talked about fireflies until Julie had shrieked out, pointing,

"Look!!"

There was a faint light in the grass, a slow blinking yellow light. Then, another across the way. Then another. Then another.

You could not believe your eyes-- you had seen fireflies once or twice before, but not in such a number. There had to be ten million of them flitting around, twinkling at you three in the ebbing sunlight. Frank had explained that each species had their own special pattern so that males and females could find each other. They had gently reached out and scooped up one that had lazily fluttered a little too close, placing it in your palms so you could look closer as he corralled a different one into his hands. Julie had snatched one right out of the sky with a 'woo!' and a wide smile, holding her fingers tight around the bug as the three of you compared your bug's patterns.

The one Frank held went blink blink blink blink... blink blink...

While the one in your hands went blink flash flash... blink flash... flash...

And Julie's bug went blink blink blink... flash flash flash... blink blink blink...

The whole event had been a near magical moment, and you could have spent forever there, laughing and talking with your neighbours. But the world turned, and the sun set, and then suddenly you were looking above the yellow-white glow of Frank's lawn to see nothing-- just the darkness of the night.

It seemed like the two of them hadn't noticed the time pass either-- Julie made a small sound and looked at her wrist. She had no watch on.

"Oh my! It's basically nighttime!"

Frank let out a little huff, looking beyond his backyard with a disgruntled expression as if it had personally offended him.

"Well, that's no good."

They turned to you, then.

"I'm sorry, I hadn't noticed the time passing. I--"

"Don't worry about it!" you replied, standing up and rubbing your hands on your pants.

"It was a very lovely evening with you two. Thank you for inviting me, Frank."

You nodded at your grey-felted neighbour, whose scowl grew deeper.

"Oh, you're not staying over at Frank's?" Julie asked, tilting her head. Her eyes darted to her best friend before she piped up.

"That's great! Then you can stay at mine for the night! I had the idea for a new sleepover game called "double-pillow-dutch" that I really think you'll like!"

You laughed, shaking your head as you stepped off the porch. Carefully, of course, so as to not step on any fireflies.

"Thank you for the offer, but I'm okay. I'll just walk home, it's not that far."

You were able to see the two puppets exchange a sort of worried look between each other, now. You didn't quite understand it. "I- Well-- Um, if you're sure-" Frank stuttered, but you were already walking off into the dark.

"Goodnight you two! See you in the morning!"

Oddly enough, your words almost sounded muted, like speaking into fog. Yet you had seen no indication of such a thing while in Frank's backyard.

But you continued on into the night, only realizing after a dozen steps that it was much, much darker than you had realized.

You looked back, but you had already moved in such a way that obscured Frank's backyard from your dight. That carpet of tiny stars was gone-- only a handful of fireflies flew around in the night, their lights faint and flickering.

Swallowing heavily, you huffed out a heavy breath and continued on.

It was dark. Darker than dark. So dark you couldn't see your feet, or your hand waving in front of your face. The only way you could navigate was by the scant few fireflies that had wandered out into the neighbourhood, and the few porch lights that your neighbours still had on.

But those too, were going out. You watched, dismay washing over you, as Poppy's light winked out; the only thing you had been orienting yourself to.

You... probably should have taken Frank up on their offer.

You could hear the crunch of dirt under your shoes, though. So you were likely on the path that wound all the way around the neighbourhood. You just had to follow that, and you'd eventually get to your house. It was fine. Everything was fine.

...

You kinda felt like you were being watched.

Which was, like, probable. Some of your neighbours could be night owls, still ambling about in their homes. They could be looking right at you, and just not know. It was fine. There was nothing out there in the neighbourhood, anyway.

...

What was that?

Almost a slithering sound, something sliding over the grass. Faint, but disruptive enough for your ears to pick up on it. You held back a surprised noise, tucking your arms close to your chest as you turned in that direction.

You didn't see anything, of course. It was dark.

...

You took a step forward, the dirt crunching under your shoe. You cringed, freezing in place.

...

There it was again. That slithering. And almost a dragging, too. Like something picking its foot up.

...

You swallowed heavily and prepared to scream.

