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stareaterau · 2 years ago

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Prologue

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Index

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I found this old recording from about 2 years and a half ago

I feel like it might be important to the story to come.

CW: mild description of violence towards end

Read below↓

or AO3

The recording opened with the shot of a rainy, empty street at night. The view is from the perspective of The Coward, you can't see their features. They held a cloak over their head and shoulders, whilst stumbling unsteadily on feet like long, dark, bird-like claws. The clank of soft metal tapped on the hard damp ground.

They stopped at an alley and pushed themselves up against a vending machine, breathing heavily. Their clothes were torn and fraying. The red jumper they were wearing seemed to have a long tear down one side, and the sleeve had instead been tied at the shoulder, exposing a dark metal limb with long talons, just like their feet.

They sat for a moment, mumbling incoherently to themselves.

There was a noise from down the alleyway and The Coward shrank against the wall, holding their breath, blending into the shadows.

???: Hey! I saw you running down here.

A tall figure rounded the corner. They were wearing a uniform, a blue jacket that had to be a size too small for them, with the sleeves rolled up and the collar popped.

They had a holster around their shoulder, that held a gun far too big and awkward for their frame, that they kept having to adjust back onto their shoulder.

The dim light of the vending machine illuminated their face. They had short brown hair with two long, braided strands, which were tied up at the back of their head, loose from running.

Their eyes were a soft green, and at angles reflected a bright blue. They were very unique and kind eyes.

[Profile found and documented. Let's call him The Hero.]

He turned down the alleyway and looked around cautiously.

The Hero: Oh… they turned into a vending machine?

The Coward, clearly moments away from being spotted, stepped forward.

The Coward: Rude.

The Hero: AHHH OH OH OH- oh you're still a person!

The Coward: And what are you? A jester?

The Hero: What? No, I'm a vindicator.

He pulled at the front of his jacket, showing off his newly stitched ‘V’ patch.

The Coward: Yeah, I can clearly see that, do they have a clown rank now?

The Hero: No? Why would they-

The Hero: Oh- you’re messing with me.

The Coward giggled, but they stopped quickly, as The Hero raised his gun, quietening them.

The Hero (trying to be intimidating): You’re messing with me, when I have a gun to your head?

The Coward scoffed.

The Coward: I'm hardly worried about being shot intentionally, you’re not even holding it right.

There was a clank, a shuffle, as The Hero looked at the gun and how he held it.

He shrugged, lowering the gun.

The Hero: ... I'm better with a bow.

The Coward: You gonna arrest me or what? Done flexing your superiority?

The Hero: How do you know I was gonna arrest you? Can't we just be having a conversation?

The Coward: You followed me down an alley, I know how people act when there's a hit on me.

The Hero: I wouldn't call it a hit. More like-... you’re a person of interest.

The Coward (sarcastically): Oh, yeah.

The Hero: Yeah! Well, I think this is you.

The Hero pulled up a holographic screen and held it up to The Coward, who rolled their eyes.

The screen was flipped for them, but they could clearly make out a portrait of a young man with dirty blonde hair and muted green feathers on their face. They had a smirk and a cut lip in the mugshot.

The Coward coughed a laugh at the sight of it, as The Hero looked at them and raised a brow.

The Coward: They don't even have my name, come on. I'm sooo being hunted ‘dead or alive’, without the alive.

The Hero: I wouldn't- I'm not going to kill you-

The Hero scanned over the information, confused.

The Coward: You’re new?

The Hero: I started a week ago.

The Coward: Think of yourself as a Hero, then?

The Hero didn’t say anything, just looked confused.

The Coward: Well okay Hero, why don't you try and catch me?

The Hero: Ah well-

The Coward pushed him and made a run for it down the alleyway.

The Hero: Hey hey wait-

He chased after them.

The Hero: That's a dirty move.

The Coward: Oh yeah? Well, you’re not gonna like this-

The Coward pushed over a smaller vending machine, smashing it on the ground, small food bars scattering across the floor.

The Hero: That's wasteful!

The Coward laughed.

The Hero laughed too, jumping over the vending machine with ease.

The Hero: If that's how you’re gonna play-

There was a noise. A shot fired.

The Coward reflexively put their arms over their head, but the shot didn’t hit them. Instead, it pinged off a wall, errupting into a huge, almost firework level explosion, making The Coward stop abruptly to avoid running into it.

The Coward (quietly): Whoa.

The Hero: Cool, right?

The Coward: No, I was just amazed with your ability to miss me.

The Hero: Hey! No fair, I was intentionally missing you!

The Coward, now that the embers had faded, continued to run down the street, yelling back quips.

The Coward: So you are a jester then, if they gave you fireworks.

The Hero (yelling back): They didn't give me fireworks, I was allowed to choose any gun.

The Coward: And you chose a sparkler?

The Hero: I chose the biggest gun I was allowed, actually!

The Coward (laughing): And how's that working out for you?

The Hero: I look cool, don't I?

The Coward: Sure.

They slipped on the wet ground, but flexed their sharp claws into the surface, the added grip giving them an advantage. The Hero was not too far behind, but he was clearly finding it harder to run with his thick leather boots.

Up ahead, The Coward stopped at a deadend, its walls too high for them to possibly climb, even without the rain.

They ran up to the wall and looked up at it hopelessly. There was the sound of something shifting, close against their back, from a developing reflex, but it granted no satisfying whoosh. They turned their head to watch their bare, immature feathers catch no air between them.

The Coward shivered. Their breathing short and rapid.

Out of the corner of The Cowards view, they spotted an old, withering creeper, pushed up against a dumpster, leaning into it with empty eyes. It rested completely still aside from a very faint flicker of light under one of its shells.

The Hero (out of breath): You're cornered! Aha! You run fast.

The Coward: ...

The Hero: You’re not gonna trick me and reveal you could fly away this whole time, are you?

The Coward (quietly): ...I can't-

The Coward: you wouldn't happen to want to let me go?

The Hero stood up straighter, once he caught his breath.

The Hero: I- ...I have a job to do.

The Coward: Cheat day? Just a secret between me and you.

The Hero: I’m sorry, I can't.

The Coward (nervously): Ahah- aren't you guys supposed to be corrupt? Why couldn't that be useful for me, for once?

The Hero: I can't let you go, you’re dangerous.

The Coward: You don't even know my name, or what I did.

The Hero: ...

The Coward: Please, really, I can't afford getting caught at all- you don't understand how much danger I'm in.

The Coward swayed on their legs, hissing as their barely healed wounds leaked slowly.

The Hero: Are you hurt? You look hurt.

The Coward: ...yes.

The Hero: Okay, okay, well, I can help you.

He smiled nervously.

The Hero: Maybe If I help tend your wounds, you'll let me take you in?

He held his hands out tentatively. The Coward took a moment to contemplate, briefly glancing towards the out-of-order creeper.

The Coward: Okay.

The Hero: Okay, okay, good! I have supplies on me-

Just as The Hero was distracted with pulling his bag off his back, The Coward took a step towards the creeper, slowly placing their hand behind it.

The Coward: I'm so sorry.

They pushed the creeper, making it fall into The Hero, who had only just looked up from his bag.

The creeper suddenly hummed loudly, with a hot glow growing under each metal scale.

The explosion pushed back the coward, not expecting the old rusty machine to acutally blow up that much. It must have been tampered with. Charged. They breathed loudly, watching the fiery wisps light up the alleyway.

Unsteadily they stood up, turning in the other direction to make a move to run.

But they stopped, and glanced towards The Hero. They saw him laying on his side, embers and smoke billowing around him. Everything was covered in so much ashy black and red that it was hard to find his face. But those eyes looked up at them, half lidded and not blinking, the shine of blue flickering from the reflection of small flames left by the creeper.

Those kind eyes looked up at The Coward.

The Coward ran.

#stareater au #life series au #gtwscar #grian #cw violence #stareater log #trafficblr

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ctrldoll · 7 days ago

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teehee i found your post on ao3 and saw spiderverse and jjk!! >v<

i was wondering if you could do a kinda crossover with gojo as spiderman (cliché ik pls dont come for me) infiltrating enemy base and finding out that reader IS the enemy (any villain of your choice) BUTTTTT reader also happens to be his significant other aaaand yeah angst drama heart wrenching scene NO HAPPY ENDING PLS AND TYYYYYY

Yes!

I loved writing this! I decided to go with Villain Reader! 's persona being similar to Hannibal's! (Yes, I've recently watched the films and series! They're great!) Thank you for letting me write this, Anon! It was creative and so much fun! ♡(˃͈ ˂͈ ) !

Request announcement!

New Revelations, Same Old Embrace.

Pairing: Spider-man! Gojo Satoru / GN! Reader

Genre: Angst/No comfort

It’s been days. Weeks. Months. Hours upon hours have been spent. Days where exhaustion tolled continuously despite exertion of energy into ensuring that it was done. That it was possible. Good was finally going to be done over the city. Justice would brought swiftly and prevail.

Satoru’s eyes remained locked on his target. An office building that seemed average alongside its companions of brick and cement. However, this was the location all his investigation brought him to. The paperwork behind it, despite it being so much, covered the owner in anonymity. "What's the status, AIS?" He scans the area for wandering security, having marked their stations and schedules. By now, they’d be at the entrance gate or circling through the other buildings. “They’ve already searched the building. One’s stationed at the building after the one to its right and their partner is walking towards the entrance where three of them are. One’s watching the surveillance cameras.” AIS informed him. A 3D hologram of the building was brought into view, infrared detection of the security confirming its words. "Thanks."

Satoru slid the window and curtains back into place and observed. The room was rather simplistic. Pens on their stands and paper on top of the desk. He lifts a document and looks through. It's the same piece of financial information about the office he looked through. It lacked creasing, as though it was barely touched. "No dust." He utters to himself as he looks at his fingertips, rubbing his index and thumb. "Satoru, it's nearly time for dinner. You had informed [Name] you'd arrive on time." AIS reminds him, bringing the time into view: 8:15 PM.

"Shit- I forgot." Again. The tiny voice in the back of his head seemingly reprimands him. Guilt fills his underbelly when he remembers the (nearly) subtle hurt on your face when you woke to him sneaking into bed on midnight. He knows his duties constrict his relationship with them, but he’s unsure of how he’ll reveal himself. Every time an opportunity to reveal, it’s almost as though his throat is constricted, only able to speak when regarding something else. “Please send a text saying I’ll be home later.”

"There's got to be something here." He whispers, shifting his attention back to the task on hand, lightly looking through the desk for anything. "Pause." AIS halts his movement, it's hologram drifting close to the edge of the right side of the desk. "There's thrumming here- it's electricity." With a push at the edge, a framework with a button in the middle is revealed.

Brushing off his hesitation with motivation, he clicks it. The back of the office is split into two, revealing an elevator. “What are the chances this is safe?” He asks AIS, surprised as he walks into it. “Low, but there’s only one way to find out. I didn’t expect this either.” “Right.”

The glass walls presented an unexpected furnished thick sheet of metal structuring the elevator’s components. “What is this place?” Satoru wonders, quietly observing the ecosystem of nature and technology around the elevator. “S-ator-” AIS tries to inform but goes quiet. “Something’s messing the bandwidth and blocking me. You’ll have to manage on your own while I figure it out.” The message appears on his screen within the mask. “Damn it.” Satoru responds, now on high alert. The elevator halts to a stop once he reaches the concrete floor and opens.

The skillet is on high heat as [Name] tosses the vegetables around. Their attention shifts to the stake graced by the oil underneath it as it starts to sizzle. "I hope Satoru comes home soon."

You were unable to shake off the feeling that something was amiss each time you thought about his whereabouts in the late night. The possibility of him straying away for someone else seemed ridiculous to you when the late arrivals started happening, now, they took a tiny compartment in your mind. You never entertained the thought for too long, though.

What if? What if he’s seen through your delicately disguised persona of an average individual? What if he’s seen the icky gore and murk in your core? What if he’s aware you’re a terrible person?

“What?” You stare at your watch that indicates activity within your base with every flash and ding. No one knows about it. Anger and nervousness flares through you while you conclude on the only person who could infiltrate it as you turn everything off in a rush and head on to it.

Spider-man.

Satoru’s eyes gloss over the machinery on the workstation within your lair. He’s confirmed that they are of your work due to its wiring being similar to those he has stored over time.

Looking at the corner, he detects a bright object luring him it. It’s a brooch. “What?” He recognises its similarity to the custom one he gifted you on your last anniversary. Even the initials match yours and his around the detailed metal and intricate gemstone. He hurriedly scans it, every detail proving accurate to his surprise. A piece of paper drops to the floor next to him and he lifts it. His eyes widen in surprise and anxiousness overcomes him. It’s a photo of the both of you in a photo booth with you smiling while he kisses your cheek.

Before he can rush through the possibilities, a gas rapidly begins to fill the room. He rushes to the elevator, pushing the button but it fails on him. Dizziness begins to overcome him and his eyes search for any other exit. He falls to the floor and breathes in more of the toxic fumes. The elevator opens and his eyes drowsily move to the blurry view of a masked silhouette, who twists their head. Everything fades to black.

Clink. Clank. The plate is gently placed on the table. Silverware has been set as well, adding onto the domestic feeling. Pop. The sound of the corkscrew popping the wine open causes Satoru to sluggishly awaken. Remembrance buzzes through him and he quickly acknowledges the lack of constraint he feels around his face.

Looking around him in urgency he notices the familiarity of the area. The books are in its usual spot and his glasses are on the tiny table in the corner. The chair next to him has a briefcase on it. He's home. Sitting in the dining room.

He tries to move, but the metal confinements bound around his wrists prevent him from doing so. He's still wearing his suit-except for the mask.

"Be careful. We wouldn't want you to injure yourself anymore that you already have. No need to worry, the gas will wear off." The voice softly said, intimate as he heard its tone many times before. He lifts his head in fright of what he's see and his senses prove him right. You look straight into his blue orbs in exhaustion, struggling to comprehend the disgust and hurt you feel towards him. Anger fills him as he observes your form. Your height and suit match. Everything makes sense now. You're his villain.

"Why?" Satoru seethes as he sweats. His eyes are slightly swollen, face flushed red as hurt occupies every sense within him. "Why not?" You turn away for a moment, slightly ashamed. "It seems I've gotten rusty over the years. I shouldn't have left anything there. You would have remained none the wiser." You angle him over his plate of food and wine. With a quick glance at his defeat, you sit at your own position across from him.

