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defututus · 4 months ago

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Even When I'm Not With You | Chapter Two

Six Months Later

masterlist

modern!Eddie Munson x AFAB!reader, college AU, strangers to friends to lovers

Summary: the new semester is starting and you meet a lot of new faces, plus a very familiar one

content warnings: none, at least not that I can find!

word count: 5.8k

authors note: thank you so much for the love on my first chapter, this one is a little lighter ❤️ thanks again to @corroded-hellfire and @munson-blurbs. At the time this is being posted I'm either mentally preparing to meet Joseph Quinn again or I've already met him and hopefully haven't thrown up on him.

divider by @saradika

The last five months had been nothing short of torture for you. You never realized how much you took in-person classes for granted. You missed the lively group discussions, walking around your campus with friends, breakfast with your roommate. Your D&D group tried playing together over Discord but you all agreed it didn’t feel the same so you just stopped playing altogether. The worst day was when you had to go pack up your dorm room and say goodbye to your roommate. Elena was the first person you made friends with in college and she was graduating this year with plans to move to Massachusetts and get her masters degree. You two hugged and cried and didn’t want to let each other go.

You also never forgot about Eddie. Some days as you’d wait for your classes to start you’d wonder if Eddie was in class today and wondering how he was faring. Was he staying safe? How were his friends doing?

Would you ever see him again?

Did he even remember you?

Your anthropology professor was very reluctant to use technology. She used an old school projector and would write out her tests then copy them. It was a miracle whenever she managed to use the computer for something without help from the IT department or one of her students. Needless to say, you weren’t surprised when your professor decided to just assign weekly readings or videos and then give you a multiple choice quiz at the end of the week. No discussion boards, no presentations, and no zoom classes. This was the final nail in the coffin that made you realize you’d truly never see Eddie again. When you met him, you were hopeful and believed you might be able to call him your boyfriend one day. That dream was crushed within three weeks.

Summer went by in the blink of an eye and you were more than ready to get back to school. The school’s administration made the decision to reopen campus with all classes offering a hybrid option for those who chose not to return to in-person learning. You chose to move back into the dorms as most of your friends were doing the same and you also needed to have your own space again. You went with the same room layout as last year, two small bedrooms connected by a small “common area”, basically a hallway with a sink and a small bathroom on the other side of it. You didn’t decorate the common area too much, just adding a rug in front of the door to the hallways and plugging your shared mini-fridge and microwave in near the entrance so you both could use it. There was one last minute addition that you hadn’t told your roommate about, a little dry erase board that hung on the wall between your room and hers.

You didn’t get the chance to talk to your roommate that much since room assignments only went out a week ago. All you really knew was her name was Robin and that she lived a few towns over in Hawkins. She was a creative writing major and was probably the funniest person you had ever met. You offered to help her move in the next day but she politely declined, saying she had friends who had also moved in and were going to help her with everything. There wasn’t much to do the next day - classes didn’t start for another few days and all your friends that were returning to campus hadn’t moved in yet. That morning you decided to grab a quick breakfast from the dining hall and add the finishing touches to your room. You had a Fall Out Boy poster from years ago that you happily hung above your bed as well as a Ghost poster that your friend had bought for you for Christmas last year. There were also a few postcards with ancient art that you put right at your desk. Once everything was up, you opened up your window that had a view of the campus walkways and took out a book. You had a pretty good idea of what readings would be assigned to your classes (you asked the professor before the last semester ended) and figured you’d get a head start on it since you had nothing better to do.

The late summer breeze filled your room as you began pulling out your notebook and pens to start taking notes down. It was just warm enough to still be wearing a tank top so you chose one in your favorite color and a basic pair of shorts. The tank top showed just enough cleavage to make you feel good about yourself but not enough that you’d consider it to be too revealing. The next two hours went by relatively quickly. The texts in question were new to you, but you had a general idea of what was going on so things didn’t get too confusing.

Sometime later, your focus is broken by the muffled sound of voices coming from outside your dorm room. You notice the telltale rolling of a moving bin moving closer, chatter, then a moment of silence until you hear, “Ow!”

Out of curiosity, you got up from your seat and approached your dorm door to open it and stick your head out. Outside in the brightly colored carpeted hallway was Robin along with a man. Robin was carrying a laundry basket with what you assumed to be her bed sheets inside of it. The first thing you noticed were her earrings with worms on strings. The guy with her had perfectly styled chestnut hair, large wire-rimmed glasses, and a Hawkins Basketball shirt on. You kept silent and watched them bicker like siblings.

“Hey dingus, that's my FOOT you just ran over!”

The man takes a step back from the bin with his hands up. “You stopped right in front of me!”

“Of course I stopped right here, this is my room!”

“How the hell am I supposed to know that?!”

A laugh is threatening to escape as you watch the two argue. There are other residents moving in that say nothing as they simply push past them, everyone completely used to the chaos of college move-in day.

Robin turns around, about to motion to the summer-themed name tags taped to the door but instead she sees you watching everything unfold. Thankfully, she’s amused at how you caught her and her friend bickering and sputters out a laugh, which then spreads to her friend and over to you.

The three of you hear another moving bin rolling through the carpeted halls and you all look over to see who it is, and you’re pretty sure you’re imagining things when you realize who it is.

It’s Eddie.

The last time you saw him - and the only time you saw him - was during the winter when he was wearing a hoodie so you didn’t get a good look at his tattoos, and you’re now learning just how many he has. One arm has a few tattoos - the most notable on his right arm are the bats on his forearm and a wyvern , with a snake that winds its way up his arm. The left arm only has one tattoo and it's the one you saw the day you first met him, the goat skull on his hand. There are at least two tattoos on his chest, that you can tell from the stretched out muscle tank he was wearing, but again you wouldn’t be able to see exactly what they were until he got closer - or if he just took off his shirt. His hair was up in a high bun, most likely styled that way to help with the summer heat.

You’re staring at him as he continues down the hallway with the bin, and you notice just how much stuff is in it. The lighter haired man had the lighter load, it seemed, only containing two large sterilite containers full of clothing and a rug. Eddie had what looked like shelving, a TV, room decor, and one sterilite bin with shoes in it. He’s not really looking at where he’s going, instead looking around at the bulletin boards on the wall and the name tags on every door. The entire hall had an overall summer theme to it. The RA’s put a lot of work into decorating when they were going to be changing it in a month.

Eddie sees his friends out of the corner of his eye so he slows down before he hits the other man, and that’s when he looks up and finally sees you. He stares for a moment in disbelief before breaking out into a big, toothy smile. He’s got a smile that would light up an entire room. All you’re able to do in that moment is give him a smile and a little wave, mouthing ‘hi’ to him. Robin turns around and sees Eddie, saying, “Oh hey, you’re here!” She turns back to you and begins introducing the two guys to you. “This dingus –” she motions over to the first man you met and he nods to you with a wave“– is Steve, we worked at this ice cream place at the mall together and now he’s my best friend.” Robin then turns to Eddie, who stands up a little straighter now that all the attention is on him. He’s trying to make himself look a little more presentable, tucking some strands of hair that were sticking to his face away behind his ear as he’s introduced to you. “This is dingus number two, Eddie. He’s really obnoxious and brash, like dingus over here, so I call him bingus. Y’know, like the cat. They’re living together in the apartments across campus.”

You try to hold back a laugh at Eddie’s nickname but it doesn’t work. All you can picture is a sphynx cat with a head of curly hair. Eddie is enjoying every second of this, even if Robin is poking fun at him. He couldn’t get enough of your laugh the first time you two met and he’s just now realizing that he might get the chance to hear it more often. Once you calm yourself down, you chime in saying, “Actually, I already knew Eddie. We were in the same anthropology class last semester, albeit for like one class before break but it was fun.”

Eddie could have sworn he heard Steve’s neck crack from how fast he turned to look at him. He’s looking back at his roommate in shock. Steve mouth, ‘Is that her? The girl?’ and Eddie nods with a smile before looking back at you in adoration while you’re chatting away with Robin.

After some more small talk about moving day, complaining about how hard it was to get on campus despite the low number of residents this year, you two decide you’ve had enough of standing in the cold hallway and go inside. You hold your dorm door open so everyone can go through. Robin and Steve thank you as they go inside and you can hear Robin digging in her tote bag before finding her room key and unlocking it. Eddie comes in a few seconds later with his bin, flashing you another beautiful smile before he abandons the bin in front of Robin’s room. The small size of the bedrooms combined with the furniture only allows room for one bin at a time so he just leaves it for them to grab when the first bin is empty. You move to close the heavy door behind you and squeeze between the bin and a wall to get over to your room. Eddie watches and follows you, casually leaning against the metal door frame when you hop up onto your bed. He’s fiddling with his rings as he looks at you, specifically your legs. He has never really been into legs, Eddie has always been more of a boob guy if he’s being honest, but in that moment he realized how good yours looked and wanted nothing more than to have them around his waist, over his shoulders…

He catches himself before his thoughts become clouded with his growing number of fantasies about you, and before his pants start to get uncomfortably tight. Instead, he tries to play catch up.

“So, I really didn’t think I’d ever see you again… how did that campaign with your friends go? Did you save that Barnes guy or did he eventually become goblin lunch?”

You’re shocked that Eddie remembered your D&D campaign. The pessimistic part of you assumed he quickly forgot about you since there were more important events going on at the time but he seemed to remember you just as you remembered him. A small smile grows on your face at the thought. You grab a pillow off your bed and put it in your lap to pull at the loose strings on it as Eddie removes himself from the doorframe and takes a seat in your desk chair. He’s sitting casually, opting to sit in it backwards with his arms on top of the backrest. He’s making himself comfortable and acting like he comes in here all the time. You wouldn’t mind if he did come here all the time. You’re unsure if its the warm air coming in through the window or the way that Eddie is looking at you, but you’re starting to feel flush and a little giddy. Usually people would become disinterested when you begin talking about your interests but he seems to want to learn more, so you begin to retell the story.

“We saved him from the goblins but then we were ambushed by a band of mercenaries on the way out of the forest. They were hiding in the trees and Barnes was low on HP so uh… he never made it back to town.” You wipe a fake tear from your eye as you continue on. “And his wife was expecting too. He never got to meet his little boy…” Eddie’s genuine shocked expression makes you laugh. The world that you and your friends had only begun creating felt so silly to you but Eddie was captivated by just one session’s worth of storytelling. He was so captivated that he somehow forgot that the desk chairs provided by the university were rocking chairs so he felt himself fall forward once he put too much of his weight on the back of the chair. Eddie could have sworn he saw his life flash before his eyes in that moment as he felt the chair tip over. He still had so much to do in his life. Eddie dreamt of being the first in his family to graduate from college. He wanted to make something of his life to show everyone back in Hawkins that he wasn’t just another failure like his father. He wanted to see Metallica again, maybe go to Europe. Hell, he wanted to try and find love and he’s pretty sure he found it but he can’t be with you if he cracks his skull open on your dorm floor.

You reach out to grab Eddie as soon as you realize that he’s about to fall and you end up grabbing onto his bicep. He looks up at you once he realizes that he’s no longer falling and your faces are three inches away from each other. Neither of you are saying anything and just looking into each other’s eyes. The only sounds you two hear are Steve and Robin struggling to hang string lights up on Robin’s walls and the traffic from outside your open window.

You realize a few things during those few seconds. Number one, Eddie’s eyes look even more beautiful up close, especially with how the light is hitting them. Number two, he has faint freckles dotted across his nose, most likely from being outside during the summer. Number three, you’re definitely in love with Eddie. You barely knew him still but the more you were around him, the more infatuated you were with him. Also, he looked really lanky the first time you met him, but now that you’ve seen him up close and touched his arm you know he must be working out.

