#sustainable hospitality uniforms

[sustainableworkwear]

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[weareoceanr]

A Lasting Impression with Luxury Hospitality Uniforms for Your Staff

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[callsignserpent]

🇦🇹 König x Medic Reader Headcanons 🇦🇹

The whole ordeal was meant to start out innocently, believe it or not.

This giant boi had come walking into the medical bay after one particularly tough mission, sporting multiple lacerations across one arm and his face, along with a few bruises.

The way he'd sat there quietly as he waited for his turn, grumbling to himself in German, something about how he "doesn't need the hospital".

But when it was finally his turn and he'd seen you? Oh, this man was a goner, from the very beginning.

It was like a switch had been flicked, his whole demeanor changing in a snap.

Grumbling, stubborn 6'8" Austrian now becomes quiet, curiously observant patient.

"How did you get these?" you'd asked, gesturing to the cuts visible beneath the torn sections of his shirt.

"Die Mission verlief nicht gut", he'd simply responded in German, shrugging like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You'd been with KorTac long enough to have picked up several fluent phrases here and there, so you sort of understood him. Kind of.

You'd told him you needed to clean the cuts and bruises, and like a good soldier, he'd sat there and taken it, only wincing once, when you'd gone to clean the cut along the edge of his jawline, visible beneath the torn, ragged section of his sniper hood.

"Es tut mir Leid..." you'd hastily apologized.

The utter look of shock that passed over König's face when he heard you speak his native tongue-!

"Du sprichst Deutsch?" he'd grunted, trying not to crack a smile, to which you'd nodded and held up a finger and thumb inches apart, indicating you spoke just a little.

He'd seemed almost thoughtfully quiet after that, sitting and watching you as you worked.

Once you were done, König had seemed almost.. disappointed? ...that the time had gone by too quickly.

You'd dismissed him quietly with a gentle smile, telling him he was welcome back any time if he needed something.

And you better believe this man took those words to heart, quite literally.

Because not even three days later, he was back again, this time for just a small series of scrapes he'd sustained along the backs of his knuckles, presumably from a tussle with someone else.

"Ich würde den anderen Kerl ungern sehen, ja?" you'd joked in broken German, upon which König had accidentally cracked a grin beneath his hood, before he'd corrected himself.

"Your German is getting better, maus..." he'd answered, his tone unusually soft that day.

The answering blush in your face that little nickname had produced, that was a look König would picture several times in his head later that night.

From that point on, he would make it his mission to call you cute little nicknames like "maus", "liebling", "meine lieb"...

He'd also make it a point to try and find some excuse or another to see you throughout the week.

"Colonel, it's just mild allergies."

"Colonel, you're not bleeding, it's fine. Nein, you don't need stitches. Ja, I'm sure."

To which he'd insist "König. Und ja, it'll get better faster if you look at it, liebling, bitte?"

Everyone on KorTac's base eventually noticed how their Colonel had become a frequent flyer to the infirmary, their hushed whispers sometimes being overheard.

"Surely he can't be getting hurt that often?" "Is he clumsy, or is it on purpose?" "Maybe it's just bad luck...?"

Little did they all know, you were the real reason he kept showing up.

You yourself were sort of oblivious the first couple of times, until you eventually caught on.

König would even wait until your shift was done for the day, trying to appear casual as he leaned against the doorway to the infirmary, having to duck down a little due to his monstrous height.

Sometimes he'd bring you little gifts too, little things you could keep at your work station, or take back to barracks with you.

(The little stuffed brown bear dressed in a nurse's uniform was your pride and joy, always sat on display at your desk.)

On a more serious note, there was only ever one time he had scared the living shit out of you, when he had gotten really hurt.

A few of KorTac's best had been sent out on a mission, and König had been among them. When he'd gotten back, it was... bad.

You'd never seen so much blood in your life, and you weren't even sure half of it was actually his.

You'd spent that entire night (and the next) looking after him, surviving off coffee and pure adrenaline just to stay awake for him.

And when he'd finally opened his eyes a day later, even his badly torn sniper hood couldn't hide the soft grin that lit up this man's face.

"Mein liebling, sie sind hier?"

The light swat you'd given him, combined with the way your eyes shone with unshed tears, his gaze would soften so fast.

"I thought I was gonna lose you, Kö..."

"Nein, meine kleine maus, Ich würde dich zu sehr vermissen." came his gentle reply.

From that point on, the two of you were nearly inseparable; wherever you went, he would follow, and vice versa.

It would eventually reach the point where if anyone would try and mess with you, they'd very quickly be warned not to fuck with "the Colonel's girl".

You'd rather liked the sound of that, perhaps a little more than you should.

Being König's favorite person, that wasn't so bad.. right?

💀 TAGLIST: @nixwolfe @konigsbeloved @konigsblog @konigslittleliebling @kghostly @konigsqueen @konig-brain-rot @your-booklover-gal @konig-breedme @konig-is-bbygrl @koenigsbleachedshirt

[ichorai]

stitch ; coriolanus snow.

pairing ; young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis ; and he clearly wasn’t thinking straight, because his feet didn’t bring him back to his own filthy, dirty, rat-infested home. he brought himself to your winged estate, gardened and manicured and polished to perfection.

words ; 8.7k

themes ; angst, action, mild fluff

warnings / includes ; themes of classism, violence/injury/death/drug misuse, foul language, lucky being lucky, a lot of kisses, coryo's paranoia, he's much more toxic this chapter someone pls save reader (aka doomed by the narrative), i tried to keep him in character as best i could </3

a/n ; thank you for all the support on this series so far! if i've planned this out right, there will be two more parts coming after this one!

series masterlist. main masterlist.

Considering you survived numerous explosions and a metal-pipe lodged in your abdomen, you weren’t looking all that bad. Though you were still badly aching, the injuries you had sustained during the bombings strayed away from your face, save for a few small cuts and bruises that would heal in no time. It made it easy for you to pretend like everything was okay as you donned a crisp, ironed, academy uniform. A new one, that wasn’t stained with your blood and the arena’s dust.

All the doctors had advised you to stay at the hospital to rest and recover. But with the games starting in mere hours… you couldn’t leave Wovey alone. You made a promise, and you intended to keep it.

After surprisingly little begging, your mother caved and signed the release forms for you, on the condition that you’d stay on a wheelchair for the entire duration of the games—or until you were fully healed. Whichever came first. 

Coriolanus came early that morning, looking more tired than the last time you saw him, and promised your mother that he’d take care of you with a charming smile. He kissed your cheek, thumb brushing just beneath your jaw, before wheeling you off to the academy. The warm, fresh wind was refreshing against your face, billowing your hair to and fro.

“I gave her rat poison,” Coriolanus said as he pushed you along. 

The suddenness of his words startled you into a flabbergasted silence. You stared straight ahead for a few moments, lips screwing to the side, trying your best to remain calm. Then, you gritted out, “What in Panem made you think that was a good idea? If Highbottom finds out… it’ll be over for you, Coryo. That’ll be grounds for worse than expulsion.”

“Lucy Gray has to win. She can’t—on her own. I had to give her something.” Coriolanus’ hands flexed on the handles of the wheelchair. 

“I can’t cover for you forever, Coryo,” you whispered, words almost lost to the wind. But he heard.

He narrowed his pale eyes at the back of your head. “You won’t tell, will you?” There was a biting edge to his tone.

“You’re an idiot if you think I would.” You pressed a hand over your bandaged abdomen, obscured by the vibrant red fabric. “Besides—if you go down, I’d go down with you. With enough secrets of yours I bite down on… that makes me an accomplice, too.”

Lucky Flickerman’s eyes were wide as saucers when you showed up to the academy in a wheelchair. He fluttered over to you with a reporter following close behind him, shoving a camera into your face. You loved him, truly, but it was hard to tell apart the Lucky that appeared in front of cameras and the real Lucky your mother was best friends with. A myriad of questions fell from the mustached man’s mouth, and you only managed to answer one and a half of them before Sejanus appeared, and Lucky turned to him to ask him questions about his missing tribute.

With a roll of his eyes, Coriolanus pushed you down a ramp (one that hadn’t been there until just a few hours ago, when they heard news of you coming in a wheelchair), and settled you in front of a monitor with your name on it, in the middle of the rows of seats. His was by the very edge, much to both of your dismay.

“Let me know if you need anything,” he told you, enveloping one of your hands in both of his. He kneeled down in front of you so he’d be at eye-level.

You nodded, but pursed your lips. “Why did you tell me? About the…” You trailed off, worried someone would overhear. But he knew what you were talking about—the rat poison.

He tried his best to give you a genuine smile, nudging his knuckles beneath your chin. They felt cold against your skin—a stark contrast to what the wind outside had felt like. “It’s like you said, isn’t it? Enough secrets of mine you hoard, the more you’re tethered to me.”

You couldn’t quite tell if he was joking. Your lips parted, but no words left your tongue.

Dipping forward, he pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead. “Let’s hope this is over quickly.”

Let’s hope they all die quick, he might as well have said.

“Mmh,” you told him, sparing something akin to a smile. Though, it might’ve looked more like a grimace. Coriolanus’ head was far too preoccupied to notice. You felt sick, and glanced around at all the other students who were taking their seats. Lucky was making his way to the front to get some final touch-ups, flashing you an encouraging wink.

A minute later, he waved away the makeup artists and brandished a microphone from thin air. You almost rolled your eyes—his amateur magic tricks were certainly getting better and better.

“Okay, everyone, places! We’re about to go live! Just because we’re not hosting doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. Help me out here, alright? Don’t get lost behind your screens. No yawning, no gum-chewing—keep your chins down, heads up, shoulders back, people! And—do remember to smile. It’s why we have teeth.”

Lucky began grinning from ear-to-ear as a demonstration. 

His teeth are far too white for his face, Coriolanus thought as he settled into his seat. A shade brighter and I’d surely go blind.

With a hand raised, Lucky began counting down with his fingers. He announced himself with his usual charming flair—and when the music started thrumming, low and ominous, he began wishing everyone a happy Hunger Games, before rushing off to stand behind all the students. 

The large screen in the center of the theater lit up with a shot of the tributes walking into the arena. Several dozens of smaller screens surrounding it gave the students a wide plethora of different angles. 

Your throat went dry upon seeing Wovey and Lucy Gray emerge from the entrance tunnel holding hands. They smiled at each other—one of the smaller cameras managed to catch it just perfectly—all soft and encouraging. Peacekeepers pushed the two onward with the barrels of their guns and they were forced to separate. 

“Stand on your marks or you will be shot,” the announcement system buzzed.

Some of the tributes sobbed. Some of them hardened with determination.

The cameras panned around—until one of them landed on a hanging body, strung up by bloody ropes. Your eyes widened when you recognized him as Sejanus’ tribute.

Was he dead?

His chest gave a hunkering breath, though shallow and wheezy, and you dreaded to think about how much pain he must’ve been in. 

“Guess we can all sleep better now knowing he’s off the streets,” Lucky said into the microphone. The audience of students behind you burst into sporadic cheers and bouts of laughter.

This must’ve been the last straw for Sejanus, as he got up from his desk and just about chucked the entire monitor across the theater. It fell against the stage with several clutters and thunks. Many of the students nearby flinched. 

“YOU’RE MONSTERS!” he screamed, face wrought with anguish. “ALL OF YOU!”

With that, he stormed out. Perhaps if you weren’t confined to your wheelchair or in a great amount of pain you would’ve followed him, you thought. But maybe you were just making excuses for yourself.

Sejanus was a brave man with a rash head. You were neither brave nor rash.

Lucky began to count down again. And just as he reached one, a loud, buzzer-like sound rang through the arena. Echoed into the theater from the monitors.

The tributes began running every which way. You had your eyes fixed on Wovey. At first, she seemed to jaggedly step towards the center, where a selection of weapons were laid out. But she thought better of it once she saw all the commotion and scuttled back to the rows of seats as fast as she could. She climbed and climbed, and your chest was heavy with the idea of her falling, or of someone following her. Nobody did, thankfully.

There you go, sweetheart. Hide.

The last you saw of Wovey was the top of her small head before she disappeared behind the dusty seats. Good.

Then, you turned your attention to Lucy Gray, running around and screaming for Jessup. You briefly glanced back at Coriolanus, who was looking incredibly tense. His entire face seemed to be set into a deep frown.

What is she doing? he mouthed, mostly to himself. Run!

Immediately, buzzes rang out through the theater as tributes were slowly eliminated and disappointed students got up from their seats. You tried your best to avert your eyes from all the blood and gore. The screams, however, you couldn’t escape. A girl three seats away from you puked all over the floor, much to Lucky’s irritation.

To your relief, Lucy Gray managed to find Jessup amidst the chaos, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the hole in the ground—into the tunnels. A few angry tributes were following after them at a worryingly quick pace. Lucky made a rather smug comment about the gamemakers being prepared enough to have security cameras installed in every nook and cranny, even after the bombing “disruption”. 

You let out a large breath you didn’t realize you were holding in when Lucy Gray managed to crawl into a room through a flap in the door, Jessup hot on her heels. The tributes cursed and yelled, but no one dared follow in after the two in fear of getting hurt while trying to get in.

“Thirteen tributes remain,” announced Lucky. He looked to you and gave you a wink. “Reaper still looming large on top of the charts while Coral and her pack try to make a play. Little Wovey has done an excellent job of scaling the broken columns and hiding beneath what’s left of the seats. Let’s hope we see her soon.”

You glanced at your monitor. There were options to send her food or water if need be. But not yet. You had to be resourceful with the donations you had.