"I decided to cook one of your favourites this evening. Guess something mystical brought me into preparation." You sarcastically say with a chuckle, cutting into your meal. "Years? All those people you've hurt, [n/n]—" He pauses at the slip of your nickname and you visibly flinch. "How could you?"

"Easily, honey." You place your fork down and hold your wine glass. "It's the way of the world. Predator eat prey. Man eat man. I've maintained myself by adjusting to it." The rim is brought to your lips and you sip. "This wine is really good. You should try it." You begin to crumble when the next topic slips in your mind.

"Never thought you were Spider-Man. Your late arrivals here make so much sense now. How do you even do it? Those injuries I leave you with must be terrible to tolerate. I'm sorry about them." Tears prick the edge of your eyes, time being a hassle to you as you comprehend how much it is slipping.

"I can help you, please." Satoru always noticed whenever you were upset, and despite the new revelation and the lack of mistrust he held of you now, a part of him still wanted to cling on- to love you.

"There's no help for me, darling. It's been too long. I can't change." You lift your head, uncaring of the tears that carelessly slip out of yours when you see his slip out bit by bit through his red swollen eyes.

"I've hurt you countless times. The...one person I swore I wouldn't harm." You take in a large gulp, uncaring of the formality before dropping the wine glass on the table with shivering hands. You hear a slight crack, but pay little attention to it. "It looks like I'm done with my meal."

"We can do this. It'll take some time, but please. I love you." You let out a wail at his plead, moving to stand before him. "Satoru, please." You gently place your fingers on his cheeks, hurting at the sensitivity from the gas he must feel. You're selfish enough to maintain the hold, wanting to savour every second left. "I'm leaving, Satoru." Slightly tightening your hold on him as he shuffles. "You don't have to." "I must."

"But know this, I truly cherished every moment we were together. You were the one person I've valued in my life. I've been loved, and I've ruined it." Satoru attempts to break out once more but his efforts are all in vein. You brush off a tiny droplet that slips out of his eye and lay a gentle kiss on his forehead. The acidity of the gas causes a slight tingling sensation on your lips. You should have at least wiped him of it, but it'll eventually fade.

"I'll find you." Satoru says, defeated and slumps his shoulders. "I don't doubt your ability, but I'll make sure it'll be difficult." You embrace him despite the limitations of the chair. His breath on your neck causes a shiver within you. He hates how it feels like all the others you've shared. He hates how he craves it to last.

You step away from him, heart heavy but affirmed on your decision. "The constraint will break free in twenty minutes, the house and lair will detonate in three afterwards. Your things are safe in the location within the message I've sent. AIS won't be available until you're out of this household." You inform him and place a timer in front of him then grab your briefcase.

"Goodbye, Satoru." You look at him one last time in a hope he'll respond. He bitterly looks away, causing you to rush out, wiping your tears as you open the front door.

The click of the door finalises your presence. Satoru pushes his hands with all his strength, but no movements work. His wrists are raw and the effects of the gas begin to slowly wear off. His anger pushes him further to attempt to break free. He lets out a pained shout as he feels skin tear on his wrist and blood begins to seep through his blue suit. His eyes turn to the timer, which states that there are seventeen minutes left.

Meanwhile, you try to calm yourself in your car as you drive out of the city. Your tears blur your sight and you quickly attempt to brush them. You're driving too fast for your comfort, but the pain of the end of your relationship dominates your fear. You're nearing your lair.

It'll be quick.

The car will detonate in the lair.

All your information will auto-delete in the sequence.

Your finances are settled through an off-shore savings account you've kept to yourself.

You will rebuild.

#𝐂𝐃𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒!✮𖦹 #request! by anon!#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x you #x reader #spiderman fanfiction #spiderman gojo #jjk fanfic #gojo fanfic #gojo angst #reader #reader fic #reader insert #villain reader

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darylsfavoritegirl · 1 year ago

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Whoopps im liking this better than i thought

Summary: Daryl and Rick go on a run, they run into a pretty girl who is quite skilled in killing walkers but she is acting a bit suspicious👀 they decide to keep an eye on her. Again this takes place in the prison era.

Warnings: nothing really? a bit of phsyical pain involved cuz its twd

I initially tried to write this with first and third person narration which failed horribly so this is my first y/n fanfic ? feel free to correct my mistakes!! i'm new

"...And she ain't afraid to get violent with men 3 times her size."

Daryl and Rick were behind a large tree as they were watching out for walkers. Daryl narrowed his eyes slightly when he saw this girl fighting off walkers on the corner of his eyes.

"The hell she think' she's doin' ?" Daryl mumbled under his breath in a rush only for Rick to turn to his body towards him.

"What?" He asked before his eyes caught Y/n taking down three walkers.

Rick scanned the area only to see two more coming at her from behind. Daryl looked at Rick for a second and followed his gaze.

"Should we help her?" Rick asked cautiously, trying to calculate Daryl's reaction.

"Nah, she can handle 'em herself. Let's go."

Rick gazed at Daryl as he was walking into the woods. He decided to take one last glare at this alone mysterious girl when his eyes widened slightly at the scene that was going on infront of his eyes. He called for Daryl in a barely audible tone.

"Check this out." He said swinging his index and middle finger lightly at the girl. Daryl leered at her. She had a camera on her and she was documenting the area. She was taking pictures of the trees, the dead walkers, the stores. Anything.

"Well, ain't none of our dam' business." Daryl said with a slight irritation in his voice.

Rick glared at him from the corner of his eyes for a brief second before taking a deep breath.

"She is alone, quiet pretty and actin' all strange." Rick said with an undertone of mistrust.

"She took five or six walkers all by herself, without a trouble." He then added with fascinated eyes.

Daryl rolled his eyes moderately "Now what? Yea takin' interest in sum girl fightin' for 'er life?"

Daryl kept leering at Y/n as she walked into the pharmacy store right after cleaning her knife with a cloth she ripped from a dress that one of the walkers was wearing.

He scowled lightly as his frustration revealed itself in his voice "Great. She goin' into the store I was plannin' to go into." He grunted. He sighed audibly and looked at Rick over his shoulder before putting his crossbow in place on his hands. Rick kept sniggering and followed him. They were looking for survivors. They needed them, Daryl didn't love the idea. He thought Rick was trusting people easily but maybe he needed to do that... He entered the pharmacy, with the intention of studying this girl more.

. . . .

Y/n kneelt infront of the biggest drug shelf, trying her hardest to find antibiotics. They were useful for anything, though none was left. Y/n sighed before going through piled up medications on the floor when she heard someone walk in. Whoever that was, they were quite, almost too quite for her to not notice. She slowly got up, scanned the area for a brief moment. Thank god, she wasn't in the entrance, otherwise she would be caught in the open; like a prey awaiting for its predator.

Y/n knew the first thing she had to do was to control her breathing so she did. She hid behind a big metal desk, her backpack was near the door, the entrance where whoever that was there could see it easily. She didn't panick. She held her breath and got close to her backbag with cautious light movements. She dragged her bag to herself.

Y/n listened to area for a few seconds before slowly pulling her knife and pistol out of their cases. This was what she was scared of, dealing with somebody she doesn't know in the middle of the apocalpyse. She knew she had to stay calm. She inspected her ammo, incase she had to use it. She checked the magazine. Y/n had her pistol on one hand meanwhile she had her commando knife sitting on her left hand gently. She had a firm stance but before she could even take a second peek, y/n felt someone's presence.

"Come out."

Y/n studied the man's voice before she got up. The grunt, the thick southern accent one could hear even in two words. Y/n could already tell she had to deal with an aggressive one. She had a moment of debating with herself whether or not she should leave her weapons on the floor. "That's stupid." she notioned inside of her head. All these thoughts pondered her head within 5 seconds when the man, once again repeated it.

"Come on out. Now."

She lifted her head up. An arrow in a crossbow looking directly at her forehead and blue stern eyes behind it. Y/n immediatly got up and stepped back, weapons in her hand with a firm stance. A hasty moment of exchanging rigid gazes.

"I'm not looking for trouble." Y/n said with a humane tone. Ironic, she believed. A girl stating that she isn't looking for trouble with two lethal weapons in her hands.

The man stayed silent without breaking the intense eye contact. Y/n felt the need of giving assurance to him to not get killed. Anything could happen these days.

She sounded as if she was begging, abundance of tender in her voice "I just need some supplies and I'll be out of here before you know it."

Y/n leered deep into the man's eye as if she could see what was going on inside of his head. Daryl looked at y/n up and down, trying to conclude if she is any danger at all. He finally stopped frowning and loosened his grip on the crossbow.

"Go ahead." he mumbled.

Y/n also loosened her grip on her weapons. She felt her hands cramping because how long she had been holding the weapons. She moved aside, her eyes still following the man. Y/n got down, confused even scared because she had no idea what could happen any second. She forgot about the pills. She was scared for her life. Nonetheless, she grabbed a few medicine from the pile on the floor and tossed them into her bag. Y/n could see the man's reflection from the broken glass infront of her. He was not taking his eyes off of her, which freaked y/n out. She took a deep breath and slowly got up. The man was leaning against one of the desks in the pharmacy, he was looking rather calm but at alert. Y/n could see that. Her eyes formed some kind of apologetic manner as she examined the man for a brief moment. She didn't know why she did that. Maybe she felt he was no longer a threat to her. Daryl was quite indifferent. He was not also taking her eyes off of Y/n. She started walking towards the door when the ammo in her backpack started making noises because they got all messy in there when she tried to get a magazine out. She hoped he wouldn't mind it and stopped for a second, turned to this man and gently said

"I'm Y/n"

Y/n didn't know if she was supposed to wait for him to respond. She felt as if she owed this man the courtesy of saying her name at least. She decided to walk out when all of a sudden her thoughts were interrupted by another grunt. "Daryl." He said. It sounded apathetic as if he only said his name because Y/n said hers. Y/n gently smiled, if you can call that a smile. She made her way to the door. She was still sweating when another one of her pistols dropped from her bag and made a big thud, leaving her all panicked. She had a few guns in her backpack and this wasn't good to a stranger's eyes. She grabbed her ALFA combat and incompetently put it into her jacket pocket that she was wearing in the heat of Georgia. She didn't even look at Daryl.

Y/n didn't wanna take long because she knew it would get fucked up and it indeed did. Her action was interrupted by Daryl's hasty voice when her hand touched the door handle.

"Hold on." He said in a wary tone.

"Wha's tha' in yer bag?" his eyes roaming through her body and backpack as he came closer.

Y/n took a deep breath before turning to him. She knew it was time to actually be a bit belligerent. There was no way this could end in any virtuousness.

"You a damn cop now?" Y/n said with vexation in her eyes.

"First you come here and spy on me now you wanna check my backpack." the annoyance and electric in her voice growing stronger with each word.

Daryl stayed tranquil. He knew Y/n was a potential survivor Rick might wanna take in but he still needed to make sure everything. He came even closer. No one could blame Y/n for feeling under threat. Her survival instinct kicked in. She already calculated the strength of Daryl, there was no way she could overpower him. That's the thought that kept notioning inside of her head throughtout the 5 minutes she had to spend with him. But, Y/n thought, if she attacked him when he least expected it, maybe that would give her enough time to run as far as she could and make him lose track of her.

So she did, she kicked Daryl in the guts, leaving him only stumble a few steps back. Daryl huffed "Fuck." at the pain of being kicked in the stomach.That was all her power and Daryl didn't even fall. She didn't have time to bore her mind with that at the moment. Y/n grabbed the the door handle and pulled it with all her power and started running as fast as she could.

Y/n was panicking more than ever now. She knew she was a survivor, that was the reason she stayed alive in this wilderness where dead people were walking aimlessly, attempting to bite into anything that had life and flesh. The bag full of ammo and couple of guns were making harsh noises as it was also slowing her down.

Y/n was panting and practically dragging her feet to run along when she heard a gun fire. She instantly stopped. Perhaps it was another survival instinct, perhaps she believed the next upcoming bullet would go through her skull if she didn't stop. Her legs were trembling and her body was sweating like never before. She should've never worn that jacket in the heat of the summer but that was for precaution. She halted. The first thing she did before turning to him with her hands in the air was to catch up on breathing as if she forgot how to do that. It was a big area before one could get lost in the woods. She took long hasty breaths and slowly turned her body towards the spot where the gun was fired.

Y/n huffed swiftly under her breath "Fuck" She did not only see Daryl but another man next to him holding a colt python. Daryl was panting aswell but he quickly fixed his posture.

Were they spying on Y/n all along? Demented possibilities were lining up in her head one after another. Two of the men kept looking at her while her arms and hands started cramping because of how long she had been holding them up in the air.

"What do you want?" Y/n shouted. Her eyes scrutinizing both men, debating inside of her head if they would go any further.

A few geeks started coming out of the woods. She knew it was mindless of the other man to fire a gun, even far away from the city. She reached at for her knife the second she heard their infuriating growls but Daryl didn't let her. He gave y/n a spine-chilling glare as he walked past her and killed the geeks on the spot. The other man looked rather nonchalant, not keeping his eyes on neither one of them; just giving soft glares now and then. Y/n couldn't even dare to look back, see what Daryl was doing. She supposed he was taking his arrows out of geeks' heads, cleaning them with a piece of cloth. That's pretty much what everyone did.

Then y/n felt Daryl's unyielding grip on her forearm and her backpack. He was forcing her to walk ahead of him. She could feel his harsh breaths behind her ears and it only made her heart drop.

"Asshole." she whispered and sort of hoped he wouldn't hear it. He most likely did but did not pay any attention to it. Y/n felt more under threat as they were getting closer to the other man. She notioned this could not end in any good. It was time to take action now or never. Her brain felt like it could explode any minute.

"Let me go." she howled, trying to push Daryl but it only made him more antagonized. He felt as if she was only trying to provoke him at this point. He responded back with pushing y/n to the wall of the pharmacy store. Her back hit the wall swiftly and harshly making her whine in pain. The backpack was still on her and all that metal stinged her back because of how hard Daryl tossed her on the wall. It was like every single one of the curved metal was being carved into her back.

"Ahh." she cried out. Before y/n could even pull herself together, she once again felt his harsh grip on the backpack. She gave in at that point, seeing no reason in fighting back.

"Easy." y/n heard the other man saying slowly to Daryl, his eyes forming a stern look. Y/n looked at him, she wanted to speak; explain herself but she didn't know if it would make a difference at all. She bucked up, her back was still hurting but it was now or never. Y/n took a deep breath between the whimpers of pain and said

"I don't fire 'em." she exchanged glances between two men. Her voice sounded as if she was in rush. Her voice growing raspier because of thirst that was caused by running and apprehensiveness. Daryl looking more irritated with every word that was coming out of her mouth.

