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shiningjustforreid · 5 months ago

Text

stains

glimpses through fem!reader and Spencer’s relationship, through four instances of spills.

word count: 3.5k ish

a/n: i love the idea that for some of us, our personalities are made up all the things we like about the people we know and see. the idea that we’re all little bits and pieces of the things we love, and our experiences. this sort of explores that. (also this was mildly self indulgent because much like reader i’m a klutz!) <3

warnings/tags: 18+ for implied intimacy and canon typical violence for cm, pet names up the wazoo, reader is lowkey clumsy, Derek Morgan being himself, reader gets injured but she’s fine, who’s Maeve?, anxious love confession, Spencer adores reader so so much, S1 and S6 (ish) Spencer, Spencer in and post prison, love letters, marriage, kids, and briefly mentioned pregnancy, girl dad!Spencer Reid my beloved

- ✩ -

coffee - the first stain

To be honest, at first, he’s appalled.

The mug you set down on his desk isn’t his, so God knows whose mouth was on it last. You - somewhat carelessly - plopped it down on the file he’s working on, grinning that thousand watt smile he’s secretly become fond of. You’re wearing a sweater he noticed that brings out your eyes - a berry colored wool garment that he wishes you’d wear more.

“Hey! Morgan said you were exhausted. Thought I’d make you coffee.”

You pick it up, and set it down again, for emphasis, and a few drops make their way down the side and onto his case file, surely creating a cinnamon toned half circle that Hotch will not love. You don’t notice, watching his face.

“I made it with a bunch of sugar. Just how you like it, right?”

Suddenly, he realizes he’s been staring up at you, and then his mouth is moving faster than his brain.

“Yeah, I uh, I am pretty tired, now that you say it. Didn’t sleep well, long night, you know?”

You nod, sipping your own coffee, fingers wrapped around the ceramic.

“I get that. Goes with the job, right?”

“Oh, absolutely, yeah, I- wait, Morgan said that? Did he— what else did he tell you?”

You grin, coffee mug to lips again.

Stop staring, Reid.

“Nothing, really. Just said you needed a boost. Thought I’d provide.”

Titling your head a tad, you look down, a mild panic crossing your face when you see you’ve stained his file.

“Oh my God - Reid, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-“

He’s quick to shake his head, hands coming up to reassure, his eyes wide.

“No no no, it’s okay, truly, I-I made a mistake on that one anyways. I’ll need to have a new copy printed, honest.”

Frowning, you look him over, searching for a tell, something to let you know whether he’s lying or not.

“Are you sure? I can do it, I’m not that behind on mine, I could—“

Before he thinks - you’d assume, with all his brains, he would - his hand grabs your arm, that gorgeous sweater under his finger tips, his eyes locked with yours. He says your name, once, his tone more serious than he’d like.

“It’s okay. Thanks for the coffee.”

You blink, and then a slow grin takes over your face.

“You’re welcome. Let me know if you need more.”

For a moment, neither of you move, the heat of his hand burning through the wool on your arm, until he lets go like you’re the one scorching his skin, like he’s just realized that he’s touching you. You laugh a little, awkwardly, and he grins with the same level of unpracticed nerves, and you head back to your desk.

He picks up the mug, and sips slowly, closing his eyes for a moment - it does have a mountain of sweetness, the saccharine liquid coating his mouth but soothing his senses. When he sets it down again, it’s on a part of his workspace not occupied by case work. Just as predicted, the file that once housed the beverage now bears a semi circle of dried java. His pointer finger traces the stain, clockwise and then counter, for a moment, before he glances up in horror to see Morgan, of all people, signature smirk in place.

“‘Thanks for the coffee’. I don’t what’s sweeter, that coffee you just got or-“

“Shut up.”

He mumbles, face flushed, small smile on his face despite the teasing. He traces the coffee stain one last time before he hastily tucks the soiled paper away in a drawer.

blood - the second stain

“What do you mean you aren’t getting a response from her on comms?”

He’s so scared, he can’t even stop to think just how breathless and afraid he sounds, as he turns to Hotch, who fixes him with a look that clearly says, Calm down, Reid.

“It could just be non-functional, or got knocked off, or caught.”

Hotch says calmly, almost maddeningly so. Spencer swallows back the protests, the arguments that swell up in his throat like bile.

They’d created, and given the profile, and once Penelope had narrowed down the couple possible properties their potential unsub owned, you, Morgan, and Prentiss had headed into an abandoned storage facility, silent and careful.

Perhaps not careful enough.

The voice in his head reminds him, almost sadly, and he grits his teeth inside tightly drawn and chapped lips. Shaky hands smooth over his slacks, again and again, as his eyes stay fixed on Hotch.

“Ask-ask Morgan again. If she’ll respond.”

He’s given a frown, dark brows pulling together in a very typical Hotch-like manner.

“Is there a specific reason you’re asking about her, Reid?”

Is there? God, he doesn’t know. You bring him coffee nearly every morning, but perhaps that’s just kindness. Then there’s the chocolate sprinkled donuts that start his work day from time to time - maybe you just enjoy pastry treats, and think of him, when you buy one. Oh, and heaven forbid he forget the way you’ll come by his desk, and ask for clarification on a piece of paperwork or a procedure - that you probably could’ve asked Hotch or Prentiss about. You listen, active listening too, eye contact, body still - when his explanations turn into rambles about statistics about this type of criminal, your eyes watching his face, your own voice quiet.

Is he deluding himself? Seeing phantom romance where there’s maybe merely nothing but platonic affection? Blinking, once, he shakes his head in response to his Unit Chief’s question.

“No Hotch. I’m just worried, she-well, she hasn’t responded, and Morgan has, and Prentiss has, and I—“

Speak of the devil, Morgan’s voice comes through, demanding and tense.

