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obessedwithfictionalmen · 10 months ago

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I have a plan...

John Egan X Female! Reader

Summary: Y/n plans to escape the camp, but she's not running away alone...

Warning: Historical inaccuracies/ killing people/ burning a building/ Y/n being a dystopian main character/ use of Y/n/ kissing/ not following the story line/

Word count: 1.9k

She was a shy person, never talked back, took the punch the Germans gave her, she was the perfect person. Y/n was at the wrong place at the wrong time, one day, she was coming back from the market, but German soldiers stopped her to check her papers, but she forgot them at home. She was accused of being a spy and was thrown into a POW camp. Bucky didn’t understand her, why she wasn’t fighting, why she didn’t say that she wasn’t a spy. If he was in her place, he would’ve tried to run away.

Buck was ordering the soldiers to pull the stump, Y/n was sitting beside them, on the stairs, reading a book. ‘’Y/n, why don’t you come and help’’ one of them spat. She looked at him, said nothing and continued to read her book. ‘’Whatever, you’re useless anyway’’ he mumbled. ‘’Shut up, Crank’’ Buck defended the woman. She was in her own world, Y/n didn’t even hear Buck. As she read the pages of her book, an idea came to her mind, she didn’t want to run away alone, if she escaped, she was bringing everyone with her. She was reading For Whom the Bells Tolls from Ernest Hemingway, the story inspired her to riot against her captors, she was going to burn this place to the ground.

‘’Y/n, you’re more silent than usual, what’s on your mind?’’ Bucky asked the woman, who was looking outside. She looked at him, smiled and blinked. ‘’Do any of you have a lighter?’’ she asks, with a raspy voice. ‘’Why do you need a lighter?’’ Murph asked her. ‘’Stuff’’ she simply replied. ‘’Stuff, what stuff?’’ Bucky asked as he handed her his lighter. ‘’Just be ready, soon, we’ll run away.’’ she announces. Crank starts to laugh, not believing what he was hearing. ‘’Yeah right, and I’m the Queen Elizabeth’’ he laughed. But Y/n wasn’t laughing. ‘’Thank you for the lighter, Bucky’’ she thanked him. After eating, she quickly cleaned the knife before beginning to chop her hair off. She had long hair, something the Germans could identify her with, now, she cut them off, barely recognizable. ‘’Why did you cut your hair off?’’ Buck asked. ‘’I was tired of having them this long’’ she partially lied. It was true, but it was so that the soldiers didn’t recognize her.

‘’What are you planning, Y/n?’’ Bucky whispered. She turned her head to look at the men. Everyone else was asleep, she was awake to think about every last detail of her plan. ‘’Can I trust you?’’ she whispered back. Bucky nodded, getting closer to the woman. ‘’I don’t know when, but I’ll do something that is going to give everyone a chance to escape’’ she said, not wanting to give away her hole plan. Bucky was confused, she seemed truthful, but she was to shy to do anything. ‘’Can I help?’’ he asked. Y/n looks at him, she thought he was going to laugh. ‘’Can you find me flammable liquids, like alcohol or gasoline?’’ she asks. ‘’Why? Planning on making a bonfire?’’ he chuckles. ‘’Kind of, and can you show me how to use a gun?’’ she asked, seriously. ‘’Y/n, what the hell are you planning?’’ he asked, concerned. ‘’You’re going to help me or not?’’ she asked, kind of annoyed that he was asking 300 questions. ‘’Yes, but – ‘’ they got cut off by another voice. ‘’I’m helping too, what’s the plan?’’ Buck asked as he got down from his bunk. ‘’Is there another person that is awake?’’ Y/n asked, no one else responded. ‘’I can’t tell you everything, just can you find something to start a fire and I need to know how to use a gun’’ she repeats.

It has been 2 weeks since they had their talk, Bucky found some alcohol that could be used to start a fire, and Buck showed her how to use a gun. She was ready, so was her plan. Tonight was the night, she warned Buck and Bucky to be ready to run, but the two of them were really confused. It was about 0200 in the night when the boys heard commotions outside.

Y/n entered the supply building, with the alcohol bottle tucked in her vest. She was dressed in black; she took Bucky’s cloths to do so. She saw a pistol on a wooden crate, she took it as she began to pour alcohol all over the room. She heard German soldiers coming, so she hid behind something, with a mirror she found, she looked at them, they weren’t armed, and they were drunk. She had to think, because if she shot them, it would be too loud, and her plan could fail. It was dark in here, there was no lights, so she took a wooden weapon she crafted and planted it in one of the men’s throats, before the other could realize it, Y/n had already killed him. She was officially a killer, but she killed for justice, she had enough. She took the men’s guns and put them in her pocket, after all she could use them. She continued to put the flammable liquid all over the floor. ‘’Oi! What are you doing?’’ one soldier yelled. Shit she’d been caught, luckily, he was alone. She turned around, pointing the gun at him. ‘’Hands in the air’’ she ordered. The men looked afraid, but as he put his hand in the air, he began to yell and ask for help.

The sound of a gun shot echoed around camp; Buck looked at Bucky. ‘’What the hell did she do?’’ they saw soldiers running to the supply building, so they got outside and ran too. They wanted to see what was going on.

She walked outside, guns in her pocket as she looked at the trail of alcohol on the floor, Germans were running towards her, so she lit the lighter and dropped it on the ground. The building automatically caught on fire and a siren was ringing in the camp. She ran towards the fence she told the guys to meet her. They waited for her at the gate, Bucky saw her running towards them. She had blood on her, she was panting, but she had a knife in her hands. ‘’Move’’ she ordered as she cut open the fence.

Run, that’s what her brain was telling her to do. Her, Buck, Bucky, Murph, Crank, Alexender and Richard were running in the filed next to the camp. Y/n was smiling and laughing, even if it was for a minute; she was free. German soldiers were running after her, dogs too. ‘’We’re going to reach a bridge, trust me and jump in the water’’ she panted. ‘’You’re crazy!’’ Alexender said. ‘’Hey, I got you out! Do as I say!’’ she mentally rolled her eyes as they reached the bridge. ‘’C’mon don’t be scared’’ she breathed out. But they all hesitated, that gave time for the Germans to catch up a little bit. They were shooting at them. ‘’You want to get shot or what?’’ she asked them. She didn’t wait for their answers as she jumped in the water. The water was deep enough so she wouldn’t hurt herself. When the guys saw that she jumped, they followed her. ‘’Stick to the side and don’t move’’ she whispered to them. They all got closer to the side of the river, they wanted to wait for the German to see that they drowned.

The sun was rising as they continued to walk in the forest, they didn’t know how far they were from the camp, but they’ve been walking all night. No one had said a thing since the river, only when Y/n asked who the better shooter was to give the 3 guns she grabbed from the supply room. That was the only time they’ve talked. ‘’Okay, we can take a break’’ she announced as she sat on a rock. They catch their breath, looking at each other, laughing in relief. ‘’What the hell did you do?’’ Murph chuckles, looking at the woman. ‘’I made the supply building blow up, killed 3 guys and escaped’’ she sighed, smiling. ‘’So, that was the gun shots we heard?’’ Richard asked. Y/n nodded, wiping off the sweat on her forehead. ‘’I only shot one, the two other I stabbed them with the wood weapon I crafted’’ she explains. ‘’Thank you, Y/n, I can’t say how much I want to kiss you for getting us out’’ Bucky chuckles. They all start to laugh. ‘’Not so useless after all, right Crank?’’ she teased. ‘’Useful as fuck’’ he exhaled, smiling. ‘’C’mon, we have to walk more, we’re going to unoccupied Slovakia, or someplace where we can find American soldiers’’ she explains. ‘’You thought about everything, didn’t you?’’ Bucky smirked. ‘’Told you I had a plan’’ she smiled.

They.ve been walking for 4 days, taking little breaks to rest, hunting animals to eat, but the main goal was reaching American soldiers. As they reached a small village, they heard soldiers talk, they stopped to talk and began to listen to the voice. They caught small sentence, but it was in English. ‘’We did it’’ Buck smiled. They got out, with their hands in the air, to show that they weren’t a threat. ‘’We’re Americans!’’ Buck announced. The soldiers turned around and looked at the group. ‘’Keep your hands in the air!’’ one of them ordered. ‘’Tom, calm down, they look like POW’’ one of his colleagues announced. ‘’Where did you guys come from?’’ Tom asked. ‘’Stalag Luft 3, Poland’’ Y/n explains. ‘’What?’’ the Americans soldiers couldn’t believe it, they traveled that far, it was impressive. ‘’You guys are safe now.’’

