#its just one pannel

[skimmeh]

Willing this 3rdlife comic I've had in my head to appear in real life HAH

[maeemono]

Messing with lighting is my new favorite thing

This was really rushed but turned out decent-

Also I refuse to believe Emma doesn't have freckles.

[the-dragon-girl-27]

stupid man and his stupid dinosaur tail

[moonshell25]

When was someone gonna tell me she existed??? Look at her dorky glasses. I love her.

[xxartmanxx]

I really want to finish the little comic I've been drawing for fun, but my copy of Wind and Truth arrived today, and I also want to start reading. So instead I'm stuck in task paralysis scrolling through here. 🫠

[the-storm-and-its-calm]

same, there is something i'd like to note, the asuming of the host being the one that looks like the body etc, is something we kinda strugle with, no one irl knows we're a system, but internally its this thing that keeps waying (how is that spelt?) us down, the fact we're seen and physically are um how was i writing this? seen a surtent way, and because, for whatever unknown amount of time we've been plural we we're pushed into a box of one person, there's...not a host, but the face of who we're supposed to be that has to be always there. at least she thinks so, alot of the time, sorry for the rant of nothing i just saw that one pannel and combusted, uhhhh what im trying to say? i dont really know, but something about how we dont really havea host, and then we tried to conveince ourselves we did but then it was the other way around...and now, okay this is a mess, im gonna stop now.

the term "host". a short comic about being a system who, well, doesn't exactly have one.

i really hope this post comes across right and not in a bashful or hateful light because that is !! not intended whatsoever!!

this is just a bit about the way some of our personal and inner struggles affect us, much like many of our posts, and is again just posted in case it may make anyone who relates feel seen (especially if it's an "obscure issue". i think we've only ever met one other system who doesn't have a host of some kind, and even then it was just because theirs went dormant and nobody took their place.)

we've never really had a host, or even actual co-hosts, from what we can remember. even in our earliest memories which we've looked back on from a system lens, there was (at least) two of us with no clear "main" one. that extended all throughout our teenage years up until now. it was always at least two who had no awareness of the other, but they were both here just as much as the other, "taking turns" fronting. weird stuff to try to make sense of.

we've tried to slap the host/co-host label on a few alters over time, but it never sticks and they always end up fronting just as much as anyone else or having their own other roles they front for. so i think we'll just stop trying to force it lol

[a-wild-things-rambles]

you know what. i have one hope for the authority move. they fucking remember that the rest of the authority are also queer as fuck.

[certifieddrawer]

BSD chapter 121 – SPOILER / "THEORY"

Something i haven't seen anyone else point out, is that in the last pannel of the chapter, "Dazais" clothes clearly don't fit him

For comparison, both from the same chapter

His coat is clearly too big for him. The sleeves hang too low, usually just below the elbow, now down to his wrists.

His pants don't fit him either, although the coat hides it pretty well.

Overall his clothes are significally more baggy.

His hair is also parted diffrently. Dazais hair is almost always parted down the middle. First I thought his hair was being blown by the wind – thusly messing the parting – but one look at the hem of the coat proved me wrong.

The right side of his hair is instead longer then the left side.

He also seems to not have his neck bandage. The longer then usual sleeves concealing his arm bandages (or the lack thereoff).

"Dazai" is morphing into someone else. Which brings me to:

Atsushi is shorter then Dazai, making Dazais clothes most likely too big for him.

The longer side of Atsushis hair is the right one. The parting of hair – while not exact – seems to also match our resident tiger lad.

The illusion of Dazai is being torn apart, as Atsushi realizes its true nature. His own thoughts, fleelings, and conclusions wearing a Dazai themed Halloween mask.

When Atsushi says he 'knows who you are, he's not talking about Dazai or the hallucination, but *himself.*

Atsushi has never needed someone else to tell him to live, but he has always felt like he does.

To be less extra 'bout it, i think Atsushi groked what he is and is going use that to save Akutagawa / kick Fyodors ass.

If i missed or got smt wrong feel free to tell me

[oh-no-its-bird]

This is 100000% based off of a comic by @dahtwitchi, which you can read HERE

Like I basically did the same thing beat for beat, I can not emphasize enough how much they did it first and how you should absoloutley look at their comic bc its really very good. I read it last night and just loved it so much that I wanted to take a shot at the same premise myself.

Hashirama is such a character and I love seeing darker takes for him bc that man is morally grey at best, let's be real

Also the first few pannels, including the "don't you dare touch a hair on his head" bit is literally word for word from the manga. Which is insane actually. Like, yeah ok no wonder Tobirama had to actually ask if he'd kill him bc Madara asked. Girl I would too.

Anyways then Touka got the line of some random misc Senju bc I love Touka and she deserves to see her favorite little cousin killed in cold blood and be the only one brave enough to hug his body while Hashirama is busy helping a shell-shocked and honestly horrified Madara to stand

[dunmeshistash]

hey do you have helki pics compiled anywhere? i need a better look at the tattooing? on his arms. they look kind of like old japanese criminal branding tattoos to me and i wanna see if his are actually related to them, looking without a ref he might not only be a criminal but also a repeat offender of whatever crime he committed. i might be able to get an idea of what he did IF I CAN FIND THE FREAKING REFERENCE WERE FOR WHAT CRIME IN ENGLISH. i KNOW this exists but i cant find it anymore, i was actually going to wiat until i found it but its taking forever so im gonna just send it and hope ill have tracked it down by the time youre done...

LMAO, oh man thank you this is just an excuse for me to go after all his appearances, I love him. I post some that have nothing to do with the tattoos too.

I think the tattoos could be something to do with magic tattoos, althought the others seem to have more complex ones (Lycion's for example have more detail when he's drawn closer)

Hope you find it! here's the Helki compilation

Inconsistency in chapter 62 he has missing tattoos in a few pannels! (maybe it was fixed in the volume release?)

Hope these help!

edit: addded more helkis!

[yayasvalveplay]

Bee getting sparked with seeker bitties by the trine

Idw continuity

"Come on. We can talk about this." Bee staited grabbing at the wall. Trying to find the door he had been backed into. But turning his helm only slightly, he got to see that the door was acually on his left and not right. But that is really all it took for his arms to be grabbed, pinned to the side before his mouth was being ravaged by Thundercracker.

Bee moaned into the kiss, allowing the blue seeker to devour him. Compleatly forgetting about the other two in the supply closet with them.

"Cracker, move, it's my turn." The voice of Skywarp said desperately. Pushing the mech in question out of the way to instead plug his tongue down Bumblebee's throat. Pulling the small yellow bot closer, rubbing their modesty panels together.

