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fcble · 2 months

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GREAT THINGS, PART I

"Call to me and I will answer you, and will tell you great and hidden things that you have not known." — Jeremiah, 33:3.

In which Haksu becomes an idol in an unorthodox way. FEATURING: Kang Haksu, Lee Taein, Fable ensemble SETTING: November 2017 WORD COUNT: 10.3k WARNINGS / NOTES: Stalking, blackmail, extremely heavy-handed religious themes. Welcome to the piece that kicked my ass for over a year 🎉🎉. As in I started it a year ago and then wrote 9k words in the past two weeks. I have versions of this piece in three different perspectives. This is technically a rewrite of something I wrote earlier but now a few times longer 🎉🎉.

You’re going to do great things. You know this because it’s all anyone’s ever told you. You hear it from your father and your mother and your father’s father—until he dies—and your father’s mother—until she dies too—and your mother’s father and your mother’s mother.

You wonder when the great things will start. Time flips by, like the thin pages of the Bible that has resided on your bedside table since you were five. You’re a kid, a teenager, a young adult. You enter and exit middle school and high school. You begin to attend a mediocre university in Seoul, because it’s the only one in the city that accepted you. You brush that off, because you’re going to be great.

You think if you’re really, truly, going to be great, you might have to do it yourself.

The man’s name is Lee Taein. You meet him for the first time in a dream. You memorize the lines and planes of his face, because something about him is familiar. You conclude he must be rich or famous or both.

In the dream, he doesn’t tell you his name. You find it yourself, on the Internet, holding the image of his face in your head as you comb through the other dream fragments: a stage, a song, a single voice. You’ve never thought about being a singer. You wonder why.

You know how to sing. You’ve spent over a decade in choirs. You could be a singer.

That, you decide, is greater than whatever you’re doing now, which isn’t much of anything, and certainly nothing someone great would be doing.

You do your research. A lot of research. You spend your nights in bed, the darkness of your bedroom illuminated only by your laptop screen. In the mornings, you spend twice as long covering up the shadows under your eyes.

It’s a worthwhile exchange. You learn Lee Taein is forty-nine years old. Last year, he parted ways with SM Entertainment to found his own entertainment company. You dig deeper.

He married his current wife four years ago. Her name is Jung Eunyoung. She’s forty-three, and yet has risen no higher than a secretary for a minor law firm. You learn all this from her very public Instagram profile.

His biggest vice is gambling—some of it barely legal, most of it not. You find a news article from 1999 detailing an illegal gambling ring bust. His name is mentioned once.

His new company is called Zenith Entertainment. You’re briefly disappointed to see that the last time they held auditions was February.

There are partially censored Tweets and forum threads speculating the identities of the company’s trainees. You look at the grainy pictures and read the names: Jaeseop, Kiyoung, Eunsu.

You keep meticulous notes: index cards and the Notes app and a notebook you bought solely to organize your thoughts. Your grades slip. You haven’t attended class in three weeks.

You spend your days at a coffee shop across the street from Zenith Entertainment. You sit in a corner with a view of the building. You order the two cheapest items on the menu: a cookie and a small black coffee. You open your laptop and your notebook and pretend to work, covering the pages of your notebook with another sheet of paper whenever someone walks by.

Mostly, you watch.

You keep track of the people entering and exiting the building. Many of them work in the copywriting agency, based on their business casual outfits. You’ve stepped into the building once, only to be overwhelmed by the bright lights and the quiet hum of computers and the feeling of wrongness at being in a professional setting.

Taein dresses almost the same. If you didn’t know what he looked like, you’d miss him. The difference is in his stride and his posture: back straight, head forward, quick and even steps. You like him even more for that. He arrives in the late morning and leaves after the sun sets. You note the times: 9:43 AM, 10:02 AM, 9:56 AM, 7:19 PM, 7:48 PM, 8:10 PM.

You learn the intricacies of his schedule. There are days when he never arrives at all. You watch and wait as the hours tick by. Eight o'clock, nine o'clock, ten, eleven. No Lee Taein in sight. You wonder what he does when he doesn't work.

There are times when he'll step outside in the middle of the day, the movement catching your eye. You watch him stand on the sidewalk across the street and smoke a cigarette while he speaks on the phone. Twenty minutes later, he'll head back inside.

Sometimes you watch him leave accompanied by a younger man, somewhere around your age, who walks nearly, but not quite, behind him. You assume that must be his personal assistant or secretary or something along those lines.

Some of the people who visit the building must be trainees. You identify them from their age—young—and their dress—casual—and the times they arrive—all throughout the day. Occasionally, they stop by the coffee shop first, becoming more and more familiar to you.

There’s the tall foreigner who pronounces Americano with a distinctly Western accent. He arrives early in the morning, ordering his coffee shortly after you. He crosses the street in casual clothes and leaves in the late afternoon with the copywriter crowd, having changed into a more formal suit jacket and dress pants. You miss his departure for days until you realize he’s dressed differently.

There are the two high schoolers: one in a lurid yellow school uniform and another in a more sensible navy blue one. Sometimes their friend arrives earlier than them and sits a few tables down from you. He doesn’t wear a uniform. He sits for a half hour or so with his earbuds in while his iced coffee melts in front of him, until the high schoolers arrive. They talk loudly and boisterously, as if no one is listening.

You listen. You learn their names—Eunsu, Byeonghwi, Mingeun—and their orders—cold brew with an extra shot of espresso, iced caffè mocha, iced caffè latte. You hear them complain about teachers and Taein and trainee life.

You wonder if they could be your way in.

At night, when your roommate asks where you spend all your time, you tell him you got a job. He asks where. You fidget and your palms sweat and your heartbeat quickens. You stare past him and lie.

That weekend, you travel a few kilometers farther than usual and confess your sins.

Absolved, you think you’re ready for what comes next.

You have to talk to Taein. You can’t be great if all you do is wait and watch.

You peruse your notes, all of that information collected from your research and your observations, and then you devise your plan. You ask for His guidance and affirmation every day until you receive it. It comes in the form of one of your professors agreeing to overlook the sudden string of zeros in your homework assignments and tests. You were a decent enough student until a little over a month ago. If your previous work can be so easily overworked and dismissed, then maybe it’s time for your true calling. You’ve waited for this moment your entire life.

Less than a week later, you walk into the building like you belong there, not too early, not too late. You wear a winter jacket, which you shed as soon as you step inside, over a stiffly starched collared shirt and your best Sunday pants. You step into the elevator, alone, and decide to start at the top. You press the button for the fifth floor. It refuses to light up. You press it again and again to no avail. You stand in the still elevator and try the fourth floor.

Your ascent begins. You planned it all out: it's just after nine in the morning, after all the copywriters start their work and much too early for the students to be around. You're a last-minute callback from the audition, though that was months ago. It explains why Taein won't recognize you. You spoke to someone over the phone, someone named—what was her name? You can't remember. She said you should visit, so you're here—and oh, the appointment isn't in his calendar? She must have forgotten. You'll smile winningly and apologetically and Taein will be so charmed he'll agree to take you on on the spot.

You haven’t thought farther than that.

You step out of the elevator and into a dimly lit hall. The very air seems stale. There seems to be no one else around, so you proceed slowly down the hall. The fluorescent lights cast everything in a sickly yellow shade. You’re presented with two doors. The one on the left has a small glass window. You angle yourself away from it, on the off chance that someone sees you and knows you don’t belong. The one on the right is windowless, a blank slate of dark brown wood.