Eddie is just happy that you’re this close to him. He could finally kiss you after all these months of longing, but he has to restrain himself lest he ruin your blossoming friendship.

The moment is interrupted by yelling and cars honking outside from the street below. You both process what has just happened and neither of you are able to contain the giggles that ensue. To Eddie’s disappointment, you pull your hand away and instead clutch your stomach. Eddie now has his head on the backrest of the chair as the two of you try to calm yourselves down.

On the other side of the wall, Robin is standing atop her desk with string lights in hand, almost done hanging them all up. Steve is busy trying to detangle all the wires for her TV when they hear a thud from next door followed by your muffled laughter. Confused, Robin looks down at Steve and they exchange looks of confusion. Carefully, Robin steps down from her desk, onto her desk chair, and then on solid ground. Without speaking a word to her friend, she tiptoes out of the room and peeks her head into your room. From where she’s standing, all she can see is one of her best friends hanging out with her roommate as they try to speak without erupting into laughter again.

“Oh my god, you should have seen your face! It was hilarious!”

“Oh be quiet, like you haven’t done that before!”

“We’ve all leaned too far back! I’ve never seen someone fall forward in these death traps! Besides, these chairs are made to tip like that! Have you never used them before??”

Having seen enough, Robin turns around and steps back into her room. Steve is still sitting there cross-legged on the floor with the wires in his lap and raises a questioning brow. All she can do is shrug and say, “They seem to be getting along” before going back to work on the lights.

Eddie has a routine when prepping for Hellfire. Yes, he would take time after each session to tweak next week’s plans according to the players actions, but he also had an entire day centered around planning.

Ever since he started college, Eddie would always make Wednesday his planning day. He made sure that he wasn’t scheduled for a shift down at Moe’s Motors, the auto shop that both he and his Uncle Wayne worked at. He also tried to have as few classes as possible that day. Luckily for him, he didn’t have any classes on Wednesday this semester so he decided early on that he’d dedicate his entire day to his campaigns. If he stayed consistent with his routine, each session would be fully fleshed out roughly one month in advance.

He found it easiest to work in the comfort of his dorm room. It was a quiet, controlled environment where Eddie could take up as much space as he wanted and nobody would ever bother him. Steve learned pretty quickly that if Eddie’s door was shut on Wednesday then it was best to not bother him.

Steve was expecting to see Eddie’s door shut when he got back from the gym, so he was surprised to walk into their apartment and see his door wide open and his room empty. He got up to go to the gym at around 7am before Eddie woke up and knew he was there based on the snoring that he heard through the door. The only sign that Eddie was even in there today was his unmade bed with gray plaid bedding and his phone wasn’t charging on his desk. His backpack was missing too. Confused and a little worried, Steve dug out his phone and scrolled through his contacts before he found Eddie’s name and clicked on it. His contact picture was from a past Christmas party where Jonathan had managed to convince Eddie to wear reindeer antlers the entire night and Steve managed to sneak one photo in before he got caught.

Steve hits the facetime button and waits for Eddie to answer. Something important must be happening for Eddie to disrupt his routine like this. The metalhead answers after a few rings. His hair is tied into a low bun with earbuds in and chewing some gum. He’s answering the call from his phone propped up on something, probably his laptop. Steve can see one of Eddie’s many D&D books in front of him, proving that he just went somewhere else to do his work, but where? Eddie is definitely inside, that he can tell. He’s in front of some windows and there’s a lot of background noise. Eddie is sitting there casually and pops a pretzel into his mouth and goes, “Hey, what’s up?”

Steve, confused, asks, “Where the hell are you? Why aren’t you working in your room?” He’s looking around at the background to try and decipher where on Earth Eddie could be. He can hear the campus bell ringing since it’s the top of the hour, but all that tells him is that Eddie is still on campus. The students walking outside the window are another clue.

Eddie keeps looking down to his books and then back up like he’s looking for someone. “Oh, I decided to try a change of scenery. That’s all.” Steve is still suspicious about all this and quickly changes out of his sweaty gym clothes and into something clean. He’s looking more at the background and is able to read one of the signs in the background. He’s beating himself up because he should have recognized that building immediately. That’s the back of the nursing building, meaning Eddie had to be in one of the study areas in the biggest academic building on campus. Everyone had classes there at one point, so maybe Eddie decided to try working there?

Steve hangs up on Eddie without another word and makes his way outside to take the crowded shuttle bus to the main area of campus. The late-August heat was relentless so everyone was trying to spend as little time as possible outside, leaving Steve standing on the bus as it slowly sputtered up the hills to the school. The bus stops right next to the building he suspects Eddie is in so he runs through the entrance to the study area. It’s all wood and tile with a small coffee shop next to the rows of tables and chairs. The area is pretty full so Steve had to look around a bit before he spots his roommate. He’s wearing a green flannel with a black shirt underneath and a pair of sweatpants, probably dressed for the AC blasting in the building rather than the torturous heat.. On the table he has all his usual D&D materials spread out with an open can of Monster next to him. He weaves through the tables of people to get to Eddie and is amazed how his roommate, who always needed absolute silence and zero distractions, was working in such a loud and crowded space. Without a word, he grabs a chair from the table Eddie is sitting at and sits down next to him.

Eddie sees the movement out of the corner of his eye and looks over to Steve, surprised, and pulls his earbud out of his ear to pause the Gojira song he was just listening to greet him with a confused, “Uh, hey. What are you doing here?”

Steve leans back in the chair, tipping it back and crosses his arms. He’s looking over in the direction Eddie seemed to be looking during their brief facetime call. He was looking over into one of the main hallways with classes on either side. Steve then looks back to him and replies, “I wanted to see why you weren’t in your room. You always do your Hellfire prep in there and I had to see what made you want to work here…” Steve looks around, noting the smell of burnt coffee and music blaring from people’s phones and laptops. There’s also a group of students having a loud, heated discussion two tables away.

Eddie hesitates as he’s looking around and trying to come up with a good excuse. No amount of music can help him focus here, but he’d rather give his friend a shitty excuse than tell the truth. “I wanted to try something new?”

Before Steve can respond, Eddie looks up towards those hallways again and smiles. Steve looks in that direction and finally realizes what was going on. He sees you exiting a classroom with an older lady with a messy gray bun and tiny glasses, almost the same size as her eyes. You two are talking passionately about something, just going by your erratic hand movements and how much you two are smiling. The two of you part ways with a wave and “I’ll email you some other ideas I’ve had!” as the hallway ends and opens up to the lobby and study area. You look over to the study area, thinking about doing some research on one of the worn couches near the entrance, before you and Eddie lock eyes with each other. Eddie reaches over to the empty chair next to him and across from Steve and pulls it out for you. Steve slowly turns to Eddie and raises a brow at him. He leans in to Eddie who is watching you hurry over and whispers,

“Were you waiting out here for her?”

Eddie doesn’t answer him, just whacking his shoulder and says “Shut up…” as gets up to greet you, moving some of his books over to behind his laptop and moving his half-empty Monster to the other side of his laptop. When you take the seat and sit down, Eddie excitedly asks, “ Hey sweetheart, how are you?” as you set your bag down under the table. Once you’ve sat down, Eddie casually puts his arm around the back of your chair, his thumb barely grazing your shoulder. The sun wasn’t hitting this part of the building yet, but you swore you felt your body heat up at that moment. The new nickname certainly wasn’t helping. Surely he must be like this with all his friends, always touchy, giving them his undivided attention, the pet names. You couldn’t fathom anything else. The way he looked at you made you feel too special and that made you a little nervous. Steve greets you with a friendly smile and nod, trying hard to hold back a remark on how convenient that Eddie was sitting right here as you were leaving that classroom. He’d mock Eddie and talk about how weird it was later. Besides, judging on how Eddie was looking at you, he seemed a bit busy with other things.

Unlike Eddie who was donning layers to keep from getting cold inside, you were dressed appropriately for the reason with a pair of well-fitting dolphin shorts and a faded Fall Out Boy shirt that was tied in the front, revealing just a little bit of your belly and your stretch marks. It wasn’t what you originally planned on wearing today, but you were running out of clean clothes and needed to get your laundry done soon. You were a little insecure about the outfit at first, but Robin gave you a boost in confidence when she stepped into the common area of your dorm room as you were brushing your teeth and asked, “Why do you have to look so hot at 8 in the morning??”

Eddie didn’t know what part of you to look at first. His eyes were instantly drawn to your legs again, but now he gets to see how your thighs look in those tight shorts. Then there’s your midriff - he wanted nothing more than to get you all alone and get his hands on you, to knead at your skin and learn what kinds of sounds you’d make when his hands inevitably moved underneath your shorts and into your panties.

Again, he had to catch himself before his thoughts became too explicit and tried to focus on what you’re saying as the three of you get into a heated discussion about horrible classmates, initiated by you complaining about a guy in your class who went on so many tangents during the class discussion that he wasted maybe twenty minutes of class time. Eventually, the conversation dies down and Eddie switches the topic to you.

“So, uh, how was class? Do anything interesting?”

“I, well -” you look down at your lap and your shoulders droop- “I wouldn’t say it was interesting, but I was talking to my advisor about my senior thesis. I had an idea over the summer and she really likes it so I’m gonna get started on that soon. We’re translating sections of the Odyssey and I wanted to discuss the sounds that the spirits make and then try to draw some connections to the spirits in other pieces of Homeric legend.. I’m excited for it. We also talked a little about grad school and it’s kind of nerve wracking…” Eddie hummed in approval and watched your expression as you explained your options. He may not have known you for very long, but he could tell there were some mixed feelings about this. He takes the hand that's on your chair and moves it in order to reassuringly rub at your shoulder.

Eddie’s voice softens when he speaks up, “Hey, don’t worry about all that. Like, the idea that you’re even thinking about grad school screams ‘genius’ to me. You’ll do great no matter where you go. Any school would be lucky to have you.” His little pep talk eased your anxiety for the most part, but you decided to quickly change the subject before you began to worry again. You look up at both him and Steve, who you notice didn’t bring anything with him apart from his phone and a half-empty bottle of water.

“What are you guys up to? Is Steve helping you with your campaign planning?”

Steve shakes his head, looking at Eddie out of the corner of his eye. Eddie is looking back at him and silently pleading for him to not tell you the truth, that he’s only here because he knew you’d be here. Thankfully, Steve isn’t cruel and replies, “Nah, I could never get into Dungeons & Dragons. The most I’ll ever do is give him feedback when he needs it. You play, right? I think I overheard you guys talking about it on move-in day.”

Much to your enjoyment, Eddie’s hand never left your shoulder as the three of you talked. You explained how you and your friends had finished your first campaign in May but it didn’t feel the same playing over Discord. “I never realized how important it was to be in the same room when you’re playing. We all live in different parts of the state so we couldn’t meet up anywhere. Also there were technical issues which made things difficult. Honestly, I’d love to play again. Maybe I’ll see if there are any groups on campus that are accepting new members.”

You pull one of Eddie’s books toward you and open up to a bookmarked page out of curiosity. It's cover was partially held together by tape and its pages were either dog-eared or filled with post-it notes. While you’re distracted, Steve kicks Eddie under the table and mouths, “You should ask her” before getting up. You barely register his departure as you flip through the pages. Eddie found it cute how interested you were in the book, laughing to himself when you make a look of disgust after flipping to a page with a Beholder, a fleshy orb with one giant eye and multiple eyestalks sticking out of it. “Eugh… I can never get used to him.”

Eddie clears his throat to get your attention, having already taken his hand away from your shoulder and once again tapping his pen against the table. “You know, we’re actually down two members right now. We usually have seven people but one of our members transferred and one graduated so we have some seats open… if you’re interested, of course.” He’s trying to read your face right now. You seemed excited but he wasn’t completely sure and once he starts talking about Dungeons & Dragons he can’t seem to stop. “We’re almost done with our introduction campaign since we’ve got three new members and if I can get everything done in time then we’ll start up again in… mid-October, maybe?”