So lost in the heat that was building, Bumblebee didn't even struggle when picked up, wrapping his legs around the purple seekers waist so he wouldn't accidently fall.

The sound of modest panels opening had Bee pulling away, trying to regain himself and his senses, because there was a reason he was trying to get away. And that reason was.

"Come now, little bug. Open up for us. Promise we'll make you feel good." Starscreams voice said from besides him, kissing and suckling his neck on one side, while Thundercracker did the same to the other.

Rut. These three were in a rut cycle, and had chosen him as their carrier. He could of been fine if it was just one of them. But all three!? Now that's stretching it a bit on what he thinks his body is capable of.

Thundercrackers servos went wandering, all the way down to his still closed valve and spike. He rubbed at the closed valve pannel, trying to trick it into opening. But Bumblebee stayed strong. He was not going to give in.

Well until Starscream bit down on his neck, Skywarp bucked into him, and Thundercracker teased at wires in his inner thighs. His panels slid opened, and before he could protest, Thundercracker was already at his valve, three fingers roughly going in and out, and his tongue. Oh frag his tongue was doing wonders on him.

Bumblebee tried fighting it, tried getting off of Skywarp, but his arms were firmly wrapped around his back and under his aft, squeezing it.

Lubricant dripped down from his stuffed valve, Thundercracker would follow it with his tongue, before he was right back at its sorce. Frag he would not last long like this.

"O-ok fine. You three win! Just, put your spikes in me already!" A pause, no noise happened for a while. It made Bumblebee think he had said something wrong. But no, he was being lifted from the wall, and into another pair of strong arms.

Starscream nibbled at the cables in his neck, allowing Thrundercracker to continue fingerings and eating him out as he layed between the red and purple seeker.

Only when he overloaded for the first time, did Thundercracker pull away, allowing the other two, to take his place but with their spikes. Double penitrating him.

Bumblebee through his helm back in pleasure, a static scream filled the air as the two seekers rubbed at all his nods, bumping against his ceiling nod and his gestation chamber.

"Come, open up for us Baby yellow. Let us spark you up." Skywarp growled. Pulling at leg cables, to make Bumblebee see stars. "You'd be so cute filled with our bitties. All full and round,, unable to walk. We'd have to carry you everywhere. Or just keep you on one of our spikes, so you have a constant flow of transfluid to build the sparklings." Starscream said, moving faster along side Skywarp, both very ready to spill inside.

And for once, Bumblebee didn't struggle, letting his gestation chamber open, and be filled to the brim with the seakers transfluid.

Only, they were not done, oh no far from the truth. As when Skywarp pulled out, Thundercrackers spike found its home alongside Starscreams spike. Bumblebee didn't even get time to rest before they were at it again. Thrusting inside, while Skywarp took his place underneath the three of them, licking at Bee's stretched out valve.

He truely wasn't going to last long.

--------

"I'm blaming all three of you." Bumblebee growled, wrapped up in blankets. His mate's near him, rubbing at his still very small, not even there bump. But he was sparked, the bastard have been having a field day the moment they realized their bee was carrying.

"Now, now Bee, that's no way to talk to your sire's" Starscream tutted at him like he was a child.

"I will bite your spike off if you come near me Starscream."

"I'd like to see you try."

Famous last words.

[layraket]

THERE WAS AN UPDATE SLEEPING? WHATS THAT??

first of all we start with this beautiful shot

god thats some cool architecture i have no words clapping

Wind is so ready to kick that lizard's ass i love him

this confirms the fact that theyre in the same place but in a different era (also i swear im convinced that this place takes place at least no far from Hyrule's era, the statue behind Legend and the corridors inside are almost the same as in Zelda1 and 2)

that was the worst joke i have heard today good job rulie lots of kudos /lh

the boys entering a place where they could find the most dangerous shit in all Hyrule, and then there's my girl who is having the best lunch ever

when i first read this i almost spit all my water on my phone cuz. Wars my man these people are like. crazy with dungeon crawl. you can't say that and expect a normal reaction.

their expressions are gold no notes

TIME'S SIDE EYE LMAO

Sky looking concerned, and Wars with the most "i dont know what is everyones problem but alright" face i love him

In a war there's no time to explore or search for things that can be useful, or even search for clues, less with the fact that youre leading an army. There was no puzzle, no mistery to solve or objects that needed to be obtained, just plain fight and confrontation, not leaving space for investigation or even a good rest in town

They have a point, without exploring they wouldn't have the arsenal that they carry; powerful items that can kill a whole army of monsters, a gift left by the hero before them to help, shinies. All that is really useful when you want to save the whole kingdom

lets not forget all the weapons that you can get on HW, there are some that are like, crazy powerful, and the materials get from the enemies are also really helpful

guys i think youre the only crazy people who love to enter a random place full of monsters and maybe a demon lord or smth

OK THIS IS THE PANNEL WHERE I WANTED TO TALK A LITTLE ABT

This reminds me of this short comic where Wild was almost grabbed by a wallmaster, do this takes place some time before this scene?? or just from another time?? I find possible the first option cuz Wild looks more wary the whole update, like if he already found out what will happends if he puts his guard down

Also the fact that the closest thing that he had as a dungeon were the Divine Beast and the shrines, which both of them lacked a lot of things that were usually in the clasic zelda's dungeons, like keys, mini bosses, special object and pots.

Hyrule my guy you dont. have to scare him like that. i hate these things too but calm down.

fucking gremlin /pos

taking this as an opportunity to talk about how Legend's behaviour has been seen changed in the past updates, he's more relaxed and playful, taking a moment to just have fun and prank the rest of the chain

this reminds me

here is left clear that he's still young, maybe not even on his twenties, and now after that stressfull time with Twi being on the verge of death it makes sense that he feels the need of just, goof around to cope after all that

Yes he's the most experienced, yes is maybe the most powerful of them, but he's still a young boy who was dragged to all this, he deserves to have some fun

happy guy :)

and then we have Time, he looks like Not Having A Good Time™

Messy hair Warriors <3

also i know we all put Sky as one of the adults, but cmon he's a little shit as much as the rest, thats why he finds funny Legend's joke

Wild my man you good? like im genuinely asking at this point, it is weird seeing him so serious

god thats such a cool design of a skulltula, its so scary 10/10

Wild has never seen in his life a spider of this size, so it makes sense him just, straight up getting surprised by that thing

OUGHH I FELT THAT

Sky being right-handed looks like a problem in this closed space, soon or later it would make some troubles

Legend no offence but did you see the little accident they had right there. like. that really hurts if you ask me.