You debate internally for a few moments. The longer you stay there, the longer you risk meeting someone other than Taein. You try the plain door. The knob turns easily in your hand.

“Jaeseop?” A voice asks from inside. You aren’t Jaeseop, but you’ve seen that name before.

You steel yourself, silently ask for His guidance, and turn the knob all the way.

“If you’re asking about managing the social media accounts again, the answer is no,” the voice continues. It belongs to a middle-aged man, in a plain dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a ballpoint pen in the breast pocket. He looks away from his computer screen, and you find yourself face-to-face with Lee Taein.

“You must be lost. The copywriting agency is on the first two floors,” Taein says.

“I’m supposed to be here,” you say. You bow, politely, to him, then add on, “My name is Kang Haksu. I received a call a few days ago—”

Taein cuts you off, which is maybe for the better, because now that you were about to say it, your story is paper-thin and a bit silly. “You didn’t receive anything. There were no calls. You’re no one.”

Nothing is going to plan, so you do your best to improvise. “I know you’re developing an idol group. I need to be part of it.”

Taein stares at you like he can’t believe those words came out of your mouth. You believe them. You need this. Who will you be if you don’t do this?

“This is not a charity.” His voice is bone dry. “We can’t get everything we want in life. It’s better to learn that lesson early. Tell whoever sold you your information on my business and I that I don’t take charity cases.”

“I’m not a sasaeng.” His words sting. It’s a veiled accusation, but an accusation nonetheless.

“I never said you were. People like you are a dime a dozen, thinking you can waltz into the entertainment industry with no experience and no connections and immediately become a superstar. It takes much more hard work, skill, and luck than someone like you can imagine. Try your luck somewhere else.”

His words strip you to the core. Were you too naive, thinking you’d be different? You shrink back from the ferocity of it all, cowed more than you’d like to admit. You don’t take his words to heart. You can’t go anywhere else. You’re supposed to be here, under Taein’s direction.

You don’t know how or when, but you’ll be back. You’ll find another way. You don’t have anything to say to his words, the humiliation still burning across your face, so you turn tail and flee.

You escape out into the cold, winter morning, no closer to your destiny than you were an hour ago. If anything, you’re objectively farther away. Taein knows you now, knows your name and your face and your deepest desire. You don’t let that stop you. You vow to yourself to never let him get the best of you like that again. You’ll be seeing him a lot in the future, you know, because you’ll be in his group.

By the time you enter the cafè across the street again, you’re bouncing back. You’ve always been resilient. You’re shielded, after all, by the grace of God. The cashier starts to ring up your usual black coffee and cookie order, but you wave it away and spend a little more on a latte instead. As you sip your drink and stare broodingly at the building across the street, your second plan begins to form. If it’s a sasaeng Taein wants, then it’s a sasaeng he’ll get.

On your way home, you stop at a convenience store and buy a new notebook. You sit on your dorm room bed and think about the days you spent watching the building, the days when Taein was nowhere to be found. He’s a bit of a workaholic, but clearly not enough to spend seven days a week at his workplaces. You, on the other hand, are unemployed enough to spend seven days a week looking into what he does. You copy the dates and times out of your old notebook and try to find a pattern.

He arrives late on Mondays, but you chalk that up to a normal dislike of Mondays. The rest of the weekdays are sporadic. There was a week where Taein missed three days of work in a row. You wonder if it's something else, if it's easily explainable. Maybe he caught a cold. It is winter, after all. You dismiss the thought. He's up to something. You know he is.

The day he misses the most often is Tuesday, from the few weeks you've watched him. In fact, he's never been at work on a Tuesday. You wonder why you never noticed that before.

It's Thursday, which means you have a few days to continue your research. You do a quick search for how much a private investigator costs, and are shocked by the results. It's fine. You can be a private investigator yourself. How hard can it be?

You plug Taein's name into one of those less-than-reputable websites that promise addresses and phone numbers. You're prompted to create an account and pay a small fee. You click through it all without hesitating. A few thousand won now means very little in the great, grand scheme of your idol destiny.

Multiple people with the same name as Taein pop up. You aren't worried, because your Taein is a public figure. That, and you know his age and his wife’s name.

Eventually, one of them fits the bill perfectly. You take a quick break to straighten your posture and ease the stiffness from your spine. You've been sitting here, engrossed in your new plan, for the better part of an hour.

Your best guess so far is an address in Hongje-dong. You've been lucky in your observation so far. That must mean you're on the right track. You're getting closer and closer with each passing day. Tomorrow you'll close the distance between you and your destiny.

In the morning, you wake up extra early to get to Hongje-dong before Taein leaves. You doubt he takes the subway anywhere, so you rent a bike and make your way to his address. You only lose your balance twice in your first block. It’s early enough in the morning that there’s no one around to see you.

You arrive at the address much faster than you expected. The sun is only barely beginning to creep over the horizon. Then you pause, because Taein lives in a condominium. Every house on the block looks the same. The only differences are the cars parked out front of each one and the numbers on the houses. You stick out here, a young man on a bicycle with nowhere to go. You take one last look at Taein’s home and the car outside—a white Mazda—then wheel yourself around and pedal out.

You repeat the license plate to yourself in your head until you arrive at a convenience store. It’s the only place around that’s open. You buy a bag of chips and take a seat outside, keeping an eye out for Taein. You add the plate number to your notes and try to figure out exactly what kind of car he drives. You have time to spare. You expect him to head to the Zenith Entertainment building today, and he tends to arrive around nine or ten. After you consider traffic, it shouldn’t take him more than half an hour.

You’re almost certain he drives a 2015 Mazda 3. You head back inside and buy a coffee. Then you take a few moments to think through your plan. Like if Taein drives, then where in the city does he park? Naver Map told you this convenience store was along the quickest route to Sinmunno 2-ga. What if he has a faster route?

You’re still worrying when Taein’s car speeds by, much faster than the speed limit allows. You jump up from your seat, nearly spilling your coffee. You can’t hold it and ride your bike at the same time, so you hurry to dispose of it and pack up your notes again. You pray Taein is heading to Zenith Entertainment. It’s a little early, but maybe there’s a good reason for that. You set off in the same direction as him, though he’s disappeared from sight.

You make your way to Zenith Entertainment anyway, and by chance, see a white Mazda disappearing into a parking garage down the road from the company building. It’s too far for the garage to be connected to the building, so you lock your bike across the street and wait for him to leave. You lock and unlock the bike lock three times, fiddling with the combination. You strap the helmet to your backpack and lean against the seat and pretend to look at your phone, all the while eyeing the entrance.

Taein never leaves. You look both ways, then cross the street into the depths of the garage. It’s risky, because Taein could see you and recognize you, but you can’t take the chance that he’s gone somewhere else or is doing something else. Your imagination runs wild, thinking of all the illicit activities he might participate in. There are a number of other cars in the lot. The copywriters, you assume.

Then, in a small walkway that must lead to another entrance, you see him, standing with another man. You duck behind a car, and creep closer to the two of them. Taein must be smoking, because the smell of cigarette smoke permeates your hiding spot.

“You wanted to do more than catch up,” Taein is saying when you can finally hear them.

“I didn’t.” The other man sounds amused.

“We could have met anywhere else. You insisted on this attempt at discretion.”

“It’s about your case,” the other man says. “They want to open it again.”