Y/n head was leaning against Bucky’s shoulder, they were in the plane ride back to his base. ‘’Where are you going to go?’’ Bucky asked the woman. ‘’I don’t know, I can’t go back home, anyway, there’s nothing left for me there. I’ve been gone for 6 months; my village probably thinks I’m dead’’ she vented. ‘’They’re not going to let me fly again, why don’t you come live with me on the base?’’ he suggested. Y/n lifts her head up and looks at the men. ‘’Is this a twisted way of asking me out?’’ she smiled. Bucky opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Y/n giggled before getting closer to him. ‘’I’ll gladly come and live with you’’ she said, against his lips. He was flustered and red like a tomato. His instincts kicked in as he closed the gap between them and kissed her. She immediately kissed him back as she put a hand behind his neck. ‘’Argh! Get a room!’’ Murph gaged in disgust. Y/n smiled as she pulled away from the kiss. ‘’We will’’ Bucky whispered, only for Y/n to hear. The woman blushed and giggled. They escaped the camp, without any important injuries and now they were tied together for life. Even if they didn’t tell her, each man was grateful for her, she saved their lives. Bucky was going to repay her by spending the rest of his life with her, because he was in love with her. And she was in love with him…

#callum turner #callum turner x reader #callum turner imagine #master of the air #master of the air imagine #john egan x reader #major john egan #john egan #gale buck cleven #alexander jefferson #richard macon

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wishcamper · 1 year ago

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Nesta, Interrupted: gendered perceptions of alcoholism in ACOSF

CW: addiction, sexual assault, gendered violence.

Creds: I’m a licensed counselor with a degree specialization in treating addiction. I have career experience with multiple modes of mental health, trauma, and substance use treatment in women-specific carceral, institutional, and healthcare settings. And I know anyone can come on the internet and say that, but I pinky promise.

The short version:

ACOSF stigmatizes alcoholism in line with cultural standards.

Western culture feels differently about female and male alcoholics due to systemic sexism, and thus treats them differently.

Women’s experience of alcoholism is often compounded by or even a result of systemic factors and intersectional identity.

Nesta’s treatment in ACOSF, while repugnant, is in many ways very accurate of attitudes today.

(I’ll be using “women/men” and “male/female” to denote cis afab and amab people. Little research exists on the experiences of queer, nonbinary and gender expansive considerations in addiction and recovery, which is a fuckin’ shame. Studies are also largely conducted with white participants due to enormous barriers to treatment for Black, Indigenous, and people of color, so this convo is inherently incomplete where it neglects those intersections.)

Okay, first things first: ACOSF is a book that stigmatizes alcoholism. I will not be taking questions.

The number one thing to understand is that in America, land of Miss Sarah, we are very bad at addiction treatment (tx). Why? Because our culture hates addicts has as stigma around addiction. And female alcoholics bear a very specific set of stigmas based in their identity.

In Susanna Kaysen’s memoir Girl, Interrupted , Kaysen’s character is institutionalized following a non-fatal suicide attempt. When evaluated, she’s diagnosed with borderline personality disorder, that bastion of diagnoses perfect for people (75% of whom are female-identified) who don’t fit into our polite definition of functioning. As the book unfolds, she reflects on how (white) women are often pathologized when they buck against systems of oppression that create the dysfunction in them in the first place. That is not to say other women in the institution are not genuinely in need of help, nor that mental illness in women is always from a systemic wound. But it’s crucial in the treatment of female addiction and mental health disorders to considered the systemic factors of gendered violence and patriarchy, and the attitudes we hold about women who struggle with drinking.

Think about female alcoholics in media. If she’s young, she’s a loose, reckless sl*t looking for trouble and deserving of the reality check when she finds it (Amy Schumer in Trainwreck, Lindsay Lohan in general). Or if the woman are older, they are discarded, or gross, or pathetic, or evil like anyone Faye Dunaway played or Eminem’s mom in 8 Mile (deep cut lol). Men are afforded a much larger spectrum of experiences and struggles - Ernest Hemingway, Leaving Las Vegas, Sideways, the dude from A Star is Born, Frank from Shameless (brilliant), frat boys, blue collar workers, introspective tortured artists, fucking IRON MAN. I could go on forever, but I hope that illustrates the depth and diversity of male-centric stories of alcoholism not often afforded to women.

One of the most empathetic and accurate portrayals of female alcoholism, in my opinion, is in the show Sharp Objects (the book, too, but actually witnessing it makes a difference). We see Amy Adams’ Camille swig vodka from an Evian bottle while fending off vicious, veiled attacks from her verbally and emotionally abusive mother and experiencing flashbacks of teenage sexual assault. We watch her struggle to find emotional safety in her conservative hometown, both wanting to fit in and get out in order to survive. We GET why she drinks and I have trouble blaming her for it even as she wreaks havoc on herself and others. We can see her clawing just to make it out alive, and alcohol is the tool she’s using to do it, for better or worse.

Which is where Nesta enters the chat. When we get our first glimpse of her alcohol use is ACOFAS, it’s portrayed as something everyone knows about but that she’s still mostly keeping it together - her dress is clean, her hair is neatly braided, she doesn’t need a chaperone to show up to a family event. The deterioration between ACOFAS and ACOSF is alarming, and we know that alcoholism is a progressive condition so that tends to happen. Was there a particular trigger? That’s hard to say. Solstice certainly didn’t help, especially with the pressures to perform and conform to the standards of the Inner Circle aka the people in power. I imagine seeing her sisters bouncey and reveling in the world that stole them and killed their father was probably.. tough, to say the least. The barge party seems to be a turning point as well, though this one is more confusing to me. But given the child abuse, extreme poverty, sexual assault, kidnapping, bodily violation, witnessing her father’s murder, almost dying, WAR - and that’s not even to mention essentially becoming a refugee - it would be amazing if she DIDN’T drink. She 100% has complex trauma, and is looking for ways to cope.

No one with full capacity dreams of becoming an addict when they grow up. Addiction, in my professional and personal experience, is largely a strategy for coping with a deeper wound. People don’t drink to feel bad. They drink to feel good, and to survive. Nesta herself is drinking to survive, but it’s having the unfortunate side effect of killing her at the same time. As she slides into active addiction, the thought of her own death may even be comforting, and alcohol in that way is her friend. (There's some interesting research right now framing addiction as an attachment disorder, but I don't know enough to speak on it much.)

So she obviously needs help. That’s not a debate. What is a debate is how the IC should best go about intervening. A variation on the Johnson method is used in ACOSF (the one from the show Intervention) and appears to be successful only because they threaten her if she doesn’t comply. This method has mixed data to support it, and while it’s very good at getting people into tx, there is a higher relapse rate for those who receive it (1). The “family” gathers and tells her the ways she’s hurt them and tell her the consequences if she doesn’t seek the help they’re offering. And again, so many of their reason are the effects on THEM, how she’s making THEM look, not her pain.

The IC’s ignorance and dismissal of her alcoholism in ACOSF is frankly mystifying. Why do they intervene on all the drinking and sexing, anyway? It seems like they’ve been fine enough with it up to this point. But now it's gone too far, not because of her illness but because she is embarrassing them. And I don’t know about you, but between Cassian apparently fucking half of Velaris and Mor’s heavily documented emotional drinking, that’s hard to square. It makes it feel much more likely that they don’t like the way she is coping, that she is not fitting into their picture of who she’s supposed to be. This picture is inherently gendered, because Prythian society and those who live in it have explicit and implicit expectations of gender roles, whether they’ll admit it or not. Cassian and Mor are playing their roles well; Nesta is not.

That leads me to believe it is NOT all about her, but the systemic and internal factors influencing their perception of her and the ways she’s struggling. It’s distasteful to them for her, a female, to be deteriorating this publicly, despite the fact that her very identity makes it harder for her to function in the patriarchy of Prythian. We hear almost exclusively about sexual violence against women, aside from 2 male characters. Past or present assault of women is a major plot point on multiple occasions (Mor, Gwyn, Nesta, Emerie, Rhysands mom and sister, the lady of autumn, Cassians mom, Azriels mom, I could go on). But something about the way Nesta is contending with that is unacceptable, and I believe it’s because she’s not trying to cover up her dysfunction. In prythian, we keep these things hidden- Mor’s assault is never processed in full, Azriel’s mom seems to be alone at Rosehall, priestesses are literally hidden inside a mountain for centuries. Women process trauma alone and in the dark, but Nesta is in the light and she is loud. She is refusing to hide her problems, and the IC don’t like that, whether they realize it or not.

So why don’t the IC understand this? Like I said earlier, as a culture we hate addicts, or what they stand for, in very much the same way I think we hate people experiencing homelessness. We convince ourselves it was a series of bad choices that led someone where they are, choices we would never make because we are smart, smarter than them. We believe are more in control than that. We can prevent bad things from happening to us because we are good, because we are better than whoever it’s happening to. But the reality is almost ALL of us are one hospital stay away from homelessness, just as all of us are one trauma away from addiction. And with female addicts, we have another layer of expecting women to only struggle nicely and quietly, or to go away. Intersectional factors are at play here, too: white women are much more likely to have alcoholism attributed to mental health and trauma factors, where people of color often suffer the same addiction being more associated with crime. You can imagine how that plays out differently.

