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peterrparrkerr · 3 years

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Hit mad falls in love with target - read on ao3

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Peter waved frantically at Tony when he walked into the lab, eyes glued to a computer screen.

"Tony, quick! Look!" He demanded, nearly vibrating in his chair.

Tony made his way over, hands clasped behind his back as he leaned over Peter's shoulder.

"Isn't it awesome?" The young man asked, waving his hands around.

"What am I looking at?" Tony asked.

"Its cancer," Peter said. He points to different colored lines in the graph, all jagged and fluctuating. "This is breast cancer, and this one is pancreatic, skin, lung."

Tony hums as Peter continues to list each colored line as a different form of cancer.

"I was able to isolate the individual cells from everything else, and- look, look!"

Peter snatches Tony by the shirt sleeve and tugs him from one monitor to the one on the other side of the lab. He taps his fingers on the screen, bouncing on his heels.

"These are the cells after being treated with non-radioactive therapy," Peter said, looking up at Tony. "The number of cancer cells is cut in half within a week!"

Peter then drags Tony across the lab again, babbling excitedly as he does so. "Do you know what this means? This means we can start human testing! And we can market the treatment for practically nothing!"

He shows Tony a live feed of the treatment in action from a TV monitor.

"Think about the possibilities," Peter grinned. "Anyone can get treated, no matter their financial standing. And the treatment isn't as harmful as chemo or radiation. It doesn't attack the body as a whole, it isolates the cancer cells and leaves the rest of the body alone.

"No more hair loss or side effects. And we could cut remission in half too," Peter said. "Just think, this time next year, we could start selling to hospitals all over the world."

Tony smiles down at the younger man. He had known within the first day of meeting Peter that he wouldn't be able to follow through. He's glad he hadn't.

"Have you told anybody else?" He asks casually.

"Ned knows," Peter said. "And Bruce, but they were here when it happened."

"Where are they now?"

Peter gives Tony a wry smile, still too excited about his treatment working.

"I sent them home a couple hours ago," he said. "We've all been awake for almost three days, so I'm sure they've gone to bed already."

"You should be in bed too, don't you think?" Tony asked, raising an eyebrow.

Peter waves him off, shaking his head as he goes to his work desk. "I'll sleep later," he said, pulling his lab coat off and draping it over the chair.

He's dressed in his usual outfit; comfortable pants and a button up.

"Plus, I knew you'd make your rounds around this time, and I wanted to tell you," Peter said with a grin, grabbing his personal items.

That was part of Tony's cover. A janitor for the building Peter worked for. Hes wearing a navy blue jump suit, though he's left the cart out in the hallway.

"I'll walk you to your car," Tony hums, leading the way out. When he'd first started this, he'd offered his company to get closer to Peter -to find his vulnerabilities.

Now though, he does it because he's protecting the young scientist.

He'd skipped out with 45 thousand dollars paid to kill the boy, but as the days had gone on, and Peter had grown comfortable with him, Tony realized he couldn't steal him from the world.

Peter was incredible. He worked tirelessly to find a cure for cancer. He's already created a new insulin for diabetes that he's made available to everyone for only $10 a month -something not many other medical professionals liked.

Peter was making enemies left and right, and Tony decided to make it his job to keep him breathing. If not for the rest of his life, then for as long as it takes for the young scientist to see an end to cancer.

The boy wasn't getting much in terms of money for his creations. In fact, from what Tony's come to learn, the boy doesn't own a car, and rents an apartment with his aunt.

He sees enough to live paycheck to paycheck and this new treatment won't do much to better his life, but he's not concerned with money. He wants to make Healthcare more effective and affordable.

Tony's got morals. Enough of them to know when a hit is a bad investment. That didn't stop him from taking his payment anyway.

The two make it to the car park. Its dark, the overhead lights buzzing annoyingly. Its empty, save for a couple cars belonging to a few of the security guards, and the car Peter shares with his aunt.

It's an older model, grey paint chipping and metal beneath rusting near the wheels. Peter talks animatedly beside him, lands flailing in front of him.

Tony glances around them, scowling as he takes in the familiar cement structure.

"Wait," Tony says, just as Peter's pulling the keys from his pocket. They're a couple feet away from the car, and the hairs on Tony's arms and neck stand on end.

"What is it?" Peter asked curiously, reaching for the door handle.

It's just as Peter grips the handle that Tony sees the wire connected to the metal lock on the other side of the glass.

Tony is quick to react, grabbing Peter by the arms and wrenching him away from the door.

Peter yelps in surprise, but its cut out by the sound of a small explosion. Tony braces for the blast of air that knocks the two off their feet, and grits his teeth at the heat that follows.

Peter's pressed against the cement, Tony weighing down on him. His ears ring, but he quickly gets to his feet, unzipping his jumpsuit and grabbing the .9 mm from the waistband of his jeans.

The car is ablaze, crackle-popping and sizzling. Its just the cab thats on fire, but Tony knows its only a matter of seconds before the flames reach the engine and the fuel line.

Tony looks around him, trying to find the culprit -though he knows from experience that the man won't be here.

He grabs Peter by the armpits and pulls him to his feet. Blood smears against his forehead and jaw. His hands and arms are scraped up and Tony can tell his knees are busted too, but it doesn't look like anything damaging.

"We gotta go," Tony urges, already half dragging the younger back towards the building.

"You-you have a gun," Peter gapes, stumbling after Tony, arm in the older's hard grip. "Why do you have a gun?"

Tony reaches the door for the stairwell.

"I'm a hired gun," Tony said, glancing up, then down, gun following his eyeline before pushing Peter towards the stairs going up.

"I thought you were a janitor," Peter gasped, climbing the stairs and swaying. Tony places his free hand on Peter's lower back.

"Thats just a front," Tony confessed. "We got to get you out of here."

"Someone blew up my car," Peter said, panting as they continue up to the first floor. "Aunt May is gonna kill me."

"Not if Buck doesn't kill you first," Tony grunted, pulling Peter out of the stairwell and into the main lobby.

Tony's car is around the side of the building, but its open to attack. Tony can't keep Peter trapped inside the building though, so he risks it.

Their feet slap loudly on the asphalt as they run for the nondescript black SUV Tony had taken to driving.

He checks around the vehicle, under and inside before issuing Peter into the back seat.

Tires screech as Tony peels out of the parking lot.

"What- whats happening? Tony, what- why do-"

"Someones trying to kill you, Peter," Tony said, blowing past the guard tower at the exit of the parking lot.

"But why?" Peter asked dumbly, voice slurring slightly as more blood turns the side of his face crimson.

"I'll answer all your questions when we're safe," Tony promised, eyes frantically shifting from the area ahead of him to the rear view mirror.

Peter must really be feeling the effects of his head slamming into the concrete, because he doesn't protest.

"Lay down," Tony orders, merging into traffic and slowing down. "Lay low until I say."

Peter does -Tony thinks mostly because of his head injury. Tony relaxes a little, knowing the scientist won't be gunned down in the back seat.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Somewhere safe," Tony answered, keeping an eye behind him.

He doesn't see a tail, but he takes a round-about way to his safe house, just outside of Queens.

When they get to the small cabin, Tony checks the building before helping Peter inside.

"I think I have a concussion," Peter mumbles, swaying on his feet as Tony guides him to the kitchen chair.

"I don't doubt it," Tony agrees, setting his gun down on the table beside Peter's elbow before grabbing the first aid kit.

He pulls another chair over in front of the young scientist and opens the red box.

"Let me see your hands," Tony orders. Peter does, palms up. Tony begins to clean them and his arms.

"Tony," Peter says, breaking the silence. Tony doesn't say anything. He reaches up to clean the blood from the side of Peter's cheek.

"Is your name actually Tony?"

Tony makes eye contact before nodding.

"And you're a hired gun?" Peter asks, slightly breathless. "Like, like a hitman?"

"Yes," Tony answers, reaching the cut on Peter's hairline. Peter winces, but doesn't pull away.

"You kill people for a living?"

"Yes."

It takes Peter a couple seconds, but it seems to hit him. Hes bolting to his feet, the chair clattering behind him.

Tony leans back into the chair, watching as Peter begins to pace.

"What- Tony, you have to tell me whats going on," Peter demands, hand on his head. Tony knows from experience that pacing tends to help the scientist expell excess energy.

"I will," Tony nods. Peter continues his pacing. Back and forth beside the kitchen counter.

"Why- why are people trying to kill me?" He demanded. "Who blew up my car?"

Tony sets the paper towels down on the table, knowing Peter won't sit still for him to properly tend to him.

"The one who blew up your car is another hitman," Tony said. "Goes by the name Winter Soldier."

"You called him Buck," Peter said, pointing an accusatory finger at Tony, eyes narrowed.

"I did," Tony nodded. "Hitmen tend to run in the same circles, though we don't always like each other. Bucky was probably hired to finish the job."

"Finish the job," Peter repeated dumbly. "I'm the job?"

Tony nods, once more letting Peter process. He knew Peter would figure it out without Tony's help. He was smart.

"Finish the job means someone already tried to- to kill me," Peter said, panting as he continued to pace. The wound at his hairline is bleeding sluggishly, dripping down his temple and towards his jaw.

Peter wipes at it without thought, smearing blood against his cheek. He pauses to look down at his hand, fingers glistening in red.

He touches his forehead again, as if remembering he's still injured, then turns to Tony, accusation and fear in his Bambi brown eyes.

"You," he said softly, in disbelief. "You were hired to kill me, weren't you."

"I was," Tony nodded.

"But you haven't," Peter said. Tony can practically see the gears turning behind his eyes. "And, and now whoever hired you hired the Winter Soldier."

Tony only nods. Peter takes a shuddering inhale and has to grip the counter with a bloody hand to stabilize himself.

"I'm- I'm- who- who would want to-to kill me?!"

"The payment was anonymous," Tony said. "Thats how it works. But whoever it is is threatened by you."

Peter looks at Tony incredulously. "Me? Why me? I'm the least threatening person -like- ever!"

"You've cost Big Pharma millions with your insulin," Tony said. "You've patented it, so they can't take it and upcharge the way they've been doing. And if your treatment for cancer is a success, you'd be costing them even more."

Peter takes a moment to process that before he nods. "Right, yeah. I knew I was going to make a lot of people mad about that, but. But I never expected anyone to actually try to kill me."

"Money is a powerful motive," Tony said, a little too much experience leaking into his tone.

Peter hears it, because he stops his pacing, shoulders dropping. Exhaustion seems to pull him towards the floor like an anvil tied to his spine.

He sways a little, and Tony's about to offer him the chair again, but he moves to it willingly. When he sits, their knees are barely touching, and he blinks dazedly at his bloody hand.

Tony grabs a clean rag and leans forward to clean up the blood from Peter's head. The younger lets him, still processing and no doubt sluggish from the concussion.

"Why didn't you?" Peter asked after Tony had taped gauze to his hairline. It was patchy and poorly done, but it would help.

"Why didn't I what," Tony hummed, using an alcoholic wet wipe to clean the remaining blood from Peter's hands. The boy winces at the burn to his scraped palms.

"Kill me," he said, swallowing thickly. "You had plenty of opportunity."

Tony sighed, setting the wipes down before leaning forward and looking Peter in the eye.

"Because I believe in the work you're doing," he said honestly. "And I'm going to make sure you finish it."

Peter blinks once, twice, before breaking eye contact and sighing, body eating to melt into the chair as the air leaves his lungs.

