#considering some of the highly fucked things its ceo have said
Text
So the thing that bothers me about the terf wizard game isn’t so much the people who are just playing it, but the people who have this incessant need to defend playing it, proclaiming that it’s wrong to call people out for it.
Like sure, seeing people I have or have had some degree of trust or respect for playing the game does feel kinda disappointing, but there’s a degree of simple out of sight, out of mind - I can’t really have opinions about things I don’t know about, y’know?
But the people who insist that they should not only be allowed to play the game (which none of us had the ability to take away to begin with) but to play it without any feelings of guilt or awkward discomfort about it? Worse still, the people on twitch or whichever with the express purpose of making money from the latest big AAA release who argue that they shouldn’t have to grapple with the ethics of the situation?
No. At that point, you’re not just consuming a problematic piece of media - you’ve chosen to actively promote it, and actively reduce or even dismiss the ethical issues surrounding it. You’re not just squaring the round hole to fit the square block every block, you’re declaring the ethical matter a complete non-issue that isn’t worth considering.
And people are damn well in their rights to judge the fuck out of you for it.
#look i certainly consume my fair share of problematic media from time to time#we all draw our lines differently#i wish people were less accepting of blizzard for one#or ubisoft for that matter#just as i imagine some side-eye giving money to squaresoft#considering some of the highly fucked things its ceo have said#but when you declare that those who are disappointed are just plain wrong#that they have no rights to judge you for your actions#then you basically dismiss their issues as not worthy of your concern#and actively declare where you stand on a particular matter#and people will and should use that to gauge your character#what you do and do not stand for#what you do and do not support#i tend to think that human interaction isn't so much about good vs evil#as it is about actions and reactions#what you intend or believe about yourself#isn't nearly as important as what you actually do#who you show solidarity with#and look none of us are perfect#i've had a lot of shitty opinions over the years#and i have no doubt there's still plenty of them left#i get that the impulse is to feel like you're under attack#and to respond by digging your heels in and turtling up#i'm as susceptible of doing that as anyone else#but it rarely actually helps the situation y'know?#especially with how social media platforms are typically built on conflict#promoting people butting heads in the name of engagement#it's not necessary to always have a take
8 notes
·
View notes
Text
DESSERTRUNE
okay, looks like people are interested in my AU dessertrune so..... please enjoy the upcoming jumble of words i've strung together to explain this au!
(TRIGGER WARNING - This is a horror AU and will deal with dark and disturbing topics, including gore, murder, and even cannibalism, intended to disturb the viewer. The post will be tagged with the appropriate tags to warn for such things but please do not read if such things will affect you negatively. Please stay safe and enjoy something else that may bring you joy, for you are worth it. 🖤)
Story
There's giggly chattering amongst the more naive and imaginative students of Hometown's school of a world in the shadows made of saccharine enchantment and wonder... Taffy trees and frosted fields and sweet smiles from the saccharine people that inhabit this magical land. How terrible it is to know that their innocent dreams are but sugar coated nightmares.
But all is not lost.
For you see, Legend tells of 3 brave young heroes from the Light banishing the Angel’s Confections from the land which promise to bring ruin to them all. To rid the Dark of its extra Fountain and the curious candies that have sprung up in ostentatious billboards and flashy, loud ads all through the Dark World is the Heroes’ Quest; a quest that may consume them whole.
Locations
Light World
Everything in the Light World is mostly untouched, save for the bunker which sports an odd little sticker for some strange candy... Curious when you consider the sticker's brightness and newness against the bunker's weathered and dilapidated age. Probably just some kid with new stickers wandering where they shouldn't have been.
Dark World
????? - Dark and haunting, this muted pink area sports rock candy jewels that glint strangely in the shadows that bathe the area. Best to keep moving along, judging by the strange iridescent sludge that pool around everywhere here and open mouthed grinning puzzles that seem to giggle quietly at you specifically...
Castle Town - A break from the burnt bubblegum-pink, there is an empty town that surrounds a lonely castle. It is dark, and so very quiet, but completely untouched by the sludge from before. Abandoned? Or, perhaps it is so lonely a location, everyone overlooks it.
Field - A long field of pastel purple grass and luscious strawberry pink-red trees with tall buildings off in the horizon... There’s an overwhelming scent of fruit punch on the breeze and- oh! It seems a “Lancer” has left up signage everywhere, warning others in a childish scrawl to not eat from the candy stalls that advertise so loudly and brightly on every path... "The taste of happiness!" the wrapper proclaims. Upon meeting him, there’s a sense that he is perhaps not the most upstanding child with how much he loves to call himself a villain... But- perhaps he has a point, with how the candy seems to beckon the observer with its bright, happy colors... Would you believe this mischievous young lad?
The Scarlet Forest - The smell of sweet fruit punch fades out into spicy cinnamon as the crimson trees seem to grow brighter. A few fallen leaves float on by with the wind as their vehicle, and the stalls from before disappear... Smaller strip malls and buildings abound here... Though there is a large store that calls to each Darkner that approaches with bright neon signs. “Come and see the new line of Halberd Inc. treats!” the dark-circled greeter cries out with a smile so big it looks like it aches, "New improved formula! 150% more sweetness packed in!!" and the huge line of much too eager Darkners that queue up for a taste of the reformulated sweets cheer cacophonously...
Great Board - The smell of licorice envelopes the air in the Great Board, which in and of itself, is filled to the brim with billboards and bright lights and neon signs and weathered posters out the wazoo. It is a smog ridden area, lit only by the blinding neon lights that guide the way up to the castle. There's a small maze of a city here, before the Factory. It's gritty, and dingy, and it smells like a burning dumpster fire there but it is a small bit of respite before trekking elsewhere... Perhaps one could stop at the Boardway Theater, where there's a quaint little horror musical about a killer barber. Song about having "a little ponman", the Halberd Inc. papers last said.
The Factory - Halberd Inc.'s core production facility. Every facet of it is highly secured, contained, and protected. It employs almost every Darkner in the area, in some form or another. If they do not work in the production line, they work in transportation of the products. If they do not transport Halberd Inc. products, they sell the products. Or advertise. Halberd Inc. is inescapable. Halberd Inc. loves you. Halberd Inc. provides for you. Working for Halberd Inc. is happiness. Don't you want to be happy? Feel all sweet inside? The cagey silver-haired assistant hugging his clipboard a little too tightly too his chest doesn't seem all that happy. Maybe if one presses the stressed man, he'll give up the dark secret of this sordid manufacturer... And, quickly, do inform him of where his adopted(?) son has tarried off to.
Characters
Lightners
Kris - The hero of our tale. A quiet kid, normally. Though, normally not so quiet as when they enter the Dark World. They enter a world of sweets and yet their mouth is taken from them, replaced only with a thin, red smile against the purple of their mixed berry gummy flesh. They have no mouth and they must scream.
Susie - A rude girl that's about as tough as leather. ...Makes sense as to why her hide becomes fruit leather, in the Dark World. About as sweet too, deep down. Hard to convince her away from not just absolutely wolfing down all the free food around her though. But... she does listen to Lancer's warnings, thankfully.
Noelle, Asriel, Alphys, Undyne, Toriel, Asgore, Sans, Papyrus - Unchanged. Speculate on what you'd like with them. Though I have thoughts here and there for "sweets" versions of them.
Darkners
Ralsei - A fluffy boy that smells like toothpaste. He'll correct you that it's spearmint that you're picking up and then offer you some sugar free gum. Or an apple. Or some celery. As a healthy snack.
Lancer - The bad guy! ...Or so he says, as he continues to help you through this strange, saccharine world. Just kind of seems like a little kid that means well... A little, jawbreaker-looking kid, with how round he is and the paint splatters from all the signs he makes all over his clothes. ...Are those meant to be there or not?
Seam - The local shopkeep. This purple rock candy feline knows much about this old world and how very terribly the world has been corrupted since the rise of Halberd Inc. Stay a while to keep out from the not-so-fresh air and ask about all the nitty-gritty details, Seam certainly won't mind.
Rouxls - Rex Halberd's right hand man, a frigid blue raspberry slushie of a Kaard and a yes man if ever there was one. Though, only to keep the peace and his life. He only trusts the CEO of Halberd Inc. as far as he can throw him, now that he knows what the candy contains. (He almost throws up every time he thinks about it.) He wants to see the company crash and burn and run away with Lancer to build anew but he's powerless to do so. Rex owns just about everything Rouxls knows... And if Rex doesn't own it yet, he will. A little help or direction for this hopeless assistant would be appreciated.
Jevil - Must be quite the sucker to have searched this far down in the Factory. This swirling lollipop man with a harlequin smile only laughs uncontrollably as you near the bloodied vat of... candy(?) within the room. He was locked in here a while ago and forgotten for the crime of upsetting the CEO with silly games. He wishes to open your mind, see the real truth of this world... Or kill you in the process. Either or.
King - The Rex Halberd. CEO. Father. Friend. Leader. And the most awful person alive. He has more money than most would ever see in 100 lifetimes. He would dangle his own son off of the roof of his factory building. And he would more than happily consume his own products because, just like his workers and his family, the Darkners' bodies used to create his sweets are nothing more than something for him to use and discard when they have become worthless. Kick this dude's fucking ass.
#deltarune#dessertrune#utdr#safeutdr#horrorrune#gore#death#cannibalism#murder#long post#kris#susie#ralsei#lancer#rouxls#rouxls kaard#kris dreemurr#noelle
31 notes
·
View notes
Text
colourful
a red hood au drabble
Gavin doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he feels he needs to do something. He needs to do this on his own. He can’t wait for Trevor to scheme and come up with a plan. He can’t wait for the crew to say they have his back. He can’t wait for Geoff to swoop in and save the day. In many respects, this feels like Gavin’s issue and only his. He can reach out to Alfredo. He can get past that hard exterior and reach him, not Red.
He just has to find him first.
He goes to his apartment first to grab his go-bag he keeps stashed in his closet. He leaves his phone and any other equipment Matt might be able to track his movements from. He’s got a few burner cellphones in his bag he’ll use for emergencies, but for this he’ll be going off the grid.
He leaves his apartment. He leaves his motorcycle and heads for a 24 hour garage that does business with people like him. There he’s able to get a bike the crew won’t be able to find him on. Then he stakes out a new place to work out of. He stays the night at a hostel and finds a cheap motel to work out of, paying cash at the front desk under a fake name.
Day one of finding Alfredo is literally all online. If there’s some new crew making its rounds in the city, people will be talking about it in forums. If you’re a civilian in Los Santos, you’re probably a fan of a criminal and talking about conspiracy theories and keeping up on the news. There are some smatterings of ‘Red’ on the forums that Gavin pays close attention to. If Alfredo is working for someone, then Gavin needs to know about it.
There’s some chatter about something called ‘Spectrum.’ Some people think it’s a group of highly trained grifters, conmen, hitmen, and more. An elite group. Others think it’s a person named ‘Spectrum.’ Like the Corpirate or Edgar. A moniker for a titan of crime. Or it’s an international organization that comes to massive cities like Los Santos to sow corruption into the municipal government for the betterment of mega-corporations and CEOs. Either way, Spectrum is something Gavin needs to consider. It’s information he’ll need to send to the crew.
Some people on the forums have said they’ve spotted members of Spectrum. And that an identifying feature is brightly coloured clothing for important members. That might explain Alfredo’s red sweater and why he wore it last night.
Gavin builds the profile based on what he has. He has some locations to work with that he’ll haunt for the next few days. It’s tedious work, but Gavin has the mind for it. He’s always been a puzzle guy, willing to sit and wrestle with something until he has the answer. So he builds his routine, makes note of locations, potential names and descriptions of people he’ll encounter.
It’s not that easy for him to move around—the so called ‘Golden Boy’ of the city. A lot of people know him on sight. So he shaves his beard, which easily takes a few years off his appearance. He ditches his designer jeans for loose cargo shirts and a shirt that’s two sizes two big. It makes him look younger, more immature, allowing him to pass by unnoticed when he needs to be.
In his room he hangs a map against the wall, using red thumbtacks to track the locations he’s checked out that he knows Spectrum has been by. He notices clusters of activity, attempting to triangulate to a location where this group might be working out of.
There’s one location in the downtown he decides to check into. It was one of the first apartment buildings built in the city, from the 1910s. The historical aspect of it is overlooked by the absolutely squalor that’s taken residence in it. There’ve been attempts to refurbish and remodel it, but it’s located smackdab in the crime district. Any politician worth their salt would know attempting to gentrify this area will end in failure, so no one is going to make an attempt on it.
He takes the fire escape all the way to the top of the building. It comes to an elegant point on top with slightly curved arches at the four corners. There are four massive eagle statues at each point, wings folded to make them look sleek and imposing. The age of the building means that very little surveillance has been incorporated into its architecture. It would make it great for hiding a criminal organization within it.
The entire top floor, what would’ve been the penthouse suite, is in constant sate of repair. Nearly all the fixtures had been torn down. Plastic sheeting hung from the ceiling in sections. Gavin has to admit, though, the view from the city is nice up here.
When he hears voices at the door, he ducks out one of the windows to crouch near one of the statues. It’s dark enough he shouldn’t be noticed.
“Prism has asked Blue and Yellow to move up to the docks,” says one.
“Yeah? And?” That’s Alfredo.
“Prism thinks you’re moving too slow. Once Blue and Yellow are in place and have the docks secure, Orange will be paired with you.”
Alfredo scoffs. “Prism can fuck off. I know the Fakes. I know how to handle them.”
“You had the opportunity to have three of them put in strict lockdown the other night and you gave them an out. How do you think that looks to the rest of Spectrum?”
“The Fakes have the most resources out of any crew in this city. They would’ve made bail no matter how high the DA would’ve set it. They have the best lawyers on retainer. You think a little burglary would’ve stopped them?”
