#or what the fuck ever. there's no compassion.

[motomamita]

eddie munson × fairy!reader

warnings: smut, +18, dubcon by reader, tighs fuck, fantasy creatures.

Influenced by the sunny and cool days in Hwakins, Eddie decided to go camping outside the town on his own. Serious mistake.

Without a compass and in the middle of the forest, Eddie was lost in the cold night. Things got even worse when, in complete darkness, he did not notice where he was stepping and fell down a small ravine, hitting his head and remaining unconscious for several hours.

Fairy!reader, who had been watching him for hours, tried to fight her instincts and not meddle with humans. However, her conscience would not be clear if she left Eddie unconscious and alone in the darkness of the forest.

Carefully, she managed to drag him to her small house inside the trunk of a large tree, a few meters from where he had fallen. She laid him down on her bed, covered him with some bushes, and began to clean his notable wounds. It was not the first time she saw a human, the forest used to be filled with hunters during certain seasons and many of them came to be relatively close to her territory. The difference was that she had never seen one so close, much less bringing him to her place, her refuge.

When Eddie's wounds were clean, she went to her small kitchen and started a small fire to make her herbal tea. Meanwhile, Eddie was still unconscious and unable to attack her if he wanted to. She approached him and looked at him carefully. She started with his face, his long eyelashes, his nose, the small acne scars on his skin and his pink lips. Curious, she touched that last part with her fingertips, surprised by how soft it was. Then she continued with his neck to his chest and watched as it rose with each of his breaths. Finally she reached his pants.

Within the world of fairies, men were scarce compared to women, and the few men that could be found were characterized by their extreme shyness. Fairy!reader had never had the opportunity to be with any man, neither fairies nor humans. At first she didn't care, she preferred to stay alone but calm in her small home, planting flowers and herbs, and communicating with the small animals that passed by. However, her curiosity, and need, began to grow as time went by. That led her to watch the hunters from afar, admiring their strong muscles and masculine aromas, so contrasting with the delicacy that characterized her species. She soon discovered that those hunters were not good people, because they only went to her forest to kill animals and destroy nature as if it belonged to them.

But Eddie, he didn't seem like that type. He just walked through the forest, collecting stones with strange shapes and taking polaroids of the most colorful flowers, without tearing them from their place. Even with his face unconscious, his expression looked serene and sweet. Equally or more charming than the fairies you've ever heard of.

Seeing him there, at her mercy was tempting. She knew the risks she was running by having him there, he could wake up at any moment and break her delicate wings. But hee curiosity was greater, so greater that she did not mind losing his life there.

Sh sat on hee bed and carefully she brought her hand to his belly, caressing it over his shirt and lowering her hand to his pants. Eddie remained unfazed and that encouraged her to go much further. She touched his crotch over his pants, curious to know if human men were at all similar to fairies. Eddie whined still unconscious at the touch. For a moment she thought about walking away and going to see the tea, but he raised his hips slightly in search of more. She continued to feel him over the fabric, noticing how his member slowly hardened and Eddie seemed even more restless in his unconsciousness.

Little by little she lowered his pants and underwear, exposing his member to her. The fairy observed in shock what was in front of her: Eddie's member was hard and erect, dripping small beads of precum and contracting slightly as if asking for her attention. A heat invaded her, something almost fierce and uncontrollable that she couldn't explain. Is this what it felt like to be in love?

She brought one of hee hands to Eddie's member, squeezing it slightly and noticing how more liquid came out of its pink tip. She moved her hand up and down in a slow rhythm, experimenting and observing his reactions. Eddie's hips moved in response to that agonizing rhythm, almost begging for her to increase the pace and help him reach his climax. That's how she did it, with greater confidence and noticing that he was asking her for something but she didn't know what.

"Yes... Keep it up... my love..." were the words that came out of Eddie's mouth, who was slowly beginning to wake up. His muscles began to tense, announcing the arrival of his orgasm.

She continued her movements, encouraged by Eddie's husky voice. As if it were a bucket of water, Eddie opened his eyes and noticed his surroundings in fear. That wasn't his house and he didn't even have a girlfriend who treated him the way they were doing at that moment. He quickly got up from the bed, not caring about ruining his orgasm, and covered himself as best he could with her underwear.

She jumped out of bed when he woke up and almost ran to one of the corners of her small room, keeping her distance so as not to scare Eddie more. He, with his rapid breathing, looked at her carefully, noticing her shiny wings and her peculiar way of dressing. He looked around, everything was made with natural things and the occasional object from civilization.

"Where I am?" He asked agitatedly, looking at the girl, who only smiled kindly at him.

"In my home." she answered obviously. "You fell and became unconscious. I rescued you and brought you here." Eddie touched his head and noticed a small bandage made of leaves, as well as scratches on his arms that were clean. Inevitably his gaze dropped to his painful erection covered by his underwear. "I just want to help." she murmured almost pleadingly.

Eddie observed her in greater detail, admiring every element that made that girl, or creature, something hypnotic for him. Her head decorated with bird feathers, her dress was made of small leaves of multiple colors that hugged her curves well and left her thighs exposed. Her wings moved slightly, continuing to release small flashes of light.

The simple image of that unknown fairy who had rescued him, cured him and sought to keep him alive excited him enormously. In his daily life he had never received the attention of the girls around him, and that supernatural beauty showed appreciation for him, an ordinary man. Eddie relaxed and decided to give himself completely to her. In short, if she had wanted to kill him, she would have done it before.

