#i can't sleep on my left side in fear of putting pressure on my jaw

[tehshelaroxx]

I can't sleep right so sadly I'm up and for the last couple of days, my lower jaw is slightly swollen on the left hand side. I think it's TMD/TMJ related but I'm PRAYING it's not a tooth infection or worse. Please say a word for me if that's your thing, send good and healing vibes, anything before I have to visit my psychiatric doctor Tuesday. Sherry is as sweet as can be but I know she'll be after me if I roll up in there looking like I got popped in the jaw.

[seakou]

ok ok :( what about like kurona who just really likes it when you play with his hair, he’ll even let you do his tiny littol braid or put clips in his hair cause he likes how it feels

kurona likes to think of himself as a relatively observant man. one who finds things easy to catch on to and willing to cultivate around. one who is knowing, about things that matter, at the very least.

so it hits him rather harshly when you make him discover things about himself that he somehow didn't know before.

he has always been fond of affection—especially yours—and that is nothing new. how your hand grazes along his shoulder when you walk behind the couch. how you have a habit of tracing tiny hearts or sentiments you think he can't decipher onto the back of his hand when you're bored. how you slump into him after a long day and nuzzle underneath his jaw, press kisses there as you mumble about your dreaded hardships.

but his world tilts a little when your fingers snake their way north of his neck.

he's had people mess with his hair before; tug at his braid or poke at his spikes to see if they're as stiff as they look. but there's something different about how you go about it. something... winsome.

the first time it happened was when he came home one night after an away match. it was late, you were already in bed, he knew this. so he was quiet as he slinked in. dropping his duffel and discarding his outer clothes in favor of climbing into bed next to your sleeping form. you looked so peaceful he didn't want to startle you, he could say a proper hello in the morning, after all. so he simply slipped underneath the covers, craned over to press a longing kiss to your shoulder, and rested his head there for just a moment.

a second later is when he felt it. the pressure of your hand to the back of his head, your fingers sifting through the (probably a little grimy, honestly) tufts. your nails skimmed across the tightness of his scalp and kurona is damn near positive that he melted so heavily into you he fused with your own skin.

the serenity it brought him, the peace that flooded his chest—the endearment that swallowed him whole—was enough to send him barrel rolling off the deep end of unknown pleasures within himself. and he could no longer get enough.

which seems to ring true even now, as he lays across the couch with his head in your lap as you ramble about your day.

"and then—get this," you scoff, fingers scritching at the hair by his temples, weaving their way back until you're nearly lifting his head to skim the base of his skull. he loves this, truly. "he blamed me for not having my name on it. as if that means my lunch in the workroom fridge is fair game. can you believe it?"

"no," he obliges; the answer he thinks that you're looking for. truthfully, he's been half zoned out, reveling in your touch and letting his eyelids grow heavier and heavier. "what a jerk move."

"right?!" and suddenly your hands are retracting, making kurona's heavy lids shoot a little more alert with the fear your touch will be leaving him. but you simply shift, skim past the left side of his face to grasp the sliver of hair he usually plaits. he relaxes once again. "so i told him the next time he takes my lunch, i'll shove my fist so far down his throat that..."

you're still talking, he is aware, but he isn't really listening. so unlike him, in all honestly, but he doesn't think he can be to blame. your finger is twirling around his hair now, combing through the lock and twisting it as you please. he wonders if you'll try a different braid tonight, like the fishtail one you showed him the other day and propositioned with gleaming eyes. he thinks he'd let you. he thinks he'd let you do anything if it meant your fingers were still entangled in his faded pink strands.

he's continuing his contemplation when your hands come to a stop; a pause ceasing their mindless fiddling. he blinks up at you, zones back in, and he realizes your mouth is no longer moving, but is now cinched in a bit of a pout.

"hey, don't tell me i'm putting you to sleep," you gripe, though he notices there really is no bite. not one he can detect at the very least, "were you even listening to me?"

"yes," he replies instantly, nodding his head in your lap, "keep going."

and he halfway expects you to (you often times do, when you're riled up like this) but instead you ask him the one question he was hoping you wouldn't. "oh yeah? what was i saying then?"

your boyfriend blinks up at you. a pair of them, then thrice. you know good and well he wasn't listening, you just want him to admit it. after a sliver too long of silence, you tug on the strand of hair you still have wrapped around your fingers and he sucks air through his teeth.

"ah," he hums, narrows his eyes up at you ever so slightly, "that isn't playing. or fair."

you tug his braid again, but this time you retract your hands after. testing your hypothesis, proving your thesis right. kurona's head is raising up a second later and his shoulders are shifting enough to turn and face you. his warm palm finds your wrist and wraps around it, pulling your hand back to him—to his hair.

"okay, i wasn't listening," he admits, fully, "but i promise i will if you don't stop doing that. repeat yourself just this once, please."

his eyes are so pleading, so begging, that part of you thinks he might have been your devoted worshipper in a past life; kneeling before you for the mere honor of laying his head into your lap. you smile at the thought, and at him, and you indulge him—if only to watch his slit pupils expand.

"mkay," you adhere, and try not to let your smile appear too shit eating as you begin to separate the strands for his braid. "if you say so."

kurona melts into your touch once more, but this time he stays attentive. he likes to think of himself as a well observant man, but sometimes outliers tend to send his reception askew.

but as long as your fingers always find their way back to the weaves of his scalp, he thinks he's okay with being off beat every once in a while.

[lamentingwclf]

Each sound elicited from the passing of his hands, or the pressure of his lips washes over him like a small victory. They begin to fuel him, and he reveres this ability to make her come undone. The perfect facade cracked apart and broken by touch alone. He knows she's mortified, can feel the heat from her cheeks as the flush of her skin spreads. All he can think is that she's so damn beautiful.

It will hurt them, deeply and irrevocably; but will it hurt more not to?

Her head against his shoulder is a natural incline that his hand follows, passing between her breasts coming to rest around her neck. His palm is light, the pad of his thumb and middle fingers cradling either side of her jaw. His eyes never leave her face despite the desire to take in all he has bared for himself. He does not allow himself to fill in the minimal blanks left by thin silk.

"I know what I said," He says, and he's never broken a promise to her before, but held against him like this, with their bodies aligned and a slight sway of her hips against his. He's resisting the urge to grind against her. He angles her face towards him, watches the tear leak and fall towards his thumb with blown pupils. "But what happens if I don't?"

The question is not meant to upset her, but to point out a very real potential. It's all any of them have been thinking about since the attack on Pearl Harbor. Since the United States joined the war. Since they started drafting men his age.

Her absence is what hurts him, not her words, or her fears. But the sudden loss of her heat until she's undoing the buttons of his shirt. He thinks, for the briefest moment, that she's simply trying to continue her mission of disrobing him for the sake of ironing - but she's on her toes, and her lips are against his neck and he feels the heat spread all the way to the base of his spine. Little Church Mouse, he thinks, when her hands slip beneath the green fabric, brushing over the ribbing of his under shirt. When her lips find the curve of his collar.

Bucky splays his hands across her bare back, and asks the real question. Not the optimistic, but the one that's been shied away from. "What if I can't give you more time? What if this is the only chance we ever have?" A pause, he lets the words sink in before continuing. "I can't go back and change things. Just like I can't go back and make me love you less so that we were never here at all...But we are here, and there is one thing I can give you - one night.

I'm not going to fuck you, Gwen. Not tonight. But unless you tell me no, I'm going to take you to bed, and I'm going to touch you. I'm going to do things to you that I've dreamt of doing since we were sixteen." Maybe he should have the decency to look a little bit ashamed, but he's not. He's accepted the reality she does not want to face. "If you want me to be yours, let me. But if you don't, then let me walk away on my own terms. Don't make me stay here tonight, don't make me sleep a room away knowing everything that I want is within reach. If you don't want to hurt me, and you don't want me, you have to let me go.

I will write to you, I will tell you I'm okay. I will support you, and I will be your friend." Bucky knows it's important to stress that. He will need time, but he has no intention of leaving her, or reverting back to how it has been between them for the last two years. It will be hard, and he will bleed, but he will do it for her. He will not punish her for turning him down when he knows every single thing he's asked her to put on the line.

