#trickster...so on can be so fucking helpful

[bard-of-spiders]

Protecting Isobel, really we just need sanctuary, fireball, and a karlach at least.....

everyone else is just meat sheilds for the moon lesbian.

[mythalism]

from @/elfbotanist on twitter who is posting from trick's bluesky; they elaborated a bit on exactly what the intention of the solavellan ending is

[haunted-doodles]

Girl help my dog's angry that I still haven't finished listening to PD

[shidoukanae]

drawing for a scene in the TME light novel (specifically, Paris helping out Lyla!!).

I drew this scene immediately after I read it because oh my god of all the things I was expecting from Paris's first introduction, him lending a (unneeded) helping hand to Lyla was NOT what i thought his first introduction would be like

[rivilu]

The more I think about the story through Daeran's pov the more insane i go. btw.

[kquil]

PERFECT MATCH PART 2

PAIR. : poly!marauders x female slytherin reader

SUM. : despite being from Slytherin, as a fellow prankster, you give the marauders a helping hand

LENGTH : 1.2k

PART 1 | NAVI.

NOT PROOFREAD OR EDITED

Peter had blown their cover, and now the boys were running from Slughorn, who had caught them red-handed, switching the necessary ingredients for the next potion class. They should have known that Peter wasn’t the best choice for a lookout, considering he was the first to get caught and promptly given detention with Filch. As they were running away, however, their camaraderie lingered when Peter called out to them, hoping they wouldn’t be caught. 

The remaining three marauders make a valiant effort to run away as fast as possible. Remus stays a good few metres ahead of James and Sirius, his hidden athleticism sparking in only the most dire straits. Despite the potential threat of detention, the three grin widely through the chase; Sirius has the gall to laugh at the sheer amount of fun he’s experiencing. The freedom to break the rules and run freely from the consequences – only light penalisation in his eyes – was invigorating. None of them believe they would ever willingly stop their practical jokes, even Remus, no matter how much he denies it.

Racing through the halls with their youth pumping through their veins, Remus, James and Sirius make it so that Slughorn is considerably far behind them before slowing down. Between laboured breaths, they try to sort out their next move but quickly run out of time. Slughorn was quickly approaching according to their map and they resorted to hiding in a darkened hallway they don’t normally walk down. Consumed by the rush, they had managed to make it down to the dungeons just as you stepped out of the hallway they had barely hidden in.

They weren’t very good hiders but it was amusing so you kept your lips sealed despite your mischievous nature urging you to press them with questions. Your answer came swiftly in the form of Professor Slughorn, out of breath and keeling over with sweat drenching his brows. 

So that’s what’s happening~ 

Immediately understanding the situation, you step out of the hallway to face your gasping head of house and restrain a devious giggle at the sight of the marauders’ widened eyes. They’ve seen you, see them hiding. They’re also familiar with your artfully scheming ways likened to their marauder group’s mischief; the fact that you’re a Slytherin, however, doesn’t bode well. Fuck…were you gonna out them? 

You don’t need any prompting, already directing the professor before he’s managed to catch his breath, “Oh Professor~ by the way, if you’d really like to know…” Slughorn eyes you after finally catching his breath. Through the fog of his exhausted mind, he finds himself eagerly awaiting your direction, almost having forgotten why he was in his current state in the first place, “they went that way,” you point to the right, the opposite direction of the three tricksters. James, Remus and Sirius release a collective breath of relief but remain eager to see how the interaction may unfold further. 

“Who did?” Slughorn asks, trying to navigate the smog of fatigue clogging up his brain. 

“The marauders,”

“They did?” your potions professor brightens at the revelation. You guess he’s finally rediscovered his initial intentions. But woe is me~ can he trust you so easily? 

“They did what?” you tilt your head innocently, casually continuing the conversation as if you hadn’t just thrown him for a loop with that curveball of a question. 

“Went that way?” he points right, perplexed at your sudden change. It seems Professor Slughorn was still foggy in the head from his sapped stamina and the boys had to bite their lips from bursting out laughing – you’re a menace. 

“Who did?” you ask, pulling the most innocuous expression the boys have ever seen a Slytherin muster. Have you grown more beautiful since their last interaction? They can’t help but keep staring at your sweet face and pretty, pouty lips…

“The marauders!” Slughorn insists but you continue your oblivious stance. 

“What marauder?”

“But didn’t you just say?-- Oh never mind,” Slughorn gives up the chase and turns with a dull swish of his robes. For now, he’s satisfied that he, at least, managed to get Pettigrew. As soon as Slughorn was far enough away, you turn back to the crouching marauders and give them a wink, signalling that the coast was clear. 

“My fair lady!” Sirius dramatically bows down and kisses your knuckles, “How may I ever repay your kind gesture?”

“Hmmm…” you seem to seriously contemplate his playful words for a moment, though Sirius doesn’t mind, he’s more than eager to pay you back for saving his hide. “Let’s see…” You press your hand flat against his chest and slowly move down. The sultry overtones of your gesture make Sirius’ heart pound as he, Remus and James stare wide-eyed and gaping at your soft hands fondling their close friend’s chest. Suddenly your hand becomes a blur as you pull back his robe and steal a licorice wand from his inner breast pocket. “This’ll do~” you chirp innocently and begin to nibble on your newly acquired snack. “I can always count on you to be generous, Siri,” your wink sends a dangerous heat crawling up Sirius’ neck and exploding across his pale cheeks. This has never happened to him with a girl before! He’s supposed to make you flustered! 

Turning to Remus, you make a gesture with your hand as if to say ‘pay up’. However, when the tall brunette merely stares at you in wonder with a small, amused quirk on his lips, you raise a brow, “I know you’re loaded, Lupin. Gimme the goods,” and just like that, you also have Remus turning bright pink. How can you be so nonchalant and not realise the embarrassingly sexual innuendos underpinning your words?! Remus surrenders a peppermint toad. 

James was the last one of the three you turn to as you pocket Remus’ liberal offer. “You don’t have to ask me, for anything,” James chuckles and easily provides you with a handful of Fizzing Whizzbees. With a victorious smile, like a cute little squirrel who’s happy with her hoard, you pocket James’ addition and lean forward to brush a kiss along his sharp jaw. 

“I knew I could count on you, Potter,” 

James was floored. Sirius had to lean against the wall and Remus was limp against the large window sill. All three stare with a mix of surging admiration and boyish wonder as you walk away with a skip in your step. You’re so happy, you even begin to hum a soft little tune to yourself. 