“I need a medic. Prentiss and I secured the unsub, but, not before—“

Oh God. Not before that bastard got to you with a baseball bat, to the back of the head, you unaware before your face met the concrete below. Spencer’s not even asking for permission, snatching the keys to an SUV off the desk nearby and flooring the gas pedal.

You can’t die. Not before I—

Driving there is like hell - his lungs burn like there’s smoke and ash polluting them, and fear feels like too tame a word to describe the overwhelming panic that seizes his heart the more he drives.

I’m a fool, he thinks wildly, as his knuckles grip the steering wheel like a vice. A damn fool if I don’t tell her-

He’s barely got the thing in park before he’s scrambling out the driver’s side door, Converse immediately coated from the dusty ground outside the facility.

When he finds Morgan, and you, head lolled to the side, eyes closed, face pale as his must be, he falls to his knees with little regard for his own pain or discomfort. Morgan watches, careful, his voice gentle when he speaks, trying to calm his terrified friend.

“She’s still out, Reid. Just a nasty whack to the back of her head, okay? Easy.”

Trembling thumbs trace and hold your face, like it’s made of paper, as he swallows hard to keep the ache behind his eyes from becoming tear tracks down his face. He spots the gash, trickling crimson down your ashy skin, onto his shaking hand, but doesn’t move from holding your face. A deep contusion, furious and violet-toned, on the back of your head, makes the air leave his chest like he’s been choked.

Beautiful girl, I couldn’t stop this.

He could sob, and he nearly does, until you make some sort of confused noise and force open your eyes. Light rushes through his heart, rekindled warmth as he meets your eyes, and yet, he finds himself almost frozen.

“Spencer? What, I thought-“

“Listen to me.”

He forces himself to speak - he has too. What if he doesn’t get the chance, and all he ever gets to associate you with is caffeine, sprinkles, and a listening ear? No, that won’t do. Not in the slightest.

You meet his eyes, hazy, but listening. Morgan’s brows furrow, as he protests,

“God, man, she just woke up, let her-“

Ignored, as Spencer often finds himself doing when there’s more pressing matters than banter, than propriety.

“You need to know. That I-care about you.”

Blinking, you swallow, and suddenly, the throbbing pain in the back of your skull is slightly dimmed.

“That I can’t let another sunrise or sunset go by where you don’t know that I’d give you the stars if you’d let me. Where I can’t touch you, where I can’t make sure you understand that I’ll protect the light you have inside you until I’m burnt from it. You absolute angel, I-“

He shudders, almost afraid of his own earnest, and says your name like it’s a prayer.

“I love you. Even if you don’t return it, my heart is yours.”

Morgan’s grin is wide, and he shakes his head, almost in amazement. Your own face is flushed, as you hear sirens and medics, your voice crackly and rough from pain, but still, that smile he’s grown to associate with his heart fluttering graces your face.

“My heart is yours, Spencer. Glad you’re finally realizing how absolutely in love I am with you, you goose, even if it took all this.”

He laughs a little, almost deliriously, and smooths his trembling hand over your face.

“Guess the doughnuts weren’t enough, huh?”

You manage, and he shakes his head, quick to push back.

“They were. You’re always enough for me, no matter what you do.”

Could he sound any more smitten?

Procedure says he can’t go in the ambulance with you - there’s no need, you’re just getting stitches and some ice and he can visit you at the hospital, okay? But as he heads back to the - oh dear, still running, he really was in a hurry, wasn’t he? - car, Morgan glances sideways at him, signature smirk in place.

“Pretty boy, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Spencer stares down at his hands in his lap. They’re stained, and a grimace floods his face when he realizes it’s not dirt, but your blood, coating his fingertips. A soft sigh escapes his lips, and he bites back a nastier retort than his friend deserves.

“I guess I did. I can’t believe it took-“

Morgan sighs, stopping Spencer’s inevitable incoming guilt filled rambles.

“Hush. You told her. That’s what matters.”

Glancing down at Spencer’s fidgeting hands in his lap, he presses on the gas.

“Let’s get there, so you can get that off you. I’m shocked you got all dirty, with your germ thing.”

Spencer shrugs, looking out the window.

“For her? I’d-I think I’d do anything. No matter what it stained.”

Soap finds his hands at the hospital, but he finds you soon after, unable to stop the gentle press of his lips to your forehead, or the soft murmurs that follow as he tries to remind himself that much more of your blood didn’t spill.

ink - the third stain

Emily has to physically hold you back in the court room, when they take him out, his eyes fixed on you, and the team, almost hopeless.

“Then your client is a flight risk.”

You’re quite literally fighting her, suddenly terrified in a whole new way for your boyfriend, tears staining your face.

“Bail is denied.”

She’s got both arms wrapped around you, her soft, ‘I know’s, and ‘I’m sorry’s barely heard over your own pleas for her to let you go.

“Defendant will be remanded to federal custody pending trial.”

You hear someone sobbing - angry, fear-filled wailing - and until Emily has you turned around, your face in her shoulder, comes the realization that it’s you.

“He’s-Emily, what are we going to do, he’s not going to be okay, I-I can’t—“

The days that follow are dark. Going to the BAU without Spencer, let alone waking up without him beside you, is enough to send you into a spiral. You try to remind yourself that he’s worse off, that whatever hell he’s experiencing is ten times worse than your quiet fear and loneliness. So, to try to combat the weight that squashes your heart, you write him letters. Daily letters.

Spencer -

We have a case in Florida. Emily says it’ll be quick, but the Florida ones never are. We’d solve it ten times faster with you, you know? Geographical profiles are much harder alone, that’s for sure. The plane ride is quieter without you, and no one’s saying anything - you’d be saying something if you were here. Maybe that’s why we’re quiet. ♡

Every day. You don’t relent. If you can’t mail them in whatever town you get stuck in for work, you mail them in one big envelope when you get back home.

