#... do i put this in the character tag. maybe i do | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wheneverfeasible · 3 days ago

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WIP Word Game!

Rules: You will be given a word. Share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that start with each letter of that word.

So I was tagged by @scoops-aboy86 for this game looooooooong ago right when I started drifting away into a dark cloud for a while, but it was saved in my drafts so I found it again! Anyways, I was tagged with the word SWEATY PALMS so let’s do it!

disclaimer: all steddie adjacent but not all steddie focused

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S - Slowly, as he took in the familiar-unfamiliar surroundings and the scent of the person behind him, around him, the events of the previous night began trickling back into his memories.

Oh.

Right.

Eddie.

“Redeem Me” (ch. 1?) - omegaverse (“Ruin Me” sequel)

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W - Which was…fine. Better than fine, actually, because there was less of a chance for him to piss the man off if he wasn’t in his immediate presence. Except.

Except Isabel got summoned.

“Bloody Hands, Broken Hearts” ch. 5 - mafia au

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E - “Ew, gross!” she exclaimed when she saw his face at her comment.

“What?” Steve laughed, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I didn’t even say anything,” he teased.

“You didn’t have to, you sicko. See a therapist about your sex addiction,” she groused, finally sitting up properly in their little cubicle space, giving him a scant few more inches to actually type up whatever document he was supposed to be working on at the moment.

“What’s in a Name” ch. 1 - modern au

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A - And he would try. Even with Robin he would try. But sometimes, sometimes in the dark of the night, sometimes when he was alone with his thoughts, he would wonder what it would have been like had his best friends not abandoned him for something shiny and new.

untitled platonic Steve & Carol/Tommy breakup character study

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T - The thing was that, sure, Steve would love a romantic partner. Someone to raise all his little nuggets with, their nuggets, someone to answer his romantic needs as well as, sure, his sexual ones too. He knew Robin felt the same way.

But he already found his soulmate. Hell, he’d bond bite her right now if they both decided they didn’t want that other stuff. They both did, however. Robin craved those intimacies he couldn’t provide just as much as he did. But that didn’t lessen the fact that this thing between them went far beyond that of normal friendship, or even simple pseudo-siblinghood.

“Hellcheer Ink” ch. 1 - omegaverse

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Y - You see, Doug knew what every freak and geek knew in Hawkins; The Hair was not to be trusted.

Tigers don’t change their stripes, and all that, and every jock wore that tiger emblazoned on their jock gear. Harrington was a jerk. A douchebag. An asshole. Every self-respecting freak knew this. And yet he had Eddie by the fucking balls. Eddie, their fearsome King Freak, turned into a docile pussycat whenever Harrington wiggled his fingers at him. Like a well trained dog.

Sit. Speak. Roll over. Play dead.

untitled platonic Unnamed Freak Doug & Steve fic

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P - “Perhaps, but maybe let’s put a pin in it until you can stand up on your own, all right, sweetness?”

Steve wanted to smack Eddie in his smarmy face. Except it wasn’t really all that smarmy, actually. It was more…fondly exasperated. Even the alpha’s scent still had that softness from sleep, that almost honeyed molasses of quiet contentment, not like he was impatient for Steve to get out of his bed and his home.

“Redeem Me”

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A - And eventually Hopper cleared a pointed throat about sitting properly on furniture so Steve had rolled his eyes but given Robin the seat to settle on the ground in front of it, bracketed by Robin’s legs. He had, admittedly, grabbed her legs and hooked them lightly over his shoulder to keep in place because she kept kicking him, but still.

She really wished a boy and a girl could just be close friends without anyone assuming anything about it. Meanwhile, she could pull that same move with a girl and, despite it meaning something entirely different for her, no one would have even batted an eye.

Heterosexuals were so fucking weird.

untitled Ronance fic

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L - “Look, I get the whole bad boy approach, but Indy has a whip,” Eddie had scoffed when Steve had once more proclaimed Han as the superior Harrison Ford. “Shit’s hot as fuck. Way hotter than having the Shaggy Dog as your copilot. Indy could use that whip on me any day.”

untitled steddie summer fic

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M - Mr. Hagan, of course, got off with a slap on his wrist, despite the fact that it had been his foot kicking a curled up Eddie in the back, but that was just the way things go when you’re the King Freak. So of course the stars would align for him to have to tutor the actual king, King Steve “the Hair” Harrington himself.

untitled tutor fic - omegaverse

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S - Steve didn’t even want to know what complicated expression he was making at that, rearing back slightly in shock and, to be quite honest, hurt. What the hell about him made Wayne think he’d hurt Eddie in any way? He frowned deeply, honestly quite offended.

“I would never hurt Eddie,” Steve replied, just as low but with a lot more bite.

untitled Steve & Wayne miscommunication fic

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Damn, I didn’t necessarily forget about some of these, but they had definitely been pushed to the back of my mind. I need to work on these, though some need to percolate a bit and will probably be rewritten some.

And ya know what, fuck it, I’m just gonna tag my Hostage Hotties and those relevant to certain stories mentioned. (Sorry to the people not fans of omegaverse but you can just ignore those ones.)

Your word is…

CORDYCEPS

(currently watching the finale of The Last of Us 😭)

No pressure tho on tagging for writers!

@derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump @scoops-aboy86 @dotdot-weirdlife @everywherenothere @bumblebeecuttlefishes @hiei-harringtonmunson @estrellami-1 @nebulaoz @renfrisol @tinyplanet95 @hairspraywhore

@amerikanskaya-krassavitsa @queenie-ofthe-void @mugloversonly

And open tag for anyone else who wishes to participate!

