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violettduchess · 1 year

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A/N: @dear-mrs-otome your request has taken me on quite the journey. I hope I've managed to do your Prince right and that you have as much fun reading this as I had writing it. 💜

Technically, this is part of my Broken Heartstrings series under the prompt: Only One Bed which I have been dying to write and was really excited to do with Silvio, demanding as he is.

Silvio x f! reader

Word Count: 5093

Of all the people to share a carriage ride back to the palace with, Silvio Ricci is the last one you would have chosen. You glance at him, sitting there across from you in the darkened carriage as it sways over the uneven country roads. His face is currently set to a sharp scowl, his impossibly blue eyes staring out the glass window. Not that he can see much. The world outside is black, streaked with shots of gray as the rain continues to fall, pelting the carriage’s roof and windows with a loud rat-a-tat-tat sound.

Only his occasional annoyed sighs interrupt the steady drumming of the rain. You pull your thin, black silk shawl tighter around your bare shoulders, turning to stare out your own darkened window. You’ll be grateful when you reach the palace and can change out of your tightly corseted ball gown. As enchanting as it is with its ivory-colored satin and black lace trimming, you are looking forward to being able to breathe again. And bend properly.

“Only Rhodolite would have a ball way out in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere.”

Your jaw clenches and the rolling sound of thunder echoes the irritation you feel at his snide tone.

“The Count holds this ball once a year at his country estate which is one of the most elegant–”

The Prince of Benitoite scoffs loudly. “Elegant my ass.”

You are really beginning to question Sariel’s decree that you ride back to the palace with this pompous royal. You’re more likely to lodge your heeled shoe in his temple than make pleasant small talk.

“Prince Silvio, do you have to be so-” You’re interrupted by another boom of thunder, this one loud enough to rattle the carriage. You hear the frightened whine of the horse over the continued sound of heavy rain. Some part of you is not surprised when it rolls to a stop. A moment later there is a rapping at the window and you lean over, opening the carriage door. A rush of wet, cold air invades the dry interior.

“The hell we stopped for?” Silvio yells above the din of the downpour.

The driver, battling the gusting wind to keep his hat on his head and the rain out of his eyes, has to yell back in order to be heard. “‘Storm has gotten too bad, your highness! We can’t keep traveling in this weather!” He glances over his shoulder, blinking against the water pelting his face.. “We passed an inn just a short ways back! We should head there for shelter!”

You expect him to argue and for a half a moment, his lips part and it looks like he might. But then the sky explodes into a sheet of white as lightning bares its teeth. Silvio’s gaze shifts from the sky back to the driver and you’re given a glimpse of a man who understands and respects the power of a storm. He nods once in affirmation.

The driver looks relieved that he won’t have to argue with the haughty prince and closes the carriage door. A moment later you feel it turn, heading back in the direction it came. You wonder whether or not you should comment on the prince’s amenability when he snorts in disgust, moving his expensive leather boots away from a puddle of water that the rain had blown onto the carriage floor.

Nope, still an ass, you think with a sigh and ride the rest of the way to the inn in silence, with only the turbulent sound of the storm echoing through the carriage.

“Whaddaya mean there’s only one room left?” Silvio’s jewelry and the many gold adornments on his ocean-blue jacket gleam in the light of the hearth fire inside the common room of the inn. “You’re talking to a Prince of Benitoite! I could buy this whole place out from under ya in a day.”

The beleaguered innkeeper crosses his burly arms, glaring at the prince from under bushy white eyebrows.

“As I said already, Your Highness, I got one room left. You can take it or leave it.” He turns to the driver who has returned from securing the horse, safe and sound in the barn. “It’s not much, sir, but you can have a spot in front of the hearth. It’ll warm you up, dry you off.”

Silvio’s booted foot hits the wooden planks of the inn’s floor. “And your room? What if I demand to commandeer your bed?”

The innkeeper grins through his full, white beard. “You’d certainly give my wife the thrill of her life, Your Highness.”

You would laugh at the startled look on Silvio’s face but you have another pressing problem. “So I have a choice between the floor and….sharing a room with him?”

Genuinely sorry, the innkeeper nods, his gaze darting to the prince. “I apologize, my lady. Truly.”

You turn to face Silvio and his scowl. With a jangle, he snatches the room key from the counter where the innkeeper left it and marches off toward the narrow, winding staircase that leads to the second story of the inn.

You follow with one last glance at the common room.

Maybe the floor wouldn’t be that bad.

