#pero era el niño

[lectordemaldiciones]

Para el niño que nunca pudo leerme:

papá, aún persigo mis sueños.

Sir. Samuel

[peaceeandcoolestvibes]

Sinceramente, es para reírse

JAJAJAJ fan de este tío y su entusiasmo 😂 no es por NADA, pero yo de vosotros estudiaría leyes por iniciativa propia, no os digo de estudiar derecho pero si, sería muy útil porque os la meten doblada por ahí y no os enteráis

Aparte siempre cuando sale un producto al mercado hay fases previas y luego está la fase postlanzamiento (pero esto en todo) la farmacovigilancia se la pasaron x el forro porque hay un % de efectos adversos al que puede llegar un producto para ser retirado del mercado, pues no. Aquí te las metían por el culo si las pedías 💚 yo me puse a mirar bases de datos (patentes + componentes químicos + efectos adversos en 2020 y OJOOOO quien es un ignorante es porque quiere, la información está disponible en todos los lados)

#OpinoLiteralmenteIgual #DaleCanario #TengoUnAmigoCanarioYSonLaPolla #TeQuieroNelsoooooon #FuePadreYMueroConSuAngelitoDeHija 🥹

#VirgosAreTheShit #MyMoonIsInVirgoAndItIsWhatItIs #Hermanooooooo

#EnFinVanAVolverAHacerLoMismo…SiCaeisOtraVezSiQueSoisProfundamenteSubnormales

#YSiempreDigoQueTomareXDecisionYExplicarPorque #EnElTrabajoEnClaseEnMiVidaPersonalY99%DeLasVecesTengoRazonYMeLaDan #🧠

#IgualQueAlgunosQueSeQuejanDeTumoresQueAparecenEnSusMascotas #CoñoSiBakunaisSinPararALosPerrosPuesNormalMeCagoEnVosotros #NoOsDaisCuenta

#TengoAmigasDesdeLos12YSonSuperListasPeroMachoNoCaigasMas

Nah, que es culpa de los gases que echan las vacas, la vdd que me cago en vosotros 😂

La última vez que miré el vaers habían 1 million y pico de efectos adversos………. Y esto fue en 2021/2022 💀 no tiene buena pinta eh

[ladycerise]

Vengo a que me cuentes de Giacomo!!!

1, 8, 14, 16

Thanks!

Uy, ¡allá vamos! Es un poquito largo.

GIACOMO A. BIANCHI:

How does your OC feel about their full name?

Esta es buena porque tengo todo sobre su nombre y Giacomo está bien consciente de todo eso, pero para hablar de lo que él siente, hay que mirar en el trasfondo.

Su nombre real y completo (puesto por los Bianchi) es Giacomo III Arsenio Raimundo Bianchi De Rovere.

Giacomo en español es Jaime. Así es, es el Jaimito. En sí el nombre también significa «el que suplanta», «suplantador» o «quitar a otro del medio». Lo que para los Bianchi (y a mí) les ha parecido lógico. Giacomo ha suplantado a un primogénito de sangre, porque es adoptado (sabemos que no es un Bianchi genuinamente sino que se construyó a base del apellido). Y sin embargo, el primer Giacomo (porque es el tercero claro, hay más Giacomo's), también es un suplantador de otro y así sucesivamente. Lo curioso es que, el primer Giacomo que vendría siendo su abuelo, se casó con una Bianchi. Pero su hijo que es Giacomo IV, va a suplantarlo y por ende, es el heredero definitivo para desgracia del otro gemelo (?)

Arsenio (esa A misteriosa) lo ha escogido sin duda su padre a base del negocio. Giacomo es un arsénico en vida porque trabaja con minerales, aspira cosas que no debería, está expuesto siempre al peligro y así lo piensa él. Agradece el nombre que no implica suplantar a nadie. Pero es que, se trata de un nombre ya nerdy de la familia porque el arsénico, se encuentra por ejemplo: en el oro. Entre más cosas, sino se me hace un listado eterno. Raimundo es el nombre secreto que le ha puesto su madre Lucrezia, pero Giacomo lo prefiere mil veces y aún asi no habla de esas cosas porque es como hablar de su ropa interior, sin embargo, es otra manera de que se sienta único entre tantos Giacomo. Pero en silencio amaría que lo apoden Rei, o Mundo (para sentirse mundano, menos semidios). No, no tiene quejas de su nombre porque está seguro que de tener nada a todo es una cosa bárbara para alguien tan avaricioso. Ni siquiera le molestaría ponerse más nombres, se siente como que puede ser más personas pero siempre, siempre es solo Giacomo.

