#i might do a more exhaustive treatment of this sometime with like a brief comment on each movie | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

whumpmatsus · 3 years

Note

Do they have to be whump related? Also Ichimatsu getting a shot pls

wasn't sure if you wanted a draw or a fic, so I did both!

and yeah, any draw or fic requests you send here should probably be whump-related since this is a whump-focused blog

though if you wanna send any draw or fic/scenario/reaction/etc. requests that AREN'T whump, you can send them to my general Osomatsu-san blog at @kisskissmatsu!

enjoooooy <3

Usually Ichimatsu is the sextuplet who’s fine being left all by himself.

Being in the hospital without his family, though, is a much different story.

It started innocently enough ― with a persistent cough that was almost certainly the herald of a cold or sore throat on the horizon. As much as he hates being sick, he sort of resigned himself to it. He’s the one among his brothers who’s forever catching what happens to be going around, despite the fact that he doesn’t spend a lot of time around other people. That’s why he started wearing a face mask when he does leave the house.

It was about a week or so of sneezing, coughing, and sniffling his way through various attempts to rest. His throat felt worse than it usually did with a cold, and even more alarming was that his chest felt like it was on fire, especially when he started coughing. Even though he started having trouble breathing, he thought maybe this was just something that would linger for a bit, something that needed more sleep to recover from.

When things didn’t taper off after that, since a week was typically all it took for him to start feeling better, the others started commenting on it.

When Ichimatsu started to spend more time in the bathroom with a sink full of hot water in the hopes that the steam would help him breathe easier, and it didn’t seem to be having any effect, they all got worried.

When Karamatsu blurted out, “I secretly took Ichimatsu’s temperature with a forehead thermometer while he was sleeping and it read 39.4!”, Mom and Dad immediately carted their fourth son off to the hospital.

It figures Shittymatsu would get him into this mess, but Ichimatsu supposes that the sneaky gesture was only out of care, otherwise Karamatsu wouldn’t have spoken up about a number that concerned him.

That doesn’t mean he has to like it. After a distressing, panic-inducing few hours of waiting and a date with the X-ray machine, the doctor diagnosed him with bacterial pneumonia. That particular diagnosis ensured that he had to be admitted into the hospital under quarantine, because as the doctor explained, bacterial pneumonia is extremely contagious and potentially life-threatening, particularly to someone with a fragile immune system like Ichimatsu. They can’t send him home to infect his brothers or the rest of the community, and even though he isn’t technically immuno-compromised, his tendency to get sick easily means that it’s better for him to be here in the hospital in case things suddenly take a bad turn.

Being in here is like he’s trapped in hell and can’t get out. Because he’s in quarantine, he never sees anybody. Which would be fine normally. Feeling so poorly is a significant reason for wanting his family nearby, though… and he can’t have them.

The most they can do is visit outside his room and talk to him through the speaker system. That’s even worse, seeing them all and not being able to have any real contact with him. Right now more than anything, what he wants is a hug from his mom. God, he wants a hug from his brothers.

It’s hard to even get any rest like he’s supposed to be doing. Most of his time is spent sitting up, trying to get a sufficient breath in while he listens to various TV channels. The idol news reminds him of Choromatsu, sports statistics remind him of Jyushimatsu, game shows remind him of Osomatsu, American dramas remind him of Karamatsu, and fashion shows remind him of Totty.

Those are just distractions, because it’s still hard to breathe. He’s struggling for most of his breaths, but too deep a breath will trigger a coughing fit. Which, in turn, makes it more difficult to breathe.

It’s barely been a day since he was admitted and already he wants out of here.

His brothers visit sometime after lunch, and they spend a few hours. Eventually the nurse gently chases them out, telling them that Ichimatsu needs to try to get some rest. Shortly after that she comes into the room, rolling her little cart with the tray on it.

“How do you feel today, Ichimatsu?” she hums, pulling on a pair of gloves. “Any better than when we admitted you?”

He shakes his head and tries to answer when another series of coughs interrupts him. Although it’s hard to cover his mouth when his whole body is aching, he does his best. After all, he doesn’t want to get anyone else sick. He’s already in quarantine, so all the doctors and nurses are taking their own precautions; still, he shouldn’t just give up and spread his germs carelessly. “N-not really.”

She nods and picks up a wrapped packet from the tray. “Well, to be honest, that’s understandable. It hasn’t been very long.” The packet is ripped open, and the distinct smell of alcohol fills the air as she carefully pushes his sleeve up. “The lack of improvement does concern us, though. So I just have to give you an injection of some medicine, okay?”

Shit. He thought that might be what was going on here. He knows he’s too exhausted to fight it, and yet, his brain evidently isn’t too exhausted to not be fucking anxious about it. “I… I have to get a shot?”

The cold wipe is rubbed against the top part of his arm. “Yeahhh… I’m sorry. This is penicillin, and it’s one of our standard treatments for pneumonia. The doctor thinks you’ll have better luck sitting still for one shot than for a whole pill-and-water deal, since you’re coughing a lot. I kind of have to agree, since you might accidentally inhale some water if you cough while trying to take the pills.”

Immediately he starts to panic. Most of the time the idea of a shot doesn’t bother him more than it might the average person ― he gets the yearly flu vaccine without any problems. Right now, however… the idea of a shot while he’s already feeling so terrible, the initial pinch and the ache that might happen afterwards and being alone, it just feels scary.

The nurse must hear the way his breathing starts to quicken, or maybe the way his hands start shaking. She gives his shoulder a little pat. “Ah, I know on your chart it says you suffer from some anxiety. Are you a bit anxious right now?”

“Y… yeah…”

“Okay. That’s totally fine, you know? Different people get anxious about different things. Would it help if I distracted you, or if I gave you a countdown so you know when it’s coming? Sometimes that helps so it’s not a surprise… or, sometimes people prefer it to be a surprise. Which one do you think would be best for you?”

… Oh. He wasn’t expecting something like that. It almost feels like he has a little control over this, despite the fact that he has to get the injection either way. “C… can you… count down?”

“Sure, of course. No problem.” Then she reaches over with one hand, grabbing the syringe with the other. “Would you like to hold my hand?”

That’s kind of… babyish, isn’t it? “I-I’m not a kid… I don’t wanna…”

She chuckles. “Well, you know, earlier today I held the hand of an elderly lady who was getting a shot. It’s not just a kid thing. But if you don’t want to, that’s fine too.”

He takes a moment to consider that, then silently slips his hand into hers.

“Alright, just squeeze if you feel like you need to. I’m all set, are you?”

“I… I think so…”

“Okay, I’m gonna give you the countdown then. Here we go. Three ― two ― one.”

As soon as she says the last number, he feels the needle pierce his skin. It’s uncomfortable, a sharp kind of pinprick pain. There’s a slight feeling of tightness and soreness as the medicine is emptied into his muscle, and a brief jolt when the nurse pulls the needle out.

All in all, even though it isn’t a pleasant experience, it’s not as bad as it could have been. It’s certainly better than choking on a pill and a glass of water if he had to try to swallow the medication.

And, at least, it’s over now.

“There. You did great, Ichimatsu. Probably my best patient of the day!” With that, she sets the syringe back down on the tray and gingerly smooths a bandage with a cotton ball over the injection site. “That should keep you clean just in case any blood trickles out from the shot, and someone will come take it off later if the adhesive starts to make your skin itch.”

He nods and coughs into his arm again, giving a soft groan. He’s just so tired, from the fever, from the coughing, from not being home. “Is it gonna m… khh… make me tired?”

“Haha, it shouldn’t, no. You might feel a little nauseous, or you might have to go to the bathroom more, or you might get a small itchy rash… just press the call button if any of that happens or if you feel strange otherwise, okay?” Her cart is all packed up already, and she’s heading out of the room. “If you get tired, it’s probably because you’re sick and need rest. So, try to sleep as much as you can.”

“’Kay.” He just feels like this illness has drained everything out of him, and there’s a little throbbing where he got the injection. But, the more he sleeps, hopefully the sooner he can recover and go home.

On her way out, the nurse dims the lights. Practically as soon as she does, Ichimatsu’s eyes start to drift closed. God, he’s so tired.

He lies down, though the bed is still a little elevated since sleeping flat will just make him cough more. Sleep tugs at him, and he has to move a little bit so he’s not putting any pressure on the area where he got the shot.

Soon. Soon he can go home.

Just as soon as he gets better.

#needles tw #Osomatsu san #whump #Ichimatsu #illness #pneumonia #coughing #hospitalization #injection #he's sO FREAKING LONELY MY POOR BABY #as a side note I've had some great nurses and some not great nurses during my time in hospital stays #and EVERY NURSE SHOULD BE LIKE THIS ONE I WROTE she's great this is how they should ALL treat patients <3 #GET WELL AND GO HOME ICHIBABE

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selfilluminatingkyu · 3 years

Text

Dancing with the Devil(s): Chapter II

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The Underground Auction is no place for the faint of heart, nor for the weak of stomach.

F!Reader x Adult Trio; this takes place during the same timeline as Season 3 of HxH but the events with Kuropika and the crew are just shifted a little. This may end up changing though, but for now, run on that premiss.

Warnings: Swearing; Human Trafficking (Reader is sold to the Mafia); Brief mentions of Child Abuse; Grammatical Errors (yeah I am going to warn y’all bout that.)

Upon arriving to hotel you would be staying at until you were moved to the holding area for the auction, you were whisked away by a team of women and pampered to spa treatments like you’d never experienced before. The Don who had bought you would not be in attendance, as Yuuto, the man who you’d come to know from your…acquisition…had told you.

“He’s sorry he can’t be here. He was actually looking forward to meeting you. But he’s certain he’ll have the opportunity later on. I think he’s of the opinion that one of the other Dons will buy you for themselves…or their sons.” Yuuto says lazily after you’ve come back from all of the pampering, undecided if you’re going to look at it as a treat or getting merchandise ready for sale.

You didn’t know what you’d expected when he’d relayed the Don’s message to you, but it had not been that. You don’t remember how you answered, sudden exhaustion creeping up on you and causing you to nearly pass out where you stood. Looking back on it now, you wonder if you’d been drugged so that you didn’t make much of a fuss while you were waiting for the festivities to begin. You began to think that was actually the case as you were almost constantly in a fog up until you were moved the night before the auction to a different area. Something was amiss, that much, despite the brain fog, you were certain of. So there you had waited until d-day had arrived.

You had been placed in a waiting area, to be called upon and showed around to the representatives of the wealthier families anticipated to bid on the higher ticket items (and those who had paid the hefty fee to view you prior to your scheduled debut) when Yuuto was suddenly coming in with another man, a man you had never met before but had a strange feeling to him, and were being whisked away quickly and quietly from where you were. You had felt this feeling before, when you been in the presences of those with strong nen abilities, but it wasn’t as potent as some of the people you’d crossed paths with. There had been a man once, who’s aura had caused you to stop and watch his back as he moved through the crowd. The power that radiated off of him had caused your heart to skip several beats…and not in a pleasant way.

Since that day, you’d never felt power like that and, if you were being honest, you hoped you never did again. You don’t know what it was about that man, but it wasn’t the power he undeniably wielded that frightened you, no, it was the dark and sinister undertone to it that did. A presences that indicated to you nothing short of nefarious intentions. Sometimes though, you couldn’t help yourself and wondered about the man. Wondered if maybe you’d been to harsh in your snap judgment and that the man was the same as you: a product of his upbringing and while his abilities may have been fostered from dark ways, he did not use them as such.

But as you sat in your new room, surrounded by other items that were going to be up for auction, you realized that it didn’t matter, not anymore at least. You hadn’t seen that man since then, some three years ago, and you doubted you would ever see him again after tonight. Not that you were sure you would even want to. Pushing the thoughts to the side, you stood up from your spot and began wandering around the room, looking at all of the pieces that were up for auction and wondered what was the most expensive item in the room when suddenly you heard shouting and gun shots, you could hear people running around as men shouted in the hallways. What they were shouting about you couldn’t understand but you knew from the tone that they were in a panic and it sounded like chaos even from inside the room.

Turning back to all of the items in the room, you began looking around for something, anything really, to protect yourself with. Crouching down you, began peeling the lids off of boxes, before hastily putting them back into place. One after the other had weirder and weird things in them; rare items, cursed items, artifacts from long gone civilizations, mummified body parts, full mummies, and in the last lid you lift, scarlet eyes. The lid clattered to the floor as you dropped it, dropped into a squat and throwing a hand over your mouth to keep you from screaming. You had heard about the atrocity that had happened to the Kurta clan, heard the stories about their famed eyes, but to see a pair, not attached to a body, was an experience you could’ve lived several life time without.

Placing the lid back onto the box, you bit back a whimper and sent a silent prayer into the sky, hoping that whomever these had belonged to had suffered unnecessarily. Your heart went out to them and the pain all those alike. The unnecessary violence of the world was something you had never understood, especially in this instance. While you could not lie, they were beautiful indeed, to covet something like that to go to such lengths made your stomach flip. It took a special sort of evil to find pleasure in the pain of others; it took an even greater evil to personally inflict it, knowing a life was on the line and continue forward and unabashed anyway.