“I thought you took care of that, Cheolhwan.” Taein sounds guarded. “How much do they want?”

You don’t know what this is about, but you silently take your phone and start to record.

“Twice what you gave me. This is above my pay grade.”

They’re quiet after that. You peek carefully through the cars to see if they’ve left. They’re still standing there, the ember at the end of Taein’s cigarette the brightest light. You duck down again without getting a better look at Cheolhwan. You wonder if he’s a loan shark or something. Breaking off and starting a company can’t be cheap.

“Alright. The police never liked me much anyway,” Taein says suddenly. You poke your head back up to watch him drop his cigarette butt to the ground and grind it under his shoe.

Cheolhwan snorts. “I can’t imagine why. Planning on begging Jinguk again?”

“I don’t beg. Jinguk-ssi and I are proper business partners.”

That gets a laugh out of Cheolhwan, the short, rough, sound echoing around the garage.

You stop your video recording, unsure of whatever that was. You doubt it'll be of use in your quest to be an idol, but you decide to hold onto it for now. You hear footsteps begin to recede in the distance, and you wait in your hiding place until they disappear completely.

All in all, you feel vindicated. There's something suspicious going on with Taein. You're certain you can get to the bottom of it. It's something to do with money. You can find out who Cheolhwan is. Their relationship is uncertain to you. They spoke casually to each other, but there was a degree of aloofness to the entire conversation that you don't know what to make of. Whatever it is, it was more than a simple meeting between friends.

When you’re certain they’re gone, you stand up, stretching out the crick in your neck. You assume Taein will spend the rest of the day at work, and that’s not somewhere you can watch him too closely. You return to your usual haunt across the street instead and make an attempt to catch up on your forgotten coursework.

It’s a good attempt, but you lose all steam when the high school trainees arrive. You stare daggers at their backs, because they’re in the exact position you want to be in. You watch them order their drinks and slowly sip them, idling the afternoon by. You don't understand why they don't take their positions more seriously. There are so many other people—yourself included—who are dying to be where they are.

But you aren’t them, so you have to settle for envy.

Eventually, they leave, and you watch through the window as they enter the Zenith Entertainment building, still laughing and talking companionably. You aren't jealous. You could build your own close group of friends. You just haven't. But if you really wanted to, you could.

The sun begins to set, and you know you've outstayed your welcome. You haven't bought anything since your single coffee hours ago. The waitstaff give you sidelong looks every now and then, but they don't ask you to leave, so you pretend you don't see them.

You finally see Taein make his long-awaited exit a little earlier than usual. He's walking fast. This time, you’re prepared. As his Mazda 3 emerges from the parking garage, you’re right behind him on your bike. You think he should be heading home, but that's not set in stone, so you decide to follow him. Your intuition pays off when you see him turn not back to Hongje-dong, but somewhere else. At a traffic light, you pause to try and figure out where you are. You've only lived in Seoul for a year and a half, the length of your short-lived university career. The city blocks are still unfamiliar to you. The light turns green, and Taein speeds off. You rush to catch up with him.

You wonder where he could be going, driving so quickly he nearly bowls over a pedestrian. Leave it to him to be so careless. Your opinion of him is souring faster and faster.

He comes to a stop outside of a small, decrepit bar you’ve never heard of before, still driving too quickly as he pulls into the parking lot. You stop, across the street again, trying to figure out where you are. It doesn’t like the type of scene that caters to university students or tired corporate employees. Your mind goes to the worst places. It could be a front for all the worst types of activities—drugs and gambling and prostitution. You record the name in flickering neon lights anyway.

You’re about to leave and try to return during the day when you spot Taein leaving. He’s in the company of a young woman, and so you almost don’t recognize him. She’s wearing a long coat, but the front is open, giving you glimpses of an outfit that isn’t close to being warm enough for the weather. She clings to Taein’s arm like a lifeline, stumbling over the cracks in the sidewalk in her heels. They look like a couple. Your stomach turns. He has a wife.

With shaking hands, you raise your phone and snap another few pictures. You don’t want to see him anymore, so you don’t bother to try and follow them. You almost regret your decision to weasel your way into his life. Instead, you get back onto your bike and head home.

Saturday arrives. You don't spend your weekends at Zenith Entertainment, because you have better things to do. Or had. This morning, you wake up early again to bike back to Taein's home. You spent some time last night wondering just how far you’ll go to reach your destiny. Between that shady conversation you overheard yesterday and the young woman he met up with, you’re almost afraid of what you’ll see him do next. Sometimes you have to do difficult things before you can do great things.

More than that you’re curious about what Taein does on the weekends. Before this, your impression of him was that of a career-driven man with few feelings or even an existence outside of his job. You don’t understand why you have to work for this man, but it isn’t your place to question it.

You cycle around the blocks a few times, and it slowly comes to light in your head.

Taein is clearly the breadwinner between him and his lawfully wedded wife, so you doubt he spends his weekends shopping or cooking or cleaning. You also doubt he’s devout. As hard as you try, you can't even begin to picture him in church. You're almost certain he doesn't have kids. If he does, it's a very closely guarded secret, because it wasn't mentioned once in anything you read about him online. You wonder if maybe he had kids with his previous wife and lost custody of them. Knowing what you know about him now, you don’t find that hard to believe.

The white Mazda 3 sits outside of his condo. A light is on inside the house. You aren’t looking forward to spending a day waiting for Taein to do something. You wonder if you should have forked over the money—your parents’ money—for a private investigator. Then it would be someone else keeping watch on Taein’s house, someone more suited for the job than one young man shivering on a bike.

You think it's weird for you to sit right outside his house, so you take to patrolling the two possible entrances to the street instead. You pedal slowly, heading up and down the street. At the moment, there's nothing you fear more than having him leave without you noticing. You pause to scrutinize the map on your phone to ensure there are no other exits or back roads or possible ways out of his home other than the main street.

Then, eventually, you see his car roll by. You rush after it. He's driving slower than normal. That's when you notice it isn't him in the driver's seat, but his wife. She's the only one in the car. It makes sense, then, that the car is following the posted speed limits. You wonder what Taein is possibly doing alone at home now.

You ride back to his house, just in time to see him step outside and lock the door behind him. You stare, shocked, and have just enough sense to hide behind the condo across the street. His wife left less than five minutes ago. Where are they going, separate and alone?

Taein heads off on foot. You wait until you see him leave. The bike is a bit cumbersome. How could you have predicted that his wife would take the car somewhere and he’d leave on foot? You walk alongside your bike and try to pretend you aren't following him. You ride halfway around the block in boredom before you have to turn around so you don't lose him. You wish he could walk faster.

You check your phone. What's within walking distance of his condominium? The convenience store you sat outside of. A station? He could get anywhere from there.

The streets are too empty for you to follow closer. If he were to turn around, he'd spot you immediately. It stresses you out. You aren't a professional. You really should have hired a private investigator.

To your dismay, he turns into the subway station. You abandon your rental bike right outside, tapping through the app to return it as you continue to follow Taein. There are a few more people here, which makes it easier for you to follow him, and easier for him to lose you.