“Six tributes gone in minutes. If they keep it up at this pace… we’re going to be out of here in no time.”

Many hours passed. It was incredibly quiet for a long time—save for Lucky moving off to the side to do some reporting of the weather. Some students even fell asleep by their monitors. 

You were growing tired too, lids heavy with exhaustion and head bobbing up and down a few times. You tried to keep yourself awake, paranoid that something could happen to Wovey if you were to accidentally doze off. To your relief, you snapped awake when a hand rested on your shoulder and Coriolanus kneeled down beside you, offering a bottle of water. It felt wrong to be drinking at your leisure when the tributes were probably parched right now. 

You took the bottle with a grateful mutter of thanks and took a hefty swig.

“How are you feeling? Your wounds okay?” His hand moved up to gently smooth over the back of your head.

“I think so,” you replied, before grimacing. “I don’t like watching this, Coryo. I never have.”

“I’m sorry,” he offered. “I can take you back, if you want. To the hospital.”

“No. I have to stay,” you protested. He seemed relieved at this, not keen on leaving any time soon. 

With a curt nod, he gestured back to his own seat. “Just—let me know if you need anything.”

“You should focus on your tribute, Coriolanus,” you told him, brushing the back of your fingers along his jaw.

“My tribute didn’t have a metal pipe sticking out of her a day ago,” he whispered. “You’re priority number one. You always will be.”

“Well, I’m fine. Lucy Gray, however, is much more at risk,” you replied airily. “If my Wovey can’t win… I’d really rather see her alive.”

Those pale eyes of his searched yours.

“I love you,” he said. It was abrupt and sounded as if someone was strangling it out of him.

“I love you, too. Get back to your seat before Highbottom finds a way to get mad at you,” you told him. With a pointed jerk back to his seat, you heavily emphasized, “Again.”

With a squeeze of your shoulder (you tried your best not to grimace, since he pressed right against a large bruise on your collarbone), he rose back to full height and headed back to his monitor. 

The arena was still silent, even an hour later. Just as you were beginning to seriously consider taking a nap, there came a rustling from the rubble. Lamina, the other district two tribute, rose from behind a large stone slab, and approached the hanging Marcus.

His blood from all the exposed wounds he’d acquired had slowly dripped down his body and formed a frighteningly sizable, semi-dried puddle down below. It was a wonder how he hadn’t already succumbed to his wounds. 

Lamina climbed up the broken stone columns to make her way to him. There were several dried tear tracks on her face, and her nose was very red. Lamina stroked Marcus’ head, and he seemed to jerk alive with her touch. His chest rose and fell in a broken, staggering motion. 

“Please…” he croaked. “Please…” 

He dissolved into gentle sobs.

When Lamina raised her hatchet, you tore your eyes away and looked downward. There came a sick squelch as she struck him and the audience gasped. Lamina cut at his bonds and watched his body crumple down to the ground. Donations for Lamina began to steadily climb higher.

Pup Harrington, Lamina’s mentor, decided to take it upon himself to be the first one to send his tribute a drone with water. Dread settled the pit of your stomach when the drone buzzed in through the broken rooftop of the arena—but it didn’t seem to slow down. No, it only accelerated faster and faster the closer it got. Lamina gave a little shriek and ducked just in time—the drone crashed into the stone column and exploded into a thousand metal parts. The glass water bottle fell down below and shattered by Marcus’ now-dead body.

How were you supposed to send Wovey water now? Perhaps you’d send her food instead—that way, it wouldn’t shatter and go to waste if it hit anything. You scrolled through the options on your monitor. Apples would be a good choice. Plenty of water in them. But you held back—Wovey might’ve been asleep underneath those seats.

A few more hours passed by, slipping well into nightfall. You took a vial of prescribed morphling from your bag and downed it in one go. You could feel it buzzing through your system almost immediately, numbing the sting of your still-healing wounds. It just so happened that Highbottom swept down the steps then, eyeing you behind those spectacles of his. You shuddered and leaned your head down onto the table. The drugs were making you incredibly sleepy.

Highbottom stopped just behind Coriolanus. “You can’t save her by watching,” he murmured to his most loathsome student. “What do you want from that girl?”

“Nothing,” the blonde gritted out. “I want her to live.”

“Mmh. And the Plinth Prize would be a happy coincidence, I suppose.”

Coriolanus’ eyes squinted at nothing in particular. “I believe I’d be entitled to it.”

“Of course you do,” Highbottom retorted, tone heavy with condescension. “And who do you think makes the final decision for the prize you so covet, Mr. Snow? Wake up. Even if Lucy Gray Baird somehow wins it all, I will do everything in my power to make sure that you don’t see a single dime. So… ask yourself this: how much do you care if she lives now?”

Coriolanus was gripping his hands into fists so tight that they turned a ghostly-white.

“And I know… if the young and talented Y/N wins that prize… it’ll go straight to you. Isn’t that right?” Highbottom’s lips twitched in amusement when Coriolanus stiffened. “So it seems that neither of you will be seeing that prize, Mr. Snow.”

His jaw twitched, and he snapped his head to the scowling dean. “You can’t punish them because of me. That’s not fair. Y/N doesn’t deserve that.”

Highbottom let out a gruff laugh, quiet enough for nobody to notice. Mostly everyone had gone home or was asleep, anyway. “It’s not like Y/N would have won anyway—not with that quiet little runt. Kid was doomed from the very start. Take a good look in front of you, boy. Take a look at those tributes—and then you come and tell me what’s fair.”

The very last word was practically spat at him. The dean turned on his heel and marched off. 

Still, hours passed by silently. Lucky was clearly growing agitated with the fact that things were moving so slowly. He’d already had to cancel two dinner appointments.

When Volumnia Gaul stepped into the academy, a dark cloak draped over her shoulders, you were already half-awake. She stood beside you menacingly, and you startled into full alert with a small noise of surprise, the bright blue of one of her eyes boring right into you. She said your name then, all low and elongated. You could barely suppress the shiver that ran down your spine. Still groggy, your blurry peripheral vision told you that practically every one had retired for the night. Save for a few straggler students and, of course, Coryo. You noticed, with muted interest, that every single screen was frozen on an image of the Panem crest, rather than the security camera footage inside the arena.

“I can smell the morphling on you,” she muttered, brows raised. “You should go home. Get some rest. Change those bandages of yours.”

You glanced down at your abdomen—a grimace made its way onto your face when you noticed that your uniform (new, mind you), was stained with a fresh bout of blood. You’d bled through your bandages. With a frown, you uneasily swallowed. It didn’t seem like Dr. Gaul was going to accept no for an answer.

“I, uh—” She noticed the way you began to angle yourself to Coriolanus. He’d fallen asleep by his monitor, in a similar fashion to you.

Her mouth pursed in mock-sympathy. “Coriolanus wants to stay. Watch over his songbird. I suggest you find someone else to wheel you back home.”

Your lips parted in surprise. A part of you wanted to protest, but you were far too tired to argue. “I can get myself home,” you told her. “Good night, Dr. Gaul.”

A creaky, amused titter fell from her throat. “Your little one is good at hiding. A shame she’s not going to make it.”

A wave of nausea rolled over you. You determinedly fixed your gaze on the ground and began to push yourself out of the academy. Volumnia watched you go with narrowed eyes. Once she was sure you were gone, she made her way to Coriolanus. 

The boy had a job to do.

Bobbin’s blood was still all over his hands. Dried, now. Dark with time. Dr. Gaul stitched up the gash on his left shoulder blade—he wondered if you had been in this much pain when you woke up in the hospital. But it was different, because he was slashed by a little boy, and you fell onto a metal pipe. Coriolanus wasn’t sure which one was better. 

Not that it was a competition. It was all Sejanus’ fault anyway, he concluded.

He had wanted to sprinkle bread crumbs on his dead tribute’s body. What a waste.

Once Dr. Gaul had sent him off back home with his wound tightly bound, he staggered out with a heavy chest and tear-stained cheeks.

And he clearly wasn’t thinking straight, because his feet didn’t bring him back to his own filthy, dirty, rat-infested home. He brought himself to your winged estate, gardened and manicured and polished to perfection. 

This should be mine, he thought. I should have this. I deserve this.

And then, another irrational thought crossed his mind as he rang the doorbell. 

It will be mine.

The doors swung open—which mildly surprised him, considering it was very late at night—and your mother peeked her head out. She eyed him with part confusion, part surprise. Then, she caught sight of the blood on his hands. The door widened to let him through. 

Almost immediately when he stepped in, your mother roped him into a warm embrace. He inhaled and choked on air. And then, he dissolved into a fit of wracking sobs. She crooned and stroked her hand along the back of his head.

“What’s this, Coriolanus? Whose blood is this?”

He hiccuped and drew in a staggered breath. “It’s… mine. I got into a fight with a classmate about the Games. It got violent and bloody—Dr. Gaul fixed me up.” He emphasized a wince and gestured to the wound on his shoulder. He let your mother fuss over him, demanding to take a look at the gash. Reluctant, he unbuttoned his uniform again to let her see.

It seemed the commotion was enough to wake you up, because you had limped to the top of the grand staircase with sleepy eyes and messy hair. 

Once your mother caught sight of you out of bed, she pulled away from Coriolanus to chastise you, but her words fell on deaf ears. You mumbled out your boyfriend’s name in confusion, before leaning heavily against the bannister to slowly step down, wincing with the movement. 

Coriolanus was quick to move upstairs, meeting you near the top, as you had only managed to descend a handful while he jogged to you. He cupped your face first, smoothing his thumbs over your jaw the way he always did. And when you spread your arms, he just about fell into you, his nose dropping down to the junction between your neck and your shoulder. His entire form trembled with his cries, muffled into your skin. 

It was as if he’d been reduced to a child all over again. Eating paste, salty with his tears of hunger. 

“Coryo,” you whispered, gripping at his waist. “Coryo, please tell me what’s going on. You’re worrying me.”

He hesitantly withdrew his damp face away from your neck. “Can we… talk privately?”

With pursed lips, you looked down to your mother at the bottom of the staircase.

She cleared her throat tiredly. “I’ll leave you two be. But no funny business, understand? Y/N needs to recover.”

With a serious stare in Coriolanus’ direction, she turned and marched off to the Northern wing.

“Come on,” you told him. “Let’s go to my room.”

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, rubbing the space between his brows. His arm wrapped over your waist to help you up the few steps. “It’s so late, and I just barged in and interrupted your sleep—”

“Coryo, you’re covered in blood. Sleep is the last thing on my mind.”

Once in your room, you shut the door and leaned against it. Coriolanus made his way to your bed and sat on it, face buried into his hands.

“Does this have something to do with Dr. Gaul?” you asked, watching him with keen eyes. 

His head snapped up and he regarded you curiously. “How’d you know?” 

“She told me to leave. And all the screens were… frozen.” With slow steps, you limped across your room to sit right beside him. “Whose blood is that?”

Coriolanus was silent for a long while. So long that you wondered if he even heard your question at all.

“Don’t—don’t hate me. I need you.”

“I won’t hate you. I love you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Stop it, Coryo. You don’t get to decide whether I l—”

“It was Bobbin.” He effectively cut you off, rendering you speechless. “I killed him.”

You stared at him as if he’d grown another head. “The… the district eight boy?” With each passing second, your eyes grew larger and—wetter. Coriolanus had to turn away. “You were in the arena? Dr. Gaul made you… oh, Coryo.”

“Sejanus went in to see his friend.” The last word was sneered out in a rather demeaning manner. “The tributes started attacking us. I… I hit Bobbin with a rock.”

He left out the gorey details. How he kept bashing Bobbin’s head in even after his body stopped twitching. How it felt… powerful. 

“It was self defense, then,” you murmured, drawing closer to brush your lips against his shoulder, just above his sutures.

It was, at first. And then it… wasn’t. Coriolanus pursed his lips. 

“Bobbin… he was Wovey’s friend, I think.” Your voice wavered, and you blinked away the tears that welled up in your eyes. “I hope she’s okay.”

Coriolanus said nothing as he frowned. He didn’t like how much you cared for her, no matter how much of a hypocrite that made him. It was like Highbottom said… the kid was doomed from the very beginning.

“Are you okay?” you asked him, voice as soft as silk.

“I don’t…”

“It’s okay if you’re not. I’ll be here for you.”

“You’re too good,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re always just so… good. How do you do it?”

There was a considerable silence before you reached over to take his chin between your fingers and force him to look at you. “I’m just trying my best. And you are, too. Don’t discredit yourself, Coriolanus. You’re good for me. You always will be.”

His pale eyes flickered. Then, he kissed you. Slow and soft, begging for more but—you pulled away with a hum before he could press further against you. 

A distinct coldness fell over his expression. “You can’t tell anyone what I told you. About Bobbin.”

You studied him for a few seconds. Watched the way he folded into himself with such caution. Compartmentalize and shield the most ugly parts of himself away from you. It was a defense mechanism of sorts. You knew it all too well, and narrowed your eyes at him.

“Why do you always think that I’ll go about and tell the world everything you say to me? Do you not trust me?”

He sucked in a shuddering breath. “I do. I do, of course I do. You just—you know everything there is to know. You can destroy me completely, and it’ll be my fault because I let you in—because I let myself fall in love with you.”

Your features twisted into one of shock. “Is that what you think? That I’m seeking to destroy you? Bring you down? What—Coriolanus, why would I do that? Do you hear yourself? How many times do I have to say that I love you until you realize that I mean it?” 