“No, but I do find it odd that they were tipped off to the raid of their penthouse. They’ve been there for, what, almost ten years since Ramsey signed that lease? And someone tipped them off.”
“I don’t know what you’re expecting from me. You think I tipped them off?”
“I don’t know what I think. Just that a lot of coincidences have been happening concerning the Fakes lately. I’d be careful if I were you, Red. Prism doesn’t hand out second chances like they’re candy.”
“Is this a threat, Violet?”
“No. Just a thought. Careful, Red. Your true colours might start showing.”
The second voice moves off. Gavin hears the door close. He peers around the statue and spots Alfredo’s silhouette. He wonders if he should make his presence known, try to talk to Alfredo and try to understand what this is all about. Or should he try to make his escape. Or possibly trail this Violet person.
But he’s not ready for that, not yet. He decided to do this, go off on this quest to talk to Alfredo. Just talk.
He creeps along the edge and back towards the open window. He sets one foot in, toes then heel before the rest of his follows. He balances himself with his fingertips on the ground, looking for Alfredo’s figure in the dark. He hears a sigh off not too far. He stands.
“So you sleeping here or is it more of a vantage point?”
Alfredo whirls. He still has that mask in place, but his hood is off. Gavin knew his hair was longer. He kept it pretty short back in the day, but now he gets to see it fully, see how much Alfredo has changed.
“Gavin.” Alfredo scoffs, pulls up that wall of cold and sarcastic indifference. “I knew one of you would come looking. Thought it might be Fiona. I hear she’s more of a solo player. But you? Didn’t know you did shit like this anymore.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
“Yeah, apparently. Thought you were the one who stuck by your friends. Even in the ugly times.”
Gavin swallows. It’s time he faces the past. “Everything pointed to you being dead.”
Alfredo laughs. “You for real right now? I know the type of impossible shit you guys have pulled. You broke Geoff out of a maximum-security prison in broad daylight. You guys once faked your own deaths! And what happens when you don’t find my body? You wash your hands and walk away.”
“We were there on the scene. I was just about to run in and get you when the building exploded in front of me. And I still ran in! If there was any chance you were still in there, I was going to look for you.”
“But you still didn’t find me,” Alfredo says, softer this time.
His admission makes Gavin pause because isn’t that what happened? Did they give up? Did they stop looking when they realized they were out of their depth? Geoff took Alfredo’s death very personally, and having Geoff demoralized like that affected the rest of the crew.
“We didn’t,” Gavin settles on. “And it fucks with me every day that we didn’t. I feel like I held on the longest. Kept some things of yours afterwards.”
“Yeah?”
Gavin nods, takes a step forward. He sees Alfredo shift his weight into a more relaxed position with his arms crossed over his chest. “A sweater of yours. This dumb disposable camera you had. Even got the photos developed. And your old Gameboy.”
“You kept all that?”
“They were important to you. I was hanging onto them for you. And for me.”
They never really had a deep talk about what they meant to each other outside of the crew, outside of their work. Does Alfredo still think of those times like Gavin does?
“Gav.” And then Gavin thinks Alfredo will drop the act. They’ll talk. They’ll leave. They’ll figure out this Spectrum/Prism mess together, and then—
Alfredo moves quickly. He swipes Gavin’s legs out from beneath him, sending him crashing onto the ground. Before Gavin can move, Alfredo is straddling him, pinning his arms to the ground.
“I can’t believe you’d fall for that. The sappiest trick in the book! You taught me that one and you fucking fell for it! Man. You’re out of practice. Or maybe you’re just too in deep to notice you’re drowning.”
“’fredo, I—”
“No. I’m not your ‘fredo. I’m not your ‘freddie. I’m not one of your fucking boys! I didn’t come back for you.”
“Then why are you keeping an eye on us?”
“Maybe because I like to screw around with you. Now get the fuck out.”
Alfredo stands and stalks off. Gavin is left shaken, but no worse off than before.
He retreats. He takes the fire escape down to the street and takes a twisting path back to his hotel until he knows he’s not being followed. Then he digs out one of his burner cellphones and calls up Trevor.
“Trevor, I think we need to get Geoff in on this. It’s bigger than I thought.”
#fake ah crew#fahc#gta au#red hood au#star speaks#star writes#i finally have an idea of what alfredo is doing#and its only going to get messier lol
14 notes
·
View notes
Text
Since I have no self restraint, I’m writing another prompt/one shot.
Essentially, normal girl Lia (or some OC) whose a big fan of DC comics and the like ends up in a weird inter dimensional accident and ends up in the DC universe (it can be a mix of canon because fuck canon, up to you).
But, where did Lia end up exactly? Fucking Gotham.
The moment she realizes this is decides: Nope. Nah. Nada. No sir-y. This is NOT happening. Fuck this. I might end dying, or, worse, BECOME A FUCKING MAIN CHARACTER IN THE BAT CLAN. NAH. HELL NO.
Lia decides that, no, she will not involve herself in the Bat Clan/Wayne’s at all. Nope. Nah. Too much drama. Too much angst. Too much fucking skin tight suits and my poor Pan heart can’t TAKE all the HOT, RIPPED hero’s like what the fuck.
Now, this can play out in a variety of ways:
Lia is, say, around the same age as one of the Batboys. It can be any of them, up to you. Now, she some how ends up in Gotham Acdemy and begrudgingly befriends them. Cue angst (especially if its Jason. Considering in canon, if Jason survives he becomes Red Robin thats all I know lmao). If Lia is friends with the second Robin, it’d bring up the deliemma of: does she tell him that he’s gonna fucking die and then come back to life. Oh and, she’s actually from an alternate world were everyone thats like a superhero/vigilante is a fictional character. Honestly, if done well, can definitely stir the feelings of the poor saps who read the moral deliemma of Lia. Now, who is Lia? Someone who doesn’t want to get involved. If she avoids Jason in the beginning, does she have doubts and wants to warn Batman of Jason impending death or not? Like, that sort of shit panic attack inducing. There’s a lot of things you guys can do to torture not only Lia, but also the readers who might be like: “TELL HIM! TELL HIMMMMM!!!” or, “fuck, even I don’t know what I’d do” and etc. There’s a lot of leeway.
They are grown, and are in college (let’s say the events of Death in The Family happened and everything surrounding Red Robin striking out to find Bruce whose lost in time). This Lia is much older, recently graduated from college and currently interns for Wayne Enterprises. See, Lia is just another intern in a global colgomerate cooperation, there’s no way she’d ever run into any of the Wayne’s. None at all. But. But. She does. Some how she becomes the Executive Assistant to Tim (he once saw how she managed an entire fucking department’s schedule even though a group of people spontaneously quit. She was able to somehow salvage that shit in under three hours. And, Tim might or might not have fallen slightly in love with her—). Lia, now, a fresh 20-something year old, is now the Executive Assistant to another 20-something year old who happened to run one of the most rich and powerful companies in the entire world holy shit. Now, we follow the adventures of Lia, whose now one of the most powerful persons in the entire company (and proxy the world, I guess 🤷🏻♀️). Lia, let’s say, is a fucking god at manipulating people, making connections, accounting and management, and also a Very Tired Recently Graduate of GU. She, cannot, and will not deal with the constant bullshit that the Bats pull regularly. So, Lia can either passive aggressively hint that, yeah Tim, you definitely got that broken arm from a golf accident. Oh hey, I also heard the Red Robin foughy Killer Croc and also sported a broken left arm like you! What a coincidence, right? And she’d say this with a straight face. Tim knows that she knows, and Lia knows that Tim knows and yeah. Alternatively, she could outright tell him: “look, Tim, I swear to god, if you put off another meeting without a day notice just because some gang member got the better of you.” “Wait, gang member—?” “—do NOT interrupt me. Look, I know Bruce Wayne is Batman. Not the whole, ‘Bruce Wayne and Batman are the same person! The butts match!’ type of thing. I know he is Batman, you Red Robin, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Red Hood is the weirdly alive Jason Todd, etc etc. There’s no point in feigning the fact that I don’t know. Because, I do.” They stare at eachother for a bit, and Tim falls just a little more in love. “How... Actually it’s dumb to ask you how you know, but, how long?” “Good tactic to ask me how long I’ve know instead of how I know. But, to answer your question: I’ve know since I was around...” THE FRAME FREEZES now, should Lia say 8, since, technically, she’s know since she was 8 that Bruce Wayne is Batman, considering the whole parallel universe thing. Or, does she say 18, the age in which she arrived into this world? Now, that decision can prompt many things to happen. For one, if Lia says 8, Tim is gonna be so awestruck and also be dry curious. If 18, Tim is still amazed (that she knows at all). Either answer would also illicit this response: “...you’ve known for so long, yet never told anyone?” Lia shakes her head. “You guys have a secret identity for a reason. Plus, I’m not in the business of becoming a vigilante or whatever. I’ve tried my best to steer clear of all of that, in all honesty.” “Huh. Makes sense. Wait. Then... why did you start working at WE, if you knew our identities?” Lia stares at him like he’s grown three heads. “Dude. This is WE. One of the most powerful companies out there, why wouldn’t I work here? But, the ither fact of the matter is that I didn’t expect to become your fucking Executive Assistant. Like, I couldn’t just deny the offer, my mother would’ve disowned my ass the second she heard I turned down such a prestigious position.” Lia shuddered. “Fuck, I can hear her curse me out in like, five different languages.” Let’s also say, at one point or another, Lia’s mother arrives, and say, is the most terrifying person Tim has ever met (and Tim’s faced off against Ra’s al Ghul, a functionally immortal man with a fucking army of highly trained assassin at his disposal).
Lia is tame honest to god tame compared to her mother (if her mother is like, 5’3”, that’s even more hilarious tbh). Essentially, if Lia’s older and somehow become Executive Assistant to Tim (or Bruce, because, fuck canon) it would be so god damn funny (read “The Executive Assistant To Batman” in which Tim nene became Robin but still knows the identities of the various Gotham vigilantes. Oh, and, he’s the Executive Assistant to Batman. It’s so fucking hilarious and y’all gotta check it out. It’s on AO3).
Number 2, is a lot more light hearted compared to the moral deliemma of Number 1 (as, is Lia is the same age as Robin!Jason, and knows that he’s gonna die, but she also doesn’t want to get involved with the vigilantes presents a very large problem). Number 1 is great for angst and a character study for this OC. Number 2, is a more light hearted, fun scenario (as it avoids the can of worms called “Do I Warn the Bats of Robin!Jasons impending death or not because I honestly don’t want to get involved with the Bat.”.
I, personally, would love to read Number 2 (please make Lia, or whatever OC, a god damn Tired of Your Bullshit, amazing assistant to the CEO of WE, competent af and very, Very Tired of the Bats BS, and, PR is Going To Skin Me Alive and Roast Me Over A Flame). Maybe some drama, angst sprinkled in (there’s the blatant fact that, Lia is a completely different world. One that has superhero’s, aliens, magic and so, so much more. The fact that she’s in her doppelgänger’s body could cause some dissociation/body dysphoria and that sort of stuff. It’s a great opportunity for a character study for Lia/your OC).
Regardless of you choose 1 or 2, the basic premise is:
Some rando kid (or young adult, whichever strikes your fancy) who loves to read Batman/DC in general. Ends up in some weird ass accident that lands them in the DC universe, specifically Gotham. Everything about their pervious life and the life in his world is the same (or not, up to you), only difference is that there’s an alien powered by the Sun and that cannot he injured (unless it’s by a glowing green rock). They decide, pretty early on, that they want nothing to do with the vigilantes of Gotham (which also means they have to avoid the Wayne’s and Co, which should be ways right? Right?? Gotham is really big, I’ll probably only ever see them in passing, I’ll be fine—). But, the universe said, LOL, nope. And they end up befriending the Wayne’s somehow. The rest? Up to you. If they befriend Robin!Jason they have to cope with the moral deliemma of getting involved to save his life or not. Or, maybe this is the world where Dick is still Robin. Do we save Jason early on, or not? What about Tim? Cass? Stephanie? Or, what if, they end up in a world in which Jason died and came back, Bruce came back from being lost in the time stream and Damian is now Robin.
Essentially: OC ends up in the DC universe, specifically Gotham. Decided not to ever get in involved with the Vigilantes/Wayne’s. However, the universe said nope and they become friends with one of the Bats/Waynes regardless. Now, how the fuck do they cope?
BONUS: Lia manages to avoid the Wayne’s/Vigilantes of Gotham completely. How? She ends working for LexCorp. As Lex Luthors Executive Assistant (basically the same way as she became the Executive Assistant to Tim). Now, she has to cope with the fact that she works as the Executive Assistant for Lex fucking Luthor of all people. She can hear her mother shaking her head in Disappointment™️. She hates the universe. Also, Lex Luthor is pretty open about his Evil, Bastard Schemes with Lia for whatever reason (much to Lia’s utter fucking chargin). She discreetly sends info about these Evil, Bastard, Devious plans to the Bats. Cue her realizing that, to ensure Luthor doesn’t suspect her, she’s gotta get GOOD at hacking and computer science. And get good she does. Like, her utter fucking Done-ness over Luthors Supervillain ways and her wanted to never be found out by the Bats is like taken to Infinty in the 10 dial scale. Somehow, she manages to both avoid suspicion from Luthor (cue intense moments in which Luthor is talking to her, and he’s speaking in a weird direct way that makes Lia think he found out and she mentally plans for her subsequent “death” and fleeing of the country and when Luthor finishes his sentences it just him praising her or something else innocuous. Lia felt like the sun was lifted off her shoulders.) She’s always on edge. Her hair is slowly turning grey. Luthor notices and makes a comment and Lia simply laughs while making a underhand comment about how Luthors bald so he doesn’t need to deal with greying hairs. Lia stops laughing realizing oh shit I just insulted my boss in the most underhand way. What ghe fuck. But Luthor just laughs, much to Lia’s relief. Her hair is still greying from the stress. Anyways, she inadvertently becomes a techno vigilante that can rival the famed Oracle (let’s say, for the sake of this prompt, Lia’s code name is Reaper because she was drunk and apparently in the mind of her 13 year old self when she came up with it). Reaper’s name is slowly growing, as Lia does some other stuff with her new found skills in hacking. She mostly helps the Bats by giving them crucial info on Luthors dealings and the like.