#wip word game #bringing this baby back #steddie #(mostly)#my wips my wips my lovely wordy wips #(if you got that reference youre old now)#plot thots

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lugarn · 8 hours ago

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One:

I am fine with people blocking. I encourage ppl to block any and everything they don't wanna see, because that's what keeps fandom spaces moving along smoothly.

The thing I am objecting to is bragging about blocking and especially posting it in the tag where people you're blocking are intended to see it and feel an emotion. I can't believe I have to say this but it's shitty to make posts that are intended to shame people for how they interact with FICTIONAL CHARACTERS.

Posts like this have two functions: moral grandstanding (*I* am not doing this so I am morally superior) or shaming people. Both of these are shitty things to do in fandom. The blocking isn't the point because if you blocked and moved on you don't make posts like these. I'm speaking against the bragging about it and framing things as if anyone who disagrees with you is committing a moral injury to themselves.

You walked into the open forum of ideas about a canon, called a group of people terrible, and now you're surprised when one of those people turns around and says "fuck you too buddy"? Get real, of course this was going to happen. Did y'all fail kindergarten or something?

Two:

Most of the super active Sammie/Remmick shippers are BLACK, and I promise you they are aware of every implication you've mentioned here. I don't talk much in the SInners server because I'm way more into Moorecest, but I promise nobody is unaware of what you've mentioned.

Reality is that y'all are mostly bragging about blocking POC because you've made up a reason in your head that is legitimate (imagining they are white) and so of course I'm not down with that. Stop bragging about blocking people.

AND FOR THE RECORD?? Any sort of policing of who it's okay to like in fandom always hits POC first because they are the people fandom thinks it's the most okay to police/harass. Fucked up, but no matter what it is you're objecting to in fandom I 100% guarantee that the harassment you're putting out will hit POC way before it affects white ppl.

If you're okay with that, keep on keepin' on. If you don't want to be imagining that black people are white in order to say shitty things about them, maybe you should re-examine.

Three:

If you want gay fic for Sinners, your options are Moorecest or Sammie/Remmick and I can't blame people for not wanting to write/read incest. (Not to mention that if you want to prioritize real life implications of things, Smoke/Stack and Smoke/Sammie/Stack as pairings are saying nothing good either??)

Like have you guys really thought about this all the way or are you shooting off about something that made you uncomfortable without realizing the above things? I get it, if that's the case, god knows I've said some really dumb shit, but maybe you should stop and consider these things before you continue.

Going through the Sinners tag and instantly blocking anybody simping for irish salad fingers

#sinners #reconsider how you're acting in fandom when you want to make other ppl feel shitty for how they exist in fandom #that's a shitty way to treat anybody #it's even shittier to assume it's all white ppl without ever even looking into it to see #stop robbing people of their blackness because they liked something that made you uncomfortable that's so fucking shitty

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hollow-lime-green · 2 days ago

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Share the first lines of ten of your latest fanfics (or up to if you have fewer) and tag ten people.

ty for the tag @detta-pica! <3

it seems like a good day to do some reminiscing/reflection on the ol' fics. i like first lines. sometimes i have a good idea for one, and it'll really guide the story. sometimes i don't, but by the end of writing the piece i can go back and find something that fits for me.

interestingly, exactly the last 10 (no more, no less) of my posted fics are JJK, and they are all in the FIYM extended universe. so i shall post them in story chronological order:

1. it's not gay unless the domains touch

Geto Suguru was fifteen years old when he first met Gojo Satoru, and he instantly decided he couldn’t stand him.

but that's in flashback. the story really starts with this one (one of my favorites)

Suguru can’t quite figure out if Satoru didn’t get enough hugs as a child, or if he got too many.

i'll put the rest under a cut so this isn't a longboy on peoples' dashes (do people care about this? i do not know.)

2. too gay to function

So, for the record, none of this was Shoko’s fault. She got dragged into this shit years ago. Not like, ‘kicking and screaming’ dragged - nothing so loud and hysterical. No, she got dragged down slowly but surely - like a poor, low-level gangster with his feet cast into concrete shoes. Drowned by gay bullshit: R.I.P. in peace, Ieiri Shoko.

wow okay so i'm literally already cheating because technically this is the earliest chronological point. but c'mon i had to start with domains.

3. two sorcerers chillin' in a hot tub (five feet apart cause they’re not gay)

Geto Suguru ate his first cursed spirit at the age of five and a half. Curse manipulation was, among other things, not an especially intuitive power. It took a creative, slightly deranged sort of person to look at a warbling mass of cursed viscera and think, ‘Oh, yeah, that looks tasty’. However, as a general rule, five-year-olds are more than willing to put almost anything in their mouths, except green vegetables.

you will see that there is a trend of me starting with a one line 'paragraph' and then a multiline follow up paragraph. i simply like this.

4. the uncertainty principle

Gojo Satoru is sick in the head.

this side piece is an interesting and special one for me. i was talking to a (non-fic) writing friend at the time, particularly about atmosphere, characterization, and introspection. and what i like about that pieces is that, in hitting all of those things - nothing happens. like, actions are not taken, nothing is happening. and yet, it is still a scene that works, and an important piece of the story (very important if you read in sequence, because it is our first look into gojo's pov in the whole story).

popular books but especially BoyFantasy (tm) (i am staring directly at you brandon sanderson) fall into a trap of being so egregiously action driven. once you break out of that, you can build a lot more character depth and tension. (read name of the wind read name of the wind read name-

5. blueshift

To most people, the train out of Shinjuku was a bit louder than usual. To Satoru, it was utterly deafening.

rare case where i feel the summary actually goes harder than the opening line

Gojo Satoru loves in black and white; he suffers in technicolor.