“...wait… how come only James gets a kiss?” Remus asks, bringing Sirius back from his dazed state. James merely smirks in triumph – he’ll remember the softness of your pretty lips against his skin forever~

“Dearest!” Sirius calls, already jogging after you. “I think you’ve forgotten something!” 

“Yeah,” Remus adds with a cheeky grin, leisurely making his way over with James at his side, drawling in his Welsh accent, “gives us a cusan,” 

“What’s that?” you’ve stopped, curious as to what he may mean. From his tall height, Remus leans forward, bending at his hips and whispers in your ear. 

“That’s a kiss, sweetheart,” he steals one anyway at the base of your ear, where your neck and jaw meet. The high sensitivity of the area makes you squeal in surprise, only to be kissed by Sirius too, who aims innocently for your cheek. 

NAVI.

A/N : because of @urmomw4ntsme 's recent ask of wanting to see a Slytherin reader, it got me thinking about this request that i wrote last year for my 1k milestone. I couldn’t sleep until i finished writing this so it may not have the best grammar so please excuse me for that. this was also inspired by this interaction between Alice and the Cheshire cat in Alice in Wonderland.

[onyourowndaisymae]

don't mind me... just thinking about the demon brothers slowly dropping the rest of their roster for you as they fall head over heels...

lucifer // mammon // levi (you are here) // satan // asmo // beel // belphie -- others coming soon, NSFW warning below, gn!reader

leviathan, who doesn't have time. time for himself, for his hobbies, for his brothers, and certainly no time for you. he's sick of your meddling, honestly. he never even wanted a pact with you. you're just some lousy human trickster that managed to back him into a corner. whatever. just because he has a pact with you doesn't mean he has to spend time with you.

leviathan, who isn't jealous at all, of course. he's not jealous of the way mammon is so far up your ass that he doesn't know what day it is. he's not jealous of the way beel's sitting on the floor between your legs. he's not jealous of the way asmo and satan cast you curious glances, like they too want to see what's so special about you. it's not fair. why does levi always get the leftovers? why did he have to come to your side after mammon, dooming himself to an eternity of decency lectures from your "first man"? sure, he didn't want you at the beginning but... things change. now he can't help but curl into himself as jealousy boils in his chest.

leviathan, whose days are spent lost in rpgs and whose nights are reserved for filthy hentai games. obscene moans and slick slaps of skin against skin blare from his headphones behind the safety of his locked door. usually, these games have him panting, dick in his hands as precum dribbles down his fingers, but for some reason they feel... lackluster? he's aroused, of course, but he just... can't get into it. or at least, he doesn't think he can-- not until someone that looks like you pops on screen. suddenly he's wide-eyed and hard as a rock. the character gets bent over a table and fucked senseless, and levi's feverishly tugging at his cock to match their pace. is that what you'd look like? he plays the scene over and over until he's spent, until even resting a hand in his lap makes his thighs tremble.

leviathan, who feels so incredibly guilty for masturbating to the thought of you. but he can't stop himself. it's all he can think about these days. nothing is as alluring, as magnetic as you are. he's memorized the way the collar of your uniform sits on your neck, the curve of your soft lips, how you smile at him and listen so intently and-- dammit, he's hard just thinking about you. the hentai games are not enough. he hardly plays them anymore, trading time in front of the screen with time next to you, watching your face focused as you weave your motorcycle through other players while racing in devilcart, hoping that the scent of you, your presence, will linger long after you head to bed for the night.

leviathan, who can't believe how lucky he is right now, how the stars aligned perfectly and time stopped, just so he could have your tongue running across the tip of his cock like that. he's trembling under the weight of your heavy gaze, as you wrap your lips around the head and suck. a sharp cry leaves his lips, and he slaps both of his hands over his mouth to muffle the sound. you grin. it's the best you've ever looked. he can't believe you're here, with him, on your knees between his legs, hand pumping his length while you run your tongue up the underside, holding eye contact to watch him become a blushing, squirming, whimpering mess. his hips jerk against his wishes when you finally take him in your mouth, but you take it in stride, your warm hands pinning his bare hips against his chair. your head bobs across the length of his shaft but all he can feel is heat-- so warm and incredible and soft-- and fuck if he isn't about to cum just from looking at you. his hands grip the arms of his chair as you take him to unbelievable heights of pleasure. this, he thinks, is much better than anything on a screen.

taglist for this series (hopefully i'm doing this right lol): @the-demonus-aunt // @scienceisfornerds

[too-much-tma-stuff]

Tim Comes for Dinner! (part 5.5)

Previous | Masterpost

Well I meant to post this a couple days ago but my computer croaked and it took me a hot minute to figure that mess out. ko-fi in my bio if you want to help make up some of the budget shortfall that caused smh

---------

Since first meeting up with Hyena and Jason, Tim had gone to visit them a few more times. Tim would try to arrange his patrol so he’d be by Crime Alley around the middle, when he usually stopped for a break and something to eat. He would cross the invisible border and without fail Hyena would come find him rather quickly and, if Hood could get away, they would have lunch together. It was nice to bond with one of his brothers, especially given how distant Dick had been. He hadn’t been around at all since his last fight with Bruce and Bruce wasn’t exactly emotionally available so it had been lonely. That was fine since Tim was used to it, but still.

Tim had been given access to one of their safe houses in case he ever needed to hide from Bruce, since it absolutely couldn’t be traced to him. Tim had plans to take them up on their offer for homework help too. Next semester he was taking an astronomy course and that was not his specialty. With how much Hyena loved space Tim thought asking for help would be fun for both of them. 

All that to say, getting to know both of them was going really well! But Tim still hadn’t been to any of their actual safehouses yet, especially the one Hyena referred to as their ‘nest’. That was fine, Tim understood that perfectly! They had an unspoken agreement to not really talk about the nightlife, but since the three of them were technically on different sides of course they wouldn’t want him in their safe spaces. He wouldn’t press it at all, it would just seem like he was digging for info.

They had invited him over for dinner tonight but Tim wasn’t expecting it to be at their home since they could bring groceries to a safe house easily enough. He was still looking forward to it, especially with how much Hyena had been talking up Jason’s cooking.  

The plans had been before Tim had seen their confrontation with Batman and Constantine. Hyena and hood had been so focussed on those two they seemed to have forgotten Tim was there. He didn’t mind, his instructions had been to hang back and watch anyway, and it had been really interesting to watch honestly. 