8. How much jewelry do they wear, and do they have a favorite or distinguishing piece?

Giacomo es el perfecto ejemplo del refrán: «En casa de herrero, cuchillo de palo». Está tan ocupado haciendo joyas a todos, incluso más a su esposa Cecilia, que no tiene tiempo de mirarse en el espejo y decidir portar algo propio (porque no va a portar una joya que hizo otro joyero, la competencia es durísima); entonces, no, Giacomo no porta ninguna joya ostentosa excepto dos.

1) Su anillo de matrimonio, porque es lo único que tiene un valor muy alto en cuánto a sentimientos, precio, costo, y tiempo invertido. Giacomo pasó meses creandola a su gusto, nada le convenció pero sin duda lo dejó más humilde de lo que se espera. Tiene una inscripción dentro del anillo, al que no deja que nadie lea, solo a Cecilia. SIN EMBARGO, cuando alguien le regala joyas (del valor que sea) Giacomo le hace un lugar especial porque entiende que esta persona (amigo o amiga) no puede arruinar una sorpresa si se lo encarga a él. Giacomo entraría en colapso, pero sin duda sería gracioso que pasara (por favor, que alguien le encargue una joya para sí mismo o nunca llevará una).

2) Gemelos de oro con el emblema de su casa. Fue un regalo que le hizo su padre al casarse, y Giacomo esto lo tomó como una señal definitiva de muchas cosas para él: Ya no sería un Rey sin Reina, también no estaría solo en su vida, y cuando llegaron sus hijos (los gemelos), aumentó el valor de su accesorio.

14. What attributes do they have that are inherited from their parents or shared with their siblings/other relatives?

No comparte nada físico con nadie de los Bianchi por obviedad, pero en cuánto a personalidad (ya que ha absorbido su entorno) a su padre Giacomo II. Se parecen muchísimo. Ambos callados, negociantes, respetan a sus esposas y no tienen miedo de deshacerse de la moral si el momento es para eso. No duden que él habría matado a Lorenzo con tal de callarlo, pero no es de caballero ensuciarse o ensuciar un evento importante.

Perooooo no puede evitar tener en su sangre los rasgos de Vessel, a veces su ambición es tanta que le duele. Se obsesiona con todo, quiere todo lo que pueda conseguir pero cuando se trata de relaciones eso está más suave (por suerte el amor de sus padres no le hizo tan inhumano), aunque igual, ve sus amistades y vínculos como posesiones, como algo que debe mantener para no decaer, los ve como clientes en su vida, mas eso no implica que no sepa cuidarlas. Todo lo contrario, hace contratos mentales, escribe cláusulas de cómo debería la relación funcionar sin decirle nada al otro. Pero si alguien le pregunta, no duda en poner delante un escribano y papel para guardar o presumir en privado que son amigos (extremista, pero estaría seguro de que la amistad tiene una firma o un pacto). También aprendió gracias a sus hermanastros lo que debe y no hacer.

¿Su madre biológica? Se asemeja en ciertas manías con él, o cuando detesta a la nobleza por ser tan hipócrita. Poco detallista en cosas, como si viera todo sucio (irónico porque Giacomo si que ama el lujo pero todo le da un valor específico). Su verdadera madre siquiera la conoció, porque era bebé cuando lo abandonaron frente a un templo, aunque sí, tiene cosas de ellas que nunca sabrá.

16. How has their childhood affected the way they view an aspect of their life (people, education, society, themselves, etc)?