"Come on," Tony said, standing up and slipping the gun into the waistband of his pants. Then offering his hand. "This place is safe. Theres a bed you can sleep in."

"I shouldn't sleep with a concussion," Peter said weakly, taking Tony's offered hand anyway.

"Its mild, I'm sure you'll be fine," Tony mused, heading deeper into the cabin to the bedroom.

The bedroom isn't anything special. A twin bed in the corner, a four drawer dresser and a blackout curtain.

Peter climbs onto the bed, not bothering with the covers or taking his shoes off. Tony thinks its best he sleep with them on anyway, in case Bucky finds them.

Tony moves to leave, grabbing the handle, and Peter bolts upright again, eyes wide.

"You're okay," Tony promises. "I'll be right outside."

Peter gives the barest shake of his head. "Stay here, please," he says softly.

Tony nods, shutting the door and turning off the light before making his way to the side of the bed. Theres an old step stool there, and he sits down at the head of the bed.

Peter lays back down, body too tense to ever fall asleep. Tony keeps his ears attuned to any noise that could alert him to Bucky, or anyone else, gun sitting perfectly stop on his knee, finger off the trigger, but ready at a moments notice.

"Tony?"

"Yes, Peter."

Peter shuffles around, and Tony turns his head just in time to feel pillow soft lips connect with the corner of his mouth.

He can't help but smirk as Peter settles back down. "Thanks for not killing me."

Tony chuckles at that, leaning his head against the wall. "I may be a hitman, but I've got morals," he says into the dark room. "Besides, nobody likes cancer."

Peter laughs tiredly at that before reaching his hand out and grabbing Tony's. Their fingers interlock, and Tony doesn't really know which one of them initiated it.

"You're going to be okay," Tony continued. "I wont let anyone hurt you. You're safe with me."

"I know."

#marvel #tony stark #peter parker #ironman #starker #spiderman #my writing #ao3 #sfsummerbingo21

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theoppositequeens · 3 years

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they say home is where your heart is set in stone

For @kanejweek Day 5: Love (atypical affection & domesticity).

Pairing: Kaz/Inej

Rating: T

Title from Gabrielle Aplin’s “Home”.

Summary: Three of the Dregs witness unexpected moments of love and domesticity.

THEY SAY HOME IS WHERE YOUR HEART IS SET IN STONE

sleeping

Anika is about to knock on the doorframe of Kaz's office.

His light is still on, and the door is ajar, so she thinks he might be up. It is rarer, these days, that Kaz is actually awake when she comes home from the Crow Club with that evening's numbers. On his few days off, when he entrusts the club to her, he is usually asleep or gone, and she reports to him in the morning. Most often, his days off coincide with a ship pulling into berth twenty-two, and Anika imagines that he and Inej are usually off on a rooftop somewhere, making moony eyes at each other. Those two are so disgustingly in love with each other, even if they aren't the couple for public displays of affection. Anika doesn't even think she's seen them touch more than ten times.

Now, they are touching.

Through the slim gap between the door and the doorframe, Anika has a good view of Kaz's sofa. It is an ugly brown plush thing he installed after too many late nights when he couldn't be bothered to climb the stairs and slept in his chair instead. Those work nights do not coincide with a ship being in the harbor. More like it being absent.

Either way, Kaz and Inej are curled up on the plush monstrosity, still in full dress, Kaz's arms wrapped carefully around the Wraith to keep her on the sofa. They look calm and peaceful together, like they belong. A lock and a key. Balance.

Inej is the key, Anika decides, and moves her fingers from the wood where they stopped millimeters from the frame. Her boss must be truly tired to have forgotten to lock or even close the door, and he deserves his rest. Anika does not want to take over the Dregs in the case he perishes of sleep-deprivation, after all.

And they look so disgustingly cute together, so she retreats silently.

cooking

Rotty is nursing the worst hangover in his life – funny, how he thinks that anew every morning after he's gone out drinking for a night – and he stumbles into the Slat's kitchen around midday, blinking blearily at the bright sunshine streaming in through a narrow window. He is led here by the smell of food, fried and good and hopefully enough for him too. Their cook usually takes pity on him, because he brings her fresh vegetables from the markets – stolen of course – when he is having a slow day and there are no fat pigeons around to be targeted.

"Any for me?" He asks hopefully as he turns the corner and spies the pan full of eggs and fried potatoes on the stove.

"Sure," someone answers, but he is too busy cringing at the sound of his raspy and hoarse voice to notice. As he sinks into a chair, a plate of food is set down by him, and he mutters a distracted thanks before he digs in. The meal is heavenly. Cook must have done something new with the spices. They remind him of Suli food that he once ate with Inej at a small market wagon, and he reminds himself to praise her after he has finished inhaling his food.

He largely ignores the normal noise of the kitchen, and when he looks up to thank Cook, he sputters. The fried potatoes don't feel quite as nice in his windpipe, so he coughs them out discreetly, trying not to be too loud. He doesn't want to spook his boss, who is drying dishes right in front of him.

He rubs his eyes once.

Kaz Brekker, Bastard of the Barrel, is still drying dishes in the Slat's kitchen, dressed in an impeccable suit.

Inej passes Kaz another plate from the bucket of clean water that they dip the dishes in to wash off the suds, and Kaz dries it with one of the blue-checkered towels.

"– so then I told him that my ship, my rules, and he straight up ignored me. Until Sara kicked him where the sun doesn't shine, of course. Why am I hiring boys as deckhands again? Men are nothing but trouble."

The Wraith is rambling in a way Rotty rarely sees her do: Inej Ghafa is a private creature, not as much as Kaz, but enough to be reserved. Kaz nods seriously when Inej continues to tell him that men are trash and how this is the third male hire that has caused her issues and how it is going to be an all-woman ship from now on. Plus Specht. Because apparently, Specht doesn't count. Rotty will have to mention that to his old-time friend when he next sees him.

"And you don't count, of course," Inej says, as an afterthought. "You aren't like them."

Them seems to resonate deeply, and Rotty immediately thinks of the scumbags who frequent houses like the one Inej came from. He, himself, has never felt the need to pay for attention or a body. He likes his partners interested, thank you very much.

Clearly, Kaz is some type of safe haven for Inej. Rotty has watched the two of them circle each other like sharks, never sure if they will draw first blood or jump each other. Suddenly, their tension dissipated, and now he rarely focuses on them, since they have clearly sorted themselves out. Either way, it no longer interferes with his work.

Standing here, now, Rotty feels happy. Surprisingly happy. Somewhere deep in his crooked heart, he has always felt loyal to and protective of his boss, but he didn't realize he could be this proud. Proud to serve under this Barrel boss who is ruthless but cares for the Dregs, sometimes making reparations to the Slat out of his own pocket. This man who can make a woman who has been abused in the worst way feel safe, who agrees with her opinion that many men are trash but he is not one of them. Rotty likes knowing the Dregs are a good sort of gang when it comes to the Barrel with Kaz in the lead.

Inej has made Kaz more human, and he laughs when she hits him playfully with a splash of water a minute later.

At this point, Rotty realizes he has been sitting here and gaping at them for several minutes, and as Inej packs up her spices he remembers to praise her for them food and then slip out quickly before Kaz has time to think about the fact that Rotty has been there for quite a while.

Kaz may be in love with Inej, but he still dislikes being seen acting like a normal human being.

Inej's food is a magic hangover cure, and Rotty will beg her for the recipe later.

homecoming

Docking at berth twenty-two when dusk gathers is always a messy affair. First of all, pulling into the harbor that late, when the Council of Tides has almost stopped letting ships in for the night, is nerve-wracking. Then, they have to complete all the normal unloading before darkness falls.

Specht watches as the ship is secured, and directs the others on autopilot as they scurry to collect the waste that has been stored onboard to take it to the appropriate containers in the harbor and unload the legitimate cargo they have on board from Ravka, to conceal the fact that this ship hunts slavers. He sends one of the lousier girls a sharp glare when she seems ready to skulk off and watch the others work, and then eyes the docks carefully until he finds his captain.

Inej always has a private moment when they first dock, and usually she spends it on a dark corner of the dock, greeting Kaz Brekker.

There are two shapes almost intwined in the darkness, sharing an embrace.

Specht has watched them move from awkward hellos and goodbyes, to hand-holding, to soft touches on a cheek, to half-hugs, to hugs, to kisses. Their progress has been gradual, and now he can no longer anticipate what kind of greeting or goodbye he will witness. Tonight is a hug night, and when Inej bounces onto their ship a few minutes later, cheeks red and a smile on her face, Kaz follows.

It is a bit confounding still to see Kaz help Inej unload a shipment, like they are a completely normal couple who help each other with their work. Specht knows they collaborate on many schemes as Dirtyhands and the Wraith, that they are a force to be reckoned with, but they are so incredibly domestic sometimes. He thinks he sees a lot more than others do – Inej trusts him, and Kaz seems to grudgingly accept that. Therefore, they do not guard their actions carefully around him, and he has also heard his fair share from Inej about how she misses him and loves him when they are out at sea, months from making port in Ketterdam. She once asked him how she is supposed to stand this, being away from Kaz, and he answered,

"Make the moments on land count."

Inej had smiled like he'd solved a riddle, he'd ruffled her hair and she'd bounded off to sleep. He thinks that moment is the closest he'll ever come to having a kid.

Now he watches as Dirtyhands limps down a gangplank, placing a box in a waiting wagon, and Inej presses a careful kiss to his cheek later as thanks, and in that moment, Specht believes in love.

#kanej week 2021 #kanejweek2021 #kanej week #kanej #Kaz Brekker #inej ghafa #anika #rotty #specht

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anoctoberpepper · 3 years

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Touchy

Whumptober 2021, Day 6: Touch and Go

Touch-starved

Star Wars: Sequels Poe|Finn|Rey

TW: None (I think, let me know if I’m wrong)

-------

Finn’s question is written all over his face. How’s Rey?

“She’s in the bathtub,” Poe answers.

“No water?” Finn’s voice is scratched up and his eyes flicker closed again. Poe nods but then remembers to say out loud,

“Yeah.”

It’s a normal Rey thing, when she’s stressed, or thinking, or bored or tired. Empty bathtub. Something about it makes her feel safe.

Finn hums thoughtfully, but that seems like all he can do because he doesn’t offer any solution. Poe’s stomach churns. He just got them back. They’re home, they’re safe and somehow putting the pieces back together is always the harder part.

Finn’s in the spare bedroom with lights dimmed pillows around anything that might make noise. They tried to share a bed the night before when Rey was still at the medical center and Kes had sent them home to get some sleep. The movement of the mattress and Poe’s light snoring was enough to flair up whatever withdraw headache was giving Finn rolling migraines. He’d woken up from a light sleep nauseous and miserable. Their solution was a quiet, dark room. It was mostly working, except Poe couldn’t stop opening the door just to look at Finn. He was home. He was there.

Poe leaned against the doorframe. He knew he should leave. He should shut the door and let Finn have some peace and quiet, but he just wanted to stare a little longer. Two months was a long time to miss someone.

On the other hand he really shouldn’t leave Rey alone. She was somehow worse even now that her external injuries were cured. She was quiet and lost somewhere in her own mind. It seemed she was having trouble remembering where she was. They kept her an extra night at the med center trying to figure out exactly what was going on, but nothing came up on scans. Psychosomatic was the best they could come up with and then they decided to send her home. Rey had grabbed arguably too much bread from the kitchen, walked upstairs and planted herself in the bathtub with a wary expression for Poe and heavily lidded eyes.