“You can love me and still betray me. They’re not mutually exclusive.” There was a terse silence that stretched thick between the two of you like taffy. His brows furrowed together and he stared angrily down at the ground as he frustratedly worked his jaw. “I’m not saying you will betray me. I’m saying you could. And that… that terrifies me.”

“I won’t. You said it yourself, remember? I’m tethered to you. I’m an accomplice—I know too much,” you said, exasperated. “But there is nothing I want to take from you. I gain nothing from stabbing you in the back. I just—I want for us to be a normal fucking couple!”

Coriolanus hung his head. With another sharp breath, he nodded several times, as if he was snapping himself out of his own thoughts. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I trust you. I’m sorry.”

When your countenance softened inexplicably, Coriolanus let himself slowly tear his walls of paranoia back down. His hands returned to you then, far more hesitantly cradling your face, gripping your hips, squeezing your thighs as he kissed you. It was familiar and comforting, yet simultaneously all too much.

“Will you stay until I fall asleep?” you panted into the kiss, trying to break away as your lungs screamed for air. “I miss you. It’s been so long since we just… existed alone together.”

He nodded—because how could he say no to you?—and helped you settle back onto the bed. Let you hold onto him, let you trace mindless shapes into his arm. Watched as your eyes fluttered shut and you fell back into what looked like a restful sleep. Envy curled within the confines of his chest. Sleep graced you so easily. Why did everything come to you so easily?

Nonetheless, he dipped forward to brush his lips against your temple, before gingerly pulling away. You stirred with the jostling, but stayed deep asleep. With that, Coriolanus made his way out of your room, clicking the door shut as softly as he could, and descended down the stairs. He left your house with a heavy chest and a throbbing shoulder.

Early the next morning, your mother came to the academy with you to watch the end of the Hunger Games—and to be there for moral support, she’d told you. She wheeled you in with a bright smile, greeting all the staring students with a friendly confidence. Once she brought you in front of the very same monitor as yesterday, she kissed the top of your head before flitting away to speak with Lucky, who was all smiles and charm. You overheard him saying that he was confident the games would come to a close soon. Your mother said something in reply, but their voices were drowned out by the swell of students entering the theater.

Coriolanus walked in only a few minutes after you, Tigris on his arm. The two of them made their way to you—Coryo was stone-faced, looking more tired than ever. Tigris appeared more worried than anything, but she was just about glowing in her new pink dress, all sharp angles and pristine fabric.

“You look beautiful,” you told her genuinely once she drew closer to you and took both your hands in hers. “I love your outfit. The color suits you.”

“Thank you,” she replied, flushing a pleased rouge hue. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been impaled by a metal pipe,” you told her with a slight grimace. “But, you know… no better way to fix that than to watch children kill themselves through a screen.”

The two cousins laughed dryly at your sarcasm. Tigris then enthusiastically told you that the dress she was making for you was ready—and you grinned and told her you were incredibly excited to come see it. With that, she nodded and left to take her seat amongst the stands, wishing the two of you good luck. 

Once she was gone, Coriolanus reached out to grasp your shoulder. Your talk with him last night plagued him for hours and hours when he should’ve been asleep. 

“Did you sleep well?” you asked him, leaning into his touch when he brushed his knuckles against your cheek. “You look tired, Coryo.”

A wry smile. “Slept like a baby.”

It was a lie, and you knew it. You frown-smiled at him nonetheless.

He bent at the waist, tilted your face up to meet his, and kissed you square on the lips. Some of the students in the stand wolf-whistled, and it felt distinctly like Coriolanus was putting on a show for them, and for the cameras. And you were, well—you were an unwilling actor.

When he pulled away, he smiled at you and gestured to his seat in the corner. “Whatever happens, I’ll be right there.”

“Okay,” you murmured. “Likewise.”

Coriolanus found himself wondering if you were hiding something from him. Why did it feel like you were drawing yourself away? Were you planning on sabotaging him?

Before he could dwell on it anymore, you gently nudged him off, as Lucky was beginning his opening remarks once again. He talked about the mystery behind Bobbin’s death (sending a cold tremor up Coriolanus’ spine), but moved on rather quickly to the stats board. 

The few remaining mentors settled down and the rest of the students in the stands quieted to watch the games continue. 

Not fifteen minutes later, commotion started brewing between Jessup and Lucy Gray. It was hisses and twitches from the boy at first, but then grew into explosive anger and panicked aggressiveness. Frightened, Lucy Gray began to doggedly run away from her friend, crawling out of the rubble-strewn tunnels and back into the main arena. 

“Something’s wrong,” Lysistrata, Jesssup’s mentor, said. “He wouldn’t turn on her like this.”

You narrowed your eyes at the hazy screen. There seemed to be foam collecting at the corners of Jessup’s mouth as he chased after Lucy Gray, demanding to know what she’s done to him. The hazy memory of Lucy Gray at the zoo mentioning a bat bite resurfaced into your mind.

“It’s rabies,” you told the two. “The foam in his mouth. He’s got rabies—the bat bite in the train, remember?”

Coriolanus and Lysistrata’s eyes both widened. 

“The same district folding in on itself!” Lucky announced into the microphone, and began rattling off some more unnecessary commentary.

“Send him water!” Coryo demanded Lyssie. 

“What?” she asked, watching in horror as her tribute tried to make a grab for Lucy Gray, but she ducked away just in time.

Impatient, Coriolanus stood up and leaned over her desk with gritted teeth. “Remember the posters in the war? Rabies—it makes you afraid of water. Send him a drone!”

Lyssie’s mouth opened and closed. “That’ll scare him!”

“Yes,” he said, tapping on her monitor. “It’ll get him away from her. Jessup is done. And you’re the only one that can get it right to him.”

With a tight frown, Lysistrata reached forward to order a water drone. Lucky was preening with all the action.

“Thank you,” Coriolanus breathed out once her order processed through. 

“Nothing to be proud of,” she said, scowling at the screen.

Lucy Gray was begging for her friend to snap out of it as she climbed up a fallen stone pillar, and screamed when a water drone came whizzing right past her ear, crashing into Jessup. Glass went flying every which way. The water had done its job scaring him—Jessup yelled and tittered with the sudden force. He fell backward and toppled right off the pillar. His body made a sickening crack as it came in contact with the ground. The audience exploded into cheers. 

Horrified, Lucy Gray slid down the pillar after her barely-alive friend, hands shaking. A terrible sense of guilt washed over you.

“Jessup?” she asked, shaking his shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere. Okay? You watched over me, now I’m watching over you. Sleep now, Jessup. Sleep.”

Jessup’s death was slow and painful. Lyssie sent a bitter glance towards Coriolanus, before storming off. 

But the horrors weren’t yet over for Lucy Gray—Coral and her pack appeared from behind a large pile of rubble, cornering her like coyotes would a lamb. They sneered and jeered at her.

You turned to look at Coriolanus, seeing his face crumple with desperation. His eyes flickered to you for a brief moment.

“Use your donations!” you called over. “She won’t fight, Coryo. You know that!”

With a frantic nod, Coriolanus snapped his gaze back to his monitor, and hurriedly pressed down on eight drones of water for his tribute. 

“Mentors allying together in such troubling times!” Lucky exclaimed, rubbing his hands together. “Will it be enough to save the songbird?”

The little machines whirred into the arena at alarming high speeds, and crashed into the unassuming tributes surrounding Lucy Gray. She ducked and covered her head with shaking hands as water and glass and metal parts flew every which way. 

“Hey!” one of the mentors exclaimed. “You can’t attack the tributes!”

“I’m just sending water,” Coriolanus retorted back, looking extremely relieved. Then, he looked back at you, and mouthed, thank you.

Taking advantage of the knocked down tributes, Lucy Gray rushed forward, grabbed a glass of water that remained miraculously unshattered, and ran off to hide behind another fallen pillar. You remembered that Coriolanus had given her rat poison—a part of you wanted her to use it to survive, and the other part of you hoped she wouldn’t ever touch it in fear of people finding out about Coriolanus cheating. That would spell the end of him.

Coral and her pack roused with groans and aches. They moaned about losing Lucy Gray, before setting their sights on Lamina and pursuing after her. It was a shame to watch her go, you thought, remembering the kindness she did for Marcus. She was stabbed in the abdomen (reminding you of your own bound bandages), and fell into a crumpled heap beside her district-mate.

While they were all busy going after her, one of the smaller screens caught Lucy Gray appearing back from behind the rubble, placing the full water bottle back on the ground. She hurriedly reached over to dump water out of any of the other bottles that hadn’t broken. 

Lucy Gray managed to escape Coral just as she began to notice what she was doing, darting up some broken stairs and into a duct, latching it shut so they wouldn’t be able to follow her in. Lucky made a sullen comment about how there were no cameras set up inside there.

Coral and the pack retreated back down to survey all the water Lucy Gray had dumped out, save for the one single bottle. You wondered if said bottle was filled with rat poison, by any chance. 

Since you had your gaze focused on one of the smaller screens, you hadn’t even noticed little Wovey emerging from a row of seats not too far away from where Lucy Gray was hiding inside the duct. 

Your eyes frantically turned to the main screen when one of the pack members exclaimed, “It’s Wovey!”

“No, no…” you muttered, leaning forward in your wheelchair, ignoring the painful sting in your side. Wovey was quick to disappear back under the seats, scampering between rows and small gaps under fallen rocks so that they couldn’t follow after her. Twisted relief clawed at your chest and you heaved for breath when they muttered defeat and decided to go back down to the ground. The group began to dissolve into an argument, which thankfully kept them otherwise occupied from going back to hunt after other tributes. To none of your surprise, Coral ended up stabbing Mizzen right in the chest. 

“And who do we have here?” said Lucky when the main screen changed to show a coughing girl emerging from her hiding place. “Ah! It’s Ill Dill. Tuberculosis on legs.”

Dill staggered towards the water bottle. Uncapped it and drank a few small mouthfuls. She coughed and wheezed. Lied down slowly, chest still rattling with coughs. It had to be poisoned, you concluded. To die right after taking that drink… it was far too much of a coincidence. Lucy Gray must have used the poison. You didn’t dare chance a glance back at Coriolanus, afraid you’d see cruel victory in his eyes.

Reaper ran out a minute later, calling out for Dill as he rushed to her. “Dill? Hey, what happened? Dill! Dill, wake up!” 

And when he realized his district-mate was dead… Reaper let out a guttural scream. It echoed and ricocheted around the arena for everyone to hear. You frowned and tucked your arms closer to your sides.

To your surprise, Reaper began to move the dead tributes’ bodies to where Marcus and Lamina were. He laid each of them carefully beside one another. Fixed their positions and brushed the dirt away from their face. Dill first, then Mizzen. Then Bobbin by the entrance—to which none of the other mentors knew who killed except Coriolanus and… you. 

Reaper tore down the long Panem flag hanging from the arena’s wall. The students burst into boos and derogatory yells. He dragged it over to the makeshift morgue and draped the dusty fabric over the corpses. 

There was a lump in your throat as you watched him stand over the bodies he had so meticulously arranged. He gave the tributes one last shred of dignity when the Capitol—you included—had so monstrously stripped every bit of it away. You twisted in your chair to look at your mother in the stands. She had a hand over her mouth as she watched on, looking every bit as choked up as you.

Reaper gazed straight into one of the cameras and spread his arms. “Are you gonna punish me now?” he asked. “ARE YOU GOING TO PUNISH ME N—”

His yells were suddenly cut off by a breaking news announcement. They still echoed about the theater, and you still could hear Reaper’s strong voice in your head. 

Volumnia Gaul sat stiff and menacing on the large screen, her single, beady blue eye seemingly ablaze with a cold fury.

“Capitol citizens, I’m afraid I must interrupt our Games to announce a tragic loss. One that affects us all. Felix Ravinstill, son of our beloved president, has this morning succumbed to his injuries sustained in the rebel bombing.” The screen changed to display a horrifyingly graphic image of Felix’s dead body covered in bruises and unhealed gashes. This was met with gasps and cries from the crowd. “Out there in the districts… they will be celebrating this young boy’s death as a triumph. I will not allow my Games to give our enemy such victory. I swear to you, here and now, before the sun goes down tonight, a rainbow of destruction will engulf our arena. Even if it means there’s to be no victor in these Games!”

Scandalized murmurs spread throughout the theater. 

Your lips parted with shock. What was the point in having the Hunger Games without a victor? You turned to look at Coriolanus, who was looking every bit as distraught as you. 

A rainbow of destruction, Gaul had said. He knew exactly what that meant. With a tight expression, he sat up and ran out of the theater. You watched him go with utter confusion, calling out his name, but your voice was drowned out over the sea of upset students.

Where was he going? To plea his case with Dr. Gaul or Highbottom? Or… no, he’d told you about the snake muttations Gaul had in her lab—while you were drowsy and delirious with pain, but you could remember it faintly—how they were rainbow in color, fast as lightning as they struck down Clemmie. Did that mean those snakes were going to be set loose in the arena? 

Your heart skipped a beat. Wovey could hide from the other tributes, sure, but small, fast, and most likely deadly snakes? She wouldn’t stand a chance. 

And what of Lucy Gray? What was Coriolanus planning on doing for her?

Fifteen minutes later, Coriolanus came running back in, sweaty and breathless. Just in time, because Coral and her pack were beginning to close in on Lucy Gray, stabbing spears through the vent flap. One of the boys down below the ducts began to cough and sputter, not in an unsimilar fashion to Dill, before collapsing down to the ground with a shudder, blood pouring out of his nose. 

Rat poison. You were sure of it. 

