#I will also write more of my fanfic when I have time!

[acesgayhusband]

Write more Sanji fics or Ace GETS IT (this is a threat)

🍩🔫

Let me get what I want.

Warnings: None I don’t believe? Self deprecating Sanji if you squint. Crybaby reader. Angst to Mild Fluff. I was threatened to make this /j.

AN: sorry for being dead for so long, I had a job and then abruptly didn’t have a job, I went to galaxycon early this year, then a concert, then got into a car accident, then lost my job. So I’ve been struggling! Thank you guys for being so patient with me! I’ll be writing more fanfics soon I promise. Requests are still open! I don’t get nearly enough.

Also this fic is mildly inspired by @onlymurphy ! Their works are fantastic and they write sanji so well!!! Please go read their works if you haven’t already!!

Sanji could hear your feet clacking along the sunny as you began to walk from the deck, where he presumed you were sitting and chatting with Robin and Nami, before you made your way to the kitchen.

He didn’t think it a creepy habit to have memorized your footsteps he did it with everyone’s, yours just stood out the most. But he kept all of that to himself, not wanting to drive you off by knowing you just by the sound of your feet, his heart already racing in his chest well before you opened the door to the kitchen.

“Hi, Sanji.” Your voice was so heavenly, he had to prevent himself from swooning too hard at it. He’d treat you like every other woman he spoke to.

“Hi, [Name]-Swan! Is there anything I can do for a beauty such as yourself.” He said as he turned around, seeing you roll your eyes at him, it made him falter a bit, the smile on his face drooping a bit as you walked over to the cupboard, opening it and grabbing a cup out of it.

“I just needed some water, thanks though.” There was no malice in your tone, perhaps he was reading too much into you? His eyes followed you as you walked to the sink. “Well you know I wouldn’t mind getting you three something to drink.” He walked up behind you and smiled, tapping his fingers along your spine gently, enjoying the slight shiver he felt from you.

“We’re fine, and stop doing that.” Hissing as you swatted his hand away before reaching for the faucet to fill your cup up. He retracted his hand ever so slightly. You’d never been remotely sour to him, nor had you ever swatted him away when he touched you.

“Is everything okay, pretty?” He peaked around to your front to look at you, just to see a scowl on your face. He could feel his heart drop in his chest.

“Yeah! Everything’s great when you don’t constantly have your hands over me and the other girls!” You yelled out, snapping towards him, before turning the water off and storming out of the kitchen, your footsteps stomping back to where you were previously before you came into the kitchen.

Standing there, dumbfounded, he stared out the kitchens door. You’d never shown any distaste for how he treated you? Sure he could be a little handsy but he never took it too far, you weren’t dating, and he never disillusioned himself with the thought you’d want him.

After a moment, he walked to shut the door and pressed his back against it.

Ever since you had joined the crew, he’d been far more infatuated with you than Nami or Robin, you were down right beautiful to him.

You weren’t abrasive, but you weren’t incapable of taking care of yourself. You had a sweet, simple smile on your face most of the time, but you were sensitive. Loudly wailing whenever any one of your crewmates were injured, screaming out for Chopper even if he was no where in sight. Even over a slight cut.

This was so out of character for you, the off chance you were rude, you typically apologized as soon as the words came out of your mouth.

Pushing tears back, Sanji walked back over to the stove and thought about what to make for dinner, hoping to keep the tears away for as long as possible.

“I dunno guys, that felt really mean.” You said as you sat down in your beach chair on the deck of the sunny, right in between Robin and Nami, resting your glass in between your thighs.

Robin didn’t look up at you as she continued to read her book, but Nami looked at you and scooted a little closer. “C’mon. You’ve been complaining to us for months about how he acts, plus, some guys like it when we play hard to get. Maybe it’ll get him to notice you instead of you just going along with whatever he does.” She smiled at you, running her fingers up your spine just like Sanji had done a few minutes prior, in a teasing manner.

But Nami’s fingers didn’t elicit a shiver from you, it just caused you to look down.

“I dunno, maybe? But he seemed kinda upset. I don’t wanna hurt his feelings.”

Nami rolled her eyes at you and put her sunglasses over her eyes as she leaned back in her chair. “You won’t, he probably wasn’t upset. You’re just overthinking it, keep up with it, at the worst maybe he’ll ask you if he did something wrong, he wouldn’t be mean to you.”

Looking down at your reflection in the glass, you sighed. “Okay, I trust you, Nami..”

For the rest of the week you have been unreasonably rude to Sanji- minus to his food, you would never stoop that low- shoving him away when he touched you, ignoring him or snapping at him when he said anything slightly flirty with you. By the fifth day he had completely stopped interacting with you, and that shattered your heart.

Yeah nice going Nami, all that trust down the drain.

During one of your night watches, all of your emotions had finally bubbled up as you looked over the rail at the ocean. Tears streaming down your cheeks as you fall to your knees, your hands gripping onto the rail as you choke back sob after sob. You’ve been hurting him, hurting the man you’ve had feelings for, for so long, he’s done nothing but be gentle with you and you’ve been hurting him.

You don’t have the sixth sense Sanji does with shoes, so when you hear footsteps walk up behind you, you assume it to be Nami, maybe even Robin.

So when you look over your shoulder at the person who came to you, you go wide eyed at the blonde haired cook behind you.

“Pretty? Is everything okay?” You take a moment to examine his face, his eyes seem red and puffy as well. But he’s taking the time to come to you and make sure you’re okay.

Shaking your head, he takes a single step closer before stopping himself. “May I?” He asked as he opens his arms, implying he’s trying to hug you, you nod your head so furiously you think if it wasn’t attached it would have fallen off.

He steps towards you and joins you on the floor, wrapping his arms around you in an almost suffocating hug, you in turn cling to his shirt and wail.

Although he hates to see you cry, apart of him is glad, maybe that means you’re back to your old self. Maybe he won’t have to beat himself up over what he did to hurt you, maybe he didn’t hurt you? But then why would you be so angry with him..

As you cry into his shirt, he can make out some words through your sobs. But not the whole story. Pulling away for a second, he lifts up your chin with his finger and smiles at you. “Hey.. hey- breathe, okay? You can tell me afterwards, alright?”

Nodding as you try to catch your breath, his other arm hasn’t left you. Oh how you missed him, so badly.

Once you calm down, you let out one more hitched breath before gripping his shirt even tighter.

“I’m.. I’m so sorry, ‘Ji. Nami told me maybe if I was mean to you maybe you’d stop flirting with everyone, maybe you’d truly… pay attention to me..” you mumbled as you looked down at the wood on the deck, using one of your fingers to trace against the grain.

Sanji swears in that moment god looked down on him and blessed him, you could hear his heart racing in his chest in that moment, even inches away.

He lifted your chin up once more. “Pretty, I do pay attention to you, far more than anyone else.” Smiling down at you as he saw your cheeks flare up.

“So you’re telling me, not only did I do the exact opposite of what I wanted, but you… actually like..” you motion your fingers between to two of you, Sanji chuckles a little bit and nods.

“I’m so sorry!” You wail out again as you throw yourself on top of him, suffocating him in the tightest hug you can manage, also probably waking up the rest of the crew in the process.

“It’s okay! It’s okay! I’m just glad you’re back to normal, pretty.” You look up at him and see the widest grin across his face, all you can manage back is a weak, not nearly as strong, smile, as he leans down to give you a kiss on your forehead.

“I’ll sit with you the rest of you watch if you’d like.”

“I’d like that a lot, thank you, ‘Ji.”

“No need to thank me.”

[triptychgrip]

Yuuri’s love of Viktor’s extraness

Something that I've seen a lot of in Yuri!!! on Ice post-canon fanfic is a tendency to write Yuuri exhibiting a certain amount of chagrin around Viktor's extra-ness.

Perhaps I've misinterpreted intent and simplified instances that in actuality were meant to convey something completely different, but at times, I've noted this implicit (or explicit) weariness attributed to Yuuri when it comes to his reactions to Viktor's behavior.

Specifically, his excitability and charisma.

To reiterate: I'm talking about post-canon content, meaning that Yuuri and Viktor have already bridged that initial gap between them and are in a committed relationship. I say this b/c a certain amound of overwhelm/wariness in response to larger-than-life Viktor is very understandable in the beginning, when Yuuri is not only struggling to understand why the hell his idol has come to Hasetsu, but is also realizing that the public persona that Viktor exudes doesn't match up with the flesh-and-blood being that is the real him.

This "God, why in the hell am I engaged to an excitable child?!" characterization of Yuuri confuses me, because one of the most endearing parts of the show is the fact that Yuuri is capable of 1) being just as extra as Viktor (but in different ways) and/or 2) matching Viktor's extra-ness in the way of the whole "meeting him where he is" theme.

I think there are plenty of examples of #1 (that quad flip at the Cup of China!!), and the Chihoko incident is a perfect encapsulation of number 2. With the latter, note that Yuuri doesn't minimize Viktor's insecurities by being all "you're being ridiculous, Viktor, why is THIS your way of trying to get my attention?"; instead, he tells Viktor that he could search the entire world and still find no one better. Oh, and then at Viktor's request, he strips down and joins him on the top of Hasetsu Castle.

Writing him as only being tolerant of Viktor's extra-ness (rather than celebrating it) also confuses me because as they get to know one another, I would imagine that Yuuri is able to see more clearly than most how Viktor was at a breaking point before coming to Hasetsu. You don't get to be a 5-time World Champion without being somewhat of a workaholic with extreme discipline, and there is more than enough evidence to support the idea that prior to coming to Hasetsu, Viktor hadn't really allowed himself to let loose, have fun, and do something entirely for just himself in a very long time (aside from that Sochi banquet night, of course).

So then, after coming to understand just how much Viktor might have been suppressing his true nature prior to their coming into each other' lives, why would Yuuri make Viktor feel bad about this intrinsic part of his personality? I've always gotten the impression that Yuuri would adore Viktor's innature curiosity and excitability, especially when he comes to realize that Viktor is keeping true to his episode 4 request to just be himself.

I might make a part 2 to this post, because there are honestly a lot of Viktor headcanons floating around in my head, particularly with respect to the fact that he seems like a man who has been told his entire life that he is "too much". Thus, to perceive this same attitude from the love of his life (again, maybe not explicitly, but implicitly) would probably tear him up inside.

I actually explicitly addressed this in Chapter 7 of my post-canon Olympic Games series, by way of a BuzzFeed "Couples' Quiz" appearance that the Katsuki-Nikiforovs make. Their last question to one another asks them to list the things they think their partner loves about them the most, and frankly, it was healing for me to be able to write Viktor answering that he thinks his husband loves his charisma/excitability 😭🥹

[novella-november]

Not to harsh your joy regarding your personal project, (which does sound awesome!) the fact that you keep answering the "can I do fanfic?" questions with "technically yes, but have you considered not doing that?" does not actually *feel* very fanfic friendly. (Especially for anyone who enjoys fanfic as a hobby and isn't also an ofic writer. For example, I personally write almost exclusively character studies that are an explicit reaction to canon; there is no real way to write that sort of thing except as fanfic.)

Which is just a long-winded way of requesting that you maybe consider less of a caveat with the FAQ if you make one, please.

oh that was definitely not my intention, thanks for the ask! I think it was mostly just because I got that same question a few times in a row from various anons within the same time span (including some that were not published publicly), it just happened that I was thinking of my own project(s, plural now) in the last day when I answered those two, for those who want an extra creative challenge.

There's a reason my own original thing has been in my head for the last ten years without me actually writing it while I've written and posted tons of fanfiction, and even now some of my original works are going to be based on Arsene Lupin, so they'd technically be considered fanfiction since they're based on and use an established work for the characters and settings --

--writing completely original fic *is* harder, and that's exactly why I'm *suggesting* (not requiring!) that people consider taking 1 out of short story 4 challenges to look at their work in a new light.

90% of what I read and (until I actually start and finish my original works) 100% of what I've written in my life is fanfic. I have nothing against fanfic, otherwise I woudn't even be interested in creative writing.

But its also not a diss to say "Would you consider looking at your [fanfic] writing from a new angle and try to figure out different ways of going about it?"

