#i cannot possibly be more clear than this so if you are conflicted on what to do

[faces-in-unexpected-places]

dni if you're a human incarnated on earth rn, spirits and aliens only please

[lightseoul]

cw. gn!reader, worker!reader, prohero!katsuki, aged-up (25), pining (again, if you look extra closely), a lot of cussing (are we still surprised)

masterlist | part 1 (although ig this makes sense on its own), part 3 (i didn't plan this), part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9

“What.”

It’s less of a question and more of a statement—a statement sputtered in the typically demanding way characteristic of the one and only Bakugou Katsuki.

The Bakugou Katsuki who happens to be your boss for a good (debatable) three and a half years now, who you also have to spend overtime with until who knows what time to discuss what’s become rocky employee relations in the Ground Riot agency.

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion or irrational annoyance—both, really—before you quickly school your expression into a neutral one. You riffle through the documents rather absentmindedly, avoiding his gaze before shooting back with: “What do you mean what?”

“I meant,” he leans back on his office chair that you know he singlehandedly picked out for its superior ergonomic design because he’s meticulous like that, “what the fuck is wrong with your face.”

“Excuse me?”

Your retort is laced with more indignant anger than intended, but at this point in the night, you cannot for the life of you bring yourself to care about your tone. It’s been a long day, and you weren’t about to let your stupid boss make fun of your appearance, of all things.

Bakugou probably senses the significant change in your demeanor, because his eyes widen in surprise ever so slightly before he sits up and opens his mouth to explain himself.

“You’ve been looking like you accidentally drank spoiled milk for the past hour and the shit aftertaste isn’t going away.” He haughtily shakes his head, and it takes everything in you not to jump him and choke your boss.

To your disdain, however, he continues.

“It’s either you spit it out or I’m going to have to force you to tell me what’s wrong.”

You gape at him. Whatever you expected him to say, it wasn’t that.

As quickly as you can, however, you attempt to regain your bearings and at least try to seem nonchalant, clearing your throat as unbothered as possible to top it all off. “Well, working overtime to iron out office squabbles isn’t exactly my idea of a relaxing Friday night, thank you very much.”

He scoffs. “Bullshit.”

You almost get whiplash from how quickly you look at him. His brazen rudeness—which, right now, is worse than usual which is saying something, mind you—renders you incapable of saying anything aside from another winded: “Excuse me?”

He rolls his eyes. “Miss me with that bullshit, dumbass.”

You feel yourself heat up in irritation. “I thought I told you to stop calling me dumbass.”

“You’d rather I call you princess?”

At that, you break eye contact despite yourself, choosing to stare at his forehead instead. It’s still unnerving—looking at any part of his body, really—but it’s better than looking at him squarely and witnessing the smirk you know has taken over his unfairly handsome features.

Your voice is small, to your chagrin, when you reply. “That’s actually a lot worse.”

The man dares to bark out a laugh.

You continue to metaphorically choke him in your head.

“Okay then, dumbass,” he emphasizes the nickname and you are about 99% sure a pained expression is dancing across your face because Bakugou is observing you with even more amusement before his features settle into a look of seriousness.

“As I was saying before you missed the point entirely—I highly doubt you’re this bothered because of fucking overtime,” he eyes you cautiously before pressing on. “Something’s wrong.”

You don’t know if it’s the exhaustion of the week filled with workplace conflict, or the crushing news you received this morning in the mail, or the very fact that Bakugou, despite his roughness and the annoyingly persistent way he’s been poking at your mood like it’s an itchy scab, is looking at you with genuine concern—but you end up doing it.

You give in.

You feel the tears welling up in your eyes before you even get the chance to deny them permission to, and at the sight of them Bakugou sits up even straighter in alarm—and you don’t know what comes over you because you start laughing so hard, your hand shoots up to your stomach in an attempt to keep it from cramping.

“Oi.”

The expression on his face is so unbelievably baffled that you only end up cackling to yourself more.

It takes a few more minutes before the sillies are fully flushed out of your system and really, it only took you a glance at Bakugou to realize you probably looked demented just now.

Feeling self-conscious all of a sudden, you quickly wipe away the tears in your eyes and muster enough courage to flash him a genuine smile.

To your delight, he flashes you one right back, albeit tentatively—one that is boyish and charming under the rather dim lights of his corner office.

Although he seemingly reboots to his default state because it’s immediately replaced by a frown and followed by: “You’re so weird, you know that?”

You snort and, before you can stop yourself: “Not as weird as my ex.”

At that, Bakugou’s entire countenance changes—he visibly stiffens in his seat and his eyebrows furrow in what you believe is confusion at the sudden mention of your past lover.

Bakugou says nothing, however, and so you take that as a sign to continue.

“Remember that meeting we had last March with Chef Asahi about our collaboration with his restaurant where I was late and you gave me shit for it? And when you asked I told you it was because I just got dumped over the phone?”

He gives you a curt nod, lips tight.

“Well,” you chuckle nervously, feeling embarrassed at your upcoming revelation, “I just found out that that ex is getting married in two months, and I’m invited.”

Neither of you says anything for the next—what feels like—hour.

Until Bakugou takes a sharp inhale, leans forward on his desk, and stares you down straight in the eyes: “I’ll do it.”

“What?”

He scowls at you like you’ve got a pea for a brain. “Don’t make me say it twice, dumbass.”

You frown at his hostility, your own bewilderment chipping away at your already thinning patience. “You’re not saying anything.”

Bakugou sighs, and he looks like what he is about to say next physically pains him.

“I’ll be your fucking date to the wedding.”

tagging. @kitthepurplepotato @chelbyisbord @lovra974 @katsukis1wife @brunnetteiwik

special shoutout to @he3v4n for reading the prequel to this and following thereafter--inadvertently making me check out past writing and get inspired to write this <3

[hannieehaee]

Idk if you're taking requests but I would give it a short and it would mean so much if you actually wrote smthg bout it.

An angsty fic/drabble where woozi and reader are in a long term established relationship and the reader gets their absolute dream job opportunity but it's far from Korea and she tells it to woozi but they get conflicted since woozi cannot transfer between his work and seventeen and reader does not want to give up this once in a life time opportunity. At the same time they are sceptical about a long distance relationship since reader had already been fed up of how less they get to see and stay with woozi with him travelling and working constantly.

You don't have to write it if it's too complex but I'd love to see cuz I really like the way you write!

content: idol!woozi x nonidol!reader, established relationship, light angst, fluff, long distance relationship, etc.

wc: 716

a/n: thank u so much!! im so sorry for how long i took to get this out!!

masterlist

it'd been a week since you told jihoon about your new work opportunity. a week since the air in your apartment became just a little bit colder and the future slightly more grim.

jihoon had been supportive immediately, congratulating you and insisting on you accepting the position. he'd been as supportive a boyfriend as he'd been in the past two years of your relationship. it filled you with warmth and hope for the future of your relationship.

it wasn't until you'd let him know of the location of said job that things became more sad than hopeful.

although he still maintained his supportiveness, there was now a clear air of worry in his voice any time it'd get brought up.

you'd tried to ignore it, pushing it aside until you found the courage in you to actually accept the position. it was your dream job. a once in a lifetime opportunity. except it was an entire country away from the love of your life. and you only had three more days to accept the offer letter they'd sent to you.

the thought of doing long distance would have been fine had you been anyone else. but you barely got to see your boyfriend as it was. living with him was really the only way for you to spend time together. his busy idol schedule had him going all over the world, and when he was at home he was usually ever at the company or in your shared apartment.

if you left, you'd give up on ever getting to see him.

"babe."

the voice took you away from your train of thought. the same train of thought distracting you for the past week.

you looked away from the tv that had been playing in front of you. you hadn't even been watching it, but the background noise helped.

jihoon was at the entrance of the living room, two mugs in hand as he walked over to you and took his usual seat, silently handing you your mug with a tight smile.

not even a single sip from your drink was taken before the subject filled the room once more.

"you need to take this job."

"jihoon ..."

"no, listen," he turned his body to face you, "you and i, we're a forever thing, okay? i don't care if we have to be away for a while. i'm already living my dream, it's unfair that you don't get to do the same," he argued with conviction in his eyes.

"but, jihoon ... it won't be like when you're touring. we'll never be in the same country at the same time, i-"

his hands went to take your mug, placing it on the coffee table before taking your hands into his own.

"i don't care!", his voice raised without meaning to, "so we'll have a year or two in which we can't be as close as we've always been, so what? it won't matter in the grand scheme of things. we'll be together for forty- no fifty years. a few years of uncertainty won't matter a few years from now. babe, please."

his voice pleaded at you.

he was afraid you'd end it all instead of at least trying.

what made it worse that he refused to consider a possibility in which you didn't go and follow your dream. it was a done deal to him. he loved you that much.

that was all you needed to make a decision.

"i'll take the job," you said decisively.

jihoon released a sigh of relief right away, hand squeezing your own in encouragement.

"i-i'll rent a place big enough for the two of us over there. i'll ask for a week off every six months. i'll have it written into my contract so i can go visit you. and- and we'll keep this place here for any time you have time off. we'll call every night, no matter what. even if it's just for two minutes, we'll- we'll make it work."

all you could do was smile at him.

how could you ever worry about change when he was willing to work so hard to move along with it all?

you kissed him then, shutting him up with no words.

and he understood, kissing you back with just as much unspoken love.

[divinesangel]

— 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮?

i felt called to do one of these today, enjoy!

— 𝐩𝐢𝐜���� 𝐚 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞!

— 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟏

your future lover will absolutely adore how authentic you are. they will feel a great curiosity about your energy and how you navigate through life. they will be able to see through you and sense that your wisdom and personality are deeply influenced by your past or the experiences you've endured throughout your life. they will admire your resilience and emotional strength, while also appreciating how mindful you are about the things that truly matter and important issues. you are someone who, despite facing many difficulties and conflicts, continues to see the positive side of every situation and sets boundaries in your personal relationships. your energy will become something quite special for them, as you will be able to help them see things from a different perspective and progress in life. you tend to do this unconsciously, so it's very likely that you won't even notice how much you'll impact this person.

your person will always want to make you happy, and they will put in whatever effort is necessary to do so. they'll have plenty of love to give you, and you'll undoubtedly feel their affection. you won't have to worry about anything or question whether they truly care about you or things like that, because they'll always make it clear through their actions. i see them working day by day to make you happy and doing everything possible to make things work.

— 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟐

you will become this person's rock.

this person seems to have spent a great deal of their life juggling numerous tasks without allowing themselves a moment to breathe. they feel like they must always be doing something and cannot pause to reflect on their feelings or internal conflicts. your arrival in their life is going to open their eyes, and they will see you as someone to trust, as that light at the end of the tunnel.

up until now, they have been feeling very lonely, and i sense that this is due to their lack of communication about their feelings. there is something preventing them from speaking about how they feel, and this only causes that pain to intensify further. however, i see that with you, they will begin to consider giving that much-needed inner change a chance.

they will adore that you are someone so stable and with such clear ideas. they will see you as a person with an organized mind who knows how to maintain composure in the most difficult moments and find a solution.

— 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟑

this person will want to be with you on the spot!

they will see you as marriage material. it's highly likely that this person will want to move very quickly or that certain things will happen faster than expected. at first, it might seem a bit suspicious to you, but it's simply how this person operates. i sense that they act swiftly due to their emotions, allowing themselves to be carried away by them, which might lead them to want to marry you or commit rather quickly. they'll want to give you the world and more, although at times, they may have some doubts about whether their love is reciprocated or if you truly enjoy being with them.

this person will admire your character. you earnestly fight for what interests you and for the people you love. you have no problem defending what you believe in and anything that aligns with your values. they'll be aware that sometimes you may struggle to trust others due to past experiences, but they won't hesitate to show you their true intentions and anything else in order to be with you.

[rheakira]

I've come to temporarily break my hiatus to bring up something deeply important. Because after a recent event, if I have to go another day without talking about it, I don't know what I'll do.

Fandoms have an enormous issue when it comes to bigotry and people feeling comfortable enough to be openly bigoted.

And I want to make it clear: everyone is capable of it. In fact, most people do it more often than they don't. But because this strange myth has been built up that if you aren't "blatantly saying slurs" or "killing others" it can't possibly be bigotry, we have done nothing but become dangerous behind closed doors.

If your friend has odd beef with a person of color in the fandom and holds them to standards they don't hold their white friends to, that is bigotry. If your friend feels some sort of way about the trans person in your friend group and tries to come up with reasons for why they specifically can't stay, that is also bigotry. If your group insists that a person with a personality disorder is making it up just for attention and uses that as a reason for why they can't be around them, that is bigotry as well.

I've never been upfront about it because... why do I, as a human being, need to be upfront about my identity when people randomly decide what I am? But I am in fact a person of color who is queer and disabled. Whenever I join a fandom group that is mostly white people, I am liked until this is discovered. And then I watch as people get brutal about things I do or say. Things that they don't do to other people in the group, and I also watch as they take my words and either twist them for convenience or ruin my reputation for it.

As a marginalized person, both in fandom and out, you are held to a unique standard that does not apply to other human beings around you. It makes doing what you love very difficult, because unfortunately as a marginalized person, people will always subconsciously side with the person trying to oppress or attack you. This has happened to me my entire life, from school to work spaces to even internet spaces claiming to be safe places.