So what is the effect of all this? Gendered expectations lead to not only external stigma around addiction and tx, but also to internalized stigma which can limit willingness to seek tx. (2) Many social forces encourage women to drink and discourage them from telling anyone. Factors such as poverty, family planning, access to education, racial discrimination, and location can make services harder to access. Internally, women are more likely to enter treatment with less confidence in their ability to succeed, but report more strengths and more potential to grow recovery strengths during and following tx. For men, the pattern is reversed (3). And women have more successful tx episodes overall when gendered considerations are a part of the design and implementation of services (4). For Nesta, the effect is that she’s forced into treatment and copes by having hate sex with her ex and changing herself to conform to her family’s expectations while the House and the Valkyrie’s actually take care of her. I do not see how Sarah drew the line from there to recovery, I truly don’t. If anything, she recovers in spite of the ICs intervention, not because of it.

In summary, Nesta Archeron deserved better. Nesta deserved the same compassion the book gives to men who are struggling, and it’s a reflection of not just the book’s culture but the author’s culture that she doesn’t get it. Female alcoholics are worthy of treatment that integrates their identities, as those identities are often essential factors contributing to their addiction. What's shown in ACOSF is a reality many women live, and they shouldn't have to.

Barry Loneck, James A. Garrett & Steven M Banks (1996) The Johnson Intervention and Relapse During Outpatient Treatment, The American Journal of Drug and Alcohol Abuse, 22:3, 363-375, DOI: 10.3109/00952999609001665

Groshkova T, Best D, White W. The Assessment of Recovery Capital: Properties and psychometrics of a measure of addiction recovery strengths. Drug Alcohol Rev. 2013;32(2):187–94.

Best D, Vanderplasschen W, Nisic M. Measuring capital in active addiction and recovery: the development of the strengths and barriers recovery scale (SABRS). Subst Abuse Treat, Prev Policy. 2020;15(1):1–8.

Polak, K., Haug, N.A., Drachenberg, H.E. et al. Gender Considerations in Addiction: Implications for Treatment. Curr Treat Options Psych 2, 326–338 (2015). https://doi.org/10.1007/s40501-015-0054-5

#nesta archeron #pro nesta #alcoholism #mental health #sexism #acotar #acosf #stigma #rehabilitation #prythian university #sjm critical

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unholyhelbig · 1 year ago

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Can you do a Kate x reader fic where Kate and R are friends and R gets hurt and ends up unconscious for a while and Kate confesses her feelings? Thanks so much, love your work :)

Title: The Sun Also Rises

Ship: Female!Reader x Kate Bishop

Wordcount: 4155

Warnings: Injuries, blood, general heartbreak, gunshot wounds, yelling and Ernest Hemingway if you're an English major

[A/n: Can you tell I'm nearing the end of my quarantine by the sheer amount of content I've been churning out? Less than 24 hours and I'm free from my enclosure. Also, did not proofread this one either]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

The mission was simple. It was recon. They weren’t supposed to engage unless they were engaged first. Kate Bishop knew this was how things were intended to go, but she also knew that nothing was predictable in the field and no matter how much they prepared for things to go wrong, it was never expected when they did.

Her fingers had gone numb in the cold of the night, her ribs had a dull ache that thrummed with her heartbeat. Kate was pressed against the rocky rooftop, binoculars pressed to her eyes as she watched the abandoned building aptly.

You were on the ground, bundled nice and warm in a van that was parked half a block away. There was a non-descript logo of a cooling company painted on the side, and the meter had been paid off for the foreseeable future. It was a safe zone. It was supposed to be a safe zone.

Kate could feel a burning in her shoulders, took a moment to adjust herself on the rooftop. That was all it took, really. She hadn’t seen the flicker of movement at the base of the building, the way that freight doors were pushed open in the dark.

“Kate,” her partner’s voice came through her comm. It was wracked with static despite the fact that she sat in the epitome of tech. “We might have a problem.”

“What’s going on?”

“Four suits walking my way.”

There was a twinge of fear in your voice. Of course, you could handle yourself against four guys. It was when the weapons came into play that things became questionable. Training didn’t matter, not when bullets ripped through flesh and blood began to pour.

Kate directed her sights to the group of tracksuits that were strolling down the rain-reflected pavement. Kate tightened her grip against the binoculars until her knuckles turned white. She let out the slightest breath as they approached.

She nocked an arrow, pulling it effortlessly from the quiver strapped to her back. Her fingers were damp, still numb. But that didn’t change her accuracy. The two of you waited with bated breath.

The four men stopped a few feet away from your van, lilting their heads as if they were assessing the situation. There was a moment of quiet, it could have been a minute, maybe even two, but to Kate it felt like a century. She could feel the string of her bow cutting into her skin, the shaking in each inhalation of cold air.

“Well, fuck”

You whispered the words before gunfire erupted. Kate thinks that you sensed it before she did, and the second the first flash popped, she released her arrow into the crook of the offenders knee. But there were three more, and while she re-nocked and aimed between the ribs of the next.

There were two more shots fired and Kate didn’t have much of a moment to think. The van was littered with bullet-holes and she used her third arrow to create a line directly to you, wrapped sloppily around a lamp post.

She didn’t wait, not with you. Never with you. If there was any fear of bolstering her bow and swinging down to street level, she didn’t feel it. Both heels of her boots hit the third suits’ chest. She heard a pop that rivaled the scent of gunpowder as he dropped.

Kate wordlessly used her bow to take out the last guy, his gun lowered. Her mind was screaming, even as she smashed the instrument against a temple hard with enough force to break skin. She kicked the gun away, something that seemed of little consequence, but had dalmationed the van.

“Shit, shit, shit!”

Kate pulled open the back door of the van. It groaned in response. She could smell the sweet metal before her eyes located you. Screens smoked, laptops going dark, but taking the brunt of the gunfire. You had pushed everything from a bolstered platform, having moved it in front of you for another layer of metal before the gunfire met you.

Smart. You were always so smart, even in distress. It was part of the reason Kate loved having you as a mission partner. That- and you weren’t against playing twenty questions with her through the coms when it was just the two of you.

Kate’s heart broke into a million pieces as she hoisted herself up into the back of the van. Her boots slid on the blood that was slowly seeping across the metal floor. She fell to her knees painfully but didn’t care. Instead, she pushed the table away.

You were curled in on yourself, but despite your coiled stance, she could see the blood. There was so much of it. She could barely hear your stunted breathes, but when she homed in on them, they were fast and shallow. Kate’s fingers pressed against your pulse point. That, on the other hand, was dangerously slow.

“Y/n, stay with me,” Kate rasped out, patting her pockets until she found her phone.

It threatened to slide out of her hands, swipes of blood glowing through the screen. She pressed Natasha’s contact name. Her handler. Her confidant. She only had to say a few words, it was plaguing her voice so deeply, nothing else was needed. “Nat, I need you.”

Three bullets total had hit you. Two in the abdomen and one in the chest. The slight gurgling noise that Kate had heard in the back of the van was a good sign of life, but a bad sign for your lungs. One had threatened to collapse and really; Doctor Cho had essentially said the best thing they could do was make sure that you were stabilized.

She had used the words “make sure she’s comfortable” and Kate must have let out an inhuman noise because Yelena was at her side, gently leading her away from the med bay and towards the closest bathroom. It was an unnatural stainless-steel white compared to the broken state Kate found herself in.

“Malen'kiy yastreb, you have to breathe.”

Yelena’s words were soft, riddled with a quiet accent that held no malice. She guided Kate to the toilet, sitting her on the lid before she pulled as many towels as she could from the dispenser. She warmed water and waited until they were soaked through. Yelena shut off the water and knelt in front of Kate.

She took Kate’s chin and gently started to wipe away the dried blood on her face. Kate’s hands were saturated, her clothes caked with the drying substance. There was so much of it, so much. And while Yelena knew it would be too much to coax Kate into taking a shower, she worked with what she had.

“I should have done more. When they were walking towards her, I waited. We… wanted to see what they would do, and they opened fire, Lena.”

It was a bold move. They had somehow clocked that they were being watched and made a massive play that was bordering on pure aggression. Kate could feel anger form cold in her stomach.

“We will handle it.” Yelena moved to Kate’s hands, working away at the dark red tint. When she said that, Kate knew she meant it. There was a darkness in her eyes that mirrored the underlying sorrow Kate felt in your absence.

They sat quietly for a moment. The only sounds were the scrubbing of Yelena’s efforts and the small sniffs as Kate let her tears hit the collar of her shirt. The words, they were stuck in her throat.

