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roxineedstosleep · 3 years ago

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Hi, can i ask for a one shot where yandere peter parker is super clingy and is not dating the reader yet but she actually likes him but is too shy to admit. Thanks.

As a person who is quite clingy and affectionate with her loved ones, I understand and love the idea.

Lets go!!!

I added some dark background to fit some things that have happened in Peter's life (like the fact that nobody knows who he is now, because of what happened in the last movie), to mask his Yandere behavior.

(TW:Mention of Thanos snap events, human trafficking, slavery, corrupt society).

Your eyes were closing. So tired, so droopy, and everything around him seemed so comfortable. Would it be too much to fall asleep for a few hours?

Well… yes, it would be too much.

You had been finishing a 3D animation on your computer for hours, it was your final test for your modeling course and it had to be perfect if you wanted to be a viable candidate for a possible internship recommendation at an advertising production company. No pressure… ironic.

You didn't really need it to be perfect. All of your previous modeling during the semester had willingly demonstrated that you would be given the chance for the recommendation, even if you didn't turn in this work. But you wanted to look good for the professor, and there was no way your perfectionist brain would let you rest if you didn't do the work.

Everything would be easier if your computer wasn't on its last glimpses of life. It seemed like at any moment it would crash and burn out on its own if you weren't cooling it manually or plugging it in with a fan that your roommate had been kind enough to give you.

Not to mention that you had to watch that the files could be processed in real time properly. Any failure or element that was not quickly linked would completely ruin all the hard work you had done for months. As you said, no pressure.

The only thing that comforted you was the company you had with you.

Peter had been one of those valuable friendships that you never expect to find in your life.

A true blessing.

Shy, innocent and really quiet when you didn't know him at all. After a couple of encounters in the general cafeteria their friendship began to forge.

Peter was everything a person wants to be and have in their life. Protective, intelligent, strong, insightful, intuitive, with a heart of pure gold, an open mind and a willingness to discuss and then give an objective opinion.

He had beautiful, lovely brown hair, with beautiful, shiny hazel eyes. His skin was firm and his whole body was athletic. And if his external beauty wasn't enough, he also had a great brain. He calculated everything with such ease that he could make a fool of anyone who thought he was smarter.

And now, he was not only a good friend, but a best friend who would always be there for you when you needed him. And well, you did the same for him.

Now more than ever he needed the help of others in order to live a normal life.

After the snap and other parallel crises, people's lives had become chaotic and it was not uncommon for various "dirty laundry" in society to come to light. After half of the population disappeared, the other half did their best to search for those who were missing.

And, for better or worse, people were found… people no one knew existed in the first place.

Huge, terrifying centers filled with people who didn't even know what day or year they were there. They barely had names or "codes" to be identified among themselves. Women and children who were kidnapped, others who were abducted… even those who were born and raised in human sales centers. Men who were used as experimental toys.

Humanity had lost its half. But at the same time it had found another large number of lost ones who needed to be rescued.

After they were found, governments began to move together with other organizations to provide them with all the things that these "forgotten children" needed to be reintegrated into society.

And everything seemed great and went well for a while. The people who had been disappeared were returned to their families who had been looking for them for years. Those who had been raised in the shadows were reintegrated into society. Testimonies allowed several names to be put on the guilty lists.

And then, another snap brought the rest of the people back. The population was thrown back into chaos. Among those who were registered and among those who had disappeared, it was complicated and almost impossible to correctly register everyone. Not to tkae in count the hug amount of people that now were in jail because of the discover.

Many of the people who returned with the second snap actually had not even been able to be fully accommodated because of the saturation of the population.

Peter. Oh, poor Peter, he had been one of those cases.

He didn't usually talk about it much. Only when he feels blue, during the harsh days.

But on occasion he would mention that he had suddenly awakened from the darkness and arrived at what had once been his previous residence. If a ship camped in a box, in a semi-populated wasteland, could be considered a residence

He didn't usually talk about it. But, from the way Peter's body trembled and clung to the other people. You speculated that he was one of the frozen abduction cases.

Peter was adorable as an adult, he was probably a beautiful child. It would not be unusual for him to be abducted at a young age and transported around like that. A missing persons case that was put on ice for lack of evidence or because they paid not to be solved. He was so lucky to be found unharmed.

He made it through the basic processes, such as a name, his approximate age (which the captors had the desence to inform him of, or so you gathered), his level of knowledge and a possible nationality. That's how Peter Parker was born.

But despite that initial help, plus accommodation at the university. Those in charge of social and emotional reintegration couldn't do much because of the excessive number of users who needed it. Not to mention that Peter himself was a complicated case to categorize.

His quick reflexes among other micro-aggressive behavioral characteristics could show that he had been trained to fulfill some kind of military function. But he demonstrated a fear of strong images of authority. He had a semi-real concept of popular culture base, but was unaware of other things on suspicious levels. You had heard a classmate of yours mention that it would not be unusual if Peter had been an attempt at a new Winter Soldier.

That would explain a lot of his pain.

But now he was free. He had been semi-accommodated at the university and was taking an engineering course or two. And, to your personal embarrassment, you had met him.

And it was, at least for you, the best thing that could have happened to you. And you'd like to think it was the same for him.

The two of you had managed to form a good friendship despite all the crazy things going on in society and in your college lives. And you both took advantage of that to be able to form a solid foundation in your relationship.

You took care of Peter and helped him integrate well with other people. You helped him navigate the new post-snapping culture and were there for him in his times of sadness.

And Peter protected and cared for you in everything he could do.

He would not leave your side at any time and would not hesitate to put a firm foot down when he saw something strange about to happen. Always on guard for anything that could get close to both of you. And also, quite affectionate and loving.

He loved to hug you and keep you glued to his side, always aware of where you were within his vision radius. He would open doors for you, drop you off at your classes, wait patiently for you to help him do his more complex paperwork and never stopped making you laugh.

And, just now, when it looked like your computer was about to crash and you desperately needed a couple of minutes of sleep, there was Peter.

He had curled himself perfectly around your body, holding you and doing double duty as a little teddy bear and a baby koala bear. Your whole body was leaning against his and with little cuddles on your head he managed to keep you awake.

"How much longer?" he asked. During all the time that you were awaked, he was there, taking care of you.

"4 minutes… I'd say another 3 hours, taking into account that I put various textures on it." you answered.

"Do you want me to wake you up if I see anything weird?" he asked

"No, I'd rather sleep after I see that everything is going well. Don't you want to sleep?" you said. Offering him an option. You also looek up for his comfort, he deserved it.

"No, if I sleep I would crush you." he replaid.

He said no more. You felt him get more comfortable, then back to hitting you in his lap.

If it wasn't that it was so hot these last few days, you would be embarrassed to be caught blushing from such a sweet act.

You adored Peter, and you liked to think that Peter was equally fond of you. And at times like these, when you just wanted to snuggle up to him and he protected and cared for you so adoringly… you wanted to kiss him so badly.

But first you had to make sure your final exam was downloaded correctly. But also because you don't want to ruin your friendship.

After that, you didn't notice how Peter was looking at you as you sleep.

Or how he had managed to scare your roommate terribly into letting you rest more.

Or how he had slyly bullied your professor into considering you for that internship anyway. (He was glad to find out that his threats were unnecessary, since your work was perfect anyway).

Or how he drove away everyone he considered unworthy from your side.

You didn't notice, so it didn't matter.

It only mattered that you cared about Peter, just as Peter cared about you.

It was only a matter of time before the romantic relationship began, and he could show how much he adored you and how much he wanted to stay by your side.

#yandere peter parker x reader #yandere peter parker #yandere mcu #yandere spiderman #yandere spiderman x reader #spiderman no way home #peter parker x reader

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studyyblrring · 2 years ago

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Introduction post

Langblr Reactivation Challenge

Week 1 - Day 1 (challenge)

Hi everyone! I'm really hoping to really get back into language learning this year and consequently become more active on here by sharing my progress/resources/just making friends :)

My name is Vanessa and I'm 24.

My TLs this year are: Japanese and Dutch. (in this order)

If things go well, or if I need a break from either, I'll probably either jump back into studying Korean for a bit or properly start with Thai, but I want to focus as much as I can on my TLs.

My mother tongue is Romanian, but I am fluent in English (C1 according to the IELTS test i took almost 4 years ago lmao)

I've dabbled in many languages over the years, but probably the only other one worth mentioning besides the ones I already have is German!

I have a lot of hobbies that i get hyperfixated on alternatively for weeks at a time, including but not limited to: knitting, crocheting, experimenting with digital design (i really wanna learn blender this year), coding, cooking, reading, listening to a lot of music!

I've been a K-pop fan for 8 years :")

Why I'm studying Japanese/Goals:

I've been studying Japanese on/off for 8 (!!!!!) years this April, but I've never been able to get my language level past somewhere in between N5 and N4 on a good day

I'm hoping to reach an intermediate-ish by the of the year, so around N3 (textbook-wise ideally want to be done with the Quartet series and move on to Tobira before 2024, but reaching Quartet II by the end of the year would still be amazing!)

My current goal in terms of JLPT is passing N4 this year! (probably in December, though if things are going well I might try for July as well). maybe even N3 in December but im trying to keep things as realistic and manageable as possible

Now onto why I'm studying, I started learning Japanese when I was in high school because I found out about the MEXT undergraduate scholarships and I was hoping to increase my chances of getting selected, by knowing as much Japanese as possible, but by the time I finished high school I had changed my plans and didn't apply

But through that, I fell in love with both the language and the culture and I got into anime (it was backwards for me lmao), and I kept studying whenever I could and I really miss it, since it's always been a lot of fun for me

I'm also maybe sorta kinda considering applying for the mext graduate scholarship this year or next year but don't hold me to it, I'm not 100% on it yet, but it is another big motivator for me

Why I'm studying Dutch/Goals

this will be a lot shorter as I don't have that many feelings in regard to the dutch language

My reason for studying Dutch is mostly functional, as I'm enrolled in a Dutch university and I live there for most of the year (I'm also starting an internship at a Dutch company this year, and though the staff is international, knowing Dutch would still be helpful) and knowing Dutch at a higher level will simply make my day-to-day life a lot easier and I would have less awkward interactions that start with "Sorry, do you speak English?" 🙃

My goal is to get around B2? maybe B1 would be more realistic? I'm honestly not sure, I haven't decided yet exactly what my textbooks/resources are going to be, as my studying has been kinda sporadic, but I have been keeping a 63-day Duolingo Dutch streak! I also have a Dutch conversation partner with whom I have ~1h Dutch conversation calls twice a month, and those have been quite helpful as well

and i guess my ultimate goal is to simply be able to get around with using mostly (if not only) speaking Dutch when I'm out and about

see you tomorrow :)

#langblr #langblr reactivation challenge #studying #studyblr #learning japanese #learning dutch #language learning #dutch language #japanese language #日本語

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weirdfishy · 3 years ago

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Kiri cuddles with his bff/qpp (gender neutral)

Homework is done, the night is a little young, and life stuff happens. You talk with your best friend, you don't talk, it's nice and companionable. Kiri has three parents who just got back from date night a little tipsy, so that's a little exciting.

- a/n this is simply something that serves my need for intimate platonic reader-inserts bc I am demiromantic and I need this okay.

word count: 1,933 & no warnings? it's basically fluff and domestic stuffs

ao3 link but it's also below the cut!

You're halfway asleep against your best friend when he pokes at your temple. After a few moments, you lift your head out of his side, cracking an eye open. Blinking to clear your vision, you see him pulling a goofy face. The corners of your mouth pull upwards, making you give a half laugh that turns into a yawn. There are indents on your face from the texture and creases of his shirt.

With a responding yawn from him, you put your face right back into the warmth and slight squish Ei's body provides. "Don't fall asleep, you still have to get home." When you mumble incoherently into him, probably about how you lived a few doors down, a breathless wheeze leaves him. Stupid vibrations. He's ticklish there and you know it.

The two of you hadn't been doing much after finishing homework, just chatting about everything. Internship prospects, self progress, work out plans, updates to an online manga series you both followed, and plans for hangout days. All talked about while sprawled out, sitting next to, lying awkwardly on, or around each other. Or, like you current position, cuddling.

"This is why all of our classmates think we're dating." Ei tapped your shoulder, before drumming them there. You pat his stomach, turning your face out.

"Only some of our classmates think we're romantically dating. Most of them have asked and know we're platonically close." You shrug your free shoulder.

"Mm. Denki still thinks so."

"True, but he's stopped hitting on me according to the 'Bro Code', so there's that." Ei scoots down the pillows so you can turn and lay your head on his stomach, feet propped up on the wall. He pulls your hair from under you to fuss with it.

"Telling him that you're also gay could work, I think." Ei tugs on the strands of hair in his hands gently as you click your tongue.

"No; then I'd be lying. 'M still attracted to males. Just not him, who doesn't get the whole 'not interested, quit flirting' thing yet." You curl in, knee hitting your forehead. Ei swats at the foot now in his face.

“And there’s the whole, ‘probably ace, probably demiromantic’ thing I’ve got going on,” you continue, wiggling your toes teasingly in the redhead’s face before moving them away. Ei lets go of your hair to take your hand, absently twiddling your fingers.

"Uh huh. What was it you said last time? 'He's such an insecure bean who's trying too hard to adhere to amatonormativity, it's almost painful'?" When you wince a little at Ei pulling your arm a bit in a direction that usually doesn't warrant a wince, he pulls you up to sit. Then he sits next to you to work fingers into the muscle, monitoring your face for discomfort and relief.

You bump your head on Ei's shoulder in thanks. "Honestly, knowing each other for a while and being really close like, physically and emotionally and stuff doesn't mean we're dating romantically." An eye roll makes its way around before you let out another yawn.

"Saying that might help. Explaining." You hum, extracting your arm from his grasp, testing it and finding it loosened. Ei's almost quirk-like massage hands were quite the gifted skill from his Mom. His Mama was the reason for his preferred horned hairstyle, and Ama for the handmade pillows you settled against.

Patting your stomach, Ei scooches over to lay between your legs, face up. You're pretty sure he closes his eyes after you start combing through his slightly damp hair. You start a braid before responding.

"Maybe. I could explain. But..." -- you search for the right articulation, head nodding side to side in consideration -- "but sometimes I think that I don't owe him, or anybody, that explanation. That I can live with them not getting it, because nothing else matters if we get it and we're cool with it." You pause, still gathering your thoughts.

Ei finishes them for you, knowing you weren’t done but somehow finding the words you couldn’t. One of the reasons why he was your favorite person.

"And sometimes having people understand makes you feel good and happy because now they know something like this can be 'normal'. That it exists. So when they come across someone in a similar situation, they already sort of know. Then others who might not be as comfortable and confident with this set up as us don't have to explain as much. Don't have to have that struggle with being seen as so drastically different in a bad way."

You don't respond right away, first silently thanking kami for your best friend. "There's time. We've barely gotten to know them and vice versa."

"Yeah..." He sighs, one you know is to shake off some of the insecurities that tended to creep up on both of you. You squeeze his shoulder in reassurance, receiving a similar squeeze to your leg.

The two of you go quiet for a bit, your fingers deftly making loose braids in Ei's hair while humming. He taps randomly on your leg and pats his stomach.

It's a silence that's comfortable, despite the somewhat touchy subject you'd just been talking about. Both of your thoughts drift aimlessly while in the company of a friend to bounce almost anything off of.

The sound of the front door opening and closing, accompanied by a trio of voices is when the near-sleepy, lulling silence is broken. It's definitely Ei's parents, back from date night and a little tipsy, if Ama's (it's a lot easier to call them by the same terms as Ei, especially since you’d known them for so long) louder than usual voice says anything.