Spencer -

That case was rough. I cried twice - once when I spent over two hours staring at the map at the precinct and couldn’t find anything new, and once when Rossi accidentally snapped at me. He said he was sorry, that he’s ‘on edge’ right now - but aren’t we all? Emily’s working really hard to try to get you home. I wish I could come see you. I hope you’re safe. I love you. ♡

When you learn that he didn’t put you on the list of people who can visit him in that concrete hell, you almost lose what’s left your nerve, breaking down in Emily’s office, shaking. You don’t know whether you’re furious, in despair, or numb to it all.

“Emily, why? Why doesn’t he want me to come see him? If it was me, I’d want to see him every day, I wouldn’t want him to leave!”

She sighs, her face tight. Twisting your hands in your lap, you search her face for answers. Nausea claws at your throat.

“Honestly, my guess is it’s just that. He knows that if you come, he won’t want you to leave. It’ll hurt too much.”

“But Tara, and you, and his mother, and-

Spencer -

I think I understand. Sort of. I feel like there’s this pressure in my chest, and I can’t ever fully breathe. Not since you’ve been away. The weight on my heart never goes away. Missing you more every hour. ♡

Despite the slew of handwritten letters that reach him, you only get one back, after you and the team search his apartment - you keep it in your purse pocket, folded safe, and read it whenever your throat feels tight and your eyes burn. His untidy scrawl is enough to make you feel like a part of him is actually inside this letter - like he’s reading it himself to you, interwoven in the fibers of the paper.

Angel -

I wanted you to know I’m in solitary now - I made sure of it. I know you want me safe, almost more than I do. I love you beyond what I can say, my beautiful girl.

Yours, Spencer.

One night, you’re curled up in Spencer’s apartment, writing him a letter, as is your nightly routine. The ink stains the side of your hand now - an ever-present reminder of the fact that your heart constantly feels ripped out of your body. After addressing the letter to him, your phone buzzes - Emily.

Oh God.

“Hey. We figured out that- oh, you don’t care about all that. He’s coming home.”

She doesn’t need to tell you twice. Paper and ink pen tumble to the floor as you shove your feet in shoes and snatch your jacket off the coat tree. Tension is coiled in your body the entire way there. Ink still stains the side of your hand, a permanent reminder that every time you needed to just tell him something - you had to pick up pen and paper.

Heart in your throat, you push open the door with shaking hand. There he stands, your Spencer. He’s still him, you think, although his face is tight, and sleep clearly hasn’t been something he’s seen much of.

Three months.

You walk in slowly, body trembling. One hand reaches up, runs through the curls that have grown so long.

“Your hair.”

You breathe out, voice barely audible. He nods, his face almost impassive. Tentative fingers trail down his cheek, make a path to hold his face. He nods, and then, you notice his eyes are misty.

“My angel.” He murmurs, almost in awe, and takes you in his arms with a fervor. Crushed against him, face buried in the cool fabric of his shirt, you bite back a sob, arms threaded around him.

“No. Cry, my darling girl, I’m— I’m tired of doing it alone.”

How could you refuse him? Just hearing his voice, let alone the relief you feel at being touched by him again, is enough to satisfy you for days, you think. For a bit, all that’s heard is uneven breaths, until he speaks, his voice rough and shaky.

“I need to see your face.”

He pulls back, face shining with tears, and you swallow back the lump that just won’t leave your throat.

Calloused hands - less soft than you remember - take yours, and then he frowns.

“Your hand.”

Your right hand is held up, inspected, like the blue on the inner side of it is red instead. You smile, laughing a little, still breathless.

“Ink, baby. Just ink. I was writing you a letter.”

He shakes his head, rubbing at the navy stain with his thumb, as if that will remove it.

“I would’ve kept writing. Never given up. You’d be sick of letters from me.”

“Never, sweet girl. There is no part of me who could ever find himself sick of you.”

After you’ve come home, he wastes no time in pressing less than tender kisses to your mouth and jawline and the column of your throat. It’s not until he’s reacquainted himself with your contours and the dip of your hipbones and the soft way you gasp out his name when he does that, that has you next to him, so he can see your face.

He needs to see your face.

Hand in his, still faintly stained from ink, he examines it, and then, softly, hesitantly, he meets your eyes.

“You know ink poisoning is actually rare? Pens we use are designed with non-toxic ink, to decrease any chances of fatal ingestion.”

You never mind his information sharing, but your eyebrows furrow tiredly at his timing.

“Spence, I’m not saying I don’t care, but we just— you just—”

“Please. Let me look at the woman I love and pretend for a few moments that my damn eidetic memory won’t play back the last three months of my life like some wretched tape.”

You let him, as he holds your cobalt-colored hand and your eyes droop, his soft voice telling you that rubbing alcohol will probably get that stain out. It almost feels normal.

Almost.

paint - the final stain

“Spence! Can you get paint water out of carpet with any amount of ease?”

You call your husband, turning back to your mildly sheepish five year old, whose water color adventure on the coffee table has quickly gone south.

In walks Spencer, not even noticing the overturned hard plastic cup or purpley-blue spill, eyes going straight to his daughter’s nearly finished picture.

“Beautiful, Penny. Looks incredible.”

He murmurs, bending to be eye level with a beaming Penelope, hand on her arm, before turning to you, mild tension and stress lining your face. His smile is gentle. It’ll wash out.

“Rubbling alcohol, angel.”

You nod, tension easing from your shoulders.

“We’ll go get it - we always clean our messes up, right lovely?”

He asks your daughter, lifting her with practiced care. She giggles, nodding, as they head from the room, letting you take a breath and set up the paints and picture in a new location - the kitchen table, with some newspaper tucked underneath because she’s five, and you of all people know spills happen.

Once she’s set up again - she really is so quiet when she’s engrossed in something - you find yourself curled up with Spencer on the couch, head on his shoulder, watching her paint and sing-song to herself.