Muchísimo. Los Bianchi quisieron demostrar que un «don nadie» puede ser tan importante como cualquiera que tenga sangre noble. Gracias a eso, Giacomo se creyó capaz de devorar el mundo (já, siendo un introvertido, el mundo puede quemarse mientras él juega a hacer joyitas).

Por eso, Giacomo podría ser un poco antisistema de la realeza, o un ermitaño, porque detesta las fiestas, más que nada por lo que llegan a decir de otros, detestando los matrimonios arreglados, detestando los Edictos o que nadie pueda hablar de como se pueden sentir sin que alguien tenga que señalar con el dedo que eso es significa ser frágil. No le gusta nada lo que ve, todo gracias a sus familiares y otros que también lo han escupido por sus ojos dorados; es que tampoco es normal lo que a veces llega a decir. O sentir. O pensar. Es que su cabeza solo ve puro negocio, lo que puede parecer superficial pero para quien es tan intenso, no lo es.

Aún así, él no pretende tampoco romper demasiado el molde porque ante todo, el dinero viene con los clientes y esas joyas no se venden solas. En eso se esfuerza porque su padre le enseñó a manipular, su madre le enseñó sobre identificar sus emociones y sus hermanastros, lograron que pudiera guardar sus pensamientos más crudos. Lamentablemente, a veces le nace ser literal o muy incapaz de entender lo que siente (y es que para locura en un mundo de fantasía, da mucho jugo por dónde exprimir).

Y no puede todavía tumbar ese muro, él no puede cambiar a nadie, y él no está interesado porque nadie va a darle nada por hacerlo (siendo interesado y cuidadoso con su tiempo, si le pagan quizá si se mueve). Por otro, también ha sabido cuidar lo que considera que realmente tiene un valor especial, como el amor, la familia y ma amistad. Sabe que eso no lo compra el dinero ni ningún dios se lo puede dar, aún si visión sea incorrecta o retorcida.

[notninani]

intentando escribir el lore del AU de "rin criado por iblis" me di cuenta de que todo es demasiado deprimente.

rin tiene tan lavado el cerebro que es jodidamente OOC y eso me molesta

[multishipper-baby]

Hoy estuve pensando en todos mis headcanons que tengo para Red y Fox, lo cual me llevo a la conclusión de que Fox probablemente nunca imagino que su hermano llegaría a tener una familia- mucho menos una feliz.

[thefulcrumfiles]

Mientras leía the lost hero me llegó una memoria de que creo Jason se queda con calypso y yo como de WEY NOOOO, yo lo quiero con piper :(

[horrorwebs]

alguien se acuerda de la leyenda del duende que secuestraba niños y tenia los pies al reves?

[yume-fanfare]

confesión random de hoy, ahora que no tengo que hacer yo los cuadernillos, la verdad es que me gusta mucho las cosas que sacan los de rubio

[micallum]

I was tagged by @safetycarlando thanks for including me! ☺️

rules: put your entire music library on shuffle and list the first 10 songs that come up.

I used my liked songs too. Let’s go!

I’m tagging a couple of people only but I’m NOT forcing you guys! @percervall @oscar-piastri

[latinotiktok]

Propaganda:

Jesus

Jesucristo; hay una canción Venezolana que dice "Si la virgen fuera Andina/Y San José de los Llanos/Él niño Jesús sería/Un niño Venezolano" that's it that's my propaganda

Jesucristo. Send tweet

La familia Addams

-La familia Addams, son tan cool y no son tóxicos para nada merecemos representación positiva de familia y el padre se llama Gómez (uno de los apellidos más latinoamericano)

-Morticia de los Locos Addams. Hay muchos headcanons por ahí de que los Addams son latinos pero nunca vi nada de alguno argentino. El actor que hizo de Gomez en las películas de los 90s era brasilero entonces In My Heart Gomez es brasilero tmb. Asi que Morticia es argentina porque ARGENTINA X BRASIL 🇦🇷🇧🇷 (y porque yo soy argentina y cualquier personaje que me guste se vuelve argentino porque lo digo yo)

[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?

Next >>>

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?”