“What if she doesn’t make it?”

Forbade their close proximity, and Yelena would not have heard the question, but her heart broke undoubtedly. She stopped working away at the color, now a dingy orange, something that was manageable and less gory.

Yelena knew how Kate Bishop felt about you. She would have been a terrible assassin if she did not pick up on the soft gestures, the longing looks, and the seconds that sparked between you both while you sparred; your back against the mat, Kate pinning you down with a smile that could only ring in it’s truest form.

She hadn’t admitted it yet, despite the poking and prodding that Yelena forced upon her. After all, their line of work was a dangerous one, and not a place to pine. Life was too short not to ask for what you wanted, and that was truer now than it ever had been.

“We will handle that too, Malen'kiy yastreb. Right now, you have to be with her. When Natasha was in her coma, they said she wouldn’t pull through, but she did. They also said that just being there was what helped her hold on. Talking to her. Perhaps you should do the same?”

It wasn’t a question, not really, because Yelena stood and tapped the side of Kate’s knee to jolt her from her trance. She’d stopped crying, at least, a numbness spreading through her. If she had paid attention to the blood, really paid attention, then she would crumble once more.

Yelena had helped more than she realized, and Kate made a mental note to make it up to her at some point. Despite her rough exterior, Natasha was the one who typically dealt with the feelings. Clint was impossible at it, and Yelena performed in actions rather than words, but Kate didn’t’ need someone to tell her it would all be okay, not right now.

The med bay was mostly empty when Kate returned. There was a nurse in toxic blue scrubs that glanced up at her noncommittedly when she entered, and Kate was oddly thankful for that too. Her eyes darted to your room, a last-minute edition from Tony when one of the team members had an extended stay.

It looked more like an escape pod, bright lights that were dimmed for comfort and a hospital bed. There was a chair that could recline and another one that didn’t. It was built for quarantine if needed, but the door was cracked open.

You looked so small, dwarfed by the machines that worked tirelessly to keep you alive. There was a breathing tube taped to your lips, and a needle had been pushed into the top of your hand. Your stomach and chest had been wrapped with gauze; a small bandage placed over a cut on your brow- so inconsequential.

Kate couldn’t stop the whimper that moved through her lips, but she pressed her fingers against them to stifle the sound. There were so many emotions, so much hurt and anger at herself for not getting to you faster.

She carefully stepped closer, using her stained fingertips to move a strand of hair from your clammy forehead. Kate could hear her tears hitting the scratchy blanket. There was a monitor that beeped along with your heart, and she thought it was much too slow.

“Hi there,” She whispered, taking your hand. It was cold, and she wanted desperately to warm them. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry y/n/n.”

Kate finally broke down, careful with her movements as she sobbed into the small of your neck. You usually smelled of pine, and of the slightest bit of sweat, but all she could get was metal and antiseptic.

“You have to pull through for me, okay? There’s so much we haven’t gotten the chance to do. We haven’t even been on a real mission yet, you know? Clint will never let me live that one down. Getting so fucked up on recon. Who does that?”

Kate paused and waited for your answer. She counted three beeps, before shaking her head and letting out a little laugh. It should have been her in the van, though, the thought of you at her vantage point on the horizon was unheard of.

“You know what, forget the mission, y/n. You know what we really need to do? We need to get you to the beach. God, I’m telling you, it’s just as beautiful as you imagine it to be. My parents have that house on the coast. It’s right on the water, and you can smell the salt from miles away. I’m telling you… miles.”

She let out a small sob, squeezed your hand tightly and kissed your fingers before pressing her forehead against them. She wished they were warmer, she wished you were warm.

“And the sand… people don’t really like sand because it get’s everywhere, and I mean everywhere, but y/n/n, the sun warms it all day and then at night, at night when you can’t see past the darkness of the waves and it’s not as crowded with people and kids, and dogs, you can still hold onto that one bit of morning.

“I had my first kiss there, down by the docks. I remember it so clearly. It was awful. I’m talking open-mouthed, slobbery, and just much too long even though it only lasted seconds.”

Kate chuckled at the memory, shook her head. She looked at you, at your delicate features and the small scars that littered your skin. They weren’t all from today, and she ached for you to explain each and every faded mark while her fingers traced them.

“I remember thinking, this is it? I’ve waited my whole life for this? I was only fifteen, and my life wasn’t all that long of a wait yet, but the older I get, the more I realize that that first kiss isn’t anything special. Sure, we were on the beach, and the sky was this cotton-candy type of pink. It was supposed to be perfect. But it wasn’t, because I wasn’t with the right person.”

She swallowed hard, her mouth was suddenly dry. She wished she had more time. She wished that she could spend another day with you, struggling over road-maps with a red twist of licorice hanging out of the side of your mouth. Kate craved a day where the sun was too strong, and the lemonade just the right amount of sour. She wanted to see the look on your face when you realized how vast the ocean is.

“When you get better, I’ll take you out there. I’ll take you to the beach and we’ll sit on the docks and we’ll watch the sunset. Every single night, we’ll watch the sunset, okay? But we can’t do that if you don’t pull through. If you don’t fight, I’ll never know… we’ll never know if that perfect moment exists.”

Kate cried until she drifted off to sleep, half-draped across your body in the most conscious of ways as if not to disturb you. She stirred once when the nurse came in and checked your fluids. Then twice the next morning when Natasha was there to coax her into drinking some water from a cheap Styrofoam cup.

Nothing had changed in two days, and Kate still remained rooted in her spot, shifting around the room. Clint brought her a change of clothes, and she made him turn around when she stripped and pulled on one of his t-shirts, a pair of sweatpants that were much too big.

Kate protested that she was getting enough sleep, and she would pick at the meals that they brought in for her. She refused to leave your side, sometimes pacing the length of the room in her socks as she told you all about the summer she turned sixteen and her adventures in their vacation home.

Most of the time, she would watch the slow rise and fall of your chest. She had grown accustomed to the rhythm of it. She wouldn’t take her eyes off you, looking for the faintest sign of movement. Something to let her know that you were still there.

A month in, and she was brought a cot, but still squeezed into the small sliver next to you. She watched the lights on the ceiling. Kate told you about all the places she wanted to take you; the small gas station that sold the best fried fish (trust her, it’s safe), and the fair that would occupy the last fifty yards of the pier for two weeks in July.

Two months in, and Natasha finally dared to go past the small opening of the room. She had watched from the window, and Kate hadn’t noticed. She and Clint would stand and talk for hours, taking in Kate’s heartbreak as she read from Earnest Hemmingway’s “The Old Man from the Sea” over and over again.

Natasha had shyly produced a copy of “The Sun Also Rises” before lowering herself into the uncomfortable chair in the room. Kate watched her warily, thanked her for the book. She held her breath until it burned.

“I know what you’re going to say, and I don’t want to hear it.”

Natasha’s voice was quiet, barely heard over the roar of the machines “Katie,”

“No.”

“As your handler it’s my responsibility-“

“I said no!” Kate was standing now, her voice loud. She would never dare yell at Natasha. She’d never dream of it. For the first three months of their professional partnership, she struggled to even look the woman in the eye. Natasha didn’t flinch, she didn’t say anything. “I’m not giving up on her.”

“We have to prepare for the possibility that she’s not going to wake up.”

“She’s fighting, breathing on her own now, and I’m not going to let you come in here and tell me that she’s not going to come back. You’re the last person I would expect to come in here and tell me to give up. Tell her to give up!” Kate’s voice was losing steam “If this is about resources I can-“

“It’s not about resources, Kate. It’s about you. We’ve been watching you torture yourself for months now and there’s been no sign of brain activity.”

“Will you stop being so clinical about this? This is y/n.” Kate begged, her words finally broke, shattered into a million pieces. “y/n is in there, I know it. She has to be. She has to be because if she’s not, if she’s… fuck!”

Kate was frustrated and exhausted. Her knees buckled and Natasha, with her spy-like reflexes, had her wrapped in her arms in moments. She let Kate cry, both of them uncomfortably on the floor, the tile cool. Natasha soothed her, tucked Kate’s nose against her neck. There was the slightest bit of pine.

“This is all my fault,” Kate murmured when she calmed “it’s all my fault.”

It had been a week after her conversation with Natasha and Kate was still headstrong in her efforts, though the woman’s words never truly left her. She was a good way through ‘The Sun Also Rises’, nodding off between paragraphs.

Kate’s feet were on the bed, the chair expertly balanced on it’s hind legs with the accuracy of an archer. She felt herself tilting back. Truth was, Kate was tired. Not in the physical sense, though her body hurt.

Despite what Natahsa, and Clint, and probably Yelena thought, Kate would be by your side until the end of time. She’d have to forge books about the ocean that had more plot, but refused to pick up a copy of Moby Dick.