But then--

You heard a creaking, the faint grind of brick against brick. You turned to the noise just as a light went on and beamed directly into your eyes.

Ouch!

But yay!

It was Home who had lit the night up, porch light like a beacon of hope in the pitch blackness that had been your world for the past... However long it had been. Their eyes were turned in your direction, shutters rattling against their siding in a surprised, almost frantic way.

Their door opened a second later, and Wally popped out. Obviously interrupted in the middle of his nightly routine; bundled up in a red and yellow robe patterned much like his well loved (albeit blue) cardigan, a red sleepmask with a closed yellow eye design sitting on his forehead. His voice hardly carried as he turned his head towards one of his house's windows.

"What's wrong, Home?" he asked them lowly. They looked off in your direction, starting to creak out a response just as you blinked the purple spots out of your vision.

"Wally!" you called out, holding a hand up. His head turned towards the sound of your voice, eyelids flying back as he did so. 

"Oh, you." he replied, voice going airy with relief. His pupils flickered back and forth, as if trying to find you in the nights murk-- you lowered your hand as you realized he couldn't see it.

The felt above his eyes creased after a moment, smile shrinking just a touch.

"You shouldn't be out this late."

"I know." you huffed sheepishly as you strode towards Home, giving him a crooked smile as you reached the light. Crossing Home's warm porch light glow seemed to ease some sort of heaviness in your chest. Wally looked up at you, the crease disappearing as he tilted his head, eyelids drooping once more and smile returning to its usual width.

"I'm glad Home saw you out here."

Said house let out a squeeeeak as its door opened wider, doorknob slipping from Wally's hand. He looked to his now empty hand, closing and relaxing it after a second and turning back to you.

"Yes. Come on in." he said, stepping sideways away from Home to make room for you to enter. Your smile crinkled at the edges as you walked inside, Wally following close behind and shutting Home's door gently once you both had crossed the threshold.

The curtain on the opposite side of the door's hinges fluttered out at the air differential, snagging on one of your shoulders and brushing against your arm as the house creaked above you.

"Home's asking why you were walking all alone in the dark." Wally said, walking around to face you and clasping his hands in front of himself. You sighed, reaching out to pluck a bit of fuzz off of the collar of his thinly striped, mostly white pajamas. He stayed completely still as you did so, focused on your face.

"I was watching the fireflies in Frank's backyard with them and Julie, and we all lost track of time." you replied, brushing at the curtain curling around your elbow before gently plucking it up and off your body. It clung to you just a touch before relenting, leaving behind a prickle of static electricity across your skin.

"Oh? The fireflies?" Wally asked with a tilt of his head.

"Are they out already?"

"Yes! Did Frank not-- um..." you shut your mouth as you realized that Frank may have not invited Wally over on purpose. Like they hadn't invited Eddie because of his fear of insects, or Barnaby because of... well, obvious reasons.

"Not what?"

Wally blinked at you, eyes widening after a beat.

"Ah. Not invite me over? No, he did. I was painting." he said finally. You let out a reciprocal 'ah' and nodded, a wry twist to your mouth.

"Fair enough. I'm pretty sure they'll be here for a while, a week at least. You have plenty of time to see them."

You felt a yawn coming on, then. That urge that bubbled in your chest, in the bottom of your jaw. You pressed your tongue to the roof of your mouth to quell it, to no avail. Overtaken by the need, you covered your mouth and nose with your hand, squeezing your eyes shut as you let out a loud yawn.

"Ooogh, I'm sleepy." you said, looking down at Wally and smiling.

"Well, I should get going back to my house. Thanks for the save, you two."

His own smile flattened, slightly, that wrinkle returning as his eyelids drooped more at the outer corners. Home creaked around you, a door opening and slamming shut further in.

"But you're here now."

You could understand his mildly obtuse wording-- that he was offering for you to stay there overnight. You shook your head, waving a hand dismissively.

"Oh, no, I wouldn't want to intrude--"

You were interrupted by the deadbolt in the front door sliding shut with a solid ker-chunk. Home lifted a curtain to glare at you as you turned, surprised, at the sound. There was no heat to her gaze, but the message was clear as his curtain fell back to a restful, sleeping position. You weren't going back out until morning.