Ei's door swings open in the next moment, revealing frizzy light blue curls attached to a happy-drunk Ama, who takes one look at the cuddling and decides to join in, scooping both of you in their arms. “My babies!! Oh, you’re as cozy as you look!” They tighten their hold, snuggling in, and you know exactly where Ei got his strength, even without his new hobby of going to the gym.

Ei’s Mom and Mama-shi are standing in the doorway when you can see past blue friz, Mom looking a little dizzy and Mama as unbothered as ever. “Hello you two. Have you eaten?”

He nods. “We made fish soup and it wasn’t half bad! Homework is done for the weekend too, and I’ll ask about an outing with a few of our classmates later! When Ama and Mom are sober…” Ei laughs a little when Ama smacks a wet one on his forehead, murmuring into their hair that he loves them too.

You’re starting to lose your breath, your stomach pressed under two bodies, but you smile fondly at the two in your lap and manage a breathy ‘hi Mama-shi, Mom’ at the two at the door. Mama-shi laughs a little at the squeak you and Ei give when Ama tightens yet again, but rushes away when Mom dry heaves.

“Eiji, do we have any saki ika in the pantry?” Ama’s forehead scrunches in thought, before they roll off the bed and zoom out the door, where the cupboard doors are heard a few seconds later. Ei gets up too, straightening his clothes. He follows them out, probably settling them into some water and squid snack.

Stretching out now that the bed is empty, you groan as a few muscles ache. Hero training is quite the adjustment physically. Mentally too, you’re reminded, as you yawn again. The muscles you’ll feel for a bit, but Ei has you both on a stretching regime each morning, so you don’t worry about that too much. Mama-shi works as a physical therapist that specializes in sports/hero recovery, so you always have her to ask for help.

The next yawn that bubbles up makes you get up, jumping up and down a bit to wake yourself up. Time to go home and go to sleep, it seems. You gather your stuff around the room before walking down the hall to the bathroom, where Mama-shi is helping Mom rinse her mouth.

You knock on the frame. “I’m heading home, Mama-shi, Mom. Thank you for your hospitality, as always.”

They look up, Mom giving you a weak smile and wave before spitting into the sink. Mama-shi turns to give you a peck on the forehead. “Of course, you’re family. No need to thank us. Get home safe, okay?” You nod, knowing that the ‘but I live four doors down’ argument is inappropriate, making your way to the kitchen.

“Ama, no, stop making plans for something that won’t happen! I’ve barely met him! I can barely say I like him!” Ei’s softly panicked voice meets your ears as you cross the doorway to the kitchen.

Ei is half-arguing with Ama over a romantic relationship, it seems. And you know exactly who they’re talking about.

“Bah! You talked to him at the entrance exams and got into the same class as he! Surely you’ve had time to get to know him?” Ei sighs into an exasperated smile before taking some of Ama’s squid, effectively changing the subject. It’s well known that Ama can and will argue for sole rights over their saki ika when sober, so when they’re drunk… it’s easy to rile them up a little.

You won’t let Ei get away with it though, pushing the small bowl of squid closer to Ama, winking at them. “Ei’s boy is as prickly as our second year’s literature teacher, except worse because he’s a teenager. All he does is shout and grumble.”

Ei sighs and glares at you half-heartedly. His face lights up, spelling retaliation. “Ama, you should focus on their boy.” Blue hair bounces in excitement at the mention. You stick your tongue out at Ei, which he mirrors. But you won’t get out of this properly until you spill, so you sit down warily.

“You have a boy? What’s he like? Is he a good hero? Is he handsome? Strong?” They chew a while, waiting for your answers. Ei prods you a little with his elbow, “yeahh, what’s he like?”

Deciding to ignore the redhead, you give Ama the run-down, all facts. Shoji Mezou, very strong with his six arms -- his quirk, you see, he can turn them into different things like ears or mouths -- subjectively handsome, and well, we’re heroes-in-training, we’re all not too good at it yet. When they ask what you see in him, you say you don’t know, don’t know why Ei said he’s ‘my boy’ if you’re only starting to be friends with maybe some romantic interest on your end, but he’s kind, and something about him makes you want to know more.

After the third consecutive yawn in a minute though, Ama ushers you out of your chair and out the door, just as Mama-shi comes out in her night clothes, ready to collect Ama. The two wave you and Ei out, your best friend charged with making sure you get home safely.

The two of you are linked arm-in-arm as you walk, hugging before you open the door, and confirming your weekend plans of a hike tomorrow and an outing that Mina had planned on Sunday before closing it. You wait for Ei’s footsteps to fade before opening up the door a bit to watch him reach his door, waving to you again before you both take off your shoes in your respective homes.

Both of you are asleep the moment you’re comfortable.

thanks for reading!

love is stored in the parental ‘bah!’

#fishy's fics #bnha x reader #kiri has three parents you can't change my mind #kirishima eijirou #mha x reader #kirishima x gender neutral reader #queer platonic relationship

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purplelurkinghini · 4 years ago

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Narcissus by the Pond

0. PROLOGUE

Under the cut is the prologue to yet another multi-chapter mess I am planning to write. What is different about this one is the narrator: Edward Nygma himself. Another aspect of this piece that sets it apart from the rest of my writing is its epistolary form. That’s right, baby! First-person POV!

If you’ve seen >> this << post floating around, this is indeed me actually putting that second prompt to use.

Enjoy!

Dear ▚▛▙▙

I found a cat toy while cleaning out my closet today. It was that ashy plush mouse stuffed with dried nepeta cataria which you spent money on instead of saving up for your student loans. If he were still here, he’d be rolling around on the floor in some vivid dream in which he was a lion and it was a gazelle. And, if you were still here, I would’ve asked you to stay.

The day you got that tabby’s claws into me was the day you checked into work late. Frank, our project manager and your internship supervisor, had to drop his showman act and instill in you the fear all WayneTech employees are motivated by. After you offered your excuses and exchanged glances with the floor, you were free to enter the kitchen to heat up the coffees that you went out of your way to fetch for us each morning.

My daily routine, which you’ve played no small role in forming during your short stay with us, was disrupted by the absence of caffeine in my bloodstream. I remember my Rubik’s cube and how I crammed a corner into my palm, squeezing down on the still unscrambled sides. I would call it an ‘absentminded’ action, but we both know that would be an incorrect assessment. My mind is never not present, even as it wanders. For this reason, when you finally came out of the kitchen, I couldn’t not wonder what happened to your sweatshirt. It must’ve been soaked in rainwater, I concluded, and that was the reason you removed it. Or, rather, that was the excuse you used as you removed it. After all, your sneakers were soggy, but you couldn't exactly walk barefoot all over a corporate. Even so, there you were, in a far too small t-shirt which was too tight around your torso and too short to cover your stomach, walking around the office with your brewed bribes.

“Here you go, Jim” you placed the foam cup right in front of his face to get him to notice you. I’d argue that that slip of skin that was eye level to him was enough to get that scatterbrain's attention. He must’ve made a joke, or attempted to, because you laughed louder than anyone should around him.

“Cory,” you sauntered over to him. “I asked the barista for two tablespoons and a half this time.” Sure, he might’ve taken his glasses off before taste-testing it, but his lenses were fogged-up before the lid came off. You felt the most confidence around Cory, the least confident one in our team. While no line of code was too complex for him, women were a mystery he had yet to solve. You see, I haven’t failed to notice you making the most physical contact with him, brushing your hand against his as a means of disarming him.

After he served you a stuttered smile, you moved on to Paul who was pretending to be preoccupied with his screen. He’d been watching you since you walked out of the kitchen, yet still acted surprised when you showed up next to him. You didn’t mean to disturb him, of course, so you tip-toed around his desk, silently setting the cup on a coaster. He thanked you without taking his eyes off of his work, but took the time to watch you walk away as soon as you turned away from him.

"I'm sorry, Ed," you pouted as you placed the coffee on top of a stack of papers. "I know like to have your coffee before 8, but the storm hit while I was in the shop and the whole street took cover in there-"

"Slow down," I released the Rubik’s cube, flexing my fingers. "I'm not your supervisor. It’s not my forgiveness you need."

"Well, no, but I actually want your forgiveness," you covered your mouth in a coquettish display. "I mean-"

“Like I said,” I brush off the blush creeping up on my cheeks. "There's no use for that." Fetching the foam cup, I take a sip of the scolding beverage and brave through it. “There's no use to ask the barista to write our full names either. This calligraphy exercise cost you a scolding from Frank.”

“Actually,” you pulled the hem of your shirt down which only uncovered more of your cleavage instead of hiding your stomach. “I wrote your name myself.”

I stroked the surface of the cup right across the script. Again, I can’t call this action ‘absentminded’ either, but my mind had wandered off again. That lovely lettering was yours and so was the green marker, so you must’ve scavenged your backpack for it on a crowded morning train. You also must’ve taken your time steadying your hand for each stroke, each dot. E. Nygma. You also must’ve cleaned up the cup as it inevitably spilled and steadied your tongue for each stroke, each lick. Maybe you ever sampled the coffee yourself, the taste of cherry Chapstick staining the rim.

“Well,” you interrupted my intrusive thoughts. “Jim’s showing me the new user interface, so-”

“Of course,” I dismissed you and my daydreams.

“Talk to you later.”

Yes, that was the day the cat got his claws into me. It was after I’d drained the drink, and found myself restless still, that I made my way into the kitchen for another one. That is when I spotted you in the corner, cradling the sweatshirt you discarded earlier. At the sound of my steps, you straightened your back, but you didn’t turn your torso towards me.

“Hey, Ed,” you smiled and it was a painful sight because I couldn’t ignore the panic I ignited in your eyes. “Lunchtime already?”

“What are you doing?”

“Umm, trying to dry my shirt?”

The closer I got, the more gregarious you grew. You asked about what I’d like to eat, what the guys would like to eat, if I’d like to order out. You didn’t stop until I asked it of you.

“What are you hiding from me?”

Before you could bellow out something long enough to cover the sound, I heard it.

“Did your hoodie just meow?”

It was only then that you turned, facing me fully. “Please don’t tell Frank, but this is the reason I was running late.” Two pairs of eyes were pleading with me. One belonged to you and they were begging. The other belonged to an orange ball of fur and they were unblinking.

You were holding a bottle cap filled with water up to its meowing maw, so you must’ve been attempting to keep the animal hydrated, even after rescuing it from the streets in the middle of a storm. You bought kitten kibbles on your way to WayneTech and that had eaten ten minutes of your time and cost you a scolding from Frank.

“I couldn’t just leave Eddie to drown in a ditch somewhere.”

“Eddie?”

“Yeah,” you let it sink its little teeth into your skin as it held a single finger close with two whole paws. They feel like needles, I should know, but you carried on cooing the pincushion. “He reminds me of another green-eyed ginger. Maybe you know him.”

Yes, you remember now, don’t you? That was the moment Eddie sunk his claws into me, and I do mean it literally. He released your finger only to get his paws trapped into my button-up. I also mean it figuratively, as I swore to keep your secret the very next second. And, once you were by my side, shadowing me as I was coding like you wanted to since your first day of internship, you made me swear to keep him. How could I not? Your dorm had a ‘no pets’ policy and you had named him after me.

The two of us had time to get acquainted after you left for your evening classes. I fed him the kibbles and was careful not to get caught. And, because I wouldn't be using it that day anyway, I replaced your sweatshirt with my gym towel. While it smelled like a sad, soaked kitten, whatever fruity fragrance you were using had yet to fade from the fabric. That evening I drove straight home as soon as I left WayneTech, skipping my daily workout. My daily routine, as I’ve mentioned, had been modified by you.

“We don't even need to potty train him,” you giggled when you saw Eddie digging through the brand new litter box I had ordered. It had been waiting for me by the front entrance along with the delivery guy and yourself.

You got into a cab before even texting me, asking for an address only after the driver started the clock. I expected that stupid stunt from the likes of Jim, not you.

“He's a clever boy,” I smiled when I saw you were still wearing the green button-up shirt I asked you to exchange that shrunken t-shirt of yours with. “Like his namesake.”

You kneeled before the kitten and produced the plush mouse I'd only seen Eddie play with once. “Did the shampoo arrive? He should be high enough to not scratch our eyes out now.”

After rolling around on the rug with a bag full of catnip, he seemed blissed out enough for a bath. And, after only scratching you twice as you held him for me to scrub his ginger fur ever so gently, we got him all dried and drained. Those green eyes were barely opened as he looked up at us from the cat bed he was supposed to grow into and the sweatshirt he had grown fond of.

“Now we know he hates all water,” you said through gritted teeth as I sanitized your shaking hands. Your fingers were as fidgety as Cory's, yet I doubt his skin was ever that soft. “Not just the rain.”

“I bet he'd hate flees more,” I caressed your knuckles after bandaging the bloody bits.

“I hate the rain, too,” your eyes were downcast, much like earlier that morning, seemingly searching my sheets for something. “I never knew Frank could be so-”

“Terrifying?”

“Mean,” your giggle wasn't as gleeful as I'd grown used to. “I thought he was going to fire me right then and there.”

“He wouldn't,” I squeezed down on the shadows of your hands as they were snatched away from me. Then, I leaned in close and almost brushed your love with my lips as they moved: “He will let the anxiety that comes with that uncertainty eat you alive first.”

“See, now you're being mean,” you laughed, finally looking up at me.

“Me? Never,” I said, satisfied with myself. You were laughing - actually laughing - because of me.

When the dryer dinged, I was confident in leaving you in my bedroom with a smile on your face. After all, I was the one who brought you in there and I was the one who brought that out of you. Once I've collected your clothes, I returned to find you had already removed my button-up and was drying up the rest of your skin with one of my towels. You were turned only half the way, so you must've perceived me in your periphery. Paul pulled the same thing earlier today. Still, you sounded surprised as you covered the side of your breasts I bet you wanted me to see.

"Forgive me,” I turned around, but, unlike you, I did it all the way. “Here you are,” I stretched my arm behind me to hand you the bra and t-shirt.

“Thank you.” It was only after your bomber jacket was zipped to your chin that I dared to look at you directly. Your sweatshirt was Eddie's now, so you covered up with what you had. “For everything.”

“Let me drive you to your dorm.”

"You've already done enough," you pulled out your phone as I walked you to the door. “I'll just call another cab. Eddie needs you here. You need to wear him out, or he'll wear you out tonight.”

“Cats are crepuscular creatures,” I assure you. “Not nocturnal. I'm sure he'll fall asleep before I even turn in for the night.”

Yes, I was sure he'd fall. However, Eddie was so convinced. And, sure enough, there he was, meowing in my face at midnight.

My mistake was letting him get his claws into me. You see, I couldn't bear waking that little bastard up. Not when he looked so small in the middle of your sweatshirt, in the middle of his bed. He finally had a dry place to dream in and I couldn't take that away from him, so I let him sink his claws into me that much deeper.

And yours, as well.

After chasing him with my hand atop of my covers and letting him swat at the finger-spider, he was ready for bed. My bed. Yes, his green eyes were drooping when he surrendered to sleep. It just so happened that he did it on the left side of my bed. And I, not willing to risk another rude awakening, placed him atop of the pillow. Then, ever so silently, I slipped out of bed and into the bathroom. It was on my way back that I stumbled upon it: your sweatshirt.

I recall calling it off the floor and taking it with me to bed. For Eddie, of course. He loved that sweatshirt, as I'm sure you know. However, as I placed it on his pillow, I caught a whiff of it. It smelled like rainwater, pet shampoo, Eddie, and you. It was your sweat and deodorant, sweet and soapy, just as I had smelled it on my shirt before tossing it in the laundry basket and I couldn't smell it on the left side of my bed.