Instead, she let out a sigh and closed the book over her fingers, squeezing the bridge of her nose. She thought of the beach, of her first kiss with Mickey Voit. More than anything, she thought of how nice it would be to feel your lips against hers, to see the bright look of life in your eyes.

Kate figured she had drifted off to an uncomfortable form of half-sleep when she heard it.

“You’re not going to keep reading?”

The voice was raspy, barely above a murmur. The words were unpracticed, but they meant everything all the same. Kate nearly tumbled from her chair; the book certainly flew to the ground as all four legs returned to stability.

She must be asleep, dreaming, or dead. Your stare bore into hers, red-rimmed but there all the same. And you were smiling, God, you were actually smiling after all of this time. It was a sight she thought she would never see again.

“Come on, you were getting to the part about never falling in love.”

“Always,” Kate gripped the armrests of the seat, afraid to let go. Fearful that if she did, she’d wake up and all of this would be over. You would be gone. “I am always in love.”

You blew air from your nose and started coughing, a brittle sound that made Kate stir from her position entirely. Damned if this was a dream, you needed a doctor. She’d will herself to sleep if it meant seeing you again.

Kate called for Cho frantically and stepped back when she rushed into the room, followed by two nurses and an intern that she had come to know based on her pitying glances. Kate really wanted to punch her in the face, most times, but was never happier to see her in this moment.

“Good god,” Doctor Cho quickly went to your side.

She dazedly took your vitals, having you squeeze her finger, something you did with some struggle, weakened from your months out of commission. She pressed the tip of her pen to the balls of your feet, checking your mobility, your lucidity as she guided a straw to your lips and you took a tentative sip.

Kate stood out of the way, her fingers pressed to her lips and her eyes watching every single movement carefully. She relished in your voice, however small it was, as she answered questions.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Agent Y/L/N.” Doctor Cho squeezed your shoulder “I’m going to alert the necessary parties and give you two some alone time… this one never left your side.”

There was a call button if you needed her, and the weight of uncertainty seemed to exit the room. The two of you were alone, as you had been for the last three months. Kate hated how pale you looked; how fragile you were. She wanted to pull you close and squeeze you as if there weren’t 78 stitches across your front.

“It’s so weird,” You lilted your head to the side “I had the strangest dream about the beach. I could see it so clearly, even though I’ve never been there.”

Kate hummed, suddenly timid “That is weird, maybe it was Tahiti?”

“Maybe” You chuckled and then winced “Ouch,”

The archer was at your side in less than a second. Out of habit, she had your hand in hers, quickly forgetting that she hadn’t ever done this before the accident. She still struggled to make the right about of eye contact with you so she wouldn’t’ come off as weird.

Kate groaned “This was easier when you were unconscious,”

“Okay? Ouch again?”

“Not… like that. God, I’m sleep deprived, and totally screwing this up. You would think that three months is enough time to work out a way to talk to a beautiful woman without sticking my fist in my mouth.”

She moved to pull her hand away, but you held onto it with strength to let her know that you never wanted to let her go. She looked down at your grasp, and then back up at you with the beginning of tears in her eyes.

“I didn’t tell you the best part about being at the beach. It was beautiful, really, so vivid and calm. The funny thing is, I was always at the end of this dock and the sky was always this pink color.” You frowned, a small crease between your eyebrows “I could hear you all around me, just pulling me to the end of that dock.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm, but you were never there, and quite frankly, Katie, I was getting sick of waiting. So, one day I just jumped into the water, and it was startling, cold, but it woke me up… literally, I suppose. My point… I don’t think I would have jumped if I wasn’t trying to get back to you.”

Kate gently closed the distance between you both, pressing her lips so tenderly against yours. It took a moment for your mind to catch up, but when it did, your warm fingers found their way to her jaw, running along the expanse of her skin, breathing her in. She oddly smelled of sand and salt-water.

You whimpered into the kiss when she grazed an aching spot on your ribs and she was quick to pull back, a look of worry on her face “Sorry, oh god, sorry”

“It’s okay, just a little sore” You beamed at her, forehead pressed close to hers. “Was that better than your kiss with Mickey?”

Kate groaned, her nose cold against your cheek as she murmured “You heard that, huh?”

You had heard everything.

#kate Bishop #Kate Bishop x reader #Kate Bishop x y/n #Kate Bishop x you #Hawkeye #hawkeye fanfiction #request #Angst #Fluff #Angst with a happy ending #Marvel #Hurt comfort #natasha romanoff #yelena boleva #clint barton

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lauralot89 · 4 months ago

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It is as if I had passed through some long nightmare, and had just awakened to see the beautiful sunshine and feel the fresh air of the morning around me.

Foreshadowing is a narrative device

But I need not be watched; I am well enough to be left alone.

Foreshadowing is a narrative device

although the boughs or bats or something napped almost angrily against the window-panes.

in my head I'm picturing the "Ha ha...yes!" panel from the Onion, but now it's a bat with angry eyebrows and it's going "HOW DARE"

Suddenly the door was burst open, and in rushed my patient, with his face distorted with passion. I was thunderstruck, for such a thing as a patient getting of his own accord into the Superintendent's study is almost unknown.

well honey, maybe you shouldn't have encouraged him by letting him deliberately escape. now you've given him confidence

He had a dinner-knife in his hand

wow psychiatric facilities used to be shit. just give them knives. what could possibly go wrong

He was too quick and too strong for me

When the attendants rushed in, and we turned our attention to him, his employment positively sickened me. He was lying on his belly on the floor licking up, like a dog, the blood which had fallen from my wounded wrist.

Why are you so judgemental, what did you want him to do, lie supine and tilt his head backward?

Happily Van Helsing has not summoned me, so I need not forego my sleep; to-night I could not well do without it.

Foreshadowing is a narrative device

(Sent to Carfax, Sussex, as no county given; delivered late by twenty-two hours.)

GREAT WORK, VAN HELSING. You could have told him before you left, you know.

as Dr. Van Helsing said he would be

wait but you just said earlier that no one was coming and it was unnecessary. When did Van Helsing tell you this?

She was startled and a little frightened, and cried out: "What is that?"

there was a ridiculously long period once at my parents' house, like at least a year, where this female cardinal would repeatedly hit herself against the windows for twenty minute intervals or so and somehow not die. Anyway, if Mrs. Westerna were ever there she'd die immediately of bird harassment

The window blind blew back with the wind that rushed in, and in the aperture of the broken panes there was the head of a great, gaunt grey wolf.

Dracula: *was once a military leader*

Dracula: *his genius plan is taking an animal and yeeting it through the window*

Amongst other things, she clutched the wreath of flowers that Dr. Van Helsing insisted on my wearing round my neck, and tore it away from me

Damn it, lady, again?! (Yes I know she's dying)

The time did not seem long, but very, very awful, till I recovered consciousness again.

So did he go ahead and bite her while her mother's body had her pinned, or was it just awful because she was lying there with her mom's corpse on her

The door flew open for an instant and closed again.

Dracula haven't you already established enough ambiance

They all four lay helpless on the floor, breathing heavily. The decanter of sherry was on the table half full, but there was a queer, acrid smell about. I was suspicious, and examined the decanter. It smelt of laudanum, and looking on the sideboard, I found that the bottle which mother's doctor uses for her—oh! did use—was empty.

Okay I guess he didn't bite yet, because if he had, why bother to drug the maids, he's already got what he came for

The air seems full of specks, floating and circling in the draught from the window, and the lights burn blue and dim.

Wait, so he's in her room right? As mist? Watching her write? And doing nothing about it?

Dracula: Huh, she just wrote a bunch of pages after her mom died and all the staff was drugged. And then she hid it in her clothing. Eh, probably nothing. Not going to worry about it.

Letter, Mina Harker to Lucy Westenra. (Unopened by her.)

STEP ASIDE ERNEST HEMINGWAY, this is the new saddest story ever

My dearest Lucy,—It seems an age since I heard from you, or indeed since I wrote.

'My dears, I want to drink your health and prosperity; and may every blessing attend you both. I know you both from children, and have, with love and pride, seen you grow up. Now I want you to make your home here with me. I have left to me neither chick nor child; all are gone, and in my will I have left you everything.' I cried, Lucy dear, as Jonathan and the old man clasped hands. Our evening was a very, very happy one.

Lucy's Corpse: Well, I'm glad you're having fun! (Yes I know she's not dead)

How is your dear mother getting on?

When are you to be married, and where, and who is to perform the ceremony, and what are you to wear, and is it to be a public or a private wedding? Tell me all about it, dear; tell me all about everything, for there is nothing which interests you which will not be dear to me.

as you love me, and he loves me, and I love you with all the moods and tenses of the verb, I send you simply his 'love' instead.