"You want to help me?" He asked receiving a nod of her head in response. "Come closer, little fairy.." Eddie undid his underwear and his member was exposed again. She approached him slowly, dazzling him with her natural beauty. "Give me your hand.."

She obeyed without hesitation and extended her hand to him. Eddie grabbed it and admired for a few seconds how delicate and small it was compared to his own. Then, he spit into her palm, wetting her skin with his warm saliva. Attentive to every movement, Eddie guided her to his member and made her resume her movements. He closed his eyes at the pleasurable sensation and cursed under his breath, enjoying the sensation.

"I'm going to cum soon- can I fuck your thighs? Please, please.." He begged, opening his eyes, looking at her tenderly. She, noticing his desperation, nodded without stopping moving her hands on his hard member.

Eddie, without waiting any longer, grabbed her hips and brought her close to him. His large, swollen cock fit perfectly between her thighs, giving him a warm, soft welcome. Desperately, he moved his hips, fucking her thighs and wetting them with his saliva. When he lowered his gaze, he met her bright eyes who seemed to be in some kind of tranquility, stunned by his actions. From his height, Eddie had a good view of her breasts while he felt her nipples harden against his clothing.

Eddie's cock moved in and out, rubbing against her pussy and giving her a sensation of ecstasy she had never felt before. He looked into her eyes, connecting glances and losing himself from his reality, concentrating only on his pleasure. He carefully hug her even more, taking care not to hurt her fragile wings and flooding her with her floral aroma.

Soon, his orgasm reached him and he had no choice but to allow himself to be invaded by it. With a loud moan, Eddie came, staining the fairy's thighs and pussy with his thick, white semen. She, noticing his agitated breathing, hugged him, bringing him even closer if he came close to her, offering him a series of support until his ecstasy subsided.

When they separated, Eddie lifted his pants, sat on the bed and soon noticed the mess he had left on her. He carefully took his bandana and cleaned the fairy's skin, who looked at him almost pleased with his detail. Then, both of them locked eyes and he was the first to speak.

"Thank you, little one." He said almost embarrassed by what just happened.

"It doesn't matter!" She responded with a sweet smile, almost as if everything before had not bothered her. "I'm glad I helped you." She combed his hair with hee hands and suddenly her wings tensed, letting a bit of glitter fall to the dirt floor. "I just remembered that I made you some tea! I don't want you to leave without being completely healthy!" she spoke to him with care and then walked to the small fire she had made.

Eddie looked at her from his spot and smiled tenderly. Maybe going camping alone wasn't a bad idea after all.

#eddie munson x reader #joseph quinn x reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #joseph quinn #eddie munson smut #dark!eddie munson #fairy!reader #fantasy fiction #fairycore #hybrid!au #stranger things smut #joseph quinn smut

[syn0vial]

touch-averse or touch-starved? an analysis of boba fett's attitudes towards physical touch in legacy of the force

a sufficient number of people expressed interest in this topic that i'm finally making this post! i find this facet of fett's characterization quite fascinating and naturally wanted to share, especially bc it's so unexpectedly nuanced in a lot of ways. so here it is, for the consideration and enjoyment of fic writers, expanded universe enjoyers, and general fett fans alike!

touch is (ostensibly) unbearable because it's a form of compassion. throughout the series, if there's one thing we learn can put fett into the fight-or-flight reflex, it's compassion. at multiple points, his gut reaction to someone showing him compassion is to either lash out at them to get them to stop (as he does with jaina), or if he's not willing to do that, get away from them as fast as he can (as he does with sintas and occasionally beviin early into their friendship). fett explicitly equates more intimate forms of touch (such as hugging, or taking his hand) with compassion and states outright that he has no idea how to respond to such gestures. yet, fett's attitude towards touch cannot be boiled down to simple aversion, because

fett's reactions to physical touch read more like someone who is touch-starved, not touch-averse. despite the attitude towards compassion explored above, when fett is actually faced with compassionate touch, his reaction is not what one would expect. in contrast to when people try to verbally show him compassion, which will get the aforementioned fight-or-flight response, compassionate touch provokes much more ambivalence. for example, when sintas reaches out to take his hand, he initially "dreads" it—yet, when she actually touches him, the text tells us, "He needed her to let go of his hand; but he didn't want her to." similarly, though fett seems to express relief that mirta isn't the type to hug him or take his hand, in the very previous book, we seem to have evidence contrary to all parts of this statement. namely, mirta places her hand in his to reassure him when he's undergoing a very painful treatment for his fucked-up-clone-DNA disease, and his reaction is to immediately take her hand and, when the doctor starts lining up the needle, to squeeze it with such force that mirta "thought he'd break every bone in her fingers." these do not read as the reactions of someone who is averse to touch, but rather, someone who is actually quite touch-starved.