Honestly, being able to even consider this option *as a fun extra challenge* is meant to help improve your writing and creative skills; it's not meant as a cheap shot at people who choose to write fanfiction because I my self write and read tons of it,

it's me saying "if you want even more practice at creative writing during these monthly challenges, try branching out a little bit from your comfort zone, you may be pleasantly surprised."

People who write and read fanfiction already have tons of creative experience, and if people like me and many other fanfic writers who one day dream of being published authors, want to broaden our horizons and seek new experiences, one of the easiest exercises is to take something we're planning on writing or already wrote, and see what we would change to make it brand new and standalone--

-- something that not only helps you come up with new ideas, but also will help when it comes time to *edit*, which can be, depending on the length and complexity of your story, can be a complicated process:

whether that means having to delete scenes entirely,

changing what a character says,

altering an aspect of the worldbuilding to fix plot holes

, re-writing your character so they're not overpowered because it was ruining the stakes and tension,

changing the POV of chapters because it was ruining the flow of the story,

etc etc etc.

I love fan fiction.

I love reading it and I love writing it, and for many people who take on monthly writing challenges, it is a way to test ourselves and gear ourselves up and prove to ourselves that not only can we write x amount of words, but it proves to ourselves that we are *capable of creating*, and for many creatives, that ultimately leads to crafting our own unique stories;

if you're already taking place in a monthly writing challenge, why not push the bounds a little bit *if you're so inclined* and test the waters? Especially when you're surrounded by a community who is cheering you on, every step of the way?

Every Nanowrimo I ever won was fanfiction. Heck, even not during November I once did 40k words in two weeks for a fic.

I always stalled out when I tried to write original works;

it is much easier to start small with a single short story than it is to try to write an entirely original novel, and my encouraging people to try baby steps by *experimenting* with one short story out of four in a month is not meant to be a diss against fanfiction,

but an *encouragement to those like me* who were so eager to write original works but floundered when I tried to jump into the deep end and felt disheartened.

Many fanfic authors aspire to write original fics, and thats who that challenge is for, for the people who want to write original works but are too afraid to fully commit; I'll still be writing and posting fanfiction even if I become a published author, even If I just have to come up with a few new pen-names to post them under.

There's absolutely no judgement on anyone who wants to write fanfiction for these challenges, my "caveat" as you say, is only there as encouragement to those like me who are afraid to take the first step, or uncertain of how to even *begin* that first step, not any kind of condemnation.

TL;DR:

I did not mean for my responses on the "can I write fanfiction" to come off as rude or looking down on fanfiction, its meant to be an encouragment to all the people like me who love fanfic and started out writing fanfiction, and dream of writing original works to take the first step, with a community of like-minded people all taking the same challenge.

Like every other challenge aspect of these events, taking a fanfic idea and turning it into an original short story is completely optional and meant as inspiration, just like following prompts for events is not mandatory, and even completing the 30k word goal is not mandatory; the goal for this month is to create, get in the habit of creating, and having fun with it!

[olderthannetfic]

Someone recently left a comment on one of my fics that they were disappointed I wasn't addressing any of the criticism or comments I got on Goodreads. After all, I reply to comments on the actual fic. Why am I ignoring the Goodreads commenters?

Well, 1. I didn't know there was a Goodreads page for my fanfic 2. I think if they wanted a reply they'd say it where I'm known to reply to every single comment without fail and 3. the kind of dumbass who treats 800k of free fanfics in a series like something they paid for is not the sort of person I want to engage with. If 800k of stories, with main stories, tie-ins, prequel asides, missing scenes, etc. for free wasn't to your liking, just... go read another? We have stories in this fandom whose whole series clock in at over a million words. We have stories where people have done fan songs and fanart and fancomics tying into their main work. We have stories with multiple timelines. You have so many options, all of them totally free and easy to access. If my stories, which I fully admit ares flawed and show some of my weaknesses as an author, don't do it for you, you have options. You have wonderful options.

If I had an editor and a publisher and my stories were actual books, I wouldn't have this reaction to this comment. But these stories have one person working on them total. I'm not making income off of this. This is what I write while working two jobs, for fun. As much as I do view writing fanfic as something that helps me learn the ins and outs of writing and put my all into it, it's going to be rougher than if I'd had help with it or had time to do more drafts than the three I normally do.

And if I was known for ducking criticism, I would get having comments on another site. There are authors in my fandom who delete anything that's not praise. But I have had long conversations with my haters in which I take everything in good faith and explain my writing choices, word choices and ideas. I have my tumblr which is just about my fandom stuff listed in the AN of every chapter. DMs are open and anon is on. My Dreamwidth account, also under the same name, also has DMs open. I have publicly stated when I have made shit narrative choices and owned that yes, sometimes I have genuinely dropped the ball. This has influenced later chapters where things go off of the original outline in order for the shit choice to have consequences in a way that makes sense and feels true to the characters in the story.

So "why are you hiding from the Goodreads commenters?!" feels like the most baffling thing I've ever been asked. I tried to be nice about it, but all I could think was, "why didn't the Goodreads commenters who wanted a reply post their comments where they know I 100% would've responded to it?"

--

Madness!

(Also, lol, half the pro shit with a lot of comments on Goodreads is barely edited. Maybe they were bitching about content? But if it was whining about craft, the bar is in the floor and they have nothing to complain about.)

[skyfallscotland]

I also just need to add, and I hope @justallihere doesn’t mind me sharing this publicly (we all know I don’t ask for permission) but:

“i promise if it doesn't add up i've thought about it for a minimum of 57 hours and tried to make it add up”

I think people think we’re critical for the sake of being negative nancys sometimes and that’s not the case, the fact is we spend a lot of time thinking about this world and these characters and you guys know that because you benefit from it—but the flip side to that is we have already considered every possible defence for clear mistakes.

Some people act like it’s a crime to point them out, but it really isn’t. If you’re not willing to hear any minor criticism of the world building, you probably shouldn’t get to enjoy fanworks by people who are forced to consider them and run rings around them to make them make sense (in my personal, savage fucking opinion).

Like do you know how much effort goes into writing fanfic? I feel like most people don’t. I promise you we’ve thought about this world more than the average person. I spend hours of my life every week considering it, actually. So I think we (fandom creators in general) get a pass on pointing out the fuck-up’s that are blindingly obvious when we see them. It’s not like I’m talking to RY’s face.

This isn’t aimed at anyone in particular, (especially not the last post I reblogged, everyone had some good ideas there trying to explain the Lewellen-Lindell dilemma away and that’s fun and I appreciate the discourse) but I do feel like there’s been some commentary lately on here that’s felt very culty and toxic positivity vibes and I’m not about that. I get enough of that in my regular life as a chronically ill, autistic person. I’m not gonna create content for a community that takes realism as negativity.

I’m just calling it how I see it. Notice how in my last post I defended Rebecca? Very mindful, very demure, very normal. Don’t be weird 😭

[quotidian-oblivion]

How do you get people to interact more with your fanfic?

I AM SO GLAD YOU ASKED

Mainly because I love ranting about psychological patterns and discussing analytical points on stuff like this.

So the following tips are general things which can be used for any kind of advertising, I will let you know when something is fanfiction specific. These are just personal tips from the stuff I learnt in psych class, stuff I learned while being in a professional environment, stuff I learnt through programs and stuff, and just stuff I've learned through experience. SO GET READY!

The first thing you should know before following any of this is: Don't let disappointment crush your life. Look, sometimes nothing works the way we want and it's bound by fate to crash. Don't let it stop you from living your life or trying new things or doing things which you love. If you lose interest in something, fine, it's okay. Really. There are quintillions of things in this world and you have only one of them in your hand. Get out there. Do stuff.

Now, let's see.

1. Networking

Always, always, always say this when someone wants something to be known. Because this is how it works:

Alexandra 👧 is very excited about her cookies. This is her first time baking them and she thinks it's the best thing ever! So she tells her friend Mariam 🧕about it and asks Mariam to try one. Mariam does and she enjoys the cookies very much because they're halal and so she is able to eat them and enjoy them!

One day, Mariam 🧕 is talking about baking to her work friend Bethany 👩 and she mentions Alexandra's cookies. Alexandra 👧 was regularly making cookies so Mariam 🧕 took some and gave one to Bethany 👩. Bethany ate it and enjoyed it very very much!

Mariam 🧕 also gave a cookie sample to her mother, father, sister and brother. They loved it very much and enjoyed them.

Bethany 👩 was later craving some cookies so she asked Mariam for more and Mariam directed her to Alexandra 👧. Alexandra and Bethany met and chatted and Alexandra gave her more cookies.

Time passed, and Alexandra one day got up from bed and started her routine of making morning cookie when she realized... she has three hundred people who were asking for her cookies and some were overseas too, asking for her cookies. She had started a whole business simply by talking to people. Wasn't that an awesome way the world worked? 🍪

~

Okay, so here's what happened: one person told another person about their product. Assuming that person is a very sociable person, they told their family, friends and whoever they came into contact with about the product when a related topic was brought into the conversation. The people who heard about the product from her are 80% from the same culture as her, so there is one type of community who knows about the product and may or may not purchase it. Either way, if they remember or if it's relevant, they will bring up the product to other people and those people will tell other people and the cycle will go on.

But then, one of those people has a connection to a person outside of that community, and that person may or may not purchase the product and like it. And if they like the product, they will remember it and they'll tell others about it and soon, a whole new community will know about the product and may or may not purchase it or spread information about it.

The cycle goes on and on because humans are literally like the strands of a spider's web. They're connected with the entire world one way or another, no matter how far their connection points are.

That's why networking is so important. And you'll see that the best kind of advertising is when it's someone you know recommending you to try something. This is a type of social conformity and it's beautiful to see how humans love sharing things. Use this aspect of humanity to show what you have to offer to the world.

I don't necessarily use marketing stuff for my fanfics except sometimes because a) I just like writing and posting things and b) going full on marketing is exhausting and I'd much rather save up that energy for money-making things or irl things. For me, fanfiction just happens. But I totally and absolutely respect people who do what they can to reach out and show off their work to everyone as they should! I like it when people do that because it means that they're proud of what they created and humans are sharing creatures, so when they share, it strengthens human connection and that's beautiful.

So, in terms of advertising and marketing, it's very very necessary to network.

How do you network?

I'm glad you asked! In terms of fanfiction, here's what you can do:

Follow: Follow and keep following people on tumblr, no matter how many digits your following stats show. My following stats are nearly in quadruple digits cuz I abesnt-mindedly click the follow button lmao. The good thing about this is that the more you follow people, the more the chance that they might see the notification and check out your blog and come into contact with your fanfiction.

Post: This seems obvious, but there's more to it. The more you post on ao3 or whichever platform you use, the more your username appears to people and the more people might see and register and remember your name and check out your account. In terms of fanfiction though, I'd suggest you post only things you want to, don't pressure yourself to write please. Fanfiction is one of the things that are meant to be enjoyable and if you don't enjoy it, then even if you get like a thousand kudos, you will still not feel happy because you're tired from all the forced content.

Content: In order for more views or people to see your stuff, not just fanfiction but anything in general, then your content must be memorable. Alexandra's cookies were memorable bc of their taste, which is why Mariam and Bethany were able to remember it and pass it on to other people and ask Alexandra for more of it. The content can be a) very good in quality b) have a lot in quantity (only works on some stuff) c) be very beautiful or pretty or noticeable d) content is posted on a regular schedule e) be relatable. The content has to be something that is memorable. The two best ways a content is memorable is if it's either very good in quality or relatable. In terms of fanfiction, the plot would be brilliant or the writing would be brilliant, or the plot would be something the readers wanted to see like a certain trope or an underrated trope which is in demand. Or the plot is something that has happened to the readers and provided them with a secondary experience (this, you cannot control).