“They kept her in a temple alone,” Finn said. It was almost too quiet for Poe to hear. “Some religious thing. We should have left earlier. We should have figured out something was up.”

Poe was still getting details about the trip dripped out of his jedis day-by-day. They had left two months ago to do some research on a small cult of jedi-adjacent people in the outer rim. Whatever had happened there was only coming out in fractured bits and pieces, but it clearly wasn’t good. Finn came back drugged and confused, Rey came back bleeding externally and fractured somewhere deep in her that Poe was worried he couldn’t fix.

“Alone,” Poe repeated. Finn tried to nod, then groaned.

A small idea, a feeling really, swam through Poe. “I’m gonna… go try something.” He told Finn who didn’t respond, then turned, shut the door to the extra bedroom and went back upstairs to their master suite.

When he got back to their bathroom he found Rey sitting too still in their bathtub, a pile of bread around her crossed legs and her eyes glazed over.

There was a soft midday light coming through the sunlight at the end of the room, but Rey hadn’t bothered turning on the overhead lamps. Poe walked up to the bathtub and sat down. He knew a lot about Rey’s past, or at least more than most people would ever find out. Being in a “plutonic clusterfuck” as they all jokingly called it with her had the benefits of stories and long nights with whispered histories.

Rey’s had been painfully lonely for a long, long time.

In the last few years she had gotten used to falling asleep next to Poe, hands or legs or arms touching. She curled into him at night more often than he would ever tell her. She let him kiss her head. She held Finn’s hand anytime they were in the market, or walking the fields of the farm. She curled against them on the couch and slipped under their arms on cold nights as they watched the stars flicker overhead.

It was probably confusing to suddenly be so attached to touch that the lack of it would spiral you into depression, but Poe suspected that was exactly what was happening. Rey had been alone and somewhere in her mind she crawled back into the child who lived alone in a broken ship on a hot planet.

Poe knew better than to scoot the bread away from Rey and take its place, but he needed some way to touch her. He should also ask first, maybe, except he kind of had a blanket confirmation that he could cuddle her when she was sleepy.

“Rey?” Rey swayed. Her head wobbled a little like she might be trying to find him in her peripheral vision, “Rey, babe can you hear me?” Poe slipped a tentative hand over the barrier of the bathtub and tapped her arm. Her usual reaction when she was having a nightmare was to jerk or flinch. She didn’t move, so he knew she wasn’t trapped in anything too horrible. Instead her eyes finally focussed slowly on his fingers.

“I’m here Rey,” Poe tried. “Can I-“ crawl into the tub with you? Pull you out of the tub to cuddle you on our bed, hold your hand? Poe didn’t know what would be the best way to hold her tight. He needed to pull her back and he suspected it was touch that would do it. He just needed to do it in a way that felt safe to her. “Rey I want to hold you, can I do that?”

Rey’s eyes stayed on his finger. Her own hands worked the bread over and over on her lap, a slow safe stim that he recognized from days that stretched too long.

He changed the slow brushing against her arm to put his whole hand on her arm. He brought his other around so he could carefully rub circles up and down her arm. He didn’t do this often, but he hoped something in the motion would jog her mind, tell her she was safe and someone she loved was right there.

She watched his every move. Watched and watched and watched until something shifted. He saw her eyes pull out of whatever faraway place they were. A sob wrestled up her throat.

“Whoa-“ Poe calmed. “Whoa whoa, you’re okay. You’re okay. I’m here. Rey?”

“Poe?” The name fell wet and scared out of her lips. Poe was done with gentle and Rey was clearly done with alone. She grabbed at his shirt and Poe gracelessly clambered over the side of the tub tugging whatever part of Rey he could into his lap. She grabbed and pressed into him until her arms were around his neck then tucked into his chest. Her face buried in the crook of his neck her legs, covered in bread crumbs curled into his lap, a knee jabbed into his ribs, but it didn’t matter, none of it mattered, just that she was there. He was holding her. Rey was in his arms.

“Rey. Rey. Rey.” Poe couldn’t stop staying her name. He buried his nose in her hair, kissed her cheek and just basked. He rocked her slowly. He missed her. Force he missed her. Her fingers twined in his shirt, and he tried to keep the tears form his eyes. She was crying into his shirt, it was only fair that he should cry into her hair. “You’re home. You’re safe. I missed you. I missed you so much.”

#whumptober2021 #no.6 #whumptober #star wars sequel fic #star wars sequals #Star Wars #jedistormpilot #Damerey #aromantic #asexual #touch starved #aro/ace #cuddling

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avengerscompound · 4 years

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Running to a Standstill - 15

Running to a Standstill: A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Word Count: 1610

Rating: E

Warnings: Nothing for this chapter

Synopsis: While on the run from an unknown organization trying to take your son, you meet two super-soldiers. While they try to help you get to the bottom of who is hunting you and your son, feelings come out and admissions are made that make your personal life even more tricky.

Chapter 15

It was too easy to fall into a sense of comfortable security while you were navigating your relationship with Bucky and Steve. Whether it was false or not, you still had moments where it scared you how many defenses you’d let down when you were with them. Two weeks after the incident at the library and you were heading out to parks again with Geo and Bucky. A month of nothing popping up on your radar and you were relaxed enough not to keep looking around everywhere while you were out. It wasn’t a conscious thing, but if you were asked why you’d relaxed so much you might have said that it was just a hope that the people after you had seen you with the Avengers and figured you were too difficult a target to pin down.

It was hard to say if it was exactly that. The truth was that being that relaxed most of the time made those times you weren’t relaxed worse. When it all bubbled up that it was quite possible that there were people out there that still wanted to get their hands on Geo you’d have a panic attack and on more than one occasion Steve and Bucky had needed to talk you down from doing something really rash or stupid.

You wished that there would be some kind of break in the case so that whoever the hell it was that had been hunting you could be arrested and your son could get a normal fucking life. Or at least a happy and stable one. Steve kept you up-to-date with what was going on, but even after almost two months of having people undercover they’d only managed to get in with a few of the larger dealers on the island and they still didn’t have the supplier.

You figured it had to happen some time though, so even when those panic attacks hit, you didn’t run. You were falling in love and as much as you were trying to protect Geo from becoming attached to Bucky or Steve you knew he already was. And not just to Bucky or Steve, but to Tony, Pepper, Natasha, Clint, and FRIDAY too. You had to commit to this working for his sake and hope it wasn’t the worst decision you’d ever made.

They made it easy to commit to though. The three of you had been following the plan you and Steve had set out. Bucky had been sticking to your side for every outing. He came to parks and museums with you, always making sure to stay alert ever when Geo was babbling away to him or using him as some kind of organic jungle gym. Even after a month and a half of no signs of being followed he stayed alert in ways you had stopped being. He noticed everything, and it might have been part of the reason why you had started to relax so much.

The three of you had been taking time to bond with each other individually as well as together. It was working well and even when you did have small flares of jealousy over what might have been perceived as a special bond between Bucky and Steve that you didn't always feel you shared, they were quickly chased away when your own unique bond with each man was pulled into the spotlight.

This was not at all the life you had envisioned for yourself when you’d started college all those years ago, but considering the huge dip the roller coaster that was your life had taken, while this new high was unique, but you were definitely enjoying it.

Bucky had organized a trip to the Math Museum. He’d had to call ahead because the security at the venue was pretty tight and he didn’t want to have to explain why he was carrying two different handguns and three different knives into a children’s museum.

They let the three of you through the gift shop and as soon as you’d entered the play area Geo had rushed to the square wheeled tricycles and started riding one of them around in circles, occasionally needing Bucky to give him a little push but squealing with excitement anytime he got any kind of speed up.

“We really need to get that kid a bike,” Bucky said.

“Yeah, things like bikes were never really very practical,” you admitted. “I guess if we’re sticking around we can get one.”

Bucky smiled. It was a smile that made his eyes look soft and content and he wrapped his arm around your waist. “Next time we go out, we should take him to get one.”

Geo climbed off the bike and toddled over to you. You crouched down to face him and he flopped down onto the ground, his fingers opening and closing on the ground. “Down dare,” he said.

“You want to go downstairs?” You asked.

“They down dare,” he said and patted the floor.

“Okay, come on kiddo,” Bucky said, picking him up so he was upside down, kicking and giggling in delight. “Let’s go see downstairs.”

Bucky carried Geo down the stairs and it was clear even by halfway down what had been calling to Geo. The room was filled with interactive screens, battling robots, and floors that lit up with different games. Geo came alive. Running from activity to activity with no pattern you could follow but a smile that wouldn’t leave his face. There was no other kid there, regardless of their age that could keep up with him. Every machine seemed to want to please Geo and they all performed their roles perfectly for him.

It felt like you were down there for hours. Geo just jumping from one thing to the next. Eventually he started to wane and he ended up just lying down in the middle of the mathsquare - much to the annoyance at the kids trying to play on it.

Bucky went and scooped him up. “Okay, Gee, how about we go and get some hotdogs?”

“Bug-key,” Geo whined, flopping dramatically in his arms.

“Maybe we should just get him home, he looks pretty tired,” you said, as you walked upstairs with Bucky.

“Didn’t you want to head down to the farmer’s market?” Bucky asked. “You have the stroller right?”

You nodded. “Okay, if you’re sure.”

You grabbed the stroller and Bucky put the little boy in it. Geo immediately shoved his thumb in his mouth and held his hand up. Bucky dug around in this backpack and pulled out the tablet, giving it to Geo who immediately hugged it and closed his eyes.

Moments like these gave you such mixed feelings. Bucky had gotten so good with Geo he could read him without Geo using his words. He was becoming a dad to him more and more each day. It was wonderful in so many ways. Both Steve and Bucky seemed to love that role and it was rare to find men like that and here you had two who not only obviously liked Geo and cared about his wellbeing, but cared about you too and accepted that the two of you came as a package. Yet it was also terrifying. The more they fit that role the worse it would hurt if it didn’t last. It was so soon in your romantic relationship and it was so much pressure to love up to that even under normal circumstances things would feel like they were moving too fast and were too fragile to hold onto. And these were far from normal circumstances.

Bucky offered you his arm and you hooked yours around it and began the walk past Madison Square Park.

It wasn’t a long walk to Union Square Park and it was a nice day out. Geo was deep asleep by the time you arrived at the bustling markets.

“I consider myself a native and I don’t think I’ve ever been to these markets before,” Bucky said as you passed under the banner welcoming you to the markets. “There’s so much stuff.”

“What do you want to get? Purple carrots? Edible flowers? Little chilies that blow your head off?” You asked.

“Yes to all of those things,” he agreed. “But I’m hungry right now, so let's find something we can eat as we walk around.”

You found a place selling pastries and paninis and grabbed a sandwich each to eat as you strolled the markets. Bucky kept getting ideas for meals with every new stall. Your reusable bags were soon filled with colorful tomatoes and chilies, purple carrots, rainbow chard, edible flowers, crusty bread, pickles bottled in Amish country, fresh herbs, raw honey and milk, and a selection of cured meats and cheeses.

“I think we might have enough,” you said as Bucky started browsing punnets of fresh berries.

“We don’t have any fruit,” he argued. Geo likes blueberries and I could make a mixed berry pie.”

“Okay, okay, I won’t argue with pie,” you said.

Bucky had selected a few punnets and his phone rang as he went to pay. You took over for him as he answered the phone.

“Hey, Steve, what’s up?” He said, pressing the phone to his ear. “We’re at Union Square… Five minutes if I can get a cab… Alright, see you soon.”

