#is getting another western release

[gamebunny-advance]

That's Cool

It's cool that more people are finding out about Magician's Quest due to that student/villager comparison post I made a while back.

I dunno what's caused it to start making the rounds, but if it's getting people interested in the series, then that's wonderful.

[finalgirlsamwinchester]

David Simmons, “There’s a ton of lore on unicorns too”: Postmodernist Micro-Narratives and Supernatural in TV Goes to Hell: an Unofficial Roadmap of Supernatural

started writing this mostly as a reflection on the above chapter from TV Goes to Hell. the show from its initial outset is based around a particular formula. the brothers often rely on a postmodern patchwork of stories to 'solve' their monster-of-the-week. on this show, everything can be real all together, all at once: from alternate myths and histories, to movie monsters, to urban legends, cultural gods, and folk tales. this cultural melange gets 'tamed' through the frame of the show's monster-of-the-week format itself, where everything gets solved to fit a singular narrative: identify the monster, find a way to defeat it, and successfully eliminate it (there are rare exceptions to this formula: bugs is the standout)

there's a tension between the characters' research, drawing from unofficial sources, local legends and civilian accounts versus the show's format demanding, in a sense, that fear of the unknown (really a fear of difference) be conquered through the simplified logic of its formula. unofficial sources and beliefs become incorporated into an official narrative, so to speak. they gain legitimacy and authority through our heroes use of them, not the other way around. magic is evil when a witch uses it, but somehow the rituals and spellwork our heroes use to defeat them don't count. you feel me. and that same logic applies to what monsters count as real and what doesn't. on this show, everything becomes real when our protagonists are able to see it and kill it.

(1.01, 'Pilot')

so a common show critique i see tends to separate the more episodic plots of the early seasons (1-3) from the more serialised grand epic narratives of 4-5 onwards. well my argument is this - nah, that impulse was there from the start! the mystery of the show was always going to dissipate, because explaining away the mystery was always a part of its initial premise. the concept that - 'the monster under your bed is no longer scary when you can name what it is and learn how to kill it' - turns into -> a fear of death? heaven and hell and everything else in between are now real, tangible places! fear over external, powerful forces meddling in your lives? demons, angels, leviathans, god himself! now all real and tangible beings! the air of horror and mystery shrouding s1-2 was never gonna last. the murky horror was always a means to a defeatable end.

(5.19, 'Hammer of the Gods')

anyways. there's an obvious mythological hierarchy in this series and it's very funny to me. all gods and spirits and monsters, even the ones predating christian mythology, fall under its ruling (white, judeo-christian) narrative authority. the postmodern embrace of multiple narratives is a ruse. all incompatible things lead to a universal truth. the show doesn't dispell the existence of differences; rather everything is to be combined, united under a totalising front, despite the contradictory nature of that impulse. this narrative then, down to its bare bones formula, is a civilising mission. civilisation barreling in, banishing fear and uncertainty from the light. and in order to stay in that light, one must submit to its complete authority. by this show's logic, uniformity ultimately requires the subjugation of difference.

[baalzebufo]

finally some of my accoutrements for my Uni are arriving... ive got a handful of stuff to customize it with in the mail right now including some different buttons and a faceplate, but! my case and dust plug arrived :) i bought two of those shykutchi plugs, one for my phone too, because he is so cutes to me (also this photo does NOT do justice to how glittery that case is. its much sparklier irl)

its nice to get into the customizing aspect of vpet stuff. i have a bunch of cute little sparkly tamagotchi stickers i got alongside this order which i wanna put on some of my other shells... also i still need to get one of the new connections sometime.

im holding out a little to see if they release more shells/the japanese ones become any more accessible in the uk because i want those glittery ones dangit

[redvelvetwishtree]

I have not been following western media at all for the past couple of days but I want to know how they have reported about the freed Israel hostage who said that she was treated well with her needs met and literally even turned back to shake hands and say Shalom to those who were releasing her. Was this shown and hyped up on TV channels and news websites? Was her release video played everywhere?

I only saw a clip of Sky News (Australia I think) where they started showing her speaking to the media and immediately cut it off when she started speaking positively...

Oh and what about another Israeli who was talking about how it was their own military who had actually attacked its own people?

I always ask and look for news and updates directly from Israel like we get it from Gaza. If you search for the Tel Aviv geotag on Instagram, it's mostly people chilling in Israel or some pro-Palestine accounts. Is there a possibility that Israel stops their own people from speaking up?

I know western media loves to cherry pick things to show to curate the image that Israel and the US wants them to curate but surely they cannot omit these things.

Here's a random post I just found, adding it here for now

[rebeccathenaturalist]

Today is apparently ANGRY STABBY BIRB DAY.

I was taking a walk on the boardwalk out near Bolstadt in Long Beach, when I came across this western grebe (Aechmophorus occidentalis) stranded on the path ahead of me. It looked alert and uninjured, so chances were just that it couldn't take flight off of the hard surface, but I called Peninsula Wild Care anyway to see if they wanted to bring it in for a checkup.

They quickly coordinated a couple of volunteers to meet me nearby, and I needed to get the grebe out of the way since a lot of people walk their dogs there and not all of them are on leashes. I figured okay, this is a relatively small bird, not as big as the muscovies I've carted around on the farm, and it seems calm, right?

NOPE. As I tried to gently reach for the grebe it turned from a calm, if confused pile of feathers on the decking to Stabby McStabberson, and I very nearly got jabbed and nipped a few times by a long, pointy beak attached to a surprisingly agile and very much NOT happy bird. I ended up having to take my hoodie off and dropping it over the entire grebe, and only when the lights were out could I bundle it up and carry it over to the meeting place.

Since it was pretty energetic, not obviously sick or injured, and its body condition felt decent (at least through the hoodie) I'm hoping it's going to get released soon enough after a checkup and a nice meal of fish. Many waterbirds have a lot of trouble taking off from hard surfaces because their feet are so far back on their bodies--which is great for swimming and water takeoffs, but not so helpful on land. If the bird had stayed stranded there they could have been injured or killed by another animal, or ended up dehydrated.

So let's hear it for Stabby the Angry Grebe, and wish them a good release back into the wild!

[clustxr]

hi y'all. i know i don't make a lot of original posts here. however, on may 31st, i watched as my friends and peers were brutalized at the hands of cops from departments across california.

edit 6/12/24: students for justice in palestine at uc santa cruz has published a press release. it is easily the best way to understand what happened that night. please take a few minutes to read it.

uc santa cruz police made a statewide call for mutual aid in order to disband the gaza solidarity encampment located at the main entrance of the campus - initially established at the quarry in the center of campus on may 1, it moved to the entrance on may 20 in solidarity with the UAW strike. on tuesday, may 28, protesters barricaded the main entrance, cutting off the primary way of getting on campus; though the western entrance to UCSC was left unblocked (except for a few hours on tuesday), the main entrance remained obstructed until the raid began late on thursday night. this road blockage is what admin cited as the reason for the raid, along with "campus safety" and "academic freedom".

it's important to note that prior to blocking the road, students had been encamped for 28 days, and had been holding peaceful, law-abiding rallies since october. nothing worked. months of following the guidelines that admin had set, and of course student voices were dismissed and ignored by chancellor cynthia larive and cpevc lori kletzer (the latter of whom, by the way, showed up at 6 am "walking her dog" and smiled while watching her students get suffocated and beaten). the escalation would never have happened if student demands had been met at the very beginning.

hundreds of cops in riot gear from as far out as uc davis showed up to abuse students. over 115 arrests were made, including 3 ucsc professors, transported off by buses that were fifteen years past their intended end-of-use date and had also been servicing the campus prior. is this "campus safety"? is this "academic freedom"?

from just before midnight until approximately 9am on friday, cops kettled, suffocated, shoved, yanked, beat, and bruised students. one got a battery charge for writhing and bumping a cop after another slammed him in the head with a baton. another had a bag placed over their head, leading to suffocation, vomiting, and loss of consciousness. at least two protesters were confirmed to go to the ER that morning; many more have had to seek medical attention for lasting injuries.

arrestees were given a 14-day campus ban, including those who live on-campus (functionally evicting them & preventing access to their belongings), not to mention subjected to horrifyingly inhumane conditions:

you can find more information on various instagram accounts such as ucscsjp, ucscdivest, fjpucsc, ucsc_encampment, & jawsucsc. there's plenty of other organizations and people posting about this, too. please, don't let ucsc brush this under the rug. demand amnesty for the arrestees and protesters. contact any ucsc admin you can find. the uc has been utilizing police brutality to repress student voices across their institution, with ucla and uc irvine also being victims of this violence. do not let them get away with it.

free palestine, from the river to the sea. if seeing this violence sickens you, remember that this is not even a fraction of what the people of palestine have been enduring for decades. we will not let the university silence us, no matter what.

[thewritetofreespeech]

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

summary: I couldn't help myself and had to do a part ii from Aemond's perspective of his valiant rescue of the reader (part i)

-----------------------------⚔️----------------------------------

Aemond was not a man to be easily distracted. Yet more & more these days he had found himself to be just that. Unable to break this curse that was upon him.

The second prince growled and threw his sword away across the training yard. Frustrated at his competition, a word he used very loosely in this scenario, as even their inept fighting could not keep his focus. Some lowly page scurried out to pick up his discarded weapon, seeming lost on what to do with it as the prince stalked off. Ignoring all of them as his sole focus again came back to [Y/N] with no further distraction.

When she first came here, Aemond had paid her no mind. One of his sister’s new girls. Noble. Fine figure. Indistinguishable from the lot. He had not thought to make an impression on her at first as she had made no impression on him. Yet the longer she stayed, attached to his family but still not one of them, he felt his eye drifting over to her.

He could not explain it. Perhaps it was because she paid attention to him. So, few people did these days. His mother clumsily moving the pieces to make Aegon king. Aegon being a louse and all other thoughts consumed with himself. His sister locked in her own head most of the time. The rest were too afraid of him or his ire to even bother with him, apart from training and the very few who sought his advice. And now she had taken that away from him too. Ruined one of his few pleasant past times of training with a sword with her insistent presence in his mind.

Aemond would be angry with her, if she knew. But he wouldn’t tell her. Though bold & fierce in combat, he couldn’t stomach the thought of losing what little standing he had socially by admitting he might feel something for her. He couldn’t risk people laughing at him. Couldn’t risk having her laugh at him.

So, he kept it inside. Balling it up in his chest like the rest of his feelings, to sit there and grow cold or be released blinding hot when a more opportune time was afforded to him.

His paces slowed as he came towards the western wing of the castle and the garden house. Keeping up with his sister and her routine, if for nothing else than to give Helaena company, Aemond knew that she, their mother, and [Y/N] would be playing with flowers that afternoon. He could not think of a duller way to spend an afternoon. So he would not be joining them for a brief appearance under the guise of seeing his family but in reality of catching a glimpse of [Y/N].

He rounded the corner to try and catch her glimpse now instead. Just one and he would be alright for the day. Just one, and he could continue pretending that he didn’t think of her constantly; until tomorrow when he needed another glance again. This curse an addiction on his soul.

From the shadows Aemond peaked out in hopes of not being noticed. His eye widened when he saw her. Seeing his brother cornered [Y/N] as she struggled to get away from him. That malicious laugh of Aegon’s that haunted his nightmares echoing off the glass on the walls.

When his brother’s hand bashed against [Y/N]’s face on accident, Aemond sprung into action before even realizing it. Grabbing his brother by the collar and throwing him away like the trash he was behaving as.

“What the hells Aemond?!” Aegon spat at him. Like he was scolding his little brother.

Aemond just scoffed with a sneer. What right did he have to scold him when he was behaving this way? What right did he have to tell anyone anything when he was nothing but wasted potential?

“This is how you chose to spend your time, brother.” He knew that Aegon could only half understand him. Drunk and waning off their mother tongue. He was a disgrace to the name Targaryen. “Did not our mother already have this conversation with you? About a future king’s place being on a throne for his subjects, instead of sticking his ‘sword’ wherever he pleases?” Aegon hissed back at him when he kicked a little at his shoe. Aemond doesn’t want to admit how good it felt to have him literally under heel, but Gods did it feel good. “Get Out, Aegon. Before I tell her and everyone else about what just happened.”

The elder looked fit to bite him, but instead, like always, Aegon left in a huff and went to take his rage out on others. He made sure not to take his eye off him as he left. “Are you alright?”

“Yes. As well as can be expected.”

Aemond then turned to look at [Y/N] as she righted herself. He felt disgusted at the way his brother carried on, but more disgusted at himself for how her disheveled appearance affected him. “Thank you…for helping me…”

“Hmm..it was nothing.” Truly. It wasn’t. With how much taller he was than Aegon now it took very little to pull him off his feet. The hardest part was how much of a deadweight he became when he was drinking.

“I should…talk to her grace….”

“No. Don’t do that.” Aemond didn’t mean to snap at her, but the thought of her telling his mother led him to bite as well. He knew if she talked to their mother, ‘Noble Queen Alicent’ would just send [Y/N] away. Aemond couldn’t bear that. He couldn’t sacrifice another thing for the sake of Aegon’s worthless honor and claim to the throne. “Do not say anything. Just leave it be.”

“But if Aegon tells—“He isn’t going to tell anyone.” He interjected. “He wouldn’t want people to know that he was beaten by a girl and his little brother.” His better brother, more like.

[Y/N] seemed unsure of herself. Understandably. If the situations were reversed, he would assume that the other was doing it to protect their side from scrutiny, instead of protecting him. Only she didn’t know how much he hated his brother and family sometimes. Or how much he wanted to protect her. “You would really stand against your brother on this?”

She looked up at him with those eyes. Those gorgeous eyes. Aemond had often wished for his second eye back, but in this moment he only wished for it back so he could look upon her face in full spectrum. But even with his one eye he could see how beautiful she was, even with the blood beaded up on her lip. He felt his own begin to boil. He was going to kill Aegon one of these days.

“I’ve stood against my brother for less important things.” Without thinking, which was rare for him, Aemond removed his glove and brushed the ruby specks on his lower lip away. Instinct to make that beautiful face anew. He realized too late what he was doing, but also that she didn’t shy away or look scared. She looked…hopeful. But maybe that was his own maginations projecting into her eyes. “You should get cleaned up. Before anyone sees you.”

The hopeful look in her eyes vanished (or maybe it was never there) as she realized she was supposed to meet with his mother & sister shortly. “But…if I change, I’ll be late. Her grace cannot abide lateness.”

“I’ll take care of it.” Aemond offered immediately. Surely, he could distract his mother for a meager 10 minutes to buy her time. And Helaena had no sense for time at all. “Go.”

[Y/N] looked at him fervently, like she wanted to say something but couldn’t, before she slipped past him and headed for the door. “Aemond,” she called once she reached it, turning back towards him in a way that made his nails bite in his hand to keep still, “I…thank you again.” That look in her eye. That hitch in her breath as she paused. He wasn’t imagining it, was he? Then she was gone.

The prince took a deep breath to calm himself and lifted his hand to inspect it. Crescents gnawed into the flesh, but it would heal. His eye then flickered to his thumb. Still red with her rubies. He stared at it for a long time before he lifted the digit to his mouth and tasted it. Gods how he was disgusted himself, but oh why did everything about her have to be so sweet?

Hands clean, though not his mind, Aemond put his glove back on and went to cut his mother off at her pass for a distraction. Again, surely he could manage 10 minutes of conversation with her to buy [Y/N] time. 8….at least….

[mariacallous]

“There are only so many books on Ukraine we can review each month,” an editor from a major British newspaper tells me at one of the country’s largest literary festivals. He looks a bit uncomfortable, almost apologetic. He wants me to understand that if it were up to him, he’d review a book on Ukraine every day, but that’s just not how the industry works.

Since the start of Russia’s full-scale invasion, I’ve had a glimpse into how several industries work: Publishing, journalism, and the broader world of culture, including galleries and museums. Even before the big war, I knew more than I wanted to about how academia works (or rather doesn’t) when it comes to Ukraine. A common thread among all these fields is the limited attention they allocate to countries that do not occupy a place among the traditional big players of imperial politics.

Cultural imperialism lives on, even if its carriers often proclaim anti-colonial slogans. It thrives in gate-keeping, with editors and academics mistrusting voices that don’t sound like those higher up the ladder, while platforming those who have habitually been accepted as authoritative. “We’ve done Ukraine already” is a frequent response whenever you pitch an idea, text, or public event centering the country.

The editor who can’t keep publishing reviews of Ukraine-related books walks away, and I pick up a copy of one of the UK’s most prominent literary magazines to see their book recommendations. Out of a handful of reviews, three are on recent books about Russia. It seems like the space afforded to Russia remains unlimited. I close the publication to keep my blood pressure down.

Keeping my blood pressure down, however, is challenging. When my social media feeds aren’t advertising another production of Uncle Vanya, they’re urging me to splash out on opera tickets for Eugene Onegin. What happened to the dreaded “cancelling” of Russian culture? The Russia section in most bookshops I visit in the UK is growing daily with everything from yet another translation of Dostoevsky to accounts of opposition figures killed or imprisoned by the Kremlin.

The international media focus on the August 2024 release of Russian political prisoners was yet another example of how the more things change, the more they stay the same. While these released prisoners were provided with a global media platform to call for an end to “unfair” sanctions on “ordinary Russians,” there was no mention of the thousands of Ukrainian civilians who continue to languish in Russian jails.