"Then wha's for carryin' a bag full o' guns, huh?" he uttered.

Y/n knew she had to be wary, if not she had no idea what would happen to her. She made out that she could put some sense into the other man if not into the redneck.

"I'm delivering them to a friend." a lie. She couldn't even look into directly their eyes but tried her best to do so.

Rick seemed rather suspicious "All alone?" he muttered. Y/n caught his leer.

"Goin' all this trouble to deliver few guns." Rick sounded as if he was asking a question but also reflecting the situation in his head.

" 'Few' guns worth more than gold nowadays." Y/n said emphasizing the word "few" with a subtle irritation in her voice.

"I don' know man." Daryl got closer to Rick. Every one of them were still eyeing eachother up and down. Rick didn't want to let her go for two reasons, first being cautious about the prison's perimeter if she was telling the truth. He thought she wasn't being honest but there was no harm in being wary. Second being, she would be good use in the prison if she was alone and soloing her way. He knew he needed to investigate into it when y/n interrupted his track of thought

"Can I go now?" she said, not too pretentious but also not too sloppy either. She kept eyeing them, not letting her guard down and trying to not irritate them even more.

"Y'all don't look like bandits or I- I- don't know, plunderers. Why not let me go?" She was gazing at both of them as if she could see their souls.

"Tha's cuz wer not." Daryl said in an obvious exasperated, raucous tone. Y/n couldn't help but smirk a little bit at his extreme, fragile reaction.

A brief fierce eye contacted formed between y/n and Daryl when Rick made a hand gesture infront of Daryl to indicate him that Y/n was no longer a threat that she could, perhaps, leave. Her gaze shifted back to Rick. Rick had a soft manner on his face, he slowly swinged his fingers at y/n, indicating she was free to go. Y/n sighed and rolled her eyes lightly as she got down and grabbed her backpack, she had a fierce look on her eyes when she took one last leer at Daryl and slowly started to walk away.

Rick gazed at Daryl watching Y/n walk away from the corner of his eyes. Daryl could feel his eyes on him so he turned to him with a slight maddening going through his body like electroshocks. Rick still had that pleasant bearing on his face which drew Daryl more irritated

"No more interested in takin' 'er into the prison?" He grunted as he grabbed his crossbow and slung it over his shoulder as he kept staring at Rick.

"I am." Rick said in a cool manner.

"I dun' kno' man. She 's trouble and ain't afraid to get violent wit' men three times her size." Daryl said still studying y/n in his mind.

"And that's a survivor right there." Rick sniggered as a subtle smirk appeared on Daryl's face.

FOOTNOTE

Ok yall can't believe this took me 2-ish days to write😭😭 i love writing these that's why i been skipping studying lmao and this one is a lot longer than the previous one. we get more daryl content (i hope you like the way i describe/write him im trying my best but again he is such a complicated character. writing rick is a lot easier.) i hope you like it!! i can write a sequel fanfic if you want me to!!! just let me know :)

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quandaryqueen · 4 months ago

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Riddler strikes again!

Batman Unburied Edward Nygma X Reader

Hiii, just a little something inspired by my time writing in my college's departmental newsletter uwu

Thursday of April 11, 2024— Edward Nygma aka The Riddler strikes once again, hijacking Gotham Broadcasting Company (GBC) live on air, interrupting the feature segment of Y/N L/N, holding them hostage.

- by Vicky Vale

More at page 5

It was funny, really. Edward couldn't help but to chuckle in amusement as he kicked his feet up, his arm hanging limply off his cell bed. He didn't expect the college reunion, but there it was... Documented live on TV. Front and center, front page, the Riddler making goo goo eyes at the hapless journalist. And had an article written by their colleague at work.

Slay, chase that clout, sister.

Once upon a college, was Edward Nygma, disillusioned by everything. Academic burnout was real, they didn't lie about that part. It wasn't that he could not grasp information, it was the workload, the mountains of research, not to mention, juggling a day job to get by.

Also, he was arrogant to think he could take more that thirty units a semester. A boy, did he collect majors like Pokémon. He was too prideful to admit that he was struggling. He was Edward fucking Nashton, for Christ's sake, of course he would have more than thirty units with mixed and matched minors and majors, plus a couple of foreign language studies, why not? Any excuse to not go back home for the holidays and breaks.

Of course he had to take student assistant for the fuck of it, extra income, right? Less leverage financial leverage from the family, too. The position had certainly made him more informed about others, it helps that he knows something from the inside. One of his task as professor's assistant was marking papers.

That was when he stumbled upon you. Well, not really you. Your name on the paper, haphazardly scribbled at the back of the A4 document, you probably forgot to put your name on it before printing it. Happens to everyone, he supposes. There, he got the sense of your character through the paper alone.

Basic discourse analysis, Edward picked up the fact that you like reading, with your usage of flowery words and metaphors. In the era of copy+paste+print, you certainly took the time to write yours down. Well-structured, coherent, a good fucking piece that was worth a thorough read than a simple skim. No doubt if it were the professor marking papers, he'd just briefly scan his eyes over it and give you the same grade as the others. Others, being the co-eds with half-assed works (though he can't really fault them, a point is a point.)

You got a high mark because of it.

Then, when he attached a face to your name, it was during Ethics. Recitations, the dreaded index card drawing and asked to recite. That was when your name was called and Edward had immediately perked up from whatever sleep deprived funk he was in.

Maybe it was hindsight talking... But that was when his life changed. At the moment, he was just seated on his desk, looking over his shoulder trying to look as though he was listening and that he was not about to fall asleep. And then there was the side of him that was wee curious whether your writing prowess were also applicable to speech.

He wished he could say what he thought about you back then, that fated ethics period. But he was just nodding off. Looking back, with what he knows now, you were enchanting.

At that present, he was nonchalant. Uninterested even, you were just another gifted kid destined for burnout in college... But he did recognise how useful you were when it comes to group activities. When the time came, he immediately called dibs on you.

"What belongs to you, but other use it more than you, what am I?"

"Um..." You were stumped, but before you can answer, he holds a hand out, which you instinctively took and shook.

"A name," he says. "Edward Nashton, compelled to meet you."

A small, sheepish smile lights you features.

"Y/N L/N." You replied with curt nod.

I know, he wanted to say, but didn't want to risk establishing his first impression as a creep. Aahh, back when he possessed tact.

"Coffee after class so we can talk about our report?" You asked. "I know a place."

Initiative... sexy.

"Flirting with me already?" He raises a brow and he watches your face flush. Edward couldn't help but to chuckle at the sight, so precious. "Teasing, teasing..."

His gaze bore within yours. Sleep deprived like any other co-eds on campus, he noted. Your eyes were just like any other, but yours begged to be explored in depth.

"We're gonna be good friends."

Edward believed that impressions do not last. However, you were an exception to that.

Coffee shop. He could still remember how cheap and overbrewed their chais were. But he was not about to complain, you did pay for it. Notebooks out, brainstorming for the assignment. He remembered how articulate you were with the assigned topic. Eloquent and thoughtful with every word, you were a brilliant conversationalist he could go back and fourth with.

Naturally, the exchange flowed to where you discussed your own personal lives. Which high school you graduated in, your majors, why you chose said majors, what you wanted to do once you graduated...

"Mom wanted me to be an engineer," Edward says, watching you from the rim of his cup. "Dad wanted me to be a policeman. Grandma wanted me to be a doctor. Ya know, just Asian family things."

"And you ended up going with your major... BS IT?"

"Stereotypical, I know," Edward rolled his eyes, feigning annoyance. "But I do love myself some codes and technologies. Besides, it's all the rage, these days. Lot of job opportunities. Might take up computer engineering too..."

"How did they react?" You asked.

"Like any other families in a collective society, shaming and guilt tripping." Edward shrugged nonchalantly. Though his tone was casual, his demeanour wasn't. "Ya know, just... Being subtle about it, like a jackhammer. 'Where did I go wrong?', 'Look at your cousins!', 'You're going to fail'!" He chuckles sardonically. "The most attention I received from them, to be honest."

"I'm sorry..."

"Don't be." Edward chuckles. Not the first impression he hoped that would last... Immediately, he pulls himself back together, brazen smile plastered on. "Well, I hope my baggage won't put you off. Am I still cute in your eyes?" Eyelashes bat coquettishly, lips puckered as he held his cup with both hands.

You couldn't help but giggle at the act, that brought a glimmer in Edward's eyes, his chest thumping harder than usual. Back then, he thought it was ye olde heart palpitations from the excess caffeine consumption.

"Well? I'm getting nervous," he probes, resuming to act coyly.

"Yeah, you're..." You gestured at him with a sheepish smile. "You are."

"Are what?"

You couldn't help but laugh, that cute little smile of yours... "At this point, you're just fishing for compliments."

The pair of you spent the afternoon at the café, having been productive with your activity and insightful with one another's perceptions. It was inevitable that you part ways, though exchanged contact information on your way out. Edward initially thought it would strictly be for the activity for your Ethics class, or just for academic purposes in general.

But he was a professional yapper who liked asking questions only to answer them. He found you to be intriguing enough that he allows you to answer as well. Now and then, he found himself popping in the chat box to say hi.

He almost always found himself texting you in the dead of night when he's done with studies, professional crammer that he is.

"Burning the midnight oil, I see." He wrote when he noticed you've yet to log off.

It didn't take long for you to receive and see the message. He felt a twitch on his lip when he saw your icon bob along as you wrote a correspondence.

"Nah, I wish I were that putting that much effort in acads," you wrote back. "can't sleep."

"Don't have a hunk warming up your bed?" He couldn't help but snort upon sending, already envisioning your response. That cute flushed face, scowling, furrowed brows, nose scrunched.

"Nah. Just my pet hogging the bed." Ah, playing it cool, huh? He could work with it, he reckons you were burning up at the other end.

"Little baby pics tradesies?"

"Bet."

You sent yours first, a photo of your adorable little guy in bed, the excited fur child obscuring the entire frame. Edward could make out your cheek outstretched with that very familiar smile, in the blurry background behind your pet.

You told him their name, how you got them. How they are... Adorable really, Edward made a note not to get delusional and meet your pet one day once you invited him back to your place.

Edward sent back a photo of his cat, a short-haired black kitty who has the audacity in life in general. It was worth it to find an apartment that allows pets in the building, even if he needed to walk and extra mile to uni.

"This is Meow Meow. Creative, I know,"

“Why Meow Meow?” They wrote back, he could swore he can hear the incredulity in his head.

“Well, my dear, the onomatopoeic name stuck because I wasn’t referring to her by her name, but communicating with.” Edward replied, his thumbs darting swiftly against his phone’s keyboard. “Ergo, the name stuck.”

“It’s adorable.” His sole light source was his phone, but the smile on his face could lit up an entire room. “What are they like?”

“Audacious. She just randomly appeared in my place one day, slept on my couch, demanded food and head scritches,” Edward wrote with a chuckle upon his recollection. “You know, how cats typically manifest.”

Small talks were nice were nice with you; you provided interesting answers.

“Say, what’s your relationship with existence and mortality?”

Of course, he had to ask heavy hitting questions.

The topic shift was entirely out of left field, but Edward dug deep. Of there was one thing he liked, it was depth. He didn’t have a better way of transitioning into the subject, so it was a massive surprise to be dropped this enigmatic bomb.

That night, you talked until the sunrise, neither of you able to fall asleep. Topics ranged from your pets, and his sudden and shift of topic. He appreciated it, being able to throw anything at your direction and with you being able to answer even if, for a moment, you were a touch flabbergasted. You talked about your views about the said matter, Edward deepening the conversation with questions and counterarguments. Then, there were the agreements, the relatability, the connection.

He caught himself finding solace with a shared feeling, same fear, similar experiences. How you wove your thoughts in a way that provided him insights about his own whereabouts, one that he had thought about, but not in the way you were in-depth and well-acquainted about it. He felt seen. Heard.

“Still can’t fall asleep?” Edward asked when the clock struck dawn.

“Nope. You?” His textmate sent.

“Neither can I.”

The sun began peaking through the windows and the college grind resumes into gear, much to Edward’s chagrin. The nights were short and the days dragged on. But at least you were there.

“See you at ethics?”

“See ya.”

Upon entering your first period of ethics, you were greeted with the sight of Edward waving at you to sit with him and a to-go cup of caffeine.

Since then, you've spent a lot of time together sporadically. Edward didn't want to be clingy, but he certainly took all the chance he could get to spend his time with you. Duo projects, going to parties, pulling all-nighters through texts. He has had the basic scope of your life, something you're mentioned in passing that he deemed noteworthy. It was easy to connect the dots from then on.

You liked writing. An outlet for that vicious mind, your musings tucked away in a journal. Occasional posts in your blogs (you never told him about its existence, but you know how Edward is.) all he had read and never let you know he had. With this in mind, he found himself nudging you to join university organizations to write.

"So?" Edward slides forward upon finding you occupied with the organisation pamphlets.

"So is used when you're concluding something. Yet some people use it as a a sentence starter." you murmured to yourself, in what seems to be a bid of evading his questioning.

"We're in the US, words lose their original function over time as language evolves," But of course, Edward could not resist to retort and see the cute face wince in resignation. "Linguistics aside, what is that?"

"Admission form for the school papers," with the manner of your response, Edward found it noncommittal. The notion of joining but a passing interest, like driving pass a billboard, the interest piqued for a flash before moving onto the road. And it was Edwards job to talk about it.

"You wanna try broadcasting? Cute guys there, with the baritones. You get to travel outside of campus too." Edward plants the seed of interest. Something innocuous, the first pebble in an avalanche. "Not to mention, the advisor is Professor Austin. Make a friend out of him and you're set for the semester. If you a have with him, that is. I heard he's gonna be a thesis advisor next year."

"No, I'm kinda looking at the writing." Bingo.

"Oh you should!" He encourages with a nudge. "What are we talking? Opinion? Literary? Sports?"

"I'm kinda thinking... Feature."

“Feature, huh? Playing safe, are we?”

“There’s just so many applications for literary, I don’t wanna clog admissions.”

“You mean… You don’t want competition, that is.” The shit-eating grin of his was granted a deadpan of your own, inspiring the thought that he was not far from his assumption. Spoken like a tragic artist… “Come on! You’re a dime in a dozen! The second coming of Shakespeare, even! Or Mary Shelley… Or Oscar Wilde… Or George Orwell… Or--!”

“I don’t really feel like writing when the prompt is hella limited. They’re probably just going to let us write about some Hallmark pieces to inspire festering students steeped in burnout and caffeine.”

