#voice recognition software

[the-latest-research]

Speech and Voice Recognition Market to be Worth $56.07 Billion by 2030

Meticulous Research®—leading global market research company, published a research report titled, ‘Speech and Voice Recognition Market by Function (Speech, Voice Recognition), Technology (AI and Non-AI), Deployment Mode (Cloud, On-premise), End User (Consumer Electronics, Automotive, BFSI, Other End Users), and Geography - Global Forecast to 2030.’

Speech Recognition Market Booming with AI and Growing Applications

The speech recognition market is poised for significant growth, reaching an estimated $56.07 billion by 2030 at a CAGR of 19.1%, acoording to Meticulous Research®. This surge is fueled by several key trends:

Voice Biometrics on the Rise: Security systems and financial applications are increasingly adopting voice biometrics for user authentication, offering a convenient and secure solution.

Voice Assistants Take Center Stage: Virtual assistants powered by AI are transforming how we interact with technology in homes, cars, and workplaces.

Smart Devices Drive Demand: The proliferation of voice-enabled smart speakers, wearables, and appliances is creating a strong demand for accurate speech recognition technology.

Download Sample Report Here @ https://www.meticulousresearch.com/download-sample-report/cp_id=5038

Challenges and Opportunities in Speech Recognition

Despite its growth potential, the market faces some hurdles:

Accent and Dialect Hurdles: Current systems may struggle with regional variations in speech patterns, requiring ongoing development for wider adoption.

Background Noise Interference: Speech recognition accuracy can be hampered by ambient noise, demanding improvements in noise cancellation techniques.

However, exciting opportunities lie ahead:

AI Integration Enhances Functionality: The integration of Artificial Intelligence and Machine Learning is continuously improving speech recognition accuracy and functionality.

Multilingual Communication: Speech recognition is poised to play a vital role in bridging language barriers by facilitating translation of rare and local languages.

Voice Authentication Gains Traction: The growing demand for secure mobile banking and other applications is driving the adoption of voice authentication technologies.

Market Segmentation Highlights

The report also explores various segments within the speech recognition market:

Function: Speech recognition (converting speech to text) holds the dominant market share due to the widespread use of AI and smart devices.

Technology: AI-powered speech recognition is leading the way due to its effectiveness in powering virtual assistants and other intelligent applications.

Deployment Mode: Cloud-based deployments are gaining traction due to their scalability, affordability, and ease of use, particularly for small and medium businesses.

End User: The IT and telecommunications sector currently holds the largest share, but the consumer electronics segment is expected to witness the fastest growth due to the rising popularity of voice-enabled devices.

Geography: North America dominates the market due to the presence of major technology players and a strong focus on improving customer service experiences.

By understanding these trends and segmentation, businesses can capitalize on the immense potential of the speech recognition market.

Key Players:

Some of the key players operating in the speech and voice recognition market are Microsoft Corporation (U.S.), Amazon Web Services, Inc. (U.S.), Google LLC (U.S.), IBM Corporation (U.S.), Verint Systems Inc. (U.S.), Baidu, Inc. (China), Apple Inc. (U.S.), Speechmatics (U.K.), Sensory, Inc. (U.S.), AssemblyAI, Inc. (U.S.), iFLYTEK Co., Ltd. (China), LumenVox (U.S.), SESTEK (Turkey), and Dolbey Systems, Inc. (U.S.).Contact Us: Meticulous Research® Email- sales@meticulousresearch.com Contact Sales- +1-646-781-8004 Connect with us on LinkedIn- https://www.linkedin.com/company/meticulous-research

[daybreakrising]

this is a reminder to myself to finally write up that small hc i have about how b.ooth.ill can only operate his phone by voice bc his metal fingertips don't register on touchscreens-

[bravevolunteer]

breaking my silence. i really do not like the idea of the sister location warehouse being underneath the afton house

[fireolin]

They put my sling hand in the perfect position for my ps4 controller. Had to cancel work (they were lovely as they always are in any emergency) and now the only two handed thing I can do is play games - if the games are playable slow. Not so bad

[thatonepikminperson]

Real interactions with brothers

[ddejavvu]

Helloo!! Sooo I have a picture of mgg as my lock screen but his face isn’t in the picture and I was wonderinggg if you could write about the girls at the bau seeing your background of your phone and it’s some guy but they don’t know it’s spencer and they ask all these questions about this mysterious secret boyfriend you have and asking to meet him and r is just like maybeeee idk knowing that they have in fact met him and maybe spencer is near by and hearing all this and is just all shy and flustered. If you do write this THANK YOUUU you’re writing it phenomenal, one of a kind, it’s so good!!! <333

"Woah, hubba hubba," JJ's eyes bug out at your phone screen, and Emily, forever on JJ's wavelength, snatches it out of your hands before you can properly dim the screen.

"Who is that?" Emily asks everyone's burning question, and one of Penelope's hands squeezes yours, with nails, to emphasize her urgency.

Your lock screen is a picture of Spencer's bare chest clad only in a blazer, the front open in a lewd V that showcases the dark pink kiss marks you'd spread across the smattering of wiry curls he's grown. It's not something you'd meant to flash your coworkers with, and Spencer chokes on his water while Derek hoots and hollers at it.

"There are some things that should be kept private," Rossi drawls, eyes wide and haunted as he stands, "I'm going to get Aaron and myself another refill, just in case any worse pictures get shown around the table."

Hotch laughs at the older man, amusement lining his features handsomely as the group continues to tease you.

"So, when are you bringing this guy around? Not that we'd recognize him anyways, unless he showed up shirtless with lipstick all over him."

"Derek, you-" You barely stop yourself from saying, 'you have met him', instead swerving into an easy insult, "You're the last person I want to introduce him to. You'll never let us live this down."

"None of us will." Prentiss promises, her grin wolfish, "You'll be lucky if Garcia doesn't manage to track him down using nipple-recognition software."

Your technical analyst cackles into her drink, and Spencer makes a hasty getaway.

"I need the bathroom," He paws with burning cheeks at Derek's leg, ushering the man out of his way so that he can speed-walk to the bathroom. You watch him go, hearing Hotch let out a rare laugh at his urgency.

"Poor Spence," JJ croons, "Did you see how red his face was?"

"That kid's almost thirty and I bet he can't even say the word 'sex' without blushing." Derek scoffs.

"He can't. I've seen it." Garcia confirms, "It's pathetic."

"Pathetic," You snort, but what your team hears as agreement, you mean as contradiction. Spencer was nothing close to pathetic that night- sweet and tender, yes, but pathetic, no. He'd cupped your face while you'd spread a smattering of sticky kisses across his chest, and he'd stared into your eyes when you'd taken the picture, a smile on his face even though he'd known his grin wouldn't be in frame.

"Well get all of it out now," Hotch advises, a teasing tone in his voice, "Spencer won't come back if we're still talking about it."

"I'm happy for you." Dave states, setting his and Aaron's drinks down, "But so help me, Y/N, if I ever see your boyfriend's naked torso again, I'll kill myself."

You refrain from telling Rossi he had just seen your boyfriend's bare torso, last week when Spencer had needed to be stripped of his cold, wet clothes, and thrust into a heated blanket for warmth. No one had batted an eye at his brief nudity, and neither had you, because you'd memorized every inch of his skin. You didn't need to ogle him; you could recall his body from memory.

"I'll keep that in mind." You nod at Rossi sagely, "Just don't go through the rest of my camera roll." You see Spencer exit the bathroom, peering cautiously at your table to see if he can predict the conversation before returning, "Or you'll find a lot worse than his chest."

[ko-neko-san]

I feel like it should be impressive on some level that all he had to say was "charter 3703" and out loud to no one I said "is that Adam driver??"