People will say that they care about you and like you and even form a friendly bond with you, but the moment a person of privilege decides they do not like you very much, they can and will side with the other person even without proof of their issues with you. It's exhausting and ruins lives in places that should be fun and safe.

I am on my umpteenth experience with this exact cycle and I would be lying if I said it didn't make me feel like I couldn't live or breath in places I should be allowed to be involved in. It's a very real problem that refuses to end because no one has the courage to challenge it. I am speaking not only on my own experiences, but for the many other people of color or queers or disabled people who simply cannot join these so called "safe spaces" because of our identities conflicting with people who have been taught that we are lesser and not worth love or care.

If this is a problem you face, please know that I see you and I love you. It's hard to keep surviving in a world that wants to hurt you and leaves you abandoned and alone. I want you to know that the world is scary, but we all exist. You should be allowed to experience joy and fun without feeling like you're being suffocated and wanting to die.

You matter. The people around you that make you feel like you don't are nothing by comparison. You matter and I truly hope that we'll one day find each other and become the safe space that we deserve.

The marginalized people in your fandom are more important than your fictional characters and plotlines that you put above us. We're here and we're not leaving. Learn to live with us and protect us.

If we're truly your friends, you would care when your privileged "friends" want to remove us.

Additionally, please do not take this rant and make it only about white people who are part of these marginalized categories. This is a post about EVERYONE. Including the people of color around you. Do not remove us from this conversation. Care about ALL OF US if you support this at all. Thank you.

[jewreallythinkthat]

Not every war is genocide but bombing civilians to reach a relative handful of terrorists and making their homes unsafe and unlivable to the point you push them into a space to small to hold them all while denying resources to them is. Taking away vital spaces like hospitals, especially attacking people and making them more in need of them, is. Wars should be fought between armies. Any war that targets civilians because maybe there's a terrorist in their midst is unacceptable. You don't use bombs and missiles to fight terrorists.

Hi Nonnie. I really appreciate the fact that you've asked this in a respectful day and sorry it's taken a while to reply.

I'm not going to address the points immidiately because I want to ask a couple of questions to find out your view on a couple of things first so I can tailor my answer as best as possible.

This is from the ICRC "In international armed conflicts, combatants have an obligation to distinguish themselves from the civilian population and this can be achieved by wearing a uniform." Hamas don't wear uniforms, and are known to embed themselves in civilian infrastructure and surround themselves with innocent civilians. Should they not be condemned for putting innocents at risk rather than choosing to fight properly, and minimise civilian casualties?

Additionally, do you not believe Hamas has an army? Multiple thousands of fighters have been killed (it's difficult to get an actual number but using things that have come from Hamas, they admitted at one point over 6000 fighters), and they act as an army within Gaza.

Hamas released a video recently firon rockets from a humanitarian tent in a "safe zone". They literally admitted they use civilian areas as launch points for attacks. Do you genuinely believe any country would sit there and let someone repeatedly fire at them without any sort of retaliation?

There are also videos of Hamas stealing aid from people. The Israeli government cannot do anything about that. Additionally, Egypt could have let in refugees but instead refused to because they were afraid Hamas members would escape Gaza with the civilians.

I hate what's happening, I make a point to watch the news and keep up to date because I will not look away, however there must be a general acceptance the Hamas are deliberately putting civilians in harms way. They knew Black Saturday would lead to horrific deaths in Gaza from the Israeli response. They have openly said innocents dying is a good thing as it helps their (Hamas') cause. They are actively trying to make sure more civilians die by centering themselves in hospitals and schools and making demands for a ceasefire they KNOW are intolerable.

The extremists in the Israeli government are terrible, but their actions simply do not live up to their words when they say horrific things about Palestinians otherwise the death toll would simply be higher. I don't like to say it but it's true.

I want this over. I want the hostages home. I want Gaza flooded with aid and health workers. I want it rebuild and the establishment of Palestine, beside Israel, where both peoples can live in dignity, safety, and secure boarders. It is however very clear that Hamas don't want this.

[earthtooz]

baby, would i still be your lover?

fluff with angst, 1k words, gn!reader celebrates their bday bc it's my bday today, reader likes pearls, childhood friends to lovers (?), ooc!al-haitham, conflict and resolving it, al-haitham's grandmother is featured.

The best way to describe yours and al-Haitham's friendship is... unusual.

Having known him since childhood, you cannot say that he has changed much over the years. When your parents brought him to his grandmother's house to hopefully give the young boy a chance to socialise with something other than academic journals, befriending him was not easy.

He dodged all conversation you tried to make, ignored all attempts you made to play tag with him, completely evaded your childlike innocence. He always was more mature than everyone else his age, or rather, always acted like it.

Most unusually, he had an uncanny streak of pushing everyone out of his life, and you were not immune to the imaginary lashes he strikes, eventually removing yourself from his life too out of frustration.

At seventeen, when an unforeseen tension had lodged itself between you and al-Haitham, it deteriorated your friendship. One day, he had taken his opinions too far and sharpened his words too much, you left the House of Daena tearful and too wounded to see him for a while. It creates a distance between you two, one that lasts for three years.

At twenty, you visit al-Haitham's grandmother for the last time, and she makes you promise something. She pleads you to take care of her grandson, that for years, he has been hoping for the rekindling of your friendship, and she asks of you to make his wish come to fruition.

You reach out to him a month later on impulse. He invites you to dinner and drinks at Lambad's Tavern, and for the preceding week, it mentally drains you to think about being alone with him again.

He is already there when you arrive, sitting with crossed legs and arms at an empty booth. Showing up later than him gives you time to admire how he has grown. Now freshly turned twenty-one, time has served him well. He has grown into his sharp, taut features, and the way his grey hair falls accommodates his features well, and his build is impressive for a scholar. You've heard from others that he's graduated with the highest honours, and has already been offered a job at the Akademiya.

When the conversation begins, you're relieved to find out that nothing has changed from when you were both seventeen and fumbling teenagers.

As the only person who has stayed in his life since his youth, there is a bond that somehow cannot be severed. You apologise for what happened at seventeen, he does too.

As dinner passes, one thing becomes abundantly clear: al-Haitham does not need someone to 'take care of him' like his grandmother asked. What he did need, however, was his childhood friend that always knew how to push his buttons, and perhaps that was your way of 'caring' for him.

"Y/n." al-Haitham's broad figure looms over your desk, causing you to pause the scribble of words and numbers that you were in the midst of writing. "With your birthday coming in less than a month, I went to review our personal channel for gifts you'd like."

"Have you now?" You rest your chin on your hand, looking up at him through your lashes.

He completely ignores your question. "A sango pearl necklace? From Watatsumi Island? Is that your only desire?"

"I am easy to please," you shrug.

"Perhaps you misunderstand me. Is there no other gift that you'd appreciate?"

"Is a pearl necklace not possible?"

"One from Fontaine would be more achievable. Watatsumi Island, however, given our geographical distance and the fact that Inazuma is only just beginning to open up its transnational-"

"-So it's not possible? Even for the Grand Sage?"

"Acting Grand Sage, and whilst it is not impossible, I came to review with you possible alternatives for gift ideas that would provide the same marginal benefit."

"I suppose I could think of something else," you tap your chin. "One day I'll get my hands on those pearls, do you see the way they shine so clearly? You could use them just to fix your makeup! Cold to the touch and a clearer reflection are what make pearls high quality."

"How fascinating," he responds flatly and you pout. "In other news, it's lunch time now, and you promised you'd pay for my next meal at Lambad's."

You huff, compiling your papers together and clipping them together. "I was hoping you'd forget."

(As always, when the meal is said and done, he doesn't actually allow you to pay.)

A month later, when the clock strikes midnight on the day of your birthday, there is a series of knocks at your door. Unsurprisingly, you're greeted by al-Haitham's handsome face, now softer without the makeup he wears to enhance his features, but still beautiful nonetheless.

In his hands, he holds a gift.

"Happy birthday, Y/n." He declares, straight to the point, and hands you the box. "I hope it is to your liking."

The unassuming packaging only adds to your shocked delight when you see the contents inside.

"Sango pearls, from Watatsumi Island! You got me a necklace and bracelet set!" You squeal in pure excitement, treating the jewellery like fragile little things when you feel them. Cold to the touch, and you can see your reflection in them.

Pride shines in his eyes and a small smile pulls at his lips. He doesn't say anything except watch you freak out, satisfied with the hoops he had to jump through for this present.

"al-Haitham, I am so happy I could kiss you."

"I'd be happy to oblige."

The best way to describe yours and al-Haitham's relationship is unusual. You would do anything to get on his last nerve (without overstepping), and he would do anything for you.

© EARTHTOOZ 2024, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[awxcoffeexno]

the patient - part 4

toxic!loganhowlett x reader

cherry wine

<< part 3 | series masterlist | fic masterlist | part 5 >>

summary: you and bobby are doing great but logan makes amends (he tries his damned best)

content: bobby and reader are having a grand old time but logan is suffering terribly at the hands of jean and he cannot seem to catch a break. reader is also extremely delulu towards the end.

warnings: 18+, mdni, apology sex, piv, lots of endearments used during sex, angsty sex, gentle sex, you'll-want-to-scream-at-reader-sex, all mentions of jean are actually referring to the phoenix who is extremely mentally unstable.

word count: 2.4k

a/n: this was initially going to be the last part but I think I have some ideas + if you have any pls let me know because this has potential, especially w bobby

the days that follow are thick with tension between you and logan.

you’ve put distance between yourselves, trying to avoid each other as much as possible.

you spend more time with bobby, and it's so easy with him. bobby’s sweet and patient, his presence a balm for the wounds logan left behind.

often you have snow fights in the ground with bobby and his friends, other times you curl up and watch a silly nicholas sparks movie or two.

and,,, the sex is pretty good too. bobby might not have near two centuries of experience but if it's a good dicking down you need, he's happy to provide. plus he does this thing with ice… just thinking about it makes heat pool in your core.

"oi!" he says, finding you in the library on a particular chilly morning.

it's warm in here and emily brontë makes for great company.

you laugh as he scoops you up off the bean bag you're sitting on, pressing you against the wall and stealing a kiss. and then another. and then another.

"bobby!" you hiss. "what if one of the kids walk in?!"

"mmm…" he moans softly into your mouth, sliding his cool tongue against yours. "then it'll be a surprise biology lesson."

you smack his arm and he laughs, finally setting you down.

"emily brontë?" he asks, taking the book from you, careful to slide his finger into the pages so you don't lose your spot.

"ye, you like?"

"i love." he replies, flopping down next to you and opening the book, reading out loud from where you've left off.

yeah. it's so easy with bobby.

meanwhile, in the other wing of the mansion, logan’s world is crumbling. jean’s power over him is overwhelming, even the professor is struggling to reign her in, and in her attempts to bring logan closer, she’s slowly unraveling him.

she pushes him, tries to draw out the animal within, thinking she can control it, harness it. but logan isn’t a tool, and the strain of resisting her is breaking him apart.

you hear whispers from the other students, talk of how logan’s been snapping at everyone, his temper shorter than ever. even the mansion’s teachers, who are used to his rough edges, are keeping their distance. you’re not immune to the rumors, and each one is a reminder that despite everything, you still care about him deeply.

even so, during this time, logan tries to make it up to you, in his own way. he doesn’t apologize directly—he’s too proud, too stubborn for that—but you notice the small things he does. he leaves a cup of your favorite tea on your desk one morning, the steam still rising from the cup when you find it.

and the best part of it all is that he’s careful not to intrude on your time with bobby, even though you often catch him watching the two of you with a conflicted expression.

there’s even a day when you find a small bouquet of wildflowers left on your bed, the note simply reading, “you deserve better.”

it’s clear that he’s struggling with his emotions, trying to make amends in the only way he knows how. but you’re hurt, and you’re not ready to forgive him yet. you tuck away each gesture, each unspoken apology, knowing that it doesn’t erase the pain he caused.

the tension between you two remains, a storm waiting to break. the nights are the hardest for logan. jean’s attempts to mould him into something he’s not have pushed him to the edge, and he’s barely holding on.

he's begun spending his nights alone, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. he's too overwhelmed by jean and obviously, he can't have you anymore. the mansion feels like a cage, and he’s trapped within it, suffocating under the weight of his own thoughts.

night after night he takes this until it becomes too much.

you’re lying in bed, trying to distract yourself with a book, when there’s a soft knock at your door. you hesitate, knowing who it is before you even open it. you felt him decide several minutes ago and the nausea of the wait has you shaking.

when you open the door, logan is standing there, looking more broken than you’ve ever seen him. his eyes are red-rimmed, dark circles under them, and he’s trembling slightly, as if he’s barely holding himself together. and he's sopping wet. you hadn't even realised it was raining but by god, he's drenched.

“logan,” you breathe, your heart clenching at the sight of him. he smells awfully strongly of whiskey and tobacco.