"All you have to do is say yes or no."

The cocky, wide tooth grin causes her heart to flutter so hard she ignores his cussing. No wonder June had just as much of a mouth on her...then again Bucky and June were a lot more similar than either one wanted to admit. She was so terrified she'd never see that smile again, scared it would never be directed her way again, and for just a moment things feel normal again.

A small laugh comes at his smile before she retreats to her closet, a quick breath leaving her as she dries her arms off with the towel. A low hum follows as she squeezes the ends of her hair into the cloth, just about to shed her nightgown when suddenly she feels it. Calloused fingertips so gentle on the back of her neck.

Instantly her breath hitches and she can no longer breathe, no longer move. His touch is electric, sparking shocks of pleasure and heat throughout her entire body. Her mind screams at her to end it. This would only hurt them, it would only hurt Harry. But she can't...she's too lost in his touch, and goddammit she wants to feel this.

"Bucky," Gwen manages to choke out, followed by yet another noise that had yet to be pulled from her lips as lips- then teeth are against her shoulder. Heat rushes to her cheeks as his hands continue to make a fool out of her, each breath shaky and filled with want and once more a sound comes as his touch becomes more intimate.

Her back presses firmly against his body, whimpering like a goddamn idiot, and it doesn't take long before the woman is trembling in his arms, and she's so embarrassed that she nearly shoves him away to go hide her face from him. How many women has he touched like this? And how many women were this inexperienced- this pathetic.

Her head falls back against his shoulder as she attempts to just breathe, her head spinning as areas of her body crave for more heat. "You promised-" Gwen sputters out, her hips pressing back against his. "You promised me everything would be okay....h-how....how will this be okay? What happens when you c-come back?" Even in times like this her mind can never truly settle.

A single tear slips down her cheek again, moaning as his touch continues. "I-I want..I want more time with you. I want you to stay. I want t-to-ooh....I-I want to go back...I want you to tell me this earlier..." Her sounds get louder as heat transfers from his hands to her body, biting her lip to keep from totally unraveling. "I-I want you to lay with me. I want to see you when I wake and make you breakfast. I want to go to the station with you and hang onto you until they take you from me. I want to take care of you. I want this- I-I do b-but I was serious....I do not want to be a woman who only seeks pleasure from you b-because, my darling, I meant what I said to you. I do love you...I-I just...I do not know.....I do not want to hurt you."

A sharp breath is taken and she quickly turns herself out of his hands to face him, trembling fingers finally going to unbutton his shirt while her lips begin to kiss his throat and collarbone, letting her fingers wander over territory that had been seen, but never felt. And she lets herself for a few moments before burying her face to his neck. "I want you to tell me what to do Bucky.....b-because I don't know any longer. Tell me...and I will do it..."

[rubysunnday]

bloody hands | k.b

A/N: this is my first time writing for ye old kazzle dazzle and i'm terrified, lol (i'm also shit at summaries)

Summary: Kaz never feels the need to explain his entire plan. He knows that, whatever happens, it will inevitably go according to plan. But when his plan goes wrong and Y/N is injured, Kaz is suddenly forced to comprehend with the skeletally hand of death once again.

"So, was the gunfire part of the original plan?"

Kaz shoot Y/N a withering look - one that would have anyone in their right mind turning around and running. Y/N just beamed at him.

"No, it wasn't," Kaz replied, glowering at her. "Jesper shouldn't have started so early."

"He's on time," Y/N reminded him.

"For Jesper that's early."

"True."

Y/N and Kaz ducked back behind the wall as bullets whizzed past them smashing into the houses behind them.

"So, we are being fired at because you couldn't be bothered to explain the full plan," Y/N said, trying not to glare at Kaz.

"No, we're being fired at because Jesper's timing is horrendous," Kaz snapped.

Jesper, as if summoned, suddenly appeared at Y/N's side, sliding to a stop on the slippery cobbles. "Right, that's that, then."

Y/N narrowed her eyes. "What -"

She was cut off being a tremendous explosion from inside the warehouse they'd all just being chased out off. Smoke billowed into the air and flames rolled up into the sky. The men who had been firing at them all exclaimed and ran off to the warehouse, leaving the alley empty.

"Well, you could have done that sooner, Jes," Y/N muttered stepping out from behind the wall.

"Well, of course, but then what's the point, love?" Jesper asked, winking at her,

Y/N began to laugh but was cut off as a more gunshots echoed through the street. She ducked and Jesper pulled her behind a barrel as he fired back at the lone gunman, hitting him in the shoulder as he ran off.

"You alright?" Jesper asked, panting. He glanced at Y/N who was nodding, albeit shakily.

"I'm fine," she said, peeking her head over the top of the barrel and slowly standing up. "Nearly died, but I'm fine."

"You didn't nearly die," Kaz drawled, walking over to them.

"We all nearly died, Kaz, all because you can't explain any plan in full detail!" Y/N yelled. "Inej almost got stabbed!"

"But she didn't," Kaz replied, glancing up at the roofs where Inej was inevitably haunting.

Y/N glanced over at Kaz and let out an exasperated sigh. "Would it kill you to actually explain a plan in whole? It would make our lives so - ah."

She cut herself off with a gasp of pain. Y/N lost her footing as she stumbled forward. and Jesper grabbed her, wrapping one hand around her waist, the other snaking around to rest on her back.

"Hey, you ok?" Jesper asked, his dark eyes full of concern as he supported almost the full weight of Y/N.

Y/N glanced down at her side and noticed a dark patch spreading from just under her right breast, staining her waistcoat. She raised a shaking hand to the blood stain and let out a surprised gasp as her hand came away wet with blood.

"Oh."

The sight of the blood on her hand seemed to push her over the edge and Jesper exclaimed as her legs buckled. His grip tightened as he caught her and gently lowered her to the cobbled street, kneeling down with Y/N and putting her head in his lap.

"Inej!" Jesper yelled, unable to see where the Suli girl had vanished too.

Kaz stared as blood dripped onto the cobble stones. His mind was still watching Y/N yell at him for being him. It wasn't meant to happen like this. His grip on the crow's head of his cane was almost crushing and he could feel the tiny, delicate beak cutting into his hand through his gloves.

Y/N was dying because of him.

If he'd told them what his actual plan was or if he'd just told her.

Y/N's hand was pressing against her right side, Jesper's hand covering hers as he helped put pressure on her side. The blood was seeping over both of their hands, staining them red.

Inej suddenly appeared out of the shadows, hurrying over to Y/N's side in silence. She unwrapped her scarf from around her head and began wapping it around Y/N's side as Jesper moved Y/N's shaking hand away from the wound. Jesper carefully lifted Y/N up as Inej meticulously wrapped it around, trying to slow the bleeding.

"We need Nina," Inej said aloud as she tied her scarf in a knot, securing it around Y/N's side. She looked expectantly over at Kaz.

Kaz was clenching his jaw tightly. He forced himself to swallow the fear and the mental image of Y/N lying next to Jordie on the Reaper's barge. "She's at the White Rose. Bring her to the Slat."

Inej nodded. She cast Y/N a worried glance before she climbed up a drainpipe and vanished into the clouds, leaving no sign she'd ever been there except the now bloody scarf around Y/N's side.

"Jesper, your face looks weird without a smile on it," Y/N said softly, her left hand finding his, their fingers entwining.

Jesper forced himself to smile down at her. He smoothed back her hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. "Sorry, love."

Y/N's eyes fluttered shut and Jesper moved his bloody hands to either side of her pale face, shaking her as gently as he could.

"Hey, hey, stay with me, love," Jesper said, not so gently, as he tried to keep her conscious.

Y/N blinked her eyes open and looked up at Jesper, the world spinning around her, the buildings around them looking even drunker than usual. "Hey."

"Hey, beautiful," Jesper replied, stroking her cheek with his thumb, both of them choosing to ignore the fact that Y/N's blood was all over Jesper's hands and was now on her face.