As you sad crouched, hidden by the stacks of boxes, the door flung open and before you could even lift your head up to see what was going on, you were being cloaked in darkness.

The void wasn’t so much as being asleep as it was being locked into a padded closet, a sound proof one at that. There was no telling how long you’d been in there and after counting for several hours, you’d given up figuring at some point, you’d get out. Not wanting to alert the person, or persons, who had taken the auction items that you were included amongst those things you remained silent. Instead, you bided your time by looking through the items, investigating and continuing your search for a weapon, smearing a little of your blood from your finger, which your cut on a ragged corner, on the boxes you deemed worthy of a least inflicting enough damage to give you time to escape should your search turn up entirely useless. As you continued to move forward, you were beginning to think that’s exactly what was going to happen. You were nearing the end of boxes when you came up a necklace that caught your eye. Looking at it, you idly wondered exactly what was so special about it. It was inlaid with millions of dollar worth of precious and rare gems like the other piece you’d come upon. Nor was it something anyone of note had worn, died in, or the like, making it precious for those reasons. No, as far as you could tell, it was quite unassuming compared to all the other items you knew were to be sold and that, in and of itself, made you move cautiously. The silver chain was nice enough were you any common person purchasing it from a jeweler and the stones that rested in a sort of star pattern were lovely but again, it perplexed you as to why it was here.

Sighing, you placed the lid back down and moved onto the other boxes before coming up empty and with that you flopped down onto the ground, or what you assume was ground in this…where exactly where you? The only thing you had heard when everything happened was a swoosh like a bag…so maybe that’s where you were? Yuuto had made a comment about the Dons having special beings at their disposal, beings who were incredible nen users. So maybe who’d ever taken you was one of them. You weren’t entirely sure and as it stood, you didn’t want to risk the element of surprise you currently had on something that might be true. For all you knew, whomever had caused the stir-up the other night had been the person who’d taken you. And if that were the case…you had no way of knowing if they were friend or foe.

Trying to run through a plan in your head of what exactly you would do when you got out where ever it was you currently were, your “world” began to shift and suddenly the abyss you seemed to be sitting in was brought back into the world of the living and you were among not only the items in your own void, but the other items that were up for auction as well, and there were voice, several of them and all of them foreign.

“That was uneventful.” A soft voice spoke, seemingly to take breathy pauses between each word, almost like when a compute regurgitated what you’d typed but lagged a little. Male, older than you, but not by much, he was close to you but hadn’t seemed to notice you yet.

“Yeah, yeah, we heard you the first dozen times. You didn’t get to torture the guy like you’d hoped. We got it.” Another male voice, this one more jovial spoke but clearly agitated with the younger male. “How long you think this is gunna take?”

“Don’t know. The boss just wants it done, so we’ll get it done.” This voice is female and you think that maybe she’s around your age or close to it. She’s the closest one to you and drawing closer with every word she takes and suddenly you’re wondering if you’ve been caught and begin calculating what is closest to you and within your reach.

You don’t get much further in your thought when you feel a presence come up behind you and a sudden pressure on your neck, nicking it slightly causing you to wince and let out a small hiss. You wonder how you missed this man sneaking up when you suddenly feel a spike of fear run through you veins. The man behind you is powerful, very powerful but his aura is also very sinister. Sinister enough to almost make you wish that you’d been left alone to be sold.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here? A stowaway? My, my little dove, what a peculiar place to hide. Hoping to catch a show?” He whispers in your ear and the whimsical way in which he speaks almost makes you forget that he’s holding something against your neck that’s sharp enough to slide the skin, but clearly not metal as it’s not cold.

“Hisoka, what are you doing?” The female voice from earlier sounds again and some part of you hopes that, despite clearly knowing this man, she can be a friend in this situation rather than a foe…which this man seems to be shifting into.

Nudging you forward with his other hand, keeping the weapon close enough to make his intention known but not enough to draw anymore blood, you begin to move forward, legs and heart heavy. Unintentionally, you’d gotten your hopes up when you’d been freed from the void and hadn’t been placed back in your holding cell, thinking that maybe fate had smiled upon you. However, now, you knew that maybe you’d been cast into an even worse situation than you’d been in initially. You couldn’t be certain that these people were going to be your end…but you also couldn’t say to the alternative either.

“Look what I found.” The man named Hisoka says, amusement laced in his words as he brings you out of the proverbial shadows and into the light that is provided by the stage and you idly realize that the auction has started back up, meaning at some point your number will come up and your clock will run out. It’s also in this moment as you watch the stage that you realize that the people in front of you are staring, probably because someone has said something to you and you have yet to respond.

“What did you do to her Hisoka?” Another man asks, he’s handsome with his blonde hair and green eyes, but there’s something about him that makes your skin crawl and a take a step back into the man who’s guiding you forward.

“I didn’t do anything, did I little dove? I simply found her hiding in behind some boxes. Impressive abilities to have been able to hide from us, don’t you think?” Hisoka says, startling you slightly from his face being beside yours. Turning slowly, you look at him and find that you aren’t entirely wrong when the words whimsical and magical came to mind as he spoke.

He’s clown yet mystical in his appearance, his pink/red hair plays right into that, as does the small amount of clothing you can see. But what makes it is the lime green tear and blue star that reside under his eyes, like cards of a suit. It’s also then that you realize what he had pressed up against your neck was a playing card. What a peculiar man, you think idly before turning your head completely forward again.

“Regardless of whether you did something or not to her, it doesn’t answer why she’s here and what the hell should be do with her.” The girl’s voice from earlier that you heard comes from a girl who truly doesn’t seem much older than you with pink hair and an outfit that reminds you somewhat or a nurse’s attire. As petit as she might be, she radiates with power, as do the rest of the people here, but in a quiet, probably underestimated sort of way.

“Maybe…she was willing…to risk her life…to see…us.” The small man who walks forward does not match the face you had seen in your head when you’d heard his voice initially, not that you are displeased, as he too is quite attractive. However, the look in his eye and the clear bloodlust in them makes you want to run from where you stand. The other man earlier had said that this little one had been unhappy with the amount of torture he’d gotten to inflict on someone else.

Was that to be your fate?

“Maybe Feitan has a point.” And finally, the only other person you heard speak steps forward. This man is just as tall as the man behind you and just as intimidating, however, he looks far more normal. “Were you willing to risk your life to catch a glimpse of the illustrious Phantom Troupe sweetheart?” The way he says it is clearly mocking, like you’re some fucked up fangirl who’s come to worship her even more fucked up idol.

However, to worship someone, you should probably have an idea as to who they are in the first place. And you don’t think you can make it any clearer as you furrow your eyebrows and look around at the small group of people before you wondering if this is a name they’ve given themselves or one that was given to them. Either way, you try your hardest not to laugh at the hilarity of the situation you find yourself in. Are you biting back a hysterical laughter because of the ridiculousness of the situation or because you’ve come to realize just how absolutely fucked you are?

“I’m sorry, but…am I supposed to know what that means? Phantom Troupe? I take it that means you all, but…I don’t know exactly what that means outside of that.” You say thoughtfully, hoping that if you appear non-confrontational and innocent enough, these people, who clearly more foe than friend, will simply let you be.

The man who spoke last goes to open his mouth again before another woman walks forward, holding up her hand and making her way closer to you. She seems the most normal out of the entire lot, dressed as the presenter for the items for the auction tonight, although that’s clearly a farce because you knew the woman who was truly supposed to be doing it was much different in appearance than this woman.

“What do you mean exactly?” She asks you thoughtfully, watching you carefully and you can’t help but wonder if she has some sort of ability that lets her read your mind…or maybe between what you say.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause confusion. I mean…I don’t know who you people are. I don’t know what is or who is the Phantom Troupe? So that would mean no, I wasn’t risking my life trying to catch a glimpse.” You say and she looks to the others before nodding and looking back towards you.

“If you weren’t trying to catch a glimpse at us…then how did you come to be here then little dove?” Hisoka asks and you blink, trying to decide how you should go about answering them before deciding that the saying “the truth can set you free” may very well prove true in this moment.

“Same way the rest of the items in that area did, out of where it was they had been stored.” You mutter, looking around the group as they seem to parse through what you’ve just told them.

“You were with the items over there?” The blonde man in purple says and you nod, watching as he looks to the woman who arrives late. She nods at him and the group seems to collectively be trying to decide if you’re an item or were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time when everything went down. “So if you were with the items, then it’s safe to assume that you are one?”

You nod again and the group seems to pause for a second before the small man who you think had been called Feitan, steps forward and speaks up. “I think we should kill her.”

Under normal circumstances, a normal person would probably lose the color from their face as those words were uttered. Instead there is an instant cleansed feeling that takes over you. While death certainly isn’t the choice you would have had for yourself in life…you don’t know what being bought and sold would entail. However, on the flip side, you also have no idea what being left to your devices with this lot will also mean. Maybe death is the best option you have, so long as it isn’t drawn out and torturous. And if the little one is who will be dealing the final card…you aren’t so sure you’ll get a quick end.

“The boss said to make copies of all of the items here and to present them on stage and bring the real ones back to the hideout. You know that as well as I do.” The pink haired girl says and Feitan clearly does not agree with that as he makes a noncommittal noise that alerts you to his distaste.

“Koropi can’t make duplicates that move and talk.” The final girl says. Her speech is childlike and she cocks her head as she looks you over, as though you are a puzzle to be solved. At some point, between when you’d been pulled out from behind the crates, when they’d first started engaging with you and now, a vacuum like thing had appear in her possession and the sight of it has you thinking that if they do decide to kill you, your death will not be quick and painless like you had hoped.

The Phantom Troupe, not all of the members you deduced after listening to them go back and forth for a little while as to what to do with you, finally decide on calling their boss and having him instruct them as to what should be done with you. The answer is simple: make a clone and do what they had done with all the other pieces, place it on a cart and wheel it in. Koropi had stated that while in most instances, he could not create something that moved and talked, he could if it were just one and he had a little something extra. The extra being your blood.

With that, he could create a clone that would last for a little while before the effects of the blood would wear off and your clone would become like the rest of the fraudulent items. But at that point…what did it matter, the Troupe would no longer be around.

So as you watched the woman Pakunoda wheel your clone onto the stage, you and the rest of the real items were moved, Hisoka and Machi keeping close to you as you were moved into the back of another car and driven to wherever their “hideout” was.

As you watched the scenery, you began to run through all of the possibilities of what could happen. They had given you no hints as to what their boss was going to do with you and you couldn’t decide if that was a blessing or a curse. A blessing in that it meant if he’d decided that he was going to kill you, you would not be left to stew in it on your ride over, wondering endlessly in what way exactly he planned to off you.

On the other side, however, was the fact that you had no idea what your fate was at this moment. Undecided if these people were going to kill you, keep you, torture you, or do god know’s what. That in and of itself was driving you mad. You simply wanted to know what exactly it was that you could expect when you got to wherever it was you were going so you’d be mentally prepared for whatever the outcome ended up being.

“If you keep working yourself up like that, you’ll be in an absolute tizzy by the time we arrive. He won’t kill you…not right away anyway. And if he does, well…he won’t make it painful. He can be ruthless, but he’s not that evil.” Hisoka said and you looked at the imposing man beside you, wondering why he seemed to be trying to calm you down.

From the short period of time you’d spent with the man, you had quickly grasped that he was most certainly the odd man out from the group, and by his own doing it seemed. Not only that, but it was evident that he didn’t do anything he didn’t wish too. He had motives behind every action he took and the way he went about things was with the sole purpose of achieving a goal that benefited him. If, by some chance, it happened to benefit the group as well, well then that was lovely for the group.

So his concern caused you pause. What exactly was it that he saw in your that would benefit him? It made you question even more what was about to happen. What end could he see that you couldn’t? It wasn’t fair given that he knew exactly where, who, and what you would be up against when you go there, but still…there was just something about this situation that didn’t sit well with you, outside of the obvious reasons.

“You seem very sure of that.” You say softly, looking out the window before turning back to look at him. You know they’re confident in themselves and their abilities, that’s evident by the fact that they have neither bound you nor covered your eyes or ears. They must know with absolute certainty that you either won’t try to escape…or won’t make it out alive.

“I am. You pose not threat to us or him alone, nor do you have abilities that he would want—”

“Hisoka. Enough!” Machi, the pink haired girl, spits from her spot in the driver’s seat, eying you through the rearview window. “What Hisoka means to say is the Boss doesn’t kill without purpose. And your death would serve no purpose. However…that doesn’t mean you get to leave.”

You take what she says into consideration and nod. That wasn’t anything you hadn’t already figured out. Regardless of who they were, all organized crime groups worked essentially the same. Mafia, Troupe, Gangs, ect. the thought process around them was same at the end of the day, give or take a few things, so you’d figured their own boss would run his ship the same way any other master would run theirs. Evidently, you hadn’t been mistaken in that thought process.

The two seemed to realize they weren’t going to get much out of you after that and the car remained silent for the rest of the ride. When you pulled up to a lofty mansion with a gate and sprawling grounds, you were shocked to say the least. This was not what you had expected in the least. What you had expected was some rundown abandoned building on the edge of town away from everyone. This lavish grandeur was not it though.

Leaning forward in your seat a little, Hisoka chuckles beside you. “Not what you were expecting little dove?”