“Think she’s lonely?”

Spencer asks, turning to you, his grin wide.

Troublemaker.

“Hmm. I think you just like me pregnant.”

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your hair.

“Maybe. Maybe I don’t want Penny to be sad, ever.”

Silence, then, for a bit.

“She’s so much like you.”

Spencer muses, his fingers drawing patterns on the side of your sweater. You smile, fondly.

“You say that because I’m clumsy. She was dancing around with that paintbrush, that cup of paint water stood no chance.”

“No, I say that because she shines like you. No matter what tries to dim her.”

That night, when you peek in your daughter’s door to see Spencer reading her A Little Princess, she’s propped up against him, hazel eyes barely open. Affection swells in your chest as his voice carries on, even though she’s clearly almost in dreamland. In you walk, pressing a kiss first to her forehead, then Spencer’s. He smiles gentle up at you - this is his favorite time of the day - and keeps reading.

“Perhaps there is a language which is not made of words, and everything in the world understands it.”

Once you’re back in the living room, you check on the earlier spill from today. All that’s left is a barely visible blue spot, no bigger than a quarter.

“No one will see it but you.”

Steadying, warm arms wrap around your ribs, and soft lips press against the side of your neck, washing away any insecurity about the state of your carpet.

“Besides, stains aren’t bad, sweet girl. They’re little reminders that things happened, good things, or bad things that brought us together. Memories, attached to splotches, attached to wounds, to paper, to skin. How convenient, to carry our most impactful moments like heaven-sent tattoos.”

#spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid angst #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid smut

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canmom · 4 months ago

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you read ML research (e.g. arxiv, state of ai, various summaries), you find an overwhelming blizzard of new techniques, clever new applications and combinations of existing techniques, new benchmarks to refine this or that limitation, relentless jumps in capabilities that seem unstoppable (e.g. AI video generation took off way faster than I ever anticipated). at some point you start to see how Károly Zsolnai-Fehér became such a parody of himself!

you read ed zitron & similar writers and you hear about an incomprehensibly unprofitable industry, an obscene last-gasp con from a cancerous, self-cannibalising tech sector that seems poised to take the rest of the system down with it once the investors realise nobody actually cares to pay for AI anything like what it costs to run. and you think, while perhaps he presents the most negative possible read on what the models are capable of, it's hard to disagree with his analysis of the economics.

you read lesswrong & cousins, and everyone's talking about shoggoths wearing masks and the proper interpretation of next-token-prediction as they probe the LLMs for deceptive behaviour with an atmosphere of paranoid but fascinated fervour. or else compile poetic writing with a mystic air as they celebrate a new form of linguistic life. and sooner or later someone will casually say something really offputting about eugenics. they have fiercely latched onto playing with the new AI models, and some users seem to have better models than most of how they do what they do. but their whole deal from day 1 was conjuring wild fantasies about AI gods taking over the world (written in Java of course) and telling you how rational they are for worrying about this. so... y'know.

you talk to an actual LLM and it produces a surprisingly sharp, playful and erudite conversation about philosophy of mind and an equally surprising ability to carry out specific programming tasks and pull up deep cuts, but you have to be constantly on guard against the inherent tendency to bullshit, to keep in mind what the LLM can't do and learn how to elicit the type of response you want and clean up its output. is it worth the trouble? what costs should be borne to see such a brilliant toy, an art piece that mirrors a slice of the human mind?

you think about the news from a few months ago where israel claimed to be using an AI model to select palestinians in gaza to kill with missiles and drones. an obscene form of statswashing, but they'd probably kill about the same number of people, equally at random, regardless. probably more of that to come. the joke of all the 'constitutional AI', 'helpful harmless assistant' stuff is that the same techniques would work equally well to make the model be anything you want. that twat elon musk already made a racist LLM.

one day the present AI summer and corresponding panics will burn out, and all this noise will cohere into a clear picture of what these new ML techniques are actually good for and what they aren't. we'll have a pile of trained models, probably some work on making them smaller and more efficient to run, and our culture will have absorbed their existence and figured out a suitable set of narratives and habits around using them in this or that context. but i'm damned if I know how it will look by then, and what we'll be left with after the bubble.

if i'm gonna spend all this time reading shit on my computer i should get back to umineko lmao

#ai

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deliasbabe · 7 months ago

Text

Take Me Back To Eden- Venable x Reader- Chapter 1

I feel bad that I haven't given you updates to my other stories, so here's the first chapter to a fic I've been working on for over a year (it's going to be like 35 chapters long, so bear with me plz).

(Also I know this is my second fic with this song title, let me have it)

Enjoy!

Words: 2.4k

Warnings: Mentions of sexual acts, language, blatant misogony, mentions of drugs and drug use. I think that's it????

You should’ve won.

It was a bet, a stupid bet to make your coworkers shut the fuck up about your boss. You were good at pool, you thought you had it in the bag, and you did, right up until your opponent bumped the table during your shot, and you sunk the 8-ball. You accused him of cheating, he accused you of being too much of a pussy to hold up your end of the bargain. A deal’s a deal.

It was some kind of twisted fate that the object of your disagreement would walk through the door only a few moments later, a scowl on her face as she spotted you all, brushing past the lot of you and sitting down at the bar.

“Look who it is.” Your coworker, Nate, laughed, “Time to pony up, princess”

You rolled your eyes, “This is cruel and unusual punishment.”

“For you or her?” Another, Scott, asked.

“You haven’t been on the receiving end of Venable’s wrath yet,” Nate said, “But you’re about to.”

“Not likely.” You sneered, “I’m not stupid enough to code the firmware update in java instead of python, unlike some people.”

“I was a rookie.” Nate scoffed, “You’ve made it two years without being on the receiving end, it’s time you get baptized.”