The ongoing international emphasis on all things Russian goes hand in hand with a reluctance to transform growing interest in Ukraine into meaningful structural changes in how the country is perceived, reported on, and understood. Although there has been some improvement in knowledge about Ukraine since 2022, the move is essentially from having no understanding to having a superficial grasp.

Each time I read a piece on Ukraine by someone not well-versed in the country’s history and politics, my heart sinks. The chances are it will recycle historical cliches, repeat Kremlin propaganda about Russophone Ukrainians, or generalize about regional differences. And to add insult to injury, such articles also often misspell at least one family or place name, using outdated Russian transliterations. A quick Google search or a message to an actual Ukrainian could prevent these errors and save the author from looking foolish. Yet aiding this kind of colonial complacency seems to bother neither the authors nor the editors involved.

I often wonder what would happen if I wrote a piece on British or US politics and misspelt the names of historical figures, towns, and cities. How likely would I be to get it published? And yet the same standards do not apply when it comes to writing about countries that have not been granted priority status in our mental hierarchies of the world. We can misspell them all we like; no one will notice anyway. Apart from the people from those countries, of course. And when an exasperated Ukrainian writes to complain, I can almost see the editors rolling their eyes and thinking, “What does this perpetually frustrated nation want now? We’ve done Ukraine. Why are they never satisfied?”

It is not enough to simply “do Ukraine” by reviewing one book on the war, especially if it’s by a Western journalist rather than a Ukraine-based author. It’s not enough to host one exhibition, particularly if it is by an artist or photographer who only spent a few weeks in the country. Quickly putting together a panel on Russia’s war in response to a major development at the front and adding a sole Ukrainian voice at the last minute doesn’t cut it either. This box-ticking approach is unhelpful and insulting.

It is important to acknowledge that some Western media outlets have significantly enhanced their coverage of Ukraine over the past two and a half years. They have typically done so by dedicating time and resources to having in-house experts who have either reported from Ukraine for many years, or who are committed to deepening their knowledge enough to produce high-quality analysis. However, many of these outlets still seem compelled to provide platforms for individuals entirely unqualified to analyse the region. Surely this isn’t what balance means?

Since February 2022, more than 100 Ukrainian cultural figures have been killed in the war. According to the Ukrainian Ministry of Culture, by May 2024, over 2,000 cultural institutions had been damaged or destroyed. This includes 711 libraries, 116 museums and galleries, and 37 theatres, cinemas, and concert halls. In May 2024, Russia bombed Factor Druk, the country’s biggest printing house.

When I attended this year’s Kyiv Book Arsenal, Ukraine’s largest literary festival, each panel began with a minute of silence to honor the memory of colleagues killed in the war. All this is in addition to mounting military losses, many of whom are yesterday’s civilians, including journalists and creatives who have either volunteered or been drafted into the army. This is the current state of the Ukrainian creative industry.

To save time for Western editors, publishers, and curators, let me clarify what all of us perpetually frustrated Ukrainians want. We would appreciate it if they turned to actual Ukraine specialists when working on Ukraine-related themes. Not those who suddenly pivoted from specializing in Russia, or who feel entitled to speak authoritatively because they discovered a distant Ukrainian ancestor, or those who have only recently shown interest in Ukraine due to business opportunities in the country’s reconstruction. We would be grateful if they took the time to seek out experts who have been studying Ukraine long before it became fashionable, who understand the country in all its complexity, and who care enough to offer Ukrainians the basic dignity of having their names spelt correctly.

I like to fantasise about a time when editors of top Western periodicals will choose to review books on Ukraine not simply because the country is at war and they feel obliged to cover it now and again, but because these books offer vital insights into democracy, the fight for freedom, or the importance of maintaining unity and a sense of humor in times of crisis. I hope for a day when galleries will host exhibitions of Ukrainian art, not just because it was rescued from a war zone, but because the artists involved provide fresh perspectives on the world.

I also dream that we, the perpetually frustrated Ukraine specialists, will eventually be able to focus on our own scholarship and creativity rather than correcting the mistakes and misleading takes of others. This will happen when cultural institutions, publishing houses, universities, and newspapers acquire in-house experts whose knowledge of Ukraine and the wider region extends beyond Russia.

Dr Olesya Khromeychuk is a historian and writer. She is the author of The Death of a Soldier Told by His Sister (2022). Khromeychuk has written for The New York Times, The New York Review of Books, The Guardian, Der Spiegel, Prospect, and The New Statesman, and has delivered a TED talk on What the World Can Learn From Ukraine’s Fight for Democracy. She has taught the history of East-Central Europe at several British universities and is currently the Director of the Ukrainian Institute London.

[retrospacejelly]

A Western Romance

Pairing: Ex-outlaw!Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

Summary: Lost and in need of a place to stay, the ex-outlaw needs a place to sleep. Good thing he wandered into your yard.

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Guns, Mentions of the devil’s tango, typical cowboy things, language

Part: 1/?

Part: 1, 2, 2 1/2, 3

Not proofread

A/N: Personally, there should be more Western Miguel content. I love Cowboys! I had this idea brewing for a while, and character ai helped push the plot! (Thank you Monstera for letting me expand on the plot!)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Crickets chirped as the sun set over the horizon. Despite the warm weather of July, a nice breeze blew through the small town of Nueva Falls. On the outskirts of the tiny town, a small house sat just over the hills, hidden from society.

Y/N hummed a tune as she took her now-dry linens off the worn line. A weaved basket sat at her boot-covered feet, holding sheets, blankets, and whatever else was washed that morning. 

As she reached for the last sheet, a twig snapped in front of her. Pausing both her movements and her humming, she listened for any other noises. It could always be a rodent or a coyote. She mentally groaned. Ever since one of the panels to the fence around the chicken coop broke, coyotes had been raiding (or at least attempting to raid) the coop. 

She brandished her pistol that had sat snug between her hip and skirt, slowly moving from behind the sheet. Best not to provoke it. For now. 

Y/N squints at the now darkened horizon, not noticing an immediate threat. Before she could turn around, a hand slipped around her middle and another over her mouth.

“Don’t make a sound, Dama.”

The voice grunts out. His breathing is uneven, and despite his strength, sounds weak. Y/N nods frantically, pistol still clutched tightly in her hand. He slowly releases her, turning her around to face him. 

Now getting a better view of the man, Y/N’s jaw almost dropped. Why he had to be over 6’5! His tan skin shined with what little moonlight was above, his piercing gaze watching her every move. She did the same. 

Lowering her gaze, she noticed his disheveled state. His clothes were wrinkled and darkened from dust and grime, his peppered hair messy and sticking to the nape of his neck. He didn’t seem to have a weapon of any kind, not that he’d need one with his burly build.

“Are you hurt?” she asked, trying to scan for any noticeable injuries. Seemingly taken aback by her question, there’s a beat of silence before he lets out a deep chuckle. Lord.

“Are people in this town always this kind and trustin’ of strangers?” He replies, his eyes falling onto her gun. “Well, ‘Cept maybe you.”. 

Y/N can’t help but smirk, a surge of confidence taking over. “Well, I’m not like most people in this town. That shoulda’ been made obvious to ya’ when you wandered on my property. Now. Are you hurt? And what are you doin’ on my property?” She prods again.

He shakes his head. “No, no. I ain’t hurt. Just tired and hungry. What’s a lil’ thing like you doin’ out here by lonesome anyhow? Don’t you know wild animals roam ‘round at night?”

She huffs, annoyed. “You don’t do too well answerin’ questions, now do ya? Why. Are. You. On. My. Property?” 

He throws his hands up in mock defense, shrugging off her comment. “I’ve been wanderin’ through the desert for the past two days after my horse broke its leg. Long story short, I was robbed by bandits while I was camped out, and all I have on me are the clothes on my back, Senora.” He moves closer, boldly reaching up to caress her cheek,

“Please, I just need a place to stay and a meal to eat. Your abode was the first inklin’ of settlement I’ve seen these past two days.” He looks into her eyes, his voice now a whisper. “Please.”

She hums skeptically, taking a step back. “Why not stay at an inn in town? They got brothels to keep a horn dog such as yourself company.” Y/N snarks back, slipping her pistol back into her waistband. 

He chuckles again. “You suggestin’ I partake in those kinds of…sinful pleasures? Now that’s just hurtful, Princessa.”

“What unmarried man doesn’t?” Y/N snaps, crossing her arms. She taps her foot against the ground, waiting for another comeback. Once again he chuckles, shaking his head. Some conversation they were having. 

“And how would you know if I’m a married man or not, hun?” 

“Well, I don’t see no ring on your finger. And with the way you were touchin’ me earlier, what else am I to assume, hun?” 

He grins. “Who says I’m flirtin'? Maybe I’m just a friendly guy.” A beat of silence. “A bit too friendly, don’t you think?”. He shrugs again, “Is there such a thing as bein’ too friendly?” he inquires.

She nods, “‘Course there is.” He takes a step forward again, his posture relaxed. He takes a lock of hair into his hand, twirling it. “If I’m bein' too friendly, then tell me ta scram.”

Y/N smiles, “‘Corrdin’ to you I’m too kind.”. Noticing her playful jest, he smiles too. “Yeah, a real ray of sunshine you are.” He teases, dropping her lock of hair. “Mn, and you a ball o’ fire.” 

“You seem awfully friendly for a gal who brandished her gun towards me.” He says, leaning in ever so slightly. Y/N places a hand on her pistol. “Yeah, and this gal still has her gun. Don’t go tryin’ nothin’ now”.

He lowers his voice. “Trust me sweet thing. I’d never do nothin’ of the sort…less you want me to?”. She leans in, just an inch away from his face, only to swiftly pull away. “How many nights you plan on stayin’ cowboy?”.

His eyes widen at her trick, but he quickly regains his composure. “Just a night, Darlin.”

She nods. “Mn, alright. I won’t charge ya…money that is.” 

He smirks. “What are ya lookin’ for in exchange then…?”

“Help on my ranch.” Y/N shuffles past him and picks up her basket. She pulls the sheet from the line and plops it in the basket. “One of the panels that fence my chicken coop done broke on me, and I haven’t had time to fix it. Damn coyotes keep trying to snag a snack.” She huffs, setting the basket on her hip. “Sound like a deal?” 

He ponders over her offer, looking up at the moon. He looks back down at her. “You’re askin’ a total stranger to work on your ranch for a night?” 

She refrains from rolling her eyes. “I’m also lettin’ a total stranger into my house. I think rationality has flown out the window. Besides, you were the one to come onto my property askin’ for a bed and a meal.”

He rests his hands on his hips. “You’re an interestin’ one, I’ll give ya that. Can’t tell if you’re too trustin’ or jus’ know how to talk a man inta’ doin’ favors for ya’.”

She shrugs, “The motel’s open all night, you choose.”

He lets out a sigh, not wanting to go into the busy town. Surely someone would recognize him there. He’s surprised she hasn’t already. “Alright, Senora. Ya got yourself a deal. I’ll fix up yer fence if it means a roof over my head and a pretty lil’ thing to keep me company.”

Y/N chuckles, a light blush dusting her cheeks. “Alright, c’mon and follow me.” She says, walking towards her back porch. She hears his heavy footsteps trailing behind her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[jjungkookislife]

Envolver Ch. 3

ღ pairing: vmin x reader

ღ genre: poly am!au, fwb, f2l, smut 18+

ღ summary: Halloween is a busy night at the bar. However, you still find time to sneak away for a private night with Jimin and Taehyung.

ღ wc: 3.2k

ღ warnings: alcohol use/mention, oral sex, making out, fingering (f. receiving), unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, degradation, praise, threesome in a workplace, cum swallowing, creampie, interrupted aftercare :(

ღ date: October 31, 2024

Music pounded in your ears as you swirled your drink with your straw just to hear the soft clink of the ice against the glass. Your efforts for the evening had been rewarded as the patrons around you gushed about the Halloween decor. 

Your almost boyfriends were busy behind the bar as they served drinks and sent flirty smiles to their customers to earn tips. 

Psy was at another table, laughing at something his companion said. He wore a bright pink western outfit, just as extravagant as the sets he wore for Western Night. 

“Hey!” Psy grins when he spots you, eagerly waving you over to his table. You hug him tightly, giggling when he squeezes you before he releases you. “I’m so glad you’re here! This place looks fantastic.”

“And I didn’t go over budget,” you grin. Psy laughs and hugs you again, kissing your temple.

“And that’s why I love you! She’s great,” Psy says to his companion. “The best!”

You smile bashfully, accepting his praise before he waves over a server to get you a drink. He pats the chair beside him, and you take the seat.

Spiderwebs hang overhead, and a flash of light turns the ceiling purple, green, and dark blue. Spiders linger overhead, skeletons set on corners enjoy their fake drinks, and the bar has fake blood dripping off the sides.

Namjoon is the first to spot you as he climbs onto the bar. His long black cape is tied around his neck, the collar pulled up high. His fangs glint when the spotlight hits him. Hoseok joins him in his Fae costume, his purple hair makes your heart flip. They both look so good.

Your thoughts wander to the last time it was just the three of you in the bar. How easily they bent you over it, taking turns fucking you until you left with shaking legs.

Hoseok looks at the crowd as he rips his blazer open, buttons flying into the crowd as his sculpted torso appears, shimmering under the spotlight. The crowd’s cheers are raucous. You plug your ears until it dies down, but you cheer along with them.

Hoseok turns around, his blazer sliding off his broad shoulders. He moves his hips seductively. Namjoon moves forward, grips the back of Hoseok’s neck, and brings him in. He makes a show of showing his fangs to the crowd before he sinks into Hoseok’s neck, earning cheers that rattle the building. Tips go flying in the air as Namjoon brings Hoseok’s thigh between his, moving back and forth until they separate, going to opposite ends of the stage.

Seokjin joins them in the middle. His Sea Captain uniform makes you drool, and you hope he’ll keep it intact until you can rip it off him with your teeth later on. You press your thighs together as Seokjin motions for Namjoon and Hoseok to join him in the middle.

“Welcome to tonight’s Halloween Extravaganza! Our Poison Apple drink is to die for!” Seokjin laughs as the crowd cheers. “We have a lot in store for you tonight! Games, cash prizes, a costume contest, and a dance on the bar where the winner gets a partner for the rest of the night!” Seokjin pauses for the crowd to cheer.

Namjoon and Hoseok clap on the bar, while the rest of your friends, boyfriends? Clap behind them.

Jungkook has taken his Scream mask off, which he will do in between intervals to rack up some tips, though they have been stacking when he puts the mask on. His plastic knife is bedazzled and is strapped to his arm for photo ops. Tonight’s event is ticketholder only, with a few lucky regulars in the crowd.

The tables are filled with patrons, some lingering near the bar, and some on the makeshift dancefloor. You sip your drink as the music starts up again as Seokjin, Namjoon, and Hoseok step off the bar.

“Glad you could make it, baby,” Yoongi startled you as he appeared beside you. He chuckles at your reaction. You cup his face, your fingers lightly tracing the fake scar over his eye. It had come out a lot better than you thought. You had erased and redrawn that bitch so many times, almost rubbing his poor face raw.

“Hey, my little mobster,” you tease, giggling when he rolls his eyes dramatically.

“Admit it, I look hot,” he grips the lapels of his suit, and you nod mindlessly. If you had him at home, you would have dropped to your knees in front of him, begging him to fuck your pretty face until you cried. That is why they had left home early to get ready at the bar.

“You a'ight,” you shrug as you down your drink.

Yoongi cackles as he drapes his arm over your shoulders. “So easy to fluster.”

“Shut up!” you whine as you wave down a server. Yoongi pauses his teasing long enough to order you a drink before he rests his head on your shoulder.

“You look amazing,” he compliments you. “The Queen of Hearts suits you.”

You know he means no ill intent but your heart still cracks. You know you’ve been stalling on defining the relationship but it’s only because you’re afraid of how things will change between you.

“Where’s your weapon?” you ask, changing the subject.

“In my pants,” Yoongi wiggles his brows, and you playfully smack his chest.

Yoongi throws his head back as he laughs. He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a pair of chopsticks.

“That’s it?”

“You haven’t seen what I can do with them yet,” Yoongi shrugs as he tucks them back in his pants pocket. “But I can show you.”

You gulp as you stare at him. Your drink arrives, and the server sets it in front of you. Yoongi reaches for it, downing half before gripping your chin and opening your mouth. You welcome the drink, swallowing it down before Yoongi sets the glass on the table.

“Show me,” you respond after you swallow.

“So eager,” he smirks as he kisses you, passing you the ice cube in his mouth. The coolness surprises you as you crunch down on the cube. “But there’s no time.”

Yoongi leaves you panting, thighs pressed together and cunt clenching around nothing. He easily walks to the bar, taking his spot beside Seokjin as the night's first game begins. You wave down a server, ordering a cup of ice to cool yourself.

~

Bobbing for dildoes instead of apples wasn’t on your list of games for tonight, but catching Yoongi’s reaction to catching the biggest one may have been worth it. 

“You just have to rile me up,” Yoongi sighs as he presses your back to the wall of the locker room. You grunt, moaning when his lips meet yours before you can answer him.

Yoongi lifts your leg to his waist, his lips pressed to yours. He grinds against you, moaning your name as you rub against him. He desperately wishes to bury himself inside you

 and make you cream his cock but it’s only a few minutes before Jimin is calling his name to get on stage.