The room is at the very end of the hallway, nestled under the slanted inn roof. You notice several things right away when you step inside: There is one round glass window through which you can watch the way the rain is being flung through the night by a restless, howling wind. A small oil lamp is lit, resting on the nightstand of the lone bed. It is larger than you expected, taking up close to half of the small room. A tiny, worn table and single chair are tucked into a narrow corner. And there is absolutely nothing else in the room except a Prince of Benitoite, whose pale head almost brushes the rafters, standing in the middle with his arms crossed, glowering in disdain.

“What a dump.”

Irritation trumps politeness and you hear yourself snap at him. “You’re welcome to take your royal ass back down to the common room and sleep with the driver. Or perhaps the barn with the horses is more to your liking.”

He turns sharply, his clothing and jewelry jingling softly under the sounds of the storm. His gaze, the blue of a midsummer sky, lingers and you wonder if he’s going to snap at you for speaking to him that way. Or comment on your language. Instead he surprises you by doing neither. His lips curve into a grin and you are utterly unprepared for the way a smile changes his face. What was begrudgingly handsome transforms into blindingly beautiful. Butterflies are born, fluttering their wings in your stomach, sending up a breeze that comes out as a huff of air as you march over to the side of the bed closest to the window and sit, leaning down to undo the straps of your shoes.

He watches you, crossing his arms. “Whatcha doin’?”

You keep your back to him as you pull off one shoe and begin undoing the other. “Getting ready for bed.”

He glances at the bed with its single, quilted blanket and two pillows. Then he begins unbuttoning his dress jacket. “Fine. You can have the blanket. Maybe it’ll make the chair or floor more comfortable.”

Standing, you turn around to face him. He’s carefully removed his jacket and has folded it so all its golden ornaments are wrapped inside of it.

“What do you mean ‘the chair or floor’? The bed is big enough for us both. I refuse to–What on earth are you doing?” You watch, brows raised as he begins tucking his jacket underneath his pillow.

“My clothes are worth more than everything in this room. Hell, one of my rings probably more than this whole fucking inn.” He steps back, satisfied that you can’t see the jacket anymore and then faces his next bothersome obstacle, the one shaking her head with her hands on her hips. Hips, he notices, that are temptingly accented by the flair of her ballgown. His gaze follows the stiff waistline up the strapless bodice where he can’t help but notice other things the gown accents. How had he not noticed your–

Your voice snaps him out of it.

“Prince or not, that’s ridiculous.”

Aaaaaand you’re yappin’ again. He ignores your comment, kicking off his expensive leather boots in a move so casually effortless it stirs those annoying butterflies again and then with a sigh, lays down on the bed. He’s left all of his jewelry on, his golden rings and earrings and necklaces which strikes you as very uncomfortable but he seems right at home, stretching out his long limbs in a way that seems to swallow all that space the bed seemed to have at first glance.

Best to get ready and go to sleep immediately.

With that thought, you realize something-and the raucous storm outside has nothing on the roar of panic flooding your body.

Your ivory and black ball gown is beautiful. And you were laced into this beautiful ivory and black ball gown by a trusted female servant. Laced into it wearing nothing but a pair of soft silken drawers which stop mid-thigh.

You consider trying to sleep in the gown. No. You wouldn’t be able to move. It’s too tight at the waist and chest and too voluminous in the skirt.

Which means…..you turn slowly to see Silvio has rolled over, his back to you. Great. He’s gone to sleep already.

You clear your throat.

No response.

You do it again louder.

He doesn’t move.

“Silvio!”

His name does it. “The fuck you want, lady?!” He’s rolled halfway around, glaring at you over his shoulder.

“I….” This hurts to admit and you wish you were in the room with anyone else. “I can’t undo my gown.”

“So sleep in it,” he says, each word drawn out slowly like he’s talking to a small child. He mutters something in the language of Benitoite you can just tell is rude and insulting.

You grit your teeth. He starts to roll back over.

“I can’t. It’s too tight to sleep in and the skirt is big.”

Outside the thunder rolls, low and foreboding. Silence swallows the room and you know your cheeks are warm. Maybe he won’t notice in the dim light.

He jangles as he pushes himself up now, hair pale as moonlight falling across his forehead and cheek as he tilts his head. And then slowly, oh so slowly, he grins in a way that corkscrews a blaze of heat right through you.

“So lemme make sure I got this. You’re askin’ me to undress you?”

You steel yourself. “And to give me your shirt.”