You didn’t bother answering instead, looking around at what you could. You didn’t see a single guard around, not that you had expected to. There didn’t seem to be any visible forms of traps or delays anywhere either. Again, they may just not be visible to you. The car pulls to a stop in front fo a set of double doors and two men walk out. One who is very large with scars on his face and the other who is tall, and just as imposing as the other, but carrying a katana. Hisoka reaches around you and opens the door, nudging you to get out as the two men walk further down the steps and closer to you.

“Pretty sure the boss said to only bring back the auction items.” The larger man says as he eyes you carefully.

“She was an auction item.” Machi says monotonously, coming around from the front of the car and indicating with her head to walk inside. “She’s the prize gem of the auction this year. The last item to be bid upon in the first round. You know what that means.”

Both men seem to do a slow blink as you walk in between them and up on into the house. The entryway is beautiful, something that you would have done for your own home given the opportunity. You didn’t know if that would be an option in your future, but it was lovely to witness it nonetheless. As you walked further into the home, you highly doubted that they had decorated and then you wondered if they had acquired this home via legal ones…or by force. The thought alone dampened the beauty of the home and your internal smile fell. The look on your face remained neutral, giving nothing away and hopefully kept all of your fears and anxieties under wraps from the knowing eyes all around you.

“I don’t remember saying anything about bringing a person back.” The voice made you stop dead in your tracks as it brought your focus to the other person in the room and your heart stopped before leaping into action. While you can’t see him, nothing more than the back of his head with his slicked back black hair, you can definitely feel him. This aura, this presence was familiar to you and the exact one you had hoped to never cross path’s with again. Sucking in a breath you hopelessly wondered what you’d done in a past life to exact this fate.

“You said to bring all of the auction items…naturally…” Hisoka says, a smirk ever present in his speech, making you wonder if he has always been like this or if something in his life triggered this manic personality.

The man they’re speaking to stands up and for a moment, you almost close your eyes, fear racing through your veins and irrationally making you think that if you don’t see him, don’t see his face, he won’t be able to hold that over your head; won’t be able to use that as a reason why he has to kill you. But you don’t, instead you stand stock still, like a prey praying the predator won’t snuff them out, and await a fate you doubt you’d have be able to change regardless of what you did. Instead as he rounds the sofa, you cast your eyes down, tilting your head slightly, like a submissive dog baring its throat to the alpha and hope by some miracle, this man will see you are no threat nor of any value you and let you go.

You see feet stop in front of you and feel an ever perceptive gaze rove over your. You hold your breath and pray for mercy to any being that will hear your cry, good or bad. You don’t care, maybe even hope a little that it’s bad because surely…that would be the only type of being to defeat another of its own kind. Slowly a hand reaches out and you have to physically stop of nerve in your body from flinching. Two fingers press under your chin, the thumb resting on it as it corrects the position of your head and lifts it upwards, forcing you gently to look at the face and body it’s attached to.

The man before you is much, much younger than you anticipated, no more than a couple years older than yourself. He’s attractive, very much so, with a prominent brow and perfect nose, large grey eyes and chiseled jaw and chin. When the members of the Troupe hadn’t spoken briefly about their boss, you had not pictured a man like this. No, initially it hadn’t been a man at all. But when they’d said “he” the vision in your head had mirrored much more closely to the man with the scars on his face and hanging ears. This man, young man, reminded you more of the grad students you saw on campus than the leader of a group of murders and thieves.

“You know me…but did not expect me.” He voice flints about like it’s a question but their absolution in the way he says it, eyes calculative and ever watchful.

“No, to both. I don’t know you, I have crossed paths with you before. You were in my city once, you walked by me while I was walking my sister home from school and I felt your aura. I felt crazy when the people around me didn’t seem to have a reaction at all but my entire being felt…dark.” You let your mouth get away from you before you realize it, remembering that day and how your parents had written you off. Strong Nen users weren’t common where you were from, or at least weren’t common in the fact that they flaunted their abilities. But you’d known this man was in a class of his own. Clearing your throat you blinked and cleared your eyes as you looked at him again. “And no, I didn’t expect you. Although…I’m not entirely certain what I did expect. I’m not entirely well versed in you and your ‘Phantom Troupe.’”

The latter seems to take him and the new men by surprise. He masks his shock quickly, the other two seems to revel in it. So much so that the man with the katana begins to laugh.

“You’ve never heard of the Phantom Troupe? Really?” He says in such an incredulous way that you almost begin to question the statement you’ve made before stopping yourself.

“I lived quite a sheltered life so you’ll have to excuse my ignorance.” With that, they all seem to be appeased for the moment.

The leader cocks his head to the side as he observes you before looking at the others in the room. “Help the others unload everything. While you all are doing that, I’ll have a chat with our…guest. Should you need us, we’ll be in the study.” He says and they nod, some of them grumbling as they move to go back outside.

Although, as you are turned and ushered in the opposite direction, you notice Hisoka waiting and standing back from the group, eyes clearly on you as he watches his boss lead you in the opposite direction from them, him. There’s something in his eyes that you think resembles concern but wave it off quickly as you are certain you must be seeing things.

Their leader was not kidding as he lead you into a large study, a room filled with books from wall to celling on one side and floor to ceiling windows on the other. There’s also a fire place, large desk and two sofas, with matching chairs and coffee table to round out the large room. It’s beautifully decorated and again, you wonder who this home actually belongs to.

“This place isn’t your, is it?” You ask before you can stop yourself from biting your tongue and instantly feel the back of your neck heat up.

Slip-ups like these had been common when you were younger, your natural curiosity getting the better of you. But your mother had beaten them out of you quite early on, as talking out of turn was undesirable in the wife of a high ranking man. Women were to be seen and not heard, is what you mother had told you prior to smacking you in the face. You’d learned quickly that you did not like the taste of blood in your mouth and your questions could be answered by other means.

“It is actually. Not that it is used all that often. I bought this house some time ago. Why, did you think we had killed the people who did own it?”

“Yes, that seemed the most logical give what little I have learned about you and yours.” He seems taken aback by your truthfulness but recovers quickly, chuckling softly under his breath.

“According to you, you don’t know much about ‘me and mine,’ so how is it you’ve already deduced so much about us?” His question is simple enough, but there is a definite edge to it. Despite his relaxed demeanor, even as he leans back against his desk, arms slayed as if to seem nonthreatening, you can still feel the aura rolling off of him, ready to strike at a moments notice.

“Because, for the most part, all organized crime groups run the same. Their motives might be different, and the way things are executed may vary too. But at the heart of it…there isn’t much difference.”

“You speak as if you have experience?”

“Not quite, no.” Again, you are surprised to find that this man seems stumped by your answer but he smirks all the same, looking down at his crossed feet before back up at you from behind his fridge…and you can’t help but wonder how many women—and probably men as well, he doesn’t strike you as the discriminating type—have fallen prey to that look, they eyes, they posture and speech…like a fly in a spider’s web.

“Care to enlighten me?” He asks gently and had you not been training for situations like this your entire life, you know you too would fall right into his web as well.

“If you’ll pay me back in kind.” You are completely taken aback as the man laughs. It’s melodious and were you not in such a position as you were, you would have smiled and giggled yourself, ever hopeful to hear it again and again. It was a lovely sound and one you were certain he probably didn’t make often, and for that you became even more on edge.

“Alright, consider my interest even more peaked. Who are you and why exactly has the mafia deemed you as such a valuable item to be sold?” His question shouldn’t stir-up so many emotions as it does, but as the saying goes, you are only human and the wave of emotional turmoil his question strikes in you leaves you almost gasping.

“I’m nobody really and honestly…I don’t know what it is exactly that has everyone’s interest so peaked. Maybe my parents lied. I’m not entirely certain. All I can tell you is…is that I’ve been raised to be the perfect wife for a powerful man. My parents raised me for the sole purpose of elevating their status, their wealth, their power. You asked if I spoke from experience? While I obviously was never in a position as the wife of a crime lord, I was raised to be one and I prized myself on being an asset, not a burden. As for whether or not that alone makes me worth all of the money that the Don who bought spent on me and anticipated on being spent to purchase me…I could not tell you.”

After you complete your story, you look up from looking at your hands to see the man before you looking at you with an unreadable expression on his face, one that brought Hisoka to mind and you wondered why you kept envisioning these men to have forlorn looks on their faces. That was simply absurd and thinking like that was only going to lead you to getting seriously injured, or worse dead. No, you had to remind yourself their were worse fates than death and you had no doubt that the little one, Feitan, was more than well versed at serving that up with delight.

He nods his head and rubs his chin, walking from his desk and over to the couch across from your own. Sitting down, he rests his elbows on his knees before looking up at you. “Tell me what you know about Nen?”

His question throws you off a little and you furrow your brows, not entirely tracking where he’s going with this. “I know that it exists and that it has multiple subsections of it and that it’s predominately used to fit. But other than that not much.”

“Can you tell when others have it? A strong Nen that is?” He looks at you intently as he asks and you wonder what exactly is this man’s capabilities.

Hisoka made a comment about you not having “anything for the boss to take” and at the time, you’d given it no thought. Thinking maybe, Hisoka had meant it in a sexual way, thinking that at your age you were no longer virginal, which he was wrong about, that was one of the key selling points for you. Property to be completely dominated and never claimed by other man. Now, however, you wondered if it somehow was linked back to this man’s nen ability.

“Yes, as I said earlier, I had felt your aura before. I can usually tell when people have a strong presence, or not. Even when it’s faint I can feel it. Usually that’s in children though or those who have no idea what Nen is. Might I ask why exactly?”

“What about now? Can you still sense my aura?” He asks and you sit there, looking at him as though he has six heads.

“Of course I can…why wouldn’t I be able to?” You ask him incredulously and the look of awe on his face is so prominent you know that you couldn’t have imagined it.

“You can still see feel my aura?”

“Yes, I’d have to be dead not to with how strong your aura is. I don’t like it.” You say, and wonder how you’ve managed to make two mistakes in the span of only a couple of minutes in this man’s presence. Deciding to go with it, as this may very well be your last day, you resolve yourself to say and ask whatever comes to mind. “I also don’t like that I don’t know your name.”

If your first comment hadn’t thrown him, the second one certainly has seemed to and he looked at you again as if you are some wonder of the world. Eying you suspiciously before getting up and moving around. He says nothing as he walks outside the room and then comes back moments later, motioning for you to stand up.

“If you can pass this test, I’ll tell you my name and much more.” As he says that he holds up a sash and proceeds to tie it over your eyes making sure you can not see before leading you out of the room.

“Is this where I die?” You can’t help but ask and you can hear the breathy chuckle next to your ear.

“No, it’s not. If anything, this may very well be the moment in which you start to truly live.”

You continue to walk for a little bit, before he stops you, instructing you to leave the blind fold on and, probably, checking to make sure you can’t see anything. There are several people in this room, more so than earlier. And you wonder if this is all of the troupe.

“Tell me…how many people are in this room?” He asks and you sigh.

“Including you and I, there’s 15.”

“And now?” He asks and this time you let a loud, exasperated sigh.

“No one has suddenly dropped dead, so the number still remains at 15.” At that, the voices in the room seem to pick up. To say they seemed shocked is an understatement.

“How is that even possible?”

“Has anyone like that ever existed?”

“I wasn’t…taking this…serious…let me have…another…go.”

And so on and so forth. As more and more time seemed to tick by, the group seemed to become more and more in aw of what was going on. All the while, you were still confused and in the dark—literally and metaphorically—as to what had just happened that had them such in arms.

“You still didn’t answer my earlier question.” You say softly, knowing he can full well hear you above all of his members questions.

“Chrollo. Chrollo Lucilfer. That is my name kitten and you are far more extraordinary than anyone has ever given you credit for. I can’t wait to see just what it is you are fully capable of.”

#Dancing with the Devil(s)#fic #hunter x hunter #Chrollo #chrollo fic #hisoka #hisoka fic #illumi zoldyck #illumi fic #reader insert fic #adult trio #adult trio fic

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platypanthewriter · 3 years

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April Showers

Harringrove April Prompt 02: April Showers! Max drags Steve back to the Byers' after the fight, to make sure Billy didn't die on the Byers' floor, and they get some things talked out. LAST PROMPT, GUYS! I'M DONE! 30 days! XD

It was something Susan had always said—April showers bring May flowers. She said it when they visited Max’s grandma, and Max’s bigger, stronger cousins dogpiled her and ripped her hair out in chunks. They apologized—insincerely, and Max accepted just as insincerely, already planning her revenge—and Max’s mom hugged her tightly, shaking with relief, and said “See? You have to be patient, Max. Sometimes things can be tough, but—”

“Then you shower vengeance upon them,” Max gritted out, narrowing her eyes at the beefiest cousin, because if she couldn’t be the strongest, she could definitely be the craziest.

“Maxine,” Susan groaned.

Susan said it when her own mother looked at the dinner Susan had made, and said “...well, I suppose you did your best, dear.”

“The hell does that mean,” Max asked, slamming her hand on the table, and she got sent to her room.

“It’s fine,” Susan said later, wringing her hands. “The garlic bread was a little burned, and I’m not sure those tomatoes were ripe—”

“She can eat dog food next time you make the whole goddamn dinner,” Max told her, crossing her arms, and Susan smothered a laugh.