He knew that Hyena was fucking with them, he’d spent enough time with the man to know that he was a trickster at heart, but he also knew that Hyena must have been telling the truth thanks to the spell. It was interesting and Tim was curious to say the least, but he doubted he’d be getting any more answers today. He was trying not to think about it too much because he couldn’t stand not knowing things and he didn’t want to end up ruining dinner with incessant questions they’d probably just dodge anyway.

He’d been given the address for dinner and was on his way now, in civvies this time, and without bothering with any sort of contingency plans now that he trusted Jason and Danny more. He was driving one of the more beat up cars so as not to stand out in the poorer area of town, he didn’t want any trouble. He parked, and glanced at the address again to make sure he was in the right place, before letting himself into the apartment building and buzzed their apartment. 

“Yellow!” Hyena’s chipper voice came through the speaker, slightly distorted. 

“Hey, it’s me, can you buzz me in please?” Tim asked.

“Oh! You’re a bit early. Of course!” Hyena agreed and then the door unlocked and Tim let himself in and headed up.

He double checked the apartment number before knocking, and again it was Hyena who let him in with a bright smile. He was wearing a tshirt with a flying saucer on it and jeans, no mask or hood. It was the first time Tim had seen the white in his hair and he understood the need for the hood, it was pretty distinctive. 

“Hi! Welcome!” Hyena said, hugging Tim and nearly lifting him off his feet making him wheeze but he’d been expecting it, Hyena was very tactile and affectionate. He put Tim down quickly and ushered him inside. 

“Hey there, Timmy,” Jason called from the kitchen, he had an apron on and there was a small smudge of some sort of sauce on his right cheek. He was smiling and he looked just as at home in the kitchen as he did on the job, comfortable and confident. The smell of warm food, garlic and spices, filled the space making it feel homey. “Dinner’s almost ready but it’ll be a little bit longer. Can Danny get you something to drink?” 

“Danny?” Tim asked, it was the first time he’d heard that name, he glanced at Hyena who smiled at him and nodded. 

“I know both of your real names, you might as well know mine. I’m sick of hiding behind, like, five different levels of secret identity anyway,” Danny said with a shrug. “So, anything to drink?”

“Uh whatever juice you have is fine,” Tim said with a little shrug, Danny nodded and headed over to the fridge, giving Tim a chance to look around the apartment.

It looked… a lot more lived in then he expected. There was a bouquet of varied roses on the table, some in colours Tim could have sworn roses didn’t come in. Must be from Ivy, but they fit in with the rest of the decor. The space was cozy, the couches looked used but well cared for, and there were decorations on the walls. This must have been their actual home, huh, he hadn’t expected that. Both telling him Danny’s real name, and letting him into their actual home was a show of trust that Tim wasn’t expecting. It seemed a bit premature, he hadn’t earned this trust yet. 

“Thank you,” Tim said as he took the cup of tropical-punch Danny handed him.

“Make yourself at home! Jason’s making pasta with stuffed meatballs and sauce, and garlic bread! He makes the best garlic bread,” Danny cheered a little as he went to set the table. Unsure what else to do, Tim sat down at the table and watched the couple dance around each other with practiced ease as they got ready for dinner. 

“Ya ya if you keep talking me up he’s going to find the reality a let down,” Jason said, rolling his eyes at Danny before pulling a pan of garlic bread out of the oven and tilting it onto a plate. “Take this to the table,” he directed Danny, who let out an inhuman little trill of delight and snatched the plate, bringing it to the table. 

He was a good enough host to let Tim take a piece before he grabbed one as well and took a bite, his mouth opening just slightly too wide and took a big bite, immediately starting to purr. It seemed like after the confrontation with Constantine he had given up on pretending to be human in front of the family. And judging by the absolutely disgustingly loving way Jason was looking at Danny, he was enjoying it.

To avoid making a face at his brother being sappy at his boyfriend Tim took a bite of his own piece of garlic bread and made a series of soft startled noises, first about how hot it was, and then about how flavourful and good it was! He looked down at it in shock, and took another bite quickly, savouring how buttery, and garlicky, and herbaceous it was!

When he looked up he caught Jason watching him with a little smirk on his face, he knew how good it was too and was being smug about it. Tim rolled his eyes and flipped his brother off before he swallowed his bite. “Don’t get cocky,” he said before taking another bite as Danny cackled and Jason rolled his eyes. 

“If you don’t think it’s going to be any good you don’t have to have any of the pasta I spent all day making,” Jason said as he grabbed the pot and drained the noodles. 

“He made it from scratch!” Danny told him with a cheeky grin, leaning in to add in a conspiratorial stage whisper; “He wanted to impress you so you’d come visit more.” 

“You don’t have to have any either!” Jason warned, pointing a spatula threateningly at his boyfriend. 

“You wouldn’t dare!” Danny gasped dramatically. 

“Try me!” Jason shot back.

“Fine, I’m sorry, please don’t deprive me of your cooking,” Danny laminated with a dramatic swoon.

Tim hid a snort behind his glass of juice at the couple's antics. Jason rolled his eyes and brought one of the dishes over to the table, Danny jumped up to help ferry the rest over to the table as well. Jason put the bowl of pasta down in front of Tim so he could take some while Danny helped himself to meatballs.

Once everyone had food, and Danny had started eating while it was still far too hot for the humans at the table, Tim caught Jason looking at him funny. Tim looked back questioningly, what was Jason thinking about?

“You’re quieter than usual Tim, everything okay?” Jason asked him and Tim winced a little, he’d thought he was being pretty good. 

“I’m just trying really hard not to be a detective right now,” Tim explained with a self-deprecating little smile. “I saw what happened between you two and Bruce the other day and I’m curious, but I don’t want to ask-”

“Good, don’t,” Danny cut in, his eyes flashing that dangerous green for just a moment before he shoved another big bite of pasta and sauce, undercutting the threat just a bit. 

Tim nodded acknowledgment and continued; “But mainly I’m just, kind of surprised you let me come here? I mean, you know how The Bats are as well as anyone but you brought me to your actual home? You told me your real name. I haven’t earned that much trust.”

Jason shrugged awkwardly and looked at Danny, who swallowed probably too quickly so he could answer. “He’s allergic to expressing his emotions too,” Danny said, gesturing at Jason. 

“Learned from the best,” Jason cut in with a self-deprecating laugh.

“So I’ll explain. You didn’t need to earn it,” Danny explained, laying his hands on the table, palm up. “It’s preemptive, we’re hoping that by giving you more of our trust you’ll give us more of yours. Not for any nefarious purposes or anything, but just that you’ll be willing to come to us for help if you need it. And that you won’t listen to all the paranoid rambling I’m sure Bruce is doing about us,” Danny finished with a crooked smile, glancing at Jason who snickered softly.