Ah yes, narrative and creative control, really hard to become a literary writer when you’re writing someone else’s vision to fruition, especially when you’re not getting paid for it, either. He’s seen the literary pieces posted in the college publications; the writers don’t seem to be enjoying writing those with how corporate it looked. Touche. Thus, there he was, being watched as he nods thoughtfully, lips pursed. Spoken like a true burnt-out writer… Oh woe, the writer’s plight of being the creatively-drained artist, with the shallow capitalist baddies sucking on the remaining artistry in art for some Benjamins. All meandering aside…

You continued, “And feature’s good, lets you infodump niche topics. Gives me time to dig around for sources, learn something new, get a new hyperfixation… I’m good at research, informative topics are always the rage, especially for the campus dorks.”

Edward couldn't help but ponder aloud, finger tapping the table, “Are you doing it because you’re good at it, or because you want to…?”

“Because I want to try it out.”

What was left to do but support you, even if it's not what you really wanted, but had stubbornly stuck to it? As much as it painted him to see you in this role of researcher and informative paraphraser and trivia master, when you wanted to write literature, it was your prerogative and you were correct, you were good at it. And validation was nice, being useful was nice.

At some point in time, you graduated, constructed your resume, your portfolio and immediately got a job. Edward was oblivious to those, having been occupied falling out of college due to burnout and plotting high-stakes Television highjacking and pettily abducting greedy billionaires that fucked him over during his internship to play in a fucked up gameshow of his making, as you do. Accumulated frustrations towards big daddy corporations, how smart people were on leashes by some mogul with an ugly mug. Was certainly the best way to drift apart from a friend after internships.

Your pursuits, he only out when he was perusing through magazines during his accomodation in Arkham. He recognised the diction, the very same he had read the first time he had ever stumbled upon your writing that one fateful day when you were just a name to him.

It was melancholic in a way. You've reached the top rung of the ladder with journalism when the plan was to be a New York's Bestseller. He was happy for you still, seeing you stand in your full, pretty glory in front of a camera was surreal (even if he had to highjack during your segment, ooops, he'd always been self-centred.) Despite the gap since you silently fell off, Edward was almost certain you only pursued this was not due to you liking it, but it was because you were good at it. And people expected you to.

In hindsight, you never got to ignite the flame of your relationship despite the sparks. He left before anything can be initiated, to be admitted. Was it presumptuous of him to assume you felt the same? No. But with an all-consuming pathology that came with the compulsion to find answer, Edward was certain; you felt something for him, too.

"Nygma, you have a visitor."

Oh would you look at that...

Typically, he wouldn't have lowered whatever that was in his hands, not particularly cooperative and willing to entertain whoever wants to visit him (it's not like his family wants to see him, after what disgrace he brought to the Nashton name.) Currently, it was the newspaper, folded on Vicki Vale's article about his recent highjacking of a certain uprising Y/N L/N in the journalism sphere. Lowered it, he did. Edward has the feeling he would have a visitor worth humouring.

He was right.

"Sooo..." Edward drawls, leaning across the table, drawing closer to capture your visage, to capture your picture to accompany him in his solitary confinement. He doesn't even know what to say.

"So is used when you're concluding something." you murmured to yourself, trying to lean back and give yourself some space. The same wince. Eyes squinted, nose scrunched, brows furrowed. The barest hint of flush dusting those cheeks.

"Yet some people use it as a a sentence starter," he finishes with melancholy in his smile. "Oh, you syntactical nerd. How have you been?"

Catching up was easy despite the initial uncertainty and awkwardness in the air. On your end, that is. But it was easy to fall back on old habits, like muscle memory, you were able to move through the same rhythm and melody he used to subject you to. The profound questions, the insightful two cents he offers... And of course, the need to dig deeper, if it was possible, was possible.

“You’re still a writer,” Edward pointed out. “Feature.” Instead of literary, like you always wanted. Far from school you were now, and yet you bind yourself within invisible constraints to the whims of whatever your publication demands of you.

“That was the plan.”

“Was it?” The minutest detail of your expression he scrutinised, the tiniest quirk of the brow and your slightest purse of your lips. You didn’t like the notion being challenged, real dreams be damned, stubborn pride and ego were at the brunt of it all. He couldn’t fault you, really, the reception of your works was a goldmine for validation. No wonder you continued being a news writer after college, you perpetuate the field of writing that you didn’t like all that much. It certainly wasn’t for the pay, you get like what? The editor-in-chief’s chump change no doubts at the bottom of his drawer, proclaiming he could just put a prompt in ChatGPT to get it to write him an article. God, he hopes the writing strike gets that bastard soon--

“It is,” you insist with uncertain-footing. “I mean… You weren’t there to know, anyway.”

Touche. But…

“Y/N, come on…” Edward’s gaze bore profoundly into yours. You already know, that he knows that you know this wasn't the path you wanted to pave. You already boarded and you weren’t going to leave mid-ride. Edward didn’t need his smart mouth to spell it out for you, as much as he wanted nothing more since he wanted to hear his voice again. But he didn’t. He let the eureka come to you. Shame that he didn’t get to see that when he had to be detained again.

“We’ll we see each other again,” he says, turning over his shoulder. “What is it that you can keep after giving it to someone else?”

“Word.”

#edward nygma #dc x reader #edward nigma #the riddler #riddler #batman unburied riddler #batman unburied edward nygma x reader #batman unburied riddler x reader

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a-book-place · 6 months ago

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This library was found in the Sakya Monastery, Tibet, containing 84,000 secret manuscripts, including the history of mankind for over 1000 years. It was discovered behind a huge wall. It is 60m long & 10m high.

— Antoine Taveneaux

‘As to the great library of Sakya, it is on shelves along the walls of the great hall of the Lhakhang chen-po. There are preserved here many volumes written in gold letters; the pages are six feet long by eighteen inches in breadth. In the margin of each page are illuminations, and the first four volumes have in them pictures of the thousand Buddhas. These books are bound in iron. They were prepared under orders of the Emperor Kublai Khan, and presented to the Phagpa lama on his second visit to Beijing.’ — Wikipedia

‘Sakya Monastery houses a huge library of as many as 84,000 books on traditional stacks 60 metres (200 ft) long and 10 metres (33 ft) high. Most of them are Buddhist scriptures, although they also include works of literature, history, philosophy, astronomy, mathematics, agriculture, and art. One scripture weighs more than 500 kilograms (1,100 lb), the heaviest in the world. The collection also includes many volumes of palm-leaf manuscripts, which are well-preserved due to the region's arid climate.

— Richard Mortel

‘In 2003, the library was examined by the Tibetan Academy of Social Sciences. The monastery started to digitize the library in 2011. As of 2022, all books have been indexed, and more than 20% have been fully digitized. Monks now maintain a digital library for all scanned books and documents.’ Wikipidia

source

#booklover #book blog #books & libraries #booksbooksbooks #architecture #books #tibet

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bnsni · 1 year ago

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um umm. imagine giving prowl a hello/good morning kiss but hes not fully awake or his mind is somewhere else so later in the day he goes into some kind of meeting with a lipstick stain on his face.. when he finally realizes he hunts u down to Glare at you and demands you clean it bc its your fault (he just wants an excuse for physical contact oops side note thank u for feeding us all with all ur lovely work. 5 stars

🥺 aww thank you anon. that's so sweet of you pookie. glad you're enjoying my writings!! gobbles up the five star from the palm of your hand

Okay but that's is such a cuteee scenario oh my gosh I can't help but to write a little mini-fic this (a little incoherent I just woke up snskkdkj)

—PROWL'S snuggled up to your side. Even when he's sleeping, a gentle scowl is present on his face. And, the arm curled around your torso is almost like a metal bar, preventing you escape. For now, he's too tired to keep up appearances. Last night's report consisted of him re-writing the expense protocols and it is not a task an hour would suffice.

He came back sluggish and very much irritated. In the darkness of the room, alighted by the mere blue-ish flare of the moonlight, Prowl stands before your bed as a looming shadow. You recalled wheezing when he simply collapsed on top of you, immediately going limp after.

So, when you shift in the bed — it was almost time for work — he was all but annoyed : his bundle of warmth isn't going anywhere when he's got so comfortably snug, so he pits you close to his chassis, grumbling.

"No."

"No? Prowl. I've got work."

"It can wait." He murmered lazily, nose chasing for the warmth between the crook of your neck and shoulder. And, when he did — a little purr-like rumble thrummed from his chassis.

You blink. He's slurring in his sleep? Guess, even the strategic officer isn't immune to sleepy mumbles. With a playful smile, you cup his face plates, leaning in to kiss his cheek, lingering a little bit on the sensitive spot on his neck then the crook of his nose.

Subconsciously, Prowl leans forward, likely expecting a kiss on his lips but with an index on his forehead, you push him away gently.The peach cream lipstick stains the areas you've assaulted. But, hey. At least he knows who's stalling who, this lovely morning.

—

WHILE he's fixing up the last of his documents, Prowl can feel the stares churning through his back. He's got it ever since he walked into that damn room. Obviously, nobody is going to agree with the new 'protocols' he administered. Especially, the younger mechs. But the meeting had just finished, so what's with the staring? Why are they staring?

"Uh, Prowl?"

"What?" He clips and slams the briefcase shut.

When he whirled around, a biting chassis fervent on his tongue, he's greeted with the sight of the bug, smiling in amusement. Great. The scout.

"I don't know what game you're playing at And, likely, i'd rather not know." Prowl seethes. "But I suggest you cut it out."

As usual, he's not the most brightest mech, this morning.

"Alright, then." He shrugs with his servos up placatingly. "But I gotta say, though. Peach does suit you well. Always thought it'd be rouge red or magenta pink. Guess, I was wrong."

"Excuse me?"

"Not that it's bad. It's not bad, trust me." The scout grins. " I just didn't peg you as the type to wear make-up...."

—

"And, the generator?"

"Ah, yes. That." You scanned the clipboard, nitpicking the many stacks and stacks of paragraphs for a certain information. This, that, this and — "All stabilized, sir."

"Good work." He pats your shoulder. "Debrief in a few hours — I need the new recruits some time to understand the proceedings. Meanwhile, go have lunch. I won't keep you any longer."

"Understood."

With that your Supervisor had left. Dawdling a second longer flipping through the pages, you swivelled around. When you rounded the corner, still buried in your clipboard —

You feel cold metal curling round your wrists. And, you're suddenly pushed up against the wall.

"You." Prowl leans in, scowling.

You grin. "Oh? Good morning to you, too." .

"Clean it."

"Just a simple swipe of a napkin could do the job, prowl."

The grip on your wrist loosens and a servo clamps over your waist. His expressing, though, isn't unrelenting of a frown. "That's the thing, mouse — you inflicted this on me. So, you take care of it."

You raise a brow. "Sure, this isn't some kind of demand guised in the form of something else?"

Prowl doesn't say anything, expression all the more pinched and irritated — but the slight parting of his lips was telling.

You teetered on your tiptoes, hands on his shoulder plates and leaned up to kiss his cheek — the exact same spot you left a mark, this morning.

Prowl loosens visibly and turned away to hide the flare of warmth on his faceplates. Not without grumbling under his breath, of course.

If he wasn't so handsome when he's mad, you're not sure why you tolerate his crass attitude at all. If anything, he's like a cat that claws at you with every chance he gets — then begging for affection, later.

"If you wanted another kiss, you could've asked."

#thanks for the ask anon!!#*smooches you gently*#transformers #maccadam #transformers x reader #transformers idw #ikkoasks #idw prowl #prowl x reader

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sunflowersandsapphires · 2 years ago

Text

Why you gotta tempt my trouble?

Of Oak and Ivy, Chapter 1

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

summary: In college, Matt Murdock had two best friends, Foggy Nelson and you. However, life had no intention of letting you graduate with him. When he reconnects with you in adulthood, he is troubled to see the hand God has dealt you and vows to use every tool at his disposal to save you from damnation.

warnings: swearing, sickly sweet fluff, get ready for some pining y'all.

a/n: Here's the first chapter of the college fic! The next one won't be posted until I've written a few more (which might be a while because I'm trying to make them longer and I'm only one chapter ahead at the moment.) Please let me know if you like it and want to see more or be added to the taglist!

w/c: 5.3k

Digging the heels of your hands into your eyes, you resisted the urge to bang your head on the counter you sat at in an attempt to reboot the organ. This passage made no damn sense and you had mere days to understand it and conform to its ideals in order to do well in the class that it was assigned to. Biting your lip, you flipped back a few pages to start the chapter over for the third time when the sound of someone clearing their throat nearly startled you out of your seat.

“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry, I didn’t see you!” Saving your place in the worn book, you looked up to find a young man standing before you. He was handsome, with fluffy, inky locks and a charming smile on his lips.

“That’s alright, I, uh, can’t quite fault you there.” He smiled sideways at you, gesturing to the opaque rectangular frames on his nose. Your mouth formed an “O” shape before you tripped over your response.

“I want to laugh but that feels wrong. Is it more rude to laugh or not laugh? Oh god, forget I said that, I—“

The boy in front of you chuckled. “It’s quite alright, and it was meant to be a joke.”

“Right, well, sorry again. How can I help you?” You clasped your hands, tilting your head as you waited for his response.

“I was wondering if you had braille copies of any of these textbooks?” As he posed the question, the handsome boy passed you a list of the textbooks he was looking for.

Looking over the document, you pursed your lips. “That is a fantastic question that we will have to answer together. I wish I knew off the top of my head, but today's only my third day on the job.” You cringed, wishing your manager was here.

“I imagine it’s not a common question, so I won’t hold it against you.” There was that charming smile again. Your insides felt like they were slowly melting under his grin.

“That’s, um, very kind of you.” You stammered out, feeling heat flood your cheeks.

“Matt.” He broke in. “Matt Murdock. And you are..?”

Offering your name, you dutifully turned back to the index, scanning the pages for any clue as to where braille copies would be stocked.

“That’s a pretty name, it suits you.” Your fingers halted in their dance across the page, your eyes flitting back to the gorgeous customer.

“As much as I appreciate that, turning up the charm won’t change the fact that it might take a minute for me to find these.” Your eyes narrowed as you became skeptical of his intentions.

“Take your time. It’ll give me more time to get to know you.” The flirty grin never faltered on Matt’s face.

“Oh you’re trouble.” You shook your head, thumbing through the pages of the file before you. “I’m starting to think I should search on my own.”

Matt just laughed, leaning forward on his white cane and grinning at you. “Where should we start?”