One day, she realizes, that, oh shit. I became the one thing swore I’d never become. What type of Shakespearean shit is my life—
If someone does the situation in which Lia/their OC becomes Luthor Executive Assistant and then inadvertently becomes a Vigilante themselves because, sure, they don’t want to get involved, but, fuck Luthor and Eat the Rich. Also, I would love it if said fic included the most stress inducing scenes were it seems like Luthor found out about Lia and the whole Reaper situation but he actually DIDN’T and Lia is here like, sweating god damn bucks while her hair slowly falls out. Please. Write this shit. It would be
✨Immaculate✨
Anyways, hope you like this prompt/one shot because I damn well enjoyed writing it!
#fanfic prompt#oneshot#gotham#batman and robin#batkids#batman#dick grayson#bruce wayne#tim drake#damian wayne#stephenie brown#spoiler#robin!jason#robin!dick#superman#dc universe#funny#angst#fluff#multiverse#dc oc#dc comics#batdad#wayne enterprises#lex corp#lex luthor
20 notes
·
View notes
Text
all that you are is all that I'll ever need
Ao3 (power couple pt. 8)
Tony Stark and Steve Rogers announced their engagement on Good Morning America through Tony Stark’s previous secretary now CEO, Pepper Potts. And over this past weekend, I got the chance to sit down with them both, to visit their home and attend their gala, all to write this article about the most powerful couple in the world.
It takes two weeks to officially meet the couple, and when I do, it’s in passing. Mr. Stark has an event to go to, a new showing of an invention, and so I show up at the airport to meet them both before Stark sets off for Washington.
When I arrive, my photographer seems to confuse and bewilder Captain Rogers, and he pulls his fiance aside to whisper a few concerns to him.
"I still don't understand why they-" Steve Rogers shoots me a nervous look, that all American purity showing through. "why they want to know everything."
His fiance, the ever charismatic Tony Stark shoots me a look and a wink, then leans up against Captain Rogers to press a kiss to his cheek. "Relax, darling," he says, drawing the syllables out. And even from my position a good 7 feet away, I can see the way they melt into each other, how Rogers practically leans into the touch, his shoulders slumping slightly.
It's odd to see, Tony Stark, notorious playboy, normally photographed with a couple of runway ready, bikini clad playboy models, kissing Captain America on the cheek.
The photographer besides me snaps dozens of pictures, and Stark notices, pulling his fiance so that they're facing away from us. I can't exactly make out what they're saying, but it's a lot of hushed whispers and small smiles from them both. Finally, Mr. Stark pulls away and smiles at his fiance, walking briskly over to shake my hand and introduce himself, his eyes brown and vibrant, warm and inviting.
Rogers follows him to the car, and before Stark steps into the sleek, elegant black car, he presses a kiss to Rogers lips and grabs his ass for good measure. Then, the billionaire slips into the car and off it goes, an engineering marvel, remotely driven.
"Sorry about that-" Steve Rogers says, as he watches his fiance drive away, one hand coming up to scratch at the back of his neck, "Tony's, well, Tony's-" he seems to fumble for his words and I fill in the blank for him.
"Eccentric," I finish, and Rogers nods, looking sheepish and grateful.
"Yeah," he says, considering it, "yeah, that's one word for him." He smiles then, and I might expect shame or some lingering embarrassment, but instead of both, I find wonder in his tone. It's sweet to see, especially with their stark differences.
Over the course of the weekend, it makes a recurrence, each time one of them is mentioned, a small smile crosses over their faces, almost involuntarily, as if they're savoring a memory none of us will ever have privy to.
Looking back, I have a clear answer to the question Steve Rogers had asked, I don't understand why they want to know everything? They being the press, the country, the world.
Of course, one of the most obvious answers is who Captain America is getting married to. Stark has been a household name for centuries, appearing on dozens of magazines, awards, news reels. Tony Stark is easily the most recognizable public figure in the world, and all of his life, from his birth, to the death of his parents, to his kidnapping, was highly publicized, broadcasted across news stations all around the world.
But also, in a more sentimental tone, as I've mentioned previously, Stark is a beacon for change. I remember my mom sitting at our kitchen table, shaking her head at a clip of a young Tony Stark walking through party crowds, glasses in hand, women draped over his arms.
"Mama," I had asked, "why's he do that?"
In return, she shot me one of the saddest smiles I'd ever seen her have. Her next words were chosen carefully, slowly. I'll never forget them.
"Honey," she started, "He's confused. Such a lost boy, I worry. Who's taking care of him? Not those girls." And then she looked at me, taking my small jaw in her hand. "Jesse, that boy has lost more than we will ever know, and he did it all while the whole world was watching. He's...he's figuring things out, I think."
"Figuring what out?"
She gave me a soft look, shaking her head. "How to live. How to be more than what his father did."
And with that, she sent me off to take out the garbage and wash my hands before dinner. My mother never did stop holding out hope for Tony Stark, even as she lie on her deathbed. We both watched his news conference from her hospital room, Stark’s arm in a sling, cheeseburger in hand, as he bared his soul to the world.
"See?" she had said, turning to look at me. "People are always more than you think they are. Remember that, Jesse."
She didn't live long enough to see Tony Stark carry a nuke through a hole in space, or to see him be pronounced dead only to make a triumphant return, but I know if she had, she would have smiled and shook her head, almost as proud of his accomplishments as mine.
I hear her voice, sometimes, and it's especially clear now, as Steve Rogers guides me to a different car, and opens the door for me before getting in the driver's seat.
"There are two kinds. Those who carry their hearts on their sleeves, and those who hide them behind layers of armor. But both kinds still have hearts, Jesse."
Rogers and Stark are an obvious example of my mother's words. Rogers does his best to answer every question, despite his qualms. He leans forward, he smiles, he contemplates before answering, and every word is earnest and genuine. Stark, on the other hand, is all glib smiles and jokes, evading my questions with effortless ease. By the time I've realized he hasn't answered a single question, it's been forty minutes and he's managed to cover an array of subjects, from his fellow avengers to the ludicrousy of the wage gap.
Either way, despite their differences, the effect they have on each other is clear as day. When Stark enters the room, most people stand up, their backs straighten, and their hands shake. He is, after all, the second most wealthy man in the world, outranked by King T'Challa, whom he is regularly photographed with, along with Shuri, Wakanda’s resident genius mastermind.
But as most of the room stiffens, Rogers relaxes. His shoulders slump, his eyes soften, his hands steady, and he looks up at Stark with clear adoration and respect in his eyes. It feels almost intimate, to watch them just look at each other.
Rogers and Stark are more than just boyfriends, they’re effortlessly comfortable with each other. They bring this sense of completeness, when they’re together. Stark will start a sentence, and Rogers will finish it without even looking up from the task at hand. They move with effortless ease, tossing each other jackets and keys, kissing each other goodbye before functions and events. They make the most mundane things seem fluid and simple, yet nothing they do is monotonous or overbearing.
It’s fascinating to just watch them exist, the sheer trust they have in each other. There’s no doubt in my mind, watching them as Tony walks into the house, immediately seeking Steve’s embrace, that they would do anything and everything for each other.
I mention this to Captain Rogers, who smiles fondly as he looks down, rubbing his wedding ring.
“You seem so in touch. It seems hard to imagine you disagreeing, or fighting about anything,” I say, watching his reaction.
He sighs and shakes his head a little, although the corners of his lips tug up in a ghost of a smile. “We do fight,” he says slowly, “But not as much as we used to. Tony takes less risks, and I try to be less of a ‘stubborn asshole,’ as he likes to say.”
I laugh along with him, and that’s when a tall, lanky blonde young man strolls into the kitchen, nonchalant and casual. He pulls open the fridge door and grabs a yogurt before even noticing my presence.
“Oh,” he says, once he spots me, a spoonful of yogurt stalling on its way to his mouth. “Hi?”
“Hi,” I say back, and Rogers turns to look at us both.
“Jesse,” he says, gesturing to the boy, “This is Harley Keener.”
“Hi,” Harley says, nodding his head in my direction. He turns to Rogers and raises his eyebrows in excitement, his eyes going wide. “I’m gonna be down in the lab, yeah? Tony says he’s got some new stuff for me to look at?”
Rogers nods and smiles as Harley bounds away, his feet flying down the stairs to what I presume is Stark’s workshop.
“Nice kid,” I comment, and Steve smiles, his eyes fond.
“Yeah,” he agrees, his fingers rubbing at his engagement ring. At the unasked question in the air, Rogers fills in the blanks. “He helped Tony out a while ago,” Steve says, and doesn’t offer any other explanation.
I nod. It’s not strange, to think of Tony Stark taking young bright minds under his wing. It’s almost sweet, to imagine the scene without me in it, to picture Tony Stark and Steve Rogers joking with Harley, a achingly domestic scene. And while Rogers said that they aren’t looking into adoption at the moment, it’s easy to imagine Tony Stark beaming like a proud parent at Harley’s graduation, or to picture him holding a child in his arms.
When I mention Harley to Stark, he laughs, throwing his head back, a loud clear sound.
“You met Harley?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.
“I did,” I say, and Tony shakes his head, smiling.
“He’s a troublemaker,” he says, pointing a finger at me, “A complete tyke.”
“He seems sweet,” I offer. Tony smiles, wide, all teeth, before it turns softer, kinder, and in that moment, I understand exactly what Steve Rogers fell for. His eyes are bright and soft, his smile is sweet and caring.
“He’s a good kid,” Tony says. “He’s bright. Fuck, he’s so bright. He’s gonna change the world someday, just you watch,” Stark says, his eyes staring straight through me.
And I find myself believing him. Not because the few minutes I spent with Harley Keener were particularly enlightening, but because Tony Stark has the inexplicable capability of making words seem powerful, of making the future seem almost tangible. Stark’s a futurist, after all, and when he points his finger at me and proclaims that the young teenager I met yesterday is going places, I believe him instinctually.
I nod, and that’s when I can’t help but bring it up, just because it’s such a small, trivial thing, and yet it matters so much, it means so much.
“He does that too,” I say, gesturing at the ring Tony’s rubbing at.
“What?” he asks, tilting his head and staring at me with those big brown eyes.
“Steve,” I say. “He rubs at his ring too.”
Tony shrugs, but a smirk finds its way onto his features. “Lots of people rub their rings.”
“No,” I say, rushing to explain, “He does it in the exact same way. The exact same.”
Stark raises an eyebrow and stares at me for a second before his features soften, and he smiles a little, faintly. For a second, I’m concerned that I’ve mentioned a sensitive topic, judging from the way his eyebrows furrow and his foot taps faster under the table, but instead of snapping at me, he gives me a soft, almost contemplative look.
“Yeah,” he says, softly, “We do a lot of things the same way.” He seems to think about that thought for a while, staring off into space, the silence stretching on and on. It’s a sweet sentiment, and it’s true. While they’re both very distinct, different people, Rogers and Stark operate in tandem, a finely tuned machine, a well made clock.
Then, he snaps out of it and claps his hands together, smiling. “Well,” he says, shrugging, “Guess that’s what happens when you’ve been with the guy for 10 years.”
I laugh, and nod in concession. “Yeah,” I say, downing the rest of my champagne flute, “I suppose that’s true.”
Later in the day, I sit down with them both, Stark with a glass of wine and a cat resting in his lap, Rogers with a sketchbook and glasses lying across his legs. They’re twined together on their large couch, Stark’s legs thrown on top of Rogers, their backs resting against the soft cushions.
The scene is so normal, so effortlessly simple, and yet it stirs an emotion in my chest I can’t quite describe. Here are two of the most powerful men in the world, Captain America, a man who punched Hitler, who sacrificed his life for thousands, a living legend, and Tony Stark, the invincible genius, sitting together, drinking wine and talking to me.
In that moment, I am overwhelmed with gratitude, and I can’t help myself from smiling, beaming, really. Stark seems to enjoy my happiness, returning the grin. Rogers is far more reserved, looking up to give me a few soft glances, but normally hiding behind the shield that his fiance so easily provides.
We talk for a few moments, nothing important, and yet it’s striking, just to watch them interact. Rogers takes an interest in the wine Stark’s holding, and Tony holds the glass up to his lips, tipping it back. Rogers accepts the routine with ease, and after he pulls away, Stark gently swipes at his bottom lip, wiping any wine that’s spilled.
Steve smiles at him, and it’s tender and soft, fondness in his eyes. Tony returns it, and leans forward to kiss him, brief and short. Steve leans forwards, until a hand on his shoulder stops him, and with a blush rising to his cheeks, he looks back over at me and stammers out an apology.
To reassure him, I shake my head. “There’s nothing sweeter to see than people in love,” I say, tipping my own glass towards Stark.
Rogers nods a little, and gives me one of his rare smiles. “Yeah,” he says, one hand resting across Tony’s legs, “That’s true.”
Over the course of the night, I learn that their cat is called Ada, named after Ada Lovelace, the world’s first computer programmer. She’s a sweet cat, black and grey, with darker spots and dots across her fur. She acclimates to me fairly quickly, walking slowly over and resting herself in my lap.
“I wouldn’t take you to be cat people,” I say, as they watch their cat settling herself in my lap.
Rogers huffs a little, an amused expression on his face. “Tony’s not,” he says, tilting his head at his fiance, “And I wasn’t. We didn’t really get her, per se.”
I tilt my head in lieu of a question, and Stark jumps in to fill in the gaps.
“-What my darling fiance is trying to say, of course, is that we were kindly gifted with her.”
