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runaway-dreamers · 11 months

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An opportunity for Wally request has arrived!! Exited-exited!

Since im a tiny bit evil it would be fluff turned angst >:)

How about while Wally and Reader cuddle, Wally asks about our heartbeat, we answer explaining that its a sign of us being alive, as a consequence of that he learns about our mortality

Ty for your consideration 🌹

Hmm, I'm a little awkward here. I do hope you like it! Thank you, Anon!

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Here in deeper conversations, I find myself wishing to be folded into you.

The Everyday Life of Wally Darling

Word count: 1,116

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The sun dipped low in the cloudless sky. Shadows of buildings were slanted across the now empty roads, a deepening orange filled the spaces between. A breeze lifted the weightless blinds filling every corner of the room with the smell of late spring afternoons. The gently lifting and falling curtain cast its own shadow on the two sleeping bodies held close to one another.

You were laying on your back with Wally's head resting on your chest. Your hand was gently combing through the soft blue waves of his hair. A comforting silence had built around you. Nothing was said as his hand pressed gently against their skin. It gave way, but remained taut against the pressure. What started off as helping a stranger turned into this.

During that time spent caring for each other things were thought of, but never asked. Questions weren't able to pass from their lips. There was a clear wall between the two. A wall that made conversation tough. They would converse about the general, but just as important, well being of one another. They would chat about Wally's new painting. You would ask about the different techniques he used this time around, and he would give them all the information he could offer. The two were close friends.

There was a mutual understanding expressed in eyes half-looking as they passed by one another. They shared it when they said their goodbyes or see you later. They shared it when talking over morning coffee. A moment's grief made painfully acute by avoidance. They ignored it as much as they possibly could hoping that this was the correct path.

It must have grown over time nurtured by him admiring you in the morning sun as they gazed into eyes still glittering from sleep. It may have been when you first saw him with his hair down watching the sun rise from the kitchen window. All you really knew was that this little pang of joy grew into a pulsating surge of longing. Without much words spoken the both of you had begun sharing a bed. Wally would go quiet first as he felt the tautness of your skin. His head would always rest on your chest. Your hand always traced along the fine stitches on his body.

The first time Wally had his head on your chest, he had squeezed you so tight and pressed his ear as close as he could. You said nothing when he did this, but you could feel the racing of your heart. At some point you had slept and woke to him still listening. He never asked. You never offered.

The growing weight of unspoken words would always become too heavy, and those questions must flow. Wally moved propping himself up on his elbow. His thick blue hair slipped from between your fingers. The movement roused you from your sleep, and you looked at him concerned.

"Neighbor, I've been meaning to ask," His voice was low as he spoke, "What is this sound in your chest? Is it a crank? A voice box?"

Wally rested his hand on your chest, his fingers curled and his pointer gently tapping to the rhythm of your heart. His eyes held the same sweet look they always did. The same look you'd always seen when he offered you tea or a bite of his apple. His hair hung down to the side with strands caught in the golden hours glow, and you wanted to run your fingers through again. He looked like a dream, a fantasy.

"That's my heart. It keeps the tempo of my life."

Wally stopped tapping as you spoke, "Keeps the tempo of your life?"

His confusion was showing. The walls were slipping. The moon had risen and the night spread its deep blue glow. They stared at one another waiting to see what would happen next. Behind the silence tension had sprouted.

"Yes. If it stops, well, it means the show's over." You tried to laugh away the uneasiness hoping the conversation would change quickly.

Wally laughed montone and robotic, "Hahaha, what show would that be?"

"The, uh, Y/N show." Your heart sank.

He was confused, "How would I turn it back on?"

"You can't. No one can, really. Maybe I'm not explaining it right," You sat up, "My heart is why I'm alive. When it stops beating I'll be.. not alive."

Wally sat up and stared at you, his eyes never leaving yours. They widened as yours winced.

"What happens when you're not alive, neighbor?"