He's waiting for Line 3 towards Ogeum, the only line that runs through this station. You check the overlapping lines on the map, standing behind him so he doesn't see you. There are too many options for possible transfers: Jongno 3-ga, Euljiro 3-ga, Chumgmuro, Yaksu, Oksu, and on and on and on. You hope he doesn't travel too far. You hope he doesn't get off somewhere and order a taxi. You fill the time by once again trying to imagine what he does for fun on the weekends. For some reason, you can't picture him doing anything. He's the type of person to spend the weekend at the office. You chart the path to Zenith Entertainment from your current location. It’s two stops on the line and then a short walk. It wouldn't surprise you if he stopped there. You don't particularly want to go to Zenith Entertainment again. You're supposed to find something about him that will leave him no choice but to accept you. The woman he met yesterday was a good start. You wonder if he's heading out to see her again.

As you're lost in your thoughts, the train arrives. You make sure you're in the same car as Taein, though it increases the chances of him noticing you. You'll have to play it off as a coincidence. You rehearse the lines in your head. You'll pretend you don't recognize him. As if you could forget what he looks like. He might not recognize you, you realize. You met him once, for a few minutes. The train picks up speed.

You pass through the first few stops with no incidents. So Taein isn’t going to work. Your interest is piqued.

You're on the train with him for almost forty-five minutes. You watch station after station pass by, the smooth tone of the recorded announcer reciting stop after stop. Taein makes no move to exit at a single one. He stares down at his phone, which lets you stare at him. He doesn't do anything interesting. All he does is scroll through his phone, tap his screen a few times, then stare. He looks like your average salaryman.

He finally gets off in Yangjae. You’re in Gangnam now. You let him leave first. When the doors are about to close, you follow after him. He isn't heading out, but through the station. You follow him to a transfer to the Shinbundang Line. You only know this because you’re spending so much time staring at the map on your phone, it’s starting to become engrained on the backs of your eyelids.

He rides the new subway line for one stop. You both exit at Gangnam Station. You follow him up back into the daylight. It's much more crowded here, locals and tourists alike.

Taein walks faster. That probably has something to do with the crowds. You hurry after him, thankful you're no longer burdened with your bike.

He heads down a series of twists and turns, alleyways and backroads forming a route Naver Map would never recommend to you. You’re glad it’s the middle of the day. You’d hate to do this at night.

In front of you, Taein heads into a storefront you wouldn’t be caught dead in. This one doesn’t have a name on top of it. You take a picture anyway, then cross-reference your location with the map. There’s still no name. You debate whether or not you should follow him in. From the outside, it’s not the type of place you belong. But Taein could be doing any matter of incriminating activities in there, and that’s what you need to see.

You let your internal debate rage for a few seconds more. Then you cross the street and push the door open.

The room is dimly lit. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust, and when they do, you realize a few of the patrons are looking at you. You’re the youngest person in the room. You slide up to the bar and order a drink. God knows you need it.

You take a small sip and grimace immediately. It's obvious people don't come here to drink. You cast a casual glance around the room, looking for Taein. It isn't too crowded. He should be easy to spot---and vice versa, he could easily spot you. You don't see him. Most of the patrons are more engaged with the TV screens in the corner of the room and across the top of the bar. You expect to see sports or the news or something along those lines. You look up to see horses.

It clicks in your head. Horse racing. These people are day drinking and gambling. You belong anywhere else in the world but here. And where is Taein, in this entire mess?

You flag the bartender down.

"Did you see a man come in?" you ask. "Middle-aged, around my height, with an oversized watch? His name’s Lee Taein." You do a bit of your own gambling, placing a bet on Taein being a regular here.

The bartender regards you curiously. "You’re looking for Taein-ssi?”

"He’s my boss," you say. "He told me to meet him here. I was promoted recently. He wanted to celebrate."

The words fall easily from your tongue. It's more of a lie than the truth, but it could be the truth soon enough.

"Congratulations. He invited you here and didn't tell you the password?" The bartender shakes his head. He points into an ever darker recess of the room. "Down the hall. To the left of the bathroom. 8179."

You thank him and leave your drink alone. The left of the bathroom is a door with a keypad above the handle. You type in the passcode, and the lock clicks.

Taein is on the other side of the door. Your destiny is on the other side of the door. You take a deep breath and crack the door open.

You don't know what you expected. It certainly wasn't the opposite of what you experienced upstairs. For a secret room, it's well-lit and almost cozy. There aren’t many people in the room, just a few small groups of four or five people sitting around green, square tables, playing cards. Now, you spot Taein immediately, sitting behind a decently-sized pile of poker chips, the largest pile on his table. One of the people he's playing with the young woman you saw him with last night. She seems your age, maybe a few years older or younger.

You close the door silently behind you. Your skin crawls. You want to get out of here as soon as possible.

There's another bar down here, against the back of the wall. The drinks on the tables look significantly better than they do upstairs. You think about getting another one, just to make it look like you belong here and you fit in.

No one seems to notice your entrance, too engaged in their games. Your luck holds as you slide around to take a few pictures of Taein, holding your phone just in front of you, at waist level. Your fingers shake, but blurry photos are better than no photos. No one else has their phones out, not even resting on the poker tables. It feels illegal for you to do this. In fact, everything about this feels illegal. You make sure to get Taein's full face in the images, and from multiple angles. Then you slip your phone back into your pocket.

That's when you're interrupted.

"You're new here." A hand lands on your shoulder. A few people—not Taein—look up at that, before just as quickly returning to their games. You turn slowly around to see a man twice your size, a bouncer inside the club.

"I was looking for the bathroom," you say, aiming for young, fresh-faced innocence.

"How old are you, kid?"

"Nineteen," you lie. You’re twenty-one. You hate how easily that one comes out. You could have told the truth.

"Good try," the man says, keeping his firm grip on your shoulder as he guides you back to the exit. You take a glance back at Taein. Throughout the entire ordeal, he hasn't looked up once, much too concerned with the cards in his hands. Although it doesn’t look like it, you hope he loses.

You aren't in the mood to wait in the real bar until Taein emerges, so you leave.

"Leaving already?" the bartender upstairs asks.

You ignore him. It doesn't matter. You're never coming here again.

You head home to see how blurry your pictures are. You think you might already have enough material to force him to give you a position. He's made it scarily easy for you. You didn't even need a private investigator.

You spend the rest of the week following him around anyway. You've grown used to it: the bike rental and Taein's neighborhood and Zenith Entertainment and a variety of bars and hotels across the entire city you know you’ll never step foot in again, and once, another day spent in Gangnam at a shiny skyscraper. Taein arrived at seven in the morning, earlier than he does at Zenith Entertainment, and didn't emerge until nearly eight at night. That was weird, but you had no way of getting into the building, short of breaking in. You had considered pizza delivery, kid of an employee, new employee, and a few other disguises before giving up. After the bouncer encounter, you’re staying clear of security. And that building made its security obvious, what with all the men in navy blue uniforms and earpieces, standing outside every entrance. What were the chances of Taein doing anything illegal or immoral there? Low, you figured, judging by the number of luxury cars dropping passengers off outside.

In your spare time, you try to find anything about Cheolhwan. With only a first name and a tenuous connection to Lee Taein, it’s difficult. You find two Cheolhwans in Taein’s Korea University graduation class. That was decades ago. You doubt either of those are the same man.

Regardless, you go through with your new plan. Armed with your newly obtained material, you’re ready for your second attempt. You know Taein's schedule now. That means when he arrives at Zenith Entertainment for the day, on a bright, sunny, perfect Wednesday morning, you're standing outside his office.

"You again," Taein says, calm and impassive. "This type of perseverance is seen as obsessive behavior. The answer is no again."