Kaz felt a pang of jealously rush through him. Jesper could comfort her and carry her to safety. Inej could hold her hand and hug her. Nina could heal her and touch her without feeling like she was about to pass out.

Kaz wanted to run to Y/N. He wanted to kneel down next to her and hold her hand. But he couldn't. He physically could not force himself to.

As he stared at her, at the woman he'd taken for granted for so long, he just saw her dead, lying on the street like Jordie had. The nightmare spiralled from there as he remembered the Reaper's Barge, the cold, bloated body of his brother. The hands. Drowning in a sea of rotten bodies.

No.

Y/N wasn't dead. She was still alive. She was still awake and wasn't dead.

A small voice inside him added the word yet to the end of his sentence but he refused to listen to it.

"Jesper," Kaz said, his voice rougher and croakier then usual. "We need to move her to the Slat."

Jesper recognised the pain and unfiltered emotion on Kaz's face. It wasn't normal to see his boss so openly show emotion but when Y/N was involved, Kaz was an unknown entity.

The man would never admit to himself that he had feelings for her. Kaz was in denial. He refused to acknowledge the emotions inside him. But he'd taken Y/N for granted. He just assumed she would always be on his left side, walking just behind him.

"Ready?"

Jesper's voice snapped Kaz back to the street and he looked at Y/N, her skin pale and sweaty, her hands shaking. Kaz nodded, gripping his cane tightly.

"Right, love, your knight in shining armour has arrived," Jesper said, a teasing tone to his words that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Y/N chuckled softly as Jesper moved to her side, his arms going under her legs and then around her back. Y/N let out a groan of pain and squeezed her eyes tightly shut as he lifted her up. She dropped her head onto his chest, feeling the warmth radiating from him, the soft material of his coat rubbing against her face.

Kaz's cane clicking against the cobbles was the sound Y/N focused on as Jesper carried her towards the Slat. She wanted to fall asleep, to just close her eyes and burrow into Jesper's jacket for warmth. But Kaz's cane kept clicking and Y/N focused on it, the sound alone reassuring her of his presence.

"Hey, don't doze off on me," Jesper said, glancing down at Y/N as her eyes shut.

"I"m not," Y/N said softly, her eyes opening sluggishly and looking up at Jesper as she re-wrapped her arms around his neck. "I'm not."

Jesper squeezed her leg as he noticed her eyes droop slightly, her head dropping back against his shoulder. "No sleeping on the job, Y/N, Kaz will have your head."

Y/N's laugh was weaker and Kaz felt a pang of pain in his chest as he looked over at her. She was dying. She couldn't be dying. But she was dying.

Kaz forced himself to reply, playing along in an attempt to keep Y/N awake. "You fell asleep on a job once, Jesper, and yet you're still here. Unfortunately."

Jesper let out a bark of laughter and Kaz caught Y/N smiling, albeit small. Good.

"We're nearly there, love," Jesper said quietly, spotting the towering, drunkenly slumped shack that was the Slat.

Y/N hummed a response but the blood loss was beginning to hit her. Her sight was speckled by black dots and her ears were filled with a high pitched ringing.

Jesper glanced down at her, noticing her silence ."Y/N, hey, stay with me, darling, we're almost there."

Y/N wanted to reply. She wanted to reassure Jesper, because she could hear the thinly disguised panic in his voice, that she was still with him but she was so tired and her eyes weren't letting her stay awake.

The urge to sleep won over her need to reassure Jesper and her eyes rolled backwards. Jesper felt Y/N's arms slip from around his neck, limply hanging to the sides, as she lost consciousness and felt panic grip his entire being.

Kaz slammed open the door to the Slat and the Dregs loitering around looked up, hands flying to weapons.

"Nina!" Kaz yelled, his voice doing a fairly good job at hiding his fear, his worry, the panic that Y/N was dying.

Nina rushed out the side room and met them halfway across the room, eyes running over Y/N, the blood seeping through Inej's scarf, the blood on Jesper's hands, on Y/N's hands.

"Quickly," she said, ushering Jesper into the room.

There was a table set in the middle of the room and dozens of candles had been lit to provide enough light in the dark room. A large, heavy oak chest of drawers was shoved up against the window and Inej was hovering against the far wall, her eyes locking onto Y/N's body as soon as Jesper carried her into the room.

"On the table, Jesper," Nina ordered, opening a drawer, numerous bottles clinking as she rummaged around.

Jesper gently set Y/N down on the table, carefully laying her down and moving her arms to rest on the wood. He took his jacket off and bundled it up, lifting Y/N's head up and setting the material underneath her head.

Kaz stood in the doorway, hands tightly wrapped around his cane, the metal beginning to cut through his gloves and into his hands. In any of building, in any other city in the world, he would've looked like an omen of death.

He forced himself to stare at Y/N as Jesper helped Nina unwrap Inej's scarf from around Y/N's side.

Kaz shuddered as his mind shoved Jordie to the front, the feeling of his brother's cold, bloated skin against his, drowning him. He was drowning in Jordie; in Y/N dying on the table in front of him.

Nina was muttering to herself as she worked, one hand around Y/N's wrist, the other holding a pile of gauze to her side. Kaz watched her intently and could see her counting Y/N's heartbeat as she tried to stop the bleeding.

Which is why, because Kaz was watching Nina with such intensity, that when Nina paused her muttering and looked down at Y/N, her eyes slowly widening, did Kaz feel his own heart shudder and almost stop.

Nina let go of Y/N's wrist, dropping her hand onto the table. She brought her hands together, her first two fingers overlapping each other, and then brought them down onto Y/N's chest.

It was as if Kaz could hear Y/N's heart slowing down and not speeding up. He watched as Nina repeated her movements, determination and panic and fear written on her face as her eyes welled up.

Kaz swallowed and felt the ocean overwhelming him again. He saw Y/N staring back at him, lifeless and dead just like Jordie. Her beautiful eyes staring emptily back at him, void of life. He'd failed her like he'd failed Jordie. The most important thing in his life was dead.

Inej was frantically praying, clutching her knife, Sankt Alina, tightly. Jesper was still for the first time since he'd carried Y/N in, his eyes red with tears as he stared at Y/N's limp, bloody body.

Kaz took one look at Nina and saw the dwindling hope in her eyes, the tears streaming down her face and turned around, walking out the room, his cane clacking loudly against the floor.

Nina sobbed and repeated her movements one more time, desperately trying to get Y/N's heart to start beating again. She'd saved Matthias in the middle of the ocean, during a hurricane, she could save Y/N.

Nina brought her hands down on to Y/N's chest once more with, perhaps, more force than needed. She kept them there and willed the organ inside her friend to not give up.

To keep going.

Second by second, Nina felt it slowly begin to beat again. Nina kept her hands on Y/N's chest, scared that if she moved even an inch it might stop beating again. Second by second, the colour began to slowly come back into Y/N's skin and Nina sighed, dropping her head in relief.

Inej let out a happy sob and closed her eyes, praying to her Saints once again and thanking them.

"Jesper, come here and wrap her wound, stop making that face, it's a bullet wound, you'll be fine," Nina snapped, glaring at Jesper when he balked at the thought, all thoughts of death and misery gone, their usual banter slowly returning.

Jesper walked around to stand next to Nina and took a clean wad of gauze and drenched it in alcohol. He pulled Y/N's bloody shirt up and gently pressed it to her side. His other hand reached up to Y/N's face and with a clean, damp cloth, he began wiping the dried blood off her skin.

"Oh, Saints, Kaz!" Inej exclaimed suddenly, making Jesper and Nina jump. She flew out the room like a breeze and dashed up the stairs to Kaz's office where he'd inevitably retreated.

Kaz was stood hunched in front of his mirror, his gloves off, his head hung. Inej walked in slowly, making sure to announce her presence by stepping on the creaky floorboard by the door.

"Don't," Kaz said, his voice croaking and Inej realised that he was crying. "Don't say it."

"Kaz," Inej said softly, slowly approaching him.