"I imagine it's us returning to the primordial soup, the creation of all things, but I don't know."

"So when your heart stops, you'll no longer be here?" Wally's voice cracked as he struggled with the weight of what he just learned. The pieces were not clear and didn't fit well together, but from the jagged edges came an idea so startling it caused him to cry. You pulled him into a hug, rubbing his back and kissing the side of his head. Neither of you spoke as Wally clung to you listening once more to your heart.

"That isn't right now. Right now I'm here with you still living, still with a beating heart. You can hear it whenever you need to. Imagine my heart beats for you, too." You spoke softly, your words barely a whisper in the dark.

You sat there for a while just holding one another. It felt like new questions were waiting to pour out from the both of you. New conversations waiting to be explored. Things to understand and things meant to cause arguments. Why did it suddenly feel like these things now had an even tighter deadline? Like they might not ever be spoken of. The potential of you and I was a burden threatening to drag us under.

With Wally's head against your chest and your hand absently rubbing his back, you could let yourself believe an ending was far off. This moment could last forever through the winding night, through the rising sun, and through the cool blue of daytime skies. If this was the anchor in the now uncertain ending then so be it. Assume for a second this is all there is. Being here together for a moment in a lifetime of change and hardship was more than enough.

"If.. You leave. That loss would change me. You'll have gone somewhere I can never go." Wally spoke next, his voice would shake and crack.

"An eventual inevitability, but not right now. I promise I'll stay right where you can see me for as long as I possibly can."

"I'll memorize the tempo of your life, Y/N."

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runaway-dreamers · 11 months

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Could I ask a Wally x Reader reunion request? Like reader found a way to leave Home and go back to their world, but they learn they can’t return for at least a month or two.

And they do eventually come back apologizing to Wally and then to everybody else. Some angst ending with fluff?

I may have gotten a tad bit excited by this ask.

[Part 1 ◇ 2 ◇ 3]

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At the end of all I knew, I find the beginning of you and I.

The Everyday Life of Wally Darling

Word count: 2,070

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Demands piled high, and you were only so fast to fill them. You were tucked in a corner by the espresso machine. The revolving door of needy customers never slowed, their unspoken requests needing tending to. The jaded opening baristas were already planning what to get from the bar a few stores down . One coworker was taking orders and making small talk at the register, another was next to you pulling shots. Your feet remained in two squares, turning to and from the machine grabbing milk for the sweating ice cups and hissing steam wands.

A whisper from a passing shadow, "Smile more, you're scaring the customers."

You duck your head pulling your cap low. With shaking hands you attempt to pour milk into a pitcher only to have it spill, split by the edge. Rag in hand you wipe away the mess, but the blurring of your vision makes it difficult. The room threatens to spin as if wanting you tossed off your feet. Your stomach twists pushing your heart into your throat. Your body steels for the expected impact. Nothing changes, and the line keeps moving. Standing there inside your head allowed orders to pile.

Idling there disrupted the flow, "Y/N, this one needs regular milk, did you grab the right one?"

"Mhm, yes, yes. Regular." You barely finished your sentence, your voice fading. The cup had been placed on the counter where a hand extending from the growing mass snapped it up. You watched it until it was out of view, absorbed by the bustling chaos.

Turning back to the machine, something red glints off of it. Your single dangling earring taps against your jaw, but the weight of it soothes you. You sigh softly and the side of your lip lifts into a quick smile. It was a bright red apple cut in half with two little black seeds on it. When you touch it you can feel the smooth rise and fall of its shape.

A tap on your shoulder caused you to jump in surprise, "Take your break, Y/N, you're distracted."

With a nod you stepped away. The smile on your face flattened to a thin line as you grabbed your bag. For a moment you thought about leaving and heading straight home. The comfort of your couch called to you, but you knew leaving would cost your coworkers their break. Instead you slipped out of the store and walked to the gas station a few blocks away.