“I wasn’t listening to him already,” Tim said absently as he turned over what Danny had said in his mind. At least his comment made both of them laugh. “This was your idea huh?” Tim asked Danny.

“Oh ya, basically all of this has been Danny’s ideas,” Jason agreed, fidgeting with his fork. “I had the truly terrible idea to try and threaten you out of being Robin, because the idea of you dying like I did freaked me the Fuck out. It was Danny who said that wouldn’t work and we should support you instead. As usual, he was right,” Jason sighed.

“And that’s how you know I’m the wife!” Danny joked with his slightly manic crackle.

Tim laughed too, and his food was finally cool enough to eat now so he dug in. Oh ya, he was definitely coming back again if it meant more food like this!

[sorceresssundries]

'Time can prove to be a trickster on one's recollections - what would be multiple lifetimes for others now separate me from my captivity... Perhaps I have lost perspective on what happened to me.

I... have not had true confidantes for some time. The Shadow Curse robbed me of almost all my peers, and replaced them with the weight of responsibility. Perhaps that caused me to gild undeserving memories of my youth. '

Discussion of mental health below the cut.

Halsin breaks my fucking heart, man.

He spent so long shouldering the weight of the curse that he neglected dealing with his own shadows.

Right before this, he mentioned being chained to a bed for three years as a prisoner, yet he has convinced himself it may not have been as bad as it seemed, thinking perhaps he was actually a 'guest.'

As someone with CPTSD, I'm convinced Halsin has some form of it as well. Trauma and (C)PTSD affect the areas of the brain where memories are formed and kept. When traumatic memories are recalled, the perception of them can be altered leading to self-blame or minimisation of the trauma's severity.

Halsin's struggles are often downplayed, especially by him. - He doesn't have a tadpole, he isn't trying to ascend, he isn't being tempted by a dark path, and he doesn't require you to convince him to be good. He plays the part of the healer well, despite still needing healing himself.

Time can be a fixer, but it is also a trickster—and the more of it that passes, the trickier memories associated with trauma become to unpick. Centuries have passed for him.

I'm happy with the outcome of the game for Halsin, that he gets to relax, settle, and find his place alongside nature in the land he helped to free—but I almost wish there was more to explore with him. He deserves the world.

Sorry, i'm not sure what the point of this was I just have a lot of feelings about Halsin.

[vbecker10]

Language (Part 6 - Final)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5

Pairing: Loki x female reader (Y/N)

Summary: Captain Rogers thinks you curse far too much at work so he came up with a way for each word to cost you fifty cents no matter where you are in the Tower. You are desperate for it to stop and go to Loki to see if he has a spell or trick that can help you outsmart J.A.R.V.I.S.

Warnings: swearing lol... obviously?

A/N: Thank you everyone who read this series! I'm sorry this last part took me so long to get to but I hope you all love it!! 💚💚 I'll be working on finishing the Night Nurse now then going back through my requests! 🙂

You watch anxiously when Thor pulls away from his younger brother. "Remove the spell from Y/N," the God of Thunder demands.

"To do that I will need the vial," Loki counters and takes another step forward, closing the distance between them. Loki reaches for it but Thor pulls his hand away, holding it just out of reach.

If you weren't so concerned about the safety of the vial, you might be able to appreciate how much they simply look like bickering brothers and not two Gods arguing over your voice.

Tony steps in, "Thor, give it back to the sea witch."

Loki glares at Tony, "I do not have the patience for you today tin man."

He looks back at Thor and without a word, he flicks his wrist, sending his seidr towards his brother. The green cloud surrounds his hand in an attempt to pull the vial free but Thor clenches his hand and pulls violently against Loki's magic.

"Stop!" Natasha yells.

Your eyes go wide and you cover your mouth with both hands as the vial slips free from Thor's grasp. Loki's seidr doesn't react fast enough and the small glass vial falls to the floor at the older Asgardian's feet, shattering into pieces.

You lower your hands slowly, watching the cloud of gray smoke quickly evaporate into nothing before you can even think to move. Your hand runs slowly up and down your throat, vaguely listening to the reactions of the team around you.

"Y/N... I did not think... I am so sorry-" Thor tries to apologize but you don't look at him.

"No... this was not supposed to happen," Loki runs his fingers through his hair, his expression full of guilt and concern but in an instant he becomes angry. "Thor! I told you not to touch the vial, why do you never listen to me? Look what you have done!"

"What I have done?" Thor asks, taking a step towards his younger brother. "None of this would have happened if you hadn't been so reckless with your magic."

Your attention finally shifts from the broken glass to the two Gods. Walking between the brothers, you interrupt their argument. You point angrily at Thor and ask, "Why the fuck couldn't you just listen to Loki, for once!? All you had to do was not touch the damn thing and you fucking broke it!" Your mouth moves quickly and you breathe harder but you don't make a sound. You turn to look at Loki and slowly mouth, "I never should have trusted you. I knew you were fucking useless."

Loki lowers his head, putting his hands behind his back to fidget with them while Thor rubs his beard, trying to think of something to say to you.

"Y/N, don't worry," Natasha says, keeping her voice calm and level as she pulls you into a supportive hug. Over your shoulder she glares at the trickster, "Loki is going to fix this."

"Damn right he is," Tony agrees angrily. "How the hell could you have screwed up this badly?"

"I do not see why all of the blame is being put on me," Loki takes a small step away from the team. "Thor is the careless oaf that dropped the vial after I specifically instructed him not to touch it."

"I was just trying to help Y/N," Thor defends his actions.

"As was I," Loki argues back.

"By stealing her voice?" Clint asks.

"I will remind you one final time, I did not steal anything," Loki clarifies. "How was I to know someone," he glares at Thor, "Would be foolish enough to disregard my very direct warning and break the vial?"

"What was the plan then?" Bruce asks as everyone gathers closer.

"It was supposed to be a simple trick. We thought once you saw the lengths Y/N went through to avoid swearing, Captain Rogers would turn off that ridiculous computer program to appease her," Loki explains and you nod along as he speaks, confirming that was the plan. "As soon as it was off, I was going to return her voice."

Loki turns to face you, "I am truly sorry Y/N. I never meant for this to happen-"

Steve interrupts Loki's apology, "I can't believe you trusted him to do this Y/N, you know how unreliable he is. Who's to say he would have given you your voice back even if this didn't all go to sideways?"

"Whatever other sea witches do when they steal voices," Bruce mumbles.

"Of course I would have honored our agreement. What would I do with Y/N's voice?" Loki asks.