That wipes the grin right off his face. “Whaddaya mean ‘give you my shirt’? Do you know-”

“I’m sure it’s more expensive than all the buildings in Rhodolite but I am going to sleep in that bed and I am not going to do it in just my undergarment!”

Your tone is firm, much more confident than you actually feel. Again the thunder outside is the only sound as he stares, those cobalt blue eyes fixed on you with the intensity and depth of a storm-tossed ocean.

“Please.” It comes out small, a tiny crack in the wall of confidence you’ve been presenting him with. The word has slipped out, unbidden and the heat in your face feels unbearable. Have you lost your mind, asking him to do this? “N-Nevermind, I’ll-”

Your stammering drops off as he stands, his elegant fingers reaching under soft white ruffles to begin unbuttoning his shirt. He does not meet your gaze and you wonder if that darkness in his face is a blush to match your own. Then the white shirt is off and he’s standing before you, his upper body surprisingly sculpted and shockingly bare. His necklaces lay against his fair skin and there is something so intimate about the sight your breath catches.

“So the lady likes what she sees.” Dragging your gaze away from all the exposed skin and corded muscle, you see that grin has returned to those lips and you draw a quick breath, spinning around and presenting him with your back (which happens to conveniently hide a blush so fierce it must be glowing.)

“Just get on with it.”

The wooden floorboards creak underfoot as he crosses to where you are standing. You’re not sure you’ve ever been this close to him before. You didn’t dance together at the ball and as far as you can remember the only time you’ve ever touched was when you first met and he offered you his hand, a sharp thrust in your direction that felt more like he was going to stab you with an invisible dagger than an introduction.

But now he is so close you can smell his cologne, something unexpectedly soft that vaguely reminds you of the sea on a dark, clear night. Your body is electric with an awareness that ripples across your skin with every inhale and exhale he makes. Outside, the rain is endless, the thunder unflagging. But their sounds are drowned out by the sudden pounding of your heart, by the beat of a thousand butterfly wings sending your blood rushing through your veins like the current of a wild river. He begins pulling on the satin bow of your gown, undoing the careful knot.

“The laces can be tricky,” you say just to say something, anything. Is that really your voice, so breathy and soft?

You realize your mistake instantly because he answers you and his voice is right by your ear, curling around the shell of it.

“I got more than enough experience with knots,” he murmurs.

“Because of all the people you’ve bedded,” you mutter. Why did you say that? And why does the thought of Silvio in bed with anyone make your fingers curl into your palms?

He’s released the knot and begins loosening the stays, tucking those nimble fingers underneath each crisscross and tugging, not roughly as you would have imagined but with precision, loosening each section deliberately, skillfully.

“Because I’m a sailor,” he says matter-of-factly, surprising you yet again. He tugs again and the bodice of your gown suddenly slips, sending you scrambling to keep the whole thing up. He leans closer still, his lips mere centimeters from your ear. “And because of all the people I’ve bedded.” He’s undone your gown but you’re being wrapped up again, this time in his silken, serpentine words..

Your heart leaps in your chest and you stumble away, holding up your dress with both arms, swallowing against the unexplainable tightness in your throat.

“Your shirt.” You hold the ivory satin to your chest with one arm and hold out your free hand, palm up. He practically strolls back to the bed (how he manages to do that in such a small space is a mystery), picks up his shirt and with a shameless grin, throws it at you.

You don’t reach for it with both hands as he may have hoped, instead catching it one-handed and there is a flash of something in his eyes. Disappointment? Admiration? Both?

“Turn around.”

He lifts his hand, jeweled rings on nearly every finger and covers his eyes.

“Silvio.” Consternation swells his name. It looks like he’s peeking.

“What? I ain’t lookin’!”

There is too much running wildly through your mind, too many blurry thoughts twisting in incomprehensible circles to worry about whether or not the man is going to sneak a look at you or not. You turn your back to him and let your gown drop to the floor with a whoosh.

He didn’t plan to look. But the rings on his fingers don’t allow him to hold them together completely and when your dress makes that sound, his eyes open of their own accord and through the narrow space between his fingers he catches a glimpse of your naked back. The curve of your hip and dip of your waist. The shapely line of your legs.

The thunder rumbles a warning and he quickly closes his eyes again, alarmed at the sharp, hot pang of want slicing its way through his body. You? No. He doesn’t want–

One blue eye slowly opens, this time without any excuse. You’re wearing his shirt. It falls to the back of your knees and somehow looks better than any dress ever would. There is a tension slowly winding its way across his neck, his shoulders, a tightening in his gut at the sight. And then you turn, buttoning the final few buttons and his mouth goes dry at the fleeting glimpse of your décolleté. .