[youngtimemachineheart]

Una de las cosas que más me gustaba de la relación de Talullah y de Missa era que por mucho tiempo Talullah estuvo lidiando con sentimientos de culpabilidad por sentirse una carga para su propia familia, ya que ella siempre debía ser protegida y sentía que la gente a su alrededor la trataba con extra cuidado debido a su historia.

PERO cuando Missa llegó. El jamas la trato como algo frágil, debido a su naturaleza de wet cat *jaja* él tuvo que ser ayudado muchas veces por ella.

Y sabes cual fue el primer dibujo que hizo Missa de Talullah??

fue un dibujo de ella -No como una niña frágil- Missa la dibujo como una guerrera. Y le dijo que ella era su protectora, una guerrera fuerte.

Esa fue una de las primeras veces que alguien la vio y no vio una niña frágil, sino vio a alguien valiente, fuerte, y que no solo debe ser protegida sino que es capaz de proteger a otros.

Missa probablemente no lo supo, pero sin querer su naturaleza ayudó a Talullah. Missa fue honesto y la retrató como él la veía y ella vio su honestidad. Al fin ella era vista.

Missa y Talullah eran ambas personas que se sentían menos, por siempre necesitar ser protegidos, por no dar suficiente. Pero a pesar de ello Missa siempre intentaba ser más que solo el wet cat, y ayudó a ver a Talullah que era más de lo que ella pensaba.

Ambos necesitaban conocerse, Missa era parte crucial de la familia.

Gracias a su sensibilidad ayudó a Chayanne a seguir siendo un niño y a Talullah a verse más allá de sus complejos.

[multishipper-baby]

En el tema de babies y esas cosas, me preguntó que sentirá Eze de todo eso, siendo que él no tiene ni pareja ni interés en formar una familia

[lilith-kruger]

La princesa Daella, la siguiente, era delicada y tímida. Fácilmente atemorizable y pronta al llanto, no pronunció su primera palabra hasta casi los dos años, y aun después hablaba con media lengua con frecuencia. Su hermana Maegelle se convirtió en su estrella guía; adoraba a su madre, la reina, pero parecía que su hermana Alyssa la aterraba, y se arrebolaba y ocultaba el rostro en presencia de los niños mayores.

[florinaranja]

Holaaaa, primero que nada escribes INCREÍBLE, me encanta tu redacción, cuando encontré tu blog mori por qué quería leer más trabajos tuyos y no encontré, ánimo.

Y segundo quería pedirte algo con pipeeee, es un golden tiernon, no sé, se me ocurre algo como una fiesta post partido de fut y que Pipe sea medio reservado, pero por estar tan feliz, no pueda esconder el PDA y se la pase buscando contacto físico inocente y al final no le importe nada estar sobre, mostrando afecto frente a sus amigos.

Espero con ansias leer todos los trabajos a futuro que escribas. 🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽

afición de enamorados ; felipe otaño

pairing: felipe otaño x fem!r

summary: ¿qué hay mejor que pasar un día muy futbolístico y amoroso con tu novio pipe? exacto, nada. 1.6k.

warnings: none!! puro fluff como debe ser

n/a: muchas gracias por el request! siento la tardanza, los exámenes me consumen viva. espero que te guste muchísimo y de verdad muchas gracias por el apoyo y tu mensaje😢 me ha hecho super feliz y motivado un montón!! love u!!! also esto creo que es obvio, pero soy española así que siento que no tengan el habla argentina🙏 i'm trying

nunca hubiera pensado que se emocionaría viendo un partido de fútbol, pero ahí estaba ella: gritando a puro pulmón cada vez que la pelota recaía en los pies de su novio. ahora entendía la euforia que sentía felipe cada vez que veía un partido de river, equipo del que era hincha hasta la raíz, y este ganaba. 

alegrarse por su novio no cambiaría el hecho de su poca afición futbolística, pero de vez en cuando era divertido pasar la tarde gritando como una loca apoyándolo. es un tipo de orgullo explosivo, eso era indiscutible. 