(note that it is not at all uncommon for fett's actions/emotional responses to be at odds with the image he projects. he is not at all a reliable narrator of his own internal experience. for example, at one point he claims to not feel ashamed of anything he's ever done, despite the fact that we see him explicitly grappling with feelings of deep, paralyzing shame for how he treated sintas. beviin even teases him for this habit at one point, responding to fett's claims of professional detachment in the face of his obvious care for others with a cheeky, "'course, i believe you 😉")

furthermore, as we see with mirta, fett can get downright clingy when he's worried about someone. in revelation, fett and mirta both take part in a mission that eventually forces them to split up into separate strike teams. fett is, to put it mildly, rather anxious about this. he fears that something will happen to mirta when she's on her own, and that furthermore, it will be his fault for agreeing to take her along on the mission in the first place. significantly, the separation is book-ended by two instances of fett physically grabbing mirta. first, when mirta begins to climb up into the other part of the ship, fett grabs her by the ankle to try and slow her departure, a result, we're told of his "sudden fear for her." he doesn't let go until she shakes him off. later on, when they're reunited, with mirta covered in someone else's (though fett isn't yet aware of this) blood, jaina observes that he grabs her tightly by the shoulder "as if he was going to shake the daylights out of her." both of these reactions seem to be purely instinctive and visceral; it seems fett's first, kneejerk reaction to the fear of losing someone is to physically grab and hold onto them. again, his actions don't align with the detached, touch-averse image he sometimes portrays.

finally, the characters who know fett best seem to know to offer physical reassurance in the face of painful/distressing situations. specifically, we see beviin and mirta offer physical touch as reassurance; beviin places his hand on fett's back when he's watching sintas suffer from carbonite thawing sickness and is anxiously waiting to see whether her mind is still intact, and, as mentioned above, mirta places her hand in his when he's receiving treatment for his genetic disease. and that's not to even mention how sintas's first reaction to seeing him in emotional turmoil is to try and take his hand. for all that fett tries to put on a distant, untouchable facade, the characters he cares about most and vice-versa can see through it within the text itself.

in conclusion, i feel like if a character he cared about actually hugged him, fett's reaction would be something along the lines of this image:

thank you for coming to my tedtalk

#boba fett #legacy of the force #this is theeee most self-indulgent analysis post i've ever done. no one look at me #in sum i feel like fett has an ostensible attitude of ''people shouldn't touch me bc i am simultaneously above and beneath such things'' #but any time something sufficiently distressing happens that facade crumbles real quick #when he's in real pain or fear‚ touch is a powerful reassurance #and the people who know him best are very much aware of this #i kind of get why he has to put up the act. like he has a reputation to maintain. #but also: kinda hilarious that his loved ones are like all ''cmon man. you ain't foolin' anyone'' #''getcha hand held‚ idiot''

[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?

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?”

#𝑇𝑎𝑙 𝑊𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑠 ✎ #billy the kid smut #billy the kid x reader smut #billy the kid x reader #dark!billy the kid #tw: noncon #tw: non con #tw: dubcon #tw: dubious consent

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Ramblings of a war criminal

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps) “I was once told that no one is really a villain because everyone is the hero of their own story. That their reasoning’s justify their actions in their mind that it is they who are in the right against a world that is wrong.

I never liked that.

It implied that so long as you had some form of reasoning or logic to your motives you would always be the hero.

A soldier who kills someone on the battlefield isn’t a murderer, because they are fighting for their country.

A bank robber isn’t a criminal, because they are stealing to make ends meet.

A butcher of cattle is not a monster, because they are trying to feed people.

The line of thinking that on some level everyone is a hero becomes so twisted and warped that you could find a way to still be a hero no matter what kind of horrible act you were committing.

Now, the perspective shifts when you factor into account that as society is comprised of uncountable people each with their own story being told as they live and breathe. The standards of what makes a hero and what makes a villain become margin lines that move with the ever shifting tides of what is socially acceptable.

Owning someone was once not only considered normal, but a mark of an industrious nature to have earned enough money to buy the life of another human being.

Can you imagine that?

You’d be out in the fields branding someone of your own species with your mark to prove ownership like they were cattle and society would hold you as the talk of the town. What a fucked up world that was; and even more fucked up when you find people romanticizing it like it was a time of “More civilized people” just because we use fewer words today.

I’m not going to recite a fucking Shakespeare play’s worth of words to order a burger; sue me.

Now myself?

I never was the hero, even in my own story.

I have done things, terrible things upon innumerable planets.

I have skinned alive my enemies for fun, I have butchered innocents for a paycheck, I have even used thousand year old religious documents as toilet paper to wipe my ass; and despite having my own reasons to which I carried out every single one of those atrocities I knew I was a villain.

Justification does not give you a free pass on your moral compass, nor does the approval of the society you live in.

There are no shades of grey to be blurred and distorted with me.

I am the villain of my story.

I wonder when I’ll meet the hero who will put me down.

I hope they’re ginger. Always liked gingers.”

Recovered audio Journal #3 for Francis O’Connell A.K.A The Devil’s Right Hand.

#humans are insane #humans are weird #humans are space oddities #humans are space orcs #scifi #story #writing #original writing #niqhtlord01

[allbluemin]

Results and responses from the survey on the divergent opinions regarding the human/ape ship of the Planet of the Apes franchise.

🔍How old are you?

🔍Do you consume monster/human content?

🔍Fiction is a term that designates imaginary and unreal narratives, which is why many people tend to defend their works using this term. They state that everything is nothing more than fiction, so, as in the case in question, the ape/human relationship should not be problematized as it should not be compared to the real world. Do you agree with this statement?

🔍Leave a comment delving deeper into your previous answer.