“To be continued?” Yoongi asks with one last kiss.

You nod. “To be continued.”

Yoongi kisses your cheek before he leaves you in the locker room to catch your breath. Your cheeks flush with heat as you slip back into the crowd. You join Psy at his table, grateful he’s saved your seat as you watch Yoongi and Jungkook climb onto the bar.

You fan yourself with your hand as you watch them dance.

Bills get thrown at the two of them as you sit back and watch. The music pounds against the walls, as you leave your seat long enough to join the crowd, huddled at the bar. Yoongi spots you immediately and smiles. He shakes his butt harder, his smile glowing brighter.

Yoongi and Jungkook finish their dance, Jungkook stripping down to nearly his boxers. You shake your head, you’ll have the elder men wrangle him back in.

 You sip on your drink as Jimin and Taehyung are introduced to the crowd. You clap loudly beside Psy. He chuckles at your enthusiasm.

“Jimin! Tae!” you scream as loud as you can.

Both men turn to you, hearing you above the crowd. 

Taehyung is clad in his red outfit and mask. An outfit worn on a popular show. Jimin dazzles in his leather outfit. His mask rests behind the bar as he dances to his heart’s content.

Jimin waits for the song's apex before he drops to his knees in front of Taehyung. 

The younger man smirks as he unzips his suit, just low enough to tease the patrons and Jimin.

The crowd goes wild as Taehyung grabs a handful of Jimin’s black hair, tugging his head back before he kisses him. Bills fly toward them, the thundering crowd growing insane as the kiss ends.

You fanned yourself as you tried to cool yourself down.

The song ends too soon before they both step off the bar.

Seokjin takes over as MC. He leads the crowd to the next game, laughing as the patrons stumble over themselves to get in a line.

You excuse yourself, heading to the locker room as quickly as possible. You type the code in quickly, shutting the door after you before you head to the familiar couch. You fix your makeup in a mirror, knowing your lipstick will smear before you head back to your table.

Minutes later the door opens. Taehyung and Jimin walk through, both laughing at something before they spot you on the couch.

“Well, if it isn’t our favorite girl,” Taehyung smirks.

“You look great, babe,” Jimin states as he sits on your left side.

“That you do, boo,” Taehyung smirks as he sits on your right.

“Queen of Hearts? More like Queen of my heart, am I right?” Jimin wiggles his eyebrows.

“Do you have an off button?” you ask him feigning annoyance.

“Only when I cum,” Jimin cackles when you shove him.

“You’re insufferable,” you complain as Tae pulls you onto his lap, straddling him.

“I’m not,” Tae smirks, his hand tangled in your hair. He pulls you toward him, his lips meeting yours. A moan escapes you, heart flipping in your chest.

Taehyung holds your hips, his lips melding with yours perfectly. Your hands rest on his shoulders for a moment. They soon move down to his zipper, pulling it down until it bunches at his waist.

“Don’t ignore me,” Jimin huffs with a petulant frown. He inches closer in his leather pants. His rabbit mask sits off to the side. He pats his lap, and you crawl toward him. He moves you so your back is pressed to his chest.

Your legs splay open on his lap as Taehyung moves off the couch to the floor. He drops to his knees, licking his lips when he spots your panties. You moan as you kiss Jimin, melting into him as Taehyung spreads your legs further apart.

Jimin tugs your dress down to expose your breasts. His hands cup each tit, his fingers rub your hard nipples. You sigh, moaning his name as you try to close your legs to press them together but Tae stops you as he helps you out of your wet panties, tossing them over his shoulder.

Jimin kisses your neck as he rubs your clit in tight circles, moaning your name into the column of your throat.

“That’s it, princess. Moan for me,” Jimin encourages you as he continues his ministrations. “That’s it, baby. What a good fucking girl.”

Jimin’s fingers slip inside you easily. You welcome them by spreading your legs on his taut thighs. You’d love to ride his thigh any day of the week but you’re distracted by his fingers fucking you open for his thick cock. You moan, falling apart as he lifts you just enough to have your cunt swallow his cock whole.

You dig your nails into his forearm, moaning at the delectable stretch. 

“Fuck, Jimin,” you curse, nearly drooling over yourself. He chuckles, fucking up into you. 

“You like that, baby? Like getting passed around like the fucking whore you are?” he asks with a toothy grin. Your eyes roll back as you nod in answer. He chuckles darkly, sliding his arms under the back of your knees to spread you further.

“Show Taehyungie how much you like it, slut. Let him see how you cream my fucking cock,” Jimin smirks at Taehyung as you whine. You rest your head on Jimin’s shoulder, whining as his fingers rub your clit until your thighs tremble, orgasm building deep inside you until it bursts.

“Jimin!” you cry out, swearing at him until you calm down.

“Fuck, yes!” Taehyung exclaims as he watches you soak Jimin’s lap. “What a cockhungry, whore for Jiminie.”

“Tae!” you whine, covering your face in embarrassment. Jimin laughs as he pulls your hands off your face. “No hiding for us, princess. You might be the queen of our hearts, but that doesn’t mean we don’t own yours.”

Jimin continues to fuck your creamy, warm cunt. He curses as you tighten around him as Taehyung places his hands on Jimin’s knees, and his tongue meets your clit. Jimin groans when he feels Tae’s fiery tongue on his balls when he licks you.

“That’s it, love. Keep licking her cunt just like that,” Jimin encourages his twin flame. Tae does as he’s told. His tongue fucked the both of you, making your body tingle. Jimin’s strokes are long and slow, his cock filling the deepest parts of you.

Taehyung is jealous, he’s eager for his turn, eager for a taste of your tight cunt wrapped around his fat fucking cock.

“Wanna feel?” Jimin asks Taehyung.

“Please,” The younger man pleads. “Fuck, please.”

Jimin helps you to your hands and knees. You nearly swallow his cock when you get settled. He grabs a handful of your hair, gently thrusting it into your mouth while Tae gets behind you. He fingers you, curling his fingers to make you cum. You cry out around Jimin’s cock, begging for Tae’s cock.

The stretch is delectable. He fills you whole. His large hands grip your hips, his thrusts deep and hard as you choke on Jimin’s cock. You gag, tears rolling down your cheeks as you take both of them with a hearty grin.

“That’s it, baby. What a good slut for us,” Taehyung praises you. You moan in response as you’re fucked within an inch of your life by both men.

Jimin hits the back of your throat, groaning as you swallow around him. Taehyung feels you clench around his length, his nails dig into your hips as he fucks you onto his dick. Both of them moan, looking at each other for a moment before they’re both cumming inside you.

You swallow as much as you can, while Taehyung fills your cunt with him. He makes you cum soon after, thighs shaking as you feel Jimin pull his cock out of your mouth.

Jimin grins. “Well, that was hot as fuck.”

Taehyung agrees as he fucks his cum back into you with his fingers, drawing a second orgasm from you.

“Should we get Yoongi to clean you up?” Taehyung smirks, noting how you tighten around his fingers.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Taehyung giggles as he gets dressed. Jimin sucks his fingers clean before he kisses you. They spend a few minutes at your side, holding you close and kissing your body. They wish they could draw a bath for you, but it’s not long before they’re being called back on stage.

“We’ll send someone in,” Taehyung assures you, frowning as he goes with Jimin on his heels. “We’ll take care of you tonight, love.”

You lay on the couch, fucked out of your mind, expecting Yoongi to join you soon, but instead, Jungkook pops his head into the room.

“Hey,” he greets you with a shy wave.

“Hi!” you chirp as you wave him over. “How are things on stage?”

“They’re going,” he informs you as he sits beside you. “Yoongi and Seokjin are doing body shots for tips.”

You laugh as you relax on the couch. Jungkook sits by your feet but you sit up to let him get closer.

“What about you?”

“What about me?” Jungkook asks with a raised brow.

“Wouldn’t you rather be out there doing body shots?” You ask him directly.

“No,” he answers honestly. “I’d rather be here with you.”

“Jungkook,” you start but he presses his finger to your lips.

“Don’t. I know what you’re going to say and I don’t want to hear it. Let’s just enjoy this brief time we have together. Just you and I, all alone. That’s a hard thing to come by in our situation.”

“Kook,” you breathe but he hushes you with his lips instead.

“Let us have this moment,” Jungkook whispers before he kisses you again. You thread your fingers in his long hair, moaning when he sucks on your neck.

“There’s not much time,” he whispers as he kisses his way down your body.

“We have all the time we need,” you respond as he grabs your hips to tug you closer to his face. He chuckles, “Nope. Gotta get on stage. Gotta make rent.”

“I’ll keep you home right here,” you’re not sure what you’re babbling about at this point as he kisses up one thigh and then the other.

“Mhhm,” he hums as he licks a stripe up your cunt, teasing your clit for a moment before he moves lower.

“Fuck, I can still taste him. So warm,” Jungkook moans as he drinks you in, his tongue makes you lose yourself shortly after. He wishes he could cum with you, but he simply licks his lips and helps you get dressed.

“We need to go back out there,” he says as he leads you out of the locker room on shaky legs. Instead of depositing you with Psy, he takes you to Namjoon and Hoseok.

“Poor baby,” They coo at you. Namjoon drapes himself around you protectively. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

“Wanna cuddle,” you pout as he holds you closer. 

“I know, love. We will. The night is ending,” he states as he holds you while Hoseok rests his head on your shoulder.

Music still fills the bar as Jungkook does his dance, shaking his ass for the crowd. He goes to one end of the bar before he runs forward and drops to his knees to slide the rest of the way. He rips his costume at his chest, showing off his impressive abs to the crowd.

Cheers deafen you as you watch the money flow and the liquor run down his abs from a bottle Jimin has handed Jungkook.

Yoongi spots you from behind the bar. He mouths something to Namjoon, but you’re too tired to respond.

An hour later, the night comes to an end.

You’re left with Yoongi, who is closing up with Hoseok and Seokjin. They busy themselves, eager to head home but you’re sat on the bar with Yoongi between your thighs.

“How are you feeling?” He asks as he places his hands on your thigh.

“Exhausted,” you answer him.

Yoongi hums as he helps you off the bar.

“Let’s get you home, Queen of Our Hearts.”

<< previous

[dalishious]

Reading Three Trees to Midnight tonight struck me with a realization that the Vir Tanadhal is SO culturally comparatively Mi'kmaq...

We've heard two different versions of the Vir Tanadhal, and both are applicable.

Version one, spoken aloud by Ilen in Dragon Age: Origins -

"The first is the Vir Assan—the Way of the Arrow: to reach for our goal, unrelenting. The second is the Vir Bor'assan—the Way of the Bow: to bend, but not to break. The last is the Vir Adahlen—the Way of the Wood: we are as ancient as the forests, each tree a part of the greater land."

Version two, first introduced in World of Thedas vol. 1 -

"Vir Assan, the Way of the Arrow: Be swift and silent, Andruil taught. Strike true; do not waver. And let not your prey suffer. Vir Bor’assan, the Way of the Bow: As the sapling bends, so must you. In yielding, find resilience; in pliancy, find strength. Vir Adahlen, the Way of the Wood: Receive the gifts of the hunt with mindfulness. Respect the sacrifice of my children. Know that your passing shall nourish them in turn."

This is literally just recycled concepts like M'sit No'kmaq, Wejisqalia'ti'k, Netukulimk, and Etuaptmumk!

M'sit No'kmaq means all my relations. It is the understanding that all living beings are related to one another. Even things that would not by western views be considered living; everything with a shadow has a spirit, and all spirits should be respected as you respect family. Just like the Dalish talking about being part of a greater whole.

Wejisqalia'ti'k means from this earth we sprouted. It is the understanding that we are a part of Mi'kma'ki; we are a part of our homeland, just as much as the land, the sea, and the sky. Just like the Dalish talking about being as ancient as the forests, and nourishing Andruil's children in death.

Netukulimk means seeking a good living. It is the understanding of how to maintain a sustainable relationship between the People and the Earth. When you gather or hunt or fish, you do not take more than what you need, and you always offer thanks for what the Creator has provided, honouring what you have harvested. Just like the Dalish talking about respecting the sacrifice of Andruil's children, and being mindful of the hunt's gifts.

Etuaptmumk means two-eyed seeing. It is contemporarily used to describe the relationship between combining western views and Indigenous views, but in general refers to the way in which people must seek understanding from each other, to grow but not assimilate. Just like the Dalish talking about finding strength in pliancy, but resilience in yielding; to bend, but not break.

Whenever I get around to writing the second edition of my great big Indigenous Coding in the Elves of Dragon Age essay—at some point after the release of The Veilguard in case there are new comparisons—I will definitely be including this.

[naeverse]

Hearts On Fire

A/N: I completely adored writing this—like OMG!!! I just wanted to thank my bestie, @amariiyagurl , before diving into the story since she was the one who gave me the wonderful idea. Once again, I really, really enjoyed writing it, so thank you, girlie!!🤎🧡 Art(s) by: mariammew2 & Pinkiemme

🐴staring: BountyHunterMiguel O’Hara x Fem!SassyVaquera

      🌵preview: 

“What do ya want from me? To see me lose control? To go against my damn duties?!” The hunter shouted, his face trembling in uncontrollable anger. “What ya find pleasure in that? Seeing me lose my shit?”  

“Why, yes indeed..."

🐮summary: Miguel O’Hara is a ruthless and cold bounty hunter of the Wild West, renowned for his sharp wit, perfect aim, and unprecedented tracking skills. He never cared about the outlaws he arrested, sometimes even killed. It was merely business in his eyes, nothing more.

It wasn’t until you revealed your beautiful face as an outlaw of the Wild West that the hunter found himself completely smitten by your gorgeous smile, ravishing body, and sharp tongue, which he both loved and hated.

But you were an outlaw, and he, a bounty hunter. 

You and he were like water and oil.

You didn’t mix…

Or so it seemed…

🐴tw/cw: Bed-Sharing, Big Dick Miguel, Bondage, Butt Groping,  Cock Bulge, Desperation, Dirty Talk, Doggystyle, Forbidden love, Late 1800s, Missionary, Multiple Orgasms, NFSW,  Olfactophilla, Praises, Rough Sex, Squirting, Temperature Play (If you squint), Western Themed, Wild-West Base, 19th-Century

🍺Pet names: Cariño (Darling), Querida (Dear), Miel (Honey), Vaquera (Cowgirl), Bebè (Baby), Princesa (Princess), 

     🤎Rating: 18+ explicit I SMUT I

 🌵 Word Count: 14.4k words 

(*All rights reserved. DO NOT repost/translate/copy any of my work.*)

"Mierda!"

The curse fell from the lips of the notorious bounty hunter, Miguel O’Hara, upon dodging yet another set of flying bullets being shot at him. He growled, straightening up on his saddle and giving the reins of his ebony horse a sharp snap, pressing the spurs of his boots into its side to urge his adored stallion faster.

He couldn’t let you get away again. 

Not this time...

Miguel O’Hara was a famous bounty hunter who was known throughout the Wild West for his reputation as a relentless tracker and unmatched sharpshooter. The mere mention of his name struck fear into the hearts of outlaws, knowing that if you had a hefty price and were on the bounty hunter’s list, you were as good as captured, or in some cases… 

Dead.

Although Miguel had an infamous reputation of being the end of many ruthless and cunning outlaws, there was one that always managed to slip through his fingers…

You.

Y/N, the vaquera with the excellent aim, sexy body, and witty tongue always seemed to continuously evade his capture. He couldn’t help but despise the woman just as much as he secretly admired her.

It was always that damn mouth of hers…

She could sweet-talk and charm almost anyone, even the infamous bounty hunter, which was the reason behind his countless missed arrests of the beautiful vaquera.

But not today.

Miguel was going to make sure of it.

"Vamos, Xian! Vamos!" Miguel shouted to his horse, his body leaning forward as his black stallion snorted in response, her hooves thudding faster against the rocky and dry terrain of the desert. Miguel's black durst coat blew behind him in the wind as his mahogany eyes were trained on your figure, riding upon your horse just a few miles ahead.

A wicked smirk spread across the hunter’s lips upon getting closer to you.

‘You aren’t getting away this time.’

Miguel thought, effortlessly, he hoisted his iconic steel six-shooter from its holster, aiming the long barrel directly at you, who was galloping at lightning speed to escape the notorious bounty hunter. With a click of his thumb upon the hammer to cock the gun, he didn’t hesitate to shoot, pulling the trigger.

Only for a second, the piercing sound of the bullet’s release reverberated through the desert, to be followed with a frustrated snarl from the hunter at the sight of you dodging it.

You let out a gasp, one hand flying up to clutch your brown wide-brimmed hat to keep it from flying away, just as you veered your horse to the left to avoid the passing bullet.

You glanced over your shoulder with a taunting smirk on your cherry lips, the sight only making Miguel’s blood boil. “Stop fuckin’ runnin'!” He bellowed, his gruff voice full of rage with a potent Western and Latino accent.

A soft laugh passed your lips at him. “Stop chasin’ me then!” You shouted back with an amused smile that almost took Miguel’s breath away; but in that brief moment of awe, he didn’t notice when the attractive vaquera pulled her gun out, firing at him once more.

His attempt at dodging the bullet was unsuccessful as a loud whine from his horse filled the desert.

“Xina!”