“Come on,” she said softly. “Sometimes being in a family means you have to weather a few storms. Don’t be mean to your grandma. She loves you.”

“Does she?” Max asked flatly, and Susan reminded her of the awful Precious Moments figurines she’d gotten for Christmas. “If those are my May flowers, they were not worth the crap,” Max told her, and Susan flinched.

Susan said it again, shakily, when Neil brought her actual flowers, the day after he hit Billy into her newly-planted flower beds. Billy had stormed in, leaving muddy footprints all down the hall, and at dinner his shoulder and jaw were scraped up from the metal thing Susan had put in to keep the grass from growing into her bulbs.

“Maybe you should be nice to him tomorrow,” Max heard her mother whispering to Neil, later. “Take him somewhere.”

“Maybe to the dog pound,” Neil said, laughing, and Susan winced.

“That ‘April showers’ thing is talking about actual rain, Mom,” Max said later, and “What the hell kind of flowers could even be worth this,” and “I don’t think Neil’s showers are the kind flowers survive, Mom, he’s more like the kind that causes landslides, and floods the garage.”

Susan hunched her shoulders a little, and lowered her eyes, the way she always did when somebody was mad, so Max stalked back to her room. Billy was sprawled on her floor, reading her Beverly Cleary books.

Billy hid in Max’s room a lot that summer, because Neil didn’t think to look for him there. He’d knock and immediately slide through her door, or run around and stand under her window with a bribe—some cookies, or a cold bottle of soda, or the next issue of The Amazing Spider-Man.

He’d been fun, then, twitchy and awkward, but he’d burst into giggles when she commented on her mom and his dad. They snuck out and went skateboarding, even, and ate cheetos as they read Billy’s comics, kicking their legs in the air—until Neil threw the door open one day, and drug Billy out by the upper arm.

Max didn’t know what he’d said to her mom, but Billy wasn’t allowed in her room anymore. She couldn’t even shut the door before Neil or her mom would throw it open, and she was half tempted to just be naked the next time, and see how they liked that.

Billy looked away from her, after that summer. When she finally grabbed him--two months in to the silent treatment--he snarled, watching behind her, and twisted away. She tried to follow him into his room, but he called her a bitch, and slammed the door right in her face, almost on her hand.

The night after she drugged Billy with the syringe for Will, she grabbed Steve Harrington, and hauled him back to the Byers’.

“You want a ride back to your car, right,” she’d hissed at him, and Steve blinked blearily at her, staggering a little.

“...I guess,” he mumbled, as she shoved him in the passenger seat.

Billy was lying a little more curled up than he had been, and she ran around to get a look at him, then sat down almost against her will once she could see him glowering hazily at her feet. “Billy,” she whispered, sighing, and leaning back on one arm to rub her face. She was so tired her arms shook, the adrenaline finally starting to clear her system from fighting the monsters of Hawkins.

Steve lingered by the door, frowning down at them, and Max squinted at him, half wondering whether she should try and get her absolutely loaded brother in the car by herself, or whether she should try and bribe Steve into helping, somehow. Or blackmail him.

There were some things Mike had seen that might come in handy, she thought, considering. “I know about the time you got dumped by two girls on the same night,” she said, narrowing her eyes.

“...what,” said Steve, who was pressing gently at his skull, where Billy’s knuckles had hit.

“I’ll tell the next person you date,” Max said, setting her jaw, and trying to look like she could kill him with a shoelace.

“...what’s happening?” Steve asked, frowning at her. “...what?”

Just then, Max realized she was so tired she’d threatened him without telling him what she wanted, yet. “You gotta help me get this dumbass in the car,” she said, sighing. “Or—or I’ll tell everybody I know you, um, you wet the bed.”

“...what,” Steve said again, and Max tried to be patient, since she’d seen how many times he’d been hit in the heat that night.

“...Max,” Billy mumbled. “Fucking...bitch.” He kind of half-rolled onto his back again, rolling his face away from her, and she slid a foot out and kicked his hand.

“Shut up, you,” she growled. “I come running back here to see if you got your face eaten—”

“Whadda you care,” he whispered, laughing. “You dun give a shit. You wanted...brother like him,” Billy said, watching Steve, and Steve snorted a laugh. “How come you’re never on my side,” Billy whispered, and Max kicked his limp hand again, sort of, her legs limp with exhaustion.

“Wow,” Steve sighed.

“Fuck you, the hell are you talking about,” Max hissed. “You tried to kill him.”

“You knew,” Billy mumbled. “Fucking...knew I’d get my ass kicked. An’ you left the house,” he said, sighing, and trying to roll away, but he couldn’t even shift his body that much. His hands twitched, and he groaned, closing his eyes.

“...I’ll help you get him in the car,” Steve said, and Billy sneered, laughing.

“Oh, ’s so nice, isn’ he? Fucking...King Harrington.”

“You’re a piece of work, man,” Steve said, grimacing, but he helped her get Billy’s dead weight off Joyce Byers’ floor and down the steps to the cars. “Want me to drive him home? You get pulled over driving with him in the car…”

Max and Billy flinched at that. “Fuck,” Billy panted, his face getting red and veiny as his head and arms dangled over Harrington’s back.

“Oh, oh shit,” Max said, realizing she could hardly drive Billy home to a waiting Neil, when he was acting like he’d been doing drugs. “We can’t take him home. We can’t. His dad’ll end him.”

“Like you give a shit,” Billy muttered.

“Jesus. Let’s, um,” Steve thought, walking over to his car. “You’re not bringing this jackass to my house, so don’t even—”

For a brief second, Max was so strongly homesick for the skatepark by their house in California she had to shut her eyes, imagining taking Billy somewhere she knew to sober up, somewhere with people who had nothing going on but a few skateboard tricks. She groaned into her hands.

“Whoa, whoa,” Steve said, shifting Billy, who grunted. “Look, wait, there’s—we’ll take him to the playground, okay. When he’s sobered up some, he can drive you home.”

“What,” Max said, blinking as she imagined Billy going down slides.

“Just somewhere to sit that’s not Mrs. Byers’ floor,” Steve said, grimacing.

“...why’re you doing this,” Billy asked, possibly to both of them, and Steve groaned.

“No fucking clue.”

“Why’re you such a fucking asshole dipshit?” Max asked, rhetorically.

“Why d’you hate me so much,” Billy asked, as Steve struggled to hold him up and get the car door open, muttering, “Oh, I can think of a few reasons.”

“I don’t hate you!” Max shouted. “I don’t! Why the hell did you—why’d you try to beat up my friends—what the hell is wrong with you!”

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” Billy growled back, but he sounded tired. “You’ve fucking...had it in for me for years. Little...bitch. Fuck...fuckface.”

“Shut up, dickhead,” Steve sighed, levering Billy into the passenger seat of his car. He slammed the door, and patted Max’s shoulder. “Follow me, I’ll take you to the playground.”

She nodded, glaring at Billy through the window, and wondering what the hell.

By the time she pulled up to the playground, craning to see in the low seat of the Camaro, Steve was hauling Billy back out of the car. “Let’s get you on the swing,” he was saying. “Get your feet moving a little, maybe.”

“Oh look, she’s here,” Billy said, baring his teeth. “Don’t you wanna take me home, Maxine? Tell my dad about something I actually did, for once.”

“The hell are you even talking about?” Steve sighed, rolling his eyes at Max, but Billy was glaring at her, his eyes still red and swollen from the mess he was, fighting Steve.

“You’ll find out,” Billy laughed. “Once she’s pissed and she tells everybody you touched her. Fuck you, Maxine Mayfield,” he hissed at her, his jaw working, and Steve stopped, staring from Billy’s drooping head to Max’s face.

“Wait, what,” he breathed, leaning warily away from Billy, as Max’s mouth dropped open in fury.

“I never said that shit, what the hell,” she growled. “I don’t lie. I’m not a liar.”

“I never did,” Billy yelled back at her, staggering as Steve held on to him. “I never—I never would’ve—I thought we were friends, you little shithead, you fucking—”

“I never said you did!” she yelled back, automatically, then remembered Neil dragging Billy out of her room. Her mom had stopped being nice to Billy, after that, she realized—she’d noticed, but she hadn’t thought about when. “...Billy, I never said that,” she whispered, watching his set face. “I didn’t, I—I never would have said that.”

“You told him,” Billy shot back, growling and waving an arm at her, so Steve nearly dropped him. Steve muttered profanity to himself as he hauled Billy along into the playground, and a few more feet, to the swings. “You coulda said one goddamn thing to me, I thought you were okay with me coming around, I—you fucking told him I was scary, you—you know how he was kicking my ass—he fucking...” Billy bit his lips together, breathing unsteadily. “Why the fuck would you tell him something like that—”

“I never did!” she shouted over him. “I never...I missed you too, you fucking asshole, I thought...I don’t know what I thought,” she trailed off with a sigh, realizing Billy was glaring at her even harder.

“...you didn’t tell my dad...to make me fuck off?” Billy said slowly.

“I missed you,” Max told him, sitting on the next swing, while Steve stood behind Billy, balancing him so he didn’t faceplant in the gravel. “Dunno why, but I did.”

“...he said I scared you,” Billy breathed. “You didn’t want to be in the same house with me—”

“I never fucking said that,” Max growled, spinning on the swing to kick his leg. “You moron, why would you…” she let her sentence trail off as she looked at him, and he was wiping his face, and sniffling. “...the hell would you think I’d lie to get you to stay away?” she asked, her own face reddening as Billy pressed his fist over his mouth to muffle his wet sniffles. Max’s own eyes stung and blurred. “Didn’t want you going anywhere, dickhead,” she whispered hoarsely, “—you had the back-issues of X-Men.”

“Holy shit,” Billy laughed like he hadn’t since they were kids, looking at her sidelong. “Thought you wanted me dead.”

“...’m sorry I had to sneak out,” she muttered. “I wasn’t trying to get you in trouble.”

“Fuck,” Billy breathed, “—I went nuts at the Byers’.”

“You went batshit fucking insane,” Max said dryly, and Billy hunched his shoulders, glancing back over his shoulder.

Harrington stepped back, one hand out to catch him. Billy clenched his hands on the chains for the swing. “I got it,” he muttered. “I won’t fall.”

Harrington nodded, and dropped into the swing on the other side of Billy. “Nice little family therapy session,” he said dryly, and Max winced with Billy, remembering how Steve’s head must be pounding, and how he’d slurred his words, stumbling around because of Billy’s fists.

“Sorry,” Billy grated out, and Steve snorted a laugh.

Max started explaining why she had to sneak out, stumbling over herself in her urgency, and Steve backed her up, just swaying on the swing tiredly, and kicking at the gravel.

“Fuck,” Billy started saying, as Steve described what had happened at the Byers’ the year before, and Max talked over him about the junkyard, and Billy’s eyes widened. “Fuck,” he said again, “...shit, you...saved her,” he mumbled, like his brain was stuck. “Holy shit.”

It was getting cold, late at night in the playground, but Max didn’t want to leave, so she just watched Steve spin around the seat of his swing, slowly tightening and tightening the twisted chains until he let go in a whirl. “Fuck. Sorry,” Billy kept saying, wiping his eyes.

For the first time, Max kind of...understood, what her mother meant, about the awful weather in April before flowers in May, because it wasn’t like Neil’s fucking raincloud was worthwhile, suddenly, but Billy was smirking at her again like a weight was off his shoulders. He was kicking at the gravel just like Steve, two little kids, and he grinned whenever he thought she wasn’t looking.

It was good to watch him bloom.

Here are my other Harringrove April prompts--DONE!

#Harringrove #Harringrove April #Susan has a shitty past too #She tries to teach Max it's normal #Max isn't having it #Max and Billy friendship

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diyunho · 5 years

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The Joker x Reader - “ Nobody” Part 1

After not feeling well for months, The Joker finally found out why: the life threatening condition is so serious there’s only a 50/50 chance of survival. Dealing with a brain tumor is not going to be easy, that’s why The King of Gotham asked his half-brother Arthur to help Y/N while he’ll undergo treatment.

The Joker yawns, repositioning his head in your lap.

“You want a small pillow?” you pause the movie you’re both watching and he refuses.

“No,” J stretches on the couch. “These are soft enough,” he pokes your thighs and you squirm, ticklish to his touch.

Suddenly, the cell phone chimes and J reaches his hand to grab it from the table.

“Arthur is here,” he announces. “He wasn’t in a hurry, hm?” The Joker mumbles while getting up.

You decline to comment and do the same because you can hear the elevator going up to the Penthouse. You could say the anticipation is making you a little bit nervous: you’ve been with J for about 10 months but you’ve never met Arthur. Probably it’s safe to assume they are not very close yet soon after finding out about the illness, The Joker contacted his sibling to let him know and sure enough he agreed to come over and help.

Although Mr. Fleck is three hours late, it doesn’t mean he is trying to back out on his promise.

The elevator opens and Arthur emerges dressed in one of his red suits, anxiously passing his fingers through his curls. J wants to criticize and his brother is in no mood for a lecture:

“Before you lash out, I was delayed by an unexpected issue!” he keeps talking and walking in your direction. “My apologies.”

