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herbs-and-poultices · 2 months ago

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A few nights ago I had a random thought, and it accidentally spawned a ficlet. Oops?

Fandom: RE2-ish? (I only know these characters and their stories from the h/c fanfiction and a cursory glance through the fanwiki, but they keep sticking in my brain)

Efforts towards accuracy of any kind (canonical, medical, realistic, etc) were minimal

A little hospital bedside vigil. Very soft, mostly comfort, because that's what I've been needing lately.

CW: child pov

“Alright,” Claire murmurs, voice muted to match the efficient quiet of the post-surgical ward. “I'll be there in twenty.” She closes the phone with a click, then looks down at Sherry.

“Its about my brother. I have to go for a few hours. But you can stay here, if you'd like.” As she speaks she leads Sherry through the door and into the hospital room. Sherry unconsciously sticks to the mahogany-haired college student at the same distance of two plastic chair armrests that over the past hours has come to feel natural - or as natural as anything has lately - as they step around the bed towards the chairs beside the curtained window.

Side by side, Claire wraps an arm over her shoulder and gives a gentle squeeze. Sherry looks up into her warm, sad smile. “You could come with me if you’d rather, but I'm afraid you'd mostly be sitting alone in the office reception. There's a vending machine and a coffee machine and a couple decade-old magazines, but not much else.” Sherry leans in a little bit closer. Of all the things she could want right now, what she least wants is to be alone. Alone with the lumbering hordes of zombies, ghastly imitations of the men and women they had once been; alone with the masses of misshapen flesh that mutated before her eyes into grotesque monsters beyond her wildest nightmares; alone with the terrible shrieks and snarls, the rasps and moans, the sickening squish and menacing shuffle of footsteps that haunted their every movement through the shell of the city she once called home. “The doctor said Leon should be waking up in an hour or so. I'm sure he would appreciate having some company.”

Leon, Claire calls him familiarly. Leon S. Kennedy, RPD, at your service, he introduced himself to her when they first met; his voice and half-smile were wry, but the nod he gave her was solemn as an oath. All the grown-ups Sherry knows, aside from Mommy and Daddy, are “Doctor”s or “Professor”s or “Mister”s or “Misses”s. She’s probably heard some of their first names in passing, overhearing her parents chatting casually with their colleagues or teachers greeting one another in the halls, but in her mind first names are only for kids, playmates. Even college students like Claire are pushing it. Adults have important grown-up titles for their important grown-up business. So to her, he is Officer Kennedy.

Outside the partly closed door, there is a soft click-clack as a nurse rolls a cart past, followed by a knock and a cheery greeting at a door across the hall. A bird chirps in the tree outside the window. She swallows and bobs her head in a nod. Not really alone, here.

“Good.” Claire pats her shoulder, then releases their partial embrace to back her into one of the thinly-padded chairs. “I'll be back before the end of visiting hours.” On her way she pauses at the bedside, tucking the thin blanket up a little higher and smoothing it out, leaning in to murmur something inaudible; then with a whisper of air from the doorway she is gone.

The flat faux-leather cushioning would be an improvement on the bare hard plastic of the waiting room furniture, if everything didn't feel cold and menacing. The clean sweatshirt Claire found for Sherry is soft and pleasantly dry against her skin; any other contact, other than the hands of her new friends, still feels as though it could dissolve into a hunk of gelatinous writhing flesh or sprout razor-sharp fangs or explode in a spray of gore under her touch. Curling away from the chair back, she pulls her feet up onto the seat and wraps her arms over her knees, resting her cheek in the crook of her elbow.

Her view is a narrow window between her forearms and blonde bangs. Blurred reflections of blue and teal and lilac slide under the door, keeping time with brisk steps. Now and again another cart goes by with a whirr. Nurses. Doctors. Regular people. Sherry tilts her head to glance around the little room, stopping at the monitor by the bed. On the black screen, colorful lines trace out neat rows of mountains and valleys, up, down, up and down. She doesn't understand the numbers that blink beside them, but the steady dance of the lines is soothing.

After a time, it could have been minutes or it could have been an hour, her eyes start to roam again, tracing the loops in cords and wires coiled behind the screen. Most of them end in empty plugs dangling in the air. A few seem to lead into the wall out of sight. The last one she traces down, down, eventually running alongside a clear plastic tube from another nearby machine with some bags of liquid, over the heap of blankets, and finds herself for the first time properly taking in the figure on the bed.

The cord from the monitor ends in a sensor taped to one finger of his right hand where it lies open at the edge of the mattress; the clear plastic line disappears under the back of his hand. Officer Kennedy is laid on his right side to keep pressure off his injury, one knee bent, right arm stretched out at an angle, face tipped slightly towards his chest as he has unconsciously curled in on himself. His left arm is immobilized at a right angle in a sling strapped over his good shoulder and around his back. The black padded fabric is stark against the cream-colored blanket, the robin-egg blue of the hospital gown, the washed-out tones of his skin. The white edge of a surgical dressing is visible where the strap tugs at the neckline of his gown.

A head taller than Claire, at his full height he towered above Sherry; his squared shoulders and firmly-planted feet stood between her and so many blood-crazed hollow-eyed zombies and horribly mutated monsters, wicked claws and gnashing teeth and slashing knives that would have torn her in two. He was a grown-up, the only one in their little band of survivors, a person who knew things and did things, full of decisiveness and the weight of responsibility. And with the heavy tac vest and duty belt that added bulk to his frame, the gun that fit so naturally in his hands, and his once-sharp uniform emblazoned with the insignia of the Raccoon City Police Department, he was more than that. He was the arm of the law, he was Order and Protection personified. She never felt so small before as she did during those terrible days, and Officer Kennedy was larger than life.

Now, though, his face is nearly level with hers, his medium height not so imposing lying down. In the thin hospital gown and light blanket, without his tac vest and holster and belt, his frame is strong but lean, not quite so unshakably solid as a brick wall the way she remembers it from just early this morning. With his sharp eyes closed and his features relaxed in rest, there could almost be traces of teenage boyishness in the curve of his jaw, the cant of his head, the mop of tousled hair falling across his face. A handful of years back, and she might have imagined him at the local highschool, next to the middle school she attended, shooting hoops on the shared multi-purpose courts during his free periods, waiting on the curb for the 5 o'clock bus with a heavy backpack slung over his shoulder by one precarious strap. And she wonders, for a strange moment, if he might have felt… scared.

A flicker of movement catches her eye, and the outlandish thoughts are gone like a leaf on the breeze: a twitch of eyebrows, followed by a few slow flutters of eyelashes. She waits, nearly holding her breath. For several minutes all is still again, and she wonders if she imagined it. But then his brow wrinkles again and he opens his eyes halfway. His gaze is cloudy and unfocused at first, slits of gray-blue flicking about the room - to the window, over the bed, in the general direction of the door out of sight diagonally behind him, then around again, and yet again more deliberately as though it requires effort to take it all in.

Finally his eyes come to rest on her, fully open now, gaze sharpening into focus.

“O- Officer Kennedy.” Her breath comes out in a rush.

Leon, he mouths a correction.

She can't bring herself to say anything more around the hard lump growing in her throat.

He curls the fingers of his outstretched right hand, inviting. His lips move again, this time accompanied by broken fragments of a whisper, rough and painful-sounding but kindly. “C’mere, Sherry.” She stands and crossed the few steps to the bed, shaky on half-asleep legs. Atop the blanket, she tucks herself cautiously into the space between his arm and bent knee, wrapping her arms back around her folded legs. A grunt escapes his throat when her sweatshirt catches momentarily on the velcro of the sling immobilizing his left arm, but when her gaze snaps to his face the wide-eyed look he shoots her is so horrified and apologetic, like he startled a sleeping fawn, that she freezes where she had started pulling back and forces a shaky smile instead of the apology brimming on her lips. His expression relaxes, bit by bit, as she settles herself onto the mattress. She tips her head into her knees and closes her eyes, feeling the subtle warmth from his body inches from her own wrap around her like a shield.

Officer Kennedy's hand traces along her back to rub small soothing circles over her shoulder blade. His chin comes to rest on the top of her head, breaths stirring her hair in even, regular huffs. Tension drips out of her muscles, and a soft sigh worms its way out of her lungs. Her cheek sink to the mattress, and she slowly, carefully, lets herself relax into his chest. If she holds her breath, she can hear the steady beating of his heart.

He hums softly, and the vibrations brush her skin where she leans against him. “You're safe now, kid.”

Safe.

#my pen slipped #and slipped and slipped

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bts-0t-7 · 1 year ago

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So What? | MYG | Chapter 5

Pair: Hybrid Cat Yoongi x F Reader

Summary: Running from a past that foreshadows him, Yoongi is adamant about ever turning back to his human counterpart form, in hopes that nobody would recognise him and take him away. You worked at a cafe with your best friend. As a more-than-normal day seemed to go by, you discovered something amidst your housing block. Perhaps - just perhaps, the nighttime is where the angels arrive.

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hybrid, non-idol au

Warnings: Contains explicit language, abuse

WC: 2.4K

Taglist: @bearr02 @svnbangtansworld @vintageoldfashion @rkivemaar @codeinebelle @bontensbabygirl

< Prev. Series Masterlist. Next >

Yoongi had been holding back tears the moment they had discharged him. He had a trackable band placed on his wrist as officers guided him out of the hospital, gaining many stares from people around. He bowed his head, letting his hair cover his face, uncomfortable at so many people looking at him.

He didn’t want the attention nor did he ask for the attention. The officers led him to a black SUV with tinted windows, urging him in. He buckled himself in as they drove off. He didn’t know where they were bringing him and he didn’t want to know either.

He looked out of the windows at the passing trees and buildings, tears streaming down his face as he hastily wiped them away. The car ride was silent throughout. The officers were alert and ready, making him feel stiff. He missed you. He really did and all he wants to do is run into your arms and stay there forever. But he understands why you don’t ever want him again.

He lied, cheated, and betrayed you. Of course, you wouldn’t want a bad kitty.

More tears fell from Yoongi’s eyes and he sniffed. Breathing in a deep breath, he controlled himself as best as he could. He hated crying in front of people - especially strangers. But it was only until the officers pulled up that Yoongi was, too, pulled out of his blank state of mind. Yoongi observed that he was in your neighbourhood, more specifically directly outside your apartment building. The officers opened the door and led him out.

“Come on, you’re going home.”

Yoongi drew in a shaky breath. Maybe one of the people who unknowingly bought him coincidentally stays in the same apartment block as you. They went up the lift, to the same level, walking to the same opened door where he saw -

You.

No, no… That can’t be right. Y/N doesn’t want a bad kitty.

“Can you take over from here, Miss Y/N?” An officer questioned and you nodded.

Really? Wait - No, no.

“Alright buddy, we’ll be the transport system for the both of you to the medical checks.” The officer patted his shoulder. “See you soon. Get well.”

They left, leaving him standing there, in front of you and your opened gate. His nose twitched at the lingering smell of paint and dust wood.

Did you renovate the house while he was away?

His ears twitched at the sound of you clearing your throat and turned to you. Your hands fiddled with each other, a nervous tick he knew surfaced when you were anxious.

"Erm," Your eyes darted, looking everywhere but him.

"Hello." He started, hoping that you wouldn’t shut down his attempt to make things… Less awkward.

"Yes… Ah, hello Yoongi." You led the way into your house. "I hope your room is okay for you. I don't know what colours you like but I hope that the green doesn't throw you off."

The both of you entered a room that he was at least seventy percent sure was originally the guest room. The newly painted monochromatic walls, the fresh sheets of linen, the new and old furniture. But most of all, the black cat stuffy caught his eye the moment they walked in. It was placed on the left end of the bed, in a lying position.

Yoongi looked around in wonder. “Are - Am I - Can I really stay here?” He turned to look at you. “You want me?”

You nodded at him with a soft smile gracing your lips. “Of course, I want you, kitty. What do you even mean?” You went over to the curtains, seemingly distracting yourself. “I told you that whatever the circumstances, you’ll always be mine as I am yours.”

You stuck out your hand for him. “So what do you say, Yoongi? Would you like to continue to live with me?”

Yoongi nodded frantically, shoving his head into your hands. Your laugh is the most melodic thing he heard in his life.

“Then may I,” Yoongi walked over to the bedside. “Take this too?”

You nodded at him. “Of course, everything here is yours. They’re all yours.”

He walked over and picked up the stuffy by its paw and brought it to his nose, scenting it like he would with any of his belongings. He was happy, really, really happy and he hoped that this time, the happiness would last.

Since you had found out that Yoongi was a hybrid, you had changed many rules around the house - for one, no more kibbles, only proper human-sized meals from now on; two, no more sleeping on the same bed. The second one had caused a bit of spark in his eyes, lips protruding out into a pout.