"You aren't intruding. We like having you over." Wally said, verbalizing Home's actions. You sighed, pressing your lips together before a smile overtook your frown.

"Fine, fine. I'll spend the night."

Wally straightened up, face brightening as his eyes went wide, smile regaining its warm, easy curve.

"How lovely. It's been a long time since we've had a sleepover."

You knew he was referring to him and Home, because you hadn't had a sleepover with Wally yet. He clapped his hands together, slowly, in such a way that made no noise.

Home creaked in confirmation. At the same time, the floorboards wiggled under your feet, and you couldn't help but let out a little 'psshh' as you relented and took your shoes off. You set them on the shoe rack as Home wriggled their curtains proudly, creaking in a smug way above you. You pressed your fingers to your lips and blew them a kiss before turning to Wally.

"Do you have any spare clothes I can use as pajamas? That'll fit me?"

Wally looked up and to the side, crossing his arms and putting a hand under his chin.

"I'm not sure. We can find out."

Home squeaked, and Wally nodded.

"Let's start there."

He began walking further into the house, and you followed close behind.

Turns out he did have some clothes in your size— or well, close to it. Some things Julie had left behind at some point. Or maybe Sally? Perhaps Frank’s clothes. Or Barnaby’s. Or a mix of two of the lot.

You weren’t sure— it was just a pair of yellow, soft cotton lounge pants in a bright floral pattern, and a dark blue shirt with a smiling, close-eyed moon on it. But Wally handed them to you, neatly folded in his outstretched hands, and you took them gratefully.

Changing in the bathroom, you emerged from it with your clothes folded haphazardly in your hands and some clinking sounds coming from the kitchen.

"Walls?" you called out curiously.

"Here." he responded evenly, and though it was a vague answer you confirmed to yourself that it was him moving about and walked down the stairs.

His kitchen was lit by the small light above the sink, casting the cozy nook in a warm glow. You really loved this part of Home-- the counter stretched around in a near complete rectangle, with dark blue countertops and red cabinets. A red stove sat on one wall, and a red fridge on the other. A kettle sat on the stove over a coil, and Wally stood on a wooden chair with his face in a cabinet. Dragged over from the dining table, from what you could gather.

"What'cha doing?" you asked as you stepped into the kitchen area, leaning back against a counter. Wally withdrew from the cabinet, holding a single mug in his hand.

"During sleepovers you have hot cocoa." he said, sounding like he was repeating the words of someone else. He tilted his head at you, questioning.

"Right?"

You nodded, and he nodded back in a sure way, setting the mug on the counter before grabbing another. Smiling at how he carefully stepped down from the chair and dragged it over to another set of cabinets to grab the cocoa mix.

You stood up from your lean to grab the kitchen chair as he went to the fridge for the milk, giving him a closed eye smile as you brought it back to the dining table and pushed it in.

"Oh. Thank you." Wally said, and you nodded.

"No problem."

You continued to help set up the drinks, grabbing spoons from the drawer (that Home had eased open as you approached) and pouring the milk in after Wally had scooped the spoonfuls into the mugs.

When the kettle whistled, he took it off, and you stirred as he poured. The scent of rich chocolate wafted up from the mugs, and you felt your mouth begin to water.

Wally picked his up, holding it with both hands and waiting as you grabbed your own before shuffling over to the living room. He waited for you to sit on the couch before he did, and copied your movements as you brought the mug up to your face and smelled the steam.

"Mmm..." you sighed.

"M..." Wally said, more of a short chirp than a sigh. You smiled at that and took a sip, though he simply stared down at his drink.

"Were the fireflies nice?" he asked you after you had pulled your mouth back from the lip of the mug.

"Oh yes! They're about yay big-" you made a circle with your index and thumb about the size of a small plum, "with fuzzy antenna and sweet little faces. Each species has their own little light show that helps them find each other. Isn't that lovely?"

"That's lovely." he said, imitating you. And you laughed out loud this time, chuckling as you went in for another swig. The two of you sat there in amicable silence; you slowly drank as Wally gazed down at his own, and as the warmth of the hot cocoa began to emanate through your body, you began to grow sleepy.