What the fuck…..He forces his eyes closed again, his jaw clenched against the swift desire you unknowingly provoked.

You scramble towards the bed and dive under the blanket, pulling it up and over your chest.

“Okay,” you murmur. “You can look now.”

He mumbles something that sounds like “Finally”, his voice oddly hoarse, as he lays back down but on top of the covers.

“You can get under the covers. You’ll get cold if–”

“I’m fine, lady,” he snaps, a dog snarling at the hand offering it a pet.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You have no shirt on and it’s not all that warm in here. You’ll get sick.”

“I don’t get sick,” he says haughtily and for a moment, your exasperation overrules the awkwardness.

“Fine. Whatever you say.” You pointedly roll away from him, trying to ignore how soft his shirt is, how good it smells, how comforting it is against your skin as the world outside rages with wind and water.

“This bed sucks.” His voice is rough, irritated. You glance over your shoulder. He’s laying on his back, his hands behind his head, staring at the slanted wooden beams of the ceiling. Despite the bareness of his upper body, it’s his profile that captures your attention. The fall of his pale hair. The slant of his cheekbones. The straight, aristocratic nose. His perfectly sculpted lips. A sudden, wild thought bursts through the chaos of your mind: what would they feel like on your lips? On your skin?

Outside the thunder booms, a furious sound so powerful it shakes the window, like a giant quaking the earth with its powerful steps. A small cry of surprise and trepidation escapes you.

He turns his head. “Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

You roll onto your back, not wanting to face the window and the darkness outside. An uncontrollable shiver rolls through you and you tug the covers up, closer to your chin.

“Rhodolite doesn’t have storms like this often." Your heart is hammering because of the deafening clap of thunder, right? It has nothing to do with the preposterous thoughts spinning like coins through your head just before.

“Benitoite does.” He returns his gaze to the dark wooden beams above. “Be grateful you’re not on the deck of a ship durin’ a storm like this.”

You glance at the window, illuminated by a burst of lightning and then turn, rolling completely away from it to face him.

“What was it like?”

Silvio glances at you, then quickly back to the ceiling. “This little rain shower’s got nothin’ on a storm that crept up on us while we were out to sea, sailin’ back from Tanzanite…..”

He speaks and you listen, each word a small fairy light blinking into existence, leading you down a path, away from the storm outside the small guesthouse in the middle of the Rhodolite countryside, and into the eye of a hurricane. One that rocks the carrack Silvio is on, homeward bound from far-away Tanzanite.

He paints the picture so well, his voice low, blending in with the unrelenting barrage of rain on the darkened window pane. You can see him in your mind’s eye, soaked through, swallowing salt water and his fear as he clings to wet, stinging ropes, his boots sliding across the slick deck. Men’s shouts fade into the roar of the wind. A body is plucked from the ship and tossed like a ragdoll through the howling wind, lost forever to the churning, briny depths. The ocean is enraged, a wild beast bucking and kicking blindly. The ship groans and tilts, battered by the winds, tossed by the wild waves. Silvio’s vision is blurred as he seeks out the helmsman, valiantly still at the massive wooden wheel and makes his way across the dangerously open deck. A wall of water slams into him and he knows if he doesn’t fight, he will be washed out to sea. Dogged determination fills him. Out here he isn’t a prince, fighting for his father’s approval, fighting to be seen as someone worthy. Out here in the elements he is a man, fighting for his very survival, all his gold and jewels and titles worn down to nothing by the wild storm, like mighty mountains that have been reduced to pebbles by the persistence of rain over centuries. He roars in the face of the wind and the rain, clawing his way up to the petrified helmsman. “Insieme!!” Together.. His ringed fingers wrap around the wooden handles, between those of the helmsman. Their gazes meet and as lightning blanches the sky, they both turn with all their might……

“The sea claimed four men that night. Ain’t small, the price of lovin’ her.” He trails off, the experience slowly fading back into the mist of his memory. His blue eyes, darker and softer than you’ve ever seen them, blink as he returns to the small room at the top of the inn and the woman lying next to him.

You’re still on your side, facing him, your gaze held completely at attention by his face, his voice. His story not only distracted you from the storm outside, but had pulled you in, had you inching closer, heart hammering in your chest as you hung on every word.

But he’s run out of words, that barrier now gone, and there is nothing between you. Just your gaze locked with his, your chest rising and falling as you stare into those azure depths, wondering if the tempest outside will be what causes you to helplessly fall into all that blue, another voyager lost in the ocean of his eyes.