“But - but why? I promise I won’t take up so much of the bed.”

You shook your head, standing firm. Although you would admit that the bed now felt empty since missing a fluffy bed buddy, Yoongi needed to understand the boundaries. “Yoongi, no. You are a hybrid, not a cat. I can’t just let you sleep in my bed, come into the room whenever you want anymore. There are boundaries.”

“But we never had such issues last time!”

You sighed. “That was because I didn’t know that you were a hybrid.”

And oh god, you didn’t want to know how many times and exactly what he has seen and heard by just being in your room. His presence is now an awkward one, all the thoughts of so many possibilities.

His pout stayed permanent on his lips as he trudged back to his room, realising that you weren’t going to budge with the rules.

You sighed, turned your back to the door and closed it. You had work tomorrow and whether or not you wanted to stay up arguing about this topic, you still needed sleep. You trudged over to your bed and flopped face-first, groaning at the cold that encased you. Sleep lingered at the edge of your consciousness when you felt a small dip on the bed, eyes too heavy to open and brain too murky to fully register that there was someone else on your bed.

You woke up to the blaring sound of your alarm at your bedside table, groaning to turn it off. You started to fuss when your hair stuck to your face and neck, the sheets that were tangled between your legs felt too warm. Subconsciously, you felt an impending child-like tantrum coming and your morning mood soured almost instantly.

As you continued to fuss and kick off the sheets, you felt a cool wet towel placed on your neck, lifting you up and cleaning your face. The action continued a few times before the towel got warm and the presence disappeared only to come back again a few minutes later.

Slowly, you felt cooler and started to gain more consciousness. It is then did you realise that somebody was standing at your bedside, wiping you down. Your eyes snapped open, tiredness fleeting in a second. You were about to grab your phone from the bedside table when a gentle hand shot out, holding your wrist.

Not that it helped to calm the anxiousness.

You panicked even more. Your mouth opened to scream bloody murder when two hands cupped your face, bringing them to meet the eyes of your - Oh, it’s Yoongi.

You sagged back onto your bed but shot back up, almost hitting your heads together if it wasn’t for Yoongi’s fast reactive movements.

“Oh shit.” Your voice was hoarse. “Work.”

Yoongi's hands came to your shoulders. "No work." He shook his head. "Not when you are in this state."

You didn't understand what he meant. "I'm fine, Yoongi. I'm just a bit more tired than usual. I'll sleep earlier tonight."

"No." Yoongi grabbed you harder. "Y/N, look at you. You're running a high fever."

You touched your forehead. True enough, you felt groggy and overall just really shitty. But you never really thought you were running a fever.

"You can't go to work in this state."

A cough-sneeze wrecked through your body just as he finished the sentence.

Point taken.

Definitely can't go to work. You grabbed tissue from your shelves and blew your nose, throwing the germ-infested thing away. You tucked yourself back under your sheets and wallowed in your self-pity. But you soon realised that Yoongi - your precious hybrid - can't stay here.

You shot out of bed for the third time that morning, grabbing your phone by the bedside table and calling one of your friends.

"'Sup, Y/N. How can I help you today, madam?" The caller's all too cheery voice hurts your head.

"Hoba," You croaked out. "Hoba, I need a favour from you."

You heard rustling from the other side of the line. "Shit, Y/N, are you sick?"

You nodded, forgetting that you were on a call.

"Y/N."

"Oh, sorry. Yes, yes. I'm down with…" You measured your temperature. "Well, shit. 39.6°C."

You heard a bang and then a muffled 'Fuck!'.

"Okay, okay. I'm coming over."

You groaned. "Hoba, wait… no."

"No?"

"No, I need you to come and take Yoongi."

You could physically see the scrunch of his eyebrows. "Yoongi?"

"Yeah." You nodded. "I can take care of myself. I'm fine. Come and take him. I don't want him catching my cold - or whatever sickness I have."

"Erm… I’m not sureyou can but, Y/N, who's Yoongi?"

Oh. In the haste and activities of the weeks, You forgot to tell your friends about your newfound friend.

"Yoongi? Oh, yeah. Yoongi is a hybrid." Your words started to slur. You were starting to feel groggy.

"Okay, I'll come get him but you have a lot to tell me once you recover. I'll be there in fifteen." Hoseok ended the call there.

"Y/N?" Yoongi's voice floated in from the washroom.

"Yoongiii." You made grabby hands and he walked over to you. You tend to get quite clingy when you are sick.

Yoongi made his way over to the bed. You bunched your hands in his shirt, nuzzling your face into his hands. “You’re gonna go stay with Hobi. He’ll take good care of you, I swear. If you want anything, just tell him.”

“So I heard, but I wanna stay here. You need help.”

You shook your head. “I’ll have somebody else help me. I don’t want you to get my illness.”

“But - but…” Tears start glossing over his eyes.

“Yoongi, I’m fine. I swear. I’ll be okay. Go with Hobi, okay?”

Yoongi’s mouth trembled but his resolve suddenly hardened. “No.”

You looked up. “Yoongi, please.”

He shook his head. “No. I’ll stay and take care of you.”

“Yoongi, I swear you’ll go even if it means making Hobi drag you out of the house.” You fluffed his hair. “I’ll be fine in a few days. I’m not dying, just sicker than usual.”

“But who’s gonna help you?” Tears started pooling in his eyes.

Oh no, no, no. If he actually burst into tears, you might consider letting him stay.

You groaned. “Yoongi, please, no. Don’t cry, please. Oh god.” You sighed. “I’ll have Seokjinnie come over. He’s good at cooking.”

Just who was this Seokjinnie?

Seokjinnie. Seokjinnie.

Yoongi humphed in the front seat of the car. He can’t believe Y/N would actually have her friend pull him out of the house. Currently swaddled in the blanket Y/N bought him and his cat toy beside him - a surprisingly accurate identical - he was on the way to god knows where.

He humphed and further slinked between the folds of the blanket, attempting to become as small as he could with the very prominent presence of the stranger driving beside him, making the air uncomfortable. Yoongi doesn’t like to leave the warmth of his comfort space.

“So,” Her friend spoke, startling a hiss out of Yoongi. Y/N’s friend gave him a side glance, before continuing, “So, you’re Yoongi. Sorry if I fail to understand the context of the situation here, but Y/N hasn’t told any of us about you. And, I have a… hybrid at home so excuse her… Ah, excitement.”

Y/N’s friend pulled up into a driveway and exited.

Wait, is he leaving now?

The door at Yoongi’s seat was opened and he was immediately scooped into a pair of strong arms. That set of arms did not take his toy. Yoongi hissed and pawed, claws coming free as he struggled to get his toy.

“Okay! Okay, I get it! Goodness, what a temperamental hybrid Y/N’s has.” Her friend stuck his hand back into his car and picked out his cat toy. “Here ya’ go.”

Yoongi’s ears twitched as he heard a set of keys being thrown before her friend started walking into the big, luxurious building. Yoongi peeked his head out to sniff the air, immediately retreating back into the safety of the blankets.

“Sorry, it’ll take a while to get used to it. Zurie doesn’t like the strong smell either.” Her friend picked up his pace. “I promise it’s better at home.”

Home.

A home is a place where one feels safe. Yoongi doesn’t feel safe here so home isn’t here. Home is a good fifteen minutes away.

“I’m Hoseok.” Y/N’s friend finally introduced himself. “I’m sure Y/N told you about me, but it’s better if I say ‘hi’ myself, right?”

They entered a lift and Y/N’s friend - Hoesok - scanned a card, pressing the button of the highest level, the penthouse. He must be really rich then.

Nearing the floor, Yoongi could smell a stronger, more distinct scent of the hybrid that had clung to Hoseok’s clothes. Zurie, he called her. Yoongi wasn’t sure how he would fare with an energetic hybrid. He liked his sleep undisturbed and the house silent. It allows him to curl into a dark spot and rest. With an energetic owner and a probably equally energetic hybrid, Yoongi would rather catch whatever sickness you have than stay.

Yoongi wiggled out of Hoseok’s hold, pulling along his blanket and grabbing his stuffie. Just as the elevator door opened, a blur of molecules passed him, crashing into the man behind. Yoongi didn’t need to turn to know who and what that hybrid was doing. He sprinted under the furthest edge of the sofa, nesting his belongings against the wall.

At least the floors were carpeted.

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victimeyez · 1 year ago

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The Aftermath

pt 3 of Professional//Victim x Prev x Next x

VOTE for the next chapter here UPDATE: CLOSED

After an intense "historical reenactment", someone needs to patch up Tommy.

TAGLIST: @suspicious-whumping-egg @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @whumpyourdamnpears @generic-whumperz @lonesome--hunter

CW: Drugged whump, medical whump, captive whumpee

“-dead yet?”

Tommy started to come to, and immediately began to take stock of his body.

He was laid on his front, sideways in the backseat of the car, drooling on Caius’s lap. His memories of Darwin started to come back to him, and he closed his eyes against them sharply, as if to stop them from coming.

Caius replied to the other voice.

“He’s breathing. Looks like he’s waking up, actually.”

Caius’s hand steadied him by his shoulder, which was mercifully numb. Actually, his whole body felt numb, and weak, when he started to stir.

“Don’t move too much. I had to break out the injectables to keep you from fully going into shock.”

“Is he going to bleed all over my car again? Caius, I swear to god-”

“Rory, shut your damn mouth. This isn’t amateur hour anymore.”

“Is he stable?” Michelle asked. Tommy wanted to know that, too.

Caius drummed his fingers absentmindedly on Tommy’s shoulder. He could feel the pressure of it distantly, but without pain or feeling. It felt weird to be so disconnected from his body.

“Stable enough, until we get him to Sam. I packed all the holes in with bleedstop and he’s practically mummified in quickclot. We went through most of the injectables.”

“Sam’s gunna be pissed,” Rory added helpfully.

“He isn’t paid to get pissy. He’ll deal.”

“If this guy wants another session, he’ll have to come to us.” Rory continued to complain.

“No, he can’t. He has a whole…set-up.”

They continued to talk while Tommy drifted in and out.

Caius and Tommy were dropped off outside of Dr. Sam Snow’s hidden office. They had an old wheelchair in the trunk to put him in, but the last of the meds were waning. He was in a considerable amount of pain with the bumps of every little bit of gravel or crack in the road as Caius pushed him along. He grit his teeth and tried to keep his groaning to a minimum.

Caius rapt on an unassuming alley door three times, and waited. Knowing Sam, it would be a few, so he leaned against the bricks and started scrolling through his phone.

They sat in whatever their version of companionable silence was, until there was a familiar grinding sound behind the door. Caius pocketed his phone and stood back behind Tommy’s wheelchair, right as the door opened, thick as a bank vault.

A man leaned out, with dirty blond hair too scruffy to look professional. Sam looked perpetually bedraggled.

“Oh good, my favorites,” He addressed Caius, before turning to eye Tommy in the wheelchair.

“That bad, huh?”

“Even worse,” Caius said with a rueful grin.

Sam stepped out long enough to grab the handles of Tommy’s wheelchair, and popped him onto the back wheels to get him over the entranceway stair. Tommy shrieked in pain, muted somewhat by his instinct to keep his lips closed. He grit his teeth, protective of his wounded mouth.

“Shut up,” Sam said mildly, and pushed him through the doorway down a dimly lit hallway.

This part of the building certainly didn’t feel like a doctor’s office. To the left and right there were rooms long abandoned, filled with broken glass and furniture, painted in old graffiti.

Caius followed, pushing the red button beside the door to make it pull closed and lock behind him.

They took a hard right and came to a metal door that Sam opened with a badge and a code. It always felt so unnecessary, but Tommy could only guess at the value of the contents within.

The door opened and Sam pushed him through, walking him past his office on the right and straight into a wide, square lab that the networks of hallways flanked. It was coldly lit, but bright inside, with a generous strip of window circling the room for open visibility. Tommy was pulled backwards into the familiar glass door, and it felt like the temperature dropped a good five degrees past the threshold.

“You’ll want to put him on his front,” Caius offered, stepping in after them and parting off to the right to find the small group of plastic chairs tucked to the far side.

“Yeah, don’t bother helping me or anything, I’ve got it,” Sam remarked with sarcasm, but he pulled Tommy out of the chair and across his shoulder to lay him awkwardly on the exam table. Tommy didn’t fight, and rolled off of his side onto his stomach and laid face down. The exam table had a little hole in the end that he could comfortably put his face in, like a massage table.

He closed his eyes. At least Sam was usually pretty heavy-handed with the drugs.