6. string theory

Satoru’s eyes burn. This, in itself, means nothing. Less than nothing, actually, because the combined time that Satoru’s eyes don’t burn is far less, fractionally, than the time that they do. Less than half. Maybe less than a third. Usually, it’s the sun’s fault. You’re not supposed to stare at the sun, obviously, but you’re doubly not supposed to stare at the sun when it burns your retinas in three spectra instead of one. It’s not the sun’s fault this time, though, because he hasn’t been outside in three days - almost four - and the library sconces don’t burn that brightly.

from the start, we can certainly already sense that Something is Wrong With This Man, so that's effective.

7. relativity

‘Just relax, baby,’ Suguru murmurs. Except, he doesn’t. Because Suguru wouldn’t say that - the ‘baby’ thing - and Satoru doesn’t even know if he’d want him to. Because ‘baby’ sounds, like… weird, and girly and stuff. And he’s not a girl, so- Nope, he’s not getting into that tonight.

relativity my beloved

8. gal pals (ongoing)

The train ride to Kyoto goes by in the blink of an eye. Not because it’s pleasant, and not because it’s particularly quick, but because Shoko’s brain isn’t really in good enough shape to fuck with the concept of linear time.

go read about the lesbians, guys. this pride, it's your civic duty to care about the lesbians as much as the gayboys. also when i have the stamina to post about it again... i am telling you folks, i am cooking something here. i am cooking a fucking feast here (admittedly the dessert will be in ch 3 and i need to get through ch 2 without putting an ice pick through my eyeball because i need to write some complex choreo)

but when i get there?

when i get there you will understand why this had to be a side piece, and why i am doing the alternating posting structure with fellas.

despite my recent blah, whenever i think about finally get to post the end of gal pals, i smile. oh. oh. you guys are not prepared, you're simply not prepared.

when i get there.

9. fellas is it gay to be his one and only (ongoing)

AN: Special fangz (get it, coz Im goffik) 2 my gf (ew not in that way) nanami, bloodybread7:3 4 helpin me wif da story and spelling. MCR ROX! Hi my name is Satoru Light’ness Dementia Raven Way and I have short ivory white hair (that’s how I got my name) with purple streaks and red tips that reaches my shoulder and icy blue eyes like limpid tears and a lot of people tell me I look like Anderson Cooper (AN: if u don’t know who he is get da hell out of here!).

i forgot what the opening line for fellas was because i was thinking about the chronological start of the plot for fellas and not the start of the text, not the greatest writing of my fanfiction career. and the stars aligned so i got to post this on 4/1... i think i had this in the drafts, fully edited ready to go, for maybe 6-8 months before it got posted? i peaked here. i really did.

aaaaaand...

10. ??? (upcoming)

Suguru’s never been a fan of early mornings, but, like most things in his life, they’re a habit he’s tripped and fallen into.

ohhh i'm cheating again i'm cheating again someone call the fanfiction tumblr police i'm cheating again. this is from a WIP (the tropefest WIP I have been oversharing on).

technically the 10th work in FIYM is teeth and tongue, which is fun and if you are interested in my uraume then you should go read it. but it's very tangential to the plot and set in the heian era.

this upcoming work has been a nice, lighthearted full comedy break from some of the heavier FIYM writing (not that I can describe the fanfiction scenes as heavy... yet?). i'm having fun with it. :)

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Tagging: well i feel like in her post olga stole of ton of people who i would think of tagging and 10 is such a big number, so like always I am going to cop out and say ANYONE WHO WANTS TO WHO IS READING THIS POST.

but of people who i remember are writing things I will tag (and I am re-possessing from olga)

@mildlyannoyedscoundrel-blog @andiftheycare @alpha-hydra @fushiglow @lmskitty

and (beta counts for 5 points i don't make the rules)

@benevolentkitchen (oohhhh you thought you were safe just cuz you've never posted ohhhhh you're not post your wip do it you won't ohhhh)

#jjk fanfic #satosugu #fire in your mouth #wip #fanfic writing #writing #jujutsu kaisen fanfic

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goldenshrikecomic · 2 days ago

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Your comic has been a huge inspiration for me to start creating my own comic. I don't have any questions about the story itself, but I'm very curious about your process. Do you have any tips for someone looking into starting their own comic? Or maybe just something that stood out to you while you were first starting, or a 'click' moment you had? anything along those lines. second question: Your characters always feel so real, even in a cartoonish style. Its almost like i could see them actually moving on the page. When drawing your panels/pages, how do you achieve this? Is it on purpose, or just the way you've managed to draw? And thirdly; (sorry for all the questions,) do you put an overlay layer over the top of an entire panel? what's your process for this? (like how do you choose what kind of layer setting, colors, etc.) Do you think this is what gives your characters/artwork that aforementioned visual "realness"? Thank you, sorry for all of the questions!

I get asked this a lot in different ways so looking into technical tag might help. This reply is about starting a comic. The biggest tip I can give you is boring: just start. It's the hardest part. Start it badly, but start it.