You haven’t even asked your question. You watch him unlock the door to his office.

"Please leave."

You stop him from closing the door with your foot. "I have something you might want to see."

"I don't think so," Taein says. He seems to be in a bad mood. He must have had a bad night last night.

"If you don't want to see it, I think your wife, Jung Eunyoung-ssi, might have an interest in it instead," you say.

That gets his attention. "I don’t see what you’re getting at. I don’t mix business with pleasure."

"Please don't play dumb, Taein-ssi," you say, adapting to each of his evasive attempts. You didn't plan this out. You remember how poorly that went last time. Taein is unpredictable to you. You don't know him nearly well enough to begin to predict any of his responses. "I know you're seeing another woman."

Taein stares at you. "I suppose you should come inside." He sounds extremely reluctant. At the same time, you know this isn't a conversation the two of you should be having in a corridor. You tamp down the sudden flare of excitement in your chest.

His office looks the same as you remember it. You take a seat in the plastic folding chair with the uneven legs.

"Are you a private investigator? A detective? You’ll find everything in order."

He’s defensive already. You’ve barely said anything. The investigator comment is a bit flattering. You like it.

“Everything except your marriage,” you note.

Taein shrugs. "Divorce is messy. I don't have time for that right now."

You think it's terrible that he divorced his first wife, and seems to be considering divorcing his second wife. You shove the thought aside and bring out your phone, placing it on the table between the two of you.

“What’s her name?” you ask. “You seem to spend a lot of time with her.”

It's definitely not the strongest statement, but your proof is what's more important. After all, a picture is worth a thousand words.

"Did Eunyoung hire you?" Taein asks suddenly, ignoring your comment. He's looking at you, instead of the pictures of himself.

"No," you say. "No one hired me."

The two of you look through the album together: Taein and the young woman, arm in arm over and over and over again, in bars and restaurants and hotel lobbies and out on the street in broad daylight.

Then, Taein swipes one photo too far and you’re both presented with a photo of Taein in profile, staring intently at the two playing cards he’s holding. He picks up your phone. "How did you get this?"

He isn’t denying it any longer. You figure it's hard to deny something when the hard, concrete proof is right in front of you.

"I was there," you say.

Taein thinks about it for a second, then nods. "I didn't recognize you then. You were the one Soogeun-ssi removed."

You don't like his choice of words, but you nod anyway. You didn't think he'd noticed you. You thought you were so clever, getting away with everything. You don’t have anything else to say. Your photos speak for you.

"Who paid you?" he asks again, deathly calm. This is uncharted territory. “How much more would I have to pay you?”

“No one paid me anything. I don’t want your money. All I want is to be an idol.”

He shakes his head. “There are easier ways to do that.”

“This is the way I’m doing it. This is the way I want to do it.” This is the way you have to do it.

Taein’s expression is inscrutable. You’ve played your hand. It’s up to him to respond. You wait with bated breath, until he finally says, “I’ll give you a trial period. If you can keep up with everyone else for a month, we can reconsider your position then. If you can’t, then we part ways amicably. No one, least of all Eunyoung, needs to know what you’ve done.”

“I don’t get anything,” you say.

“You get a chance,” Taein snaps. “It’s more than you deserve. Time will tell if this bet pays off.”

You don’t appreciate being compared to a game of roulette. “I might talk to Eunyoung-ssi any time in the future.”

“You might. It won’t make a difference.” He’s oddly calm. It unnerves you.

“Why not?” You have to ask.

“Cheating isn’t illegal. Nor is playing cards in a private setting. Stalking, on the other hand, is.” You can’t do great things from a jail cell, so that keeps you from continuing to argue.

Taein continues to speak. “For the time being, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t try to ruin my marriage. The negative press would be disastrous at this time, and divorce proceedings are lengthy. As long as you want to work for me, our fates are tied.”

That’s a sentiment you can support. You nod slowly. Something like a smile takes its place on Taein's face. “You can come by on Monday. The other trainees know it's too late for me to accept anyone new. Tell them you've been confirmed to debut.”

On your first day, you take the elevator up to the third floor. It opens to a floor much different from the fourth. The left side is the same: a door with a glass window, expanding all the way down as far as you can see. The right side leads into an open office, with cubicles arranged in small groups of fours and fives. There are even a few people sitting amongst the desks. That isn't your place, so you ignore them and push open the door to the left.

There's one person in the room, a teenage boy sitting down on the floor and stretching. He looks up at you when you enter with sharp, calculating eyes. You recognize him for your days in the cafè—Mingeun. He doesn’t seem to recognize you. He rises to his feet, moving with a grace unfit for his age, like he’s so perfectly comfortable in his body despite being in his awkward teenage years. You were nothing like him when you were his age a few years ago.

“I’m Haksu,” you say. “I’m new here.” You smile at him, something you think is befitting of an idol, but he doesn’t return it. If anything, his neutral expression grows frosty.

“Mingeun,” he says stiffly. “Taein-nim promised there wouldn’t be any more new people. Where are you from? JYP? YG?”

He sounds whiny and childish. You’re unimpressed.

“Gunsan,” you try, though you know that’s not what he means.

Mingeun scowls. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

You’re about to respond, to tell him you’re not from anywhere in the way he means, when the door flies open. You recognize both of the two new arrivals—one is the tall foreigner you’ve seen in the cafè, and the other is the young man you’ve seen following Taein—his assistant, presumably.

“Mingeun!” Taein’s assistant scolds. “Stop harassing the new guy.”

“I wasn’t harassing him,” Mingeun shoots back. “We’re going to be good friends. Right, Haksu-ssi?”

The look he gives you clearly says to play along. You don’t know if you’re going to be good friends, but you nod along anyway. Their conversation continues like you aren’t even there.

“We were just getting to what company he trained at,” Mingeun says. “Then we were going to talk about why Taein-nim thought he should join us.”

Taein’s assistant winces. “You won’t like either of those answers.”

“Another SM reject? I can handle it. I’m over it.”

Taein’s assistant ignores Mingeun and turns to you instead. He holds his hand out, Western-style, and says, “I’m Jaeseop. I’m so sorry about Mingeun. We''—he gestures to himself and the cafè foreigner—”were supposed to be the first ones to meet you. Sam—Taein-nim—held us up. Oh, and that’s Andrew.”

Your first impression of him is that he’s frazzled and all over the place. You imagine being Taein’s assistant is a difficult job. Behind him, Mingeun folds his arms, clearly upset about being excluded from the conversation.

You grasp his hand. “Haksu.”

“I know,” Jaeseop says, suddenly looking like he’d rather be anywhere but in front of you. “Taein-nim told me about you.”

You wonder how much Taein told him. You don’t think he’d tell his assistant everything. It’s supposed to be a secret between the two of you.

“How many—” You hesitate in the middle of your sentence. Of you? Of us? How long until you're one of them? “—other trainees are there?”

“Seven,” Jaeseop says. “With you, there's eight.”

“If you're expecting monthly evaluations and competing against fifty other trainees, we're past that,” Mingeun cuts in.

“We’re the debut team. We’re all that's left,” Andrew adds.

The three of them seem so in-sync with one another, like parts of a perfect, well-oiled machine. You're the loose cog, the piece of scrap metal carelessly tossed inside, with all the potential of breaking the machine into pieces. And how does Taein's assistant fit into all of this? He seems close to Andrew and Mingeun, closer than an assistant to the CEO should be.