Okay Time is really at his limit here, the past days has been hell for him with the stress of almost loosing the one that he might see as his son, and seeing all the boys just playing around is not helping. Theyre all heroes, they should take this danger seriously if they want to stop all danger.

He wants to protect the ones that he cares for, even if he has to snap for it.

Here he might be planning to team up with Twi and Wind? The youngest seems to have gained his attention as his second successor. He will make anything it takes to not let all of them get hurt, and with everything he means it

Just wait when he learns that Legend is also his successor, automatically adopted

NOW MY FAV PARTS WITHOUT COMMENTARY!!!

SOMEHOW I GOT THE IMAGE LIMIT???? I DIDNT THOUGHT THAT IT WAS POSSIBLE ON WEB

anyways have confused warriors as the last one pls aprecciate him

tumblr pls let me eat the art i beg you

art credits as always towards @linkeduniverse! always feeling blessed with all this fantastic work!

[random-kido]

In addition to this I just remembered a crankcase/magnus piece that came about due to magnus just..... manhandling crankcase? The whole two shots they were in together???

Anyway that's gone too apparently

Edit: went looking again real quick and I think the account that im pretty sure had it got fucking nuked by twitx or its by the same creator behind a locked account and I just ... never followed said account before it was locked 😮‍💨

Unrelated to anything but I just remembered that when the issue where the scavs met the bots dropped someone made really cute nautikrok art on devianart and I went looking for it like last week and it's gone and I'm sad about it

[ender-cloud]

HYDE IS IN THIS UPDATE!!! AND LANYON MY KINGS

Tgs spoilers under cut

Haha, you guys remember that one off comment i made last week

Ha ha ha……. Oh god, I’ll get to that when I get to it. Lets start with more of Jaspers good points and leadership skills first

Jasper makes a great point here.

The Lodgers are the society! They make the magic, the energy, the environment, Jekyll is just the ring leader of it all making sure things don’t get to out of hand, but in the end he had started to have a hard time being able to find that control and keep them in check.

This is why a type of “revolution” like this will do more good then harm in this situation because it will allow Jasper to take Jekylls place of keeping everyone together as the times turn and they need to protect themselves.

But uh… maybe the lodgers might not see this as I do

Ok ok, I get the Lodgers hesitants, Fritz brought to my attention that because Jasper is the newest lodger, despite everything they probably dont have enough trust in him.

Which I definitely get, they are in hard times right now and its hard to trust Jasper, even if they’ve known him for a while they were just betrayed by someone they’ve known for years, how can they trust someone they’ve known for a little over a month (I think)

Also theres a reason why I said that one off comment, not only because it was a trope I see a lot, but because I truly felt like it was a possibility

BUTTTT!! With this it doesn’t necessarily mean that they wont 100% not follow through with what Jasper is saying.

It is clear that they are unsure, yes, but they may need to think it over, and theres got to be a few lodgers who agree with his points.

Some who agree with Jasper that may help the other Lodgers get on board to. If they are truly Reluctant to Jasper leading them because they haven’t known him for long, if some people who they have been living with for years joining up may give them the boost to join.

Jasper made many great points in his speech, and with so many people not everyone could have disagreed with what he said.

I believe this moment of doubt will be just that, a moment, but once other people start agreeing and maybe adding their own points, then it will grow into what Jasper wanted before, the lodgers believing him and letting him lead them in this hard time

It will be the next part of this turning point into someone more confident for Jasper, because while motivating the lodgers with words might be easy, actually forming a plan and leading them through it will be harder, it will also teach him to not give up quickly when things look bad.

Hyde’s just casually acting like he didn’t just have a mental breakdown and immediately just teases Lanyon (I love them so much chat it’s unreal)

ALSO THIS CONFIRMS THAT HYDES MENTAL BREAKDOWN WAS HAPPENING THE SAME TIME AS JASPERS SPEACH!!!

Anyway, back to the actual pannel.

I find it interesting how in Hydes head, he also has a reputation to keep up, its not just Jekyll. The only difference is that hyde has his tough guy, bad boy rep (I hate myself for saying that) He cant let anyone see his weakness, not even Jekyll.

He clearly has mentally trained himself to be able to just change his mood on a switch, but even if he can change how he acts his face has to show some evidence of what happened, i mean we’ve seen him be a little bloody from the glass and Lanyon must have seen that too.

He might be talking about what Hyde looks like when he said he made quite a mess out of himself, not only the glass, which might make Hyde nervous, i feel like he wont be able to keep his facade up for long with how he was acting before.

It’s a little hard delve into the few words they exchanged but im excited for the next update, which may include some blaming of what happened to Jekyll.

(Also more Lanyon and Hyde which I’ll take anyday 🙏🙏)

Happy Holidays Btw!! I hope you have a great Christmas or anything you may celebrate!!

[alacetor-the-duckies-deer]

So I know the canon depiction of the 7 rings of hell in the helluverse is just,,, 7 flat disks layered on top of eachother.

But before I found that out I was picture ringworlds.

Ring worlds in scifi are one giant ring that obits a sun, and either artificial gravity or the centrifical force keeps the people stuck to the inside of the ring, and there's artificial pannels obiting in between the ring and the sun to create a day-night cycle.

And it would be cool enough on its own if each ring worked like that, with their own sun and everything.

But then I kept imagining there's SEVEN rings, and what if they had to share as sun? What if they orbited eachother???

Now it'd be cool, too, if the rings were different sized, and orbited a single sun from biggest to smallest, probably on different,,, axises? I'm not a scientist. lol, sorry.

But you get what I mean - they'd be constantly blocking the sun from each other, with the rings all different sizes and with a different number of rings in between each one and the sun. They would get diffrent amounts of sunlight, with the center ring, the smallest, either having its own panels lined up between it and the sun, getting the most regulated and consistent day-night cycle which I think would work for Pride, as all the sinners come from Earth where it's just Like That, and Lucifer being King might want his ring with the most consistency, or it get CONSTANT sun, which I think would work for how the Wrath ring is shown in Helluva Boss.

And then the outer ring might get almost no sunlight dispite it's size, which I think would work for Envy, which is a watery place in canon I think? Would get them a frozen over top layer of the ocean where they COULD walk around if they could get up there.

And while I've kinda talked myself into that, I'm still obsessed with the idea they're evenly interwoven with each other like a magic flow bracelet.

For a day and night/season cycle, they'd all orbit the sun and eachother evenly so they'd all be getting the same light as eachother at all times, and move farther or closer to the sun as they flared out and colapsed again

And travel wise you could maybe only travel from transport stations in the center when they're all closest, and some times there all almost completely over lapping so you could move from one to the other from almost anywhere a transport station exists.