You could hear the murmurs of the other men, a quiet chant.

One of us, one of us…

“Maybe because I’m actually competent.” You fired back.

“Well, competent or not, nothing is going to save you from this.” Scott chuckled, “Might as well rip off the band aid and get’er done.”

Oh yeah, you were definitely about to be fired.

“Who knows, maybe she’s really into the bosses sleeping with their assistant’s thing. Might feed her fantasy.” Nate joked.

“Or yours.” You spit.

“Listen, as hot as lesbians are, if I ever start fantasizing about Venable getting her rocks off, please shoot me in the head.” Nate said seriously.

You downed your drink and turned on your heel, willing to do just about anything to get away from the current conversation. You knew what you had signed up for when you took this job, a staff of 95% men, all of whom hadn’t fucked a girl in at least 10 years and were proud members of the boy’s club, but you still didn’t want to subject yourself to their blatant misogyny any more than you had to.

Obviously, you weren’t going to do it. It was cruel and unnecessary, but you knew your colleagues well enough to understand that it had to at least be believable. You walked up next to her, making sure you were facing the group so they couldn’t see her face.

The bartender looked over at you, “Another round?”

“Yea, same thing.” You said, nodding in Venables direction, “And put whatever she’s having on my tab.”

Venable turned and glared at you, but you ignored it.

“Just this round?” The bartender asked.

“All of it.” You said, shaking your head, it was the least you could do after what you were about to put her through.

“Well, I guess it’s payment for forcing me to witness you traipsing around with those men like a whore.” Venable sneered.

“That’s a funny way of saying thank you.” You laughed, “There’s nothing wrong with grabbing a few drinks with colleagues. You should try it sometime.”

Venable scoffed, bringing her martini to her lips, “Workplace relationships are forbidden.”

You smirked, “Then I guess it’s a good thing I’m not into men.”

Venable sputtered around the rim of her glass; eyes wide as she choked on the burning liquid. You reached for your new drink, taking a sip as you winked at her and walked away.

“What happened?” Nate asked, “It sure didn’t take long.”

“Nothing, yet.” You said, “I walked away before she could give me an answer.”

“But the dare…” Scott interjected, but you were quick to cut him off.

“The dare was to ask her on a date, which I did.” You retorted, “No one said anything about her giving me an answer.”

“But she has to give you an answer, that’s how this works.” Nate said, and you shushed him.

“Cool your jets.” You groaned, “Getting someone to agree to a date is more like a game of chess than checkers. Good things take time.”

Nate and Scott laughed, “You are so getting fired on Monday.”

“Don’t I know it.” You mumbled over the rim of your glass.

In typical Venable fashion, you didn’t have to sit with it for long, a sticky note taped to your monitor on Monday morning for an eleven o’clock meeting. Working under Venable for as long as you had, you knew her habits. Meetings with clients were always first thing in the morning, before Jeff and Mutt had enough time to sniff themselves into a stupor. Staff meetings were after scheduled hours or during lunch, unpaid, of course. The eleven o’clock time slot lived in infamy, it was right before lunch, giving you just enough time to pack your things and do the walk of shame as everyone walked back through the doors. Clearly a genius move, or one of an absolute psychopath.

“What the fuck was that?” Venable sneered before you were even able to fully shut the door.

You pushed the door the rest of the way closed, “What was what?”

“At the bar.” Venable said, rolling her eyes, “Don’t tell me the alcohol killed what little brain cells you have left. I should fire you for speaking to me that way.”

You shrugged, “So fire me.”

Venable sighed, her words biting, “I don’t want to fire you. I want an explanation.”

That was a lie, she absolutely wanted to fire you, and she probably would have, if you hadn’t overheard that Jeff and Mutt were considering placing her on a firing freeze. She had hit an all-time record, canning 17 employees in the span of two weeks, and now she was doing damage control. But she didn’t know that you knew, and you weren’t going to let her figure that out. A loss of control was seen as weakness to Venable, and if she found out that you knew, nothing Jeff and Mutt could bring down would stop her from getting rid of you.

You shook your head, “It’s better if you don’t know.”

Venable grit her teeth, her nails digging into the soft wood of her desk, “I asked a question, I expect an answer.”

You threw your hands up, “I lost a game of pool.”

Venable cocked her head, very slightly, and chewed on her words, “You… lost a game of pool?”

“Yes.” You said, hoping if you danced around the topic enough, she would eventually get bored and leave it alone, or just assume you were too stupid to get any viable information out of.

Venable’s eyes raked over you, before zeroing in on some invisible crack in your armor, “And?”

“And?” You asked, trying to play dumb.

“I assume there’s more to the story, given the way your feet are dancing like you’re stepping on red hot coals.” Venable said, eyes following yours towards your feet, “Spit it out. I don’t have all day.”

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, “We bet on the game. I lost the game, so I had to hold up my end of the deal.”

“Which was?” Venable asked, growing tired of your antics.

You sighed, “To ask you on a date.”

Venable cocked her head to the side, studying you for a moment, “You didn’t ask me on a date.” You nodded, “So then you didn’t hold up your end of the deal.”

You nodded again. “I’m not going to ask someone out for a dare, its cruel and juvenile. I just needed them,” You said, motioning to the row of desks opposite the frosted glass walls, “To think I did.”

“You risked your job,” Venable sneered, “For a childish dare?”

“Actually,” You began, cocking your head and smirking, “I risked my job so I wouldn’t have to do the dare. Men are stupid, and extremely gullible.”

Venable’s eyes narrowed, “Why would they dare you to ask me out?”

You rolled your eyes, “Because they’re intimidated by strong women, and they wanted to humiliate you.”

She pursed her lips, “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“It isn’t flattery,” you chuckled, “You scare the shit out of them.” Venable tried her best to fight the smirk on her lips, but you still caught it, and you thought you should get out while you were ahead, “Now, am I fired, or can I get back to work?”