Reddish-brown leaves were falling from twisted branches high above you. The breeze rattled them, shaking them loose until they fluttered down, settling on the ground. Life felt like it slowed to a crawl with the colder months rounding the corner. You briefly thought about what sort of soups Poppy would be making, and if Howdy was stocking caramel apples. The gas station came into view.

Inside the parking lot, tucked behind the old building, was a dumpster. Around it were old buckets, crates, and wood in various stages of rot. Reaching tree branches from the other side of the fence formed a canopy overhead. There was a touch of coziness here as the sound of busy life faded into the distance.

Your favorite overturned crate was still here just as you had left it. Before sitting down you removed a carefully wrapped container from your bag. Half of this morning's blunt rested inside along with your lighter. Held between your lips, you attempted to light it. The flint struck once, twice, three times before a strong enough flame was lit. You held it to the snubbed blunt letting it take hold. The embers burned a bright red as you inhaled. On the exhale you let yourself comfortably slump against the fence, shutting your eyes.

This passing summer had been unbearable, but in the autumn chill you found yourself asking for its return. The cold ran deep soaking into your bones and mixing with your blood. You pulled your scarf up over your ears. Each puff untethered you. Smoke drifted out from your nose caressing your skin as it drifted up, the wispy tendrils passed easily between the strands of your hair.

Your hand trailed over the earring feeling along the shape of it. It was originally part of a set, but the other side had been lost in a pocket between here and there. It had been a gift, one made specially for you. Lovingly shaped by careful hands. If the other side remained in Home, you imagined he kept it close to him at all times. This gave you comfort as you remembered the time spent there.

When you first arrived in Home, you were greeted by a whole cast of friendly faces. Julie created games for you to play. Frank and Eddie would take you bug watching. Howdy always found ways to indulge your sweet tooth. Barnaby invited you out on strolls, imparting wisdom and bad jokes. Poppy taught you how to bake. And Wally was there every step of the way. Life back in your reality wasn't as grand, as you came to remember, but it hadn't been your choice to go. Just like it hadn't been your choice to leave. You were ripped away from all you knew and fell through a hole in the universe.

On an outing you brought up your confusing feelings while bug watching. Eddie had suggested that you at least keep it an open idea, and Frank agreed. There were no clear paths and not many options. Choices weren't a choice unless they were found to be possible. Everyone stressed that should the time come, the final decision was up to you.

You weren't fully convinced to stay or go, but at the time you couldn't rule out any foreseeable options. Despite how close you all had grown, you had felt that you couldn't fully belong. They all knew how homesick you were, especially Wally, and his words were still clear in your mind.

"Hmm, that is a tough one," Wally spoke slowly, his eyes looking thoughtful, "If you found a way home, you could properly answer that question. It would be undeniable, neighbor, whatever your deepest desires are."

You tried to remember things as clearly as possible, but every memory led back to the end. His laughter turned to screams, his hopeful eyes brimming with terror, hands struggled to hold on. The pull of the void was too great, and you fell into the endless darkness. All you remembered was his face laced with regret. He was shouting frantically as you were swallowed whole. All you could do was watch as the darkness consumed your vision. Twice you had fallen, twice you had to confront your mounting losses.

That day played on repeat in your head. You tried to scrub the fading fragments in search of subtle meanings. Were those little glances something more? The softening of his eyes, the pink of his cheeks, was that something you only imagined? Your bag was crumpled on the ground near you. With a rough shake you undid the partially closed zipper and pulled out a beaten up notebook.

Page after page were filled with grainy crayons and smooth colored pencils. Splatters of smudged paint obscured the already warped images and words. Those scribbles had been notes you kept while living in Home. You smiled fondly as your thumb rubbed the coarse texture. It ended up a collective journal meant to be shared. Everyone had pitched in and wrote something about their day.

It looked like the pages had been stained with a painter's used water cup. Over these stained pages you had tried drawing each of them from memory. It became harder to remember what they looked like, but eyes remained. Each one detailed and alive, but lacking familiarity.