“I have a couple ideas.”

You and Matt searched far and wide for accessible copies of the textbooks he needed. While they—thankfully—did exist, they were scattered throughout the store haphazardly, not in either location the index had suggested. The lack of care and attention the volumes had gotten was making you progressively more irritated. There was absolutely no reason these books should’ve been treated with such disrespect, even if they weren’t commonly asked for.

After finding all but one book on his list, it was barely past store closing. Locking the door with a huff, you clocked out before joining Matt where he was seated on the ground by the first shelf.

“I hate to say this, but I think we might need to order you a new copy.” You remarked with a frown, scuffing your shoe along the faded carpet on the bookstore’s floor.

Matt, whose pleasant personality hadn’t dimmed despite the lackluster findings, simply chuckled, knocking his shoulder into yours.

“Well, we gave it the old college try, so to speak.” He waggled his eyebrows at you above his dark glasses.

You groaned, but couldn’t help the soft chuckle that escaped your throat. Despite your intense introversion and social awkwardness, Matt put you at ease.

“Sorry, my roommate is rubbing off on me.” He gave an exaggerated grimace.

“Is he a law student too?”

“Yep. Foggy Nelson. The three of us might actually have some classes together.” Matt’s face lit up with the idea. You’d confessed during your hunt that you had already purchased your own copies of many of the books on his list. Given that you were both first year law students, it made sense that you’d be in classes with one another, but you felt a weight lift off your chest nonetheless.

“Honestly, that makes me feel so much better. I’m incredibly nervous.” You confessed, focusing on a fraying patch of carpet underneath your sneaker.

“I’m sure you’ll do great.” Matt leaned against you, focusing on you in a way that made your chest flutter.

“See you say that not knowing how long it’s taking me to get through the first reading assignment for Legal Methods.” You dropped your head into your hands, remembering the cursed passage from earlier.

“Foggy mentioned something about that book. It’s…outdated?”

“That’s an understatement. The first chapter is about a famous eugenics case, Buck v Bell, and I might be reading it wrong but it seems like the author is suggesting that we don’t have ableism that resembles that of the case in current day? I was getting so frustrated reading it that I honestly couldn’t tell if it was confusing or just a stupid argument.” You explained.

“It’s in the McKinnon book, right? If you want, we could read it together and try to figure it out? Unless you have somewhere else to get to…” Matt Murdock, the charming, unswayable man you’d met a few hours ago blushed at the question, making you grin.

“I would love to hear your opinion on the text, Mr. Murdock. We can start an unofficial study group.”

“I like the sound of that. Let’s crack open this shit show.” Matt let you pull him off the ground and over to your work station where he opened his own copy of the text and began to read.

A few hours and more than a few boxes of takeout later, you and Matt were still working your way through the chapter, though you’d both decided with certainty that the text was more angering than confusing.

“If the professor is as ableist as this author, I’ll never be able to pass this class.” You grumbled, shoving the hellish book away from you. “There’s no way I can pretend that eugenic ideals have disappeared, even for a better grade.”

“Seriously. I’m hoping it’s supposed to make us mad so we can argue about it? Though I seriously doubt everyone will be on our side, unfortunately.” Matt scowled.

“Well, at least we have each other, right?” The man in front of you perked up with that comment, but you hurriedly corrected yourself. “And your roommate, of course.”

Deflating slightly, Matt scratched the back of his neck. “Speaking of, I should probably get back so he doesn’t send out a search party. I’ll see you in class?”

“See you then, trouble maker.” You murmured, smiling softly at him.

“Have a good night, sweetheart. Get home safe.”

“You too.”

A few days later, your evening with the sweet law student had fallen to the back of your mind as nerves about your first semester of classes set in. Fidgeting with your outfit in the mirror, you inhaled a shaky breath.

“Stop worrying, you’ll be fine!” The voice of your roommate, Jen, rang out across your shared loft making your brow furrow.

“Easy for you to say! You’ve done this before.” You groused, still examining your reflection. Jen was an old friend of yours who had lived down the street from you growing up. The two of you had been practically inseparable since elementary school, despite the fact that she was two years older than you.

“Jen’s right, you know.” Oscar, Jen’s long-term boyfriend and your unofficial second roommate, squeezed your shoulder on his way to the kitchen. “Everyone is going to be nervous, so they won’t have time to judge you.”

“Yah, yah. I appreciate the votes of confidence but, unfortunately, my anxiety and I have to hit the road. I would rather not be late.”

“Have fun!” Oscar called as you grabbed your bag.

“You’re gonna kill it!” Shouted Jen as you exited the apartment.

You shook your head, hoping they were right, and set off for your first ever Columbia Law class.

The trek across campus was pretty and the walk helped you calm your racing thoughts. The walkways were littered with other first year students who looked more clueless than you—including a blond boy with a kind face who was staring quizzically at a kiosk in front of him that was plastered with event flyers.

He muttered to himself for a moment before reaching to the side of the kiosk obscured from your view and tugging on the arm of someone beside him. “Ok dude, according to this map we should be heading…” He paused, squinting at the paper he was reading before dramatically pointing left. “West!”

“That’s East.” You chuckled, walking over to inspect the map for yourself. As you neared the misguided fellow, your eyes widened as you recognized his friend. “Matt?”

Laughing brightly and greeting you, Matt tugged free of the other man’s grip and strode over to you. “Are you following me?” He narrowed his eyes at you but his tone remained playful.

Shoving him, you scoffed. “You wish, Murdock. I was going to warn your friend here that the upperclassmen usually put up fake maps as a prank on the first day of classes.”

“Thank god we have someone to warn us of their cruelty, or we’d be dead meat!” The blond spun around and bowed in front of you. “Franklin Nelson, at your service m’lady. You can call me Foggy”

You giggled, introducing yourself. “It’s such a shitty prank. Thankfully, I have roommates who are in their third year and they showed me around weeks ago. Where are you headed?”

“Greene Hall.” Matt informed you.

“Oh, that’s where I’m headed too! Civil Procedure? With Professor McGuiness?”

“The very same! We’re damn lucky to have run into you.” Foggy sighed, shaking his head.

“It’s this way, and we aren’t too far. We’ll probably get there early.”

“That’s good because this one,” Foggy stuck a thumb at Matt, “Has this idea that we need to sit in the front if we don’t want to fail. I’d be perfectly fine sitting in the last row and never being called on once!”

“Studies show that sitting in one of the first few rows increases retention!” Matt elbowed his roommate who just snorted.

“Retention schmention. I say we sit by the cutest people in the class and have them tutor us when we inevitably fail.” Foggy winked at you and you laughed.

Matt squeezed your arm, leaning closer to you. “I think that can be arranged regardless.”

Heat rose in your cheeks as his flirtatious grin made a reappearance. “Oh shut up, trouble maker, or I’ll sit in the very last row just to spite you.”

“We wouldn’t want that.” Matt held out an arm, “Mind walking me to class, sweetheart?”

Rolling your eyes, you turned to Foggy. “How do you put up with him? You’re a Saint, truly.” But you took Matt’s arm anyway, ensuring that you were keeping a steady pace and avoiding anything he might trip over.

The walk to your first law class was, eventful, to say the least. Matt and Foggy were clearly soulmates of a sort, with their nonstop bantering and the way they balanced each other out. Foggy was a ray of sunshine, while Matt was more comfortable in the shadows, so to speak. The blond was all loud declarations and bright smiles, while Matt was more low toned flirting and quiet observations. They were both incredibly intelligent, overly sarcastic, and had a flair for the dramatic. You were ecstatic to have stumbled into their lives.

Matt had successfully cajoled the both of you into sitting with him in the second row, a compromise which Foggy considered a huge win. As students filed in, you subconsciously fiddled with your shirt, suddenly feeling incredibly insecure about your presence in this classroom. A gentle hand grabbed your wrist, making you jump.

“Relax,” Matt whispered. “You look fine, trust me.”

“How do you know?” You murmured nervously.

“Those boys a few rows behind us are staring.” Matt’s smile remained, but his voice held a tension you couldn’t quite place. “And the TA is trying very hard not to.”

“How on earth can you tell that?” You raised an eyebrow at him, incredulous.

“Matt is seriously like some sort of super powered being. He has the greatest intuition of anyone I’ve ever met. Best to trust him about these things.” Foggy nodded solemnly, clearly trying not to burst out laughing.

You simply rolled your eyes, pulling your notebook from your bag. Opening it to the correct page, you stifled a giggle as Foggy leaned over Matt’s lap to whisper-yell at you.

“Why do you already have notes written? Matt, why does she already have notes written?”

“I like to come prepared. I took notes on the first few chapters of the book.”

“But we didn’t even have an assignment for this class!”

“Yah, but I was bored at work and I thought I’d get a head start.” You just shrugged but Foggy glared at you, shaking a finger in your face.

“You’re gonna make the rest of us look like slackers! You, missy, have some apologizing to do.”

“For doing my due diligence?” You laughed.

“Yes! For being too proactive. I think you owe us a tutoring session or two.” Foggy crossed his arms with a huff.

“You have no idea if I even know what I’m doing, these notes could be gibberish!” You chuckled, shaking your head.

“Nope, it’s good material. I can tell. You owe us. Doesn’t she, Matt?” Foggy elbowed his roommate who smirked.

“I think he might be right, sweetheart. What would you say to being the leader of our study group.” Matt tilted his head, focusing on you.

“Do I have a choice?” You sighed.

“No!” Foggy exclaimed at the same time Matt responded, “Not really.”

“Then I accept, but I want my objection noted.”

“It’s all in the record, don’t worry.” Foggy waved a hand, turning his attention back to the front of the room as the Professor walked to the front.

The rest of the week went similarly, as you had three of four classes at the same time as Matt and Foggy. They made great company, so you could hardly complain, but it was the first meeting of your “unofficial official study group” (as Foggy had dubbed it) and you were quite nervous.

You were fairly confident that you knew what you were talking about, but the idea of being the backbone for two other grades besides your own was quite stressful. Not to mention the jittery feeling you got every time your brain reminded you that you’d been in Matt’s room with him for an extended period of time. You chided yourself, Matt—though he was incredibly flirty—was one of the best friends you’d ever had, and you’d be damned before you jeopardized that because you were touch-starved and more than a little thirsty.

Taking a deep breath to keep your antsy libido in check, which was getting increasingly difficult given the fact that you were sitting atop Matt’s bed practically cuddled against him, you turned your focus to the space in front of you for a moment of redirection.

The room was small, a standard dorm room with two long skinny bed frames that held stiff foam mattresses, two identical desks with chipped paint and lumpy rolling chairs, and a bolted-shut window. Although the room was dim and cramped, the view was gorgeous, overlooking a rectangular patch of grass framed with lush green trees and the distant Manhattan skyline, bright with yellow lights against the black of the atmosphere.

Shifting your focus to the inside of the room, you smiled at the dichotomy on full display. While it was clear both boys had cleaned in preparation for your visit, Foggy’s side of the room was haphazardly straightened, with loose socks peeking out from underneath the bed and a handful of stray candy wrappers still visible atop his desk. Matt’s half of the space was meticulously organized, complete with braille labels. It was clear that everything had its place.

A shoulder nudged yours and you choked on a breath in your haste to turn towards the presence beside you. Matt smirked, but a small crease was present between his brows. “You ok? You stopped reading…”

“Yup!” You squeaked, clearing your throat and trying again. “Yes, sorry. Got distracted by your view.” Which was mostly true...

“Is it nice? Foggy’s never told me.” Matt grins sideways at you, furrow on his smooth skin fading.

“It’s…stunning. There’s a lot of green up front, with the lawn and plants and whatnot, but the red brick buildings contrast beautifully. And behind campus you can see the rest of the city, like we’re in an urban valley almost. It’s not like anything I’ve ever seen.”

“It sounds pretty. You should describe more sights for me, sweetheart. You’re good at it.”

Heat ran up your face at the compliment, pulsing in your cheeks and the tips of your ears. Turning from the window, you found your chest settling calmly as you studied Matt’s face. You’d never been this close to him and it was startling how easily his innocuous expression stirred up emotions in you.

He had the slightest shadow of stubble gracing his sharp jawline. As you ran your eyes along his face, you found yourself lingering on the beautiful hazel eyes, nearly blocked by his dark glasses. The blank, honey-bronze orbs held more emotion than you’d ever seen in someone’s expression. In the small time you’d known Matt, you found yourself constantly moved by his passion—for his city, for justice, for Foggy, even for you.

“So can we get back to the precedent of Buck v. Bell or are you just gonna stare lovingly at Matt all night?” Foggy smiled sweetly at you but the glint in his eyes made it clear he was annoyed.

“I wasn’t—I mean I—“ You sputtered, scootching farther away from Matt in an effort to conceal your obvious crush.

“Whatever. It’s late and I’d like to finish soon. Precedent?” Foggy prompted, pointing to his textbook.

“Well, the main point is that disabled and institutionalized individuals were no longer considered to have the same rights as other people.” Matt huffed, thumbing through his textured pages.

“Right. And the opinion implies that losing rights through due process opens you up to losing rights in the future without another trial.” You added, squinting at a particular paragraph for clarity.

“Which sucks, but checks out for 1927.” Foggy frowned.

“If I’m interpreting the important parts correctly, this case is meant to highlight an important consequence of precedent, which is that one decision can impact the judicial system for decades, even over important things like due process.” You explained, turning to Matt. “Is that what you got from this?”

“That’s about what I interpreted, yah.” Matt nodded, giving Foggy a sly grin. “That enough of an explanation for ya, Nelson? Or do we need to break it down point by point.”

“Shut up, Murdock.” Foggy grumbled. “I’d be better with this if I wasn’t dog-tired.”

“You’re doing great, Foggy. Don’t listen to him. All we have left to do this week is read for Torts and then we are home free.” You smiled sympathetically.

“Ugh!” Foggy flopped down onto his pillows, covering his face with his hands.

“Not to be a pain, but I don’t have this text…” Matt shifted uncomfortably, biting his lip.

“That’s alright, I can read mine aloud. If that’s ok with you, Foggy?” You looked to the half-asleep law student for confirmation who nodded tiredly.

“If it allows me to close my eyes, I’d be more than happy to listen.”

Matt chuckled, before tilting his head towards you. “Can I come closer? To make sure I don’t miss anything?” You could’ve sworn you saw Foggy roll his eyes, but you blinked and he remained still as a corpse against his pillows.

“Of course, Matt. Here.” Shuffling closer to him, you lay the textbook across both of your laps, trying incredibly hard to not focus on how warm he was. “This ok?”