"I am not a sea witch," Loki reminds them all angrily. "I am a god you pathetic mortal," he looks directly at Bruce who takes a step behind Clint.

"So if you weren't going for the shittiest impression of Ursula possible, why the hell would you take her voice if you knew it could be lost so fucking easily?" Tony swears at Loki.

Before Loki can answer, J.A.R.V.I.S activates three times in close secession. Each time it says, "Tony, fifty cents has been deducted from your upcoming paycheck as you are in violation of SHIELD's Inappropriate Language Policy, per Captain Rogers' orders."

"Oh, shit," Clint says and J.A.R.V.I.S charges him a second time. "Steve your little project is going rogue."

"What the hell was that?" Clint asks, looking at the holographic display.

"Clint, fifty cents has been deducted from your upcoming paycheck as you are in violation of SHIELD's Inappropriate Language Policy, per Captain Rogers' orders," J.A.R.V.I.S. announces.

Steve ignores the computer and Clint, grabbing Loki by the collar with one hand, "You will help Y/N and you will do it now. Is that understood?" You look quickly between Steve and Loki, biting your lip nervously.

"I may have a spell that can restore her voice," Loki pulls himself free from Steve and straightens his clothing. "But I cannot think with all of you swearing at me and threatening me."

"I haven't started threatening you," Tony says.

"Maybe you'll think faster if the hulk was around," Bruce adds, finding his confidence once more.

"That is not necessary," Loki says, his expression switching from annoyance to nervousness at the mention of the hulk.

"Then you better start fucking thinking," Tony says.

J.A.R.V.I.S activates, charging Tony again.

"If you wish for me to think here, I must insist you silence that useless program," Loki waves his hand at the holographic display.

"Steve, seriously shut that damn thing off," Tony says to the captain as J.A.R.V.I.S repeats the announcement.

Steve groans, "Fine. J.A.R.V.I.S, disregard SHIELD's Inappropriate Language Policy."

J.A.R.V.I.S confirms the order from Steve.

"Are you happy now?" Steve asks Loki, his arms folded across his chest.

Loki asks, "It has been turned off for everyone?"

"Yes," Steve nods.

"Even Y/N?" Loki looks over at you.

"Yes, not that it matters unless you can figure out how to get her to talk again," Steve answers.

A smirk creeps across Loki's lips and you take a step towards him. "I can't believe that worked," you tell him.

"I told you it would work," Loki responds proudly.

(This morning)

"Ah brother, what a pleasant surprise," Loki smiles when he opens the door to a very confused looking Thor.

"Um... it is?" Thor asks, immediately feeling concerned by the God of Mischief's greeting.

"Of course," he opens the door wider and gestures inside the apartment. "Won't you join Y/N and me for a moment?"

"Okay..." Thor shrugs as he enters Loki's apartment. "Wait, Y/N is still here?"

"Morning Thor," you wave at him from the couch. He looks from you back to his brother and you don't miss the smirk of approval he gives Loki. You push aside the awkward feeling that Thor assumes you've slept with his brother and ask him to sit.

"I would prefer to stand, if you don't mind," Thor refuses your suggestion politely. "I sense my brother is playing some game with me and I am not willing to relax quite yet."

Loki smirks, "You are finally becoming more perceptive, but you are not the intended victim this time."

"I'm not?" Thor asks, his shock obvious in both his voice and his expression.

You try not to laugh, knowing he probably walked in here expecting the worst. "We need your help to pull off our plan actually," you tell him.

"I would love to help you, Y/N," he replies then he looks at Loki, "But I am not sure I want to help him."

"That hurts brother," Loki's smirk doesn't fade. "Would it change your mind if we offered a trade for your assistance?"

"I'm listening," Thor answers cautiously.

"I know where your wallet is," you tell Thor.

"I believe you have something of mine," Thor holds his hand out towards his younger brother. Loki nods and with a flick of his wrist, the missing wallet appears in a flash of green in Thor's open palm. The older Asgardian frowns, "Where is my money?"

"The deal was for me to return your wallet," Loki grins. "Which I have. You did not specify that you wished to have your money returned as well."

"I assumed that would have been obvious," Thor groans and tucks his empty wallet safely away.

"Wait... so the three of you planned this whole thing just to get Y/N out of being charged for swearing?" Steve asks, placing his hands on his hips in annoyance.

"Midgardians have a saying about making assumptions, I believe," Loki says and you roll your eyes at him. He chuckles and adds, "Consider it a charitable contribution to Y/N's swearing fund."

"Oh, you have to be fucking kidding me," Tony says, throwing his hands in the air.

"I only wanted my property returned to me," Thor insists, holding his hands up and taking a step away from you and Loki to avoid any blame.

"And what's your excuse, Laufeyson?" Steve turns his attention to the God of Mischief.

"Do I need one?" Loki doesn't seem phased by Steve and Tony's disapproving looks.

"You know you are not permitted to use your magic on any member of SHIELD or Stark Industries," the captain reminds him of the rules. "This was reckless and-"

"He was just trying to help me out," you cut off Steve and offer a defense for Loki which only brings everyone's focus back to you.

"By using his magic to trick us into overriding a SHIELD policy?" Steve asks you.

"Yeah..." you fidget with your fingers nervously. Loki might have been prepared to face the wrath of the team as calmly as ever but you hadn't thought this part of the plan all the way through. You had been focused on having the swearing policy reversed and not much else.

"Y/N," Tony says your name and you can hear the disappointment in his tone. He folds his arms across his chest. You recognize his expression, it means he is getting ready to deliver a long speech about how he expects better from you.

"I... well..." you stumble over your words then makes eye contact with Loki for a brief moment. He looks towards the door and back at you, signaling that it is time to go. "Well, this was a lot of fun but I've got shit to do... somewhere else."

You barely register that J.A.R.V.I.S is still quiet as the two of you quickly move towards the exit. Loki pushes open the door, ignoring Steve and Tony telling you they are not done with either of you yet. He laughs when the sound of their voices is cut off by the door closing and walks with you towards the elevators.

"You played your part excellently," he complements you, pushing the call button. "You are a natural trickster."

"Thanks," you feel yourself blush and look down, hoping he doesn't notice your red cheeks. "You and Thor were pretty good too."

"My brother has his uses," he says. "But do not tell him I said so," he adds quickly, looking at you.

"Oooh, I'm definitely gonna tell him," you laugh.

"Turning you into a frog is still on the table," he says with a wicked grin.