THEY COULD HAVE HAD A FOURSOME DRACULA AND YOU RUINED IT

#Dracula Daily #Laura reads Dracula Daily

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cursecuelebre · 9 months ago

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Devotional playlist for Lady Athena, again quite random mostly heavy metal so hope this inspires you!

1. Medusa by Anthrax (thrash metal, the title says it all)

2. And Justice for All by Metallica (thrash metal, big attribute is justice of Athena).

3. One by Metallica (Thrash metal, anti war song that basically shows the horror of warfare and how veterans cope and struggle afterwards, it’s a depressing song forewarned).

4. Don’t tread on me by Volbeat (heavy metal, again a slogan during a time of oppression and it was covered by the original being by Metallica. Also snake symbol with Athena).

5. For whom the bell tolls by Metallica (thrash metal, again a war themed song adapted from Ernest Hemingway).

6. Barracuda by Heart (Rock and roll, not much to say but badass female song).

7. Overture 1812, op 49 by Tchaikovsky (classic music, used actual war cannons in that piece)

8. Spider knows his craft in Tales of the magic tree by Pavel Lyubomudrov (classical music, spiders and weaving is the most Athena thing ever)!

9. Orphic Hymn to Athena by Queenie (of course we need the traditional songs for her)

10. Bella Ciao by Manu Pilas (Folk song that was adapted for Anti-facist partisan).

11. All along the watch tower by Jimin Hendrix (Rock and roll and anti war song made during the protest against the Vietnam war).

12. Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Iron Maiden (Heavy metal, the song is adapted from the poem with the same name and the story reminded me of the Odyssey Athena had a huge role in that story).

13. Pink Venom by Blackpink (Kpop, it has a snake themed that’s why)

14. Pretty Savage by Blackpink (Kpop, a good empowerment song for women)

15. The Trooper by Iron Maiden (Heavy metal, song about war and death and riding into battle).

16. Holy wars…the punishment due by Megadeth (Thrash metal, essentially song about anti war and government even in the 80s also the talk about Israel and Palestine conflict was being discussed).

17. Sympathy of Destruction by Megadeth, (Thrash metal about a man can be corrupted by power by turning into a tyrant. Athena is a goddess to protect and destroy tyrants).

#hellenic polytheism #paganism #athena #hellenic pagan #hellenic community #hellenic worship

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 2 years ago

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Mayhem: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.3k

Summary: Quickly following the events after the car explosion, you and Hotch are affected in more ways than one.

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

"Never think that war, no matter how necessary, nor how justified, is not a crime." - Ernest Hemingway

It takes you a moment to figure out what the hell just happened, but when you hear the car’s blaring alarm and smell the smoke, you know there had been a bomb underneath the SUV. The back of your head is in so much pain, causing a massive headache. Your vision is blurry, your ears ring from the impact, and you have to fight to get up.

You look to your left and see Hotch standing in the middle of the road as he processes what happened. Kate is nowhere to be found from where you are, but you have to focus on yourself.

“Hotch,” you groan and roll over on the ground. “Hotch!”

He is stuck in his own world right now so it’s up to you to get up on your own. Your legs are shaky, but you manage to stand on your own two feet. You feel the back of your head and wince in pain, and when you look at your hand, it’s covered in blood. You’re bleeding but you can’t think about that right now.

“Hotch, we have to get out of here,” you cough and stagger over to him. You place your hands on his shoulders, and that seems to snap him out of his trance. “Hotch, we have to get out of here!”

There is no one on the streets--no cars or people--but a young man comes rushing up to help you since he saw the blast.

“Hey, are you two okay?”

“What’s your name?” Hotch says a bit loudly. “What’s your name?”

“Sam.”

“Call 911.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Call 911 and tell them there’s been an explosion,” Hotch says slowly.

“Sir, are you okay?” Sam asks again.

You look around and see Kate lying about twenty yards away from the blast.

“Hotch! There’s Kate!” You two rush over to her, dismissing Sam. “Kate? Kate, are you okay?”

“My purse! I can’t find my purse,” she says in a delusional state of mind. “I must have dropped it.”

“Don’t move, Kate. You don’t want to make it worse.”

“Aaron? Y/N? What happened to you?” she asks, looking at both your injuries.

“A bomb went off. I think it was an IED,” you cough.

“IED? I have to get up.”

“No, no, Kate, you need to lie down. Please lie still.”

“Am I moving my legs?” she asks twice.

You look down at her legs, but they aren’t moving. You know when people are close to death, and she doesn’t look like she is going to make it. If you can get her to a hospital now, she might have a chance, but you think she is going to die soon.

“I may have to turn you and see where the blood is coming from. It might hurt. I’m going to have to pinch it off.”

Hotch tries to turn her and feel for the bleeder, but as soon as she moves, more blood gushes out. He winces in pain thinking that she is also in pain, but based on her face, she isn’t in any pain at all.

“I’m sorry, I know it hurts.”

“No, it doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t hurt at all,” she whimpers.

“Kate, we’re going to get you out of here, okay?”

Police and ambulance sirens can be heard from down the street, and you look up to see them stop at the end of the road. They all get out and start making roadblocks with no intention of going to you to help.

“Officer down! Officer down! Here!” Hotch yells as loud as he can.

“Aaron, they’re not coming,” Kate sighs. “We told them not to, remember?”

“She’s right. The first wave of responders is targets. They’re not coming,” you gasp and touch the back of your head.

It’s sticky, but the blood is no longer flowing.

“Aaron, you two don't have to stay.”

“We’re not leaving,” he says to her. “Officer down! We need some help! We cannot move!”

“They’re not coming,” Sam says as he rushes back to you.

“We know. Our orders were to not let anyone in until the area is cleared. They’re just following the procedure,” you sigh.

Was yours the only van that blew up? What happened to the rest of the team? Are they safe? Are JJ and her baby? Is Spencer?

As soon as Spencer heard that something had blown up, news reporters were all over the scene as close as they could get. Spencer is back at the police station with Rossi watching the news report as they try to call everyone.

“We're getting reports that an explosion has rocked the neighborhood in the vicinity of the Federal Plaza. Authorities have closed down the entire area, and are not going to give any information at this time. With eight suspicious incidents in as little as three weeks, we have no room but to speculate whether or not there will be more attacks. We have no word yet on any injuries, but the explosion was heard as far away as Prince Street. An unconfirmed report said it was a car bomb.”

Spencer tries your phone again, but like the other five times he tries to call you, it went straight to voicemail.

“Damn it, Y/N, pick up,” he mutters.

“Reid, can you recall every site where the shootings occurred?”

“Uh, Hell's Kitchen, Murray Hill, lower east side, and Chinatown,” Spencer tries to list them off while still thinking about you. “Y/N isn’t answering her phone.”

“No one is. Listen, Reid, if our profile is correct and all eight murders were tests to gauge response times, then we're looking at eight suicide bombers who are about to hit every one of those locations. Call Homeland Security. Tell them to pour troops into all of those sites.”

“Actually, if we're correct, there'll be sixteen suicide bombers.”

“Sixteen?”

“Yeah, we predicted that they'll hit the second wave of emergency responders also.”

“Breaking news now,” the news reporter says. “We are just getting an update. The bomb is now reported to have been inside an SUV. A black SUV parked just blocks from 26 Federal Plaza.”

Rossi immediately gets Penelope on the phone since she is the command center, and would be able to have eyes on everyone in the city.

“Agent Rossi? We heard there was some kind of explosion. I just walked into the CCTV command post.”

“We got on the news that it was an SUV that exploded. A black SUV within blocks of the Federal Plaza. Do you have eyes there?”

“I’ve got, like, three hundred cameras right there. Give me one second,” she says as she gets to work.

“I’m here with Reid, but I don’t know where anyone else is. Please find them.”

“Yes, sir.” Penelope gets off the phone with Rossi and turns to the woman she’s been working with this entire time. “Okay, Lisa, I need every feed of every camera for twenty blocks concentrically out from the Federal Plaza. Get the best exposure from every angle you can and then back those feeds up. I'm gonna call the rest of my team.”

The first person she calls is Derek, and she is so relieved when he answers.

“Yeah, I’m still here.”

“Yes, you are. Thank God.”

“I'm almost back at the federal building. What the hell's going on?”

“I don’t know. We're going over the closed circuit footage right now.”

“Who else have you checked on?”

“You’re the first. Rossi and Reid called me.”

“Keep me on the line while you check on everyone else.”

Penelope dials Emily next, and she picks up on the first ring.

“Is everyone okay?”

“I've spoken to Rossi and Reid, and Morgan's on the line.”

“Emily, where are you?” Derek asks.

“I'm following Detective Brustin to one of the NYPD’s critical incident command posts.”

“One of them?” Pen asks.

“Yeah, after 9/11 they decentralized. They had way too many eggs in one basket on that day.”

“Has anyone talked to JJ?” Pen asks.