Matt nodded, mouth parted slightly and your eyes followed his tongue as it darted out to wet his lips. For a moment, all you heard was static and the soft puffs of Matt’s breath. Coming back into your body, you shook your head to clear out the lovestruck cobwebs.

“Ok, um, Introduction to American Civil Law: Chapter 1, Liability and Negligence…”

To tell the honest truth, Matt hadn’t taken in a word you’d spoken since you passed the introductory paragraph. Legal jargon washed over him like the water of a warm bath, spoken by a soothing dulcet voice and punctuated by the steady thump of your kind heart. Your thigh was resting against his and he could feel the tension in your neck as you desperately kept it mere inches from its desired landing place on his shoulder. Your soft t-shirt brushed over his arm with each expanse of your chest as you inhaled, rubbing more of your sweet lavender and vanilla scent over his skin.

As you continued to be blissfully unaware of his lack of attention, or rather his abundance of attention, his body was fighting an internal battle to not sweep you into his arms and bury his face in your neck.

Leaving St. Agnes had been a culture shock for the ages, but Matt was beginning to love it. The orphanage had been an overwhelmingly lonely place, which Matt attributed to his tendency to pick fights and his disability causing him to stand out. Meeting his new roommate had been nerve wracking, but Foggy was as easy to like as the first ray of sunshine in the spring, despite his grumpiness when he was exhausted. Sure he was messy and his snoring had kept Matt awake for hours, but he had a massive heart. Though he and Foggy had very different lifestyles, the other man fit perfectly into his life, as did you. Matt was more than aware of his tendency to form quick attachments, but his feelings toward you were an entirely different beast.

The night he’d met you in the bookstore, an invitation to go on a date with him had been teetering on the edge of his tongue for hours. Flirting came naturally to him, one of the many reasons he didn’t get along with the other boys of Clinton Church, but given his less than standard childhood, he’d never had the opportunity to start a relationship. Every minute he spent with you made it more obvious that you deserved to be loved, not aimlessly thrown into a date or two, and Matt wasn’t sure he would be able to provide that. At least not now.

An ear-splitting snore sounded from the other side of the room, abruptly ending his daydream. Your arm left its place at his side as you stifled a laugh. “Guess I was more boring than I thought.”

“Trust me, it’s not because of you. That man could fall asleep to the sound of a fire alarm if he tried hard enough.” Matt smirked, humor not quite reaching his eyes as his brain mourned the loss of your touch. Feeling you shift tensely next to him, he pondered for a moment. “If you’re worried about waking him, we could go somewhere else?”

“Where would we go at 2 in the morning on a Thursday?” You groaned, desperately aching to be done with school work for the week but simultaneously more than willing to spend all night with Matt.

“I know a place. But we will probably want this blanket.” Matt grinned at you as your confusion peaked, but you threw the blanket over your shoulder and took his hand nonetheless.

How your friend had discovered that the roof of Butler Library remained accessible after hours via a secluded maintenance stairwell, you’d never know—but you couldn’t help but thank the heavens for granting you this slice of paradise.

The cement that compromised the roof was cold, a symptom of being deprived of the sun for hours now, but you and Matt lay huddled together on his bedspread, lounging in a pocket of warmth your closeness had created. You were practically snuggling, which was not helping soothe the part of your brain that was rabidly attracted to him, sharing your highs and lows from the week.

As the two of you giggled about an incident with a pigeon that had decided to attend Civil Procedure, you found your eyes tracing over the moonlit form of the beautiful man before you, who seemed to notice your staring as his lips quirked up. “So, tell me, sweetheart, how’s a girl like you end up in a place like this?”

With an exaggerated groan, you shoved him playfully. “You and your damn lines, Murdock.”

With a chuckle, Matt’s expression turned from something entirely playful into one of genuine interest. “Seriously, what brought you to Columbia?” Feeling your heart pound under his blank gaze, you blew out a breath.

“That is a long, sad story that I’m sure you don’t really—“

“If you don’t want to tell me, I totally get it. But I’d like to know more about you.” Matt’s answer was honest and lacking his perpetually flirty edge that kept you at a safe distance, which sent a burst of heat to your stomach that you weren’t expecting.

“Oh, well...” Sighing deeply, you considered your options. You’d had a hard time making friends in the past, and had a tendency to over share (or so you’d been told), but Matt had asked for the real answer. That meant he really wanted it, right?

Steeling yourself for the impending rejection, you confessed. “I’m originally from Connecticut. Small little town called Bridgewater, about an hour from New Haven. It’s just me and my mom, really. My dad lives in godknowswhere, Virginia with my two siblings and his girlfriend. He’s…kinda the worst, so we don’t talk much. My mom though, she’s amazing. I owe everything to her.”

Matt smiled at you, nodding encouragingly when you hesitated.

“Um, yah, so long story short, she was diagnosed with cancer when I was a kid. My dad has sort of always been a jackass but her prognosis…I don’t know, it was the last straw for him. I don’t remember much but they started arguing about money and then, he took everything. I didn’t realize it at the time, my mom is the nicest person on the planet and she would never blame my dad for her misfortune, but we lost our house, she lost her job, her assets, two of her kids—though they didn’t fight to stay like I did. The longer I lived, the more curious I became about everything and when I did some digging in high school, I found out my dad had claimed everything in the divorce. He and his attorney had argued that my mom was abusive and financially exploiting him and the judge gave him anything he asked for. I decided I wanted to be a lawyer so I could stop others from going through what my mom and I have.”

The story poured out of you, relieving a pressure you’d been carrying for as long as you remembered. Matt simply listened intently, emotions passing over his face in small flashes as you described your past. Realizing all of the bullshit you’d just dumped on him, you cringed.

“I’m sorry, that was a lot, I just…” Matt’s brow furrowed and his hand shot out to cup your elbow.

“No! No, I’m just so sorry that happened. Your dad sounds like a piece of work.” He gave a disgusted grimace and you giggled.

“He is. My mom still loves him though, bless her heart. We spend Christmas with him every year like he didn’t ruin her life.” The laugh that you have held no humor. “Anyway, that’s my backstory. What about you, trouble maker?” You leaned into the loose hold Matt kept on your arm, eager to learn more about him.

“Well, I’m from New York. Hell’s Kitchen, born and raised just like Foggy. I, uh, I never knew my mom. Was close with my dad, though. He was a boxer, taught me a lot about fighting, persistence.” Matt’s face fell slightly as he paused. Intertwining your fingers with his, your smile softened.

“He sounds like a good man.”

Matt nodded. “Yah, he uh, he was. He died when I was 9.”

Eyes widening, a hasty apology spilled out of you. “Oh Matt, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize—“ A squeeze of your hand stopped you in your tracks.

“It’s ok. I do miss him, though. After he died, I was taken in by an orphanage, raised by nuns. This is, really the first time I’ve lived without feeling like I’m being watched.” Matt chuckled awkwardly, removing his fingers from yours to push up his glasses. “Law interested me for a reason similar to yours, I suppose. My dad, uh, he was murdered. Organized crime hit. I tried to get someone, anyone really, to bring the group to justice and I…failed. Made me realize the justice system needs more devoted participants, I guess.” Taking his hand back into yours, you ran a thumb over his knuckles, allowing him to collect his thoughts before continuing the conversation.

“So you’re interested in criminal law then?” Your heart flipped happily as Matt’s starlit face lit up again.

“Honestly, I’m interested in most of it. But the more I learn about the world, the more I realize how important criminal defense is. My dad’s murder inspired this journey, but what I do with the degree, it’ll be in his memory. I’m starting to think that defense would be the best way to honor him.”

How on Earth did you manage to find the sweetest boy on campus? “That’s…beautiful Matt. Really. He must be so proud of you already.”

Matt’s lips twitched but he seemed unsure. “Maybe he should wait to see if I actually get this degree. Torts is already shaking up to be a nightmare.”

“Ugh, that’s for damn sure.” You laughed breathily, shivering as a breeze pierced your thin shirt.

Face twisting with concern, Matt ran his hand over your arm. “Are you cold? Sorry, I didn’t think it would get this chilly out.”

“Oh, it’s ok! I’m not that cold.” You assured him, relishing in the soft brushes of his calloused fingertips over your arm.

Raising a brow at you, Matt pulled off the crew neck he was wearing, handing it to you. “Humor me.”

Rolling your eyes at his demanding tone, you slipped the garment over your head. The worn gray sweatshirt was soft and comfortably warm with Matt’s body heat. It was such a pleasant relief from the frigid cement that you had to bite back a groan. Breathing in the earthy, clean scent that always followed Matt, you sighed in relief.

“Thank you.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.” Matt grinned.

The night didn’t go on for too much longer after you spilled your guts to your new friend. At his insistence, you called Oscar and Jen to come pick you up rather than walking home.

You fell asleep easily that night and, while it would be easy to blame the late hour, the fabric of Matt’s sweatshirt wrapped around you may have had something to do with it.

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uniquesdata · 2 years ago

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Business Requirements for Document Scanning and Indexing Services

Incorporating digitalization in back-office documentation projects is a critical approach companies must create. Scanning and indexing indirectly help businesses quickly get paper documents into a digital database. Moreover, it secures the data and saves time finding the relevant data. Uniquesdata is the market leader in the field by providing cost-effective Scanning and Indexing Services to numerous industries.

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gracehosborn · 21 days ago

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I hate to be the bearer of frustrating news, but in case some of you who frequent Founders Online (like I do) and have noticed an extreme spike of 503 “Service Temporarily Unavailable” errors, making access to the site impossible for periods of time, the team posted the explanation below:

Founders Online performance issues

19 May 2025: Founders Online is experiencing periodic degraded performance owing to extreme spikes in traffic caused by excessive website crawling, associated with content scooping from AI platforms and other indexers. We are working on a viable fix within the constraints of our server resources.

This is very unfortunate and very disgusting. I’m glad that they are trying to fix the issue, but it breaks my heart that they even have to put in the effort. From personal experience working as a student technician in my university’s Preservation Department, where my primary task is to digitize all sorts of old materials—books, newspapers, photographs, etc, and collaborate on how those items should be handled and scanned so that their digital copies can be presented and made accessible in the right ways, it takes A LOT of work just to digitize one item. Almost all of the documents you see on Founders Online are digital copies of the book pages from where these transcriptions originated—series’ of the founders papers that were printed in the last 70-80 years by university presses. Books that, when Founders was launched 15 years ago, were all between a few years and many decades old, and difficult for the general public to access. Of course, I don’t know the Founders team’s exact process for making the archive when they first started, nor do I claim to be the preservation expert by any stretch of the imagination, but I have a big hunch that it took many hundreds of hours, and likely continues to do so for the remaining volumes they intend to add to the site, to make Founders Online as it appears and maintain its usually fast performance.

AI in general frustrates me, but to see that this extremely valuable archive has now gotten caught in the scooping net makes me equally sad and angry. If you want to gather documents from the site, but will later be offline, you have the ability through the site to download PDF files of individual documents and print them. Most of the material is also in the public domain as well (not all, however—any annotations to a document are copyright of the institution which originally published those physical volumes I mentioned). AI scooping this archive for information to feed to language learning models is a waste of time, energy, and money, and is a violation of copyright law. At the risk of causing performance issues and affecting the servers that make Founders possible, this activity is potentially detrimental to historic preservation and access to historical knowledge. Those hundreds of hours the teams behind the site have worked also come into play: this site is their baby, their hard work, and it’s being stolen. And as a result, everyone’s ability to easily use the site without issue is being affected.

I am extremely fortunate to be in a position where I have been able to acquire a personal backup system for what I primarily use Founders for (my volumes of The Papers of Alexander Hamilton), and more so in that through my university, I have access to the rest of the physical series that make up the archive. So this current issue with the site being slow on performance and frequently down does not inconvenience me much. But this is a privilege. Founders Online was created to get around that privilege and allow for everyone (with an Internet connection) to access these important historical documents. I cannot hammer down to you just how important and valuable that is. Founders Online is an invaluable resource that deserves to be maintained and protected. I’m thankful that the team behind it are working diligently to do just that, but they should never have had to combat AI stealing their hard work and affecting the usability of the site in the first place.

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a-killer-obsession · 1 year ago

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Wavelengths [Killer x Reader, Heat x Reader]

🔞 Minors DNI 🔞

A search for a rumored Vegapunk weapon leads the Kid Pirates to an unexpected new crewmate, with a bloodlust that rivals their own and an incredible power.

CW: Please check AO3 for all current warnings, but general warning for smut, slow burn, serious gore, and really dark themes. AFAB reader, she/her pronouns.

Masterlist || AO3 || Chapter 1

Chapter 7 - Trust

You help Mohawk give the crew their annual medical checkups.

WC: ~4k

Taglist: @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @tremendoushorsepatrolgoth

Apparently the Kid Pirates took their health more seriously than Yin would have guessed, because during dinner it was decided that tomorrow Yin would start her new job in the infirmary by assisting with annual medical checkups. Apparently Mohawk was adamant that the crew have regular health assessments, though to be honest only the top dogs ever usually made it through more than one annual checkup. Henchmen and cabin boys didn't often survive that long. Regardless, he kept well organized records of everyone currently on the ship, with manila folders containing sheets of information, from medical history to blood types to work he'd done himself. They were all kept in careful alphabetical order in filing cabinets that sat in the infirmary, organized by first name since many of the ship's occupants didn't have a surname.

With the addition of Yin's skills he was determined to add a new sheet of paper to each file, documenting old bone breaks, as well as any current internal issues that he might not have been able to catch without scanning equipment. The crew wasn't due for their annuals for another month or so, but he was excited to test out her abilities, so he'd convinced Kid to bring it forward.

She followed him to the infirmary after breakfast, where he gave her a quick tour of the room before performing her own checkup. He usually liked to do an initial interview when a new crewmate came on board but there hadn't really been the opportunity to do it till now. Anytime she'd been free, he'd been busy.

She gave him the short version of her life, he wasn't shocked to hear how the marines had treated her. They discussed contraceptives for a short while, but in truth he didn't really know much about them, since he was used to working for a crew of only men. She told him she had some sort of implant the commodore had forced on to her, so he made a note to look in to it, but left it be at that. The entire female reproductive system was something he was going to need to study now. He at least didn't need to inquire about her last cycle, or how irregular her period was, since he'd heard from Heat what happened during her initiation. He'd been unsurprised to discover the slave mark burned in to her skin in the middle of her back, it was long healed since it had been probably twenty years since she was branded.