🍎It should not be compared to the real world because anthropomorphized apes that talk and have human intelligence and characteristics are not real. We created them. A lot of fandom's arguments against a human/ape romance use real life morality, but they forget these are fictional humanized apes in a scifi/fantasy story. A story whose narrative and overall themes will inevitably force us to ask hard questions and explore weird ideas. And yes, that includes asking: "What would it mean for a human and ape in this story to get together?"🍎

🌼In general, I agree with the statement above, however, I think that any problem in literature can be considered as a possible problem in real life. Perhaps metaphorical or something else. So. I agree that it can be compared to real life, but I am against giving too much meaning to fictional reality. Literature is a way to speculate “what if?”, limiting this is stupid and harmful. It also indicates some problem or set of problems in real life and society.🌼

🌻Fiction shouldn't be trated with the same moral or ethical compass as reality. With this I don't mean fiction doesn't impact reality, but just that we can't treat them equally. Ficition impacts reality, but at the end of the day, apes like the ones in the movie aren't real, so there's not really a morally good or morally bad thing to want to fuck them (or not fuck them), and same with a ship involving apes.🌻

🍓Statement about that instance, yes but we can clearly see how fiction is affected by who its made of and how it in turn affects us. Women (characters) barely having roles in the past or having to fit into a certain mold and still doing so for example. Fiction does not exist in a vaccum.🍓

🍒I believe that while the kind of fiction that does affect reality, things such as racism and stereotypes, are a problem. Many works of fiction are simply fiction and do not affect reality in the way many assume it does.🍒

🍑Fiction is a great way to explore themes, metaphors, What Ifs, and a whole slew of situations. It doesn’t need to be good and pure—in fact, the really interesting stuff happens beyond that. Also, it’s just fun.🍑

🌷Literally nothing even close to resembling this ship could ever or will ever happen in real life. They’re literally not real. They don’t look like, talk like, think like real apes. How is it even problematic??🌷

🍁I don’t think that the statement “is just fiction” is legit everytime. But in this case i don’t see anythib wrong with that ship.🍁

🌾The apes aren't just regular apes like at a zoo, they have achieved sentience and have a whole society.🌾

🥑There are human ape kisses in the classic movies and nobody cared idk why people care now🥑

🥀Depends how unrealistic the ape is, too real ape is icky, king kong? perfectly fine🥀

🍇Apes are not fictional🍇

🔍Do you think the ape/human ship is different from a monster/human ship?

🔍Could you elaborate on an answer to the previous question?

🌼I think that the ape/human ship is xenophilia. I don't think the apes in the film can fit into the term "monster", so I refuse to consider this pairing as a monster/human. However, I come from a different cultural background than the typical American/English person, so I apologize if my opinion sounds offensive. In my circle, “xenophilia” refers to any craving for something unknown and alien, the term covers relationships with a wide variety of fictional intelligent beings (the spectrum is extremely wide) and is even sometimes (extremely rarely) used in the context of relationships between two people from very different cultures (for example a modern person or a person from a world with magic). Although it is still believed that one partner must NOT be a person in the classical sense.🌼

🍒The kind of apes, in both the old planet of the apes and the reboot, are in fact not like everyday apes. They've created cultures and languages and are closer to homo sapiens than those of apes now. Even their appearances are also changing. Some shapes to their faces, the way they stand, and even their eyes. They are fictional/mythical creatures that while having similarities to actual creatures the same could say about centaurs, etc.🍒

🥑The apes in the POTA franchise are evolved physically and mentally enough to be functionally alien. They’re not only sentient, they’re sapient. They’re capable of communication, love, care, connection. There’s nothing weird about it, just like there’s nothing weird about a story about a human romancing a big monster or a slimy alien. It’s all fair game. The original 1968 movie pitches the apes like they’re aliens anyway.🥑

🍑It’s a human with a “non-human sentient Other” and comes with similar baggage as your typical monster pairings (the differences, the fear, the awkwardness, the unexpected similarities). Just because the uncanny valley isn’t that deep (as it would be with, I don’t know, The Predator alien or an Uruk Hai) doesn’t mean it’s not a monster. Like, human/vampire counts, and that can be presented as barely nonhuman.🍑

🌻Apes like the ones in the movies are the same as monsters bc they are a different species and have special characteristics that makes them "monstruous" enough. An ape can be a monster as long as you consider "monsters" like vampires to be that.🌻

🌾They aren't just apes, they've been genetically modified. But they aren't full monsters either. It'd be like fucking Scooby-Doo, he's a dog but he's a sentient dog that isn't really a dog anymore. But is still a recognizable animal.🌾

🍓The apes in this universe are monsters. While I'm not one who indulges in this type of shipping, I don't think the apes are animals in this fiction verse so they fit in the category of monsters.🍓

🌷I guess you could call it that, but the monster fiction trope has developed into its own sub genre that I don’t think Noa and Mae fall into. It’s the two lead characters in a blockbuster movie.🌷

🍉In the context of the POTA films, I don't.🍉

🍇An animal is not a monster.🍇

🥀Again, depends on the ape🥀

🔍If you want to comment on something other than the previous questions and/or add more arguments to your opinion, feel free...

🌾Things written in fiction don't have to be morally okay in real life. That's one of the reasons we write fiction. You aren't a bad person for shipping an ape and a human as long as you can fully realize that a real life ape would never be a consenting safe partner for anyone but another ape. The idea that everything written should be morally okay is harmful for a lot of people. Fantasy has its place and should never be held up to reality's standards of ethics. That path leads to shame and repression that could seriously impact the mental health of generations.🌾

🍑I have been in this fandom on and off for literal decades and human/ape pairings have always been a thing. They have even been suggested in canon (kisses in both Tim Burton’s remake and in two of the original films: the first one and in Escape From…). This isn’t new, and it used to be embraced as part of the fandom. The vitriol and hatred in the current fandom is an unexpected switch for me, but sadly, the way fandom in general has been trending (“purity culture” where only morally good things are allowed), I can’t say I am too surprised.🍑

🌼I think the term "monsterfucking" is pretty fun and I have nothing against it, but I think for the sake of convenience a new, more inclusive term should be popularized. That is, is it possible to consider, for example, aliens as monsters and read pairings with them as a monster/human? What about a human/vampire? And so on and so forth. To my surprise, I see such discussions relatively often. Although perhaps I am biased and that is the only reason I see this as a problem.🌼

🍓I would like to add that the shipping here is fiction, yes, so I agree with that part of it but I also do not think fiction in general exists in a vacum. Sorry for any mistakes, English is not my first language either.🍓

🌷Free yourself from the thought police. Thinking is not a crime. Nothing about shipping two characters is a crime.🌷

🌻Almost anything fictional can be considered a monster if you think about it long enough.🌻

The results of the poll at the moment.