Creator: The creator of the content must also be memorable. Because content can get lost sometimes. Bethany may forget where she got the cookies from had she not had that chat with Alexandra. Fanfiction titles can get lost and people might not remember. Authors are easier to remember than fanfiction titles a lot of the times because there's that human-human connection. So in the author's notes maybe you drop some lore about the story you've written, or mention something crazy that happened to you while writing the story, or you rant about a part of the fandom you are or maybe analyse a thing from canon. Whatever it is. In terms of fanfiction, it's especially good for your author's notes to relate to the story. But since it's fanfiction and it's literally something I do for fun, I use the author's notes to just... talk 😅. I really don't care if people read it or not, I'd like it if people read my notes and comment on something they want to comment on because I love holding conversations in the comments. Which brings me to another thing: Answering comments can be a way for you to be noticed. But not just any answers, if the commenter has left a unique comment or if it holds something like an analysis or something, then replying in equal to it means that the reader may see your reply and your name appears twice in their brains, creating a wrinkle in the brain which stores your name. BUT. Since it's fanfiction and it's something fun (wow, that's becoming my phrase) I hold conversations in the comments because I like talking to people. Fun fact! The way I talk in text, like with the "uh"s and "um"s and the elipsis and stutters is literally how I talk irl. Even the word "lol" and "lmao" I actually do say those words irl lmao. So my replies to comments take a while because sometimes I don't have the energy to hold conversations or interact with people and I just don't feel like a simple "thanks!" and heart emoji is enough. Another fun fact about me.

Other ways to reach: Tumblr has been a huge part in people discovering my fics because I like socializing with people on there :) I like sending asks to people, I like messaging them, I like talking to them over reblogs even if it means scrolling all the way down my screen, I like doing tag games, I like collaborating with people on different projects. I like doing all this because it's like... I'm better in terms of talking online than irl because there's not pressure of facial expressions and since I can get quiet irl sometimes, I utilise my ability to be able to actually socialize online. I love my moots and our conversations ^^ So it's not advertising in my book, but it is a strategy to use when you want to market something. I use it irl when I want to be noticed for a job or for a position or if I want to sell something, I make friends all around and make sure they're okay with me talking about the thing I want to sell or talking about me being good for a position so when the time comes, they can purchase something or I can use them as referees. In fact, this is a very, very very important tactic to use in the professional world. Make. Work. Friends. Make work friends, they're so so helpful and make sure that you're a work friend for someone too, because it all only works in reciprocity. Becase when you make a friend, a friend will behave like a friend. And friends (good friends), check out each others' works or interests at the very least. Even if they're not interested, they're willing to hear about it. But other than tumblr, there's another big thing you can do: READ AND COMMENT ON OTHER PEOPLE'S WORKS!!! PLEASEEEEEEEEEEEE. TRY TO COMMENT ON EVERY SINGLE FIC YOU READ. Fanfiction is a community. If you don't take part in it, you'll be left out. It's a rule, I'm sorry, but that's how humans work. Wherever you live, if you don't take part in the community you're in, you'll be left out. It's the real world, kids.

2. Quality of content

We already touched base on this and I've said quite a lot on it already, but. This is definitely something I do for my fics in terms of advertising (and also self-improvement). Because no one will want to read something which has the grammar of a kindergartner and has a plot as obscure as a sphinx's riddle.

Improving your product, constantly and regularly is very, very important. If you compare my first work to my most recent one (okay- maybe not my most recent one, cuz the current fic I'm posting rn is something I wrote after months of writer's block), you'll see that there has been a drastic improvement. So.

How do you improve the quality of your work?

I'm glad you asked that too!

Peers: Have people or friends you made online or irl who look over your writing and provide feedback. If you look into my yes beta and no beta tags and also see how many people I've co-written with, you'll see that I interact and involve a lot of people a lot of the time with my writing. It's a) because self-improvement is awesome and b) just having people involved in your interest is awesome!

Open mind: Always have an open mind when it comes to creating. If someone has a mindset of "I'm already good at this" or "I can do wayyy better than this writer", they will never, ever, ever, ever, ever improve and therefore they will never get the amount of attention they want. Trust me, I've met people like those, and they're arrogant assholes. Sure, you will feel like that sometimes, and yes, I feel like that sometimes too. But here's the thing: use it to your advantage. I've come across many fics which I thought "oh my God, the plot/writing is so shit", but I never voiced it out loud. If it was something that really irked me, I complained about it to my friends privately, but didn't (or tried not to) mention the name to protect the integrity and passion of the creator. What I did instead was something that was better for me: I let it improve my work instead. I intently read the work that annoyed me and when I found exactly what I didn't like about it, I took it in stride and then went back to my own work and made sure that my work didn't have that. It's very humbling to see something you hate and then you go back to your own work and see you have the exact same thing there. Multiple times. It's humbling and also an advantage because you've improved yourself. If you knew the amount of fics I wrote out of spite because I found something I didn't like and wanted to fix it... Yeah. The important thing here is that this process does not disrupt - or even touch - the original creator's process. They are not your responsibility. You are. In this note, be assured: no matter who you are or what your content is, it will always have someone who is yearning to find that exact content. Even if you think it's shit, it will have an audience. And you don't want to pop their bubble do you? So please, please please for the sake of all fanfic readers out there, do NOT enter "I'm so sorry, my writing is bad" or "oh my Goddddd, guys don't read this it's so bad loll" or "I don't really like what I've written here... but here you go anyway!" or anything like that. Do. NOT. It's simply the worst thing you can do to others and yourself.

Find tips: I have a hundred page google doc that is compiled of every single tip I could gather in the year 2022 from tiktok, youtube, pinterest and tumblr. Every. Single. One. I could. Find. And I constantly refer to it when writing. (I also have another google doc full of study tips, and another which is just general tips. Yeah... i had a lot of free time in 2022. I don't now lol, so it hasn't been updated in years)

3. Reaching out

By this, I mean tagging. I use every and any tags in my fics, but only correct or relevant tags. Ao3 is amazing in a way where people will actively search what they're looking for. So a brilliant way where people will find you is when you tag.

Tag correctly. When people tag popular ships or certain characters or other popular tags for "reach", it creates the opposite effect. It will make sure people will never read any of their works again if they can help it because that's just a shitty thing to do.

When you do tag correctly though, you will find the exact people who want to read fics like yours and you will make a name for yourselves.

Tag as much as you can unless it's inappropriate. Tagging everything you can think of is another way to get reach and it's something I absolutely do (and also bc, idk why, but tagging is one of the fun things about posting fics for me lol. Ig I like the organization). Whether it's character trait tags like "Tim Drake Whump" to plot tags like "Ice skating" to genre tags like "Crack and fluff" to warning like "waterboarding", it is a) a way where people who don't/can't read the stuff they want can stay away from it and no one receives hate comments and if they do, well, that reader is just fucking stupid and blind and it's not your fault and b) the people who do want to read those tags will find your fic. Yes, tag everything. Trust me, there will be people scrolling through tags like MCD and Dead Dove (example: me when I'm in a Mood) and when they find your fic, they will be delighted and leave excited comments.

~

So this isn't exactly very organized lmao, but I typed this up in one sitting. I hope it helps!

[alpaca-clouds]

Why I loathe CoD Hector

Something I really wanted to write a proper blog on, is Hector. I answered on another blog on this before, and wrote a shorter thing about this before. But I really wanted to write something on its own. Because I will once again iterate: While Hector in the animated series definitely gets to finish out his character arc, he works a lot better as a character than his game counterpart. And that even though the game came out at the time, where Castlevania tried to go more for storytelling.

Yet, there is this thing, and that mostly comes from it still being an old action-centric game... How the need of making the main characters of action games until sometime in the 2010s into the stoic kind kinda made them worse characters.

I said it before: The Castlevania games for the longest part never really were that interested in telling characterdriven stories and focused more on the gameplay. Which is very much fine. But even when they tried to include more story, for the most part they still keep the brutish, stoic protagonist. Even Alucard, despite looking like a beautiful princess, is very much the stoic male protagonist. This is just a thing with action media that was going on for way too long. Sure, even stoic characters could make for good fan interpretation in stuff like fanfics, it often is an issue that the media itself does not want to actually explore the characters emotions.

Or, to make it fairly clear: This has very much to do with this idea of toxic masculinity. A lot of old action media (not only games, but also movies and such) will not allow male action heroes to show emotional vulnerability, because that would be unmasculine in the eyes of the writers. Which then boils the characters down onto the supposedly "masculine" emotions, like anger and the urge for revenge.

And this is kinda where we get to Curse of Darkness.

We have this whole backstory through the manga, that goes into Hector's background and all that. While I will say that here I prefer the animated version, too, I will fully admit that this is just a subjective thing (I like that the animated version draws some clearer cultural aspects into it, while also giving Hector the agency of killing his abusers, rather than having it happen as an accident), because I definitely can see why people would prefer the manga version.

Where this ends, however, is already at the moment when Hector joins Dracula. Yes, I will fully admit that I am not a big fan of game!Dracula in general, though I will not go into the why here. He works as a game villain, I will admit that, though.

No, what I dislike about Hector's story with Dracula is more the: "And he becomes like the best forgemaster. Like he is so amazing and so strong, and did we tell you how amazing he is?" It goes too much into the power fantasy to me. While I get that the game canon heavily drew on this idea of the main conflict between Hector and Isaac being one of jealousy... I will just say, that a conflict of jealousy is actually so much more boring than a conflict of ideals. And the backstory by far had enough going on there to make it a conflict of ideals, as Hector did still - like in the animated version - not like the idea of killing thousands. Which could have been used for a lot of conflict, but... yeah.

I will still say, that for the most part, the backstory works. While I roll my eyes already at everything with Rosaly, because Rosaly is very much the incanation of the trope where this pure hearted girl saves the soul of the corrupted man (I don't know how this trope is called, but it is for sure a trope), it does work so far.

No, where Hector as a game character stops working is... at the game. Or rather in the moment that Rosaly does do the thing that she as the sole female character in this entire fucking story has to do: She dies so that her death can motivate Hector. And that is to me where game Hector as a character does stop working.

They could have given Hector any motivation to face off against Isaac. They had put up more than enough story fragments in the manga that they could have build from. They could have made it that Isaac wanted to go for revenge and before he could do it, Hector tried to go in there to protect the people he had now learned to love. They could have made it that Isaac tried to ressurect Dracula. They could have made it that Isaac tried to continue Dracula's work until Hector decided that he could not let his former friend do this, because Hector now knows better. There could have been several interesting and good motivations.

But no. Instead they went with: "Girl dead. Boy sad. Boy angry. Boy wants revenge." The fuck?! This is just so bad in terms of storytelling. It is just the refrigerated woman trope, in its most lazy iteration.

They could have given Hector an interesting motivation and conflict. But no, instead they went for revenge. Ugh.

But that was not enough for the writers of this game. Ooooooh no. If it was just that, I would still hate it, but I would be fine with it. Because let's face it, a lot of games use the "revenge for loved ones" trope. Sure, this game is not using it in the most creative way, and it could have done a lot better from the backstory that was set up in other media, but... It is fine. This is fine.

What is not fine however is Julia. I hate Julia. I hate everything about her as a concept.

And again, mind you. I absolutely would not have a problem with Julia if she was just "some girl" or just "Isaac's sister". Then Julia would be fine. It would even be fine if Hector caught feelings for her, even though I would once again roll my eyes at this.

No, what makes Julia so offensive is the fact that she looks and sounds like Rosaly. Meaning, that she explicitly, not just implicitly exists to be a replacement for Rosaly. And that just makes it all so, so badly written.

Worst of all: This gets never explained. Julia just is Rosaly's doppelganger. Just because... Well, because the writers of this game wanted to have their cake and eat it too. They wanted to motivate Hector by revenge for a dead girl, but also wanted to have him end with the girl. And it is just... misogynic writing. I am sorry.

It portrays women as "things" that can be easily replaced. And I hate this so, so much. It is the reason why, even though CoD might not be the worst game in the series, it is by far the one I loathe the most.

And they could have so easily done it differently. Either by not motivating Hector through Revenge in the first place, or by just making Julia a different person from Rosaly. Make her strikingly different and then have Hector fall for Julia. That would have been fine. Just this: "I broke one doll, but I will just get a replacement" thing that game has going is... horrible.

And yes, additionally I will say that another reason why I do prefer the animated version of Hector is, that he is not the stoic kind of character, but he is actually fairly vulnerable. He is a bit of an idiot who easily fall for people. He definitely does not get to have his power fantasy. But it is exactly this that I like. Because it is a story we usually do not get with male characters.

The story of Hector in the animated series is very much a story that would have usually been given to a female character. And I adore this fact. I adore how they switched the gender stereotypes around for this.

Yes, I am well aware that some fans of the games hated this, too. But I honestly have to say: Look, the game characters might have some minor differences, but all in all they all fall under the stereotype of the stoic action protagonist. Yeah, the series needed to switch this around a bit, because it would have gotten boring otherwise.