“When will I meet everyone else?” you ask, just to change the subject.

Jaeseop, with all the mental fortitude of an overworked assistant, takes a deep breath and begins to rattle off a list of names and short descriptions and times, most of which fly right over your head. “Intak will be here around lunchtime, after his classes end. Byeonghwi and Eunsu come by after school in the mid-afternoon. Kiyoung-hyung keeps saying he'll quit his job, but he hasn't, so he won't be here until the evening.”

Andrew picks up on your obvious cluelessness, and simplifies it down to, “Intak will be here soon. He'll be extremely bad at small talk. Don't mention it to him.”

You don't know where that came from, but you nod along anyway. These are going to be your group members. You need to get along with them.

“Don't talk about League either,” Mingeun adds suddenly. You didn't realize he was still part of the conversation. “Unless you're also an SKT fan upset about their loss. He's really into that. You don't seem like a gamer.”

“I play a bit,” you say diplomatically, because you do. You were a teenage boy at one point, and there was no way for you to survive those years without playing League of Legends at least once.

“We all have sensitive topics, “ Jaeseop says as way of explanation. “Things we don't want to talk about and therefore try to avoid unless there's no other way around it. Mingeun, yours are?”

With a sigh, Mingeun dutifully says, “SM Entertainment. All you need to know is that I used to be a trainee there. And my mom. You don't need to know anything about her.”

Jaeseop keeps saying “we.” If you hadn’t seen him so many times with Taein, you’d take him for another trainee. You want to ask what his role really is, but you know you can't, because it'll betray you. It's harder than you expected to act like you know nothing about them. You'll have to be careful to not slip up.

He turns his full attention to you, and asks, “Got anything?”

This is the last thing you expected from your first day as an idol. Your first item comes quickly. “How I joined Zenith Entertainment.”

You know you'll have to tell them eventually, but for now, you want to get along with everyone. Mingeun looks like he wants to ask you anyway, consequences be damned.

Andrew dismisses him before he can speak. “Byeonghwi asked for the same.”

“He asked us not to ask him why,” Jaeseop corrects. “He got in through the audition.”

Mingeun attacks like a shark smelling blood in the water. “Why’d you do it?”

You could tell them that, you suppose, but something holds you back. You want to be certain you can achieve your destiny before you start shouting it to the world. “I don't want to discuss that either,” you say instead. It's the only way out of it you can see, so you take it.

“Can we talk, hyung?” Mingeun asks, turning to Jaeseop. “Privately?”

You know you'd be the subject of their conversation. You can't decide if that's a good thing or a bad thing. You like the attention, but in this context, it seems bad. You want to get along with Mingeun, but it's clear he has little intention of getting along with you.

“No.” Jaeseop's response is firm, and you like him a little more for that. “You can tell me in front of Haksu-ssi.”

Mingeun falls silent, clearly unwilling to say whatever he wanted to say a few minutes ago.

“Great. Anything else?”

You do have a few other ideas in mind, but you've already chosen two major ones and you're afraid to rock the boat, so you shake your head.

On the wall behind him, you notice, for the first time, a schedule created out of a bunch of individual pieces of paper taped together. You skim over it. It’s overwhelming. There are classes on three out of the seven days, scheduled back to back to back: dance lessons and vocal lessons and rap lessons and media training and a short section on how to walk and more dance lessons. It's overwhelming. You're thankful to see that Sundays are, blessedly, left empty.

Jaeseop follows your gaze. “It’s a lot to take in at first,” he says sympathetically. “You’ll get used to it.”

You will, because you have no other choice. Your options are to adjust, or to give up and forfeit your spot and your destiny. The latter isn’t even in the realm of possibility. You’ll adjust and you’ll succeed, because you have to.

Then it's noon, and Intak arrives. You remind yourself: no comments on his social skills and nothing about League of Legends. He shows up with nothing but a laptop bag slung over one shoulder and a can of Red Bull. He looks over you with a disinterested gaze, asks, “Another one?”, chugs his Red Bull, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Then he and Andrew disappear out of the practice room to wherever else they go.

Mingeun leaves shortly after the two of them. You know he's going to the cafè to wait for the two high schoolers, but you don't say that out loud. You watch him leave, and then you're left alone with Jaeseop, the two of you sitting on the floor.

“If I ask about how or why you became a trainee, can you give me an answer?” Jaeseop asks.

“No,” you answer, because you can't.

“Do you have any relation to the Danyoung Group?” is his next question.

“No,” you say again, unsure what a chaebol who built and now owns three-quarters of the buildings in Seoul has to do with you. “I’m from Gunsan.”

He stares at you like he doesn't believe you. You meet his gaze until he looks away.

He sighs. “I’ll take you on a tour. You haven’t seen everything yet, have you?”

The question appears much more rhetorical than literal, so you follow him out of the room.

“The floor used to be all office space,” Jaeseop says, walking backwards as if he’s a professional tour guide. “This half hasn’t been converted yet.” He gestures to the messy sprawl of cubicles. To your surprise, that’s where Andrew and Intak are, two chairs in the same cubicle, though it looks like Intak is the only one working.

Jaeseop avoids them and makes a beeline for the other side of the space. It’s emptier than you had thought at first glance. He introduces you to a middle-aged man, sitting at a desk, surrounded with a tidy assortment of trinkets and knick-knacks and framed photographs. It’s the polar opposite of Taein’s office.

“This is Sanghyun-nim,” he says. “He’s Taein-nim’s right-hand man. He does all the unpleasant tasks Taein-nim doesn’t want to do.”

That doesn’t seem conducive to your image of Taein. You’ve seen him do a few unpleasant tasks. You suppose those weren’t necessary for his job.

“The menial ones,” Sanghyun corrects. “You’re the new recruit. Kang Haksu-ssi.”

“That’s me,” you say, surprised by the way he recognizes you. You wonder how much Taein told everyone else, what kind of story he fed them. You doubt it was the truth. You hope you can trust him. If you can’t, it’s a little too late for that.

He seems like he could have an entire conversation with you, but Jaeseop whisks you away. “Hyekyung,” he says, of a young woman around your age, with a phone tucked on her shoulder, taking notes with her other hand. She waves in your general direction.

“Social media and marketing,” Jaeseop explains. “I wouldn’t get on her bad side. She’s really the one in charge of this entire area.”

He stops in his tracks and points across the room. You tiptoe to see what he’s trying to point out to you. A woman who looks like she should be a floor below them with the copywriters sits alone at a desk, a wide berth between her and anyone else.

“Gyeongwon,” Jaeseop says, voice dropped to a whisper. “She doesn’t work here, but she works with Taein-nim. I wouldn’t upset her either.”

He moves on, taking quick strides across the floor to the side opposite the elevator. “The stairwell is here. Goes from the first floor up to the rooftop.”

You think he’s going to take you up the stairs—to the rooftop, maybe—but he stops. “The fourth floor is only Taein-nim’s office for now. I assume you’ve been there. The fifth floor is empty. The elevator doesn’t go up there. If you do ever go up to the rooftop, the door is always stuck.”

You try to follow along, completely overwhelmed with the amount of new names and faces and information you’re expected to now know.

Jaeseop checks the time on his phone. “Mingeun should be back by now.”

You don't have much praise for Jaeseop's tour. This time, when you open the practice room door, Mingeun is pacing. The conversation stops abruptly as you enter. Eunsu and Byeonghwi, you remember, though you can’t remember who’s who.