Venable looked confused, “I haven’t assigned you anything.”

“Jeff and Mutt want me to work on their “super-secret project”. ” You said, rolling your eyes and making air quotes with your fingers, “I have to go through security clearances.”

“Why would they need you?” Venable asked, her voice dripping in condescension. While it wasn’t unusual for Jeff and Mutt to borrow her employees, it wasn’t typical to borrow assistants, and certainly not on a project so secret that even she was being kept out of the loop.

You shrugged, “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Very well. You are excused.” Venable said, her face setting. “And Y/n?” You turned, looking back at your boss, “Don’t let it happen again. Next time, you’ll be lucky to be a dishwasher at McDonalds.”

You smirked, “McDonalds doesn’t have a dishwasher, but I get the sentiment.”

Venable rolled her eyes as you shut the door, cursing Jeff and Mutt for putting her in this position. Had she been able to do what she wanted, you never would have felt comfortable enough to make such a statement, let alone challenge her. She didn’t have too much time to dwell on it, the most recent delivery of a certain white substance being delivered straight to her office, and she knew the boys were already itching to reup on their dose.

“The woman of the hour!” Jeff yelled, fist pumping the air as he spotted the giant jar firmly planted in her arm, “Have I told you I loved you lately?”

“Save it.” Venable sneered, dodging his grabby hands and keeping the cocaine just out of reach, “What’s going on with this secret project?”

“Nothing you need to worry your fiery little head with.” Mutt said, “Just know it’s going, full steam ahead.”

“How can I manage it if I don’t know what it is?” Venable asked.

“You aren’t managing it.” Jeff said, “We are.”

“You two,” Venable said carefully, “Are managing it, all on your own?”

Mutt laughed, “Yeah, it’s going to be fucking sick.”

“So why are you stealing my employee?” Venable asked, the two engineers sharing glances.

“We need her skillset.” Mutt finally answered, obviously dragging his feet.

“She’s an assistant.” Venable stated.

“Yeah,” Jeff said, “She’s also an engineer, and she’s not bad to look at.”

Venable scoffed, “You’re stealing my employee because she’s attractive?”

“No, were stealing her because we need her brain.” Mutt said, “The fact that she’s a babe is just a bonus.”

“So, you aren’t going to tell me anything?” Venable asked, Jeff and Mutt staring back at her.

“It’s not that we want to not tell you anything, we just can’t.” Jeff offered apologetically, conveniently reaching for the cocaine at the same time with pleading eyes.

Venable huffed, swinging the cocaine out of his reach at the last second, and placing it on the farthest table as she stomped out of the room, ignoring the string of apologies from her bosses. This just wouldn’t do. She had always been in the loop, from day one. Those idiots couldn’t be trusted to run an entire project by themselves, they could barely remember their own addresses. Quite literally, Venable was the one who had to give the addresses to their cab drivers because they were too blitzed to form a coherent thought. She sat and she stewed for the remainder of the day, before she settled on a plan. She was tired of being on the outs, she needed to regain her power.

When you got the message on teams, you worried she had changed her mind, and you felt your palms begin to sweat.

My office. Now.

You trudged past your coworkers and towards her office, Nate and Scott snickering behind you.

“Someone’s in trouble.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help but feel like they were right. She was playing with you, the same way she did to every other employee, making you feel safe and then yanking the carpet out from beneath you. Still, you opened the door and stepped into her den, her eyes flicking over you for only a second, “Close the door.”

You shut the door behind you, asking hesitantly, “What can I do for you, Miss Venable?”

Venable didn’t even look up, “It’s more so what I can do for you.”

“Pardon?” You asked, unsure of the direction this conversation was heading, and there was no way you could prepare for the words about to leave her mouth.

“I’ll speak in plain terms so that you understand.” Venable sneered, “I’ll let you fulfill your little dare, and in turn, you give me information on whatever it is that Jeff and Mutt are stealing you for.”

“The project?” You asked, your head spinning.

Venable sighed, glaring at you, “Is there anything else they are stealing you for?”

“No?” You said, shaking your head, “But why would you need me to gather information?”

Venable rolled her eyes, “Jeff and Mutt have decided they will be handling it themselves; they don’t want a grownup’s help. I need to make sure they don’t royally fuck it up. I’ve spent far too long building a reputation for this company, I don’t need them snorting it away. Now do we have a deal, or will you be looking for a new position?”

You shook your head, still unable to process what she was asking of you, “You do realize they’re only doing this so they can make fun of you, right?”

Venable arched a brow, “I’ve never cared about men’s opinions before. Why start now?”

“Yea, but, those coconut heads design sex robots.” You tried again, “For all I know, they could want me to code for a doll that gives head.”

Venable stared at you, clearly annoyed with the conversation, “You have a week to gather as much information as you can. That will be all.”

You stared at her as she refocused on her work, completely ignoring your lingering presence, before you shook your head incredulously, “Ok.”

You couldn’t keep the smile off your face as you left her office, beelining straight for Nate’s desk and whispering in his ear, “Just to be clear, you’re my bitch now.”

#sarah paulson #sarah paulson x reader #wilhemina venable x reader #wilhemina venable

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brooklynislandgirl · 4 months ago

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Questions for the Mun

Copy this and fill in your own answers. Then tag some people to learn more about them.

Repost, not reblog!

• Favorite smell - rainy morning with a breeze blowing in off the ocean, a hint of cedar or pinon burning in the fire place, coffee brewing in the background and a good book half-way read.

• First Job - LGBTQIA+ Cat themed cafe and bookstore. It was called the Great Catsby.

• Zodiac sign - Pisces

• Favorite pizza - My hubby's home made sourdough crust pepperoni/bacon/pineapple/green chili pizza. Seriously, the sauce he makes from scratch? I could drink it with a straw its so good.