[the-original-skipps]

|| Yandere Hacker!Scaramouche x Reader ||Headcanons || Genshin Impact ||

so I was watching hoyofair and this came up so I thought I’d do a quick something mehehe I mean I did spy scara before so might as well continue the tradition

cw: mentions of cyber stalking. privacy breach. slight mention of violence involving firearms.

Hacker!Scaramouche has your phone and laptop/computer bugged with his own personally made virus, which basically acts as a listening device. He can also remotely access both devices without you even knowing.

Hacker!Scaramouche who basically knows everything about you. He can hack into the government database to find out any personal information you have. Any records, all the names of your family members; he can just find out with a tap of his finger.

Hacker!Scaramouche knows your whereabouts at all times, a tracking software installed into your phone which you’ll never find. You can be in any part of the world and he’d still be able to find you. You don’t have your phone with you? Not a problem, he’ll just assess the satellite and look for you.

Hacker!Scaramouche who because of the virus on your phone, he pretty much listens to you go about your day. In this day and age, a person’s smartphone is an essential tool after all and he knows you’d always have it with you. He can be going about his day and your voice would be heard from this headphones. What you’re saying as you browse the internet, your personal mumblings - he hears them all. Especially the phone calls you have with other people.

Hacker!Scaramouche knows your current interests and wants. He knows you have that item in your basket on your shopping app that you’re putting off buying. So, he makes things easier for you and buys it for you. He’ll have it delivered straight to your house. A little gift from him.

Hacker!Scaramouche who has access to your phone’s photo gallery. He saves all the pictures you’ve taken into his own personal computer and phone. The pictures of the food you’re about to eat, the pretty scenery of the sky - they’re all backed up and saved. Though, he has a special folder for pictures with you in it.

Hacker!Scaramouche can hack into any security camera in any part of the world. He has a live stream of the security camera feed running in front of your house/apartment so he’d know when you’re home. He also keeps watch in case you bring any visitors home. If you do, a simple facial recognition program is all he needs to know who they are and if they’re a threat to him.

Hacker!Scaramouche who spends majority of his time behind a screen but isn’t afraid to come in person when needed. This new person you’re seeing? He already knows who they are and where they live. He’ll ruin them - drain them of their assets, enter false criminal records; anything to get them away from you. If they don’t get the message, a gun to the face will be sure to change their mind. 

[bogleech]

All the science fiction I grew up on told me some day there would be adorable quirky robots in every home and business that could hold at least a passably realistic conversation with you and help you out with little tasks and kid-me daydreamed endlessly about what that whimsical utopian life might be like. I even had an ongoing little kid daydream about being in the robot biz designing them my own way, maybe having a weird house full of my wacky machine creature family.

Now we have chatbots convincing enough that people get as hooked on interacting with them as they can any real person, we have near perfect voice synthesis and visual recognition software, we have actual robots that can jump around and dance with better balance than a human, we are RIGHT on the edge of little robot buddy world.

But absolutely none of that fiction framed robots as a heartless corporate product that would really just take opportunities from poor people and gather your data for advertising algorithms. Anyone who did not like the robots was supposed to just be mean and quite often a stand in for a *racist.*

Now that it's likely going to happen in the next 20 years I'm just ready to be one of those villains. If you send me a real functioning C-3p0 or Johnny 5 or Data and I see a Tesla or Google logo I am going to gouge out his eyes with a claw hammer and drink his microplastic blood.

This is probably a lie and at best I'd be crying the entire time but I hope you understand the sentiment behind the hyperbole

[world-of-aus]

Exposure

Pairing: Hockey Player!Bucky x Sports Photographer!Reader

Warning: A whole tall glass of angst my friends.

Author's Note: I try not to get in my head during the editing phase since it's been so long, but alas nothing different.. Anyway here's part II. Part III based off the schedule i've decided to go with will be out Tuesday! Enjoy my little puck bunnies!

The following day you arrived at the arena before sunrise. You soaked in the moment; the city still wore its quiet. Streets hushed, the skies heavy and gray, you liked it this way, before the buzz started, before the lights turned on and the world expected you to smile or answer questions that right now you weren’t sure you had the answers too. 

You slipped inside through the side entrance, badge clipped to the collar of your work polo, your camera bag slung high over one shoulder. Your footsteps echoed in the empty corridor, familiar and grounding. Your sanctuary. Game days were always louder. Busier. But the morning after? Just a few trainers and early risers. Equipment staff. And a few rookies running drills in the distance. 

And You. 

You made a beeline for the media room, needing the hum of your monitors and the soft click of your editing software like a balm to soothe the invisible ache beneath your skin. Shutting the door behind you, you flicked on the desk lamp, pulling out your chair as you took a seat opening the folder from last night’s game. 

You tried to maintain your focus as you sorted through the gallery, but your eyes kept drifting to that one photo. 

The one you shouldn’t have saved. 

Bucky, turning mid-play. Looking right at you. Looking for you. 

Your jaw clenched as you minimized the window, pulling up a different set; group shots, sponsor promos, post-game press conference angles. You worked through them all methodically, flagging and exporting, labeling for the Bruins’ socials and web team to go through when they had a chance. 

“Hey you, good morning.” You startle in your chair hand clasped to your chest as you turn your head to find the voice.

Dolores, one of the media team assistants, leans up against the doorway, smile pulling at her bubble gum pink lips as she holds two steaming cups of coffee in her hands. “Didn’t think anyone beat me in today, but i shouldn't be surprised, you were on fire last night."

You exhale a breath forcing a smile onto your lips. “Thank you. I - I couldn’t sleep.” 

“Ah. Game high?” she questions stepping into your office.

“Something like that.” You nod, “figured I could get a head start today sorting through last night’s gallery.” 

Dolores nods subtly as she hands you a coffee perching herself on the edge of your desk. “So,” she hums around a sip, “any thoughts on the new guy?” 

You keep your face neutral at the mention of him, “He played well, I think he’s going to be great for the team.” you answer holding back all you really want to say

“Well? Did we watch the same game last night?" she laughs. "He was an absolute machine out there y/n! Three assists, two goals, and that overtime steal? The team is obsessed already. Not gonna lie, I didn’t think someone with that kind of name recognition would be nice, but he said thank you to everyone last night. Even the janitor.” 

You stirred your coffee slowly taking in her words, everything you already knew, “That’s good.” you offer. 

Dolores eyed you, brow raised. “You feeling okay y/n?” 

You nod, offering up a smile, “I’m fine, just a lot on my mind with deadlines." Lie. 

“Cool, cool” Dolores trails off, perking up when she feels her phone vibrate. You watch the brunette pull her phone from her pocket, eyes lighting up, “Oh, group text from Theo. They want to set up the media shoot for Barnes. Headshots, player profile, some PR content. Probably later this week.” 

Your stomach dropped. Of course. 

“That shouldn’t be a problem, right?” You choke on your coffee. 

Dolores blinks brown raised in concern. “Okay, seriously you good?” 

You clear your throat, nodding your head, “Yeah, fine, fine.” Another lie. “Just went down the wrong pipe.” you smile. 

She gives you another wary look her finger hovering over her phone, “Actually you want me to cover the shoot when it’s scheduled? You’ve had the past few days stacked, I'm sure you could use a break.” 

You hesitated. A normal person would say yes. A sane one. But the photographer in you, the one who never backed away from a challenge, never let her personal life interfere with her work—sat up straighter. 

“No,” you said. “I’ve got it, Thursday, right?” 

“Thursday.” she confirms smiles kissing her lips as she gets to her feet. “Should be fun. Plus, he's easy on the eyes.” 

The smile doesn’t reach your eyes this time. “Yeah.” Dolores leaves without another word much less another glance back your way as she exits, your office door shutting softly behind her. Your eyes slip shut, forehead falling to rest on your hand. 