no era más que un partido entre amigos, una forma más de pasar el tiempo. pero felipe estaba corriendo decidido hacia la portería contraria, esquivando con agilidad a los contrincantes y con el sudor de un ganador corriéndole por la frente; y maría, desde su posición de espectadora, tenía los puños apretados y se iba levantando poco a poco de la grada hasta que felipe marcó gol. la chica pegó un salto emocionada, aclamando el último punto que le daba la victoria al equipo de su novio. 

bajó corriendo las escaleras hasta llegar a las vallas que la separaban del césped, esperando a que todos los amigos de felipe acabaran de felicitarlo. en cuanto terminaron, el joven se escabulló y dirigió directo hacia su novia, como un perrito que regresa a traerle la pelota a su amo. maría lo recibió con una amplia sonrisa. acunó su cara entre sus manos y comenzó a llenarlo de besos sonoros por toda la cara, casi pareciendo una madre orgullosa. 

—¡has estado increíble, cariño! eres bueno en todo lo que haces, que lo sepas —pipe rio acalorado, bien por el cansancio y el calor del verano o por las palabras cariñosas de la joven—. además me hace tan feliz verte disfrutar así, como un niño pequeño… 

maría se encontró con sus ojos azules, melosos. jugaba con los piquitos ondulados que se formaban en la nuca de su chico con una sonrisa tonta y felipe no pudo aguantar más sin sentir sus labios contra los suyos. se inclinó por encima de la valla y cogió firmemente una de las mejillas de la chica, entremezclándose en un beso de simple amor. 

los silbidos de los amigos de pipe no tardaron en llegar, como era lo normal. pipe cortó el beso y se giró hacia ellos, sacándoles el dedo. —no se cansan de joder ustedes. 

volvió a dirigirse a su novia. —esta noche los chicos y yo pensamos en celebrar la victoria y ya de paso ver el partido de river. ¿qué decís?

ella entrelazó sus manos. —si dijera que no a pasar tiempo contigo estaría loca. 

llegó la noche y la pareja estaba lista para la larga celebración que les esperaba en casa de uno de los amigos de felipe. lo primero que hizo su novio al entrar en la casa fue tirarse en el sofá, ansioso y con los colores rojo y blanco de su camiseta vibrando más que de costumbre. no era lo mismo que verlo en el estadio donde el ambiente estaba cargado de los gritos de los aficionados, pero si estaba con su chica cualquier cosa era extraordinaria. se giró por encima del sofá a mirarla, estaba charlando con otra chica y, cómo no, estaba radiante. cada vez que la veía, le era imposible no pensar que era todo lo que necesitaba con él, la chica de sus sueños. se acomodó bien, de nuevo enfrentando la televisión, mientras se mordía el labio intentando reprimir las ganas que tenía de besarla allí mismo. 

nunca habían sido del tipo de parejas que están pegadas todo el rato, uno encima del otro, sino que guardaban los momentos más íntimos y cargados de emoción para la mera presencia del otro. no es que no se mostraran cariñosos en público, siempre paseaban con las manos entrelazadas y se robaban besos cada vez que podían, pero el verdadero sentimiento que se tenían se daba en la soledad de su hogar.

el partido comenzó a las nueve en punto. fue acompañado por pizzas y fernet, las risas de los amigos (entre las que maría siempre destacaba la de felipe) y la pura afición que solo el fútbol conlleva. cuando su equipo marcó el primer gol, los bramidos se escucharon por todo el vecindario. felipe no cabía en su felicidad. buscó con la mirada a su novia, quien ya se encontraba mirándolo y le hizo una seña con el brazo mientras gesticulaba “vamos”. con ese simple acto, se le llenó el pecho de una alegría abrumadora. incluso llegaron a subírsele los colores y a cosquillearle la barriga, como si fuera la primera vez que hablaba con la chica que tanto le gustaba. 

le recorrió la necesidad de cogerla, apretujarla y dejar el partido de lado para susurrarle al oído y oír sus risitas en respuesta. pero lo único que hizo fue darle una sonrisa en respuesta y volver a sentarse en el sofá cuando el ambiente ya se había calmado. 

hasta que marcaron el segundo gol a favor de su equipo, el chico echó en falta algo, o mejor dicho alguien. de vez en cuando se le colaba por el rabillo de ojo la imagen de su novia charlando con uno de sus amigos —desde el primer momento se llevó bien con todos ellos y es que, ¿quién podría no hacerlo?— y en su mente solo podía pensar en tenerla cerca. así que, aprovechando la nueva emoción, felipe pegó un salto del sofá y se acercó a la chica. le tendió la mano y esta la aceptó gustosa aunque extrañada. la condujo hasta el sofá y miró a los dos chicos que lo ocupaban.