(God playing with hell)

[honestsycrets]

querido ii: ¿estás bien? | outlaw!miguel o'hara

Chapter List

❛ pairing | outlaw!miguel o'hara x reader

❛ type | tripleshot(?); explicit

❛ summary | while miguel gathers gabriella, you have an unexpected visit from aaron. miguel doesn't take his visit well.

❛ tags | mention of murder and minor character death, hidden pregnancy, western au, spanish not translated, outlaw!miguel, baby-mama!reader, slight cursing, angst, threats, implied physical assault, implied molestation, miguel beating a bitch up, mention of alcohol and smoking, f!reader.

❛ sy's notes | a bit long but-- enjoy.

The path Gabriella took was traceable. He wove through the pass of battered grass with efficiency, passing by groups of grazing cattle until he came upon a small wooden barn. It was nestled just in the mouth of the forest. It was clumsily built and even more sloppily painted. Miguel had no doubt that it had to be Peter’s handiwork. It had that look about it, half done but done in love.

“Gabriella?” her name was clumsy on his tongue. Before today, he’d gotten no word of his daughter in smuggled letters from Peter. Didn’t even know you were pregnant. It made sense, after the accident, that he’d step up. That was the kinda man Peter was.

“Go away,” she sniffled between the fallen tears and snot, her sobbing loud and relentless. “I don’t want to talk.”

“Let me take you home, kid.”

“No.” she bit out. “I don’t know you.”

“You know your mama.”

“I don’ think I do,” she said.

“Yeah, well, that makes two’a us.” Crestfallen, Miguel set his back against the wood panneling, folding his broad arms one over the other. His head connected with the aged old wood, staring into the distance at your little house with its peeling paint and tall flowering trees. He takes a swig of his flask of booze, needing something to cut with the sudden reality that he was an instant father. A smoke would do, too.

He should have known his method of pulling out and praying would slip up one day. Apparently, that came sooner than he thought. If he searched his memories way back when, he might have remembered a time or two that he failed to pull out, your beautiful body riding him for all he was worth. All beat up, he was a sad sex partner, clinging underneath layers of your frilly dress to fuck up into you. Coño, that had to be it. A laugh slipped off his lips, empty of his typical sass and mirth.

“Came back to see my girl and end up a father, fancy that.”

“Your girl?” Gabriella said, in between her raw tears. “What’d you mean your girl?”

“Tu mamá. She was my girl. Met her as a cattle hand for her papá. Back when I used to do things right,” Miguel found himself explaining, turning his head over to the tiny window. He couldn’t help but remember the first time you caught his eye-- the day you dropped that ruby-red rebozo into a muddy puddle on the way back from church. Whirling off his newly broken horse, Miguel near flung himself off her saddle to pick it up. Gabriella shifted to look out the empty window at him. “Shoulda seen her then. She had this glimmer, used to bring me out burros no matter how hot it was.”

He remembers the many days sitting on the wooden gate, tearing tasteless dried meat until you came around. You slipped out of your mother’s schoolhouse without fail to bring him something to eat. He hated sopita days the most. You loved those days the most. Beggars couldn't be choosers. He'd eat it, smack on a smile. Listened with an annoyed grin to the other cattle hands when they teased him about having to drop his entire salary back on the man to get your hand in marriage. Like the asshole would give you to a sunburnt, down-in-the-dirt cowboy like him. If he'd known that, he would've just eloped before things got... messy.

“Mama likes sopita,” Gabriella said. At least she knew her mother. “I like frijoles and tortillas.”

Sencillo. She was a simple child. Miguel exhaled a plume of smoke, spotting a dark brown horse out in the distance. He wasn't sure, but it could be Aaron coming to bother you again. He swore that the man had come in earlier when Miguel was feeding Widow in the barn.

“Abuelo y mi tia were shot.” She stated. What'd you do?! She’s not moving! Miguel shook the memory free. Every time he remembered, he hoped he could forget. He brings his cigarette back to his lips as the little girl goes on. “That’s what mamá said. Then, the paper says you killed the sheriff. Real outlaw like!"

“That’s what they say,” he mumbled, finding his mind running.

The days of running from his thoughts were coming to a quick end. He’s traveled far and wide, never married-- though he had certain needs met. It never fit. No one’s body held the quiet calm of yours under his, your fingers dancing the expanse of his muscled back, your soft lips on his chapped ones. He just wanted to make it right, thinking there was nothing more to tie you down. Looking at the curious twinkle in his daughter’s big brown doe eyes, that was obviously wrong.

“Yeah, but did you do it?”

“Don’t think your mamá would appreciate me talking out of turn.” Miguel unfolded his arms, knowing that he already said too much. He doesn’t know how much of the event you’ve told her. It’s easy to want to tell her things, to be more honest, and to invite open conversation like a papá should. He let Peter handle it all for years.

“What about me?” she asked, curious. “Did’ja come back for me?”

“You?” Miguel peeped over. “I didn’t even know you were alive, kid. Besides that, you won’t even talk to me man to man.”

“Man to girl,” she pushed open the door and popped out with her hands square on her hips. She’s a little spitfire, standing there proudly, fractured in some beautiful way, through moments of grief. It still wears in her girlish eyes, but it's smoothed over some by Miguel’s presence. He suddenly has a terrible fear of letting her down. He caught the tail of a frown before it dissipated. She presented him with her hand.

“My papá’s gone, so you’ll just have to do.”

Great, he’s a second-rate father. He knows he’s no Peter, who could run off with the smallest joy a child had. He could make it seem like the most amazing thing he’s ever heard. Miguel has a cold demeanor, his aptitude in things outside gunfights is questionable, and he has a fat ass bounty on his head-- no doubt spearheaded by Aaron. The deaths were so old. The sheriff was another issue. Why else would he keep chasing him?

“I’ll try.”

He could do this. Whatever having a child entailed, he wanted to do it. To one day bring that smile to Gabriella’s lips. A smile warmed his hardened face as he took hers. It’s the only thing that a newfound father could wish for his daughter-- to be the source of her happiness.

By the time they trek back home, there is no sight of Aaron. Widow is tucked kindly in your barn, out of the sweltering sun that beat down her little face to keep her safe. They take the backdoor in.

“Mamá?” Gabriella stepped in first. Miguel followed after, his hand on his gun out of habit. Too many sleepless nights in the middle of nowhere, nights sleeping in caves and rocky ground. “Mamá, are you there?”

Your clothes are thrown over a wooden chair, forgotten. Your cleaning water is used and indicates that you cleaned up in their absence. Miguel stepped past a broken dish in the kitchen that Gabriella thought fell off on its own accord. He set the sherds on top of one another and continued on in his inspection of the kitchen.