And frankly. I am sooooo sick of protagonists being all stoic all the time. Give us some variety. It won't kill these characters to smile from time to time... Or, you know, be vunerable.

[wheredidalltheusersgo]

u r literally my lord and savior. thank u for all tha geoff content.

I'm honoured 😭💕

There will be more Geoff content soon! I'm cooking up a super cool design for him 😈

[youchangedmedestiel]

Friend: What are you doing right now?

Me: I have a lot of projects.

Friend: Oh so cool, what are those? New job, new business, new home, new relationship?

Me: Ok, I have a lot of SPN/Destiel projects.

[necrotic-nephilim]

I am always thinking TimJay thoughts related to the fact that they have matching scars from getting their throats slit, and not only that, but Jason slit Tim's throat first in an attempt to threaten Bruce, where Tim was nothing more than a pawn for Jason to use to emotionally manipulate Bruce.

batman (1940) #618

And then, just a little while later when Jason is trying to confront Bruce and do his whole dramatic moment with Joker in UTRH, and Bruce slits Jason's throat to stop Jason from killing the Joker.

batman (1940) #650

It makes me so Unwell. They have literal matching scars. When do you think Jason realizes it? When do you think, while running his fingers over the scar he has to always remind himself that Bruce was willing to jeopardize Jason's own life just to save the Joker, Jason realized it was the same scar *he* gave Tim? And does it click for him too, that he and Tim are a lot alike? Being used as pawns in Bruce's game? And for the first time he maybe understands Tim Drake, just another kid trying to get Bruce's attention and approval? And Jason did to Tim exactly what Bruce did to Jason? And that's part of what spurns on Jason's obsession with Tim, trying to "save" Tim from Bruce's ideology?

When they finally get together does it make Jason even more possessive? He put that mark on Tim and now he has his own to match. It's the closest to being understood and loved he's ever felt when Tim runs his fingers over Jason's scar at the same time Jason touches Tim's. Mirrors of each other, in a fun, fucked up little way.

[nenoname]

stan twins the canon cptsd brothers i will always think about all your unaddressed issues that would make perfect plot fuel for your spinoff

and also the whole 'stan getting that poem by bill via a website which contrasts with bill getting one from the axolotl via a website' foreshadowing thing

like idk i would love something like su future but like more optimistic, aka not an accumulated breakdown that has to be mostly resolved off screen at the end :/// but something thats being kinda addressed throughout? (although would love to see one of them turn into a monster thats always fun lol)

stan having severe issues from his dad and those years of being homeless that we keep on getting more info on but never really getting confronted on (the drifter catalogue and tijuana incident...), him being completely alone for like twenty years when running the shack before soos comes along to the point that 1998 is noted as his low point, and him not really learning about bill+what he did to ford until ages after he killed him if he ever did get the full context

while i think amnesia and everyone seeing him as a hero actually helped with stan's 'i'm a worse version of my brother' thing its still a lingering issue too and we now got him being insecure over his own hands

ford being immediately thrown from 'being tortured by bill' to 'being stuck in the multiverse and being chased by bounty hunters constantly', him fully expecting himself to die when destroying bill, and him only now being safe for the first time in 30 years ....relatively safe, he's still in constant danger because of course he is

idk in the end the series wants them to be happy and they deserve it, its why i wasn't too worried about the book being like 'ooh bill is back!! and the book is haunting ford' thing cos i knew they'll be ok

[thecoffeelovingfreak]

𝒔𝒐𝒘 𝒂 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒚

sequel to eyes of the ranger

pairing: boothill x gn!ex-undertaker!reader

genres: western!au, angst, domestic fluff, bits of hurt/comfort

word count: 8.6k

warnings: spoilers for boothill's backstory, death, heavy angst, explorations of grief, gun violence, blood, implied suicidal thoughts, unhealthy coping mechanisms

notes: I've only seen the bare minimum of his story leaks, and they've been spinning around my head ever since. Some details of the timeline might be tweaked, or imagined/added, but that's just for the au. Still, please enjoy this sequel, and what more I've added to this world! Here's some flowers again :) 💐