"No, Inej!" Kaz snapped, whirling around to stare at her. His eyes were red and his hair was a mess and his hands were shaking. "I took her for granted. I never," Kaz took a deep, shaky breath in, "I never told her or even showed her just how much..."

Even now, even when she was dead, he couldn't bring life to the words. They sat dead on his tongue, poisoning him. He hated his brother for making him this way. Hated Ketterdam for being the way it was. He even hated Y/N for being so fucking perfect that he had to fall in love with her. He was a fool so desperately in love that it scared him endlessly.

"Kaz," Inej repeated, slowly, gently, laying a hand on his arm.

The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up but Inej made sure to place her hand on the part that was still covered. Kaz flinched but didn't tell her to remove her hand or move back.

"Kaz," Inej said again. "Y/N isn't dead. She's alive. Nina brought her back."

Kaz turned his head and locked eyes with Inej. He didn't say anything but Inej understood. She nodded, reassuring him that she was being honest.

Perhaps, if Y/N hadn't been around, they would have fallen in love. Maybe it would be Inej he was crying over. Maybe it would have been Inej lying there, injured. Maybe Kaz would have torn the city apart to find the man who had injured her.

But he had Y/N. She was alive, three flights of stairs below, with Nina and Jesper at her side.

"I'll find him," Inej promised, dropping her hand from Kaz's arm and pulling her hood up.

"Leave some for me," Kaz said lowly, his eyes following Inej to the window. "I feel like ripping an eyeball or two out."

Kaz slowly limped down the stairs to Y/N's bedroom. He could hear numerous voices from inside and hesitated outside the door. Kaz Brekker, Bastard of the Barrel, heistated.

"Kaz, just come in already!" Nina yelled from within.

Kaz rolled his eyes and opened the door. "Stop spying on me, Zenik."

"It's difficult not to when your heartbeat is so loud," Nina replied, raising her eyebrows knowingly.

Y/N snorted and Kaz looked at her. She was sat on her bed with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Jesper sat next to her, his arm around her shoulders. Y/N was half leaning on Jesper and half on the wall and looked so alive.

Inej had found the man who'd shot her and, together, they'd ripped the man's eyes out, slit his throat and thrown his body onto the Reaper's Barge. It had helped quell the ghosts threatening to haunt him once again but they hadn't truly abated until Kaz had gotten to look at Y/N and see her talk.

Y/N gave him a smile and Kaz nodded back at her, trying to hide his relief at how alive she looked.

She was alive. She wasn't dead. She wasn't Jordie. She wasn't going anywhere. She was still here, with him, in Ketterdam. And he wasn't going to let her go.

"There's blood on your shoes, Kaz," Y/N said, gesturing to his black shoes with her head, her voice almost startling him.

Kaz looked down and eyed the single drop with distaste. So there was. A single drop. All that was left of the man who'd shot her.

Y/N laughed at the look on Kaz's face. "He looks like he just sucked a lemon," she said to Jesper, albeit loud enough for Kaz to hear too.

"No, that's his normal face," Jesper replied, smirking as he winked at Kaz.

Y/N laughed, throwing her head back. Her hair fell over her shoulder and her eyes sparkled in the dim, orange light of her room. Her laugh was like music to him.

And Kaz Brekker realised with a sudden, painful thud that he was completely and utterly besotted with her.

[king-star]

When the Party’s Over

Warning: Homophobia, transphobia, death, bile, guts, broken limb, crying, pet neglection, driving while slightly tipsy, fire (lmk if i need to add more. This is all around pretty dark and sad, proceed with caution)

Match: Yelena Belova x enby!Reader; Wanda Maximoff x reader

Genre: Angst, Angst, and more Angst

A/N: This is the first chapter in a series. Idk how long it’ll be. the plan is bi weekly updates. im reallyyyyy proud of this one so let’s hope it doesn’t flop. ENJOY!

Word Count: ~3,000

Summary: You have a horrible nightmare, leaving you with anxiety for Yelena. Yelena assures you that everything is fine and leaves on a mission.

Your tongue rubs the roof of your mouth in an attempt to rid itself of the sickly sweet drink you’d been sipping. A hundred intoxicated humans swirl around you. Fabric, skin, and feathers blend together, the orchestra the only thing holding off the headache behind your eyes.

You didn’t want to be here. Sure ballroom charity balls could be fun. If you had your best friends there, you could chat only with them, and dance to your heart's content. Unfortunately for you, everyone you could stand to be around was busy. Leaving you human-shieldless from your mothers many socialite friends.

The “oh my goodness Y/N I haven’t seen you since you were in highschool. How are you?” got old quick. Retelling your life story over and over was a pain especially with your mother gripping your hand making sure you didn’t slip up. Share any information that didn’t quite fit the Y/L/N dynasty image. Mostly she didn’t want you sharing about the love of your life, your girlfriend, your Yelena.

When the two of you first got together you waited nearly 5 months before telling your mother. The first time you dated a girl she had hated it. She tried to act like she was supportive, claiming “I will always love you no matter what.” But in the end she always shielded this fact from the public eye. She was supportive of all the LGBT+ movements from a political standpoint. Never her own child.

You never told Yelena about this. You claimed the reason you didn’t want to share her with your mother was because you wanted your relationship to not have paparazzi after you two. She bought it for a while but you could only keep the love of your life away from the woman who gave you life for so long. It didn’t take a master spy to understand the emotions behind the look your mother gave you when you brought Yelena to dinner. Yelena never brought it up but it was an unspoken understanding. Your mother didn’t accept you no matter how hard she tried to fake it.

Now you just wanted the event to be over so you could go home to Yelena. You flipped your wrist, checking the ridiculously expensive watch you had on.

11:31

She was definitely asleep by now. Yelena never stayed up past 10:30. Frowning, you set down your glass and turned to your mother, waiting for her conversation to end. When she finally stopped speaking she turned to you and cocked an eyebrow,

“Y/N. Are you leaving? so soon?” she pouted but enough years in her home taught you her looks. This was faked sadness.

“Unfortunately yes mother. Lena is probably asleep by now and I have work early. She probably forgot to feed our dog,” you enunciated the words that might clue in your mothers friend on how you and this woman were related. A last “fuck you mother” before you left. She smiled warningly and nodded.

“Well… you must get home to your friend. I will see you soon daughter,” she kissed your hand and you stood there frozen. Of course, she would invalidate your gender and your relationship in one comment. Your nostrils flared and you turned quickly, letting your hand smack your unfinished drink into her lap and treading off quickly.

“Fuck you mother. How someone could be so hateful to their own child I will never understand,” you muttered to yourself. You handed your ticket to the valet and stood with your arms crossed, waiting. You made sure to tip the valet an absurd amount, and drove off quickly. The only thing that would keep you from doing something stupid in retaliation was Yelena’s arms around you.

~

Nearly thirty minutes later you pulled the car into the garage. It shouldn’t have taken you that long to get home but you couldn’t help but drive with the top down for a bit. Anger and maybe a bit of fear had bubbles underneath your skin and you didn’t want to bother Yelena. You stepped out of the car and held your head in your hands. You hadn’t drank that much, but a headache would be inevitable.

Fanny met you at the door. She was obviously excited, tail wagging as she raced back to her food bowl

“ok ok girl. I’ve got you,” you rubbed her head and dumped a scoop of food into her bowl. Loosening your tie you dragged yourself to the bedroom. You smiled as the light poured in and illuminated the silhouette of a sleeping Yelena.

“Deep asleep. I’ll join you in a second,” you pulled the rest of your suit off. Picking up a discarded shirt you put it on, and leaned your head against the mirror.

“That was misery. And mother’s comment. I shouldn’t care about what that bitch thinks or says. But I can't help it,” you let out a sigh and picked up your toothbrush. Maybe someday she will accept you. But at that point would she ever be able to make up for how she treated you?

Ready for bed you slid in beside Yelena, careful not to wake her. Fanny, finished with her food, jumped into bed with you and snuggled up with a lick to your face. You smiled and kissed her head then kissed Yelena.