You begin to smile as he’s explaining everything, and that’s more than enough proof that you’re interested in joining. Either that or you like how much he’s rambling. You’re nearly bouncing out of excitement and get up to hug him when he finishes speaking. Both men are shocked by your reaction, but Steve is more entertained by how stunned Eddie looks. His eyes look like they’re bulging out of his skull and his hands are hovering over your back, scared to touch you as if any movement would cause you to pull away. He’s struggling to even get any words out.

“I… so that’s a yes?”

You nod, still holding onto him and reply, “Of course it’s a yes!”

Eddie felt so relieved and just basked in the moment, finally wrapping his arms around you to return the hug. He’s taking advantage of the hug to take in your scent, immediately obsessed with the coconut scent he’s picking up in your shampoo. It’s so… so you, and he loves it.

You glance over to Eddie’s laptop, curious to see what he was working on - and to possibly get some hints on his future campaign that you’ll be involved in - but the first thing you notice is the time. You had work in an hour and had to get across campus to change and hopefully get there without any traffic. You pull away from him, much to his dismay and go, “Shit–”, and grab your bag before turning to Steve and Eddie, “–I have to get ready for work, I’m sorry. I should have been keeping track of time.”

Eddie is saddened by this but lets you go anyway, placing his hands on the table and instinctively grabbing a pen to fidget with. Steve gets up with you, stating, “Yeah I actually have to go meet some guys from class to study for an exam so I’m gonna get going too.”

Before you head out, you turn to Eddie and say, “I’ll send you my character sheet during my lunch break later and you can look it over for me?” and Eddie nods. You’re anxious to get going, still haunted by the amount of time it took you to get home that fateful February day, so you say your goodbyes and head out.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson series #scripsi

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hotvintagepoll · 11 months ago

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omfg i just had the best dream of my LIFE and i think you’d find it funny lol

so, apparently in my dreamworld, people can just get new grandparents - like if someone dies, you can just be assigned new ones lmao

i was at home awaiting the news and my mom told me that my new grandparents were beefing with each other and I had to help settle them before I got officially assigned and I was like hell yeah bring it on

i get there (specifically at a little estate with a big ass farm strictly between Pennsylvania and Massachusetts bc the train conductor was very persistent that I got off there 😭) and right away, I hear yelling and people throwing stuff

before i can knock, miss bette davis swings open the door - cigarette and scotch in hand dressed in a beautiful dressing gown and calls me her little chick and ushers me inside to tell my new grandfather to kindly stfu and get out of HER house

obvs, im like “yes, ma’am, whatever you say ma’am”

i wander in and see a very broody and very melodramatic mr. claude rains

poor guy is so distraught and im immediately at his side before he and bette trade insults (“old bat” and “over-stuffed shirt”) and then she insults him by bringing up the fact that she actually has oscars and he claps back with the fact that he has a tony

meanwhile, i’m dying bc i want this to happen in real life

i get them to make up and she makes him take me and her to costco to buy things to make up for him being so mean to her :((

14/10 would dream again

incredible dream, I'm going to temporarily pin this to the top of the blog as a badge of honor

#asks

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drarryspecificrecsdaily · 1 year ago

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2024.06.15

Complete fics posted on AO3 this day

1. Could it be...? by @themightyflynn08 [T, 1k]

►Draco reflects back on their relationship as he lies in bed listening to Harry mumble in his sleep.

2. Dirty Work by veradubhghoill [E, 1k]

►It is entirely Malfoy's rule that they can't kiss. [...]

3. Exact Dates by @feltwrong [T, 3k]

►Seventeen years to the minute after you were born, your soulmark appears on your left arm. Everyone knows that. This is the story of three people who didn’t get their soulmarks when they expected to.

4. Kiss It And by flowerfan [T, 1k]

►“Need some help?” Draco asks, coming closer. It’s not as if Harry really needs his help with a stubbed toe, but then Draco’s always been drawn to drama. And, well, to Harry.

5. Protego Fragor by nutmeg223344 [G, 22k]

►Harry Potter, saviour of the wizarding world and youngest senior auror on record, is losing control of his magic. Draco Malfoy, head of the accidental magic reversal squad, is tired of chasing him around.

---

Fest/Exchange

1. Breeze (Move Me) by BrigidFaye [E, 16k]

►Harry has - once again - failed to be the kind of auror he's expected to be, and this time it's gotten him assigned a wild goose chase in Massachusetts, of all places. He's certain it's just a way to get him out of the way… until he spots a certain white blond head of hair at the beach.Is Draco Malfoy up to something? And if he is, is Harry still willing to be a good little auror and do something about it? ★ Siriusly Hozier Fest | @imsiriuslyreading

#drarry #drarry fanfic #drarry fic rec #harry potter #draco malfoy #daily list #2024 #2024.06

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aloeaceae · 6 days ago

Text

Winx College AU

Can I be annoying for a sec? A College Winx AU came to me in a dream, so now I’m legally obligated to yap about it on tumblr dot com.

Disclaimer: This is based on absolutely nothing from the original lore. If you’re wondering why a certain character has a certain major, it’s because the voices told me so (okay, fine—I did try to make it make a little sense).

18-year-old Bloom, an international student from Italy, gets accepted to a university in Massachusetts on a full-ride scholarship. The school is big, castle-like, and ancient-looking. There, despite her true enemies—introversion and awkwardness—she finds her place among the student body.

Bios for the Winx girls:

Bloom: A freshman, an international student from the boonies southwest of Milan. Shy, awkward, but kind and hardworking. She lives on campus and shares a suite with Flora, Musa, and Tecna. Majors in Graphic Design (it would’ve been Fine Arts, but her parents wanted her to pick something that could land her a job). The type who has to work twice as hard to get a mediocre grade—her weekly study time easily hits 40+ hours just to maintain a good GPA.

Stella: A junior, originally from California. A popular sorority girl, she was assigned to be Bloom’s onboarding buddy. Majors in Communications—she switched from Finance midway through her sophomore year to keep up her sorority’s 3.0 GPA requirement. Stella’s not too concerned about her major anyway; her dad plans to hand her a branch of his company when she graduates. She just needed something that wouldn’t interfere with her free time or social life.

Flora: A freshman, originally from somewhere on the West Coast and Bloom’s roommate. Timid but down for anything. She’s the type to have a private Instagram with just 100 or so followers—even though she’s gorgeous enough (and wealthy enough, thanks to generational money) to be an influencer. Majors in general Biology to keep her options open, but plans to add a more specialized minor later on based on what she’s passionate about.

Musa: A freshman, local to the college area but originally immigrated with her dad from China when she was too young to remember. An extrovert to her core—but God help you if you interrupt her while she’s practicing. Majors in Classical Performance. Shares a room with Tecna. She’s low-key popular on social media for posting videos of herself playing various instruments.

Tecna: A freshman by age, but a sophomore on paper due to already taking upper-level classes. She’s from New York City and double majors in Computer Science and Math. An introvert by choice, but capable of talking to anyone. Everything comes easily to her when she puts her mind to it, and people are often jealous of how effortlessly she seems to do... well, everything.

Layla: A sophomore, local to the area. Part of the Dance Team, so her social circle is mostly athletes and cheerleaders. A Marine Biology major—beauty and brains. She’s been scouted for modeling countless times but couldn’t care less.

Read the Specialists bios here!

I like this! Is there a fic? Wow I’m so glad you asked! There is, actually: read Refer to Syllabus on AO3

#winx club #winx au #winx lore #winx fanfic #winx college au

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msrpusher · 16 days ago

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The Obsidian Echo

https://archiveofourown.org/works/66191032/chapters/170649010#workskin

Chapter 2

Summary:

Mulder is sent to Nantucket to profile a serial killer, only to find Diana Fowley already there as a liaison. Back in DC Skinner discreetly helps Scully, confirming Mulder's assignment, so Scully immediately books a flight. Meanwhile, Mulder profiles the killer, whose victims are found by the water, wrapped in nursery burlap. He deeply misses Scully's forensic expertise, and Fowley's attempts to partner with him only make him long for Scully more.

Notes:

Very excited to post the next chapter. I am very much into True Crimes (books, podcasts, etc). I grew up on Long Insland so there are references to the LISK case. My very close friend is a forensic psychologist and had the patience to give me feedback on this chapter. Thanks Charles! I love Mulder and Scully! They cannot be without each other gang. Facts. Any comment crumbs you give me are carefully savored. Please and thank you.

Chapter Text

The sterile conference room felt like a cage. Mulder sat opposite Skinner, the air thick with unspoken tension. "Nantucket, Massachusetts," Skinner stated, without preamble, pushing a slim folder across the polished table. "You'll be embedded with a local task force there. A series of homicides. Highly unusual M.O."

Mulder nodded, already mentally sifting through possibilities. "The nature of the request, sir... the 'higher up' designation. What exactly am I walking into?"

Skinner's gaze was unreadable, a flicker of something close to sympathy in his eyes before it was gone. "A sensitive situation, Mulder. High-profile. The Bureau wants a fresh perspective, untainted by local biases." He paused, then added, almost as an afterthought, "Diana Fowley will be... on-site. As a liaison."

The name hit Mulder with the force of a cold draft. Fowley. Here? His jaw tightened imperceptibly. He'd seen her in the halls since their return to the bullpen, a ghost from a life he'd deliberately left behind, but he hadn't expected to be thrust into a working partnership with her. He repressed a sigh. "Understood, sir."

Back in the bullpen, the quiet hum of the lights grated on Scully's nerves. It hadn't been 48 hours. Not even close. But the silence where Mulder's restless energy usually resided felt like a phantom limb, a constant, low throb of absence. Her mind, usually so disciplined, spun with every catastrophic scenario. Was he safe? Was he alone? Why was he alone?

She picked up her phone, then put it down. No, she couldn't call him just to say she missed him. She couldn't, not when he'd been so explicitly vague, so clearly under wraps. But she had to know. She had to.

Her gaze landed on Arlene, Skinner's secretary. Arlene, ever meticulous and possessing a surprisingly keen eye for detail when it came to office decorum, often dressed in a manner not entirely dissimilar to Scully's own professional wardrobe. Scully straightened her blazer, a plan forming.

"Arlene," Scully began, adopting a tone of casual curiosity she hoped sounded genuine, "your new blouse... it's very sharp. I've been meaning to ask, given our similar stature and, well, 'classic' sensibilities, where do you find such well-tailored pieces? I'm always looking for a new reliable source."

Arlene beamed, clearly flattered by the unexpected compliment from Agent Scully.

"Oh, thank you, Agent Scully! It's just a little boutique near my cousin's place. They have the most wonderful sales. I always tell them, Arlene needs practicality and panache!" Arlene, completely absorbed in the unexpected attention from the formidable Agent Scully, began an extensive monologue about the merits of various shopping districts and how to spot a good bargain, completely oblivious to the real motive. Scully, meanwhile, kept one ear on Arlene and the other on the general murmur of the office, hoping for a clue, any clue, about Mulder's whereabouts. She even managed to subtly steer the conversation towards geographical locations, fishing for tidbits. Arlene, convinced she was imparting valuable fashion wisdom, was delighted to oblige. She's so sweet, Scully thought, and utterly unhelpful.

Just then, Arlene's phone buzzed. "Oh, my carpool's here! Duty calls!" She scrambled to gather her purse, leaving her desk momentarily unattended.

Scully's heart gave a jolt. This was it. Her eyes darted to Arlene's open computer screen, a blur of emails and schedules. She quickly scanned for anything, a flight manifest, a hotel booking, a task force memo…

"Agent Scully."