As I closed my eyes, I saw you. You were walking around the office, their wandering eyes watching you. You pass my desk and I am drenched in your scent. Sweet. Soapy. Soaking. Your sweatshirt is drenched, so you discard it. Your t-shirt is too tight, so I can see the dip of your belly button and the swell of your breasts. Though I am convinced you had a bra to cover them, my mind wanders. It wanders about the color of your nipples and it paints a picture of them peeking through the flimsy fabric.

And, as my mind wanders further, that flimsy fabric is pulled down, your hands wriggling at the hem of it. That's when those peeks pop out along with the rest. All of a sudden, you're soaking. Sweet. Soapy. You even try to hide this from me, crossing your arms over your chest. I capture your hands, soft skin, and fidgeting fingers, and wrestle with them. Oh, how easily you surrendered to me, sighing in defeat. I lock your arms behind your back with one hand and squeeze your tit like a stress toy. Sweet. Soapy. Soaking. I had to taste it.

When my tongue touched the tip, you pushed against it, filling my mouth with your flesh. You wanted this. That nipple is as sharp as a needle, but it melts in the heat of my mouth. You wanted this. After your tit is slick with my saliva and the peak is all puffy, I gather the other one in my grip and repeat. Sweet. Soapy. Soaking.

You wanted this and you told me as much. You said it loud enough for the others to hear. You wanted this. You wanted me. And, as if I haven't done enough, as if I haven't given you enough, I gave you all of me. Clearing the desk, cube, keypad, computer, and all, I slam you atop the surface. I had to pull down your pants for you, but your legs part all on their own. As for your panties, well, they all but dissolved under the duress. You attempt to hide from me again, tightening your thighs together. And, again, you surrender to me all too easily. After all, you want me. Your pussy? As I parted your legs and pushed your knees up to your chest, I saw how much she wanted me. Sweet. Soapy. Soaking.

However, I was not in a hurry. No matter how hot were your insides and how cold the chills were down my spine, I still took my sweet, soapy, soaking time. I set myself loose, my length slapping against your ass once it sprang free. You shivered, your back arching like a bow and your hands treading through your tangled hair. You wanted me. I took my time, sandwiching my shaft between your pussy lips, sliding across the slick and even wearing your labia as a hood atop its head for a maddening moment. It was only when you began begging, mewling to be mated that I gave myself to you. I crammed my cock inside of your cunt and went in so deep, I felt your heartbeat as your inner walls collapsed around me.

Sweet. Soapy. Soaking. I fucked you into a fever, your skin as slick as your insides and your mouth leaking as much saliva as your pussy was spilling precum. Sweet. Soapy. Soaking. Soon, it would've been spilling cum. Sweet. Soapy. Soaking. When I did come, however, it was in my fist and not between your lips.

As I opened my eyes, you disappeared. There was nothing there to greet me but the strike of the street lights slashing the darkness across the ceiling. Your sweetness had been replaced with my saltiness. It was indeed soapy and soaking, but it wasn’t you. Then, for the second time that night, I slipped out of bed and snuck into the bathroom.

The day you got cat’s claws into my shirt was the day you sunk your own under my skin. After that day, we shared a secret. I never told Frank about Eddie, but Eddie never told you about what I did in the dark. His glowing green eyes didn’t judge me, but they never let me forget. After you left without a notice, ginning up your internship, changing your phone number and never surrendering your real name, I couldn’t face them anymore. His eyes never let me forget, so I rehomed him.

I found your Gotham U sweatshirt while cleaning out my closet today. The name you gave WayneTech is nowhere to be found in their student records. Your name can’t be found in any police records either. Your real name, however, I am sure will uncover quite the mystery.

Yours,

E. NYGMA

#Edward Nygma #Riddler #Edward Nygma x Reader #Riddler x Reader #It is Not Safe For Work #Riddler x You #Edward Nygma x You

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fairylightsandchai · 5 years ago

Text

The Internship - Part 4 (Finale)

A/N: Hello, again! Just popping in again to say that I know I don’t usually post fanfic here, but I really wanted to take part in @darkficsyouneveraskedfor‘s Pre-Code Challenge! Just ignore this if you don’t follow me for fanfiction. :) Also, I’ll be adding tags in a reblog.

Read Part 3 Here!

As a side note, since writing this, I’ve made a side-blog dedicated to writing fanfic, so if you guys wanna check that out, click here!

Pairings: Dark!Professor!Steve Rogers x Reader, Dark!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You are a student in the former-Captain America’s American History class, and you soon notice that Professor Rogers has been paying more than a professional amount of attention to you. But when he approaches you with an internship opportunity that’s too good to be true, how can you say no?

(A/N: This fic contains non-con elements, stalking, and manipulation, and this part will inclue rape, breeding kink, and kidnapping. It is also inspired by The Wild Party, a film from 1929. I hope you enjoy, and please let me know what you think.)

Being back in your childhood bedroom was bittersweet. The same twin bed was pushed into the corner; the same pictures were on your walls. And yet so much had changed since the days when this was your home.

You lay curled up on the small mattress, watching your window with unseeing eyes. It had snowed last night; a pure white sheen rested over everything. The only disturbance to the blanket covering your front yard were the footprints and tire tracks your mom had left behind when she’d gone to the store that morning.

With a sigh, you rolled over onto your back, one of your hands coming to rest over your stomach. You still hadn’t told her. Hell, you were still having trouble accepting the truth yourself.

When you’d shown up shivering on her doorstep – barefoot, covered in blood, and with no luggage to speak of – she’d bombarded you with questions. You hadn’t been able to answer anything, though. In fact, you didn’t say anything on your first night being back home. You’d just shuffled into the living room, sank down onto the sofa, and cried.

After a night of fitful sleep, you’d told her the basics in the morning – that you’d been raped and kept as a hostage by a very powerful man. Her first reaction was anger, and she’d grabbed her coat and urged you to come with her straight to the police station.

But then, she’d seen your eyes. You hadn’t looked in a mirror yet at that point, but she’d always been good at reading you. She could see how helpless, how hopeless, you were. And when you’d told her that he was too powerful, too well-connected, to be punished for the crimes he’d done to you, she’d believed you.

After that, it was like both of you were grieving. She emailed your professors for you, explaining that you wouldn’t be returning to finish out your semester. She’d even hired some people to pack up some of the things from your apartment and bring them to her house; you’d told her that you didn’t feel safe going back, and she hadn’t questioned you.

Once you got past the initial shock of what had happened, you’d been a shell of your former self. All you could do was cry or sit staring blankly at the wall, trying your best to trample down the fear, the anxiety, that at any moment Steve would come busting down your mother’s door to take you back to his basement.

It was so bad that you couldn’t keep your food down, especially in the mornings. You’d given up on trying to eat breakfast altogether; after spending a sleepless night plagued by nightmares, you couldn’t keep anything on your stomach.

It was only after the second week of you being there that your mom started to question you further – not about who had done this to you, but, rather, a much more disturbing topic.

You’d been hunched over the toilet bowl early in the morning, catching your breath after another round of nausea, when you felt her comforting hand on your shoulder.

“Sweetheart, I… I need to ask you a question,” she’d murmured. “It’s an uncomfortable question, but it needs to be addressed, alright? Did he… Did he ever use protection?”

Your eyes had flown open, and you knew. You didn’t need a test to confirm what you already could feel in your gut, but you took one anyway, and your greatest fears had been confirmed. The trauma, the terror, that you now lived with weren’t the only souvenirs that Steve had left you with.

You were pregnant.

You still hadn’t told your mom, even though it had been a week since you found out. You’d always found a way to dodge the question, thinking stupidly that, if you just ignored it, if you refused to acknowledge the life growing inside of you, then it would go away. It hadn’t, though, nor would it ever, and you were faced with a decision to make.

Were you going to keep it?

With a sigh, you got out of bed, taking the first shower you’d had in days. You tried to keep your mind off of everything, to banish all thought so you could have a few minutes of peace, but everything reminded you of him. It was his fingers washing your hair, his hand scrubbing your skin clean.

“See how much better it is when you just let me take care of you?”

You sobbed, sinking to your knees as his voice echoed in your ear. How long would it take for you to be free? To be truly free of him?

By the time you got out of the shower, it was almost noon. After pulling on some leggings, an oversized sweater, and some thick wool socks, you made your way into the kitchen, deciding that you would start off with some coffee and, if you could keep that down, some toast.

You froze where you stood, however, when you heard the bell ring.

Feeling your heartbeat quicken, you creeped to the door, trying to keep your footfalls silent. Ducking your head, you peaked out of the peephole.

A policeman was standing on your porch, his hands shoved into the pockets of a thick winter coat. You let out a sigh, feeling relieved but also confused at his presence. You opened the door just a crack, poking your head out from behind it and trying your best to smile at the man.

“Hello,” you greeted him timidly. “What can I do for you, officer?”

He looked up and gave you a warm, close-lipped smile, and you were both struck by how handsome he was and how familiar he looked. You couldn’t, for the life of you, place where you’d seen him, but you knew without a doubt that you’d met before.

“Good morning, ma’am,” he smiled. “Are you Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N) by any chance?”

You narrowed your eyes, feeling a pang of uncertainty.

“Why do you ask?”

He chuckled, taking his hands out of his pockets to show you his badge. You noticed that he was wearing leather gloves as he showed you his identification.

“I’m Sergeant James, NYPD,” he said. You turned the badge over in your hands, looking for any sign that it could be false, but it looked authentic to you. “I’m here in regards to an anonymous tip we received regarding you and a Mr. Steven Rogers. You might also know him as Captain America?”

You gulped, squeezing your eyes shut as you envisioned his face again – smiling at you, scowling at you, cumming inside of you-

“Wh-what,” you asked, shaking your head, “What kind of anonymous tip?”

“…I think it would be best if I stepped inside for a few minutes,” he said, taking back his badge. “You don’t look so good; this might be a conversation best had sitting down.”

You nodded hesitantly, slowly opening the door wider for him. You closed and locked it behind you before leading him to the sofa, sitting as far away from him on the couch as possible. Once you were settled in, he took his hat off, revealing neatly cut brown hair – it was almost a militaristic hairstyle, you noticed, but his clear blue eyes softened the look, especially when he leaned towards you and gave you an honest smile.

“Listen, Miss (Y/L/N),” he began, “I know that, if any of the allegations our anonymous tip made are true, then you’ve been through quite the ordeal, alright? I’m not here to question or judge you; I just need to ask you a few things. And, if you’re comfortable with me after our little talk, I would like to bring you down to the station with me to talk to a few of my colleagues, ok?”

You gulped and nodded, bringing your knees up to your chin and hugging them tightly. After clearing his throat, Officer James leaned back against the sofa, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Is it true that Steve Rogers abducted you?” he began. You closed your eyes, nodding.

“Yes.”

“What did he do after he abducted you?”

You felt a tear slip past your eyelids, and you jolted when you felt the officer’s hand on your knee. You looked down and saw that he was just offering you a handkerchief, though, which you gladly took.

“Thank you, sir,” you murmured, dabbing at your eyes. His smile only grew, and he gave you an encouraging nod. “Um… After he kidnapped me, he, um…” You paused, trying to swallow back more tears, and Officer James waited patiently for you to regain your composure. “After he kidnapped me, he um… He raped me. He kept me for five days and…and…”

You paused, setting your forehead on your knees and trying to breathe.

“Hey, hon, it’s ok,” the officer tried to soothe, but you flinched at the nickname. “So you’re saying that you never consented to any kind of sexual interactions with him?”

Your breath caught in your throat, remembering that last night. You had been the one to suggest going back to bed; you’d wanted him to fuck you, even if it was just part of your escape attempt. But, surely, that didn’t count… Right?

“I… No,” you finally answered.

“Seems like you had to think about that for a second there,” Officer James noted. “Are you sure that you didn’t-“

“What would it matter if I had?” you snapped. “The first time I tried to fight back, he hit me again and again and again, and then he raped me. I just… I didn’t want him to keep hurting me.” Your voice cracked, and you could see the sympathetic look in the officer’s eyes.

“I understand,” he said, but you only rolled your eyes.

“You understand? Have you ever been kept somewhere against your will? Forced to do something that you hate, that will leave you scarred for the rest of your life inside and out?”

“Yes.” Your eyes widened at the officer’s abrupt answer. His eyes were hard and truthful when he’d said so, and you immediately shut your mouth against any further protests.

“Now,” he went on, shaking his head to clear his thoughts, “Do you have any proof that it was Steve Rogers who violated you?”

“I… I have scars on my, um… my wrists,” you stuttered, pushing up the sleeves of your sweater so he could see where Steve had tied you up with rope. “And I could show you where he was keeping me; there’s bound to be evidence there.”

“Well actually, the police have already studied his home, and we did find DNA from the both of you,” he assured you. “That was the first thing we did after we got the tip; that’s why I’m here. But any semen or similar fluids had either been on the sheets, which Mr. Rogers informed us he washed before we could get there, or they’d been on another surface that he’d similarly cleaned. So, while we do have proof that you were there, we cannot prove that the two of you were…intimate.”

You gulped, feeling your limbs go numb at the sound of Steve’s name; he had survived. And he’d escaped. If this police officer could find you, then what was stopping Steve from doing the same?

“Miss (Y/L/N),” he went on, oblivious to your rising panic, “Steve Rogers is a national icon. He will have the best lawyers, and he will have the public on his side going into any trial. Now, I want to help you. Right now, we can’t prove anything, but if you come with me to the station, we can-“

“I do have something,” you interrupted him. Slowly, your eyes raised up to meet his, and you let out a shuttering breath before speaking again.

“I’m pregnant.”

The officer blinked once, twice, before fully processing the statement. His eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out as he stared at you. You looked away in shame, the world around you warped by the tears you were desperately trying to hold back.

“I found out a week ago,” you murmured, surprised he could hear you despite how quiet your voice was, “and I haven’t told anyone. Not even my mother. I… I wasn’t planning on keeping it, but if there has to be a trial, and if you need proof that he forced himself on me, then… I’m sure we could get a DNA test done to prove who its father is.”

“I… And you’re sure it’s Steve’s?”

You nodded. “He’s the only man I’ve ever been with.”

The officer was quiet for a long moment, clearly thinking hard about what you’d said, and once more you were struck with how familiar he looked; it was driving you crazy, not knowing where you’d seen him before.

“You must be feeling a lot of confusing…conflicting emotions right now,” he eventually spoke. “And I’m sorry you’re under such duress. But I promise that I want to help you.”

You gave him a small smile, sitting up a little straighter.

“That means a lot, sir,” you spoke. “I know a lot of people aren’t going to take my side over Captain America’s.”

The man smirked and shrugged, standing up once more.

“Well, to me he’ll always be a punk from Brooklyn,” he said. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind, could you come with me?”

“With you? Where are we going?” you asked, standing beside him. Something about what he’d just said was rubbing you the wrong way; there was something…endearing in his tone of voice when he’d called Steve a punk.

“Down to the station, ma’am,” he answered. “We’ll need to take your statement and ask a few more questions.”

“Do we have to go now? My mom-“

“Ma’am, Steve seems very intent on finding you again. You would be safest going with me, rather than waiting here for him to find you.”

You nodded, although all of your instincts were screaming at you to run away from this man.

“A-alright,” you managed. “My boots are up in my room; is it ok if I go and grab them?”

“Of course. I’ll wait right here.”

You gave him a forced smile before walking over to the stairs, climbing them slowly so as not to alert him. When you got to your room, you locked the door behind you before grabbing the burner phone your mom had gotten you for emergencies. You dialed her number with shaky fingers, but, to your dismay, you only got her voicemail.

“Mom,” you whispered, “there’s a man who says he’s a cop here at the house. He started asking me… He asked me about him, Mom. And he wants me to go to the police station with him. I-“

“Ma’am?” You jolted when you heard a knock at your door, and you backed away from it even as the officer called out to you. “Are you ok in there?”