“Any old injuries to note?” He asked, pulling out the new page he'd whipped up yesterday and photocopied a million times. It had a simple outline of a human, duplicated and labeled ‘front’ and ‘back’, with space around the edges so he could make notes and draw arrows to mark notable injuries.

“I broke my left ankle when I was learning to moon step, when I was about fourteen,” she said, tapping her lip with her index finger while she tried to recall past injuries, “oh and I dislocated my right hip when I was eight”

“How'd you do that?” He asked, making quick notes on the page.

“Got raped by a man too big for me,” she said plainly. He paused and put down his pen, letting out a heavy sigh. She seemed indifferent, like she'd just told him she'd fallen from a tree or something. You know, something normal for an eight year old to have done. He didn't pry further, she'd already given him her life story, he didn't need more information.

“I just need to check your eyes and ears and we can start calling the crew in for their checks,” he said, wheeling his stool over to sit in front of her. She was sitting over the side of the examination table. The infirmary wasn't large, but it was big enough for a decent size desk, an examination table, and a couple of more comfortable beds for those who needed a quiet place to recover, or required observation. The walls were lined with cabinets, many of them under lock and key, bookcases containing medical journals, and several tall filing cabinets. The room didn't have any windows, since it was smack in the middle of the building that sat above deck towards the back of the ship, and it smelt heavily of medical grade disinfectant.

“Can you remove your mask for me?” He asked politely, otoscope in hand.

“I can but you have to be quick, did Killer explain how my mask works to you?” She asked.

“He did, you won't be able to hear or see me properly, correct?” He said, “I'll be quick, just look straight ahead and stay still, I'll put your mask back on as soon as I'm done”

“Okay then, I think I trust you,” she slid her mask off and placed it on the bed beside her, sitting as still as she could, “okay, go ahead,” she couldn't make out her own voice, but she hoped she was speaking.

He gasped as he looked at her eyes and saw the grey-pink, no whites or iris or discernable pupil visible on them. He pushed it aside for now, he had to check her ears first. He moved quickly, knowing that every second he took was another second for her to become overwhelmed. Killer had warned that in the past she'd been known to become feral when she was without her mask, and he didn't feel like getting bitten today.

Her ears looked healthy, so he swapped his otoscope for his ophthalmoscope, rolling his stool to be directly in front of her and gently pulling her eyelids away to see more of her eyeballs. It was useless, he couldn't make out anything remotely human on her eyes other than the shape - whatever was going on with them was outside of his skillset. He sighed and gave up, putting the tool down and picking her mask up to slide carefully over her head. She felt it starting to touch her, so she quickly took over and shimmied it into its usual comfortable position.

“All done?” She asked.

“All done, thanks for not biting me,” he half laughed as he scribbled notes in her chart.

“I only do that to men who ask nicely,” he assumed she winked after that but he couldn't tell past the visor.

“Right,” he tried to brush it off, he wasn't one who was comfortable or who knew how to react to open flirting, “so, with the others. I'll do all my usual examinations, and when I'm done I'll have you scan them. I want to hear about any current or old injuries, and any abnormalities you see. I've never had access to scanning equipment so it'll be mostly new information for me.”

“Okay, can do doc!” She replied, moving from the exam table to the desk, sitting on the edge and kicking her feet.

“One last thing,” Mohawk said as he stood to go find his first patient. Most of the crew thought medical checks were for pussies and would no doubt be unwilling victims, “everything in this room comes under doctor-patient confidentiality okay? You're my nurse now, everything you hear is to be kept private. And keep it professional, you may be surprised how many of these men have STIs. If I hear a single laugh while I'm looking at someone's dick I'll have Killer drown you, got it?”

“Genitals don't phase me, most of the showers in the marines were mixed gender,” she shrugged, “you may be surprised to hear how many dicks I've come face first with to check for UTIs”

“Okay, good, we should have no issues then,” he said, “get off the desk, it's not professional. Sit in my chair till I need your assistance. I'll be mostly on the stool anyway”

“Roger that, doc,” she gave a mock salute and slid off the desk as he left.

Yin really was surprised at how many henchmen had STIs, and by the time they were done she was sure she could recite Mohawk's safe sex spiel of the top of her head, word for word. A few henchmen had been suffering in silence with bad constipation, and one had a badly broken toe. The cabin boys were all relatively healthy, but Mohawk gave them all the safe sex talk anyway, since it wouldn't be long before they started getting curious about the women, and he desperately hoped he could keep them from turning in to disease-ridden henchmen. Some of them were already partaking, but had been lucky enough to not catch anything.

It was well in to the afternoon when they got to the officers and commanders. The officers were all healthy, being that they'd been on the ship long enough to have regular checkups and knew well to follow Mohawk's advice. Yin had to stand on the examination table to check Wire's head, since he was just so damn tall.

She was surprised to find during Heat's examination that he actually had several hidden piercings that she could see through his clothes while she scanned him. She didn't ask why his dick was pierced, it didn't seem like an appropriate medical question. Kid wasn't happy about being examined, and complained the whole time that he was too busy for this shit. Mohawk gave him a long, stern talking to about drinking less beer and more water, if he didn't want a repeat of yesterday. She hadn't realised that the metal arm didn't have a real arm inside, she'd just assumed it was some sort of cover. She bit back a gasp when he removed it so Mohawk could check the stump of what used to be an arm. The base had metal embedded in to it, assumedly to help the prosthetic stick. She did her best to not gawk.

Last up was Killer, who they had to wait quite long for since he had been busy with some new recipe he had wanted to try that required being cooked slowly for many hours. He smelled of freshly cut herbs and bread when he entered, mixed with his usual scent of musk and spices. He locked the door as he entered, and Yin came to the jarring realisation that he was probably going to need to remove his mask. Mohawk went through his usual line of questioning before standing in front of Killer, he was too tall to examine from the stool. He did the same flexibility and grip strength tests he'd done for everyone else, and tapped his knees with a little hammer to check reaction times, before picking up his otoscope and turning to Yin expectantly.

“Right, sorry,” she said, turning and facing the wall. She heard something click and hair rustling as Killer removed his mask. “Hey um.. should I examine his head while the mask is off? I can't see his face if I'm scanning him, I promise”

“My head is fine,” Killer said flatly.

“I'm making notes of old injuries as well though, its important for my records,” Mohawk explained, “she's fast, it'll only take her a moment to check your head if nothing is wrong”

“Fine,” he sighed, “as long as she can't see”

“If my visor is dark green or red, I can't see you, just your insides,” she said, “to be honest I can only make out faces when its purple or like a neon green”

“Neon green is what you had when you killed the seaking right?” Killer asked, “is that some sort of night vision?”

“Yeah,” she explained, still awkwardly facing the wall, “and I can see pretty deep in the water as well, thats how I saw the seaking. I'm gonna turn around now, okay? I'll only be able to see your bones”

“Okay,” he replied. Mohawk finished checking Killer's eyes and stepped aside for her. She couldn't see well, but she'd spent all day in the room so she knew there was no furniture between them, and she could see their skeletons, the metal base of the examination bed, and Killer's mask sitting on the bed bedside him. She used what she could see as a guide to carefully make her way over, but she couldn't see the floor so her steps were awkward and she tripped.

“Woah, careful,” Mohawk said as he caught her, “what's wrong with you?”

“Can't see the floor,” she laughed, “I can only really see your bones and the metal things in the room, like Killer's mask and the base of the bed. Hard to walk without a floor”

She righted herself and stood carefully in front of Killer, who was definitely too tall. “You're too big, I'm gonna need to get on the table,” she climbed up on the side of him that didn't hold his mask, thankful that the base was metal and the mattress was thin so she could even see what she was doing. In her mind she was adding thickness to all the things she could see to account for what she couldn't.

“Ah- my hair-” Killer growled and pulled away, she'd unknowingly knelt on his long blond locks that had been resting against the bed.

“Fuck, sorry Kil,” she said, kneeling behind him, “I couldn't see it”

“It's fine, just get it over with,” he muttered, pulling his hair over his shoulder to the front so she couldn't catch it again.

“Is it okay if I touch you?” She asked as professionally as she could, “I need to turn your head”

“That's fine,” he replied.

She put her hands gently on either side of his head, carefully turning it and moving her hands around as she examined. It felt like he had thick bangs over his forehead, which definitely surprised her.

“Fuck you have a lot of old fractures for someone who wears a helmet,” she noted, “I can see… seven, Mohawk, if you want to note that down”

“Got it,” he replied, scribbling in his notes.

She turned Killer's face to look at her, her thumbs tracing his cheeks as she inspected them. She didn't even realise how intimate she was being, it was a natural process for her. His jawline seemed strong and his cheekbones looked prominent, if she had to guess she'd say he must have a sharp, attractive face. It looked symmetrical at the bone level, but who knows what kind of scars or deformities he might have on top that caused him to wear a mask.

“Old fracture on the left cheek as well,” she said, “I'd bet good money Kid did that”

“It'd be a winning bet,” he replied, suppressing a smile. Mohawk was busy with his notes, and she couldn't actually see his face, but he felt exposed anyway, and he didn't want anyone to see his ugly smile - the real reason he wore a mask.

“I'm gonna switch to red now okay?” She said, removing one of her hands from his face to fiddle with her mask. The visor turned red and her hand returned to his face, “Nothing of note on the front, eyes look healthy, frontal lobe looks fine,” she turned his head and made her way around, checking the side, then the back, then the other side. She paused, holding his head firmly in place. “Mohawk?”

“Mmm?” He looked up from his notes.

“There's something here, on the outside, towards the base of the neck,” she said, running her hand through Killer's hair and pulling it gently aside to clear the area she wanted Mohawk to check, “right here,” she pointed as she saw the bag of organs and veins that formed Mohawk stand beside the bed.

“It looks like a small cyst,” he said, prodding it with a gloved hand, “Killer I thought I told you to let me know if your mask did shit like this, it looks like it's about where the edge would rub”

“It's nothing,” he pulled Yin's hand out of his hair, entirely ignoring how nice her delicate hands felt woven through his locks, “I was just gonna deal with it myself”

Mohawk sighed and returned to his desk, “you're staying when she's done checking you over, so I can deal with that. It needs draining”

“I have shit to do,” Killer grumbled.

“Will you stop being a baby and let him do his job?” Yin scowled as she slid off the bed carefully, “now stand up so I can finish the scan, you can put your mask back on but I still have to check the rest of you”

He sighed and put his mask back in place before unwillingly standing, she tugged his arm to pull him further from the bed so she could walk all the way around him and quickly went about her scan, checking his bones first, then switching back to the red mode. She lifted his left arm as she checked his side.

“Your heart is beating a little fast Kil, you okay?” She noted.

“His heart rate was fine before,” Mohawk mused, quirking an eyebrow at Killer, who scowled under his mask at the clear insinuation.

“I'm just pissed off, now hurry the fuck up and quit touching me,” he growled.

“Anddd mister grumpymask is back,” she smiled, “relax, I'm done. He's all clear, doc, fit as a fiddle”

“Good, thats everyone then,” Mohawk said as he made a few last notes and stood to start collecting the supplies he needed for Killer's cyst, “you can go, Yin, thank you for your help. It won't always be this much work, I promise”

“Its fine,” she replied, unlocking the door to leave, “this was fun, I was happy to help. See you two at dinner,” she sung as she left. Mohawk gave her a weak goodbye, and Killer remained quiet.

Dinner wasn't far off, in fact by the time Mohawk was done with Killer it was time to head to the dining hall. Everyone else was already there, and Killer quickly finished off the special recipe of slow cooked beef and beer stew that he'd been working on earlier, with several fresh loaves of sourdough he'd made earlier to go with it.

“Anything of importance to report from the annuals?” Kid asked Mohawk as he dipped his bread in the hearty stew.

“Just that your henchmen need to keep it in their pants if they can't learn to use a rubber,” Mohawk sighed.

“The usual then,” Kid laughed, “dirty cunts”

“Oi, Yin,” Wire interjected, “I've got a question for you”

“Hit me,” she replied with a smile, inhaling another mouthful of the delicious stew - Killer's cooking really was the best she'd ever had.

“How did you know anything about us or our reputation if you've been locked away for the last five years?” He asked in a serious tone. It felt like an integration, like he was about to crack open that everything she'd told them was a lie, “you knew who Heat and I were, you knew the Captain and Killer, you said you knew you'd fit in here. But you've been in a cell for the last five years, and we only got our first bounties a few years ago”

Eveyone else turned and stared at her, and Kid stopped eating entirely, mulling it over in his head and coming to the same realisation Wire had, that the dots didn't connect. “How did you know about us?” Kid was almost growling, it felt like a threat.

She sighed and put down her spoon, looking across the table at Killer's expressionless mask, like he could offer some sort of support. “You really want to know? You're not gonna like the answer”

“Answer the fucking question,” Kid said sternly, grinding his teeth.

“Okay, fuck, don't bite my fucking head off. I'd been with the commodore you found me with for most of my imprisonment, and I guess you could say he was a fan of yours,” she explained, careful to speak to Kid directly, so as not to incur any further wrath from him, “when you came on to the grandline he started getting a bit obsessed. Every time he came to… visit me… he would tell me about your crew, and the big promotion he was gonna get when he took you down. Which is ironic, in hindsight. Anyway at some point he started bringing in your bounty posters, the four of you, mostly Kid's, and he'd use them against me if I wasn't obediently letting him have his way with me. He'd say shit like ‘you're so lucky you have me here to protect you and make you feel so good’ and then he'd wave Kid's poster in my face and say ‘this cunt would rip your legs off just so he could fuck the bloody holes left behind, he'd rape you to death and then he'd keep going. His whole crew would rape your dead body till you were nothing but a pile of rotting bones’. Sometimes he'd leave the posters in the cell with me, to remind me of my place, so I got familiar with your faces. Of course I never believed that shit, it wasn't hard for me to see that the marines are the bad people in this world, I've seen pirates as the good guys for a long time now. The second Kid let me go the day you found me, I knew I was right and the commodore was full of shit. Not that I think there aren't pirates that rape, I just knew for sure that you guys didn't. Anyway, yeah. That's how.”

Kid was visibly angry, not at her but at the commodore, as he tore a huge chunk of bread from an untouched loaf and dipped it with a little too much force in to his stew, making liquid spill out around the edges of the bowl, “Fucker…” he said through a full mouth.

“I did say you wouldn't like it,” she grumbled, looking mournfully at her stew. She no longer had any appetite but forced herself to keep eating anyway. She didn't want to offend Killer by not finishing the food he'd made them.