This is not something I see in my art despite hearing about it from readers. On the contrary, I feel my poses are often pretty stiff and oftentimes I'm not very happy with them! Using references is usually the biggest factor in making gestures and movements look presentable.

I don't use an overlay layer on top of everything, but I do put a multiply layer on top of characters, and then a new layer for airbrushing some background colors on top of them. This post describes how I do it.

#ask #technical stuff

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strawbairicake · 1 day ago

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HELLOOO airi i hope it is okay for me to participate in your event since we are new mutuals ^^ (i also only just saw the post about it HSHDHSJ) i am here to endearingly request brant from wuwa in a fake dating au??? i think it would just be a really funny situation to put him considering he's basically a theatre kid LMAOOO pls do this only if you are comfortable!!! have a good day/night dear 💗

the most believable act ever- brant x reader (fake dating au!)

synopsis: the cutest guy in school asks you to fake date him for a month, that’s it, right?

warnings: none! author (me) trying to be relatable and funny in the first two paragraphs (i thought i was being funny—)! this is short but actually like this a lot hehe!

word count: 360 (wow i can’t write long pieces to save my life—)

author’s note: Choki, thank you for participating! Brant is one of my favorites in Wuwa, so glad someone wants to request Wuwa! took the theater kid idea and ran with it haha! this was a lot of fun to write! hope you enjoy <3

book n’ dash event tagging: @chokifandom

high school. a good experience for some, an awful experience for others. the social hierarchy goes crazy in an academic setting. anyway, high school is a hell of a social construct, or whatever. you didn’t pay attention in history class when you should be listening to your teacher. but who cares, your favorite class was in five minutes, you could hardly wait! and you got to see your “boyfriend”. wait, let me backtrack for you, as a reliable narrator or whatever.

Brant came up to you at the very end of your drama and theater class at the beginning of the month, asking you to fake date him, only for a month- no more, no less. it honestly set off alarm bells in your head, but it was Brant! typically you would say no, because men are gross, or something. But Brant is the opposite: he’s nice, really cute, shows interest in a class most people would ignore, and he’s really interesting as a person. so naturally, you said yes to fake dating the cutest guy in school. and honestly? it’s been great! you get to hang around Brant and his friends, he treats you really well for someone who is fake dating, and he helps you with anything you need, no questions asked! he’s very caring and considerate, his flamboyant and dramatic attitude seemed to just be for show, contrary to popular belief of his friends.

so here you were in drama/theater class, listening to the teacher go on about play you all were putting on in about 2 months. Brant sat next to you, as he did once you both started “dating”, and passed a note to you.

You think we should date for real after we put on the play of a lifetime? Dinner’s on me after we finish everything.

and suddenly life could not get any better for you. the smile that bloomed on your face told your “boyfriend” everything he needed to know. you know he’ll explain everything in due time, but you honestly just couldn’t wait to date him for real. maybe you were the main character in your fairy tale after all...

#airi writes #brant x reader #wuwa x reader #wuthering waves x reader

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mediocrecowboyhat · 9 hours ago

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All hope | Jack Marston x fem!reader

Like a ghost unable to move on, Jack wanders along the border of Mexico and the US after killing Edgar Ross. Not wanting to go back home just yet, he meets a woman, who is about to change his life for the better.

I only recently started to play rdr1 and haven't gotten to the part where you play as Jack yet, so I can only hope that I managed to get his character right in here

Word count: 5.5k

Tags: major spoilers for rdr1, she/her pronouns for reader, reader also speaks Spanish, mentions of loss and grief

Edgar Ross is dead, his body now floating somewhere in the San Luis River and so is Jack, in a sense. It's been how many days now, since he had killed that godforsaken man? He can't tell. All he knows, is that he's been wandering along the banks, along the border of Mexico and the US, unable to move on. Where would he go anyways? Back home? If he can even call it that anymore. Nothing awaits him at the empty ranch, only two graves on a hill.

Edgar Ross is dead, but so are his parents. He has avenged his father, but that won't bring either of them back, will it? Revenge, he has read about it in his storybooks many times before, but no description seems to be accurate to the real deal. Usually the main character feels, what? Fulfilled? Satisfied? All he feels is, well, nothing at all.

Edgar Ross is dead and he does not feel the way he had expected, what he had sought after. That rage, that grief, both still roar inside him, even after he had put a bullet in it's source. No, revenge is a fool's game after all. It doesn't change his situation, but taking a life sure changes him as a person. None of the man's blood has gotten on him, there was too big of a distance between them for that to happen.

But when Jack kneels down by the shore to wash his face, he could swear that the skin on his hands is drenched in red. The water feels cool and refreshing against his face, somewhat snapping him out of his grim thoughts. Then he takes a moment to examine his reflection in the river, but a stranger is staring back at him, blurred by the rushing stream.

It's only fitting, really. He entered his mission for revenge as a man and has left as a ghost. He fears that it won't get better either, fears that he will never feel complete or content again. A sudden shuffling behind him rips him out of his daze and he whips his entire body around. Is it the law? Have they found the body already and are now here to arrest him?

A mental image of himself at the gallows appears before his inner eye and panic settles in. What would his mother think of him? When all she ever wanted was for him to live a good life, an honest life. Look what has become of her little boy, of little Jack. When his head snap up to gaze at the person infront of him, he freezes.

It's a woman, her wide eyes trained on the gun that he had instinctively fished out of it's holster. She's beautiful, no, stunning the way she stands there on that hill. If someone would ask him for a description, he'd say that she reminds him of the moon, providing a guiding light during the blackest of nights.