"I think you would hate that more than I would," you smile back and he furrows his brows in confusion. "I'd just hop along after you all day and sit on your pillow, ribbiting in your ear while you tried to sleep. You would turn me into a human again in no time," you snap your fingers.

He laughs at your response and shakes his head, "It seems I need to find a new way to threaten you, hmm?"

"Yeah... or you could just be nicer to me," you shrug.

"I'll think about it," he smirks.

"Don't try to act like I'm not your best friend after last night," you say sarcastically.

The doors to the elevator finally open. You step inside first and select the floor your office is on. Loki doesn't move to select the floor his office, apartment or training room are on and you realize he is following you.

"That reminds me... your question from earlier this morning," he says when the doors close. You turn to face him, remembering when you asked if you were friends now or something you hadn't defined yet. "I do not wish to be your friend," he informs you and you look at your shoes before you have a chance to read his expression.

"Oh... Okay, yeah, that's fine," you feel your heart sink in your chest. You knew you shouldn't have gotten your hopes up that Loki would still want to be around you. He had done what he promised and aggravated the whole team in the process, that was good enough for him.

"I would very much like to take you on a date though," he says and you look up, seeing him smile at you.

"Wait, really?" you ask, sounding more surprised than excited.

He clears his throat, looking unsure of himself and asks, "Would that be something you are interested in?"

You smile and nod, his smile returning quickly, "Yeah, absolutely." You laugh when he relaxes and add, "But we need to work on how you phrase stuff cause it sounded like you were tired of being around me, not that you were going to ask me on a fucking-"

"Y/N, seventy five cents has been deducted from your upcoming paycheck as you are in violation of SHIELD's Inappropriate Language Policy, per Captain Rogers' orders," J.A.R.V.I.S. announces from a speaker in the elevator.

You look at the holographic screen that appears in stunned silence, the rest of your sentence lost. Loki chuckles and says, "It seems they not only reinstated your punishment but raised the rate per word."

"I can't believe this..." you shake your head in disbelief. "Ugh! This is fucking-" you feel a rant of swear words getting ready to be unleashed.

Loki's arm wraps around your waist and he pulls your chest flush to his, the swift action shocking you into silence. He smiles at you, cupping your cheek gently, still holding you close with his other hand on your waist. "I have thought of one more trick to help you," he says, his lips coming closer to yours.

You giggle nervously, "If you say anything about frogs..."

He laughs and shakes his head then clears his throat. "J.A.R.V.I.S, disregard SHIELD's Inappropriate Language Policy," Loki repeats Steve's order in the captain's voice and J.A.R.V.I.S confirms the command. In his own voice he says, "I am not sure how long it will take them to notice so you might want to get in all the swear words you can now."

"I knew you liked me," you smile up at him, his arm still holding you close to his chest.

"I tried very hard not to," he says, his fingers running gently down your cheek to your chin. He tilts your head slightly up and brings his lips to yours, kissing you deeply. You grip the fabric on the back of his shirt when he takes a step forward, pressing your back to the wall of the elevator.

The elevator stops much too soon and Loki smiles down at you when he breaks the kiss. As the doors open, you sigh and rest your head on Loki's chest, "I can't wait until Steve and Tony find me."

"Tell them to come speak to me," Loki runs his fingers through your hair.

You laugh, looking up at him, "Why, so you can turn them into frogs?"

"Would it make you feel better?" he asks as you walk out of the elevator together.

"A little," you tell him with a shrug and he grins mischievously.

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[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?”

[smitten-miqitten]

Post-Veilguard Solavellan and Rook headcanons:

Because Lavellan is directly in the Fade with no Veil to separate her from it, it becomes a (relatively) simple matter for Solas to reconnect her to the lost immortality of the Elves. It only works while she's physically present in the Fade however, and at first he has to function as a go-between until that connection is strong enough on its own(like an unused muscle).

Lavellan no longer NEEDS food or drink as a result but being without it is extremely uncomfortable. Feeling like you're starving constantly sucks, even if it might not kill you.

This is fine though, because Rook teams up with Dorian to make a plan. The Sending Crystal Dorian gave Lavellan is infamously always on her person, so can act as a beacon to her location. Dorian gets things sent to the Lighthouse, and Rook facilitates the delivery of the goods via helpful spirits with the Sending Crystal being their guide.

Rook works with Archon Dorian Pavus to crush any black market slave trading that they uncover. The Lighthouse is used to ferry the freed people to safety, as it was in the past.

Rook becomes the new master of the Lighthouse. They end up getting a Sending Crystal pair of their own to share with Solas, and he and they collaborate on things as needed. It's an odd friendship. Bitch to bitch communication. It's scathing but heartfelt. They both know he needs a buddy.

Eventually Rook also is reconnected enough to the Fade to the point they also stop aging, but anytime they enter Thedas proper it resumes for the duration they are there. As a result, they will likely either eventually die like normal, or choose to work via proxies while remaining in the Lighthouse physically.

Lavellan and Solas, wherever their vague-ass destination actually is, end up creating a fairly comfortable home despite how 'terrible' wherever they're at is supposed to be.

Cole warns her when Dorian is about to pass away of age, and she says her heartwrenching farewells in his final dream. Dorian wills his Sending Crystal to Rook, with the stipulation that Rook find Lavellan someone equally charming to chat with so she doesn't lose her connection to the real world. It's...a tall order 😔 Dorian is no less dear to Lavellan than Mythal was to Solas, for perspective.

As the one who accompanied the Dread Wolf into exile, Lavellan becomes a mythological figure amongst the few Dalish who still keep to some of their ways, more or less against her will. Her name, Ellenere, means nothing in Elvish originally but becomes the name of the goddess who serves as the heart and guide that endears The People to the trickster Fen'Harel. Statues of a female wolf are placed outside of camps next to those of Fen'Harel, so that she will placate him and he will not trouble the clan. She and he guard or stalk the dreams of the world... depending on the story.

Clan Lavellan is an awkward guest at the Arlathvhen because of their former-First's new deific status. Members of the clan also no longer choose to receive Vallaslin as adults.

In the far, far future Solas and Lavellan have children. This follows the spinning of myths by the Dalish that claimed they already had, which flustered Lavellan greatly and prompted a conversation about whether such a thing would even be possible, let alone advisable. Being born in the Fade, these children do not lack the connection their cousins in Thedas would and are therefore immortal like their parents, at least until they leave it (they do).

Solas and Lavellan fuck like...a lot. There are Dalish myths about that too, eventually 😂 Like when a thunderstorm is happening, they're being too rowdy. The person who started these myths may or may not be The Iron Bull.