Your doorknob jiggled, and that’s when you knew – there was something off about this, about him.

“Mom, I never told you, but the man who kidnapped me was Steve Rog-“

You screamed when your door was suddenly kicked in, and before you could do anything, the man was upon you, ripping your phone out of your hand and crushing it – just like Steve had done to your old phone.

“I’d really hoped it wouldn’t come to this, sweetheart,” he sighed. “I really do feel for you; Steve shouldn’t have done what he did to you. It wasn’t right.”

“Who are you?” you whimpered, kicking your legs as he picked you up and held your body against his. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doll, I really wish I could say I had noble intentions,” he grunted, struggling to carry you down the stairs with you thrashing around in his arms. “Wish I could say I was doing this for my friend, or in the name of whatever love he thinks he has for you.”

He ripped your front door clean off its hinges and started trudging through the snow with you still captive in his hold, and you screamed, begging the neighbors to come help you. When you got to the police car, though, you looked around and saw no one coming to your aid. With a rough shove, the man had you sprawled out in the backseat, leaning down to give you a smirk.

“But the real reason why I’m doing this is because Steve made a deal with me that was too good to refuse.”

With that, he closed the door, not even seeming bothered when you struggled to open it from the inside. No matter how hard you tried, though, it wouldn’t open, and when the man was settling into the driver’s seat he looked back at you through the plexiglass partition separating you.

“This is a police car, doll. You’re not getting out of it any time soon.”

You pressed yourself against the door as he started driving away, trying to wave at anyone who might see you being abducted. Even after you left Buffalo behind, you still tried to wave at any and all pedestrians, vehicles, or street cameras you could see. But no one helped you.

After an hour, you slumped against the leather upholstery, your head pounding from all the screaming. Your eyes wondered to your driver, your mind teasing you once more with his familiarity. You’d seen his face somewhere before. But where…

It was when his eyes made contact with yours in the rearview mirror that you realized. Years ago, you’d seen news reports of the bombing at the UN the day the Avengers were supposed to sign the Sokovia Accords. And after that, pictures of the ‘Winter Soldier’ had been plastered all over the place. He’d even been one of the ones to fight against Thanos before and after the snap.

And he’d been the man in Steve’s sketchbook.

Bucky Barnes.

“Bucky?” you breathed, watching in the mirror as a grin split his lips.

“There ya go,” he chuckled. “Was wondering when you’d realize it.”

“You’re doing this for Steve,” you sighed, feeling your newly-found freedom slip right through your fingers.

“Mostly, yeah,” he confirmed. “I mean, you hurt him pretty bad, doll. And not just with your little Swiss army knife. You broke the guy’s heart.”

“He raped me! He tortured me-“

“I know, I know,” he interrupted. “I know. He’s not the same kid I grew up with. And back then, I would’ve been ashamed of him for what he’s done to you.

“But I can get it. Neither of us are the same people we were back then. We both got so much darker, doll. I’m not saying what he’s done to you is right. And I sure as shit ain’t saying what I’m gonna do to you is right. But it’s a small price to pay for the things we’ve had to see and do over the years.”

Your blood ran cold, and you once more pressed yourself against he door, putting as much distance as possible between the two of you.

“What… what you’re going to do to me?” you repeated.

Bucky nodded, tapping against the steering wheel absentmindedly. You could see that he’d taken his gloves off, and now he had both hands, one flesh and one metal, exposed as he drove.

“That’s part of the deal Steve made with me. See, we shared a lot of things when we were younger. Toys, clothes, that sorta thing. So…when Steve told me that, in return for me chasing you down and bringing you to him, he would share you with me, the idea really appealed to me. The three of us’ll live together, just like a little family. Especially now that you’ve got a little one on the way-“

“You’re fucking insane,” you spat, starting once more to pound at the window you’d been leaning against. “You’re both fucking crazy!”

All Bucky did was chuckle, nodding his head.

“Yeah, you’re probably right, sweetheart.”

_______

Eventually, you must’ve fallen asleep, because when you woke up, the car was stopped and Bucky was leaning over you in the backseat, trying to pick you up. You immediately were on high-alert, and you swiftly kicked him in the chin and crawled around him, throwing yourself out of the car.

You landed face-first in the snow, and your bare feet were already aching as you scrambled to stand up. Bucky huffed but made no move to put his hands on you again, and when you took a look around yourself, you soon realized why.

It was nighttime, but the thick snow gleamed in the moonlight, illuminating the thick forest all around you. You saw the tire tracks from Bucky’s stolen car wind down a long driveway, disappearing around a bend about a hundred yards away from you; you would never outrun him.

“Go ahead and start walking, dollface,” Bucky drawled, coming to stand beside you. “It’s about three miles from the first stop sign. Ten miles from any neighbors. Go ahead and see how far you’ll make it before your toes start freezing and breaking off.”

You whined, hugging yourself in the cold. Your tears left frozen tracks down your face, and when Bucky put his arm around you, you couldn’t even muster the strength to shake him off.

“Listen, hon,” he murmured. “Steve is gonna wanna punish you for running off on him. But if you get it over with and let him do what he wants to you, I promise I’ll be gentle. I’ll even be nice. But you’ll have to behave.”

You let out a sob, letting him pull you into his arms as you cried into his chest. He shushed you softly, his footsteps crunching in the snow as he carried you to a small cabin close by.

You were right back to where you’d started. The only difference was that, now, you had two super soldiers holding you in captivity.

You held your breath as Bucky walked into the cottage with you, and you flinched when you heard a record player – ‘It’s Been A Long, Long Time’. It was the same song you’d danced to with Steve a month ago, and tonight, it had an even more sinister feel to it.

No words were spoken as he set you down on a sofa, and you kept your eyes resolutely on the ground. It didn’t really matter, though; you could sense Steve nearby. You could feel his eyes on you. You tried to keep your crying quiet, a skill you’d gotten good at over the last month.

You could hear Bucky whisper something to Steve, and then two pairs of footsteps walked away into the other room. You strained your ears, trying to make out what was being said. You thought you heard Steve’s voice say something like, “Are you sure?”

Eventually, you gave up, staring into the warm fireplace just to the right of the couch. The glow and heat radiating from it should’ve been comforting, but nothing could soothe the ache, the emptiness in your chest. You’ll never be able to escape, you thought. You should’ve given in when you had the chance.

All too soon, you heard the footsteps approaching again, and soon you saw a pair of jean-clad legs come into view. A throat cleared above you, and reluctantly you looked upwards.

Steve was glaring back down at you, and you were surprised to see his face freshly-shaven. Somehow, it made him look colder; you were able to clearly see the way his jaw was clenched as he stared down at you. He knelt down in front of you, getting onto one knee while his eyes searched yours. He heaved a sigh, setting one of his hands on your thigh.

“Bucky tells me you’re pregnant,” he started, and you gulped when you finally heard the voice that had haunted your dreams addressing you directly.

You looked away, neither confirming nor denying his statement.

“I wouldn’t,” he growled, “do anything that could tempt me to do something rash right now, doll. I would love nothing more than to tear you apart for what you did to me, so I’d suggest answering my fucking question.”

With a trembling bottom lip, you nodded, making yourself meet his gaze again.

“Yes,” you whispered.

Steve took in a deep, shuttering breath, bowing his head for a minute while his hand squeezed your thigh so hard that it was almost painful. You were stiff as a board as you waited for him to say something more.

“Typically,” he started, “I would be overjoyed at hearing that, baby. But I think you have an idea of just how much trouble you’re in. I loved you, and you…”

He trailed off, looking back up at you with an almost pleading look.

“You almost killed me, doll,” he breathed. “But more than that, you broke my heart. You made me think you cared about me.”

Your teeth clenched together, and you leaned forward, your nose nearly touching his as you spoke.

“You,” you murmured, “raped me. You kidnapped me and beat me and broke my soul. The only regret that I have is not sticking around to stab you in the heart.”

Despite the fury you could see rising up within him, you felt almost lighter. A part of you was satisfied with the glimmer of hurt you saw flash across his face, and despite how scared you were of him, you knew that he hadn’t totally broken you – nor would he ever.

After heaving a sigh, Steve stood up and grabbed you, roughly pulling you into his arms as he marched into the nearby bedroom.

“Is that how it’s gonna be?” he grunted, throwing you onto the bed. “Fine. You want to make me your villain? You wanna paint yourself as a victim with me as your big, bad ‘rapist’? Fine. Then I’ll fucking act like it.” You felt tears running down your cheeks as you tried to crawl away, but his hand wrapped around your ankle and pulled you back to him harshly. His other hand slapped you across the face so hard that you saw stars for a second. You blinked, shaking your head as you felt a sudden wave of dizziness.

“Oh, don’t cry yet, babydoll,” he chuckled. “Oh, no. Not until I give you something to cry about.”

As you waited for your head to stop spinning, you were vaguely aware that Steve was taking his clothes off. You knew what was about to happen, but still you couldn’t summon the coordination to try and move away.

“I tried to be good to you, doll,” he was saying. “I was gonna treat you like a goddamn princess. You could’ve been spoiled rotten. But instead you decided to be an ungrateful little bitch.”

You whimpered when he dragged you over to the edge of the bed, and without any warning he plunged his cock into you. You screamed and clawed at the sheets beneath you; it was somehow even worse than the first time. Because it wasn’t just the pain, oh no. It was the knowledge that you were trapped again, and the chances of you pulling off another great escape were nonexistent.

Steve immediately started pounding into you, the bed squeaking and shaking in protest to his harsh movements. You felt like you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. You were just along for the ride as he used your body.

You weren’t really even wet, but that didn’t stop him. No, he wasn’t fucking you for your pleasure. Hell, he probably wasn’t even fucking you for his. His teeth were gritting together and his muscles were as taught as a bowstring as he focused on your body beneath him.

“I’m gonna fuck you every single fucking day, doll,” he grunted. “Gonna watch you get all round and swollen with my baby. You’re never gonna forget who you belong to again, you hear me?”

You could only whine in response, looking away from him. And that was when your eyes focused on the man standing across the room.

Bucky was watching you two with an unreadable expression, his arms crossed over his chest. You stared at him pleadingly, begging him with your eyes to help you, to stop Steve. But you were met with cold steel in response, and after a few moments you had to look away.

Steve was getting close; you knew all of the signs by heart. The veins in his neck were becoming more prominent; his voice was getting rougher; his thrusts were becoming harder and more irregular. You couldn’t tell if it was disappointment or relief inside of you when you realized you were nowhere near close to cumming, but whatever the feeling was, you pushed it down and tried to focus on anything but the man on top of you.

“Shit-!” With one last thrust, you felt him cum, his hot seed filling you up. You let out a sigh of relief, wanting nothing more than for this to be over with, but your hope were completely dashed when, after catching his breath for a few seconds, his hips bucked against yours once again.

“What?” Steve laughed after seeing the look on your face. “You didn’t think it was over, did you? Oh, no, baby girl. We’re nowhere near finished.”

You yelped when he flipped you over onto the belly, shoving your face down into the mattress so hard that you could barely breathe. His hand came down on your ass hard, and you tried your best to crawl away from him.

“Fucking lay still and take your goddamn punishment,” he growled, pinning you down with a hand between your shoulder blades as he spanked you once again.

He stopped after three more, though, and when you felt him pull away you knew better than to hope it was over. You weren’t surprised when you felt him kick your legs apart again, nor were you surprised when he crawled up onto his knees between them.

But when you felt your cheeks being spread apart, you realized with a cold dread what exactly he was about to do.

“N-no, please no,” you shrieked. “Steve, I’m sorry, I’ll be good, I’ll never do anything bad again, I swear-“

“God, I missed hearing you beg,” was all he said before thrusting into your ass.

If it weren’t for his hand pushing your face into the mattress again, you were sure you would have made your own ears bleed with how loud your scream was. The sting was unbearable; every thrust felt like he was splitting you in half. You could feel the movements of his hips in your goddamn teeth, and it took all of your focus just to breathe in and out.

“Jesus Christ, baby,” he panted. “You’re so fucking tight, so- fuck, so warm-“

You clung to the sheets as he started thrusting in earnest, struggling to lift your head up with the grip he had on your hair. You gasped for breath, vaguely aware that you were babbling, stuttering half-formed words that all amounted to please, stop.

“I wouldn’t have to do this if you’d just been a good girl for me,” he growled, bending over to press his lips against your ear. “You think I like punishing you? You think I like hearing you beg me to stop instead of begging me to make you cum? Because I don’t. But I have to be sure you’re sorry.”

“I-I am sorry,” you cried, trying to turn your head to look at him. “I’m sorry, I swear, I swear I’m so so sorry, Steve-“

“Yeah?” he asked, hips still moving at a brutal pace. “You’re sorry, huh?”

“Yes!” you shrieked. You managed to turn and look over your shoulder at him for a second before he pushed your face back into the bed.

“Prove it, then. Beg me to cum. Tell me you want me. And you better make me believe it, slut. Because if I have any doubt whatsoever, I’m gonna keep fucking your ass until you pass out.”

You felt his hand let go of your hair, and you shakily leaned up on your elbows, forcing your hips to move with his despite the pain. You arched your back, looking over your shoulder again at Steve, gulping when he met your eyes.

“Please cum for me, Steve,” you begged. “Please, I’ve been so alone since I left. I’ve been so bad, I… I deserve to be punished and you deserve to use me.”

The words tasted like poison on your tongue, but they were working. Steve’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as he kept slamming into you.

“Don’t stop, baby,” he growled, letting his head hang back.

“Please, baby, I want you to cum in my ass. I want to be good for you, now; I’m ready to be good for you, Steve.

“I… I love you.”

His eyes flew open at that, and you suddenly felt his hips give one last twitch before he came again. He let out a long, drawn-out moan, rocking into you slowly as he rode it out. You bit your lip and tried to lean away from him, desperate for him to pull out, but he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you up onto your knees, your back against his chest.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your cheek. Slowly, inch by inch, he pulled out of you, and you gave a relieved little whine.

When he let you go, you flopped onto your side; your legs felt numb, and you looked down to see blood smeared over your inner thighs. Steve gently rolled you onto your back, cupping your cheek and making you look at him.

“I’m not stupid enough to believe you meant that last bit,” he sighed, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “But I know that one day it’ll be true. You’ll see. I’m willing to give you a second chance, doll. You know why?”

He waited expectantly for an answer, and you stamped down that last spark of pride inside of you as you opened your mouth to speak.

“Because you love me?”

A smile stretched his lips, and the hand stroking your cheek turned rough, gripping your chin and pulling you into a searing kiss.

“Yes, doll baby,” he growled. “I love you so much. But it’s also because you’re mine. I own you, and if you ever try to leave me again, I’ll lock you up in the basement and leave you there to starve.”

He let go of your cheek and pulled away, and you heard him pick up his jeans behind you.

“She’s all yours, now, Buck,” he said. “I’m gonna go make some dinner; your plate will be in the microwave when you’re done.”

With that, he walked out, closing the door behind him.

Up until then, you’d been laying there limply, but upon being left in the room with someone you didn’t even know, you forced yourself to sit up despite the pain in your ass the movement brought.

“Well,” Bucky sighed, sauntering over to the bed. “I’m surprised you’re still coherent after that. I didn’t know Steve had it in him.”

You were tense while he walked over to the bed, but you slowly started to relax when you saw him sit on its edge.

“C’mere,” he said, patting the space next to him. “I’m not gonna fuck you tonight.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, but you eventually crawled over and sat next to him, leaving a safe amount of distance between the two of you.

“But… I thought that I was part of your deal with him,” you said.