Or maybe a single, blooming rose surrounded by a field of dead plants. All air is knocked out of his lungs and for a brief moment he forgets himself, forgets how terrified she must be right now.

"I'm sorry, Miss. You startled me.", he murmurs quietly, perhaps even too quiet for her to hear and puts the gun away.

She answers, though on Spanish. He doesn't understand a single word, but judging by her expression and gestures, she might be apologizing for the same reason. When her eyes land on his clueless face, her own lights up in realization.

"Ah, sorry, I thought you- oh, well." The laugh leaving her lips is sweet and has a beautiful ring to it. "I didn't mean to scare you."

When Jack notices that she's waiting for an answer from him and he's been doing nothing, but gawking at her like a complete fool, he awkwardly clears his throat.

"No need to apologize." He stands up and swats off the dust from his pants. "I was about to leave anyways."

"No, don't let me disturb you. I was just passing through." Her eyes dart around, over the ground, as if she's searching for something. "This spot usually has herbs."

That's when he let's his own gaze wander as well, but he doesn't believe he will find any. He remembers his father coming home with some herbs every now and then. They put it in his mother's stew, but nothing was ever able to save the taste of her meals. The memory sends a stabbing pain through his chest and he immediately banishes it to the far back of his mind.

"I won't be in your way for longer than necessary, Miss.", he says and makes his way towards the horse.

Although it seems like a pair of invisible strings are pulling him to the woman. Jack feels the urge to stay and listen to her voice some longer. Her head turns to where he's standing, next to his stallion and he almost squirms under her intense stare. It's as if she's examining him.

"Are you hungry?", she then suddenly asks and he blinks a few times.

"What?"

"I mean no offense, but you look like you haven't eaten in a while. I have food at home, that only needs to be warmed up."

That he hasn't and now that she's pointing it out, his stomach begins to rumble. All he has done the past days was move around and occasionally stop to rest. He shoves his hand into his satchel and finds it empty of any food. He could swear that he had packed an apple and assorted biscuits. Has he really eaten them all?

Even if he did, those things aren't nearly enough to keep a person going for several days. Should he go with her? The wiser choice would be to leave, to get as much distance between him and this place as possible, before anyone finds the body.

Oh dear Lord, now he's thinking of Edgar Ross again.

"I'm sorry, if I was too pushy.", the woman speaks up, ripping him out of his thoughts and Jack hastily shakes his head.

"No, I just- I'm a bit distracted, is all." He takes off his hat to runs his hand through his filthy hair. "I think I'd like a meal, thanks."

That gets a wide smile from her, one that would have any sane man drop down to his knees instantly. When she goes to climb onto horseback, he extends his arms to help her, but she politely waves him off. Once he's sitting in his saddle, she points to the right and they ride off.

Her hands are holding onto his jacket, on his sides and he gets so distracted that he almost misses how she gives him her name. It's fitting, he thinks, suiting her quite fine.

"I'm Jack. Jack Marston."

"It's nice to meet you, Jack Marston.", she replies and he's tempted to disagree.

She wouldn't say that if she knew what he had done.

"Nice to meet you too, Miss.", he mumbles instead.

"So what are you doing out here?", she asks and he chews on the inside of his cheek.

"Just passin' by.", he grumbles, the words coming out flat.

Much to his relief she notices that he's in no mood to elaborate on that and so she refrains from questioning him about it any further. It doesn't take long to get to her home, which he can't say is too much of a surprise, considering she walked by foot towards the river. The property isn't anything big.

There's a house, that could easily keep a small family, without it ending up too cramped. Infront of it is a garden in which she seems to be growing some vegetables. Over to the side is a coop and the chickens are roaming around freely. Another thing that catches his eye, is the lack of a wagon and horses and if he remembers this area on the map correctly, then the next town is quite a distance away.

Although she owns no horses, there's still a hitching post to the side and he leaves his stallion there. Once again, she waves off all offer to help her dismount. His gaze wanders over her home a second time, starting to feel awkward. Now that he thinks about it, wouldn't he be intruding on her and her family?

"Is it really alright that I'm eatin' with you?", he asks, the question leaving his lips, before he even considers it.

"I invited you, didn't I?", she answers, a hint of amusement accompanying her words.

There's more of it gleaming in her eyes when she throws him a quick glance over her shoulder.

"What about your family?"

"Don't worry, I'm alone here." Then she feigns seriousness and raises her finger in a conspiratory way. "But no funny business, Jack Marston. I can work a gun."

The threat is half-hearted and lacks all bite. She's not really believing that he will cause any trouble, but he still plays along and lifts his hands in surrender.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Miss."

Inside, she ushers him to take a seat at the dining table and tells him to make himself feel at home, while she heats up the food. He watches her rummage around in her bag, before fishing out a handful of fresh herbs. She must have managed to collect some then, before running into him.

Now that her back is turned to him, he takes off his hat and reaches up to touch his hair. It's greasy and hasn't been washed in ages, so he'd rather much prefer keeping the hat on. Though he feels a bit rude doing that. Then his gaze drifts to the interior, which isn't a lot.

There are the necessities, furniture one finds in every house, some embroidery and photographs hanging on the walls and a lot of potted plants. They're breathing some fresh life into the old building, with all the green and the occasional colored blossom. Two doors are behind him, probably leading to bedrooms and maybe a bathroom. Ah, what he wouldn't give for a bath.