He hung up the phone and looked at you. “Gonna have to go. Steve said it’s urgent.”

“Good urgent or bad?” You said, a familiar panic starting to close in around your heart like a snake.

“I don’t know. Come on,” he said, leading you back out of the markets. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

// NEXT

#steve rogers #bucky barnes #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #stucky #steve rogers x bucky barnes #stucky x reader #steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #captain america fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #running to a standstill

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sunflowersseemhappy · 4 years

Note

Hi! I’ve never sent an ask before, so I’m kind of nervous, but could you write about the main 6 (excluding Lucio, if that’s okay) with an MC who has scoliosis? I have the condition myself, and it sucks being in pain all the time, and I guess I would like to see that represented in an MC. You totally don’t have to do this if you feel like you don’t have the time/knowledge to do so. Regardless, I absolutely love your writing and you deserve way more asks than you receive.

Aw, bless you! No need to be nervous m’dear, it’s perfectly alright for you to request as many times as you like (no need to be shy here)! I hope I do you and others who live with scoliosis justice, but please forgive me if I make an oopsie (I’m always open to constructive criticism so if there is anything that needs tweaking feel free to let me know).

I wish you all the best now and in the future, I can’t imagine how hard it is living in pain all the time but I like to say the strongest people are the ones who live with pain everyday. Thank you for trusting me with such a personal request and for your kind words! All the love in the world 💕💕

For those of you reading this who are unaware of scoliosis: Scoliosis is a sideways curvature of the spine found in many age groups from young children and into adulthood. While scoliosis can be caused by conditions such as cerebral palsy and muscular dystrophy, the cause of most scoliosis is unknown. Scoliosis can be mild or become more severe as time goes on and may cause severe back pain in some individuals.

Treated at a young age using braces scoliosis may or may not worsen as the individual ages (often during growth spurts curvatures may worsen), if needed an individual may undergo surgery to correct the spine but it is not always guaranteed to alleviate pain. (In The Arcana medical advancements probably are not good enough for such a surgery or even knowledge to be had on how to correct a spine in this scenario).

More information can be found here and here.

Those of you waiting on requests, I will get to them but I am really busy! Up next: Main 6 react to MC being insecure because of being scrawny

Asra

Asra is careful not to treat you like a porcelain doll, despite your scoliosis Asra wants you to feel independent of him. He knows you’re a strong person and that often times you’ll want to be your own person, and he doesn’t want you to feel controlled, but if you ask for his help Asra will see you get whatever help you need.

That’s not to say he’ll ignore you when he notices you seem a bit down or in pain, because then he’s doing all he can to make you feel better. Asra wishes he could do better for you but in the end it’s a problem beyond the limits of his magic.

Asra’s tried countless times to cure you of scoliosis, but healing spells have limits and your condition is one of them. He’d have to make another deal if he wanted to cure you, but the risks are much greater.

But over the years Asra has perfected some charms and the like that have worked to alleviate most of your pain, other than the curve in your spine you almost feel normal a lot of the time.

It seems the two of you are always taking a trip to the market each day, you quickly realise this is Asra’s way of getting you out and active but its nice to walk with him and treat yourselves to some pumpkin bread despite his ‘forgetfulness’.

With your ongoing study of magic Asra has found that exercises to improve control over your casting also help in mentally and physically soothing both mind and body, he’s always saying “you can never do too many breathing exercises!”

Living in Vesuvia there is (unfortunately) no end to the people who jeer at the way you look or whisper behind your back, and that’s where Asra’s “giving you the space you need” mantra ends. He can see the hurt in your eyes and feel the shift in your aura.

He is ready to hex the next person who say’s something, usually at their own peril (you remember one man who had to beg forgiveness before Asra removed the donkey’s ears).

Afterwards Asra will take you home and just cuddle up next to you in a bad mood so its up to you to cheer him up and once you do that soft smile will be the only thing that matters.

The days your pain is so bad that not even Asra’s charms do the trick, he’ll spend with you. Magic emanating from his palms as he runs them over your spine to ease the pain, once he usually runs dry of magic Asra is too tired to do much else than snuggle with you.

Curling his arms around your body and pressing up close to you to let you know that he’s there and he won’t be going anywhere.

He feels so hopeless sometimes, but he’s there for you and that’s all that matters.

Nadia

Nadia has the highest respect for you and letting you go about life in the most normal fashion possible, but she’s the Countess of Vesuvia. She is certainly not going to let you preform tasks unaided that could cause you any kind of problem or pain.

The harsh reality for Nadia is that she can’t always be with you and although she’s not nearly as clingy as Julian, Nadia always has this constant worry in the back of her mind (so please accept her offer of having a handmaid to help out where necessary).

Does some ‘light reading’ about scoliosis and the best ways to alleviate pain, etc...

She becomes very well read on the topic and encourages you to follow some of their advice, needless to say each of the ten books has about 50 pages bookmarked for reference.

Nadia tries to involve you in lots of her core workouts to strengthen your muscles (mainly yoga and light horse riding), they can be tiring but once you get into it you do feel a bit better supporting yourself.

She had some of the finest doctors come to the palace to help you, but she quickly realised they were just interested in studying you rather than treating you so Nadia very quickly showed them the door and enlisted the help of the doctor she trusts the most; Julian.

The baths are a nice place for the both of you to relax and although the water can never make the pain go away it does ease off for a short time, enough for the two of you to enjoy each others company.

The days that the pain is so bad that you can’t get out of bed or even lift your head Nadia gets a sick feeling in her stomach and refuses to leave your side.

She will cancel any plans in a heartbeat and just stay by you stroking your forehead with her softest smile, to keep both of your minds off the pain Nadia will tell you about all the embarrassing things she’s seen nobles do at parties and how her sisters used to steal cookies from the kitchen and bring them to share with her and the others.

If you can get to sleep Nadia will lie in bed next to you and just watch your peaceful face, how she wishes you could look this way all the time so at peace and free from the pain of reality.

She’ll kiss each of your cheeks and then rest her forehead against yours, falling into her own dreams of giving you whatever you need to be happy.

She doesn’t know it but all you really need is her.

Julian

Julian worries after you a lot, he’s like an overbearing helicopter parent with an anxious disorder. Which granted, can be very annoying, but you have to know it’s because he loves you a lot and would feel like a failure if something were to happen.

Of course there are moments you have to jokingly tell him to stand down and chill out a bit, but don’t dismiss his need to help (sending him off to do an errand you had been planning to do is your best bet to making him feel useful, that or a few loving words and a kiss on the cheek).

With his skills as a doctor Julian can be both an enormous help and a pain in the a** due to his connection with you.

Its such a strange thing he’s so confident with treating people who are strangers but the minute one of his loved ones is hurting he’s second guessing himself especially with you.

He learned a lot but scoliosis was not a subject he knew well so as soon as he learned of your condition Julian was writing to Nazali for some info and reading books and papers well into the night.

He became a expert overnight, and the panda eyes showed. He then proceed to tailor a schedule for you, which was when you had to slow him down for both of your sanity’s.

Still Julian often likes to invite you to go swimming near the port and is still hopelessly tragic when it comes to worrying after you, but showing him you’re just fine will put his mind to rest.

Over time Julian realises that you probably don’t need him nearly as much as he thinks you might and he is being too clingy with you, so he may hover but becomes more relaxed about you doing your own thing.

When you go through a rough patch mentally and emotionally Julian is so good at reassuring you (even though he’s terrible at doing it for himself), he’ll ask if he can do anything to help and will do what he must to make sure you’re feeling even a little better.

On a bad day where pain is keeping you in bed Julian is laying next to you like a loyal puppy, resting his head on your chest or shoulder and giving you gentle kisses as he holds your hand in his.

Julian will have a few medicinal remedies, but they’re not nearly strong enough to rid you of all the pain. So to take your mind off it he’ll tell you stories and he’ll treat you to your favourite snacks and maybe a drink or two at the Raven when you’re up for it.

Up until those moments Julian won’t be too sure if you really need him that much, be sure to tell him that you’ll always need him.

Muriel

Muriel is pretty mellow around the whole scoliosis thing, he lets you get on with your own thing (mostly because that’s how he is) but he knows when you need his help. The words never even have to leave your mouth because when you need him he’s just there no questions asked.

It may not usually seem like it but Muriel is constantly observing you and when he sees a particular expression that gives him reason to believe you need him he’ll be there. He doesn’t want to coddling you because he likes his independence and he just thinks that you might like having your own as much as he does.

Muriel’s not always entirely sure on how or what he can do to help you, truth be told he doesn’t feel capable of caring for you. He doesn’t know too much about scoliosis (or doesn’t have any idea at all).

He thinks if he tries to help you he may just make matters worse, he’s so big and strong that he fears that even if he puts a finger on your skin you’ll crumble.

Fortunately there is no shortage of pain relieving plants in the forest around Muriel’s hut, when he’s not hanging around with his chickens Muriel is picking these herbs and mashing them up (either to eat or to slather over your back, he feels too awkward to tell sometimes).

Of course you may encounter a problem with those crushed herbs, specifically in applying them. Muriel’s cheeks turned the brightest red when you came over to him topless asking him to put it on your back for you. His fingers shook slightly (mostly in embarrassment) but he was glad you asked him.

The two of you definitely gain some looks when you go into Vesuvia, with Muriel being so big and you having that curve in your spine there is no end to the whispers about you two.

It’s actually a relief not being the only odd one in a pair, and seeing Muriel ignore people and not care about what they have to say helps you do the same (even though you don’t see the death stares he gives people when they’re saying stuff about you).

The walks the two of you take through the forest are some of the most relaxing and best way’s for you to work on building muscle up and working on your core strength, Muriel often makes it interesting by taking you to some very unique places so its usually worth the walk.

Muriel dreads the bad days you have, when the pain is unbearable your you. Even his usual stoic neutral expression crumbles in worry, and he’s as miserable as you feel hastily dashing out to get extra herbs and quickly feeding the chickens all the feed so he doesn’t need to worry about them later.

Muriel is putting slaves on your back every hour and putting heated water in a water-skin to keep your muscles from causing you more pain, he spends so much time going about the hut he doesn’t sit or eat for hours.

You have to make a grab for his hand and pull him into bed to sit with you and once he relaxes slightly Muriel is scooping you up with the greatest care and cradles you in his lap heaving a sigh and resting his head on top of yours.

He may think he could break you if he’s not careful, but he is probably the gentlest man in the world to you.

Portia

Portia is so... normal about the whole thing. She rarely treats you any different other than the occasional determined dashing around she does when you’re not feeling so hot, insisting that you need to kick back and relax while she handles your chores, errands and other things she can handle for you.

She’s cheery and bright as always, but always takes the time to talk to you if you’re feeling down or help ease your pain if you’re not having a good day. She’s a secret worrier though, and may need to talk through her own thoughts and feelings with you when it gets too much.

Portia would be very interested in learning about scoliosis however before referring to books she’s quite interested in learning what it is like for you personally (what’s difficult for you to do, what she can do to make it easier around the cottage, where is your pain the worst or what to do when you’re having a tough time?).

She gives 110% towards making you feel like a normal human being and helping you enjoy the things you love even if they are hindered by your condition, she’s like a bright ball of light guiding your way despite the hardships life throws at you.

The way she asks Julian for some pain relief or what plants she should grow to make some is like a shady business deal (for some reason or another), you’re pretty sure its because she thinks its illegal for Julian to just give her medicine (even though its not).