“night my love. See you in the morning,” your heavy lids drooped and you relaxed, setting a hand on Yelena and falling into dreamland.

~

Your thighs hurt. Fire and smoke burn your throat and eyes. You search for something. What exactly you aren’t sure. Tears stream down your face as anxiety floods your chest. If you don’t find the thing soon your world will be crushed.

A broken door, barely on its hinges, is at your right and you know that’s it. A hard turn and you smack your arm into the frame. You grasp at your wrist as more tears prick your eyes.

“Fuck!” A familiar level of pain flares and you know it’s broken. Your eyes dart around the room, still looking for that unknown thing. A pile of smoking wood sits in front of you and your feet carry you to it. This was it.

You try hard to pull through the heavy, hot wood with your one arm. A cry comes from below, an anxiety flaring familiar cry. You pull harder and uncover and dirty and bloody Yelena.

“LENA!” you shout and help her out. Her hands held her stomach. She smiles sickly and then curls in pain.

“Y/N. You found me. I hoped you would. Quick kiss me. I don’t have long,” Your eyes widen and you move her hands. The sight of her stomach makes you sick. Turning to the side you retch and vile spills from your mouth. You wipe your mouth and shake your head, tears fall hard now.

“Lena no no. You’re fine. We can fix you. Please,” you slide your arm under her and try to pick her up but she screams and goes limp in your arms.

“FUCK Y/N! stop. There's no hope. Please just kiss me. I don’t want to die without that.” you shake your head more and set her down. You refused to accept her death.

“No Yelena you are not going to die here. You can’t die. You are too well trained. a-and… I can't live without you. it’ll be fine,” She tries to raise her head but then it falls and she spasms. Your eyes widen and you do your best to hold her still but your broken wrist shoots in pain.

“No no no NO!” you kiss her over and over. Fear pulses through you and when she relaxes completely you sob. Your head aches from the pressure of your sobs and your broken wrist protests. Maybe hours pass and you sit there with her dead body pressed to your chest, her blood and guts smearing all over you.

Then guilt overtakes the sadness. She asked you for one thing. One single kiss before she died and you didn’t fulfill that. You couldn’t give her everything she deserved in life or even in her final moments.

You wake up shaking and screaming. Yelena is awake next to you, crying and shaking your shoulder violently.

“Please Y/N,” she sobs, snot and tears mix and fall forgotten. You sit up barely able to hold yourself up. She is alive.

“Fuck Yelena what’s wrong?” Your dream haunts you. You search her stomach and her whole body for major wounds. She is obviously unsure what you are doing and grabs your face forcing you to look at her.

“Y-you were shaking and screaming and crying and I didn’t know what was wrong. If you were having a seizure or what.” You shake your head and take deep breaths.

“No, I'm good. Not seizure. R-Really…” your words falter and you stare off, caught up in the memory of the dream. Yelena snaps in front of you and hugs your arm. “Ah sorry. Bad dream. really, really bad dream.” you stare at her head unsure if this was the dream or if Yelena really was alive.

“D-do you want to tell me about it?” Her arms slide under yours and she holds you from the side. You shake your head and lay it on her shoulder. “Ok but if you do tell me. I’ll hold you until you fall asleep again.”

The thought of being asleep again makes you tense up. Yelena feels it and rubs your side softly. She kisses you in every way she knows you like and pets your head.

“I’m not going to sleep. I can’t live through that again. It made me think I was going to be alone. Please don’t leave me Lena. please. I don’t wanna die alone.” She frowns and hugs you tight.

“I’m never going to leave you. I’m here baby. I’m here.” She kisses your jaw softly and you nod. Relaxing again, you wrap your arms around her waist and kiss her shoulders.

“Y-you died. There was a fire and I broke my wrist and it was smokey and you got impaled and you died. You asked me to kiss you and I couldn’t accept the fact you were dying so I didn’t kiss you. I couldn’t give you what you deserve.” She frowns and kisses you.

“No Y/N. Don’t you dare. It was just a nightmare, that’s all. I’m NEVER leaving you. ok?” She holds your face and kisses you softly. The kiss lasts a while and you melt into your touch. Fears still paralyse you every couple hours but she holds you until the sun comes up. She knows exactly what you love and how to make you feel safe. She really wasn’t ever going to leave.

~

Weeks pass. You are sure you have gotten past the nightmare. You go to work everyday and Yelena stays home going through paperwork. When you come home the two of you snuggle and bliss fills you. Your mother doesn’t ask you to come to any more charity events and you think maybe, just maybe things are good.

Then Yelena gets called on the mission. When she tells you she will be gone for a week your mind reels. You can barely see straight as the dream vividly flashes through your brain. Yelena gets worried, grabbing your hand and you back away searching her body for any sign of blood.

“No. Lena please. What if you get hurt? I-I can’t. You promised you’d never leave.” Her eyes look at you apologetically.

“Don’t worry. I’m a professional. It’s just a small info gathering job. Absolutely no danger,” she smiles at you and sets a hand on your shoulder. You back away from her hand and lean your head back to force the tears back.

“Yelena… ok. Please. Don’t get hurt,” She nods and kisses your cheek grabbing her bag.

You spend the entire week at home. Anxiety grips you so hard that you can’t stand to go to work. A fever strikes and you throw up every evening at almost exactly 10:30. Work tells you to stay at home and probably go to the doctor. Honestly you’d rather go to work so you have less time to think about her.

Most of Yelena's missions don’t allow for her to contact you and the stress of it all has your brain thinking of her the entire time she’s gone. By the time Yelena is on her way back you have dropped 12 pounds. You hadn’t eaten, only bothering to get up to feed Fanny. A cold sweat coats your skin and you hold your arms to you. Blankets were too hot, but it was too cold without them.

The alarm on your phone signalling it’s time to feed Fanny goes off. You throw the blankets off and wipe dried tears. The tv screen flashes a “keep watching screen.” You aren’t really sure when it came up but your mind hadn’t registered the tv in a couple days.

When the door clicks unlocked you scream. Silence had filled the apartment for so long and the sound was louder than anything you’d ever heard. Fanny starts barking, running to the door, then coming back and sitting at your feet.

You fall to the ground clasping the food scoop. Fanny licks your face as tears fall. Every fear that had plagued you came to the forefront of your mind. What if it wasn’t Yelena? What if it was Hill telling you to come in? No, they would call you for that. But if Yelena was dead…

Arms wrap around and pick you up, setting you on the couch. You whip your head back and forth trying to catch a glance of who it is. In the back of your mind you know it's her, but for some reason you’d been convinced over the past week that she’s dead.

A warm towel wipes away dried tears and snot, and a soft hand holds yours. Tears blur your vision but you steady your breaths. The anxiety in your chest dissipates. You lean your head back forcing the tears in and look back to catch a look at the woman you love. But, instead of long blonde hair and soft round face,  you see long red hair, falling in waves.

“Lena? Did you have to dye your hair for the mission?” She frowns and shakes her head, setting down the towel.

“Fuck Y/N. I know you can’t remember but I hate having to keep telling you this,” The voice is not Yelena’s. It’s your friends. Wanda’s. Your eyes look her all over and you tense up confused.

“Tell me what Wanda? What’s wrong with Lena?” She grabs both your hands and looks at you with the softest expression she can muster.

“The fire Y/N. Do you remember? The fire where Lena…. She bled out,” The anxiety of the dream. No memory. The smoke, your raw throat, and the hours of sobbing.

You shake your head and quick breaths fill your lungs. Wanda tries to get you to calm down. Your vision spots while your brain searches for oxygen your hyperventilating can’t provide.

“Y/N please calm down. Please. FUCK! I promised to never use it without permission but between the two of you…” Red magic flows from her hands and wraps around your head. Your breathing slows down and your vision comes back. Wanda cradles your head and hums.

You reach up and see the tear streaks on her face. Her eyes look bloodshot and dark circles are prominent under her eyes. You pout and try to hug her back. All the fears that had consumed you for weeks were now gone. Even if it was only by Wanda’s magic. You curled into her side and fell asleep. Finally able to find some peace.