You may be balancing on attraction’s razor-thin edge, but he is no better off. All he can think about is the softness in your expression, the part of your lips, and how he wants nothing more than to capture them and steal the taste of your mouth for himself, hoard it along with the other treasures he already has of you from tonight. The line of your bare back, the light in your eyes, the whisper of your breathing. Just a few centimeters and he would touch you. A few more and he could-

A loud clap of thunder breaks the moment, snapping it in two. You jump, shaken from the hold his gaze had on you, a loud gasp escaping your throat. He jerks back, suddenly aware of just how close the two of you were. There is a faint flush across his cheekbones as he runs a hand through his soft, silvery hair.

“Stop bein’ such a baby. I just told ya how this is nothin’.”

That imperious tone feels like an affront after hearing him speak so softly before. You pull away as if stung and then gather yourself together so he won’t see the glimmer of hurt in your eyes.

“I’m not a baby. I was just startled and–” The way he’s tilting his head, a derisive smirk on his lips sends a flare of annoyance through you. “You know what? Just forget it.” Angrily you roll away from him, yanking the covers up over your shoulder. You don’t see the flash of disappointment in his eyes, the way his fingers reflexively uncurled when you turned away, his body knowing what it wants long before his mind.

You don’t see how long his gaze lingers on you before he finally forces himself to look away.

Sleep does not find you. You lay there as the oil lamp sputters out and the room is filled with dark shadows that scatter briefly when bright bursts of lightning illuminate the sky, a sky that continues to rampage with gusts of wind and cries of thunder.

Every single inch of you is aware of how close he is. You feel when he shifts his body, the movement disturbing the bedding. You’re still wrapped in the softness of his shirt, surrounded by his scent. And now you can hear the even sounds of his breathing.

Taking a chance, you glance over your shoulder.

He’s asleep on his side, still facing you, his pillow tucked between his arm and his head. You should turn away and continue your battle with wakefulness. You should stop staring at the locks of argent hair across his forehead. The curve of his arm. The graceful line of his torso.

Outside the thunder rolls. Your heart echoes its tremor.

You do eventually turn away from him but find yourself very slowly inching your way backwards, moving towards him until your body is touching his, the blanket still between you. Despite the coolness of the room, he has stayed on top of it. There is an almost palpable relief in the feeling of his form, the solidness of his body. The storm feels less angry, less destructive. Being this close to him feels right in a way you don’t want to explore, a nebulous thing on the horizon of your heart that you want to keep at bay.

And then he shifts in his sleep, throwing his arm around you and pulls you even closer against him.

You’re grateful he’s asleep or else the sudden galloping of your heart would surely wake him. It takes several breaths to calm the storm of butterflies in your chest, kicked up by your heart’s sudden racing. They settle down, wings still opening and closing at the feel of his strong arm, the curve of his body around yours. But there is also something warm slowly washing over you. A cocoon, a safe haven where you can finally close your eyes, finally feel the storm’s energy not as an enemy but as a companion, accompanying you as you drift off to sleep at last.

Silvio feels the way your body relaxes, the tension seeping from your muscles as you fall asleep, soft and trusting in his embrace.

If you only knew he has been awake throughout.

He stays awake for a long time, loath to move even a centimeter, feeling the warmth of your body through the blanket and listening to the sound of the rain.

Epilogue:

“Get up, lady. I need my shirt back.”

That voice falls into the still waters of sleep, hooking itself into your consciousness and drags you slowly to the surface.

Sleepily you push yourself up, raising a hand against the bright beam of sunlight spilling into the room.

Pushing your tousled hair out of your face, you find the Prince of Benitoite standing beside the bed, his jacket flung over his bare shoulder, one hand on his hip as he stares down at you. “Let’s go. We’re gettin’ out of this dump. Driver’s already waitin’.”

Irritation rears its little horned head and your eyes narrow.

“Good morning to you too.”

He ignores that and stretches out his hand. “My shirt.”

And we’re back to this. You sigh.

“Go wait outside the door.”

He regards you a moment and then turns on his boot heel and leaves the room. With a grimace you climb out of the warm bed, padding barefoot across the wooden floor until you’re by the entrance. As quickly as you can, you unbutton his white shirt and then stick your hand out the door with it dangling from two fingers.

He mutters something that you cut off with a slam, eyes closing for a moment as you catch your breath.

Did last night really happen? Was he….kind? And….warm? Did you really sleep in his arms?

A bang on the door jerks you out of your thoughts. “Move it or lose it!”