“i can’t… i can’t do this anymore,” he says, his voice raw with emotion. there’s no pretense, no walls between you, just the man you’ve always known, stripped down to his most vulnerable self.

you let him in, closing the door softly behind him. logan’s presence fills the room, but it’s not the usual intensity you’re used to. tonight, he’s fragile, on the brink of breaking. he stands in the middle of your room, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, as if he’s trying to keep himself from falling apart.

without a word, you step forward and take his hand. he flinches at the contact, but then he grips your hand tightly – too tightly – his eyes closing as if he’s drawing strength from you.

you lead him to your bed, and the two of you sit down side by side. logan’s head drops, and he lets out a shaky breath.

“i’m sorry,” he says quietly, the words so soft you almost don’t hear them. “i’m sorry for everything.”

your heart aches at the sincerity in his voice. this is what you’ve been waiting for — an acknowledgment of the pain he caused you, of the way he hurt you. but seeing him like this, so broken, makes it hard to hold onto your anger.

you don’t say anything, just carefully climb into his wet lap, letting him know that you’re here, that you haven’t given up on him. you can feel the water start to seep through your clothes but you cannot bring yourself to care.

logan leans his head against your shoulder, the weight of it comforting in a way you hadn’t expected. you can feel the tension slowly leaving his body as he relaxes against you, and for a moment, the world outside doesn’t exist. it’s just the two of you, sitting in the dark, finding solace in each other’s presence.

“been an ass,” he mutters, his voice rough. “didn’t mean what i said. never wanted to hurt you.”

you swallow the lump in your throat and nod, even though he can’t see it. “i know,” you whisper. “but that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.”

logan sighs, his breath warm against your neck. “just don’t know how to fix this,” he admits. “but i want to try.”

the vulnerability in his voice tugs at something deep inside you, and you feel your resolve weakening. “logan… i don’t know if we can go back to how things were.”

you think back to bobby. and then you quickly wipe the thought away. if you dwell on it too much, you'll sabotage everything all at once.

“i’m not asking for that,” he says quickly, sitting up to look at you. his eyes are dark, filled with a mixture of regret and hope. “i just… i just want to be close to you again. i need you.”

it’s those last three words that break through your defenses. you’ve spent so long longing for logan to admit that he needs you, that he cares about you beyond the fights and the tension. hearing him say it now, when he’s at his lowest, feels like a lifeline – for both of you.

you take a deep breath, knowing full well you're probably making a mistake. “i’m here. i’m not going anywhere.”

something in his eyes shifts, and for the first time in days, you see the man you fell for. he leans in, hesitating for a moment, giving you the chance to pull away. but you don’t. when his lips meet yours, it’s gentle, almost tentative, as if he’s afraid of breaking you.

but you’re not broken. not anymore. and as you kiss him back, you let go of the anger, the hurt, and the frustration. all that’s left is the two of you, finding comfort in each other in the only way you know how.

the kiss deepens, becoming more desperate, more intense, as if both of you are trying to erase the pain with every touch. logan’s hands are on you, pulling you closer, his need for you palpable in every movement. there’s no hesitation now, no doubt—just the overwhelming need to be with each other, to find that familiar comfort in the only way that makes sense.

when you finally break apart, both of you are breathless, your hearts racing. logan looks at you, his expression torn between relief and fear. “i need you,” he repeats, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“i’m here,” you say again, and this time, you mean it in every possible way.

logan’s hands slide up your back, pulling you against him as he presses his forehead to yours. he slips them under your shirt and undoes your bra hook in a quick practiced movement.

"lo…" you whisper needily, pushing your fingers into his wet hair.

bobby was good— hell, bobby was great but with logan this is just something else. it always will be.

"i know, pretty girl. i'll take care of ya." he soothes, pulling your shirt and bra off you gently.

he lips are on your neck within a second, giant paws coming up to palm your breasts roughly. he groans when you rock your hips against his, squeezing your waist to still you.

"patience," he commands, only letting go when he's sure you'll listen.

carefully, he sinks his teeth into your neck again, perfectly in the spot that he knows makes you wild. you whine his name and it makes him smile against your skin.

"missed me, sugar?"

"so badly, lo! fuck…" you trail off as he moves his mouth down to suck a pink bruise into the soft flesh of your breast.

and then he's tugging on the waist of your jeans, pulling them over the swell of your butt, taking your panties with them.

"fuck, baby, look at you. making such a mess already." he runs his fingers through your lips and holds them up to show you, your sticky need webbing between his fingers.

he puts them in his mouth, sucking the nectar off and pulling them out with an obscene pop. it would make you blush but logan's said and done much worse with you.

"logan, please… been too long…"

"i know, sugar, i know. just wait."

his mouth is on yours then, and the mix of his tobacco and your need makes you moan as he eats your mouth out. sex with logan is always filthy, it's hot and messy and you're desperate for more.

he makes you sit up so that he can pop his belt off, the buckle hitting the floor with a clink as he shuffles his jeans off. his cock pops out, ramrod straight and red with need. how long has it been since he's found relief? you ache for him and with your need for him.

"c'mon, babygirl, sit," he directs, guiding you onto his cock. you're slick enough that your pussy starts swallowing him instantaneously.

"attagirl…" he groans, going back to suckling on your neck, making you mewl and whimper.

he tugs you further down, his grip on your waist bruising. lower and lower you sink down on him, walls fluttering around his girth as you moan his name helplessly. his cock is big, always too big, and it makes you bury your face in his neck. but his hold on you is unrelenting, holding you in place until he's balls deep in you.

"logan, please… please…" you beg, desperate to get him moving. having him like this, so fully in you, is overwhelming.

"look at me, angel," he encourages, voice uncharacteristically soft.

your eyes struggle to fix on his, but you manage with a shaky breath.

it takes him a moment to collect his own thoughts before it hits you what he's going to say next and it takes your breath away.

quickly, so he beats your vision to the point, he whispers, "i love you."

and fuck. the vision took your breath away but hearing him actually say it out loud makes you tear up and bury your face in his neck.

the moment is so raw, his furnace hot body making you sticky with sweat. his eyes burn holes into you with such genuine intensity, you get so desperately overwhelmed.

realising how much he's affected you, he gets you moving. he always knows what to do with you, even when you're crumbling. rolling your hips together, he kisses you deep and raw.

"let it go, baby, let it all go. i've got you." he encourages, making you pick up speed, his hands moving you steadily.

so you do. you finally, truly, let yourself go. you feel 19 again, letting logan take you like he did for the first time in that hotel room in the middle of bumfuck, nowhere.

it doesn't take him long, grunting in your ear, to get you to the edge. he feels the telltale squeezing of your walls and sees your eyes roll back into your head and knows right away.

"just like that, pretty girl… come for me, just like that."

you slump in his arms, falling over the edge and letting him help you ride your high. you pant into the crook of his neck, entirely spent, moaning happily when his climax follows yours.

he tips back carefully, holding you to his chest and pressing soft kisses into your hair.

"i'm sorry," he murmurs, rubbing your back soothingly. "i love you."

your eyes snap up to him, narrowing, but his are closed and he doesn't see you. you try to read his mind and see if he means every last word of it. it isn't for the lack of trying but logan's gotten awfully good at blocking you out in the last few weeks.

so you take a deep breath and just like that, you forget everything about bobby and believe him. you believe him.

--

helloooo, sorry about the delay on this one, i'd written it a week ago but wanted to make some edits (I never made them TT).

pls lmk if y'all have any requests for this one!!

love, d <3

--

<< part 3 part 5 >>

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[utilitycaster]

The thing that gets me abt the framework of downfall and the way Ludinus(and some ppl in the tags who seemingly are trying really hard to roleplay Ludinus) read it is that they're like "look at how the gods meddled and laid low to destroy this bastion of human achievement, they had no right and should have let themselves be systematically exterminated/have the world burn instead" when. Setting aside the revelation that the gods who struck down Aeor made themselves mortal to do it-- as in, they were on the exact playing fields of humans when they made their move and it wasn't some huge peacocking of power against upstart humans to strike them out of the sky-- the Divergence is going to happen. We KNOW the Divergence is going to happen. The gods are going to create the divine gate and remove any chance that they can ever do something like this again. "Blaugh, look at them meddle and plot-" and? Whatever they do, we know that the sun will shine once more. Melora, as brutal as she is as the starved Asha, will plant a tree of hope in the most destroyed wastes of Wildemount. And they will ensure that the suffering they wrought in the calamity, in Aeor, can never ever repeat the same way they had done it. Which is a HELL of a lot more than can be said for Ludinus who is actively reviving every cycle he can

first off "some ppl in the tags who seemingly are trying really hard to roleplay Ludinus" took me OUT so thank you for that.

I just reblogged a post with a quote from Cooldown that I think is really relevant in understanding the whole story of the gods and how we got to this point but like, just to summarize (and debunk a few things, hopefully) from the beginning of the episode to the end re: the life of the gods:

Gods (possibly aspects of the Luxon?) crash-landed on Exandria BECAUSE of what is all but outright said to be Predathos.

As far as I can tell, no deals were made between the gods and the Titans. The only person who has said this from what I can tell is Asmodeus, who I would not consider a reliable source of truth. Or rather: one might have been made but there's no corroboration that I know of.

They created the people of Exandria and sealed away Predathos both prior to the Schism

The Schism occurred when the Titans decided to attack the people (which to be clear - the people had been there for long enough to build that weird ruin on Ruidus with a portal, like, I would love to know what prompted the fight of the Schism since it had pretty clearly been millennia of coexistence).

The Betrayers decided the move was to leave and start over, and the Primes felt that was a dereliction of duty to the people. That's what the quote is about - it's about the fact that Erathis's motivation for being a Prime Deity isn't "mortals are my blorbos!" it's "we have an obligation to our creations" and more generally that the Prime Deities are invested in their domains for the overall good of Exandria but not necessarily the specific good of Aeor. (Taliesin follows it up with (as Melora) "You'd have to tear me from this fucking planet" w/r/t the idea that you cannot, in fact, destroy your bad first draft simply because it would be more convenient to you.)

Betrayers get sealed, unsealed, events of EXU Calamity occur (notably: the titans are all dead. you can fight about whether this was just or right later but they're gone and killing other people won't bring them back; the titans are largely used as a pearl-clutching prop by people with no arguments that are perhaps actually relevant to the current situation), and perhaps 50 or 60 years into the conflict the gods call a truce re: Aeor's Obtenebrator and commit to decades of living as mortals (and therefore limiting themselves considerably)

And so here we are

And I think this really gets to the point. Because ultimately, the argument in favor of leaving Aeor be is "when someone points a gun at you, lay down and die" and the argument in favor of the Betrayers is "when someone tells you to abandon your (living) obligations for them, do so." The former is despairing and nihilistic and the latter selfish and, well, a betrayal.

There is something profoundly nihilistic about Ludinus, for all he talks about freeing people and a better world. He's destroyed a city of innocents. He's indoctrinated hundreds if not thousands of people and many of them have died in his service; he's the architect of an empire and many wars in its name and is actively working with a second one. He's been killing fey and he's even physically given himself over to the cause. There is no crime or sin people attribute to the gods that he has not done himself in measures beyond nearly every other mortal. Like, I really think he's at a point where he just is unwilling to "lose" even though he has a friendless life and a legacy of violence and has destabilized the entire world and the weave of magic itself. I think he has to believe there's something on this Occultus Thalamus for him because if there isn't, he, like the Prime Deities, probably can't just pick up and start over. All he has left is to give in to just letting the world burn in the hopes that at least he gets the satisfaction of what he hates burning with him.

Basically, sounds like a rough time to try to roleplay him in the tags.

Something else you (and others) bring up is that amid all the "history is written by the victors" the story of Aeor and of the gods has actually painted them as far harsher. The story doesn't say that they were first chased to Exandria unwillingly and did not come in conquest; the story, as this post notes, evokes vast divine might striking down a city from the heavens and not like, living in fragile mortal forms during one of the most dangerous times in history and arguing amongst each other over how they can save both themselves and Aeor and if that's even possible. Like, even if you see the gods as the victors of this story rather than simply the survivors, the "unedited" version of the story makes them far more sympathetic.

You also mention the Divine Gate and that's a really interesting thing to me because the existing status quo of Exandria is actually remarkably nascent if you think about it. The Founding had gods, titans, and mortals. Post Schism had the Prime deities and mortals (and it is worth noting this is when the people of Exandria became the most technologically advanced; you want to talk about the Titans and Betrayers, you need to cover that the price of the wonders of the Age of Arcanum was that they were not present). Calamity had all the gods and mortals again, and the current era is the first where the gods are behind the gate. It's kind of a compromise between all the things that have tried to destroy one another - Betrayers and Primes are separated but all are free within their realms and can indirectly contact mortals; technically, so can Predathos. None can directly be on Exandria. Is it ideal? No. It's a compromise, and the sealed can become unsealed (which, consistently, goes very badly) but it's the option that doesn't involve the total annihilation of anyone. Ludinus seeks, by setting off this horrible cycle again, to undo that fragile imperfect compromise with a goal of wholesale slaughter. He provides no option for the gods other than "die by my hand" when even some of the gods were desperately trying to find other options for Aeor as of a day prior to its destruction. He's simply wallowed in his trauma for centuries, becoming colder and more unfeeling and less empathetic and more arrogant than the gods he accuses of the same flaws.