Skinner's voice, firm and resonant, cut through the quiet like a surgeon's scalpel. Scully froze, her hand hovering over Arlene's keyboard. She slowly turned, her cheeks flushing. Skinner stood in the doorway of his office, his expression a familiar blend of exasperation and knowing. He didn't need to ask what she was doing. He knew. Scully felt a hot wave of humiliation wash over her.

"Sir," she managed, her voice tight.

Skinner simply walked over, his eyes scanning the desk, then landing on a crumpled piece of paper that had fallen near Arlene's wastebasket. It wasn't Arlene's. He bent down, picked it up, and looked at it. It was a printout, almost illegible, of a flight itinerary. A destination. A time.

He straightened, holding the paper loosely in his hand. His gaze met hers, softer now, a flicker of something she rarely saw – genuine concern, maybe even a touch of alliance. "Looking for something, Agent Scully?" he asked, his voice low, almost conspiratorial. He knew exactly what she was up to, and a small, almost imperceptible nod passed between them. He was on their side, even if he couldn't openly show it. It was Fowley who pushed for Mulder to go alone. Skinner thought he'd benefit from having her by his side.

Scully, ever quick-witted, took the paper from him. Her fingers brushed his briefly. "Just… tidying up, sir. This wasn't hers." She tucked it into her pocket, the paper still warm from his hand.

As soon as she was out of the bullpen, striding with a newfound purpose down the hall, she pulled out the paper. Nantucket. Her mind began to whirl, connections sparking. She pulled out her own phone, her fingers flying across the keypad. She booked the first flight. The next piece of the puzzle, she would figure out when she got there. It hadn't been 48 hours since he left, and she already felt like she was losing her mind catastrophizing. This was the only way to silence the noise.

Mulder stood in a poorly lit morgue, the sickly sweet, cloying smell of formaldehyde clinging to his clothes and seeming to permeate his very sinuses. The single overhead fluorescent light hummed, casting a wan, clinical glow that made the stainless steel surfaces gleam starkly. Beside him, a grizzled Deputy Sheriff, his face etched with exhaustion and disgust, recited details about the third victim. Her name was Sarah Jenkins, a local college student found posed in a shallow ravine in the woods just outside town, mere yards from the churning coastline.

"Same as the others, Agent Mulder," the Deputy muttered, gesturing vaguely with a gloved hand towards the sheet-draped gurney. "Found her this morning. Looks like she'd been out there about... twelve, maybe fourteen hours." He shook his head, running a hand over his thinning hair. "No signs of struggle, no obvious wounds. Just... gone. And that damn piece of glass in her chest. And the mark." He paused, lowering his voice. "And they're all the same, Agent Mulder. Buried shallow, by the water, wrapped in those rough burlap sacks, the kind you see for saplings at a nursery." The details were gruesome, whispered in hushed tones by officers who clearly hadn't seen anything like this before. The local law enforcement was not just overwhelmed; they were visibly shaken, their eyes holding a mixture of fear and baffled helplessness.

Mulder leaned closer, his eyes scanning the victim's pallid skin. He wasn't seeing enough. He needed more. He needed Scully. He could almost hear her pragmatic questions, her insistence on details, her ability to cut through the noise and find the undeniable truth in the physical evidence. It sharpens his mind like a knife.

"Deputy," Mulder said, his voice quiet, "I need more. A full pathological workup. We need to ascertain the exact mechanism of death, the micro-trauma, the cellular breakdown. This preliminary report is deficient." He turned to a younger officer hovering nearby. "Officer, I want you to get me a list of all local nurseries in the area. Call every single one. See if they've had any unusual sales, any bulk purchases of these specific burlap sacks. Then, get eyes on them, discreetly." He knew, even as he spoke the words, it was a long shot. The killer was too meticulous, too deliberate to leave such a simple trail. This wasn't some sloppy amateur pilfering from a garden center. This was about making a personal graveyard, a consecrated space by the water's edge. But it still had to be checked.

A familiar voice cut through the sterile air, smooth and confident. "Agent Mulder is right, Deputy. We need to leave no stone unturned."

Mulder turned to see Diana Fowley stepping into the room, impeccably dressed, a faint, almost imperceptible scent of expensive perfume replacing the morgue's acrid tang. She offered him a professional smile, her eyes lingering for a moment, a possessive warmth in their depths. She moved to stand beside him, subtly closer than necessary, a hand briefly resting on his arm as if to solidify her role as his partner.

"We'll coordinate with the local coroner, ensure they understand the gravity of these findings."

Mulder stiffened slightly at her touch, a flash of irritation passing through him. Partner. The word tasted bitter on his tongue. He longed for Scully's resistance to his theories, her grounded skepticism that forced him to sharpen his arguments, to push his own boundaries. Fowley just... agreed. It was like working with a shadow, not a counterpart.

For about the hundredth time today, his gaze flickered to his phone, nestled in his pocket. No new messages. He knew he had to keep limited contact with Scully. That was the order. But being separated from her, truly separated, felt wrong. It felt outside of himself, like a vital organ had been removed. The air in the room suddenly felt thin. Diana noticed his distraction, a flicker of something unreadable – irritation, perhaps – crossing her perfect features before she masked it with a practiced smile. She subtly tightened her grip on his arm. "Focus, Mulder. We're here for a purpose."

Mulder pulled his arm back, subtly. "Indeed," he stated, his voice devoid of warmth. He turned his attention back to the Deputy, pushing the thought of Scully's call, or lack thereof, from his mind. "Based on the limited evidence, Deputy, the assailant demonstrates a profound knowledge of human anatomy, specifically the cardiovascular system. The obsidian shard isn't merely symbolic; it’s likely integral to the how of the killing. This isn't just about ritual; it's about precision. The victims aren't being brutalized; they're being dismantled from within. The signature... the knot... suggests a coded message, possibly tied to an ancient belief system, but the method itself speaks to a terrifyingly modern, clinical efficiency. I believe the coroner's work, while thorough by local standards, is deficient in uncovering this."

"Agent Mulder, we appreciate your insights," Diana interjected smoothly, her voice pitched to appease, "but I'm sure the local medical examiner has done everything in their power–"

The morgue door swung open with a quiet whoosh. A familiar, resolute figure stood framed in the doorway, clutching a large, battered medical kit. Her gaze swept over the room, landing squarely on Mulder. A hint of a challenge, and an undeniable glint of determination, entered her eyes.

"Did someone say they needed a pathologist?" Scully asked, her voice calm, clear, and perfectly timed.

Mulder's breath hitched. In that moment, she might as well have ridden into the dismal morgue on a white stead, bathed in ethereal light, a modern-day Joan of Arc ready to banish the shadows. He felt a profound, almost dizzying wave of relief wash over him, startling in its intensity, like a man parched for days finally finding water. He was Scully-starved, two days of forced emotional detox from her presence leaving him utterly depleted. A wide, irrepressible grin broke across his face, a raw expression of elation he couldn't possibly rein in. Every instinct screamed at him to cross the room, to grab her into a bear hug that would convey the sheer terror of her absence and the boundless joy of her return. But the setting, the observers, and years of ingrained decorum held him captive.

"Scully," he uttered tenderly.

Diana's perfectly composed smile faltered, replaced by a flicker of pure, unadulterated annoyance that vanished as quickly as it appeared, like a shadow briefly crossing a bright window. But as quickly as Diana regained her composure, it didn't matter. Not to Mulder. Not to Scully. They locked eyes, and in that moment, the sterile morgue, the grim case, the hovering Deputy, and the exasperated Diana Fowley simply ceased to exist. It was as if no one else existed in the world. Diana turned, a sharp, impatient huff escaping her lips, completely unheard by the two agents.

#fox mulder #dana scully #x files #xf fanfic #msr

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hand-written-dreams · 7 months ago

Text

CRIMSON SHADE

Chapter 18

Monsters stuck in my head

You've got no place to hide.

And I'm feeling like a villain,

got a hunger inside.

One look in my eyes

And you're running 'cause I'm coming

Gonna eat you alive

- ( The song of this chapter is 'Monster' by Ruelle.)

A steaming cup of coffee slides into view, the rich aroma pulling her from her intense focus. She blinks, realizing how long she’s been staring at the screen of the bullet-riddled laptop.

She looks up, startled, to find Mr.Mathur’s smiling face.

“You’ve been at it all day,” he says, nodding toward the laptop. His gaze flickers to the disarray of cables and tools scattered across the desk.

Khushi sighs, stretching her arms. She pushes the laptop aside, satisfied that most of the data has been extracted. The rest still need more work. “Thank you, Mr.Mathur. You’re a lifesaver,” she says, reaching for the cup.

“Please, call me Aman,” he replies with a light chuckle. “Mr.Mathur sounds too formal. Makes me feel ancient.”

She smiles. “Only on one condition… call me Khushi.”

She can see why someone like Mr.Raizada is friends with Aman. He carries an aura of comfort, a natural ease that draws people in. Everyone within his radius seems to instinctively relax, their guard lowering without even realizing it.

For someone like her, who’s spent the better part of her life building walls, it’s a bit disarming.

“Deal.” He leans against the desk, folding his arms. “So, you graduated from college with honours, huh? I was dragging my ass just to pass my computer science course,” Aman says with a chuckle.

Khushi arches an eyebrow, momentarily surprised by his candidness. “The Harvard course must’ve been tough, no?”

“I actually graduated from MIT,” he corrects, his smile easy and relaxed.

“Oh.” She blinks, caught off guard. “I thought you graduated from Harvard with Mr.Raizada.”

Aman shakes his head, a soft laugh escaping him. “Oh no, that man went to Harvard for business studies, all high and mighty. Meanwhile, I was at MIT, knee-deep in code and circuits. We were in a…long-distance friendship.”

There’s a playful lilt to his tone, but Khushi catches a subtle fondness beneath it. The contrast between him and Mr.Raizada intrigues her. They couldn’t be more different.

She chuckles, "I don't have that much knowledge in geography, but I believe both these universities are situated in the same city in Massachusetts... Cambridge, right?"

"To me, it seems like you have pretty good knowledge of geography."

"I searched all things about MIT. I wanted to go there." She doesn't know why she shares this with Aman.

"Your father didn't let you, did he?"

Khushi keeps sipping her coffee. Not responding to him.

Aman sighs, settling into the chair in front of her, letting the matter drop. “So....Arnav didn’t really explain what ‘special task’ he’s assigned to you. Something about finding a hacker? What’s all that about?” he says, his tone turns slightly curious.

Khushi takes a careful slow sip, the heat of the coffee settling in her stomach. “Someone stole some important documents from me,” she says, her tone clipped. “And made it look like Mr.Raizada was behind it.”

Aman tilts his head, his brows furrowing slightly, his eyes scanning her face. “You know I’m not really into the whole dark web hacker business. But let me know if you need my help with anything. By the way… mind telling me the hacker’s ID? Just curious.”

For a moment, she hesitates. Her hand tightens around the mug. “TheShadowMonster,” she replies.

Aman stares at her, deep in thought and what looks like confusion, as his brows furrow. Then, his lips quirks into a half-smile. “Huh, that sounds like something a kid would come up with.” He gives a short, quiet laugh, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, yet his tone struggles to contain his amusement.

Khushi watches him closely, something in his reaction unsettling her. “It actually was,” she responds, deadpan, her tone colder than before.

Can it be him?

BSc in Computer Science from MIT.

But, but, but..

Why would he frame his best friend?

And why didn't Mr.Raizada share this information with Aman?

Does Mr.Raizada not trust him fully?

Does he suspect Aman or what?

If that was the case, then sharing this information with Aman would be dangerous. But it could also open new doors for her.

If he is indeed that hacker, the one pulling the strings from the shadows, she could play him. Mislead him.

Just like he did to her.

Aman’s gaze sharpens, just for a moment, before his expression softens again. “Excuse me?”