—échate para allá, dale. 

su amigo lo hizo, no sin antes lanzarle algún que otro insulto cariñoso y burlarse de él. ahora, con maría a su lado la noche de felipe solo había mejorado. no quería hacer tan obvio que estaba anhelando el tacto de la piel suave de su novia pero falló irremediablemente. mantuvo sus manos entrelazadas y acercó su rostro al cuello de ella, descansando en su aroma a lavanda. 

la joven rio por lo bajo por las cosquillas que su pelo le hacía y llevó su mano libre a su cabeza, acariciando cada mechón de pelo castaño.

—¿y este repentino cambio tan amoroso? —el chico suspiró.

—siempre puedes volver a irte si quieres, amor —siseó juguetón felipe, para luego dejar un casto beso en su cuello. 

por nada del mundo la chica se iría de ahí. se acurrucó contra él, intentando tener el mayor contacto que podía. estaba disfrutando esta muestra pública de cariño como la que más, era un hecho. 

sin embargo, las cosas comenzaron a complicarse para los rojiblancos. el equipo contrario había remontado acabando en empate, teniendo solo quince minutos de prórroga para ganar. el ambiente en el pequeño salón se notaba preocupado. felipe apretaba la mano de su novia con fuerza cada vez que veía un gol cerca aunque terminara en nada. cuando ya quedaban cinco minutos y todo los chicos habían aceptado la derrota, un jugador de river marcó, dándoles la victoria. 

todos los amigos que se habían reunido aquella noche saltaron exaltados, incluso maría se alegró por los vencedores. los chicos comenzaron a corear mientras saltaban, con unas enormes sonrisas plasmadas en sus caras y la joven esperó que felipe se les uniera. en cambio, fue sorprendida por un agarre brusco que la hizo girar para encontrarse con sus labios estampados contra los de su chico. correspondió a su beso, brusco y desaliñado por la emoción del momento, con su agarre fuerte en sus caderas derritiéndola por completo. 

al separarse, maría cogió una bocanada de aire jadeando. tampoco le dio tiempo a mucho más, porque pipe la tomó levántandola del suelo y girándola por el aire. la sala se inundó de sus risas.

—¡pipe, bájame! voy a vomitar la pizza.

el joven obedeció sin mucha resistencia y le plantó otro beso y otro y otro y así hasta que un carraspeo los interrumpió. —no bueno, si queréis nos vamos y os dejamos solos.

felipe reaccionó como hacía apenas unas horas: le mostró el dedo del medio. nadie le dio mucha importancia y la celebración continuó. maría alcanzó la mano de su novio y le sonrió. 

—quiero pasar toda mi vida contigo, cariño. acompañarte a todos los partidos de fútbol solo para verte así de feliz, a todos los castings que quieras… no sé, no puedo imaginar no estar a tu lado. es algo raro para decirte justo ahora, pero es que me lleva rondando la mente por un tiempo, quiero que sepas lo mucho que significas para mí. 

—nena, algún día de estos vas a matarme —le regaló un beso en la mejilla—,  no puedes ser más perfecta. no puedo esperar para que pasemos juntos toda la vida. 

la joven se colgó de su cuello y esta vez fue ella quien inició el beso: lento, saboreado, rosado. 

y así continuaron el resto de la madrugada, más melosos que unos recién enamorados, siempre a menos de cinco centímetros el uno del otro. al final, ni siquiera ellos podían escapar de la necesidad de sentirse cerca, no importaba el público o la situación. y qué decir que después de esa noche, maría comenzó a ver los partidos de fútbol con más cariño.