So yeah, Portia is pretty casual and even forgets you have scoliosis but best be prepared to watch her throw hands with anyone who’s mean or rude about how you may look strange.

It’s happened and at this point its just some nice entertainment watching your girlfriend beat every single persons a** to defend your honour, though that girl fights dirty...

Among other things gardening is one of Portia’s favourite activities and she soon roped you into helping her to keep you active, of course being in the palace grounds she’s always leading you into the maze determined to find the middle this time!

She’s the best out of all when if comes to making you feel better, doing tons of funny stuff (like showing you Pepi’s latest dance moves, or seeing how many of her knitting needles she can keep in her hair). She believes laughter is one of the best medicines, but often she makes you laugh so hard it hurts.

On bad days Portia will pull you close and snuggle in close to your neck and give you little smooches everywhere over your face, she’ll sing some little songs and get you to sleep because that’s the best way to pass the time when you’re in pain.

Despite all the hardships in life Portia does her best to make the world better for you whatever way she can.

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pain-in-the-asguardian · 4 years

Text

Pillar

On Ao3 here.

Clouds gathered overhead as the two of them trudged down the street. There was something heavy and strange in the air. Not the sense of a storm, exactly. He couldn't put his finger on it, and he was too damn tired to even try. The two of them had been through more than enough in the past 24 hours. “Some weird shit's goin' down, yanno?”

Rude grunted a reply, eyes hidden behind his shades even in the darkness, though Reno knew the things had night vision. “Even if it is, not our problem right now. You heard the boss.”

“Yeah, yeah. Two entire days of R&R, just for destroying part of the city. Fan-fuckin'-tastic.”

“You sure you can make it? We can catch a ride.”

“I can make it a damn block, yo.” Rude had insisted that Reno stay at his place, at least for tonight. It was walking distance to HQ, and his partner had made it clear he wasn't about to let him out of his sight until he was certain Reno wasn't going to fall apart. In truth, Reno felt the same. Rude didn't show his pain, but that didn't mean it wasn't there. He wasn't about to leave his partner alone tonight. Not after what he'd been forced to do. Because of Reno...

The effects of the healing materia were wearing off, and he was feeling it. The magic had worked well enough to allow them to complete their mission of escorting the new President to his castle, and taking out an AVALANCHE copter or two, but it could only last so long. Reno could sense the burns resurfacing, myriad little cuts and bruises making themselves known once more. They wouldn't be as bad, thank Ramuh, but the materia wasn't a true cure-all. Only rest and time could do that.

They continued in silence, both lost in their own thoughts of the tragedy they'd unleashed. The heavy clouds overhead opened just as they reached the apartment complex, rain beginning with a vengeance as they ducked into the lobby. Perks of a Turk salary meant actually getting to live topside and in a fair amount of comfort. Rude unlocked the door of his unit, and the two of them stumbled in, only slightly damp. Reno blinked in the sudden brightness as his partner flipped on the lights. He'd been here on a few occasions throughout the years, but just for an evening of private drinking and the occasional action flick marathon.

“I need a fuckin' drink. Or twelve.”

The apartment was a decent size, with an open kitchen and living room. A hallway lead off one side into the bedroom and bathroom. Rude strode to the hall cabinet, pulling out a towel and tossing it over. “Here. Shower first, while you're still on your feet. Then we can drink. Otherwise you'll drown yourself.” He removed his sunglasses, wiping them down. Reno glared at him, and he returned the look evenly. “I'll find something for you to wear. Oh, and shampoo in the cabinet. Figured I should keep some around.”

“Yeah... Thanks.” He rolled his eyes, but didn't have the energy to really protest. Clutching the towel, he trudged toward the bathroom, retrieving the shampoo as he did. Once inside, he peeled off the burnt and blackened suit. The material was meant to offer some protection from all elements, up to a point. Guess the explosions were a bit too much. He huffed a humorless laugh as the once-fine material dropped to the floor in an unceremonious pile. No salvaging that. His wounds were visible again, purple bruises blooming across his cheeks and chest. Well, he'd worry about it after he'd washed off.

Stepping into the shower, he let the hot water fall over him. It stung, and he winced. Hot, too damn hot. Steam rose around him like smoke, and he could imagine himself once again surrounded by fire. It was hard to breathe... Shit. Gritting his teeth, he turned down the temperature. The cold water was just as biting, but it jolted him out of his reverie, and at least it didn't carry memories of flames. He braced a hand against the wall, droplets falling from the crimson strands that fell limply over his eyes.

It was done. It was past, and there was nothing he... they... could do about it. Goddamn it. An entire sector... All of those people... And for what? What the hell had Shinra been thinking? And he hadn't even seen it happen. The true extent... because he'd fucking fainted. Reno shuddered. He didn't know if he was crying, or if it was just the steady, cold rain. It's over, it's done. Thinking about it ain't gonna help. Don't. You're a Turk. You don't get the luxury of a conscience. He sucked in a breath, a tremor running through his slender, bruised frame. C'mon asshole, clean yourself up.

The body wash smelled like Rude. Something citrusy, refined. It felt strange, and just a little bit pleasing, to surround himself with that scent. Reno focused on it, allowing himself a few moments to bask in the idea of it before remembering that he wasn't the only one in need of a shower. He gave his hair a cursory wash, much quicker than the time he'd normally spend. Tea tree. Rude knew him well. Rinsing off, he stepped out, drying his hair as best he could with the towel before wrapping it around his waist. Glancing at his reflection in the mirror, he sighed. He looked like shit. Tired, slightly cleaner shit. The burn on his cheek had returned, as had the one across his chest. He didn't want to know what his back looked like.

“Alright, partner. Your turn, yo,” he called as he stepped out. After a moment, Rude appeared in the doorway, a rather large first aid kit in his hands.

“First this.” He held it up.

“Tch. I'm fine.” He knew it wasn't convincing, given that his full, artful collection of wounds was now on full display. Rude gave a grunt of disapproval, nodding toward the bed. Reno sank down with a soft curse, glaring at the wall. The injuries might not be as bad as they had been, but they still needed care. He'd been allowed to leave the sick bay only because Rude had insisted he'd look after him. He hissed as the other began applying salve to the resurfacing burns.

“Stuff stinks, yo. I just washed all that shit off!” He got a noncommittal sound in return. Rude was trying to be gentle, but the man didn't have the softest fingers. What wasn't burned was bruised, and what wasn't bruised still felt tender. Still, he'd rather have his partner's hands on him then the damn Shinra medics. He trusted Rude, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't like the sensation of those fingers against his flesh. Not that he would... or could... admit it. He felt Rude press something to his back. Gauze. Yeah, he figured that sore spot was probably bad... But he wasn't as bandaged up as he'd expected. That was something, at least. A sputter of protest escaped him when Rude suddenly gripped his chin, albeit loosely, turning his head so he could apply some salve to his right cheek. Pale blue eyes met warm brown, and Reno's breath hitched in his throat.

“Quit squirming.”

“Mmmph,” he responded, his stomach making some odd sort of maneuver at being caught in that gaze, body stilling as new gauze was set over the injury.

“That's the worst of them. Not great, but not too horrible. Definitely better than before.” Rude set the kit aside and rose to his feet. He nodded his head toward a black shirt by Reno's side. “You can wear that. Should be loose enough to be comfortable. Booze in the kitchen.”

“Damn. Star treatment here, yo. Bandages and booze. You're the best, partner.”

There was a flash of something that might have been a grin before Rude turned toward the bathrrom and closed the door. Reno picked up the indicated shirt, slipping it over his head. It was a pajama top, and so it was meant to be loose even on Rude. That meant Reno was nearly swimming in it. The shoulders were too wide, hanging off his own awkwardly and lengthening the already overlong sleeves. It hung low enough to easily cover him once he slipped out of the bath towel.

“Damn Behemoth,” he mumbled with a grin, rolling the sleeves up as best he could. The fabric was silky enough that it didn't hurt against his skin, and … it too held Rude's scent. How fuckin' domestic. He glanced toward the door, the sound of falling water emanating from beyond. Outside of that, the room was silent. Wthout Rude's solid, immediate presence to occupy them, his thoughts slowly started to drift again, back toward the ruins of Sector 7. The soft smile faded from his lips.

He'd screwed up, overestimated those damn rebels. He'd gotten his ass handed to him – him, the Turks' 2nd in Command, and because he hadn't been strong enough... And he'd almost lost his partner. His stomach churned. He'd almost lost Rude, and then he'd forced him to... To do the unthinkable. His fingers curled into the supple material of the shirt's hem. Rude... How could he act so casual about it? Even for him, it was... Too much, too damn much. He hadn't escaped unscathed either, and Reno knew it. They'd both taken their share of hits today. Dammit, the least he could do was look after his partner the same way he'd been looked after. He'd love nothing more than to drink himself into oblivion, but he'd survive another few minutes of sobriety. He could do that fucking much.

His mind kept trying to turn itself toward Sector , and he forced himself to look around the room, to find something – anything else to focus on. It was a simply furnished room, all clean lines and uncluttered space. A dark gray comforter with plum sheets. Sleek black drawers and nightstand, everything in its proper place. The only things that didn't match, clashing noticeably with the rest of the room, were an odd collection of items from Wall Market that they'd picked up over the years. Materia pop figures and colorful baubles from the various vending machines, and even a garishly colored fake flower lei from Costa del Sol. Just a little quirky. Like the man himself, once you got to know him. Reno found himself grinning again despite his mood.

The bathroom door opened, startling him out of his memories. He raised his head, and Rude quirked a brow in question, clad in nothing but a towel.

“What? Thought you were gonna get out of treatment? Nuh-uh. Not gonna get shitfaced before I see you bandaged up too, yanno?” Rude's injuries were nowhere near as bad as his own, but just as he'd suspected, the other hadn't gotten away unharmed. His toned frame bore its fair share of scrapes and bruises, though he hadn't burned as much.

“Hmph. Fair enough.” Rude dropped to the mattress next to Reno, causing it to dip precariously.

“Goddamn tank, yo.” That got an affirmative, and slightly smug-sounding noise. The most severe injury was a cut along his left arm, though it was nearly hidden by the lines of the tattoo that wound its way around the limb. Reno carefully smoothed the salve over it, followed by some gauze. “Dunno how you ya do it... ya got hide like a dragon, yanno?”

“You got speed. I got defense.”

“Yeah, yeah. Rub it in, yo.” He finished up by taping some gauze over the few burns Rude managed to get, mostly along his back. After carefully pressing the tape along the curve of his muscle, he sat back. “There. Now we get to be uncomfortable and itchy all damn night. And now... We need liquor. Lots of it.”

“Agreed.”

He padded out to the main room. Rude followed a few moments later, having abandoned the towel for the matching bottoms to the shirt Reno wore. There was an impressive collection of alcohol already set on the table. That must have been what Rude was up to while he'd been in the shower “Truly, you're prepared for any situation.” He smirked as Rude poured them shots.

“Be a shit Turk if I wasn't.”

For a time, silence hung between them. What was there to say? Both of them were thinking the same thoughts, but neither could put them into words. So they took shots. A bit of everything from a fancy Costa del Sol rum to some cheap flavored vodka. Even on the best days, he was a lightweight, and it only took a few burning gulps for the heat to start spreading through his veins. His thoughts grew fuzzy, but no less dark. Across from him, Rude was as stoic as always, though his cheeks had a darker flush to them. Eventually they took to just passing bottles between them. How did he do it? How could he be so goddamn calm. Like it was just any other day, like these injuries were from any other fucking job? He turned to glare out the kitchen window.