Jaeseop comes to your accidental rescue. “Eunsu.” He points out the boy in the mustard-yellow uniform. “And Byeonghwi.”

Byeonghwi gives you a smile and a wave, and you’re immediately struck by how he seems genuinely happy to meet you, as if he was destined to be an idol, forever pretending and playing along with people slipping in and out of his life. Like you, you have to remind yourself. It’s a sharp contrast from the way everyone else has behaved around you. High school students are supposed to be annoying and immature, not better than you at your own fate. You try not to let it get to you.

Not long after their arrival, Intak and Andrew make their re-entrance. Andrew is in a different outfit, the type of corporate wear you’ve seen him leave in. You see your opportunity, so you take it.

“You changed,” you observe.

“Work,” he says. “I teach English at a hagwon.”

You wonder if he’s qualified to do that, and then if the parents of the students he teaches know that their teacher is focused on being an idol and not on teaching. You should have guessed. What else could he do?

You watch him leave. Almost as soon as the door shuts softly behind him, Intak pulls Intak to the side and speaks softly. You strain your ears to overhear, though you're drawn into Eunsu and Mingeun and Byeonghwi’s inane conversation.

"I can't work with him," Intak is saying.

"I know," comes Jaeseop's reply. "You have to try."

"I am trying," Intak hisses. "He's the one who doesn't want to try. He thinks he can do it all by himself. He refuses to show me anything he's working on. He’s impossible."

"I know," Jaeseop says again. He says something else, but you don’t hear it, because Byeonghwi is asking you how and why you joined the company, and you have to tell him that’s not something you’re ready to talk about yet.

You watch the sun start to set out of the windows overlooking the street. They're open, but they face the wrong way and let no air in. You want to go home. Jaeseop steps out to pick up dinner. No one makes a move to leave, so you don't either.

When the sun is fully down, you meet Kiyoung. He arrives looking a bit too much like a copywriter as well. You would have mistaken him for one, had the reception to his entrance not been perfectly warm and friendly.

You learn a few more facts in rapid-fire fashion. He's the oldest of the team. He works for an environmental non-profit organization, and is refusing to quit until he finishes his current project. Before he was a Zenith Entertainment trainee, he was a trainee at another small company that went under before he could debut. He met Jaeseop when they were both in middle school and their schools double-booked the same trip location.

You exchange a few more pleasantries, and then the mood of the room shifts more towards homework than anything else, because everyone—with the exceptions of Kiyoung and Intak—are still in school. It surprises you to learn that Jaeseop is a student.

“This is my last semester,” he explains when you ask. “I don’t go to class much anymore. I’ll graduate just fine.”

You’re beginning to feel like the odd one out, so you continue your hopeless quest to catch up on all your work. You probably aren’t going to graduate. You probably aren’t even going to finish this semester.

Andrew returns later in the night, and that, for some reason, signals the end of the day. Eunsu is pressed to the glass, announcing his imminent arrival before he even steps foot in the building. Andrew’s single action upon returning to the third floor is to pick up Byeonghwi, who seems only too enthusiastic to leave. After that, it’s a free-for-all bordering on a bloodbath. You wait, because you’re new, and it’d be rude of you to be one of the first to leave.

Then it’s you and Jaeseop and Mingeun, nearly a mirror image of the morning.

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” Jaeseop says to you, and then in almost the same breath, “Make sure you go home, Mingeun.”

Mingeun scowls.

You nod, though you’re almost dead on your feet. You think being a private investigator might be a little easier. You aren’t sure how, but you’ll survive it. You have to. It’s the only way you can do great things.

#╰ to be written in ink is to be immortal — [ writing. ]#╰ to be written in ink is to be immortal — [ haksu. ]#ficnetfairy #fictional idol community #idolverse #idol oc #kpop oc #fake kpop group #kpop fanfic

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bun-z-bakery · 6 days

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A/N: it's here, detective Vanessa is here 😭 sorry for taking so long, I'll also post the Masterlist for this one in a bit. Again sorry if the paragraphs are weird! Tumblr doesn't like notes app I guess. Edit: I forgot I could link things to text lol I link the masterlist to this also I forgot to note but the reader is fem but uses GN language :3

CW: gang activities

The shadow that follows (1)

Winchester, England 1914

You always admired the views of the city once night fell. It's beautiful, but you're not out to admire her beauty.

Wherever you went, things seemed to vanish alongside you. Valuable items seem to love you as much as you love them and you just so happen to be one of the many reasons people lock their doors a little bit tighter at night.

The window you were working on finally gave you that satisfying click you love hearing time and time again. Slowly opening it, you quietly make your way in.

The only thing illuminating the area was the moonlight that crept through the windows.

Unfortunately for the owners, you've seen this house before, and you know you're way around.

Most people take to hiding items in obscure places no one would usually check. Unfortunately for them, you know all the tricks in the book.

A smile creeps onto your face once you finally get your hands on what you were sent out for.

You leave as quietly as you entered. without a trace.

‧₊ ๑˚.・

"You were sloppy and look!"

Your boss, Agnes, scolds you as she holds a newspaper to your face.

A dimly lit photo of a figure was on the cover. That figure was you. You were caught. You know you should be more concerned, but it'll never cease to amaze you how quickly news gets out.

"I didn't notice anyone following me!"

You protest if anyone found out about your gang you would all be jailed...or worse.

"Boss? What about that guy that they found?..."

Asher, the other member reminded you of the recent arrest.

"He wasn't one of ours. But it doesn't matter. Leave no trace behind, remember?"

Agnes reminds you both as if it wasn't ingrained in your brains.

"Oh, and I'm sure your fingerprints are memorable!"

Asher motions to you, making you sigh in annoyance.

"This wouldn't have happened if that senseless journalist hadn't been there!"

You explain in defense, you haven't gotten caught before, so why worry now?

"Look, they've even given you a name too! 'The shadow stalker!'"

Agnes teased as she pointed to the newspaper with a smirk on her face. It's clear she's proud of how much you've grown, but she's too prideful to admit it. Asher laughs and points to you

"Congratulations! You have finally found your alias now! Embrace it."

They both laugh, this situation makes you angry, all of you are supposed to be seen as a threat that lurks on the streets at night. Some even thought you four were ghosts who roamed the streets.

Now people know you're not some unstoppable force, but rather a masked criminal who moves within the shadows.

"Right well, I'm heading to bed."

You rise from your chair and wave your goodbyes to everyone.

"You're on for tomorrow night again! Don't let me down!"

Agnes shouted from the common room.

Once you make it to your room you plop yourself onto your bed, not bothering to change.

Your roommate, Elaine, was already fast asleep. You envy how fast she's able to drift off. Tomorrow will serve as your redemption, but your nerves made sure you got little to no rest.

‧₊ ๑˚.・

"Fang Reaper, Shadow Stalker. Don't.Screw.This.Up."

Agnes scolds the two of you for the 5th time tonight.

The plan was rather simple; retrieve what your client requested and leave no trace behind.

A few officers lurked around the area which meant you need to work fast.

"We heard ya the first 40 times! "

Elaine groans before you both make your way to the jewelry store.It didn't take long before you could open the door. Cautiously you two make your way in.

"I'll be on watch."

She whispers and you nod.

The store was spotless, all the jewels, watches, and any other valuables were locked or hidden away. You've been to this store many times to "browse", of course, it didn't take long to find what you two were sent here for.