Drops of rain fell onto the page popping your bubble of solitude. Your break was over all too soon. As you put everything back in your bag the thought of walking away returned, nagging and incessant. It coiled around your stomach and squeezed itself into a ball. Nothing about this was right. You left the gas station without a word heading towards the bus stop. They managed without you for five months, they'll survive one shift.

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"Howdy has some caramel coated apples all neatly packaged at the bodega." Frank was at the kitchen sink washing a pumpkin. They were scrubbing in particular circular motions, dunking it into clean water every now and again.

"Hm? Oh, yeah. Howdy said he got them specially ordered." Eddie was at the table sorting through some letters.

"I know it's just you at the post office, but I wish you wouldn't bring work home." Frank dumped the brownish water down the sink. They took a clean rag and patted the pumpkin dry.

"You're right, there's always tomorrow." Eddie chuckled as he packed the partially sorted mail up and slid the box under the table. He leaned back in his seat with a loud sigh. The sound of a knife splitting the gourd filled the kitchen.

Frank spoke up, "So.. Have you noticed Wally around lately?"

"I see him walkin' often. More so than usual, and very slowly, too." He drawled, waiting for Frank to share what was on their mind.

"Earlier today, he declined another invite from Julie." Frank's words dripped with growing concern. Their frown was even more pronounced than usual. Eddie could read the tension on his husband's body.

"I noticed that change in him, yes, but it's to be expected. Loss can-"

"It's our fault." They spoke harsher than expected.

Frank left the knife in the flesh of the pumpkin. The piece flopped to the side as it was let go. They leaned against the edge of the sink. Each passing second marked by the dripping faucet.

Eddie started, "Now, Frank, don't think that way. It won't help nothin'."

"No, Eddie, no. We both told Y/N to keep it an open option," Their eyes filled with tears, "And now look, they've gone! Vanished!"

Another long silence. Eddie was staring at the table. Though he wanted to remain strong for Frank he knew that he couldn't deny those feelings any longer.

Eddie spoke with emotion thick in his voice, "Wally leaves letters addressed to Y/N."

"Yeah?" Frank turned away, pain evident on their face, "And what does he say?"

"He says he wants to find a way to get these letters to 'em. I told him I'd find a way," Eddie chuckled at this, but his eyes were wet with unshed tears, "There's no impossible task for a guy like me."

They eyed Eddie's profile, "I think we could make that a reality," Frank spoke quietly.

Eddie narrowed his eyes as he sat up straighter, "How so, darling?"

"Dear, and don't be mad," Stepping away from the sink, a flicker of fear crossed Frank's face, "I was looking around the area Y/N was last seen, uh, for the void Wally keeps talking about."

"And why would you go and do something dangerous like that?" Eddie was trying his best to remain calm, he stood up from his seat and walked closer to his husband, "What if you went and got dragged down, too? Who knows what's on the other end of that thing!"

"I get it! I really, really do!"

"Is that so, Frank?" Eddie responded.

"Hear me out, please?" Frank stepped closer to Eddie, arms crossed and eyes searching.

Eddie softened as he looked into Frank's eyes, "Please be careful, that's all I'm asking of you," Eddie spoke softly as he embraced Frank.

Frank sighed, relaxing into the hug, "I think I found the hole."

"What? What do you mean?" Eddie looked down at Frank. He was holding him by his shoulders squeezing ever so slightly.

"I.. dropped a note through it not too long ago. It's right next to a field of wild pumpkins." Frank shifted on his feet.

"Was the note for Y/N?" Eddie asked. His hands rubbed along Frank's arms.

"Yes, and, well, see this is where it gets strange."

Frank stepped away from Eddie. Their bag was resting by the kitchen doorway. They picked it up and brought it over to the table where they dug around for something. Eventually Frank removed a notebook, and inside the notebook was a neatly folded note.

Frank looked at Eddie, "I got a response."

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