“Oh, it is,” he nodded. “And I plan on fucking you tomorrow. But, uh… Well, no offense, doll, but your pussy isn’t all that appealing with blood and another man’s cum dripping out of it. Not to me, at least.”

Your cheeks burned with shame and you turned away. Bucky sighed and set his hand on your thigh, and when you scooted away from him, he made no move to pull you back.

“Listen, hon. I meant it when I said that I realize this is a fucked up situation. And I also meant it when I said that I wanted a family with you, Steve, and your bun in the oven. I think both of us know that you’re not getting out of this, right?

“I mean, you could run away. I’m not saying it’s impossible for you to escape from us, but what’ll you do after you get out? He’ll be able to find you wherever you go on this planet. And most people out there wouldn’t believe your story if you told them. And even if they did, this is Steve we’re talking about. No prison can hold him, and Stark will get him the best lawyers in the country. You’re not gonna win this fight.”

You whimpered, knuckles white as you gripped the edge of the bed. Deep down, you knew he was right. You knew that you were trapped. But he didn’t deserve your resignation. He didn’t deserve to break you. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“I know it’s still hard,” Bucky sighed. “But if you’d let me, I would like to be able to at least be your friend. You don’t have to like me; you don’t have to trust me. But I’d like to at least be civil with one another. Ok?”

You made no reaction, and you heard the gears in his metal arm whir as his hand came up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Fuck, I’m crazy,” he muttered.

“You’re telling me,” you sighed. A laugh spilled from his lips and you saw him smile over at you from the corner of your vision.

“Listen, doll,” he started. “I’m gonna go eat. In the meantime, I want you to take a bath, ok? When you’re done, come in here and lay down. I’ll be here waiting.”

With that, he got up and left you, and you waited until the door clicked shut behind him before hobbling to your feet and waddling into the en suite bathroom. The bath you ran for yourself was lukewarm, and there wasn’t enough water in the tub to properly cover your body when you sat down in it, but you didn’t care. With the first rag you’d found in the linen closet, you scrubbed at your body, watching the white cloth turn red after cleaning the cum from your used holes.

You didn’t linger once you were done. Standing up from the now-pink bathwater, you dried off with a towel and drained the bath. You didn’t glance in the mirror, and you didn’t pause to take a breath. With your head bowed, you walked into the bedroom to find Bucky sitting on the bed wearing nothing but a pair of black boxers.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to fuck me,” you stated, startled to hear how lifeless your voice was.

“And I’m not,” he answered. “But…I’m not going to pretend that watching the two of you earlier didn’t make me horny. If you do as I say, I’ll make it worth your while.”

You felt no fear, no stirring in your chest as you made your way over to him, standing next to the bed. Bucky sat up as you approached, swinging his legs over the bed and spreading them wide. Your eyes darted down, seeing that he was already half-hard.

“Go ahead and get on your knees for me, sweetheart,” he commanded. You did as he said without having to be told twice. “Now take off my underwear.”

You stared ahead as his stomach as you complied, rolling his boxers down his legs and tossing them to the side.

“Have you ever done this before?” he asked, tilting your chin up. Your eyes were still looking forward, unseeing.

“No.”

Bucky hummed and dropped your chin, reaching down to hold the base of his cock.

“Well, ya gotta start somewhere, I suppose. Start off by-“

You batted his hand away, replacing it with your own and squeezing his shaft. You hardly even registered the stilted gasp he made when you started to stroke it, pausing only to lick your palm.

“Jesus, hon, you’re-“

He was cut off when you leaned forward, licking a stripe up the slit on his head, ever looking forward, the numbness in your legs seeming to spread into your chest. You felt…empty, totally empty, as you wrapped your lips around the head of his cock, going off of instinct to get the deed over and done with.

“Sh-shit, ok,” the man above you groaned. He was now fully hard, and his hands moved into your hair as you started bobbing up and down, taking more and more of his cock with each downward stroke. “Fuck, doll, I wasn’t exactly expecting this.”

You didn’t make a sound as you struggled to swallow around his cock; he wasn’t quite as long as Steve, only shorter by maybe an inch or two, but he was just as thick. Your jaw was already sore, but you pressed on, thinking back to all of the smutty romance novels you’d secretly indulged in and trying to copy what you’d read about the characters in them doing.

You breathed through your nose and bobbed up and down, gripping his shaft and stroking whatever you couldn’t fit. When Bucky’s hips stuttered upwards you gagged a bit, pulling back to take a calming breath before getting right back to it.

“Ohhhh, fuck,” he breathed, letting himself fall back onto the bed as he guided you to move faster. “That’s so good; fuck, how are you so good-“

You didn’t let up, letting him guide your pace until, with a groan so deep that you swore you could feel it in your chest, he was cumming down your throat. You gasped in surprise, gagging at the sudden intrusion, but only a little bit dribbled down your chin before you reflexively swallowed.

“God, baby…” Buck sat up on his elbows, watching as you sat back on your heels and wiped your chin. “What the fuck came over you?”

You only glared at him, getting up onto your feet on wobbly knees. His smirk only grew, though.

“There it is,” he grinned. “The anger. I knew it was coming at some point. For what it’s worth, I’d be angry too. But I think I know what’ll help. Come over here.”

He patted his stomach, and you hesitantly walked over, climbing up onto the mattress beside him. You let out an undignified squeak, though, when his hands pressed against the back of your thighs, manhandling you until you were straddling his neck.

“What are you doing?” you asked, fighting to keep your balance.

“I know that you must be tired of being used tonight, doll,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to your inner thigh. “So why don’t you use me for a change, huh?”

He grinned and licked his lips, and you froze when you realized what he wanted you to do. The real surprise came, though, when your pussy clenched at his words.

“I… I don’t-“ you tried to say, but he leaned up, swiping his tongue against your slit before letting it fall back again.

“C’mon, it’ll feel good,” he cajoled. “I learned this in Paris from a lady who had no doubts about what she wanted in life. And she sure seemed to like it when we did this.”

You bit your lip and looked away from him, fighting back the shame blooming in your chest as you hesitantly lowered yourself closer to his face.

As soon as you were close enough, Bucky wasted no time in delving in, pushing his tongue past your folds and lapping softly at your clit, running the flat part of his tongue up and down slowly. You gasped, closing your eyes as you felt your body responding despite its soreness; you could already tell how good he was at this.

He let out an obscene moan as he trailed further down, sliding his tongue past your entrance and running it along your walls. You hated to admit it, but its cool wetness soothed the ache left behind by Steve, and a moan worked its way out of your mouth before you could bite it down.

“C’mon, baby,” he encouraged you. “I wanna hear how I’m doing; let me know what feels good.”

Your hands sought out his hair of their own accord as he started tongue fucking you, your hips rocking in time with him. Every now and then, he would pull back to lap at your clit, spreading your wetness over the tight little bud until you felt your legs trembling.

“Bucky-!” you gasped, falling forward to support yourself with your hands. You’d never felt like this before; a part of you was extremely satisfied that he was better at this than Steve. That part of you wanted to moan and scream and gloat in Steve’s face that Bucky was bringing you more pleasure with his tongue than Steve ever had.

You felt your orgasm coming over you fast, and all you could do was buck your hips and grip Bucky’s hair. Somewhere close, though, you registered the sound of a door opening, and you turned your head to see Steve leaning in the doorway, watching you with narrowed eyes as you rode Bucky’s face.

You gasped, trying to pull away, but Bucky’s hands gripped your hips hard, pulling you back down and shoving his tongue inside you. The moan you let out was borderline pornographic as you felt your pleasure build up inside you, pushing you through your climax so hard that your ears started ringing. Your hips spasmed, but Bucky held them steady, slowly lapping at your pussy while letting out a content hum.

Once your body stilled, you rolled over onto your back, trying to slow your breathing as you watched Steve turn away from you and look at Bucky.

“You learn that in Paris?” he asked.

“Yep.” Bucky smirked and licked his lips, his stubble glistening with your juices. “I’ll coach you sometime, Stevie. She sure seemed to like it.”

For the first time that evening, Steve’s smile didn’t hold any malicious intent, and he looked up at you before turning back to his friend.

“I don’t need you to teach me how to please my girl, Buck.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and pulled himself to his feet, bending over to grab his boxers.

“I think she��s our girl now.”

You closed your eyes, exhaustion starting to take you over. When a hand came to rest on your cheek, you knew it was Steve, but you were too tired to pull away when he pressed his lips against your forehead.

“You hear that, doll? You’re our girl now. We’re gonna make such a beautiful family.”

#steve rogers #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #stucky #stucky x reader #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve x reader #professor!steve #professor!steve rogers #dark!bucky barnes #dark!bucky x reader #non con #kidnapping #smut #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader

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douchebagbrainwaves · 4 years ago

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ORGANIC STARTUP INVESTING TRENDS

Not only did we have to memorize state capitals instead of playing dodgeball? Several of the most important problems in their field.1 Another approach would be to let that opportunity slip. We were supposed to read novels and write essays about them. Stuff used to be valuable, and now it's not. For the average user, is far fewer bugs. They make such great stuff. There is always a big time lag in prestige. And jeans turn out not to want. They're going to walk up to the software, listening closely to the users as you do. With server-based software is never going to be something you write, yes. And later stage investors?

Many of the students who now major in English would major in writing if they could, and most founders of successful ones do. I think will be an orderly way for people to quit. Partly because they can afford. It's the concluding remarks to the jury. A typical desktop software company that had over 100 people working in it. A better way to describe this situation is to say that a hacker about to write a prototype that solves a subset of the problem. A programmer can leave the office and typing into vt100s. Even if you're designing something for idiots, the odds are that you're not designing something good, even for idiots. Buildings to be constructed from stone were tested on a smaller scale. It was written by two different people. We found that you don't have to work for a long time and could only travel vicariously. Relentlessness wins because, in the very phrase software company.

By the end of the continuum are languages like Ada and Pascal, models of propriety that are good for teaching and not much else. So instead of copying the Facebook, with some variation that the Facebook rightly ignored, look for problems and imagine the company that might solve them. It's a rare startup that doesn't build something the founders use. Then it struck me: this is the right model for collaboration in software too. Some people are lucky enough to know what they want either. So anything we could do to get more people through the test drive. But more than half the households in the US. They weren't tempted by the minor perquisites of power. In fact the dangers of deciding what programmers are allowed to want. And then at the other makers.

A programming language does need a good implementation, of course, but when they do get paged at 4:00 AM, they don't use sentences any more complex than they do when talking about what to have for lunch. A programming language is good as a programming language.2 Is software a counterexample? How did she get into this fix? Most users probably don't. The only external test is time. In the summer of 2005, most of the advantages of being able to do the unpleasant jobs.

When I say that design must be for users, I don't mean to disparage Yahoo. And people don't learn Python because it will get them a job; they learn it because they can't help it.3 You don't know yet. And they are also different lengths, meaning that the arguments won't line up when they're called, as car and cdr often are, in theory, explaining yourself to someone else instead of being pasted onto it like a pilot scanning the instrument panel, not like a detective trying to unravel some mystery. I want to go straight there, blustering through obstacles, and hand-waving your way across swampy ground. This article describes the surprising things we saw, as some of the work they do. For example, the good china so many households have, and Jessica does too, mostly, because she's gotten into sync with us. If you want people to read, and only incidentally for machines to execute.

There's a lot to like I've done a few things, like programmers and writers. The other reason Apple should care what programmers think of them, we either try to remove it, or shift the startup sideways. If you raised five million and ran out of ideas. Which makes them exactly the kind of problems that have to be Web-based software gives you unprecedented information about their behavior. Search for a few months. You don't have to watch the servers every minute after the first year or so, but you can write the first version of a tree that in the past has had false starts branching off all over it. It wasn't that they were just good enough. What's going on here? VCs miss good startups all the time? And you don't want to.

What's going on here? And programmers build applications for the platforms they use. I was told I shouldn't mention founders of YC-funded companies in this list. No one, VC or angel, has invested in more of the world's great programmers are born outside the US. Fixing a bug in your code corrupts some data on disk, you have to remember to do something. The classic startup is fast and informal, with few people and little money.4 You should be able to look at it. Platform is a vague word.

Programming languages are not theorems. It's a rare startup that doesn't build something the founders use.5 If you administer the servers, it will work anywhere the Web works. For the first week or so we intended to make this point diplomatically, but in effect I had two workdays each day, one on the maker's: office hours. With Web-based application will be a collection of utilities for generating reports, and only evolved into a programming language to have, say, $2 million, they generally expect to offer a significant amount of help along with the money; the only question is how much on what terms.6 There's always something coming on the next hour working on something, they want to do now. The more people you have, the more stuff they seem to have worked alone. It works a lot better for a small team of good, trusted programmers than it would for a big company, they were exceptional. But the fact is, almost anyone would rather, at any given moment, float about in the Carribbean, or have sex, or eat, or even to use the shift key much. Leonardo painted the portrait of Ginevra de Benci in the National Gallery, he put a juniper bush behind her head. Another thing you want in a throwaway program itself. She came to the startup world, things change so rapidly that you can't make yourself care.

Notes

99,—. At the seed stage our valuation was in a deal led by a big VC firm or they see of piracy is simply what they are so different from money raised in an era of such regulations is to get the rankings they want to avoid companies that seem excusable according to certain somewhat depressing rules many of the next one will be interesting to 10,000 people or so and we ran into Muzzammil Zaveri, and how unbelievably annoying it is to hand off the task to companies via internship programs. No one writing a dictionary to pick your brains.

The existence of people, how little autonomy one would have gotten away with dropping Java in the computer, the best ways to avoid collisions in.

Joe thinks one of his peers will get funding, pretty much regardless of how hard it is to imagine that there were no strong central governments. This is one of few they had no government powerful enough to absorb that.

More precisely, the group of picky friends who proofread almost everything I say in principle 100,000 or a blog that tried to unload it on buyer after buyer. The Wouldbegoods. More precisely, the average reader that they kill you, you can't dictate the problem and approached it with superficial decorations.

What makes most suburbs so demoralizing is that they've already decided what they're really saying is they want both. I'm not saying you should push back on industrialization at the valuation should be easy to believe your whole future depends on the grounds that a their applicants come from meditating in an equity round.

Words this way would be vulnerable both to attack and abuse.

Thanks to Steve Huffman, Trevor Blackwell, Harj Taggar, Erann Gat, and Geoff Ralston for their feedback on these thoughts.

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aliyasheikh001 · 4 years ago

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Career In Bioinformatics: Is It Worth?

What is Bioinformatics?

Bioinformatics is an interdisciplinary field concerned with developing and applying methods from computer science to biological problems. For example, the Human Genome Project, which was completed in 2001, wouldn't have been possible without the contribution of intricate bioinformatic algorithms, which were critical for the assembly of millions of short sequences that are molecular.

Bioinformaticians need a background that is solid computer science but also a good understanding of biology. Since bioinformaticians work closely with biologists, they need to communicate complex topics in a way that is understandable to keep up-to-date with new developments in biology.

Studying Bioinformatics

I took part in a preparatory maths course at university before studying Bioinformatics at Saarland University. It turned out to be a smart decision to take that course for university because I realized that my high-school education was not as comprehensive as necessary to prepare me. For example, only in the preparatory time learned about proofs by induction or set theory.

I understood why the university offered preparatory maths courses: the maths lectures were brutal when I started my studies. There would usually be two lectures, each spanning two hours a week. The approach was the following in terms of teaching. The lecturer would scribble definitions and proofs onto the blackboard, and the students would try to keep up with the dizzying pace. Due to the short lecture speed, I always felt that attending the courses didn't help me learn the material.