“Oh, mama made pie!” Gabriella picked up the forgotten peach pie from the window and set it on the lace tablecloth that covered the table. Miguel promptly shut the window behind her. He recognized Peter’s old pistol on the table, still holstered up in your thigh wrapping. Night had fallen on the home. Had they been gone so long?

Something’s off-- Miguel decided.

“I’m upstairs,” you called from up the steps. Your voice sounded strained, suppressing something Miguel didn’t quite understand.

“Eat n’ bed,” he told Gabi.

"Can I eat the pie?"

"Eat what'cha want." He minded how she took the pie up to her room with a shake of his head. He wasn’t getting him any of that any time soon. He checked her room first, shooing her off with the awkwardest hug. Not on his part, but hers. She squeezed his waist the tightest she could before she disappeared inside.

On his last visit here, he hadn't gone into depth exploring the home. It was beautiful. Warmed by your touch with well-framed family portraits and knick-knacks he recognizes from a decade ago. It’s terribly domestic, but that’s the beauty of a lifestyle he is alien to. Miguel hovered before a wedding photo. Unlike the typical wedding photos he saw town to town, you were clearly pregnant behind that tight white dress. Peter was clearly grinning like the idiot he was. He draws his knuckles over the heavy wooden door with a silent knock. He doesn’t want to fall into a trap with his daughter next door.

“Adelante,” you whispered, inviting him in. He pushes the door apart.

There’s no sign of Aaron. You sat at a small vanity, combing your hair out with a hand-me-down brush. Your hair fell over a heavy welt on your cheek that wasn’t there hours ago. His eye trained on the bruise. For a few long moments, he was silent. He eventually clicks the door shut and takes several steps forward, peeling your tiny palm that obscures the heavy bruising on your cheekbone.

“Did you find her?”

“What happened?” he asked, plain and dry. No room for debate, no way to deflect. You turned your head to one side, stroking your nightgown for a semblance of comfort. He removed your hand and set it on your lap, his large hand tilting your face in gentle concern. You abandoned your brush on the vanity. The spot was hot and angry, burning with a blotchy color that painted your face in a watercolor of bruises. “Was it Aaron?”

“You saw him?” He met your eyes and kept his gaze steady and strong. That was his answer. You sighed. “It’s not important.”

“Did he put his hands on you? Did he-- touch you?”

Miguel knew how Aaron looked at you in the past. Even back then, married to your sister, his eyes always wandered to any pretty thing. It wasn’t enough that the rumors that spread were full of talk of Miguel and you, ever the hot topic at every dance he took you to. Not because it was unique but because your father had clear objections to the match. Aaron took his presence as a threat. Right now, it was.

“Did you find Gabi?”

“She’s safe in her room,” he cropped his words. “I want to talk about you.”

“Y yo no,” you looked away. “I don’t want to talk.”

“Mi amor,” Miguel brought his hand down, supporting your soft jaw in his hand. Miguel doesn’t beg, but he will this time. It was all he could do to make you tell the truth. To soothe the sick feeling in his gut, to make sure that you were well taken care of. In a surge of concern, Miguel tried to push the issue further. “Don’t shut me out.”

“You’ll get all worked up and that ain’t gonna do nothin’ but raise that bounty on your head.”

"So." It doesn't matter that you had a point. There was a warning hanging in his eyes-- he wouldn’t let it go. Not without an explanation first. It was impossible. "I already got a chunk of change on my head. What's one more gonna do?"

“He’s been pressing me to search the ranch for you every so often,” you admitted, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “I left the front door open and he came on in while I was changing. I was about sick of it, querido, so I told him to go away. I guess… he didn’t like that much. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Miguel cut you off. That was closer to a version of the truth than he knew you wanted to admit. He knew you enough to know it wasn’t the full story. Miguel slipped onto his knees, his worn slacks scratching the floor beneath him. He held your hands in his, reminding himself not to lash out, throw something, or hit something for not being there. There was no outlet for his rage right then. He'd take it out on something later.

“He didn’t violate me if that’s what you’re thinkin’.” Your lip pursed, struggled to make words that don’t hurt so much. Your tongue was fat in your mouth as you explained. “He just… grabbed on me a bit.”

Grabbed on you a bit? Miguel searched your fingers with an intent expression for an answer that made sense. You were being cryptic. He doesn’t particularly like weighing the options of what it could mean. He could have grabbed the door and forced his way in. He could have grabbed you and tried to force himself on you. The thought burned low in his stomach, simmering the need for revenge.

“What’d he grab?” he drew your name out in a soft, puff of a thing. Your fingers left his, smoothing over your nightgown again in an effort to soothe yourself. Your breath quickened, a clear signal that he was hitting his limit with you.

“I don’t--” you struggled. “I don’t want to talk about none of that. You just came back today, Gabi learned the truth, Peter-- I can’t do it. Can’t you let it go?”

He knew that the tears pricking your eyes weren’t over something like Peter’s death or the bite of dust in your eyes. Shame and embarrassment dangle before him, fueling his enmity with a man that he’d not run up against in many years. If anything were going to force him into action, it would be this.

“If that’s what you want, amor.”

He couldn’t let it go. But if it helped you relax, he’d just let you think he could. Miguel sprung up on two feet and kicked off his dark brown boots under your wooden vanity. He slipped off his suit jacket and vest before offering you his hand.

“I should… check on Gabi. She might be hungry.”

“She took up with that pie you made her. Menudo’s on the stove.”

“Pero… I should make sure she’s okay.”

“Amor, are you okay?” he asked, his voice terribly mild, but bore a seriousness that struck a cord in you. His words hung like the blade of a scythe, cutting through the strength you had to have day to day since Peter passed. First death. Now as Miguel suspected, a molestation?

No, you choked out, your face pale of its usual warmth. You didn’t fight as he brought you into bed, his hand underneath your neck to draw you close. He knew his smoky scent would reek the sheets, yet you did not seem to care, burrowing in the space between his neck. Your hand slipped underneath his slightly unbuttoned shirt, curling in his chest hair. He caressed your back in soft circles.

“Miggy?”

“¿Sí, mi hermosa?”

“Make it better.”

Take care of it, he thought bitterly. That’s what you meant. Miguel slid his other large hand over the back of your neck, working you through the tears. The flood of your tears against his neck reminded him of how pathetic of a job he’d been doing, caring for his new little family, for you-- the woman he came to take away.

For this moment, he could only cradle your cheek and distract you with a salty kiss. He clumsily nudged his nose against yours to force you to pay attention to him. He probably tastes of booze, smoke, and a little bit of dried meat, but if he does, you don’t seem to mind it. Your lips shuddered, lips opening slightly to allow him to kiss you more fully. Your kiss held its own familiarity, a signal that he was home despite the years that passed.