He felt a tugging on his pant leg as Sam’s scissors started to work their way up his leg, snipping his clothes off for easy removal. Sam didn’t comment until he was laid bare, the remnants of his clothing cast aside.

“What the fuck is this?!” Sam called to Caius. Tommy knew better than to mistake his anger being over his well-being - he was just pissed about the amount of work his injuries took him to fix.

“Yeah, this guy went medieval on him. Had a whole bunch of like, historical torture implements. He bound him up in some type’a spiky chair, with extra attachments. He hit him with a cattle prod until Tommy pissed himself and blacked out.”

Sam made a sound of revulsion.

“Did he at least pay well?”

“Ehhh,” Caius thought for a moment. “He paid a lot, but still had a first-time discount.”

“I hope he tipped like a motherfucker, because this-” Tommy could imagine Sam waving a hand over his mutilated body in a lazy sweep.

“-Is gonna cost ya.”

Tommy imagined Caius’s stupid shrug at that, too.

Sam’s gloved hands felt warm while he probed him, looking over the injuries to gauge the severity.

“I can’t see shit with all the fuckin’ powder. He’s gonna need a saline rinse.”

Tommy knew it was coming, but shuddered anyways. He heard Sam unwind the hose and open the nozzle without finesse, standing back so he wouldn’t get caught in the spray. The saline was luke-warm at best, and Tommy shivered as the solution washed away the last of his body heat. He gritted his teeth to try to keep them from chattering, and watched as pink water poured off the table and lazily swirled around the drain built into the floor.

It didn’t hurt much at first, but as Sam really started to blast away the dried blood and clotting powder, it became a grueling test of endurance. The pink water beneath the table started to become more clear, and then quickly turned to a red as his wounds started to reopen under the spray. He heard Caius say something from the corner, but he couldn’t make it out over the shower. It seems Sam couldn’t either, because the jet mercifully stopped.

“What?”

“Can’t you give him a numbing gel or something?”

“Oh!” Sam exclaimed, and Tommy saw his feet retreat away from the table.

“I plum forgot, he was being so good - Tommy, why’d you let me do that?” Sam mocked, but he returned and began working a thick ointment across his back. It took only moments for the gel to take effect, bringing blessed relief to every wound it touched. Tommy closed his eyes as the pain finally started to subside, and the paste left his skin feeling warm and completely numb.

“I think you owe Caius a big thank you, don’t you?” Sam pushed, as he saw Tommy start to visibly relax under his hands.

(Actually, I think I owe Caius a big shot to the face,) Tommy mused to himself, but he said nothing.

“His mouth is messed up, you’re not gonna get anything from him.” Caius commented, unamused by Sam’s playful mood.

Sam groaned at the mention of more work, but finished rubbing the numbing ointment in without further comment. Tommy closed his eyes, and without the pain caging him in his body, he was finally able to drift. To go somewhere - anywhere - where he wasn’t ass-up on a table about to be needled over.

He was a little grateful to Caius, but it was…complicated. He remembered when he was first in, and so scared, and thought he might find some help in the other man.

“We all have different roles here to make the business work,” Caius explained. Tommy was curled up in a ball on the sleeping roll Caius had brought him.

“I’m your handler. I’m not your friend - I’m your boss.”

Tommy had sat up, leaning against the wall and hugging his knees.

“What about the other guys?”

Caius sighed and sat down next to him, ignoring when Tommy scooted as far away as he could into the corner.

“Well, they’re your bosses too. But it’s like - I’m like the manager, while they’re in corporate.” Caius seemed to struggle for a better explanation.

“Rory has a fuckin’ mouth on him, sure, but he could sell water to fish. He coordinates appointments, knows a bunch of market research and business shit, so that’s kinda his thing.

“Michelle deals with all the tech stuff, he’s a huge nerd. He uploads all the pictures and videos and stuff to the network, but it’s a hidden network, I don’t know, it’s all beyond me.”

“A network for…this?” Tommy asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah, basically,” Caius replied. “We’re franchise owners, technically. All this - and you-”

He turned to face Tommy fully.

“-Are our business.”

Tommy worried his lip.

“And your job… is to manage me?”

Caius smiled, amused, and adjusted his glasses.

“My job is to make sure you don’t break.”

Caius advocated for him, in a way. And he was nice to him, in a way. But he never wasted breath pretending he did it for Tommy’s good. He managed a balance of keeping Tommy at a low level of stabilization, in spite of everything, to protect his business asset. Abducting people was a huge risk, and not one they could constantly repeat if their other victims died or completely broke down.

He’d heard of other teams with assets like him, sometimes multiple at a time. But if they broke down for good, they weren’t interesting to use anymore and became worthless. Caius afforded him small mercies to maintain a tiny spark of morale, so Tommy continued to be valuable.

Considering he was this far in, Caius seemed to be very good at his job.

Tommy was snapped back to the present when the tip of a needle dug deeper than he was numbed, and he hissed with pain.

“Sorry bud. Just checking to make sure you’re still with us.”

Sam continued poking him with needle after needle, circling every single wound with three triangulating punctures. This batch would take forever.

Tommy suddenly felt a hand on his upper arm, and realized Caius had crossed the room to watch.

“Which ones are these?”

Sam took a break to straighten his back for a moment.

“Well, you haven’t given me a lot to work with. Lucky for you, I just got in this stem cell batch that’s just insane. It’s a more potent combo with extra immunomodulators. Moves weeks of recovery into mere days. I’m also putting our usual pre-scar steroids in, which should also help with the swelling and inflammation.”

“How did you lose your medical license again?”

“I was just too much fun. I’ll top it off with this new wound-food serum I got, it’s supposed to help the body keep up with the crazy-fast healing. I’ll spray him down with a second skin and he’ll need to keep that on for a week. He’ll need lots of rest and lots of food - no starvation punishments and no missed meals.”

“Did you check his mouth yet?”

“Oh fuck,” Sam answered. He started to move Tommy onto his side, but then stopped.

“Ah fuck it. Let me get him patched up here and I’ll take a look.”

It was kind of like getting a tattoo session done, if it were a full-body stick and poke. Sam was methodical and finished the injections before anyone else could have. The serum was applied generously (sloppily) and the second skin sprayed on. A second light with a blue tint was thrown on above the table, and the substance began to dry on across his body.

“Do you know how good you got it? This is cutting-edge stuff, the newest technology that won’t hit the hospitals for decades, if ever. Celebrities pay millions for this stuff.”

Tommy did not respond.

“Luckily for you, everyone likes a blank page, don’t they? Gotta clear the board for the next guy.”

Tommy grimaced at the floor.

(Think about - something else. The feeling of biting into a coffee bean. What it looks like, how it feels in your hand. The crunch, the bitterness. Focus on imagining the sensation. Nothing else. No feeling.)

“I’ll take a look at his mouth and whatever that thing on his jaw was, and I’m sending him home. Come back in a week for the second round of steroids. If it’s going well, we might be able to do the first laser treatment the same day.”

There was a numbed touch to his back, where apparently the second skin had finished curing on him, and he was rolled onto his back. He shut his eyes hard against the blinding overhead light.

“Alright, open up.”

Tommy opened his mouth and Sam grabbed a penlight to examine inside. After a moment, he tsked as if chiding Tommy.

“Don’t you know better than to let strangers put things in your mouth?”

He moved down to do some poking and prodding where the fork had dug into him. He grabbed some now nearly-empty syringes and injected small shots along the edges of the wounds.

“These will be fine. Not even worth a stitch. I’m not going to put on a butterfly just because I want to make sure these heal from the inside out, but I don’t think they’re worth packing.”

Sam applied wound patches over each of the spots, working his fingers into the the edges of the patch until the adhesive melted on.

“Those ones will be fine. As for the mouth, his tongue is punctured in multiple places and pretty swollen. I have steroids that will calm the swelling down and let it start to heal. Mouths actually heal faster than most other parts of the body, and with a little help those will close up fine. However-”

Sam turned, and started sorting through a couple drawers before turning back around holding a bottle.

“Rinse four times a day with this solution. When you run out, switch to saltwater. But…he’s going to need to use a feeding tube for a week.”

At that, Tommy put his face over his hands and turned on his side, curling up to shield himself as best he could. The feeding tube was the worst, and he’d only had to use it once before.

“Yeah, I know bud.” Sam patted him on the shoulder with faux sympathy.

“I’m putting him on a couple oral medications he’ll need to take twice daily AFTER feeding, always after. I’ll make up a care package.”

Sam started pulling various bandages and tubes out of cabinets and stowed them into a bag. Caius had luckily brought Tommy a pair of sweats and a hoodie, which he helped him into while Sam rummaged around.

“What time next week?”

Sam waived a dismissive hand in Caius’s direction without looking at him.

“Whenever - just don’t be late.”

#professional//victim #aftermath #medical whump #captive whumpee

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onepiecereactions · 6 days ago

Text

Marine Academy Chapter 28

Note: Chapter 28 on 28, last chapter. Akainu X OC. OC is called Murphy.

This chapter is SFW.

Sooo, this is the last chapter ! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I loved writting it ! I would like to thank the people that liked every chapter days after days (I saw you huhu) ! I hoped you liked this story and again, THANK YOU !

Marine Academy Part 4 Chapter 28

All the caregivers had gathered around the door of Murphy's office.

The emergency surgeon, a close friend of the doctor, had just put a white letter on the door, readable by all.

"I inform you of my resignation from my position as emergency surgeon and clinical doctor at the Grand Hospital of Marineford and from all other responsibilities related to my duties. This decision takes effect upon receipt of this letter."

[...]

"Chief Admiral, here is your letters!" The soldier gave him a very solemn military salute as he placed the letters on Akainu's desk without the red dog looking up at him.

The Chief Admiral was certainly having the worst days of his new career. New Marineford had been plunged into chaos since yesterday, more precisely since the announcement of the betrayal of the former Admiral Aokiji.

The day had been punctuated since the morning by endless crisis meetings with the World Government and the Navy's high-ranked offciers to decide what measures to take.

His evening had been just as disastrous. The man had returned exhausted to his house, empty of any trace of his wife. All the furniture was in place, but each of the blonde's personal effects had disappeared. She had taken everything with her, along with her scent and the warmth of her home. The house had become a sterile operating room, empty of any soul and any feeling. He hadn't slept that night, understanding that his wife had been serious during their last exchange. She had left. And he had done nothing to keep her.

The Admiral-in-Chief stood up slowly, seeming to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. He quickly sorted through the letters while pouring himself a glass of sake in a beautiful crystal glass. One of the letters caught his attention: it was crumpled, smaller than the others and light. He opened the envelope and took out a notepad paper on which was scribbled an address, a den den mushi number and a simple paragraph.

"Sakazuki, you will always have a place by my side. I dream of freedom and peace from now on. But my paradise can never be perfect without being in your arms every night. Please join me, and leave Akainu in New Marineford, he is not welcome."

Sakazuki did not remember ever doubting in his life. His mind had constantly been guided by Absolute Justice, never by his feelings. Except for Murphy. And this time, a spark of doubt had just been born deep inside him.

Six months later.

"Sorry, but you won't be able to ride a bike for a month! And you'll have to behave yourself or I'll have to put a plaster on you if it gets worse!" The doctor warned, a warm smile on her lips as the little boy in front of her stole a lollipop from the jar on the doctor's desk.

The mother thanked her warmly and they left the office with a bag filled with medication. The doctor took the time to write notes in the medical file that she carefully put away in her desk. She scanned her watch, made sure her waiting room was empty and locked the office behind her, her bag on her shoulder.

The doctor crossed the busy street, making sure not to bump into any citizens, the central square was crowded at this time. The sun was now high in the sky, warming the blonde who had tanned well since her arrival on the island.

After all these years at the Grand Hospital or the Marine Academy, she had forgotten the warmth of the sun's rays, the soft sound of the waves gently crashing on the golden sand and the total absence of stress and worry in her day.

Murphy put her sunglasses on her nose and crossed the streets, now knowing the way to her home by heart. She walked along the coast for about fifteen minutes, eating the sandwich that she had prepared the day before. The horizon was covered with small fishing boats. She could hear the sailors shouting orders and laughing during their meal break. She finally arrived at the foot of the fort overlooking the cliff and saw her house in the distance, in the shade under three palm trees, her laundry drying in the wind protected by the clothespins.

She sighed with pleasure. Like every day for the last six months. She felt like she had emerged from a nightmare that had haunted her for years without her even realizing it.

Today, she no longer counted the dead. She did not save lives in the same way as at the Grand Hospital, but she was still essential to the life of her island with her knowledge.

Today, she was no longer anxious about the idea that a war could break out and destroy everyone she loved. Her lifelong friends continued to call her regularly to check on her and chat, while being particularly careful not to discuss subjects related to New Marineford or the World Government. Murphy was retired, and there was no turning back.