[thaleleah]

𝓖𝓸𝓭𝓵𝓮𝓼𝓼 (𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓞𝓷𝓮)

Pairing: Billy The Kid x Fem!Nun!Reader

Warnings: ***NON-CON***, Dub-Con, Dark!Billy, Virgin!Reader, Oral (female receiving), Fingering, P in V, Corruption Kink, Creampie, Possessive Behavior, Masturbation, Wet Dreams/Sex Dreams, Seduction, Emotional Manipulation, Religion and Religious Beliefs, Explicit talk of gunshot wounds, blood, and the bullet's removal (kinda? Idk if it's explicit explicit, but its a little more than just mentioned), Mention of physical abuse/child abuse (not from Billy), Childhood Trauma, Mention of alcoholism, Moral/Religious conflict within one's self, My bad Spanish, Nun breaking her vows, Probably too quick of a healing process to be fucking someone but I'm not a doctor so 🤷🏻‍♀️, Using the word "drawers" instead of "panties" which is kinda cringe to me but I wanted to be somewhat accurate

Word Count: 9.6K

A/N: Billy's passed out for most of this but I hope y'all like it anyway. Please know I'm posting this and then running away. Okay, byeeeeeeeeee

Summary: When Billy stumbles into your clinic, hurt and in desperate need of care and refuge, you don't hesitate to help him. Perhaps this is God's will. Perhaps He has brought him into your life to help heal the parts of him that the cruelness of the world has soiled and broken. You are a healer by trade, both of the physical body and of faith. If this is to be God's mission for you, then it shall be done. How could you have possibly known that the young man who begged for help that fateful night would turn out to be the devil himself?

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Translations:

Por Dios - Oh my God

Que Dios te bendiga - May God bless you

Qué sorpresa! - What a surprise!

Y él no quería que su mamá lo supiera. Así enterró la carne en el jardín - And he didn't want his mom to know. So he buried the meat in the garden

Pero el perro la desenterró y ella se descubrió de todos modos. Tuvo que lavar platos él solo por dos meses - But the dog dug it up and she found out anyway. He had to wash the dishes by himself for two months

Ese niño - That kid/child

Parece que era un buen amigo - Seems like he was a good friend

Sí, él era - Yes, he was

De nada - You're welcome

Gracias, Hermana - Thanks, Sister

They say the devil can take on many forms.

He is a demon figure - with the face of a goat, horns, hooves, and a blade pointed tail.

He is a great dragon - large and terrifying, destructive and formidable in the power he holds.

He is a roaring lion - hungry and fierce as he stalks God’s children, waiting for them to fall into his trap before he attacks them like prey.

But the devil was once God’s favorite angel, amazingly beautiful and wise. The angel of light, God’s morning star - a traitor now, a trickster . . . evil.

The Lord teaches love for all, compassion and understanding despite another’s upbringing or current situation. All humans are God’s children, all made in His perfect image, brothers and sisters in unity under His loving and eternal care. You are thankful to know this, grateful that you can feel His presence coursing through your veins despite the horror that you’ve come to face daily while working at the clinic. His gift to you is your endless drive to help those in need, sitting by the bedsides of the sick and dying, applying a cool rag to their sweaty foreheads, or spoon feeding them soup to give them strength when they are too weak to do it themselves. 

It is a taxing life, and the sorrow you feel when you cannot nurse someone back to health is ever present in your heart, but the Lord is clear in your life’s mission and you will be forever thankful for the lessons you learn in this lifetime. 

He has made you a healer, using you as a vessel for His healing touch for all you come across - regardless of wealth, status, religious affiliation, or criminal record. 

Which is why when he stumbles into the clinic during the late hours of the night, face pale and hand pressing hard to his side where blood is streaming through his fingers despite the pressure, you don’t hesitate to help him. 

You think you should have - should have let him bleed to death on the clinic floor. Would God have abandoned you if you had?

“Sister Maria!” You cry instead, running to the injured man and looping his arm around your shoulders to help him lean against you. “We need fresh towels and water! And sutures! Hurry!”

Sister Maria runs in the room, bedsheets still cradled in her arms from where she had been turning over a recently discharged patient’s room. She gasps at the scene, dropping the linens on the floor as she rushes to the main utility closet. You guide the man to a bed, helping him drop onto the thin mattress with a tortured groan. One of your hands splays over his, helping to maintain pressure on the wound until Sister Maria can bring in the needed supplies. Your other hand lays gently on his sweaty forehead, thumb caressing the straight line of his nose trying to soothe him. 

His baby blue eyes stare up at you through their pained haze. 

“P-please, help,”

The devil can take on many forms and carry many names.

And yet, despite all you’ve heard about who he is and what he’s done, you never once considered Billy the Kid to be one of them. 

Misguided and uncared for - sure, but never evil. 

He’s so young. You can’t even imagine what horrors he must have had to go through to lead him to the path that he’s on now.

Perhaps it’s fate that you’ve been brought together, an opportunity for you to spread the healing power of your Lord’s love and mend not only his body but his bruised heart as well. You’ve seen too many times where hardships have hardened the minds and spirits of others, caging them off from God as they struggle with their wavering faith. 

“Don’t you worry,” You say. “The Lord is here with us. He will see you through.”

Whether he groans from your words or the pain, you’re not sure.

Sister Maria is quick to grab the supplies, dumping them on the side table. She dunks a clean cloth in the water, wringing out the excess, but pauses when she sees his face. 

“Is that— ” 

“Nevermind that!” You hiss, pulling the cloth from her hand. 

You lift his shirt, exposing the injury and the dirt dusted skin framing it. It looks horrible, blood seeping from the laceration in a steady flow and a part of you is thankful that the sight of blood doesn’t make you immediately drop to the floor like your cousin, Paul. He gasps when you touch the cloth to the wound, blood immediately seeping into the white of the cloth and marring the pure color. 

His fingers dig into the fabric of his trousers, gripping it tight as he clenches his teeth against the pain. Your free hand rubs lightly against his forehead, trying to soothe him as best you can while you clean the wound. 

You think it must be God’s mercy that he passes out before you can pull the bullet out. The pain of the forceps digging into his body as you pulled out the thick ball of lead and the shock that would have come with it would have surely dragged him under had blood loss not gotten to him first. It’s better this way - he’s safer cradled in sleep’s loving hold rather than crying and jerking about as you try to save his life. 

Sister Maria holds a small bowl out in front of you with one hand while the other delicately holds his wrist, feeling his pulse between her dainty fingers.

The bullet comes out easy, your forceps finding the lead and guiding it out of the wound’s entrance with ease. It clanks as you drop it into the tiny bowl, and you send up prayers of thanks for allowing such a quick and simple removal. The grace of your Lord has certainly just saved this man’s life.

With quick fingers, you stitch him up, practiced movements securing the wound shut before covering it with a generous dressing of cloth to keep it clean from any dirt and debris. 

His sleep isn’t restful, the pinch in his brow and the way his cheeks twitch in the flickering candlelight of the small room make that clear. Your own brows pinch as you reach a hand out to trace the furrowed skin, smoothing it out with a gentle thumb. You don’t like seeing people suffer, but it’s more often than not that the people you come into contact with while working in the clinic are in pain, or suffering, or at Heaven’s doorstep. You help who you can and pray for the souls of the ones you can’t so they may be guided to God’s kingdom where they can live in an eternal paradise by His side. It always hurts when you can’t heal someone, the feeling of failure is a stark reminder that ultimately it is the Lord who chooses to give us life, and he can choose to take it away just as quickly. 

It feels different this time though, somehow more personal in a way you can’t understand. The young man before you still has his whole life ahead of him, still so much to do and so many lives to touch. The sins that he’s committed thus far can be forgiven, if only he lifts them up to Him and asks for forgiveness. You can feel it, deep in your bones, that you need to save this man. You can’t fail. 

He’s alive, for now. And you can only do your best to make sure he stays that way. 

“He cannot stay here,” Sister Maria says quietly, gathering the red stained water and rags. “They will find him.”

You nod, gathering the small bowl with the bullet remnant and the sutures kit. “We’ll keep him here tonight and move him to the back room in the morning after he’s rested a while,”

“No,” Sister Maria says. “He cannot stay here. Helping an outlaw is punishable by death. They will hang us,”

“God will not abandon us,” You say, firmly. “We are all His children, servants and outlaw alike. He wouldn’t want us to toss him out on the street to die.”

You look over your shoulder towards the sleeping man again. His brow is furrowed again, the sweat on his face glistening in the light. You sigh before turning back to Sister Maria. “Don’t worry, Sister. I’ll think of something,”

The pacifying words seem to offer Sister Maria no comfort, and her worried eyes snap upwards as she looks towards the ceiling, voice cracking as she breathes a pleading, “Por Dios,” up towards the roof. 

The room is silent to her plea.

You don’t leave Billy’s side the entire night, sitting in the chair directly next to the bed, dabbing at his heated face and neck with a damp washcloth and changing his bandage when the first one had soiled through. He wakes a few times during the night, icy blue eyes fluttering open and locking on yours for the briefest second before slipping closed once again, a quiet sigh escaping through his slightly parted lips. 

This is the hardest part - the waiting. Waiting to see if your hard work to heal someone was enough. You keep a close eye on him, looking for signs of pain or illness, keeping an eye on the injury site to try and prevent infection. You flushed it with alcohol during the dressing change, having found an extra bottle hiding in the supply closet while grabbing some fresh cloths. Supplies like alcohol for disinfecting, while needlessly abundant in saloons and brothels, are difficult to acquire for the clinic. You think it's foolish, wasting something that can be used for healing purposes on something as pointless as getting drunk. Your father had been a drunk, drinking away his cares and woes, his only goal was to make it to the bottom of a bottle. 

You wish you would have found it sooner so you could have actually disinfected the entire wound instead of just the outside and stitches, but this is better than nothing, you suppose. The smell as you pour it over his wound makes your stomach turn, reminding you of all the times your father came home reeking of the stuff, belly full of poison and his mind, hazed with drink, still evil enough to find your mother and make her suffer as if she were the reason he deemed himself a failure in life. Billy lets out a pained moan in his sleep, body subconsciously tensing in pain as the alcohol flushes the stitched up skin, but thankfully he doesn’t wake. You don’t want him to be in pain, but there’s a part of you that selfishly thinks he’s sharing your own pain, the memory of your childhood trauma somehow seeping into his brain as you recover his wound. 

You know it’s not true, but you’re thankful he’s there with you anyway. 

When morning arrives, you’re beyond exhausted. 

The night shift always takes more out of you than the day shift and your eyes have been threatening to close since the first rays of the sun started spreading across the dust covered floor of the clinic. 

Sister Ann and Sister Catherine arrive before the sun does, the first rays of it only starting to spill over the New Mexico horizon line when their footsteps echo through the entryway. You lean forward in your seat at the sound of them, glancing over at Billy’s still sleeping frame as Sister Ann’s gentle humming of a nursery song her mother used to sing to her spreads throughout the clinic. Quick footsteps cut through the song, the humming stopping entirely as frantic whispers sound from the entryway. And then three sets of running feet are getting closer to the corner room. 

“Oh, good heavens,” Sister Catherine breathes, eyes locked on the special patient taking up the small bed. 

Sister Ann has a dainty hand clasped against her mouth in shock and Sister Maria nervously wrings her own together from behind them. 

“He was hurt,” You say, immediately defensive of the injured man. “We couldn’t leave him to die. The Lord says–”

“You don’t need to preach to us, Sister y/n,” Sister Catherine interrupts. “It’s the right thing to do. The Lord is on our side.” She’s confident in her words, and it gives you comfort you didn’t know you needed to have your beliefs validated. But she pauses, eyes flickering once again to Billy before they meet yours - the fear in her brown orbs clear as day. “The law, on the other hand, will not be.” 

“We need to move him,” You say.

“To where?” Sister Ann whispers frantically. “The sheriff and his deputies are sure to show up here. They know he’s been shot, it’s only a matter of time.”

“It is a blessing they have not come already,” Sister Maria adds.

They’re right. With Billy injured, they have to know he couldn’t have gotten far. Their only saving grace is that the Sheriff more than likely would have never believed Billy would have come to the clinic for medical attention if on the run from the law. Perhaps holed up in some abandoned alley, bleeding out while propped up against a wall. Or maybe they think he tried riding out of town, desperate to get as far away from the people hunting him as possible before inevitably succumbing to his injuries and falling off his horse in a nearby field. 

You rise from the chair, leaning over the bed slightly to rest a gentle hand on Billy’s forehead. It’s still clammy against your palm and he shivers slightly in his sleep, subconsciously pressing his head a little harder against your hand looking for comfort in his pained state. He needs to get away from here, away from any prying eyes because if he’s found, his life on this Earth is over. He is in no position to run or fight for his life. The road to recovery for him is a long one if he hopes to heal well enough to regain his strength and usual mobility. The only thing he will have to look forward to if discovered before he can is a necklace of rope and a quick fall. 

“Help me get him to the back room,” You say, sternly. In moments of uncertainty and panic, someone needs to be the guiding light. Your fellow Sisters are still as stones in their spots, all in various states of distress as they look at the man who, if discovered under their care, could very well be the catalyst that marks the end of their missions here on Earth. The Lord brought Billy to you - you need to protect him. “He can stay in the alcove until we can figure out where to take him.”