They stabbed at the duct some more until it buckled and broke under her weight, and she came crashing down. Hurriedly, Lucy Gray stumbled up to her feet, climbed over the dead body, and ran as fast as she could away from Coral. They were hot on her tail. Everyone watched with bated breath.

And then—the loud whirring of a carrier came descending down the center of the arena. A large, blackened cylindrical tank was being lowered into the center through the broken rooftop. You let out a shaky breath of petrification. Inside must’ve been the snake muttations Coriolanus told you about. 

The few remaining tributes stared at the tank with wide eyes, too stunned to move. 

“I’d wager that that is going to be no good.” Lucky smiled as he stared at the screen. “But wouldn’t it be fun if it was candy?”

Both the arena and the theater lapsed into utter silence. 

Until—until little Wovey peered her head up from the seats. She’s so frail, was your first thought. Slowly, she began to climb out of the rows and hopped down broken pieces of stone to get back to the ground. 

“Wovey—” you found yourself saying aloud. Many eyes drew to you. “No, no, no…”

You watched as the little girl walked towards the large black tank with wide eyes. She sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of her grimy hand. Reaper was warning Wovey to keep away, but the little girl was still moving closer.

“Is it over?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Can we go home? Please…”

“Fuck! Fu—shit, fuck! No, Wovey!” you frantically yelled as if she could hear you. Desperate to get her to stop going towards the tank, you looked down at your monitor.

Not many donations… 

But enough to send a drone.

Maybe if you sent food—it’d distract her. Keep her away.

And so you began placing an order for a food drone, much to Lucky’s commentary delight. With shaking hands, you pressed confirm.

But there was one thing you hadn’t considered. 

You hadn’t considered the drone coming in from directly in front of Wovey—with the tank right in its way. A whizz, a blur of silver metal, and murmurs of shock from the crowd. The machine drove itself against the glass tank and broke apart into a thousand pieces. Small red apples went flying every which way. Wovey stopped in her tracks for a moment. 

It was a temporary relief.

A crack formed in the tank. And then—another splinter within the glass. And another, and another, and another. They formed a terrible sort of spider web. 

“No,” you whispered, lips quivering. It was all your fault. “Oh, no.”

With that, the glass gave way to its fractures, and burst apart in a cascade of glittering shards. The snakes came tumbling out just as Dr. Gaul had said: a rainbow of destruction. They took down Wovey first as she screamed, slithering over her small body until you saw no part of her left. You had fallen silent, but your entire body ached as you violently shut your eyes, eliciting a hot tear to streak down your cheek. 

“Not candy! Down goes Wovey!” Lucky announced, though he winced with an apologetic glance in your direction. “Sorry, Y/N.” 

The rest of the snakes were quick to pick off Coral’s pack, and then Coral herself, who cried out that all those lives she took… they couldn’t have been for nothing.

They slithered around Reaper, who sat strongly by the pile of bodies he had arranged. He died alongside them as the serpents closed around his throat.

And that just left Lucy Gray.

“All colors lead to Gray!” Lucky announced, overly pleased with his wording.

Coriolanus smiled, victorious. “She’s—she’s won. It’s over. She’s won! Let her out!”

“Afraid that’s not your call to make, Mr. Snow,” said Lucky. He pointed over to Dr. Gaul, who was watching from the theater’s stands with crossed arms. 

The students all murmured and gasped. Coriolanus looked around helplessly.

“Dr. Gaul, she’s won!” he asserted. “It’s over, let her out!”

Volumnia stared at the blonde boy with narrowed eyes, but said nothing.

And then… Lucy Gray began to sing as the snakes slithered their way to her. They coiled over her ankles and into the ruffles of her dress. Over her arms and around her stomach. Along her back and draped on her shoulders. She sang and sang, her voice strong despite the itchy dryness in her throat.

“Why aren’t they attacking her?” Festus Creed demanded. 

Coriolanus set his jaw. “Must be the singing. It’s calming them.”

“She can’t sing forever,” he replied with an upturned nose.

Everyone in the audience watched, enraptured, as Lucy Gray sang her heart out, wrapped in iridescent snakes. You let out a shaky exhale, and another tear slipped down your face. Watching Wovey go was one thing—you didn’t want to watch Lucy Gray die, as well.

Anger rose in your throat. 

You turned your wheelchair away from the screen—away from your damned monitor. It was your fault Wovey was dead. You wouldn’t watch Lucy Gray die, too.

“LET HER OUT!” you screamed at Dr. Gaul. Coriolanus flinched and stared at you with wonder, along with the rest of the student body. You bared your teeth in a pained snarl, and you let the tears freely fall. They were scalding against your skin, along with the multiple cameras that had turned right to you. “She won. Who’s going to donate to your Games next year if they know you’ll just kill their victor off? Let her out, Gaul!”

“Dr. Gaul, please,” Coriolanus pleaded, nodding at your words. “Let her out.”

“Get her out!” Tigris chimed along. Your mother voiced the same sentiment a second later, her face shining at you with pride. 

One by one, students began yelling at Dr. Gaul to get Lucy Gray out of the arena until practically everyone was chanting along.

“Nobody’s going to watch your Games without a victor!” Snow told her over the swell of voices. 

With a sharp scowl, she raised her hand. Almost immediately, the crowd fell into silence. 

“Get her out,” she quietly grumbled to one of her assistants.

Lucky clapped and announced excitedly, “She’s won! Lucy Gray has won! Coriolanus Snow is the winner of the 10th annual Hunger Games!”

Victory music began playing throughout the theater—trumpets and drums and bells echoing into his ears as the students rushed down from their seats to congratulate him. Shaking his hand, slapping at his back, ruffling his hair. Tigris was at the front of it all, smiling at him so wide it was a wonder her face didn’t split into two. She wrapped him into a warm hug and he held her tight, laughing into her shoulder as the weight of realization fell against him.

He’d won.

Once he pulled away from his cousin, he pushed through the packed crowd to get to you. You were on your feet already, though your weight was leaning heavily against one of the handles of your wheelchair. You were positively overwhelmed by all the commotion around you. 

He held your face with both his hands and kissed you in front of everyone. The cheers grew louder and louder, and Snow pulled away smiling wider than he ever remembered smiling before.

But when he looked at you again—truly looked at you—there were still tears spilling from your eyes. They didn’t look quite like tears of joy, either.

“She was thirteen,” you sobbed, curling against him. “Coryo, she was thirteen. It was my fault. My fault.”

Caught up in his own victory, he’d very nearly forgotten who you were talking about. It took him another second to realize that you were crying over Wovey. Irritation clawed at his chest and he frowned at you. You should’ve been congratulating him—not thinking about your silly dead tribute. What were you expecting? Hadn’t you known this was coming?

Nonetheless, he held you to his chest with empty words of comfort murmured into your ears, rubbing a palm up and down your back in a placating manner. He kissed your forehead and the crowd swooned with the romance of it all. 

You jerked away from Coriolanus when you felt a distinct pain shoot up your stomach. You looked down, noting the darker red blotch in your uniform. 

It seemed like you’d bled through your bandages again.

taglist: @nicksolemnlyswears, @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy, @marjorieisreading, @emlovesya, @dallaav, @sillyskeletonpatrolghost, @sunshine-stars-12, @intoomanyfandom-s, @eclipixels, @unclecrunkle, @wotcherpeak, @dangelnleif, @freyafriggafrey, @scaraslover, @tiaamberxx, @dracuno, @c-losur3, @ashy-kit, @innercreationflower, @spear-bearing-bi-witch, @mymadokamagica, @24kmar, @cowboylikerhian, @ireallydontcareanymorebrooo, @curled-hair-red-lips, @har-rison-s, @aoi-targaryen

[doctorbitchcrxft]

In My Time of Dying | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual ?)

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, hospitals and death and fun stuff like that

Word Count: 2997

A/N: Surprise! It's time for season 2! And as an extra treat, I'm gonna publish episode 2 with this one since it's a little short. Happy reading!! Thank you guys for all the love and support!

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

You were completely pinned down beneath the side of the car that had been pushed into your lap in the accident. You clung to Dean still, afraid to move your upper-half and unable to move your bottom. You listened to the slowing rhythm of his heartbeat and willed him to stay alive for you.

Your eyes opened at the sound of Sam groaning.

“Sam!” you exclaimed. 

He groaned again, moving his head a little to the direction of the sound of your voice. “(Y/N)?”

Suddenly, the hinges were ripped off the driver’s side door to reveal the demon-possessed driver of the eighteen-wheeler that had struck the Impala.

“Back. Or I'll kill you, I swear to god,” Sam stated firmly.

“You won't. You're saving that bullet for someone else.”

Sam cocked the Colt. “You wanna bet?”

You looked on in fear before the demon poured out of the man, and he collapsed to the ground. You heard the sound of the gun uncocking, and Sam dropped his head back in relief.

“Oh my god!” you heard the trucker’s voice say. “Did I do this?”

“Dean, come on,” you whined. “Please.”

Sam called his brother’s name and told the trucker to call 911. He did so despite his panic. After what felt like forever, emergency services were to you. The EMTs had to pry you off of Dean, and you wailed in agony as they moved your sore body away from him. “No, please! I have to stay with him!”

“Ma’am, don’t fight us, please. We don’t want to hurt you more,” the EMT strapping you into a stretcher and neck brace said. She began to shout your blood pressure and vitals to the uniformed people surrounding you as you called out to Dean again. “Please! Just tell me he’s okay!”

No one would answer you.

“Is he even alive?!”

***

As soon as the doctors told you you could go see Dean, you leapt out of the bed as well as you could on your throbbing leg and bruised rib cage. Thankfully, that was as serious as your injuries got. You had no idea what the Winchesters’ situations were. 

You limped down the hallway to Dean’s room just down the hall from yours and took a sharp breath in horror. Wires were hooked up to every part of him. He was intubated, and machines steadily beeped around him. His chest was exposed with electrodes hooked up to it. His forehead had a deep cut running down the center of it, and his body remained lifeless. You tentatively walked over to his bedside and sat in the empty chair next to it. You held his hand tightly and kissed it repeatedly. “Dean, you have to come back to me, please.” Tears streamed down your face.

Sam walked in the room just after you did, giving you his puppy dog eyes at the sight of you holding his brother’s hand and Dean’s body. “Oh, no,” he said.

You dropped Dean’s hand long enough to hobble over to Sam and hug him as tightly as your damaged body would allow. “I’m so glad to see you, man. Are you okay?”

He nodded. “Are you?”

“All things considered, yeah,” you replied.

A doctor entered the room behind you and Sam. “Your father's awake. You can go see him if you like.”

“Doc, what about my brother?” Sam asked.

“Well, he sustained serious injury: blood loss, contusions to his liver and kidney. But it's the head trauma I'm worried about. There's early signs of cerebral edema,” the doctor explained.

“Well, what can we do?” You looked between Sam and the doctor worriedly. 

“Well, we won't know his full condition until he wakes up.” The doctor paused. “If he wakes up.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “If?”

“I have to be honest, most people with this degree of injury wouldn't have survived this long. He's fighting very hard. But you need to have realistic expectations.”

Your chest felt like someone was squeezing the air out of you. You began to hyperventilate as you made your way back over to Dean. Using his bed for support, you eased yourself back down into the chair and picked up his hand again.

Sam looked at you sadly before exiting the room, presumably to go see his father.

“It’s gonna be fine,” you muttered. “John ‘ll know what to do. You’re gonna wake up, and I’m gonna tell you everything. You have to come back to me, so I can tell you.” Tears streamed steadily down your face. “You have to come back, Dee. You’re my best friend. I don’t know what I’d do without you, man. I… I need you here. I need you.” You brought his hand up to your lips and just held it there as you sobbed. After a while, you drifted off, crying and holding onto Dean tightly.

***

It had been hours of sitting next to Dean and praying to a god you didn’t believe in that he’d wake up and this would all be over. You needed to tell him the feelings you’d been holding in for the better half of a year now. You needed him to know how much he meant to you.

You just needed to talk to him. And so, you did. “Dean, I’ve never told you this— in fact, I feel weird saying it now— but you matter more to me than anybody else in my life has. You just… you make my day better just by being in it. And I hope I do the same for you.

“Y’know, I never really hated you. You frustrated me so fucking much, but I could never hate you.” You drew in a breath. “I figured out that the reason I thought I hated you was because you challenged me. You told me you found me intimidating, but you never treated me like I was. That’s the difference between you and most other people. You’re fearless. Completely. It scares me sometimes, honestly. But you make me stronger, Dean. And I just… I hope I make you feel half as much as you make me feel. There’s so much I have to tell you when you wake up. I probably won’t say any of this to you while you’re awake— y’know, vulnerability and all that— but… I just needed to say it in case—” Your throat caught. “In case I never see you again.”

***

Another hour had gone by of you sitting with Dean. You refused to move from your spot to eat or drink or go to the bathroom. All that mattered was that you kept your eyes on him. You told yourself that if you could still feel or see him, then he was here. And that was enough.

You stared at his peaceful features. You remembered for a moment what he’d looked like sleeping, and you could almost see it now. However, the wires and tubes obstructing your view kept you grounded in the horrible reality that was the present moment: you and Sam may be leaving without him.

Your heart rate picked up as that thought crossed your mind and began to race even more as Dean flatlined.

“Help, help!” you screamed. You raced out into the hallway. “Code Blue, room 202! Code Blue!” 

Doctors and nurses immediately responded to your call and rushed behind you into the room. You watched in horror as they began to try and resuscitate him.