Miguel exclaimed in shock and worry, feeling his stallion stagger in her steps and begin to slow down. His mahogany eyes snapped up to see you getting further away from him, Xina’s whimpers of pain bringing his attention back to his wounded horse as he knew she wouldn’t be able to keep up with you.

Not in this state…

At that revelation, irritation filled Miguel's being. “Shit! I almost had her!” He hissed in frustration, watching the beautiful vaquera ride off into the distance. He clenched the reins of his horse tightly, trying to calm his anger.

“I’ll find you again, Cariño. 

I promise you…”

It was now evening, and you were sitting inside a saloon in a town you'd encountered, enjoying a nice glass of whiskey after your successful getaway from the infamous bounty hunter.

“Another glass, and keep ‘em comin’,” you exclaimed to the bartender with a grin as he poured you another glass of the alcoholic drink.

You smiled, bringing the whiskey to your lips when you, suddenly, felt something hard press into your side. You winced at the sensation of the solid object being jabbed harshly into your ribs before a warm and overpowering presence came over you.

"Holler or make any sudden moves, and I’ll gladly put a bullet in ya.”

You bit your lip, instantly recognizing the deep voice of the owner of the gun currently prodding into your inner organs. “Why, if it ain’t Miguel O’Hara. It’s nice to see ya again.” You chuckled in a breathy tone due to the piercing pain, watching the large bounty hunter take a seat on a wooden stool beside you at the bar. His grip on his gun seemed to tighten after your greeting.

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your lips at the sight of the massive, stoic Latino.

Miguel O’Hara was a hunter you’ve never met before—so determined, stern, and versatile. He was honestly a jack of all trades, and one that had greatly piqued your interest upon encountering him for the first time six months ago.

Dressed like a shadow, he was adorned in his usual attire of a black durst coat, collared shirt, pants, and black sturdy boots. A wide-brimmed hat, with a skull, also sat upon his head of coffee-brown curls and tanned, rugged features.

Instantly upon meeting his cold mahogany orbs, you knew he’d be fun to play with—more than the other hunters. But you had to admit, the Latino didn’t get his great reputation senselessly.

He always gave you a run for your money—just like now…

You peered at the silent bounty hunter, trying to suppress the urge to wince from his gun still poking into your side. Your eyes roamed his face, taking in his hardened expression of a clenched jaw and permanent scowl that could curdle milk. His mahogany eyes, hooded by his black hat, traced your seated figure.

You could see the conflict occurring behind those enchanting orbs of his.

He was trying to make sense of you, but he simply couldn’t…

In all of Miguel’s years of being a bounty hunter, you always seemed to surprise him. With a loaded gun pressed into your side that could be fired any moment, you didn’t seem a bit fazed.

He’d seen outlaws that practically shit their pants at being held at gunpoint, yet you continued to drink your whiskey and kick your legs under the table like you were enjoying a nice lil’ ride on a wagon.

The bounty hunter was secretly impressed, but that damn taunting smirk of yours was working his last nerve.

“I can’t say the same 'bout you, chica,” he bluntly replied, leaning in close, as you instsntly felt his anger radiating from his body.

“You not only robbed that fuckin’ train, but you shot my damn horse.” He spat harshly, his voice full of malice. His gun dug deeper into your side, and his face was so close to yours that your breath was practically mixing. “And you hurt my Xina; I should shoot you dead right here. 

Right now.”

The bounty hunter threatened through gritted teeth. You rolled your eyes, hearing him say the same thing before. “Then why don't you?” You asked, taking a sip of your whiskey.

Miguel's thick eyebrows furrowed in confusion at your inquiry, his puzzlement only making him angrier. Once again, you were using that sharp tongue of yours to try and screw with his brain. “What shit are you yappin’ now?” He growled, irritation found in his voice.

A snicker left your cherry lips at the hunter’s perplexion. “It's not that hard a question, Miguel.” You giggled, peering over at him from under the hood of your brown hat.

“Why haven't you shot me dead yet, hm?”

You smirked, watching his tan, rugged features scrunch up further in rage, the sight pleasing you immensely.

Miguel's grip tightened upon the handle of his pistol, his teeth clenched so harshly that he believed they'll break any moment. “Perhaps I'd rather see how that pretty face of yers would hold up in prison.”

You laughed, taking note of his compliment. “Whatever you say…” You snickered, turning to take another sip of your whiskey.

"Whatever I fuckin’ say!?" Miguel snarled, unable to believe how nonchalantly you were taking him. Most outlaws’ attitudes would hastily change at the mere presence of the infamous bounty hunter, but here you were, still badmouthing him and acting like this was a joke.

It was only enraging Miguel further…

His scowl deepened as he sharply thrust the barrel of his six-shooter into your side, making you groan. “Here you are playin’ games and talkin’ shit like this is just a fun lil’ evening for ya.”

“Because it is.” You retorted, trying to ignore how your side would surely be bruised with how deep his gun was burrowed into your skin, despite being covered by your shirt.

Miguel figured you'd say that, but it still didn't make him less pissed.

“Then I'll love nothin’ more than to wipe that damn smirk from yer face, especially after what ya did to my precious Xina.” Miguel threatened, his mahogany eyes seeming to become a scarlet red at his seething anger.

You scoffed, shooting him a glare. “This fuckin’ horse again?!” You spat in irritation. “I believe your damn horse is real fine.” You replied, casting a glance at the entrance of the saloon to see his ebony horse standing behind the gated entrance. She looked relatively healthy, aside from a bandage upon the side of her massive black body. “Stop over exaggerating; it looks like just a darn graze to me.”

“And that fucking ‘graze’ is going to cost me a hefty sum of cash,” he sternly said, but despite how angry he was at you…

Damn, you were too sexy for your own good…

He couldn’t help letting his eyes drift down your body, taking in your vaquera attire of a simple pair of dark blue, slim-fitted pants and a matching button-up with brown fringe along your outfit. A set of brown boots and a wide-brim hat sat upon your head. He also took notice of how the outfit seemed to accentuate every piece of you.

Your attire was not only breathtaking, but it broke all the regulations assigned by men when it came to the makeup of a woman. Unlike the proper lady, pants adorned your gorgeous legs instead of the usual housewife skirt.

However, despite how rebellious your entire outfit was, it made you look hotter than a Texas summer; your stunning body was a quality the bounty hunter couldn’t get enough of, and it never failed to stir a wave of conflicting emotions through him.

Miguel cleared his throat, shaking off his adoration and lust for you to replace it with the annoying and rageful traits you shared instead. He leaned in close, his western and Latino-accented voice dropping to a low whisper.

"You must be aware of the hefty bounty on yer head, don’t ya, princesa?” He inquired in a hushed tone, not wanting anyone to overhear.

Miguel's breath fanned against your cheek due to his closeness, the sensation causing tingles to run down your backside. “Indeed, I do.” You simply stated. “A thousand…Correct?”

Miguel laughed darkly at your reply, shaking his head. “After your little shenanigans in that boom town last month, your price has been raised, sweetheart.” He uttered, your sweet natural scent along with the sweat and dirt on your skin filling his senses, igniting his concealed desire.

“Five thousand...”

The hunter stated, causing your heart to drop. However, your face held its usual unbothered expression upon hearing the new price. You looked away from him, snatching up your glass of whiskey in frustration. Miguel smirked, watching you gulp down the rest of your glass in hopes of calming your nerves.

“Five thousand is on your head, dead or alive, querida.” He said, finally taking notice of your adamant attempt to avoid his eyes, the sight angering him.

Without warning, he took your chin in his large, gloved hand, snapping your head to meet his stern and rageful ones. Your eyebrows furrowed in a mix of anger and surprise upon his sudden action.

“Be thankful I haven't filled ya with lead, chica, with yer attitude that option is seemin’ more and more temptin’.” He growled, his eyes roaming the beautiful face that has caused so many problems in the West. Your beauty only fueling his fury.

“You've been a damn thorn in my side since your first robbery down in the Southwest.” He rasped, his gloved fingers tightening around your jaw as with his every word, his barrel pressed deeper into your side, causing your eyebrows to screw together in pain.

You groaned softly, glaring daggers at him, and noticed some of the customers of the saloon starting to look over at the two of you.

“I'll be darn, that's Miguel O'Hara, ain't it. Look, Willy, ain't it?”

“And here I thought you were pullin’ my leg, Hank. That is him—but wait… and that's that cowgirl too, right?”

“Shoot dang, it is!”

The chatter of two loud older male customers filled your ears. Their recognition of not just Miguel but also you really pissed you off.

‘I didn't come here to cause a damn scene and draw attention to myself. Got enough shit to deal with as it is.’

You thought angrily, deciding it was time to make your exit. With an endearing grin, you gazed up at the bounty hunter, placing a hand onto his forearm that grasped your jaw and giving it a gentle caress with your fingertips. “Miguel, dear, we've been at each other's throats for months now…ain't we, babes?” You stated with a pout, continuing to brush the pad of your fingers along his arm with your eyes trained on him.

The bounty hunter completely stiffened at your touch, his mahogany eyes glancing down to your hand before snapping back to you.

He knew you were trying to seduce him with your alluring eyes, hypnotizing touch, and sultry voice, but damn was it hard to resist you. His desire was already growing, and your enticement was only feeding the flames.

“We have…” He practically growled through gritted teeth, the only thing keeping him stable was his grip on his steel six-shooter that was still piercing into your ribs, reminding him of his duties and reputation along with the importance of him detaining you…

Or killing you…

Miguel's eyes, practically red, glared down at you; seeing the bounty hunter angry always seemed to rile you up even more. You bit your lip, running your fingers up to his bare wrist, the only bit of skin that wasn't concealed by his sleeve or leather gloves.

You traced your fingertips along the valley of bulging veins that resided there, keeping your eyes on him. “Indeed, hunter…so perhaps, we can become allies instead of enemies, eh?” You suggested while caressing his wrist.

Miguel's jaw clenched, unable to ignore the wave of heat that was spreading through his being at your touch, and he only became more enraged at his body's adorning responses.

It was always like this with you…

He finally gets you cornered with nowhere else to go, believing he has won before you allure him enough to give him the slip.

Miguel had promised himself that today would be different, that today would be the day he would finally catch you; but with the way you were looking up at him from under your beautiful eyelashes, stroking his wrist and speaking to him so seductively…

He was close to taking you right there at the bar.

“I don't align myself with people, let alone outlaws, miel.” He said, trying to stay focused on his mission and not the growing excitement in his pants.

At his rejection, your pout deepened.

“And here I thought the last time we met up like this was somethin’ special…��

You slyly trailed off with a devious grin, watching, for a moment, as the bounty hunter’s thick eyebrows furrowed in disbelief and shock.

‘She really went there.’ Miguel thought, smirking at the recollection of his previous heated encounter with the beautiful vaquera and how very pleasing it was.

He removed his revolver from your side, tucking it back into his holster but not removing his large hand that encased your jaw. “You think bringin’ that up is going to save your sexy ass?” He inquired with a chuckle, his words bringing a smile to your lips. “No…not with you.” You giggled, batting your lashes up at him. “You are too smart for that.”

Miguel’s eyes narrowed in frustration. He hated how slick that mouth of yours was—it was like an eel dipped in oil, able to outwit and outsmart anyone with just a smile and a little teasing.

And goodness, did you love to tease…

You grinned, looking up at Miguel. “Mmm, but just think of how good it was, Miggy.” You uttered, moving your hands to run along the front of his duster coat, gripping the flaps and pulling him closer to you.

Miguel growled softly, his pants seeming to become painfully tighter the more you spoke and talked to him.

With a glance down, it wasn't hard to miss how aroused the hunter was. The enormity under the black fabric of his trousers demanding attention and yours, in particular. You smirked, finally having him under your control.

“You remember, don't ya?” You whispered, leaning in closely to the hunter's face, his stern expression faltering at your nearness. 

Miguel tried hard to resist you, but it was like he was under your spell, feeling your lips ghost along his jaw, up to his ear.

“How good ya felt in my throat and how well I took ya?”

You muttered seductively into his ear while removing a hand from his coat to trail down his chest. Your fingers tracing his bulging pecs and abs as you descended further. 

“Just imagine how good yer feel elsewhere? Perhaps…”

Your fingers found what you desired, looping through his front belt loop of his pants, and tugging him towards you with a seductive grin. A gasp escaped his lips, his black-gloved hand landing on your arm, ceasing your movements as his mahogany, slightly dazed, and lustful eyes gazed down at you. Your hands upon his pants, temptingly close to where he wanted you the most, drove him to the edge.

You instantly became surprised, the rare sight of such an expression upon your gorgeous face enough to cause him to stir underneath his briefs; however, he was once again conflicted—not knowing if he should listen to his head or his desires when it came to you.

You were just too risky to let go, and too sexy to lock up…

And there was a wretched part of him that didn't want to see the sexy vaquera in bars, regardless of how much of a pain in the ass you were.

So, what should be done with you...?

You gazed up at Miguel, taking notice of how his stoic expression had returned—that attractive smirk of his gone and replaced with his scowl like before. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight.

Was he not buying it?  

Was he about to arrest you? 

Shit, you were nervous as hell.

“Miguel? Babes-”

“Stand up.”

Miguel abruptly said, removing his hand from your jaw and pulling away. You laughed nervously, reaching out for his gloved hand.   “O-Oh, Miggy, who knew you were quite the funny one-”  Your dismissive words were cut off by the hunter suddenly swatting your hand from him and hastily grabbing your arms, pulling you onto your feet. A gasp passed your lips at his rough actions.

“What the hell?!” You shouted as effortlessly, Miguel tossed your body over his broad shoulder as if you were featherlight. His burly arm wrapped around the back of your thighs to hold you firmly against his massive body.

You scoffed in disbelief, laying upon what felt like a boulder for a shoulder.  “What the fuck is wrong with ya! I-If you don't put me down, ya sidewindin’ two-faced piece of shit!” You hollered whilst punching his backside in hopes of him releasing you, but to the hunter, you were like a dust devil—all wind and no impact.

Miguel turned, taking notice of the obvious attention the two of you were bringing—many of the customers now staring. The hunter tipped his hat to the fellow individuals of the saloon in a gesture of apology. “Pardon the ruckus, folks, this just business.” Miguel said in his usual, gruff voice, the vibrations of his tone rumbling throughout his massive body.

With a smirk, the bounty hunter carried you out of the saloon, your loud and repetitive kicks and curses following the two of you.

Miguel stepped outside, taking in the earthy and sagebrush scent of the new town he'd tracked you down to, named Roca Roja. It was a town that he could count on his fingers how many times he'd visited, but currently, he'd never seen so many bodies decorating the streets, especially as the sun was now setting on the horizon.

However, he couldn't exactly enjoy the nice, dry breeze of night with your damn yelling in his ear.

“I don't know what the hell is goin’ on in that thick skull of yer's, but yer've done lost yer darn mind!” You yelled from atop Miguel's shoulder as his black boots crunched under the rocky terrain of Roca Roja.

He continued to ignore your insults and shouts, clicking his tongue to signal his horse that fell into step beside him.

The hunter's Xina, an Appaloosa with a beautiful white spotted pattern down her ebony backside and around her snout, walked next to the both of you. Her loud snorts and clomps of her hooves filled the night and drawing your attention, but what really caught your eye was the nicely wrapped bandage that covered her torso.

You averted your eyes from the horse, feeling slightly guilty, but your demands and protests never ceased while the hunter continued to bring you to this unknown location. “Where are ya even takin’ me!?” You exclaimed, continuing another barrage of heavy punches to his muscular backside to no avail. His boulder of a shoulder digging into your already bruised side, only further angering you.

Your punches and kicks were completely useless to the huge male. Once you became tired, you slumped upon his shoulder, wincing slightly at how it continued to jab into your bruised ribs. You scowled, glaring over at the hunter. “What the hell is the matter with ya? Kidnappin’ a gal like this is a crime too if ya didn't know!” You shouted in annoyance.

Miguel heaved an irritated sigh, not understanding how a sexy thing like you can have such a nasty attitude. “If ya stop ya bitchin' I just might answer yer questions!” He shouted back at you.

A growl passed your cherry lips, finally quieting down to allow the hunter to speak. “Now…what's going through that pretty noggin’ of yer's is correct.

I'm takin’ ya in.”

Your eyes widened at his words, hastily, returning back to trying to escape.

You'll be damned if you go to jail so easily like this…

Swift hands flew to your holsters on your hips to find them empty, your revolvers missing from their places. The dark laughter from the hunter following your discovery only made your heart drop.

“Looking for yer guns, Cariño?” He taunted, giving your ass a playful smack, making you jolt. The sensation left you in a mix of anger and arousal at his spank. “Yer been a bad gal, so no guns for a beaut like you.”

You snarled, glaring at him. “So what!? After everythin’ we've been through, yer just gonna throw me to the wolves? You know what they'll do to me in there!” You exclaimed, trying to hide the worry in your tone at possibly being a part of such an unsanitary place with harsh conditions that could cause any sane person to lose their sanity.

Miguel's arm tightened around your thighs, his heart shamefully tugging. “Don't tell me yer scared, vaquera,” he teased, continuing to walk through town with you over his shoulder. “Shut it, hunter,” you scowled, delivering another punch to his backside in rage that only left him laughing. “Why, if ya do the crime, ya do the time. You know the law,” he replied.

You heaved a sigh, not believing after all your fun you would be sent to a place so hideous and dehumanizing— some jails didn't even separate by genders. 