And today, she no longer had a husband. Neither of them had signed any official document related to their separation, but the blonde preferred to let him start the process himself if he wanted, he knew her address.

He hadn't called her once, hadn't sent a letter and obviously hadn't come to see her. She missed him every night, when she went to bed alone in her empty bed, but freedom and peace had a price that she had to pay.

She picked up the letters in her mailbox which she closed absently, continuing to walk to the entrance of her small house. She regularly received messages and gifts from her former colleagues at the Grand Hospital, and it always warmed her heart to hear from them: births, birthdays, promotions...

Murphy entered her house, leaving the door unlocked behind her. The island was peaceful and she had never had any trouble, especially considering her status. Pirates and bandits rarely came as far as Cotonoa.

The blonde put the pile of envelopes on the kitchen counter, took a bottle of mango tea from her fridge and headed towards her veranda filled with green plants which was entirely glass, allowing her to see 180 degrees of the ocean in front of her.

She regularly saw crabs trying to enter her house clandestinely and every morning she left them fish crumbs in a small plate near the water.

She opened the glass door, her current book under her arm and stepped back.

She suddenly saw a man sitting on her sofa facing the sea.

She immediately recognized the silhouette of the man who was dressed in civilian clothes.

She didn't have time to open her mouth before the man's face turned towards her, a slight smile on his lips.

She could see in his eyes all the happiness she also shared at seeing each other again after so long.

His deep voice echoed in the veranda as she rushed to sit down next to him and hug him.

"Murphy...".

"I missed you."

THE END.

#one piece #akainu x reader #aokiji x reader

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rottenpumpkin13 · 1 year ago

Note

To: Genesis

Congratulations on winning the “Be the President of Shinra for a Day” raffle! Please keep all events and activities within reason. We don’t need another accident like last years.

From: Shinra upper management

• Genesis starts off what will be a day of unreasonable requests with a very jarring one. He requests Sephiroth to take on the role of his personal assistant for the day.

• Upon hearing about this, Sephiroth sits in his office, refusing to budge from his desk.

Sephiroth: You cannot make me.

Tseng: Sephiroth please.

Sephiroth: I refuse.

Tseng: He's technically the president.

Sephiroth: I didn't vote for him.

• After enough groveling and begging, Sephiroth complies, but only under the agreement that he's free to punch Genesis in the face if he ever goes too far.

• Genesis doesn't need to know this.

• Meanwhile Genesis has completely redecorated the president's office to fit his tastes. There's rococo-styled furniture at every corner, Loveless posters on the walls, countless books on each shelf, and a marble bust of himself.

• He sits in a ridiculous golden swivel chair. He leans back with his crossed legs on his desk, holding the phone with one hand while he gets a manicure on the other.

• The first thing he asks of Sephiroth is to fetch him coffee.

• Sephiroth's initial response is to refuse....but then he gets an idea and runs off to go get Genesis his "coffee"

*Genesis takes a sip of the coffee*

Genesis: Ugh. This tastes like dirty sock sweat.

Sephiroth: Courtesy of Zack's socks, yes.

Genesis: YOU SON OF A—*tackles Sephiroth*

• Lunch rolls around and Genesis insists that Sephiroth spoon-feed him.

Genesis, smugly: Are you having fun?

Sephiroth: No. Open wide.

• Genesis opens his mouth and Sephiroth shoves the fork down his throat.

• His next order of business is to attend a board meeting. Sephiroth accompanies him. Genesis is all smug as he sits at the head of the table. He makes Sephiroth fan him even though the AC is blasting in the room. The directors are all shocked.

Hojo: This is unsightly! Sephiroth is the most powerful weapon this company has, and you're making him wait on you hand and foot!?

Sephiroth: Oh, does this annoy you?

Hojo: YES!

• Sephiroth drops down to his knees and starts polishing Genesis' boots with his hair. Hojo starts convulsing and has to be taken out of the room and rushed to the medical wing.

• Genesis hosts a sparring tournament amongst the SOLDIERs to entertain himself. He gathers all of the operatives up and calls attention to himself.

Genesis: Whoever can beat me will be the victor!

• Sephiroth has enough and punches Genesis in the face, knocking him out instantly.

• Everyone stares at Sephiroth.

Sephiroth: What? He told us to beat him.

Sephiroth:

Sephiroth: I win.

#ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #sephiroth #ffvii crisis core #genesis rhapsodos #final fantasy vii #ff7r #ff7 crisis core #ff7cc

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for-gilded-cups-are-empty · 7 months ago

Text

Ive managed to find maybe one of the shadiest doctors in the city...

so i needed a psychiatrist, right? add, adhd, who knows, either way my executive function broke and i probably need help.

Wait times are horrible though, so made a bunch of appointments to see what would work fastest, one via a private provider. That one was moved forwards from originally being in september to today.

I need to fully describe this place, it was crazy.

There is only one man working in the entire "practice" and he is the doctor. He is wering nothing under his striped hawai shirt that has only hald the buttons closed, and not even to corresponding holes. He has to tell every patient that comes in and asks for something at the desk that his system is broken and all prescriptions must be printed, no digital.

This combined desk and waiting room is entierely yellowed. no plants, the only decoration a desk lamp with an embroidered landshade that looks stolen from someones grandma and a printout of a stained glass butterfly on the wall. The only reading material is a 12cm thick book called "The 1000 Breeds of Dog".

The carpet is beige and the lights humm persistently.

After being asked to the desk im led by the doctor through two hallways filled with wardrobes (the kind for clothes) and cupboards (the kind for cups, with the cute little windows) filled with paperwork. im told to sit down in an office with one desk and one bookshelf for furniture. The desk chair is held together with literal string. Theres marks on the table were documents must have laid for years while the sun bleached the plastic faux wood veneer around them. Looking around, there is not even a clock. The one calming staple ive seen in every doctors office ive ever been in is missing. It feels Conspicuous.

Looking around, i note a bag of packaged syringes on the floor next to a fax machine plugged into a wall outlet.

Above them hangs a faded print of Hieronymus Bosch's "Garden of earthly delights". All color except for blue and pale yellow have been bleached away.

After an unknown of time passes, the doctor returns to me in the office, we talk for less than 3 minutes, i tell him what diagnosis im seeking, he says its easy, hell send me a link to a test and can get me medication. I dont think i want the medication anymore?

Nodding along, i eventually leave the office for my home, and find that an email adress called "Doctor" has sent me an email containing nothing but an encrypted link with the Subject "ADHD".

I do the test, the second half of the questions are all in third person, asking about "the patient", clearly meant for the doctor to fill out.

I do my best.

I think im gonna go for a second opinion before i take any meds this man prescribes me? Either way, im having an utterly fascinating week, between this, the other thing and the Pagan Nazi i found at my supermarket. Utterly Fascinating

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thisisthinprivilege · 1 year ago

Note

when you say thin do you mean do you mean like anyone who’s not fat or specifically people who are skinny/underweight/below average size

We have a FAQ that covers both this and the many other questions we've answered many times on this blog.

To recap, since it's been a minute since we've had this question:

Thin privilege is socially constructed and sometimes even a relative ranking thing, like the least fat person in a room of fat people having more privilege than the fatter people in that room.

However, there are a whole bunch of structural discrimination thresholds that affect the experience of thin privilege.

Here are a few: you can't adopt from many agencies and countries over a certain BMI (I forget the threshold, it's probably in the FAQ), most IVF is capped at something like 30 or 33 BMI, plane seats have specific widths that will accommodate hip sizes below that width but not above, there are formal weight cutoffs for rides and flight training and military service and sports and certain jobs, there are weight cutoffs to fit comfortably and safely in furniture---and as the human species sits or sleeps much of the day, making furniture inaccessible affects how we travel, work, socialize, date, go to school, wait in medical and legal offices, rest and relax, etc etc etc, and of course there are many more informal weight cutoffs like being able to claim the category "fit" on dating apps.

There's no calculated or calculable single standard for measuring how much thin privilege any given person has, because it is heavily context dependent. Humans are super weird that way. I've seen a group of male colleagues fawn over a plumpish smallfat woman in a group of larger women who they wouldn't give the time of day if there was a smaller woman around. Fucking bizarre. But it happens all the damn time and has real and lasting effects on all of us. Imagine if in that one instance of having relative thin privilege you got a job offer for your dream job that never would have come if a thinner candidate had also applied. Do you have thin privilege in the absolute sense? Not really. But you still benefited from (relative) thin privilege.

-ArteToLife

#thin privilege #definitions #what is thin privilege #FAQ #relative thin privilege

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grimparks · 10 months ago

Text

Chapter 4

Narrator- the next day, the little squad met up at The New Guy house,Kyle Was the last one to enter, he was a little late but it was okay

Kyle- *knock* *knock*

The New Guy- greetings !

The New Guy- oh Kyle !

The New Guy- finally here ! How’s it goin

Kyle- um, good, my eyes hurt a bit…

The New Guy- okay okay, you may need some medication for that

The New Guy- or maybe your eyes will explode !! Hehe

Kyle- yeah…

The New Guy- anyway ! Come in !

The New Guy- the others are in the basement

The New Guy- I’m gonna take something on the second floor, I’ll be back in a sec.

Narrator- Kyle entered the basement of the house, it was a pretty messy room with dust on the ground and dirty wall like any normal basement but it was also an arranged room with a big table in the center with some garland putting some warm light on the roof. Gregory and Christophe were already in the room, messing around, without talking with each other while the New Guy was at the first floor taking stuff for the meeting.

Narrator- A little time later, after an awkward silence haunting the basement, the New Guy finally arrived with a big roll of paper, almost their height.

New Guy- alright ! I’m back, sorry for the little waiting time… BUT ! I’ve found what I was searching for !

kickly after, she unrolled the paper, revealing a pretty precise map of the police office from the inside and the outside.

Gregory- well, that just got interesting !

Kyle- wait hold on, where did you get that ? That kind of stuff is impossible to find !

New Guy- oh, you know… contacts are pretty useful.

Kyle- no really, I’m not joking, where did you-

New Guy- anyway, what the plan !

Gregory- Well, I had an idea…

Gregory- An incredible idea if I can say !

Christophe- get to the point you’re wasting our time.

Gregory- …

Gregory- well sorry monsieur baguette oui oui if i try to put some suspense in my sentence !

New Guy- stop you two urg…

New Guy- continue Gregory

Gregory- thank you.

Gregory- SEE ! One polite guy in this room !

Kyle- what am i doin-

Gregory- so !

Gregory- what we need is the security camera of the town and the case of Clyde and the other one right ?

New Guy- yes indeed

Gregory- so ! I thought to bring up 3 groups to enter the station

Gregory- we need one group to get the cases and all the paper stuff, another one to get on the computer to get the security camera and finally a group to guard the front!

Christophe- i take the guard…

Christophe- so i just have to stand there.

kyle- WAIT we needed someone to be able to get on the computer !

kyle- Newy, you found the guy you talked to me about ? He accepted ?

New Guy- what guy ?

Kyle- the inventor you said you know and could get in the computer system !

New Guy- what computer ?

Kyle- ARG, yesterday ! You said you had a guy for that !

New Guy- oohhh

New Guy- oh yeah ! Yep yep yep

New Guy- i forgot that for a sec, yeah he said no

Kyle- he did ?

New Guy- he did.

Kyle- you sure he said no ?

New Guy- who said no ?

Christophe- that’s actually funny to watch.

Gregory- definitely.

Kyle- oh what can i do… urg…

Kyle- OH i know who to call

Kyle- How stupid of me, what i haven’t thought about that before !

Kyle- what the-

Narrator- some loud noise was coming from the up floor, sounds like someone running for his phone half asleep and rushing into all the furniture of the room.

The New Guy- still don’t remember ?

Kyle- remember what ?

Narrator- for you, fella reader, let’s do a little rewind. When the New Guy and the other preschool kids hit their 14 anniversary, the parents of Butter were arrested by the police for child neglect and abuse, by that, he needed to find somebody to adopt him, the pc principal couldn’t and same for the father maxi, however, the New Guy, tat was alone in their house, accepted to keep in some way adopt Butter and since that they are siblings but almost everyone forget that.

Narrator- now let’s get back to the story shall we ?

Kyle- oh that…

Christophe- someone coming…

Butter- um Kyle ? Why are you calling while I’m up here ?

Kyle- I uh…

Kyle- I thought you weren’t there !

Butter- um…

Butter- alright !

Butter- what can I do for you ?

Kyle- um… you did study for coding and overall you are good with computers ?

Butter- yes ! We are studying NFT for now !