Oh for fuck’s sake. “Go already! I’ll be there!”

Somehow you are able to wrangle yourself back into your ball gown. Tying the back is tricky but you manage to get it closed enough to avoid any indecency. A quick re-pinning of your hair and buckling of your shoes and you're making your way down the wooden staircase. The innkeeper is at the counter, smiling through his fuzzy white beard in greeting.

“Morning, my lady,” he calls cheerfully.

The door to the inn is open and you can see the driver loading a few things back onto the carriage. Silvio is already inside.

“Thank you again for your hospitality, sir. I’m afraid I don’t have any coin for our stay, but I’ll be sure to return as soon as possible to pay-”

The older man shakes his head, waving you to a stop with his hand. “Oh no, no need for that my lady. Your…er…roommate already took care of it.”

You’re unable to hold back the surprise in your voice as you glance at the carriage and then back to the innkeeper. “He did?”

His eyes gleam as he reaches into the pocket of his worn vest and again, shock squeezes a silent gasp from your lips. In his work-worn, calloused hand, he’s holding two of Silvio’s bejeweled rings. His words from last night flash through your mind.

—“My clothes are worth more than everything in this room. Hell one of my rings probably more than this whole fucking inn.” –

The innkeep is oblivious to your stunned expression. “These’ll pay for any damage the storm caused and then some. I told that young man, he's welcome here anytime.”

You finally find your voice. “I….I’m glad to hear that. Thank you again.”

He bids you farewell as you walk outside into the startlingly bright sunlight. The smell of petrichor fills the air, the ground still damp as you walk towards the carriage.

The hazy feeling of something born in the fury of the storm….

Something nameless.

Something undeniable.

Something Silvio has awoken.

….is rising on delicate butterfly wings, inching its way closer to the realm of your heart.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart @bubblexly

#ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri silvio #silvio ricci #ikemen silvio #silvio x reader #only one bed #broken heartstrings #ikemen fanfiction #ikemen fanfic #otome fanfic #violettwrites

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carnivalcarriondiscarded · 8 months

Note

HIIII!!!!!!!!

I LOVE your human au and would be delighted If you could expound on Wally's relationship with the cast and how he views/ is viewed by others <3

I hope you have a good day/ night whenever you are and I wish your pillow always be cold 🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️

ofc! i've been thinking about it a lot!

i would like to begin by saying that, as with canon, everyone likes Wally. as they should! i think that's an Important tidbit that should always carry across, at least in some way

Wally is... i think it's also important that he's a kind person. he loves deeply, is very forgiving and accepting, and he's just. he's a bizarre little man, and he's wonderful! there is not a malicious bone in his body! he finds delight & beauty in everything he can. he looks at his friends and is filled with deep contentment and joy and love. he's not blind to their flaws (and certainly not his own), but he never minds. those flaws are part of his friends, and he loves every bit of them!

and ok. Wally is not nearly as naive in this au as he is in canon. bc he's had a different life! he's had a rough go of it! unfortunately there's next to no way for normal people to grow up completely innocent & naive & pure, yk? life is harsh. Wally is not spared. he's incredibly kind despite it all. he's still in love with life and humanity. he smiles at strangers in the street & stops to watch bees pollinate flowers & sees parts of his friends in everything. he has many intense feelings even if he doesn't really show it or know how to convey them! he believes in the inherent goodness of people & beauty of being human!

there is a... very wide range of how people (outside of the Neighbors) view Wally. a lot of people find him slightly unsettling and really fucking weird, and well. he is! he's strange, and it's a wonderful part of him! but many don't see it that way. so he was ostracized by his peers in school (all the way through college), his coworkers (the few times he held a job before becoming a full-time artist), and most people in his local community. they just don't get him. they don't See him. Wally doesn't mind all that much! all of the important people in his life accept and love him for who he is, and he wouldn't even think of changing to fit the mold others want to shove him into.

then of course there are the people who treat him like a child, bc ableism is a thing and Wally's very noticeably autistic (even if people only notice subconsciously). this i think would be one of the very few things that outright annoys Wally, even if he doesn't really show it. but then there's the people who, while they might not get him (especially not to the extent his friends do), they accept him. like much of the art community he's involved in - even if a lot of them completely misinterpret his personality / mannerisms. they're all like "ohhhh he's so mysterious and ruminant" that's the 'tism, babes