“He cannot stay in the clinic!” Sister Maria exclaims. “They will surely check every room searching for him!”

“Trust me,” You soothe. “Please, Sister. We need to move him before they come or we will all surely pay the price.”

There is a short pause, but to your frantic brain it feels like an eternity before Sister Catherine nods and gently nudges Sister Ann to the opposite side of the bed. 

“Let’s hurry,” She says, reaching to pull away the thin blanket you threw over Billy’s shaking frame at some point during the night. “I fear we don’t have much time left.”

Together, the four of you lift Billy from the bed. It’s a struggle. Even for multiple women to carry a fully grown man, it's a task and a half just to get him from the small patient room to the back area of the clinic. He whines in his sleep, his wound jostling and stitches pulling from the regretfully poor stability you have on his body as you carry him. But, somehow, he doesn’t wake. 

The back room is small, but comparatively large compared to the patient’s rooms. The entire width is the size of two patient rooms combined, but that’s not giving it much grace. It makes you sick sometimes, to see people with money spending it on lavish items, large houses and grand parties just to show off their wealth when there are people in need all around whose lives would change if they only had a fraction of the wealth the ones in good standing do. As it is, the back room of the clinic is despairingly bare - limited backstock of supplies, linens, and food are scattered among the wooden shelves lining the room. If only those wealthy men who think to only fill their pockets would hear the Lord’s call to give to the needy instead. It would make your heart happy to see these shelves filled just once. 

There’s a small alcove in the back of the room that you and the other Sisters use when times prove most trying. On the days when things are difficult, emotions are too much for you to handle alone or a patient isn’t doing well and there’s nothing you can do other than wait and pray for their recovery, you visit the alcove. It's been adorned with simple yet revenant items, a small yet beautiful cross nailed to the center of the wall, a small ceramic dish holding a wooden beaded rosary placed on the floor below it, resting on a pleasantly fluffed up pillow - ready to help guide their prayer. 

Resting against the side wall of the alcove is a folded up cot. It’s not uncommon that one of the Sisters might have to sleep at the clinic during their off shift. More often than not, they are able to return to their lodgings to sleep and reenergize for their next shift. But there are times when too many people are injured, too many of the townspeople have fallen ill to whatever flu or illness that’s crossing through the town and all hands are needed here. The foldable cot is their home away from home, and while it might not be the most comfortable, you are thankful the Lord was able to provide it lest you be made to sleep on the floor behind the extra blankets neatly folded on the shelves. 

You all adjust your grips on the young man allowing for Sister Maria to release her hold and pull back the thick blanket shielding the entrance to the alcove. You grunt under the presence of the additional weight, the awkward grip you all have on him unhelpful in the way his limp body bears down on you all. Sister Maria is quick in tying back the privacy blanket so that it stays to one side, and works to wrangle open the finicky cot. Once it’s unrolled, you help in depositing Billy down onto the makeshift bed, quickly checking his wound to make sure no stitches accidentally ripped in the journey back here before turning to accept the fresh blanket Sister Ann hands you from the shelf. 

Billy’s brow is furrowed again, breathing a little harsher probably from the pain of being jostled. You lay out the blanket over top of him and pull it up to his chin, your hand reaching out to smooth the wrinkled skin between his eyes again. 

“What do we do now?” Sister Ann asks, and Sister Catherine pulls her hand away from where it was plucking nervously at the skin at the sides of her fingers.

“We wait,” She responds, cradling Sister Ann’s damaged hand delicately between her own. “We won’t be able to move him out of the clinic before the Sheriff arrives. We’ll have to keep him hidden here until then and pray they don’t find him.”

The thought of the Sheriff and his men finding Billy here makes your stomach churn. The undeniable fate that waits for you if he’s discovered is one that you’re willing to sacrifice. He’s come here for help, God has brought him here to you for your healing and protection and you can’t fail Him just because your humanity makes you fearful of your end. It’s supposed to be a beautiful thing - death. The moment when your soul on this Earth fulfills its mission here and your granted eternal life at the side of God in the Kingdom of Heaven. It’s what you’ve wanted your whole life, a life of peace and serenity that seems so out of reach here on the soil. Fear will not keep you from looking forward to it. But you’re not done here yet, you have many years left of helping others and spreading His love to those in need. This is not your end. But if it is, it’s worth the sacrifice to try to save Billy. 

You’ll hang with him, if need be. 

Your fellow Sisters though . . . the thought of them hanging for your own choice, regardless of if you think it was the right thing to do, makes you sick. Your decisions are your own, and they shouldn’t suffer for your choices. 

Billy’s forehead unwrinkles under your gentle fingers, and you can feel your heart break as you look down at him. He’s so young still, a young man just at the beginning of his life. He has so many fine years ahead of him. He’s handsome, fit and strong - he would make a fine husband for some lucky lady, a dutiful father for his children. He’s not as evil as they say. You’ve learned to trust your instincts when it comes to people. Sometimes the most misunderstood people are the kindest, and you can’t help but think Billy is the most misunderstood of all. You can’t sense a single whisper of badness in him. 

You stand up and pull the privacy blanket back in front of the alcove, hiding Billy from sight in the safety of God’s makeshift altar. Together, you and the other Sisters make your way out of the back room. A few rooms down a sickly man is coughing up a storm, and from how hard and continuous his coughs are, you know his throat is raw. Sister Ann shoots the rest of you a worried look, but turns to grab a water carafe off of a side table before rushing down the hall towards the coughing man and away from the current situation. 

“You can head back, Sister Maria,” You say, placing a calming hand on her shoulder. “Get some rest. It’s going to be a long day and we’re going to need you for the night shift.”

You can tell she’s torn, both wanting to stay and help in any way she can but seeming to know that there’s nothing she can do. All there is to do is wait. After a few moments, she nods, her own hand coming up to rest on top of yours. “Que Dios te bendiga,”

You watch as she makes her way towards the front, pushing open the wooden door before jerking to a halt. “Sheriff Garrett! Qué sorpresa!”

Her words sent a spark of panic through you. It’s so soon! You knew it was coming, but it’s still so incredibly soon. You had hoped for at least a while longer to try to gather your thoughts and think of a plan of where you can take Billy, but it feels like time moves slowly as the Sheriff and two of his deputies step into the clinic.

“Sister,” Garrett responds, respectfully tipping his hat. 

Even through your panic, you still feel a twinge of irritation. A gentleman would take off his hat, but you suppose it’s better than the two men standing behind him who do nothing but trail their eyes around the clinic's entrance suspiciously (and with a clear bout of judgment).

You know for a fact these men with gold lined pockets have never given so much as a dime to the clinic. 

Sister Maria turns back to look at you and Sister Catherine, desperation clear in her eyes and you're glad that none of the men are looking at her anymore or you think her obvious distress might have given you all away.

“Have a good rest, Sister,” You say, urging Sister Maria away. Thankfully, she listens, nodding to you and then Garrett before scurrying out the door. 

“How can we help you, Sheriff?” Sister Catherine asks. 

Garrett takes a few leisurely steps along the entryway, observing the interior of the clinic with the aura of a man who thinks he can see everything. You suspect he sees nothing at all. 

“I apologize for the interruption, Sisters. I know you’re hard at work," He says. “But we’re looking for an outlaw on the run.” He pauses, looking over at the two of you with pointed eyes. At your silence, he continues. “William H. Bonney, otherwise known as Billy the Kid,”

“Oh, dear,” Sister Catherine gasps. 

You feign concern also, bringing your fingers to your mouth as a sign of shock. Garrett nods in agreement at your supposed horror. 

“As you no doubt know he is a very dangerous, very unlawful, man,”

“So we’ve heard,” Sister Catherine says, nodding solemnly. “Is that what brings you in today?”

“Yes,” He says. “There was an altercation last night between him and I. I was able to shoot him so he is very hurt, but he got away before I could arrest him or finish the job.”

“Kinda stupid to come to a clinic when you’re a wanted outlaw, Pat,” One of the men behind Garrett grumbles. “We’re wasting our time here.”

You can’t help but agree, despite that being exactly what Billy did. But maybe that’s what makes it smart. You're hopeful that Garrett will listen to his friend, will assume that Billy couldn’t possibly be here and leave the clinic without investigating it. 

The small spark of hope dies as Garrett laughs without mirth. “The Kid’s not stupid. But we’re covering all our bases,” 

“Helloooooo,” A voice calls from another room opposite the patient still occasionally coughing up a lung. “Can someone please pay attention to the sick people around here? Hellooooooooooo?”

Sister Catherine smiles tightly. “Mr. Taylor,” She says by way of explanation. “A rather problematic patient here. He’s a good man, just impatient.”

Sister Ann’s voice can still be heard attempting to soothe her own charge, so Sister Catherine has no choice but to tend to Mr. Taylor. When she disappears from sight, you turn back to Garrett, trying your best to deter suspicion. 

“I can assure you, Sheriff, that we haven’t seen any sign of Mr. Bonney around here,” The lie leaves your lips far too easily for it to feel like the sin that it is.

Garrett nods, and you can tell he believes you, but puts his hands on his hips all the same, one hand pushing aside his coat to rest freely on the hilt of his gun. “Mind if we have a look around?”  

You force a smile on your face. “Not at all. As long as you don’t bother any of the patients. They need their rest,”

“Certainly,”

You lead him around the clinic allowing him and the deputies to search the rooms for their missing outlaw. When they get to Billy’s old room, the room they just vacated not minutes before the Sheriff arrived, you tell them that a patient was recently discharged and that you hadn’t had the time to turn over the room yet. 

“Why is there blood on ‘em?” One of the deputies asks, nodding to the blood stains still covering the stark white of the sheets. 

“A cooking accident,” You reply. “An incorrect knife hold can sometimes do that,”

Another lie. You feel this one a little more than the first. 

Eventually their search comes to the back room. You can’t keep them out, that would be too suspicious, so you allow them to walk through the half filled shelves. It's more than clear that there’s no place to hide anyone here other than the alcove and you're naively hoping they won’t even realize it’s there. 

It’s a large blanket hanging on the wall. Of course, they’re going to notice it. 

And, sure enough, one of the deputy’s eyes cut to the blanket. He heads towards it with a gruff “What’s behind here?” but you intercept him, rushing over to stand between him and the alcove.

The Sheriff and his deputies have their eyes on you now, each one closing in closer to you and the alcove, much too close for comfort.

“Sister,” Garrett says, voice stern with authority. “What’s behind the blanket?”

“It’s our place of prayer here,” You say, voice calm despite your nervousness. “Our altar.” You can’t mess up now. If you show any sign that you’re being untruthful, both you and Billy as well as your fellow Sisters out front will be on a one way trip to the courthouse. You’ll all die hanging from its top banister. “When healing doesn’t seem to be enough, it helps to have a place dedicated to God to call upon his everlasting power to perform miracles.”

Garrett nods. “Mind if we take a look?”

“Yes, actually. I do,” Your quick denial clearly catches him off guard, his eyebrows raising towards his hat. “Just as God bids us to modesty with our clothing, we must also show privacy and modesty in our places of worship. They’re sacred spaces. Surely you understand that, Sheriff,” 

The words feel like poison on your tongue. Using worship and prayer to cover up a lie is the catalyst that makes bile feel like it's rising in your throat. It’s not a lie, you have to remind yourself. It is a makeshift altar, you do use it as a place of worship and prayer. Just . . . not right at this moment. 

The reality of the situation is catching up with you, and you hide your slightly shaking hands by folding them together in front of you. You haven’t lied in years. You lied a lot as a child, a necessity of living with a father who’s anger could strike at a moment’s notice. You resented having to do it back then, forced to sin for the sake of trying to keep peace in the home. It’s much like the situation you find yourself in now, having to lie to try and protect another person. To protect yourself. 

When you found refuge at the convent all those years ago, you were told you would never have to be untruthful ever again.

“God is granting you freedom from your woes,” You were told, and you remember how light those words had made you feel. “Thank him for His good graces with your undying loyalty and strive to always be who He guides you to be.”

You hadn’t lied since, no matter how tough things seemed. Sickly patients lying on their deathbed, scared and begging you for any kind of reassurance that it wasn’t the end for them. You wouldn’t give them false hope. Instead, you would tell them to turn their worries to the Lord, clasping their hands in yours and praying with them.

“Your soul is strong, bright and ever-present,” You would tell them. Sometimes you would let them hold your rosary so they can find comfort in it. “The body is a temple, and we do our best in our life to care for it. You’ve done that. If it weakens now, it is because God is calling your soul back to Him.”

The guilt is clawing at your chest, but you force it back as best as you can as you meet Garrett’s eyes. “I ask that you don’t force us to desecrate that,” 

Garrett just stares at you, an unreadable expression on his face. One deputy just looks between you and Garrett, uncertain with how to proceed in the face of defying authority, and the other deputy that sneered at the thought of Billy even coming to the clinic scoffs at your words. 

“Listen, lady, the law–”

“John, enough,” Garrett interrupts, voice shockingly hard as his eyes cut to his deputy. “She’s a Sister and you’ll show her respect.”