[senblades]

Hi :)

I love your art and your writing, and you have such a great grasp of these characters that I was wondering if you have any fic recs? Rating doesn't matter ;)

boy do I! (and ty for the compliment <3 <3 <3)

[cracks knuckles] alrighty:

The Dissapearence of Goro Akechi by Kupowonders - Probably my favourite fic ever, honestly- it's like. derailing the plot of persona 5 post-medjed thanks to the persona 4 accomplice ending years prior. (So, spoilers for p4 in that, too) it's. very good.

Marigolds by Colbub - Akechi gets ng+'ed to right when he started working for Shido, and has to take a good look at the future to come and be like "Aight how the fuck do I fix this". Fun times!

Daredevil, You've hit the wall by ez_cookie. Essentially, p5 Strikers but Sumire and Goro get to be in on the fun, too. And, there's a direct sequel currently being updated that's a similar premise for p5 Tactica. very very good stuff

A Tale of Two Tricksters by Zoe2k8 - Murder boyfriends! ...sort of? Angst! Angst and murder boyfriends! An oversimplification, obviously, but I'm not kidding when I say this fic is amazing and is also over a million words holy shit-

Throw away your mask by MollyPollyKinz - Another ng+ situation for Akechi, but this time the poor guy gets thrown all the way to 2009. You can imagine how well that goes (For the audience, less so for Akechi himself.)

The Crow Cries at Midnight by Dorked. hehe this one is very fun. Basically, a series of coincedencs causes Akechi to get thrown into the plot of persona 4. No time travel here! Just a grumpy 12/13 year-old Akechi trying to solve a murder mystery

The entire Tales of Chaos series by Eternalmomentss (The first one is called Like sand between your fingers) Very very good stuff! Something of a character study, I would say, of Ren and Goro. Plus, all the funky plot stuff that comes from trickster-typical bad luck and poor descision making. I really love this series hehe

uhh this post is getting very long I need to make this less wordy- lightning round?

Hunger for a life by Leonawriter - do you like vampires? I sure do! Mix that and the p5 plot and you get shenanigins. [evil laughter] a lot of shenanigins

Fishbowl by KivaEmber - Akechi has a terrible time in Maruki's reality. And I mean a terrible time

You have a beautiful smile underneath that mask by Saposaki - Akechi has a crush on Akira and Joker has a crush on Crow. No one is aware of the other's secret identity. Dramatic irony and hilarity ensues.

MASTERMiND by StumblingBlock - No Metaverse au where Akira really doesn't want to follow in the footsteps of his crime family, and fails miserably

Rose and Rot by SixteenJuniper - Read this!! I'm serious!! "A fun fantasy adventure" don't listen to Juniper. You'll be in tears by chapter two. (/pos, of course) (Seriously this fic is incredible)

Redressing the Balance by Convocated - ...almost a ng+? Ng+, in the sense that shuake are getting funky visions that are very quickly derailing the standard plot of p5r. This causes problems of the "Someone get the popcorn and maybe the tissues" variety

She's got a heartbeat full of lead (And she's aiming straight for the head) by Dots - This fic haunts me, often. In the best way possible, of course; but seriously, read it

Cracked into by SydneyHorses - Ren makes bad descisions and it becomes Akechi's problem. 2/2 timeloop, perhaps most notably featuring HaruGoro friendship! Love love love this fic

Okay that wasn't as "less wordy" as I intended but it'll do

Aaaand that's a wrap! Sorry for the long post.. and this is by no means all of the fics that I've ever loved (nor are the ones here in any particular order) but I swear we'll be here all week if I keep going HAHA

ty for the ask (and again for the kind words), anon! Hope this was helpful and to your tastes! (I... hope you like Shuake HAHA it's present in most of these- I assume you do, since you came to me (points at literally everything shuake I've made) of all people, but uh. Some of these fics are gen if it's not to your liking?)

[weebsinstash]

When I say with my entire being in my heart of hearts that I know with certainty that this-this-this THING right here would do the absolute most unbelievable petty gross obsessive dahmer level shit to you

He's petty he's evil he's got a childlike fascination for seeing what breaks people down and I hate him I hate him I hate him but ALSO what that dick do tho? 🤔

Mahito is the yandere over here doing shit like imprisoning you for his own selfishness and perhaps genuine affection but making you live in absolute deplorable conditions because He's Not Fucking Human And He Doesn't Even Know How To Feed You. He locks you away and disappears for an entire day and comes back with like a single can of wet dog food that he watches you eat from a squatting position like 5 inches away looking at you like Harley Quinn and the egg sandwich. Motherfucker would take all your clothes because he wants to see more of "the natural shape of you" and then doesn't understand why you start shivering. Or he deliberately keeps you like that because he wants to see how long it takes you to crack and beg him for help. He wants to see the depths of your pride as you refuse to grovel, curious of the lengths you'll go, the limits of your body against the chill

This depraved fuck will do dehumanizing little emotional experiments on you where he does shit just because he wants to see how you think and feel and what you'll do and I mean like he'll do SOME REAL SHIT. I'm talking maybe he's stalking you and you can't fight or use cursed techniques and you think he's just like, a human shaped spirit or something who's just a trickster, he's not being violent or getting you alone or anything yet, and then you come home to your apartment one day and he's literally disemboweled your cat on your coffee table and he's playing with pieces of it and says you were giving it more attention than him and sits there pouting as you scream and even tries to like touch you or hold your hand or hug you with. The fucking blood covered hands. like he would be so fucked up on purpose, "awww do you need me to hold you? You're so sensitive but i dont mind :3"

This man out here like "wdym you want me to stay away from you, all I did was kill your cat kill your mom kill your neighbor kill your best friend kill your boss' cousins' landlords' newborn baby BUT WAS THAT REALLY SO BAD 🥺" and does something infinitely worse to scare/coerce you into tolerating his presence

I'm not really uh into body horror or gore but as a side detail I feel like. Uh. There's like a legitimate risk of him actually unintentionally REALLY hurting you and has to use his powers to heal you. Like the one good thing he does is if he were to have you on death's door or like horribly injured he could just. Fix it. He twists a limb in a way he doesn't know it's not supposed to go and breaks it and then puts you back together like a broken toy while ooo'ing and aaa'ing at the way your skin stretches over the grotesque misalignment. Dare I say the horror of "him putting things that are way too big or weirdly shaped in you" also yeah he's one of the things he's putting in you and he's got a really gross like fascination with learning all about that stuff