“He created the account when he was twelve. He’s older now…I guess.”

“And how do you know that?”

“He told me.”

Aman studies her for a second, his brow furrowing further. “He told you? When? How? I mean, I’m happy to help you find him if you need, but I don’t want to get tangled up in some… lovers' spat.”

“It’s not like that,” her voice sharper than she intended, her eyes studying him. She then quickly looks away. “We bumped into each other.....talked from time to time. He's intriguing, kind of a genius...he taught me many online spying techniques. With that, I collected lots of evidence. Evidence that he ultimately stole.”

“So… you were friends?” The way Aman is looking at her now makes her uncomfortable. It’s as if he’s studying her, dissecting every word, every movement as if she’s some specimen under a microscope.

She shifts uneasily, wishing she could retreat from his probing eyes.

She feels the knot in her stomach tighten. “I don’t know,” she murmurs, staring at the screen but not really seeing it. “Can you even call online acquaintances friends?”

His gaze softens, and he nods slowly.

“I think you can. And I think you’re upset because, online or not, you considered him as a friend....or at least a confidant. You trusted him.” He pauses, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression. “And he betrayed you.”

She doesn’t know why his words feel like they’re cutting deeper than they should. She looks at the laptop, forcing herself to focus on the work that still needs to be done.

It doesn’t matter.

But it does. She doesn’t know why, but it does.

All her life everyone just did that.

Betrayed her.

Her parents betrayed her.

Her best friend betrayed her.

TheShadowMonster betrayed her.

It's the new trend.

Betraying Khushi Sen Gupta.

“Can I have a word?”

She pauses at the threshold of the lavish office, her steps faltering as her eyes land on him.

Seated in the high-backed, leather chair, he exudes an almost unnatural stillness, his sharp features illuminated by the faint glow of the sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Mr.Raizada looks up, “Isn't that why I am here?”

She rolls her eyes. She texted him yesterday after she recovered all of the data from that laptop. That was some highly encrypted CBI laptop, and it took almost two days for her to decrypt it.

"Glad that your sarcastic tongue didn't fall off. But I want to talk about something else."

"Hmm, take a seat."

“We got interrupted discussing our deal terms that night,” she says, her voice steady but her hands fidgeting at her sides. “We didn't settle actually what I want from our deal." He remains silent, so she continues, "I want you to make me disappear. New identity, new address…somewhere far away from here...anywhere, as long as it's not here.”

He leans back in his chair, his sharp gaze scrutinizing her. “Done.”

Her breath hitches at his quick agreement. “I have it open,” she says, turning the laptop screen toward him. “What do you want me to do with it?”

“That was fast.”

She smirks faintly. “Was that a test?"

He chuckles, "No."

"Why are we looking into a CBI agent’s laptop? And I know you took it from my father’s study, don't you dare deny it.”

"Good morning, Boss," Aman enters the room and takes the chair beside her, "Good morning, Khushi."

It doesn't escape her eyes how his eyes narrow, and his browns darken at Aman's calling her by her first name. But he quickly drapes his stoic mask over his face.

"I promised you evidence against Mr.Gupta, didn't I? Consider it a token of appreciation for you to accept my deal." His lips curl into a smirk that doesn’t reach his eyes. “And...I’m not entirely sure about the CBI agent part. Either he was an undercover mafia operative in the CBI, or an undercover CBI agent in the mafia, doubling as a dealer in the Triad Tribe.” He leans forward, his tone low and pointed. “You know about the Triad Tribe, right?”

She stays silent, nodding faintly.

“Anyway, Mr. Gupta killed him,” Mr.Raizada continues, his voice growing colder. “The owner might have used the laptop as a shield to protect himself from getting shot.”

“There are multiple IP addresses of warehouses,” she says after a moment, her fingers flying across the keys. “Information about shipments… What’s in these warehouses? Arms? Drugs?”

“Humans.”

Her fingers freezes mid-typing. She looks up sharply, her face pale. “But human trafficking was shut down…”

“The Serpents are trying to reopen it,” he says, his voice dark, his jaw tightening. “They’re exploiting their special privileges with the border in West Bengal and the influx of Rohingyas in Bangladesh. They’re collecting people, trying to strike a deal with the Chicago Outfit as a test run. If it works, every other family will jump at the chance to restart it.”

She stares at the screen, her throat tightening. “I looked into all of them. Only few of them have CCTV cameras. I hacked into them yesterday. They were empty."

"They'll probably fill up the warehouses a few days before the shipment. To avoid suspicion." Aman adds.

She looks at the dates of the shipment and sees the warehouse with a CCTV camera has the closest date, two days from today. "Let me look into it again." The feed appears instantly. Her voice trembles as she continues. “They’re all kids… boys mainly. What, six or seven years old?”

Mr.Raizada's face darkened. “The Chicago Outfit has an assassin-making organisation called the 'League of Shadows',” he says, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. “They train children into killers and sell them to clients....or use them to eliminate their enemies. Kids that young are more impressionable. Easy to mold. Loyal....they might be in storage of children to train.”

"This shipments can't happen...I don't want to empower the enemies any further. Tomorrow, they could send one of these boys to slit my throat in my sleep. Who knows?" He adds with a shrug.

“Can’t we do anything to stop it?” she asks as she glances back at the screen.

“I hope you can,” he says, his tone softening for the first time, though his expression remained grim. “Alert CBI about the shipment discreetly, not the police. The police are in Mr.Gupta's pocket.”

She nods her head faintly

"Are you guys up for an outing this evening?" Mr.Raizada asks, his voice low and calm, but his eyes glint dark.

"Excuse me?"

"A celebratory outing to welcome you in our company. We are going to a casino." Aman says with fake enthusiasm.

"What do you mean?" She asks utterly bewildered.

"You will see," Mr.Raizada says in a grave voice.

That’s what she’s seeing.

A tablet screen.

It is balanced precariously on her lap as she sits on the lid of a commode in a restroom stall. The underground fighting arena roars to life just beyond the walls, the sound vibrating through the tiled floor beneath her feet.

Such a celebratory outing.

“Khushi, are you done?” Aman’s voice crackles through her earpiece, his tone strained but calm.

“Almost,” she whispers back. “Just ten more seconds.”

The chanting from the arena grows louder with each passing moment, a relentless tide of sound pressing against her nerves. Her disguise feels stifling. The jet-black straight-haired wig with its blunt bangs and the large black-rimmed glasses perched awkwardly on her nose, that was all she could come up with to hide her identity. She shifts uncomfortably, hoping the disguise is convincing enough.

They are all on an undercover mission, Aman and her. Mr.Raizada tasked them with hacking the Triad Tribe database stored in a server room of the casino above this underground arena. It could only be accessed from close proximity, forcing them into this chaotic labyrinth, or should she say restroom. She is sure two people in her next stall are having sex.

She closes her eyes, taking some deep breaths. She instantly regrets her decision. It smells like something have died in here, something probably have.

She taps rapidly on the tablet, installing the undetected virus into their system. Once successful, they’ll have full access to the Triad tribe’s sprawling empire... casinos, resorts, hotels, and more.

Finally, the screen blinks in confirmation. Mission accomplished.

“Done,” she whispers.

Minutes later, they make their way toward the main hall where the fights are taking place. The moment they step inside, a bell rings, and the crowd erupts. A massive, burly man thumps his chest like a gorilla, roaring in triumph as his opponent lies unconscious on the floor. The crowd is mostly men and a few women, with some bouncer-type scary men standing around the ring and against the walls keeping an eye on everyone.

She adjusts her glasses, keeping her head low as she and Aman take their seats in the gallery overlooking the fighting ring. She has never been in places like that before.

The cacophony of the crowd swallows them, the metallic tang of sweat and blood sharp in the air. And despite the overwhelming chaos, her focus zeroes in on the centre ring.

The announcer's loud voice echoes in the space, "NOW TAKING THE STAGE...THE LEGEND, THE ALL TIME WINNER...THE STOWSTOPPEEEERRR, AT 225 POUNDS, 125 VICTORIES, DHRUUUUV RAO."

Dhruv Rao steps into the ring. Shirtless except for his boxing shorts with all of his muscles in full display. The crowd goes crazy at his arrival.

Her nose crinkles in disgust like she smells something rotten. Well, she won't mind watching Dhruv Rao taking some punches tonight.

"AND HERE COMES OUR ANONYMOUS GUEST TONIGHT. AT 200 POUNDS, AND 0 VICTORIES."

A roll of "haha's" and "boos" ripples through the crowd as the man in question steps into the circle of harsh fluorescent lights.

A predator in disguise among his prey.

A wolf in a black coat.

Well literally in full black.

He’s dressed in a black full sleeved t-shirt that clings to his defined, muscular frame like a second skin, paired with dark combat pants. Thick white gauges wrap around his knuckles.

His face is obscured by a simple black mask, covering the top half of his face, leaving his eyes and his already damp-with-sweat hair exposed. The strands falls back over his eyes in tousled disarray. His mouth and jaw below the mask are visible, highlighting the tension in his clenched teeth. Yet he seems utterly unaffected by the roaring crowd. His calm is unnerving.

"Are you disappointed that he'll fight like that?" Aman asks, his eyes carefully scanning the arena.

"What do you mean?" She leans slightly closer.

"I mean, he’s fully clothed," he gestures toward the ring with a subtle nod. "I came to my first underground fight expecting flesh, blood, and sweat. Instead, I get a guy in a tactical black outfit. Feels like I’ve been cheated."

She smirks, her tone teasing. "You wanna see him shirtless, huh?"

"What?" Aman scoffs, though the corner of his mouth twitches. "Don’t act like you don’t. After all the pain that bastard put me through, I at least deserve the satisfaction of seeing him beaten black and blue." His tone is almost affectionate, almost.

"You know very well why he can't be shirtless."

Aman sighs dramatically. "Yeah, yeah. It’s not like I forgot." He pauses, his expression shifting to one of mock pride. "But let me tell you about that shirt...it’s a polymer blend. Practically indestructible. I pitched the idea, of course...That guy is very particular about what he puts in his body."

Her brows knit slightly, and she glances back at the figure in the ring. "I noticed…" shit, "I mean, not noticed. Please forget that I said anything," she fumbles, immediately regretting her words as Aman chuckles under his breath.

He shouldn’t be here, same as them.

None of them should be here.

If he went shirtless, his tattoos would be visible. People would know who he is.

"If they could’ve seen just a glimpse of that bird tattoo on the back of his hand, this arena would be dead silent right now," Aman chuckles, more to himself than anyone else.

The weight of his words hangs heavy in the air. She finds herself staring at the man in the ring again, wondering how someone can command this much power without even lifting a fist yet.

"Does that tattoo mean anything, or only for aesthetics?" She asks feigning nonchalance.

"Probably, I don't know."

That man is a vault. Ever his best friend doesn't know everything about him. She chuckles internally.

"He got that in his first year of college. He trademarked it in his name. Nobody in the Triad is allowed to have this tattoo." Aman finishes with a low chuckle.

"That's pretty early. How many tattoos does he have other than that?"

Aman smirks, tilting his head as if to taunt her. "Wouldn’t you like to know? Though I haven’t seen him shirtless in a long time...but not much. He’s got his Eagle on his back and a Bratva tattoo on his chest."

"The Bratva? As in the Russian mafia?" Her eyebrows furrow.

"He is an honorary member of that mafia family, particularly a captain."

"How? Is he going to marry the Russian mafia princess," she says teasingly, but the expression on Aman's face turns sly, so she adds bewildered, "He is, isn’t he?"

Aman chuckles, shaking his head. "That’s his personal matter. You have to ask him."

"Why would I? Not that I care," she mutters quickly, crossing her arms. Heat rushes to her cheeks as she quickly looks away.