“She was headed back to the hotel as far as I know.”

“In an SUV?” Pen asks, her face pale.

“I think so. Stay with me. I’ll call her.”

Emily does so while keeping her eyes on the road, but JJ doesn’t answer. Her voicemail picks up, and Peneleop’s heart sinks at the thought of her and her baby hurt from the blast. However, the communication line was cut in the middle of her voicemail.

“What was that? What happened?” Derek asks.

“It went dead mid-message.”

“Try again. She’s probably back at--”

Emily’s line was cut in the middle of the message.

“Emily?” Derek goes to speak, but he, too, was cut off. “Derek? I just lost all contact with my team.”

“I found it. I found the explosion,” Lisa says.

Lisa shows Penelope the footage of the blast, and she can see someone plant the bomb, much like you saw before it went off. The stranger walks off, but he doesn’t leave the scene. No, he waits until the blast happens, and then the fucker walks right over to you and Hotch and asks if you’re okay.

The person trying to help you is one of the unsubs.

If your head didn’t hurt so damn badly, you could have seen Sam for who he truly is. Your cut may have stopped bleeding, but now it’s throbbing and you’re in so much pain because of it.

“Sam, you need to get out of the area,” Hotch says to him.

“I just want to help.”

“If you want to help, get somebody down here.” Sam rushes off to get help, but if you had been paying attention to him, you would have seen him stop on the sidewalk and just watch you. “Kate, I need you to wake up. Stay with me. Stay with me.”

“I feel cold. It's such a cliche, isn't it? I feel cold. Like in the cinema,” she chuckles tiredly. “Wait, that’s not right. It’s ‘movies’. You say ‘movies’, not ‘cinema’.”

“You've lost a lot of blood, but I think I've got it stopped. Just try to relax.”

“They just told me to get behind the barricade,” Sam says when he comes back.

“Come on, Hotch, let’s try to get her up.”

You and Hotch try to lift Kate, but as soon as there is enough pressure off her wound, it starts bleeding again.

“We're here! Please! Please! We're here! Someone!” Hotch yells.

You’re not sure what you’re going to do, but in ten seconds, you feel familiarity where the barricade is. You look up, and since it’s too far away, you can’t see who is there… but you can feel him.

“Derek!” you scream as loud as you can. “Derek! Please help us! Derek!”

After one minute, Derek runs past the barricade and over to you and Hotch. Relief rolls off you in waves, and you step back so you can finally take a moment to breathe.

“Morgan, we've got to get her out of here,” Hotch says.

“They're not letting any ambulances down here till they clear the scene.” Derek looks at Sam who has an indifferent look on his face. “Kid, you gotta get behind the barricades. Let's go. Go!”

“Good luck.”

Sam gets up and backs away, but he doesn’t leave. He stays and watches, but no one is paying attention to him. You touch the back of your head and wince in pain, but you force that down to focus on what you do know.

Before the blast, there was someone putting a bomb under your SUV. It hurts to think about it, but you can recall that scene right before the blast went off. You focus on the energy you saw, and you open your eyes when you know exactly who did it. You look around for Sam, and when you lock eyes with him, he smirks.

“Talk to me. Can we carry her? Hotch, can we carry her?” Derek asks.

“He’s the bomber,” you say, but the two men are distracted.

“No, I tried. Morgan, she's gonna bleed to death if we don't get her out of here. We gotta do something.”

“Derek, he’s the bomber,” you say a little louder.

Derek’s phone rings, but he’s staring at you because he heard you.

“What did you just say?”

“He’s the bomber. He’s the one who planted the bomb.”

“Go,” Hotch says, not doubting you.

Derek immediately takes off running after Sam, and Sam does everything he can to run away from Derek. He likes the chase, but you know Sam won’t let Derek catch up to him unless he wants him to. As soon as he got past a few blocks from where the explosion was, he reached civilization.

Derek followed him all the way down to the train tracks only to lose him when Sam electrocuted himself so he wouldn’t be caught. Sam died, but for what? What is he hiding? What didn’t he want Derek or anyone else to find out?

As soon as Derek leaves, an ambulance comes barreling your way to help. An older man gets out and tends to Hotch and Kate, but you’re confused. If Derek says they aren’t letting anyone in, then how did this ambulance get to you? Why do you feel absolute dread when you look at this man?

“She's got an arterial bleed in her back and I'm doing my best to hold it closed,” Hotch says to him.

“Are you okay?”

“I just want to get her out of here.”

“Her pulse is weak and thready. I'm gonna need your help, okay? I heard you calling for help and I couldn't listen anymore. My partner was too afraid to come in here with me.”

“Kate, we're gonna get you out of here. We're on our way out of here,” Hotch says, believing every word this stranger says.

You reach into your pocket for your phone, but when you pull it out, you’re sad to see the screen is smashed. You won’t be able to call for help even if you wanted to. There is no choice but to accept help from this man, but that doesn’t mean you have to like it.

“I need to get a bag in and start getting her pressure up. Get the gurney from the bus,” The stranger orders.

Hotch does what he says, and the two of them load Kate into the back. The stranger stays with her since he’s the EMT while Hotch gets behind the wheel. You get into the passenger side and turn to Hotch.

“I don’t feel right about this,” you say low enough so the man doesn't hear, but the damage done to Hotch’s ears prevents him from hearing you.

“Where's the closest emergency room?” Hotch asks the man.

“St. Barclay's. It's four blocks uptown, one block east.”

“Where’s the emergency entrance?”

“Under the hospital. Just follow the signs to the ER.”

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fan fiction #spencer reid fan fic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds fan fic #criminal minds fan fiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds angst #cm #cm fic #cm fiction #cm fanfiction

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coochiequeens · 1 year ago

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Since that post about Martha Gellhorn is popular here's a post about another writer who is more interesting than Hemingway.

Dawn Powell on the beach, circa 1914.

Tim Page, the Estate of Dawn Powell

This is the third story in The Unmarked Graveyard: Stories from Hart Island series from Radio Diaries. You can listen to the next installment on All Things Considered next Monday, and read and listen to previous stories in the series here.

Dawn Powell infiltrated the writing world by hanging out in bars and taverns around New York's Greenwich Village in the 1920s, rubbing shoulders with the likes of Ernest Hemingway and Edmund Wilson.

"She came from nowhere, she was no one," writer Fran Lebowitz told Radio Diaries.

But Powell had a voice. She had style. And she rose from obscurity by turning her gaze on the city of New York itself and its cast of characters. Over the coming decades, Powell wrote novels, diaries and more than a dozen plays — earning her renown, and even a National Book Award nomination.

Then, in 1965, she died. What happened next didn't go according to script.

A voice lost to the world

Powell had been clear in her will: she wanted her body to be donated to the Weill Cornell Medical Center for research. Yet five years after her death, when Cornell asked her executor, Jacqueline Rice, what to do with her remains, Rice left the decision up to the center.

So, unbeknownst to her family and friends, Powell was buried on New York's Hart Island — America's largest public cemetery. Then, all of her work went out of print.

A generational talent of New York was buried in its heart, but lost to the world and those who knew her.

Powell circa 1930, and an entry in her diary circa 1914.

Tim Page, the Estate of Dawn Powell

Hart Island, located off the coast of the Bronx, has no headstones and no plaques. It's often seen as a place for those who went unrecognized in their lifetime — not for well-known writers.

Powell had been writing stories since she was a child. Growing up in Ohio, she endured considerable emotional abuse from her stepmother and often used writing as an escape. In 1918, she left Ohio for New York City, with dreams of being a writer.

"She knew that she was smart enough, good enough to be very good in New York, which is the most competitive place in the world," Lebowitz said.

Powell's humble beginnings in the bars of Greenwich Village turned into a career. In the coming years, she wrote witty pieces on New York life for magazines like The New Yorker and Esquire. Her career picked up steam when she began writing novels about New York: satirical, risque fiction about people who'd come to the city from a small town and indulged in its joys and vices. Her most well known novels include A Time to Be Born (1942) and The Wicked Pavilion (1954).

"She was a very smart, tough, sarcastic, woman who put all of that into her books," said Tim Page, a critic and author of Dawn Powell: A Biography. "She made fun of millionaires and communists. She basically thought human beings were silly and frivolous, but she loved them."

Powell's writing reflected her personal life. Her characters were often young people who ached for success and recognition, but rarely got it. Though her work was in the public eye (her last novel, The Golden Spur, was a finalist for the 1963 National Book Award), she did not reach the level of fame of other writers, male or female, in her era.

"Some critics thought she was mean," Page said. "All the very famous women writers were usually ending their stories with a man and a woman falling in love and living happily thereafter. Dawn had seen enough of life to realize, well, sometimes that's the case but it's not what usually happens in the world."

Powell's diary, December 1932.