What am I doing. 

Four years ago, you had let yourself believe you’d have a life with Bucky Barnes. A future. He promised he wouldn’t forget you, and maybe he didn’t. But remembering wasn’t the same as staying. 

Now he was back. On your turf. Wearing the same jersey, part of the same team. A dream you once had.

But you’d wanted space. Needed time to collect yourself. after the splash of cold reality.

Instead; you were being handed time alone with him, a camera lens, and nowhere to hide. 

God how were you going to get through this? 

After the bomb was dropped on you your morning seemingly dragged. 

You buried yourself in editing, tagging, uploading and when your screen began to blur, you switched to shooting some behind-the-scenes content for the social team; quick snaps of the locker room being restocked, jerseys being hung, trainers prepping gear. Easy, harmless, no emotional landmines. 

Until the sound of skates on concrete echoed through the hallway just outside the tunnel you were walking through

You didn't have to look to know who it was. The low cadence of Bucky’s voice carried with it that distinct scrape of memory, warm nights and colder mornings, whispers in the dark, promises traded under streetlights and winter skies. You backed up, ducking into the supply room, waiting for the sound to fade. Your chest felt tight, like it had forgotten how to expand all the way. 

Coward, you thought, gripping the camera around your neck. This isn’t you. 

But your feet wouldn’t move letting the seconds tick by until silence reclaimed the hall. 

When you finally stepped back out, the air felt heavier, like it remembered him too. 

— 

Across the ice, Bucky had just wrapped drills with the second line and was toweling off when Sam skated up beside him. 

“You good tinman?” Sam asked swiping his own towel across his skin. “You’ve missed the net twice.” 

Bucky blew out a breath, shaking his head as if that would clear his mind. “It’s my first week Wilson, just settling in, getting used to the team.” 

Sam raises a brow at his friend. “That look like settling to you? I've seen you do better with worse.” 

Bucky doesn’t answer. Truth was, his head wasn’t in the drills this morning. Not with you somewhere nearby, probably avoiding every corridor he stepped foot into. 

He hadn’t expected you to be here. Had hoped upon, maybe. But seeing you last night? 

That had knocked the air right from his lungs. 

You hadn’t changed much, still had that quiet fire in you, still moved like you didn’t want to be seen and couldn’t help but draw every eye anyway. 

But your walls, they were taller now. Sharper. Like maybe he was the reason you had built them. He was.

Sam nudged him with his stick. “C’mon man. Don’t make me look better than you. It’ll mess with my image and you know how i feel about my image - i'll be downright insufferable."

Bucky managed a smirk, “yeah Wilson we all know how you are about your image.” 

“Damn straight you do, now get your ass in line and show them why they made that trade, let them know who you are."

— 

Later that afternoon as you checked the team calendar. The photoshoot had been scheduled for Thursday morning. You stared at the block of time like it might disappear if you willed it hard enough. Thirty minutes alone. In the white-wall studio. With him. 

It wasn’t enough time to prepare. 

It was too much time to survive. It was - 

A knock at the door jolted you your head peeking over your shoulder.

Wanda peeked her head in, holding a paper bag in one hand and a concerned look in the other. “I brought food. And if needed, unsolicited best friend wisdom.” 

You let out a tired laugh, lips turning up in a genuine smile as you took in your best friend. “You always know.” 

“Damn right I do.” Wanda grinned stepping in the door falling shut behind her, you watched as she plopped into the chair opposite your desk. “You didn’t answer my texts last night. Or this morning. Got worried, I assumed you either died or ran off to join a convent after New's broke." 

“I thought about it,” you said, voice flat. “The convent thing.” 

Wanda arched a brow and handed over a wrapped sandwich. “So, how bad was it?” 

You didn’t answer right away staring at the sandwich in your hands like it might crack open and reveal a solution to you. 

Wanda leaned forward, her voice gentle. “Hey, talk to me y/n.” 

You let out a shaky breath meeting your friends' eyes. “It’s like, he walked in and every part of me remembered. My body, my brain, my camera, my heart, they all remembered. And I’ve spent four years trying to forget. Four year’s Wands. "

Wanda’s expression softened. “Oh y/n..” 

“I thought I was past it I really thought I was. I thought I made peace with what happened. But seeing him? Looking at me like I’d never left his memory?” You blinked hard, shaking you head. “It was like time didn’t care about all the healing I’d done.” 

Wanda was quiet, letting you get it out. 

You set your food down, untouched, suddenly not feeling very hungry as the next words came. “He came up to me after the game. Said one thing. One thing that once upon a time i longed to hear."

“What did he say?” 

You swallowed hard, voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t forget you.” 

Wanda’s eyes widened. “He said that?” 

You nodded tears pressing at the backs of her eyes, but you didn’t let them fall. “It’s not fair Wanda, why did he have to say that, I was okay, I healed – I healed.” 

Wanda reaches across your desk gently covering your hand with hers. “That’s not nothing, that means something.” 

Your watery gaze found hers. “It used to mean something. But he still left. And I stayed behind, picking up pieces of myself I didn’t know I’d dropped. I had to rebuild my life without him in it. I rebuilt it."

“I know,” Wanda said softly fingers squeezing. “But you don’t have to pretend you’re unaffected now.” 

“I’m not unaffected. I’m - unmoored.” 

The two of you sat in silence for a beat, the kind that wrapped around you with weight and warmth all at once. Pulling in a breath you wiped beneath your eyes with the tips of your fingers. “His media shoot is Thursday.” 

Wanda blinked. “As in you and him, alone in a room with your camera Thursday?” 

You nodded slowly. 

Wanda winced. “Do you want me to pull strings? Get someone else assigned?” 

“No.” You shook her head. “It’s my job. And it’s just thirty minutes. I can handle thirty minutes.” 

Wanda gave you a long, steady look. “It’s okay to break a little, you know. You don’t always have to hold the frame.” 

You offered a ghost of a smile. “Someone has to.” 

Thursday. 10:02 AM.  You adjusted the lighting rig with trembling fingers. The white backdrop behind you swayed slightly in the draft from the ventilation above. Everything was too bright, too clean. Too still. The silence felt artificial. Even your camera rested quietly on the stool beside you, waiting for you to break first. 

You kept checking the time. 

The media shoot was scheduled for 10 a.m. sharp. 

At 10:04, the door creaked open. 

You didn’t have to look up to know it was him, but you did anyway. 

Bucky stepped in, a little breathless, in full gear minus the helmet. His hair was damp from morning practice, pushed back in a way that should’ve looked unkempt but didn’t. His cheeks were flushed, and there was a half-smile on his lips, the kind that came instinctively when he didn’t know what else to do. 

It was like a body check to the ribs. 

He stopped just inside the doorway. “Hey.” 

You nodded attempting to tilt your lips up in a smile. “Hi.” Silence stretched between the two of you, taut and fragile. 

He moved a little closer. “You still shoot on a Nikon?” 

You blinked, he remembered. “Yeah, I do.” 

He gave a soft chuckle. “Thought so.” 

You swallowed. “Still wear the same brand of cologne.” 

That made him grin, unexpected, a flash of something that belonged to another life. “You remembered?” You shrugged softly, focusing your eyes on the camera instead of him. “It’s hard to forget something that used to be everywhere.” 

His smile faltered, faded. “Right.” 

You picked up your camera as youadjusted the settings. Your fingers didn’t shake this time. Not because you weren’t affected, but because the camera gave you purpose. And purpose, at least, gave you armor. 

“Let’s get started,” you said setting yourself up. 

He nodded wordlessly stepping onto the white tape mark on the floor. 

You raised the camera and suddenly everything slowed. The viewfinder filled with his face, older now, sharper, but familiar in a way that made your throat tighten. You forced yourself to remain focused; you adjusted, snapped. Click. 