Read it on ao3!

~~~

Candles cast their glow brightly across wood panels as you hummed a lilting melody. Hands played with your hair, tugging on the strands to draw your attention away from the swirling pot of stew.

“Papa?"

"He'll be back soon, sweetie."

Your daughter shifted on your arm as you placed the spoon back in its resting spot. Her head fell against your shoulder, no doubt growing bored as crackles of fire echoed across the cabin.

You resumed the tune, bouncing slightly from side to side. She perked up once more as you took her hand over your first two fingers, thumb covering its small size. Her eyes began to crinkle as her first few teeth were revealed by a smile. She always loved dancing and music, likely because of her "silly papa".

When he left for town in the afternoon, he tripped over the porch's last step – on purpose, you suspected. She quickly laughed from where she sat with you in the rocking chair, calling him the nickname as he straightened up again. In just a couple strides he was back in front of you, fingertip meeting her nose before she swatted at him. He chuckled, leaving another kiss on both of your foreheads and embarking again.

As you gently spun, her gaze drifted to the window. She lit up, brighter than any heavenly body, and pointed to the door.

"Papa! Papa!"

The sound of approaching hooves met your ears softly, leading you to peer through the glass panes. Unfortunately, your vision was greeted by the furthest people from Boothill.

The National Hunter's Agency had grown to infamy everywhere you went. They had been given many pardons, and bought off plenty of sheriffs and their higher-ups to be able to operate as they pleased in numerous states. It seems now, after two years, they had caught wind of your bounty and wanted to cash in.

You carefully set her down on the floor, hands staying at her sides in case she lost balance. With some support, you walked her to your shared bedroom, guiding her to hide in your shaker wardrobe.

An anxious hand rotated the knob on the front door, leaving you face to face with a row of five men. Two in suits at the center, and three dressed more rugged at their side.

"Good evening." one greeted, smoke flowing from his mouth. "I assume you know why we're here."

The reverberations of your boots ceased before the steps as you stared at the lineup. "Naturally."

He hummed, throwing the remains of his cigarette to the dirt.

The agent at his right spoke up, "Why don't you walk down here, then."

“Isn’t it your job to capture me?”

“Continue resisting and you don’t have to be the only one we take.”

Your resolution faltered, and the hunters closed in. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Are you sure?”

Glass shattered behind you, followed by heavy thumping. Tendrils of dread inched in, their freeze creeping over your bones.

“Step down.”

Despite every instinct screaming for you to move, to follow their commands, denial and fear kept you in place.

“You’ve got about one minute before we force you to.”

A glaze fell over your surroundings, the situation tumbling to the wayside as your thoughts and blood rushed in unison. It was five against one, and each of them were armed – you were not. They had more information than they were letting on. Someone was searching the cabin for your daughter, likely their sixth. She would be weaponized if she was caught, stuck in the crossfire of your bounty.

Was there a way out of this? To prevent what seemed increasingly inevitable?

Well, yes. You could give yourself up.

But there was no guarantee of her safety afterward, or that you would remain alive.

Still, you and Boothill had made a promise when you first took her in, just one year ago. If danger ever presented itself, you would lay down your lives to protect her.

One of the hunters drew his pistol as your boot hit the first step.

Another dismounted, his dirtied white shirt twisting, then straightening once more as he approached you. A rough grip captured your arms, dragging them behind your back. Something hard hit the ground at your right, a rope thrown by one of his partners. It was wrapped and tied around your wrists, the friction beginning to cast a light burning sensation over the skin.

A foot met the back of your knees as he tightened the restraints, dust rising at the impact. One of the agents joined you, the scent of smoke lingering on his fingers as he brought your head up to meet his eyes. They returned to his side a moment later as his gaze turned to the cabin.

A hunter had your little girl in his grasp, her steps short, frightened, and struggling as she was led down the stairs. She looked at you, searching for answers or what to do.

The saddled agent’s voice sounded from behind, “The NHA seeks to rid these ranges of their impurities. When you wish to uproot an evil such as yourself, no trace must remain.”

He gestured toward the four hunters, and his fellow agent disappeared from your view.

Then the brutality they were known for reared its unforgettable head.

The low flat heel of a dress shoe met your back, staying there as you writhed on the ground, watching up at your daughter.

A metallic barrel crept to the rear of her head.

The tendrils of dread became horrible claws, sinking into every organ and twisting.

Warm ruby droplets cascaded over pale brown and flesh, as the shot’s echo dulled your senses and her body crumbled to the ground.

The claws dug open a void as a defeated cry exit your lips. You were released from under the agent’s foot, flipped over to stare at the cloud-stricken dusk. Voices yelled around you, the words fading into one persistent cacophony. A hand pressed itself down onto your shoulder, before a pain blossomed in the other. A rugged face peered down at you, contempt rising in their features. A new flower of sharp ache grew in your left thigh, tears finally stinging at your eyes.

A fresh splattering of blood flowed over your face, shocking you out of despair. Their body went limp over yours, and you quickly brushed them to the side. Now free from the hunter’s reach, you sunk your hands into the dirt beside you, slowly turning yourself back to your stomach. The hilt of a knife hit the ground as you did so, veins coming alight with panic from its twist in your wound.

Despite every injury, you only had one focus – to see your daughter one last time.

Sharp gravel digged uncomfortably underneath your legs as your restrained hands inched forward. Blood thrummed in your ears, yet the unmistakable sound of gunshots broke through. Within a matter of seconds someone rushed to your crawling form. They called for you, voice breaking at the scene as a hand brushed through your hair.

“Darlin’?”

Your head rose at every emotion kept within that one word, asked by a husky voice you could find in any darkness. Anguish cast itself over his face when he finally saw what you were headed toward. He sank to his knees next to you, a wrecked sob reaching into the evening only to be greeted by no comfort.

Reluctantly, you gazed at your daughter’s corpse, journeying silently past Boothill to finally touch her.

A sticky scarlet liquid mocked you, revealing your sorrow-stricken features coated in its kind within the pool. Your fingers rose to her, a warmth lingering below as she was turned. You summoned any last inkling of strength you had, smiling down to her and speaking softly.

“You were my pride and joy, sweetheart. I’ve had no greater honor than being your parent.”

You leaned down, a soft kiss landing on her forehead before you cried a chant of apologies. When any words you could conjure finally entered oblivion, your eyes looked back to Boothill. He hadn’t moved an inch, rendered paralyzed by the gravity of what he arrived home to. It seemed as though he had been ripped apart, every wire inside of him fraying.

This was your fault, and you were sure he knew that too.

Regret became a well in your heart, rising from the depths and overflowing onto its dying grass. Your head ached, thoughts swirling until each one sinked in grief’s whirlpool. In resignation, you lie beside her, holding her chilled hands between your fingers. If you closed your eyes, you could still see her smile as you danced making dinner.

It would feel best if you never opened them again, but you couldn’t leave Boothill to carry this weight alone. He didn’t deserve such a fate.

A hand swiped over your stained cheek, drawing you back to miserable reality. Tears descended from silver, embers kindling beneath their despair. You lifted your hands from hers, closing her lifeless eyes. Boothill’s hat rested at his chest, head downturned from where he knelt.

Together, you mourned.

—

PART I - Fatherhood And Other Dreams

"Papa! The moo-moos!"

"I see them!" Boothill chuckled, watching a finger point at their pasture.

Rena wriggled against his side, wanting to move closer to them. He complied, jogging to the wooden fence as she smiled.

Her small hands reached past the log fence, petting along one of the cow's heads as it grazed. She had such an affinity for the animals here, something you always joked she got from him.

Every morning like clockwork, she would point them out, longing to go and sit with them for a while. He would join her, occasionally teaching her things about their diets or hair as she would get close and stare into their big brown eyes.

Today she angled back against his leg and smiled at her altered reflection in them, before you tousled her growing hair. He hadn’t heard you approach, too absorbed in the scene to hear your boots kick up dust. His hand rose to rub against the back of your neck as you leaned into him, sipping on your mug of black coffee.

He had noticed your odd positioning on the pillow, no doubt leaving you with some pains when you woke. Quiet snores filled the room; something he would laugh with Rena about, her high-pitched giggles overtaking the silence of the night as her hands pat against your cheeks. Your light snoring would cease, and your face would scrunch up at the unexpected disturbance before you recognized the poking of your daughter. He watched as you tickled the side of her neck, placing a hand on her back when she fell on your chest and wiggled around in joy.

He’s never felt more love than in those little moments, witnessing his entire world as two shining stars amidst the murky midnight.

“In!”

“Brush first?”

“Yeah!”

He was brought back to you after a quick shake of his head, two gazes of the same color waiting for him. One enthusiastic, the other fond and patient as he bent down to pick up Rena. She played with his low braided hair, pulling a few small strands free. You ventured to the stables, likely fetching a brush that she had dropped on one of the chairs yesterday.

The grass was fresh with dew, shining under the morning rays. He opened the gate with ease, feeling a breeze run over his cheeks as he shut it behind him. The pasture was wide, yet filled with only ten cows. Each one would be brushed daily by Rena, starting with one patterned in brown and white. It was an activity she had adored since the first time you had brought her out to help just a couple months ago. Seeing how much she enjoyed it, he joined the two of you only a week later.

You came to his side, handing the brush over to her as you sipped on your coffee. He gestured at you with his chin as bristles met little hairs. With a smile, you turned the mug in his direction, a warm and bitter liquid flowing over his tongue.

A gentle laugh left your lips when the cow’s head moved, rising up into the brush and slightly twisting into it. Rena turned to you, beaming as she moved the brush to another spot. The cow reacted in turn, and you laughed again.

~

The wood ceiling of the barn came into view as Boothill’s head was tugged backward. A light chuckle echoed through the space, falling in time with the noon bird's chirp. His hat tumbled to the hay and dust riddled floor, yet it didn’t remain for long. Little hands left the ends of his hair, snatching the hat instead. He watched, bale in hand, as you scooped up Rena. In a swift motion, you placed his hat on her head, one arm wrapped around your neck and the other reaching for the large brim.

The bale crashed onto the floor, beginning a new stack by one of the stables. The sound brought Rena's attention to him, her head tilting backward to spot him from underneath the hat.

“Like papa!”

“You wanna be like him?"

"Yeah!"

"Then we're gonna have a lot to teach you."

He grinned, the brightness of the sun’s rays and his daughter’s admiration seeping into his smile. With her now distracted by one of the horses, he wrapped an arm around your waist, leaving a kiss on your lips before continuing his work.

~

The orange and golden rays of sunset beckoned your gaze to the large window overlooking the front porch. Rena slept peacefully on your chest, a combination of a full stomach and boredom likely the cause. You brought the book in your right hand to the other supporting her, flipping the page carefully.

The slow thumping of boots echoed through the door, prompting Rena to stir. She had always been a light sleeper, though she didn't always fully awaken. It seemed that this evening she would, leaning backward into your hand as the door opened. Boothill's figure emerged, lit by the bright horizon. She shuffled as her eyes opened to meet his, slowly laying further backward against your hand. Letting the leather-bound book fall from your lap, you wrapped both hands around her. She whined, leading one of your brows to raise.

Boothill inched closer, stopping at the edge of the rug in your little living area. You set Rena down, your hands staying at her sides. She watched the floor intently, gaze shifting between it and her papa. Quickly you picked up on her intentions, standing behind her and holding her hands just above her head.

Her foot moved forward slightly, and excitement blossomed on both your and Boothill's faces. He knelt down, holding his arms out for her. Feeling encouraged, she moved faster, taking her first few steps with your support. When she finally reached her papa, he lifted her up, cheering at her along with you. She beamed, her feet kicking back and forth in the air as she giggled.

~

The stars twinkled in the growing twilight, contrasting with the auburn and violet hues on the horizon. Cool grass stood between your fingers, the tranquility of the coming night bleeding into your spirit. The hill provided a lovely view of the valley below as crickets began to chirp. A thin herd of deer moved like whispers just a few feet before you.

One startled in your direction, the sound of Rena picking at strings increasing its paranoia. She was transfixed by the instrument, plucking as she sat in Boothill’s lap. His affectionate gaze watched down at her, adjusting the blanket over her legs.

There were many nights over the past few days you would wake to find Boothill absent from your bed. Rena would stir at your side, face scrunching further into the pillow as she murmured. After returning her stuffed bear from the other side of the bed, you would walk to find him at the kitchen table. The fire lit various scenes; some filled with brushes and varnish, others with whittling tools and etched knobs. Sometimes he would be passed out against the table, shavings coating his cheek. He wanted to complete the gift as soon as possible, his wish of sharing and passing on melodies and lyrics from his life fueling his craft.

Feeling fingers brush through his hair, Boothill would awaken to your soft gaze. Wordlessly you wiped his cheek, taking his hand in yours and bringing him to bed.

Gentle singing met your ears, skilled strumming of a guitar accompanying it. One large hand shifted up and down the strings, holding, shaking, and lifting to change the tune. The other encased one of Rena’s guiding her through the song.

The sun completed its descent underneath the horizon, and the herd of deer found their way back into the forest. Hints of light hung in the sky, now joined by colors of dandelions and the deep sea. The high-pitched babbling of your daughter chimed in during certain sections, forming a heart-warming duet. With your head on Boothill’s shoulder, you hummed along.

—

The town of Iris Creek was blissful, wilted blossoms gathering on the path's edges from the growing heat. The watery flow of its namesake echoed through the grand trees, calming your mind as you approached with Boothill at your side. After your most recent hunt, a week of rest was well-deserved.

Leaning down, you let the velvety liquid rush between your fingers. Its chill permeated your flesh, a content smile on your face as Boothill toyed with your hair.

“I enjoy seeing you this way.” he whispered, staring at you lovingly.

You turned, removing your hand from the water and laying back on the grass.

“At ease?” you questioned.

He nodded, resting down beside you, hat on his chest. You brushed aside his lengthening bangs, turning the strands together before running a thumb over his cheek.

He leaned into your touch as you asked, “Do you watch me sleep then?”

Embarrassed, his face angled toward the ground.

“Gettin’ shy on me, cowboy?”

He gave no response, simply meeting your eyes with a tender silver. Your lips met his cheek, feeling the bashful warmth gracing his features.

“I like it.” you spoke softly in his ear, leaving a little bite along the lobe.