The lights of Sector 8 shone beyond, the rain throwing distorted reflections on every surface. Nothing looked amiss from this side. No smoke, no fires. A car would slosh by every so often, and the occasional unlucky traveler braving the elements. It was hard to imagine that the neighboring plate was simply... gone. No, not gone. In smoldering pieces on the ground below, scattered across the ruins of the slums. Because of Shinra. Because of them. He snarled wordlessly.

“Reno.” He jumped at the sound, head whipping around so fast he made himself dizzy.

“What?” The other held up a bottle, head inclining in silent question.

“How can ya be ssso goddamn calm?” He clenched his fists, short nails digging into the soft flesh of his palms. “I... We... Th' whole fucking plate. Jusst like that. Like it was just a nest of wererats, and not a whole fuckin' sssection of th' city!”

Rude's eyes narrowed, and he made a show of staring into the bottle, though a sharp hiss of breath escaped him. “Like Tseng said,” he slurred after a beat. “We hadn't done it, someone else would've.” He swirled alcohol around a moment before taking an impressive swig. “We did it our way. Did what we could.” He winced at the burn.

“I know that, yo!” Reno rose, slamming his hand on the table and rattling the bottles. “Ya think I don' fuckin' know that?” His breathing came in ragged gasps, bruised ribs aching. “Doesn't make it better! This ain't what the Turks do! We ain't th' best people in th' world but somethin' like that...” His face was hot, and he could feel the teltale pinprick of tears at the corners of his eyes. Dammit. When did he get to be this weak? “What about Zirconiade? Everyone... They're GONE because of what they did! Midgar.. the world.. It's ssstill here, Shinra's still here makin' shit decisions because they stopped that thing! Because of the Turks!” He ran a hand through his still-damp hair. “They saved everyone. And what did we do? We...” He shook his head. “No... Fuck that.”

“We didn't even do shit. You... Because I failed, you had to...” He tried to fight the tears, but it was useless. He was the second in command. He'd started the damn thing, he should have finished it. Instead, he'd allowed himself to get beaten into unconsciousness, and left his partner to do the deed alone. And that after nearly getting himself blown to hell. Reno took a step back, swaying uncertainly. The world was spinning, and he lost his balance. And suddenly Rude was there, supporting him, strong hands gripping his shoulders. When did he even..

“Reno. Enough.”

He managed to stand on his own two feet, though still with the other bracing him, as he waited for the room to stop spinning, for his ears to stop ringing.

“Yeah...” His voice sounded strange to him. Shaky. “Yeah.” Gripping Rude's arm, Reno turned to face him. Or rather, his shoulder. Goddamn skyscraper of a human. He sighed, resting his forehead against one tattooed pec. “'M'sorry... It was my fault, yanno....”

“Reno.” His name rumbled in Rude's chest like distant thunder. “It's not. You were down there longer. And held your own. Pretty damn impressive from where I was sitting.”

He shook his head. He hadn't done a good enough job on his own to keep them from taking down the helicopter. Shit, some superior he'd been.

“Thought... Thought I'd lost ya there for a hot second, yanno? On top of every other shit thing... I thought...”

“Gonna take more than that. Gotta be flashier, too.”

“Flashier than a fuckin' flaming helicopter crash?” He felt Rude shrug in response, and actually gave a small, huffed laugh at that. This close, he could feel Rude's heartbeat. A strong, steady pulse. His own was fluttering like a caged bird in comparison. Reno closed his eyes, trying to focus on that rhythm. The only thing keeping him standing, keeping him grounded, was Rude. That's always how it went. Ever since they'd first teamed up, so many years ago. The man was like a pillar, and the irony of that thought didn't escape him. He didn't know if he wanted to laugh or cry at it. Rude rumbled something at him, and he blinked, raising his head.

“Huh?”

“Said I'm still here.” He squeezed Reno's uninjured shoulder. “And I'm gonna keep bein' here. And. You need to get some rest. Now. It's late. C”mon, you can have the bed, I'm feeling generous.”

“Wow, lucky me. Your generosity is astoundin', yanno?” He kept his tone light, even though he wanted to protest. It was futile, and his partner was right. This day had been a week. But if Rude left him, and if he closed his eyes... what would he see? What would he be left with?The thought scared him. He felt Rude start to move... and suddenly he didn't want that. Not yet...

“Wait...” Shit, when did his voice sound that small? “Just... stay like this a little longer, will ya?” I don't want you to leave. I don't wanna be alone. Damn it, he was being stupid. He was drunk, his body hot and sore. He'd been all those things before, but not like this. Not combined with the storm of anger, fear, and sorrow in his mind. And Rude... God he was so close. Shit, they'd never been like this before. Close. Just them.

Stop thinking stupid shit. You've fucked up enough.

Reno raised his head, pale beryl meeting deep chocolate as Rude stared down at him, unreadable.

I almost lost him...

And then, before he could think, he raised up on his toes, crushing his lips against Rude's. For a few fluttering heartbeats, it was amazing. And then his whisky-soaked brain caught up with his body and he jerked back, panic buzzing through his entire frame. Rude blinked down at him, dark eyes wide and lips parted just so.

“I'm... sorry, yo. I didn't...” Of all the fucking times. You're fucking drunk and the world is falling down around you, and you're gonna destroy the one goddamn pillar you got left. Some goddamn professional you are.

Shit, shit shit shit shit-

And then Rude's lips were on his again and all of his frenzied worries collapsed in on themselves. He closed his eyes, taught muscles relaxing, melting slowly into the other's arms. When Rude finally pulled away, he left Reno blinking, thoughts swirling fuzzily and bumping into one another. He opened and closed his mouth a few times without any sound, let alone words. “Whhh?” he finally managed.

“Wanted to do that for a while now, actually.”

“Y-you did? But I thought...” He struggled to nudge his thoughts back in line. It was like herding cats. “Thought ya... Shit, I thought ya didn't swing this way...”

“Swing both ways.”

“Then why... Why the fuck didn't ya say something, asshole?”

“Didn't think I was your type. Why didn't you? Idiot.”

“I was tryin'a respect you!” “By eavesdropping on my dates?”

“That was one time, yo!”

“So you say.” But he was grinning.

Reno blinked at him, mouth agape, trying to take it all in. He gave up, letting his head droop forward to rest against Rude's chest once more. “Fuckin' bastard,” he muttered into the warmth of his skin.

Rude's frame jerked with what might have been a laugh, if he was prone to such a thing. “You wanna argue about it more, save it for morning.” He made to usher Reno toward the bedroom again. “Now, sleep. You're practically delirious. Don't want that.”

This time, Reno allowed himself to be led, dropping to the mattress with a groan. As soon as he stopped being vertical, his body was more than happy to remind him just how exhausted he was. Oh, he was going to be in pain in the morning. And have one hell of a hangover. And... the darkness, the horror, was still there, on the edge of his mind. It would always be there, a part of him now, and he knew it. But for a little while, at least, he had something to keep it at bay. Even if whatever happened was just for tonight.

“Hey. You still plannin' on sleepin' on the couch, yo?”

“Hmmm.” Rude made a show of pretending to consider. “Only if you don't move your scrawny drunk ass over.”

He let Rude slide past him with a sigh of exasperation that was only a little forced. Once the taller man had settled, Reno lay down again. He felt Rude's back against his, a firm unwavering presence. He took a deep breath, letting his eyes drift closed. For now, in this moment, he could breathe again. Their world had changed. Irreparably. Soon, they'd have to pick themselves up and step back through the door of Shinra HQ. They'd have to face the consequences of their actions, and so would all of Shinra.

They couldn't change the past, they couldn't stop the destruction of Sector 7. That blood was always going to be on their hands. He could only hope that the new President would never ask anything so terrible of the Turks again. Rufus had done his share of scheming, but he seemed to have a cooler head on his shoulders than the old man. And they still had each other. He'd screwed up tonight, yet his partner was still here. Rude was his pillar, the one who kept him from collapsing completely. He only hoped he could be the same for Rude.

#Pita Writes #FFVII #Reno #Rude #fic #FFVII Remake #hurt/comfort

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uhhhdeej · 5 years

Text

Capitalism, The Reaper of Hope

(How I found a panic attack relief locked behind a paywall)

It was late in the day, the time? I’m not sure. The sun was just starting to set. My stomach had been a little iffy most of the day but then my mom, who’s my rock, told me she had to leave for awhile. I laid there, my head swirling with racing thoughts, hoping so badly this won’t get worst and I’ll get sick or have a panic attack. Sure enough, though, the anxiety caused from worry hurled my stomach into a frenzy and that in turn elevated my anxiety and stress levels. I was caught, yet again, in the cycle and as much as I tell myself it’s all in my head, it doesn’t make it better.

“Google!” I thought. If I read an article documenting the link between stomach problems and anxiety that would make me feel better. (Like I haven’t done that a million times already in my life, high anxiety me is not very rational.) So mid panic attack, I searched. To my surprise I found an article I hadn’t read before. On a website I didn’t know existed but should have considering I’ve seen and am a big fan of their documentaries. “How Meditation Helped Me Poop Less, The Link Between Mindful Breathing And IBS (Irritable Bowl Syndrome)”.

This article hit me like a train with rocket boosters doing downhill. It just MADE sense. Here are a few quotes from said article.

“ The mind-gut connection is very strong—in fact, some have gone as far as to say that there is a second brain in your gut. ”

“ Christopher Willard, a lecturer of psychiatry at Harvard Medical School, and author of Growing Up Mindful, explains to me that it is common for IBS sufferers to get caught in a cycle of stress, just like I had. Willard describes it as a "cascade effect, where IBS causes stress and exacerbates itself."

This one is what really got me, a scientistic reason as to why my body is like this!

“ Willard describes to me how meditation works to quell some of the worst symptoms of IBS: "One way certain meditations 'work' is by inducing the relaxation response, which effectively gets the body out of the fight/flight response to stresses," he says. He explains that when we are in a state of stress, "our body is prepping for short-term, rather than long-term survival, which shuts off energy to the digestive system and the immune system." This is what causes some of the IBS symptoms.”

This was it! The end all, be all. The facts I’ve needed to know! This was around the time the author of the article started really diving into meditation. Being a long time sufferer of anxiety I already know some breathing techniques to help calm me down, they’re usually hit or miss, but I’ve never really tired meditation. The author details the experience, the guided meditation voice on the app she downloaded and just reading it made me feel at ease. It’s been a long time since I’ve had any kind of hope of ever getting better, feeling ok, or managing my mental health but I was actually starting to feel like maybe I had a chance still.

Until it hit me....more of that later...

I finished reading the article, kept breathing and my stomach actually settled. My breathing didn’t feel rushed and shaky. I didn’t feel my impended doom! I had done it, I had beaten anxiety today! Being me, though, the strategist I am, warrior even, I thought I needed to press my advantage. I clicked the link to the meditation app. My App Store opened to the developers page and I was taken aback. The app in question wasn’t free.

I scrolled through, app after app, all of them had a price tag. I finally found one of there’s that was free, it was very stripped down, lack features but then it really hit me, I’ve been doped. Doped, fooled, tricked! I thought I’d found someone who not only understood but wanted to help, instead it was a crusty man with a nice suit and twirly mustache, maybe a cowboy hat. A snake oil salesmen, claiming to have every tonic to cure every aliment.

Panic started to set back in.