~

It was the night of the charity gala. You drove home but had taken the long way around to cool off from your mothers subtle aggression. Plans on how to ignore her future advances build in your mind as you pull into the parking garage. You stepped out of the car and held your head in your hands. You hadn’t drank that much, but a headache would be inevitable.

Sirens sound from the road in front of your complex and you growl. The loud noise and lights make your head pound. You shake your keys and walk towards the stairwell. Coughing into your arm and you open the door to your floor. You throw your hand back with a scream at the hot door handle.

“the fuck…? NO!” forgetting your pain you throw open the door and run into the building. Smoke flows from under doors and fire licks at the walls. The sound of the siren gets louder from some open window. You run through the halls trying your best to not breathe in smoke. Yelena would be asleep. She wouldn’t know what’s happening.

Your apartment door is on the right and you stand back and kick the handle. Your foot hurts as it contacts the rough wooden door but it cracks. You kick again and the door falls in. Running through the door you smack your arm into the frame and cry out in pain.

Fanny barks from one of the rooms and you follow the noise letting her run free into the hallway. You hope dearly that the dog finds her way out.

The entirety of your home is consumed in flames. Beams that held up the apartment above you are on the floor. The poor old couple who was always so nice. Hopefully they had gotten out before it collapsed. Running to your bedroom you try to open the door. It gives quickly but before you can get to Yelena a strong arm grabs at your back.

“What the? HEY!” you squirm trying to slip out of the grip. You have no luck and result to punching. Nothing makes the arms let you go as they pull you from the building. Along the way down you consider it may be a firefighter saving your life.

“Please. My girlfriend, she’s still in there. Please, she was asleep. Save her. I can get out,” you plead with your “saviour”. The person doesn’t acknowledge any words or attempts of movement. They just carry you out of the building back into the parking garage. At some point you began crying, fearing for your girlfriends and your neighbours lives.

You are carried to a car and roughly thrown in. Your broken wrist, now remembered, aches and you curl into a ball. The driver doesn’t speak to you and the person who carried you doesn’t get into the car with you. You didn’t register the person in the back seat with you until they cough. Or rather She coughs.

“Oh Y/N I’m glad we got you out ok. I was so scared we wouldn’t be able to get you out before the fire got you too,” Your eyes widen at the familiar voice and you sit up looking into her eyes. The pieces fall into place in your mind. No you’d never thought she’d be this cruel. Yet here you were, Yelena and Fanny. They were in there.

“You didn’t. no no you didn’t. You are cruel and hateful but not murderous,” you pull away as a hand strokes your cheek. Hate flashes behind your eyes.

“Oh honey. You will forgive me when you realise it was for the sake of the family. Like they always say; ‘Mother knows best.’”

(So it has been decided this is going to be a series. Follow and shoot me an ask if you wanted to be added to the tag list for updates)

DO NOT repost my work. Reblogs and Likes are appreciated. If you enjoy my work leave a comment!

[clawedcosplay]

Space and Sinners

A scifi AU for Promare, in which Lio dedicates himself to making change, but looses sight of what he's changing the world for.

Chapter One

18+ Galolio

There will eventually be accompanying art and cosplays!

Exhaustion had long since dulled itself to a roaring background noise, like thunder in the distance. Lio wanted to turn off the blurring light of the Vivitpad, but his sense of duty kept his purple eyes open and trained on his document. After being elected, the pressure had been on. Lio wouldn’t be like the decades of council seat members who made promises they never delivered on. 

Neon lights slipped through the window across his face, and despite his duty he found his attention dragged to it. He stood in his silent and dark office, strolling to the massive windows to the city. His city, now. Below him there was a woman dressed ornately, pinned against a building as her things were searched. 

The bright green eyelashes that framed his eyes narrowed. Another prostitute getting arrested. A Cytype. Didn’t they know they brought down all of the lower class when they acted so deviant? They gave people like him a bad name, he who had fought tooth and nail to be the first Cytype on the council. And a Burnish Cytype at that.

Lio cracked the window, and the sobbing mixed with police radio buzzing swirled around him like a lullaby. He fished out his juul, taking a drag and letting his body be bathed in smoke and neon. 

He would change it. The Cytypes would be seen as equals to the Biomen and Biowomen upper class. Lio will make real change in this worl-

The lights flashed on and the doors slammed open. 

“Boss!” two voices shouted, and Lio flinched, juul falling from his fingers.

He fumbled for it as it clattered out the window, smacking against the sill and down past the upper level, into the abyss that was his home. The lower levels of the city. 

He was only given a second to mourn the loss of his blessed TCH when two pairs of arms threw themselves around him, dragging Lio back from the window. 

“Boss, you’ve been stressing way too much since you won-,” 

“Yes, you haven’t even left the capital building. So,”

“We decided to get you something! Help you relax a little, yeah boss?” 

Guiera and Meis. Those two would finish each other’s sentences as they bumbled over themselves in excitement. Lio sighed and turned around in their arms so he could look at them. 

“Tell me it’s a fix.” he grumbled, still salty about having dropped his old one, “If not, then I need to get back to work.” He tugged out of both sets of hands to get to his desk again. Damn… His Vivitpad had gone into sleep mode. He danced his fingers across the screen to wake it back up, only to have it slip from his hands. 

Guiera lifted it high into the air, smirking. “Sorry boss! No can do! Mandatory break! You need to destress a little.”

“O-oi! Give that back!” Lio hissed, reaching after it.

Too late. As much as he hated to admit it, Guiera had about a foot on him. He couldn’t reach. 

Lio fell back down to his heels. “Fine,” he huffed, hair bristling, “What did you get me?” 

The two shared a shit eating grin. 

‘God, they shared the same gay braincell’ Lio thought to himself. 

Then movement out of the corner of his eye brought Lio’s attention back to the door. For a moment his jaw dropped before he could manage to gather it back up. 

Another Cytype. Likely an Iceist. But that wasn’t what caught Lio’s attention. 

The blue haired man was clad in exotic clothes, even by modern day’s fashion. A neon green curtain skirt fell over the man’s slim hips, and a neon green top clung to his muscular chest, barely held together by straining black cords. Neon green and black were Lio's election campaign colors, and the clothes just emphasized this man's body perfectly. Lio himself felt outdone in his tired mandarin collar shirt and dress shorts with capital sash. Part of him longed to dress in exotic fashion and let loose in the underground music clubs that the Cytype people created with their own hands. Maybe he could take this gorgeous stranger along. Get lost in those almost glowing eyes… 

Lio’s daydream snapped shut as he himself slammed closed the drawer of his desk. This was a prostitute in his office. The Biomen and Biowomen could fool around, that was fine for them. But Lio had to hold himself to a higher standard. He would just be another deviant Cytype if he lowered himself in such a way!

“Boss,” Guiera grunted, clapping his hand down onto the other’s shoulder. 

Lio jumped, looking at him. 

“This is just another fix. Just like your other habit. Unbutton your collar and relax, yeah?” he said, in a surprising moment of stoicism. 

“Well… maybe-,” Lio stuttered, considering it for a second. 

“Cool! Bye!” Guiera shouted. 

“Have fun boss!” Meis added, slamming the door shut with the beautiful stranger stuck inside. 

“Damn it,” Lio grunted, rubbing his hair. 

“Councilman Lio?” the stranger asked, cocking his head to the side. His bouncy blue spiked hair flopping along. 

He looked like a dog… 

Lio slumped down in his large chair behind his desk. “You know, I’m not the biggest fan of your industry.” 

For a moment the stranger’s face fell, but the look quickly disappeared. “Well, most people aren’t. But if you wish me to provide you my service, I would be pleased to,” He said, striding to the desk. 

“You only say that because those two have already paid you, no?” Lio snapped. 

Something flicked through his eyes again, before he stepped around the desk. Lio forced his eyes to look anywhere but how the skirt hugged around the stranger’s ass. They would save the politics and discussion for later though. Lio did need to relax. He couldn’t do his job if he kept so tense. He sighed, feeling tension roll from his skin like the smoke he missed so dearly. 