You feel a quick spark of satisfaction at the way the deputy’s confident, power hungry facade dies under the Sheriff's ridicule. He mumbles a quick apology to which you accept with a nod despite how insincere it sounds. 

Garrett nods his head towards the door, silently gesturing for the other two to head towards the exit before he tips his hat at you directly, thanking you for your time and apologizing for any inconvenience their visit may have caused. 

You want to tell him it was no inconvenience at all, but you’ve already sinned enough today and you can’t bear the thought of intentionally adding to the tally without justified need. Instead you settle on curving your lips into a convincing smile, thanking the men in return for their brevity and understanding and wishing them a good rest of their day as you usher them out of the back room and towards the front entrance.

Every single muscle in your body relaxes once they are completely out of the clinic, relief washing over you as you whisper out a quick prayer of thanks to God for allowing everyone to get out of the overwhelmingly dangerous situation unscathed - at least for now. 

Sister Ann and Sister Catherine peek out of their respective rooms when they hear the front door swing shut, their wide eyes mimicking the relief you know is shown in your own. 

“I can’t believe they didn’t find him,” Sister Ann admits, and it pains your heart to see tears begin to well up in her eyes. “I thought this was truly the end for all of us.” 

You have her in your arms in an instant, cradling her small frame against your chest as she begins to cry in earnest. For as scary as it’s been for you so far, you can’t imagine what she’s been going through. Sister Ann and Sister Catherine have only known about Billy for less than no time at all. And yet, despite the short period of time between finding out about Billy, getting him into the alcove, and the entrance and departure of the Sheriff - you’re sure it probably felt like an eternity to her. 

“Hush now, Sister,” You whisper, running a soothing hand along her back. “You’re safe, I promise.”

Sister Catherine places one of her hands on Sister Ann’s back as well, but she’s looking at you when she speaks. “He still can’t stay here,”

You know that. You know. You got lucky that the Sheriff didn’t find Billy this time, but who's to say that he won’t come back when he’s unable to find his missing outlaw anywhere else? Covering all his bases, that’s what he said. He’ll come back again when he sees that his other ‘bases’ have turned up nothing but dead ends. 

Your older brother, Joe, has a cabin just outside of town. It’s a hidden place, specifically built for peace. No visitors. He lives alone, no wife or children to keep him company and he prefers it that way. 

“If I’m alone, I can’t turn into him,” 

You're positive he wouldn’t. Your brother is far from being anything like your father, but the task of trying to prove that to him seems to be out of your skillset. He tells you he’s happy with his life, that he’s chosen the path he feels he needs to be on just as you have. Who are you to pass judgment?

Joe likes the solitude, that much is certain. But he also has an adventurous spirit which guides him on lengthy trips from town to town, exploring all the world has to offer while never having to be tied to one place. He’s away now according to the last letter he sent you, planning to stay in Chihuahua, Mexico for a while and that he’s not sure yet when he’s going to be back. 

“It’s dangerous,” Sister Catherine pushes, taking your silence as reluctance.

“I know,” You say. “I know. I think . . . I think I have an idea.”

The cabin will be empty. Joe isn’t due back for the immediate future, and even if he does return earlier than you suspect he will, you and Billy won’t be in danger. Joe can be trusted. He’ll help you, if need be. You can’t imagine that the Sheriff would ever know about it. It’s secluded - far off of any of the usual paths. It’s safe there. The perfect place to hide the wanted outlaw for a while. He can rest there, heal up uninterrupted for a few weeks until he can safely move around on his own two feet again. 

Sister Catherine listens openly to the idea, but her face is pinched in displeasure. 

“We don’t have much of a choice,” She says, reluctantly. “It seems like the best place for him to disappear to until he’s healed.”

You can hear the underlying pause in her agreement loud and clear. “But?”

“The clinic cannot spare two of us. We would lose half of our staff and it is too much for one person to handle alone per shift,”

“I wouldn’t ask any of you to come with us,” You say. No, for as much as you believe God sent Billy into your life for a reason, this was your mission to bear. You’ve already put your fellow Sisters through enough.

“You want to go alone?” Sister Ann sniffles, raising her head up from your chest.

“You need to think about this,” Sister Catherine says, sternly. “You shouldn’t be alone with him. He is a child of God, yes. But he is also an outlaw and a man. Sometimes, one of those is worse than the other.”

They’re being protective. The more rational part of you is grateful for their concern, and you think that if the positions were switched and one of them were in your position instead, you would react the same way. But a part of you is bitter. They’ve heard the stories. You know exactly how cruel men can be and you know exactly what they’re capable of. It’s a risk you’re taking, but you feel called to take it anyway. Billy needs your help, and God would never put anything in your path that you can’t handle.

“The Lord will protect me,” Despite the truthfulness of your words, you can see how they do little to reassure them. Your next words are better. “The Lord will help me protect myself.”

Sister Ann looks at Sister Catherine, once again bringing her hands together to pick at the reddened skin at the edge of her nail. Sister Catherine sighs, and the back of her hand reaches up to tap her forehead as if feeling the temperature or wiping away sweat. 

“Alright,” She relents. “How do we get him to your brother’s cabin?”

“I don’t know,” You admit. “We need a wagon. Or a large wheelbarrow that we can put him in and attach it to a horse. I haven’t ridden a horse in a long time, but I’m sure I can manage.”

“Where are we supposed to get that?” Sister Ann’s tone borders on exasperated. 

As if answering your unspoken prayer, the door to the clinic opens once more, this time revealing a bright faced Samuel Anderson, carrying a crate full of fresh supplies. And behind him, lit up by the sunlight like a bright blessing, is his wagon.

Sam Anderson is the son of local store owner, Edward Anderson, the clinic's top provider for basic supplies that are not strictly medical. While medicine shipments and more specialty items are donated from suppliers farther away, and frankly much less frequent than necessary, Mr. Anderson and Sam never fail to come through with plenty of food for you to make soups and nutritious meals for your patients. On occasion, you even have enough to give away to the families who are stacked together in a small two bedroom on the edge of town. With eight children total between two families, you're honestly not sure how they manage - but you do your best to help when you can. 

Seeing Sam walk through the front door is like a beacon of light from Heaven is shining down on him. He’s smiling already, the crate of food handled carefully between his hands as he lets out a cheery, “Good morning, Sisters”. But as soon as he sees your faces, more specifically when he sees the tear tracks still visible on Sister Ann’s cheeks, he’s placing down the crate and across the clinic’s entrance in a second. 

“What’s going on?” He asks. His hands automatically reach out towards Sister Ann’s face as if to cup it, but he stops himself. Instead he just looks at her worriedly, his concerned gaze leaving her face for only a moment to glance at you and Sister Catherine before they’re back on her, voice low and gentle. “What’s wrong?” 

It’s no secret that Sam harbors some romantic feelings towards Sister Ann. There are days when you feel sorry for him - a young man, good and kind and generous, who you have no doubt would make a fine husband to any lucky woman is in love with one of the four women in the entire county who are incapable of returning his affection. But it’s moments like this when it’s easy to see God’s presence in other people. Sam is as respectful and kind as they come. He accepts his feelings can never be reciprocated and in turn uses his undying love and loyalty to Sister Ann by helping you all at the clinic with anything he can. 

Somehow, he doesn’t expect anything in return, never stares at Sister Ann with an ounce of lust in his eyes, and it warms your heart to see the godly quality that’s usually so absent in men so prevalent in him. 

“Something’s happened,” Sister Ann tells him, her voice still wobbly with emotion. 

“What?”

“Sam,” You say, calling his attention back to you. “I know I have no place to ask this and I won’t fault you if you decline, but– I’m asking.”

“Tell me,” He insists, pulling his hat from his head and holding it to his chest, and God bless how the sincerity in his voice bleeds into his words. “Whatever it is, I’ll do it,” 

So you tell him everything. Sam listens with wide eyes, shooting panicked glances at Sister Catherine and Sister Ann when you tell him about the Sheriff’s visit, and he’s genuinely sorrowful when your voice gets caught in your throat as you tell him that you had to tell some lies to get him to leave without discovering Billy. He’s nodding already when you mention your brother’s cabin.

“I’ll take you there,” He offers before you can even ask the question. “My wagon is always at your disposal.”

“It’s dangerous. If we’re caught, you would hang with us,” 

Sam lets out a breath, unconsciously glancing over at Sister Ann again. “If the four most wonderful and religiously minded people in town hang for trying to do the right thing, then this isn’t a town or even a world that I want to live in anymore. Please let me take you. It would be my honor,”

A small smile graces your lips as you reach out and gently cup his cheek in thanks. For as many men pull and grind on your nerves with their endless greed and manipulation tactics, Sam is a breath of fresh air - a truly God-fearing man with a good heart.

He’s another person that you’re putting at risk, another life in danger because of the choice you’ve made. You try not to think yourself too selfish. Surely the fact that Billy has turned up in your life is God’s plan, and He does not put obstacles in your way that you cannot overcome. 

He tells you that he’ll come back tomorrow. He has a delivery that’s expected in a town over and if he’s going to make it there and back before nightfall, he needs to leave before the sun comes up. 

“I’ll stop here first,” He says. “We can load him into the back of the wagon while most people are sleeping and make the trip to your brother’s before I head on my way.”

“Thank you, Sam. Honestly,”

“My pleasure,” He nods his head at you, replacing his hat and tipping it kindly towards Sister Catherine and Sister Ann. “Until tomorrow, Sisters,”

The door swings shut behind him as he leaves and you let out a deep breath, hands smoothing over the dark veil covering your head just to feel a bit more grounded before you pick up the crate of food Sam brought. Billy needs to eat something. You're not quite sure how long it's been since his last meal, but even if he ate a minute before bursting through the clinic’s doors in the early morning, he would surely still be hungry and in need of sustenance by now. His body is weak and it needs nourishment to heal. 

Billy’s still sleeping when you peek around the privacy blanket. His head is turned to the side and buried in his pillow as much as he can get it, mouth hanging open as he breathes. Your hand itches to reach out and touch him again, to smooth against his forehead or cup his cheek, maybe place your fingers under his chin to help close his mouth in hopes of him breathing through his nose instead so his mouth doesn’t dry out. 

You’re not sure where this desire is coming from. You’re as affectionate with your patients as any nurse should be - kind and supportive, offering comfort when needed, but not overly so that it can be considered inappropriate. You’re all brothers and sisters, children of God - yes. But there are still social norms that must be considered. 

It feels different with Billy for some reason. 

“I’m going to get you to safety,” You whisper. You’re unsure about if he can hear you in his sleep or not, but you feel the need to tell him anyway. “I promise.”

You fall asleep at some point during the night, slumped against the wall next to the alcove’s entrance. 

You don’t remember falling asleep. You remember feeling tired, exhausted by the stress of the day’s events, and how your eyelids were threatening to close permanently more and more with each blink. The soup you had made still sat out in the small kitchen, and you had wanted to stay close to Billy so that whenever he awoke, you would be there ready to help feed him.

Instead, you wake to the sound of Sister Maria giggling to your left and a low, unfamiliar but still soft voice speaking in Spanish to her.

“Y él no quería que su mamá lo supiera. Así enterró la carne en el jardín,” The voice lets out a small chuckle, the smile on his face evident in his tone despite you not being able to understand most of his words. “Pero el perro la desenterró y ella se descubrió de todos modos. Tuvo que lavar platos él solo por dos meses.”

“Ese niño,” Sister Maria laughs. “Parece que era un buen amigo.”

You can’t see his face, but you can hear how he loses the smile in his voice. “Sí, él era,”

Pushing yourself to your feet, you step over to where Sister Maria is kneeling in front of Billy’s cot. It’s only now you see the mostly finished bowl of soup in her hands. Billy’s sitting up slightly, back propped up against his pillows enough to allow him to sit up a bit straighter but not enough to pull too much on his stitches.

At seeing your movement, his eyes snap to your approaching frame, big blue orbs staring up at you and you can’t help the relief you feel at seeing them.

“You’re awake,” You breathe, a small smile pulling at your lips. “Thank the Lord,”

His lips twitch a bit in what looks like a suppressed smile. “Kinda sounds like I should be thankin' you,” He says, and you notice how prominent the shift in his accent is as he seamlessly switches from Spanish to English. “Sister Maria says that you’re the only reason I’m alive right now.”

You shake your head, humbly. “Oh, no. Sister Maria and I work together as a team. I couldn’t have done it without her aid,”

“You show no fear,” Sister Maria insists. “Where I hesitate, you show mercy and strength. It is because of you that we are all alive now.”

“See?” Billy says with a blinding grin, and you can’t help but notice how handsome he is while no longer at death’s door. “My angel,”

You feel your face heat up at the endearment. An angel. Surely the comparison shouldn’t fluster you like it does. You’ve thought of your fellow nuns as the embodiment of angels before, angelic beings put into human bodies by the grace of God to spread His word. You know that’s not exactly true, that you’re just using your belief of what God’s angels would be like and seeing those beings in your fellow Sisters just like Billy is doing with you now, but you’ve never once thought yourself to be comparable to such a holy being and the compliment makes you flush.