Now, was this whole article a marketing ploy to boost a sales number on an app? Probably not. Did the author actually care and intend to help? Probably, but that doesn’t negate the feeling that I’ve been played. That to ease suffering on the list of priorities is second to profiting and that has always been an a concept I’ve struggled to grasp. I’m not saying it’s time to eat the rich, burn the flag and pick up a sickle and hammer, not at all. The idea of capitalism is great. A market is great. Competition is great. My problem is, somethings shouldn’t be for profit, one being good health. If you want to sell someone a new iPhone for $1,500, go for it, it’s a cool luxury to have if you can afford it but if you’re selling a relief to someone’s hardships that directly hurt their quality of life, you’re kind of a piece of shit.

———————————————————

What I learned for this whole experience.

Mediation is a powerful tool, along with breathing techniques. Scientistic explanations about what’s going on with my body helps me greatly understand and minimize my irrational panic. This particular article did help me in my time of need but also made me question my self worth and the intention of it’s creation.

———————————————————

If you liked my own article maybe consider sharing it around! Maybe I could write more like this, who knows, maybe have my own website and journalism publication! Maybe leave a like, reblog, share it on other platforms, just maybe. ❤️

#anxiety #panic attack #writer #article #publishing #mental health #journalism

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cha0ticmimzy · 6 years

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The Shadow of Fereldan

Autor’s Notes: Before she even faces Corypheus, before she became the Herald of Andraste, she was the Shadow of Fereldan. And she had a job that was left unfinished. Characters: Sylthana Lavellan, Zevran Arainai, Cullen Rutherford, Cassandra Pentaghast, Leliana Warnings: Brief scene of torture, blood Word Count: 2617

Cullen’s men didn’t stop her as she left through Haven’s gate, despite the fact that she walked alone. She had told Leliana what she had planned- what she needed to do. A job that she had taken on before this shit show had begun, before she’d become the Herald of Andraste. She’d left behind the clothing that she had been given, that had been forged for her by the smithy. Instead, she wore what she always did when taking on a job: black. A pair of black boots whose soles had been worn down so where they matched the very arches of her feet. Black trousers that clung to her legs, laden with pockets and weighed down by the daggers that were hidden within. A black top that was fitted to her figure, with a black cloak atop it all. A mask covered the lower part of her face, her eyes and valaslin the other things to tell who she was.

On her back she kept a broadsword, it’s pommel inlaid with emeralds. It had been her father’s, and her father’s father’s, and so on and so forth, handed down through the years to the first born. No one has asked any questions when she strapped it onto her back; they simply gave her a wider berth. She’d lost count with how many daggers she had; a few on one hip, some within the pockets of her trousers, a hidden blade released via firing mechanism upon her left forearm. Pins hidden within her hair, which she had painstakingly coiled back from her face. She was armed to the teeth, quite literally.

She left Haven upon horseback, a wraith streaking across the snowy landscape. Her trusted steed, Malek, strong beneath her. She knew that Cassandra would lecture her, that Cullen would frown upon this- but she had a job, and she would see it through. That much she could do- for him. For the life that had been stolen from her clan, months prior to the Inquisition forming. She could still see it, if she closed her eyes. His body artfully arranged, the ribs splayed out, the bed beneath him nearly black with how much blood had been spilt. It was not for a ritual; she’d seen blood magic rituals. No, the body of Uthriel had been posed. She could still hear the way his lover screamed in horror upon finding him.

Sylthana could still remember the way her nails felt scraping through the guard’s flesh as she slapped him.

The ride to Denerim was long; she was unsure of whether Cullen would have his men come after her. Yet, when she looked to the sky, she could see one of Leliana’s beloved birds tracking her. Always watching from the shadows, she was.

Denerim was familiar; she’d traversed through the city many a time, collecting pay from those who sought out her services. This was where she would find him: Pitch. No one knew his actual name, since he’d abandoned it years prior. No, now he was just a cutthroat for hire, a brutal assassin known for his barbaric ways of killing. Each body he left behind was posed, making a mockery of the body’s owner, and causing quite a bit of trouble when it came to cleaning up afterwards.

She’d fought him, once, years ago, when she was naive and cocky; he’d bested her easily, and she barely left with her skin still intact.

Drakon’s Peak loomed high above the city, visible for miles away before the fortress turned city came to view. It was when she stood a mere hundred feet from the walls of the city that she pulled her mask on and tugged her cowl over her head. She left Malek tied to a tree, where he could eat plenty of grass and not be bothered. Her job would take time; the entire day to track him down, and then to wait until nightfall to make herself known.

Stepping into the city, she fell into the ebb and flow easily. Keeping her head down, her coin purse hidden within the depths of her cloak. The dirt streets were familiar, the old whore houses and taverns singing an old tune. Sapphire hues never strayed from her course, even as she slipped into the alleyways. No one approached her; her reputation within the city itself still very much alive. No one here knew who she was now. All they knew was that the Shadow had returned after taking a sudden hiatus.

She’d been halfway into a Tavern frequented by those who shared her title when a familiar voice caught her ear. Eyes widening, she quickly stepped back, head turning this way and that to catch sight of blond hair and tanned skin. Instead, she found herself pushed to the wall, a blade at her throat and a silky Antivan accent purred in her ear.

“Brave of you to traverse these streets alone.”

A smirk curled her lips as she turned, facing the handsome face of the assassin- and the Hero of Fereldan’s lover. “Bold of you to assume I’m alone.” She replied, watching as Zevran’s face split into a grin. The blade was pulled away, replaced instead with his arms as he pulled her close.

“I’d heard whispers that you were back, but I did not expect to find truth within them.” He murmured, pulling back to study the girl- or, what he could see of her given the mask she wore. How long had it been since he’d last seen her? A year? More? He couldn’t be sure. “I’ve also heard curious whispers about your involvement in a certain heretical movement.”

“Heretical?” Sylthana echoed, disbelief dancing across her features. “I’d hardly say it was heretical. But let’s not talk here.” She lowered her voice, eyes darting about. A smirk pulled at his lips as he nodded in agreement, leading her from the establishment. The market was safer, as odd as it sounded. Voices blended within, and it was hard to tail someone when so many people were mingling.

“Tell me, is it true?” Zevran asked, arm linked with her arm as they wandered through the dirt streets. “If so, I want to help. I owe you that much.” After she’d saved his ass from an ambush four years prior, he’d been in her debt. A debt he hadn’t the chance to pay- or, that she allowed him to pay.

“It is,” Sylthana replied, pulling her mask down to allow it to hand around her throat. “I wouldn’t mind having eyes and ears outside of the Inquisition. I’m working with an old friend of yours. A certain Nightingale.”

Surprise danced across Zevran’s features as he paused in his steps, before a laugh escaped him. “Of course you are. That does not surprise me in the least. Is she well?”

“She’s cold and sarcastic. I like her.”

“That is a rarity, for you to like a human so easily.”

“What can I say?” Sylthana shrugged, pausing to study a jewelers booth. “They aren’t all bad. Most are. But some aren’t.” Moving along without purchasing anything, she let her gaze sweep the market.

The assassin hummed in response, watching as she searched the crowd. “You are here for blood.” It wasn’t a question.

“I am.” She didn’t bother hiding it, not when she was obviously armed. “I’m here for revenge. You see, a friend of mine was murdered wrongfully so,” she began as she tugged him closer, nails pressing into the skin of his arm; a subtle warning. She carefully pressed to fingers into his skin: two were following them. A tap, then another- twenty feet behind. “And I plan on fixing what was broken.”

He nodded slowly in understanding, and carefully steered her towards the richer parts of the city. The dirt turned to stone beneath their feet, and the men who had been tailing them drew back quickly. “So I was right.” He sighed, shaking his head as she stopped them, studying a stunning ball gown of rich sapphire and molten gold through the window of a shop. “You came alone?”

“No. I was followed. Nightingale sent some of her agents after me- no doubt to make sure I returned in one piece. Can’t have the Herald being butchered, can we?”

“Herald?” Zevran’s eyes widened as he stared her down. Without speaking, she removed her glove and raised her hand, the anchor flaring the life. “So you are the one…”

Sylthana gave a bitter smile as she let her hand fall, sliding her hand back into the smooth, worn leather. “Afraid so. Seems we’ve both been chosen for a higher calling, old friend.” Her voice was tired, showing the exhaustion she felt. His heart ached for her. “… Do you happen to know where the Warden is?”

"No," he shook his head, a small smile curling his lips as they began to walk once more. "She is trying to find a cure, you see. The Calling has returned-"

"I know. We have a Warden among us. Blackwall. He explained a little of it." She interjected as they began to near Drakon River. "... I need to go, Zevran. I've much work to do, and little time left to accomplish it."

A hum left him as they stopped, his gaze sweeping over her face. Young, but so very strong. She reminded him of her, of his Warden. The one who held his heart. He reached up, cupping her cheek oh so tenderly. "Do be careful, mi amigo. The man you go after is dangerous."

A laugh escaped her as she tossed her arms around him, pulling him close. "You say that as if I'm not. Please, stay out of trouble. And finish off those bastards of an organization soon." She pulled back, smiling as he winked.

"If you need me, you know how to find me." With that, he backed away before turning, whistling an old sailor's tune. She sighed, watching him retreat before turning, heading back down to the poor part of the city.

Mask pulled back into place, hiding all but her eyes. The labyrinth was difficult to traverse if one was not familiar. Thankfully, after spending far too long within the city, she understood the way it worked. Slipping down an alleyway and making quick work of the stairs that lead further down, she quickly found herself among those who could not be trusted with a blade or coin. Perfect. Sauntering into the tavern, she let her gaze drift across its patrons.

The building itself was set up with a purpose; a large chandelier hung in the center, casting plenty of light there. The walls were cloaked in shadow, perfect for those who did not wish to be seen. Lip curling, she made her way to the bar, settling down within a chair. The bar keep paused, good eye studying her before both widened in surprise. "You're a sight for sore eyes." He commented, though she noted the way sweat began to bead up upon his forehead. "It's on the house," he added, sliding her a flagon of ale.

She caught it, but did not raise it to her lips. "I'm looking for a man. Goes by the moniker of Pitch." She stated simply, sapphire hues narrowing at the way his eyes darted about. So he was here.

"I'm afraid I don't know-" she cut him off, placing the coin purse- purposefully open- upon the top of the bar. Jewels and gold coin alike sat within, glinting in the piss yellow light of the tavern.

"Allow me to repeat myself. I'm looking for a man. He goes by Pitch. And I know he is here." The sound of a chair scraping and falling let her know that the man she sought out had heard. And was running. "This is for your silence. Thank you." The back entrance slammed shut. She pushed away from the bar and made her way through the tavern, listening to way silence spread throughout with each table she passed.

A Shadow fallen upon the establishment.

He ran. He knew she was following him, even as the sun descended beyond the horizon and the moon rose. He knew she was there, watching. He'd make a spectacle out of her, bring her into the market, flay her alive. That would teach anyone. He took alleyway after alleyway, twisting and turning through the labyrinth of Denerim's poor. A dead end. No matter. He turned, watching the opening of the alleyway in anticipation. He could hear the drunken voices of sailors singing, the pleasured screams of a whore as she worked for her coin. But she didn't appear.

The sound of a body hitting stone behind him made him jump. She crouched, her head low, her body relaxed. She looked like a living shadow, a manifestation of the dark itself. He clenched his jaw, and a grin forced its way onto his face. "Big mistake, little elf." He hissed as she raised her head, baring coral hued valaslin and sapphire eyes. There was no light within them- no, that was wrong. There was one, a dark light. A dark delight. Blood lust. Anger. Hatred. For the first time in his life, he felt afraid. But that didn't stop him from rushing her the moment she rose.