"Of course not," he quips, biting back a laugh. "Why should you?...Anyways, Dhruv Rao’s about to regret ever stepping into that ring....I am waiting for this crowd to go pin-drop silent when Dhruv hits the ground."

She arches a brow, "Confident much?"

"That’s what best friends are for," Aman said lightly, though his gaze lingered on Arnav, a glimmer of something deeper flashing in his eyes. "Cheering through life...and making sure the world knows who’s boss...and besides do you know who trained him."

She shakes her head.

"The league of Shadows. Dhruv Rao doesn't even stand a chance. But we have let him think that he does. It's fun, isn't it?"

The league of Shadows.

The assassin organization he was talking about in the morning. That explains all his wall climbing and all.

Her attention shifts as the crowd erupts in cheers. The arena turns into a brutal, chaotic world of sweat, blood, and adrenaline. The roar of the crowd echoes off the concrete walls, deafening and relentless. Harsh fluorescent lights cast an almost theatrical glow over the bloodstained mat.

And there he is.

The man in black.

The sharp angles of his face are illuminated under the stark lights, his expression unreadable. He looks entirely out of place in this savage setting yet utterly at home.

A loud bell rings, signalling the start of the fight. Dhruv charges first, roaring, fists flying, hoping to overwhelm the masked man with sheer force. But the vulture is faster, more precise. He sidesteps, the rush of Dhruv's attack barely grazing his side.

Dhruv charges again, throwing wild

punches. This time, his blow connects. A brutal hook to the jaw that sent the vulture stumbling. The crowd erupts in cheers.

Her heart leaps forward as she winches as well. The crowd’s cheers blur into white noise as her focus narrows to the man in the ring. She doesn't like the idea of him being hurt.

What's wrong with you, Khushi?

He's the enemy.

He straightens up slowly, his expression unreadable at first as blood trickles down the corner of his mouth. He drags his thumb from the corner of his mouth across his chin, smearing the blood along his jawline before spitting

a crimson glob onto the ground.

Slowly, he turned back to Dhruv, his lips curling into a sinister smile. The crowd hushes seeing this menacing aura. Dangerous, dark, and unsettling.

It sends a shiver down her spine.

He tilts his head, wiping the blood by the backside of his hand as if savouring the taste of his own pain.

She hates the helpless awe curling in her chest. He is as sinister as the devil and twice the pretty. He is all seven of the deadly sins wrapped in a tall, alluring frame.

She can't comprehend how something as menacing as this moment can be so maddeningly captivating and so utterly mesmerising.

He cracks his neck, and then, in a fluid motion, the devil delivers a brutal elbow to Dhruv's ribs before Dhruv can block them. The sickening crack of bone echoes in the arena. Dhruv stumbles, gasping for breath. The vulture delivers some quick jabs to Dhruv's shoulder and a spinning kick to his knee, making Dhruv kneel on the ground.

Still Dhruv stands up and lunges again, this time with a knee aimed at the gut, but the vulture catches him mid-air, twisting with brutal force, slamming his body to the ground with a brutal thud. The sound reverberated through the arena. The crowd's roar falters, and their cheers turn into stunned silence.

Blood drips from Dhruv's mouth as he groans, struggling to lift himself. The vulture circles Dhruv as he pushes himself to his knees. With a sharp twist of his torso, the man in black delivers a punishing uppercut to the kneeling man's jaw. The force of the punch snaps Dhruv's head back, his body collapsing back to the ground.

But the devil doesn't stop. He's relentless, almost animalistic. He takes hold of Dhruv's hair as his fist slams into Dhruv's face once, twice, three times, each blow raw and brutal. His knuckles crack and bleed, but he doesn't stop.

A few more strikes and Dhruv is barely conscious, his face a mangled mess of bruises and cuts. He stands over Dhruv, breathing heavily, eyes wild as his opponent lies sprawling on the bloodstained mat.

And the arena falls into the pin-drop silence Aman wished before. And all she does is watch, watch and watch him. His breathing is ragged, and knuckles are raw and bleeding, but his face remains impassive, a mask of icy composure.

But his eyes, they tell different story.

Dark. Unyielding. Wild.

And they meet hers, the same time the crowd erupts again. This time in a roar for him.

Yet, his eyes hold onto hers, unwavering, through the chaos around them.

They pierce through her with a force that causes goosebumps to erupt in her skin. His browns darkest she ever saw.

Raw. Untamed. Feral.

And that leaves her utterly undone.

It feels like an eternity.

There's a dangerous intimacy in his gaze, an undeniable claim.

She should be afraid. But she's not.

The animal in him calls to the animal in her, and she can’t look away.

He is a weapon.

There's a raw, primal violence in him.

The violence that paints the floor with his opponent's blood. Each strike is devastatingly precise, his strength terrifyingly controlled. She's captivated by the way he stands untouched by the brutality he's just unleashed.

lt's terrifying.

It's magnetic.

It's beautiful.

It's making her feel alive in a way she’s never felt before. A raw monsterous hunger consumes her, burning through every nerve, every inch of her skin.

And the answer to that hunger terrifies her. The beast in him, the predator in him, the monster in him that calls to her, but it’s also the thing that could destroy her.

And she has a frightening feeling.

This beauty won't survive her beast.

If Arnav Singh Raizada ever happens to her, she won't survive him and she won't let him survive her either.

She and him.

They are monsters.

They will rip each other apart, limb by limb, drowning in destruction, before they'll let each go, before he'll be out of her system.

Author's Note:

This author is very lazy. Lovely Readers please have your patience. See you soon. Coming up next: a date night 😜.

@arshifiesta @featheredclover @phuljari @chutkiandchotte @jalebi-weds-bluetooth @simplycurlz @9artsdragon @chaiandtakkar

#arnav singh raizada #ipkknd #khushi kumari gupta #arnav and khushi #arshi #13 years of ipkknd #arshi fanfic #crimson_shade #ipk 13th anniversary fiesta

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lboogie1906 · 24 days ago

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Dr. Betty Shabazz (Betty Dean Sanders; May 28, 1934 – June 23, 1997) known as Betty X, was an educator and civil rights, advocate. She was the wife of Malcolm X.

She was born Betty Dean Sanders to Ollie May Sanders and Shelman Sandlin. She was born in Pinehurst. She was placed with Lorenzo Don Malloy and Helen Lowe Malloy who became her foster parents.

She grew up in Detroit. She graduated from Northern High School in Detroit and enrolled in Tuskegee Institute where she began studying elementary education. She switched her major to nursing after months of working at the front desk at the campus hospital. She graduated from Brooklyn State College of Nursing in New York City with a BS.

She joined the Nation of Islam. She became Sister Betty X and for the first time began to publicly acknowledge racism in America. She married Malcolm (1958-1965). They were parents to six girls (the twins were born after his assignation).

She began giving public lectures which focused on the African American condition. She fought for education and human-rights causes, as well as issues crucial to women and children.

She earned an MA in Public Health Administration at Jersey City State College. She taught remedial reading and childhood health care, while she was completing her Ph.D. in Education at the University of Massachusetts at Amherst. She joined the faculty of Medgar Evers College. She became the College’s director of public relations.

She spent her final years trying to remind audiences of the historical legacy of her husband Malcolm X. By the early 1990s renewed interest in Malcolm X, including the 1992 film of the same name with Denzel Washington playing the title role, helped increase popular awareness of that legacy. She died three weeks after her grandson, set fire to her Yonkers, New York apartment. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence #deltasigmatheta

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haggishlyhagging · 2 years ago

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While men beat women at home, they ridiculed them in public. The jokes aimed at temperance women and "bloomer-girl" suffragists persist to our own day. They struck not just at avowed feminists, but at any woman who stepped out of her "wifely occupation." An 1860 cartoon in Vanity Fair depicted women salesclerks as "counter jumpers" in short hair and mustaches. And in 1866 a cartoon in Yankee Notions pictured a bestselling novelist "engaged in writing her last new sensational novel" while impatiently waving away a husband who holds a squalling baby, and ignoring three other screaming children. William Lloyd Garrison attributed this ridicule and derision of the women's rights movement not to "ignorance" but to "the natural out break of tyranny. . . . It is because the tyrants and usurpers are alarmed," he said. "They have been and are called to judgment, and they dread the examination and exposure of their position and character."

If men feared these women who refused to stay in their assigned sphere, they had as much to fear from the women who stayed at home. Those apparently domesticated women, deprived of all legal and political rights, were far more likely to resort to violence and men knew it. Wives might at least fight back. In Lawrence, Massachusetts, Patrick Doherty's wife pulled out a pistol to stop him from beating her with a stick; he swung anyway and hit the gun, which went off and killed him. Or women might as perhaps Mrs. Doherty actually did—take the offensive in the domestic battle. In Massachusetts in 1857, during debate over a legislative bill to grant a larger share of a man's estate to his surviving widow, an opposing senator argued that "wives were already too much disposed to rid themselves of their husbands." Citing several cases of women who allegedly murdered their husbands to get their property, he argued that increasing the widow's portion would only whet the wife's murderous inclinations. In the same year, in a remarkable sermon in defense of slavery, an Alabama minister described the typical wife's position: analogous to a slave's and, like it, ordained by God.

Your service is very, very, very often involuntary from the first, and, if voluntary at first becomes hopeless necessity afterwards. . . . the husband may not . . . love you. He may rule you with the rod of iron. What can you do? Be divorced? God forbid it, save for crime. Will you say that you are free, that you will go where you please, do as you please? Why ye dear wives, your husbands may forbid. And listen, you cannot leave New York, . . . not leave your parlor, nor your bedchamber, nor your couch, if your husband commands you to stay there. What can you do? Will you run away with your stick and your bundle? He can advertise you! What can you do? You can, and I fear some of you do, wish him, from the bottom of your hearts at the bottom of the Hudson.

Bathsheba Spooner, with the help of her friends, had wished her husband to the bottom of the well. But there were other, more subtle ways of shaking off the yoke, ways more appropriate to woman's domestic sphere. Woman was thought to be "fitted by nature to cheer the aflicted, elevate the depressed, minister to the wants of the feeble and diseased . . ." For the wife whose duty it was to cook the meals and nurse the ailing, what could be simpler than poison? First one case and then another was reported. As agitation for women's rights increased, men (and antifeminist women) shrilled that the traditional marriage relationship, established by God, would be destroyed. Women would no longer respect, serve, and obey their husbands. They might even turn against them, as indeed it seemed some women were doing in a direct, personal, sneaky, and lethal way. The rights of woman were at issue, but the fear of woman was never far from the surface of any debate. The poisoning wife became the specter of the century—the witch who lurked in woman's sphere and haunted the minds of men.

-Ann Jones, Women Who Kill

#ann jones #american history #feminist history #womens history #female violence #amerika

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inkabelledesigns · 1 year ago

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Happy Pi Day everyone! Today I'm gonna tell you a story about the last time I celebrated this holiday.

My senior year of high school, I took a statistics class, because it doubled as a math credit for the community college I was going to in the near future. And of course, because it's a math class, our teacher encouraged us to bring in pie if we felt the urge. So, I don't think I've ever disclosed this, but for most of my life, my mom's baking has been one of the things she's known for. Birthday treats, helping out with the bake sales for the theater group, holiday parties, get togethers with the barbershoppers, Mom was always there with some kind of tasty dessert. And if you were in the know, you looked forward to it. Now, I am not as skilled in the kitchen as my mom, but I'd like to think I do a decent job, so twice in my life, I've baked for my class, and this was the second time. (The first was when I was in fifth grade. I made chocolate chip cookies, the state cookie of Massachusetts, because we all got assigned a state to do a report on, and then we had a luncheon where we brought foods from those states. I was so proud to have baked them all by myself, it was my first time doing so! Showed off my burn mark to anyone who asked where I got them from.)