“Sorry,” Wire said solemnly, “I shouldn't have pried”

“It's okay Wire,” she forced a smile for him, “I get it. I'm a stranger, you don't trust me, and things didn't add up. You were just protecting the crew. I hope you'll come to trust me, in time, like I'm trying my best to learn to trust all of you”

“Trust is hard earned,” Killer added plainly.

“You think I don't know that?” She almost yelled in clear annoyance. Heat spooked a little as she slammed a closed fist on the table, “You think its easy for me to be sitting here on a ship full of men when every man who has every touched me has raped me? You think I don't know how hard it is to learn to trust someone? Cut me some fucking slack, Killer”

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“I'm not very hungry anymore,” she said, frustrated and angry. She felt like she was being treated like the enemy, and she'd done nothing to deserve it. She'd been working hard every day to earn their trust, and she felt brushed off. “Sorry, the food was delicious Killer, I'm just… not hungry anymore”

“Leave the bowl, I'll finish it,” Kid told her. He grabbed her hand before she left, “you'll have our trust, Killer's is just a little harder to earn. You're doing good work here, just give it time. I hope I can earn your trust as well, as your Captain”

“Thanks, Kid,” she sighed as he let her hand go. She didn't say anything more, and they watched as she quickly disappeared out of the galley and the doors swung shut behind her.

[NEXT CHAPTER]

#one piece fanfiction #one piece smut #killer one piece #killer x reader #massacre soldier killer #heat one piece #heat x reader #kid pirates

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kyuriin-chan · 2 months ago

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More than a Puzzle | Mycroft Holmes

Chapter 10

Mycroft Holmes x OC

Words: 2.736

Dive into the world of Mina, Mycroft, and all the twists and turns of their journey.

Explore their lives, challenges, and the deep connection that grows between them.

Summary - Chapter-index

Mina sat at her desk, the weight of her task settling heavily on her shoulders. The morning had started like any other—her routine efficient, her mind sharp, her role well-practiced. She had spent months earning Mycroft’s trust, proving herself to be not only competent but indispensable.

And now, she was the one filtering through classified intelligence, determining which files required his immediate attention and which could be handled by others. It was a responsibility he did not give lightly. And yet, he had given it to her.

It should have been just another day. But then, she saw it.

A single file.

At first glance, it looked no different from the countless others she had sorted through before. A standard document marked restricted, its contents hidden behind a veil of bureaucratic language and official insignias. But as her eyes scanned the text, a cold weight settled in her stomach.

This was it.

The file she had been sent to find.

Her pulse quickened as she flipped through the pages, absorbing the contents with a trained efficiency. Dates. Names. Operations buried deep within government records, hidden from even the most high-ranking officials. And most importantly—the confirmation of her agency’s existence.

A shiver ran down her spine.

This was why she was here. This was the information she had spent months subtly searching for, the final piece of evidence her organization needed to secure their secrecy. If this document reached the wrong hands, it could unravel everything.

For a moment, she hesitated.

She had known this moment would come. She had trained for it, prepared herself for the weight of it. And yet…

Her fingers trembled slightly as she gripped the file.

This wasn’t just intelligence anymore. This wasn’t just a mission.

This was Mycroft’s work.

His trust.

His world.

Mina swallowed hard, her throat dry. There was no room for hesitation in her line of work. She had a job to do. A mission to complete. And yet, as she sat there, file in hand, she couldn’t shake the heavy realization that had been creeping up on her for weeks.

Everything had changed.

She had changed.

And the thought of betraying Mycroft Holmes now felt like betraying herself.

A shadow moved in the reflection of the glass cabinet beside her, and she instinctively straightened, schooling her features into practiced neutrality.

“My dear Mina, hard at work as always.”

His voice was smooth, measured, carrying its usual air of control, but Mina knew him well enough now to catch the slight edge of warmth underneath.

She turned to see Mycroft standing in the doorway, his sharp eyes watching her as he stepped into the room. He had been distant before, but ever since that night—since their moment—he had been… different.

Not entirely open, not entirely changed, but something in the way he looked at her now, in the way he sought her out, made it clear that he could no longer deny what had grown between them.

And yet, here she was, holding the one thing that could destroy it all.

Mina forced a small smile, closing the file with an easy grace. “Just another ordinary day of drowning in classified secrets,” she said lightly, slipping the document into the stack beside her. “Anything I should be aware of?”

Mycroft studied her for a moment before stepping closer. “If there were, I trust you would already have determined it.”

The words sent another wave of unease through her.

He trusted her. Completely.

And that made her next move all the more unbearable.

She nodded, forcing herself to breathe steadily. “Of course,” she murmured, her fingers still resting against the closed file.

She had a decision to make.

The moment Mycroft’s footsteps faded down the hall, Mina knew she didn’t have much time.

She sat perfectly still for a second, listening—waiting—ensuring that no one would unexpectedly walk in. Then, with a deep breath, she reached for the file.

Her fingers hesitated as they brushed against the thick folder, its weight far heavier than mere paper and ink. She had spent months weaving herself into Mycroft’s world, proving her worth, earning his trust. And now, in a matter of seconds, she was about to undo all of it.

Her mission. Her duty.

This was what she had been sent to do. If she took this file, the danger to her agency would be neutralized. The mission would be complete.

And yet…

A sharp pang shot through her chest as she thought of him.

Mycroft Holmes, the man who had first been nothing more than a target, an obstacle to be deceived. The man who had challenged her, intrigued her, who had, against all odds, made her feel.

Would he ever forgive her?

Could she ever forgive herself?

Get it done, Mina.

She steeled herself, gripping the file tighter before slipping it beneath her coat. The crisp edges of the paper pressed against her ribs, a physical reminder of the choice she had made.

She exhaled slowly, closing her eyes for a moment.

This was the right thing to do. If her agency was safe, if this file was gone, maybe—just maybe—she could stay. Maybe the mission ending wouldn’t have to mean losing him.

But a bitter thought crept in.

If Mycroft ever found out…

She shoved the thought aside. She couldn't afford hesitation now.

With a practiced calm, she straightened the remaining files on her desk, smoothing out any trace of disturbance. Then she rose, smoothing down her coat as she moved toward the exit.

She needed to get rid of this file. And she needed to do it fast.

The file was gone.

Mina stood there for a moment, staring at the empty space where it had been. The classified information that had put her agency in danger, the mission that had consumed her for months—it was over. She had done what she was sent to do.

And yet, she felt no victory.

Instead, an unfamiliar weight settled in her chest.

She had expected relief, and to some extent, she felt it. The looming threat was gone, the dangerous game she had played with Mycroft had reached its conclusion. She was free.

So why did it feel like she had lost something instead?

Mina exhaled slowly, running a hand through her neatly pinned-up hair.

She had betrayed his trust.

Not in the way she once thought she would—there was no intention to ruin him, no satisfaction in deceiving him. But she had still taken something from him. And despite all her justifications, despite knowing it had to be done, guilt clung to her like a shadow.

Would Mycroft ever notice? Would he ever suspect?

She had spent months learning how to anticipate his moves, to understand how his mind worked. He trusted her judgment, believed in her abilities. But if there was one thing she had learned, it was that Mycroft Holmes saw everything—eventually.

Could she keep this secret from him forever?

Mina straightened her coat, pushing away the gnawing thoughts. There was no turning back now.

All she could do was move forward and hope that when the truth eventually came to light, it wouldn’t destroy the one thing she hadn’t expected to find in this mission—him.

Mina barely had time to compose herself before stepping back into Mycroft’s office. She had disposed of the file, but the weight of her actions still lingered in the back of her mind.

Yet the moment she entered, something shifted.

He was already seated in his chair, eyes lifting from his work the second she crossed the threshold. And for the second time that day, she saw it—warmth.

His gaze softened ever so slightly, a contrast to the cold calculation he often carried. It was subtle, but she noticed. She always noticed.

Mina forced herself to walk calmly to her desk, settling into her chair as if nothing had changed, as if she hadn’t just done something she could never take back.

She had barely reached for her pen when she felt it.

A presence.

Mycroft had risen from his seat, moving with the kind of silent grace that made him all the more dangerous. Before she could turn, she felt the heat of him behind her. The faint brush of fabric. The ghost of his breath on her neck.

Her fingers tightened slightly around her pen.

“Mycroft,” she murmured, forcing her voice to remain steady.

“Yes, my dear?” His tone was smooth, calm, but there was something else beneath it—something teasing, something intimate.

She swallowed hard, feeling a shiver ghost down her spine as his fingers lightly traced the curve of her chair.

“You seem tense,” he observed.

Her lips parted slightly, but no words came out. Of course, she was tense. She had just committed an act of betrayal, and now he was standing so close, his very presence unraveling her composure.

“I wonder…” he continued, lowering his voice just enough to make her pulse quicken. “What is it that’s distracting you today, Mina?”

You, she thought bitterly. And the fact that I just erased something from your world.

But she couldn’t say that.

Instead, she forced herself to smile, tilting her head slightly toward him, though not quite meeting his gaze. “Just work,” she replied, her voice smooth, measured. “As always.”

A pause.

Then, she felt the lightest brush of his fingers at the back of her chair before he leaned in slightly, his breath warming the shell of her ear.

“Good,” he murmured. “Because I do so hate to be ignored.”

Mina clenched her jaw, steadying her breathing. He was teasing her, drawing her into this intoxicating game of control and restraint, of tension laced with something far more dangerous than politics and power.

And she?

She was letting him.

Because despite everything—despite the guilt, despite the lies—she wanted this.

She wanted him.

Mina forced herself to remain still, even as every nerve in her body seemed to respond to his presence behind her. Mycroft Holmes was a man who rarely allowed himself indulgences, but when he did, it was always deliberate, calculated. A slow unraveling, precise and unavoidable—like a trap being set without a single wasted movement.

And she had willingly stepped into it.

He lingered for just a moment longer, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him at her back. Then, with maddening ease, he straightened and moved back to his own desk, as if nothing had happened at all.

Her fingers tightened around her pen as she exhaled slowly, steadying herself before glancing his way.

Mycroft had already resumed his work, posture impeccable, expression composed. But there was something in the slight curve of his lips, in the way his fingers tapped idly against the polished wood of his desk, that told her he knew exactly what he was doing to her.

Infuriating man.

Mina turned her attention back to her own work, but focus eluded her. The stolen file, the weight of her deception, and now this—the undeniable pull between them—it was too much to balance all at once.

Minutes passed in near silence, broken only by the occasional turn of a page or the scratch of a pen against paper.

Then, without looking up from his documents, Mycroft spoke.

“Join me for dinner this evening.”

Not a question. A statement.

Mina glanced up, raising a brow. “Is that an order, Mr. Holmes?”

He finally looked at her, his gaze steady, unreadable. “A request.”

That was rare. Mycroft Holmes did not ask for things. He demanded them. Ensured them. Controlled them.

And yet, here he was, offering her the illusion of choice.

Mina hesitated. She knew she should be careful. She had already blurred too many lines, allowed herself to step too far into dangerous territory.

But she also knew, with an aching certainty, that she didn’t want to say no.

She sighed, setting down her pen. “Fine. But if this is some ploy to make me work through dinner—”

His lips twitched, the faintest hint of amusement breaking through his mask of control. “I assure you, Mina, my intentions are entirely personal.”

Her heart skipped a beat.

She shouldn’t want this.

And yet, she did.

Mina leaned back in her chair, studying him for a moment before finally nodding. “Alright. Dinner it is.”

His gaze held hers for just a second longer than necessary before he inclined his head in satisfaction and returned to his work.

Mina, however, knew better than to think she had won anything in this exchange.

The day had been slow, the minutes dragging on as Mina attempted to focus on her work. But no matter how hard she tried, her mind kept drifting—to the weight of her deception, to the way Mycroft had teased her earlier, to the dinner they were supposed to have later that evening.

And then, her phone rang.

It was such an unexpected sound in the quiet office that she startled slightly.

Her phone never rang during work hours.

From across the room, Mycroft’s sharp gaze lifted instantly, settling on her with keen interest.

Mina barely glanced at him as she picked up her phone, her eyes locking onto the number displayed on the screen. A jolt of recognition shot through her.

Her brother.

Of all times, why now?

Without hesitation, she pushed back her chair and rose to her feet. “Excuse me,” she murmured smoothly, already making her way to the door.

She could feel Mycroft’s gaze burning into her back as she stepped out, but she didn’t dare turn around.

The moment she was out of his office and safely in the hallway, she pressed the phone to her ear.

“Daniel,” she said in a low voice, keeping her tone steady. “What’s wrong?”

A short pause. Then, a sigh. “You always assume something’s wrong.”

Mina closed her eyes briefly. Because it usually is.

She leaned against the wall, lowering her voice. “You wouldn’t be calling me during work unless it was important. Talk.”

Daniel hesitated, and that hesitation alone told her enough.

“I just…” he exhaled. “Are you alright?”

Her brows furrowed. “Of course I am.”

“You haven’t checked in. And I know you, Mina. When you go silent, it usually means something’s off.”

Mina clenched her jaw. Damn it, Daniel. He knew her too well.

“I’ve been busy,” she said vaguely, glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one was listening. “But I’m fine.”

Another pause. Then, in a quieter voice, he asked, “You got the file, didn’t you?”

Her grip on the phone tightened.

Yes. She had the file. And she had gotten rid of it.

Her mission was supposed to be over.

So why did it feel like it wasn’t?

Mina sighed. “It’s done.”

A beat of silence. Then—“So what’s keeping you there?”

She froze.

Because the answer was painfully, undeniably clear.

Mycroft Holmes.

She wasn’t supposed to care. She wasn’t supposed to feel this torn. The mission was supposed to be simple—get close, retrieve the file, and leave.

But she had blurred the lines.

And now, for the first time, she wasn’t sure where her loyalties truly lay.

Mina exhaled slowly, forcing control back into her voice. “I’ll handle it, Daniel. You don’t need to worry.”

Another pause. Then, reluctantly, “Alright. Just… be careful, Mina.”

She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Always.”

The call ended.

Mina stood there for a moment, gripping her phone tightly.

She had just reassured her brother, but the truth was—she wasn’t sure how much longer she could lie to herself.

Taking a deep breath, she straightened, smoothed down her clothes, and composed herself before stepping back into the office.

Mycroft was still seated, but his gaze lifted to hers the second she entered.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

She could see the question in his eyes, the sharp glint of curiosity, of suspicion.

But Mina just smiled, returning to her seat as if nothing had happened.

Let him wonder. Let him guess.

Because the truth?

The truth was something she wasn’t even ready to admit to herself.

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