“I don’t think I can do this alone,” you murmured against his lips. “I ain’t that strong.”

“You’re plenty strong. Got through a whole pregnancy without your man around, raised her up good.”

“I knew I was with child before you left,” you peered up. Emotions flickered there: a rush of anger, uncertainty, disappointment, most of all, sadness pooled in his eyes. “I just… I ain’t know how to tell you, what’d it change with papa not liking you the least bit after Lupe’s shooting.”

“I would’a wifed you up quick.”

Now-- what would he do? Miguel wasn’t stupid. It wouldn’t be just Aaron who would come around the longer he spent in this town. Bounty hunters of all kinds would be breathing down his neck. There was no future for him here. The only alternative was to take his family out of this tiny town, carve out a new life elsewhere. Miguel brought your knuckles to his lips, pressing a kiss there.

“I still would.”

Your cheeks are warm as they get, “Who’d marry an outlaw and a widow?”

“Someone out west that ain’t know about us.”

“There such a place?” you asked.

“'Course there is,” he assured you. “Think ‘bout it.”

You looked at him for a long time, considering if Miguel was telling you the truth, but he’s never lied before. Not where it counts. Miguel’s hand wandered, pulling your thigh over his, content with your consideration.

“Think that’d make me a bad mom, whisking my kid off to be with an outlaw, ain’t it?”

Miguel arched his brow at you, his eyes glossy and warm, teasing. In any other case, he might have agreed. But it was his child you cared for. He wasn’t about to abandon you— no way to make money, no way to take care of Gabriella but to remarry or sell off everything and try a life in the city. You liked rocking on a rocking chair at the end of the night, running through the wildflowers, and the taste of honey in the warmer months. You were no city girl.

“Ain’t like they don’t know whose kid it is.” Miguel laughed, a tuft of pride spilling into his words. “She look like she's mine.”

“Peter’d say that too.” The thought made you smile in a way you knew it shouldn’t. As good as a man Peter was, he brought up that fact the day you gave birth, when he abandoned the fields to be by your side. How we gonna hide this? He’d laugh. She ain’t look Anglo. She look just like Miguel. He always did say he hoped that it wasn’t too obvious. It was. Peter was a one-of-a-kind man. The memory brought a twinge of a smile to your face, looking over your marital bedroom. Speaking of others--

“Didn’t you meet other girls out there?”

Miguel forgets the kind of woman you were. A very jealous, terribly protective woman. He knew the question would come up eventually. You were a woman who loved to be the center of his world. Every man and woman wanted to be the only one in their lover’s eyes. He traveled the grassy roads for years and saw all there was to see. All types of women. Native women who lived on the land and slept in longhouses. Anglo women seemed to love to run their fingers down his swarthy skin but never considered bringing him home-- even if he wasn’t interested. Black women always fed him, even if they distrusted him a little. And, Hispanic women whose fathers did not like him prowling around their land. He couldn't blame them. He wouldn't want someone like him for Gabi, either.

“I met my share.”

“And you still came back?”

“Yeah? I came back for you. What, you want me out?” Despite your brilliant, soft smile, your mind ran like you’d taken the first ticket on the railroad out of town. He knew what you were thinking. You were wondering how many women he’d been with, what they were like, what--

"You're so sassy," you teased. He slid on top of you, his fat belt buckle catching on your nightgown. His lips peppered gentle but scratchy kisses down the expanse of your neck. The soft bruising there reminded him of Aaron’s mistakes. He'd take care of that next.

“Miggy,” you giggled, tugging on his thick dark brown hair. “Stop it.”

“Todavía te amo,” he lifted off your neck enough to utter the words. Your cheeks flooded with an unfamiliar warmth. You'd not had someone to make your heart soar in a really long time. Your hand curled up his head, dipped along the curves of his face to his sharp jawline, and tugged him to look at you. He complied, a tilt in his head.

“I wanna see you naked. You’ve gotten so big,” you said. “Take off your clothes.”

Well-- he had to know that one was coming. Miguel suppressed a small snicker from leaving his chest as he pushed off the bed and brought his fingers against the buttons you hadn’t undone. You scooted up on the bed, dragged your gown over your knees, and watched him undress. He drew the shirt off his massive arms and threw it in on your chair. His skin was memorable, still as dark and swarthy as you remember, but cut in more defined musculature. You brought your nail to your lip, suckling on the nail as he threw you a half-lidded look.

“Well?” he hooked his thumbs onto his belt buckle, waving a little closer. “You're not saying anything.”

“You’re so big, querido.”

“Believe you already said that,” Miguel teased.

He knew he looked good. It was how he attracted so many different women. You twiddled your fingers to urge him closer. Something about you loosening his belt filled his belly with a distant excitement. He watched you unlatch the fat buckle and draw his belt free of the loops with a whirl of leather. He held his thick leather belt in one hand as your trembling hands came up to unbutton him. The firm fabric slid down over his hips, revealing nothing beneath but his hirsute legs and a flaccid cock that settled on a tuft of nearly black pubic hair. If he wasn't mistaken, you moistened your lips.

Selfishly, he wonders how many men you’ve been with since he ran off. He wouldn't have blamed you if you wanted to be with a hundred. He left you pregnant, without a family, and likely terrified.

“How long’s it been?” Miguel stepped out of what was left, standing there as naked as the first day he came into this world, exposed without his rifle or his handgun. Your cheeks flared with warmth, gliding a hand up his hip. “Since you've been with a man.”

“Eight years.”

He knew that Peter had no interest in you, and you had no interest in Peter. He was simply a good man doing what he thought was right. If not for Peter-- he’s not sure what would have become of you. Yet, illogically, he thought you could stomach to be with another man.

“You never been with another man?”

“I married Peter. I’d never do him like that,” you shook your head, inching your hand over his cock. After eight years, you deserved a good fucking. He can’t bring himself to force you into it, not after what you’ve been through tonight. He allows you to lead, milking his cock with your small hand. Your other crawls up to his scarred stomach, tracing the line of hair to his navel. There were countless scars on his body, never afraid to leap head first into a battle.

“I bet you had needs,” Miguel murmured. "You use your hand?"

“‘Course I did, Miggy. I’m a woman, ain’t I?” You looked up at him, your bruised face beautiful as it was. Despite what other men liked to say, that women ain’t need to do nothing but lay there and take them, Miguel knows better. His mind is full of distant memories of sex with one another. Sneaking out in the deep of night to fuck in the fields, snatching you midway through your chores to kiss and finger you in the barn, or exchanging the smallest of glances around town. "Now don't talk so nasty, Gabriella is right next door."