Maybe he could ask her for that? Since she seems to be nothing but kind and inviting, but he wouldn't want to inconvenience her like that. She's already going above and beyond in his eyes, by preparing food. Lost in his own thoughts, Jack doesn't notice her staring at him at first and he straightens his back.

Judging by the look on her face, she must have said something and is now waiting for an answer.

"I'm sorry, Miss. I didn't catch that.", he awkwardly admits and fidgets with the hat in his hands.

"I was asking where you're from. If you don't mind sharing.", she repeats with that sweet laugh of hers and begins to set the table.

When he crossed the border, he didn't exactly intent on letting anyone know who he is or where he's from. Just in case someone would find Edgar Ross. Jack's initial plan was to slip in and then out again, completely unnoticed and then head back to the ranch.

Well, obviously that didn't happen and now he's sitting here with this wonderful woman, who, for some reason, is treating him similar to an old friend. He's convinced that he doesn't deserve her kindness and she definitely wouldn't be extending it, if she'd only know about his sins.

But she brought him to her home, so it's only fair and proper that he tells her about his. Besides, it doesn't look like she's hiding a whole squad of detectives in her basement or something. Perhaps in the kitchen cabinets then? The mental image makes him almost huff.

"Near Blackwater. My family- I mean, I own a ranch there."

At his correction, she briefly tilts her head to the side, as if wondering what he meant by that. Thankfully, she doesn't question it and instead fills his bowl with a steaming hot stew. The smell makes his mouth water instantly and when he picks up the spoon, his hand almost trembles.

After thanking her yet again for the meal, he tries his first bite and it nearly brings him to tears. When was the last time he had eaten a home cooked meal? The stew doesn't remind him of home, it's way too good for that, but it fills him with the same warmth. Jack grips the spoon so tight, that the whites of his knuckles are showing and he forces the food down his dry throat.

"Is something wrong?", his host, who has taken a seat infront of him, asks with worry lacing her voice.

That's when he realizes how his reaction must look like to her and his eyes go wide in horror.

"No! No, it ain't like that." His gaze drops down onto the bowl and a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, the first one since forever. "It's delicious. Really."

In a matter of seconds, he clears his bowl and she goes to give him a refill. Although he's pretty certain that he could finish the whole pot in one sitting, he still tries to deny the second serving. But he's half-assing his protests, so she continues, as if he never said anything. By the time both of them are full, he helps her wash off the dishes or at least attempts to do so.

"It's the least I can do.", Jack insists.

"Don't be silly! You're my guest.", she insists as well.

All the talking and bickering makes him feel like a person again and so dread hits him like a slap to the face, when he realizes that it's time to go. Through the windows, he sees that she sun is setting and he doesn't want to abuse the hospitality of his lovely host. The thought of leaving her pains him, something telling him that he should stay, that things well be alright with her.

"Thank you for everything, Miss, but I think I should go now."

"What? In this darkness?", she argues and vaguely gestures towards one of the windows.

"I wouldn't wanna impose on you for longer than necessary.", he counters, but she firmly shakes her head.

"Nonsense. It would be rude of me to send you out in the middle of the night." Without so much as giving him room to protest, she moves over to take his jacket. "Come on, I'll run you a bath too. No offense, but you kinda need it."

That gets a chuckle out of him.

"None taken."

As he already expected, behind one of the doors is a bathroom. A tub is ready and waiting in the middle, to the side a lit hearth to keep the room warm and next to the tub is a small table with soap and a cloth. Inside here as well, there are plants placed on every surface. Very cozy.

After he takes in everything and inhales the soapy scent, she comes rushing in with a pile of clothes.

"These belonged to my father. They should fit.", she says, putting them down on a stool.

"I can also put these back on.", he suggests, tugging at his shirt and she looks at him, as if he grew a second head.

"What good will the bath be, if you change into your dirty clothes? No, no, I'll wash them tomorrow."

Before he could tell her that it won't be necessary, she already vanishes out of the room and shuts the door behind her.

Once he's finished and slipped into the new pair of clothes, that are slightly too big for him, but still good to wear, he steps out of the bathroom. While he was in there, she had prepared a spot to sleep for him. What he at first assumed was a sofa over at the wall, was in fact a bed. It didn't look like one before, with the amount of pillows she had thrown on. Must have been intentional.

With a full stomach and as clean as a baby, he drifts off to sleep faster than he had ever before. In the next morning, when they're both up and eating breakfast, the dance continues.

"I can't just send you off with dirty clothes. Let me wash them."

"Alright, ma'am."

Then in the noon, when the clothes are washed, he approaches her outside, the laundry basket on the ground beside her.

"And you're just gonna put on wet clothes? Nonsense, they need to dry first."

"Sounds fine to me, Miss."

The clothes take all day to dry in the sun and by the time they're done, it's suddenly too late to leave again. What terrible host would kick him out in the middle of the night, she'd argue yet a second time and Jack would just nod along in agreement.

The next day, when he catches her preparing a basket with vegetables and eggs, looking like she's about to leave, he steps in her way.

"You're walking?", he asks to which she nods. "Let me give you a ride on my horse."

She doesn't argue and with her hands full, she this time accepts his assistance. His calloused hands find her waist and he hoists her up onto horseback. The contact sends a jolt through his body and he hides his flushed face under the rim of his hat.

"How come you don't have any horses?", he questions, once they're on their way.

"I didn't have any money when I lost my family. Had to sell the horses and the wagon.", she explains in a matter of fact way.