One hand came up to your waist, holding tightly as your focus shifted to his neck. The other fell into your hair, gripping after a bold lick to the revealed skin.

“Can’t help but be at your mercy, sugar.”

“Such a charmer.”

“Around someone like you, it’s only natural.”

A nibble at the edge of his jaw led his fingers to rub underneath your shirt.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, look at you. One conversation and I was hooked.”

“All it took was one challenge for you to love me?” you chuckled.

“Sugar, all it took was one glance.”

A cry reverberated down the creek as you finally kissed Boothill’s lips. It was panicked and small, drawing you almost entirely from the moment.

Pushing off of his chest, you sat up to survey your surroundings. Boothill rubbed your thigh, looking at you curiously. Just a minute later the two of you stood, spotting a tarnished cloth amongst the bank’s brush.

“Do you see that?”

He followed your gaze, walking ahead of you only to kneel down and lift the sullied fabric. His eyes widened as he beckoned you over. The crying intensified, a tiny head turning from side to side.

A baby.

Boothill was the first to move, cradling them gently in his arms. You brought a finger to their grabbing hands, brushing another one over their forehead.

“What should we do?” you wondered aloud.

“Take them in?” he uttered.

“Are we ready for that, though? We’re wanted criminals, Boothill. That’s no life for a child.”

“Then we settle down.”

“There’s still no guarantee we won’t be hunted or ambushed.”

Your hands fell back to your side, unsure eyes watching the gears turn in his mind.

“We would be their parents, together we can take anybody. Lay down our lives if necessary. We could find somewhere more isolated, maybe even further out of this state. Teach them some of our methods as they get older.”

A heavy sigh left your lungs, the weight of dozens of questions slowly dissipating. There were many details to discuss and new plans to craft. Nonetheless, your head landed on Boothill’s shoulder, two adoring gazes on your child.

~

Butter-colored rays bore through the train car’s windows, wide mountains of tan rock and green bushes waiting outside. A bundle of blankets lay in your arms, encasing your daughter in comfort and warmth.

Boothill had left for them not long after you brought her back to the hotel, returning worriedly with them in hand. They were soft and luscious, leading you to wonder who he had stolen them from. “Only the best for our little girl” – it wasn’t just a statement but a promise.

Another was sworn that evening, your daughter finally clean and sleeping in your arms. Boothill rest behind you in the bed, shielding your small family from any danger while wrapping you in care.

“What should we name her?” he asked quietly, warm breath fanning over your neck.

You pondered silently, letting your head lay on his shoulder. “How about Rena?”

He hummed, a thick finger running over her forehead. “From that play of Effie's, right?”

“I think her story was admirable. Live freely, out on your own road, never waste your time with what you can’t change.”

“Now I like the ring of that.”

“See?” you smiled, a teasing slant to it. “When I wrote to her a few days ago she added in a thought or two about the characters. She said Rena also meant melody, at least according to what she could find in Thatcher's library.”

“Then it's settled.”

His chin landed in the crook of your neck as he simply watched her be, absorbed in thoughts of the future. It wasn’t until she stirred, eyes opening and hands seeking, that you witnessed him take on a gentleness formerly reserved for only you.

His eyes began to water as she held his finger close, staring up in his direction yet unable to pin him down. When she finally did, he sat like a spooked deer, only releasing a low, happy chuckle after your own.

A cough down the car broke you from idle reminiscence. Boothill read a crinkled paper, the letter sent from the ranch you were seeking out. He had come back one evening with the result after days of asking around. Down near Iron Springs, there was someone with plenty of land – could provide decent wages and a cabin to stay in. A suitable place to settle down, with much for Rena to learn and experience.

Taking his cheek between your empty fingers, you pinched and watched him grumble. Despite your lifestyle, you could only hope that this would be a lovely and safe life for her.

—

PART II - A Luminous Star, Ephemeral

Murky skies cried chilling droplets, harshly soaking your bloodstained shirt. The evening had to be setting in, but any hope of seeing the sun finally fade had long since dissipated with the storm’s onslaught. A frayed splinter dug into your palm, the weight of the shovel increasing as the hole in the ground deepened. The dirt was malleable, easy to unearth and pile up.

Many graves were dug by your hand, and you prayed this would be the last.

Boothill wept only a few feet away, Rena’s corpse in his arms underneath a sturdy tree. Ashamed, your gaze fell back to the emptying plot.

Heavy throbbing found its home along your left side, yet still, you had to dig. The pain was deserved – a punishment that fit your crime. Crusting edges tug and bent at the surrounding skin, the quickly cauterized wounds only growing more irritated by the rainwater.

Trickles of pink traversed down your cheeks, blood washing away slowly with your tears. Leaning on the shovel, your eyes rose from the ground. A strong and steady breeze cast the rain in sheets, carving figures in the mist. Discerning who they were was useless, you could remember them anywhere.

Your father, the Weston family, and your daughter.

The mud and soil coating your fingers shifted to a deep scarlet, beads falling from their tips and hitting your boots. Trees morphed into tombstones, and you found yourself paralyzed. Mr. Whitfield’s gravelly voice rang in your ears, drowning out any natural melodies.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to mourn a pure soul, lost too soon. Rena Blackwell was an adored child, and she will continue to be so in our thoughts, and all the way to the depths of our hearts. Her smile could dispel any darkness, and her curiosity persisted to the ends of the earth. Her fascinations lie with animals and music, her greatest friends a pony and her papa’s guitar. May she find eternal peace amidst these mountains and plains, their windy song carrying her gently to the hereafter.”

Lightning crackled across the sky, an omen of your judgment day. Boothill’s shadowed figure stand illuminated by the last ounce of daylight breaking from the clouds. Rena lay delicately in the grave, eyes closed and hands folded, his hat just beneath their union. Wordlessly he took the shovel, leaving you to kneel at her side as dirt cascaded over her corpse.

Stars found their stages in the wisp-struck night sky, their beaming light mocking. If they were tangible to Earth, you would have left plenty of rounds in them. Mourning was an act displayed to you since childhood, but it never came easily. Perhaps that was part of the point. Loss would never be simple, and humanity is far too complex to handle it so. Death was an odd thing, and despite working so intimately with the inevitable specter, it had yet to reveal every one of its forms.

Every body you would prepare never revealed its secrets. No amount of soap and water could cleanse it's invasiveness. No number of incisions and blood drained could release the agony. The fluids injected could not provide life, and clothes would only emulate. Death was permanent, and excruciating to all.

You could shoot a man without hesitation, but being along the receiving end of that cruelty, you could only resign yourself to regret. You killed bad men, yet they still had lives. Friends and family they found or created.

The grating sound of a knife on wood reached your ears, breaking into your thoughts. Boothill sat opposite to you, a neat piece of bark in his hands. Raging thunder rolled, sending a chill down your spine. Paranoia created the shattering sense that you would be reunited with Rena by dawn. Either by your own hands or someone else’s; perhaps the heavens would shoot back, sanctioned by some higher force that heard your monologue.

You watched him work, one tainted hand of yours rubbing back and forth over the dirt housing your daughter. His actions soon faded to oblivion as the song of the storm played on.

When a new bolt of lightning crashed, you became privy to her tombstone.

Rena Blackwell

Beloved star

1892 - 1892

Boothill stood, utterly dejected and tear-stained, before extending a hand down to you. His head met your shoulder once you rose, and one of your hands reached his hair. Strength was needed of you, not misery. The only comfort you received was a fact – no harm would befall you in Boothill’s arms, unless he pointed the gun at you instead.

—

Cheers ascended from under the floorboards, filling your pitch-black room with taunting joy. Your eyes remained on the ceiling, hands at your sides as you lay still – attempting to sink into the hard mattress while the hurricane to your left continued. It was the sixth night ending like this. Boothill had yet to find slumber, his journey to it only filled with suffering. He never reached out, always keeping his back to you and his face toward the pillow.

Despite the stinging urge to run your fingers through his hair, not once could you ever. Conflicting instincts wanting nothing more than to soothe him, but craving an escape.

You rubbed your eyes, throwing the sheet off of your body. The night chill creeped in, the sensation a welcome dissipation for your tenseness. A sniff echoed before a heavy sigh, and not even a moment later the bed resumed its light shaking. Stomps came in unison from the bar below, startling you to jump. With a worn exhale you sat up, feet touching the rough floor. In just a couple quick movements, you were dressed well and ready to face the ruckus below.

A saddened silver gaze finally revealed itself in the sliver of light from the doorway, but yours focused only on the ground, afraid to face him.

Instead, you would find solace in a bartender’s hands, the liquor he poured leaving a delightful blaze in your throat – easing the pain one sip at a time. It was only now you could understand why Isaiah Weston made the choices he did. Too cowardly to navigate his emotions, much less his son’s. The vulnerability intimidating, and any words gone with the wind. A weight too heavy to hold, but various fears preventing you from ever sharing it.

Getting lost in the bottle was a romantic escape, then, even if you would come to regret it. That blossomed the vicious cycle, when your method of coping only added more guilt – defeating the purpose of this night to begin with.

A hand placed itself on your shoulder, bringing your gaze from empty shot glasses to a familiarly styled head of black hair. Tears rapidly welled in your eyes, spirit feeling despondent when their hand returned to the counter.

“Jasper?” you whispered, feeble hope fueling your delusion.

They shook their head at you, “I’m afraid that’s not my name.”

“My apologies.” you nodded, downing another round as they began talking to the bartender.

He was dead, the first to meet the end of your revolver. There was no place to find him besides six feet under, at the very cemetery you first met.

Perhaps a visit to Fort Talia was what you needed. It had been four or five years since you left that fateful night with Boothill, never to look back. Although now, after everything, maybe looking back is the right thing to do. Return to, and learn from the past in order to glance forward. Walk the deck of the funeral parlor, stop by your old house. Finally speak to your mother again.

It was decided. Talk to Boothill come morning and see if he would join you.

—

Bright noon rays lit up the dusty buildings of Fort Talia, its peaceful people walking past Boothill with nods and greetings. Under any other circumstance he would respond, however words failed him now. The brim of his new hat hung low, obscuring his features and providing a bit of comfort. The less others saw of him the better.

He was fractured, too many pieces scattered across the range for him to find. Conversation would not come easy when he could hardly even handle a talk with himself. Your hotel rooms had become suffocating as of late. Silence reigning and gazes only ever in opposing directions. It was cold – a sensation Boothill had become unfamiliar with after all these years. That only served to make your icy temperament feel like a burning hell. No words exit your lips, eyes focused out of windows, on the ceiling or the floor. It was unbearable, the shunning that leaked from your figure.

What had he done to make you feel so? Was he even to blame?

Silver watched the clouds drift over the sky, a horrible longing to join them occupying his mind. A nearly impossible fate for him, now feared more than ever.

“Papa!”

A small, light voice shouted excitedly, followed by the pattering of boots on the deck.

Boothill turned expectantly, arms shifting and ready to pick up his daughter.

Instead he was made a fool.

He quickly returned to a regular stance, leaving down the nearby alleyway to lean himself against the wood. That was somebody else’s child, not his. The title he came to love most would never be used again, abandoned amidst the Iron Springs forest. “Papa” was her first word, and possibly even her last.

He recalled the tears you shared when she spoke, listening to her babble about him. Her voice was that of angels, as if he was finally worthy of speaking to the heavens.

Now he lost that angel, the most vivid star in the sky.

~

Three moss-coated tombstones lay before you, names that you first came to know at fifteen.

Isaiah, Callie, and Jasper.

Ellis must rest in Warren, then. Forever separated from his family.

A couple desert marigolds grew along the path to the cemetery, and you left one at each of their graves. Six in total gathered in your hand – one for each person you were to visit, as well as two extras for whoever you saw fit.

Boots trudged through the dry ground, avoiding stones that shaped plots or decorated the base of a tombstone. Rocks of grey and tan sat below your father’s and the one now beside it.

Upon reading the inscription, the marigolds fell to the dust.

Your mother was buried at his right, her death only one year ago.

With your forehead to the fine wood of said tombstone, your resolve finally crumbled. Any strength you wished to hold forsaken for the misery you denied. Tears flowed and fell frenzied, patiently creating a mud where your fingertips dug into the ground.

All of this loss, but why?

Why cherish anything if it would only be ripped away?

Holding your precious little girl one moment, only for her blood to splash over your face the next. Befriend a lonely boy, one who you found a kinship with, just for him to be shot by your hand.

Your mother, who despite her own mourning, still silently reached out to you, giving you what support she could muster. Your father, who robbed and killed unbeknownst to you, still provided and taught you things he knew about the world that would never be shared at the old schoolhouse.

They all had one common thread – loving you.

Burden, plague, curse. All words that could describe what a detriment you were. If they never loved you, never met or created you, perhaps their fates would be different.

What of Boothill, then?

—

Droplet-stained windows displayed a wagon of bottles stopping outside of the saloon. One of the drivers lept from its front, unlocking the back panel and pulling out two jugs. He lifted them in each hand, a big smile on his face as he cheered through the doors.

The crude and familiar scent of cigarette smoke curled through the window as you cracked it open, the stale quietude of your hotel room grating your nerves. Boothill observed you idly from the bed as you inhaled deeply, palms on the framing. The smell was lovely now, soothing almost. His gaze bore into you, seemingly trying to decipher your inner world.

"What is it?" you spoke softly, head turning toward him.

He sighed, eyes shifting to the ceiling. "I… You've just been so… cold I guess. I try not to take it personally, but I can't help it sometimes."

"Our daughter died, Boothill."

He sat up, "You think I don't know that?"

With a heavy exhale, you faced him. "Of course you do, but I just…"

"Every day begins and ends with her. Not a second goes by where that scene ain't fillin' my head."

"You assume it isn't the same for me? I watched them shoot her – her blood was on my face for hours! Do you think I can forget that?"

"I'm not askin' you to!"

"It sure sounds like it!"

"I just want some answers and for you to recognize that you're not the only one hurtin' here. Shutting me out hasn't been doing any good."

"Shutting you out? I recall you doing that to me. Any time I reach out, you leave or move away from me, and I get no words, nothing! You've got no love or respect for me anymore!"

"Don't you go there." He stood, inching closer to you with every word. "How dare you say that I feel nothing for you. If anything, you've been giving that treatment to me. Do you know how it feels to lay there cryin', wishing that your partner would just run their fingers through your hair and share that pain with you? No. Instead they go out for the night doin' who the heaven knows what, and then return at dawn like nothing happened. Like they didn't just abandon you to return reeking of alcohol or bruised and bloodied. Do you know how powerless that makes somebody?"