(I didn't know I wouldn't have access to the answers so I had to vote, sorry😭)

Thanks to everyone who participated! 🥰

#planet of the apes #pota #kingdom of the planet of the apes #kotpota #noamae #nomae #planeta dos macacos o reinado #planeta dos macacos #polls #monster imagine #male monster #fem!monster #monster x human #monster

[grimforks]

thinking about the way i was experiencing real, honest to god genuine psychosis all through middle and high school and up until idk a couple of years ago. what the fuck.

#immy yelps #i didnt tell anyone bc i didnt want people to see me differently for it and i also knew i wasnt in a position #where i could get help for it anyways #but even when i did try to tell people they got weird with me about it and didnt seem to take me seriously #like i was struggling really badly and despite trusting these ppl they just side eyed me and brushed it off. lol. #it wasnt even like i would dump it on them randomly i straight up was like 'hey im having a hard time can i talk about it' #and still!!!! #anyways people with psychosis genuiny get treated like ass even when you seem 'normal' most of the time #once you reveal your psychosis people either think you're attention seeking or dangerous or dont take it seriously #or what the fuck ever. there's no compassion. #the only person that i can think of that i've told abt it that took me seriously was my sister #and i told her recently. years after the worst of it. because yes it still lingers and i still have flare ups. #idk. just been thinkin about it lately ig

[shima-draws]

For anyone doubting whether or not to watch the MLB movie: I do have lots of positive things to say about it, but most importantly. Fucking. Daddy Gabriel. HE IS SO!!! He is so.

If you’re gonna do it do it for him

#Miraculous Ladybug #MLB movie #MLB #Shima speaks #I love love LOOOOVED Gabriel in this movie #Bc there’s still so much humanity left in him. He still has compassion. He still CARES about Adrien #Meanwhile TV show Gabriel: #Also I’m gonna be 100% honest he’s so fucking hot in the movie. OH my god. #AND THE FLASHBACK?? WHAT WAS THAT HAIRCUT LMAOOOOO #I was so Shook to see him A. Younger and B. With LONG HAIR?? Who ARE you #Anyway that scene at the end with Adrien? MWAH. CHEF’S KISS. #Movie Gabriel is Top Tier he may be a shitty dad but he’s a shitty dad with a HEART and that’s all I care about #I think bc they made him so much more emotive and expressive and overall just a desperate dad? #I actually care about him as a character SO much more #Show Gabriel is a fucking asshole. He has no soul #Movie Gabriel? Sir. SIRRRR #DADDY SORRY DADDY SORRY DA #I do not use that lightly btw. I rarely EVER use the D word on a character. This is HIGH praise coming from me

[cockyroaches]

Hey Pikmin fandom. Fetch

#i have to stop being shy about drawing gay ass art for myself only #oh i do love a weird little scientist with a questionable moral compass #my art #pikmin #pikmin 4 #pikmin oc #what the fuck ever #pikmin yonny #yonny #oc: linton

[stellerssong]

ok sorry the OTHER thing about lucienne is like. as previously stated she is dream's handpicked emissary from the waking world to the dreaming she's the diplomat in chief she's the translator she's the bridge. because the dreaming is, in a very real way, dream's own psyche, this is tantamount to giving lucienne a tremendous degree of access to his interiority and by transitive property also tantamount to entering into a deeply emotionally intimate relationship with her (unimportant for the purposes of this post whether that relationship is platonic or romantic).

now, in general, looking at the pattern of dream's close emotional relationships—dream doesn't share himself with people as a rule (beyond the access that all things that live have to the dreaming; but i'm talking about his self here, the one he doesn't like to acknowledge he even has), but when he does share with people, it's with people who have some shadow on the soul, so to speak. just looking at attested relationships in show canon, his deepest emotional connection seems to be with death, who embodies the duality of light and dark even better than he does himself. calliope is the muse of epic poetry—heroism and tragedy—and also bears the sort of divine pride that led her to cut dream off for hundreds or thousands of years when he wronged her. the less said about that other guy, the better, but he's no sunshine-rainbows-unicorns type—he's a soldier of fortune, a bandit and a killer, a man who profits from the sale of human life. even best bird matthew, in comix canon, had a sordid past that will maybe be partially retconned for the show but has still been gestured at.

dream likes the complicated ones. he's drawn to them. they speak to something in him that he won't acknowledge in himself (he has to be Whole, fully integrated, without reservation, because he is the king and he is the dreaming and if the dreaming ain't whole then the universe is in trouble—but he feels that ache nonetheless).

all that is to say: when people try to portray lucienne as dream's Designated Well-Adjusted Neurotypical Friend, i begin to harm and maim.