You'll surely lose your mind in there…

“Yer not…seriously goin’ to take me back to Nueva Yorkano in one night, ain't ya?” you inquired, hoping it was a ‘nay.’

Miguel grunted, acknowledging that his horse, Xina, wouldn't be able to make a trip to the town, Nueva Yorkano, where you were most wanted in, without breaks, especially at night. There were many obstacles a traveler could encounter—coyotes, ruthless vaqueros, the harsh elements, and the extreme drop in temperature were all your enemies on a night journey through the desert.

The hunter cast a glance over at his horse whose steps were already starting to slow down. His wounded stallion hurt him more than anything due to him raising her from just a young foal; seeing her like this tore him up inside.

“Nay, we'll be gettin’ a room,” Miguel stated, clicking his tongue and gesturing with his head for his horse to follow him to the right, changing his destination to the nearest inn.

A grin spread across your cherry lips at your delayed arrest.

‘Perhaps, I can escape before we-’

“Fuck! What the hell!?!” You exclaimed at the sharp spank Miguel delivered to your rear, the smack pulling you from your thoughts and leaving an intense sting. “Don't get any funny ideas, chica, I'm still pissed at you about Xina,” he growled. “So try anythin’, I won't hesitate to rough you up, got it!?”

You rubbed your sizzling rear-end, muttering under your breath. “Rough me up…” You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “You won't dare put ya hands on me,” you said from atop his shoulder as Miguel heard every word, bringing a smirk to his lips.

“Why…there are other ways I can ‘rough’ you up, Muñeca.”

Miguel uttered suggestively; one could dare say the hunter was flirting with you. You chuckled, smiling over at the stoic male. “Well, puttin’ it like that, it sounds like somethin’ I wouldn't mind experiencin’ then.” You giggled.

Miguel grunted in irritation at your comment, trying to ignore how turned on he became at your response. His mahogany eyes located a small inn nearby, its sign holding in big letters:

‘Cobweb Comfort.’

“We'll rest there,” Miguel replied, walking over as you looked over in the direction he was taking you, a groan passing your lips.

“You must be pullin’ my leg, Miguel. Here! Of all places!?” you whined, taking in the rustic and aged inn with paint peeling from its walls from years of neglect and windows layered with desert dust.

The closer Miguel got to the place, you could make out the uneven porch, loud creaking rocking chairs that sat upon it, and the nearby stable that showed many signs of disrepair but held many horses inside.

Everything about the inn was distasteful in your eyes, wishing to reside elsewhere that actually gave some care to the appearance of their establishment unlike this one.

Despite your complaints, the hunter ignored you, signaling for his horse to wait by the door before going into the inn.

The door creaked open, and you observed how the tall hunter's hand clutched his black hat as he slightly lowered to pass under the short doorway upon entering.

The interior of the inn looked quite similar to its exterior, with peeling wallpaper, heavily scuffed floors, and faded landscape paintings upon the walls.

Miguel's eyes took in the lobby of the rustic inn, instantly making contact with a rather familiar man sitting behind a weathered wooden counter. The innkeeper seemed more invested in smoking and reading his book to even notice the both of your arrival.

You scoffed. “Trash-ass customer service too. Darn, didn't see that comin’.” You mumbled sarcastically with an eye-roll, earning an annoyed grunt from Miguel.

The hunter approached the desk, his boots thudding upon the wooden floorboards, causing it to creak with his every step. The wood and smoky scent only intensified the further he walked into the inn.

Miguel peered over the counter, staring intently at the male that looked to be his same age, who was still oblivious to him having customers. Strangely, the innkeeper seemed familiar to the hunter, but due to the few oil lamps that hang from hooks inside the lobby, he was unable to see him clearly.

Miguel cleared his throat, hastily getting the male's attention, his amber eyes glancing up in surprise. “Ah, pardon me, didn't see ya there.” He chuckled, closing his book and standing from his chair, although, upon making eye contact, both men recognized each other.

“Well, I'll be damned, Miguel O'Hara! My buddy!” The guy said, giving the stoic man a friendly pat on the shoulder that the hunter simply glanced at.

Peter B. Parker was a bubbly and too jolly innkeeper that Miguel had saved a few months ago from being shot dead by an outlaw he'd been tailing. On the spot, the auburn-haired man bought Miguel drinks and offered him a free spot anytime at his inn to repay him—but the hunter didn't think he'd ever actually encounter him again…

Miguel gave Peter a mere grunt for a greeting, the male snickering as he exhaled the smoke from his cigarette. “Still not much of a talker, I see.” Peter joked.

Your eyebrows rose in surprise at Miguel actually having friends.

You never would have thought…

You peered over your shoulder at the innkeeper, making eyes with the rugged-featured male that had auburn short, slick back hair upon an ivory skin tone face of stubble with a cigarette hanging from his lips. A dark blue button-up, tan pants, and dark brown boots adorned his rather lean body, except for his plump stomach that was visible through his shirt. You glanced upon the name tag that clung to his top, reading Peter B. Parker.

“Well, I see yer still on the job.” The guy named Peter commented, looking at you as you flashed him a smile and a wink from Miguel's shoulder. The male wolf whistled at the sight. “And a looker too-”

“Peter!”

Miguel barked, his mahogany eyes flashing red. “Give me a damn room and stop wasting my time.”

You chuckled at Miguel's evident sign of jealousy while Peter only shook his head at the hunter's sudden anger. “Fine, fine, seems someone is ready to hit the hay.” Peter said, rummaging around on his desk for his desired items.

“But just wonderin’ if it's your own head that's gettin’ the rest or yer alluding to somethin’ else.” Peter smirked, glancing over at you and then Miguel playfully. “I must warn ya, them walls in this inn ain't that solid.” The innkeeper laughed as you could feel the fuming rage radiating from Miguel's body at the innkeeper's comment. It took everything to hold back from laughing at the rather hilarious interaction.

“Peter…” Miguel growled through gritted teeth, his voice full of warning. “Okay, pardon me, let me see here…” Peter said, snickering to himself while peering through another large hardback that looked similar to a registration book.

Miguel stared at Peter as he located a room for the two of you in his ledger, never in the hunter's entire life did he wish to leave a conversation.

After a while of looking in silence, a disappointed, shoot dang, was muttered by Peter. He shook his head, looking up at Miguel. “There's only one room left.” He said, looking over at you and then at the hunter.

“And it's a singles.”

“Mierda.” Miguel cursed under his breath, looking at you and then at Peter. He was certain that spending a night with you in an enclosed bedroom would lead to nothing but disaster.

One that would only lead in himself and you tangled up in the sheets and experiencing another moment of unashamed passion.

“Why the hell is there only one!?” Miguel inquired in irritation causing the innkeeper to chuckle, raising his hands in defense. “No need to yell at me. I'm just doin’ my job.” He said. “But a few days ago, gold was found along the bank, folks been comin’ from all ‘round to try and get some.” He explained, causing another curse to leave the hunter's lips.

You sighed, glancing over at Miguel. “Told ya, we shouldn't have come here.” You added as Peter looked up at you. “Actually, every inn is real full in Roca Roja, due to the gold strike and everythang.” Peter said, picking up a quill and dipping it into the bottle of ink. “But gotta love it, has my business boomin’ at the moment.” He chuckled, glancing up at the hunter and you.

“So…You stayin’?” He asked, his amber orbs mainly on Miguel, awaiting his response.

The hunter sighed, seeming like he'd hit a trail's end.

He knew Xina would need time to recover—her injury wasn't major compared to what it could have been, but his stallion being on her hooves would only worsen it.

Xina resting up would do her some good.

Taking Peter's word that the inns were all full, Miguel would hate to try his luck and spend the night roaming all of Roca Roja, pushing Xina and hearing more of your yapping, just to end up roomless.

At least here, he wouldn't have to pay…

“Fine.” Miguel growled, watching a beaming smile spread across the smoking innkeeper. “That's the spirit. Here ya be well takin’ care of.” Peter promised, jotting down the hunter's name under a room and handing him the key.

Miguel tucked the brass key into the pocket of his black durst coat. “And Peter, ‘nother request.” The hunter added, suddenly dropping a wad of cash upon the counter, the sight surprising both Peter and you. “I know ya have connections, so find Xina a good doctor and tend to her real nice.” Miguel ordered.

The brown-haired male nodded, tucking the cash into his pocket and walking around the counter. “Of course, I love nothing more than to help my buddy.” He chuckled, thanking Miguel and you for staying at his inn with a pat on the hunter's back and a tip of his hat in your direction before he left to fulfill Miguel's requests.

The hunter heaved a sigh, standing alone with you in the lobby, who was still slung over his shoulder like a sack of flour. He casted you a glance, already feeling a stir inside of him at the mere thought of seclusion with you, and he hated every bit of it…

He already had a feeling that disaster was impending—one he wouldn't be able to stop no matter how hard he tried…

“Yer jokin’, right?”

You asked from your curled position upon the singular bed in your shared room. It wasn't the fact that Miguel had insisted on sleeping in a mere lounge chair across the room that led to such an inquiry; it was the fact of how the hunter believed you'd get any sleep with your hands and legs tightly bound together by rope.

Your eyes were trained on his seated form upon the aged lounge chair of the room, his massive legs spread, and his body dressed only in his black wide-brimmed hat, black button-up top, pants, and boots. His durst coat hung on the back of the raw umber cushion while his mahogany eyes stared back at your restrained being.

He lit what felt like his fourth cigarette since the two of you entered, placing the tobacco between his lips and taking a deep inhale before releasing the smoke through his nose.

He remained silent at your question, simply keeping his eyes on you like a guard dog.

It was quite unnerving…

“Hey Miguel! You there, or are ya lost in the tumbleweeds!?” You shouted at him in annoyance while wiggling upon the bed like a fish out of water.

“What is it?” He said, finally acknowledging you with his words rather than his piercing gaze. You sighed, looking over at him through your long eyelashes and putting on your most pitiful expression. “Oh why…t-this rope is real tight, you see. I-I can't even feel my limbs.” You uttered, laying on your side with a pout. “Can't you maybe…loosen them a tad bit?” You genuinely asked because upon bounding you, Miguel had fastened the ropes so taut that it was practically etching an imprint into your skin and cutting off blood circulation.

“Nay…” Miguel simply stated, taking another puff from his cigarette. At his denial, you growled in frustration. “Why, at least stop your damn smokin'. You're makin’ it hard to breathe in this already dusty inn.” You complained, burying your face into the beige blankets in irritation.

But if only you knew how much Miguel was holding on by a thread.

Upon entering the shared bedroom, he instantly felt it…

The longing. 

The arousal.

He never gave a damn about things like that—too busy with his bounty job to care. But ever since you've shown your face and made an appearance as a new fugitive, he began to desire it…

You were always on his mind, even during the times you went into hiding, and he was tracking someone new.

He craved you,

needed you.

Now you were laying upon a bed, bound tightly like a pig being served to him on a platter, and it was taking every fiber of his being to stay rooted in his seat.

Miguel's eyes traced your body, taking in your fallen hat and unkempt hair upon the bed, hands bound behind your back along with your ankles secured tightly together. Your clothes hugged your figure even more than they did before, the sight only leaving Miguel clawing at the armrests of his seat.

He took another huge inhale, watching his cigarette slowly losing its life because of his need for solace when your voice filled the room again. “Hunter, can I ask ya a question?”

“I'd rather you not.” He hastily responded in his dead tone, knowing any signs of flirtation or seduction would have him out of his chair in a blink of an eye.

You rolled your eyes at his words. “Come on, now. I can't sleep; you ‘parrently not going to either, so… let's talk.” You chuckled, looking over at the bounty hunter from your restrained position.

“Since my days of freedom are numbered. Might as well…” You added, causing Miguel to sigh, your words secretly tugging at him. He took his dying cigarette into his gloved fingers, snuffing it out in a nearby tray. “Speak then, but say anythin’ improper, I won't hesitate to put ya to sleep myself.” He threatened, but you couldn't help but have your head go straight into the gutter.

“Put me to sleep, ya say…?” You smirked, biting your lip at the thought of having some other type of restless fun with the hunter. Miguel scowled at your suggestive tone, anger the only thing keeping his arousal at bay. “You know what I mean; now either ask yer question or shut yer mouth and sleep.”

You rolled your eyes, taking in the hunter's booted foot constantly bouncing against the wooden floorboards and the sight of him lighting yet another cigarette. “Are ya stressed or somethin’?” You asked, watching his chest greatly rise due to his massive inhale of the cigarette—his pecs and abdominal muscles becoming accentuated under his shirt.

“You can say that.” He replied, avoiding your eyes to look out the window behind you. “Well, then let's talk 'bout it. What's yer problem?” You inquired with a grin. “What's got ya so antsy that yer glued to that pack of cigarettes?”

Miguel glanced at you, mahogany eyes narrowing in thought of if he should speak about his ‘problem’ or not, soon deciding the latter. “None of your darn business.”

You snickered, expecting him to remain secretive. “Damn…must be real bad.” You assumed, glancing over at him and making eye contact, causing the hunter to hastily look away, a grunt of irritation passing in response.

Miguel was obviously avoiding your gaze, and you couldn't help but find the large male's attempts rather adorable. You grinned, turning your eyes up to the ceiling, allowing a pleasant silence to fill the room, except for the rhythmic bounce of Miguel's sturdy black boot upon the floorboards. You deeply inhaled, taking in a big whiff of the hunter's cigarette smoke before speaking.

“I believe I know what yer ‘business’ is, hunter...”

Miguel's heart dropped at your words, his blood running cold as every part of his body stilled. His tongue fiddled with the cigarette between his lips as he eyed your tied body, taking notice of your ability to maneuver onto your back, now gazing up at the ceiling.

He took in the sight of you, your waves of beautiful hair spread like a tapestry, creating a soft frame around your head. He clicked his tongue, taking another puff of his cigarette. 

‘This gal is just tryin’ to get under my skin. She don't know a thang.’

Miguel thought, trying to keep a level head. “Vaquera, you don't know what yer talkin’ ‘bout,” he said dismissively, leaning back in his chair and taking his cigarette into his two fingers, exhaling the smoke through his lips.

You hummed, his avoidance only making you want to poke the bear further. “Oh, I believe I do,” you stated, keeping your eyes on the ceiling. 

“Over these past couple of months, yer've been watchin’ me, as I've also been watchin’ you, hunter.” You said in a mysterious voice, Miguel's hardened face faltering at your confession.

A sly grin spread across your lips as you pressed on. “I've read and heard how the great bounty hunter captures and kills many outlaws—never taking him more than a week to complete a bounty and not given a rat's ass about any of ‘em.” You explained. “‘Even toppin’ yer rival, the great, Jessie Owens and her gunslingers on many occasions with yer many arrests.” You chuckled tauntingly.

Miguel felt a mix of emotions, stuck between being flattered and irritated at your constant prodding. He glanced over at you, flicking the ash of his cigarette into the tray, trying to figure out what you were getting at.

The hunter hated when you screwed with his brain and made him feel like a hopeless mutt that you had wrapped around your finger.

He wanted you to get to the damn point…

“And what ‘bout it?” The hunter snarled, glaring daggers at you. You simply giggled as if you weren't being targeted by a raging bull. “Be patient, Miggy, I'm gettin’ there.” You teased, your tone of voice and nickname causing the hunter’s insides to stir.

“What did I tell ya ‘bout that name?” He spat coldly, his voice holding a tone of dominance. You only laughed, struggling over onto your side to get a better view of the hunter. “To not call ya that, but yer should know better than anyone that I don't follow the rules.” You said, giving him a fake pout whilst laying your head upon the soft blanket, trying to find comfort despite being tightly restrained.

He scoffed, rolling his eyes at your fake pout that he couldn’t help but find adorable. “‘Cause yer've never had proper punishment.” He bluntly stated, his cigarette smoke leaving his lips and nose to further encase the room.

You bit your lip, glancing over at the smoking Latino up and down. “And what punishment is proper in yer eyes, hunter?” You inquired, knowing he'd surely take the bait.

Miguel looked at you, your perfect skin, the way you bite your lip, the sight only causing his breath to catch in his throat. It didn't help how tightly your clothing hugged your body, the rope only further accentuating your figure and leaving nothing to imagination of how you looked underneath all that fabric.

He wanted nothing more than to see you in all your glory…

Your eyes darted down at an evident bulge that poked against the hunter’s black pants, the corners of your lips turning up into a devious grin. The Latino, like you anticipated, took the bait, falling right into your trap.

“A proper punishment is tossin’ ya across my lap and bruisin’ that pretty ass until ya learn to behave.”

The hunter said huskily, desire potent in his western-Latino accentuated voice; however, upon seeing your amused smirk and raised eyebrow at what he'd just confessed, he cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. “Just…goes to show that yer parents didn't teach ya how to conduct yerself properly. Anyone would believe the same.”

“Mhm…” You hummed teasingly, unable to hold back from laughing. Miguel scowled at you, hating how you always seemed to make him feel like a schoolboy time and time again. His lust and arousal blinding him so greatly that he’ll forget everything—his duties, the consequences, who you were to him.

You were a damn criminal, a dangerous one at that, with your sharp tongue and killer body that can seduce any and everyone. You did whatever it took to satisfy your own wants and desires, so why the hell was it so troubling for him to detain you?! He'd taken down and killed many outlaws, so why?