"I'm handlin' my own pain my way. I'm tryin' to be strong for you!"

"I don't want you to be strong for me! I want to know that my partner is here, and never leavin'! You remember what I said? I take care of you and you take care of me. That was the promise!"

"Well how are you takin' care of me exactly?"

"How am I supposed to begin if you never let me in!"

"Rich comin' from the likes of you."

"Why're you talkin' down to me? Do you think that helps?"

He paused before you, staring down into your eyes with a mixture of fire and love – an undertone of concern and fear. His hands came to hold your shoulders, and you hesitantly accepted the touch. One drifted up to the side of your neck, his thumb tracing your jaw and the edge of your cheek. The way he'd always comfort you. A guilt began setting in, tearing and biting at your throat, preventing any words from leaving you – likely for the better after your childish retorts.

"I don't wanna fight with you, darlin'. Please, just talk to me."

Wordlessly, you placed your arms around his neck, hugging him cheek to cheek. His own came to encase you when you finally whispered everything in his ear.

"I miss you… so much it hurts. I'm so sorry for all of the turmoil I've given you. That was never my intention. I just… I felt like you hated me. Blamed me for her… death."

"I never could."

"And I know that now. I didn't mean to be so cold, and I understand how you need me. I must admit I'd like to be selfish and have you do the same."

"That's not selfish."

You sniffed, "My… my mama died a year ago."

"Darlin'..."

"I didn't know." Fresh tears welled in your eyes. "She had no way to write to me. I have no idea what could have happened to her. She was all alone, lost to the world in our little house."

His hands descended to your hips, carefully stepping backward as you clung to him reluctant to move. He turned, setting you down on the bed before walking to get a blanket off of one of the chairs. The soft wool came into your hands before a weight settled behind you.

“Lay down.”

You shifted up the bed, throwing the blanket over your legs and resting your head. Boothill shuffled up next to you, his cheek to your chest. He stared up at you, eyes closing when your fingers finally ran through his hair. A sigh filled the room, mingling with gentle neighing from the street below. Silver was revealed to you once more, a low and husky whisper reaching your ears.

"We had this huge tree, back on the farm down in Redhawk. Its branches were wide and overflowing with leaves, but on a windy night you could see the stars through them. My fathers, they were always dreaming -- planning for our future. We'd sit out there and they'd talk for a while, answer any of my questions and teach me some life lessons. Eventually, one would get to strummin' on the guitar and we'd sing and cheer along – it was the most fun when some of their friends would come to visit or we'd host some guests from the road.

One was more pragmatic than the other, though they both had sharp minds. He could talk to anybody, find out anything he wanted to know. More caring and gentle, but still very strong. My other was a great gunslinger, and charismatic to a fault. He was a little rough around the edges, but I loved him anyway. They were my idols; taught me nearly everything I knew before I started goin' on the round-ups. Wasn't until I went back to our farm just a couple years later that I found it tore apart, two letters on the dining table for me. They were gone -- one captured and killed by the NHA and the other off to get revenge. He left me one of his revolvers, the same one I still use today."

Your fingers ran over his exposed cheek, noting the brimming water in his eyes matching your own.

“They raised a brilliant son.”

Your voice cracked as you finished speaking, watching him cry into you as you released your own burdens. The euphoria of budding forgiveness and the grief previously set aside catching up to you. It seemed that nearly every pain of yours was one he shared at some point or another, and it only emphasized the resolution of your argument.

You needed each other now more than ever.

—

“Are my eyes playin’ tricks on me?”

“Well I don’t believe it either.”

A man shook hands strongly with Boothill, hitting his other down on his shoulder. He had a confident glint in his hazel gaze, a boisterous air around him.

“How’ve you been, you beautiful piece of scrap?” he chuckled.

“Times have certainly been better.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, friend.” was his somber reply.

You extended your hand, feeling a calloused one against your palm.

“I see you’re his partner in crime, undertaker.”

“You got one of your own yet?” you asked, trying to keep the atmosphere light.

“Of course! You’re more than welcome to come by tonight and meet her, our kids as well! We’ve got two of them raisin’ hell all over the place.”

“Thank you, but-”

“We’ll be there.” Boothill interrupted, a sharp smile contrasting with his sullen eyes.

“I’m happy to hear that!” Lee beamed, “Some supper'll be ready for you.”

His hand hit your elbow playfully before he focused on Boothill.

“What liquor do you like now, ‘Hill?”

~

Lee’s porch was well-lit, a small garden out front with bright flowers and a structure of twigs resting alongside the stairs. It was likely built by his children, or whoever got distracted while watering and left puddles on the steps. A light knock reverberated through the door, summoning a figure that stood as tall as the knob to open it.

“Hello!”

Quick steps came from behind them, before the door was tugged open further.

“Come in, please!”

You were the first to cross the threshold, a large fireplace and a set table coming into view. Chairs were gathered immediately to your left, some books and a half-built pyramid of empty cans decorating the scene. Blankets were gathered against the wall, dark brown eyes meeting yours as a shaggy dog rose from its bed.

Lee carried a pot to the table, a white cloth protecting his hands from the hot handles. He uttered warnings of the heat to his kids, the same ones who greeted you at the door. Another figure, just slightly taller than him, followed behind with a pitcher of water in one hand and a bottle of bourbon in the other.

While they continued preparing the food and adjusting the ambience, one child tugged on the ends of Boothill’s coat. The other peppered him with questions, looking excitedly at his gun and even more so at the chamber kept in his arm. A small smile grew on his face at their attention before they returned to Lee, wanting to know stories about his “heroic” friend. He followed them to the table, pouring two cups of water from the pitcher and handing it to them. Joyfully, they thanked him and resumed their conversation with Lee.

Seeing what he had raised mixed feelings. You were happy that he had found somebody of his own, that they seemed to love each other and work well together. That joy still couldn’t bury the tinge of envy sinking in, created from how it hurt to be reminded of what your family could have been had Rena simply been allowed to grow.

Scratching behind one of the dog’s ears, a tap landed on your shoulder and grey fingers came into view. They held a glass out to you, filled with clear liquid.

“For you, darlin’.”

The undertone of his words were not lost on you – avoid drinking tonight. Let me take care of you.

“Would you like some stew?”

The welcoming voice of Evelyn sounded from the dining table, a bowl and ladle in her hands. You accepted her offer, watching her gold wedding band glint in the light as you approached her. Their dog followed just behind, its nose occasionally bumping into the back of your leg.

The stew was warm in your hands, making a soft thud against the counter as you sat beside Boothill. A savory broth coated your tongue, the heat of a home-cooked meal comforting amidst the chilly desert night. Conversation flowed easily between all of you, as if you were playing back at the saloon years ago. It wasn’t until there were scraps in bowls and empty glasses covering the table that it took a more serious turn.

Evelyn dismissed their children, Emmett and Mable, from the table. Begrudgingly they went to the living area, playing with the dog and continuing to build their pyramid.

"What happened, 'Hill?" Lee questioned lowly.

You placed your hand along the back of Boothill's neck, meeting his somber gaze. “Let’s talk about it.”

He sighed, his eyes leaving yours and looking at the couple on the opposite side of the table. "Just eight or nine months ago we found a baby up in Iris Creek. We took her in as our own, raising her at that ranch I was tellin’ you about in Iron Springs.” He paused a moment, and you brushed your thumb against his nape, your focus remaining on the wood floor. “About… About three weeks ago the NHA came knockin'. They killed her right in front of them." His gaze turned to you momentarily. "I arrived shortly after."

"I'm so incredibly sorry to hear that." Evelyn spoke gently, placing her hands over one of yours and Boothill's. "I won't pretend to know that pain, but we're here if you need anything."

Lee reciprocated her action, a grit in his voice that was vastly different from hers. "Those cruel bastards will get their judgment day." He exhaled after a glance from his wife, solemnly looking at you, then at Boothill. "She's right, though. A room, food, company, whatever you need. There'll always be a warm fire ready here for you."

—

Bidding farewell to the McHale’s was difficult. They wanted nothing more than to continue catching up, but the night was passing and grogginess collectively set in. Emmett and Mable shouted their goodbyes from the porch, accompanied by the waves of Evelyn and Lee. You returned their gestures, slowly riding off from their home. Boothill’s gaze turned to the stars after saying his own goodbyes, watching the sky as he shifted back and forth. There was much to ponder after that visit, especially for him. The two of you hadn’t talked much in the past few hours, occupied by your own worlds and memories of the past.

Life had been fulfilling thus far, though one world-altering regret weighed heavily on that idea. A certain finality came with it, a need for eventual acceptance lest you meet that finality yourself. In time you would arrive there, but for now it was best to let the pain run its course – feel it and share in it. Boothill had no expectation of you than to simply be there for him as he is for you. Rena had two parents, and lived the best, most beautiful life you could provide for her.

There was one thing you had learned about death -- all that it claimed were eternally benevolent, either in life or the hereafter. If your parents, or Boothill's fathers were here right now, made of flesh and blood, they would want the best for you. For you to live another day and find your place in this wide and bittersweet world. They strived the same as you, to give their child the life they deserved. Perhaps Jasper's notions in the face of death's door were correct. Family would reunite, free of burdens and earthly matters. Spirits would live on in bliss, their memory preserved by each generation.

When you picture all that you've lost, you see a beautiful ranch -- just like the one you worked in Iron Springs. There would be a grand tree, housing Boothill's fathers and little Rena giggling and tugging on one's hair just like she would with you. Your parents would exit a cabin with various drinks and a bowl of apples, stopping to share one with a horse on their way to the meeting spot. Maybe even the Weston's were there, Isaiah smiling from a rocking chair on the porch. Callie would be happy, free of sickly features and whistling a tune. Ellis, cleaning his guns right beside his father. And Jasper would walk from the door, giving each of them a hug before running over to your parents and helping them carry their goods.

If the day ever came, when you would face that reaper with your boots on, that was the life you craved to return to. One where you could drink, laugh, and settle things with your large family -- everyone you ever held dear gathered 'round to celebrate the day. You would wait for Boothill, the inevitable fact being that he would outlive you. It was an idea accepted long ago. Confronting reality was necessary for the life you lead.

Yet that was the other thing about death -- love surpasses it. No matter what kind that love was, it would dance across the edge into the realm of departure. While it may alter itself, those living would still hold its fondness.

If the day ever came that Boothill joined you, either as he is now or as Jesse Blackwell, you would greet him with arms wide open. That very same love remaining with the dead, living in their own peaceful way at your little ranch.

"What's on your mind, darlin'?" he whispered, gazing at you now, instead of the night sky.

"You, and our dreams." you replied with a small smile.

“How romantic of you.” he chuckled, a contrasting and heavy look in his eyes.

Silence rode along between you for a moment until you spoke up, “Where do we go from here?”

He exhaled, a defeated yet promising sound. “Let’s just start with our hotel room. Take it one day at a time from there.”

[pathetichoney]

[Image ID: A drawing of a selfie taken by Sam Manson with Damian Wayne. They are both dressed up in formal attire, Damian in a black/dark grey suit with a red tie, and Sam in a purple topped off the shoulder dress with black straps. She is wearing a variety of jewelry, a necklace with a bat pendant, a black choker with a star of david in a circle pendant and cartoonish spider shaped earrings. Her hair is reminiscent in her half-up hairstyle, but with two ponytails rather than one. The background is a dark wall, a white collumn and white tile flooring. There is a window in the back, with green curtains, and outside the window is a cityscape of Gotham at night. There is a watermark of the artist’s username in the top left corner @pathetichoney​. End ID.]

i am back on my bullshit this time with a v special new way that i’m drawing bc i got a new phone that i am paying out the wazoo for, however i can draw on it so my art has gotten significantly better. though of course i had to test myself and do both 1. a full background 2. a character who wears lipstick which i always struggle with unless their mouth is in a particular position and 3. a character that i have never ever tried to draw.

so like. rip me lol.

anyways i am back on my bullshit bc this is fanart of fanfic!!!! i always feel exactly in my element when i do this, it’s just always so good??? and fun?? and when i first read this fic, i mean oh god i just fell for it so hard. i ended up rereading it again like barely 48 hours after i’d finished reading it the first time lol

the fic in question is a damian and danny are twins au! it’s called Leap Before You Think by TourettesDog and i just-- the characterisations are just so well done it all feels incredibly natural especially with the merging of the two different universes into one cohesively and seamlessly it’s wonderful. there are a few faults with this pic i think, however i am still incredibly proud of it. as a bonus, here’s a better view of the window scene because i’m still really proud of that one:

[atanxdoesstuff]

nejisasu doodle! a universe where the hyuuga's slavery bs doesn't get ignored and Neji and Sasuke are better off for it (and also they're married)

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

Hiiii.

So, not one but two jobs just fell through. I'm currently visiting friends (because of course I get this news while on vacation) but as soon as I get back home I'll start applying places, but let's be honest, even if I succeed in getting a second job (yes, I already have a job, no it doesn't pay all my bills, welcome to hell) I don't know if that'll be enough to cover everything. I was really depending on these jobs, I was promised them for months. Ask any of my close friends, they've been hearing me chant "I just have to make it until July" since January.

And yet, here we are. So.

A couple months ago I decided to take the plunge and start up a Patreon to share my original work and help support my writing career as I begin the journey of self publishing my novels. But I know that some people only want to read my fanfic (and that's okay!) so I made a special $3-a-month-tier just for you guys.

(I do also have a ko-fi, but honestly, a steady income on Patreon would benefit me a lot more.)

If ten percent of the average reader count on my fics were to sign up for the $3, I could pay half my bills every month and I wouldn't have to find a second job. Obviously I don't expect that many people to sign up, but I hope that expresses just how much every little bit helps me.

If you sign up for $3 you get no notifications, no emails, nothing, you do not get bothered by me. You would, however, probably get those fanfics you've all been waiting on because I would actually have time to write them (I'm seriously worried I won't get even my Halloween fics done in time because I've had no time or energy to write them, and I started working on these fics in January). You can sign up for a higher tier if you want of course, but if you're not interested in my original work or pictures of my cats you probably want to stick to $3.