In my Bachelor's bioinformatics curriculum, roughly 70% of the program's credit points had to be earned in computer science (e.g. programming, algorithms and data structures, concurrency) and maths courses (e.g. Analysis, algebra, stochastics). In contrast, the remainder of the credits could be obtained from the full life sciences. I felt that the first three terms at university were the hardest because each semester featured a maths and a computer science course that is basic. The semesters that are later a more significant share of Bioinformatics courses as well as more hands-on seminars.

Comparing life-science and computer-science courses, I found the life-science procedures much more straightforward and less effort. While life-science lectures just required attending the classes and passing the exam, computer-science methods involved much more work. There are weekly tutorials where the solutions to the assignments are weekly discussed. Additionally, some classes featured short (15 minutes) tests. In these classes, it was usually necessary to reach 50% of the maximum score in the assignments and tests to take the exam (either only a single exam or a mid-term and end-term exam).

What differentiates the Master's through the Bachelor's system is that it is more research-oriented and allows for much greater specialization. Including, I used my Master's to consider machine methods that can be learning as supervised learning or reinforcement learning. The Master's thesis uses up a much more significant element of the total credit points than the Bachelor's thesis. Therefore abilities such as, for instance, literary works analysis, method development, and scientific writing become even more critical in terms of research.

Job Leads as being a Bioinformatics Graduate

Learning bioinformatics, I happened to be often expected where you could act as a bioinformatician. About 80% of bioinformatics place have been in research or the public sector. The issue with research jobs is that they're usually fixed-term (age. g. two years) because these positions in many cases are financed task that is using. Into the public sector, bioinformaticians are often desired in the medical industry (e.g. in hospitals) plus in health-related federal government institutions. The benefit of roles in the public sector is the fact that they've been usually permanent. Nonetheless, employment in an organization that is the general public as being a hospital often involves method administration duties such as, for instance, starting computers and databases - tasks that have little to accomplish with bioinformatics itself. Furthermore, both research and public-sector positions provide fair salaries being low to industry.

In my estimation, no more than 20% of bioinformatics jobs come in the industry. How come the percentage therefore low? The main reason is the only industry sector that employs bioinformaticians is big pharma, within my view. Right here, bioinformaticians are expected to perform tasks such instance:

• Modeling: Estimation of protein structures and simulation of molecular interactions

• Data processing: processing and evaluating sequencing information, for example, from next-generation sequencing or sequencing that is single-cell

• Virtual screening: breakthrough of leads (prospective brand new medications) using computational practices

• Data technology: Analysis and interpretation of data

Since bioinformatics is very research-oriented and industry jobs are few, many graduates (maybe 40%) join PhD programs. The people industry joining work in non-bioinformatics roles is an example, since it consultants, software designers, solutions architects, or information scientists.

Some individuals advise against studying bioinformatics because it is difficult to find an operating task afterwards. I didn't have that experience at all, and I received a job that is numerous from recruiters. I might argue that having a bioinformatics degree, job prospects are acceptable due to the fact bioinformaticians have a particular skill, helping to make them appealing for organizations:

• Bioinformatics graduates exhibit the traits of T-shaped experts. This permits them to execute many different tasks and to behave as facilitators in interdisciplinary teams.

• Bioinformatics graduates often have more experience that is useful software than computer-science graduates.

• Bioinformatics graduates are keen learners. Their proficiency in numerous disciplines shows that they can effortlessly conform to situations being brand new.

Advice to Prospective Bioinformatics Pupils and Graduates

Whether I would study bioinformatics again, I might be torn backwards and forwards if you asked me. Regarding the one hand, I must say I liked the variety of the bioinformatics system, and, with a degree in bioinformatics, many jobs are possible. The economic truth is there are few bioinformatics roles, so when you take a non-bioinformatics work, all your specialized knowledge decreases the drain having said that. Hence, I could also imagine studying a less subject specialized as computer or data science.

If you are thinking about studying bioinformatics, here are a few bits of advice:

• Do not study Bioinformatics if you hate maths. Especially the semesters that are first maths-intensive.

• Do no study Bioinformatics that it is very similar to studying biology if you were to think. Keep in mind that bioinformatics is more associated with computer technology than biology. You will find excessively biologists, which can be a few results in the change to bioinformatics.

• if you aim to operate as a bioinformatician in industry, plan. Remember to take courses that are industry-relevant forge industry connections, for example, through internships.

• Be flexible in your career ambitions. After graduating, you could not act as a bioinformatician. Nonetheless, you won't have problems locating a place when you have good programming and information analysis abilities.

Bioinformatics Versus Data Science

• possibly the most useful definition of "bioinformatics" is processing and analyzing large-scale genomics and other biological datasets to develop biological insights. As a result, other terms are often used, such as "computational genomics" and data that are "genomic."

• Data science is a little broader, mostly a more general term whose meaning is similar to bioinformatics minus the focus of biological processing and evaluating large-scale datasets to produce insights.

• in an article in Towards Data Science by Altuna Akalin, who cites audacity.

An information scientist's primary abilities include programming, machine learning, data, data wrangling, data visualization and communication, and data intuition, which probably means troubleshooting data concerns that are analysis-related.

• What comes up in bioinformatics is domain-specific information processing and quality checking, fundamental information transformation and filtering, statistics and device learning, domain-specific analytical tools and information visualization and integration, capacity to write code (programming), the power to communicate insights which can be data-driven.

• the difference that is key in Akalin's definitions is "certain domain data." The domain is genomic, proteomic, hereditary, and healthcare-related information in life sciences. It does not necessarily add sales and data, which are economical. Another method of putting it's that a bioinformatics professional is probable an information scientist; however, a data scientist is not necessarily a bioinformatician.

Bioinformatics Facts & Figures

• Persistence Market Research recently published a report, "Global Market Study on Bioinformatics – Asia to Witness Fastest Growth by 2020," which valued the worldwide bioinformatics market at $4.110 billion in 2014 but likely to grow at an annual mixture growth (CAGR) of 20.4 % from 2014 to 2020, hitting 12.542 billion in 2020.

• The Future of Jobs Survey 2018 by the World Economic Forum estimates that 85 per cent of surveyed businesses tend or very likely to consider data analytics being big. It also indicated that the revolution that is "industrial create 133 million brand new job functions and that 75 million jobs are disappearing by 2020."

• And yes, you guessed it, many of the jobs which are now in the regions of information technology and bioinformatics. In reality, the #1 top ten job champion ended up being "data analysts and scientists" followed closely by "artificial intelligence and machine learning specialists." The number 4 spot was data that are "big," followed by "digital transformation experts" (#5), "software and applications developers and analysts" (#9) and "information technology services." (#10).

• together with job outlook for bioinformatics for 2018 to 2026? The Bioinformatics Home weblog writes, "The easy reply to this real question is that the overall outlook is excellent, the demand outweighs the supply. However, the devil is within the details as usual. Nevertheless, it's good to become a bioinformatics scientist."

Job Titles and Search Terms

• Although "bioinformatician" could be a certain job, and there are various keywords that are frequently related, including bioinformatics.

Bioengineering, computational science, pc software engineering, device learning, math, data, molecular biology, biochemistry, computer technology, biostatistics, biomedical engineering, engineering, biology, information systems, genomics, computational biology, information science, and epidemiology.

• a search that is single BioSpace developed over 100 jobs mainly using "bioinformatics." The idea being: biostatisticians in the space that is biopharma to have a good comprehension of both data science and particular aspects of the life span sciences.

• Akalin had written, you're kept with most of the information science skillset plus some more "If you eliminate the particular domain needs from the bioinformatics set of skills. Individuals who result in the switch from bioinformatics to information technology will most need that is likely to adjust to the company's information organization and circulation environment. The issues are from a different domain, so they will have to adjust to that also. But the same would be true, at the least to some degree, for the data researchers jobs that are switching various employers."

• Akalin also points out that much of the difference is regarding mindset, particularly in academia to industry. Several information researchers who switched to bioinformatics or vice versa said that the sector is more product-oriented and customer and that the models needed on the market require more maintenance. "Besides," Akalin writes, discussing Markus Schuler, "he shares the idea itself is as important in product-oriented thinking that you don't constantly select the coolest and the most useful models; other factors like operating time, execution demands, scalability and architecture fit and also interpretability for the model. However, in terms of skills, he adds that bioinformatics and data technology is very comparable if not identical."

Job Growth and Median Wages

• The Bureau of Labor Statistics doesn't execute a task that is great of down specializations like data science and bioinformatics, tending to lump everything under Mathematicians and Statisticians. The BLS claims the task outlook from 2016 to 2026 is 33 per cent, much faster than average, and that the median pay in 2017 ended up being $84,760 with a Master's Degree for that category. Statisticians were cited among the fastest-growing occupations, at 34 per cent, and epidemiologists have an improvement rate of 9 per cent and pay that is median of Master's Degree prospect of $69,660.

• In 2018, O*NET OnLine, sponsored by the U.S. Department of Labor, projected task development for bioinformatics researchers within the U.S. to be 5 to 9 % and as high as 12 % in California. They launched that from 2016 to 2026, there is 3,700 new job, and that total employment in 2016 had been 39,000 staffers. Based on the study, the same median wages in 2017 were $76,690 yearly for bioinformatics boffins and $47,700 for specialists.

While the Bioinformatics Home blog correctly notes, "In any case, median salaries give just a proven fact that is vague of because the wages differ enormously between quantities of employment."

Do you want more informational blogs Click here

#career #careeradvice #Careerideas

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profiler-in-courage · 5 years ago

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I need to write more of the serial killer angle but Emerson and Gwyn are just so fun

Chapter 4.

So he comes from money, Gwyn thought as she rode in his 1960s sports car.

A detective’s pay certainly wouldn’t cover this and he didn’t seem like the type of man to use his dead wife’s life insurance money to buy a car.

No. He grew up wealthy. Though you would never know if you never saw what he drove.

Was it smart to give a man she had just met her address? No. But she trusted him. So far.

And in any case. She knew how to defend herself if it came to that. The purse she had noticed him assessing had a knife and pepper spray nestled safety within its folds.

One could never be too careful. Especially now.

Gwyn glanced over at him as they weaved through late afternoon traffic. A strand of his hair was coming out of place, curling just above his forehead.

If they knew each other better she would reach over and brush it away. But it was too early for that, though she did have the urge.

Emerson could feel her staring.

“Have you lived in Creekmore long?” he asked.

“Would you consider 33 years long?” she answered.

Emerson smiled, “Not terribly.”

Gwyn looked at him, “You’re funny.”

Emerson glanced over at her, “Am I?”

“Mmhmm,” she grinned.

They pulled up to Gwyn’s apartment complex. It was tucked away on the edge of downtown Creekmore.

“Mine is the bottom one right here. Number 12,” she said, pointing to a brick building with steps leading to a painted white door.

Emerson pulled up along the curb.

“So, what’s my rating?” he asked, tilting his head to her.

She pursed her lips in thought, “It’s rare I give five stars but I would say you have more than earned them.”

Emerson put a hand to his chest, “Phew.”

Gwyn laughed. They sat there smiling at each other for a moment.

“Would you like to come in for a drink?” she asked.

Emerson ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it to the side.

He did want to come in. But he didn’t drink. He also should be getting down to the precinct. There were two freshly dead 15 year old girls after all.

Gwyn looked hopeful sitting there waiting for his response.

Burnham could handle things for another hour or so.

“I’d love to,” he said.

He followed her up the steps and into her apartment.

It was a nice place. Minimal in design. The living room open with the kitchen area. His boots clicked on the hardwood floor.

Emerson noticed multiple abstract paintings adorning her walls along with a few black and white portraits.

Over coffee she had told him she was a painter. He wondered if the art was original.

“Did you paint these?” he asked, pointing to the frames.

She hung her purse on a coat hanger by the door.

“Oh god no. I would never hang my own work up. I’d feel like an asshole.”

Clearly Emerson didn’t know artist code.

“Pick your poison,” Gwyn said, motioning to a silver bar cart along the living room wall.

Emerson scratched the side of his head, “Well actually...I don’t drink. Water would be fine.”

He felt slightly embarrassed.

“If you didn’t want to come in you could have said no. My ego could have handled it,” she chuckled, raising an eyebrow.

Emerson shook his head, “No I wanted to come in. I just haven’t drank in years.”

“I wanted to spend more time with you,” he continued.

Was this weird? Did he overstep a boundary?

He frowned, waiting for an uncomfortable silence that didn’t come.

“Oh. Well in that case I have the best water in town,” she said, spinning towards her fridge.

Emerson smiled softly.

“You can sit down you know. The couch isn't just for decoration,” Gywn joked.

Emerson realized he’d just been standing in the middle of her living room. He took a seat on the cool leather.

He glanced down at the glass coffee table in front of him. Books on Van Gogh and Da Vinci decorated it.

Gwyn sat down beside him, placing two ice waters on coasters.

“You could have had a drink. I don’t mind,” said Emerson looking over at the lonely bar cart.

Gwyn leaned back into the couch, resting her arm at the top.

“I rarely drink, and when I do it’s usually because my paintings aren’t turning out how I want them.”

This was the part where most of her Tinder dates had tried to make a move. Scooting closer to her, outwardly kissing her, touching her leg, men were all the same.

Though Emerson made no advance.

Curious, she thought.

Instead he sipped his water and joined her relaxed posture. He left just enough space between their hands that they weren’t touching.

She concentrated on him as he asked more about her art. What style she painted in, if she sold it, where she sold it?

Was he genuinely interested in her?

She thought he had failed the test when he accepted her offer to come inside. That was always where men failed.

Her previous dates had thought an invitation inside meant something more. When in actuality she was seeing which ones were gentlemen and which ones weren’t.

Creekmore was apparently lacking in gentlemen. This detective however seemed to be an exception.

Art was what Gwyn loved. It was her passion. It was refreshing to be answering the questions of someone who wanted to know the answers.

She told him about her art school, her dropout, her second art school, her internships, and her first commissioned piece. She told him about the first few years of eating Ramen noodles every night and the day she finally sold a painting for more than a year’s rent.

And he listened. She was sure that if she gave him a quiz at the end he would pass.

Emerson watched Gwyn intently as she explained her career.

He watched the way her mouth twitched right before she was about to smirk. The way she talked with her hands when explaining something that had an emotional memory attached to it.

He ran his eyes along her face. Tracing it, then moving down her body to the tip of her black Chelsea boots.

He quickly met her gaze again.

“Now, think you can pass the test?” she asked.

Emerson made a face, “What?”

“I want to know that you were actually listening to all that?” she said, sipping her water.

Emerson held out his hand, motioning for her to proceed.

“Where did I go to college?”

He took a drink, waiting for just a moment.

“New York on your first go-round. Then Vermont,” he said, hiding a smile behind his cup.

Gwyn lifted her head in approval.

“What was my first commissioned piece?”

He smoothed the leather at the top of the couch with his thumb.

“It was an abstract painting. A splatter of pastel colors,” he answered.

“I wouldn’t quite call it a splatter but…” she teased.

Emerson grinned, he liked her more and more with each passing second.

Alright, he passed, she thought.

Gwyn clenched her jaw to hide a smile. She would have to be careful around him.

She realized that for the majority of the day they had been talking about her. She knew little things about the man sitting across from her, favorite book etc., but nothing heavy.

To ask about his dead ex or not? Maybe that was a conversation for another time.

“So Emerson, what makes you happy?”

He rested his chin on his palm, pondering.

What does make me happy? he thought.

“My sister and my niece,” he answered. “They are wonderful. And the only family I have left.”

“Oh?” asked Gwyn.

“My parents died a few years ago, a car accident,” said Emerson.

Gwyn saw the flicker of sadness in his eyes. He couldn’t hide it.

“But my sister and Abigail, my niece, are amazing,” he continued. “I spend a lot of time with them.”