Home had only one bedroom-- what would have been a guest room was instead Wally's art room. You assumed you were sleeping on the couch, which was confirmed after you had finished your drink. As you set the empty mug on the coffee table, Wally set his mug down too, careful not spill it, before walking over to the linen closet. Wally stood on his tiptoes as he pulled out a thick quilted blanket, nearly tumbling back as Home pushed it out into his arms. You sat up in alarm, only relaxing as Wally regained his balance. The quilt was so thick and folded so well that it completely obscured his face; you laughed as he turned and shuffled forward slowly, blindly.

"Peek your head around the side, you can see where you're going that way." you said to him. He did so a second later, eyes widening slightly as his head popped out to the right. Your face scrunched up in amusement as he strode forward much more confidently, now, walking over to the couch and setting the blanket on your lap. He then grabbed the decorative pillow sitting off to the side of the couch and turned it to lay against the arm, fluffing the sides before turning to you.

"I'll tuck you in."

You raised your eyebrows, but nodded, leaning back and swinging your legs up onto the couch cushions. You started to unfold the blanket, yours and Wally's hands brushing for a moment as he did the same-- eventually you were able to pull out one half of the corners as he did the others, pulling the blanket down over your feet.

You craned your head to watch as Wally used both hands to tuck the blanket down and around your feet; gently, so gently as to barely be effective, he moved up, the motions of his hands similar to how he fluffed the pillow your head was resting on.

Still, you appreciated the effort he was making, giving him a smile as he pressed his hands around your shoulders.

"Thank you Wally." you said.

"You're welcome." he replied. You saw his eyes dilate as they met your own, just slightly. Then, he leaned in, eyes sliding shut as he pressed his mouth to your forehead.

"Mwah!"

His felt tickled your skin, and you giggled as he pulled back with an exaggerated sound effect.

"Good night neighbour." he said.

"Goodnight." you replied, blinking sleepily at him. You watched as he picked up both mugs, closing your eyes and listening as he went to the kitchen and poured the contents of his own out, setting them both in the sink.

"Good night Home." you heard him say quietly. Home let out a few sleepy squeaks, and you heard Wally walk up the stairs as the lamp in the living room turned off, letting the darkness settle behind your eyelids.

"Goodnight Home." you murmured as well-- it was only polite, after all. The house creaked back, and though you never really understood him you knew exactly what he said.

Goodnight.

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!

HNNNG GUESS WHOS BACK

(I wrote this way too fast because i needed to write this down before i writers block kicked back in so there are probably spelling mistakes, grammar issues (theres always grammar issues with my writing LMAO) goodluck!)

I'm imagining Reader, who is a traveler who goes overseas often. They go to Piltover and meet Vander and decide to join their cause, becoming a merchant to get extra money to bring in.

Reader is getting ready to set sail with their crew and Vander pulls them aside just before they leave and gives them a promise ring. Once they do set sail, Reader waves at Vander until hes out of sight.

While they were away, Vander, Silco, Connol and Felicia helped him plan an actual proposal. When Reader did finally return, they were expecting to be proposed to the second they got off of the ship but to their surprise, they were just welcomed back normally. After the next few weeks, Reader stays suspicious but in the end figures that he's going to wait until after they beat Piltover.

Once Reader is no longer suspicious, they set the plan in motion.

One day, Felicia invites Reader out and they walk around topside. Eventually, Reader is dragged into a shop and Felicia pretends to look around before "spotting" an outfit that Reader also likes. Felicia convinces them to buy it, and they do. They head back and Reader styles the outfit and while they were changing, Connol told her that everything was ready and they both sneak out.

While Reader and Felicia were out, Silco and Connol had been cooking. Reader faintly smells their favourite food as they walk out, all dressed up and see that the only thing waiting for them was a note saying that Felicia had to go.

Before Reader could change Silco shows up and asks them to help him gather some supplies or something. He insists that they don't need to change and they head out, grabbing bits and pieces from various shops before heading in a direction Reader doesn't recognise and before they can ask about it, Silco hands them a blind fold and asks them to put it on. Which they do, now incredibly suspicious (and slightly concerned).