[miskhalie]

Una tarde tranquila - Enzo Vogrincic x Reader

Pairing: Enzo Vogrincic Advertencias: ¿insinuaciones? Solo fluff

Era un miércoles por la tarde. El sol brillaba aun a estas horas de la tarde, era verano y los días se habían alargado por lo que el sol no llegaba a irse del todo. Además hacia un calor que calentaba las zonas áridas, por lo que tu novio, Enzo, y tú habías decidido quedar en el parque, donde regaban el césped y había una fuente donde los niños se bañaban.

Os sentasteis sobre el césped aún seco y empezasteis a hablar sobre la nueva película que había empezado a rodar. Un drama sobre un avión siniestrado en los Andes. Su personaje se moría por lo que no podías dejar de burlarte, pensando que solo sería otro cameo de los suyos. Otro extra que moría de fondo, pensabas. Pero esta vez te equivocabas. De hecho te lo explicaba mientras tu desplegabas la manta para sentaros.

Este tiene mucho recorrido, seguramente hasta el final de la película. - sonrió altivo.

Quizás no te echan porque les da pena decírtelo. - una vez estirada os sentabais sobre ella y sacabais lo que habías traído para merendar, organizando un pequeño picnic.

Muy graciosa - dijo riendo sarcásticamente.

Decidiste hacer fresas con chocolate para que cubrir los antojos de tu novio desnutrido. No podía comerlo, pero no tenían porque saberlo, además, Enzo nunca te decía que no, ya que te veía preocupada. él había traído coco cortado y frutos secos. Pero, a última hora, compró dulces porque sabía que te encantaban las gominolas. Tú también decidiste traer algo más cuando lo viste en la panadería, unas galletas caseras con frutos secos.

Enzo cogió una galleta y se la llevó a la boca. Su flequillo le cubrió la frente y tú se lo colocaste detrás de su oreja.

Estas precioso hoy, espero que no te hayan agobiado mucho las mujeres por el camino. - cogiste una fresa y la rodeaste con tus labios. Enzo cogió aire al verlo. El jugo te caía por los labios y el chocolate cubría tu boca como un delicioso pintalabios. Era un hombre después de todo, no podía resistirse a tus encantos.

Te besó suavemente, saboreando el gusto de tu boca. Fresa, chocolate y tú. No era mala combinación.

Y algunos hombres. - admitió avergonzado. Aún no había triunfado con su film y ya se echaban sobre él. Tú reíste, apoyándote en tus codos para tumbarte al igual que hacía él.

Aunque no daba mucho el sol donde os habíais tumbado, se te podía ver el pecho saliendo de las copas de tu sostén por debajo de la blusa blanca transparentosa. Traviesa, habías decidido llevar un sostén rosa pastel para que Enzo se muriera al verte. Pero esta vez, aun que lo había notado, te miraba melancólico a los ojos y besaba tus labios sin una pizca de lujuria, sino que con cariño. No era inusual, ya que la debilidad de su cuerpo en ayuno lo ponía más cursi de lo normal. Así que lo disfrutabas en silencio, como si fuera un cervatillo y en cualquier momento pudiera asustarse.

Te quiero - simplemente dijiste.

Yo también te amo. - dijo él con los ojos cerrados a la vez que acariciabas su mejilla.

Ayer te había mandado un mensaje de lo mucho que te quería y de lo importante que eras en su vida. Le había parecido necesario debido a que una de las escenas de la película lo había puesto sensible. La escena donde Liliana Methol moría.

Y justo cuando os ibais a dar un beso, se conectaron los aspersores y os mojaron enteros. Por suerte, tu falda vaquera no dejo ver nada, pensaste mirándola. Levantaste la cabeza y viste a tu novio mojado, con sus músculos rígidos bajo su remera blanca y su pelo semi-largo mojado sobre su frente. Tragaste saliva. Tu tampoco eras inmune a la belleza de ese hombre.

Te dieron ganas de llevártelo a casa y hacerle suplicar por ti. Pero te acordaste de que hoy era un día tranquilo para él.

¿Podemos ir a casa? - se mordió el labio. Quizás al final no estaba tan tranquilo.