#chatter #as usual there is a larger pattern of behavior around this post that has been making me crazy for some time #it's the ''holder of the braincell'' trope but it's also just like the flattening of female characters of color in every possible dimension #so many people are terrified. TERRIFIED. to imagine a woman of color's pain #because the demands of shallow progressivism are such that they require you to acknowledge that A Black Woman Has Suffered More #Than Anyone Else Ever In The History Of The World Ever; Because Of Racism #but the demands of wider fandom are such that they require you to buy into the concept that A White Man's Suffering #Is The Only Suffering Worthy Of Care Attention Or Interest. #can't handle the dichotomy so instead they create the imago of a Black woman who has never suffered anything ever #she cannot be mentally ill; she cannot be disabled; if she is queer then it is in a way that is wholly self-contained and complete #and not ambiguous or in flux in any way; and most important of ALL she can never have experienced racism. #because racism As We Know is the worst form of suffering. so if she'd suffered racism then that would make her more worthy of #compassion than White Guy No. 37. which must not be #the very idea that lucienne is simply at peace with herself and the dreaming with no further complication.......like! #WOMEN OF COLOR ARE NEVER AFFORDED THAT KIND OF CERTAINTY. ARE YOU STUPID. #and by the way being reserved/calm/unassuming/practical are NOT absolute indicators of mental wellness. #y'all can see this when it's a white guy what is your fucking DAMAGE when it comes to women of color. #OPEN YOUR EYES. USE YOUR POWERS OF DEDUCTIVE REASONING. DREAM DIDN'T CHOOSE HER TO BE HIS THERAPIST. #DREAM CHOSE HER BECAUSE; PRESUMABLY; SHE ACHES. SHE CONTRADICTS. SHE GRAPPLES WITH THE SHADOW ON THE MIND. #SOMETHING IN HIM SEES A KINDRED SOUL IN HER. WAKE UP FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.

[tigergender]

Remembering the toxic hellscape that was 2015-2019ish SU fandom and just how much hate the show got is really insane when you rewatch the show after it's been a while. Like the show is good what the hell were any of these people talking about

#do NOT quote me on those numbers i pulled them straight out of my ass #like the ending was rushed and the diamonds didnt get to be fully developed but liek #the whole reason that was the case is there was an entire 6th season planned #and then the show got axed early because rebecca sugar and crew refused the back down on the rupphire wedding. #and even rushedness aside like the point of the show was never that you should hug fascists and forgive people no matter what #the diamond were rose's (and his) dysfunctional family whose personal suffering became the basis for the cruelty of gem society #bismuth in The Real World would have been right to want to kill the diamonds as a force of revolution #but the point of the show is that even the most complicated people are still people who can change. even if you dont forgive them #even steven quartz universe the most loving boy in the world very obviously does not like being around the diamonds. but that is how it is #it was a children's show that emphasized compassion and communication and family as themes. of course steven didnt kill the diamonds lol #i really fully believe the stevenbomb format (which was not the crew's choice or fault) cooked peoples' brains #you had months between major arcs so every wrongdoing by a character had months to be warped and misinterpreted and so no resolution could #ever satisfy fans who were festering with their own opinions for way too long #like these arcs looking back are not that long and they resolve in fairly reasonable manners but they took fuckin forever in real time to #wrap up #and ppl on the internet with no other hobbies than arguing made the fandom suck to be in and gave su a bad name #even if you dont like steven universe i think the amount of vitriol thrown at the show is/was fucking INSANE for what it is lmaooo #people were so so jolly to accuse rebecca sugar (a jewish lady) of being a fascist/fash sympathizer and paint every writing shortcoming or #morally dubious character action as a sign of pure fuckin evil #ok that was a long ass fuckin rant in the tags i am so sorry i'm just kind of opinionated on this matter as i am all matters #i've been rewatching su with my dad lately and this very normal and well paced and fun watchthrough experience has been illuminating #just how insane and uncalled for the hellish discourse sphere around su was/is #i say was/is i have no idea what su discourse is like nowadays. i'm too scareds to look in the su crit tag

[izzyspussy]

i think a lot of people have never been in a truly desperate situation but think they have, and this causes them to pass really harsh judgment on people who made bad choices when either irrational or having no good choices to pick instead, and i really wish people could get some fucking self-perception and work on their compassion skills and not fucking do that as much anymore

#jack facts #people be banging on about empathy this empathy that #and like sure maybe people have a measurable capacity for it but i can tell you what #that sure as fuck don't mean any fucking one of them ever bothers to make use of it when it matters lol #and i mean on the other hand it's hard to conceptualize how you would feel going through something you've never experienced before #i just wish people would be AWARE of the fact they don't know! #or like that there's a difference between ''i can't afford anything but instant ramen'' and ''i can't get any food or water'' #or a difference between being freaked out by spiders and having clinical arachnophobia #or a difference between ''my loved one is sick and i'm really worried about them'' and ''my loved one is dying in front of me'' #etc etc etc etc etc #anyway the longer i live the more i'm convinced that empathy is a garbage concept #and actually a more reliable way to act with true compassion is through at least some capacity for relative objectivity #the ability to say ''i don't know how that feels and i cannot understand it through comparison'' and to be able AND WILLING #to take people's self reports on their feelings thought processes or lackthereof in good faith and with sympathy #and also the ability to acknowledge that doing a bad thing for good reasons does not negate the bad thing being bad #but also should and does change what consequences are appropriate and/or most effective #and also like............... things people do in desperation or other irrational states do not represent Who They Are As A Person #or what it's like to hang out with them in a day to day situation #another thing i keep getting more and more aware of is like. if y'all can't even handle an irrational or impulsive choice that does harm #done by an otherwise ''good'' person under short term desperate situations #that they then do their best to reduce the harm of after the situation is over #i can not even imagine how absolutely unforgiving you must be of anyone who has delusions #and i mean real delusions and real psychosis not the hyperbolic babytalk version lol #like i don't think most of you even know what the fuck a delusion even is the way you act about things as simple & straightforward as like #fear. hunger. pain. #absolutely fucking exhausting