“What issue?” J growls and Arthur extends the palm of his hand, firmly shaking yours, definitely not waiting for an introduction: “Hello there,” he smiles. “I’m the older, smarter, funnier and more charming version; you must be the better half.”

“Riiiiiight…” The Joker rolls his eyes, annoyed.

“Y/N,” you smirk at the man’s remark and he lets go of your hand, explaining his delayed arrival:

“Don’t get worked up, kid. One of my projects required immediate attention and I had to sort it out.”

You expect The Joker to protest the nickname but he doesn’t mention anything: Arthur always called him that since they were teenagers and your boyfriend is used to it. Doesn’t bother him at all.

“Do you want a drink? Are you hungry?” you offer and he nods a no.

“I’m good; thanks,” he takes a sit on the nearest armchair and the couple reprises their position on the sofa.

A few moments of silence before Arthur decides to talk about the reason why he’s at the Penthouse.

“Sooo… What did the doctors find out? How bad is it?” he inquires and you unconsciously cling to J’s arm, not willing to hear about it again.

“The brain tumor is too big, I can’t have surgery yet. I already started with lower doses of medication 20 days ago, I have to gradually build up to the higher doses so my body can handle it. Soon I’ll have chemo every 3 weeks, then every 2 we…”

A low chuckle and Arthur covers his mouth in horror.

“Sorry…” he has a chance to whisper before bursting out laughing.

“Here we go…” The Joker crosses his legs, patiently waiting for his brother to finish his outburst. The King of Gotham may not be an accommodating individual, but his sibling’s condition is something he has always tolerated without any problem.

“I’m very…” Arthur tries to speak but the strenuous sounds he makes at the end of each cackle prove how much he’s struggling to control his inappropriate amusement. “…s-sorry,” he continues to snicker while digging in his pocket for a small piece of laminated paper. He finds the item and hands it over to you; you curiously inspect the writing: it basically explains his neurological disorder in a few words.

“It’s fine, J told me,” you return the information to its owner.

“I can’t believe you still have that,” The Clown Prince of Crime huffs as Arthur is slowly regaining his composure.

“I’m very sorry,” he emphasizes his regrettable outpour. “You were saying?”

J deeply inhales and reprises the briefing:

“I’ll have to do chemo every 3 weeks, then every 14 days until the tumor shrinks enough to be operable. I guess I have a 50/50 chance of surviving the whole thing, that’s why I asked for your cooperation in helping Y/N oversee my affairs. I will get worse before I might get better, thus here we are.”

Arthur pulls tissues out of the box next to him and gives them to the devastated Y/N: The Joker didn’t notice you are quietly sobbing by his side.

“Please stop crying,” he kisses your temple, avoiding your emotions like he regularly does. The best option is to divert the gathering towards another topic. “We got ready one of the bedrooms upstairs for you; I hope that’s up to your standards.”

“My standards are normal,” the truth is blurred out. “You’re the fancy one, kid. That’s why you’re The Joker and I’m Joker; I don’t need any glorification. Plus, I didn’t oppose when you picked this half of town and left me the other.”

“You’re an idiot!” the green haired man stands up from his spot, wanting nothing more than to retreat to the master bedroom after an exhausting day.

“Runs in the family,” Arthur nonchalantly hints and you snort, blowing your nose in a tissue.

“Keep your mouth shut!” J advices and you have no clue he’s referring to more than just the constant bickering going on between them. “I’m calling it quits, are you coming?”

“I’ll have a smoke on the terrace first, “Arthur searches for his pack of cigarettes and you believe this is the perfect chance to chat with him:

“I’ll stay with our guest, alright?”

“Suit yourselves,” The Joker grumbles and you follow his brother outside on the huge patio.

“I forgot how nice this is from the 30th floor,” Arthur stirs the conversation while lighting up a cigarette.

“Yes, it’s a lovely view,” you wipe your tears and he resentfully mutters:

“I fucking hate this town…”

You sigh, not wishing to interrupt in case he has more to add and the plain inquiry catches you off guard.

“How are you holding up?”

The question resonates in the awkward stillness and Y/N elects to bring him up to date.

“I’m doing the best I can under the circumstances. He’s not doing well…” you sniffle and Arthur pays attention to your confession. “The medications may be in low amount, but they are strong; they make him very confused at times, plus the side effects of the tumor… he forgets things, he has no idea where he is or… or… who I am. The doctors advised that when it happens we have to go with the flow and not push for him to recall details. His brain is under a lot of pressure and this is only the beginning.”

Arthur blows smoke up in the air, displeased with the news about his younger sibling.

“Shit, that’s rough…”

That’s surely the understatement of the year for the heartbroken Y/N.

“When he doesn’t recognize me, I tell him I’m nobody, just a person taking care of the place and he doesn’t even know the difference. I suggest you avoid any type of confrontation while he’s like that; please generalize everything you articulate and don’t complicate the situation.”

“Of course… Yeah, yeah, of course,” he is fast to agree with your guidance.

“Thank you,” you sincerely show your gratitude because you appreciate his presence. “I think I’ll join him upstairs; tonight he’s beginning higher dosage on his pills and he might have a reaction.”

“I’ll stay and finish my cigarette,” Arthur scratches the scar above his lip. “Which bedroom is mine?”

“Fourth one on the left.”

“Perfect, I’ll find it,” he waves as you return inside, eager to check up on The Clown Prince of Crime.

**************

“What the … t-the hell?” The Joker stutters, groggy from the strong medications swallowed a few hours ago.

You barely distinguish his wobbly silhouette standing by the bed.

“What’s wrong?” you turn on the lamp on the nightstand, instantly aware of his wet boxers.

“I d-didn’t make it to… to the bathroom,” J seems out of it, yet at least he realizes that much.

“Oh, it’s totally fine,” you maintain your cool and jump off the sheets, rushing to help him. “The doctors warned accidents could happen since the drugs are making you dizzy and super drowsy. Let’s step in the bathtub, shall we?”

You take his hand and lead a compliant boyfriend to the master bathroom; sometimes it’s easy to deal with him in this state, sometimes it’s not.

Luckily tonight he’s obedient.

You turn on the water and he tightly holds his boxers while you attempt to yank them off him.

“Who…who are you?” The Joker sulks, unhappy with your movement.

“I’m nobody,” you reply and manage not to cry at his disorientation. “I’m here to help you, ok?” you calmly try to reason with his baffled mind.

“I… I… I don’t want you to see me naked,” he complains and Y/N has an easy solution for the apparent controversy.

“I’ll close my eyes, deal?”

You do as vowed and J lets you undress him, finally ending up in the bathtub for a quick, relaxing soak.

“You want bubbles?” you glance at him once the body is submerged under the warm water.

“No…” he yawns and you fold a towel, placing it under his head in case he’ll pass out.

“Where… where am I?...”

A faint knock at the door and Arthur talks in a low tone:

“Everything good?”

“Yes, we’re fine,” he distinguishes your reply; he just returned from the underground garage with his suitcase and discerned the commotion: made him wonder if his assistance was necessary.

“Who was that?” The Joker enjoys being pampered by the stranger he doesn’t recognize for the moment; apparently forgot about shyness also because he has no objection to the sponge bath now.

“The maintenance guy,” you lie without blinking while pouring more shampoo over J’s toxic green locks.

*************

10 am

Arthur joined you and The Joker in the kitchen less than 5 minutes ago; he positioned himself against the counter, this way he has a broad perspective of the whole space. He sips on the fresh coffee, observing the scene unfolding at the table:

J is reading a magazine and you feed him breakfast, caressing his hair every few seconds. You didn’t mention anything about last night; he woke up feeling a bit better and it’s safe not to agitate him with useless facts.

“Are you hungry?” you address Arthur and he lifts his shoulders up, undecided.

“Maybe… I’ll munch on something shortly.”

“Hurry up before it gets cold,” you encourage him and The Joker is already as crabby as he can be.

“Stop bugging him! If he wants to eat, he’ll eat!”

“I’m not bugging him,” you defend your action, upset at J’s feisty attitude.

“She’s not bugging me,” Arthur tucks a rebel curl behind his ear, disapproving of his brother’s assumption.

“I’m not,” you sweetly smile and The Joker slaps your fingers away from his hair.

The cheerfulness dies on your face and you get up, kicking the chair in the process.

“I’ll bring your morning meds,” you enunciate and leave the kitchen in a hurry.

“Goddamn irritating,” J hisses at your behavior and Arthur can’t zip it.

“Are you stupid?” he sucks on his cheeks and that definitely gets your boyfriend’s attention.

“What did you say?!”

“I’ve been here for minutes and she didn’t take a single bite out of anything, too preoccupied with making sure you eat. Do you even notice how she looks at you?” he raises his voice. “So I’m asking you again: are you stupid?”

“Excuse me?!” J abandons his seat and the threatening demeanor queues Arthur about the imminent scuffle, not that he’s willing to avoid it.

“I wasn’t clear enough?” the latest provokes his sibling. “ARE. YOU. STUUUUPID?” he repeats, cracking his neck with anticipation.

You are coming downstairs with the meds and the ruckus happening in the kitchen makes you speed up.

You are certainly not disappointed at the show: J and Arthur are wrestling on the floor, relentlessly hitting one another.

“Stop it!!” you shout and your plea is ignored. “Stop it!” you insist when you detect Arthur’s bloody nose and J’s busted lip. “Are you deaf?! Stop it!!”

This is the last drop: after another shitty night and the stuff you endured recently, you are completely lacking any kind of patience for anybody’s nonsense.

You toss the vial with The Joker’s tablets on the counter, snatch the ice bucket from the freezer and fill it out with water. The ice cubes float in the clear liquid: the 8 gallons metal container is pretty large since it’s used for J’s grape juice cans.

You thud on the marble floor and dump the freezing concoction on top of the two heated fighters, the sudden shock from the unexpected impact being enough to halt the brawl.

“Ugg!!” J rolls on his back while Arthur crawls by the stove. “What are you doing, Y/N?!” he yells and you storm out, firmly squeezing the ice bucket to your chest without realizing.

The loud bang of a shut door bears witness of your justified rage concerning the altercation; how can you not get mad at such crap?!

Arthur seeks for his beloved cigarettes in the interior of his orange vest, triumphantly lightening one after failing the first trials.

“I like her,” he puffs the fumes out, leaning towards his brother because J is gesturing for the bud.

The Joker takes a deep drag, admitting for once:

“Me too.”

“I thought you quit,” Arthur points out.

“I did,” his brother answers, glaring at the ceiling. “Clean up this mess!” he orders and continues to smoke.

“Nope, we should let fate determine,” the older sibling suggests and J falls into the little trap.

“Rock, paper, scissors?”

“Ready?” Arthur smirks and counts. “1…2…3!”

“… … … Dammit!” The King of Gotham cusses.

“Have fun, kid!” the winner plucks the cig away from J. “Gimme, these are bad for your health!”

**************

“Are you in here?” The Joker sneaks in his office and watches you patrol around the desk, still vigorously attached to the infamous ice bucket.

The lack of reply makes him approach the distressed woman; you avoid gazing his way at all costs.

“I need my pitcher,” he sniffles and Y/N disregards his sentence. “You’re aware I like to use grape juice on ice for those bitter capsules. There’s no bucket and no ice in the freezer so… what am I supposed to do? Skip my morning remedy?”

A hint of lowered resistance and he’s taking advantage of it.

“My lip hurts,” he rubs the swollen, red spot. “I need ice for this too.”

You place your precious bucket on top of some folders, cautiously examining the superficial cut.

“Stitches won’t be necessary,” the obvious result updates a pouting J.

“Are you sure?” he plays dumb and wraps his arms around your waist. “Take a closer look, I can’t afford to walk around with chipped dignity.”

You peck the unharmed corner of his mouth, mad you’re giving into such cheap amendments.

“I’m positive…”

The Joker grins and kisses you, entirely convinced it wasn’t hard to get under your skin.

“You’re not going to leave, are you?” he rests his forehead on yours and Y/N is speechless at the question. “This is the tumor talking, obviously,” J fixes the tiny mistake when he sees your reaction.

“Obviously…” you whisper, sadly reckoning he purposely avoids any type of sensitive debate about your future together.

The Joker though is carefully listening to Arthur mumbling on the hallway, suspicious at the meaning.

“Is he eavesdropping?!” you focus on the faint words also and it clicks for J.

“Cut it out!!!” he screams while Mister Fleck is not phased, joyfully concluding the ceremony the couple didn’t agree to.

“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you Nobody and Joker!”

“What was that?!” you crinkle your nose, puzzled.

“He has a minister license and never used it; he tried to hitch me with my ex too,” J clarifies his brother’s odd conduct.

“You may now kiss the bride!” Arthur shouts and The Joker had enough:

“Shut the fuck up!!!”

“What am I supposed to do with my license then?!” the wavy hair pops in the door frame.

“I don’t care!” J snarls, fed up with his sibling’s persistence. “Go pester someone else!” the door is slammed in Arthur’s face; fortunately the 42 years old is not the type of man to be easily offended.

He adjusts the pieces of tissue sticking out of his bloody nose, proudly holding the minister accreditation at eye level.

“I got myself a sister-in-law,” Arthur chuckles at his achievement, impatiently searching for a pack of cigarettes in the pocket of his red jacket.