BUT! YOU ASKED ABOUT SPECIFICALLY HIM AND THE NEIGHBORS! we'll save Barnaby for last since that's. uh. i have a lot to say about it. it's Very Complex in my mind

collectively, all of them love Wally a lot. which i've said! We Know! they also (mostly subconsciously) look for his approval - he's got a certain level of charisma that makes them all want him to like them. which, he does. obviously. unconditionally. and they're all protective of him & very patient with him. i think that's both a result of his natural rizz, how kind & patient he is with them, how well they understand him, and how he's a pacifist. he's their guy and woe befall anyone who dares cross him. (essentially, all of them collectively: the only constant is suffering - omg Wally!!! 💖💖💖)

we'll start with Frank! before he got to know Wally, he thought that Wally was an aloof asshole who thought he was better than everyone. then they started to directly interact and Frank realized "oh you're literally the nicest person i've ever met & also surprisingly relatable. you're just like me fr'. did he have a lil crush on Wally? yes. im saying it now literally everyone in the friend group (except local lesbians poppy & sally) has had at least a teensy crush on Wally at some point. but Frank deeply appreciates Wally's company & his complete lack of judgement. and how he gladly will let Frank talk for hours on end, chiming in with questions to prompt him to talk more! he also appreciates Wally's calm demeanor and vibes. he's one of those people that even when overwhelmed, Frank can handle having Wally around. he's like a human capybara! if Frank needs/wants a buddy with him for Situations, his go-to (after Julie ofc, though depending on the situation he'd pick Wally first) is Wally, since Wally Gets It. also Wally is unafraid to be like "wow, this kinda sucks! we're leaving", thus giving Frank an easy out. they just get along very well! ofc Frank can get frustrated with Wally, but then again he gets frustrated w/ everyone. but since Wally is patient with him, Frank tries to return the favor. also he's gotten into several fistfights over Wally's honor

Julie! she loves Wally so fucking much! he's her lil guy! even if he's kinda boring in a way! he's not very good at games or sports & would rather go on a relaxing walk than play Just Dance, but hey! he always makes Attempts, and she appreciates that! when they were younger and Julie & Sally & Poppy had girls nights (they continue to have girls' nights but everyone is involved. they still call it that tho), they'd often include Wally bc, yk! he's chill like that! Julie also massively respects his ability to say "no thank you" to anything without compromise. if he ever says it to her, she knows that he doesn't mean Any ill will by it! there's a sort of comfort in that! she knows she can be herself around him! also he's just... very good company. he's a shoulder to cry on, a hand to hold, a willing victim & confidante for elaborate schemes! he visits her at work Purely because he knows it delights her to see a friendly face in the middle of a grueling shift! he's always been a bit of a lighthouse to her!

and while Sally can be a little exasperated with how literal Wally is, she finds no small amount of solidarity with him As A Fellow Artist. when they first became friends, they caught on like a house on fire! she mentioned the artistic side of theater, and Wally was immediately on board. then and going forward Wally is always willing and more than happy to assist with painting sets, art advertisements for her performances, etc! they have little brainstorming sessions where she rambles about what she wants sets / costumes to look like, and Wally sketches them out! since Sally was a theater kid and goes on to work in that department (locally, usually), Wally often gets first read of her scripts. Sally highly values Wally's opinion and input. if he's free, sometimes he helps teach the actors' the show choreography. Sally runs through it with him, Wally soaks up the moves like a sponge & memorizes them, and hey! he loves to teach! Sally just. she loves him a lot. they're both artists of a sophisticated nature <3

Howdy thinks Wally is real neat! Wally is good company and is (often unintentionally) hilarious! he's also like... the one person Howdy refuses to scam in any way shape or form. tricking grandmas into buying more than they need? no sweat. tricking Wally into spending slightly more money than intended? Howdy feels like a fucking monster. but yeah, Howdy's just always delighted to see Wally! he likes Wally's unique view of the world and often takes it into consideration when making decisions. when he's stuck on something, he thinks WWWD (what would Wally do!). Howdy also is the one who most often accompanies Wally to his art shows & the like, bc he knows that Wally will accept the first price offer he hears - and Howdy is determined that his incredible works of art are paid for their worth! nobody is gotta cheat his pal outta a single cent! he just likes having Wally around, you know?