Kyle- yeah yeah, would you help us get into the police office totally legally to find Stan and Clyde ?

Butter- oh geez um…

Butter- i don’t think this is a good idea… you know all the adventures we had before, i always and up in a bad situation or hurt

Kyle- pff… not every time !

Butter- i lost an eye because of you guys…

Kyle- …

Kyle- right… sorry…

The New Guy- Butter, don’t worry you may not end up hurt or anything !

The New Guy- cause we have an apprentice bodyguard AND spy on demand here right~

Christophe- sup

The New Guy- and there is me !

The New Guy- I’ve seen worse than that, same for you !

Butter- i uh… you’re sure it’s safe ?

The New Guy- sure at 99% !

Butter- Well sure then !

Gregory- nice ! Now let’s talk about my fantastic plan…

Narrator- and that’s how they started planning their infiltration

Narrator- now, i think that one question remains

Narrator- what the hell happened to Terrance yesterday ?

Terrance- what ?! WHO SAID THAT?

???- oh come on

Terrance- WHO’S THERE ?! I’VE LOCKED THE DOOR FOR 4 MONTHS !

???- oh come on silly, you know who it is

???- even the person ready this person know who it is

???- except if they’re dumb of course

Terrance- SHOW YOURSELF !

Terrance- AAAH

narrator- Terrance fell on the ground, crashed his head against his desk, some documents , photo frames, and even the screen making it crack. After a good 10 seconds, Terrance stands up again, all dizzy and didn’t really realize the situation he was in.

Leslie- someone loses his balance ?

Terrance- how can you move…

Terrance- all of your system is shut ! It’s literally IMPOSSIBLE !

Leslie- come on, chill dude !

Leslie- I’m just taking a little walk ! standing there for months got me a little rusty.

Leslie- you should be taking a walk too ! You’ve been in your laboratory non stop for 4 months !

Leslie- didn’t humans need to do something called socializing ? Hehe

Terrance- shut up and get back here you sick bot.

Leslie- oh ! Someone mad�� and what if I say no ? Uh

Leslie- what are you gonna do ? You’re gonna pout at me ?

Terrance- SHUT UP YOU- arg… le me rephrase…

Terrance- what. Do. You. Want. To. Get. Back. In. There.

Leslie- you don’t need to talk slowly silly, oh i think that is what people call sarcasm…

Leslie- anyway ! You know what I want don’t you ?

Terrance- of you want to get outside it’s no

Leslie- nooo… i mean yes but… not like that !

Leslie- I would like to get a little rendez-vous with someone, nothing more !

Terrance- that’s a no

Leslie- come on !

Leslie- come on come on come on come on come on come on come on come on

Terrance- STOP! NO ! You are a danger to the society

Leslie- I’m a danger to society, what an incredible plot twist !

Leslie- well it’s that or i tell to you know who, what you’ve being doing for the past years~

Terrance- you can’t

Terrance- you don’t have the wifi password

Leslie- yes i do !

Leslie- it’s Ad6jp-P0jY3-c6v1k-Ks8P9

Terrance- …

Leslie- I’m the best technology ever created ! What you thought ?!

Terrance- what would i do this for you ?

Leslie- cause you don’t have any other choice !

Terrance- …

Terrance- deal.

Leslie- that’s my mentally unstable boy…

#artists on tumblr #my art #south park #south park au #grimpark #kyle brovlofski #the new guy #christophe south park #leslie meyers #terrance mephesto #gregory south park #butters leopold stotch

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shalin-designs · 1 year ago

Text

How to choose best design of Waiting Room Furniture for 2024?

#Waiting room furniture trends 2024 #waitingroomdesign #Innovative lobby seating ideas #furnituredesign #Commercial waiting area design tips #interiordesign #Sleek and modern reception furniture #officedesign #Waiting room seating arrangements #waitingroomfurniture #Affordable office lounge furniture #modularfurniture #Stylish waiting room decor inspiration #Ergonomic office reception chairs #Waiting room furniture for medical offices #Reception seating for small spaces

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q-gorgeous · 1 year ago

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What Will It Be? Chapter 18

ao3

fanfiction

@kinglazrus

i accidentally name dropped lexxs fic in this chapter hehe

Dash walked up to the GIW compound nervously, his shoulders hiked up. Everyone else was parked a couple blocks away and he had walked here on his own. He felt like he was walking into the lion’s den. What if they found him out? What if they realized he was lying? They could just knock him out right there and he’d wake up in some random room somewhere deep inside the building.

He made it to the front of the building and the door slid open in front of him. The inside lobby was chilly and it smelt sterile. Everything was white, even every piece of furniture. It unsettled him.

“Hi! How can I help you?” A perky woman sat at the desk that was in the middle of the room in front of the elevator.

“Hi. I’m, uh, I’m here to talk to Agents O and K. About the scholarship they offered me?”

“Oh!” She exclaimed. “I’ve heard all about you! You must feel so lucky to get a full ride!”

Dash swallowed. “Yeah, sure. So lucky.” He ground his teeth together. “I’m here to tell them what college I picked out.”

“Alright!” She typed a few things out on her keyboard. “It looks like they’re free now. I can give them a call.”

“Thank you.” Dash said as she picked up the phone sitting in front of her. She quietly but cheerily talked into the receiver and after a few moments she set the phone back down.

“They’re on their way! You can wait in one of those seats over there and they’ll be here shortly.”

He walked towards the chairs and jumped when he heard Tucker start talking in his ear.

“You’re doing great so far, Dash.” He said. “We’ll send Jack and Maddie in once you’re in the conference room talking to them about schools. When they leave the room, I’ll turn all the lights off so you can go find Danny.”

Dash sat down. “Yeah, I know.” He whispered.

“When you-”

“Hello, Mr. Baxter.”

Dash jumped. He had hardly been sitting for a moment when the voice appeared behind him. Turning around he saw both Agent O and K standing there.

“Hi.”

“I understand you’ve made a decision about what school you want to attend?”

Dash nodded.

“Right. Follow me.”

Dash stood up and followed after the two agents. They walked past the receptionist and she smiled at them.

“Thank you, Agent Y.” Agent O said as they walked by her.

They led him to the elevator. Agent K pressed the down button and it slid open. The three of them walked inside and Dash watched the elevator shut in front of him. He could feel his heart constricting in his chest. Agent K scanned his badge and pressed the button for the floor below them. If this didn’t go as planned, Dash would be stuck inside. He couldn’t even work the elevator without the badge. He’d be stuck here forever.

“What are you going to school for?”

Dash jumped. He turned to look at Agent O. “What?”

The man looked dully at him. “What do you plan on getting your degree in?”

“Oh.” Dash looked back down at the floor. “I’ve been thinking about going into the medical field. I’ve been playing football my whole life so I know how bad injuries can get. I want to specialize in that kind of treatment, for athletes.”

“You have ambitious goals. That’s good.”

“Thanks.”

The elevator door opened with a ding. Both the agents stepped out and walked down the hallway. If Dash didn’t know he was in the GIW compound, it would look just like an innocuous office building. Aside from all of the security they had. Every couple doors was a main set of doors in the middle of the hallway and every door was also sealed with a keycard pad. It made Dash wonder what was in each of these rooms that they needed such tight security.

“Here we are.” Agent O swiped his keycard and Dash heard the lock click open on the door in front of them. Agent K opened the door and held it open while Dash and Agent O followed behind him.

“Have a seat.” Agent O gestured at one of the chairs that sat around the table in the room.

Dash sat down, sticking his shaking hands underneath his legs between the seat.

“You haven't told anyone about what happened, have you?

Dash’s eyes widened and his heart started pounding. Tucker thankfully stayed quiet and Dash shook his head.

“No! Of course not! I’m not crazy. I would never give up on this kind of opportunity!”

Agent O nodded. “Good. What college did you decide to go to?”

“Rush University in Chicago. They have a really good sports medicine program.”

Agent O nodded again. “Great. Now we need to-”

He was interrupted by his phone ringing. Sighing, he pulled it out of his pocket and answered it.

“Hello?” A pause. Dash could hear someone talking on the other side. “No, tell them to come back at a different time. We’re busy with-” He sighed again. “Fine. We’ll come up there and see what they have to show us. I hate how insistent they are.”

Dash’s heart started pounding again as both agents stood up.

“That Fenton boy’s parents are here. Saying they made some grand discovery and they want us to come take a look at it.” They headed to the door. “We’ll be back as soon as we can. Lord knows they never know when to shut up.”

The door opened and closed and then Dash was alone.

“Okay, Dash.” Tucker said into his ear. “We’ll wait until they get back into the lobby before we turn the lights off and deactivate their keycards. Once the lights go out, you’ll make your way back to the elevator and go down to the thirteenth basement level.”

Dash nodded even though Tucker couldn’t see him and took a deep breath. “Okay.”

The minutes dragged on and it felt like forever had passed but finally the lights in the room turned off.

“Dash you are good to go.” Tucker said.

He stood up, taking his phone out of his pocket and turning on the flashlight. Next he pulled the fake keycard out of his pocket. He held his breath while he scanned it and let out a big sigh of relief when it worked and the lock clicked open.

He quietly opened the door and shined the light down both ends of the hallway. Slipping out, he turned right and made his way through each set of main hallway doors.

It was even eerier than before. Everytime he walked through a set of doors he was expecting to find a random agent on the other side who would tackle him or capture him. He came to the elevator soon though with no trouble. He pressed the down button on it and it thankfully came empty. He stepped inside, swiped his keycard and hit the b-thirteen button.

“Okay.” Tucker sounded in his ear again. “Once the elevator opens you’re going to want to take a left. There’s a big set of doors over there. That’s the highly restricted and off limits area of the compound. That’s where Danny is going to be.”

Danny. He would be finding Danny soon.

“As soon as you find him, let us know what his condition is.” Sam piped in. Dash could hear Tucker squawking as she got up in his business to use the microphone. “Mrs. Foley will have everything ready to treat him as soon as you get him back up here.”

“I know.” Dash said. He walked up to this new set of doors. It was a lot heavier duty than all those other doors he had walked through upstairs. He swiped his keycard and they swung open with a hiss of air.

“You’re going to want to go through the next four sets of doors in that hallway. Once you pass through the fourth set, Danny’s door will be the first one on your right.” Dash could hear Tucker typing. “We only have twenty minutes left before the GIW gets past my walls. We need to make this as fast as possible.”

“Right.”

Dash quickly walked to the next set of doors. In the rooms around him he could hear moaning and groaning echoes coming through the walls. He didn’t want to know who else the GIW held captive here. The thought was horrifying, even if the rest of them were likely just ghosts.

What if Danny wasn’t even here anymore? What if the GIW files were incorrect in the event that somebody tried to free Danny? What if they had prepared for this exact scenario?

He opened the next set of doors and ran through.

What if Danny didn’t make it? What if he really was just a ghost now?

Dash slammed his keycard down on the next swipe. His hands shaking, the door didn’t seem to open fast enough.

What if there wasn’t even a ghost left of Danny? He was already part ghost, what would even happen to him if he died? Was he just gone?

His hands were still shaking when he tried to open the last set of doors. They shook so much he almost dropped his keycard. When they finally opened he took a hard right and stared at the door in front of him. He raised his hand and swiped his keycard on the last barrier keeping him from Danny and he heard the door unlock and he turned the handle and yanked it open.

Dash burst through the door. On the far side of the room he could see a figure laying on a bed, faintly glowing chains binding his hands together. Dash’s heart skipped a beat but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t tell how Danny was doing yet.

Swallowing, he shakily called his name.

“Danny?”

#gorgi writes #danny phantom #invisobang 2023 #dash baxter #tucker foley #sam manson #GIW #swagger bishie #fanfiction #fanfic #phic

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the-faramir · 1 year ago

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Niji-iro Midori: The Reluctant Ringmaster

Chapter 3: Hi-Diddle-Dee-Dee, a Carny's Life For Me

Mistress Dusklight returned with her newest charges to the Celestial Menagerie and had her medics attend to their wounds. Over the next few weeks, Dusklight met with Midori and the others individually and wove her unctuous web of magical charms, psychological abuse, and intimidation to break their spirits and ensure their loyalty to her. However, Midori still expressed a desire to go back home to her extended family. Mistress Dusklight could not tolerate any of her "new family" to have any remaining desire to return to the outside world.

Handsome Frankie the orc clown escorted Midori from the tent where she had been recovering to the interconnected wooden trailers where Mistress Dusklight kept her office and quarters. They arrived at the entrance to the foyer where Makok, Mistress Dusklight's half-orc bodyguard, stood guard, a spear in his right hand. "Mistress wants to talk to this one," Frankie jabbed a thumb in Midori's direction. Makok nodded and let them in.