Also read: MASTERLIST

You can also follow me on Ao3 and Wattpad under the same blog name: DiYunho.

#the joker x reader #the joker fanfiction #the joker imagine #the joker arthur fleck #the joker jared leto #the joker joaquin pheonix #the joker #joker fanfiction #joker arthur fleck #the joker suicide squad #joker suicide squad #mister j #Mistah J #arthur fleck x reader #dc #dcu

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harry-leroy · 4 years

Text

So @ticketybooser left some wonderful comments on my last George Warleggan fic that I posted (thank you for those! ❤️) - and so I got some ideas for continuing it. This doesn’t end in any particular spot, and it’s probably something I’m just going to keep adding onto as I feel like it. Leaving under the cut for length + angst. Also going to tag @forcebros because our boys!

From the door, another figure came into frame. Tall, imposing, he turned the lock and swung open the door. His eyes locked with Dwight’s. Impulsively, Dwight let go of George’s arm. It was Penrose.

“Ah, Dr. Enys,” he began, relieving the other doctor by means of a slight nod. “Word was going around that we might be expecting you here today. Come to call me other names? Or does ‘brute’ settle it for you?”

George stepped back, his shoulders tensing. Dwight had to steel his courage, which wavered in Penrose’s presence.

“I’ve come to take him home,” Dwight swallowed, remembering that his position was the right.

Penrose chuckled a little.

“Take him home?” He shifted on his feet, almost as if marking it as a jest. “Who said you would be allowed to do that?”

“He shouldn’t be here-“ Dwight began.

“As far as our procedures are concerned,” Penrose’s eyes narrowed on Dwight, as if sizing him up. “George will not be allowed to leave until he has received a clearance that his madness has been cured. You’ve been made aware, Dr. Enys, that he is one of the most stubborn patients we have yet come across,”

“So-“ Dwight attempted to interject.

“So the prospect isn’t likely,” Penrose almost sneered.

“So you are aware,” Dwight finished what he had to say, voice calm. “My claim to take him home is not under the basis that his condition has improved. In fact, I think it has become far worse since his arrival,”

“Worse?” Penrose gritted his teeth.

“Have you checked his pulse?” Dwight asked. “I think you’ll find it rather quick. Quicker than I am comfortable with,”

Penrose took a few short steps towards George and took his wrist. He was met with some resistance, though Penrose fought to get his way, nearly taking George off his feet when he pulled the wrist in his direction. There was a pause in the conversation, then a frown on Penrose’s face, followed by the wrist being thrown down at George’s side.

“Oh, so the kind and patient doctor has come to intervene,” Penrose mocked. “This is not a charity house, it’s a hospital,”

“So leaving a man with his pulse that high-“ Dwight began.

“George is not used to visitors. He is forbidden from seeing anyone from outside the hospital under normal circumstances; circumstances which I would like to keep in place,” Penrose explained, his patience running short.

“I’ve been made aware of that,” Dwight said.

Penrose blinked, trying to piece out if Dwight had said what he thought he had said.

“I’ve been told that his uncle and his son have been denied from seeing him on several occasions,” Dwight continued, deciding to then lower his voice. “Now his son has taken ill. He will not eat. George’s son is a growing young boy who needs nourishment,”

“Young boys should stay out of this,” Penrose said with an air of contempt.

“How about his uncle?” Dwight stepped closer to Penrose. “The stiffest man in Cornwall was nearly brought to tears by his nephew’s suffering,”

“For God’s sake, Enys!” Penrose snapped. “George Warleggan is gone from their lives now. He’s incurable. Do you hear me? Incurable,”

Dwight shuddered at the word. This whole time, George had been running his index finger along the windowsill in slow little patterns. They were the patterns on Elizabeth’s jewelry, though no one could guess that but him. He was used to men talking about him like this, and saw no more reason to intervene. That would only bring him more punishment.

“No,” Dwight shook his head, staring at Penrose, incredulous. “No. You’re wrong,”

Penrose scoffed, regaining his temper.

“And what are you going to do?” He challenged. “I’ve said it before, and I’ve said it again. Your lunatic methods go against all proven treatments,”

“And this isn’t lunatic?” Dwight nearly lost track of the conversation from the sheer exhaustion of trying to reason with this man. However, Penrose’s approaching figure, all the more menacing, all the more imposing, brought Dwight back.

“I could have you put away right now if I felt like it,” Penrose’s eyes were monstrous. “Your entire coming here has been nothing but an act of utter madness. If you think you’ve been destined to save George Warleggan of all people from my grasp then you are sorely mistaken!”

He started laughing under his breath, it was short, though enough.

“Pity,” he said. “The mad doctor. Believing he can cure the incurable. How shameful that would be for your charming wife to hear,”

The thought intruded into Dwight’s mind like a slippery worm. He thought of suffering as George had suffered. Aching. Alone. Without agency. He thought of Caroline. She would forget him, surely. She would marry some rich heir. The only child he could give her had died. Who was to say that the rest would not turn out the same? If they were given another? Another husband, a better husband would suit her more. The screaming down the hall brought him back to France. He felt his pulse quicken. He could not be a prisoner again.

“Dr. Enys?” Penrose recalled the man back from a horrid trance. “Don’t tell me that I have cause to act against you now,”

Dwight swallowed, still caught off guard by the doctor’s remark. His methods had been unpopular, yes, but they were far more humane and effective than anything that Penrose would do. No. Caroline loved him. France was behind him. If anything, George needed him now. If he could save one, it would be George Warleggan. Dwight was the sane man in the room. All the same, he was the odd man out.

“I think you’re forgetting who is now the head of the Cornwall Infirmary,” Dwight reminded him, and also himself. “I think you’re forgetting who they decided to turn down to place him there. If there are any issues with George Warleggan’s release into my care, you ought to take it up with him,”

Dwight turned back to George and took him gently by the hand, then began to walk with him towards the door of his room. As they walked, Dwight wrapped one of his arms around George’s shoulders, as if to protect him from Penrose as they went past.

“Come on, George,” Dwight said, his voice soft. “Let us leave this Hell,”

* * *

Valentine now felt as though he were deaf to Ursula’s incessant crying. He stared blankly at the ceiling from his bed, a soreness dragging him deeper into the mattress as he huddled against it for warmth. His chest felt heavy, like it did when his Mama died. No tears came though.

He might have been glad once to have his Papa gone, but that was when Cary was gone too. They were in London for the week, and would return on a Saturday night. There were often little gifts waiting for Valentine the next morning, expensive trinkets from the high street and sometimes the odd toy. In those times, he had his Mama. She was not always as attentive as he wanted her to be, but at least Papa was not there to argue with her. Now, his father was somewhere else entirely, very sick, maybe even dead. Valentine had decided that of all the ways to die, madness would be the worst. Once, it had been childbirth, though Valentine realized that it was not something that he would likely experience, and so madness took over the spot.

This way, the way he was at the moment, didn’t seem a bad way to go. Starvation. Not something he was taught to worry about; his Papa had made that adamant. But now he couldn’t remember the last time he ate anything. He didn’t want to. The thought made him nauseous.

Valentine wondered if this is how Papa sometimes felt after a fit. Lethargic. For a moment, he pictured himself a madman as he lie in the bed, locked in his room to sleep. It sounded cozy, thought Valentine, with a sense of irony that was too much for his tired young brain to analyze. Perhaps he would go back to sleep again, as he had been doing for days on end.

There was a soft knock at the door before he saw Cary enter. He hadn’t been expecting Cary. Normally, it had been Bessie or Lucy with some soup or something of the like, which often went untouched. He was told that Dr. Enys had come once and given him something to soothe him, but it was beyond his memory. Valentine thought for a moment to pretend to be asleep so he wouldn’t be bothered, but the thought didn’t come fast enough.

“What are you doing here?” Valentine asked, face feeling flushed and feverish.

Cary hesitated a moment before speaking.

“I came here to tell you that I spoke with Dr. Enys,” Cary decided to sit down on the side of the bed, causing the weight on the mattress to shift in a funny way. “About your father,”

The pressure on Valentine’s chest felt tighter and heavier than before. He was dead, the boy knew. It would be some gross story that his uncle would coat in sugar as best he could. Passed out naked on a bed of straw, wouldn’t wake up, hadn’t bathed in weeks. There was blood in his hair, but it was from a fight with a doctor some days earlier. His wrists were as red as cranberries. The welts on his back would have been enough to kill him, but George Warleggan didn’t go down easy - that was the image Valentine had spent the past few months imagining, the picture of his hypothetically dead father becoming more complex each time he thought about it. But that wasn’t the news at all.

“He’s coming home,” Cary said, a pained smile crossing his face for a brief moment. Cary was sorely unused to smiling at all, and the news was almost bittersweet, knowing well in his heart that he would have to see his nephew in a wretched condition once again.

“Oh,” Valentine said, almost too tired to react in any other way. The tenacious illness that grabbed him seemed to lessen his excitement. Or perhaps it was the fear of seeing that imaginary dead man walking.

#george warleggan #dwight enys #poldark fic #poldark au #poldark #valentine warleggan #my fic #ahhhhh #:’)

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irismadison · 3 years

Text

A letter to the new and seasoned residents…

A letter to the new and seasoned residents, from an old icu nurse

As the month of July takes off, I just wanted to say I see you and I appreciate you. I see your excitement and your fear- your enthusiasm rekindles my own passions about medicine and Your fear and uncertainty reminds me of my own struggles around the immense responsibility of being entrusted with a life. I see your exhaustion, I’ve noticed the rapid progression of aging as the months go by- it saddens me to see you lose your sparkle- while I admire your commitment to keep showing up, I hate that the system forces you to sacrifice so much- life goes on and 80 hour work weeks leave you suspended in the fluorescent sterile time capsule of the hospital walls. I wish there was more I could do to advocate for you. I see you struggling with that demeaning attending- I’ve also been the target of their verbal abuse. So many times I’ve wanted to tell you about the whispering I hear from other physicians- the most abusive attendings usually aren’t well respected by colleagues. I wish more of them stood up for you.

I appreciate your knowledge and your willingness to teach me new things- you are the most up-to-date source of EBP and novel treatments. I also appreciate your willingness to collaborate and ask me questions about my own clinical experience. Contrary to what you might think, admitting you don’t know something actually makes you look more competent. I appreciate your candor- often times after you leave the room pts remark at how personable you are- you’re good at bringing humanity back into medicine.

I see you progressing in your clinical skills- it was awesome to see that brief moment of pride when you intubated that difficult airway. I wanted to high-five you afterwards but you were paged to manage the next crisis. I also see you growing into yourself- I overheard you standing your ground with that other specialist- sometimes your differential dx is right on and sometimes it’s wrong- What I appreciate most is seeing you get more comfortable advocating for your patient.

I see you struggling with disillusionment- I want to tell you that we all struggle with this- the system is broken. It’s difficult to reconcile the reality of healthcare with the vision of what it could be. If you ever find yourself struggling with despair and helplessness please reach out. Come find me. Chances are I work on your unit. Please don’t ever feel like you have to figure it out on your own. There are thousands of nurses and physicians just like me. Reach out if you need to talk. We’re here and we are all routing for you.

submitted by /u/Salty-Particular [link] [comments] from /r/medicine: a subreddit for medical professionals https://ift.tt/2VDmOMq

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olwog · 7 years

Text

So Boys and Girls, Today we’ll learn about cheap flights to Venice, how bad things can sometimes happen in more than threes, how beautiful this city really is and how to set off the security alarms in an airport.

The Pilgrim has been busy on T’internet and has a proposal.

“Fancy a run to Venice?”, she asks. “Do dickie birds fly and fish swim?”, was my reply.

It’s fifty quid apiece for the airfares and a little over that per-night for an AirBnB apartment in the heart of the town about five minutes from Rialto Bridge.

In the intervening time there has been a flurry of activity around the Passport Office in Durham which turned into an away-day holiday on the train and included a wonderful walk around the city followed by a gentle meander around the Cathedral. All very pleasant and I have to say the people at the Passport Office were charm and efficiency itself. My high tech passport had got a poorly chip and forgotten the colour of my eyes or shape of my retina or some such thing. You might say no big deal but it did result in me getting ‘special treatment’ on each trip away this year whilst the Pilgrim and the other travellers, presumably including terrorists, got to be fast tracked through the automatic barriers. I never got the thrill of the rubber gloves but the threat was always there!

Anyway, it’s three thirty in the morning and I’m having a coffee, the Pilgrim joins me at about quarter to four and by four o’clock we’re carefully removing the nearside mirror from the car by virtue of a stone gatepost; no matter, we’re going on holiday.

We’re not out of town yet and I realise I’ve left three hundred euros but decide not to return as I can use them when I’m in Nice in another month.

We’re on our way to Leeds/Bradford where it is chaotic. Staff are, as alway, cheerful and respectful but the airport itself seems to have outgrown its capacity. I know that in another two or three hours we’ll be in the sunshine but the morning hasn’t started well.

We eventually board the ‘plane and then begin counts and re-counts followed by threats to remove the luggage of some unpronounceable individual who, it would seem, has dematerialised during the short trip between check-in and the flight. After several more re-counts and a walk down the aisle with a clip board the threat is carried out. It’s really is stacking up to be ‘one of those days’!