Worn and warm hands run over Lio’s hand, and Lio felt flames lick at his stomach. Suddenly he realized he missed this just as much, if not more than the clubs and freedom of a life without politics. Companionship… was hard to find when your life was your work. 

The blue haired stranger sinks down to his knees, his rough fingers running down to Lio's ankle. 

“May I?” he asked, fingers hooking into the laces on the councilman’s combat boots. 

Lio’s mind muses how soft the stranger’s voice seemed, nodding wordlessly. 

The man pulled at the laces, painstakingly. Every time his fingers brush the latex material on his shoes, Lio feels his skin light on fire. Oh god… how long has it been? Lio slumps into his chair, feeling shivers run up his spine. 

The fingers finally slip his shoe off, the three inch sole clunking as it falls to the ground. Then finally skin meets skin again, sliding up his thighs. 

“You shave your legs, councilman?” the prostitute asked, letting his face run against the soft skin. 

Lio frowned. “I like the feel-,” He starts to say when his entire body jolts. 

The stranger had parted his lips to drag his tongue up from ankle to knee. It was precious, sacred, like the act was an act of worship. And Lio had never felt that before. 

Lio quickly overcame his shock to ask, “They’re not paying you hourly, are they?”

“No. fixed rate,” he muttered, dragging his face up to where Lio’s shorts started, teasing his tongue up under the tight fabric. 

“Then what are you doing?” Lio hissed, gathering at his constitution like sand that kept slipping from his fingers. 

“Is this not what you want?” the stranger muttered. 

Lio frowned. 

What did he want? 

“Master Lio?” the blue haired man asked timidly. 

Lio’s attention and purple eyes were dragged down to him. 

“Yes?” 

“The name’s Galo,” He said, standing to his full height and slamming his hand down on the wall behind Lio, “And you better learn it fast, because it seems you want me to make you scream it.” 

“Pardon?” Lio asked, hair fluffing out of place. Did this man just flip a switch?! What the hell?! What happened to worshipping him?! 

"Well, that's what you want, right? No more slow burns." The man's hand found Lio's tight collar and yanked it even tighter around the thin neck. "You want me to take control?" 

Lio closed his purple eyes, feeling the steady flame of arousal ignite into a roaring fire. 

Oh god he wanted someone to take control. Responsibility had been weighing his shoulders down and down and down, and he wanted to release. Wanted to lose himself- 

"No," Lio said, "I can't lose control. For all I know you're an assassin. I'm sure the Iceist leaders are mad that the first Cytype councilman is a Burnish."  

'Galo' looked put out. "You don't even use your flames. I'm pretty sure if I wanted you dead, you would already be." 

The circuit board over the other Cytype's arm appeared with an icy blue glow and the collar of Lio's shirt froze ever so slightly. 

Lio felt breath catch in his throat like an ice cube. 

"But, that would be stupid. Pretty sure I wouldn't get paid," Galo laughed, releasing Lio's collar. 

The councilman's lips pursed. Something about this man seemed honest. Though maybe it's just the mesmerizing blue eyes. 

"Okay." 

"Okay???" The man mirrored with a look on his face. 

"Okay I'll use your ...services. I have been too tense. It's affecting my work." Lio grumbled, "but I'm not giving up control. Just because I choose to not use my flames doesn't mean I'm untrained in them." 

Lio's own arms lit up with his fire circuit boards. He gripped Galo by his neon green harness and yanked him forward, and the sheer heat generated by Lio's power made the other's bangs dance. 

Though Galo's eyes lit up, not in fear but in amazement. He pressed forward as the burnish's knuckles seared into his chest, but teased his lips just an inch from Lio's.

"Suppose that means I'm in for an interesting time tonight," Galo whispered to him. 

Lio felt his stomach flip over. 

"Suppose that does." 

[annaphoenix1994]

Colter - The Aftermath of Genesis

Arthur interrupted Pearson's quiet thoughts with a cough, seeing that Pearson had been waiting for the fire he had created to pick up. "We're gonna starve to death up here, Mister Morgan," He spoke.

"We're okay," Arthur assured, rubbing his hands together.

"We have a few cans of food and a rabbit. For what, ten, twelve people? When I was in the Navy-"

"I-I do not wish to hear about what you got up to in the Navy, Mr. Pearson," Arthur replied, not interested.

"We were stranded at sea for fifty days-"

"And you unfortunately survived..." Arthur teased.

"When we ran away from Blackwater, I wasn't able to get supplies in!" Pearson explained.

"Well when government agents are hunting you down, sometimes shopping trips need to be cut short!" Arthur replied, watching Pearson carry the pot to the brewing fire. "We'll survive...we always have...and if needs be, we can eat you, you're the fattest," Arthur continued with his crude humor.

"I sent Lenny and Bill hunting and they found nothing!" Pearson argued, soon being joined by Charles Smith, who was gripping his still-injured hand.

"Well, Lenny's more into book learning than hunting," Arthur chuckled, holding his palms to the fire. "Bill's a fool. Unless those mountains are full of game that wanna read, ain't no wonder they found nothin'!"

Arthur really did not want to go out and face the snow again. For once, just once, he wanted to stay inside and not do anything else.

"Enough of this," Charles intervened. "We'll go find something. Come on, Arthur."

Arthur grunted as he was once again chosen for a task he didn't want to do, but he knew someone had to do it and he didn't want Charles to go off by himself.

"Wait a second, hold on," Pearson said as he made his way to his make-shift butcher's table, retrieving a can of salted Offal for them to take. "Here, you're gonna need something to eat out there!"

"Assorted, salted offal," Arthur read from the can. "Starving would be preferable."

"Come on, let's go."

"You can't go huntin', look at your hand!" Arthur protested.

"I can't stay here listening to you two," Charles replied. "Look, if there's game in those hills I'll find it and you can kill it."

"You need to rest, Charles!"

"You think this is rest?" Charles argued. "Come along."

───※ ·❆· ※───

Valentine, New Hanover

Minnie scarfed down a shot of harsh whiskey. She was never one to drink cheap liquor, but with the past couple of days being so rough, she didn't care. As long as it burned her throat and had her craving more, she wouldn't protest.

Her father, Jameson Barlow, had a cabin just north of Citadel Rock. It was small, quiet, and comfortable - somewhere for her to go when her actions got the better of her. She felt selfish for calling her father's home her preferred hideout as her father was the complete opposite of her: an honest, working man who made honest money. He knew who she was and what she was capable of, but he knew he couldn't change her ways. He swore to never tell her, but he never properly accepted the money she would gift to him as it was stolen. Instead, he stored it in a chest under his bed, promising himself to never touch it, even in an emergency.

"You want another?" The bartender asked his regular customer.

"Nah, I'm good for now," Minnie replied, embracing the burning sensation coating her throat. "I wouldn't mind some of that beef stew, though." She added.

"Sure thing, ma'am."

She nodded and took a few peanuts from the small bowl as they were available for everybody, setting aside the shells as she ate. She couldn't help but see a couple of men in the corner, pretending to play Dominoes, scouting her out. She hid a sly smirk as they must have thought she was stupid. Everybody knew around here that the O'Driscoll's wore a green vest or scarf and most of them lacked common sense.

She knew they were after her.

"Thank you." She smiled at the bartender as he brought over a fresh bowl of stew. Her stomach growled as she had gone without a whole meal for a few days, only relying on small game and wild berries to satisfy her hunger.

"No problem, Miss." He replied while setting down a glass of water for her as it was complimentary with every meal.

She soon finished her meal, requesting another shot of whiskey as she knew she was going to get in another fight sooner or later.

"See you around!" She said almost too loud, alerting the two O'Driscoll's who had been watching her.

She tossed a couple of coins down on the counter before slinging her coat over her shoulder while her spurs jingled as her heavy boots collided with the wood floor. She nodded in greeting at everybody she had come in eye contact with as she walked out the door, even the two O'Driscoll's who were after her, using her sly grin and short wink as a 'fuck you' to them as she passed by.