You run a hand across your face, feeling the warmth under your palm, and clear your throat. “Oh, well, thank you,”

Sister Maria stands, taking the nearly finished bowl of soup with her. “He has eaten plenty and I changed his covering as soon as he woke up. You will want to change it again when you get to the cabin.”

“That’s great. Thank you,”

“De nada. I’ll go check on the patients and keep an eye out for Sam,”

She nods to you and Billy before she turns to leave, a small smile pulling at her lips when Billy rasps out a soft, “Gracias, Hermana,”

When she’s gone, you take her place in front of Billy, kneeling at his side and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better thanks to you,” He responds, wide eyes trained on yours, a smirk playing at his lips as he continues. “Don’t feel much like I’m dyin’ anymore,”

A small laugh escapes you at his morbid joke. “Well, I’d say that’s a very good thing then,”

“Sister Maria said the Sheriff came lookin’ for me,” 

“He did,” You confirm. “The Lord kept us all safe though and has given us an opportunity to get you to safety.”

Billy’s eyebrow raises skeptically. “Sounds like it was more your doin' than the Lord’s,”

You try to not let the slight against God rattle you. You had sensed this was coming anyway. William H. Bonney a.k.a Billy the Kid is an outlaw afterall, and no outlaw becomes an outlaw while still maintaining a positive relationship with the Heavenly Father. He’s gone through many hardships no doubt, and has more than likely deemed his bad luck in life as God’s personal vendetta against him.

“The Lord speaks through all of us, if only we have an open heart to hear him.” You tell him.  “Fear can make His words harder to hear, and I’m thankful that He was able to guide my mind and heart enough through the fear for us to get to safety.”

“Hm,” Billy hums, and you can tell how much he doesn’t believe your words. He doesn’t argue though. “And where exactly is this safe place you’re gonna take me?”

“My brother has a cabin just outside of town. It’s well secluded and unknown to most. We’ll be safe there until you’re healed enough to go on your own.”

Billy’s eyes drop to your hand still resting on his shoulder, thick dark lashes casting shadows on his cheeks before his bright blue eyes are locked on yours again. “You gonna be takin’ care of me, Sister?”

“Of course, I will,” You reply. “We shall see you well again, Billy. I promise.”

His own arm crosses his chest so his hand can rest on your own, his eyes wide and so earnest as he whispers a quiet, “Thank you,”

It’s only about an hour longer before Sam arrives. It’s still early morning, the sun still a ways away from coming up behind the horizon line, and town is silent. Sam pulls his wagon up to the back door of the backroom before coming around the front to help push it open from the inside. It’s been so long since it’s been opened. The door was once used for the scheduled delivery of goods for easy access to the storage area, but as years went on and the county and surrounding counties became overrun with greed and poverty, the shipments became less frequent. Now, anything needed just comes through the front door. It’s never too much anyway, so what’s a trip or two to the backroom while carrying a crate. 

Sam slams his body against the door a few times, the wood groaning in protest under his weight before it finally swings open. Billy watches from his place on the cot, his eyes threatening to close but forcing himself to stay awake. You want to tell him to sleep, he needs his rest to help him heal and recover, but you’re too busy checking your bag to make sure you haven't forgotten anything before tossing it in the back of the wagon. You need to leave before the townspeople start to wake up. If someone sees you, if just one person witnesses you smuggling away a wanted outlaw, then all of this would have been for nothing. 

“Sister y/n,” Sam calls, squatting at the head of the cot. He’s got his arms wrapped around Billy’s torso. “Come grab his legs. We’ll do our best not to jostle his wound,”

You come to a kneel at Billy’s legs, placing a comforting hand on his knee. “Do your best to relax, okay? If you tense, you might tear your stitches,”

Billy lets out a harsh breath through his nose, clearly nervous, but he nods anyway, brows furrowed in determination. 

Together you and Sam hoist him up. He gasps, groaning as his wound pulls but you can see how he’s trying to keep his stomach untensed. Getting him into the back of the wagon is not graceful, and you find yourself spewing endless apologies the whole time despite the relatively short journey. 

Sam’s laid out a bed of hay covered by two thick blankets throughout the entire bed of the wagon. Crates of food and other supplies take up half of the bed, but he’s managed to make it so Billy will have enough room to lay comfortably on his designated side. Billy sighs as he’s laid down on it, one of his legs bent at the knee and his palms pressing into the makeshift mattress as he cranes his neck up to look at you. You ball up a spare blanket, tucking it under his head before you push him back down with a gentle hand on his forehead.

“Rest now, Billy,” You tell him, crawling out backwards and helping Sam slide on the rectangular backing on the wagon to secure it shut. “We’ll be there when you wake up,”

His eyes stay locked on you as you circle the wagon towards the front. Sam helps you up onto the spring seat before jogging around the rear and hauling himself into the driver's seat. You smooth out your tunic, looking around the dark street for any suspicious or wandering eyes that might be peeking out from around buildings or through windows. You don’t see any, even as one of the horses whinnies when Sam urges them forward. The clinic is located towards the edge of town, so it only takes a few minutes of nervous eyes and your head on a swivel before the wagon is passing the final few buildings that mark the town’s end of population and you can relax.

You blow out a deep breath, meeting Sam’s equally relieved gaze as he snaps the reins and nudges the horses a little faster. You look over your shoulder to check on Billy and you’re expecting to see him sleeping, no doubt still exhausted from the trauma of taking a bullet. Instead, he’s looking at you, head twisting so he can see your elevated frame from his laid out position. His eyes seem to pierce into yours, so blue and intense as he watches you that it makes your breathing hitch in your throat. 

You’ve never seen eyes so beautiful before. Like endless pools of glistening water. Surely God must have taken much care when crafting them for him. 

You feel your skin prickle under his stare, body straightening in your seat. He doesn’t stop watching you.

“Sleep,” You tell him. “You’re safe, I promise.” And thankfully he listens, eyes trained on your face for just a moment more before closing his eyes. The tingling feeling in your body dissipates with the removed gaze. 

Your gaze turns around the front again, looking out to the vast stretch of land before you as you leave the civilization of town behind.

“Sam,” You start, looking for anything to pass the time and distract from whatever unusualness just happened between you and your charge. “How’s your mother?”

[a-mythologynerd]

The thing about Darlington is at first glance he seems so much more tame and straight laced in comparison to Alex, and, like he is to an extent, but its all about the packaging. (And isn't that the thing between these two anyways from the very start?) I just always get reminded how many of his character traits aren't some dignified or morally superior dichotomy to Alex and her ruthlessness. The thing is, Darlington is just as ruthless and ambitious, he just didn't have to confront it until Hell. The desperate, starving, consumption motif is so clear from Alex's very first chapter but it's not til later that you realize Darlington is the exact same way, just about things other than the extreme level of survival Alex had to endure. Instead, Darlington was able to scrap by and keep the legacy going, serving something and keep the roof over his head. It makes it less obvious then that he is also a survivor and has that same drive.

You can especially see it in the way he tries to prep himself (the exercises, the learning, the training) for the long awaited "grand adventure," the way he treats his study of the arcane (I mean seriously, you cannot paint that boy as the lawful good archetype if he decided to devote himself into brewing a mythic possibly fake archaic drink that might MIGHT let him see the great beyond just because he had to believe there was more to this life, he had nothing left to lose, and he just had to find out and couldn't be satisfied with only some instead of all), and even more clearly, the dream vision he is granted in Hell. Dawes gets a dream of academic success, Turner professional success, Darlington has a dream where his house is never empty and there is always more people, knowledge, and he finally knows the secrets of every mystery in the world. He just hides all this better. He has the polish, the East Coast rich vs LA rich, and the austere Puritanical upbringing that makes him seem as Alex puts it, "expensive." But the reason these two work (and the reason I am insane about it) is because of this shared character trait of never being satisfied and always wanting more (what's really interesting is Alex seems to want more comfort and security and Darlington wants more risk and adventure and that's what drives the conflict). I'm drawn to the parallel someone on here once said about how Darlington is a sword and Alex is a cannonball. Same effect just different methods. Different packaging. Add in the questions of who is the rabid dog, who is the soldier, the servant, the monarch, Dante, Virigil, Beatrice, Orpheus, and Eurydice? I just love how these two characters seem SO diametrically opposed at first glance but are actually so alike in childhood, character, and ambition.

[museofthepyre]

Every day I wake up with a start, drenched in a cold sweat, plagued by a reoccurring nightmare about the most baffling CHNT take I’ve ever seen, which basically went… ahem.

“So what if Jedidiah is avoiding and ignoring Sydney 😒? That’s not neglect, because he owes Sydney nothing. Jedidiah owes Sydney nothing. He has no obligation whatsoever to be there for Sydney, and it’s manipulative of Sydney to be upset about his absence.”

Ahhhhh yes. Indubitably. Y’know now that I think about it….

Y’know how food is used to symbolize love a lot in CHNT? And, do y’all remember file 18, when we got all those analogies for Sydney and Jedidiah’s current-day relationship in the form of childhood stories? Specifically that one where Jedidiah became so attached to a fruit fly that he couldn’t bare to let it go… so he put it in a container, kept it trapped, neglected to feed it, and watched it throw itself against the walls until it died of starvation?

Yeah. That starving insect was emotionally manipulating child Jedidiah by acting out in distress. I mean, throwing itself against the walls like that? Totally uncalled for. Jedidiah had absolutely no obligation to care for it. So what if he leaves it alone in there? That’s not neglect— he owes it nothing!!!!!

Wait. What do you mean he put the fly in the container. What do you mean he took on the responsibility of feeding it when he trapped it in a container, and took away its freedom to fly around and seek food for itself. All so he could keep the fly forever and never let it go. Without giving it a say, simply because he can’t handle saying goodbye. What do you mean the fly was acting erratically because it was starving and crying out for help. For the ONE PERSON who could feed it to just *notice*, and offer any sustenance at all. Or to just set it free. Errrrm… that’s actually emotional manipulation and we need to hold that villainous little fruit fly accountable.

Also side question what the fuck is a literary device and what do the words “analogy” and “metaphor” mean. What is that. Stop cursing at me. Those aren’t real words.

This couldn’t possibly be an “analogy” for how Jedidiah PREFORMED FORBIDDEN MAGIC ON SYDNEY to keep him “alive” and confined to the campgrounds (which he now cannot leave), simply because Jedidiah couldn’t bare to say goodbye. How he leaves him there to starve, all alone for 11 months out of the year, avoiding and ignoring him, PUTTING HIM IN THE CONTAINER AND NEGLECTING TO FEED HIM. Just looking in from the other side of the glass at his own convenience. Then being sad when Sydney acts out and withers, but never thinking to offer sustenance. Food being a metaphor for love, remember. Pfffffffft. That’s impossible and ridiculous!

Cough.

Also another side question what are themes and parallels. And why are there so many throwaway lines in CHNT lollllll like what significance does any of this have? Surely this has no deeper meaning.

Ok sarcastic bit over, that was painful. Media literacy is so dead it is fossilized in the deepest sedimentary layers of the earth’s crust. I’m sorry I hate getting fired up about this stuff but this strikes a NERVE in me.

Sydney has self-destructive and overall unhealthy responses to conflict, which often hurt more than help. Jedidiah owes Sydney his presence after ILLEGAL MAGIC-ING him into a state of pseudo-life and confinement to the campgrounds… for his own keepsake. Not to mention keeping him under the guise of a relationship, leaving him always reaching out an empty hand that’ll never find anything to hold.

They’re both flawed. This story has no blameless perfect protagonist. WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO BUY CLEAR CUT “GOOD GUY” AND “BAD GUY” NARRATIVES AT THE NUANCE STORE. Ok I’m done now

[redjademilktea]

I've talked about this before, but with the final episode of Downfall and the Cooldown that followed it I feel the need to write about it again.

The morality of saving the gods of Exandria was never going to be clear cut. Stopping Ludinus, stopping the Ruby Vanguard maybe. But there's an important conversation to be had about the nature of divinity that needs to be had. And Downfall makes this discourse more salient and pressing than it's ever been.

I really liked what Brennan brought up in the Cooldown, about "achieving enlightenment on their terms," or suffer the fate of "not being able to understand." The gods as they exist have protected and will continue to protect the way of being that allows for their continued existence. They dismiss anything that challenges that existence - anything that makes them confront the nature of mortality, as Brennan elegantly phrased it - as something not worth considering. As something that simply doesn't grasp what one needs to grasp to do what must be done.

And if doing what must be done means calling a truce in their great war. If that means collaborating with the very siblings on the opposing side of that conflict, which has led to so much loss of mortal life and desecration of the face of Exandria, then so be it. It has to be done. We are mere children, we wouldn't understand.

I'm reminded of Ann Stoler in her book "Along the Archival Grain," along with Avery Gordon's "Ghostly Matters." Both authors talk about the lengths and extents colonial states go to legitimate and justify their existence through the policing and curation of knowledge. It is in the best interest of the colonial state to produce and maintain knowledge that justifies its being. They are doing what they do because they define it to be right, to be just.

And those contradictions? The holes in colonial logic born out of the anxieties and fears of losing that legitimacy? Those inconsistencies that necessitate their reproduction and continued existence? Poor child, you do not understand. It is the right thing to do. There are things at play that are beyond fathoming for you. It simply must be this way. It is right for it to be this way. Fallicies and contradictions in colonial logic become justified and legitimated via the production of knowledge produced from the colonial archive to reproduce itself.