The hunter’s hands clenched tightly into fists upon the armrests, his knuckles turning white with tension under his gloves. His mahogany eyes appeared redder with his raging fury. “Stop playin’ ‘round and get to the damn point!” He barked, taking another deep inhale of his cigarette.

You grinned at his satisfying anger, the hunter never disappointing you when it came to him showing how evidently you were pissing him off, but you’ve gotten what you were seeking from him— his previous response answering your prediction.

“Fine, ya fancy me… 

Don't ya, hunter?”

Miguel's heart skipped a beat at your perfect assumption. It took everything in him to hide his emotions—something he'd never had a hard time doing until now.

He scoffed, averting his gaze. “Ya wish, sweetheart.” He coldly said, snuffing out his fifth cigarette into the ashtray and wetting his lips with his tongue.

You chuckled, shifting upon the bed to soothe the growing ache in your wrists due to the tight ropes. “Well, Miggy, a wish or not, you ain't answer my question.” You emphasized, watching his defined jaw clench and his black, gloved hand enter into his pants pocket once more, fishing for his box of cigarettes.

Miguel's entire body was heating up, feeling like the room was closing in on him; it was taking all of his willpower to not do something that could jeopardize his duties. But with you using that nickname he's told you countless times not to address him by, it was causing his pants to become increasingly uncomfortable around his already swelling member.

The hunter's bushy eyebrows tightened, his mahogany cold eyes trained on you. “Outlaws and hunters ‘re like water and oil—we don't mix, it's why we're enemies for goodness sake.” He sternly said, lighting a match to ignite his sixth cigarette. He took a deep inhale of the tobacco, a sigh of contentment passing his lips. “And I've told ya, I don't experience such feelin’ for people, and definitely not ya.”

“But yet, ya do.”

His head instantly snapped over to you, finding your gaze already on him with a grin upon your cherry lips. “And ‘cause ya do, it's tearing ya up inside… 

Ain't it, Miguel?”

A scowl crept upon the hunter's lips, his nose scrunching up in anger at your persistence.

‘What did she want? For me to spill my guts? To see me weak?!’

Miguel pondered, trying to discern your motive behind your pressing questions. He took another huge puff of his cigarette, trying to control himself.

“What game are you fuckin’ playin' at?” He growled, becoming tired of your jokes and giggles.

You laughed, giving him an innocent shoulder shrug, still bound tightly due to his handy skills. “I simply am askin’ questions like yer've allowed me to.” You said, raising an eyebrow from your laid position. “What? Have I struck a nerve?”

Miguel's eyes flashed red at your taunt, and before he could stop himself, he was standing up from his seat and walking over to you. “Don't play fuckin’ innocent with me, smartass” He snarled, his large hand encasing around your throat, effortlessly pulling you up onto your knees on the bed, bringing you face-to-face with him.

A small gasp passed your lips, his grip tight around your throat more in intimidation than harm. You glared back at him due to his sudden rough action, but upon seeing he was clearly holding on by a thread, you couldn't help but give him a flirtatious smile, one that caused his rage to deepen. “What do ya want from me? To see me lose control? To go against my damn duties?!” The hunter shouted, his face trembling in uncontrollable anger. “What ya find pleasure in that? Seeing me lose my shit?”  

“Why, yes indeed... ”

Miguel's eyes widened in disbelief at your confirmation, his anger hastily bubbling back to the surface.  “What the fuck did ya just say?” He said through gritted teeth, his cigarette hanging dangerously low from his lips, its ash dropping close to your face.

Your eyes roamed his facial features, taking in how furious he was, but you were certain his fury wasn't solely from you.

He was frustrated…

Sexually…

It was like you were a slab of meat to him and he was a starving dog. You were teasing him with your mere presence and honestly…you were enjoying it.

You could never understand why you secretly liked this hunter. Yes, he was the best of the best, and it was so fun to watch him blow his top, but it wasn't what truly led you to want to know everything about him—what kept you yearning for another encounter with him.

It wasn't until now that you finally discovered it…

His resilience to temptation was what you adored. How fascinating it'll be if he was to experience even a taste of what he craved.

It was why you allowed him a little bit of fun during your previous interaction; but even still, he was composed, never losing himself in the moment of you down on your knees for him, granting him the relief and satisfaction he so desperately was yearning for.

But you wanted him to forget your roles of hunter and outlaw and give in to his desires.

That's what you wanted from him, needed even.

You bit your lip, looking up at him from under your eyelashes. “Ya heard me, hunter. I want ya to give in to yer wants, and if that means losing control…

Then so be it...”

You smirked, watching his cold expression falter to one of surprise at your request. You grinned, never before seeing him so speechless. To entice him further, you leaned in close, your hands still bound tightly behind your back and his gloved one still around your throat, the smell of smoke and his natural musk filling your nose, only exciting you more.

“It'll be so good, Miggy to finally let go—to crave that hunger ya have for me.”

You coaxed in a low whisper, your western accent potent in your voice. Your eyes glanced down to his lips that were pulled into its usual scowl, unable to ignore how enticing they looked.

“You know I won’t stop you..."

Miguel groaned softly, his fingers flexing around your throat as his member twitched inside of his pants, begging him to give in to your words—to submit to his desires. The more you gazed up at him, saying all the right things in that sexy voice of yours…

He was tempted to give in…

“Do ya even know what ya askin’ of me?” He inquired, his eyes full of lust as he removed his cigarette from his lips. You nodded, wanting so much to touch him and persuade him. He was so close to submitting—you could feel it.

“Yes…I want ya, Miguel O’Hara. I’ve wanted ya for a long time.” You honestly said, biting your lip and looking him up and down. "Gosh, I’ve never wanted someone to fuck me so badly.”

“Mierda.” He muttered under his breath, his restraint snapping at your words of desperation as he crashed his lips to yours.

Miguel devoured your mouth in an intensity he’d never felt before. His hand tugging you closer to him by your throat to keep you pressed to him, feeling the softness of your body against his firm one was enough to make him lose it. His tongue penetrated your parted lips, finally tasting you after preventing himself for so long.

It was like he was finally tasting the forbidden elixir of the Wild West. Your sweet scent and lips enveloped him and lingered like the aftertaste of a smuggled bottle of top-shelf whiskey, each moment a clandestine sip that descended him more into the depths of no return.

You moaned softly into his mouth, his hunger being what you’ve wanted for so long. His dominance and lust grew with each interlock of your lips, and when he finally parted, you realized how breathless and aroused you were.

Miguel gazed down at you, breathing heavily while taking in your flushed cheeks and glazed eyes. Every time he saw you, you seemed to become even more breathtaking than before.

You looked back at him, panting and feeling a throbbing in your lower belly that longed to be satisfied. Now that you’ve gotten a taste of the bounty hunter, he was like a drug—his roughness and hunger turning you on more than anyone ever had in your entire life.

You wanted so much to touch him, to caress his sharp jawline decorated with a hint of stubble and feel how painfully hard his member was, but you were still, sadly, restrained—hands bound behind your back with your ankles tied together as well. Miguel ensured you wouldn’t be escaping him tonight upon entering your given room at the inn, but you wished for nothing more than to be released.

Currently, you had no desire to leave…

“Miguel…unbind me.” You requested a little desperately through ragged breaths, causing the hunter to chuckle. “Untie ya? That what ya want?” He inquired with a grin, bringing his cigarette to his lips to take another puff, exhaling the smoke. You nodded, wanting nothing more than to be free, so you could touch him in return.

The hunter saw the eagerness in your expression, bringing a smirk to his lips. He couldn’t help but feel satisfied at finally having power over you for once; it was honestly, a good feeling.

He held his cigarette between his lips, his gloved hand slipping into his pocket to pull out his steel pocket knife, effortlessly cutting through the thick rope that covered your wrists and ankles.

You sighed in relief at the sound of snips, along with subtle fibers separating, soon feeling yourself being freed. Usually, you’d instantly feel the desire to escape, to run for the heels with a huge grin upon your cherry lips at being able to outwit the hunter once more…

But not this time…

Your hands found his waist, caressing his taut skin through the fabric of his black collared top. “I knew ya could have fun.” You teased, bringing a rare smile to the hunter’s lips. He took your face in his hand, bringing you closer to him once more.

“Then saddle up, Muñeca. I’m just getting started.” He whispered, inhaling his cigarette once more before pressing his lips to yours, releasing the smoke into your mouth with each kiss.

The sharp, lingering bitterness of the smoke mingling with each exhale, accompanied by the combination of his sweet lips, created the perfect harmony. Each kiss left you breathless and lusting for him even more.

Miguel groaned softly, his thick gloved fingers moving from your neck to begin unbuttoning your dark blue and brown fringe top, revealing your gorgeous skin and assets that had been teasing him from the first time he’d encountered you.

Leaving your mouth, he trailed his lips along your throat, kissing the sensitive spots and not hesitating to push the dark blue top from your body, exposing your bare chest and stomach to him.

Your eyes fluttered at his kisses as you took the lit cigarette from his fingers, taking a drag and relishing in the serene tingles that filled your head along with Miguel’s kisses, sucks, and nibbles along your skin. You felt Miguel smirk at your action, pressing a final kiss to your collarbone before pulling away.

The sight of you gazing up at him, that playful smile on your lips as you smoked from his cigarette had to be the sexiest thing he’d ever seen—his cock throbbing in his pants to be released.

“Vas a ser la muerte de mí.” He muttered, his mahogany eyes dark with lust, as they trailed your body. His face of awe—enough to show how he was feeling.

You chuckled at his expression. “I’ll take it you like what you see?” You teased, bringing a toothy grin to the hunter’s lips. “I’ll be lyin’ if I said I didn't.” He chuckled, his large gloved hands cupping your perky breasts in his massive palms—the pair feeling like soft pillows in his hands.

He savored the soft moans that escaped your pretty mouth, capturing each whimper with a peck to your lips, unable to resist how addicting it was to kiss you.

You were aware that the hunter had experience, but it felt like he knew your body like the back of his hand. His massive palms kneaded your supple flesh, switching between soft and rough squeezes, while his fingers flicked and pinched your hardened pebbles.

In your fingers, you held your shared cigarette, eyes half-hooded. With every maneuver of his hands along your chest, your juices spilled down your thighs. “Ya like that?” He asked with a smirk, gripping your breasts tightly, making you cry out. “Mhm, Yes! Just like that,” you gasped, chest heaving with the growing pleasure.

Miguel growled at your words of satisfaction, feeling the need to be released from his clothes—his cock painfully hard inside his pants. “I have something better for ya,” he said, pulling away to remove his black wide-brimmed hat, tossing it across the room, and tugging his shirt over his head.

You bit your lip, your core pulsating at the mere sight of his defined chest. His chiseled pecs, bulging biceps, and toned abs were covered with dark brown hair, each muscle completely taut from his years of being a bounty hunter. Along his torso were faint scars and beauty marks that only emphasized his attractiveness. “Not bad, hunter,” you laughed, giving his body a once-over. Your gaze followed the happy trail of coarse hair that descended from his navel to dip under his pants towards the massive bulge that was begging to be freed from its confines. At the sight, memories of your previous encounter with him filled your mind, causing your juices to further coat your thighs and drip down your legs.

Miguel smiled, savoring the way you were looking him up and down, appreciating his body. He couldn’t remember the last time he had experienced this, but it felt good to be admired, especially by you. He noticed your eyes focused on his crotch, prompting a chuckle from him. “Don’t be scared, ya seen it before,” he said tauntingly, making you roll your eyes but unable to hide your small grin.

You crawled towards him, placing the cigarette into your mouth and beginning to unbuckle his belt, maintaining eye contact. “I must say, hunter, I’ve missed this,” you snickered, pulling his pants down to release what you’ve desired since your previous encounter.

The sight still left you speechless…

His fully erect, tanned member was presented in front of you, slightly darker than the olive skin tone of his body. A bush of dark brown coarse hair sat atop his veiny shaft, his tip a Tuscan red, with a protruding vein running along the underside that led to a pair of large, heavy balls. The hunter was definitely above average, being very girthy and long as well. You bit your lip, feeling your arousal soaking through your pants, sullying the dark blue fabric.

Miguel completely adored that look of awe upon your sexy face, leaning down to kiss along your neck while lifting you slightly to lay you down upon the bed.

His teeth and lips sucked marks along your skin that you gladly accepted whilst his heavy shaft rested against your stomach, causing your belly to flutter, and a whimper to escape your lips. “Gosh, I-I can’t wait any more,” you whined, wanting to feel him inside of you, the throbbing of your empty core becoming painful.

Your desperation was music to Miguel’s ears, his body needing you as well. “Then, let’s not wait 'round no more, Cariño.” He effortlessly whipped you around to lay you on all fours upon the bed—your forearms and knees holding your body up as your clothed rear end was thrust into the air, left completely vulnerable to him.

Miguel took in your gorgeous backside, an evident trail of your arousal sprouting down your pants like the trails of a passing storm, nature’s delicate brushstrokes down the dark blue fabric that covered your bottom, the sight making his cock twitch.

He licked his lips, reaching over to remove the lit cigarette from your cherry lips to place it in his, inhaling it as he ran his large hand along your clothed bottom. Your eyes fluttered, the sensations seeming to be heightened due to your inability to see him. The hunter groaned, giving your cheeks a rough squeeze, releasing a moan from your throat.

Fuck, ya perfect,” he whispered, feeling his gloved fingers roam along your clothed, drenched folds, adding slight pressure that caused you to further soil your pants—your essence soaking the fabric even more, and revealing the evident outline of your soppy pussy underneath. Miguel groaned, roaming his hands to squeeze your bare hips and caress your rear, soon returning back to where you wanted him the most.

You whimpered softly, savoring how good he was making you feel until the loud sound of a rip filled the room, causing your eyes to snap open.

A rush of air suddenly made contact with your rear end and throbbing pussy as you looked over your shoulder to see that Miguel had ripped your pants open—granting him a clear view of your heavily dripping core.

You were conflicted, not knowing whether to be angry or even more aroused; however, you weren’t able to respond as the hunter didn’t hesitate to grind his massive length along your dripping folds—the wet sound filling the walls. “O-oh fuck,” you moaned, arching your back and moving in sync with him.

Miguel couldn’t get over how wet you were, his thick cock gliding through your folds, testing your saturation. “Hmm…ready?” he asked in a small growl.

You were only able to muster a broken, "Mhm," in response before feeling his massive tip begin to seep inside of your soaking entrance.

A drawn-out moan passed both of your lips, his gloved hand clenching the remnants of your pants that enclosed around your waist, holding you during his insertion. Once he bottomed-out, it took everything in him to not lose himself in how much your pussy was gripping him, the urge to thrust into you with total abandon being very enticing.

Your fingers gripped the beige blankets tightly, eyes rolled into your skull at how much he was blissfully stretching you. It instantly made your mind go blank.

The pleasure only heightened with his slow slide out and breathtaking slam of his cock back in, releasing a loud mewl to erupt from your throat. With each drag of his member inside your dripping entrance, his force and speed increased until he was brutally fucking you like a rabid animal.

Miguel couldn’t help himself; he tried so hard to take it slow, to not harm you like he feared this whole time, but you were too perfect, he swore you were.

You took him so well, too well, that he became lost in the pleasure. Your exquisite pussy gripped his cock just right with each thrust, his hips smacking loudly against your rear.

The room was filled with the echoing of slapping wet flesh, high-pitched moans, deep grunts, and the loud creaking of the bed.

The scent of sex and smoke was potent as Miguel occasionally took puffs of his cigarette. You didn’t even notice the pleasurable and painful tears streaming down your face at the sheer intensity of his pace—switching constantly from erratic and rough to slow and deep.

The ashes from his cigarette occasionally dropped onto your lower back, burning your skin and sending a sting throughout your entire body. The pain only deepening the extreme sensations coursing through your being. Your brain was scrambled, your body trembling, and already releasing for the second time under his influence.

Miguel groaned, brushing your hair from your shoulder to nuzzle into your neck, inhaling your sweet, natural scent, his pace never ceasing. “Fuck, bebé, you feel so good. Mierda.” He moaned into your ear, his cigarette hanging from his lips, as his praises caused the familiar knots to form in your stomach again.

It seemed Miguel had found the weakness to your witty tongue. With his pace, you couldn’t form a word—whimpers, whines, shrieks, and the occasional cries of his name were the only sounds you could muster.

With any other man, you would have felt pathetic, but with him, you’ve never felt so alive.

With a gasp, Miguel pulled out, flipping you to lie on your back. Your dazed eyes blinked, trying to settle your blurry vision on him.

The hunter gazed down at you, your rosy tear-stained cheeks, messy hair, hickey-filled neck, dripping pussy only arousing him once more. He inhaled the rest of his cigarette, pinching the end to snuff the flame before kissing you, his cock entering your eager hole once more.

You moaned into his mouth, the smoky taste, and his lips only intensifying the burning tension in the pit of your stomach. His thrusts were slow and deep while his mouth ravaged yours, exchanging the smoke of his cigarette with you with each interlock of your lips.

Miguel was feeling himself getting terribly close, his balls becoming painfully tight, every clench of your pussy leaving him twitching; but he needed another orgasm from you.

He groaned into your mouth, your kiss becoming more messy. Saliva dripped from your chins whilst your tongues entwined with each hungry mesh of your lips.