“Dumped with her, more like,” Steve murmurs below his breath, and Stark’s grin grows wider.
I raise my eyebrow at them, and Rogers rushes to explain. “Natasha gave us to her. It was supposed to be hers, but then Bucky moved in, and of course, he’s allergic, so we got her.”
“Oh,” I respond, and look down at the cat purring in the crook of my legs. It’s a strange thought, that the feline in my lap was once owned by two of the world’s most deadly assassins, but I push it aside as best as I can.
“So,” I say, in an attempt to push the conversation forward, “You’ve been together for 10 years now. Do you think anything is going to change drastically through marriage?”
Tony laughs, and Rogers grins. “No,” he says, “I don’t think so. What about you, Tony?”
Tony shoots me a look, that says: can you believe this guy? before raising an eyebrow and smirking. “No,” he says, leaning against Rogers, “Not unless you go all Terminator on me.”
Rogers snorts a little, and takes the glass of wine from Stark’s hand, placing it on their glass table. “I’ll do my best not to.”
Their cat nudges against my legs, and I’m reminded that I only have a few more moments with the couple until I’ve got a plane to catch.
“Lastly,” I say, “Are you looking forward to anything in particular? In the future, that is.”
Rogers smiles at me, and then looks over at his husband, who has a strange, almost melancholy, half sentimental look on his face. “Tony?” he says, one arm curling around Stark’s shoulders.
“I do, actually.” Stark says, interlacing his hand with Steve’s, “I’m looking forward to spending the rest of my life with this guy. I’m lucky.”
Rogers smiles at him, and then kisses him, briefly, before turning back to me. “Yeah,” he says, grinning at his fiance, “Me too.”
And with that final question, it marks my que to leave. I’m on a flight to Tokyo in the next hour, courtesy of Stark Industries. A week later, a simple envelope is hand delivered to my door. On the return address, I see the familiar number of the Rogers-Stark household, and when I open it, I’m greeted with a wedding invitation, simple and elegant.
On the back, there’s a handwritten note.
Dear Jesse, thank you for being such a gracious guest. As a thank you, we’d like to invite you to our wedding. I hope you can make it, looking forward to seeing you there!
-Steve G Rogers, Tony Stark.
I smile down at the note, my mother’s voice flitting through my mind.
“Jesse, love is a blessing. It inspires, it confounds, it encourages us. It makes us better people, and those that have it make the world a better place.”
A month later, as I watch Tony Stark, exchange “I do’s” with Steve Rogers, I’m absolutely certain that my mother was right. Love is a blessing, and I have no doubt, that going into the future, their marriage will be nothing but a contribution to society.
So, to the happy couple, on behalf of myself, my mother, and the world, congratulations.
#stony#steve/tony#superhusbands#stony fic#steve rogers#tonystark#stevextony#steve x tony#tony stark#ironman#iron man#captain america#mine#stony fanfic#stony fanfiction
278 notes
·
View notes
Text
We Voted for Murderers
65.2%.
That’s the percentage of people who voted for the Conservative candidate in my constituency, and I feel completely heartbroken. See, things have properly gone to shit.
If we’re talking numbers?
Local councils estimate the number of people sleeping rough on any given night between 2010 and 2018 has risen from 1,768 to 4,677, a 165% increase. The Trussell Trust, the UK’s largest food bank charity, has reported a 5,146% increase in emergency food parcels being distributed since 2008. An 8% cut in spending per school pupil since 2009. Funding from central government to local government cut by 60% in that same period. £37 billion less spent on working-age social security compared to over a decade ago by 2020. A 90% fall in the number of social homes being built since 2010. A £7,300,000 decrease in funding for women’s shelters between 2011 and 2017. Don’t even get me started on the government’s treatment of the NHS.
I’ve heard stories of individuals applying for PIP due to mental illness being berated about suicide attempts and the likelihood of another as part of a “formal interview” process to see whether they qualify. People collapsing in job centre queues, freezing to death on the streets and the elderly in their homes, suicides whilst on never ending mental healthcare waiting lists. In fact, 17,000 sick and/or disabled individuals have died whilst waiting for PIP payments to come through, and in total, UCL researchers have linked 120,000 deaths to austerity (I’m not going to comment on the irony of my former university that’s notoriously lacklustre when it comes to giving a fuck about the wellbeing of its students publishing this unless...I just did?). 8 years of negligent homicide of the most vulnerable people in our society under the Conservative government and we voted them back in.
So I ask, are people really stupid enough to believe that the politicians responsible for this mess are the ones who are going to fix it just because they make a few characteristically empty promises on TV or does the British public at large really give even less of a fuck about other people than I thought? As in actually not give a fuck about people dying?
I have to tell myself it’s the former. The press’ treatment of Jeremy Corbyn and Labour was scathing.
Corbyn, a man who has stood by the same principles of fairness, justice, and equality, for the entirety of his career, was criticised by the likes of The Sun, The Daily Mail, and The Telegraph, for being indecisive and a threat to this country whilst Boris Johnson, a man who can barely string a sentence together when he is asked to give a straight answer to something and blocked the release of a report covering Russian interference in British politics, was held up as the one people should put their faith in.
I know, the press are never going to be completely neutral. But shouldn’t they at least be committed to integrity? And the truth? Isn’t that the WHOLE FUCKING POINT of journalism? I’ve been hearing the phrase “post-truth world” thrown around a lot and it’s probably an indication of my privilege that it was only with this election that I properly understood what that meant; it was found by the NGO First Draft just 2 days before the election, damage way past the point of done, that 88% of the Conservative Party’s Facebook ads (compared to 0% of Labour’s ads) contained misleading information. The repercussions were non-existent. After Boris Johnson’s claim that Jeremy Corbyn wanted to raise corporation and income tax to the highest levels in Europe was publicised, only Channel 4′s Factcheck website published the actual statistics (France, Belgium, Portugal and Greece all have much higher corporation tax rates than Labour’s proposal). Similarly, in many constituencies, the Lib Dems were posting fliers where Labour candidates were, in the previous election, the runner ups to the Conservative candidate, claiming that it was instead THEIR party’s candidate who had the highest chance of unseating the latter. Days before the election, the headline of one of Britain’s most highly circulated papers claimed that a Corbyn government would plunge us into a crisis the likes of which “we haven’t seen the Second World War”, which is kind of wild considering that 130,000 preventable deaths have been linked to austerity under the Conservative government compared to 70,000 civilian deaths in said war. Not that either is good, obviously, and I can’t believe I have to point that out. But then, right-wingers did paint Jeremy Corbyn as a monster for passing up watching the Queen’s Christmas Day speech to volunteer at a homeless shelter, so I thought I’d just cover my back, y’know.
Shouldn’t there be standards that the media is held to? You know, like not making slanderous statements about some politicians that have no actual basis in fact whilst brushing over the statements of others. Whilst the PM’s father Stanley Johnson was on nation television calling the public illiterate, and Jacob Rees-Mogg was blaming the Grenfell victims deaths on their “lack of common sense”, and Michael Gove was stating that people who needed to use food banks had brought it on themselves because they were not “best able to manage their finances”, it was Jeremy Corbyn who was being called an enemy of the people, accused of trying to plunge us into a “Marxist hell”...I mean, if Denmark and Norway and Finland with some of the highest living standards in the world are “Marxist hell”s then sure, that’s what he’s doing. But that’s a hell I’m sure a lot of people would find much comfier than a freezing cold pavement. Before Labour had even released their (fully-costed!) manifesto, barefaced lies were being published about how much it would cost and how it would plunge us into trillions of pounds worth of debt, as if it hasn’t increased from £1 trillion to £1.8 trillion in the years since David Cameron took office. Meanwhile, when Labour did publish their manifesto and the Financial Times published a letter signed by 163 prominent economists and academics backing their spending plans? Crickets. Nothing sums it up better than the debate around Jeremy Corbyn’s alleged anti-semitism, discussed ad-nauseam whilst Boris Johnson’s actual racism, islamophobia, misogyny and classism, RIGHT OUT OF THE HORSE’S MOUTH, was completely ignored by most news outlets.
You know what, maybe people earning £85k just DON’T want to pay an extra £3 in tax a week to make sure children get an education. Maybe everybody IS just as selfish as that one twat on Question Time who got all red in the face over the prospect of having to give up an amount less than the cost of a tub of Ben and Jerrys a week. But if that’s true, this isn’t a country I want to live in at all, or a planet I want to live on, really. I hope it’s not. I hope it’s a case of a need for some kind of collective realisation that the Sun ain’t shit. Merseyside did it. The younger generation are catching on. And look at the results there.
Labour probably couldn’t fulfil ALL of their promises. No political party is perfect. I was told again and again how unrealistic those promises were as if that was enough to make me go ”oh...I guess I’ll vote for 4 more years of people dying in the streets instead”. Yes, in an ideal world, the entire manifesto would be made a reality, but it depended on far too many rich people being good and honest. Let’s be real-the elite will always find a way to avoid paying their fare share on the premise that they “earned it”, as if anybody earns billions by sheer hard work alone and past a certain point, not off other people’s backs. As if there aren’t nurses and teachers and firemen and other public sector workers who don’t put in just as much energy and as many hours and emotional labour as CEOs and business owners and investors. But the point is that Labour under Jeremy Corbyn acknowledged this, and their manifesto aimed to give the power back to the average person, from the vulnerable to the supposedly middle class still struggling to make ends meet, and give them the quality of life they deserve. It was built on the simple premise that the people should use their government, not the other way round, and that everybody deserves the basic human rights of shelter, nutrition, safety and dignity, regardless of their fortune in life. However many of Labour’s policies would actually have been fulfilled, it would’ve been a shift in the right direction.
Now the election’s been and gone and I’m scared. Already, the narrative is being rewritten by the billionaires in control of this country that a manifesto like the one we saw this year will never sit right with this country, when it is what so many desperately need. The people putting this information out there know the truth: that Labour’s membership trebled in size under Corbyn (more people voted for him than for any Labour leader since Tony Blair), that most of the safe labour seats were lost because of Brexit, and that if the manifesto had been represented accurately, there’s a good chance that Boris Johnson would no longer be our Prime Minister. I’m scared a person like Jeremy Corbyn will never front Labour again.
Because I do not want a tory painted red who’s friends with Jacob Rees-Mogg behind the scenes, I do not want a war criminal who thinks that bombing innocent people is ever acceptable, I do not want a person who doesn’t see people of colour as part of the working class and indulges in the occasional bit of TERF-ism.
Already, the Conservative party are backpedaling on the few promises they made to increase NHS spending, and I am scared. I am scared for myself, in the event that I need urgent mental health care again, and I am scared for those less privileged than me who don’t have a family to support them, who don't have a roof over their head, who weren’t fortunate enough to be born in a country with relative economic and political stability, who cannot physically go out and work to earn a living. I am worried about the bigots that this election has already emboldened, the Katie Hopkins and the Tommy Robinsons of the world, who think the things that blind luck have graced them with they somehow earned, who pride themselves on ignorance and cruelty and selfishness.
So for now, what can we do?
Join trade unions. Organise. Write to your MPs. Bring attention to those who are vulnerable. Be vocal with your criticism of the establishment. Call out those in politics for an ego-trip hiding behind “personality”. Do your research. Keep an eye on the numbers. The “it doesn’t matter who you vote for, just vote” sentiment is old, because it does. No “as a feminist, I exercise my right to vote for whoever I want”, because as a feminist, you should care about ALL women, not just the white, middle class, able-bodied ones.
And if anyone has any more suggestions, let me know. Because I am sick and tired of living under a government who doesn’t give a fuck about the people it’s supposed to protect.
Lauren x
[DISCLAIMER: The photo is not mine. Just devastated and trying to find the words to express it.]
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
Wishes - Ch. 2
she promises, she delivers. this is the Mike Hanlon chapter which means it is Blessed. I think I got everyone on this taglist but if I missed someone lmk I’m a little outta my head atm
Rating: M, eventually. G right now, except for cursing.
Pairings: Reddie, Stan/Bill/Mike, Benverly
WC: like 3k? idk math
Summary:
you know what tumblr there was gonna be a summary here but since you keep fucking up my apostrophes ive decided you dont deserve it
Other: Martin Short is actually a blessing dont listen to Mike
Chapter 1 / Read on Ao3
Tag List: @roobarrtrashmouth @jem-carstairs-is-perfection @tozier-club @aizeninlefox @stanheartsbill @latinxrichie @softeds @pretzelstoday @melancholypurple @wheezygreens @ayyyymichele @loser-marsh
MIKE HANLON - KIDCOT STATION AT THE CANADA PAVILION, EPCOT CENTER
THURSDAY, OCTOBER 8TH
6:55 P.M.
There were two hours and five minutes until the Epcot fireworks show began, signalling the imminent close of the park, which meant there were three hours and five minutes until Mike Hanlon could finally clock out.
Not that he was counting, of course.
Sighing, he shifted in his seat at the Canada KidCot station. He’d been scheduled for an afternoon 8 hour shift, 11 to 7, but they’d asked for someone to extend because they were short-staffed and he apparently couldn’t help himself. He agreed to work until close, which was an extra three hours. Normally, he wouldn’t be phased by that, but he was bone tired today. He’d been up late with his Imagineer roommate, poring over plans and ideas for Star Wars.
He should have known better. No amount of arguing for Lando Calrissian or Finn was going to make Bob Iger, the CEO of the company, less racist, which meant that there was little to no hope for representation in the new Star Wars World. His roommate Ben had tried to warn him, but he’d pushed the issue anyway, feeling restless and irritated that he worked for a company that didn’t value people like him.
Now, he was paying the price. He stifled a yawn as a mother with two children hustled them by his table - he would kill for someone to actually talk to, but he wasn’t the type to hustle people over to him Gaston-style. (The Magic Kingdom Gaston was notorious for cat-calling girls, which Mike supposed was in character...but it was deeply unsettling to watch.)