Silco leads them along until they stop and he walks off, and Vander tells them to take off the blindfold, which they do. Immediately seeing that they're stabding ontop of an old building, a gorgeous view of Piltover and the sky, the sun setting, casting a beautiful glow over the city. Two chairs and a table, covered in their favourite food and drink and fairylights strung up all around. And Vander, dressed nicely and looking uncharacteristicly nervous.

They sit down, eat and talk and eventually the sun has set and they're sitting in comfortable silence when Vander breaks it and asks them to stand up. Weeks of practising what to say go straight out the window and he stutters his way through a small speach before he gives up and pops the question, kneeling and holding up a small box.

Reader stares down at him in shock, completely silent- everything he just said processing in their head and as Vander goes to stand up- akwardly apologising- he gets tackled down by Reader, who happily says yes.

...

NOW IMAGINE

Every year, at the same time, on the anniversary of his proposal. Reader puts on the same outfit, grabs their favourite alcohol sits in the same place they sat on that day. Mourning the life that could have been.

I hope you guys know, I looked into my drafts to posts this and i found this

I have no memory of writing this

Guess who just finished acrane and is writing this with actual tears on my face!!! I need some Vander fluff- i think i will emplode- it doesnt even have to be anything specific i just need comfort after that shit storm 😭

Yes my child. Mommy will make good on your request.

And don’t even get me started on S2. I can’t bring myself to watch it yet. I’m still not even over S1 and I KNOW for a fact it’s not even as sad as I’ve learned S2 is.

But shhhhh, Mommy’s got you. Here’s the fluff you asked for.

Piltover’s Got Nothin’ On You | Vander Fluff Flash 🍺🤎

(GIF cred: me <3)

Pairings: Vander x GN!Reader

Pronouns: No pronouns used.

Rating: SFW - Minors, you can look now. (But that’s debatable because Reader and Vander are lying presumably half naked in bed together— but I’ll let it slide since it’s very innocent)

Word Count: 524

Summary: Vander is enjoying a nice cozy morning with you, and reminds you exactly how he feels.

Tags: 18+ reader, just because it’s a little maturely themed if you whip out a magnifying glass, Fluff, Tooth Rotting Fluff, Domesticity W/ Vander, OoeyGooeyRomance

Notes: None, just enjoy. Take a breather. 🤍

“Would I lie to you?” The question hung in the air, light yet loaded with meaning. It was enough to send a familiar flutter through your stomach, a soft, nervous twinge that made your heart skip. The sensation was strangely uncomfortable, yet in the most endearing way—like a gentle reminder of how much he could still make you feel, even in the simplest of moments.

You lay atop the man you were speaking to, both of you bare-chested, the warmth of your skin pressing together in an effortlessly comforting way. The coolness of the morning air was a distant contrast to the heat between you, a calm presence that made the moment feel serene to say the least. His steady breathing beneath you gave the moment a gentle rhythm, and for a while, there was nothing but the simple unspoken connection between you both before you responded.

“Maybe. Depends.” You tease, your words playful but laced with a hint of mischief.

His response is immediate—his large hand slipping into yours with a quiet sense of contentment, the warmth of his grip grounding you. There’s a comfort in the way he holds you, as if, in this moment, the world outside doesn’t matter. His touch speaks volumes, the unspoken understanding between you both more powerful than anything words could convey.

“Someone clearly thinks highly of me,” he teases back, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. Before you can answer, he leans down and places a soft, lingering kiss on your forehead, his touch tender and full of quiet affection. The sweetness of the gesture catches you off guard, a simple act that somehow feels like the most genuine expression of his feelings—a quiet reminder of how deeply he cares.

You smile, a soft laugh slipping from your lips.

“All I was saying is that, as much as Piltover has its minor flaws—“ you begin, your voice light with amusement as you’re stopped short.

“Appalling flaws, really. Humongous, towering flaws,” he interrupts playfully, his tone teasing as he presses a gentle kiss to the back of your hand, still held firmly in his.

You can’t help but laugh at his wit.