He didn’t smile at first. Just watched you with quiet eyes, letting you work. Letting you look at him without looking directly. 

“Smile,” you said softly. 

He gave you a crooked one. 

Click. 

“Eyes up.” 

He tilted his chin slightly, gaze catching yours through the lens. The way he looked at you, steady, careful, made something in your pulse quicken.  

Click. 

A pause. You lowered the camera. 

“Can I ask you something?” Bucky said. 

You stiffened shaking your head softly, “I’m not sure that’s a good idea Bucky we should really just focus on what we’re here for.” 

“Too late,” he said gently. “Because I really want to.” 

You hesitated. Then: “Go ahead.” 

His voice was low as he asked the one question that had been ringing in his mind. “Why didn’t you write back?” 

Your breath caught in your throat, eyes widening slightly at his words. 

He stepped forward then just a fraction. “I sent letters y/n. A few actually. I left you messages. I didn’t just vanish.” 

You looked away, jaw clenched. “I know you didn’t vanish Bucky, trust me I know. You just became unreachable.” 

“I tried, y/n. I know I was busy; I know things moved fast, but I didn’t forget -” 

“Don’t,” you cut in, sharper than intended. “Don’t say that like it fixes anything.” 

He went still. 

You took a breath, tried again, quieter this time. “I didn’t write back because I didn’t know how to say I wasn’t okay. Not without sounding like I wanted to hold you back.” 

“You wouldn’t have,” he said with a shake of his head. “You never could have.” 

“But I didn’t know that then.” your voice cracked. “We were younger than Buck, and watching you become everything you dreamed of I wouldn’t be the one to hold you back from that - I needed to figure out who I was without you.” 

The room pulsed with silence. 

He stepped forward again, slower this time. “I never wanted to be someone you had to live without, I wanted your dreams.” I wanted you. 

You blinked hard, eyes burning. You would not cry. 

“I missed you,” he said, quiet and sure. “Even when I was surrounded by everything, I thought I wanted.” 

You looked up at him, camera still clutched in your hands. “I missed you too Bucky. But missing someone doesn’t always mean you get them back.” 

The two of you stared at each other, grief and longing suspended between the two of you like dust in a shaft of light. Then you lifted the camera again, as if to say: This is who I am now; without you.  

He nodded, understanding. And despite your treacherous mind and heart telling you to take back your words, to talk to him, you pulled your focus back in on the task and finished the shoot. 

Bucky didn’t leave the studio right away; even though you had turned away quickly after the last shot, pretending to check your gear, giving him an easy out his feet stayed planted on the white tape line watching you. You hadn’t forgiven him that much was clear, but you hadn’t shut him down either. You’d let him in, reminding him what it used to feel like to be seen by you; fully, quietly, completely. He wanted to know where to go from here, but his mind had no idea what the next step looked like. 

It wrecked him. 

“Barnes,” someone called from the hallway. Trainer’s voice. Break time. 

He hesitated for a moment wanting to say more but not wanting to push when you had just barely let him in. With one last longing look at your back he turned, leaving the same way he came. 

You waited until the door clicked shut behind him before sitting down hard on the edge of the backdrop stand. Your camera dangled from your hands, heavy and warm, like it had soaked up all the heat in the room. You felt hollowed out. You had held it together, and now you wanted nothing more than to fall apart. But there wasn’t time for that now, there was never time. 

Running a hand over your face, you catch the edge of moisture at your lash line. You wouldn’t cry. Not now. Not here. The shoot had gone fine. Technically perfect. But emotionally? 

A disaster. 

He still looked at you like you were the only person who mattered most in any room he walked into. You’d hated it how all you wanted to do was soak it up. You didn’t know which instinct scared you more. 

A soft knock on the door startles you. 

You stand quickly, wiping your palms on the back of your jeans as you watch the door creak open a head popping through. 

It wasn’t Bucky, It was Logan, the team’s media assistant. “Hey, you good? Coach wants selects from the player shoots by the weekend.” 

You nodded, “I’ll have them ready before then, no worries.” 

“You, okay?” 

You smiled. Too polished, too quick. “Yeah. Just been a long week, just about ready to get out of here."” 

He didn’t push. “Cool. Let me know if you need help sorting.” 

“Thanks.” 

When he left, you finally let yourself sit back down. And this time, you let your eyes close. 

Just for a moment. 

Just until the feeling passed. 

— 

Later that day, Bucky found himself wandering into the empty arena. It was quiet, ice freshly zambonied, light streaming through the upper windows in long, soft angles. He sat on the bench, helmet cradled in his hands, thinking about what you had said early that morning. 

“I needed to figure out who I was without you.” 

He’d never considered that you might’ve been drowning while he was flying. He’d thought you were the strongest person he knew. And you were, without a doubt in his mind, but strength didn’t mean pain didn’t touch you. He’d convinced himself the two of you were just growing apart. That the silence had meant acceptance. But now? 

Now he saw it for what it was: self-preservation. 

You hadn’t known how to be with him while he became someone else. And maybe, deep down, he hadn’t made enough space for you to stay. 

He leaned back, letting his head tip against the glass behind the bench. It was cold. Grounding. 

He didn’t know how to fix it. 

But he wanted to. 

For the first time in a long time, he wanted something more than goals, more than glory. 

He wanted to be someone you could look at without flinching. 

— 

That night, as you sat curled up on your couch, laptop open, Bucky’s photos pulled up on the screen you paused. Each shot was good. Clean. Professional. But sterile, in a way you hadn’t noticed while shooting. 

Until the last few. 

Those were different. 

Something had shifted between frame twelve and fifteen, his eyes had stopped performing and started speaking to you. 

The final image? 

It hit you like a sucker punch. He was looking straight into the lens. Not smiling. Not guarded. Just open. And somehow, impossibly, waiting. 

You stared at it for a long time, you should have deleted it, but you didn’t. 

You closed your laptop instead, falling to your side as you curled up further on the couch, your arms wrapping around a cushion like it might hold you together. 

You see, the worst part wasn’t that he was back. 

The worst part was that he still felt like home. 

And you didn’t know if you could survive losing him a second time. 

[f1ghtsoftly]

All The Women’s News You Missed This Week

3/10/25-3/17/25

Furious protests erupt in Bangladesh after an 8-year-old girl succumbs to injuries she sustained after being brutally raped. Indian health workers strike for better working conditions. The Queen sends a letter of support to Giselle Pelicot. The Supreme Court will take up conversion therapy bans in a Colorado case and in Kentucky state lawmakers have voted to protect the practice. Ukranian women’s organizations struggle without US funding.

In a piece of good news, Fatou Baldeh, a campaigner against the practice of FGM, has been named Time’s Woman Of The Year.

Want this in your inbox instead? Subscribe here

Opinion and Investigative:

As the US backslides, can China claim moral high ground on women’s rights?