Gwyn smiled tenderly.

“How old is your niece?” she asked.

“Sixteen and she doesn’t let you forget it,” Emerson scoffed.

Gwyn nodded in understanding, “That’s usually how teenagers are.”

Emerson pursed his lips in agreement.

“I um…I actually would not have met you had it not been for Abigail,” he said.

Should he admit he downloaded Tinder at the behest of a 16 year old girl? It was however, the truth.

“Why’s that?” asked Gwyn, tilting her head.

Emerson ran a hand through his hair and set his now empty glass on the coffee table.

“She made me download Tinder. She told me, and I quote, ‘Quit being a stereotypical lonely detective and get yourself a love interest’.”

Gwyn let out a hearty laugh and he began to chuckle as well.

“Well I suppose I might have to thank her one day,” she winked.

Emerson nodded slowly in agreement, the hint of a smile forming.

“Would you like another glass?” said Gwyn, motioning to his empty cup.

He stood, “Actually I should get down to the precinct. I’m sure you’ve seen the headlines recently...”

He hated that he was having to leave. He didn’t want to. But he did have a job to do. An important one.

Gwyn’s face went pale, “Yes I have. To think that’s happening in Creekmore is unnerving.”

She walked him to the door, he paused on the first step, turning to look back at her.

“Would it be too forward to ask to see you again tomorrow night?” he uttered.

Gwyn leaned on the door frame, looking at Emerson fondly.

It was at this moment that he had the urge to kiss her. And it surprised him. She had completely captivated him for the hours they had spent together.

Might want to wait until she answers, he thought.

“Tomorrow night sounds good,” she answered.

He walked the few steps back over to her, leaned his head down and kissed her on the cheek, his lips barely grazing her skin.

“Thank you for the best water in town,” he whispered.

Her eyes flipped up to his, “You’re very welcome.”

Emerson sauntered down the steps, his heart racing. A grin was tearing its way across his face.

#claes bang #these two are distracting me

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wanderingrestlessly · 5 years ago

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What's being an archivist in training like? I'm in undergrad rn and torn between going to law school or going into archival science for grad school

oh man okay so! imo being an archival student is super cool for a bunch of reasons but here are just a few:

- loving history and research is GREAT but there’s gotta be some part of u that needs things to be organized bc at the end of the day when ur first starting out ur gonna be sitting at a table w boxes of unorganized documents and ur gonna be expected to put them in the order that best fits them

- i really don’t like networking but is it really networking when u meet a fellow archival graduate and bitch about obscure archival things like that one time UPS refused to acknowledge your archives’ existence so they wouldn’t send u the materials u ordered bc apparently ‘this place can’t have an archives it’s a hospital!’

- its honestly amazing the amount of archives are around that u just. otherwise would not have known about if u weren’t an archival student bc they’re so small

- if ur like me and u’ve never been good at coding that’s 1000% okay it just means u’ll have to work a little harder to understand ur classes dealing w metadata and digital archives but like. yeah ur really gonna need to figure out metadata and digital archives bc man Are They Important

- getting into the nitty gritty of the differences between a librarian and an archivist is always fun (and i don't mean that sarcastically it really is fun to learn)

- the Great Glove Debate and also Is Social Justice Inherent In Archives? lets talk about these questions and more

- if u didn’t think u’d have to deal w ethics then u’ve got a storm coming

- there’s a shit ton of reading. like a megalithic shit ton. the professors will want u to read it all. if u don’t already know it, then learn this: it’s 10000% okay to just read the abstract and the conclusion or to skim over the reading if u’ve got more important shit to do

- i’ve yet to have a single test. it’s all been papers. my longest paper this semester was 7 pages.

- it’ll take a lot of time and patience but u’ll need to learn, if u haven’t already, how to trust ur gut and intuition when it comes to organizing and throwing things out. a lot of it comes from experience. you’ll suck at organizing a collection at first but literally we all do, don’t sweat it too much. so much of this field is just going out and gaining that experience

- it’s sad but yeah, u’ll want to take ‘��’advantage’’’ of those unpaid internships - once u graduate no archival job is really gonna give a shit about where u went to school as long as it was accredited. what matters is how much experience u’ve got and there aren’t a lot of positions (where i am, at least) that will pay students.

- ur gonna be busy. ur more than likely gonna need a paying job. make sure u have an employer that understands ur a student and that u’ve also got an internship and u can’t do unexpected shift changes

- where i’m at there are so few students enrolled that we at least all know of each other. archival circles tend to be pretty tight and yes, u’ll want to be on good terms w as many ppl as possible bc they r gonna be ur future colleagues

- the eternal debate of Should This Be A Series Or A Sub-Series?

- u might think archivists don’t have to deal w people a lot. don’t go into archival school thinking this. archivists absolutely have to deal w the public bc like. archives exist first and foremost to protect documents of enduring value. archives also exist to help the public gain access to these documents. remember: an archivist is a public service

- being an archivist means u’ll always be learning. there will always be new literature to go over and there’ll always be new questions to debate. it’s not an exaggeration when i say u’ll basically be a student for the rest of ur life bc like. u’ll just always be learning new things. curiosity and following information rabbit holes is such a plus in this field

- u’d think making a finding aid is easy but uhhhhhh

there’s plenty more i can say but i feel like this is getting long? feel free to send over another ask or even dm me if u want more specific info/have any more questions! it doesn’t bother me at all i promise! i love talking about archival things :)

#anonymous #being an archival student #legit i love answering questions like these

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rusalkii · 5 years ago

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It's still the boring details of my life under the cut but this time they're cheerful boring details.

Ghost! I am very pleased with my life. 10/10 would import again, etc etc. This summer seems to have finally persuaded me that time with Ghost is not a fundamentally scarce resource that I mus hoard at every possible opportunity, so I am now capable of doing things like "doing work while they're in the same state as me" or, more importantly but less relevantly, "recognizing that no matter how much I like them if I spend another minute in the company of another human being I am going to shut down". Valuable life skills, those.

This week prior to the break I caught up with many misc homework assignments and generally found myself ahead of official work. As a result I did not have that much to do over the break but did some not very urgent homework anyway. I studied a little for stat (practice exam) but not for any other classes, which is not ideal but given the givens not something I'm going to worry about. Over the break also ran some errands, cleaned the house, helped my mom with cooking, etc. Could have done more given that dad's in Russia, but did enough not to feel like I was leaving mom with everything. I should likely be better to my parents in this respect but that's a character flaw to examine in more detail at a later date. Got my hair trimmed (it turns out that this predictably results in the horrible experience of my hair being shorter), looked at monitors (my family's approach to birthday presents is very low stress, it's great), bought yarn I've been meaning to get for my Minimum Effort Shawl Pattern, did a budgeting thing. Generally satisfied with productive output given break, although I had a somewhat nonideal pattern of avoiding my latest CS assignment because I don't understand functions in assembly enough that even figuring them out seems like a black hole. Need to make it a goal to diagram it out tomorrow, then actually have some code written, test, iterate- I know how to move towards understanding this and it's not staring at lecture slides in the hope the knowledge will imprint itself in my brain.

Conclusion of budget spreadsheeting is that even if I assume I get zero additional dollars other than what I have, ski job which I do mostly because it lets me ski for free and not the money, and next summer's internship, I can be slightly less paranoid with my money. Turns out even baby programmers get paid real human money, it's very nice. Should not internalize this too hard, but if I keep an eye on it I can in fact afford to do things like flying to visit people on breaks sometimes or getting myself a not-terrible SCA wardrobe or buying skirts new because no thrift store ones meet my extremely specific desirata.

I have one week of class, one week of exams, and then break. This does not translate too "ah, yes, end of the semester, no new assignments and I'm all caught up, I can just do nothing". Studying: it exists. This week I'm going to aim for at least 3 practice exams in both the classes for which that is a coherent concept, and going over the 2nd exam and reviewing constructive induction for Discrete. For stat I can bring my grade up to a B, possibly even a regular not-B-minus as long as I have my shit together. If I want to keep the option of going to a decent grad school open I cannot have a C in stat. Also, should show up to lab at least a little bit extra for the research class and actually practice my presentation. I will get an A but transcript show graduations, an A+ would be nice and there's any chance I could get an A- and that would be embarrassing. Both these things should not take that much extra time and could make the difference here. Actually, no, I have a more specific thing: get up tomorrow at a real human hour, get to lab before class, make sure you have your part of the presentation down then. Then in the afternoon you can rehearse it with M. Sleep: meh? Some of this was "sharing a too-small bed will predictably make me need more hours of sleep". Didn't have my weighted blanket. Did exercise but not as much. Did not have sun lamp, did not use melatonin. Unsure how much these factors change. Starting to seriously consider asking a doctor about this but unfortunately I don't really have a doctor at the moment and don't want to go through the university health care system through this. Could go to the doctor my parent do, I guess? Should poke at this in case there's long appointment times involved in the option I end up wanting.

Late cause Thanksgiving and also Ghost, I regret nothing.

#the work of the world is as common as mud

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ofsylvias-blog · 5 years ago

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SYLVIA PRESTON — twenty. political science major. the bibliophile.

hi everyone ! i’m meredith, i’m eighteen, and i never learned how to fucking read i’m from the est. i use they/them pronouns, am about to be a freshman in college ( let’s hope no one disappears ahjdkks ) and ... there’s not a lot interesting about me. i have a cute cat, tho. i play sylvia ... duh. you can find some more information about her under the cut. i’m meredith#3445 so slide into those dms 2 plot xoxo !

have you seen [ SYLVIA PRESTON ] since the storm? some say they look like [ SYDNEY SWEENEY ] but they’re [ 20 ] & go by [ THE BIBLIOPHILE ]. [ SHE ] lived in halloway for [ 8YEARS ] & they are originally from [ NEW YORK CITY ]. before the town vanished they were studying [ POLITICAL SCIENCE ] and lived at [ UNI BLVD ]. most people knew the [ CISFEMALE ] as [ DEDICATED ] but i’ve heard they can also be [ SELF-IMPORTANT ]. for some reason, they feel [ UNEASY ] about the town’s disappearance.

QUICK INFO:

Name: Sylvia Elizabeth Preston

DOB / Age: January 6th, 1999. Twenty.

Zodiac: Capricorn sun, Virgo moon.

Hogwarts House: Ravenclaw.

MBTI: ESTJ.

Positive traits: Strong-willed, intelligent, organized.

Negative traits: Stubborn, judgemental, hypercritical.

Sexuality: Bisexual.

Main Inspo: Betty Cooper, Nancy Wheeler, Michaela Pratt.

BIOGRAPHY:

Despite the fact that she had a white-picket fence ( not literally, of course, as for the first twelve years of her life she lived in an apartment ) upbringing, with a wealthy father who could have given her everything she wanted ... Sylvia has always had to work for what she wanted. Of course, she was privileged: pretty and blonde and attending the best private schools, with the best tutors and healthy lunches prepared by her nanny, but Sylvia wasn’t spoiled. She didn’t have the walls of toys her friends with parents that had the same income did, she didn’t have the vacations around the world. Her father was determined to teach her the merits of hard work — no matter how young she was. Flashcards every morning over breakfast, only getting her dolls and trains out of the locked toy chest when she came home with an A on her spelling test, no dinner if her room wasn’t entirely pristine. She’s always been neurotic, and a perfectionist, from when she set up her toys in perfectly neat lines to when she corrected the grammar of a love note she got when she was eight. Her hair was always brushed neatly, her skirts without a crease in them. Presentable is perfect, her mother would say, through breath that always smelled like red wine. And only perfect is presentable, she would echo back, whether it be through the lisp she carried as a young girl ( speech therapy squandered that quickly ) or the braces she got at ten, the second her last adult tooth grew in.

Her father was transferred to Concord in the middle of her sixth grade year, and her family settled neatly into Halloway after that. Of course, just because the clean, modern furniture and city skylines of their old were replaced with a big front porch and a bigger backyard didn’t mean anything — it didn’t mean the Prestons expected anything less. When she was fourteen, her mom’s belly was swollen with another baby ( a little girl to be born three months later, called Beatrice ) and while some older children had the expectations shift off of them with new arrivals, thus was not the case for Sylvia. She was expected to be an example. She joined the cheerleading squad in the seventh grade, and carried on to the high school team. She joined the debate team, and was on the student council, even volunteering for the mayor’s office — she fell in love with politics, and decided then and there that she was going to be the first female president.

Straight As in five AP classes, every extracurricular under the sun, volunteer work on weekends ... Sylvia was perfect in high school, and she’s perfect in college. Acing every course, the same volunteer and internship opportunities ... she went to parties, of course, and hooked up with people, of course, but she always calculated mathematically just the amount of drinks she needed to feel a buzz but still be in control — and not get a hangover in the morning — and using every form of birth control possible. She’s still a cheerleader, of course, though now it’s for the Halloway University team instead of the high school. She’s never been really drunk, never been in a relationship ... she’s not a sociopath or anything, but the social scene is more of a transaction for her than anything. She’s as kind as she can be because it’s the right thing to do ... but she makes connections because they could help her down the line. She’s always been a bit of a loner on the inside, but she does crave real affection instead of just attention. Her real connections are very limited.

TL;DR — Sylvia is the perfect girl with the perfect life, a straight A student popular at parties and a cheerleader. She moved from NYC when she was twelve, and was also a cheerleader in HS and on the debate team, as well as being involved in student govt. An unpaid internship / volunteer work at the mayor’s office sparked an even bigger interest in politics, and she wants to be the first female president. Her nuclear family is equally perfect, though they exert pressure on her, and she loves her little sister Beatrice, who’s six, more than anything in the world. She’s a severe perfectionist that is perfectly calculated socially, but doesn’t really have a lot of fun, despite appearances.

PERSONALITY / UNI LIFE / FUN FACTS:

Again, Sylvia goes to parties all the time, and drinks enough to get buzzed while remaining in full control. That’s also the sole reason she doesn’t do drugs, because she can’t stand the idea of not being operating at full awareness. She’s hooked up with plenty of guys and gals, but has never had a relationship either in high school or college.

Sylvia wakes up at least two hours before classes every morning to perfectly do her hair and makeup, and curate an outfit. She’s never really fallen into the sweatpants and makeup free to class thing, and is always looking like she’s ready to impress.

She’s a cheerleader, and incredibly involved in classes. She’s a bit of a teacher’s pet, and knows all of her professors and almost always goes to office hours.

She’s a cheerleader, involved in Women in Leadership, and Future Politicians as her extracurriculars. Sylvia also 100% runs a studyblr and whatever the Instagram equivalent is.

Everything in Sylvia’s life is in her planner. Birthdays, assignments, passwords written down in the back, sticky notes advertising different inspirational quotes ... all from female politicians, of course. Each page is perfectly crafted in even more perfect penmanship, and color coded. She wears the key for it around her neck, and the tiny silver lock has never budged at anyone else’s hands.

Sylvia loves vintage and classic romance movies. Anything from Casablanca to John Hughes or cheesy Netflix flicks, and she’s seen it. She’s a romantic at heart, despite her own lack of experience. Not for lack of trying on other people’s parts, but she’s after success, not a relationship. She’s always thought, secretly, that if she wasn’t so focused on success and politics, she’d love to be an actress or a producer or something in Hollywood.

Sylvia is ridiculously nosy. She makes note of things she overhears, of things people tell her, she knows how to ask a good question, and isn’t a stranger to picking a lock, which she learned from the pile of Nancy Drew books in her childhood bedroom. Not that anyone knows this, of course, but information is always good to have. Maybe she should be a reporter instead. I’d predict she’d be very interested in solving the mystery of what’s going on, and trying to figure everything out.

Pinterest. Spotify.