She side stepped him easily. He turned, daggers poised for her neck, and was gifted with a harsh, swift kick to the gut. A surprised cough escaped him as he staggered a step back, only to find the slimy dampness of the wall pressing against him.

A moment later and she lunged.

He hadn’t had the time to even prepare, not as she crushed his hand against the wall. He didn’t realize what had happened until he felt warm liquid trickle down his arm, and then the pain echoed through him. She’d driven a dagger through his wrist, into the wall behind him. He went to reach, but she grabbed his other wrist and with quick hands, broke it. The broadsword she carried upon her back was out, and the pommel was driven into his hand, crushing the delicate bones of his fingers.

A scream escaped his lips, echoing through the alley, blending into the sounds of the night.

“You cunt.” He gasped out, beady brown eyes wide as she crouched before him. He could kick her, but his body was in shock; too much pain coursing through his system at once.

She didn’t respond as he continue to throw curses at her, words that could curdle milk with how sour they were. Instead, she brought out another dagger, and placed this one above his thigh. Silence swept over him. “You killed Uthriel Lavellan. I’m here to pay his respects.” Her voice made a chill dance across his skin. Saccharine sweet, dripping in honey and acid.

“You flaunted his death, and the money you received for it. The girl’s father paid you handsomely. And you went on a spending spree. You killed her lover, and then bought yourself pretty new knives and clothes and all the ale you could want.” As she spoke, she began pressing down, the tip of the blade easily piercing through the rough material of his trousers, into the fleshy, meaty part of his thigh. A whine trembled from his lips as she kept the pressure steady. “A big mistake, you know. It makes you easy to track. Any good cutthroat knows not to spend it all at once.”

“Just kill me!” He exclaimed, voice raw and quaking as she suddenly drove the dagger down hard enough that he could feel the reverberation of it striking the hard earth beneath him. A new scream tore through, and he found himself soiling his trousers due to the pain. Tears spilled free, streaking down his thin face. “Just do it!”

“No.” The word made the blood freeze in his veins. She pulled her mask down, revealing her face, and recognition danced through him. He knew that face. He’d fought her, long ago. “You should have killed me when you have the chance.”

“You-” he shook his head in disbelief. “You’re the Shadow of Fereldan. The little runt of a bitch I nearly beat to death.”

A pleased grin stretched across her face, and he realized he had never seen something so terrifying in his life. “I’m going to make you wish for death.” She cooed, leaning close- only to drive a new dagger into his shoulder, pressing through, cracking bone, tearing muscle apart. A hoarse cry left him. “When the city guard finds you, they will be picking the pieces off the ground.” Sitting back on her knees, she reached down, pulling the dagger she’d driven through his thigh free. Blood gushed from the wound, turning the ground beneath him black. Pressing the blade against his thumb, she hummed. “Which finger?”

“Please, have mercy!”

“Ah, thumb then. Alright.”

“Have mercy!”

The ride back to Haven was a pleasant one. The weather was nice, and she ran into no trouble on the road. Malek was in a pleasant mood as well, dancing at times as he trotted along the path. She’d sent a raven home, carrying a parchment with a lock of hair, the words reading nothing more than a simple “It is done.”

As she traveled, the air grew colder, cleaner, clearer. She drew in a deep breath of the mountain air as she breached the top, the Breach in the sky coming into view. Sapphire hues lingered upon it for a moment, taking in its sickly green shade, before she clicked her tongue one, directing her mount down the strep incline.

No one greeted her as she approached, or as she passed Malek into the hands of a stable boy. The Iron Bull watched her from his tent, an understanding air about him. Krem gave her a tense nod, his lips drawn thin. Cullen was not with his men, nor could she see Cassandra training, cutting the life out of a training dummy.

Varric sat by the fire and watched her with a wary but understanding gaze as she walked past. She cared not for these looks. Leliana was within her tent, a relief she hadn’t realized she’d been wanting. Idly, she began to set the weapons she’d borrowed down, keeping her own on her person.

“I heard word from Denerim that the cutthroat Pitch was found dead.” Leliana commented, not looking up from her reports. Sylthana made a noise of disinterest. “The city guard found him with his legs pulled out of their sockets and flayed, his jaw broken, and all of his fingers cut off. He was also missing his eyes.”

“How curious.” Sylthana replied, though she didn’t bother keeping the pleased tone from her voice.

“Curious, indeed.” Leliana replied, turning to study the elven woman. “I will not ask why you decided to do this, only that I wish you now be at peace.”

“Peace doesn’t exist for people like us, Leliana.” She sighed, stepping away from the table. “We’ve too much blood on our hands to ever truly find it.” Leliana nodded once, understanding. “Zevran said hello. I assume Cullen and Cassandra are waiting within to lecture me?” She asked, rolling her shoulders once, twice.

“I was unaware that you knew him.” Sister Nightingale murmured, eyes widening in surprise. She quickly composed herself and nodded, amusement dancing upon her words. “I believe Cullen has been rehearsing what he wishes to say to you.”

“Lovely. Care to join me as I receive my verbal lashing?” Sylthana mused, smiling as Leliana set aside her reports to walk with her into the Chantry. Almost immediately, Cullen and Cassandre descended upon her.

“Have you any idea how worried we’ve been? You’re the Herald of Andraste! You can’t just up and leave when you wish!” Cullen scolded, lip curling up.

“You should not have gone alone. What if something had happened? This was reckless and foolish.” Cassandra shook her head, frowning deeply.

Sylthana smiled, moving past her advisors. “Hello, Josephine. Have we received word from my clan?” She asked, watching as surprise danced across the ambassador’s features.

“Yes, your worship. We just did.”

“Good. Have it delivered to my quarters. Tell me, what news have we of the Templars? Are they willing the meet?” She asked, enjoying the stunned silence from Cullen and Cassandra. Leliana let out a soft laugh as Sylthana turned to study the quarter with a raised brow. “Well, don’t just stand there! We’ve a job to do, do we not?”

“Ri-right, of course.” Cullen coughed, rubbing the back of his neck as he quickly walked past the Inquisitor, leading the way to the War Room. Cassandra remained standing in the hall, Leliana beside her.

“What just happened?” The Seeker asked as she watched the Inquisitor and Ambassador follow the Commander. Leliana laughed, a soft, rare noise.

“That, dear Seeker, is the Inquisitor in her prime.”

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #inquisitor lavellan #cullen rutherford #leliana #zevran arainai #cassandra pentaghast #sylthana lavellan #the ice queen inquisitor #could this be tagged as part of her backstory?#my writing

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Tire Retreading Market 2022-2028 Size, Share, Trend, Key Palyers with Products

Tire Retreading Market 2022-2028

A New Market Study, Titled “Tire Retreading Market Upcoming Trends, Growth Drivers and Challenges” has been featured on fusionmarketresearch.

Description

This global study of the Tire Retreading market offers an overview of the existing market trends, drivers, restrictions, and metrics and also offers a viewpoint for important segments. The report also tracks product and services demand growth forecasts for the market. There is also to the study approach a detailed segmental review. A regional study of the global Tire Retreading industry is also carried out in North America, Latin America, Asia-Pacific, Europe, and the Near East & Africa. The report mentions growth parameters in the regional markets along with major players dominating the regional growth.

Request Free Sample Report @ https://www.fusionmarketresearch.com/sample_request/2021-2030-Report-on-Global-Tire-Retreading-Market/69990

This research covers COVID-19 impacts on the upstream, midstream and downstream industries. Moreover, this research provides an in-depth market evaluation by highlighting information on various aspects covering market dynamics like drivers, barriers, opportunities, threats, and industry news & trends. In the end, this report also provides in-depth analysis and professional advices on how to face the post COIVD-19 period.

The research methodology used to estimate and forecast this market begins by capturing the revenues of the key players and their shares in the market. Various secondary sources such as press releases, annual reports, non-profit organizations, industry associations, governmental agencies and customs data, have been used to identify and collect information useful for this extensive commercial study of the market. Calculations based on this led to the overall market size. After arriving at the overall market size, the total market has been split into several segments and subsegments, which have then been verified through primary research by conducting extensive interviews with industry experts such as CEOs, VPs, directors, and executives. The data triangulation and market breakdown procedures have been employed to complete the overall market engineering process and arrive at the exact statistics for all segments and subsegments.

Leading players of Tire Retreading including: Bridgestone Michelin GoodYear Marangoni Continental TreadWright …

Market split by Type, can be divided into: Pre Cure Mold Cure

Market split by Application, can be divided into: Passenger Cars Light Commercial Vehicles Heavy Commercial Vehicles

Market split by Sales Channel, can be divided into: Direct Channel Distribution Channel

Market segment by Region/Country including: North America (United States, Canada and Mexico) Europe (Germany, UK, France, Italy, Russia and Spain etc.) Asia-Pacific (China, Japan, Korea, India, Australia and Southeast Asia etc.) South America (Brazil, Argentina and Colombia etc.) Middle East & Africa (South Africa, UAE and Saudi Arabia etc.)

Ask Queries @ https://www.fusionmarketresearch.com/enquiry.php/2021-2030-Report-on-Global-Tire-Retreading-Market/69990

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 Tire Retreading Market Overview 1.1 Tire Retreading Definition 1.2 Global Tire Retreading Market Size Status and Outlook (2015-2030) 1.3 Global Tire Retreading Market Size Comparison by Region (2015-2030) 1.4 Global Tire Retreading Market Size Comparison by Type (2015-2030) 1.5 Global Tire Retreading Market Size Comparison by Application (2015-2030) 1.6 Global Tire Retreading Market Size Comparison by Sales Channel (2015-2030) 1.7 Tire Retreading Market Dynamics (COVID-19 Impacts) 1.7.1 Market Drivers/Opportunities 1.7.2 Market Challenges/Risks 1.7.3 Market News (Mergers/Acquisitions/Expansion) 1.7.4 COVID-19 Impacts on Current Market 1.7.5 Post-Strategies of COVID-19 Outbreak

Chapter 2 Tire Retreading Market Segment Analysis by Player 2.1 Global Tire Retreading Sales and Market Share by Player (2018-2020) 2.2 Global Tire Retreading Revenue and Market Share by Player (2018-2020) 2.3 Global Tire Retreading Average Price by Player (2018-2020) 2.4 Players Competition Situation & Trends 2.5 Conclusion of Segment by Player

Chapter 3 Tire Retreading Market Segment Analysis by Type 3.1 Global Tire Retreading Market by Type 3.1.1 Pre Cure 3.1.2 Mold Cure 3.2 Global Tire Retreading Sales and Market Share by Type (2015-2020) 3.3 Global Tire Retreading Revenue and Market Share by Type (2015-2020) 3.4 Global Tire Retreading Average Price by Type (2015-2020) 3.5 Leading Players of Tire Retreading by Type in 2020 3.6 Conclusion of Segment by Type

Chapter 4 Tire Retreading Market Segment Analysis by Application 4.1 Global Tire Retreading Market by Application 4.1.1 Passenger Cars 4.1.2 Light Commercial Vehicles 4.1.3 Heavy Commercial Vehicles 4.2 Global Tire Retreading Revenue and Market Share by Application (2015-2020) 4.3 Leading Consumers of Tire Retreading by Application in 2020 4.4 Conclusion of Segment by Application

Continue…

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