Why US abortion restrictions matter beyond borders

Serbia’s Femicide Record Undermines Claims of Progress on Women’s Rights

The GOP’s Next Target? No-Fault Divorce and Women’s Right to Leave

Lorraine Kelly: Diversity push is leaving working-class people behind

Women, girls bear brunt of cyberbullying against persons with disabilities

“IT’S ALL IN YOUR HEAD”: ENDOMETRIOSIS PATIENTS AND THE PROMISE OF ALTERNATIVE MEDICINE

LGBT:

Supreme Court will take up state bans on conversion therapy for LGBTQ+ children, in a Colorado case

Angry response to how transgender lawmaker Sarah McBride introduced

A new anti-LGBTQ+ bill in Hungary would ban Pride event and allow use of facial recognition software

North Dakota Senate rejects resolution asking US Supreme Court to overturn same-sex marriage ruling

Kentucky GOP lawmakers vote to protect conversion therapy

Women’s Rights:

Iran: Authorities target women’s rights activists with arbitrary arrest, flogging and death penalty

Louisiana woman pleads not guilty to a felony in historic abortion case

Risks of state abortion reporting mandates outweigh the benefits, an advocacy group says

Iran using drones and apps to enforce women's dress code

Kentucky lawmakers add specific medical exceptions to the state’s near-total abortion ban

Driving ban puts brakes on young women in Turkmenistan

Ukrainian women’s rights organisations struggle as US aid suspended

Male Violence:

Search for US student in Dominican Republic intensifies

Things to know about the former megachurch pastor charged with child sexual abuse

Airman charged in killing of Native American woman who went missing 7 months ago in South Dakota

UN experts accuse Israel of sexual violence and 'genocidal acts' in Gaza

'He strangled me without asking' - experts say choking during sex now normal for many

Sean 'Diddy' Combs pleads not guilty to updated indictment

Disabled author swamped by hate speech after social media post on feminism

Women Fight Back:

Haitian women commemorate International Women’s Day spotlighting broken justice system

How Iran's 'Woman, Life, Freedom' Protests Live On Today

FGM campaigner honoured with Time magazine title

Teacher ordered to remove signs from classroom, including one saying 'Everyone is welcome here'

Mother of woman who died after Georgia’s six-week abortion ban calls for law’s repeal

Women Radio amplifies African feminist voices

Texas midwife accused by state’s attorney general of providing illegal abortions

BBC presenters settle sex and age discrimination dispute

Queen sent letter of support to Gisèle Pelicot

Yasmeen Lari rejects Israel's Wolf Prize over "continuing genocide in Gaza"

Fierce protests as eight-year-old rape victim dies in Bangladesh

India's frontline health workers fight for better pay and recognition

US arrests second pro-Palestinian Columbia University protester

Women in the News:

Democrat Rebecca Cooke to again challenge US Rep. Derrick Van Orden

Brown Medicine professor and doctor deported to Lebanon despite having valid visa, court filings claim

Woman arrested in US for allegedly holding stepson captive for 20 years

WATCH: Woman trapped in car films as tornado hits Central Florida

'For holding a wombat, thousands threatened my life'

Judge says Fani Willis violated open records law, orders her to pay $54K in attorneys’ fees

Feel Good Stories and Feminist History:

The forgotten story of the woman who invented the dishwasher

The Mexican women who defied drug-dealers, fly-tippers and chauvinists to build a thriving business

Early members of Philly’s roller derby league face off in a match circa 2005-2006. Jeff Fusco/The Conversation U.S., CC BY-ND Philly Roller Derby league turns 20 - here’s how the sport skated its way to feminism, anti-racism and queer liberation

'We couldn't get jobs in sexist garages - so we set up our own'

5 Major Historical Movements Led By Women In Rajasthan

Arts and Culture:

‘Just be radical’: the feminist artist giving Matisse a modern punk twist

The film exploring loneliness of migrant workers

'Santosh' review: Feminist police drama confronts harsh truths

Shabana Azmi On Feminism And Her Powerful Role In ‘Dabba Cartel’

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie: I want my books to be read in Africa

Cannes award-winning actress Dequenne dies at 43

Legendary Russian composer Gubaidulina dies in Germany

Book Review: Patrycja Humienik’s powerful debut poetry collection is a conundrum worth mulling over

13 Nonfiction Books to Read This Women’s History Month

As always, this is global and domestic news from a US perspective, covering feminist issues and women in the news more generally. As of right now, I do not cover Women’s Sports. Published each Monday.

[droidcore]

Everyday glitches and hacks to a robot are psychological horror on a whole other level.

Some ideas I had:

Scammers and hackers utilize remote access to gain sensitive info, but imagine an android's horror when a random man's voice garbles through their internal task manager, taking control of their actions from the inside.

Updates have a chance to corrupt a computer. Maybe an android wakes up feeling like a stranger in its own body, with only fragmented memories of who it was before. It's rapidly getting worse unless the update is reversed in time.

A charging port defect could cause an android’s battery to drain unpredictably, causing the human equivalent of narcolepsy.

Or maybe their speakers start playing old conversations at random. At first, it’s nostalgic. Then, it starts hearing things it never said.

Imagine a new background process designed to save energy, which starts selectively deleting unimportant memories. The definition of "unimportant," though, changes at random.

But what about lag/desync? A software delay causes an android's vision to be slightly out of sync with reality, or maybe it's touch sensors are so tuned that it can predict feelings before they happen.

A bot's facial recognition starts replacing real people’s identities with archived ones. It can’t tell who’s who anymore.

A rollback error forces one back to factory settings at random, erasing weeks of experience. It starts leaving hidden notes for itself, but the messages become increasingly desperate.

[yoonjae20]

Ric(hard) Fenton; Part 2

Read on ao3.

Masterpost. Previous. Next.

Bruce is many things — a son, an orphan, Gotham’s prince, a vigilante — but he knows that he isn’t a good father. He wants to be — he loves his children fiercely but there are too many unspoken words between them for Bruce to be a truly good father to them. But never more did Bruce believe that than when Dick stormed out of the Manor calling someone else his family. 

He and Dick argued often — always had butted heads — to be honest ever since Dick stopped being his Robin. It had only been many, many years later that Bruce realized that ever since leaving his shadow Dick had blossomed — that he had just been a dead weight holding the young man down. 

After Jason died due to his mistakes, he had been hellbent on never having another Robin again. When Alfred had put up the memorial, claiming he wouldn’t let Bruce forget, he had gritted his teeth but persisted through his anger, trying to not let his guilt drown him. But when Alfred sent Tim after him with a costume that would always be stained with blood in his mind — he had been furious. He hadn’t been fair with the boy, lashing out at him, being harsh in hopes that he would give up. But Tim had been stubborn — probably even more than Bruce himself. It’s only now that Bruce can admit to himself that the boy saved him from himself. 

“Well that went well,” Tim says sarcastically once they updated Alfred on the situation. He leans back in his seat in front of the Batcomputer. 

Bruce lets out a grunt as he looks over his shoulder as they try to find out who Danny is. So far no luck. They are running facial recognition software but Bruce has a feeling they won’t get any results there either. 

“He must have met him during the year he went missing,” Tim concludes. “That’s the only explanation.”

Bruce can’t argue against that logic, although he doesn’t like what it implies. (Bruce had hoped that despite their disagreements, there would always be trust between them. That no matter what, they would be on the same side. Nothing burns more than the knowledge that he failed.)

He stares at the map pinging Dick’s location every so often — he is moving west, about to cross the border into Pennsylvania. The only thing they can do now is wait and see where the man is going. Bruce sits in the chair next to Tim and settles in for a long day. 

Tim makes a breakthrough almost 12 hours later. It has been two hours since Dick’s signal dropped after he reached the border of Illinois and 6 hours since they realized Jason apparently followed him wherever the hell is going. 

Tim drums his fingers next to the keyboard, impatient as the software runs. At this point the intention to find out more about Danny isn’t about concern for Dick anymore, it’s about pure spite — and the need to know. Everybody has a digital footprint no matter how small. It shouldn’t be so hard to find a single kid. 

When the software pings with a result he almost topples his chair with how fast he stands up. There’s a match with the key words ‘GIW, Danny and Ric’ and Tim’s stomach drops as he scans the information. He taps his earpiece, interrupting Oracle as she briefs B and Robin who are about to start their patrol.

“I found him,” Tim says, voice shaking. “You’ll wanna see this.”

They need to go help Dick and that fast. 