Tim Page, the Estate of Dawn Powell

Powell struggled with money for much of her life. She and her husband, Joseph Gousha, had a disabled son who needed costly medical care. By the end of her life, she also needed medical care of her own. She developed intestinal cancer, which led to her death.

While her will was specific about her body going to the Weill Cornell Medical Center, it didn't specify what to do with her body after its donation. In addition to being Powell's general executor, Jacqueline Rice was also her literary co-executor, largely responsible for her literary estate. When her client died, Rice simply stopped responding to inquiries from publishers and filmmakers. It was some time before Rice told Powell's family about where she had ended up.

Years later, Powell's great-niece Vicki Johnson was told by her mother about the burial on Hart Island, also known as a Potter's Field.

"My mom told me it was a Potter's Field, and it was just a place where people are buried who didn't have any money or no family to take care of them," Johnson said. "My grandparents would have certainly found a better resting place for her than where she was buried."

The effort to bring Powell's work back

Powell isn't the only well-known person buried on Hart Island. There's former child actor Bobby Driscoll, who starred in some of the most iconic Disney films of the time, like Treasure Island and Peter Pan — and even won a Juvenile Oscar by the age of 13.

Driscol fell into a pattern of substance abuse and run-ins with the law in his teenage years, ranging from drug smuggling to assault. He was found dead in his Greenwich Village apartment at 31. When no one claimed his body, he ended up on Hart Island.

The cemetery is also home to Rachel Humphreys — the muse and lover to Lou Reed, and the inspiration for several songs on his album Coney Island Baby. Though her official cause of death remains unknown, Humphreys died at the age of 37 at St. Clare's hospital, known for housing AIDS patients. Hers was among the many bodies sent to Hart Island during the AIDS epidemic.

Johnson and others insist Powell wouldn't have minded being buried at Hart Island.

"I think she'd be a little amused by the fact that she's buried with a Disney star and a rock and roller," Page said. "She loved New York. She told the truth about New York and I'm not sure she'd want to be anywhere else."

Dawn Powell circa late 1940s, early 1950s.

Tim Page, the Estate of Dawn Powell

Though Powell's descendants have chosen not to remove her body from Hart Island, there has been a considerable effort to unbury her work. In 1987, her writer and friend, Gore Vidal, published an article in The New York Review of Books, praising Powell as one of American literature's lost greats. The article ignited interest in Powell in the writing world.

Steerforth Press also published a volume of Powell's diaries, edited by Page, in 1998. The Library of America put nine of her novels back in print in 2001.

These days, Powell has gained a cult-like following. Celebrities like Julia Roberts and Anjelica Huston have tried turning her books into films, and she's gotten a shout-out on the TV show Gilmore Girls.

"There will come a time when people will realize that she's one of America's greatest writers," Page said.

This story was produced by Mycah Hazel of Radio Diaries. It was edited by Deborah George, Ben Shapiro and Joe Richman. Thanks also to Nellie Gilles, Alissa Escarce, and Lena Engelstein of Radio Diaries.

This story is the third in a series called The Unmarked Graveyard: Stories from Hart Island. You can find other stories from Hart Island on the Radio Diaries Podcast.

#Dawn Powell #Women writers #Unmarked Graveyard: Stories from Hart Island #Radio Diaries #1920s #Greenwich Village #Weill Cornell Medical Center #Out of print books #Books by women #A Time to Be Born (1942)#The Wicked Pavillion (1954)#Books about women #Dawn Powell: A Biography by Tim Page #The Golden Spur

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glorfys-glorioushair · 7 months ago

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Story in the Castlevania Games

Buckle up this is a long one!

I understand that there is often a divide about which of the Castlevania game types are better (Classicvanias, Metroidvanias, and the 3Ds) but I think this is kind of shallow because they each offer a different perspective of style.

Personally I love the Igarashi era because the first game I 100% completed was Symphony of the Night (I started with Super Castlevania on a SNES). I also connect with the style because I’m a terrible gamer and you can easily scrape through those (yes I went as mist throughout a lot of the inverted castle don’t @ me) as opposed to the classicvanias which make you pay for it (I like the tough concept and the reward, but I can’t tell you how many times I have screamed about falling off stairs). I haven't had a chance to play the 3Ds yet, but I have watched the Curse of Darkness cutscenes in 4K numerous times!

My own preferences aside, we all know that despite gameplay, every Castlevania game (the ones that follow the timeline, bc idk anything about the Lord of Shadows series) have the same simple plot with the sole purpose in defeating Dracula. And I sometimes see in the gaming community that their simplicity of plot is marked off as terrible and shallow. In a surface level view this can be true if you just play games to play games. But in regards to Ernest Hemingway’s Iceberg Theory that “emphasizes the idea that a writer should only reveal a small portion of the story, with the bulk of the meaning and emotion implied or hinted at”, the Castlevania games explore such deep concepts of love, human struggle, identity, gender roles, sexuality, good vs. evil, religion, and other philosophies.

By having the same basic objective, the writers are able to explore the different avenues in going about the completion of the task of defeating Dracula and point to the ideas of what it means to be human. Some examples under the cut:

Symphony of the Night has the debate of how evil and even good can have radical ideology evident with Dracula obviously, but also in Richter who got so consumed with being the force of good he was manipulated by darkness. Thus Alucard, who is a product of both good and evil is the only one who can reinstate this balance and leave behind the quote from the Sega Saturn version, “However, you must never forget this: the one with the power to destroy this world is not him... Humans themselves possess this power.” The dialogue is actually good and complex in this game when you compare the different versions.

CVIII: Dracula’s Curse is argued to have one of the hardest gameplays (outside of the original Japanese version) and couldn’t this have an impact on the fact Trevor Belmont and the gang are the first ones to take down Dracula? It had to have been hard for them to achieve such a feat! Also the different motives for all of the playable characters. Trevor and his family’s fealty to fighting the night and who was once Mathias Cronqvist. Grant Danasty who seeks revenge for getting temporarily turned into a monster and fights for his country’s safety. Alucard who wants to stop his father from tormenting humans. And Syfa Belnades who was a female magic user for the church in a time where that mysticism could be deadly, but was necessary to preserve humanity. I think Syfa is interesting in terms of hiding versus showing true identity (something Yoko Belnades eons later talks about).

Curse of Darkness. Y’all this might be the most complete and obviously complex story (supplement material aside) that they have ever produced, yet it’s the one that’s the most sidelined. And for what?? Hector is an outstanding foil to Dracula even to the point of the goal is to use him as a vessel to resurrect Dracula. Like that is so interesting!! Even Isaac and Julia have great characterizations. If you want more stuff about this game, check out @beevean they have great content.

My second favorite game, Aria of Sorrow explores how Soma is actually a reincarnation of Dracula and it’s a battle of the self, temptation, and his love for Mina that can defeat the evil within. Also Alucard’s change in terms of approaching the situation of defeating his father under the guise of Arikado Genya. Now that’s a can of worms right there.

Order of Ecclesia and the discourse of cults, Harmony of Dissonance regarding how the Belmonts are just as cursed as Dracula, friendship and more in CV: Bloodlines, Simon Belmont’s battle with outward and internal strength, Lament of Innocence and how the women are fridged for both good and evil, the list can go on.

Now I won’t say that every single Castlevania game achieves this well, most things are left to speculation and interpretation like deeper information of what happens between games and what the Belmont lineage canonically looks like. But the fact you can draw these intense and deep messages from pixels and gameplay is incredible!

What may be my biggest frustration with Konami sidelining the Castlevania series is the potential of a complex story within a well-thought out gameplay and style. Grimoire of Souls may have failed with repetition and it being a gacha game, but the story was interesting because they explored what it looks like with the characters from different games comparing and contrasting themes. It shows that there are people in the writing room who still care about the games because of the story. But money seems to be the problem for Konami which is stupid because they would make bank with this game franchise imo

Anyways my real point here is that taking a minimalistic approach to the story-telling within a game isn’t a bad thing because there’s always going to be deeper meanings. Perhaps this is why I myself gravitate so much towards this series. For me it’s not always about how good I can get through a level or boss fight, but the subject of what speaks to the human soul.

TL;DR: don’t get hung up on what gameplay is better, pay attention to the fact that all the games share a simple plot in order to explore complex themes of humanity, saying that less is more.

#i’m a gamer but I’m actually a literary gamer lmao #sorry for the beefiness of this #now I will undoubtedly have to do some deeper analysis into some of these games I briefly mentioned #I love all the Castlevania games bc the rest of the story iceberg is a drug for an english major #a lot of other video games use the iceberg theory #i think it’s rising in popularity #the real reason I thought of this was an irl argument I had with a gamer who just likes gameplay #i think we should like both because they can connect to form a more compelling narrative #like ffvii killing aerith #but that’s just me #akumajou dracula #konami #iceberg theory #glorfy rambles

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