Sighing, Mike picked up a marker and began to color one of the Duffy* drawings at his station. As bored as he was, he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Disney, for all its flaws, was more of a home for him than Canada had ever been, and KidCot was his favorite rotation. He loved telling stories and teaching kids about his home country - he loved teaching.
He loved Canada, too...it was his home, after all, but it had never been freeing for him like Florida had. Home came with expectations - from his peers, from his teachers, and most of all, from his parents.
Mike loved his parents, but he was definitely not the son they needed. He had no interest in hanging around and taking over the farm. His dreams were bigger than that.
His parents, for their part, had totally supported his move...at their own expense. He felt guilty about that sometimes, but he had a feeling that all three of them knew, in their hearts, that it was the right choice for Mike to go.
He’d come to Disney World because he hadn’t known where else to go. Disney had a work program for international students that promised to give him opportunities to connect with people around the world, and that promise had really appealed to 21 year-old Mike Hanlon. It had been the right choice, definitely - his first three months at Star Tours had been like a dream. He got to talk Star Wars all day, he got to choose Rebel Spies**, the ride wasn’t that complicated, and he hadn’t had to slog all the way around the perimeter of Hollywood Studios to get to his attraction like the Tower of Terror bellhops did. (There had to be a more efficient way of moving around backstage, and someday, Mike imagined they’d invent it, but for the time being, it was long walks and bikes over at Studios.) All in all, it had been a perfect fit for him.
Then, he had three months doing outdoor vending (ODV) at Studios, and that was...less exciting, to say the least. ODV was hot, sweaty work, and the guests that wanted popcorn or pretzels or light-up Mickey ears were usually tired, hungry, and cranky (and sometimes racist). Still, that was manageable, especially when he got into the groove of Fantasmic shifts. In fact, he still picked up Fantasmic shifts from time to time, for nostalgia’s sake.
After that, his program was over, but he didn’t feel ready to do something else, so he went to Casting to see about applying for a more regular job (and what he would have to do to renew his US work visa). The only full-time position they had to offer him was in the Canada Pavilion, so that’s where he was for the time being. It wasn’t ideal (he was putting in to transfer back to attractions as soon as he was able), but he’d gotten that temporary worker visa for it, so he had no choice but to make it work. So far, the only thing that had been completely ruined for him was Martin Short movies, because after watching the Martin Short ‘O Canada’ film a thousand and twelve times per work shift, he’d sooner die than watch Three Amigos ever again in his life. (He considered himself extremely lucky to have found the roommate that he did via the CM Housing Facebook page, but if Ben put on Father of the Bride one more time, Mike was going to kick him out immediately and permanently.)
Mike finished coloring his Duffy and looked around. There were no kids anywhere in sight. It was around dinner time, and the Canada pavilion wasn’t a highly popular family destination to begin with, so Mike was going to be alone for a long while, people-watching as young hipster couples walked by with Disney shopping bags full of maple syrup and plaid clothes.
He was so zoned out, he almost missed the two attractive men that were walking out of a shop and towards him.
Now, Mike had spent quite a bit of time coming to terms with his sexual identity. His father extremely traditional - which was not to say close-minded, but there was just no opportunity for exploration on the farm. It wouldn’t have made sense.
Disney was on the extreme opposite end of that spectrum. A huge percentage of male Cast Members were gay, and for the first time, Mike had the opportunity to consider his own feelings.
As it turned out, he was pretty equally interested in men and women. He’d had a couple of short relationships during his time in the States with people of both genders, and they’d all been pretty nice...just, not lasting, and none of the people he had dated had been as compelling as the two men - a redhead and a boy with light brown curls, he could see now - that were walking his way.
It was a bit disconcerting, actually. Mike usually wasn’t attracted to white people (they were so entitled and pasty), but there was something almost cosmic about these two. It felt like the universe calling.
Before they got close enough to see him, Light Brown Curls stopped and turned to the redhead, holding up a Disney bag and smirking. The redhead blushed and grabbed for the bag, but Curls swiftly moved it behind his back. They began to engage in a game of keep-away. Mike was mesmerized.
“You trying to stamp their passports?” Mike jumped at the sound of a leering female voice, and almost fell out of his chair. “If you know what I mean?”
“Ma’am, I---” he began, turning to look at the perpetrator and stopping short when he saw her pretty green eyes. “Huh?”
She laughed prettily. “The ginger making an idiot of himself is named Bill. He works Guest Relations over at MK, and he’s been super hung up on these two guys he saw in passing in the Boardwalk slash Epcot area recently. Classic pining gay.”
Mike looked back over at the two men. The ginger (Bill) had retrieved his bag, and was waving it in front of Curls’ face. Curls seemed unimpressed.
“Is the skinny brunette boy one of the guys Bill was pining over?” Mike guessed, watching the bounce of the haughty man’s curls.
“Yep,” said the girl, joining Mike in looking over. “His name’s Stan, apparently. He’s a front desk coordinator over at Yacht, because of course he is. Everyone at Yacht is so fucking put together. Pardon my French.”
“It’s a relief to hear cursing every once in a while,” Mike admitted. “It can’t be princesses and rainbows all the time.”
The girl nodded appreciatively. “I like your style. I’m Beverly. I work in costuming over at MK.”
“Oh, word.” Mike stuck out a hand for her to shake. She took it, and he was immediately impressed by the subtle strength in her grip. “I’m Mike. You wanna learn about Canada?”
“At some point,” Beverly said, smiling amusedly. “Right now, though, I’m trying to play matchmaker.”
Mike squinted at her, confused. “Aren’t your friends already together, though? I thought you were just third-wheeling.”
“Fourth-wheeling, if all goes to plan.” Beverly waggled her eyebrows. “Weren’t you wondering who else Bill has a crush on around here? I did say that he was pining over two guys.”
Mike’s stomach lurched. Pretty boys weren’t generally in the business of looking Mike Hanlon’s way...unless he was reading the whole thing wrong?
“No, but there’s already...they’re already….” Mike protested weakly, hoping his assumptions were correct. “I couldn’t intrude.”
Beverly shrugged her freckled shoulders, looking down nonchalantly. “Two’s an arbitrary number, bud. You can do whatever you want.”
The boys’ eyes were on Mike, now - they must have noticed him talking to their friend. The redhead was smiling, and Mike suddenly felt hot.
Being with more than one person at a time had never occurred to Mike, but now that the idea had been planted, it was taking root in a really fast and embarrassing way.
“Bill, Stan,” Beverly called, beaming, “meet my new friend Mike. He’s from Canada.”
Feeling a little stupid, Mike gestured to his nametag. “Saskatchewan.”
“Mike from Saskatchewan.” Stan stepped forward, confident and smooth. “Very, very nice to meet you.”
Bill smiled knowingly. “Told you, didn’t I?”
“You were right,” Stan said, eyes never leaving Mike.
Mike looked between the two, hoping for an explanation, and Bill promptly provided him with one. “I saw you here the other day, talking to kids. You’ve got incredible charisma.”
Mike was painfully cognizant of the blood rushing to his cheeks. “Thanks. Uh. Bev says you guys are CMs, too?”
“Yep!” Bill tapped his chest where his name tag would be if he were in costume. “I’m in the Magic Kingdom, and Stan’s your neighbor over at the Yacht Club.”
“It’s a shame you don’t have any guests,” said Stan, examining the Duffy coloring pages at Mike’s table. “I don’t know why people aren’t flocking to you, honestly. You seem like the kind of person that I’d actually enjoy learning about Canada from.”
“Do you wanna hear some facts?” Mike asked, and then immediately cringed. Why couldn’t he say something compelling for once?
Fortunately, Bill and Stan seemed to find it endearing rather than weird. Stan opened his mouth to speak again…
...and was immediately interrupted by a freckly, frizzy-haired tornado of a human being, who swept in and slung his absurdly long arms over Bill and Stan’s shoulders. Mike blinked rapidly, trying to take stock of the situation, but before he could get his bearings, the new person adjusted his glasses and started speaking in a thick Russian accent.
“Eet eez veddy hahd, Comrade, for me to trahhck you eef you do not answer calls, da?” He was talking to Stan, but Bill seemed to recognize him, too, if his eye roll was any indication.
“Why the fuck did you need to find me at all?” Stan groaned. It was obvious that he was fond of this weird, lanky guy, but he was playing at irritation. “I turned off my phone for a reason, you nerd. Take a hint.”
“Eh, I was bored. Also kinda sad, thanks to Big Bill here.” The guy abruptly stopped with the accent, turned to Bill, and tutted loudly. “Can you believe that Bill stood in the way of true love today? Also, how the hell do you know Bill, Stanny?”
“We’ve literally just met,” Stan said, “and preventing you from feeling love is only serving to make him more attractive to me, so by all means, Bill, continue.”
“It’s not up to me,” Bill said sadly, “and tragically, Eddie does think he’s hot.”
The third guy inhaled sharply. “Hold on, say that last bit again.”
“Mike, this is Richie.” Bill ignored Richie’s request and turned to Mike. “He’s bad, sorry.”
Richie’s eyes flicked up to Mike for the first time. Mike sat awkwardly as Richie took him in, smiled, and said, “A fucking pleasure. Has anyone ever told you that red’s your color?”
“Just you,” Mike replied honestly.
“Glad I could be your first.” Richie winked, and Mike felt charmed in spite of himself.
“Okay, so how do we all know each other again?” Bev asked, frowning. “I know Rich because he’s a giant pain in my ass when he comes through costuming, I know Bill because I know Bill, and now I know Stan and Mike through Bill…”
“Richie’s my roommate,” Stan said flatly. “Unfortunately.”
Bill whipped around to stare accusingly at Richie. “You’ve been keeping that from me?”
“Hey, I didn’t know you were into stuck-up assholes,” Richie shrugged. “Besides, that’s justice in action for not giving Cute Character Attendant Eddie my number.”
“He was working,” Bill said defensively.
“He was working,” Richie parroted mockingly. “That’s never stopped me from hitting on him before, and it won’t stop me again.”
“I wouldn't,” Bill warned. “Eddie’s no joke.”
“Didn’t say he was,” Richie agreed, bouncing excitedly. “Did he actually say I was hot, though, because--”
“Where do you work, Richie?” Mike asked, trying to save Bill from the conversation.
Richie’s smile was huge and sweet. “The World Famous Jungle Cruise, of course! Why, you itchin’ to ride my bote?” His expression turned suggestive. “Because I’d let you. It’d be worth the long, painful death Stan and Bill would put me through--”
“Beep beep, Richie,” Bill said loudly, elbowing Richie hard in the gut. Richie doubled over on to the damp wood of the pavilion floor.
Stan quirked an eyebrow, obviously impressed. “Beep beep, huh? I’ll have to remember that for next time.” He brushed Bill’s arm with his hand as he said it, and the corner of Bill’s mouth twitched up. Mike was enamoured by the interaction, and wanted more than anything to be on the other side of the table, included in whatever it was they had going on…
...fuck, he was so fucking fucked.
“Richie, if you’re not here for any real reason, then you should come with me,” said Beverly, looking like she was already regretting her offer. “I was gonna ditch these three in a couple of minutes, anyway. Let ‘em have a Food and Wine date, or something.”
“You’re sweet, Bevvy.” Richie gave her a sappy look as he peeled himself off of the floor. “Askin’ me out. Adorable. Unfortunately, I’m gonna have to pass, because Bill, I’m not going anywhere until you promise to get me Cute Eddie’s number.”
“You’re really dedicated to that, huh?” Bill asked, tone halfway between ‘impressed’ and ‘alarmed’. “What the hell happened between you two to make you so frigging obsessed, Rich? Normally you’re all jokes and no follow-through.”
Richie tried to be nonchalant, but Mike could see a bit of red creeping up his neck under the collar of his shitty Toy Story t-shirt. He was silent for a moment, and then when he spoke, his voice was soft. “He’s just...I don’t….he’s all the stuff I like, you know?”
Mike looked at Bill, whose forehead was scrunched up in obvious concern at Richie’s words, and then at Stan, who had his hands delicately on his hips and was trying and failing to not seem affected, and understood that he, Mike Hanlon, knew exactly what Richie was talking about.
“Let’s talk more about this later,” Bill finally suggested after a long moment. “Okay?”
Richie nodded quietly. Something had happened in the last few minutes...it was like someone had toggled the Richie off-switch. Mike hoped it wasn’t something he had said. “Roger that, Billiam.”
“Hey,” Mike said, feeling suddenly bold in the wake of Richie’s vulnerability. “Listen. I can’t hang with you all now, because I won’t be off of work until 22:00. If you guys are free and still awake at that point, though, y’all can come to my place after I’m done. I can write down an address. I bet my roommate won’t mind.”
Bill’s responding smile could have lit up the whole park. “I’d love that.”
“Me too,” Stan said immediately, looking between Bill and Mike with a soft expression (well, soft for Stan the consummate professional, anyway).
“You want us there, too?” Richie asked cautiously.
Mike nodded, and was relieved to note that Stan and Bill were nodding too. “Dude, I could really use some friends. I’m fresh out of those.”
With that, the tension was broken. Richie let out a great howling laugh, and moved over to clap Mike on the back. “Oh, Mikey! You just hit the friend jackpot, my man. Just ask Stanley Uris! Richie Tozier’s a top notch amigo.”
Stan shrugged listlessly. “I mean, if you like people that try to give you sloppy handies every time they’re intoxicated.”
Richie’s expression twisted up, and for a split second, Mike thought he was gonna lose it, but then instead of yelling, Richie groaned. “They’re not sloppy, Stanley, Jesus Christ.”
“Jesus who?” Stan asked, reaching out to yank on Richie’s sleeve, which presumably was meant to signal that he was kidding. “Anyways, yes, the three of us will be there, Mike. Bev?”
“That depends,” she said slyly. “Is your roomie hot, Mikey?”