With each kiss, Miguel slowly increased his pace—his coarse hair grinding into your swollen clit, heavy balls smacking into your rear along with his gloved hands gripping your hips, angling himself as he pulled you against him in a frenzy.

Your eyes rolled, moans constantly becoming stuck in your throat with each of his deep thrusts. His member constantly attacked your G-spot, causing you to become a moaning, trembling mess underneath him.

Abruptly, your orgasm crashed into you like a stampede. You cried out Miguel’s name through your climax, spraying your juices in thick spurts, haphazardly, into the air, coating your stomach, thighs, and Miguel’s abs and cock with your essence. The loud sounds of dripping and squelching filled the room upon your orgasm.

At your release, your pussy clutched Miguel’s cock tightly, a blissful rush of tingles coming over him. His thrusts became sporadic and inept following you in your climax.

He hastily pulled out, shooting his creamy, white load upon your stomach with a guttural groan, the veins upon his lower belly and thighs pulsated, his mahogany eyes closed whilst breathless grunts passed his parted lips with each release of his essence.

Your eyes fluttered at the warm sensation as you tried to catch your breath and regain your thoughts and strength after the intense moment, but it was no use…

Miguel had fucked you senselessly.

But it was so worth it.

You’ve gotten what you wanted—the hunter to give in to his desires, to grant you the fucking of a lifetime, and he’d done so and even more.

Miguel climbed on next to you, the bed creaking under his heavy weight as he laid down beside you. His burly arms wrapped around your frail body, pulling you gently to his chest. He found your pants and small tremors utterly adorable as he kissed your bare shoulder. You blinked back the dizziness from your previous encounter, glancing over your shoulder at the hunter to find something you couldn’t believe…

You found love in his eyes…

“You okay?” He asked in his usual gruff voice, stroking his thumb across your rosy, tear-stained cheeks, his mahogany eyes roaming your face with a trace of concern. You scoffed at his expression. “Of course.” You chuckled, noticing that he wasn’t at all breathless and tired as you were—simply lying upon the bed like the two of you weren’t just fucking like two animals in heat.

“Did ya enjoy yourself?” You inquired, turning to face him, but with some struggle—your body already feeling sore. He placed a hand on your hip, caressing you with a smile. “Of course, what was not to love?” He genuinely said, making you raise an eyebrow at the flattery. “Oh really now, is the infamous bounty hunter complimenting me?” You asked teasingly, finding his damp coffee-brown curls clinging to his sweaty forehead rather cute.

At your playful remark, hus grin broadened on his tanned face. “You can keep a secret, can’t ya, sweetheart?” He smirked, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.

Miguel never felt his heart swell so much. He didn’t know what he was feeling, but he didn’t want it to ever stop.

You laughed, gazing up at him. “Of course…At a price.” Miguel snickered, anticipating the response, but it still piqued the hunter’s interest. “And what’s that, miel?”

“Don’t turn me in.”

At your words, meant as a joke, Miguel’s heartfelt smile instantly dropped, bringing him back to the reality of the West.

You were an outlaw… 

He was a bounty hunter… 

Bounty hunters and outlaws didn’t mix… 

He’s supposed to take you in…

“Mierda.” He sighed, every happy emotion he felt draining from his face to be replaced with his usual cold expression of a scowl and dead mahogany eyes.

“Miggy?” You called out to him, your eyebrows furrowed. “Are ya okay?” You inquired, your turn now to ask about his well-being, but it was met with silence.

Miguel had never felt more disheartened and conflicted. He adored his job as a bounty hunter, the thrill of the hunt and the ability to use his exceptional skills to track down any criminal for a hefty amount of gold and cash, but you made him question everything…

It’ll be hypocritical of him to chase down outlaws like a damn dog, arrest them or either kill them depending on their crimes, and do neither to you.

You were a criminal, you’ve robbed and stole from many, and have taken a few heads with you along the way.

But fuck…

He couldn’t bring himself to hurt you or arrest you.

So he’d returned back to the question once more.

What should be done with you…?

He turned over to look at you, taking in your troubled eyes that gazed back at him. His hardened expression softened at your face that showed genuine interest in him in return.

Or were you playing him once more…

The hunter reached out, cupping your cheek in his large gloved one, the action instantly making your heart warm. You leaned into his palm, eyes trained on him. “Ya thinkin’ again. Ain’t ya?” You asked, heaving a sigh.

Miguel stroked your face with his thumb, relishing in how soft your skin was. “How can I not? This is goin’ against everythang I stand for.” He uttered, but unable to pull his hand away, and neither did you wish him to.

Even though you were used to the seduction of many men—only sleeping with most of them for survival or for a means to escape, but now…

You desired the hunter, despite him being your enemy.

He’d killed and arrested many people like you— did it without a blink of an eye, but instead of feeling fearful of that, it oddly, only made you want him more.

You placed a hand on his chest, delicately tracing patterns along the curves of his chiseled and ruggedly hairy pecs, a comforting silence enveloping both of you. Miguel’s deep sigh of contentment escaped his lips as his large hand moved from your face to tenderly stroke your lower back, pulling you closer to him.

“Yer never answered my question.” Your western accent filled the room once more, looking up at him. Miguel's bushy eyebrows furrowed, his mind a little foggy due to your mere closeness and touch. “What question?” He asked, glancing down at you, his confusion making you giggle. “Gosh, how did I remember and not ya?” You playfully teased, believing he’d previously scrambled your brain to no return, instead, it seemed you’ve done so to the hunter.

The corners of his tightly drawn lips twitched to a smirk. “I was just…lost in the moment.” Miguel replied. “But what’s the question I didn’t answer?”

“If ya fancy me or not.” You stated, the hunter’s heart jumping at the reappearance of the question. He grunted, his burly arm enclosing around your waist possessively, pressing his firm body against your soft, supple one. “I shouldn’t...” He whispered with a heavy sigh, feeling with each passing second, he was doing what he’d told himself he’d never do.

Love… 

Feel…

“But ya do.” You retorted once more, cupping his face. “So whatcha gonna do ‘bout it?” You asked playfully with a grin.

That smile—that smile was everything to the hunter and always made his heart flutter and his stomach to stir. “That’s what I’m debatin’ in my head, Cariño.” The Latino sighed. “For the first time, in a long time, I don’t know what the hell to do.” A troubled expression crossed the hunter’s face, making you feel sorry for him—you’ve never seen him so conflicted.

"What's yer head sayin'?" You asked, already knowing the answer. "To take yer fine ass in," he replied in a gruff voice, tightening his grip around you, as if he never could let you go.

You hummed, feeling him rest his chin upon your head, another sigh passing his lips. "And how 'bout this?" You asked next, placing a hand over his right pec, where his heart resided.

"What's that cold heart of yer's tellin’ ya?"

Miguel's mahogany eyes snapped down at you, your inquiries seeming to punch him in the gut each time. He kept your gaze, staring into your intrigued orbs.

The hunter wet his lips before cupping your chin between his gloved fingers, leaning close to you, his breath mingling with yours. His eyes roamed your face before allowing his heart to speak the words he'd been holding in for so long.

"To make ya mine."

Miguel said, his mahogany eyes never leaving yours. "I wanna take care of ya, not allow ya to have to steal another coin in yer entire life," the hunter uttered, his fingers caressing your chin and jaw. "I wanna protect ya, love ya, ride alongside ya in the desert—not as enemies with an intent to capture ya…, 

But as lovers…"

You stared back at the infamous and cold bounty hunter, not quite believing the confession pouring from his lips.

In all your life of being an outlaw and criminal, you've had moments where you've tangled in the sheets with a few individuals, them speaking similar things as the hunter did, but you never felt the same. Simply flashing them a grin, and upon them falling asleep, hastily finding the nearest exit and riding off into the sunset. However, right now...

You didn't want to run.

"Ya sure?" You asked with a smirk. "I'm quite the handful." You said, tucking a curl of his damp coffee brown hair behind his ear. Your words caused a deep rumble of laughter to erupt from the hunter, one that surprised him. His mahogany eyes that usually held death and coldness in them, now were full of love and affection.

"I reckon I've always been fond of a good challenge." The hunter said, pressing his lips to the top of your head, his kisses always bringing a wave of warmth to spread throughout your body. "I figured as much." You giggled, meeting his loving gaze. "But let me let ya in on a 'lil secret." You grinned, beckoning him closer with a finger. Miguel raised an eyebrow, a small smile upon his lips as he leaned in, awaiting your next words.

"I've always had a soft spot for ya, hunter."

You said in a low whisper, the Latino swiftly pulling away in shock, meeting your eyes to find any sign of deceit, but either you were playing him again, or you were genuine. Either way, his heart swelled at your confession.

"So…whatcha tryin' to do, vaquera?" He asked, his duties, reputation, or him being a hypocrite vanishing to the back of his head. Your confession tugged at him more than he'd expected. It was something he'd always secretly wanted, needed even—for his oppressed affections and missed arrests to not have been for nothing.

That after all this time of exchanging bullets and cutthroat words, you actually felt the same…

The hunter still couldn't wrap his head around the fact you fancied him in return, but he was certain he was willing to do anything for you in this moment.

You flashed him a grin, knowing his duties as a bounty hunter were tied to his very soul, unable to separate from him as your troublesome nature was with yours. "Then how 'bout we try this whole… secret lovers thing, eh?" You proposed, caressing the side of his thick neck and along his broad shoulder.

Miguel hummed at your touch, deep down liking the idea very much. He wanted nothing more than to experience moments with you that didn't end with guns being drawn. "I'll be willin' to give it a go." The hunter replied, not knowing how much his agreement made your heart soar.

You hastily pressed your lips to his, capturing him in a passionate kiss. Miguel smiled, kissing you back with much fervor and pulling you on top of him. His hands caressed your soft flesh while you straddled his hips. Your kiss swiftly became more heated and intense as a small groan escaped the hunter's lips, soon feeling something hard brushing against your thigh.

You parted from him with a laugh, glancing down to find he was heavily aroused once more before meeting his eyes. "Ya want me again, hunter?" You asked in a sultry voice, causing a huge grin to spread across his lips, a sight still so foreign from his usual deep scowl.

"Always…"

He uttered, cupping the back of your neck and pulling you into a long searing kiss. Your evident adoration for each other felt in each deep interlock of your lips.

And in that moment, the hunter knew he loved you, as you knew you loved him in return…

“Ya sure it’s him?”

The rough western accent of a woman uttered through the quiet of the night, the breeze brushing along her ebony skin and running through her thick, black curls.

“Absolutely, without a shadow of a doubt,” the older male replied. “Yeah, he was lookin’ real close with that outlaw back at the saloon, a lil’ too close if ya know what I mean,” the other added, causing a growl to escape the woman’s crimson lips.

“What the fuck are you doin’ Miguel?”

She hissed under her breath, her gloved thumb spinning the caliber of her pistol in thought.

“So…Jessica…what’s the plan?

We gettin’ rid of him?”

“Nay…” Jessica Owens replied, whipping around to look at the two gunslingers. Her cold amber eyes bore into them through her black eyeglasses, and the two straightened up under their leader's harsh gaze.

“I wanna see this for myself…”

A/N: Thanks so much for reading!! I know I've already mentioned it, but gosh, I enjoyed writing this, and to confirm, yes, there will be a part 2. 🧡🐴

Honestly, along with my other stories, Entangled Desires (The kink series), and requests, there is a lot that I'll like to get done, so please be patient with me lol. 😅 Once again, thank you so much, bestie, @amariiyagurl for the idea. Love you so much girlie!! 🫶🏾🫶🏾

Make sure to like, comment, reblog, and follow! If you'd like to add a request to the kink series, Entangled Desire, or have an idea in general, just message me or submit an ask. I hope you all have a wonderful day and stay safe! 🤎🧡

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(*All rights reserved. DO NOT repost/translate/copy any of my work.*)

[laviaceae]

your art has spiked my interest haha what’s tower of hanoi and how/where do i play it?

OKAY.

TOWER OF HANOI IS THE BEST GAME YOU ABSOLUTELY, 110% GUARANTEE NO REFUNDS, HAVE NEVER HEARD OF.

LET ME EXPLAIN.

(also known as: i win at all times ever and im glad my tawahano propaganda pays off, HAH!)

----------

Have you ever heard of... END ROLL? Walking On A Star Unknown? Farethere City? These are all relatively niche RPGMaker 2000 games made by a Japanese game creator known as Segawa (せがわ), with END ROLL being the most popular among Western Fans (you might see the main character, Russell, in some fanart with OMORI or Yume Nikki characters for example)!

In fact, for followers of mine who are In Stars and Time fans, END ROLL was credited as one of the inspirations for that game!

TOWER of HANOI is another game made by Segawa, one released in November of 2020, and one of the final games they've made in RPG2K (so they've got an absolute mastery of the engine).

I'll be in part directing this post towards ISAT fans since that makes up the majority of my followerbase on Tumblr, so there may be ISAT spoilers (including Two Hats/Act 6 Secret spoilers) up ahead! There will also be mild TOWER of HANOI spoilers required to explain the game's premise. Proceed at your own risk.

Section One: So, what is TOWER of HANOI all about?

TOWER of HANOI is a narrative-driven RPG with multiple endings (2 'true endings', 3 'bad endings') set in a futuristic, post-post-World-War-Five society. The game mostly takes place within the TOWER, a hyper-realistic virtual reality simulation currently undergoing playtests that was built to be able to rehabilitate HANOI (androids that look and sound and feel emotions like humans do) who have dangerous levels of mental instability.

The stability of a HANOI is measured through their Stress Level, a numerical representation of that HANOI's mental state. HANOI are generally considered by society to be more of technology or property than people (like your computer or your phone would be), and as such have no rights and are often mistreated by humans. More than 50% of HANOI hate their human employers.

In order to combat the dangerous upward trend of HANOI Stress Levels (caused by their mistreatment), the TOWER was created. In it, HANOI are expected to fight and defeat virtual enemies that approximate humans in order to destress through violence. Upon a successful completion, HANOI are to be returned to their human employers.

Because the TOWER is currently undergoing testing, groups of HANOI are accompanied through the TOWER by a human "Inspector" who is expected to report any bugs or issues they encounter during their playtest.

You play as one of those human Inspectors; Inspector No.102, Coral Brown.

(this is my art! you may have seen him in my ISAT au as taking the place of Siffrin).

He's 33 years old, kind, calm, and soft as a marshmallow. He's also a human being who believes in the rights and wellbeing of HANOI, and sympathises with their suffering. As a child, he was raised by a HANOI instead of his parents, which may have contributed to his feelings towards them.

Over the course of the game and as you progress through the TOWER you'll get to meet and intimately know the ten HANOI under Coral's care with Fire Emblem-esque Support events depending on how many times you bring each of them to battle. These can be between Coral and the HANOI, or the HANOI between eachother. (There are more than 100 of these such events to collect in total!)

TOWER of HANOI's characters are both charming and tragic. They each have incredibly well-realised personalities, backstories, and relationships both with the Inspector taking care of them and eachother. It's easy to imagine day-to-day interactions in Headquarters (your hub area) between them all.

You have Adams, a HANOI built for missionary work and who's Stress Level is the lowest out of all ten (and actually below the 'dangerous' stress threshold)! He's silly and mischevious and adores spicy food. Despite this, he's here at the TOWER because he doesn't believe in God, despite that being an important part of his 'role' in the world. When did he stop believing in God, and why? What is his relationship with the people at the Church that took care of him?

Or Mira, a Childcare HANOI that reminds Coral of the HANOI that looked after him as a child. She loves children, but has to constantly grapple with the fact that she can't have any and that any children she takes care of will eventually, inevitably leave her. How will she and Coral resolve the fact that they both remind eachother of someone they knew in the past? How will she interact with the other HANOI?

There's also Nanashi, a cheaply-made HANOI for miscellaneous chores who's trust and care for humanity has been completely shattered due to his ties with the mafia. He wasn't even important enough to be given a name until Coral gives him one upon their first meeting in the TOWER. He hates humans, hates Coral, and refuses to trust him, instead convincing himself that Coral is merely faking his kindness to get him to let his guard down just to use him like all humans he's ever known have done. Will Coral eventually be given Nanashi's trust? What will he do once he leaves the TOWER, and has to be sent back to the mafia where he came from?

Finally there's Kimon Noroi, a HANOI who resembles a child that fulfils a very special purpose. Noroi is what's known as a Yorimashi (憑坐), and uses her body to allow spirits to occupy it and commune with the living. She's seen how terrible humans can be because of the spirits she's seen and can come across as a bit standoffish (though she's really just as much of a menace as Adams is), and definitely, definitely, definitely doesn't miss the Priest at the shrine she lived in before coming to the TOWER at all! How will she interact with Adams, both having people they miss back at home? How will she interact with Mira, who's like a mother figure to her in this place?

As you progress, you can find the answers to all of these questions, as well as the identities of the six other HANOI I've not even mentioned here- all as well-written and interesting as these four.

However, the HANOI aren't the only faction in the game to worry about.

The very NPCs and enemies you'll be fighting along the way are coming to life, gaining sentience, and realising they want something more in their existence than eternally repeating dialogue chains and fetch quests and death in battle.

The head of this 'rebellion' of 0s and 1s, a computer virus named Shunya, acts as the main antagonist for the majority of the game, but even she isn't... 'evil'. She has her own found family, a group of bugged enemies she's befriended along her journey, all of whom want her to realise her dream of "melting" down the TOWER and returning all of the 0s and 1s inside to their base state of not thinking, not feeling, and not being in eternal pain.