So, we’re a little late but at least we’re off, short of the aeroplane falling out of the sky we’ll be there in two hours; it doesn’t and we are.

Carefree now, we board a bus that takes us about 50 metres to the door to the terminal whilst those that haven’t boarded the bus arrive just a little before us having walked – but it’s Italy and that’s OK.

We’re just about to go through passport control and I’m looking forward to testing my new chip but this is all manual so It’ll remain untested until our return. Then there’s an ‘oh shit’ moment as the Pilgrim realises she’s left her bag in the care of Ryanair on the ‘plane. “Well, pluck me with a feather”, says she (Well it was something like that) and makes a return to said ‘plane with considerable haste. I’m thinking that the morning started poor and has gone steadily gone down hill when the Pilgrim’s good intentions turn to bad as she sets off the airport security alarms whilst making her illegal exit to the tarmac. After a brief explanation and a thorough check of her passport by the officials who clearly believe her to be a threat to national security we’re reunited at the bag drop where both my hold baggage and her cabin back have made a miraculous appearance.

We exit the secure area into the arrivals hall and start the process of hunt the email that proves we have a ticket for the transfer from Treviso Airport to Venice itself and it seems to have done a runner. After several searches of the ‘phone and some sage advice from the help desk where the mere mention of Ryanair and a transfer into town brings a rye smile and a toss of the head in a John Mcenroe “You cannot be serious” kind of way. She points us to the ticket office at the other end of the hall where I’d already had some advice and thankfully they are well on the ball and hand a list of names to the Pilgrim to identify herself. That done and tickets exchanged we’re on the bus. All’s well that ends well; however, we still haven’t connected with Sandra who owns the apartment that we ‘might’ be staying in for the next four days. I’ve seen the trail of texts and emails on the Pilgrim’s ‘phone where she’s made every effort to respond both timely and in appropriate detail; however, Sandra’s replies have been inconsistent and efforts to ring her ‘phone have been unsuccessful. It’s quite important that we meet as she’ll be showing us where it is, letting us in and handing over the key, well that’s the plan.

Hopes are raised as the Pilgrim receives a call from Sandra, a lovely Welsh lady from Swansea and our contact for the apartment; no, this is a huge coincidence, the name is correct, we are wanting to talk to Sandra but not about solar panels, I think I’d have told her to piss off but the Pilgrim is made of sterner stuff and is rather more polite.

Back to the challenge in hand, we’d really, really like to be able to pick up those keys today. There’s some light hearted conversation about the scenery and a comment about what nice weather we’re having, then, about half an hour in and some WhatsApp activity there are smiles as contact is made. Sandra prefers the use of WhatsApp but had clearly forgotten to mention it.

So, we exit the coach at the bus stop, buy a hat, nice paper straw one made in China, buy a couple of three day tickets for all public transport a snip at 40 euros each, we activate them ready for our first canal excursion with the intention of meeting Sandra near the Travalex, she’ll be sporting a red rose and wearing a green scarf (OK the last part may include embellishment but the Travelex bit is true).

The journey along the canal is spectacular and the sky is unbroken sunshine, what’s not to like.

We disembark at Rialto and, whilst there’s no soft focus shot or slow motion approach we’re still quite glad that Sandra is really real and not a digital assistant living in a virtual world. We do the continental kissing bit, elaborate and on both cheeks and then she welcomes us to Venice.

The apartment is situated no more than 10 minutes from anything but only 5 minutes from Rialto Bridge so it’s central with a big ‘C’. It can be found, with a bit of patience, along a labyrinth of very narrow streets and if you have Google Maps on your ‘phone is dead easy to find, without it you need a Geographer!

Sandra is very patient and spends over an hour advising us of restaurants, cafes, sights to see and towers to climb to see magnificent views – and magnificent views there are aplenty!

After Sandra’s exhaustive and exhausting introduction we make our way back to Rialto Bridge and board the vaporetto to… well it could have been anywhere because you just can’t make a bad choice. We end up at Piazza San Marco where the Campanile di San Marco dominates the square and you can pay 8 euros for a coffee then be chased along the street for another 15 euros for the entertainment that just happens to be playing adjacent to where you’re sitting. We’d been warned (thanks Anne) so we make every effort to enjoy the square then make our way to a cafe with rather less eye watering intent but equally good coffee.

The return involves snaking our way along some of the narrowest and cleanest passageways that oozed safety. In fact I’ve never been to a city that’s felt this safe and hope that it’s not built on a false premise.

At ten to nine the sun goes down and at nine it’s dark and we pass a kind of courtyard that’s lit by coloured lights and there is one table ideally placed at the outer edge of the clutter that’s been recently vacated. It whispers an invitation that we accept with gratitude and the waiter immediately responds with a cloth to wipe it down and take our drinks order.

This is such a good place, there is no thoroughfare of people wandering past and knocking the chairs and tables. The lights are subdued but not dingy. The waiter is attentive and knowledgeable and the food is divine. An hour and half later we’re well fed, a little mellow and ready for bed and here’s the bonus, we’re only five minutes from our temporary Home.

How to describe Venice? Well. The Pilgrim summed it up where quoting someone else’s quote; ‘Venice cannot be compared with anywhere else but Venice. I couldn’t know that now but I will do when I leave.

We walked and floated on our second day around the City taking in vaporettos, bridges, churches and more canals. During the day there are crowds, and these are challenging on the vaporettos but it’s no real issue as we’re only on them for one or two stops and the staff are super efficient shouting commands first in Italian then in English. Everywhere we go we’re looked after by smiling locals who live either here on the main island or make a short commute from one of the islands.

There is evidence of the greatness of Venice everywhere. It was founded in the 5th century and became a dominant region for trade linking Europe, Africa and because of the sea links the far east and Asia. It’s had a number of titles but all of them include the word Venice. My favourite that is still appropriate today is Serenìsima Repùblica Vèneta which means the Serene Republic Of Venice. There is little traffic noise because there are no roads. There is some minor engine noise from the various boats but not intrusive. The noise of people talking to each other is clear and occasionally there’ll be locals shouting to each other in Italian as they toss merchandise, sometimes in huge and unfeasibly heavy packs off working boats from canal to shore and always with a twinkle in the eye and a captivating smile often accompanied with a baritone laugh.

The streets, paths and passageways are narrow and always have a bridge as they criss cross the canals. The labyrinth is intimidating to start with then, as I begin to appreciate how small the city is, it becomes irrelevant. I’m also accompanied by own Geographer/Map Reader with an unerring sense of direction in the form of the Pilgrim who seems to have memorised areas of the city and the means of getting between them.

Going back to the Serenìsima Repùblica Vèneta, there was an unofficial referendum in 2014. It was claimed there were 2.34 million votes cast and the result was that the Serene Republic of Venice should be re-established and it would accede to the EU, adopt the Euro and join NATO. It was all non-binding of course but it is an indicator of the pride of the people in their region. Their sole purpose in life is to show us their city and make it an amazing experience into the bargain, well that’s my take on it anyway!

It did enjoy a period of about a thousand years as a sovereign state from the ninth century during which time the focus was almost exclusively trade although they did indulge in a bit of fighting along the coast with a navy that was not to be ‘messed with’.

There is evidence of great men in the form of statues to saints and sinner alike. Vivaldi is prominent together with Marco Polo and there are exhibitions and more statues in fabulous open piazzas usually dominated by a church. Sadly, there is very little in terms of great women and the only female statues that I saw were saints or references to Giocometti’s exhibition of his Women of Venice statuettes which, apparently, travelled the world including the Tate in Britain.

It is a city of contradictions with occasional signs that politely ask you not to picnic on the steps of a bridge; however, there are no public seats in any of the piazzas so they’re ignored anyway.

The bars and restaurant/cafes have seating areas which are not particularly jealously guarded and I do sit at one or two of them whilst checking the map with no intrusion by waiter or owner such is the welcome.

On the third day we go by vaporetto to Lido which is a long island to the south east of the main conurbation of Venice. The beach is busy but not crushed like some of the popular Spanish ones and the Adriatic is warm so we take the opportunity to swim and follow that with drying off under the warm sun.

It reminds me of childhood days in Redcar when we’d be taken there once per year usually as a church outing in a ‘luxury’ coach with seats that were rough on the skin of boys and girls in short trousers and equally short dresses. As I doze I can remember the first shout of “I can see the sea” as we reach the top of the bank at Yearby and the excitement of nearly being there as the coach pulled into a parking area. These ‘coach parks’ were really an area of waste ground and there were so many coaches that they were parked extremely close to each other so that it was necessary to agree a time for our return which was not negotiable.

There then followed a day of sandcastles carefully built with small, brightly painted, tin buckets and matching spades. Then we’d attempt to fill the moats with sea water that disappeared at the same rate as you poured it from the bucket. The bucket, of course, was now rendered useless as a receptacle for building more sandcastles because the wet inside would make the sand stick so you couldn’t get the smooth sides necessary for the turrets. We found a way around that though by wetting the sand first, not too wet though or they would collapse; the mix had to be just right.

There’d be ice-cream as a treat and a break in the middle of the day to consume the pre-prepared sandwiches wrapped in grease proof paper and usually with the added thrill of additional sand that grated in your teeth and this, sometimes, was supplemented by chip show chips and I still enjoy a sandwich of any sort with a few chips on the side of the plate as a treat.

All of this was interspersed with occasional dips in the icy North Sea followed by violent shivering as the water evaporated from our skin and ‘me Mam’ would vigorously rub us down with a towel that removed the water droplets and warmed us up but left a residue of sand so that whatever tan we’d acquired through the day would be sandblasted off by the afternoon rub.

Twenty minutes before the pre-determined time we’d all return to the ‘coach park’ along with half the mother & child population of Yorkshire to choke on the exhaust fumes of the now started coaches and be transported back home with tales to tell in the playground the following week. Oh, and, I don’t remember a day that wasn’t sunny but I do remember my sisters listening and singing Buddy Holly’s “Peggy Sue”.

I drift back to the sand here at the Venice Lido and enjoy the same sandy sandwiches only this time it’s a baguette and some very pleasant cherry tomatoes. The Pilgrim has prepared one with some olive oil, bay leaves and tomatoes so that it infuses into a bit of soft mass but the result is a very acceptable sandwich on the beach. I have separate components as I’m not keen on the thought of the soggy infusion but on the day, it does smell very nice.

We hire a four wheeled bike and I’m put in charge of the steering wheel but, in less than a mile, we’re returning to the owner with a request for a couple of two wheel bikes. There are no gears on the four wheeler and we both agree it is too slow.

Now equipped with a two rather more appropriate machines we tackle a circular route that more or less follows the coast. If you do come to Venice, I’d urge you to do this and just take your time. Whilst the Lido is not as picturesque as Venice proper, our afternoon is a delight and coupled with the spell on the beach, is a great way to soak up some sun.

We make a return to Fondemente Nove on the main Venice island passing the Hospital on route then make our way adjacent to the Ospedale Ss Giovani e Paolo (they don’t make it easy) and into the wonderful Basilica piazza of the same name. Time for coffee and a rest then off to gently walk the relatively short distance back to the apartment.

We’re lucky with evening meals. All are exceptional and by utilising the “Venezia Typicale” part of the menu we get beautiful local treats. Our first evening meal was in a small square, our next involved two, or it could have been three cicchetti (we did have a drink at each one – OK maybe it was four) which is the Venetian equivalent of tapas and they are wonderful.

The other two nights are spent with best bib and tucker on the banks of the Grande Canal. The prices are somewhat challenging but the ambience can not be bought and the Pilgrim is looking stunning so it has to be done. We eat as the sun goes down and the tide comes in. The canal laps on to the piazza as the vaparettos and other boats go by but the tiny waves only encroach by a couple of yards and we’re another twenty yards away. There are youngsters all dressed up and some of them wearing wreathes around their necks to celebrate graduation. They’ve had a few drinks but are not intrusive and they seem to want to do is sing. A police boat goes by with blue lights flashing but the picture is surreal as it doesn’t seem to be in any hurry.

Sobriety is abandoned in my case when I indulge in a bit of wine tasting that results in an empty bottle, I’m guessing the two or three Moretti as warm up may have contributed too. It did result in some significant snoring; however, why anyone would want to stay up and listen to me snore is a mystery to me.

Our final morning involves a 6am start and a bit of a walk which is pleasant in the sunshine. We do underestimate the time to reach the coach park where the airport shuttle bus operates and we arrive two minutes after seven. The bus is timetabled to leave at seven so things get a little tense as I wave my hat at the driver whilst the Pilgrim lies on the road in front of his wheels. Needless to say, we get on and although the rest of the occupants are not best pleased, we are – albeit, in my case, somewhat sweaty.

If you use the Treviso Venice airport there is a nice cafe just over the road that the Pilgrim points out. She’s used it before and it is far more ‘local’ and less frenetic than the ones in the departure lounge.

This is a glorious city every bit as wonderful as it’s been described, I’d go back in a heart beat and have already begun the planning.

Enjoy the snaps…G..x

With the Pilgrim Cecilia Kennedy

PS: if you can, view the snaps at full size and try not to get “Veniced out” as there are rather a lot of them.