Sam had apparently heard your cries and ran down the hallway to you.

“Sam, he flatlined, he—” You buried your face in his chest, and he guided you into the room against the far wall. 

“Still no pulse,” a nurse said. You couldn’t bear to watch as they shocked his lifeless body.

Sam suddenly stiffened against you just as the frantic beeping of the monitors quieted. 

“We have a pulse. We're back into sinus rhythm,” the nurse said.

You let go of Sam and breathed deeply as you turned to his brother. You couldn’t get to him due to the doctors and nurses still fussing about, but you smiled briefly at the fact that he was still here. You looked up at the younger brother. “What is it?”

“Nothing, I just thought I heard something,” he said looking around confused. “It felt like Dean.”

You furrowed your eyebrows at him. “What do you mean?”

“Like, he was there, just out of eyeshot or something. I don't know if it's my psychic thing or what, it— But do you think it's even possible? I mean, do you think his spirit could be around?”

You shrugged, suddenly feeling embarrassed of the things you’d admitted to Dean’s unconscious body. “Anything’s possible.”

“Well, there's one way to find out.” Sam began to leave Dean’s room. 

“Where are you going?”

“I gotta pick something up. I'll be back. Let me go tell my Dad.”

***

About an hour later, you still sat holding Dean’s right hand. You couldn’t let go now that you’d almost lost him a second time. Sam reentered the room. He was clutching a brown paper bag with an oblong object in his arms. 

“Welcome back,” you said. “What’s that?”

Sam seemed embarrassed. “I, uh, almost don’t wanna say.” He pulled out a Ouija Board.

You snorted. “Seriously?”

He ignored you and looked around the room at nothing. “Hey. I think maybe you're around. And if you are, don't make fun of me for this, but um, well, there's one way we can talk.” He sat the box and board on the floor in front of Dean’s bed. You looked on eagerly.

“Dean? Dean, are you here?” He put two fingers on each hand on the planchette. Moments later, it moved to “YES” on the board.

“Sam, don’t tell me you’re doing that,” you breathed out. “Or do, I don’t know which answer I want.”

“It's good to hear from you, man,” Sam laughed. “It hasn't been the same without you, Dean.”

The pointer began to slide around the board. “Dean, what? H? U? Hunt? Hunting? What, are you hunting?”

The pointer slid back to "YES."

“It's in the hospital; what you're hunting? Do— Do you know what it is?” Sam paused and gained his composure. “What is it?”

The pointer slid across the board too fast for you to read from your position next to Dean’s body. 

“A reaper. Dean. Is it after you?”

You watched with bated breath as the pointer slid to “YES.”

“If it's here naturally, there's no way to stop it,” Sam murmured. “Man, you're, um—” He got up from the ground and began to pace.

“No, no, no,” you said, looking over to Dean’s peaceful features. “You’re not fucking leaving me, dammit. There’s gotta be a way.”

“Dad'll know what to do.” Sam rushed out of the room, leaving the Ouija board on the ground.

You slowly stood and moved over to the board. You immediately missed the feeling of his hand in yours, even if he couldn’t hold back. You sat before the board and let out a shaky breath, placing your hands on the planchette. “Dee, you still here?”

The planchette slid to “YES” before returning to the middle of the board.

You huffed out an anxious breath. “Did you, um, did you hear what I said earlier?”

It slid back to “YES.”

“Oh, God, um, I’m sorry, I didn’t want to tell you until you were awake again,” you rushed out. “I didn’t— I’m sorry— Can you—”

“S” “L” “O” “W” “D” “O” “W” “N” the board spelled out.

You laughed shakily. “Sorry.” You paused. “Do you— Do you feel the same way?”

The planchette hesitated before sliding over to “YES.” A smile you couldn’t contain spread across your face. “Well, I sure as hell ain’t lettin’ you die now.”

Sam returned moments later carrying his father’s journal. “Hey. So Dad wasn't in his room.”

“Where is he?” you asked.

“Who knows? Maybe there's something here.” He tapped the journal before leafing through it. He stopped on the page that said “Reapers.” 

“How’s this supposed to help us, Sam? We already know we can’t kill ‘em,” you stated.

“I know, I know, I just… I thought maybe there’d be something else here. A way to… bargain with ‘em or something.”

You smiled at him sadly. Not knowing what else to say, you told him, “I know he appreciates that you’re not givin’ up on him, Sammy.”

***

Hours later, Sam had poured through almost every page of the journal. He paced around the room and began talking to Dean’s spirit. “Dean, are you here? I couldn't find anything in the book. I don't know how to help you. But I'll keep trying, all right? As long as you keep fighting.

"I mean, come on you can't, you can't leave me here alone with Dad. We'll kill each other, you know that.” He stopped and stood over you, looking down at his brother. “Dean, you gotta hold on. You can't go, man, not now. We were just starting to be brothers again. Can you hear me?”

***

You had even slept with Dean’s hand in yours through the night. Sam had gone in and out of the room a few times, but never John.

“Sam, what do we do, man?” You brushed a hand over your eyes, feeling exhausted and fueled by emotion all at once. 

He shook his head. “I’m thinkin’, okay?” he snapped.

“Sorry,” you muttered after a moment. 

“Me, too,” he said. 

Suddenly, Dean shot up and gasped, choking on the tube in his throat.

“Help! I need help!” you called into the hallway. 

***

“I can't explain it. The edema's vanished,” the doctor explained. “The internal contusions are healed. Your vitals are good. You have some kind of angel watching over you.”

“Thanks, doc,” Dean said. 

Your stomach sank knowing Dean didn’t remember what you’d said to him while he’d been unconscious, but you felt comforted knowing he felt the same way. You’d tell him when he was out of that crummy hospital gown, that somehow, he still managed to make look attractive.

Dean turned to his brother. “So, you said a Reaper was after me?”

You and Sam nodded.

“How'd I ditch it?”

You shrugged. “We don’t know. You really don’t remember… anything?”

“No. Except this pit in my stomach. (Y/N), something's wrong.”

The three of you turned your head to a knock at the door. John limped in for the first time you’d seen him since the accident. You fought the urge to start yelling at him about how he hadn’t come to see his son.

“How you feeling, dude?” John asked his son.

“Fine, I guess. I'm alive.”

John smiled sadly for a reason you couldn’t place. “That's what matters.”

“Where were you last night?” Sam was angry.

“I had some things to take care of.”

Sam scoffed. “Well, that's specific. Did you go after the demon?”

“No.”

“You know, why don't I believe you right now?”

John half-smiled despite the situation. “Can we not fight?” he pleaded. “You know, half the time we're fighting, I don't know what we're fighting about. We're just butting heads. Sammy, I— I've made some mistakes. But I've always done the best I could. I just don't want to fight anymore, okay?”

Sam cocked his head to the side. “Dad, are you alright?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I'm just a little tired. Hey, son, would you, uh, would you mind getting me a cup of caffeine?”

Sam left you and Dean with John.

“I, uh, have a thing. At a… place,” you mumbled awkwardly, leaving the room. You stood outside and waited for Sam to return, bouncing on your heels and thinking about how and when you were going to tell Dean how you felt for the second time.

You were pulled out of your thoughts by John putting a hand on your shoulder. Strangely, he pulled you into a hug. “I’m happy I ran into you in Jericho. Thanks for watching my boys.” And with that, he left. You watched him retreat back to his room for a moment before heading back in to see Dean. 

“Hey,” you said awkwardly.

“Hey,” he responded, seeming a little out of it. “What’re you nervous about?”

“I feel like the timing’s really bad for me to tell you,” you responded. "Especially with your dad and his cryptic thing he did just now."

“Well, now you definitely have to,” Dean half-smirked.

You took a deep breath. “While you were… out… I told you something.”

He looked at you expectantly.

You huffed out a quick breath. “You remember that stupid pinky promise I made you make? You told me I confuse you, and you promised to tell me why someday. Is… Are you? I mean— Jesus, I’m never like this—” 

Before you or Dean could continue, you suddenly heard Sam screaming, “Help! Somebody, help!” from down the hall. You and Dean jerked to attention and looked at each other briefly before leaping off the bed and running down the hall. When you reached the doorway, John was being taken away from Sam and Sam was shoved out of the room.

A nurse tried to shove you and Dean away as well. “No, no, no, it's our dad. It's our dad!” 

She stopped pushing you and allowed you to stay by the door.

“C’mon, John,” you muttered. “C’mon.”

“Okay, stop compressions.”

Your heart sank watching Dean’s horrified face as they called the time of his father's death.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼

oh man, loving Chris’s perspective on his parents’ relationship now that they’re all moving in together. cuddle fiend eddie i love you 💕

Thank you!!!

84 for 🔼:

---

 It’s the second time in her life that this exact situation has taken her completely by surprise. She doesn’t know what she’s expecting. A salesperson? A Mormon? Not a uniformed member of the LAFD. 

The thing is, from the somber look on the man’s face, she knows it’s Eddie. Eddie has been killed. Eddie’s metaphorical chopper has gone down. For the LAFD, Maddie is still listed as Buck’s next of kin. Despite Eddie being his medical power of attorney, Maddie is his next of kin. So if Buck was dead, they’d be at her apartment. Maybe they are. Maybe she’s lost both of them. A fire. A structural collapse. Anything could have stolen them away from her.

“Mrs. Diaz?” The man asks. 

She’s shaking. “Yes?”

“My name is Captain Gregories, and-”

“Is my husband dead?” She asks. 

“Mrs. Diaz, I-”

“Is he dead, Captain Gregories?” She interrupts. She has no time for niceties. No patience. This is happening again. 

“No,” he says. “He’s sustained a gunshot wound. He’s in emergency surgery right now.”

A gunshot wound? What? Why? Who the fuck shoots a firefighter? Was it that mother? That horrible woman hurting her child and scamming people for money? Shannon helped Eddie uncover her scam, and she, what? Shot Eddie?

“Will he die?” She demands. 

“We don’t know, ma’am.”

No. They never do, do they? 

“And what about his partner?” Shannon asks.

“Ma’am?” 

“His work partner. Evan Buckley. Is he okay?”

The man looks stoic. Unconcerned.

“I was only given information on a Firefighter Edmundo Diaz.”

Fine. Fine. Fuck that. Fuck any world where Eddie is hurt and possibly dying and they have no word on Buck. Don’t they know? Don’t they know they come as a unit? 

Shannon grits her teeth and holds back her tears.

“Tell me which hospital.”

◀️

First Presbyterian.

Shannon rushes to First Presbyterian. She drops Jane off with Pepa. Pepa will also pick up Christopher from school.

“Please don’t tell him. Please let me do that,” she asks. She can only hope Pepa listens. 

The first time, Shannon fell apart. She sobbed. She panicked. She scared Chris, who woke up to find her sobbing and panicking. She had been alone. Her husband was potentially dying. Her mother was certainly dying. She couldn’t survive it. She knew she couldn’t survive it.

This time, she operates like a machine. She tightens her jaw, holds her breath, and does what she needs to do. She gets to the hospital. She doesn’t know what’s happening. She doesn’t know where Buck is. She doesn’t know if he’s hurt. But Eddie is at First Presbyterian. 

[lemony-snickers]

Hiya Lem! Sorry if I’m too late~but hows about 17 and Kakashi for the Spotify wrapped fic game! Or if ya got too many Kashi’s, maybe Yugao! ~or anyone you feel fits the song best~ ❤︎₊ ⊹ 

17. fire - louis the child ft. evalyn.

only one late here is me. <3 also, never too many kakashis i did both! sort of! .

lookin' up, starlight; take me there, i wanna fly

Kakashi’s back is hard against Yugao’s as they face the closing circle of enemies, his voice a barely discernable growl as he barks orders from behind his broken mask.  They are in the shit, and Yugao for the first time since taking her ANBU oath wonders if this may be the mission that prevents her from ever returning home.

She looks up, the pinpoints of stars dancing in her blurred vision overhead.  She doesn’t have time to contemplate the concussion, though, because Kakashi springs forward and she must do the same if she wants to survive, to protect her teammates.

The battle is protracted and bloody.  By the time Team Ro limps away, they are all battered and bruised.  Ko’s ankle is broken and he leans against Tenzo who used some of the last of his strength to create a wooden crutch to help distribute the weight.

Yugao looks ahead.  Their team leader is tense, Hound’s shoulders lifted almost to his ears.  Kakashi’s silver hair is stained red and brown – new and old blood mixing with the shimmering strands, matting it to his scalp in places.  She wonders how much is his, how much belongs to those he slayed, if any of it came from her own wounds.

In addition to an obvious head injury, she herself has sustained several lacerations and fears she may be bleeding internally, if the sickly grey bruise spreading over her abdomen is any indication.  She won’t be able to see a skilled enough medic until they are back in Konoha, and so she grits her teeth against the pain and follows her Captain.  When her eyes flutter closed a few short hours later, voices screaming her call sign, the faint beginning of panic bleeding into the edges of the syllables, the last thing she sees is the face of Hound blotting out the stars.

Yugao stares at Kakashi’s panicked half-face through his broken mask and tries to tell him it’s not his fault.  She always knew her life in the corps would end this way.

but i’m miles off the ground; i’m leavin’ this whole match city to burn

The hospital lights are blinding, the itchy blankets too cloying and hot when she wakes.  Yugao throws them away, but when she tries to stand, she wavers, suddenly dizzy; vision blurring in defiance of the too-bright lights.  Adrenaline, insistent and overwhelming, courses through her quicker than common sense.