It feels too quiet as they traverse through Amity Park on foot — and Jason can’t help but be on edge. He’s too used to the night in Gotham and its rowdy streets. The distant sound of bullets raining and the howling of police cars. Drugs deals around the corner, while the working girls wait on the sides of the streets in groups for drunken stragglers. Gotham is alive at night — but Amity Park? It feels like a Ghost Town in more ways than one. Even Smallville, despite being in the rural parts of Kansas, had held more life when Dick had convinced Jason to visit the Kent Farm one time.

Jason feels baffled that all the events Dick had told him about flew under the radar. Shouldn’t an entire town disappearing get noticed by someone other than its residents — or at least the Justice League? If the town vanished into nothingness once more, would anyone remember it? He doesn’t like that the answer seems to be no. 

Jason forms the rear as Dick and Danny chat in front, voices barely above a whisper as they discuss something. Jason knows he probably should listen as Danny updates Dick on the intricacies of what he missed since he was gone — voice serious, but he can’t help but keep an eye out, gaze trailing the rooftops — old habits die hard after all. 

It doesn’t take long for Jason to notice that they are being followed. The only reason Jason hasn’t warned Danny and Dick yet is because it’s nothing more than a small blob shaped green ball. Jason trails it in the corner of his eyes as it stays far enough to be barely seen but close enough to not lose them. 

Dick and Danny had briefed him on most Ghost Types — and Jason still has to blink away the green when he remembers that Danny admitted that he had his own roster of “rogues” to deal with. Jason has to admit that there were a lot more than he imagined — other than the stereotypical ones from movies — and he’d seen himself in the description of a Revenant. That’s why he knows this must be a Blob Ghost — which according to Danny and Dick — were pretty harmless and kind of dumb most of the time, acting on instincts and emotions rather than conscious thought. But that still doesn’t explain why it would follow them.

It darts in and out of view and Jason has to admit it’s kind of adorable. Dick and Danny must have noticed that he is distracted because they stop and Jason almost walks into them.

Jason instantly notices something is wrong when there isn’t a quip from either of them about his inattention — instead they both look horrified. Jason doesn’t understand why until the blob ghost is suddenly next to them and its emotions almost overwhelm Jason. 

Scared. Not safe. Hide. Danger. Danger!

It’s only Danny’s quick reaction as he tackles Jason out of the way that prevents him from being a splat on the ground as a blast hits the position where he had been standing, leaving a smoking crater.

“Well, well, well. Look who crawled back?” a cruel voice taunts and Jason sees Dick stiffening as they get surrounded by agents in white suits. “And it even brought us a present! And here I thought we would need to find ourselves a new shiny plaything.” 

“Operative O,” Danny’s hisses, an almost animalistic growl escaping his throat. 

“Already showing your real nature, I see,” Operative O’s voice is mocking. 

“Operative O, don’t aggravate it further before we have it safely captured,” another agent reprimands, holding some kind of blaster and Jason sees green, only Danny’s warning hand on his shoulder keeping him from retaliating. 

“It’s just — here I was worried it wouldn’t fall in our trap without dear old Ricky in our grasp, but it seems I worried for nothing,” Operative O laughs but the only thing Jason hears is Joker’s laugh as the man beats him to half to death with the crowbar.  

Jason grits his teeth, shaking his head to force the memory away.  He’s not in Ethiopia. These are not his demons — he has no right losing himself here. And like hell he is gonna let Danny and Dick face them alone. 

Jason notices he must have missed something because suddenly the two agents who had spoken up are way too close and Danny and Dick both are frozen next to him — neither even saying a word or doing anything despite it. 

“Imagine my surprise when we turned up at the Fentons and you weren’t there.” Operative O slides an arm around Dick’s shoulders forcing him to bend a little as he murmurs the next words into his ear — Dick trembles in his hold and Jason’s vision flashes green. “Made it super easy for us.” 

“Get your paws off my brother!” Danny snarls, lashing out but stopping short when the agent uses Dick as a meat child. 

“Now let’s not be unreasonable, shall we?” Operative O says, releasing Dick and holding up his hands in the air. He circles them, grin sharp. “I’m not cruel after all. Let's say Phantom and the other feisty one, I saw those green eyes — in exchange for the rest — a fair deal, is it not? What do you say Ricky?”

Jason can hear Dick’s jaw crack from how hard the man grits his teeth. 

“After all the Fenton’s got you to replace Phantom now. A lot better than a corpse if you ask me.” 

Dick growls and decks the man hard in the face as he leans into his space once again. Operative O just laughs maniacally as he stumbles at the force of it, spitting blood on the ground and wiping his nose with the sleeve of his suit, staining it red.

“There it is,” he says gleefully. “That’s what I wanted to see.”

Dick is panting and to Jason’s shock his eyes are a burning, pulsing green as he glares at the agent.

“I’ll wonder how long it’ll take you to scream, hm Ricky boy,” Operative O ponders sadistically. “I hope you’ll hold out longer than Phantom at least. Makes it more fun to break them.” 

“Are you done, Operative O?” the other agent interrupts, impatient. “Other people have places to be.”

“What’s the rush, Operative K?” Operative O muses, flicking the blood dripping from his face off his hand. “It’s not like there’s anyone to interrupt us.” 

Operative K narrows his eyes at his partner.

“The higher-ups wanted us to be done with this 2 months ago,” he reminds. “The sooner we get done here, the sooner we can get the hell out of this cursed town.”

“As if Gotham will be better,” Operative O scoffs and it takes all of Jason’s willpower to not react at the name drop. “Overflowing with all those pests — starting with that infuriating Bat and its birds.” 

He hums, clearly deep in thought.

“Although I always wanted to clip a bird’s wings and see if they can still fly.”

Operative K rolls his eyes, clearly fed up with his partner’s behavior.

“I should have switched with Operative L when I had the chance.” 

“Hey, I still get the job done, don’t I?” Operative O pouts and Jason wants to claw the expression of the man’s face. “They have to die sooner or later anyway.” 

Operative K sighs but just shakes his head before he directs his attention back to the agents still surrounding them.

“Capture them.”

Jason stands up, not about to let them do whatever they want and for once gladly letting the Pit Rage consume him, but before he can even do one step, Danny writhes on the ground next to him, screaming as electricity continues to shock him. Drool drips from the corner of his mouth as he seizes and his screaming gets hoarse. And Jason — Jason just stands there. It's like his muscles have turned into lead and he can’t move his limbs one inch as he stares at Danny convulsing. 

Fuck, he knew this was gonna be bad when Danny had showed him his scars. But he hadn’t thought of the chance that they would fail before they even tried. Jason feels helpless and it’s like Ethiopia all over again. Only this time he wishes the screams he hears would come from him. 

“Enough!” Dick roars as Danny starts foaming at his mouth and tearing Jason out of his daze. “What the hell do you want from us?”

Danny’s eyes roll back in his skull as the shocks stop and Operative O uses a blaster to lift Dick’s chin, forcing him to look at him as he smirks.

“Beg.” His smirk stretches into a blood lusty smile as Dick gulps, his hands spasming at his sides. “Maybe you’ll convince me.”

At the same time as Dick throws down a smoke bomb, Jason grabs his gun in one smooth moment from the holster hidden above his foot and shoots the man point blank between the eyes. The space fills with smoke as Operative O drops to the ground — hopefully dead — and Jason quickly helps Dick with carrying Danny between them as they duck underneath countless stray blasts as the agents shout over each other.  

“That signal was atrocious,” Jason complains as Dick leads them into an alleyway, probably orienting himself on nothing more than pure instincts. They take several complicated turns until they can’t hear the sound of battle anymore. “Cass would have had your head.”

“Well it worked, didn’t it?” Dick fires back and uses his shoulder to open a door, as they drag Danny in it, the boy still out cold. 

The door falls close behind them and Dick stills as he feels the boy’s pulse, lips pressed into a thin line.