Jack doesn't answer, but instead thinks about the wagon he has back on his ranch. It wouldn't be too difficult to transport all her chickens over to Beecher's Hope and then she'd never have to walk again. Her vegetable garden would need to be sacrificed though. Unless they fill the back of the wagon with dirt and dump the crops on it. Would that work?

On the third day, it's obvious that none of them want to say their goodbyes. The excuses become more ridiculous and shallow, until it's nothing but a running joke. Jack starts to help around the small farm and they develop a routine over time. They share the work and one day, after taking a bath, he stops to inspect his reflection in the mirror.

Staring back at him, isn't the stranger from weeks ago anymore. It's Jack Marston or more so a glimpse of the Jack Marston he could be, if he'd stay by her side. He still isn't a welcoming sight for sore eyes, he thinks. That mop on his head that he calls hair, still frames his face in a disheveled way. That nose, still crooked from the time he had broken it.

But the crease between his eyebrows isn't as deep anymore and the corners of his mouth aren't constantly pointing down. There are still remnants of his signature scowl, the Marston special that he has inherited from his father, but he looks closer to relaxed than to brooding.

When he steps into the main living area, he finds it empty. Jack turns his head to look through the window and finds his sweetheart sitting comfortable on the porch. It feels wrong to refer to her as his host at this point. If one would ask him, he'd call her his savior, his personal guardian angel, but she'd smack his arm at that.

So sweetheart it is, though she has no clue about the nickname. It's a secret between Jack and whoever is looking over him. He doesn't believe that he will ever have the guts to tell her how he feels. His gratitude for her generosity, patience and kindness, he tries to shower her in everyday. What she had done for him, is more than he could ever repay.

But he has also fallen for her. It was inevitable, really, from the day they met. The way she had appeared in his life, like a gift from the heavens, like a sweet apology for putting him through all hell. Jack had crushes before obviously, but none of them had hit him like this, like a freight train going at full speed.

Maybe he should have insisted on leaving, instead of allowing these things to develop, because he knows that he doesn't deserve her. She's too wonderful, too good. Guilt is gnawing at him, day in day out, because he still hasn't told her about the baggage he carries. It doesn't feel right to keep her in the dark, when she has been nothing but honest.

Sighing, he walks out and shuts the door behind him. She beams at him, delighted to see him and he could have screamed and punched the air right then and there. The setting sun drowns the farm in a deep orange and his knees go weak at the sight of her. Excitedly, she pats the spot next to her and he joins her on the wooden bench.

"I got us something from town. For a job well done.", she tells him and hands him a glass.

With a triumphant grin, she holds up a bottle of whisky and opens it up with a plop. He forces a smile when she fills up their glasses, not wanting to sour the mood, but she notices. She always does.

"What's wrong?", she asks and places a warm hand on his knee.

The contact makes it difficult to grasp a single clear thought and he downs his whisky for courage.

"I gotta confess something, Miss." He swallows the lump in his throat. "And I won't blame you, if you decide to hate me afterwards."

"I could never hate you, Jack Marston."

Just you wait.

And so he lays down all his cards, telling her exactly what he did and what had lead to it. From his father being forced to hunt down his former friends or more so family to Jack wandering along the river. He tells her about Edgar Ross, the reason why he has lost both his parents and that he's now floating somewhere in the San Luis River.

Unless he's been washed up to the shore or someone has fished him out, that is. By the end of it, he's gripping the glass like his life depends on it and he stares at his feet, unable to meet her gaze. The bench creaks softly when she leans back and the long stretched silence torments him.

"That's why you were so jumpy that day.", she speaks up after a while and he nods.

"I thought you were the law or something."

There is a long pause.

"He sounds like a bad man. This Ross. If you ask me, he kind of had it coming.", she then answers and his head snaps to the side. Her expression is one of confusion. "What?"

"You ain't upset?"

"Why would I be?"

"I killed a man and I kept that from you.", he points out and she takes a sip from her whisky.

"You really thought I didn't know that you did something wrong? Do you not remember what you looked like when we met?", she argues and he runs a hand over his face.

Hearing this, he's not sure if she's a saint or a fool.

"So you knew I was bad news and still took me in?", he questions, almost sounding accusatory.

"You weren't bad news. You were..." The liquor in her glass sloshes in circles, as she swirls it around. "Lost."

Lost.

She hit the mark with that description. Jack Marston was a lost soul during that time, wandering the border like a ghost that simply couldn't move on. This woman, his sweetheart, has taken him in, clothed and fed him. Now he's admitting that he's done one of the most horrible crimes one could think of and she's not even judging him a little bit.

No, she says that Edgar Ross had it coming. He doesn't know if he should laugh or cry or do both.

"Thank you. For everything.", is all he manages to bring out.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end at some point. He knows it, she knows it. It was only a matter of time until they had to part ways, with Beecher's Hope waiting for him back by Blackwater. The way she's standing by his horse and biting down on her lip, as if to prevent it from quivering.

"I'll write to you.", he says and wraps his arms around her.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

He cups her cheeks and stares into her lovely face, memorizing every detail, before leaving. A voice deep within him demands to lean forward and kiss her, but he knows better. A kiss would make things harder and so he let's go.

She has packed food for him, for his journey back home. Calling it home doesn't sit right with him, not when it's abandoned and empty. After a long time of riding along dirt roads, he finally reaches it and it looks just as hopeless as it did the day he left to take revenge.