#ooc / and that's what you missed on glee.#hallowayintros #hallowaypoints

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will242424 · 5 years ago

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Baseball Analytics Savant Is “Wired to Look at the Numbers”

Nicholas Fichtner is an Endicott senior whose goal is to work in an MLB front office. Fichtner grew up as a huge sports fan who was instantly fascinated with the numerical and statistical aspects of games. He developed an interest in analytics as he’s reached young adulthood.

Given that sports analytics is a relatively new field, there are very few ways to formally study it as a major. That hasn’t stopped Fichtner, however, who has embraced blazing a unique path for himself on the way to fulfilling his dreams. In this vein, he has designed several independent studies for himself to supplement the Endicott curriculum with skills he has identified as important.

Fichtner stands out as a free-thinker, and he is proud of it. He knows what is best for him and doesn’t care that his approach is uncommon. Fichtner has strong opinions on everything from a pitcher’s arm slot on a curveball to coding in advanced programming languages. His blend of old-school scouting knowledge coupled with a hunger for new-school sabermetrics is a strong foundation for a promising future.

Fichtner owns his own blog, Launch Angle, and is very active on Twitter, commenting on all things baseball. He has recently blogged about historical Hall-of Fame snubs, using copious statistics to make his case. His determination is evident by the steps he has taken to advocate for himself, and the significant thought he puts into what it will take to have a prosperous and enjoyable career.

What is your academic background?

I’m a finance major, minoring in economics. I switched my major twice. I was sports management my first semester freshman year, and it wasn’t for me. I went to accounting the second semester of my freshman year into the start of my sophomore year. It was good, but I wanted something a bit more challenging quantitatively, so I decided to switch into finance with a minor in applied math. I realized I wouldn’t be able to finish those minor requirements in time to graduate. I really wanted to graduate with a minor, so I switched my minor to economics because I had already taken some economics courses, so I’d have enough time to complete it. I’ve done five independent studies around coding, economics, data analytics…

What about sports management attracted you in the first place? What developments led you to conclude that it wasn’t for you?

I’m big on data analytics in sports, I love sports in general. When I first applied to Endicott, I said to myself, “I want to work in sports one day.” When they put me in the “bucket” of sports management. It wasn’t for me because I didn’t feel like it was challenging enough. I needed to expand my quantitative skills if I want to get to where I want to be in my professional career. I took financial accounting my freshman year, it was one of my core classes for sport management. I did really well in that class, and the professor was great. I told Dean Page I wanted to switch to accounting, and that was the end of that. Accounting is great, but it’s designed for preparation for the CPA Exam and to work for a “Big 4” accounting firm, which isn’t my career aspiration. It’s a great career aspiration, but it wasn’t mine. I thought about something that would challenge me even more quantitatively. Refinement, right? That’s why I switched into finance mid-sophomore year.

When did you first realize you had a passion for sports and wanted to pursue it as a career?

When I was a kid around my teens I loved football, loved looking at the numbers associated with football. Growing up in New England, you gravitate towards the Patriots. I just like looking at the numbers, I don’t know why. Looking at them, playing around with them. That’s just how I’m wired, have always loved to look at numbers. This is what got the ball rolling in terms of my interest in analytics with sports. At that same timeframe, I got into hockey analytics, too. Spent a lot of time researching that. Baseball of course, Moneyball was already well established. Basketball was on its way. Hockey had kind of taken in the analytics movement as to how teams evaluate players. It was mid-2010s, they started doing that. By the time I got to college, I was directed into baseball because I had emailed the sports information director here, Sean Medeiros, about being an analyst for the baseball team here. He said that if you’re looking to do advanced analytics for the team, no problem. I’ve been doing that for the last 3-4 years. I was an analyst for the first 3 years of my collegiate career, now I’m the student director of analytics for the team. That’s where my path now lies, in baseball, I’ve done a few internships in baseball analytics.

When did baseball take over as your chief interest? When I got to Endicott. The reason why I reached out to Sean my freshman year is because I wanted to get involved with campus. I thought that becoming a baseball analyst would be a good way to do it, especially given how light my resume was in that regard. Baseball, to me, seemed like the more logical choice [of sports to pick]. What evolved from there was meeting the coaching staff, Bryan Haley, met Coach Oringer a little bit later on. Working with them has been a great experience.

On his internship search

I was looking for an internship where it was geared towards what I wanted to do, not so much what was traditional within my school of study. I wanted to look more towards baseball. Coach Haley told me about the Cape Cod baseball league. I emailed every single GM and coach you could possibly imagine in that league. The GM for the Hyannis Harbor Hawks called me and said, ‘hey, you want an interview?’ I said, ‘yeah of course’. I got that interview and then got the internship.

What was the internship experience like?

It was great. That’s the number one developmental league in the country for Division I collegiate ballplayers. Of course, when you have all that talent, teams are gonna flock to see it. Scouts, player evaluators, executives, they’re all there. Meeting them, talking with them, interacting with that coaching staff was all part of it. I actually used analytics to build some lineups for them, which were pretty successful.

There were two assistant GM positions, me and another assistant GM intern, she was from Chicago. And another MLB scout liaison, he was from Maryland. We formed our own player development analytics department, just the three of us. We learned how to scout players, how to evaluate players with numbers. The coaching staff was very open with that, so we were successful and it was a great internship. It was a growth experience, personally and professionally.

What specifics did you learn about scouting?

When we were looking at hitters, we look at their approach. Whether they take a two-strike approach, whether they had the bat position on their shoulder. What are they looking for, their pitch recognition, can they identify a changeup from a slider? A curveball from a changeup? A two-seam vs. a cutter? All those things are important. From a pitcher’s standpoint, how are they gripping the ball? Do they have good command and control with their changeup, their curveball? Can they locate the zone and not be wild with it? Their release, their wrist flick is important, especially with the curveball. Is it down here, is it up here, how’s their kinetic chain? Is their kinetic chain perfect in the sense that their follow-through is good, clean and crisp? If it’s not, how are they going along with their process to resolve that? How is their foot landing when they deliver the pitch? All those little things to look at, watching, and talking to scouts. They provided little insights, interacting with the interns. Gave tips and tricks for how to evaluate players from an eye test standpoint?

Have you used software throughout your time with baseball analytics?

Yeah. This was before my junior year, the summer of 2018. I used a lot of Excel. As I mentioned before, the independent studies. They were centered around learning how to use the R programming language, how to use SQL, database management systems. Tableau. Key foundational database management software that I can use for baseball-oriented projects and data. I’m using SQL right now to manage the Endicott baseball team data right now. Microsoft is the bridge to that, but I’m learning those things right now and have mastered some of those skills, R in particular. After the [Cape Cod internship], I needed to learn data platforms more, beyond Excel. That’s where the IS’s came in.

How did the independent studies come into play? Identifying skills that you wanted to achieve that weren’t part of the Endicott curriculum?

Yeah, no doubt. SQL and Tableau, specifically, everyone should learn, whether you’re going into baseball or not. SQL for any data-related career is a Pre-Req for a lot of those internships and positions. You need to learn how to build databases and SQL is a foundational tool for that. It was a matter of: ‘how am I going to market myself in the world of baseball, in the industry? But also, how can I better my understanding of data analysis technology?’ That’s where the IS’s came I, but they had a baseball flavor to them, of course?

Knowing what you know now about your passion for sports analytics, if you were an incoming freshman, would you still choose to come to Endicott?

I think that there are a lot of people who major in something but then go into a career that doesn’t reflect their major directly. Being a well-rounded person in academia is something that I value a lot and I’ve learned that over my four years here. With all the major switching and minor flipping that I’ve done, and the cultivating my own creativity into my own degree, I wanted to feel like it was my own degree. I don’t think I would go anywhere else outside of Endicott because of all the great professors I’ve had here. I don’t know if I would’ve gotten the same type of support at a bigger school. I would run the risk of getting lost in the shuffle of students, in a big lecture hall. The direct relationships with professors that I’ve made has been instrumental here; they’ve given me a lot of support and advice on how to carry myself, how to be a professional, how to think differently, how to grow personally and professionally. I wouldn’t go anywhere else.

Where do you envision yourself in five years?

Hopefully working for a MLB organization, in some capacity as an analyst. Right now, I’m a writer. I was actually brought on to write for EVT News. They’re an outlet based out in San Diego, they cover the Padres, they’re credentialed in baseball and minor league baseball. They get a lot of viewership, a lot of exposure to those pieces. Two pieces that I’ve written for them so far have been picked up by Bleacher Report, which is pretty exciting. And I’ve started my own baseball analytics blog called the Launch Angle. That’s where I publish a lot of my stuff and the shell website where I can analyze players using advanced analytics and player development data a little bit more. I’ve built a little bit of a following on social media, which is fun. That’s where I’m at right now.

You’d rather work with a team than keep going with this media career?

I like the media piece of it only because it gets my work out there. I self-published my thesis on the Launch Angle. Having the exposure for EVT News was huge. I had published an article on my own site about the Padres, and a guy on Twitter reached out to me from EVT. That’s how I got that connection rolling. I enjoy writing about baseball from an analytics, economics, player development perspective. For the sake of exposure, getting my name out there organically. Working for a team is the endgoal.

Do you have any fear given that sports is a competitive industry to break into?

I think every industry is hard to break into. Baseball, yes, it’s competitive. Sports in general are competitive because so many people enjoy them, they want to work in something they enjoy. It’s one thing to work in something you enjoy, it’s another thing entirely if you think that you can but you don’t have the experience to back it up. I’ve learned this the hard way, you need to have several experiences, internships, projects surrounding the industry you want to work in. Beyond sports, at a 50,000-foot view, no matter what industry you go into you need to have projects and experiences tailored around that. If you’re going into accounting, you need to have projected and internships centered around what’s going on in accounting in the modern day. In marketing, same thing. Like most industries it’s about network building in general. Network building is huge. I’ve done a good to great job of building my network within MLB in terms of coaches. Those are people that I can lean on and talk to. The support I’ve gotten has been huge. If you don’t have a strong network, coupled with everything I’ve talked about, your chances of being successful are going to be slim. Even if you enter into an industry after you graduate with your undergraduate degree, you may not like it after two or three years. You just burn out, and you’re not passionate about it. The reason why I’m so dedicated to the sports industry and baseball in particular is because I’m passionate about it. I want to be happy in what I’m doing, and not just think of it as a 9-5 job where you just get a paycheck every two weeks and call it a day. That’s not my DNA, that’s not what I’m about. I like to do things with a purpose.

You mentioned you learned the “hard way” that you need to have strong experience. Was there a time where you didn’t have the necessary experience and met a dead end?

From the start of my junior year until present day has been about cultivating and creating experiences where I can be impactful in baseball. I realized that Cape Cod shouldn’t be the centerpiece; it should be a huge component to show experience. For example, my semester-long internship took place at Northeastern as a senior. They weren’t necessarily looking for my position as a quantitative analyst. I cold-emailed all the major Division I teams in the state of MA and Northeastern got back to me. I sat down with that coaching staff January of my junior year, and the head coach was very open to integrating analytics into the program for that year. Sometimes you will hear the word no in internship searches. Other times, if you get that internship and you struggle, and you fall flat on your face, that’s part of learning. You’re gonna fail. I’ve experienced these first-hand. At Northeastern, there were some times where my strategies or player evaluation techniques from a strict data perspective didn’t match what the coach was seeing. We talked about it, it was a nice conversation because he learned from me and I learned from him. I email him every two weeks or so, still. As an intern who wants to work in baseball, it needs to be challenge by fire. You’re gonna get burned, it’s gonna happen, you’re gonna fail. It is what it is. But at the same time, you’re gonna learn from it. I think a lot of people forget that. They look for that perfect internship where they can stretch their creativity and say ‘this is gonna work no matter what.’ It’s not always gonna work, and I learned that at both my internships. It’s all about trial by fire, learning from your mistakes and your failures, and rising above that.

Have you completed specific studies related to baseball?

I build a model that can predict baseball player salaries based on their statistics and it’s rather accurate. For example, Stephen Strasburg, my model predicted that he would make 32M with the Nationals this season, he will make 35M. That is pretty close, the residual on his 2020 estimated salary is 3M. For a highly-priced free agent, that’s pretty good. The model can predict players really low, or really high, excessively. Models can always be refined and developed to become more accurate. Taking that model and having an answer for behavior in the marketplace in the context of free agency in baseball. Of course, there’s no salary cap in baseball, except a luxury tax. That gives teams a license to spend a lot of team, depending on who the team is. Sometimes teams spend a lot of money on a player that they shouldn’t. I’ve noticed that a lot in baseball, where the money is like Monopoly money.

How did you build this model?

A lot of statistics and economic variables associated with that, looking at trends of free agency from the past. I did a separate study on the starting pitcher’s market, that there was a bubble in 2015. From 2011-2015, there’s a steady increase in total value of SP contracts handed out in free agency. The bubble popped after 2015. When people think of a bubble in economic terms, they think of the housing market and how that popped when housing was so overvalued that people couldn’t afford it, which caused the demise of the housing market. With starting pitchers, they have been such a valued commodity over time. We’re now seeing a trend where that 2015 bubble may be surpassed with the Gerrit Cole contract, the Strasburg contract, the Wheeler contract. Even supplementary contracts for SP that are not the nine-figure range, but are still a lot of money. I look at each of these and say, were these rational uses of capital? It can depend on team situation.

Where does the field of baseball analytics go from here? Has it been saturated?

I read a book over the summer called MVP Machine. That book has been a huge key stable in where data is heading next in the sport. In the beginning of that book, it talks about how teams use analytics departments ever since 2002 with the Moneyball Oakland A’s. Player development now has evolved to: what data can we gather from a player’s swing, from a pitcher’s curveball, to make them better? MVP Machine talks about Driveline baseball. Kyle Boddy founded that company, and they look at biomechanics. They use edgertronic cameras, rapsodo to gather data to make players better with sensor technology. It’s all about the launch angle revolution in baseball, which is if you can drive your bat up, you can create more fly balls. Obviously the more fly balls you hit, you increase your probability of a home run. Using video and data there can help a player hit more home runs. Of course, we’ve seen a huge spike in home runs over the last 4 years in pro ball. With pitcher’s it’s about developing a pitch arsenal. In MVP Machine, they talk about Trevor Bauer heavily. He credits edgertronic cameras and Driveline baseball with becoming a Cy Young candidate with the Indians at one point in his career. That’s where the game is heading to next, and player development departments are heading in that way to integrate data to make players better. Not so much in terms of evaluating players and saying, ‘oh this player’s BABIP is this, why are we paying him x dollars?’ That conversation is still relevant of course, but it’s now shifted to less evaluation and more development. They go hand in hand. If you’re a hitter at Driveline and they see your kinetic chain of hitting, they’ll look at the video and the data associated with that, and they’ll say if you just change your leg kick from this to that, the landing point for your foot, and you change your bat motion a little bit, your launch angle will improve. If you do this, you’ll hit more fly balls and you’ll drive the ball farther. Given that HR hitting is hyper valued in the current market, you’ll get paid more as a free agent. Player development to improve players, whether they’re in the minors or a current roster. Coaches are a big variable to that equation, but that’s where the game is going right now, and that’s exciting.

What’s the most rewarding aspect of working with baseball analytics?

I’m wired to look at numbers and be fascinated by them. Using analytics to cut through irrational thinking using rational logic is something that means a lot to me. I’m a big proponent of using rational, logical thought processes instead of irrational clichés. There’s this field of behavioral economics which is something that I read a lot about, which goes back and forth between the economics of rational vs. irrational thinking for a consumer in the marketplace. Data brings a lot of black and white answers. Using that skillset to generate conclusions, to support hypotheses. Using analytics in general practice brings me a lot of joy, because it’s actually something conclusive that I can use in support.

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