A firm hand grasps one arm, holds her steady.  Her hearing is fuzzy at first, but then it clears like she’s coming up from underwater.  “Stand down, Uzuki-san.”

Her eyes slide over to find Kakashi, wearing Konoha’s standard jonin uniform.  It feels wrong to see him in the blue fatigues and flak vest.  She can’t even remember the last time she’s seen anyone on her team out of their ANBU uniform.  Sometimes it feels like they live more of their lives as their masked counterparts than as themselves.

Even though most of his face is covered, it still feels like an intrusion to see his right eye peaking out from over his mask.  She’s used to Hound, not Kakashi Hatake.

She tries to shrug out of his grip, but Kakashi’s fingers only dig in harder, forcing her down until she’s sitting on the bed again.  She curses, feeling the beginnings of another bruise.  When he releases her, Yugao massages the place where his hand had been.

“I don’t think the medics would take kindly to you injuring a patient.”

“If that patient would stay in bed resting, I wouldn’t have to.”

Yugao scoffs lightly, but knows better than to challenge him further.  Stories of Kakashi’s escapes from this very place are legendary and many.  She has personally witnessed him scrambling from the window of a higher floor room, the voice of the Head Medic screaming its way into Konoha in his wake as Kakash rips an IV line from between his fingers.

She heard they started putting the lines in his feet so it would be more difficult for him to pull them out without drawing attention from the guard in his room.

Still, she supposes she is in no position to question her commander—standard uniform or no.  Kakashi walks to the window and pushes it open.

“I expect you to report back as soon as you’re discharged,” is all he says before he disappears.

Yugao smirks.  She knows he wouldn’t be here unless he cared about her well-being, despite his best efforts to conceal any concern.  But every member of Team Ro has seen their Captain’s selflessness, the blows he takes so they won’t have to.  He can’t hide his true nature from any of them, no matter how hard he tries.

long nights, it’s a lifestyle; so good to the last drop

Yugao wonders if there is some innate biology that prepares someone to be a great leader.  Kakashi must have it, if so.  She is in awe, watching him bark out orders not only to their squadron but countless others in the gathered crowd.  Everyone listens.  Everyone.

There is not a single person within hearing distance who does not sense he is the best person to direct the recovery efforts.  Even if it’s outside the scope of Team Ro’s mission.  Even if he is a foreign shinobi – none of that matters.

He oozes confidence; competence.  His voice is clear, steady, and sharp; it makes people believe in him.  It is why Yugao has always found it so easy to follow him into battle, even when the odds are precariously stacked in the enemy’s favor.  Her chest flares with warmth for her Captain, for her luck in being assigned to his team.

By the time the dust clears, she knows the number of survivors would be more than half what it is had Kakashi not been here to direct the rescue teams.

She watches as he wanders off by himself, settles against a cold rock to open a rations pack and eat in solitude.  She doesn’t approach him; knows how important the decompression space is after an emotionally tumultuous effort.  She and Tenzo find themselves a place to sit together and do the same, talking quietly about the mission; everything that went wrong and how eager they are to return to Konoha.  To take a hot bath and sleep in their own beds, no matter how uncomfortable their old mattresses are.

When she sneaks a glance back over at Kakashi, she sees he’s sitting with his head tilted back against the stone behind him.  From the steady rise and fall of his chest, she thinks he might finally be catching a few precious moments of sleep.

Good, she thinks.  He rarely truly rests during their team assignments, and she can see the toll it takes, even without seeing his face.

“Something I can help you with, Leopard?”

Yugao stiffens, not expecting his voice.

“No, sir,” she says, clearing her throat, “Just wondering what our next orders are.”  She ignores Tenzo’s teasing glance, the soft huff of his breath as he allows a half-chuckle escape his mouth.

She’ll get him back for that later—as if he wasn’t staring at Kakashi, too.  Though, she thinks, Tenzo’s reasons are very different from her own.

“We’ll move out in ten,” Kakashi says, standing, “so best finish your rations.”

Yugao nods quickly, stuffing the rest of the bar in her mouth before chasing it with a gulp of water from a canteen offered by Tenzo.  She watches Kakashi’s back the entire way to Konoha, as she so often does, still wondering how he had known she was watching.  Another enigmatic piece of her Captain’s puzzle—one she will likely never slot into place.  No matter how many missions she runs with him, she does not think she’ll ever find enough pieces to construct a clear picture.

i'll watch it go down; ‘cause that sun gonna take me with it

Yugao can’t move.  She feels as if she’s been buried beneath a ton of rocks, each one heavier than the last.  Her face itches, eyes tearing no matter how hard she tries to stave off the sadness.  The skin around them is red and raw, her lips chapped.

Hayate is gone.  And she cannot bear it.  Doesn’t want to.

Without him, she sees little reason to move.  To eat or breathe or live.

Weak, her mind whispers, you are so weak.

There have been countless knocks at her apartment door, calls from friends and comrades asking to be let inside.  They have food, they have flowers, they are checking on her.

Yugao doesn’t care.  She wants nothing to do with any of it.

When she hears her bedroom window slide open, Yugao thinks maybe the enemy who killed Hayate has come for her, too.  She closes her eyes, grateful for the opportunity to join him in the afterlife, for an end to this awful suffering.

“Get up.”

Her eyes snap open and there is Kakashi Hatake, staring down at her with one cool grey eye.

Her lip trembles, embarrassment lighting her nerves.  She covers her face with her arms, an awful sob barreling from her mouth before she has the sense to stop it, to shove it down the way a good soldier should be able to.

Not him.  Not her Captain.  It doesn’t matter that Hound has not led Team Ro for years, Yugao still looks up to him.  Still marvels at the grace with which he can adapt to any weapon, the efficacy with which he can devise a battle plan in any scenario.

Even the way he has taken three unruly genin under his wing, though rumor has it he is perhaps not as adept at leading children as he was Black Ops operatives.

Yugao’s crying seems to never end, ceaseless rivers of tears streaming from her eyes, lungs jolting until she hiccups pathetically.

She hears Kakashi sigh and assumes he will leave, that she is too pathetic and weak for him to help her.

Instead, she feels the mattress dip when he sits down a few minutes later, allows him to pry her arms away from her face as he lays a cool, damp towel over her eyes and forehead.

It feels nice, and her hiccups lessen and then eventually quiet, though a few errant tears continue to leak from the corners of her eyes no matter how hard she tries to staunch the flow.

“It never goes away,” Kakashi says quietly.

Yugao peels the washcloth off and looks at him, but his gaze is trained elsewhere, far across the room.  Across time, she thinks, looking at something she will never see.

“You will carry him with you for the rest of your life, and it will be a burden.”

She tries to protest—Hayate could never be a burden to her—but Kakashi holds up his hand, fingers twisted into the mission signal for silence, and she is still good, she finds, at following orders.

When Kakashi turns to look at her, Yugao gasps.  Because the fabric beneath his sharingan is damp with tears.  His other eye bores into hers, intense and clear.  “It will also be the greatest honor to keep him in your memory, and that is why you will get out of this bed and continue on.”

It doesn’t happen right away.  Not that afternoon, or the next.  But Kakashi keeps visiting, keeps prying her window open and handing her bowls of broth and eventually, Yugao pulls herself out from beneath her blankets and she returns to the world; heart heavier, but her purpose clearer than it has ever been.

i'm building a fire, fire, oh; i'm buildin’ it higher, higher, oh

This is something she can do.  A way to avenge Hayate, to protect her home.  To carry him with her and use the grief to make something better.

Cutting down Sound shinobi as they rampage through the streets of Konoha has suddenly become Yugao’s favorite thing in the world.  She pours all the anger and love she ever felt for Hayate into each swing, as if every enemy she sees is the one who made that killing stroke.  She is grateful for all he taught her, the strength she has now because of him.

She throws herself in front of a civilian, holds her armored forearm up to stop an enemy nin’s axe in its bid for flesh.  The armor bends, cracking beneath the force, the edge of the blade biting into her skin.

Yugao only smirks.  No wound can hurt as much as the one in her chest, the vacancy where Hayate should still be and isn’t.

Behind her mask, she grins.  And when her enemy falls to her feet, throat opened like a smile, Yugao wonders if her Captain would be proud of the soldier she has become.

If Kakashi knows how much she learned from him.

Whether Hayate is watching her from somewhere far away, complaining under his breath about her sloppy footwork as she sidesteps one attack and parries another.

She hopes so.

There will be time for such questions later.  For now, she has more important things to attend to.  Because, though she knows she may one day find herself in a battle she cannot win, she also knows that today, battling for her village in its heart—her teammates scattered around her doing the same—is not a fight she will allows herself to lose.

and if i go down in flames; the smoke gonna spell my name

[sunriseabram]

Aaron after the car crash

Aaron after the car crash | 08/07

CW / Parental Death, Car Crash

Aaron stared at the police officer on his doorstep with disdain. He hated it when they came around in their pompous little uniforms. The police knew the Minyards well by now due to Andrew’s juvie record and Aaron hated to see them. 

“Are you a relative of Tilda Minyard?”

The name made Aaron freeze. He hadn’t expected it.

“She’s my mother, Sir,” he said, a hand gripping the door.

The office swallowed, his face twisting into some contorted expression. He bowed his head, staring at Aaron with pity and grief. Aaron knew whatever the officer was about to say wouldn’t be pretty. A part of him hoped that Tilda had just been arrested for illegal drug use, or gotten into a petty fight. 

A part of him knew.

“May I come inside, Son? I think it is best for you to sit down. Is anyone else home?”

The world narrowed. Aaron could hear his heart thumping inside his ears, trying to leap out. He felt too much, too deeply. Nothing ever good came from such a home visit.

“No Sir. Mom said no cops allowed in here.” She will hit me if she finds out. “Just tell me now.”

With a sigh, the officer put a hand on his heart.

“It is with a heavy heart that I must inform you your mother and brother were in a bad accident. Despite the best efforts of paramedics, your mother sustained injuries that she was unable to survive—”

Although the officer kept speaking, Aaron could no longer hear him. Reality hit him so hard that he staggered backwards away from the door, collapsing to his knees. His mother was dead. His mother was never coming back again.

His brother. 

The brother he had just met had been taken. His whole family was gone, taken by a cruel accident, and there was nothing he could do. Was this a punishment from God? Was he destined to live life alone? Was it his fault?

“No,” Aaron said—or at least, he thought he did. His ears were ringing, his hands shaking and his breathing rapid.

“Your twin brother is in hospital. His injuries are not life-threatening, and he is expected to make a full recovery.”

Aaron let out a cry of relief. The seal broke, salty tears wetting his cheeks one after another. Once they started, he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. 

Andrew was alive.

“Let me see him.”

[blingblong55]

Great protector- Simon "Ghost" Riley

Based on a request:

Sooo forgive me if this makes you uncomfy or anything and please feel free to ignore this. I just officially had my leg amputated after a bad accident last year and I'm really struggling. Can I please request some Ghost comfort where he comforts reader who just had something similar?thank you so much for some niceness in these hard times

GN!Reader, loss of limb angst, platonic!relationship, fluff

After some great explosion during a mission, you sustained injuries that led to having your right leg amputated. For months on end, you were in the hospital, recovering and coming to terms with it all.

Through thick and thin your battle buddy, Ghost was there. All the doctor appointments, therapy sessions, night terrors and bad mental health days. He was the comfort your new life needed. The mornings were the worst, that's when you were all alone and he was not in reach. Price and the others did visit, but it was he who had the permission to be around always.

You eventually were honourably discharged and moved to a small flat. Ghost had then become your roommate, he went from living on base to living with you. Most nights he stayed up, waiting around in case you needed him.

Tonight was a difficult time, you were given a choice in the morning, a wheelchair or a prosthetic leg. You couldn't come to terms with being what you are, you called yourself a 'worthless member of society' You for days looked at your old uniform, wishing you could wear it once more and feel 'normal'.

After a much-needed alone time, your walls came crashing down, tears flowing as your sobs got louder. Ghost walks into your room, "Grim, what's wrong?" he sounded scared and concerned. You stayed silent, turning away from him so he didn't have to see this side of you anymore.

He sat beside you, hand holding your chin so you could look at him, "Please, Grim, please don't shut me out..what's wrong?" his voice low and soft. Gaze on yours as the tears blur your vision, "I'm tired, I... I don't feel normal..this isn't..me" your voice shaky, lips quivering. Your hands looking for the ghost of your now gone limb. He hugged you, for the first time since this all happened he hugged you. It wasn't an 'I have to do this' hug but more of an 'I want to do this...I need it too'.

He pulled back slightly, wiping away the tears with so much delicateness and care, it was such a foreign feeling to you both. "...I know it's hard...but think of it this way, you now can tell people a good story...and you can have new jokes..not like your usual shit ones.." Maybe he wasn't good with comfort but the way he tries and how he shows his care for you in his own way is beautiful. You chuckle a little, something he would add to his book of accomplishments.

"You don't like my jokes?"

"Not one fuckin' bit, Grim...like why include a parrot-"

"It's funny!"

He shakes his head and laughs a little. In some ways, you and him created a deep bond during this all, You see, before this all he was just your battle buddy and the lieutenant you had to obey and now you eat breakfast he made and at times are forced to listen to his stupid army humour.

It was strange, the way he had become your family and best friend in the whole world. He is your rock, a shoulder to cry on and the stand-up comedy he makes you watch from the sofa. Maybe life has different plans for you, At first the plan is cruel and heartless but it gives you more back. The missing limb gave you a loving friend, a gentle giant and a softie behind closed doors when you two watch some cartoon or romantic comedy and for his own sake please stop watching 'A walk to remember', he has to keep his cold-hearted reputation going.