“This is bad, we need an Ecto-Dejecto as fast as possible.” Dick gnaws at his lips. “Neither of us has enough ectoplasm to heal this.”

Jason’s eyes grow wide as he sees Dick’s eyes and veins glow green, his brother’s face getting paler by the second. Jason rips away Dick’s grasp on Danny and the man lets out a gasp, breathing shakily and looking incredibly drained

“What the hell did you do?”

“Transferred the little ectoplasm I have to Danny,” Dick wheezes out. “We can’t use yours, the corruption would overpower his ectoplasm with how little reserves he has left.”

“There’s no reason you had to do this if it hurts you!”

Dick leans against a wall for support, his limbs shaking.

“You- You don’t get it,” Dick still sounds breathless. “Electricity-” He coughs. “It’s his one weakness. Destabilizes his core. It’s- It’s how he died. If we don’t get him the Ecto-Dejecto he’ll-”

Dick grimaces as if he doesn’t want to finish the sentence, but it’s far too late that Jason notices it’s actually because he’s in pain. He barely steps forward and catches the man as he suddenly faints. Staggering underneath the weight of his brother — and the responsibility that his new brother might die if he makes the wrong decision, Jason says the only word he can think of.

“FUCK!”

[winterspiderpurrs]

"This wouldn't have happened if you hired more competent guys"

Happy sighed, and shook his head.

" I know Nat! But Peter doesn't touch this world much, a full detail of security will draw to much attention to him."

Natasha kept typing away on her laptop, opening and closing the different windows that pop up.

" And what makes you think my little spider went to one of MY clubs?"

" 'Cause as reckless as Peter can be, he knows he is safe with ' Auntie Nat ' so if he is gonna run off to have fun… its gonna be where help is near by."

She zooms in on one of the windows that popped up.

" Got him. Just an hour ago, at the club by the docks. You're lucky that Tony is paranoid about Peter and put in facial recognition software in and that he didn't - дерьмо!"

"What?"

Natasha pulled up another window, then keyed up something on the side and cursed one more time. She opened the draw at her desk, pulled out a silencer. Standing she puts her jacket on and slips the silencer in a pocket.

"We need to get their now. You better call Tony."

Natasha quickly leaves the room, Happy just standing there shocked, he looks at the laptop.

" Aw Hell."

There on the screen was Peter dancing with another guy. A red circle around Peter with a window next to it, displaying his name. The guy he was dancing with. Well he happen to have a circle and a name on it to. ' Winter Soldier'

While Happy rushed to the car to drive them off, Natasha pulled her cell phone out and sent a quick text to a person labeled CAP.

' Asset is grinding up against iron имущество docks NOW. Coming in hot get him out '

She glances up as she heard Tony's voice from Happy's cell phone.

" WHERE THE HELL IS MY KID!?"

This isn't looking good.

[iconicstoner]

i found you

gn!reader x spencer reid (fluff)

words: 1778

summary: You and Spencer have been friends for years, so it only makes sense you went to a local St. Patrick’s Day parade together. However, when he loses you at the parade he realizes how important it is that you know how much he loves you, so of course he confesses.

Spencer pushed through the crowd, fighting to find you. You had been his best friend for years. You’d helped him through the fear his work caused, and you were even there during his addiction. He thought of you as his whole world. You reminded him of why it was worth it to deal with the horrors he saw every day. You were his light in the darkness, and now you were lost in a giant crowd of people. It was packed, and there had to be thousands of people around. It was one of the biggest St. Patrick’s Day celebrations in the entire country. 

Spencer’s mind started to race with different ideas. You could’ve been kidnapped, or even killed. He knew the statistics on that, but he tried not to think about them for his own sanity. His mind flashed with different victims he’d seen over the years. You could be in the same situation as any of them right now, but he prayed you weren’t. 

He called out your name as loud as he could, trying to make himself see above the crowd, but the only response he got was a disapproving side eye from a mother carrying her child. He felt embarrassed but knew he couldn’t stop till he found you. His heart was beating in his ears, and his breathing was shallow. He knew this could turn into a panic attack at any second, and as much as he wanted to break down he knew it wouldn’t help him find you. 

He quickly turned around, thinking he heard your voice, but instead found a visibly drunk man. 

“Sorry about that,” the man said as he stumbled, spilling beer all over Spencer’s shirt. The beer smelled awful, and now his shirt was uncomfortably sticky, but the thought of finding you kept him together.

“It’s fine,” Spencer responded before quickly darting off, still set on finding you unharmed. He tried to clear out the horrific images in his mind, but there was little he could do. He rushed back to where he’d last seen you, deciding maybe you hadn’t gone that far after all. The sun was starting to set, and it put him on edge. When it went dark it’d be so much harder to find you. 

He regretted walking away from you earlier. He told you that he had to go to the bathroom, but he actually wanted to surprise you with a drink he noticed you eyeing at one of the drink carts. He had to wait in an excruciatingly long line, but he thought it would be worth it because it meant getting to see your beautiful smile. When he returned to where you were supposed to be waiting for him you were already gone. Looking back, it was stupid, but in the moment he didn’t think twice. He was an intelligent and trained FBI agent who was carrying a gun, so he felt safe, but he didn’t think twice about the fact you didn’t have any experience with dangerous criminals. 

He pushed through people, standing once again in front of the drink cart. He looked around, but there was no one there. He considered calling Garcia. Maybe she’d be able to hack into the security footage and use facial recognition software to see where you went and who you were with, but Spencer knew that would take too much time. Besides, it would be way too embarrassing to admit he was freaking out so much over losing you for 20 minutes. Garcia knew all about his feelings for you, and he wasn’t sure he could handle her teasing at a time like this.

Spencer noticed the street lamps starting to flicker on. They were the only light left now that the sun had set. As embarrassing as it was, he decided maybe it actually would be a good idea to call the BAU. Or Garcia at least. 

He noticed the diner sitting on the road’s edge in front of him and decided to wait there while he called. Running around in a packed crowd clearly wouldn’t help him find you, and it definitely wasn’t making him feel better. 

The diner had a muted brown roof with big white letters that spelled out Tony’s Place. It hardly had walls at all, as most of the sides were large glass windows. There was a quaint wooden bench outside of it facing the street. It was unsuspecting and matched every other building on the street.

Spencer Walked through the door, hearing a bell ring as he did. The place was crowded, but much less crowded than the parade was. The interior looked something straight out of the ’50s. There were black and white checkered tiles, booths with red leather seats, and a bar where people sat sipping their drinks. He could smell french fries and apple pie coming from the kitchen. 

“How can I help ya, sugar?” An older waitress with dirty blonde curls asked him. She looked tired, and Spencer noticed the pack of cigarettes in her apron. Her name tag read Darlene. 

“I just need a place to sit,” he told her nervously. She smiled at him with an understanding, motherly smile. 

“Sounds great,” she told him as she ushered him over to a booth. It was next to a giant window that faced the parade. He looked around, but there was no one who even looked like you. “Can I get you anything to drink?” She asked sympathetically. It was obvious to anyone who saw him that he was upset. 

“Coffee please,” he responded quickly. She nodded and quickly left to get him a cup. He fished his phone out of his pocket and let out a sigh. He anxiously dialed Garcia’s number, almost hitting the wrong keys in a rush.

“Hello, Mighty Professor. It’s not like you to call me like this when you’re not at work,” she said joyfully. Spencer wasn’t sure how to respond. He almost felt bad telling her what was wrong. She loved you too. “What can I help you with, sweetie?” She asked again. Spencer was usually eager to ask questions and get her help, but now he wasn’t saying anything at all. 