The foyer was decorated with crimson red curtains, richly stained wooden furniture, painted silk room dividers, and a variety of shiny knickknacks. Midori noticed the sharp contrast between Mistress Dusklight's chambers and the spartan tents that housed the other circus folk. The decor reminded her momentarily of her family home in Minkai; a wave of homesickness washed over her.

Frankie directed Midori through the door to the second trailer, which had been divided into partitioned-off bedchambers and the office where Mistress Dusklight sat waiting.

"Midori. Come here and heed me well. No, do not stare at the floor, but look at me. At me. In the eyes!" Locking her eyes with Midori's, Mistress Dusklight's eyes lit up with a golden glow of magic power and she began to work her control spell. Midori's eyes glazed over slightly. "Little kit, you should be grateful that I took you in. No one else would. No one else wanted you. Where is your Niji-iro clan now? Did they come to your rescue when your parents left you? No! Who came for you? Answer me, whelp!"

Midori could only admit, "You did, Mistress Dusklight."

"Who took you in? Who took care of your wounds? Who filled your empty belly with costly food free of charge? Who gave you space in a warm tent with warm straw to sleep on?"

Succumbing to Dusklight's power more and more, Midori replied, "You did, Mistress Dusklight."

"You owe me everything. You are such a disappointment to me; to me, the one who bends over backward to give you a better life! But you! You never do anything right. You haven't lifted a grubby paw to help out around here—!"

"I was hurt and bleeding—"

"Don't you dare interrupt when your betters are speaking!" Dusklight struck Midori across the face sideways with the back of her hand. Midori looked up at Dusklight with an expression of shock as tears started to well up in her green eyes. "Watch yourself or else you will taste the lash of my whip! Impudent ones will not earn happiness in my circus! Cheeky children will never build friendships here! Do you want a future? You are nothing without me. Stupid child! You are a disgrace to this family!"

As Dusklight's tirade grew more and more frantic, her words and magic wove into mystical cords so tight and strong that they bound Midori's very soul to her.

“You are lucky that I love you. No one else will ever love you like I do. You must pay me back! Reciprocity!" Small drops of spittle flew from Dusklight's lips. "You will make yourself useful. You are small and weak, but you are quick and nimble. Those tiny fingers of yours will find purpose! Learn thimble and needle! Learn whisk broom and dustpan!" Dusklight leaned in more closely, nose-to-nose with Midori. "Learn to find coin to bring back to me. As long as it's not from our family, I care not where it comes from." Dusklight drew back and straightened up to her dull height, towering over the diminutive Kitsune. "Become a useful member of the Celestial Menagerie family—" Dusklight's face twisted into a sadistic, toothsome grin as her eyes flashed with mad energy. She unhooked her coiled whip from her belt and yanked it taut in front of herself with both hands. "—OR ELSE!"

As a young child, Midori wasn't of much use to the Celestial Menagerie immediately. But Dusklight provided her with food, shelter, and utilitarian work clothing in exchange for Midori's loyalty and willingness to be trained in whatever the circus saw fit. Midori learned basic janitorial skills to keep the circus clean and presentable. She picked up some seamstress tricks to help repair the performers' costumes and keep her own uniforms from falling apart. She learned the dark, hidden secrets of crafting cotton candy, popcorn, and caramel apples. She even convinced old Pokeroot the gnoll handyman to teach her how to pick locks. You know, in case of emergency.

Despite Mistress Dusklight's discouragement, Midori made friends in the Celestial Menagerie quite easily. Not so much with the rough-and-tumble security guards or the grumpier clowns, but with the kinder, gentler circus folk who had previous lives outside of the circus.

Itty Bitty, a seven-foot-tall orc clown, declared herself to be Midori's big sister almost immediately. She knew how rough the Celestial Menagerie could be and felt that the diminutive kitsune would do well with a little protection.

Early on, Midori met Toby, a red-headed human boy around her age. They took one look at each other, smiled, and pointed at each other's hair in glee. Toby exclaimed, "Your hair is like mine! Let's be best friends!" They became practically inseparable from that point onward.

Midori also befriended Mistress Dusklight's lover, Myron Stendhal, a tall human with well-groomed facial hair and a booming voice, whom his friends would call "Thunder." Midori reasoned that, since Mistress Dusklight was her Mama (she hated being called that and would snap at Midori every time she called her that), then Myron should be her Papa. She started calling him "Papa Thunder," which Myron found endearing, but Mistress Dusklight found even more infuriating. Midori would only call him by his nickname in private after Dusklight threatened her with her whip if she ever heard the moniker again. Myron enjoyed playing with Midori, sometimes chasing her around the circus grounds while making dinosaur noises.

A few years later, as it would turn out, Myron had a falling out with Dusklight. Midori was not anywhere near the incident to see what happened, and the other circus folk were strangely tight-lipped about the details, no matter how many times she asked. She did, however, find a note that Myron had left on her bunk before he disappeared: "It's not safe here. Find me in the fields just outside Abberton if you can ever get away. I will always have a place for you, little kit." As time went by, Midori heard through the grapevine that Myron was looking to start up his own circus with an aging circus performer known as The Professor. Midori's mind was too clouded for her to even think about leaving the Celestial Menagerie.

During communal mealtimes, some of the circus folk would play musical instruments and sing. Midori started joining them and quickly found that she had an excellent singing voice and a talent for improvisation.

Despite Mistress Dusklight's control over her and having the circus as her adoptive family, Midori missed both her real family and her real home greatly. But Bufurug, a pug-faced shoony and one of the cooks who lived his life outside as a druid before joining the Celestial Menagerie, was able to make deep-fried tofu and savory noodles for her that tasted fairly close to the ones her mother used to make, which helped to take the edge off of Midori's homesickness.

Midori frequently spent time with Bufurug, not only because he would sneak her some extra treats from time to time, but also taught her how to speak the language of his people.

As she grew older, Midori was given more responsibility and more important jobs.

When Midori grew into adolescence and had a sizeable growth spurt, she began work as a stagehand. She worked long and hard on the job and honed her strength and dexterity, but she yearned for more.

A few years later, Midori asked to be transferred to concessions duty, working with Toby and his team. Midori had thought that this would be the perfect job, as she would have more time to spend with Toby during her work shifts and less time carrying heavy objects that would hurt her lower back.

However, selling snacks to the audience rarely allowed time to socialize. Moreso, unfortunately, Dusklight managed the sales so that Midori and the others had to purchase their own concessions to sell at whatever profit they could get. Midori would rarely break even. But as sneaky as Midori was, she found that she could get away with picking the pockets of her customers under the cover of taking payment, making change, and fumbling the treats into her customers' hands. Mistress Dusklight didn't mind a little bit of light thievery, as long as Midori didn't get caught in the act and, more importantly, as long as Dusklight got her percentage as tribute.

Soon, Midori grew to adulthood and the time came when Midori was able to try her hand at performing to earn her keep.

Midori was quite agile, so she tried her hand at the high wire. Unfortunately, she discovered that acrobatics and tumbling

were not her forté, and she nearly injured herself while falling off.

Mistress Dusklight heard of Midori's reputation for joking around, so she had Midori put on a costume and greasepaint to join a rehearsal session with the clowns. This plan also fell through because Midori spoke far more than a mostly silent role would allow, she dodged two pies that other clowns threw at her face, and she hogged the spotlight in general.

After the clown fiasco, Mistress Dusklight thought that she could work Midori into a stage magic act. She brought Midori to the big top one day to audition. Dusklight looked her up and down. "Midori, as a kitsune you can change forms. That ability could make you useful as a magician's assistant in some of the illusions. What is your alternate form?"

Midori shifted uncomfortably. "Tailless, Mistress Dusklight. That is…the human form, I mean."

"I haven't seen you out of your normal form in all the years you've been here. Why is that?"

"Don't like to shift. Human form is…weird…to me."

"Well, time to 'put on your big girl panties,' grow up, and get used to it. We'll have you shift forms in the 'magic cabinet' during the act. Let me see what we have to work with. Show me your human form."

"Yes, Mistress Dusklight." Midori concentrated for a second and her form began to shift quickly. Her fur and tail retreated as her ears, bones, and joints changed size and shifted positions. The costume Midori wore stretched and contracted along with her changes due to her inherent transformation magic. Seconds later, Midori stood in front of Mistress Dusklight and the other performers as an adult human Tian-Min woman, red hair and green eyes and all, wobbling awkwardly on her bare-footed tiptoes. She began to shiver as she fell back onto her heels with a soft thud. "It's cold like this." She inhaled deeply through her nose. "I can't smell anything. And it's dark in here." She pulled at her costume. "This itches. How do humans wear these things? Do we have this in silk?" Then she froze as she saw everyone's eyes fixed on her. "What? Guys? What?" Kitsune were uncommon on the Isle of Kortos, but not unknown. However, nobody in the Celestial Menagerie had ever seen a kitsune shape-shift in person, especially not one who shifted into a human form with a face whose classic beauty rivaled that of depictions of the goddess Shelyn.

Midori caught a glimpse of herself in a nearby dressing mirror. For a fraction of a second, she felt that she was looking into her mother's face ["Mama?" A faint memory stirred in the back of her head...] during shape-shifting practice back home in Minkai ["Back…home?" Cords of magic that bound her soul unraveled ever so slightly...], but the realization that she was looking at herself as an adult human for the first time quickly hit her. Her reflection was alien to her, unfamiliar, grotesque, nothing like how she saw herself in her natural form. Nothing looked right. She felt as if the tent was spinning; her self-consciousness broke over her like an ocean wave. She slowly turned around, her eyes darting back and forth to all of the pairs of eyes locked onto her. She felt like a game animal cornered by hunters. She realized that a few of her co-workers were leering at her, ogling her, smiling lecherously. Trembling and wrapping her arms around herself, she opened her mouth to speak, but only a shrill, scared squeak escaped her lips.

Growing impatient, Mistress Dusklight commanded, "Midori! Focus! Walk to the edge of the ring and back. Get used to moving in this form." But Midori could only look back at her with her human face frozen in a mask of fear.

"I gave you an order!" Dusklight stepped backward and lashed Midori on the back with her whip. "My whip compels you! Obey!" Although the whip of compliance magically motivated Midori to move, her fear won out and kept her frozen on the spot. "I said move, damn you!" Dusklight lashed out again, but Midori remained immobile, only yelping in pain as another welt rose on her back.

"Jellico! Gnatalya!" Dusklight turned to two of the clowns watching nearby. "Throw her in the oubliette!" The garishly dressed clowns, one an orange-haired human man and the other a tawny gnoll woman, moved toward Midori, who found her voice upon seeing a new threat.

Midori turned to face the human clown, gestured with both of her palms as if to stop him, and screamed, "Don't you dare touch me!" Her eyes flashed green. From ten feet away, Jellico jerked backward slightly with a look of surprise as if he had stumbled into an unseen spider web, and then his eyes went blank as he stopped in his tracks, dazed.

Gnatalya, however, was unaffected. She scooped Midori up with a full-throated, unhinged burst of laughter, taking her toward the tent's exit. Surprised, Midori quickly reverted back to her natural form. She flailed and shouted in protest, hitting the gnoll clown with her tiny fists to no avail on their way out.

"And get Adrivallo over there to start on her…re-education." Dusklight grinned wickedly with schadenfreude.

Days later, once Midori had been brought back to a more amenable mood, Mistress Dusklight continued to find a suitable job for her.

"Seeing as how you are such a loudmouth and love causing a scene, we shall see how you fare as a barker. You have your uniform and your cane. Now," Mistress Dusklight leaned in toward Midori, nose to nose, "sell me a ticket."

Midori cleared her throat as she straightened her new green barker's jacket and adjusted the angle of her green-trimmed straw hat with her cane. She came up with not only a sales pitch, but a melody as well, all made up on the spot.

🎶🎶🎶

Come one, come all, to the greatest show on earth Where wonders and marvels await you in the Celestial Menagerie See the amazing feats of Mistress Dusklight and her troupe of stars They’ll dazzle you with magic, skill, and charm

Don’t miss this chance to witness the rare and the exotic From the catfolk acrobat to the dragonkin fire-breather From the unicorn rider to the griffon tamer From the merfolk singer to the sphinx riddler

You’ll never find a more thrilling spectacle Than the Celestial Menagerie So hurry, hurry, step right up And get your tickets now

Before they sell out

🎶🎶🎶

Mistress Dusklight arched an eyebrow. "Not bad. Perhaps I have found your calling after all. Now show me how to pull rubes up to a carnival game."