“Downstairs. Lemme take care of you,” Miguel found took your hand, lifting it away from his cock and forcing you to stand. You complied, following his hand that slipped between your legs, stroking up your thighs to your neglected core. He imagines that on nights like this, quiet and alone when Peter was on a cattle drive, you’d come into your bed just like this. Slip over your bed, stroke your long fingers over your puffy lips, maybe dip one inside, and think of him.

“What if she comes in?”

“She won’t.”

“But I don’t know how to--”

“Mujer. You don’t need to think of anything short of what I’m about to do to you.” Miguel lifted your nightgown up and off your body. Your hands snapped to your midsection, covering whatever it was that was so offensive.

"Stop that." Miguel tilted his head to the side, flicking your hands away from appreciating the sight of your belly, littered with softly discolored stretch marks.

“But I ain’t pretty no more,” you told him. “I got--”

“You got marks from bearing me a baby. I know. Now, hush up,” Miguel teased gently, the pads of his fingers swooping over the marks. They had gone silvery with age. Perhaps, he thinks, you thought you'd never be with a man. Now, you seem so suddenly self-conscious of the marks that litter your skin. He curved his hands around to squeeze your plush hips, flushing his body against yours. You felt his cock rub up against your belly, soft to the touch. Miguel's cock stiffened against your navel, a feeling that brought a crack of arousal through your core. You rubbed your thighs together for the friction. As relief pooled in your belly, Miguel seized your jaw to kiss you, his hands slapping your ass to force you to move. You shifted forward, crying out into his muscular chest. “I’m after a woman, not a girl. Get on all fours. It’s my turn to see you.”

You complied by sliding onto the bed, memories of what Miguel liked flooding your mind: chest against the sheets and ass up. Despite the very real concerns you had about his attraction, Miguel seemed no worse for wear when you looked over your shoulder. His eyes crinkled at the edges as he grabbed your ass, massaged your cheeks between his palms, and separated your lips. He licked a long band up between your tender lips, enough to wrench free a soft gasp. He suckled on them with a wet pop, the puff of his lips musing hot air onto your cunt.

“That’s cute,” Miguel murmured, letting his palm come on your ass for a teasing slap. You groaned, the hot redness burned in a sweet and unfamiliar way. His lips began to moisten with your lubricant spilling over them, tasting of a woman he hadn’t had in too long. His tongue prodded at the entrance to your gentle hole, pushing in one of his thick digits. Your walls protested the intrusion, clamping over the foreign finger.

“Ah Miguel,” you curled your toes, his finger stretching you in preparation for his fat cock. “I ain’t sure I can take you.”

“Sure you can.” Miguel hummed, inserting another alongside the first. You were tight, that was for sure. He was sure that you hadn’t been with another man in years, just as you said. It made his cock leak to think of it-- your virginity was his, your child was his, and… now you’d be his again. He spat on your hole, his wet saliva squelching with your lubricant around his broad fingers as he entered your body. Your hips rutted back onto him, instantly making Miguel release a husky laugh. "Your pussy knows you can. Look'it eating me up."

"Por dios Miguel, don't talk like that." You stiffened around his fingers. His mouth had gotten nastier in his time away. He knows you like the way he worships you, finger flicking lightly over your walls, making sure to stretch you wide. Another slipped alongside the first, twisting his wrist for a deeper thrust, working you nice and loose, enjoying the gasps of decadent pleasure. Miguel whispered beautiful words of praise, remarking on how easily you took him, how well you'd be in only a few minutes. Your hands ruffled the sheets, cantering your hips back onto him. You needed his words, so tired after years of sexual frustration.

"That's it. Tell me you missed it," he fucked you a few more times before his rhythm would die off, leaving you empty of him. His hand shifted to your breasts, molding them between his big palms, waiting for an answer that sounded right.

"I missed you, Miggy."

Miguel momentarily paused. Then, he stepped up, the hair on his legs brushing your thighs as he mounted you. The blunt head of his cock nudged along your lips.

“I’ma fuck you now,” Miguel murmured into your ear, letting his chest rest on your own. He pushed into you. Your walls stretched with his long stroke, Miguel's face tightening up. He was seated against your cervix, pushed up as far as you would let him go. For all your whining about his language, the obscene cry that left your lips was loud. Loud enough that Miguel slapped his hand over your mouth. He hooked his thumb in your mouth, forcing you to suck him as he sped up his deep thrusts, pushing you closer to your limit.

“Just gorgeous, mi hermosa.” Miguel found himself grinding forth. The repetitive squeaking of the bed made what he was about to say real stupid like. “But you gotta be quiet. Gabi don’t need to know what we’re doin’.”

Your tongue coasted around his thumb, suckling him nice and wet. Your walls clamped back over him, unused to the feeling of having a man inside. Miguel found himself rutting against your cunt, his tightening balls slapping your ass as he moved. Again and again, Miguel set a soothing, quick rhythm, filling the emptiness from years ago.

He'd been with many women over the years. None felt so easy, so like home. He curses himself for not doing it sooner. Your fingers dipped between your bodies, filling the emptiness, and causing your pleasure to blossom under your fingers. Pleasure explodes in your core, battered by his frantic thrusts, and your mind goes over the edge into some distant land of warm pleasure. Your walls spasmed violently, and Miguel's gasps became thin, adjusting his hold on your hips under the clench of your muscles against his length. He holds onto his decency poorly, strain bundled in his brow.

“Could you-- inside?” you said between his thrusts, muffled by the fingers hooked in your moist mouth.

“I do that-- and-- you'll get pregnant,” you’re both older now, he wants to think wiser than being two stupid kids fucking one another without care. Not that his pull-out game was particularly great back then-- Miggy please, you cry his name out, a tone that is stretched sweetly thin, walls spasming tightly over his fat cock. He muffles a curse, his pace jagged and uneven, desperate.

“Please, I miss it,” you cry, a litany of please threatening his ability to be well-behaved. He never was good at that in the first place, never good at saying no. Miguel drags you onto his cock, complying with a groan that he didn’t mean to be quite so loud. Thick streams of cum fill your tight little hole, bubbling out around the site of your union. He rides out the tails of his orgasm, earning you desperate little snaps of his shaking hips.

“Ay dios,” Miguel came down from his high with a slap to your ass, ripping his other hand free from your mouth to comb through his hair. He didn’t just-- he did. Miguel threw a glance at you, your shy eyes hiding behind an embroidered pillow. “I came inside.”

Coño. Great. Just-- great.