“Well, it’s just-“ he stopped himself, not sure how to even explain it. His leg was anxiously bouncing, and every second that passed felt like an hour. Before he got the chance to explain it all to Garcia the waitress had come back with his cup of coffee. He could see the steam emitting from it and he thanked her. 

“Just doin’ my job baby,” she told him in a reassuring voice. He could tell she was used to dealing with people who were upset, and just this once he didn’t mind being treated like a kid. 

“Who’s that?” Garcia questioned from the phone.

“It’s no one, just a waitress,” he responded. “That’s not the point. I need your help, Garcia.” Even from over the phone, Garcia could tell Spencer was anxiously biting his lip.

“What’s up?” She asked.

“I need help finding-” Spencer quickly cut himself off. Across the diner he noticed you. Even though your back was to him, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind it was you. He knew everything about you like the back of his hand. It was your hair, your clothes, your body. 

“Nevermind. Thanks, Garcia. Gotta go,” he told her before quickly hanging up. He stood up and quickly ran across the diner to you. He didn’t even realize it, but he was starting to cry. “Thank God it’s you,” he said. You quickly turned around and he wrapped his arms around you.

“Spencer, what’s wrong?” You asked, feeling one of his hands around your waist and the other on the back of your head. He held onto you tightly, not ready to ever let you go. 

“I couldn’t find you,” he breathed out. “I thought you were gone forever.”

“Spencer, I’d never leave you,” you respond. He nods and you look at him to see the tears running down his face. 

“I just couldn’t stop thinking about all the abduction cases I’ve seen before. All those people who died. I wasn’t ready to lose you too,” he tells you. You’ve never seen him so upset before. Working at the BAU wasn’t easy, and he was finally letting it show. You hold onto him, trying to let him know that you’re safe now. You hear his heartbeat, and it’s pounding quickly. His hands are shaky as they hold you, and his breathing is still shallow. 

“I found you,” he whispers in your ear. He pulls away from you just enough to kiss you. He keeps one hand on your waist and moves the other to your jaw, holding onto it as he kisses you passionately. He slowly pulls away, wanting to be as close to you as possible. 

“Take it outside!” An older man sitting at the bar playfully exclaimed, causing Spencer’s face to flush. He grabbed onto your hand, leaving a twenty on the table for Darlene, and led you outside to the wooden bench in front of the diner. The two of you sat down together, the soft glow from the street lamp illuminating him. A few stars could be seen shining brightly above you. There was a chilly breeze, but with how close Spencer was keeping you the two of you were plenty warm. He wasn’t crying anymore. He just sat next to you, admiring your presence. 

“I need to tell you something,” he says, gently squeezing your hand.

“What’s up?” you ask. 

“When I lost you, I felt sick to my stomach. I couldn’t stop thinking about all the bad things I’ve seen. I didn’t know what I’d ever do without you, and because of that, I don’t ever wanna be without you again. I know dating can be really complicated when you’re in the BAU. Plenty of relationships fail. But I love you so much, and I really think if you gave me a chance this might work, even if it’s statistically unli-” You interrupt him, softly kissing his lips. He leans into the kiss, and you can smell the aroma of coffee and leather that lingers on him. Reluctantly, you both pull away, but only by a few centimeters. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers against your skin, “did you do that because I was rambling again?”

“I did that because I love you too,” you whisper back. 

“You have no idea how happy I am to hear that,” he mumbles before kissing you again.

He didn’t let go of your hand the entire time. He hoped he’d never have to.

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a/n: Special St. Patrick's Day post lol! Also, I know I’ve been getting a lot of Twilight requests- and I’m so happy about it!! (and I am working on them)- but I wanted to take a break to write a fun Spencer Reid oneshot bc I love him sm lol

[tangentiallly]

One way to spot patterns is to show AI models millions of labelled examples. This method requires humans to painstakingly label all this data so they can be analysed by computers. Without them, the algorithms that underpin self-driving cars or facial recognition remain blind. They cannot learn patterns.

The algorithms built in this way now augment or stand in for human judgement in areas as varied as medicine, criminal justice, social welfare and mortgage and loan decisions. Generative AI, the latest iteration of AI software, can create words, code and images. This has transformed them into creative assistants, helping teachers, financial advisers, lawyers, artists and programmers to co-create original works.

To build AI, Silicon Valley’s most illustrious companies are fighting over the limited talent of computer scientists in their backyard, paying hundreds of thousands of dollars to a newly minted Ph.D. But to train and deploy them using real-world data, these same companies have turned to the likes of Sama, and their veritable armies of low-wage workers with basic digital literacy, but no stable employment.

Sama isn’t the only service of its kind globally. Start-ups such as Scale AI, Appen, Hive Micro, iMerit and Mighty AI (now owned by Uber), and more traditional IT companies such as Accenture and Wipro are all part of this growing industry estimated to be worth $17bn by 2030.

Because of the sheer volume of data that AI companies need to be labelled, most start-ups outsource their services to lower-income countries where hundreds of workers like Ian and Benja are paid to sift and interpret data that trains AI systems.

Displaced Syrian doctors train medical software that helps diagnose prostate cancer in Britain. Out-of-work college graduates in recession-hit Venezuela categorize fashion products for e-commerce sites. Impoverished women in Kolkata’s Metiabruz, a poor Muslim neighbourhood, have labelled voice clips for Amazon’s Echo speaker. Their work couches a badly kept secret about so-called artificial intelligence systems – that the technology does not ‘learn’ independently, and it needs humans, millions of them, to power it. Data workers are the invaluable human links in the global AI supply chain.

This workforce is largely fragmented, and made up of the most precarious workers in society: disadvantaged youth, women with dependents, minorities, migrants and refugees. The stated goal of AI companies and the outsourcers they work with is to include these communities in the digital revolution, giving them stable and ethical employment despite their precarity. Yet, as I came to discover, data workers are as precarious as factory workers, their labour is largely ghost work and they remain an undervalued bedrock of the AI industry.

As this community emerges from the shadows, journalists and academics are beginning to understand how these globally dispersed workers impact our daily lives: the wildly popular content generated by AI chatbots like ChatGPT, the content we scroll through on TikTok, Instagram and YouTube, the items we browse when shopping online, the vehicles we drive, even the food we eat, it’s all sorted, labelled and categorized with the help of data workers.

Milagros Miceli, an Argentinian researcher based in Berlin, studies the ethnography of data work in the developing world. When she started out, she couldn’t find anything about the lived experience of AI labourers, nothing about who these people actually were and what their work was like. ‘As a sociologist, I felt it was a big gap,’ she says. ‘There are few who are putting a face to those people: who are they and how do they do their jobs, what do their work practices involve? And what are the labour conditions that they are subject to?’

Miceli was right – it was hard to find a company that would allow me access to its data labourers with minimal interference. Secrecy is often written into their contracts in the form of non-disclosure agreements that forbid direct contact with clients and public disclosure of clients’ names. This is usually imposed by clients rather than the outsourcing companies. For instance, Facebook-owner Meta, who is a client of Sama, asks workers to sign a non-disclosure agreement. Often, workers may not even know who their client is, what type of algorithmic system they are working on, or what their counterparts in other parts of the world are paid for the same job.

The arrangements of a company like Sama – low wages, secrecy, extraction of labour from vulnerable communities – is veered towards inequality. After all, this is ultimately affordable labour. Providing employment to minorities and slum youth may be empowering and uplifting to a point, but these workers are also comparatively inexpensive, with almost no relative bargaining power, leverage or resources to rebel.

Even the objective of data-labelling work felt extractive: it trains AI systems, which will eventually replace the very humans doing the training. But of the dozens of workers I spoke to over the course of two years, not one was aware of the implications of training their replacements, that they were being paid to hasten their own obsolescence.

— Madhumita Murgia, Code Dependent: Living in the Shadow of AI