Mike couldn’t help but laugh at that. Ben was an objectively handsome man, but he was less sexy than he was warm and comforting. “He’s a beautiful, wonderful guy, Beverly.”
“Then of course,” she agreed, laughing her little laugh again. “Write your address on the back of one of these Duffys, yeah?”
Mike obliged her, and when he was done, Stan took the paper and folded it up neatly, ultimately placing it in the breast pocket of his shirt.
“All right,” Richie announced. “Parting is such sweet sorrow, Micycle, but we must go purchase overpriced cocktails now. Adieu.”
“Bye!” Bev called, and almost immediately, the two of them were off, merrily making their way to the main World Showcase walkway.
Stan and Bill lingered for another moment. They were both looking at Mike with expressions that made Mike feel like his stomach was going to explode with butterflies. He didn’t know what it was about these two that made him feel all of 17 again, but he wasn’t complaining. He hadn’t been this excited about romance since middle school.
“We’ll see you later, okay?” Stan said assuringly. He slid his hand into Bill’s after he spoke, and Mike watched their fingers entwine. Absurdly, he wasn’t jealous at all...any interaction at all between the three of them felt right and good.
“Have a nice couple of hours,” Mike said, trying to convey the giddiness he was feeling through his words. “Enjoy the fireworks!”
“It’ll be nicer when we’re all together,” Bill said meaningfully, and then he and Stan were disappearing into the throng, too.
It looked like it was going to be another late night for Mike Hanlon...but somehow, he didn’t think he was going to regret this one tomorrow.
One hour and three minutes until park close, two hours and three minutes until clock-out.
Notes:
we don't deserve Mike Hanlon
*Duffy is Mickey's teddy bear, apparently. He's very popular in Japan. You used to be able to go to a Duffy meet and greet in Epcot, which is fucking wild.
**There's a moment in the Star Tours ride where one guest on that particular simulator is identified as a "Rebel Spy". The cast members get to pick that guest. I have never been that guest, and I will be bitter about that until my dying day.
#reddie#reddie fanfic#mike hanlon/stanley uris/bill denbrough#mike/stan/bill#mike hanlon#bill denbrough#stanley uris#benverly#ben hanscom#beverly marsh#losers club#it 2017#stephen king's it#disney au#mike hanlon is a good man
48 notes
·
View notes
Text
Chapter 15
Word count: 3.6k
Warning(s): Blood, violence, weapons, explicit language, mentions of abuse. I highly advice to proceed with caution as it can be triggering for some readers. Better yet, skip this chapter all together.
The function hall is huge. Guests are starting to arrive one by one, walking down the long and elegant red carpet starting from the lobby where different photographers from different magazines, media outlets and blogs are lined up to take pictures of the guests. The Min ball is one of the biggest events of the year in the country. This is because the Mins own one of the biggest entertainment companies in the country and under their company is some of the biggest stars in the industry. So, it is only natural that it is the talk of the town every year.
Everywhere, celebrities and politicians alike can be seen interacting with one another. Closely watching them are security guards. Woozi is not joking when he said that the Mins security is on another level. When Soonyoung arrived, he immediately looks at the numbers of CCTVs present in the lobby, the hallway leading to the function hall and the function hall. He counted but lost track when he reaches fifty. He wonders if Wonwoo can hack fifty or more security cameras at one but he has faith in his member.
So far, he has seen Seungcheol, Jeonghan, Jisoo, Seokmin, Hansol and Chan. All men are dressed elegantly, talking amongst themselves like any other group of young men in the room. Beside them are their dates. Soonyoung recognizes some of their faces but is surprised when he sees Sohye’s face among the girls beside Seungcheol. What is she doing here? He asks himself but chooses to ignore it for a moment. Tonight is not the time to concern himself with anything else but the infiltration.
“Thank you for holding my purse.” Says a woman’s voice behind Soonyoung. He turns and sees Jennie walking towards him. She looks beautiful in her black dress, hugging her body in all the right places. Soonyoung gives her back her purse. “You look stressed, are you okay?” She asks, placing her hand on his arm.
“I’m fine,” Soonyoung mutters, taking her hand off of his arm. “Are you done? Can we go now?” He asks, changing the topic.
Jennie nods, smiling. “Yes.” She says then, she links her arm with Soonyoung and they make their way towards Seungcheol and the others. “Song Sohye, my, its been a long time since I have seen you.” Jennie says once they arrive.
Sohye looks at them upon hearing her name, eyes widening at the sight of Soonyoung who looks at her with an impassive look on his face. Then, her eyes travel to Jennie and immediately, the shock is replaced with a glare.
“Jennie Kim, definitely not a pleasure to see you.” Sohye says, smiling sarcastically at the brunette clutching Soonyoung’s arm tightly.
Soonyoung furrows his eyebrows and takes her arm off of him.
“Is she your date, Seungcheol?” Jennie asks the gray-haired man beside Sohye.
Seungcheol smiles, a proud one as he wraps his arm around Sohye who looks disgusted. “Indeed she is.”
Soonyoung watches as Sohye leans in towards Seungcheol’s ear and whispers something to him. He couldn’t decipher what she is saying but one thing is clear: she hates Seungcheol.
“The ball is about to start in a few minutes. Is everyone here?” Jeonghan asks, giving the members a knowing look as their dates go off on their own except Sohye who slips from Seungcheol’s grip and walk away. Soonyoung watches as a flash of hurt covers the leader’s face once Sohye is out of eyesight. When their eyes meet, Soonyoung pretends he did not see anything.
I guess each one of us has a secret, huh?
“Mingyu should be here by now but he hasn’t returned any of my—oh, there he is.” Seokmin says, pointing at their friend who is easily spotted because of his height.
Each of them looks at Mingyu’s direction. He is smiling, proud like Seungcheol a while ago.
“Who is hyung’s date?” Chan asks, standing on his toes to get a better look at Mingyu’s date.
“Well, he’s walking towards us now. I wonder who it is. He didn’t say anything.” Jisoo says, shrugging his shoulder as he sips on his champagne.
“Hansol, go check on Wonwoo. Make sure everything is ready. When the ball stars, we start. Gather at the location we agreed on when CEO Min is done with his opening speech.” Seungcheol reminds everyone. Each of them nods.
The crowd disperses when Mingyu walks pass them, in awe of the beauty beside him. Once the last person blocking their view on his date steps aside, all of them grows silent.
Seungcheol wants nothing but to punch Mingyu on the face.
Jeonghan and Jisoo looks amused.
Hansol is looking at Soonyoung while Chan stares at the girl beside Mingyu in awe like the rest.
Soonyoung, on the other hand, looks murderous.
“Good evening boys. I would like to introduce you to my date, Y/N.”
Your eyes meet theirs one by one and when your gaze catches Soonyoung’s, you feel your heart beat increase rapidly.
“Y/N, these are my friends. Let us enjoy the night with them.”
-
You excuse yourself from the table, grabbing your purse as you make your way towards the rest room. Behind you, you can feel their stares but you ignore it and quickly leave. This isn’t how this night is supposed to go. You’re supposed to be with Hanbin, Sohye and Jungkook not with Mingyu and Soonyoung and the rest of their members. You’re supposed to be having fun, not worrying about what will go down tonight. This is anything but how this night should have been.
You enter the rest room, quickly making your way towards the rows of sink and throwing your purse aside. You look at yourself on the mirror, jumping in horror when you see Soonyoung standing behind you. You turn around, unsure of what to say or how to react.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” He asks, making his way to the entrance and shutting the door, locking it.
“I...” You trail off.
Soonyoung moves towards you. “Are you playing some sick game with me?” He asks, voice dangerously low as he places his hand on the sink, trapping you between them.
“I’m not! I would never... Soonyoung, please, step away from me.” You plead, closing your eyes hoping to stabilize your breathing.
Soonyoung steps away, but only a step away. He is still near you; the smell of his cologne filling your nostrils. He looks handsome tonight but then again, when did he not? You take a deep breath once you regain your normal breathing then looks at Soonyoung.
“Mingyu took me as his date. He forced me, actually. I punched him in the face, my manager saw and well, here I am. I’m not supposed to, okay? I was supposed to go with Hanbin.” You explain, biting the insides of your mouth.
Soonyoung mutters something under your breath that you did not understand. Then, he runs his fingers through his red hair. “You need to go. You and Sohye. You both need to go.”
The colors on your face drains. “Are you really going to push through with it?”
“Yes, Y/N, we are and they deserve it.” Soonyoung snaps and for once, you didn’t flinch.
“Is there no other way? Soonyoung, I do believe that the public deserves to know what they have been doing to their artists but anything can happen tonight. People might get hurt. Innocent people.” You try reasoning with Soonyoung but he only shakes his head.
“This is the operation where black and white exists. We’re the good guys tonight, Y/N and they’re the bad ones.” Soonyoung firmly states.
You shake your head. “What if you get hurt?” You ask him, your voice softening. Soonyoung looks surprised and so are you.
“I won’t,” He assures you. “I have them.”
“Soonyoung, please,—,” He cuts you off.
“I’ll be right there.” He says, putting his finger on his ear as he tilts his head. He taps on it then faces you. “Go, Y/N, I’m not a knight in shining armor that could protect you.”
“No, but you’re a friend. What did you say back at the hospital? Friends protect one another.” You remind him, standing tall.
“For fuck’s sake, Y/N, just do as I say! If you get hurt, it would feel like I lost my mother once again so please,” He grabs your arms gently and looks at you in the eye. “Please just go and take Sohye with you. Hanbin. Whoever, please, just go.”
-
“Where did you fucking go?” Seungcheol asks, throwing a bag at Soonyoung’s direction. The red hair catches it swiftly.
“Is he done yet?” Soonyoung asks, ignoring Seungcheol’s questions.
“Just one more paragraph then its over. Everyone is in position. Except you.” Seungcheol scoffs and Soonyoung rolls his eyes, opening the bag and his eyes widen.
“What the fuck is this?” He growls at Seungcheol.
“What does it look like?” The leader replies nonchalantly.
“Why do we have a fucking gun? This infiltration is exposing not killing.” Soonyoung says, throwing the bag on the floor and kicking it.
“Change of plans.” Seungcheol says simply.
Soonyoung clenches his fists. “Are you insane?”
“Are you forgetting who the leader is? What I say goes. You can either walk away or stay. If you walk away, consider yourself out of the team. I’m not joking around, Soonyoung.” Seungcheol says through gritted teeth.
The sound of applause fills the thick air. Seungcheol grabs a mask from the bag he is holding. “Don’t forget who you swore your loyalty too.” He says then he wears his mask and leaves.
Soonyoung stands, frozen. He can’t kill people. He can’t people no matter who or what they have done. He doesn’t have the courage to do it.
But he also couldn’t walk away. Young Gods... these guys... they have been his family ever since.
“Families don’t turn their backs on one another.” He remembers the words of his brother Jiyong the first and last time he visited him.
Soonyoung snaps into reality when a voice is heard through his earpiece. Its Seungkwan.
“Showtime, boys.”
-
You search frantically for Sohye but could not see her anywhere. You also did not see Soonyoung or any of the other guys from the table you were seated a while ago. The CEO is already finishing his speech. You crane your neck, hoping to spot a pink-haired woman. Surely, she would have stand out.
The sound of applause erupts in the function hall. The CEO steps down the podium with a bright smile on his face, greeted by his son Min Yoongi, a man with a stoic expression on his face. His milky white skin contrasts his raven hair and intense black eyes. When the applause diminishes, panic rises when a gunshot is heard.
You fall to your knees, using your arms to cover your head. Everyone is screaming and moving towards the entrance which also serves as the exit. Then, the lights are switched off followed by a loud siren.
Oh my god, what have they done? You thought as the siren continues.
The lights are switched on once more and slowly, you stand up among the rest. You see four figures guarding the entrance. They are dressed in black with wicked masks on. You take your gaze off of them and towards the stage. Your eyes widen as you see Min Yoongi and his father in the middle. Yoongi is holding his father close to his chest, applying pressure on the wound on his arm. Beside them, two figures are standing. Unlike the figures guarding the entrance, the two are dressed in white suit and also, wicked masks.
“Welcome! You have been given the once in a lifetime opportunity of witnessing, first-hand, the work of the Young Gods!”
Seungkwan. You know that it is him. He has always been the one for the theatrics, you remember reading.
“We apologize for the inconvenience but it is very important that we do this. You see, Mr. Min here isn’t exactly the best CEO as everyone thinks he is,” Seungkwan says, circling around the father and son. Yoongi is deathly glaring at him but Seungkwan doesn’t seem fazed. “Think of him as the big bad wolf and everyone here as red riding hood. For years, he has been acting as a wolf in sheep’s clothing and isn’t that disgusting?”
You look at everyone in the function hall. All of them are frozen in place, maybe even holding their breaths. Some look terrified while others, surprising you, look interested. You spot Sohye, near the entrance to the kitchen with someone—Jungkook. Beside them, Hanbin and the girl that is Soonyoung’s date, Jennie. You breathe a sigh of relief. Thank God they’re safe.
“Eagle!” Seungkwan exclaims with his arms out wide. “Play the video!”
Once again, the lights are killed and a video plays on the stage; the light coming from the projector hitting the father and son. They squint their eyes because of the brightness and a woman, face blurred, appears on screen.
“When I first got into the company, I was really excited. I mean, who wouldn’t be, right? Its one of the biggest companies in the countries and a lot of the seniors I look up to are under the company. However, things changed when I started training. At first, I thought it was only normal. Teachers are supposed to help you become better, right? They’re only helping me become better and to debut, I told myself, but it wasn’t the case anymore. They have been doing horrible, horrible things to me. They said if I tell anyone, they would kill me. They said if I continue to do the things they asked of me, they would let me debut. I found a loop hole and took it. They never said I couldn’t leave the company and I tried but I learned I wasn’t the only one who was experiencing their abuse. Other trainees too. They don’t care whether you are a boy or a girl, they don’t care if you’re young or not. I heard them talking and said they even preferred younger ones. I couldn’t take it anymore. I threatened them that I would tell the CEO... but he was one of them.”