Wally & Poppy have an interesting relationship, i think! he tells the cashier "she asked for no pickles" for her! she makes sure he always has a soft place to land! he kinda confuses her, but she finds it endearing in a way? he displays a personality/behavioral quirk and she's like "oh. well alright!" and rolls with it very gracefully. they appreciate each other's mellow demeanor and proclivity for peace. Poppy knows she can always have a nice, quiet conversation with him over tea (even if he doesn't drink it!). and he's always willing to help with anything and everything she needs, no question. i think i've made this joke on this blog before but! in way! he's her emotional support animal lmao. a hand to squeeze to death on an airplane! also it's funny for me to picture a 6'8 woman hunched behind this 5'2 shrimp of a man as if he can hide her

it takes a little bit for Eddie to adjust to Wally's bizarre nature! like i've said, Eddie connects with the group when they're all in their late 20s. he hasn't had over a decade of being friends with Wally like the rest of them. he likes Wally plenty! definitely grows to love him! but it's an adjustment. Wally consistently startles him very easily (Wally is naturally quiet and has a habit of appearing out of nowhere), and Eddie has a hard time getting a read on him. most people do! and also Wally is very handsome/pretty, and that throws Eddie off a bit (it's hard to think when someone so attractive is staring directly into your eyes without blinking) but once he gets somewhat used to Wally & understands as much as he can, he very much appreciates Wally's company & friendship! they find (somewhat subconscious) solidarity in being the kindest and most helpful people in the clique! and Wally is a wonderful island of peace in a turbulent world. Eddie never minds sitting with him for a cup of coffee in the early morning during his route, even if it means his workday ends a few minutes later than usual.

other supporting cast like Wally as well. Ms. Beagle kinda views him as a second son! the Joyful siblings will always find him a little weird and unsettling, but they're nice enough to him. Howdy's family thinks he's neat. etc! but lets talk about Barnaby!

Wally is literally everything to Barnaby. that's his person. there is literally no one that comes before Wally in his eyes and heart. their relationship is and always has been very nontraditional To Me (in this au and somewhat how i view them overall! its complicated!). Wally never subscribed to or understood societal norms, and as a result, Barnaby wound up pretty much shunning them as well when it comes to his lil buddy. their relationship isn't romantic - Wally is very aro and Barnaby just does not feel that way about him, not really. but at the same time it's certainly not entirely platonic!

neither of them can imagine being separated. they met in 7th grade and have been glued together ever since. they've been through some tough shit together! they know each other better than anyone! you cannot have one without the other! they're more than a package deal - they're Inseparable! Barnaby has had many a nightmare of Wally leaving in one way or another, and it scares him more than anything. to him, he can weather any storm as long as Wally is by his side. they obviously don't spend every moment together, but at the end of the day they always come home to each other.

Barnaby just... he loves and respects and values Wally so much. he wants his approval, his attention, his company. sometimes he scares himself by considering the lengths he'd go to for Wally. there is no one he's more comfortable with or feels he understands / is understood by. if somebody has a problem with Wally, they have a problem with Barnaby. if Wally jumped off a cliff, Barnaby would not hesitate to leap after him! Wally says jump, Barnaby asks how high! he's not a violent person at all, but teen Barnaby once broke a bully's jaw for goin' a little too far w/ Wally

is their relationship a smidge unhealthy? a lil codependent? yes <3 yes it is <3 but we all know that Wally would never use this against Barnaby. on his side of the coin, Barnaby is his person as well! Wally has never imagined his life without Barnaby because it just does not occur to him that that's a possibility. there are many things that only Barnaby knows about Wally, sides only he's seen. there's complete & unconditional trust/love between them. they hotbox Home together <3

#ough that was a lot of word vomit i hope its coherent!#this is a sort of character study imo! in a way! of a sort!#which ive said but i like to Restate!#but yeah all the main guys get along with / love wally and vice versa!#what would they do without him <3 #i think its important that wally is somewhat... uh... Out Of Place in whichever setting he's in #in canon he's exactly where & what he's made for and yet he's still incredibly Different #and when au-crafting the fun in them is echoing the source. we've just taken a step to the left!#anyway anyway #sally and wally have a place in my heart for this au #they're besties! classy artists!#wally is always allowed on set / backstage!#rambles from the bog #wh modern human au #and obvs it isnt all sunshine and roses #but im doing my best to Sum Up The General Emotions and Overall Relationships!#barnaby & wally's is especially fascinating to me #like... if they lost each other they'd probably die of a broken heart lmao #i mean during the I Put Wally Darling In The Hospital arc barnaby is ~pining away~ and wally's gonna be fine #he's in his hospital bed watching psych reruns #meanwhile barnaby is at home not eating not sleeping just sitting in wally's studio & brooding #oh also. subject change but this occurred to me and the meme is Accurate #howdy: this is my husband barnaby! & this is barnabys platonic life partner wally!

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