He's really living just to see how many different ways he can make you cry and how many different emotions he can get you to display, just absolutely dedicated to terrorizing you while also chasing his own internal weird repressed desire for his own sort of belonging. You could be sitting there sobbing and he's either borderline getting off on it or he's standing there MAKING FUN OF YOUR CRIES like deadass even fake crying back to you

And the worst part is he'll do all this fucking shit to you and then the night comes and he'll still be over here like "and you'll let me cuddle you while you sleep right? 👉👈" and he'll be doing that Every. Single. Night. And what are you gonna do, try and kill yourself? Have fun risking accidentally making yourself a Curse and being stuck with him basically FOREVER

[bitethedevil]

Am i delulu or does raphael admire tav/durge? I know its him performing, but as gale says "inviting to dine with devil is devils equivilant of serenade and roses" and first scene where we meet him he does eye tav/durge througly from bottom to top. Also he says "im fan of your work" to durge. So idk?? It lowey feels like raphael is fond of us in game but i need proof/ professional analysis. [Ahem you are the professional mouse afterall heehee~]

He Loves Us, He Loves Us Not: What is Raphael’s Relationship with Tav/Durge?

*Puts on my little mouse glasses* I’m glad you asked. I’m summing up a few points that I have also written about in another analysis called ‘Raphael and weaponized mortality’, so if that sounds interesting, you can find it in my reading list.

Everything about Raphael screams wolf in sheep’s clothing (or a cambion in man’s clothing if you will). Here are a few points illustrating this:

Cambions naturally have a really predatory kind of stench to them because they are entirely carnivorous. Yet, he is described as a perfumed trickster who smells of cherries and sulphur, most likely because he is trying to cover up that smell.

Poetry, an art that is very dependent on nasty mortal concepts such as ‘feelings’, is something we know he uses a lot. He’s not really good at it and he even says it’s not his ‘main interest’ to Karlach in the second act. His theatrical nature and use of poetry humanizes him, and I think he is well-aware of this.

When you call him out as a devil in front of Mol, he says something about how she wouldn’t believe them anyway, ‘not with his angelic complexion’. We also know that Gortash’s parents sold him to a ‘warlock’ and that’s how he ended up with Raphael. I’ve seen multiple places that that warlock is supposed to be Raphael himself.

Now this all makes me believe that he usually does not reveal his true nature to his clients unless: 1) they’ve already signed, or 2) they are so utterly fucked that they have already reached the point of no return with him and are forced to take his deal no matter what.

Yet, he reveals his true nature to us from the get-go. Yes, one could argue that the tadpole-gang does fulfill option 2) according to him and that’s why he does it, but I think it could also be something else. I think he knows from early on that we are his best bet, so he chooses to lay out all his cards on the table and tries to build as much trust as he can from the beginning.

This is also the function of helping us with Astarion’s scars. Dealing with a devil when you’ve never dealt with one before? Scary. Dealing with a devil when he has proven once before to keep his word? Much less scary. He’s ‘grooming’ us for trusting him to keep his word with THE deal (and he gets to fuck over Daddy Meph by potentially robbing him of a lot of souls. Win-win.)

I think Gale is right on the money when he says that it’s ‘a devil’s equivalent to serenades and roses’. Raphael is like a bird or something. He’s showing off, charming us, but also reminding us that he is big and scary. Although despite the fact that he is big and scary ‘he simply wants to help us’.

He’s done his research and already knows everything about us, so he knows exactly how to play us. This is demonstrated in the comment to Durge in the beginning and the thing he says in Last Light if you tell him he knows nothing about you: “Don’t I indeed?.

I really think that we turn into an obsession for him at some point and that the lines between the obsession about the Crown and his obsession about us blurs. This seems definitely to be the case in his journals. I mean the poor guy has nightmares about us…

I also am so sure that he is not even trying to trick us into anything with the Orphic Hammer. He truly does believe that the Emperor is a threat to us. See this:

I DO think he admires us or at the very least is heavily rooting for us. I don’t remember the exact quotes, but Korrilla tells us in Sharess’s that her and Raphael made a bet about if we would make it to the Gate, and Raphael won that bet because we had. He really believes in our merry little band of idiots.

His reaction if we betray him is also very telling I feel like. Notice how his eyes widen for a moment before they narrow and say the ‘You’ line. He seems surprised. In that whole sequence he is obviously pissed, but most of all I also just get the feeling of a man that has been humiliated and who is angry that he had put so much time, work, and trust into us.

He says that ‘he is fond of us, in his way’ and that I completely believe. It might not be out of love or affection or anything like that, but he is as fond of us as a cambion can be of someone. We’ve grown on him, and he sees potential and use in us. We fascinate him and I’d even go as far to say that he respects us. I feel like even if you give him the Crown of Karsus and he gets to rule the Hells, he will not forget the people who brought him there. He would not flaunt the fact that he had mortals help him get the Crown, but I think that when he goes on his spree to fuck up the realms outside the Hells, Tav and gang would at the very least be spared or even given privileges in that new world order. Is that a bit fucked up? Yeah…But we have to remember what he is: a devil.

(Thank you so much for the ask <3 That became a long answer. I love to yap lol)

[merakiui]

Lyney does a magic trick and makes a baby appear in your tummy 😭😭

He definitely stuffs you so fucking full and fucks a baby into you. Uses every trick up his sleeve to make sure it takes. Believes that every kid deserves siblings so he's breeding you like a feral animal til you give him a full house and loud family 🥹🥹

If anyone can flawlessly, secretly, inconspicuously knock you up, it's Lyney. He'll call it a magic trick, too, when you start to feel nauseous and your period doesn't come. Lyney is a masterful trickster; his sleight of hand is unmatched. And seeing is believing, or so you'll think when he makes you watch him take every measure necessary to prevent pregnancy. You can trust him! He has your best interests in mind, after all.

But Lyney is a liar and he loves to make children smile with his magic tricks. It's only natural he'd be overwhelmed with baby fever after watching you interact with the children who crowd around him in hopes that he'll show them one more trick. And when you're being fucked dumb and incoherent every other night, folded into a mating press each time, you're too gone to even realize Lyney's "forgotten" the condom. He'll promise to give you a pill to help after you come to your senses, but then he keeps you so entertained with friendly chitchat and silly banter that you forget all about pestering him for the pill. Lyney always smoothly directs the conversation each time, hoping that one of these days there will be no need to dance around the subject once you're finally pregnant.

He wants to build a happy family with you! Won't you let him? Not that you'll have much of a choice. Lyney likes to surprise and amaze, and that's what you'll certainly be when you start showing. :) he'll be there for you every step of the way. Whether you want it or not, he's here to stay.