A lot more confessions follow. Each containing the same information. The look on people’s face are unreadable but one thing is for sure: they are enraged. The celebrities, they are crying, others look guilty. You can only assume that they are part of those who abuse these trainees. You feel your heart swell in anger and sadness. You look at Min Yoongi—shocked. His father, on the other hand, looks outraged.
“These are all lies! Do not believe a word these bandits are saying! Lies!” He screams, pushing his son off of him and standing up. His eyes wide and frantic.
The lights are on once more. A man with lean built steps on the stage. Seungcheol. You know its him.
“Whether you believe us or not, we have done our part. This man,” He points the CEO. “deserves nothing but the worst. It is up to you to be the judge. And like always, the Young Gods believe that in order for the world to be a better place, a little chaos is needed.”
He is about to leave the stage when the screen starts shaking. A computer-generated voice is saying, “Young Gods has lost their signal.” on repeat.
The siren plays once more.
A face appears on the screen, a wicked smile on his face. “Missed me, bro? Let’s meet at the old house and catch up. But before that, how about a little game? I remember you always trying to be the knight in shining armor as a kid and even now, as a petty adult, so why don’t we put that to the test, hm little brother?”
“You have a minute. You must take your little damsel in distress and keep her safe. If you lose, I get to have her. If I lose, well, let’s just say, I always have my way. Good bye, our little Hoshi.”
The lights are killed. Gun shots are heard. Screams erupt. Bodies push against you.
You hear your name being called although you aren’t sure who it is calling you.
Arms grab you and something is placed on top of your head. You scream, trying to break free but their grip on your arms is so tight.
“Get off of me!”
“Fuck off!” Suddenly, you fall to the ground, your hands being stepped and you scream in pain. “Come on, Y/N, you and I don’t wanna see an angry Soonyoung.”
-
You wake up in a jolt, sitting right up. You feel dizzy, your vision blurry as you adjust your sight to the surroundings. It is quiet, peaceful even. The sound of the water running and the birds chirping are the only sounds audible to you, making you feel relaxed. You look at your surrounding; you’re in a room with wooden floor, a desk on the corner of the room beside the bed you are in, a window on the side with the blinds on and the sun rays peeking through.
You clutch your head, sighing the pain away. Just then, the door opens and a man enters. His sharp eyes widen at the sight of you and for a while, he is frozen on his spot and the two of you just stares at one another. He clears his throat and comes inside the room, closing the door behind him.
“You’re awake.” He says, hands behind his back. He looks awkward, like he doesn’t know how to act. Yet at the same time, you can see and feel his concern.
Who is this man? And why does he look so familiar?
“Where am I?” You ask, tossing the covers off of you gently and leaving the bed.
“You shouldn’t leave the bed if you don’t feel alright yet.” He says and you look at him. He stares back at you before clearing his throat.
“What is this place?” You ask, walking towards him.
“Y/N,” He says and you wonder how he knows your name. “Don’t you remember what happened last night?”
“Last night...” You trail off.
Then, everything hits you all at once.
The ball. Sohye. Hanbin. Young Gods. The Mins. Soonyoung. Mingyu. Soonyoung’s brother...
You stare at the man with sharp eyes with your own eyes wide and mouth agape. Suddenly, your mind registers where you have seen him. This is Wonwoo, the hacker of Young Gods and the man who helped you escape.
“Y-You’re... Wonwoo.” You say, taking a step back.
He tilts his head to the side. “How do you know my name?”
“The ball... the Mins... Sohye! Oh God, please tell me Sohye is fine.” You plead, letting yourself fall on the bed once more. Wonwoo rushes towards you.
Your vision becomes blurry once more and your breathing quickens. You feel the entire room squeezing in on you. Suddenly, the clothes you are feel tight and all you can hear are the sounds of sirens wailing and guns being fired. In between those sounds are the screams of several people and wicked laughs.
“Y/N, hey, hey, hey, its okay. Its okay. You’re safe. Sohye is safe.”
You feel hands gently rubbing your arms. The sensation helps you calm down. Once your vision is restored, you see Wonwoo close to you. His eyes filled with concern. “You’re fine.”
“Where am I?” You ask breathlessly.
“You’re in my mother’s house. She’s preparing breakfast.” Wonwoo replies.
“I don’t understand... Why am I here?” You ask, furrowing your eyebrows.
“I took you here because I know you’ll be safe here. If Soonyoung got to you first... it’ll be much worse. You’re already in deep, Y/N, and if you came in between the brothers, you might as well just kill yourself.” He explains with a sigh.
You shake your head. “I... I never wanted to be part of this.”
“The moment you accepted Soonyoung in your life, you already signed up for this as well. Jiyong knows you which means everyone in our world knows you.” He says and you feel a shiver down your spine. “Look, Y/N, I can’t keep you here for so long.”
“Where do you suppose I go? With what you just said, nowhere is safe.” You tell him, biting your lower lip.
“Jiyong won’t stop until he finds you and captures you. Soonyoung won’t stop until you’re in his care. If you end up with one of them, you should just kill yourself rather than stay,” Wonwoo says and furrows his eyebrows. “I cannot let you stay for long because of my mother. I don’t want her to get involve. I already set up a place for you to stay. We’ll be leaving at night.”
“Why do you keep on saying I should just kill myself when it comes to Soonyoung and his brother? I don’t know them unlike you but I know Soonyoung is not like his brother. I... read his diary. He’s not a sick psychopath like his brother.” You say, a hint of protectiveness in your voice.
Wonwoo scoffs. “That’s right. You don’t know them as much as I do. Soonyoung... he is a complex person. Definitely not black and white. Nor good or evil. He does things for a reason, whatever it may be. His brother... he’s not human at all. He has no empathy. Like you said, he is a sick psycho. But they’re brothers. They share the same blood and let me tell you one thing, Y/N, the apple does not fall far from the tree in the Kwons.”
#seventeen#soonyoung#hoshi#seventeen gang au#seventeen angst#soonyoung angst#hoshi angst#hoshi x reader#soonyoung x reader#wonwoo
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
Leadership Journey: Silicon Valley
The mainstream media often spins the story of Silicon Valley as one of pure business and finance. And certainly, huge fortunes have been made. But the real tale of Silicon Valley is one of people and ideas, and how these people – sometimes nerdy, sometimes brash, but always talented – have pursued their dreams and turned their ideas into realities.
Silicon Valley is a region in the San Francisco Bay Area of Northern California. This area, a mixture of suburbs and modestly sized cities, is now the world’s leading center for high technology and innovation. Its history is short in terms of time but incredibly rich in terms of discoveries made. Since the late 1960s, Silicon Valley has been at the heart of the invention of personal computers, the internet, handheld devices, online retail, social networks and much, much more. And all of these innovations have been birthed in a profoundly unconventional business environment, one where business founders were often in their early 20s, working all night was common and drug use was practically obligatory.
In this post, you’ll hear the story of young people working, having fun, innovating and sometimes finding themselves in charge of multimillion- or even multibillion-dollar companies.
Atari was the first huge Silicon Valley boom and bust story.
The classic Silicon Valley story goes something like this: some kid with a radical idea puts together something cool, builds around it a freewheeling business with like-minded techies and becomes insanely rich in the process.
Atari, and its founder, Nolan Bushnell, pretty much wrote that script. As a student in the 1960s, Bushnell once snuck into a computer lab late at night to play Spacewar, one of the first computer games. Seeing the possibilities this completely new form of entertainment offered, the entrepreneurial Bushnell set up Atari.
Atari’s first completed game was Pong. It was a simple game – like table tennis, played on an arcade machine, with incredibly basic graphics and controls. But it became a phenomenal success.
Bushnell put the first Pong arcade machine in the corner of a local bar. Soon thereafter, Atari got a call from the bar owner to say the machine had stopped working. When an Atari engineer got to the bar, they realized that the problem was simple: the coin box was so full of quarters that it wouldn’t take any more. In this one bar, Pong was taking in $300 a week – a huge amount, considering Bushnell could manufacture more Pong machines for $350 each.
To deliver as many new machines as possible, early Atari employees worked incredibly hard. But, at the same time, there was a hedonistic side to the culture at Atari. Out back, the smell of marijuana smoke was always in the air. Coworkers slept with each other. There was cocaine use in the company hot tub.
This culture started to cause problems after the company was sold to Warner for $30 million in 1976, by which point Atari had progressed beyond just arcade machines and launched one of the first-ever video game consoles. The takeover brought a more corporate approach, as well as a new CEO, a serious businessman named Ray Kassar who’d previously headed Ralph Lauren. His ethos could hardly have differed more from Bushnell’s. Indeed, when the men met for the first time, Bushnell was wearing a T-shirt with the words “I like to fuck” written on it.
The culture clash between the new corporate owners and the freewheeling company atmosphere started to cause problems. Key engineers left, unsatisfied with the company culture, and Atari struggled to reinvent itself after its early success. By 1984, it had crashed completely. Split into smaller parts, the company was sold off.
In the early 1970s, Xerox established the foundations of modern personal computing.
Most people, if asked who built the first personal computer, might think of Apple or perhaps IBM. But, in fact, the business that first built something close to a modern-day PC was Xerox.
Today, Xerox is synonymous with photocopying. Indeed, you can use its name as a verb, and ask someone to xerox something for you. But back in the early 1970s, Xerox’s Palo Alto Research Center – or PARC, for short – made a major breakthrough in computing when it built the first computer with a modern, visual user interface.
Until then, computers had been focused solely on computing – on, quite simply, making mathematical computations. Xerox’s breakthrough was prompted by a handful of engineers who passionately believed that the focus of computers in the future would be the display. One of these engineers was Bob Taylor, who argued that computers needed to change. The eyeball, he said, is the connection between brain and computer. Therefore, the computer’s design needs to be focused on its display. Taylor also passionately believed that the future of computing would be communications, not computing or mathematics, and that computers in the future would be personal, with one on every desk.
The computer that was eventually built was called the Alto. It had a lot of features that we’d recognize today, like overlapping windows, icons, fonts and different menus. It had a bitmap display, which meant that it could show pictures on the screen, an innovation which would enable painting, animation and fonts for the first time. It even had a mouse you could use to navigate the screen, albeit one that worked poorly.
Further innovations soon followed. Researchers invented the Bravo, an improved machine that, unlike the Alto whose display was black and white, offered 256 different colors. No one had seen color before on a computer, and, unfortunately, the Xerox leadership was skeptical about whether there was a need for it in the marketplace. This wasn’t helped by researchers at PARC using the machine to create hippieish, wacky graphics late at night, which went against the grain of Xerox’s buttoned-up corporate culture.
Ultimately, Xerox didn’t push ahead, instead sticking to its specialty – printing. While it failed to exploit many of the computer innovations developed at PARC, though, Xerox’s influence did live on in another company, thanks to a visit from a young, slightly crazy businessman: Steve Jobs.
Steve Jobs and Steve Wozniak formed an unconventional partnership and created Apple Computers.
Around the same time that Atari and Xerox were getting started, two Valley geniuses – Steve Jobs and Steve Wozniak, the cofounders of Apple – were also hard at work.
Jobs and “the Woz,” as he came to be known, first worked together building and selling highly illegal “blue boxes” – devices that emitted a tone that, when played into a telephone, tricked the network exchange into letting the dialer place free calls.
Wozniak, an engineer, designed and built the blue box. But it was Jobs, the more business-minded of the two, who said, “Let’s sell this thing.” It was the start of a transformative partnership, but it wasn’t yet clear that they would build a business together.
Jobs landed a job at Atari, where he worked as a technician but soon quit to travel to India in search of a spiritual guru and enlightenment. Months later, he returned to the Atari offices with a shaved head and wearing a saffron robe and asked for his job back. Bushnell gave it to him, but Jobs was put on the night shift, for two reasons. Firstly, Jobs’s difficult personality was causing problems during the day. Secondly, Bushnell knew that if Jobs worked at night, when it was quiet, he’d probably bring his talented friend Wozniak in with him. He would get “two Steves at the price of one,” as Bushnell said.
And so it proved to be true. Jobs would let Wozniak in at night, to come play games and tinker with things. Not long after, Bushnell tasked Jobs with building a new game, Breakout, knowing full well that Wozniak, the far more talented engineer, would end up doing the work. In the end, Wozniak designed a game that was exquisitely constructed. The Atari engineers had never seen anything like it.
This foreshadowed things to come. Not long after, Wozniak built a personal computer named Apple I, inspired by the innovations happening at Xerox and using spare Atari parts. Seeing a financial opportunity, Jobs suggested they form a company. And thus Apple Computers was born.
Apple’s big breakthrough was inspired by Xerox and assisted by incredible marketing.
By 1979, Apple was an established business. Nonetheless, what Xerox was doing at its PARC research facility was still far superior to everything at Apple. But Xerox’s head office showed little interest in personal computers. This meant that, commercially, Xerox PCs were going nowhere fast. Steve Jobs exploited this brilliantly.
Jobs asked for a demonstration tour at PARC, in return for letting Xerox make an early investment in Apple. Xerox agreed, and, in December 1979, Jobs visited PARC. He was astonished by the capabilities of the Alto and its graphical user interface. In particular, he was fascinated by the Alto’s mouse, which, for the first time, allowed a personal computer user to point, click, cut, paste, doodle, paint and more. With the click of a mouse, something clicked in Jobs’s brain. In this moment, he would later report, it felt so obvious that every computer would work this way in the future.
This visit to Xerox changed everything for Apple. Apple’s future computers would also have a graphical user interface. They introduced now-common terms like “desktop,” “icon” and “mouse” to the general public for the first time.