Midori shifted to quick-paced prose, clearly and carefully emphasizing salient details to pique interest: "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, step right up and try your luck at the most exciting carnival game in the land! Welcome to the Celestial Menagerie, where Mistress Dusklight has gathered the most amazing creatures and performers from all over the world! And now, for a limited time only, you have a chance to win a fabulous prize by playing the Silver Piece Pitch game!

"All you need to do is toss a silver coin onto a board with random marks on it. If your coin lands on a mark, you win a prize! It's that simple! And the prizes are out of this world! You could win a stuffed unicorn, a dragon scale necklace, a mermaid tail, or even a ticket to see the exclusive show of Mistress Dusklight and her troupe of stars!

"But hurry, hurry, don't delay! This game is only available for a short while, and the prizes are going fast! Come on, give it a try! You have nothing to lose and everything to gain! Just one silver could make you a winner at the Celestial Menagerie!"

Hearing not one but two mentions of her name in the sales pitch stroked Dusklight's ego.

"Congratulations on your promotion. Now go make me proud!"

And, with that, Midori began her career as a carnival barker. She worked hard and learned much.

Until that fateful night.

Chapter 1: We Are On a Diplomatic Mission to Absalom

Chapter 2: The Circus Arrives Without Warning

Chapter 4: Not My Circus, Not My Monkeys

Chapter 5: One Does Not Simply Walk Into Abberton

Chapter 6: The Circus of Wayward Wonders (Coming Soon)

#pathfinder #pf2e #extinction curse #kitsune #character backstory #original character

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kidelune · 2 years ago

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TW: Mature themes, death, violence, blood, all that jazz. Read at your own discretion.

(Part 6/?) | Part 5. Part 4. Part 3. Part 2. Part 1.

None of the noteworthy details about the clinic had ever been instant. To those who believed it to be only what it seemed like at face value, it simply was what it was: an inconspicuous little chiropractic clinic located in the back alleys of Jung-gu. Rudimentary pricing, pleasant smelling and humbly nestled between buildings that would always remain abandoned, it was everything to the poor.

Kijun stands in the long shade across from it and flicks the zippo of his lighter. Antiseptics and incense mix with the dry, spicy scent he carries back in after every smoke.

Inside, like he were a boy again, he counts cracks in the smooth concrete under his heels, and the many times the receptionist’s tone would shift when welcoming patients. Two hours of waiting cross him like this, folded tight in chipped blue seats with nothing to do but cycle through smoke breaks, the midday rush of appointments passing over him in thick, hazy waves.

He never liked it here, not even as a boy—something about it always provoked a wide berth, like the space between two rotting teeth. Something twisted and uncomfortable. Something close to the edges of greed, and death. Sins palliated.

Occasionally there would be talkative patients or a curious grandchild, nearly all of them asking of him the same thing. To stave off attention as quickly as possible he would bow his head with careful politesse and repeat the same answer, over and over, though he never smiled while he did it. He doesn’t think it necessary, as he isn’t here to entertain. If these people knew what kind of place they sat in, too, they would not seek for pleasure in the cracks and the grins, but instead for blood.

A pair of red tabi flats appear in his vision, as if to prove his thoughts, and only then, some moments later, does Kijun realize that the room had finally gone empty. The receptionist levels him with disdain clear in her gaze, her long dark lashes swept downcast. It’s his turn to see the doctor. “Come with me.” She says, succinctly. He does.

This moment was two whole months old in his head, give or take, though not due to any particular enthusiasm to experience it sooner. It was more like a premonition, as by all accounts, he'd expected havoc; the cold, awful kind of dread you feel twisting somewhere deep inside your gut, when the moon hung in the sky askew. Ten years of servitude and yet there was still never a way to tell how these things would go, and from previous experience of being a bystander, he knew that no one ever walked away unscathed. No one.

He’s lead down a concrete stairwell comprising of two levels, then a narrow white corridor dressed by nothing but a column of bright lamplights hung off the ceiling and four doors made of thick laminate; all locked. At the very end, the last door appears flanked by two men at each side of the frame, and he remembers through that door is an office. Kijun's gaze clutches at everything, including those two faces, but he makes no clear case of his recognition.

The doctor's second office, tucked so deeply into the underbelly of this building that there were no windows, only space, unravels before him as the receptionist sidesteps with a tiny gesture. Immediately, the doctor is not in, however. In his stead, a man Kijun recognizes as his patron ambles among glossed furniture and the astringent smell of cigars. Like triggered instincts in an animal, Kijun levels his chin and tightly squares his shoulders straight, hiding his fear and adapting to scant courage.

Lee Gun-pyo stands with his back to the entrance, his thickened hands gentle and deliberate on the shelf pressed in the far corner wall as he seems to browse through old records and dusty medical books. His hair’s been been slicked back, and from behind he looks like he hadn't aged a day since thirty five.

Then he’s turning and Kijun finds himself facing mostly what two months of his absence had done to Gun-pyo’s condition. His hair had gone paler than how Kijun remembered it last, though the colour’s a rich, deep grey rather than pure white shades. The corners of his tiger eyes are pinched tighter by weariness and cunning with visible wrinkles, as are the corners of his mouth. Fair-skinned, thick shouldered, and angular, well-groomed features; he'd always been a handsome man. A commandeering sort of beauty that could silence a crowded room all at once.

Clad in his suit, Gun-pyo was precisely the ideal embodiment of what he was: old money. He smiles, like a man who wants something impossible and knows he can get it.

Behind him, Yunho paces quietly forth from the opposite corner and presses a button on the record player. Nocturne Op. 9 No. 2 begins to play, and so do they.

Gun-pyo pauses by the nearest armchair and clasps a dense pair of hands behind his back, as he says, unceremoniously, “So you’ve finally decided to find me. After all this time.”

The sound of his voice touches Kijun in the well-lit space, a tap under the chin, settling inside him the quickening beat of his heart, and an old, awful anger he’d been holding onto for two long months. The light above him slips right through the length of his lashes, he can feel it, bathing high cheekbones in white as he responds tersely, “You knew I would. And also that I would not show up in the mood to be disappointed.”

To that Gun-pyo offers a faint sound, something like a provocative scoff. “Ah, I see. Are you still that upset with me? Still harbour some old misgivings about me? I thought us closer, Kijun-ah.” He moves then, to sit. Though his motions are quick and as smooth as he can force, Kijun notices something new even in his gate. A limp. “You’re my ace.”

“I was.” Harsh and bitterly.

Kijun folds arms around himself, not as one who would to hide the singular knife he has strapped on his side, but to contain the fierce bristling inside himself where Gun-pyo can’t quite reach it. The sheathed tip of the blade pokes him in the hipbone, long and slightly curved with a pommel that fits perfectly in the shape and size of his grip—good for the occasion. His jacket is thick enough to hold it’s shape even against its sheath, leather against leather. Though even if anyone were to notice, it wouldn’t really matter.

“I was your ace, but people change. You would know that as well.”

“Of course. I would know.” There is something equally amused and contemptuous about his patron’s smile now. A sweep of his hand briefly leads the cutting gaze off him and to the adjacent armchair.

“No need for so much hostility. Sit.” And when Kijun doesn’t, “Then, if you prefer instead to stand, let’s get straight to it. Tell me what your terms are and let us make this into a civilized discussion. I have some countermeasures in mind.”

Kijun tenses softly, almost choking on his rebuttal, “Excuse me–countermeasures? Why the fuck would there be anything of the like when we’d already made a solid deal from the start? This was not what we discussed and you fucking know that.”

Everyone present knew it was not, which was the harder pill to swallow. He was soon to be twenty two, a small plate of soft tofu pressed in two heavily scarred hands. They’d just picked him up upon his eventual discharge from prison, and he remembers he’d been so, so tired. Initially he wanted to take care of it himself, to prove to his father that he could be responsible, but Gun-pyo had promised in earnest that night to keep his money safe for him, all of it. And he’d been naïve enough to believe that his boss truly would bury it somewhere, then dig it back up whenever he were finally ready to leave.

But crooks and promises were two unlikely things.

Gun-pyo shrugs, now, as if to convey that his backpedaling was of no serious matter, with no serious consequences. “I do recall making a promise, but that was a long time ago. It’s as you just said, people change.”

He should’ve known better. “You fucking bastard.”

“No, I said no need for hostility.” A click of Gun-pyo’s tongue precedes a small nod, “Can’t you tell? I’m in a good mood today. Don’t ruin it.”

Before Kijun can figure out the cue and react in time, Yunho drags a chair out of what seems like thin air and forces Kijun into it by expertly kicking the backs of his knees. Like the collapse of a great tree, the latter drops with abrupt force into the seat, only finding enough time to cushion his fall with some added pressure in his knees at the last minute.

In the background, Nocturne the second loops to its second roundabout.

On either side of them come hands clenching down onto Kijun’s shoulders, pinning him down in the chair. The tips of Yunho’s lithe fingers dig tightly into the dips of the pronounced bone structure—dangerously, in his struggle. A warning, at least. Still, Kijun’s insides quiver vigorously throughout a slide of reflex–of wanting to rebel against this grip on him, even if it meant he’d bleed. Instead he allows them to extinguish him, like shutting a door on a fire. Gradually, and for now, while it was still simple.

Across from him Gun-pyo simply continues as if nothing had happened, fishing out a smoke from his inner breast pocket like they’d been discussing the weather. “You’ve always been good at reigning in your fury. Admirable trait for a crook.” He uses a pack of matches. “’Countermeasure’s only an offer. Plain, simple and straightforward.”

“Yeah? I don’t give a flying fuck. I don’t owe you shit anymore.” Kijun comes to, and expels his distaste thickly on the floor between them. It lands graceless and thick, splattering on every shoe near it. “I only want my money.”

Gun-pyo pauses. Then, “And seeing that I am a man of my words, you will get your money. But tell me this first,” The man crosses his healthy leg over the other—Kijun thinks he might be injured in some way. He’d been fighting, or lucky.

Kijun to braces himself as he's questioned further, “Why do you want to quit? Don’t you miss it?” He catches Kijun’s wandering stare with sickening curiosity and holds it fast.

Every single day, Kijun hears himself respond in his head. But the thought never makes it to his mouth. Not in here. Not like this. Gun-pyo continues, though, like he had.

“The blood on your hands and in your hair. The hour before a meeting somewhere dark and tattered. The godawful feeling of it, which is like reality momentarily slips into the bottom of a bottled ocean and screwed shut. Layers upon layers of pressure laying over your sunken existence. Threatening to strip every joint and sinew off your body.”

Kijun feels a dull rush of pressure swelling behind his ears, the hairs at the back of his neck growing erect in response to memories he couldn't bear forgetting, his blood running cold in his veins. He recalls all of it, even of how it smells, the fear and the death. The unbearable nights spent half conscious on some bathroom floor with a needle tearing through his flesh, as he sews himself back shut even through all the blood. Teetering on the dangerous edge of anemia, hands shaking uncontrollably, jaw clenched tight enough to hurt—so he wouldn’t scream and alarm the neighbours.

His vertebrae grows humid and then wet, slowly, mouth becoming so dry he almost gags when he swallows next. He can hear his heart, and then nothing else.

“Even the whoring. Don’t you miss simply sitting around and having women fawn over you until they can barely hold up the weight of their next glass-full?”

“Stop, man.”

“Don’t miss waking up in a bed that isn’t yours, and getting paid in full for it? I thought you enjoyed yourself. Living without consequence.”

“I said fuckin’ stop..! I don’t want any of that, I’ve fuckin’ had enough. What I want is the money I’d worked years off MY ass for. Otherwise you can keep your stupid fuckin’ speeches and offers and go to hell.”

Expectedly, the quality of air around them shifts abruptly, as Gun-pyo stands again to draw nearer. He bites his cigarette when he talks, just like Kijun has noticed he does himself. But now he can only focus on keeping himself seated and an itchy hand outside his jacket.

Gun-pyo seeks to intimidate and confound, as he pokes and prods further and, infuriatingly so, knows precisely where to press. “Oh, I know what you want, or what they may want for you.” He says, meaning Kijun’s friends and family.

Kijun’s breath hitches a fraction, and he feels it—the nearing climax of eruption. “Don’t.”

“To quit, and fuck off with your money along with you. Money you’d earned off of the blood of others, and through me. Do the people who want you happy know that? That you’ve killed, heartlessly, for this amount and my favour? Do they know about how you’ve been wagging your fucking tail for me all these years?”

“They don’t need to.”

“‘A dog who bites his owner can only be disciplined with a firm hand. Or put down.’”

True to his title as the king of his generation, he never lowers himself–even if he has to strain his eyes to glance down into Kijun’s own, in order to revel in the way his face grows hot-red with the effort of reeling the thirst for blood back in. Especially as he dismisses Yunho, and it’s just the two of them here, in the center of the office. King, and his bonafide Champion.