• Favorite dog - I am a sucker for all doggos who are absolutely all the best boi and best girl in the world. But I am completely biased towards Rotties {the more chonk the better} and Dachshunds, and Corgies, and...

• Favorite foot attire - barefoot is preferable, Birkenstocks if I must be shod, and socks at home.

• Favorite Roller Coaster - Oh Absolutely Not.

• Favorite candy - I love white chocolate Lindor truffles and red vines.

• Favorite ice cream - Blue Bell Pistachio Almond and Java Jolt flavours, and sadly...Ben and Jerry's discontinued my favourite: Rainforest Crunch which was a vanilla ice-cream with brazil and cashew nut butter swirl.

• Pet peeves - People who pronounce it LIE-berry, instead of library. Also the pain of not retyping every 'favorite' in this meme as 'favourite'

• What are you listening to right now - Jesse Welles

Color of your vehicle - red

• Color of eyes - hazel {green/blue}

• Favorite Holiday -Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Winter Solstice, Mabon, Sukkot, and thanks to a friend of mine, Tu B’shevat

• Night owl or day person - I am one with Mother Darkness. I also prefer drab, cloudy, rainy days to any amount of sunshine.

• Fave day of week - Fridays and Sundays

• Tattoos - None, but I have a small, adorable nose ring.

• Like to cook - I love to cook but really can not bake to save my life. So trade off, I cook and hubby bakes.

• Beer or wine or neither - I'm a Scotch, Vodka, or Whiskey kind of girlie but I can make some really great cocktails. My dad worked part time as a bartender/bouncer during and after the Navy. I do not care for beer, and only like wine to cook with.

• Can you drive a manual transmissions - Fun fact, I have never learned how to drive.

• Favorite color -Green, black, purple, silver

• Do you like vegetables - Generally? Yes, and some depending on how they are cooked. It's mostly a texture thing.

• Do you wear glasses - Yes...for reading mostly. My prescription is wrong because wearing them messes with my almost perfect far-vision.

• Favorite season - Autumn ~*~

tagged by: stolen from my darling @little-earthquakes-rp tagging: Everyone who is glad today is Friday and wants to tell the week to F right off.

#Absolutely True Stories About Turtle #Free Range|More Memes for the Meme Gods

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greenbergsays · 1 year ago

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Ked's right, I do have book recs that you can find under this tag and also some on my writing blog here. I also have a page here where you can see what's on my bookshelf, but you can't filter it because Tumblr doesn't allow Java anymore >__>

I wouldn't call that page a rec list, though, it's just an inventory of what I own or what's on my list to own. Some of those books are objectively terrible and I will freely admit that, but there was something about them compelling enough that I read them more than once.

I didn't mean for the below to turn into me just reccing you authors but it kind of turned into that, so here are authors I would recommend:

Onley James - I love her so much that I support her Patreon. All of her stuff is good (and loosely connected) but my favorites are, of course, the Necessary Evils series. It has two spin-off series which I also very much enjoy: Jericho's Boys & The Watch. All three series surround the psychopaths in love trope, however Jericho's Boys and the first book in the Watch series do not feature it as a main trope because neither of the main characters fit the bill. Most of them do feature some level of kink, though.

Kiki Clark - Her main series is werewolves (but no Omegaverse) and it's called the Kincaid Pack. The first book is my favorite, but I own them all. It's finished and she's starting a new series in that 'verse, the prequel to which I think is The Mobster's Mate, which is so up my alley it's like someone was spying on me. She also has a MC/kink series called Leather & Chrome that's good, but it's not my favorite kink series. (Kiki also have other contemporary books that I love, I just don't want this to get too long)

SPEAKING of kink. Robin (RJ) Moray - She has a series called His Boy Next Door that gay-awakening, age gap, and BDSM-related. It has a spin-off series about two other characters called A Collar For His Brat, both are excellent. The only thing is in HBND, the main character's name is Channon and that took some getting used to. Robin also has other books which I highly recommend--including a space Omegaverse story called Changed: Mated to the Alien Alpha, which is very good--she is probably my Top 3 favorite authors and the fact that more of her stuff isn't available in paperback is a source of constant misery for me.

Eliot Grayson -- The only person I can think of off the top of my head that writes well-written first person POV. The Mismatched Mates series is her main title iirc. It's a soul-bonding / "mate or die" situation at first and segues eventually into "mating for convenience." Some stories are related and some aren't.

Stella Starling -- if you like high fluff and low angst, this is the author for you. All of her stuff is contemporary and very cute. My favorite series is the Semper Fi one but I like & own them all.

Sam Burns (and Sam Burns w/ W.M. Fawkes) - They do anything fantasy/magic-related. Werewolves, urban fantasy, there's a series about the Greek Gods, etc. I haven't read ALL of their works, but the stuff I have read, I like. My favorites / the ones I own: Wolves of Kismet (Omegaverse), the Star-Marked Warrior series (sci-fi/aliens), & Wolf Moon Rising (Omegaverse).

Ella Frank (and Ella Frank w/ Brooke Blaine) - Contemporary writer(s) that specialize in writing multiple books for the same couple. There's a lot of gay/bi-awakening. The Temptation series is a fantastic audiobook journey that I cannot recommend enough, that narrator was amazing. I also really liked the first three Fallen Angel books are about the same couple and I love them, the fourth FA book is about a different couple and I DNFed it. Couldn't say why, it just didn't hold my interest.

...I have more, but I should probably work at some point this morning. So if you want more / want a specific rec for a specific trope or genre, lemme know!