His boots sound hollow inside his house and he wrinkles his nose at the thick layer of dust that coats every piece of furniture. It's strange to be all alone again, to not hear her voice from the other room or feel her gentle touch on his back whenever she talked to him. There's also an alarming lack of plants in here, he now notices.

So at the next best opportunity, he goes out to town to buy pots. In Blackwater, he grows back to his jumpy self. He gets a sense that every pair of eyes is watching him, judging him. Have the news gotten around that Edgar Ross is dead? Has anyone found his body? Although terrified of the answer, he still buys a newspaper.

His eyes dart from article to article, but none covers the death of the retired Detective. Perhaps the river has carried his body away, to a place unknown or unreachable to man. God, he sure hopes so.

The following days, he busies himself, working hard to fix the house and the rest of the property. It's partly to distract himself from the sense of impending doom and partly, because he has gotten so used to the physical labour back on her farm. When he's not imagining to be gunned down by a group of armed lawmen coming for his hide, then his mind is filled with thoughts of her.

Sometimes he gets so lost in them, that he hears her laughter in the wind or sees her dress in the corner of his eyes. It drives him mad in the worst and best possible ways. At times, when he wakes up from a particularly realistic dream, he swears he could smell her cooking in the air.

Jack writes letters regularly, the moment he gets an answer from her. It tends to take a while, since she has to walk on foot to the next town, but he learned to be patient for her. He mainly writes about his work on the ranch, joking about how much he misses her home cooked meals. His dreams, thoughts and feelings, he keeps to himself though.

Some of her letters are partly written in Spanish in an attempt to teach him. During his stay at her farm, he had picked up a couple words, but she makes a point to continue the lessons. Oh, how he yearns to hear those sentences from her lips, to meet her again in general.

It torments him, this distance. He feels elevated thanks to her, but also more lonely than ever. One day, he tells himself that it's enough, that he must see her again otherwise he feels like he will perish. Though he can't just show up empty handed.

Should he get a bouquet of flowers? He knows what her favorite ones are, but they will whither and die by the times he gets there. Jewelry then? He has never seen her wear any, but that doesn't necessarily mean she doesn't like it.

No, none of them are enough. If he'd have any ounce of decency, then he'd take the moon and stars down for her, but alas that's out of his capabilities. Instead, he heads to town, buys the sturdiest Shire the stable has to offer and attaches it to his wagon. They could throw the chickens into the back and bring them here.

But what if she doesn't want move to him, to the states? Well, then both the Shire and wagon stay there. Jack can't stand the thought of having his sweetheart walk one more mile in this heat. On his way to her house, his mind is spinning and running laps. What will he say? Most importantly, what will he do?

He imagines scooping her up in his arms at her doorstep and kissing her senseless, like they do in those romance novels. Though something tells him that he should refrain from doing that. He has never been a ladies man and smooth is at the very bottom of his characteristics. If he'd attempt anything of that sort, they would both fall and probably break a limb or two, if he knows himself right.

The palms of his hands are growing clammy from sweat and his heart drums against his ribcage, when her house appears in the distance. He parks the wagon to the side and jumps off the driver's seat, kicking up some dust in the process. Nervous and fidgety, he takes off his hat and quickly pats down his dark hair to make it look like he at least put some effort into looking decent.

The chickens are outside, as always and some of them flock to his legs, having recognized him. Their presence has a strange relaxing effect of him and he takes in a deep breath, before knocking at the door. Nobody answers and he can't hear any movement coming from inside. So he slowly opens the door and pokes his head through the crack, while calling out her name.

No answer and he let's himself in. Surely, she won't mind after he had practically lived here for a month or two. Her basket is in it's usual spot, so she couldn't have gone into town. The gears in his head are working on overdrive, as he thinks about the many different possibilities. What if something happened to her during his absence?

Quickly, he banishes those grim thoughts and steels his nerves. Obviously she must have headed to the river then, to pick some of the herbs, she mentioned on their first meeting. As much as he'd prefer to avoid the river, his legs carry him towards it nonetheless.

Jack stops at a hill and gazes down at the shore. Someone is crouching down on the ground and cutting some plants free. His heart skips a beat at the sight and he finds himself unable to move a single muscle. She's beautiful, the way she kneels there, her dress pooling around her legs. How on earth he had gone without her, back at his ranch, is beyond him.

The thought of leaving her again seems oh so ridiculous now. Slowly, she rises back to her feet and he watches her stuff the herbs into her bag. The knife she's holding, she slides into some kind of holster attached to her belt and then she turns around. Their eyes lock and Jack forgets to breath for a moment.

A strong sense of déjà-vu overcomes him and he recalls the two of them standing here, not too long ago. Only now their spots are reversed and she's the one gawking at him, as if she had seen a ghost. The surprised expression on her face is quickly replaced by pure joy.

They both move at the same time and basically crash into each other for a bone crushing hug. Her fingers are digging into his back and he buries his face into the curve of her neck. Inhaling, he fills his nose with her scent and lets her overpower his senses entirely.

"You're here!", she exclaims in both shock and delight and they pull away to look at one another.

"I'm here."

Not knowing what possesses him, he slides one hand to the back of her neck, the other around her waist and presses his lips on hers. It was an instinct, kissing her, an act purely based on impulse. His emotions are boiling over and he pours it all into this moment.

She doesn't move and he fears that she will reject him, but then she grab the collar of his shirt, deepening the kiss. He melts into her, their bodies fitting together like two puzzle pieces.

Edgar Ross is dead, but his ghost isn't haunting Jack anymore.

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