(For free updates on my novels and such you can follow me @lincolnchristie - my A Masque of Shadows Ao3 updates will be posted there, for example).

I've had to ask for help from the tumblr community before, and I hated it, and I hate it now, but this time I do feel a little better about it because I'm not asking while giving nothing back. I truly do hate self-promotion but every little bit helps. The appreciation and enthusiasm I've gotten from people on tumblr and on Ao3 in response to my writing the last few years has been truly amazing, and so I hope that I've created stories you love enough that, if you have the spare change, you'll consider helping to support me as I embark on my professional writing career and try to keep the lights on.

It's been a tough year and a tough few months for me and I'm sure it has for everyone reading this, too. Please stay safe and take care of yourself, and thank you for taking the time to read this. Even if you can't sign on, reblogging also really helps. Thank you.

[bun-nny-nny]

FAT SHANE FIC HEHEHE

i have no name for it but here is a fic of Shane and my farmer having a good time tw: NSFW(mdni), fluff, angst just for a bit, family death mention please be gentle with me.... i may write more or do more fanfics for fandoms...

Shane had been home almost all day, and his husband, Bunny, had been working outside on the farm, unable to come inside and spend time with the other man. He spent his time looking through his old boxes, which Shane had filled with every moment he kept from his childhood; there were red and blue ribbons won from the junior soccer team he was on and some pretty large trophies that had been won from when he was on the varsity soccer team in high school. Shane ran his thick, calloused fingers along the cold metallic trophy, the gold on it glistening from the light in the room. The feeling of the cold metal against his warm touch was a feeling he remembered well but now felt like a distant memory. Looking at these items gave him a tight knot in his stomach; it felt like his insides were a balloon being tied and knotted by a clown. His brows furrowed as he placed the ribbons and trophies aside, digging deeper and deeper into the boxes, and that's when he found it.

Shane's rough hands brushed against the book he had found deep within the box, trailing his fingers with his slightly dirty and chewed-on nails over the indented cover, brandishing his high school's old emblem and the year of his graduating class. It had been a long time since he had thought of his yearbook; in all honesty, he had forgotten he had even gotten one, probably forced to get it out of guilt from a family member saying something along the lines of, "If you don't get it you'll regret it for the rest of your life!" which was most likely said by Marnie. He let out an unamused huff as he pulled it out of the box; once it hit the floor, he stared at it for a bit as if he didn't know if he should open it. It was like he was scared of the memories and feelings that this book held within it, waving its power over him as it sat on his dirty floor.

Eventually, the man gave in, his hands quickly taking the book between them and opening the pages at lightning speed as if to rip the metaphorical bandaid off as fast as he could. He flipped through page after page like a man on a mission, scanning each row of each face in the book till he found his own. He grimaced, looking at himself. He was much slimmer back then, and a big smile was on his face. He looked proud of himself, a feeling he hadn't felt for a while. The ecstatic look on his face only made him want to wallow and rot away, thinking about a past he could no longer be a part of. His eyes went from his photo to the blank spot underneath, and his heart sank; he remembered how his parents had passed away before he could pick a senior quote, and their passing had affected the man so much that he gave up on everything at that point. The blank space stared back at him like it was mocking him; quickly, he flipped away from it, trying hard not to wallow so hard in his missed happiness due to him picking up the bottle out of grief.

He turned through page after page again until he found the only other photo of him; he stood there proudly with his soccer team. He was the person in front, happily holding a soccer ball in the crook of his arm, his hand resting on his hip to keep it there. He looked much different, with no hair on his face or a 5'o clock shadow, and his eyes filled with a joyous light that you only ever see when he looks at his husband or their chickens. He had been much skinnier, with hair longer than now and little to no dark circles under his eyes. He groaned and threw the book to the ground, standing up quickly. Shane stomped over to the full-length mirror in his room. He looked at himself, the dark bags under his eyes, how his hair thinned out less luscious than it was before, and then his eyes moved down to his body, looking at the fat and slight beer gut that he accumulated over the years of constant drinking and poor diet. He lifted his shirt a bit, grabbing at the fat of his stomach, his stomach covered in an abundance of hair purple just like the hair on his head, and long stretch marks around his hips and gut.

Bunny entered the house at that moment, his medium-length brown hair a bit tousled and askew; his face had a bit of dirt on it from how hard he was at work. As he traveled to the bedroom, he undid his suspenders and unbuttoned his shirt, showing his chubby upper body and the dark hair that ran down his stomach cut off by his black pants. Once in the bedroom, he kicks off his boots and removes his dirty work pants, but he hears Shane's loud groan coming from his room before he can unbutton them. Immediately worried, he rushed into his room, calling, "Hey sunshine, you doin' alright?" Shane turned to Bunny and immediately put down his shirt, "I… I uh yeah… I'm fine.." he said, refusing to look his husband in the eyes, too embarrassed of himself. His lips set in a frown. As Bunny stepped further into the room, he looked over the dirty floor of Shane's room, which was even more crowded by the boxes he had pulled out, all the contents lying on the ground scattered around. "You know you can tell me anything…come on, look at me." As Bunny got closer, he reached up to Shane, taking his chin between his gloved fingers and forcing the taller man to look down at him. Once they made eye contact, he could see the misery that filled his husband's eyes, and it made his heart feel like it was going to break. "it's nothing. It's just...stupid shit...ya' know?" being this close, he could smell the joja cola on his breath.

Bunny looked at the bottom of Shane's shirt, seeing how it rested a bit above his basketball shorts. He raised a brow at the other. "Were you checking yourself out?" he asked gently, not wanting to sound like he was judging the other man in any way. Shane nodded slowly. He looked like he might cry, his eyes glassy. It was an unusual sight; something must have upset him.

"Not feelin' good bout yourself today?" asked Bunny

Shane nodded yet again, leaning into Bunny's gentle touch. Bunny moved his hand to caress one of his cheeks, gently stroking it with his thumb, and stepped closer to the man so much that both men's fronts pressed together. Shane's face had a light dusting of pink as he looked down at his lover. He saw his bare chest, his heart racing, and marveled at the slightly slimmer man's body. He loved Bunny more than anything more than words could ever describe. Any time Bunny touched his body, he felt a tingling sensation spread across his skin; even when his soft palms and calloused fingertips were under the fabric of his gloves, he still felt the heat radiating from the other, making him let out a soft sigh.

Bunny smiled, pleased by the sound. He brushed his thumb gently over Shane's cheek, his other hand finding its way under Shane's jacket, slowly pulling it down his arms and letting it fall to the ground, pooling around the back of Shane's legs. Bunny pulled away, which made Shane whimper at the loss of his touch, making Bunny chuckle lightly, "Hey, it's okay…just takin' off my gloves, okay?"

Shane nods yet again, focused on Bunny's motions, not speaking any words. He watches as Bunny brings a gloved hand to his mouth, biting the tip of a finger and pulling it off, letting it drop to the floor and doing the same to the other. Bunny looked up, making eye contact with his lover, a smile spreading across his lips as he saw the pink on his cheeks grow darker.

 "Go sit on the couch for me, okay?" his tone was gentle, yet he knew it was a demand, not a question.

Without a word, Shane started, walking out of the room and into their living room, plopping down on the old blue couch Bunny had for years and refusing to get rid of it for "sentimental reasons." The cushions sank a bit as he sat down, making him nervous. Was the indent he was making on the old couch too much? Was he becoming unattractive to his farmer due to his increased size? His mind started racing as he sat alone in silence, his big hands on his knees, grip tightening with each passing moment. After a couple of moments, he saw the bathroom door open and out stepped Bunny, hair now better kempt. He wore a black shirt with an alien on it and some brown shorts, and his face was clean of dirt. No matter what he wore, Shane always found him to be breathtaking.

With no words, Bunny stepped in front of Shane, removing his hands from his knees and sitting on the other man's lap so that their fronts were facing. "You know...I think you look perfect like this," he said softly, his soft palms cupping Shane's cheeks, forcing him to make eye contact. The touch made a shiver run down Shane's spine. "Now you know I'm nowhere near that.." said Shane, trying to look away, but Bunny immediately reprimanded him.

"Look at me." It was an order, and Shane submitted to it, forcing himself to keep eye contact with his farmer. Shane could see the pure love and adoration that filled his eyes, but there was something more, a spark of desire that ignited the flame deep within his stomach.

"I have told you this...so many times..." said Bunny as he trailed his hands down Shane's chest, traveling down down down till they stopped at the bottom of his shirt. He pressed his cheek to Shane's and whispered, in a low voice, dripping with lust, "You are the sexiest man alive to me, Shane."   his hot breath danced against the shell of Shane's ear, making him let out a gasp, eyes shutting. Hands now wrapping around Bunny's back tightly. Being this close, Bunny could smell Shane, letting himself take a whiff and enjoying how he smelled like pizza, cola, and musk, a better alternative than how he used to smell like a bar floor. It made him smile happily, "You're a good man....a kind man even..." he said softly, giving the other's ear lobe a light nibble and receiving a soft groan from Shane.

 "Arms up," he ordered, and Shane followed his orders quickly, letting go of his back and arms shooting up into the air. "Good boy," cooed the farmer as he took the bottom of Shane's shirt within his grasp and quickly pulled it off over his head, revealing the broader man's soft chest, which was covered in thick hair that traveled down his fat stomach, decorating his slightly tanned skin with a lovely purple. Shane swallowed his Adam's apple, bobbing, attracting Bunny's eyes; he wanted to attack it to take it between his teeth and bite and suck, but he had better things to focus on. Bunny's eyes moved back to Shane's chest, hands coming up to gently grasp his supple chest. The two men let out a delighted groan in unison as Bunny's gentle hands grasped each mound of flesh, squeezing them lightly. A calloused thumb swipes over one of Shane's nipples, sending a shock through his body that makes him gasp out, "Bunny..!"

Bunny chuckled and looked up at Shane's face, which was now a scarlet red. He was even panting lightly as the farmer's finger lightly pinched at the nubs till they pebble under his fingers

"Look at you...you look like you're enjoyin' yourself, huh?"

"s-shut up.." said Shane back embarrassed

"Hey, is that any way to speak to the man you're married to?" he laughed and leaned in, his lips almost meeting Shanes's but stopping a few centimeters away, breath smelling like mint. He must have brushed his teeth when he got changed. "Just let yourself let go. I'm gonna show you just how much I enjoy this body of yours." His voice was like sweet cream and honey to Shane's ears.

Bunny pressed his hips down against Shane's, both of them able to feel how unbearably hard the other was confined behind the fabric of their shorts. Both men let out moans in perfect, lustful harmony. Both were red in the face, panting as they continued to grind against each other for just a bit longer before Bunny's hands went to undo the button of his shorts and pulled down the zipper. He stopped his hips as his hand slid past the fabric of his boxers, and he fished out his cock, letting the pink needy tip rest against Shane's stomach. Shane groaned as he felt the warm dribble of precum that had collected at his lover's tip now trailing down his stomach, making the hair on his stomach sticky.

"now.... you're gonna sit here like a good boy....and gonna show you how much I love this body.....just thinking about you makes me want to cum already." said the farmer as he stroked himself slowly only a few times before letting his cock rest right up against the others bare stomach. He scooted as close as he could, pinning his cock against the other. One of his hands rests on Shane's side, helping him keep his position tight against him, while the other goes to Shane's hair, coarse fingertips running through the purple locks, collecting strands and wrapping around them tightly, hand closing in a fist. Bunny forced Shane to look down at his needy dick as it let out more dribbles of pre, "Do you see how hard I already am? It's all because of you." he said, his breathing getting heavy as he grew more and more excited his hand on shanes side tightening its grip he adored the way the man's flesh melded against his hand perfectly filling and squeezing through the gaps between his fingers. Slowly he starts to move his hips, letting himself get off by humping against his husband's stomach, the white precum that leaked out of his tip slicking up and making the hair on Shane's stomach feel wet and sticky.

Both men were moaning, the sounds spurring the other one on, making them feel closer and closer. "N-not even touching you... and you moaning like that?" the farmer teased as he panted for air, face red and a bit sweaty. "Yoba, even the sounds you make are sweet music to my ears."

With a firm grip, he pulled Shane's head back by his hair, exposing that part of his neck that enticed him so much. Shane let out a loud gasp of pleasure, and a bit of drool ran down his chin. Bunny moved his head down, descending upon Shane's exposed neck with his sharp teeth. With each rough bite and hard suck, a new purple mark is left on Shane's neck marking his skin possessively; Shane lets out whimpers at the feeling of Bunny's rough bites to his skin, "G-geez, what are you, a s-stupid teenager or something..?" said Shane mocking the other for being into hickeys still at their age even though each mark made him closer and closer to making a mess of his shorts. "aw come one...I know you like it." said the farmer as his teeth bit down gently on the lump on shanes throat, sucking harshly till he left a dark purple mark behind a proud smirk on his lips as he listened to Shane moan and pant, his hips bucking up trying to give himself some form of friction. "see? You love it....and I love you.." said  Bunny as his grip on Shane's side tightened to a bruising degree, as his hips started thrusting a bit more sporadically, his breathing getting heavier. Shanes's hips matched the farmers chasing after the intense feelings as they hurdled towards their explosive end.

The farmer leaned forward, whispering dirty words into Shane's ear, his breath hot against the sensitive flesh of Shane's ear. With only a few more thrusts, both men let out a loud moan of each other's name, the farmer pulling Shane forcefully into a searing kiss. Their lips roughly clashed together in a hungry, sloppy kiss, swallowing each other's sounds of pure bliss. The farmer let out warm spurts of cum covering his lover's stomach, and Shane cumming in his shorts, leaving them a sticky wet mess as he panted for air, cheeks an apple red.

Both men panted heavily, trying to regain themselves. Their foreheads rested upon each other, and a smile spread over their lips. Once their breathing calmed a bit, the realization hit Shane that he had just dirtied his clothes; letting out a groan at the prospect that he'd have to do laundry, "Did you have to make me cum in my shorts, bun?" he asked in a mock annoyed voice. The farmer smirked and slipped off his lap to sit between his lover's thighs, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "Oh, don't worry, sunshine, I plan to clean you up and then some."