So I've never made a pie in my life, but the phrase "easy as pie" really does ring true. Pie isn't hard, you just have to follow the instructions. I opted to make tollhouse pie, since it's basically a chocolate chip cookie in pie form, and chocolate chip cookies are my specialty. I was one of four students who brought in pie, and mine was very well loved. Not too messy to serve, universal appeal to this audience, it was good. And on top of that, it was a half day. So what was left of my pie came with me to choir that day, and everyone wanted a piece. So there was not much that came home with me. It felt really good. I get a special kind of joy out of making things for others, and food is especially nice since I know people don't get homemade treats very often.

#pi day #food #baking #tollhouse pie

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covid-safer-hotties · 10 months ago

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COVID-19 vaccination mandates boosted uptake among health care workers - Published Aug 30, 2024

Should health care workers be required to obtain the COVID-19 vaccine? A new study examines the effectiveness of COVID-19 mandates

At the peak of the COVID-19 pandemic in 2021, governments and health care centers across the country faced a difficult but important question: Should health care workers be required to obtain the COVID-19 vaccine?

It was an economic quandary as much as an ethical one. Vaccine mandates could cause reductions in staff, either from workers missing time due to recovery from the vaccine or from opting to seek employment elsewhere. Additionally, health care workers are highly educated on the value of vaccines and had seen firsthand the perils of COVID-19, reasons to think them capable of making the best decisions for themselves and their patients.

Now, a new study from researchers at Tulane University has found that state-level COVID-19 vaccination mandates successfully increased vaccine rates among health care workers, a finding that, while perhaps unsurprising, provides evidence that the policy can boost vaccination rates even among a highly vaccinated, highly educated population.

The study, published in JAMA Network Open, examined vaccination rates among more than 30,000 health care workers in 45 states, 16 of which issued COVID vaccination mandates. Researchers found a 3-4% increase in vaccinations among the group, an improvement on an already lofty baseline vaccination rate of 86%. The study only found increases in vaccination rates in states that required vaccinations and provided no option to opt-out.

“It’s great from a government perspective to see this policy increase vaccination rates in an already very highly vaccinated population,” said corresponding author Charles Stoecker, a health economist with Tulane University School of Public Health and Tropical Medicine. “These results also show that how we craft these regulations matters. States that provided an option to take a regular COVID test in lieu of getting vaccinated didn’t see the same impacts as the strict mandate states.”

The findings provide valuable insight on the role vaccine mandates can play in the event of a future pandemic and why such mandates may be justified.

“The federal government has shown that it will defer to the states on this issue, and states have rolled back their mandates, but now we know we have this toolkit,” Stoecker said. “In the event of a new pandemic, this shows we’re leaving some vaccination coverage on the table if we let even highly educated health care workers decide for themselves.”

The vaccination increases were primarily seen in health care workers between the ages of 25-49 years. The 16 states which passed and upheld vaccine mandates without opt-outs were California, Colorado, Connecticut, Delaware, Illinois, Maine, Maryland, Massachusetts, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, Washington, and Washington, DC.

Stoecker said the next step would be to examine how these mandates affected disease transmission, which could help quantify the economic impact such policies have.

“The ultimate goal would be to be able to assign economic benefits to the vaccinations that happened because of the mandates,” Stoecker said.

jamanetwork.com/journals/jamanetworkopen/fullarticle/2822221

#covid #mask up #pandemic #covid 19 #wear a mask #coronavirus #sars cov 2 #public health #still coviding #wear a respirator

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skylarstark4826 · 9 months ago

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General Namora, cousin of the Great Feathered Serpent-God, K’ulk’ukan and protector of Talokan, had been given missions less important…though not by much.

In fact, every day that passed made her realize this might actually be the worst assignment she’d ever been given.

“Queen Shuri has promised that the scientist will not endanger our people,” K’ulk’ukan had said three moons ago, after the war between theirs and the Wakandan peoples had come to an end as abrupt as the beginning had been. “Even so…I want you to keep an eye on the scientist.”

She had been glad that her cousin had resumed using the cunning logic his people knew him to have—rather than continue to let his…preference for the new queen of Wakanda cloud his judgment.

It had done that enough, Namora thought…though she would never disrespect him by outright saying so.

“I’ll guard the scientist’s every move as best I can.” She would be limited, of course, since she could not move about on land freely.

As if reading her mind, K’ulk’ukan had picked something up off his painting table—a sheer cloth he handed to her.

It felt strange to the touch—cold yet soft, though she could pick out individual grains of material within. It was some kind of vibranium design—she could feel the power of it thrumming lightly in her hand.

“You can put it over your water-mask.” He explained. “It will turn it invisible, so no humans will know you wear it.”

She stared at him incredulously. “You want me to remain on the surface while watching the scientist?”

“It won’t be forever.” K’ulk’ukan reassured her. “A few months, at most. Perhaps sooner, if Talokan is in need of their general.”

Namora perked up. “Do you think the tides are turning that way?” She didn’t bother keeping the slight eagerness out of her voice. K’ulk’ukan knew as well as anyone else her feeling regarding the surface world—and their newfound, shaky alliance with Wakanda.

“Let’s hope they do not.” K’ulk’ukan replied. “We may need Wakanda’s help one day—same as they will need ours.” He touched his forehead to hers lightly. “In the meantime—I know you will continue to honor Talokan with this task.”

***

It had been over a month already, and Namora was still here. Leaving her beloved ocean and its endless depths for this…godforsaken place. Massachusetts. Even the name of this place was hideous.

And it was crowded—the territory that the scientist attended most of all. Campus, not territory. So many words she’d picked up—English was an absurd, blocky language that even Namora—who spoke twelve languages—struggled to grasp sometimes. Not that she had to bother—she did not deign to speak to any mortal if she could help it. And they seemed to avoid her instinctively, as if they subconsciously recognized a predator in their midst.

It was also cold—not that the cold bothered Namora—but the dryness of it certainly did—it seemed to leech all the moisture from her skin like a million microscopic parasites. She had to go back to the water hourly, which was just yet another inconvenience to handle daily.

And lately, to add insult to injury, it had begun to snow—a lot. Hindering Namora’s steps like cloying hands—gods, how she despised the snow. It was just wretched—and the ice underneath…Namora had almost lost her footing more than once on the ice.

She was known for her swift grace back home, yet the mortal world made her almost clumsy, ungainly as a newborn whale calf.

The fact that the young mortals in this town seemed to enjoy it only added to her unending annoyance. When the snow had just begun to fall, the scientist, Riri Williams—a typical, bizarre mortal name like all the others—had strung up some sort of multi-colored lights in the window of the room she lived in, and Namora had seen her wearing some of the ugliest, gaudy garments she’d ever seen. Christmas sweaters, they were called. Namora wondered if wearing them was meant as some sort of human penance.

A few weeks into the snow season, most of the young mortals departed for their Christmas celebrations. Namora had come to understand that most returned to the homes and families they had left behind for their education, yet the scientist Riri Williams did not leave with the rest of them. The woman remained mostly in her room, but when she left, it was to go to a large, abandoned building where she continued her little projects. Namora kept an eye on those especially, but none of it looked close to the machine that had mined vibranium from the sea. Instead, she recognized the majority of the scientist’s work to be improvements and changes to the suit she had worn to battle. The suit she’d worn when Namora had fought her.

The memory never failed to stir her ire; although that hardly mattered, when her ire was in a constant state of stirring. This very land disgusted and angered her, and Riri Williams was the face of it all. She would never have been given this task if they’d killed the scientist like she’d wanted, like they should have—but her king didn’t seem to see the logic in much when the princess of Wakanda was involved.

She would never understand his fascination with that surface-dweller—or any surface-dweller, for that matter.

Her cousin Attuma felt the same as she, but he was oceans away, at his own task, watching a potential enemy actually worthy of their respect, rather than a mortal scientist who was weak as a child without her suit.

If she hadn’t had that suit, she wouldn’t have stood a chance against Namora. None.

If K’ulk’ukan hadn’t forbidden her from harming the scientist, she would have already challenged her to another battle. And this time, she would win. She would crush the younger woman as easy as a lionfish’s jaws could snap a minnow in half.

Without the suit, the mortal wouldn’t have a chance.

Of course, that indisputable fact didn’t matter. She wasn’t allowed to interfere at all, with one exception that Namora had dismissed as a possibility the moment K’ulk’ukan had informed her of said exception.

So once again, Namora was trapped here, waiting in the abandoned warehouse across the street from the one that the scientist was working in, trying to ignore the reek of rat urine, feces, and dust. The furry little monsters numbered in the hundreds in this building alone, but they seemed to know better than to bother her, no doubt sensing the danger she represented, the same way mortals seemed to. And although the rats watched her with wary, dark eyes—truly, Namora suspected their intellect was underestimated by humans—they avoided coming within twenty feet of her.

Smart.

The scientist stayed up well into the night, especially since the mortal holidays had occurred. It was only a couple hours before sunrise this night before she finally left the warehouse that she did her work in.

As the scientist left, putting her backpack over her shoulders, she hardly even looked tired—which annoyed Namora further, since even she was beginning to feel exhaustion pull at her. It wasn’t just the late hour, she knew—it was the damned tedium of this; of watching a weak mortal day in and day out go about her boring existence—brilliant she might be, but her work meant little to Namora, who had been trained with the blade and spear before she could walk, not the…pen, as this mortal had been. The numbers she scribbled on her board like a maniac might as well have been seahorse-scratchings to Namora. Incomprehensible. It wasn’t that the Talokans didn’t have their own arithmetic’s and geometry and science—they did, and Namora had been given basic schooling in those—but it was not even similar to the mortal versions, and Namora didn’t deign to bother to learn them.

Ixchel willing, she wouldn’t be here much longer, so what would the point even be?

She left the warehouse she’d been staying in, slow and unhurried. The mortal would return to her rooms, and Namora would take what sleep she could before her charge awoke and started this banal pattern once again.

But Namora had barely left the building before a sound made her sharp hearing perk up.

Multiple voices, including that of the scientist. It was easy for Namora to detect the fear in her voice—she was an apex predator, after all, a trained warrior. It was even gratifying to hear it, if she was being honest. However, letting the girl be harmed by any mortal was the opposite of what K’ulkukan would want.

Namora took out the wickedly curved blade at her side—cut from the fang-tooth fish and reinforced with vibranium—and stalked the shadows of the alley until she came upon the girl, surrounded by three males.

“I won’t ask again. Give me your bag and your phone, and we’ll let you go.”

Another chuckled, evil intent clear. “Eventually.”

The girl was small—smaller than Namora, and almost tiny compared to these men, who reeked of filth and lust and anger. But she only clutched her bag tighter, squaring her shoulders. “I’ll give you the phone, but there’s only school papers in here. I can show you…”

The man raised the weapon he had—the crude, weak metal that nonetheless shot a deadly projectile, a single one of which could kill a mortal with a single blow. Namora had seen them kill her own kind, too—when her people had been forced to step in and take the vibranium miner in the middle of the ocean.

The memory always served to enrage her, and she stepped out from the shadows, needing to draw blood.

The men looked at her, and one by one expressions of surprise and disbelief crossed over their faces.

“What the fuck?” the one with the gun had time to say, before Namora threw the knife, plunging it into his throat.

The scientist shrieked, stumbling back in shock, but Namora paid her no mind, leaping the distance to rip out the knife from the first man’s neck—the blood splattering her face like war paint—and she turned in time to shove it through the flying fist of the man who’d commented about letting the scientist go ‘eventually’.

Namora’s people did not possess this sort of…evil perversion, and faced with the presence of it now, she felt utterly merciless as she yanked the blade out and then jammed it low.

His screams were like music to her, making her blood sing with it.

Gods, she’d missed this.

He didn’t scream for long—it wouldn’t do to attract any more attention than they already had. With one sharp pull, she snapped his neck, and he dropped to the ground with a thud.