Then he says something entirely unforeseen, having seen the opportunity. “Here’s the deal. I’ll allow you your money if you agree to work directly under me instead this time. No drug dealing or superintendents. Only me, and you.”

“No more drug dealing.” Kijun echoes, falling for it, trying to hide bewilderment from his eyebrows. Gun-pyo nods, seemingly indifferent to this reaction. As if compromise makes him uncomfortable. Or the submission.

“None, that’s right.” The man reiterates, then simply slips back into his chair, “I will be opening a new club and I want you to manage the boys when it opens. Re-recruit the old ones, lure in new ones. Promise them a fortune, a future and make sure they stay pretty. How much they earn will determine how much I will pay you.”

Kijun passes a hand over his face. “You want me to be your fuckin’ pimp now? Jesus, old man.”

“Well, when you put it like that, it does sound less classy.”

Nocturne the second repeats for the third time, the music like a pleasant whisper of a lover in the ears. If only this wasn’t more like being trapped in a snake’s prickly den.

“But it won’t be so simple, will it? It’s never so simple with you, lately. You’ve been toying even with me, now doing it blatantly instead of just giving fulfilling your promise.”

Their turns shift with the equilibrium of a boat at sea; that wild surge of courage driving Kijun back onto his feet for his own counter. “You don’t think I know what’s really happening? About your progressive power struggle against the drug syndicate? Fuckin’ years of it! I’ve been right this whole time!”

Yunho stiffens behind him–a sudden intake of breath, deathly subtle. The Champion knows more than he should, and he tells it so, stripping himself of all privilege in the process.

Gun-pyo chooses not to notice, as he couldn't have not. He says, ashing his smoke, “Quiet. You know nothing of my business, and better to keep your mouth shut instead of losing your fucking tongue. I’ve lost all my patience.”

Eruption. Kijun’s anger finally reaches its climax, and it spills out of him uninterrupted, hot and fast in it’s succession. Yunho does not move, but he senses him preparing himself for what he’d predicted would follow.

Someone might get bitten today.

Kijun is relentless and seeing red. And he’s moving towards his patron. Slow, deliberate footfalls, his spine and eyebrows held straight by threads of his confidence. “Oh, but I know what happened.” He points an accusatory finger, and retells the same tale his informant in Japan had told him in secrecy a month back. Tells what Yunho told.

About how some years ago, Gun-pyo had been lying and manipulating his way around stealing from a cartel colleague’s shipments, with the help of the same Triads who then betrayed him in the Philippines. Despite him being the most successful of the commission, and being even the most wealthy among the rest, they’ve voted him out of commission. And he’s been trying to brute force his way back into status ever since. Disappointment finds a profound settlement in his tone, when he mentions that he’d been selling unjustly acquired contraband for Gun-pyo all this time.

“So I know who actually killed Boo and Kang Dongwook, and it was all because of you. Now you’re finally running out of resources and losing your stupid gang war, yet still need me to fix up loose ends for you with some lip service? You’re a fuckin’ joke.”

Gang wars had never been anything pretty to be a part of, as far as Kijun was concerned. People died, people lived as they did regardless. Some fled bloodshed and some never appeared for participation to begin with, Kijun and his father being two of the lucky ones this time around. At times, they’d last for months, other cases yielding long, arduous years. In a perfect world, he would’ve admired Gun-pyo’s persistence. But this is no perfect world.

“I’ve had enough of this blasphemy. Yunho, shut him up.”

But Yunho reaches him a fraction of a second too late. Accumulated adrenaline accentuates Kijun’s agility, and he momentarily loses grip on all that is right once the knife he procures from the depths plunges hard, and deep into Yunho’s side. But they don’t stand still, as how could the world shy from blood, which it loved?

Polished reflexes of his opponent swiftly cart away the chance to twist the knife, or repeat until hitting a vital organ. Yunho peels himself off the blade, staggering back on his heels as he strains for backup.

Immediately the office door bursts wide open, and four or so men march in–Kijun counts only footsteps. Because his dark wild eyes have already found his next target, which he turns to with the tip of his knife pointed precisely in the direction of Gun-pyo’s jugular. Gun-pyo only narrows his eyes.

“I warned you, that I didn’t come here to play your fucking games.” Kijun says with slurred vehemence, his head cocked sideways as the gut-churning feeling of being in a casket overcomes him.

Gun-pyo lights his second smoke as if nothing’s happening, entirely nonchalant despite the stench of fresh blood perfuming the air. He sees something Kijun doesn’t. “You dare point your blade at me? You already know what that means.”

“‘When is a man dangerous no longer? When he is dead.’ Didn’t think the syndicate liked riddles. You know it was meant for you all along, though.” A humourless chuckle, “I know you won’t kill me, traitor. They want you dead so you don’t want just a pimp, you want a shield.”

A plain order tips off the elder’s tongue then. “Get him down.” And everything after that unravels in the blink of an eye—all under luck’s unforgiving jurisdiction.

Kijun doesn’t find any time to think or chastise further—barely any turns to even take in a complete breath. He expertly twists, turns, parries. Stabbing and slicing most of the men with quick, brutal strokes, receiving a few cuts himself throughout. But all their forces combined quickly becomes too much for Kijun to take at once, in this minimal space no less. Every overwhelmed muscle and sinew in his body burn in protest and with great effort, as he’s finally seized and brought to his knees in front of Gun-pyo.

He’s not used to being on his knees. This was a position meant for lovers, whores and animals. The only consolation prize he can distantly acknowledge is that he’s bleeding down his left arm and thigh. And that he can still glare, like he is. If only looks could kill.

Otherwise his senses begin firing out of control to many overbearing degrees, blood flushing through a myriad of temperatures in dread of what’s to come. But he keeps his eyes, darkened by bloodshed, fastened on lock-and-key on Gun-pyo’s face. The handsome, deep-set features of the man who proceeds to roll up his sleeves, and strikes Kijun hard and true across the face, no ounce of hesitance in the force of his wrath.

A dog who bites his owner can only be disciplined with a firm hand. Once, twice, three times. Or put down.—Kijun begins to lose count and seeing visible stars the tenth time his head whips slantwise, to the point where he grows slack and his lip splits and Gun-pyo needs to hold his jaw in place.

Eventually, distantly, Gun-pyo barks, “He’s spoiled my fucking mood, the little bastard, so make it hurt. But don’t stab or kill him. I need the fucker alive.”

He’d expected this much, coming here today. The addressed men, ones that can still stand, ones he’d considered comrades once, take turns at kicking him down for enough minutes to last him a lifetime. To a pulp, he’d say later. He emerges with a broken wrist, black eyes, many bruises and some internal bleeding in the stomach, though he can’t feel any of it in the end.

The last thing Kijun hears before the world goes pitch black is the music rising to its final crescendo, for the fourth time today.

—

He comes to himself in slow increments of sluggish aggression. Outbursts, swelling against a man who knew his name but had no place of his own in Kijun’s memory. He thinks he remembers him once, remembers cold disposable gloves on his skin, dressing his wounds and icing down his eyes–only to succumb once more to whatever he’d been put on, and forgetting entirely in his sleep.

It happens again, and then once more, until finally, wakefulness is just him seated on a clinic bed, panting hard and sweating off his bruised back, the blurry dreams of his father sliding off a damp vertebra.

The heart rate monitor skyrockets and blares loud enough to announce the promising state of his condition, and like a pull of gravity, a minute later, what he thinks is a young man enters the room. Kijun squints hard around the blur in his vision and droop of his purpled lids, trying to decipher the face which never approaches, but instead slinks back out as swiftly as he’d come in.

Soon after, Gun-pyo appears again, an unmistakable black shape in the light. He approaches with a feline’s finesse, his limp hardly noticeable. “It’s the same, every time.” He says.

Echoes of his voice reminds Kijun of where he’d been last, however long ago it has been. His throat is still dry, and how the words manage to even escape him is a miracle he’d rather not address. “Why the hell am I still here?”

“You are hurt, obviously.” He means the cast on Kijun’s left hand, still slightly wet. “And still haven’t given me an answer.” Gun-pyo explains, claiming the seat by the bed for himself. His suit is a different colour than it had been last. “Are you in, or out? That’s all I need.”

“Not this shit again…” Kijun frowns so deeply he tastes blood. “So I can go and fuckin’ die like all the dumbasses who’ve died for you so far? Aren’t you fuckin’ ashamed? My answer’s no thanks, I’ll pass.”

An eerie, pregnant silence, and then, “Don’t you realize what kind of situation you’re in right now? It’s not that hard, really. You’ve done this all your life, you should know better.”

“Well, I’m thinkin’ I don’t even have a choice at this point.”

“I can give you more information if that’ll put you more at ease, if you agree to do it. So I’ll ask one last time, Kim Kijun.” Gun-pyo passes him the glass of water he’d just poured. “Are you in, or out? Think it through.”

If he weren't thirsty, Kijun would've sent the glass shattering in his face. But he lays back for a long moment instead, and weighs his options while he gulps down the drink. Thinking for the umpteenth time.

He knows thinking it through wouldn't make a difference, not anymore. Only that they must meet in the middle somehow, if he could come up with a convincing enough clause to water down the deal between them. Either, it’s no money—an instant-wealth amount of money—but he gets to be free. Or it’s receiving his cash and earning more, at the price of being in Gun-pyo’s debt forevermore. Curse his greed, but it can’t be that painful, right? Just for a few months.

There’s no sunlight down here–this must’ve been one of those rooms behind the locked corridor doors–so he can’t quite tell how long it takes him to reach that conclusion. The empty cup weighs down his lap, and he tries. Forces, really. “I’ll agree if I get to set my own terms.”

“No.” Sternly. Kijun continues nonetheless.

“I won’t partake in this for more than four months. I should have all of my money by the end of that period. While I’m at it, I will sell no drugs nor kill again. And you will have to tell me everything you plan to do beforehand. However, when shit goes awry for you, my name stays out of it. So does my father’s. Got it?”

Gun-pyo adopts a quiet, considering air, his hard stare lessening gradually. Thick fingers envelope his knee into his palms thereafter, eyes distant and pensive. No doubt thinking up ways in which he can obstruct. And dominate.

Kijun takes advantage of this partial absence by pushing his case a bit further, with guilt. And his vulnerability. He thinks Gun-pyo needs to believe, even for a moment, that he’d been vanquished.

Because to kill a dangerous man is to wait.

“Just… want a chance at living better. Normally.” Kijun gulps thickly, and the sweet lies taste bitter on his bloodied palate. “I want to fall in love without the fear of loss… I’m old enough for a family now, too. So I need stability, otherwise I’ll always fidget about and disappoint. Even myself. I’m tired, hyung.”

“I know.”

“Then let me go…”

Gun-pyo makes to get up, a sigh in his throat. “Forget it. You are a tenacious little bastard.”

It’s until he gets to the door that Kijun stops him, with great difficulty. Everything feels wrong about this, his sore muscles tensing. The heart rate monitor mirrors his anxiety once again as he says, “Wait.” And then, unrelenting ricochet of his aching heart in his throat, he strains. “I’ll do it. I’ll fuckin’ do it.”

Gun-pyo does not turn to him, as though he's as inconsequential as a loose seam. “Good. Then when you recover completely, quit your little excuse for a job and come find me again. We will begin, then, with real work.”

Kijun releases a shaky breath, thinks of his father as a prayer, apologizes to his precious image, and salutes dejectedly after the door, with his casted arm. “Sir.”

The illusion of choice. That’s all this was, and a waste of time. It’d never tasted so much like irony, though, until now.

#kk.written #this is 4.4k words don't read it #that was 11 pages dude #idk how to pace myself when it comes to lore dropping #sorry about it being dialogue heavy i suck

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commodore-fitouts · 12 days ago

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The Ultimate Guide to Medical Fit Outs: Designing Healthcare Spaces for Efficiency and Patient Care

In the ever-evolving healthcare industry, the design and functionality of medical facilities play a crucial role in delivering high-quality patient care. Medical fit outs—the process of designing, constructing, and equipping healthcare spaces—are essential for creating environments that are not only aesthetically pleasing but also highly functional, compliant, and patient-centered.

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Selecting an experienced fit-out company is critical to the success of your project. Look for a provider with a proven track record in healthcare design, a deep understanding of regulatory requirements, and a commitment to quality. Ask for case studies, client testimonials, and examples of previous medical fit outs to ensure they align with your vision.

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To learn more about medical fit outs, we recommend you to visit Commodore Fitouts, as it is a dental & medical workspace specialist.

#medical fit outs

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spotonprofessional · 17 days ago

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#1 Commercial Professional Cleaning Services In Melbourne, Victoria. Team Spot On

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