Should you fight these people, if their emotions really are real, and defeat them without caring about their plight? Is it right to, to disregard the thoughts and feelings of 0s and 1s for the sake of the wellbeing of the HANOI Coral's grown so attached to? Should you follow the 'role' you've been given, or disregard it and create your own?

TOWER of HANOI excellently tackles the dichotomy of themes between 'roles' in societies and the 'dreams' people have, and nowhere is this more apparent than Coral Brown himself. Throughout the game, there will be multiple events and opportunities in order to control Coral's own Stress Level, and how he feels towards both the side of HANOI and the side of 0s and 1s he's stuck between. Lower his stress and he'll side with the HANOI and enjoy his job, and at higher stresses he'll begin to hate it, being unable to eat or sleep as he starts feeling awful for the 0s and 1s he spends his time killing in the TOWER....

These branch into the two main 'True Routes' of the game, depending on your Stress Level... but I shall leave the specific nature of those to discover in your own playthroughs. :)

If you've enjoyed ISAT, there's a good chance you'll enjoy TOWER of HANOI. Not only is one of the creator's previous games an inspiration for ISAT, they share a lot of similarities in their characters. Coral and Siffrin are very similar as protagonists, and as for others...

(Loop artwork credit to Insertdisc5 from In Stars and Time)

I could write a whole essay on how these two are so painfully similar and would kill eachother on sight. Maybe I will one day. Who knows. Me when I have a guide character lacking half of a face that has Fucking Issues TM stemming from intense jealousy and shares some visual similarity with our main character. Just look at them. This is the sole reason for the twohats warning. Just look at them.

Section Two: Wow, that's so cool and awesome Mx Lav! How do I play TOWER of HANOI?

You can check out the official website here, and the official downloads page here! I'd recommend following the instructions on this website to get the game working faster (because RPG2K is a pain in the ass on modern systems).

...

...Oh? It's all in Japanese? ...Well-

Section Three: --WAIT WHY IS IT ALL IN JAPANESE??

Yes, that's TOWER of HANOI's One (Big) Thing. The one thing you have to look past in order to actually play the game; it's all in Japanese, and an English translation will never be made (unless Segawa-san lifts the translation ban).

However, you don't actually need to know Japanese to play the game. I sure don't! And all of the other English-speaking fans I know that have played this game don't either.

There are three main ways to accomplish this, but I'll only discuss two here:

Sugoi Translator or similar translators. Sugoi Translator (or Sugoi Toolkit) is a machine translation tool that automatically grabs and translates the text in game you're looking at. The translations themselves make a good amount of sense, too! It's a little difficult to set up, but once you've calibrated it once you never have to worry about it again. This is definitely easiest if you want to read all of the dialogue in the game, including flavourtext (as yes, all 10 HANOI and Coral have unique flavourtext for every item in the game...), but is only available for free on the 15th and 16th each month and is otherwise only available to download on the creator's Patreon.

Google Lens. The easier, plug-and-translate method of the two. Simply download the Google Lens app and point it at the text on the screen, it'll read and translate it for you. The translations here are a little goofier (and sometimes, depending on your phone camera quality or lighting conditions, can be difficult for the app to pick up), but it's easy to complete a playthrough with just this tool alone.

If you can't get past this game's One Big Thing, I get it. It's a hard game to sell to people precisely for this reason. I'm at least glad you've read this far down into the post to get to this point and have showed interest in the game. And now you now about a game you didn't before, and you also have an itty bitty bit of context for all the non-ISAT stuff I post here. But this game has had me in a chokehold for the past two years and I promise that, if you can get through it, it's extremely worth it.

If you have the time and you're willing to try, please do! I love this game with all my heart and it's such a shame that most Western fans will never have easy access to it. I shill this game with all my heart, for realsies.

Section Four: Trigger/Content Warnings

If you've played a Segawa game before, you knew this section was coming. Segawa-san's games often tackle heavy or dark themes, and TOWER of HANOI isn't an exception. I'll add a list of content warnings here just so you aren't surprised by anything.

Suicide, both on and off screen

Self-harm, on-screen through dialogue

Themes of terminal illness, on screen

Hospitals (on screen, a majority of one of the game's dungeons takes place in one)

Death (on-screen)

Abuse (off-screen, but portrayed through dialogue)

Child harm/death (mentioned)

Kidnapping/Child kidnapping (mentioned)

Horror elements (no chase sequences, one jumpscare through an optional and hard-to-find sidequest)

Sexual Assault/Abuse (Not on-screen but talked about extensively, can avoided if you avoid Melitica/Merrytika's dialogue)

Mishandling of discussions surrounding gender identity (this character's identity is shown generally throughout the game to be a positive/supported thing, but some dialogue and design choices are quite ignorant/transphobic- though not maliciously. This can be avoided if you avoid Kathy/Cameron's dialogue)

There is also a substantial amount of screenshake employed near the end of the game. This list is from memory and limited from the amount of dialogue I've personally seen/translated, so it's probably not fully comprehensive. But it is thorough.

Section Five: Conclusion

oof... You've made it to the end! This took me the better part of a day to write, and I'm glad I finally got to advertise my favourite game on main. I hope... any of this makes sense, and that you enjoy! Even if you decide TOWER of HANOI isn't right for you, you at least know a little more about something you didn't before. Thank you so much for getting to the end, and I wish you the best!

[ashxketchum]

New collaboration with Loft & Amnibus was announced for Digimon Adventure!

Details about exact merch will follow soon, but the tweet states that the concept was decided by keeping the idea of 25th Anniversary in focus but the art itself is flower + wedding outfit themed. The collab will start in June which is considered a good month for brides in Japan and so we see many wedding themed anime illustrations get released during this time every year.

Now it is time for another certified Ayushi breakdown 🫡

Taichi and Agumon are seen holding Edelweiss, with a pattern of the flower drawn beautifully on Taichi's shirt as well. Edelweiss in Japanese Language of Flowers (Hanakotoba) is meant to symbolise 'cherished memories/大切な思い出' and 'courage/勇気', while in Western Language of Flowers it's meant to symbolise 'noble courage' and 'daring' - both of which are apt for our best leader 🧡

Yamato and Gabumon are seen holding Alstroemeria (Lily of the Incas, Peruvian Lily), and while the flower motif is not drawn onto his clothes, Yamato's coat's breast pocket is decorated with the flower as well. In Hanakotoba, Alstroemeria is meant to symbolise 'persistence/持続' or 'longing for the future/未来への憧れ', while in Western Language of Flowers it's meant to symbolise 'friendship' and 'devotion'. All meanings are apt for him imo, but especially persistence and longing for the future are very representative of his arc from the first series till Kizuna.

Sora and Piyomon are seen with Pink Carnations, with the neckline of Sora's jumpsuit lined with a bunch of the flowers. I personally love the visual of Sora in this pink jumpsuit, it plays into her slightly tomboyish yet extremely gentle personality so well! In Hanakotoba carnations symbolise 'innocent and deep love/無垢で深い愛' and pink carnations specifically symbolise 'love of a woman/女性の' 'passionate love/熱愛' and "beautiful gesture/美しいしぐさ'. In Western Language of Flowers carnations symbolise 'fascination' and love'. All meanings are pretty accurate for Sora, but red carnations are used to symbolise Mother's love in Japan so it would've been nice if they threw in a mix of red and pink to hint at her relationship with her mother!

Koushiro and Tentomon are seen holding Violet Sage, which at first glance I thought was Lavender. The flower pattern is also visible on his waistcoat and bowtie, which ties together his outfit very nicely! In Hanakotoba, Sage seems to have many symbolisations, 'respect/尊敬', 'wisdom/知恵', 'good home/良い家庭', and 'family love/家族愛'. But Blue (Violet) Sage specifically signify respect and wisdom. In Western Language of Flowers, Sage symbolises 'esteem', 'wisdom' and 'domestic virtue'. Again, a perfect choice for Koushiro, I personally would prefer to believe that they picked this not because of his crest but because of 'good home' and 'family love' since that part of Koushiro's arc in the first series was probably the most impressionable aspect of his character.

Mimi and Palmon are seen holding baby's breath, with Mimi's dress covered in a pattern of it. Even keeping my bias towards Mimi aside, this is possibly one of the prettiest outfit of hers till date, it genuinely looks like she's about to walk down the aisle as a flower girl for a very happy couple! In Hanakotoba, Baby's Breath or Kasumisou, symbolises 'pure heart/清らかな心', 'innocence/無邪気', 'kindness/親切', and 'happiness/幸福'. In Western Language of Flowers it symbolises 'everlasting love', 'purity of heart', and 'innocence'. All meanings apply to Mimi to the T, but they're also very apt for the whole wedding theme of the merch which makes this particular outfit + flower choice my favourite from the lot.

Jou and Gomamon are seen holding Violets or Sumire. I honestly struggled to figure out the flower for a while, at first glance I thought it was Periwinkle but since that was not mentioned in the Hanakotoba reference anywhere, I searched other people's interpretations and settled with Violets. His tie also has a cute pattern of the flower, and it makes me wonder if Koushiro and Jou went shopping for their outfits together! In Hanakotoba, Sumire symbolise 'modesty/謙虚', 'sincerity/誠実', and 'small happiness/小さな幸せ'. Depending on the colour, the symbolism can change in Hanakotoba, and purple Violets specifically represent 'fidelity' along with 'love'. In Western Language of Flowers it symbolises 'modesty' and 'faithfulness'. This is as Jou as a flower can get lol.

Takeru and Patamon are seen with White Gerberas. Like Yamato, Takeru's outfit doesn't have a pattern of the flower, but the Gerberas themselves are pinned to his suspenders. In Hanakotoba, Gerbera symbolises 'hope/希望' and 'always moving forward/常に前進'. White Gerbera specifically are used to symbolise 'hope' and 'honesty/律儀'. In Western Language of Flowers it is meant to symbolise 'cheerfulness' and 'beauty'. All meanings are accurate for Takeru, no comment needed!

Hikari and Tailmon are seen with Sunflowers. I personally feel that Hikari's outfit is a little too much compared to the rest, just the sunflower belt would've been enough but they added that extra line at the hem and it's kind of an overdose. In Hanakotoba, Sunflowers symbolise 'I gaze only at you/私はあなただけを見つめる', 'adoration/愛慕', and 'worship/崇拝'. In Western Language of Flowers, it symbolises 'adoration' and 'false riches'. I understand that they wanted to go with a bright or perky flower for Hikari but something like a Pink Aster which symbolises patience or Cosmos which symbolises harmony, peace etc. might suit Hikari better given the overall theme of the illustration. The only miss in the otherwise perfectly depicted theme and art!

[skittlesfics]

something soft

name: something soft

pairing: Joel Miller x gn!Reader

word count: 1212

summary: Settling down in Jackson has given you and Joel back a lot of things.

content/warnings: FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF, established relationship, Jackson!Joel, vague references to outbreak difficulties, unbetad

author's note: OMG, so I have been writing Joel fics/Pedro character fics for over a year now and have been too much of a coward to actually post anything. I decided to finally suck it up and join an event so that I was forced to post. This is a valentine for @beskarandblasters . Hope you enjoy! Happy Valentine's Day, y'all. -

Joel’s hand was warm where it wrapped around your ankle, his thumb stroking idly at the skin just below the joint as he turned to the next page of his book. It was a large-type Western that you had looted from an old library as a joke – but one that he became more appreciative of as the strain of years on alert made it harder and harder to focus on smaller script at night.

Many things were different now that you were settled into Jackson proper, but this was definitely one of your favorites.

Quiet moments out on the road meant that Joel was planning your next move or that all three of you were gathering energy for whatever horror was to come next. There was no space for leisure or relaxation in that quiet, even if there were rare moments of levity dappled into the shadows of survival. Here, though, in Jackson, you were both learning to let the quiet in.

Joel pushed his thumb into your ankle a little harder, just enough to pull you out of your reverie. Those memories were a dangerous path that you both had trodden too many times; He could see the spiral starting in your expression even before you knew it was there. When you lifted your eyes to meet his gaze, he smiled, sliding the bookmark Ellie had drawn for him as a Christmas gift into place. (Holidays were another thing that Jackson had given back to the three of you.) You let your eyes get drawn to the sketch of the astronaut floating over something that vaguely resembled the moon. I’m reading a book about anti-gravity. It’s impossible to put down!

“Got something to show you, if you’re amenable.” He said after setting the book down carefully on the fraying arm of the couch. His voice was rich and low, thick with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, his eyes seeking something in yours. If you didn’t know any better, you might have said that Joel Miller was nervous.

You couldn’t hold back your own soft smile, swinging one leg off of Joel’s lap in an attempt to sit up. He held onto your other ankle for a moment, tracing idle circles into your flesh with his thumb before realizing his error and releasing you.

You sat up and bookmarked your own novel. Well Read Mother Clucker is what yours said, with a drawing of what you supposed must be yourself as a chicken. “I suppose I’m amenable.” You answered, nudging his shoulder as you stretched to loosen your taught muscles.

He huffed, fond smile still crooked on his lips, and stood.

“You stay right here and close those pretty eyes. Give me a minute.” He commanded. He pushed himself up with an audible complaint from his knees, a soft grunt marking the effort in the motion that he had hidden from you for so long before Jackson. You bit back your giggle, letting him believe that the sound blended in with the staccato crackles from the wood in the fireplace.

With your eyes closed, you tried to map Joel’s path through the room. You could hear his footsteps leading away towards the kitchen, the board next to the dining table groaning in protest. He didn’t say it, but you could already hear his grumble. Gotta fix that come springtime. That was a new thing in Jackson as well, planning for the future in this one place. Building a home. The thought brought a warmth to your chest that distracted you from his next movements.

Firelight danced behind your eyelids, and you let yourself sink back into the couch, shifting into the pocket of warmth Joel had abandoned as you heard him open a cabinet door. It creaked only slightly – the China cabinet perhaps? You wondered if he had finally listened to your complaints about chipped plates and managed to loot something whole to eat off of. Or maybe he’d managed to find another bag of stale coffee out there somewhere to replenish your dwindling supply. Practicalities that felt like luxuries.

Joel didn’t leave you waiting long. You followed the path of his footsteps back to you, tilting your head towards him even with your eyes closed. He leaned in and pressed a soft, warm kiss against your forehead, reaching out to cup your cheek before straightening again and placing something on the coffee table in front of you with a heavy clunk. The plates then?

“You can open.” He said, sinking into the seat you had abandoned in pursuit of his warmth. “It’s not much, but…”

You weren’t sure if he trailed off or if your brain simply stopped processing sound as you opened your eyes to reveal a small red crock speckled with white and black spots. There was a clumsy ribbon tied out of strips of sun-bleached red fabric from God-knows-where around it, but inside. Delicate, carefully crafted roses were arranged in an explosion of natural wood tones. If it weren’t for the colors, they would have appeared lifelike, almost. You reached out, carefully stroking one of the petals. It was nearly translucent, but undoubtably wood. He had made them.

When you looked over at him it was through watery eyes. He was watching you, expression impassive, betrayed only by the slightest quirk at the edge of his mouth.

“You made these?” You asked, breathless.

“’s hard to get fresh flowers in February up here.” He explained with a shrug, like that explained it. Like it hadn’t taken hours of painstaking labor to shave each individual petal out of wood that he had cut down and prepared with his own hands. Like he hadn’t filled your heart to bursting.

He opened his arms and you slid into his lap, throwing your arms around his shoulders and squeezing tight, like he might try to get away. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest as you rained kisses across his face, one large hand finding your hip and resting there, the other finding your chin to pull you in and kiss you properly. It was a slow kiss, soft and reverent, like he wanted to memorize the press of your lips against his, the soft sigh you let out against his mouth, the way your body relaxed into the warmth of him.

“They’re beautiful, Joel, they’re everything.” You whispered finally, dropping your head down to rest against his strong shoulder.

“They’re alright.” He deflected, cradling you against his chest, “Next Valentine’s Day, I’ll get you something nicer.”

It struck you then, the date. Another thing that Jackson had given back to you was a calendar to go by. You hadn’t gotten used to tracking the days as the passed yet, more focused on the weather than a number. But of course Joel would notice, especially after he saw what Christmas had done for you and for Ellie. Valentine’s Day here, after the end of the world.

You burrowed your face into the warm cotton of his shirt, knowing that he would feel the wetness of your happy tears against his chest and not caring. He held you there, pressing a kiss against the crown of your head. Something simple, something soft, something yours.

[loislame84]

*Kate walks over to Yelena sitting on the couch and straddles her. She pulls her into a kiss. Yelena enthusiastically responds before pulling back a moment later*

Yelena, sticking her tongue out and plucking a tablet off of it: Kate Bishop, did you just try to drug me?

Kate: well you have a migraine and won’t take the damn aspirin.

Yelena: I do not need western medicine.

Kate: but I don’t like seeing you in

pain. *tries to move off of Yelena’s lap but she’s stopped* changed your mind? I can slip another tablet in there.

Yelena, chuckling: no western medicine but I heard releasing endorphins helps to get rid of migraines.

*Yelena is just staring at Kate waiting for her to catch up*

Kate, blushing: orgasms?

*Yelena barely nods before Kate pushes her down on the couch for research purposes.*