It was the Macintosh computer, released in 1984, that really delivered Jobs’s vision of a consumer-friendly, easy-to-use computer that could be fun as well as productive. Jobs was convinced that the Macintosh was the greatest consumer product in history and demanded marketing that was correspondingly good.
An ad agency recruited Blade Runner director Ridley Scott to direct a commercial based on George Orwell’s dystopian novel 1984. In the ad, a brave young woman revolts against Big Brother, smashing the screen from which he broadcasts to an audience of zombified masses. It was a thinly veiled allegory for the thoughtful, upstart Apple taking on what they regarded as a soulless enterprise – IBM, the dominant computer corporation at the time.
The ad was a huge hit, and, the following day, news networks reported it as news, showing it in full.
Days later, Jobs unveiled the Macintosh – literally. Pulling the computer out of a bag, he turned it on and walked away. To a silent auditorium, the computer said, “Hello, I’m Macintosh. It sure is great to get out of that bag.”
A computer that spoke for itself? No one had ever seen, or heard, anything like it. The audience, and the market, was enrapt.
General Magic, a hotbed for talent, invented the iPhone ten years before the iPhone was invented.
General Magic might just be the greatest company you’ve never heard of. The stuff of Silicon Valley legend, General Magic was spun out of Apple in 1990, with many people from the team behind the original Macintosh computer on board. It had an incredible product idea, something far ahead of its time: a handheld gadget, called a personal communicator. The gadget, plugged into a television line, would be able to handle email and phone calls, as well as send SMS-style instant messages with emojis and stickers. It would have an app store with downloadable games, music and programs for checking stock prices and similar activities. A camera attachment would be available.
Sound familiar? General Magic had hit on the idea of a kind of smartphone, a full decade before Apple even started working on one.
Like so many Silicon Valley projects, the working environment was a little crazy. The company took space in a building that had been empty for ten years and had a pack of feral dogs in the basement. Someone’s pet rabbit lived in the office and, having never been toilet trained, left a mess everywhere. One of the principle engineers, Zarko Draganic, famously lived in the office for months on end. Colleagues would suggest a meeting at three o’clock, and he’d say, “a.m. or p.m.?”
The General Magic device was in many ways revolutionary. It had a visual user interface based on the real world, with an image of a desk, on which you could click and then write, and images of filing cabinets that you could click on to store and access files. The icon of a game room’s door led the user to a choice of networked, online games.
But the device was also flawed. You had to physically plug it into a phone line to get it to work. It was larger than planned and had poor battery life. It was, ultimately, ahead of its time. The idea came before there was sufficient computing power to deliver on it. The device failed, and General Magic went under, too.
But the company left a legacy of talent for the rest of Silicon Valley. Key engineers went on to play critical roles in the development of the iPhone, as well as of Android. And a guy called Pierre Omidyar ran a little site called Auction Web out of his cubicle that would forever change the world of retail.
Ebay started as a backroom side project, became a global success and gave us the feedback system.
In 1995, Pierre Omidyar was a longhaired young idealist who believed in the inherent goodness of people and the power of markets to improve lives.
When a colleague idly suggested that an internet auction site would be cool, Omidyar spent a Labor Day weekend hammering out the code for a primitive online marketplace.
The marketplace, called Ebay, relied on a simple honor system to start with – buyers and vendors had no guarantee that they’d get the goods or the cash that they’d been promised. But it turned out that Omidyar’s belief in people’s fundamental honesty was largely correct, and the system worked.
Ebay took off – fast. To start with, Omidyar charged a 25-cent listing fee, to be sent to him in the mail. After six or seven weeks, he was receiving a 25-cent payment every day. Six months later, he was receiving literally tons of payments in the mail every day, and soon thereafter he was earning more from Ebay than from his day job. Ebay has made a profit every single quarter since it started – something very few companies can say.
As well as rapidly becoming the place to buy and sell everything from best-selling books to obscure collectors items, Ebay also gave the world an innovation that is hugely influential today: the feedback system.
Back in the 1990s, the internet was a largely anonymous space, and Omidyar realized he needed a way to allow sellers and buyers to create a reputation, so that people who didn’t “know” them could still trust them and trade with them. He created the feedback forum, allowing people to rate each other and provide feedback on how their transactions went. It seems simple and commonplace today, but at the time, it was completely new and crucial to Ebay’s growth.
Ebay went public in 1998, just three years after it was first launched as an experiment. The share price rocketed on the first day of trading. The venture capitalists who had made early investments in Omidyar’s auction site made a thousand-to-one return on their money. The next company that would rise so fast was Google.
The founders of Google didn’t really want to launch it as a business.
Larry Page and Sergey Brin didn’t originally want to build a search engine. Both graduate students at Stanford, they were working toward doctorates in computer science.
And they both loved coming up with imaginative new ideas and concepts. Larry was interested in automating vehicles, and both liked to talk about building a space tether – a rock orbiting earth with a cable coming down that you could use to simply climb up into space.
The pair eventually worked together on a doctoral project to map the internet. They literally downloaded the internet’s contents and analyzed connections between web pages. While doing this, the idea of building a search engine wasn’t on their radar, partly because, with engines like Yahoo! and Alta Vista already in existence, a search engine didn’t really feel like legitimate academic research.
But one day, Larry realized that you could identify how important or useful a website is by looking at how many other websites link to it, and which ones. In about eight weeks, Page and Brin used this insight to build a search engine that was more powerful than any other in use.
Originally, the pair’s plan was to license their technology, because they wanted to get on with their PhDs rather than waste lots of time creating a business.
An early meeting with one search provider, Excite, showed how much better they could do than the existing competition. They showed Excite’s CEO, George Bell, their technology. They went to his search engine, typed in “internet,” and it generated largely random results, mostly in Chinese. Then they typed “internet” into Google. Sensible, useful pages showed up, like the page for Mosaic, the leading web browser at the time. Extraordinarily, Bell told them that he didn’t want their technology. He didn’t want it to be easy for people to find stuff, he said. He wanted people to stay on his site.
A short while later, having failed to license their technology to anyone, and realizing that their search engine was more powerful than anything else, Page and Brin founded Google as a company. A short but extraordinary journey to global dominance had begun.
Decisions to open up Apple’s closed-system approach enabled the business’s explosive growth.
Back in the late 1990s, Apple was struggling. The Macintosh may have wowed audiences at it’s launch, but, by 1997, Apple’s personal computers held a risible two-percent share of the market.
That year, Steve Jobs returned to Apple after a period running a different tech business, and he started to change things. He drove the launch of the original iMac, with its translucent, colored shell, the first really beautiful desktop computer. And he got behind the creation and launch of the iPod.
But while it was hugely fashionable, the iPod wasn’t a very successful product. Apple’s goal had been to use the iPod to sell more Macs, because you would need a Mac to use the music player, and this closed-system approach created a major barrier to customer uptake.
Eventually, the Apple executive team convinced Jobs to open up iTunes to Windows so anyone could use the iPod. Soon, Apple was earning literally billions a week from iPods and had a 90-percent market share of the music player business.
The next step for Jobs and Apple was the iPhone, developed at breakneck speed due to Jobs’s intense fear that Sony or Motorola would combine a phone with a music player and kill the iPod dead. The first iPhones were terrible – as phones. The engineering team would say, “This is the worst phone I’ve ever used – it barely dials!” But Jobs recognized that the phone capabilities were relatively unimportant. What they were really building was a laptop killer.
The first iPhone was launched at a glitzy event, with Jobs demonstrating it live while his tech team looked on, terrified that the quickly finished software would crash at any moment. It was a success, but the first iPhone had no third-party apps; Jobs wanted a closed system, concerned that if any developer could put something on the phone, it might crash it. But when Google launched Android, with the ability to download third party apps, Jobs panicked, and accepted the need to open up the ecosystem.
Apple’s cofounder, Steve Wozniak, has credited the third-party app store as being more groundbreaking than the iPhone itself. It enabled openness, innovation and connectivity. Today, it’s hard to imagine using an iPhone and not being able to load up the Facebook app. But, of course, it’s not so long ago that Facebook didn’t even exist.
Facebook moved fast, broke things and it now dominates.
Fifteen years ago, it was practically impossible to think of a person by name – some guy you’d met in class, for example – and then find a picture of him. At Harvard, individual dorms had paper directories called face-books, with pictures of all their students, but there was no overall listing. Mark Zuckerberg and Dustin Moskovitz decided to create a unified, online version, called The Facebook. A future colossus was born.
After rolling out their site as a dorm-room project, Zuckerberg and Moskovitz moved to Silicon Valley with the intention of turning it into a proper business. At the time, Facebook’s mantra was “Move fast and break things,” and in the early days they lived up to it. If new code was ready, it simply got pushed out live, usually in the middle of the night to reduce the impact if it all went wrong. Facebook’s engineers got used to staying up till 6 a.m. to fix things.
Even major new changes were introduced quickly. The 2006 introduction of the News Feed feature was revolutionary. Before, Facebook was largely static – you only found things if you went looking for them. Now, News Feed information, as well as news and photos, was pushed straight to you. This major change was rolled out quickly, with a jaunty message that read “Facebook gets a facelift.” People were instantly angry, feeling that their privacy had been violated. Students got petitions together, and even protested, chanting, “Bring back the old Facebook.”
But the thing was, at Facebook HQ, they were seeing a funny pattern. When they looked at people’s behavior – even the behavior of people telling Facebook they hated the change – they discovered that everyone was using News Feed. Constantly. People were protesting, while also using Facebook twice as much as before.
That Facebook arguably knows more about what its users want than users do themselves is just one facet of the platform’s power. Facebook’s position today as the world’s largest online platform gives it huge power and influence. Some question whether enough consideration has been given to how the values and decisions of Zuckerberg and a small cohort of his young male friends have influenced the direction of the internet, and how we interact with each other. That, however, is a question Silicon Valley will have to address in the future.
Silicon Valley is a strange place: a mixture of small cities and suburbia that has had a vast influence on our world today. The intensity of talent in such a small area, combined with access to investment funds, as well as an unusually high tolerance of failure and unusual personalities, has seen this tiny part of the world birth a disproportionate number of the technologies on which billions of us rely every day.
0 notes
Text
Unclerave's Verbose Weblog.
The John Hollister Property in Glastonbury, Connecticut was actually constructed about 1649 baseding on The Historic Society from Glastonbury" (Style page). And one thing that verticals can not perform, something that a number of our local competitors can not carry out is when there is a problem or whether it is actually a power failure, a snow hurricane, a hurricane, whatever the organic catastrophe is actually or even other catastrophe, our experts could get item to clients along with having the ability to get the product to the correct spot at the right time on a time in and time out manner.
Our team possessed some good times fucking! Not one oz of me anticipated that. It was actually the weirdest appointment I have actually ever before had in my lifestyle." Weinstein purportedly made the promotion many other times, to which Coughlan regularly rejected. Biden said to The Nyc Moments two times before Mountain was set to attest that he started through thinking that Thomas was diet4beauty.info actually upright-- and also, as this follows, through presuming that Hillside was being located.
She stated that this tantra has got many components but the greatest is the part where lord Shiva has actually shared some strange energies to siren parvati and also this is actually called' yoni tantra'. At times our team will take a trip to Missouri to invest the holiday season at my in-laws or even they will travel to our home in Texas.
So primarily Navamsa chart is a chart from marital relationship (Marriage is actually a second lifestyle of the individual) hence after relationship D-1 chart migrate itself right into D-9 graph, and start creating good or poor outcome. On top of that, I often keep Passover matzo simple; nonetheless, when I make this at various other times of the year, I usually incorporate minced, dried onions, minced garlic, or other seasonings to the dough or sprinkle ahead.
Keep in mind - If Fatal worlds come to be Atma Karaka as well as Amatya Karaka so this is actually considered good instead of any type of benefic ending up being Atma Karaka and also Amatya Karaka, As well as an additional factor is, The majority of the astrologist states that Saturn in Leo Navamsa is actually just about poor, nevertheless its own always certainly not true, If Saturn is yoga exercise Karaka in Navamsa (For Taurus as well as Libra Lagna), or even if Sun is actually properly maded in Navamsa as well as Solar system is likewise in Kendra or in 11th property from Navamsa Graph, So Saturn even in Leo never destroy fruit products of D-9 graph (I have computed this off a lot of celebs astrologies).
Considering that Long time I desired to discuss Navamsa Idea, as I have actually observed lots of people (those are not accustomed to astrology) are actually mistakenly placing their own mind right into Navamsa chart merely to know their future, however still they are actually not able to determine their very own horoscope.
But the market has actually resided in decrease because the 4th quarter of 2014, as oil prices started their high descent, so the increasing damages has actually been considerably better. Summary: Because of a messed up habit on the longest night of the year, Harry has actually ended up being one thing unheard of in the wizarding globe - a residing vampire.
The supply finalized yesterday down 41%, or even $26.21, to $37.41. The expert claims he strains ahead up with a close to- or maybe intermediate-term stimulant that would trigger capitalists to get the" overhauled account." New CEO Christopher Frost locates themself in a "reveal me" scenario as entrepreneurs are probably to adopt a wait-and- observe strategy, Reeder tells capitalists in an analysis note after the business reduced its own dividend.
I miss out on those times, my Grand daddy which actually encouraged my affection from trains, and just what were actually a lot simpler attend lifestyle. The thought and feelings that if her nephew would certainly become her aficionado that would certainly be within your home and no one will know gave her some wish thinking that due to the fact that he was youthful she can manage him.
That means that if Public Storing began extremely hard times and also was actually pushed to cut the payment (they 'd must reduce the common very first which is actually additionally highly extremely unlikely) shareholders are actually owed all missed remittances upon the remediation from a popular reward.
0 notes
Last Seen Blogs
easypeasypanic
i own no braincells, sorry ya'll
ruettelnuss
Unbetitelt
truefriendships-blog
I could write a thousand songs just for you...
is-itcrazy
Forget How Much It Hurts And Try Again