The last man was running, but Namora wasn’t finished. Adrenaline racing through her, the sheer joy of doing what she did best, she leapt onto the garbage bin and used the high ground to launch herself at him moments before he made it out of the alleyway. He crashed to the ground with her on top, bones breaking, but he would live.

“Tell the others the scientist Riri Williams that she is off-limits.” Her voice was a smooth snarl even through the translator. “She belongs to Talokan, and any who harm her will die.”

“What the fuck,” The man struggled weakly, unsuccessfully. “There are no others—“

“If there aren’t—“ She bent down to whisper in his ear. “Then why would I need to spare you to send a message?”

His eyes widened, and he froze. The reek of urine came. “I—I’ll pass it along…”

“Be sure to.” She climbed off of him, watched him scramble to his feet. “Or I’ll hunt you down, and your death will not be quick.”

He ran like his life depended on it. Which it did, of course.

***

She expected the scientist to have fled—but she was still huddled against the dumpster, clutching her bag and looking sick. In fact, she already had been—a pile of vomit was close to her feet.

Namora looked at her in disdain. “Your enemies are dead, and any further attacks have been warned to result in further destruction.”

“My…enemies...?” The girl spoke slowly, staring at Namora as if she would turn the blade on her at any moment.

“I spared the third to pass on the message,” She wiped said blade on the clothes of one of the men, and resheathed it.

“They—they were muggers, I don’t have enemies, I…I was going to handle it—“

Namora turned to her sharply, and the girl flinched. “How?”

“There’s…it was in my backpack…it would have just blinded them so I could get away…”

Namora scoffed. “These men intended to do you great harm. They had to die.”

“What—what do you even care?” Her voice was aghast, eyes wide. As if she still couldn’t understand how or why Namora was standing before her.

Namora ignored the question. She had no interest in conversing with the scientist, nor explaining herself. She owed her nothing. She took a vial out from her bag and began to toss the contents on the bodies. She could drag them to the ocean nearby and have the sharks devour them for her, but she didn’t trust the scientist to not do anything stupid if Namora left her, like call for help. The last thing she needed was the fucking Wakandan princess getting involved, or any of the neon-spattered Spandex wearing morons that littered this land like peacocks, for that matter. Superheroes, she thought they called themselves. Ridiculous.

“What are you doing?” The scientist asked now.

“This will disintegrate the bodies within the hour.” Already they were beginning to melt and sizzle.

The girl watched this for all of six seconds before she turned and vomited again. Mostly bile this time—she had nothing solid left.

Namora had had enough. Humans were just disgusting. There was no other way to put it. Marching forward, she grabbed the girl’s arm and began to pull her towards her school. It wasn’t a long walk, thank Ixchel.

But the girl tried to pull away. “Let go of me.”

Namora shook her. “I have had enough of you for the night. You will go home now.”

The scientist still tried jerking away. It was useless, of course. “I’m fine with that, but I’m not going to be dragged by you.”

Namora smiled cruelly. “It seems you have no choice. Since you’re as weak as a child without your suit.”

The girl stopped struggling, and for the first time true defiance entered her dark eyes. “Are you still angry I beat your ass?”

Namora released the girl before she could do something she’d later regret—like break her arm. “You’re nothing without that suit.” Her voice was a low hiss. “Nothing.”

The scientist only raised her chin, the words having no discernable effect. “Why are you here then, huh?” The defiance in her eyes was echoed in her voice. “Why’d you bother saving me at all?”

“I owe you no explanation. I’m here for reasons that are not your concern.” Namora turned away, walking towards the university, knowing the scientist wouldn’t dare not to follow.

“Did he send you?” The scientist asked now, running to catch up until she could see Namora’s face, watch her expressions.

They both knew what ‘he’ the scientist was referring to.

Namora was careful not to give anything away as she replied, “Again, my reasons are not your concern, and it’s in your best interest not to irritate me further tonight.”

“It’s morning.”

Namora clenched her jaw. It was true—the sky was lightening to a pale blue—but the scientist was saying it only to annoy her, she knew. “It’s a wonder you’ve survived this long.”

“I was doing great until your people showed up and tried to kill me.” The scientist’s next words were imbued with anger. “But that’s what your people are best at, right? Killing people.”

“Yes,” Namora knew it was meant to be an insult, but she also knew it would only anger the girl further if she wasn’t offended.

Although, it wasn’t exactly true, whether mortals—this mortal in particular—wanted to believe it or not, but her people were peaceful as a whole.

It was only the warriors who were without equal. Like herself.

Or…they had been, until the Wakandans had fought them. A tie was almost as bad as a loss, as far as Namora was concerned. There might be more Talokans than Wakandans, but during the battles, they’d more than held their own. Infuriatingly.

They arrived at the building where the scientist slept—the dorms. It was still quiet—the sun had not yet risen past the horizon, though it would very soon.

Namora turned to face her. “Go now. And do not speak of this.”

The scientist didn’t acknowledge the threat. “Where are you going to go?”

“What does the matter?” She snapped, true exhaustion making her temper shorter than usual. The rising sun—always far too bright for her comfort—did not help.

“Because you’re literally covered in blood, and unless there’s some kind of underground system you plan on zipping through, someone will see you and call the police.”

Namora glanced down at herself—and realized for the first time that she was indeed covered in blood. In the ocean, this was never something she had to deal with.

The scientist looked around, clearly antsy. “Look, why don’t you…come into the dorm and clean up—“

“I don’t need your help.” Namora hissed, though she had to admit, she wasn’t sure what other choice there was. It galled her, though. The last thing she wanted was to be in this girl’s debt in any way.

“We’ll call it even for you saving my life, ‘kay?” The scientist said. “Get the blood washed off and get a change of clothes and you can be on your way doing whatever it is you’re doing here, and then we can both pretend this never happened.”

Namora knew she had no choice, not really. Unfortunately, there were no underground tunnels to speak of, none big enough for her to travel through, anyway.

And there were far too many waking humans between her and the safety of the sea. The scientist was right--someone would see, and that was a complication Namora could not allow.

“…Fine.”

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yatescountyhistorycenter · 2 years ago

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Major Kirk and the Women's Army Corps

By Jonathan Monfiletto

When Uncle Sam called, a young woman from Penn Yan – much like many of the young men all around her – answered. And she not only rose to the call but went above and beyond it during her nearly three and a half years of service in World War II.

Less than six months after the United States of America entered the global conflict following the attack on Pearl Harbor by Japanese forces, the U.S. government – through a bill approved by Congress and signed by President Franklin Roosevelt – established the Women’s Auxiliary Air Corps on May 15, 1942 “for the purpose,” officially, “of making available to the national defense the knowledge, skill, and special training of women of the nation.” In actuality, it took a Congresswomen – U.S. Rep. Edith Nourse Rogers, of Massachusetts, who introduced the bill a year before it became law – to ensure women would receive all the rights and benefits afforded to male service members when they supported the Army, after she had witnessed the status of women in World War I.

Less than three months after the WAAC was formed, in September 1942, Carlotta “Kirk” Crosier became Yates County’s first woman to enlist in this new military organization. Having been employed as a physical education teacher in Owego public schools at the time, she joined through the Binghamton recruiting office. In fact, though she taught at Owego Free Academy for two years by that point, a newspaper article from the time indicates she did not return for the 1942-1943 school year because she anticipated a call to service.

From Binghamton, Crosier reported to Des Moines, Iowa for basic training at the rank of private. With her experience in physical education, she helped the platoon leader teach the other recruits how to march. Perhaps as a result, she was one of two privates selected for the first officers training course for women.

Upon completion of this officer candidate school, 2nd Lt. Crosier served as executive officer for an all-female company stationed in Daytona Beach, Florida but preparing for duty in England. When the unit was transferred to Fort Devon, Massachusetts and then Camp Kilmer, New Jersey, Crosier was promoted to company commander. When Crosier and her fellow women reached England in July 1943 – the first WAAC battalion to do so, with three to five companies – they were assigned to the 3rd Division of the 8th Air Force. Here, Crosier worked as a company commander under Gen. Curtis LeMay.

Initially, WAACs worked only as clerks, cooks, drivers, and medical personnel. Indeed, a newspaper report quoting an article by Doris Fleeson in the Woman’s Home Companion speaks of female troops under Crosier’s command performing clerical communications and mess duties.

In September 1943, though, Congress and the President – again, through the work of Rep. Rogers – authorized the Women’s Army Corps (WAC), shortening the acronym by a letter and allowing women to serve overseas with the regular Army. Now, women began to take on roles as cryptologists, radio operators, photographers, mechanics, and more.

At this point, it seems, 1st Lt. Crosier was transferred to the 8th Air Force Headquarters Operations Section commanded by Gen. Jimmy Doolittle. Later promoted to captain, she served as the first female operations watch officer in the history of the U.S. military. In this role, working in the operations room in a bombproof, underground structure, Crosier helped coordinate the missions that sent U.S. warplanes on the attack.

Listening to pre-mission discussions among Doolittle and his staff, Crosier helped supply such information as the weather and direct such decisions as the target, the time, the bombload, and the number of planes. When the group made its final decisions for the mission, it was Crosier’s job to write the field order containing all of the pertinent information, send it out by teletype to the bomber divisions, and alert allied agencies of the upcoming attack.

A newspaper article, with the date of March 9, 1944 handwritten on it, calls to attention Crosier’s role in the bombing raids over Berlin, Germany. According to the article, the London Daily Sketch of February 23, 1944 carried a 12-square-inch photograph of Crosier and had this to say about her: “The girl who knows ‘The Gen.’ She is Lt. Carlotta Crosier, U.S. Women’s Army corps, operations watch officer at Eighth Air Force H.Q. On her accuracy depends much of the co-ordination that sends U.S. planes out on attacks. When her chief, Major-General Jimmy Doolittle, asks: ‘How many bombers will we be able to put up tomorrow?’ she supplies the answer.”

Another newspaper article, handwritten with the year of 1945, noted in its headline then-Capt. Crosier “Continues as Watch Officer” and indicated she was among the WACs “contributing considerably toward the successful completion of air attacks against Nazi Europe.” These women kept a constant check on each air mission as it was flown and kept records and plans for future information. Crosier specifically informed generals and other officers who planned air operations on the progress and reports of the current missions and prepared them for any emergencies in which information must be relayed to the proper channels.

Yet another newspaper article dates presumably from about the spring or summer of 1945, as it states Crosier had returned home to Penn Yan after two and a half years of service. Then, she didn’t expect to be out of uniform until almost another year. Indeed, she was discharged as Maj. Crosier in January 1946. Upon her return, she noted how her with bombing missions over enemy territory turned into such missions as dropping supplies over the Netherlands. Then, with little work for the WACs to do but wait to go home, Crosier volunteered to assist with the filming of a documentary about what she and her fellow women did in the European theater. In fact, she was in Paris the day the French held a parade to celebrate V-E, or Victory in Europe, Day.

In a V-mail letter home that was printed in a 1943 report in The Chronicle-Express, Crosier commented on receiving the hometown newspaper overseas and finding fellow soldiers with ties to Penn Yan and the Finger Lakes region. She also seemed to sum up the mission of her fellow women during the war.

“I believe I’m very fortunate in being over here and all of the Wacs are hard at work now and doing a fine job,” she wrote. “I’m very proud of the girls in my command. We are attached to the air force and are very proud of that. … I was very fortunate in being given an opportunity of going up in a Flying Fortress and it sure was a wonderful ship. As you know we are all part of the army of the United States and are regularly G.I.’s now.”

#historyblog #history #museum #archives #american history #us history #local history #newyork #yatescounty #pennyan #military #army #worldwarII #wac #waac #womensauxiliaryaircorps #womensarmycorps #womenshistory

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