“I can feel it,” you teased him. He was stressed out, seeing a stream of his cum dribbling out from your cunt. He didn’t even know how to take care of one. How was he going to take care of two? His eyes narrowed.

“You best pray that it don’t take.”

“Don’t think I control that, Miguel.”

He pieced himself together smoothly, failing to notice anything but the emptiness that settled in your chest. A sigh left his chest and Miguel would set a kiss on the top of your head, looking toward the clothes-covered chair. Your eyebrows drew together in the realization that Miguel did not intend to stay.

“Are you leaving already?” You whined, pulling his name out from somewhere deep and lonely. He knew what it was. He just fucked you-- and now, he was going to run off. “Where you off to?”

“I got something to do. I’ll be back another day.”

A frown marred your soft features, lips slapped shut. You pushed away the warm quilt and slipped below it with your head on pillows that still smelled of Peter. You took one, propped it under your arm, and hid your lovely face from view. Silence filled the suddenly stuffy room. Other women would whine and complain about his fuck-and-run attitude. He didn't usually care.

Miguel dropped his pants, drawing closer to look at you. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he could see an ounce of the grief in your watery eyes. Panic, embodied in sparks of anxiety, spilled down his chest. Filled his stomach full with a fear of aggravating your already damaged state.

“Hermosa…” he began, his voice tender and soft. He slipped behind your back, his fingers running across your waist. "What is it?"

“I’m-- I don’t want to be alone. I didn’t want you to go,” you stammered into the pillow, blinking back tears that fell so readily. You didn't want to say what happened, but you needed his comfort more than sex. Your words were heavy, hard to make out, almost as if you were suffocating. “Not so soon.”

“Then I stay,” he said, husky and soft.

“You’ll stay?”

His muscular arms bunched around your waist as he set a kiss on the top of your head. He was careful, sliding you away from the hunched position on your bed onto his chest. He’d stay if that was what you wanted. Not permanently. He could never afford you such a promise here, where many a man had 2099 reasons to chase him down. You were his reason to stay, to keep you safe. The other slept next door. Or, he hoped she was sleeping.

“For tonight.”

He forgot what this felt like, the ability to stay in bed with someone you cared for, no pressure to run. Miguel was disheartened without his gun in arms reach, instead combing his fingers through your hair, watching the moon draw overhead. At some point, your breath faded into a gentle rise and drop in your chest to the tune of the whistling wind against the side of your home.

He found himself awake for minutes after, focusing on the bright moon multiple times that night, her embrace cool and welcoming. The constellations pale in comparison to the bright light that streamed into the room. He could almost imagine doing this every day, in another world, where his head wasn’t on a wanted flyer in your biblia. Sleep claimed him, restful and horrible, and hours passed.

The gun was hot. Miguel's fingers trembled, wrapped around the grip of his mother's old gun. "Lupe! Miguel, oh glory, Miguel what did you do?" He hears your distant scream, the desperation rooted in your voice. There was a pool of blood by his feet, dripping out from a woman who gave him nothing but grief.

"What I had to," As much as he'd tell you that killing her, rather than wounding her, was wholly an accident, he knew it wasn't. It was another something he had to do. He knew the next something would be your father wielding that ancient rifle and putting a claim on his head.

Shit. He wakes with a start. Miguel soothes the bags under his eyes. Not a day had gone past that he had good dreams-- less so when he was in a proper bed with a woman. Not any woman, but his woman. You're dead asleep against his chest, his arm having long since gone numb. Still as beautiful as hours ago, blissed out and well fucked, the bruising on your face reminds him that he has shit to do.

There is little disrespect like the disrespect of a man molesting your love, the mother of your child. But you don’t want a body from him. So he would be gentle with this, unpeeling himself from your warmth and striding into town while the moon still howled in the sky, knowing where a useless scum bag like Aaron Delgado would be. He’d be drinking up, his liver fat and useless.

The saloon was still somehow rowdy, stuffed to the brim with men who sought relief from family life and women who knew the easiest way to make a buck off pretty lies. Popping into the saloon was stepping back into his usual life, one of little value other than the skills it gave him. Namely, his hand hooked around the gun.

“Hey handsome,” a maid cooed, trying to call his attention. But he’s not focused on the breasts in his face as he veered past, pushing through groups of standing men. He came up behind Aaron, who was dead asleep on the bar. It never failed that he looked sloppy, his booze soaking his ruffled shirt.

“What can I get you?” the barman said.

Miguel gripped Aaron’s collar and what little hair wasn’t balding, lifting and cracking the man’s head hard on the bar. Aaron may not have been awake before but he was sure now, blinking the stars out of his eyes.

“The hell!”

The sound of feet against the squeaky old floor marked the rush of steps out of the bar. Miguel kicked Aaron’s bar seat out from underneath him, sending him careening onto the floor with a heavy thump.

“Miguel?” he snapped, bright-eyed, eyes trained on Aaron. Aaron snapped his hand to his hip. Miguel leveled his gun at Aaron, threatening him to touch it, just try. Blood flowed free from Aaron’s nose. He pushed it away with the back of his hand, smug smile like he knew Miguel would show up.

“It is you. I knew you’d be around.”

That's him. Some stragglers, friends of Aaron’s no doubt, lurched forward. Miguel shot into the ground by Aaron’s hip as a warning. It burst into the floor with a booming pop. He had no qualms about making double murder a triple, quadruple if he had to. Aaron pushed himself onto one arm. Miguel’s foot connected with Aaron’s ribs, sending him soaring across the floor. He connected with an aged piano, a bundle of keys singing under the small man who stumbled past Aaron's poor, shitty friends.

“C’mon,” Aaron pushed himself up on his palms. "Kicking a man while he's down?"

“You didn't think twice about breaking in and hitting my woman."

Miguel knelt down, checking the urge to blow his face off, but not now. Not while you had a stake in this shit of a town. Aaron's face quivered, what little friends he had gossiping in and among one another, others slipping the fuck out. Aaron has nothing useful to say.

"You so much as think of touching my woman again and you won’t be so much as crawling out of here. The undertaker be putting you under, you hear?"

“Gimme a break. What I did was nothing compared to what you did to Lupe."

"Don't you fuckin' dare bring her up."

"I just touched on her. You killed my wife. She felt mighty nice, Miguel, bet you’re mighty proud--”

Miguel considers himself good up til that point, walloping the butt of his gun across Aaron’s face to force compliance. Once, twice, maybe three times. After the third, he lost the thin hold he had on his control. He just knows it's enough to where the bruises that formed on his face would make yours seem like gentle love taps. He beats the man bloody and slips out to the sound of calls for Sherriff Morales.

He never was good at handling disrespect.