A/N: I really hope you love it dear anon...wishing you the best during this time <3333

[sustainableworkwear]

Parameters for Selecting Hospitality Uniforms in Ireland

Selecting appropriate hospitality uniforms in Ireland involves several key considerations. Uniforms should align with the establishment's brand image, ensuring they reflect the desired aesthetic and ambiance. Comfort and functionality are paramount, as staff members often work long hours; thus, uniforms should be made from breathable, durable fabrics that allow ease of movement. Incorporating sustainable materials can enhance the brand's commitment to environmental responsibility.

To know more about Parameters for Selecting Hospitality Uniforms in Ireland visit:

[taatianaad]

Under the Same Blood

It was a quiet morning in Piltover, a city that, though brimming with advanced technology, never truly rested from its shadows. Vi, as always, had gotten up early to patrol the streets. Wearing her characteristic uniform and her imposing Hextech gauntlets, she exuded a mix of determination and defiance. It wasn’t unusual for her to get into altercations, but this day had something more in store for her.

As she walked down an alley searching for clues about a recent case, a subtle noise caught her attention. She turned, but not quickly enough. A hooded figure appeared out of nowhere, and before Vi could react, a sharp pain pierced her left arm.

The attacker’s knife had sliced through her flesh, leaving a deep wound that immediately began bleeding profusely. Vi growled, gritting her teeth as she tried to steady herself. Blood was dripping quickly to the ground, forming a dark puddle at her feet.

“What the hell…?!” she shouted, clutching her injured arm.

The attacker tried to strike again, but this time Vi was ready. With a precise blow from one of her Hextech gauntlets, she disarmed the figure and pinned them against the wall. The pain in her left arm was excruciating, but her adrenaline kept her standing.

“Game over for you, buddy,” she spat, though her voice was beginning to waver.

When backup arrived to take the assailant away, Vi felt her legs give out. The blood loss was too fast, and her vision started to blur. Her colleagues tried to help her, but she insisted on walking to the transport that would take her to the hospital.

At home, Caitlyn was enjoying a rare morning off. She’d decided to cook something special for when Vi returned—a way to show her that her support wasn’t just on the streets but also in the small moments they shared.

When her phone rang, a bad feeling settled in her chest. The voice on the other end of the line was serious:

“Ms. Kiramman? Your partner, Violet, has sustained a serious injury and is at the hospital.”

Caitlyn dropped the phone, her heart pounding.

“Vi…” she whispered before grabbing her coat and rushing out the door.

At the hospital, Vi was lying on a stretcher, her left arm hastily bandaged. The wound was still bleeding, though more slowly thanks to the makeshift tourniquets. A doctor was checking her vitals as Vi struggled to keep her eyes open.

“We need a transfusion immediately,” the doctor told the nurses. “She’s losing too much blood.”

When Caitlyn arrived, the first thing she saw was Vi’s pale face and the tangle of wires and tubes connected to her body.

“Vi!” she cried, running to her side.

Vi opened her eyes with difficulty, a faint smile appearing on her lips.

“Cait… always… on time…” she murmured, her voice barely a whisper.

“What did they do to you?” Caitlyn asked, her voice breaking.

The doctor interrupted, his expression grave.

“The wound is deep, and she’s lost a significant amount of blood. We urgently need a transfusion, but we’re having trouble finding a compatible donor.”

Caitlyn didn’t need to think twice.

“What’s her blood type?”

“O negative,” the doctor replied.

“I’m O negative,” Caitlyn said without hesitation. “Use mine.”

The doctor looked at her in surprise but quickly nodded.

“Perfect. We need to prep you immediately.”

As they drew Caitlyn’s blood, her mind raced. The thought of losing Vi—of never seeing that mischievous smile again or hearing her sarcastic remarks—was unbearable. She closed her eyes, focusing on one thought: I’m here for you, Vi.

After the transfusion, Vi’s color began to improve. Though still weak, her vital signs were stabilizing. When she fully woke up, the first thing she saw was Caitlyn sitting beside her, a bandage on her arm.

“What… happened?” Vi asked, her voice raspy.

Caitlyn took her hand, her eyes filled with tears.

“You lost a lot of blood, but… well, now you’ve got a little bit of me in you.”

Vi smiled, weak but genuine.

“Does that mean I get your elegance now?”

Caitlyn laughed, relieved that her Vi was still the same, even after everything.

“I wouldn’t go that far, but I hope it gives you some common sense.”

Vi squeezed Caitlyn’s hand with the little strength she had.

“Thank you, Cait… for saving me.”

“I always will,” Caitlyn replied, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “Always.”

The days that followed were a reminder to both of how fragile life could be, but also of how strong their love was. Vi promised to be more careful, though she knew her protective instincts would always put her in danger. Caitlyn, for her part, made sure to always be ready to be Vi’s refuge, in good times and bad.

Together, they faced the world, now with an even stronger bond: one of shared blood and unbreakable love.

[howlingday]

Charitable Donations

Blake: And so, with the expansion of diversified commerce, the increased tax revenue will pay for the project and make it self-sustaining in about 10 years.

Weiss: ...I'm sorry, what's all this about again?

Blake: The- The last part about the-

Weiss: The whole thing.

Blake: The whole thi- WEISS, THIS WAS A THREE-HOUR PRESENTATION!

Weiss: Well, okay, look; you had me in the first ten minutes, but then the martinis kicked in and you lost me.

Blake: Weiss-

Weiss: I've sobered up by now, but I'm completely lost, and I'm not happy about it.

Blake: YEAH! ME NEITHER!

Weiss: I mean I'm not happy about the sobriety. Were you drinking, too? Drinks are free! You can have one!

Blake: But... What about the White Fang?!

Weiss: Oh, they do NOT drink for free!

Blake: IN MY PRESENTATION!

Weiss: None of them get free drinks!

Blake: I'm talking about the charity foundation!

Weiss: Okay, I see... Let's start again from the top, but summarize everything you said into about two minutes because I need to be at the airport.

Blake: I'M GOING TO KILL YOU.

Weiss: And I'm not going to make tee-time at Shade. So less crying, more talking.

Blake: OKAY! You remember Menagerie? When the White Fang first broke up and the New Fang took its place, one member was a girl name Trifa, and she started her own fashion line. I was worried her business would fail because there isn't much access to cotton, or wool, or anything you'd use to make a dress! Y'know, other than spider silk, but let's not think about that. So Trifa, this girl, her business explodes! And it grows and it grows and it keeps growing until it takes over everything!

Weiss: Alright, girl doing it for herself~!

Blake: Soon enough, she's the only company in Menagerie...

Weiss: Mm~! Girlbossing it up~!

Blake: She's got a corporate monopoly, vertically integrated up and down...

Weiss: Sounds like it all worked out for her~.

Blake: She has her own private military.

Weiss: So do I! Uniforms are so hot~. Designed these ones myself. Does she need uniforms? Is that what's going on? Oh, she has GOT to see our Schnee Queen Line.

Blake: Anything she wants, the government gives it to her. In other words, essentially, she IS the government.

Weiss: Good! More girls in business should be in government. Or, well, women, or whatever. We'll sell her some uniforms, send me the paperwork, have my people call her people and get a deal going~!

Blake: Weiss, it's a communist government.

Weiss: EEK! UGH! OH MY GOD!

Blake: Yeah.

Weiss: Dear Brothers and Dust! No! She's spending her own corporate money for building roads, and hospitals, and housing, and everything?!

Blake: Well... No.

Weiss: Oh! Oh, Blake, honey, you can't just throw that word around like that.

Blake: Okay, so maybe it's more like a banana republic, I guess. Anyway, the problem is... they don't have any of what you said. They don't have any roads, or healthcare, or housing, or, well, anything.

Weiss: Ah! BUT they do have capitalism~! So someone is going to fill that market gap.

Blake: Y-Yeah, and I'd like your company's charity to fill that market gap.

Weiss: Oh... Well, we'll build some toll roads, set up some private clinics...

Blake: Actually, I was thinking maybe you'd do it as a charity?

Weiss: ...No.

Blake: ...YOUR COMPANY PAYS INTO YOUR CHARITY, WHICH THEN PAYS INTO YOUR PERSONAL BANK ACCOUNT.

Weiss: Well, of course! Duh! Leadership like mine doesn't come cheap~!

Blake: And I've noticed it doesn't go into any charities...

Weiss: It does so! Recently, we've made a BIG donation to Ruby's "Arms for Snakes" program.

Blake: It goes to stupid charities.

Weiss: ...It donates to your New Fang.

Blake: ...S-Since you brought that up, some of our directors have had a few comments about the recent Schnee Company policies.

Weiss: Why? What's wrong with them? It went through a brilliant think tank!

Blake: it went through Thinking4U...

Weiss: Well, if it's such a problem, then how about I stop providing donations for you~?

Blake: ...

Blake: Y'know what? Let's not worry about all of that right now! Can I get you on board to build roads in Menagerie?

Weiss: No.

Blake: Ah... Okay, well, that was it.

Weiss: Great. I love it when we can get to the point! Now, can I get YOU on board for drinks next Saturday?

Blake: ...Weiss, I gave up drinking.

Weiss: Order it a virgin then! Whatever! I'll see you then, darling~! Love you~! Kisses~! Mwah~! (Leaves)

Blake: ...

Blake: (Sighs)

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

Adsorptive regolith on Mars soaks up water, updated model shows

Mars, the next frontier in space exploration, still poses many questions for scientists. The planet was once more hospitable, characterized by a warm and wet climate with liquid oceans. But today Mars is cold and dry, with most water now located below the surface. Understanding how much water is stored offers critical information for energy exploration, as well as life sustainability on the planet.

A research group from Tohoku University has helped shed light on this by improving an existing Mars climate model. The enhanced model accommodates the various properties of Martian regolith, or the loose deposits of solid rock that comprise Martian soil. The study is published in the Journal of Geophysical Research: Planets.

Mirai Kobayashi says current models fail to account for the fact that laboratory experiments have demonstrated that the water-holding capacity of the regolith is strongly influenced by its adsorption coefficient.

"Models to date that estimate the distribution of surface and subsurface water on Mars assume that its regolith properties are uniform. This contrasts with observations made by orbiters and landers, which suggest that Martian regolith has globally non-uniform physical properties."

The model estimated Mars's subsurface water distribution down to 2 meters from the surface. Like a sponge, highly absorptive regolith in Mars's mid- and low latitudes retains substantial amounts of absorbed water. Some of this water, the findings showed, remains on the surface of the regolith as stable adsorbed water.

The study also showed that the soil on Mars could keep ice near the surface in the middle and lower areas because water vapor moves more slowly there. This means the soil helps trap water for a long time by slowing down how water vapor spreads, which is important for understanding the change in water on Mars over time.

"Our study stresses the importance of incorporating absorption and inhomogeneity of Martian regolith in forecasting Mars's surface water," says Takeshi Kuroda, who led the team alongside Kobayashi, Arihiro Kamada and Naoki Terada. "The model can also be used to study how water on Mars has changed, and how it may have moved deeper underground near the planet's mantle."

With several Mars exploration missions underway, including the Japan-led Martian Moons eXploration (MMX) and the international Mars Ice Mapper (MIM) projects, the model is expected to complement further studies that can lead to subsurface water maps of Mars.

IMAGE: The schematic diagram of the model and results. Credit: Mirai Kobayashi

[fizzing-imagines]

After Starcourt | Billy Hargrove x GN! Military! Reader

Notes: I'm back on my Billy x Military! Reader bullshit. But I'm a whore for angst so here y'all go. Please note reader is stationed in California in this one bc all branches have at least one base there (Also, Billy and Cali? Fuck yeah.). I actually got more Billy, and some Steve, in the works now! So stay tuned :)

Warnings: Description of injury, descriptions and mention of death and near-death, mention of having kids

Word count: 1.6k

You didn't know what you did, honestly. The last few hours were a blur to you, and while you didn't remember anything you saw, you do remember what happened while looking down at your hands; the blood crusted under your nails, the slight red hue on your nails, the blood that dried on the sleeves of your uniform. Your boyfriends blood. Billy's blood.

It was a complete accident on how you ended up there. You are off-duty, actually recovering from an injury you sustained in the field that was almost fatal, and just wanted to spend a few months with your boyfriend and family in Hawkins after such an event. Everything was fine at first, you arrived in April and were happy to be back earlier than expected but after a few months Billy started acting weird. You two wanted to spend the night at a motel, for obvious reasons, but he didn't show up. The next day, when you confronted him at work, he yelled at you to stay away from him. You saw it as a breakup at first, then you eventually were pulled in into all of this by Dustin and everything made sense. He dragged you along to save Steve and Robin from the russian underground base, despite you voicing your recovery from being shot in the hip. Still, you put on your uniform, grabbed your M16 and went to save the two.

You forgot what happened in between. It didn't matter to you anymore anyways. Next thing you remember was trying to save Billy's life, sporadically sealing the hole in his chest, compressing the wounds on his torso and screaming at him to stay awake. He was driven to the ER, the police took your statements (you dreaded the call from your sergeant) and now you were waiting in the waiting room for any news on your boyfriends surgery.

"Is your hip okay?", Robin asked you. She was kind enough to wait with you for the last three hours and keep your mind from at least not going to the worst possible outcome.