Instead of mounting her horse, she turned to the right to the small alleyway that ran towards the back of the buildings. "Where you goin', Miss?" One of the O'Driscoll's said.

She turned around slowly to study them. At one point in her life, she was a secret agent for the Pinkerton Detective Agency, specializing in hand-to-hand combat, security, and weaponry. She had also posed as a spy to expose crude companies such as the oil industry and acts of the mob in the surrounding areas. During one of her assignments, her supervisor, Andrew Milton, conspired against her as she "knew too much" about the industry and attempted to have her killed. After figuring out the plan, she had turned against him and the Pinkerton Detective Agency and robbed Andrew Milton before running from the law, becoming the well-known Minnie "Bandit" Barlow.

"Ain't none of your business where I'm goin'," She replied.

"Is too!" One of the O'Driscoll's replied, his hands on his gunbelt. "You're a wanted lady, Miss Barlow!"

"Don't know what you're talkin' about, Mister," She chuckled, shaking her head.

"Oh, I think you know. You're a wanted lady. About eight thousand for your hide! And I don't know about you, but I could do with a good chunk of cash like that!"

Minnie scoffed, "Yeah? And I could do with gettin' in a good fight. I need to burn off some excess energy!"

"That's it! Get her!" The man said as they both clenched their fists, lunging at her. She ducked from one's punch but received a punch to the side from the other. She groaned at the sudden pain and hunched over before delivering a blow to the man's groin, buying her time to take care of the other man who was well on his feet. She blocked his punches as she grabbed his left wrist, using her small fist to target his major pressure points throughout his torso, such as his jaw, solar plexus (under the sternum), and kidneys. The man groaned as she used items around her for her advantage, such as using the saloon wall to slam his temple before he slumped to his feet in defeat.

The other man finally stood to his feet before attempting to deliver another punch or grab to her, but she was too fast. She used her knee to bury into his sternum as he gripped her thigh and calf as he attempted to take another breath. She then delivered a strong punch to his nose, upwards towards his face, making it bleed almost instantly before slamming him into the wall as well. She blew a piece of her stray blonde hair from her face as she shook her fist, staring at the two men lay before her. "You jackass, you got your blood all over my knuckles!" She snarked before kneeling down to the men, "What're you bastards doin' here?" She questioned.

"I-I..." He gargled.

"I-I can't hear you!" She mocked as she gripped his collar.

"We were told to kidnap you and take you to Colm!" He cried. As much as she loved to be feminine, she also took pleasure in putting the fear of God into a man when she needed to.

She chuckled, "Colm O'Driscoll? Yeah? Well, you tell him just where he can find me, but you and I both know he won't!" She hissed, gripping the man's collar harder, pulling him closer to her. "I'll do the same thing to him like I just did to you two!" She warned.

"You and your big and bad words!" He taunted.

"Big and bad words, huh? Want me to brand you as we do to livestock? Is that it?" She questioned as she pulled out her massive hunting knife.

"Better than dyin' by the hands of you!" He cursed.

She nodded her head before taking the tip of her knife and poking it through the sensitive skin just below his left eye socket. It was a small cut, but big enough for any lawman or government agent to recognize within the region: A snake eye - a well-known mark done by only the hands of Minnie Barlow.

Resembling the Pinkerton Detective Agency's popular slogan: We Never Sleep, hence putting a small cut just below the eye socket as it took longer to heal, keeping the victim awake.

"Sometimes, snakes are just within your sight," She whispered as he groaned at the new pain. "If you don't mind, I'm just gonna take everything from ya here and be on my way!" She taunted as she looted his pockets. The man took a deep breath as she let go of his collar, his torso thudding against the mud. He didn't give up, though, as he wrapped his arm weakly around her leg as she stood, trying to stop her from leaving.

"Let go of my boot!" She warned as she jerked her foot from his grasp, using her spur to gouge him in the arm before walking out of the alleyway towards her broad buckskin Quarter Horse, nodding at the local townfolk who had just seen what had happened.

She would be lying if she said her adrenaline wasn't pumping. She took a cheap thrill in running from people who were after her, whether it be government agents or local gangs, she enjoyed it far better than doing honest work for the government as she now felt the government's work was more crooked than being an outlaw.

Her horse loped along the trail as she purposely took the long way to her father's cabin, eager to see him after a couple of weeks. She continuously studied the area for any threats as she neared her destination, wanting to avoid any harm to her father and his land as he had always worked hard to keep his home as private and secluded as he could.

"Pa!" Minnie said as she slowed her horse, dismounting at the hitching post as he had slowly walked through the front door with a pipe hanging loosely from his lips.

"Evenin', darling," He croaked. "How are you?"

"I'm doin' well, pa," Minnie smiled as she stepped up onto the porch, engulfing her father in an embrace, finding the smell of his tobacco comforting. "I brought you somethin'," She added as she pulled out a money clip from her pocket as well as a tin of cigars.

"Thank you," He smiled as he sat down in the rocking chair, releasing a cloud of smoke. "If ya don't mind, put it on the mantle and bring out the whiskey! You look like you could use a drink!" He chuckled.

"Sure thing!" She nodded as she walked into the cabin, seeing that a small fire had been lit in the hearth. She walked closer to the mantle, seeing that her father and mother's wedding photo was still presented in the middle of the hearth. "I miss you so much, ma," She whispered as she picked up the frame, flipping it over to see her mother's handwriting on the back: JAMESON AND EMMA BARLOW - 1837

She smiled as she looked up at the bust of a buck that was mounted above the mantle. A small six-point buck that her mother had killed a few years ago and had gotten so excited at her first kill as she was never the one to hunt, but to always provide, hence why her father called the location "Six Point Cabin." It was his way to always remember her as it was one of the many exciting moments of her life before she passed.

"I hope you're keepin' dad sane in this cruel world," She continued, putting down the frame before looking at the photo of her as a child: MINNIE ANNA BARLOW - 1867

"What the hell happened?" She chuckled as she degraded herself before putting the photo back on the mantle before returning to the task at hand. She grabbed the bottle of whiskey as she walked out back onto the porch, taking a seat in the rocking chair beside her father.

"What took ya so long? My throat was gettin' dry!" He joked as he reached for the bottle.

She giggled, "Just looked at momma's photo you got on the mantle and got to missin' her," She frowned.

Jameson nodded, "I miss your momma every day. Tuberculosis was real bad back then - still is," He explained as he took a sip of the whiskey, grunting as the strong liquor coaxed his throat.

"I understand," She frowned, looking down at the toes of her boots. "If I could've done anything to prevent it, I would've!"

"Minnie, darling, there wasn't anything you could've done. That disease affects older people the most. It's progressive and there's no stoppin' it. Stop blamin' yourself for it. I did and now I feel more at peace," He explained, lighting his pipe once more, taking a long drag before continuing. "You know, I met a feller a while back when I had to go to Saint Denis, some Indian feller who was hoping to find peace within his tribe - met him on the train. We had got to talkin' and your momma's passing came along. He said that she was lucky. I looked at him like he was crazy and made him explain. He said that most people don't know when they're gonna die, nor do they have that closure or time to find peace before passing. He said that she at least got to find peace and be with us before she went as comfortably as she could. That's when I opened my eyes and realized that I needed to stop blaming myself for it and to embrace her spirit and energy as she is looking over us,"

Minnie wasn't one to have a soft heart for regular people, but when it came to family, everything she was known for was unknown. She held back a tear at her father's explanation, taking note that she may have to do the same in order to move on with her life. She loved her mother unconditionally, but she could never let go of the guilt she felt she had to carry when her mother got diagnosed with Tuberculosis. Minnie was known for being so strong and relentless but felt helpless when she watched her own mother pass away in her arms in her now father's cabin in eighteen ninety-six.

"Do you remember this fella's name? I may need to pay him a visit. Seems like he has tons of wisdom, not much more than you, of course," She teased.

Jameson chuckled, reaching over and patting the top of her hand with his own, reassuring his daughter, "Rains Fall was his name."