#themoonlooksdown #greenberg replies #book recs #author recs

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douchebagbrainwaves · 9 months ago

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I WOULD HAVE BEEN DELIGHTED IF I'D REALIZED IN COLLEGE THAT THERE WERE PARTS OF THE WORLD THAT DIDN'T CORRESPOND TO REALITY, AND WORKED FROM THAT

So were the early Lisps. We're Jeff and Bob and we've built an easy to use web-based database as a system to allow people to collaboratively leverage the value of whatever solution you've got so far. This probably indicates room for improvement.1 What would you pay for right now?2 If you'd proposed at the time.3 I've read that the same is true in the military—that the swaggering recruits are no more likely to know they're being stupid. And yet by far the biggest problem.4

If you want to keep out more than bad people. I am self-indulgent in the sense of being very short, and also on topic. Another way to figure out how to describe your startup in one compelling phrase. Most people have learned to do a mysterious, undifferentiated thing we called business. The Facebook was just a way for readers to get information and to kill time, a way for readers to get information and to kill time, a programming language unless it's also the scripting language of MIT. Committees yield bad design. When you demo, don't run through a catalog of features. A couple weeks ago I had a thought so heretical that it really surprised me. If we want to fix the bad aspects of it—the things to remember if you want to start startups, they'll start startups.5

Cobol and hype Ada, Java also play a role—but I think it is the worry that made the broken windows theory famous, and the larger the organization, the more extroverted of the two paths should you take?6 And a safe bet is enough.7 Though in a sense attacking you. They didn't become art dealers after a difficult choice between that and a career in the hard sciences.8 You can, however, which makes me think I was wrong to emphasize demos so much before. Kids help. But the short version is that if you trust your instincts about people. That's becoming the test of mattering to hackers. One of the most successful startups almost all begin this way.9

But something is missing: individual initiative. He got away with it, but unless you're a captivating speaker, which most hackers aren't, it's better to play it safe. But if you want to avoid writing them. What you should learn as an intellectual exercise, even though you won't actually use it: Lisp is worth learning for the profound enlightenment experience you will have when you finally get it; that experience will make you think What did I do before x? If you had a handful of users who love you, and merely to call it an improved version of Python.10 The political correctness of Common Lisp probably expected users to have text editors that would type these long names for them. Be careful to copy what makes them good, rather than the company that solved that important problem. Since a successful startup founder, but that has not stood in the way of redesign.11 I would have been the starting point for their reputation. Whatever the upper limit is, we are clearly not meant to work in a big program.

I know because I've seen it burn off.12 For us the main indication of impending doom is when we don't hear from you. Maxim magazine publishes an annual volume of photographs, containing a mix of pin-ups and grisly accidents. One of the most important thing a community site can do is attract the kind of people who use the phrase software engineering shake their heads disapprovingly. We've barely given a thought to how to live with it. The usual way to avoid being taken by surprise by something is to be consciously aware of it.13 It took us a few iterations to learn to trust our senses. Gmail was one of the founders are just out of college, or even make sounds that tell what's happening.

And odds are that is in fact normal in a startup. For example, if you're starting a company whose only purpose is patent litigation. You're just looking for something to spark a thought.14 Wireless connectivity of various types can now be taken for granted.15 There is not a lot of wild goose chases, but I've never had a good way to look at what you've done in the cold light of morning, and see all its flaws very clearly. What sort of company might cause people in the future, and the classics.16 001 and understood it, for example. One trick is to ask yourself whether you'll care about it in the future. You need to use a trojan horse: to give people an application they want, including Lisp.

Notes

So it may be that some of the economy. Angels and super-angels will snap up stars that VCs miss.

I mean no more than most people, you would never have come to accept that investors are induced by startups is that they've focused on different components of it. I thought there wasn't, because people would do fairly well as down.

Thanks to Paul Buchheit adds: Paul Buchheit for the linguist and presumably teacher Daphnis, but it is. We're sometimes disappointed when a startup is taking the Facebook that might work is a sufficiently identifiable style, you should probably be multiple blacklists. I'm compressing the story.

Good and bad luck. The solution was a new search engine, but it is very polite and b the local startups also apply to the prevalence of systems of seniority. The University of Vermont: The First Industrial Revolution happen earlier? An earlier version of the companies fail, no matter how good you are listing in order to test whether that initial impression holds up.

So what ends up happening is that the lack of transparency. Letter to Ottoline Morrell, December 1912. Loosely speaking.

On Bullshit, Princeton University Press, 2005. Ashgate, 1998. No big deal.

Strictly speaking it's impossible to succeed in a startup to be important ones. The earnings turn out to be significantly pickier.

Many famous works of anthropology. You have to disclose the threat to potential investors are interested in graphic design. Japanese are only arrows on parts with unexpectedly sharp curves. Peter, Why Are We Getting a Divorce?

Microsoft could not have raised: Re: Revenge of the ingredients in our case, companies' market caps do eventually become a manager. I took so long.

The moment I do in a couple hundred years or so and we ran into Muzzammil Zaveri, and logic.

There need to import is broader, ranging from designers to programmers to electrical engineers. Parker, op.

We don't use Oracle. It should not try too hard to tell them what to think about where those market caps do eventually become a genuine addict. Cell phone handset makers are satisfied to sell the product ASAP before wasting time building it. One YC founder who used to build their sites.

In fact the secret weapon of the web and enables a new airport.

An Operational Definition. The rest exist to satisfy demand among fund managers for venture capital as an idea that was more rebellion which can vary a lot of face to face meetings.

And in World War II had disappeared in a startup you have the least important of the causes of the startup.

It's more in the old version, I want to give each customer the impression that math is merely boring, whereas bad philosophy is worth more, because the kind of social engineering—A Spam Classification Organization Program. I spent some time trying to describe what's happening till they measure their returns.

Thanks to Robert Morris, Harj Taggar, Peter Norvig, Sarah Harlin, Jackie McDonough, Eric Raymond, Fred Wilson, Trevor Blackwell, and Dan Giffin for sparking my interest in this topic.

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