The knowledge of the divine killing weapon. The people, the complex, ephemeral, fleeting, textured, beautiful, pained, vibrant lives of those that held that knowledge. That knowledge that was spread to touch every soul on that floating city. All of it could not persist. For them to persist would mean the possibility of the way things are, the way things are ought to be from those who know better, could come to an end.

So it must be this way. The city must fall, despite its infinite arcane beauty. Lives must be lost, and so too must their chance for redemption, for a new beginning. All things must come to an end, if that means preserving the infinite. Family must persist. *They* must persist. And so it must be this way.

I say all this to highlight the fact that the morality underlying the theme of this campaign is not clear cut. The nature of it prevents that. The members of Bells Hells are not good or bad because some of them remain ambivalent to the existence of the gods. No single one of them is inherently right or wrong.

But you cannot argue there is a "right" answer when it comes to the gods. They simply are. Much like anything simply is. And what their existence means, especially for what it means to the lives of mortals on Exandria who must suffer the consequences of that divine existence, must be reckoned with.

I really am impressed with the bold scope of thematic ideas that Campaign 3 introduces and continues to grapple with. It is phenomenal story telling, and is strikingly resonant with the enmeshed struggles that permeate the very real world that informs the lives and experiences of its creators. All of them continue to blow me away every Thursday night!

[wlwanakin]

would love to hear your thoughts on this more 🙏

OH TOTALLY!!! there are quite a few angles i toy around with this from, but they’re all rooted in the basic premise of anakin not really knowing how to function in a non-hierarchical relationship because he’s never really had that. he went from one position of subjugation where he had a master to a nicer position of subjugation where he had a master and then he gave that position for a third position of subjugation where he had a master! out of all his important core relationships (sans anidala, i’m not getting into them just yet because this is about how his other relationships might inform that one) his only remotely normal one was his relationship with his mother, which is a relationship he had while they were enslaved. he looks to obi-wan to fill the shmi-shaped void, and obi-wan is his master, and when obi-wan cannot fulfill his emotional needs he turns to palpatine, someone who has utmost authority and is also grooming him and who eventually becomes his master. and these are not dynamics exactly comparable to slavery (early on that is, the sidious + vader dynamic certainly is!), but they are still dynamics with clear power differentials and there’s also the language overlap and that is not good for a young traumatized brain that needs to process things. and all this is gonna inform how he approaches relationships forever.

one idea i like to play with is the idea that anakin sometimes slips into viewing pretty much every relationship as some form of ownership or at least subjugation, there’s just a good kind and a bad kind. and if he’s in a particularly bad place he’ll start viewing his marriage with padmé in those terms. and more typically i think it’d just be a cause of conflict because he starts reading things as demands or misreading her as authoritative or even just thinks too hard about their positions relative to each other and that makes him snappy and defensive in a way that in his brain can slip into power play. but in a more fun and fucked up way i think he sometimes desires a total subjugation under her because it’s familiar and easy and he basically lives for her anyway. cuz like, the thing about being robbed of freedom and autonomy is that if it happens for long enough you just get used to it and accept it even if you do yearn for freedom, and sometimes “freedom” and “being controlled but in a way that’s nice and by the right person” are concepts that easily blur together if your brain is sufficiently scrambled. and whose brain is more scrambled than anakin’s?

where it really gets fun is when you consider vaderdala though, because his time as vader, more specifically palpatine’s treatment of vader, is possibly the most horrifically brain-scrambling experience anyone has ever been through. “total subjugation” doesn’t even sufficiently cover it. it’s a horrific loss of and violation of autonomy to an absurdly evil degree, and it’s one he basically just passively accepts because he has nothing left but that. and all this is being done to him by someone he still loves and cares for (literally the last person he even has to love and care for). so if you give him enough years of that + thinking padmé is dead and then you bring padmé back into the mix you cannot convince he’d know how to go back to having a normal marriage. the way i see it a vaderdala that happens at any point past, say, the 5 year mark of anakin being vader is one where vader essentially views the rekindling of the marriage as a transferred ownership and padmé as his best case scenario master. because after constantly falling into the hands of a new master and then subsequently losing his entire self to such a degree he’s basically just a sadist’s lab rat/attack dog who doesn’t even get to keep his own name i really think he’d just accept that maybe this is just what he’s meant to be and give up. and i don’t think padmé coming back would fix that, i think he’d just put her in an extremely uncomfortable position of basically viewing her as replacement palpatine and putting himself entirely at her mercy because he has genuinely forgotten how to be a person. like at a certain point the holes in vader’s brain are just too fucking big and his approach to love/marriage is basically “being owned but by my wife ❤️ yay ❤️”

[brujamala-aka-gigi]

Mid Week Energy Check

a pac reading made to provide insight into whats going on energetically around you or with you because sometimes it's not only about what you are responsible for, but also about the things that you cannot control yet influence your life.

pile 1. pile 2. pile 3.

images are from pinterest and dividers from @saradika-graphics

•☽────✧˖°˖Number 1 ˖°˖✧────☾•

Okay I see some drama, a lot of self indulgence and plenty of questionable economic decisions as a consequence. It seems like new beginnings are becoming more and more exciting, everything is new and shiny, there's no complaints so far, but I see some signs of a comedown from this high. Positivity might feel almost too forced and toxic, almost as if it's only there to hide and deceit you from more serious matters. There's nothing wrong with some excess on time to time I think, but don't get hooked on these feelings of intense and rapid happiness as in the long run, it won't serve your real purpose. Idealism at this moment seems to be more important than doing the actual work to pursue these ideals. Remain careful, as plenty of people who surround you are being lead to indulge in reckless behavior, not saying you shouldn't, just saying you should do it while being conscious of it. There will be a lot of talking, a lot of promises and many ideations of new ways to do the same, but don't get caught on that if you already see yourself deviating from your path. Expect some confrontational situations too, specially if you decide to call out anyone. This is a moment where your ability to find balance will be tested.

•☽────✧˖°˖Number 2 ˖°˖✧────☾•

You might feel like you have been left alone and betrayed, maybe by others or maybe by yourself. But more important than that, is the fact that your own personal power won't be affected for the long run. Don't allow the effects of someone's lack of morality and self esteem stain your own values and the way you perceive others. No need to get paranoid and look for who is going to backstab you either, they will show themselves pretty quickly by leaving your side if you tap in with a calmer approach to any insecurity you have. Don't focus on concealing your perceived weaknesses, focus on nurturing your strengths and showcasing them gracefully only when you know they are celebrated genuinely. Conflict could be inescapable some times, don't take it as something that should be solved by the conventionally aggressive ways, but more so as an opportunity to take assertive and strategic approaches when possible. If you are forced to be in situations where it seems impossible to keep it together and remain calm, don't be afraid to walk away and handle it whenever your mind is clear, as it's likely people might be waiting for you to loose your cool or testing your patience.

•☽────✧˖°˖Number 3 ˖°˖✧────☾•

As depressing as things might seem right now, the chance to move forward into safety will be granted as long as you are open to the idea of asking for the help of others, and letting them help you. Loneliness sometimes could be more of a feeling than a fact, you might not be able to see who is there to actually help you and guide you towards building stronger foundations to be at peace with yourself. It is also quite normal and understandable to feel isolated during periods of change. There's plenty for you to do in order to find fulfilment, but you will have to get in touch with a more creative side of you in order to find people who will accompany new journeys of emotional and spiritual development. You are not the type of person who has an easy time asking for others to be compassionate, but this moment might be nice to begin having compassion for yourself, understanding that it's impossible to keep a streak of overachievement forever, and you are not disappointing anyone by being tired or ill. Let those who celebrate your success, take care of you when that same success has made you tired.

•☽────✧˖°˖ THE END ˖°˖✧────☾•

Hiii, its me, Gigi (the tarot reader).

I hope this PAC reading was useful. I'm still figuring out how to make the Post itself pretty but so far this looks kinda okay i guess.

I'm thinking about making a themed ask game sometime on this blog, most likely during the weekend because i do feel like reading tarots for other people again eventually. Last time i read tarots online it was on reddit but i was kinda doing that as a part time job.

ANYWAYS: I hope everyone is doing amazing this week or at least not doing too bad and working on getting better. I'm so thankful for all the notes on my other PAC readings <3 i genuinely was expecting to just end up rambling about tarot into the void of tumblr i guess, but this was a nice surprise <3

Much love, Gigi <3

(btw if you feel like following me I'm trying to post tarot related blogs and PACS as often as possible, for those who asked and I couldn't reply yet: I still don't know if I'm putting up a tarot services menu thing, but I'm sure I'll end up doing a tarot ask thing this weekend) (btw if you feel like following me I'm trying to post tarot related blogs and PACS as often as possible, for those who asked and I couldn't reply yet: I still don't know if I'm putting up a tarot services menu thing, but I'm sure I'll end up doing a tarot ask thing this weekend)

｡ ﾟ ꒰ঌ ✦MASTERPOST & PAID SERVICES໒꒱ ༘*.ﾟ

[doginprogress]

Ok. Let’s talk lure coursing safety.

A pretty awful accident occurred during the lure coursing at UKC Premier this past week. I wanna make it clear that I cannot and will not be passing any kind of judgement on what happened. I was not there, I do not know many details other than the owner themselves called it a freak accident.

And the truth of lure coursing is that even if/when things are done perfectly, this kind of accident is always a possibility. There is a certain amount of risk you must weigh and decide to take when you decide to let your dog lure course.

1. Mechanical Risks - like with this accident, there is always the possibility for injury when coming in close proximity to a thin, tensioned wire running at speeds upwards of 30+ mph. Line burns on paws and lower legs are not uncommon, and many dogs run muzzled to prevent them from cutting their mouths when trying to bite a moving line. Azula has gotten tangled and line burnt after the line, loosened by wet conditions, popped off a pulley mid run. I myself have scars from some pretty awful line burn after a freak accident while setting up the field.

To help mitigate this risk, the huntmaster should always have a knife or scissors on hand and should be closely watching the dogs running so they can cut the line and release tension at any sign of a tangle. The lure operator should be highly trained and also be keeping out for any sign of danger so they can stop the lure when needed. As a competitor, make sure you are aware of the line at all times. Not only where it is, but when it is and isn’t moving. I try to never move my dog over a moving line, and when I am moving over a line, I am either taking extra tall steps or stepping on it to make sure I don’t trip (but, DO NOT step on a moving line). Try not to grab a line unless absolutely necessary and never ever ever grab a moving line - you will cut through your hands.

2. Other Dogs - lure coursing is one of the few (maybe the only?) dog sports where multiple dogs are competing at the same time potentially hundreds of yards away from their humans. It’s a high arousal and highly competitive environment, and this can lead to conflict between dogs. Sometimes this can be mitigated with muzzles and sometimes the dog should simply not be participating in lure coursing. If it is your dog that is aggressive and putting others at risk, please do not run them in the Open or Specials stakes. Dogs can have just as much fun running in singles and no title is worth potentially endangering your dog and others by running a dangerous dog.

However sometimes the risk comes simply from dogs running together at high speeds. Dogs can unintentionally bump into or trip each other, I’ve seen dogs leap over another in the field, tumble into each other while slowing down, and run into each other when they’re paying too much attention to the lure and not enough to the other dogs on the field. Sometimes unintentional contact happens and it’s important to recognize that too. There’s really not much that can be done in those cases.

3. Field Conditions - heat, rain, snow, height of grass, dry ground, rocks, trees, and the course plan itself can all pose issues when running. The club running the event should be continuously assessing these and doing what they can to alleviate the effects, but there’s a lot that you have to judge for yourself and what you know about your own dog. Wrapping paws or soaking them in water can help minimize injury due to dry ground, soaking a dog in water can help keep them cool on hot days, and knowing how your dog may handle tight turns can help you evaluate whether you should enter based on the plan for the course.

Fields with numerous trees or other obstacles are dangerous for dogs who may be paying more attention to the lure than their surroundings. If you’ve never been to the field before I highly suggest talking to someone was has to get a feel for what to expect.

4. Honest to God Freak Accidents - sometimes shit happens. A dog steps into a hole no one noticed and breaks their leg. A group of deer pop onto the field and your dog takes off after them, disappearing for hours. A dog with no prior indications has a cardiac event mid run, and is gone before anyone can even process that they’ve stopped running.

Sometimes there is absolutely nothing that could have been done differently and things just happen. It unfortunately is part of life and something that can be so hard to accept. Occasionally, there is no rhyme or reason, no blame to lay. When you go to that coursing event and run your dog, you’re entrusting that a lot of the risk has been mitigated for you by those running the event. That’s why it’s so important to know who that is and what experience they have.

But beyond that, you are assuming some amount of gambling by participating in lure coursing. The sport itself has dangers that cannot be managed away. But so does agility, and flyball, and disc, and dock diving, and any other sport of any kind. This does not mean that any of these things should be discontinued, but that you should not take any of these lightly and consider the risks vs the rewards, both personal and for your dog. Lure coursing has unfortunately become fairly available to do on a whim in recent years when it is truly something you should be heavily educated about before choosing to participate.