“Yes, huge, appalling flaws. But despite all that, Topside is stunning at night. The lights here are beautiful, too, but nothing compares to the glow of Piltover.” You add, trying to make your point clear: a city’s beauty can stand on its own, no matter what darkness might lurk behind the scenes.

He regards you for a long while, his gaze lingering on your face with an amusement that never quite fades. The seconds stretch on, almost too long—what might seem like a few moments in the world’s rhythm becomes an eternity in his eyes. Each shift in your expression, each subtle change in your posture, draws him in, holding his attention as if time itself has slowed. And yet, even as eternity unfolds, it’s still not enough. To him, no amount of time could ever truly capture all he wants to see.

“That may be true,” he says, his voice steady, the smirk never quite leaving his face.

“But Piltover’s got nothin’ on you.”

you think fat trans men are hot. reblog

PLEASE HELP ME

ATTENTION VANDER X READER FANFIC WRITERS!!!

I need to have reader save vander. I need reader to save the day what remains of their family- and then them leaving Piltover together on a ship and never coming back, and yes Vi brings her girlfriend along too I dont care

(The ship thing totally doesnt come from my oc being a pirate or anything- pirates are cool as shit let me live)

I HAVE ANOTHER IDEA!!!

(WARNING!!! BADLY WRITTEN AND MAKES NO SENSE BUT I WANTED TO SHARE IT WITH YOU!!!)

Imagine taking Powder out for a walk around the undercity to pick up some supplies for your husband Vander.

You have your back to Powder while you talk to the shop keep, unbeknownst to you, Powder had been tinkering with one of her gadgets and pocketing old parts off the street and shops.

You finally turn back to Powder after hearing her panicking and a faint ticking sound when you realise that she accidentally activated it.

You immediately grab the home made bomb off of her- looking around to see if theres anywhere to throw it but you're surrounded by people and before you know it you curl in on yourself- confining the small explosion to yourself.

You fall to the ground, feeling your stomach burning- shards of metal from the bomb lodged into the raw muscle that was now exposed and colorful smoke surrounds you.

Powder stands above you, sobbing and panicking trying to help you get up- but you tell her to go get Vander and she nods before running as fast as she could away from you- you can barley hear anything around you and the crowd that was once around you had vanished.

The last thing you remember is the blurry figure of Vander running towards you in the distance, followed by four smaller figures.

My writing is absolutely ASS, so anyone who knows how to write and is willing to- pretty please do! Literally my posts are just to give other people ideas. (totally not because im desperate and suffering from Arcane)

If someone does write this, PLEASE write Vander and the kids taking care of Reader until they recover and Reader reassuring Powder that they aren't angry.

(The explosion was small by the way- but Reader didn't want anyone else to get hurt and thats why they locked in idk dude its 12:42 AM and im tweaking)

Hes so fucking hot dude

My cat looking absolutely zoinked, enjoy!

♢ ◆ ♢ ❖ 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.

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Hey so sorry to bother you but this has been on my mind for so long is it possible that Vander from arcane could be the biological father of claggor like look at the resemblance between Vander and claggor like when claggor is an adult he resembles young adult Vander right so it could be possible that Vander went to the brothels and met a woman who worked at the brothels and then he unknowingly got her pregnant 9 months later she had claggor what do you think though this is just a thought to me.

Hey! You're not a bother at all :)

I definitely think it's possible, they look SO similar! Again, could just be a coincidence but from what we know, Vander got into alot of chaos when he was younger so who's to say that he didn't spend some time at the brothel or three?

I do really like this idea though, maybe the mother died during birth- very probable because of the living conditions in Zaun :( or maybe she just couldn't or didnt want to raise a baby which is also fair. Getting proper health care down there would also be pretty dangerous unless you could afford the good stuff, so getting a safe abortion probably wouldn't be possible and contraceptives would also be hard to get your hands on aswell.

I'm not super into like, theories and ships and all those things. I look at them and go "Yeah, that's cool" or "Very possible!" Because that's just who I am, but I have no issue with people who do get super into those things as long as they are respectful about it, you know? But I Do really like this theory, I think it's really cute :D