[soldier-poet-king]

Stop over spiritualizing everything as a "battle" against the "forces of evil" or I am going to beat you with my fists, and unlike the nebulous authority and power you attribute to demons, I can assure you my fists are very present and actively intent on stopping this rhetoric

#franposting #this is unfair of me perhaps but also I'm so. goddamn tired of this shit #kaddison drop the full ulis prayer of compassion bc i sure af need to adapt it to my own life #also like #fuck off the entire concept of church militant or spiritual warfare #it aint a battle folks. its a done deal. its won. be joyful. love deeply. #stop it with fearmongering and cowardice and guilt tripping oh my GOODNESS #everyday is more devout and apparently that means more radical #i am. so so soooo tired #anyway its the universalist in me!!!! #also stop attributing evil to outside forces like #nah babes that shit is from YOU. we choose evil. we have the capacity for such goodness and such evil inside us #thats sin! its not some big scary battle #except with yourself maybe. #i will never ever forgive what the west post reformation has done to the concept of the devil #MANICHAENISM 2.0??? #get that shit outta here. its about internal struggle. regardless of what we want to say about the source of it all #fundamentally. we have to look ourselves in the mirror and ask who we are goinf to be and how we are going to act #YES IM TIRED AND CRANKY AND WEEPY AND MY HEAD HURTS. WHAT ABOUT IT

[cornerful]

Sméagol and the Gift

'Now!' said Sam. 'At last I can deal with you!' He leaped forward with drawn blade ready for battle. But Gollum did not spring. He fell flat upon the ground and whimpered.

'Don't kill us,' he wept. 'Don't hurt us with nassty cruel steel! Let us live, yes, live just a little longer. Lost lost! We're lost. And when Precious goes we'll die, yes, die into the dust.'

Devastated by this. Just a little longer, he begs. Even though his existence is a torment. Even though the will that holds him to life is barely his own anymore. He has long outlived his time but it's such a cruelty that now the only freedom for him is in death. I'm glad Sam didn't kill him but the whole scenario is awful.

When a mortal keeps a ring of power he does not gain more life, he continues, denied natural mortality as the fear of death is amplified and twisted into fear of separation, nothing matters anymore but the keeping, the continuing. In that miserable existence there is no peace, and at its end there is no graceful goodbye to life, there is only dust. Sudden, empty, and final.

It would take murder to spare him that. Or falling with the ring into the fire.

Bilbo let it go in time (did he feel anything when it was destroyed?) Frodo is freed of it now, though the toll it extracted for the separation was at very least a finger. It was too late for Gollum for the price to be anything other than it was, and that's brutal.

If you live long enough, death is no longer the enemy. What Sauron did to Gollum ensured that it would always be the enemy, to be feared and avoided for ever, once time and the ring had fashioned it into the only escape left. Evil.

#lotr newsletter #suicide mention in tags #haunted by the au in which gollum goes into the fire with the ring On Purpose #bc he still couldnt separate himself from it but frodo's compassion had somewhat released him from its evil #in a way an honor to frodo's quest and in a way an act of mercy to be able to give up the self-torment #which gives me shrimp feelings bc of the everything but also back to the original point that it is so tragic that death is all that awaits #bc death is natural and that was taken from him. what is the will to live in the absence of natural death? #smth deeply horrible about that #matt bugg screaming we'll be dust. so famous and rent free #lotrn325 #damn it im having more thoughts #wraiths vs gollum: discuss #the nature of the ring kept affects the nature of its possession no? those rings were made FOR thralldom #sauron has power over gollum but not That Much and his own ring is all abt the domination #what would a 2000 year old gollum even be like ._. #the wraiths are probably even more tragic bc at this point they're like...undead. even death isn't freedom #on that topic what happened to the witch-king's spirit fr #I'm pretty sure he isn't ever actually called that in the book but it's epic and gender and way snappier than lord of the nazgul #anyway shoutout to i think yambits for breaking the lore and giving them peace that was sick #where's my gollum rehab fic #i know he's a horrible little man who is constantly trying to murder my boys but i love him so #the au...gollum gaining the willpower to destroy himself because he was given trust and kindness and companionship for once. FUCKED UP. #fucked up horrible i need a minute. being shown compassion and then becoming more self-compassionate. epic #that compassion entailing seeking the freedom of death your soul was denied bc this is fantasy and somehow the exact #arc that usually leads to fighting to live is now flipped. HUH. #yeah jirt alluded to his motivation being For Frodo but i maintain that the willingness to die is HUGE there and extremely relevant #me and my red string keeping me company #ugh tag championships i win i think but at what cost #who wants to spin around miserably in a pool like franknfurter with me as we listen to gollum's song #tam you're already invited i have a floaty for u

[cloud-somersault]

constellations chapter 3 is SO GOOD idk what the fuck happened there, but go OFF!!!