As always please feel free to share.

Commercial use requires written permission and all is copyright.

Venice 2017 So Boys and Girls, Today we'll learn about cheap flights to Venice, how bad things can sometimes happen in more than threes, how beautiful this city really is and how to set off the security alarms in an airport.

#Landscapes #Photographs #Photos #Piazza San Marco #Pictures #Saint Mark&039;s Basilica #Venice #Walking #Walks

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pizza-is-my-buziness · 7 years

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An AU in which Jiaying received the T.A.H.I.T.I. treatment instead of Cal AKA the storyline we all deserved. @thesillybus this one is for you.

She has a favorite coffee shop where she loves to go between work and classes, carefully arranging her highlighters, pens, notecards and textbooks on the small table. She's older than most of the other patrons. She's twice as old as the other students, with their laptops and phones, their study groups and their easy smiles. But the coffee shop is quiet, for the most part, and there's something about the smell of darkly roasting coffee that seems to get her brain working.

The coffee on the corner of the table is nearly empty, the name scrawled onto the side finally spelled correctly after months of repeat visits and awkward reassurances made to the teenagers behind the counter. Still, the letters are crammed together in the awkward stilting hand of someone who forgot one and had to find a place to slide it in anyway but the name is hers nonetheless. Jiaying. It's odd how sometimes she feels like it slips away from her, like her thoughts disappear from time to time and she has to take solace in small things, like her name on a coffee cup, to remind her of who she is.

The books on the table remind her of who she wants to be and why she spends so much of her time studying, drinking cup after cup of coffee until she worries she might never sleep at night. Not that Jiaying feels like she has much time for sleep, not with medical textbooks to study, words and diseases and afflictions to commit to memory.

Jiaying has been going to the coffee shop -sitting in her same small table in the corner, by the window so she can watch the people pass when she needs to let her mind wander- for nearly seven months before she notices the other girl start to come in too. She's older, too, than most of the other patrons though not nearly as old as Jiaying. Despite the age difference, this girl seems to hang on the fringes anyway, like she's never been a part of their easy smiles and comradery and she doesn't know how to start now.

The first time Jiaying notices her it's because she feels like someone's watching her and she's surprised to look up and find this girl staring at her. Jiaying's gotten pretty good at recognizing faces, about giving half-hearted smiles to the coeds and baristas she sees over and over again. But this face is new and there's something about it that makes Jiaying let her own gaze linger. It's the girl who looks away first, quickly, frazzled and when she stumbles up to the counter she fumbles her change and crumpled bills. The next time Jiaying looks up from her books, the girl is gone.

But she sees her again, a week later. And then a week after that. Jiaying finds herself starting to memorize things about her, even though she never lingers like the other girls studying for their tests and catching up with their friends. Her eyes are deep, dark and sad, her face shadowy. She's always wearing a black jacket over a loose fitting black tank, her jeans ripped at one of the knees.

And then one day their paths cross, accidently, Jiaying assumes. She goes to get a second coffee, though she figures it probably won't be the last for the day, and while she's waiting near the counter the girl comes over and for some reason she can't explain, Jiaying feels like her sudden need for napkins and sugar packets is just an excuse. She drops one of the sugars and Jiaying reaches for it, handing it over with a smile. "Here."

The girl smiles and even still her eyes look sad. "Thanks."

Jiaying isn't sure what makes her engage the girl in conversation, what makes her keep the moment from passing off as just another meaningless, brief interaction. "I feel like I've seen you around a lot," she says, making sure to keep a friendly smile on her face, "do you work around here?"

Small talk. Jiaying has never been a fan, at least, she doesn't think so. Sometimes parts of her mind seem like shadows, memories she can't quite catch.

The girl shakes her head. "No. I…I think they have great coffee." She shrugs.

"They do," Jiaying agrees and the silence settles between them. It's the awkward sort that comes from two people being uncertain as to whether a conversation has come to an end or not. Once again, Jiaying finds herself holding onto the interaction: "My name is Jiaying." She holds out her hand.

The girl shakes it, her touch lingering briefly. "Daisy."

Jiaying feels her lips curl into a smile, an odd sensation of warmth in her chest. "Daisy. What a beautiful name." She smiles indulgently at the thought that flickers through her mind. "I think if I had a daughter, I would call her that."

Daisy's eyes fill with tears and the warmth in Jiaying's stomach is replaced by the cold fist of dread and confusion. "Are you-"

The barista calls her name, holding up her coffee. Jiaying turns, distracted, to retrieve it. Daisy slips away in that moment and Jiaying can only stare after her, perplexed, uncertain as to why she bothered to say anything to her at all.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

She says Daisy again a week later, almost to the day and it suddenly seems impossible to just expect that they can make brief eye contact and go about their business. Jiaying feels a weird obligation to smile and beckon her over to her small table in the corner.

Daisy sits, keeping her hands wrapped around her coffee, bouncing her leg absently. Her eyes roam the coffee shop, seeming desperate to look everywhere but at Jiaying. "If you have somewhere you need to be, don't let me keep you," Jiaying says gently, taking a sip of her own coffee. "You don't have to feel obligated to hang out with someone you met in a coffee shop."

Daisy finally looks at her. "No, it's okay," she assures her. "I was just…" She doesn't finish that thought, letting her eyes fall instead to the book open between them. "That looks like fun."

Jiaying lifts an eyebrow at the obvious sarcasm in her voice. "Well I'd better think it is otherwise I might be in the wrong career field." She shrugs. "Though I guess pediatric medicine isn't everyone's cup of tea."

"You want to be a doctor," Daisy says quietly almost to herself. Jiaying looks at her questioningly and she only shakes her head. "You kinda remind me of a friend of mine."

"I hope that's a compliment," Jiaying teases and she feels strangely pleased with herself when her comment earns a slight smile from Daisy.

Daisy only nods. "Yeah she's incredibly smart, like genius smart." She shakes her head. "I think she would approve of your organization system." She points to Jiaying's highlighters, lined up neatly and ordered by color and her notes, color coded to match.

"I never see you come in here to study," Jiaying says. "What is that you do, Daisy?"

Daisy hesitates long enough to make it obvious that anything she says is going to be a lie. It only makes Jiaying wonder about the shadows in her eyes. "Most of the time I work with computers: surveillance, security, that kind of thing."

"And the rest of the time?" Jiaying asks with the breeziness of someone who knows they aren't going to get an actual response.

Daisy only shrugs. "Odd jobs."

They make small talk for the next several minutes before Daisy finally excuses herself with some vague remark about needed to get back to work. She goes to leave, pausing and looking back at her. "It was good to see you."

It's odd, almost like they're old friends, like Jiaying should remember her from somewhere. Maybe she lives in the dark recesses of her mind where the rest of her forgotten memories dwell just out of reach. Still, she smiles and nods. "I'm sure I'll see you around."

Daisy leaves and Jiaying finds herself feeling oddly relieved. Daisy's jiggling leg and the tension radiating from her had been nearly exhausting to be around. Even still, there's a part of her that misses the girl now that she's gone.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

She doesn't see Daisy again right away but she doesn't forget about her. She doesn't stop expecting to look up and see her walking toward the counter.

When she does see Daisy again, Jiaying is almost relived, though she hadn't realized that she'd been worried about her. Daisy's knuckles are bruised and red, though they both pretend not to notice.

"How's the studying coming?" Daisy questions, pointing at the textbooks. Her fingernail polish is old and chipping, her nails bit to the quick.

Jiaying can only shake her head, offering her a wry smile. "Well I'm not a doctor yet," she remarks. She studies Daisy for a moment before adding, "You seem tired." She's overstepping, she knows. And what does it matter anyway? This girl is a stranger to her, someone she met in a coffee shop, someone who keeps crossing paths with her.

Daisy bites her bottom lip and the gesture feels familiar to Jiaying; it mirrors the actions she's caught herself doing so many times. "I…I didn't sleep much last night. My friend, she…she was gone for a while and she's back now but sometimes I worry about her because…" She stops, catching herself, her surprise on her face. "Sorry. I don't know why I just…I didn't mean to unload like that."

Jiaying reaches for Daisy without thinking, patting her hand. "It's okay, I don't mind." And she doesn't, which is odd seeing as she doesn't have much of an affinity for other people aside from the children she hopes to one day help. "Is this the friend you were talking about earlier?"

"Jemma." Daisy says her name in a way that Jiaying understands, the way you say the name of someone you don't even realize is impossibly important to you. She had someone like that once, she thinks. "She…she's okay. She'll be okay. I just wish there was a way that I could help her…"

Jiaying nods, giving Daisy's hand another pat. "You seem like a good friend, Daisy," she says kindly.

Daisy only frowns like she isn't sure what to make of that.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"How's your friend?" Jiaying asks the next week when she finds herself sitting across from Daisy once more.

Daisy nods, shrugs and then smiles slightly. "Better."

Almost on cue, the phone in her pocket rings and she fishes it out quickly. Jiaying doesn't mean to pry but she can't help but catch a glimpse of the photo on the screen: a bright and smiling girl who looks like the type to always take pictures seriously. Daisy's eyes fall to the same picture and she smiles the way someone smiles without even realizing that they're doing it. Jiaying wonders what she sees when she looks at the picture; not a girl who always smiles for pictures but everything before and after the moment the picture was taken.

"Your friend?" Jiaying questions. "She must know that you're talking about her," she teases.

Daisy doesn't seem to notice. Jiaying wonders if Daisy ever thinks about why she smiles when she sees that her friend is calling. She declines the call but sends a message, her fingers moving rapidly across the surface of her phone in a way that Jiaying has yet to master.

It isn't her business and it shouldn't matter, she shouldn't pry. But Jiaying can't help herself, can't fight down the impulse that makes her ask, "Does she know how you feel about her?"

Daisy blinks at her, surprised. The coloring at the tip of her ears gives her away. "What do you mean?"

"Your friend," Jiaying clarifies even though it's not necessary. "She's more than just a friend, isn't she?"

For a minute, Daisy stiffens, starts to shake her head. But there's a softness in her eyes, a quiet desperation that makes her shoulders lose their tightness. "No…it's…it's not like that…"

Jiaying can't stop the absurd thought that flashes through her mind: this girl needs a mother. She doesn't know Daisy, doesn't know anything about her but even still she can recognize the piece carved from her, the hollow place left behind.

It's a shame. Jiaying has never figured herself to be the mothering type.

Jiaying leans back in her chair, holding up her hands in a gesture of surrender. "It's not my business," she says with a shrug. "Still. You could always tell her."

Daisy smiles, rolling her eyes. "Thanks-" It seems like she wants to say more but she swallows the words. "I'll consider it."

She leaves soon after, already pulling her phone out of her pocket, calling back the bright and smiling Jemma.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next time she sees Daisy, weeks later, she doesn't stop to sit with her. They linger by the counter, waiting for their coffee. Jiaying can see the way her shoulders don't hang so heavy, how her smile, as small as it is, seems to come easier.

"I told her," is all Daisy says as she reaches for her coffee and Jiaying's own smile comes easily to her face.

Once again, Daisy stops on her way out the door, turning back to face Jiaying. "I think you would like her."

Jiaying doesn't know why this feels important.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The semester nears its end and Jiaying isn't sure what she'll do with herself in the weeks between the end of the semester and the start of the new one. She's filled her life with days of classes, hours of studying, the time spent at the coffee shop or at work, preparing for the next stage of her life. Moving forward is the only concrete thing she has in a life full of shadowy half-memories and a vague pull toward an interest in medicine and a girl who used to come see her every week in a coffee shop.

And on the last day of the semester, when Jiaying comes to the coffee shop without books or notes to study, she sees the girl again. She's not alone this time, sitting at Jiaying's small table with a bright and smiling girl.

Their eyes meet and Daisy smiles at her, beckoning her over. Jemma turns to look at her too and Jiaying doesn't miss the easy way that she reaches across the table, twining her fingers with Daisy's, giving her hand a squeeze. There's so much said there that Jiaying knows that she'll never be able to understand, but in a way she feels like she should. Like when she looks at Jemma's face she feels like she should know her too, from somewhere other than a picture on a sad girl's phone.

Jiaying comes over and Daisy looks nervous, hopeful. "This is Jemma," she says as though introductions are necessary. "I wanted you to meet her."

She doesn't say why and Jiaying doesn't ask. Somewhere she feels like she knows anyway.

Jemma smiles, holds out her hand. She's drinking tea instead of coffee and she carries the same sort of heaviness in her body that Jiaying recognizes in Daisy. Sometimes she catches it in herself when she looks at her reflection, uncertain of where it came from.

Jiaying shakes her hand, assuring Jemma that it's nice to meet her. Daisy seems happy and it matters to her and she's done wondering why.

When Jiaying looks at Daisy, she knows that she's not going to see her again. The certainty settles over with a nostalgia that doesn't feel right; she's never missed someone who hasn't left yet. She reaches for Daisy's hand and Daisy doesn't seem surprised, holding onto her hand tightly.

And for a moment, Jiaying thinks that she remembers her, truly remembers her. It's gone before she can put her finger on it, leaving only an echo behind.

#skimmons #bioquake #one word prompts #more Jiaying and Daisy #but some Skimmoms moments!

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