"It's fine, the wound didn't open I think.", you said while bouncing your leg up and down. A door opened, you snapped your head around to see if it was one of Billy's doctors but to no avail. "He'll be fine. You treated his injury well enough." Robin tried to reassure you, she really did her best, but she herself knew she was too socially awkward to comfort a stranger. "I could never forgive myself if I didn't.", you mumbled while picking the skin on your fingernails. Robin didn't reply; you couldn't blame her.

"Mrs. (Y/L/N)?" You shot up from your seat when you heard your last name being called. One of the doctors who treated Billy since he arrived stood next to you and Robin. "Is he alive?" was the first thing you said to her.

"Your first aid was vital for his survival, he would've died at the scene if it wasn't for you." Your eyes filled with tears as you heard her words. He survived. "The surgery was successful. We had to close a hole in his lung, and his heart was missed by a millimeter. Unfortunately, he'll need a follow-up surgery to reconstruct his spine. But he's alive, although he is sleeping right now." Tears left your eyes and if it wasn't for Robin holding you, you sure would've collapsed on the floor. "Thank you, so much.", you choked out to the doctor. She smiled, then said: "You can see him in a few hours. It's best if you go home and sleep a bit." You nodded and left the hospital with Robin.

You didn't get much sleep. At least you got to take a shower, put on clean clothes and get the dreaded call (that wasn't too bad) from your sergeant. When you tried to lay down, the most sleep you got was an one hour nap. You were just too nervous to see Billy again. Thinking about Billy needing to have his spine reconstructed, you looked over your documents of the hip surgery you had to get the bullet out and pubic bone repaired. It frustrated you that you weren't able to get him under your healthcare insurance provided by your employer, at least not while the two of you weren't married. Spinal reconstruction costs more than a small fortune, especially with your surgeon. After another unsuccessful attempt at sleeping, you decided to drive back to the hospital. It was either waiting at your childhood home or waiting where Billy was, and you'd rather be near Billy than freak out your parents even more.

One car ride later and you were back at the hospital. It's been five hours since Billy got out of surgery, your hopes of him being awake by now were high. When you asked for Billy at the reception and were send to the floor he was stationed at you asked another staff member on his status. Once again, you ended waiting on a chair in the hallway with your leg bopping up and down and picking the skin on your nails.

"Mrs. (Y/L/N), you can see him now.", a nurse finally told you. You practically jumped from your seat and went into his hospital room. And there he was.

Billy looked like he hasn't slept for a week, with dark eye bags and a droopy look on his face. He layed on his bed and slowly turned his head towards the door when he heard it open. "Well shit, if that isn't my guardian angle." He still had his sense of Humor, and he still had his beautiful smile. "Really is." Your eyes filled with tears once again while you pulled a chair next to his bed. "Don't cry, baby. I'm still here.", Billy said while reaching for your hand with his shaky one. You took his hand in yours and gave it a small squeeze. "I thought I had lost you.", you choked out before crying once more. Billy's thumb stroked the back of your hand slowly while mumbling "I'm not going anywhere. Told you, you're stuck with me." A choked laugh left your throat, which made him smile at you. His blue eyes were fixated on you, took in every detail of your face, scared that he'd forget if he didn't look at you long enough. "I didn't want to break up with you, you know?"

"Hm?" You raised an eyebrow in confusion. "I know it sounded like a breakup, but I didn't mean to. I didn't want to hurt you." He was still mumbling, but his tone was stern. Billy was more than serious with his words. "I know, Billy. Takes more than yelling to scare me off.", you replied with a smile. When your eyes wandered so his bandaged chest, you remembered your surgery research from before. "Uhm, Billy, I looked into who fixed my hip when I was shot. He could also reconstruct your spine, but it's expensive. And you're not in my healthcare program, not until we're married at least. But I can pay for it, at least most of the expenses." Those words made Billy think, now that you mentioned marriage. Up until a few hours ago he was convinced that he was either gonna kill you or die himself. He was convinced that he'd never see you again, and that hurt more than the hole in his chest did. Now he knew, he wouldn't mind spending the rest of his life with you. "Why don't we get married?", he mumbled with a small smile. Your face went cold, then hot before you said "For my healthcare?". Billy let out a weak laugh, still stroking the back of your hand with his thumb. "Yeah, I've been dating you just to get into your healthcare plan since I knew I was going to have my spine smashed by a giant monster." A small chuckle left your mouth at his words, followed by you placing a kiss on the back of his hand. "I don't want to spend the rest of my life without you. Could've left me at Starcourt if you're planning on breaking up with me."

"Billy, no, I'm staying with you forever." One of your fingers tucked a curl behind his ear. "I just want to make sure that you actually want to marry me."

"Near-death experiences tend to make you realise things. Remembering when you got shot?" How could you forget? Billy and your family visited you at the hospital, you being high on narcotics and slurring that you want to have a baby with him. Afterwards, you did tell him that that was one of your last thoughts before passing out on the field. Before that, you've heard soldiers last words, some crying that they didn't want to leave their wife alone. 'I promised her we'd have a baby' one said. 'I didn't even get to marry her' another cried out. Your high school friend, who went through bootcamp with you, died while holding your hand and mumbled 'I wish I told Steve I liked him' before passing. So yes, him basically asking for your hand in marriage made sense, just as much as it made sense for you to ask him to have a baby with you.

"Sweetheart?" Billy pulled you out of your thoughts and made you look at him. "Please, let's get married and move to California." You leaned over to your now-fiance and kissed him.

"Sure.", you whispered against his lips once you pulled away.

[dailyanarchistposts]

Bring the noise

As we made our way to the hastily chosen alternative meeting up point for the ‘Bring the Noise’ march it was clear, despite our worst fears, that a sense of momentum and excitement had built up over the previous week and the day was going to be a success. All along Dublin’s main street the cops were guarding the banks and the crappy fast-food outlets but in the middle there was a crowd of thousands. People continued to flock towards the march, including people from the ‘Another Europe is Possible’ rally that had finished some time earlier. Impromptu speeches began. As the crowd of about 3,000 moved off the chants and shouts grew to a crescendo and as we passed through the inner city the protest swelled to about 4,000 people. The sense of resolve, spontaneous revolt and joy was infectious and to music, foghorns, whistles and roars we marched for over an hour towards the banquet centre.

Many of us were surprised that the march got as far as it did but as we came within half a kilometre of Farmleigh house at the Ashtown roundabout we saw the police lines. We came to a halt eighty metres in front of the cops and water cannons. The end of the march was announced and the largely masked up ‘pushing bloc’ came forward with arms linked and approached the police lines accompanied by a sizeable number of protestors from the DGN march and the odd pisshead. After some pushing and the throwing of a few fairly ineffective missiles like half empty cans and plastic bottles, the riot police replaced the uniformed Gardai and there were a number of baton charges. At this point one uniformed policewoman was taken to hospital with a superficial head injury. The ‘pushing bloc’ was broken up and there were a number of scuffles.

Then came the moment the hacks, the senior cops and perhaps even a few of protestors had been waiting for — the water cannon were deployed. After spraying the protestors there were some more scuffles. This prompted an ill-advised sit down protest by a handful of people and some wonderfully surreal antics involving dancing protestors and a large bearded man scooping up some of the water being sprayed by the water cannon and throwing it back at the tender. The police, not known for enjoying gentle mockery, moved forward at this point and they began to aggressively push the protestors back down the Navan Road. After the fracas at Ashtown Gate the police had broken an arm, sprained an ankle, cracked several heads and inflicted numerous other minor injuries on marchers and arrested 28 of them. This was the ‘May Day riot’ that was on all the front pages the next day and although we had spent four days on Dublin’s streets engaged in various forms of protest none of this existed as far as the media were concerned. There had been a ‘riot’ in which the only serious injuries were sustained by demonstrators.

[jampc]

A Little R & R

pairing: fem!reader × joseph

characters: joseph joestar, caesar zeppeli

words: 1,286

content warnings: metions of nazis and nazism, mentions of blood and violence

tags: fluff, slight nsfw?

rating: m

a/n: none

ask away

You're first encounter with Joseph Joestar was far from a romantic one.

As a nurse who was assigned to the London Hospital you were no stranger to blood and gore, as well as the horrid sights of war.

As a nurse, you'd seen the same wounded soldiers, over and over again.

However, despite the horrible images you had witnessed, you still kept your emotions in check, always remaining calm and composed as you did your work.

After all, if you were to break down, who would care for the poor soldiers?

You couldn't do that to them... And yet, for some reason, that man had managed to make you lose your composure in ways you'd never expected.

"What a mess..." You murmured to yourself as you set aside the ruined trousers to dispose of them.

After being attacked by a Nazi soldier, Joseph had sustained an injury to his abdomen and it seemed that the stitches you had carefully sewn into him would soon become undone.

You glanced over at the wounded man, watching his face as he continued to sleep.

You knew that his wounds were nothing serious, and yet you couldn't help but worry over him.

You'd seen soldiers die from smaller injuries that would have easily been healed if treated early on.

But in your experience, they had died in vain, their injuries being for nothing.

It was as if the war wanted to claim as many lives as possible...

You sighed and turned your attention back to the patient before you, trying to focus on the task at hand.

As you did this, you could hear Joseph stir as he began to wake up. Your eyes widened in alarm as you looked down at him.

"You shouldn't be waking up yet!" You scolded lightly, giving him a stern look.

He blinked and lifted his head, glancing around in a daze. "Where...?" Joseph murmured, his words slurred from sleep.

He was clearly still exhausted from his injury, and it took him a few moments before he could fully gather his wits. "You're at London Hospital.

You were injured in an attack..." You explained, setting aside the bloodied cloth that was once his uniform, which was stained with his blood.

"It looks like you re-opened your stitches..." You moved closer, your

fingers gently touching the wound to see how deep the gash was. "Luckily, I was able to get them back in place."

You replied with a sigh of relief. "However, you shouldn't be moving around so soon after an injury like this. It's too early for you to be moving about."

You stood up and moved over to the sink, rinsing the blood off your hands. "I'll need to give you a stronger dose of anesthesia, as well as a stronger dose of antibiotics. After that you should be good to go..."

You were quiet for a few moments before turning to face him. "Who dressed me? I was fully clothed when I got here..." He murmured as he looked around the room.

You raised a brow and crossed your arms. "Well, who else would it be?" You replied, giving him a puzzled look.

"You were bleeding badly, and we didn't have time to fetch someone to stitch you up. I did it myself."

You admitted as you looked away in embarrassment, a slight flush rising on your cheeks.

Joseph was quiet for a few moments before he let out a soft chuckle, which caused you to look at him in surprise.

"Well, you certainly know how to keep a man in check." He replied with a grin, causing you to blink in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you're a real beauty, but you have such a mean attitude!" He exclaimed as he sat up in the bed.

"I never would've thought you had such a sharp tongue!" He remarked with a smile.

You gave him a look of disbelief, your mouth gaping open. How could he even think that...?

You had sewn him up and saved his life. Of course, he should be thanking you, not calling you mean!

"I have a question for you," He added. "Did you fall for me yet? I know I'm bit of a messiah for women."

"What?! No!" You immediately denied, shaking your head. "I don't see anything attractive about you."

"Hey!" He exclaimed with a pout, "I'm pretty darn handsome if you ask me!"

You just rolled your eyes, turning your back to him as you moved to gather the needed supplies.

"You're pretty insufferable for a man who just came out of surgery." You grumbled, not bothering to look at him.

You felt him move behind you and you sighed in irritation, turning to face him.

"What now? I swear, you're worse than a child." You sighed, giving him an exasperated look.

"I just wanted to look at you is all." He replied with a shrug, his eyes roaming over your figure as you held his gaze.

You let out another sigh and turned back around, busying yourself with your task.

You heard him get up out of bed, but you ignored it, knowing he was going to do as he pleased.

However, to your surprise, he appeared beside you, leaning against the counter.

"Why are you ignoring me?" He asked as he peered down at you.

"Because you're being annoying." "Aren't I allowed to speak to my savior?"

You gave him another annoyed look and pushed him away, shooing him off as you moved back to the bed.

"Get back into the bed!" You watched him go, noting how he slowly made his way back to his spot and you shook your head in disbelief.

"You really are incorrigible." You murmured, grabbing a cloth and running it under the water before returning back to Joseph's side.

He flinched when the cloth made contact with his wound, but he remained still as you wiped away the dried blood.

"Now lie back," You instructed as you leaned over him to get a better look at the stitches.

You glanced at him, your eyes roaming over his features. His dark hair had fallen in front of his eyes and he had a handsome face.

His features were soft and yet, his expression was hard and stern. As you gazed at him, you began to realize why he had been such a popular figure before the war...

"I see why you became popular with women..." You said quietly, not realizing you'd spoken aloud.

You blushed and averted your eyes from his as you realized that he'd heard you.

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"I mean you have a nice face." You murmured as you looked back at the stitches, trying to distract yourself from the awkwardness of the situation.

"Is that a compliment? I didn't know you had a soft side."

He joked. "Well, if that's the case, why not join me in this bed and I'll show you what else I can do with this handsome face of mine."

You flushed deeply at his words, causing you to hit him over the head with a rolled-up sheet.

"Stop being crude! You're making this even more embarrassing!" You groaned.

"That's not a no," He teased.

"It's a no!" You retorted, hitting him once again.

"You're mean!" He whined, rubbing the spot you'd hit.

You were about to hit him yet again, when you heard the sound of footsteps outside of the door, and you quickly set aside the rolled-up sheet before hurrying out of the room.

It was doctor Caesar Zeppeli. He gave you a quizzical look.

"I thought I heard someone out here... Are you finished with the patient?" He asked, glancing behind you.