#i know everyone's in chapter 4 land but 3 is SOO GOOD #bro the stone forest alone....HELP #ugh it was so hard writing wukong's rage form but HOLY SHIT!! reading it after is so hype #do u ever just sit in a pavilion as the rain gently falls...with your ex-husband and mentee....and it's quiet and peaceful but #there's a strong turbulence going on deep inside you :3 #the way wukong always dusts MK off and wipes his tears away and makes sure he's clean faced and ready to go #speaks to how much wukong cares about vanity #i mean he also is expressing comfort and compassion but. he also cares about appearances a lot #but anyway -- do you also ever have a conversation with your ex-husband through eye contact alone? #i think they've done that four times in this fic... #mk the entire journey: every day i get a little more homophobic #HE'S SO TIRED!!!! #MK after talking to wukong and macaque at the inn: yeah haha! i seriously wanna go home now! 🙃 #MK on the phone: DADSY /PLEASE/ COME PICK ME UP!!!! #macaque seeing Wukong's eyes for the first time and actually stopping everything that he was doing #and just looking at wukong and being like “haha...heeyyy what the fuck?? did they do to you??” chef's kiss #wukong and macaque just talking while macaque captures that random man's shadow...please #as they reminisce about how things used to be...how easily they talk to each other when they're not guided by hate #that's the thing it's how easily they fall into step with one another #that's shadowpeach. they'll be off balance or one will be running and the other walking. they'll get distracted or whatever. but #they'll always fall back into step with one another #and that's why they've got to walk with each other. step by step...so they can stop being afraid 😌

[mewtwo24]

You know reading vol 5 of mdzs before all the rest (don't ask me why I'm a clown and there were Circumstances) has to be the craziest experience of my life. Because it took all of ten minutes of wwx talking to literally hit me so hard in the gut I had to sit down and listen to really loud music for a while to calm down.

Who needs therapy when mxtx is alive and writing, I guess????? 🤡

Can't wait to get to the actual tragic parts I just know I'm gonna be that "help" frog phone meme

#mdzs #i was really out here thinking svsss would be my fave bc of lbh #and then i finally get around to reading mdzs and it blows my expectations out of the fucking water holy actual shit #and i just had this feeling the first time i read parts of it like 'oh. this series is going to kill me. im not coming back from this.' #and here i am booboo the fool getting my clown ass make-up on #idk how to explain it like i just fucking LOVE mxtx's takes on arrogance #that wwx is constantly being perceived as a show off and an incorrigible flirt and a know it all #how wwx cant always help the ways he acts out the desperation that has embedded itself into his very bones #how wwx only ever wanted to do the right thing and that having been so much of his downfall #how his worth and talent would always be eclipsed by virtue of his circumstances #how he's above needing recognition at his core but at the same time longs for an ounce of good will and positive recognition -> #how human he is despite his brilliance. how he never gets it no matter how hard he tries to be worthy. #like to me wwx is emblematic of what it means to be poor/an immigrant in high places #always villified always alien always wrong always unwelcome #no matter how clever or capable or kind youll always be an eyesore because you don't 'act right'. not 'one of them.' you never will be. #i just...the way he just wanted it all to be over by the end. the way he didnt even want to come back to life. that he was sick of it all. #im rattling the bars of my cage i love him I LOVE HIM i love him #i understand you lan wangji (and i love lwj too) #and even lan wangji too like. the way so many of their issues in the beginning stems from that self-same problem #how lwj couldn't live with his out of control feelings how he too couldn't quite lay down his pride #how lwj was also trapped by the expectations of his clan in his own way how so much of their separation was a form of penance #that the calamity of wwx's loss forced him to reconsider everything he thought he knew about himself and his life #how he was left with nothing but regret. how when wwx returns--lwj refuses to leave anything to chance this time #he refuses to let wwx be alone anymore--refuses to let him hurt himself for the sake of others refuses to just let it all happen #even if it means overstepping a boundary or propriety it doesn't matter--as long as wwx stays with him. pride be damned #god i just can't i just can't do it im biting im ripping things apart GOD #will also say the jokes about lwj being like. 'strict moral compass or BUST.' and then wwx literally committing like 17 felonies in the bg #while lwj is like 'crimes? what crimes. nothing to see here.' NEVER stops being funny. like i was pissing myself laughing #i know its a known trope but by god are they hilarious about it #also. lan qiren how many times do your nephews have to go catatonic for you to stop with the catholic guilt and repression

[ikishima]

.

#the amount of compassion you have to pour directly into a bad-faith asshole's mouth without knowing whether there's even a point #in order to get them to the point where they're willing to engage at a level where they actually take your feelings & words into account #the point where they even start hearing you and seeing you as a potential equal in conversation #the point where learning and growing becomes a possibility #is fucking exhausting. and i understand why a lot of people refuse to do it. i understand why some people dont practice what they preach #because sometimes the congregation in question is just there to throw tomatoes without any intent of listening #but idc! idc! im not gonna let a bunch of assholes close my heart off. id rather be naive but kind and get taken advantage of #if the alternative is leaving people behind or making a single person feel the way i have felt #having good intentions but being unable to express it w/o negative emotion or without the correct words or not being given a fighting chanc #to never be seen as a person or heard or listened to is so hurtful #i never want to do that to someone #and if i have parted ways with you or made you feel like that at any point please know it is only when i have no other options left #i know it's an autism thing to be so utterly gutted at being misunderstood and i'm most likely giving energy to people who don't deserve it #but i dont care! i dont care! #my compassion IS a renewable resource because i keep feeding it hope and humanity #i get mad sometimes but please know every angry word i've ever said has stuck on my mind like a glue trap #i remember every fight i have been slightly too aggressive and potentially awful in since the fifth grade and i continue to ruminate #on harm i have caused however big or small #i feel so surrounded by hate and anger and i just want to be that person who doesnt get caught up in it and can be compassionate no matter #lots to think about today ... #x