"Um, Shadow stalker?"

Elaine whispers as she crouches by the door, your attention is elsewhere as you try to pry open the out-of-place floorboard with your tools.

"Officer!"

She runs and grabs you, leading you to the back of the store. The back door was locked, but you were quick on your feet and pointed at a place for her to hide.

She makes her way to the spot while you hide near the small staircase that leads up to the second floor.

You both do your best to silence your breathing as the owner walks in, two figures follow behind him.

"And you're sure you didn't forget to lock it, sir?"

The officer asks as she uses her flashlight to look around the store. You two were well hidden and from where they were standing, they couldn't see you, especially in the leg-cramping position you're in.

"I'm telling you, it's them!"

He tries to plead with them. Unfortunately, your eavesdropping was interrupted by Elaine tapping on your shoulder.

"We gotta go!"

She pointed to the now unlocked back door. Now was your chance. You can leave without raising any attention to yourselves.

"Would you mind sharing more of this... Shadow stalker?"

A third voice catches your attention. Everything around you feels slower, but it wasn't time that was frozen.

"Psst!"

Elaine calls to you from outside, waving to hurry up. You hesitated

I'm going to regret this...

You pull out your notepad and a pen, the gloves make it hard to maneuver. You can feel Elaine's eyes piercing through your soul as you write.

'I'll watch you from the shadows, detective.

-Shadow Stalker'

You quickly make your way out, leaving the note behind where they'd find it.

"Y/N what the hell was that?!"

Elaine whispers as you two run from the failed heist scene.

"Agnes is going to kill us!"

She yells at you once you two have made it far enough from the scene.

‧₊ ๑˚.・

"So you failed?"

Asher laughs and covers his mouth. The four of you made it back home undetected, but your failure wasn't something you were proud of.

"Well, we were almost caught, a stupid officer and a detective came sniffing around!"

You say defensively as you cross your arms.He lights a cigarette and takes a puff, blowing smoke in your direction. You cough dramatically and wave the smoke away.

"You're not helping..."

You slouch in the chair and groan in anger, it's hard to have someone who sees where you're coming from when the person you're speaking to is a murderer who covers your tracks.

He takes another hit of his cigarette before standing.

"Kid, you're good at what you do."

He pauses, taking one last hit before putting out his cigarette.

"You should eat and get some rest."

He pats your shoulder and makes his way out of the common room.

"AND NO MORE LEAVIN' NOTES!"

He shouts from afar, you groan in frustration, your head falls into your hands.

All of them knew of your note, but only you knew what it read.

It was a stupid mistake you'd surely pay for later on. You weren't sure what even compelled you to do so, but you still did it.

You kick the air in rage and cry into your hands.

You didn't get to speak to her, she doesn't know who you are, and she's here to put you behind bars...

But you couldn't help but try to shake this strange feeling.

#vanessa shelly x reader #fnaf au #detective vanessa x reader #fanfic #detective x thief #slow burn #bun z writes #Vanessa shelly x y/n #vanessa shelly x fem!reader #echoes of deception

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sketch-mer-6195 · 11 months

Text

Groaning for what felt like the umpteenth time after another failed date, Donatello walked into the lair, one hand stuffed into his trouser pocket and his free hand scrolling through his phone. Finding someone close to being compatible to be his girlfriend was becoming harder and slimmer pickings. To the point that he dropped the dating apps that he had configured to meet his specific needs in a potential love interest. Instead, he went on blind dates, letting his family find girls that may interest him, and sometimes go to the library both up top and in the Hidden City to find someone.

But no one met his specific qualifications. And it was getting bothersome to the soft-shelled gentle-turtle.

No sooner did he enter the lair was he hounded by his baby brother with questions.

"Soooo… how did it pan out to be?" Michelangelo asked in a sing-song voice, feeling confident about this date that he helped set up.

"No sooner did we get the wine, she began to go on a tangent about her past lovers and how she is looking for an empathetic and sensitive man." Donnie started as they both went to his lab. "After I explained that we would need time until we were at that stage of the relationship, she said I was becoming too stoic and that you were far better than I was."

Feeling a little disappointed, Mikey patted his brother's shoulder and flashed a sympathetic smile. "Don't worry, Donald. There are plenty of fish in the sea. I'm sure there is the perfect angel fish out there for you!"

"Doubtful." He sighed, his face falling and shoulders slumping.

Mikey knew that now was the time to leave him alone. With a reassuring one arm hug, the box turtle left his brother after telling him that he was available if he wanted to talk. Once the door hissed closed, Donnie hung up his purple button down shirt, his black pinstripe vest and trousers along with his black tie. As he placed his black loafers away, he slid on his sweatpants and walked to his work desk where he was working on his new and slim battle shell. Sitting at the desk and reading over the schematics of his shell design, Donnie glanced over a folder that he had pulled out before his date.

His eyes skimmed over the title and ran a hand over his face. But something hit him.

Pulling out the schematics from the folder, Donnie opened up the plan and began to look over the design and a smile tugged at his lips. A victorious smile. If he couldn’t find one by standard means.

Then he'll create one in his own image and specs so she will be the perfect girlfriend.

(Hi everyone! I know it's been forever since I've actually posted something that wasn't a reblog or artwork. I've been a real stump and thanks to this brilliant idea, it finally got me out of my rut in writing. I hope you get to enjoy not only this fic, but future work to come with Donnie and this new creation of his.)

(MINORS DNI!!!! This is an 21+ blog. No T-scest! The turtles are AGED UP!!! Donnie here is depicted in his early 20's. If you don't like it, please keep moving along.) Tagging: @s-s-ironnie @rheawritesforfun @mysticboombox @thelaundrybitch @lec743 @amethyst12arts @ashuka @sewerninno @happymoonangel @red-phoenixxx @recandy1 @knightish-knight @turtle-babe83 @memes-in-a-half-shell @fluffytriceratops @luna-monarch @fineartgeek @zsprites @tychou @raphslovemuffin80 @bluwist @raisin-shell @turtle-girl-2002 @texas-mama

#rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #tmnt #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt mikey #teenage mutant ninja turtles #donnie x oc #tmnt donatello #donatello x oc

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ultradeepeststudentloverme · 2 years

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Pink Hoddie

You can see me?

This is me, the boy who is always mistaken for a girl, just because I'm skinny and have long hair. I have tried to look more masculine, I went to the gym to change my complexion but nothing has worked, to be honest I was starting to give up until I saw him.

This is Joseph, the fittest guy in the whole place. It not only has the body but also the face, it is the complete package. He recently moved to the city and to the gym and I'm sure from day one many people noticed him. Some guys want to be like him and some guys want to be him. I am in the second option.

I knew that Joseph had the body of my dreams, so I decided to steal his body.

After much research I found a way to have his body, all I had to do is give up my previous life, transfer my soul to some of his clothes and wait for him to put it on, that way I would take control. The bad thing is that no one would remember that I even existed but it was worth a try.

Fortunately, the perfect day to make my plan arrived, it was raining and there were few people in the gym, Joseph arrived with a pink sweatshirt, changed in the dressing room and went out to do his routine. Luckily he didn't notice my presence so I took the sweatshirt and recited the spell which would transfer my soul to the garment.

Little by little I felt how I was entering the sweatshirt, the only thing I had to do now is wait for him to come back and put me in it.

After a long wait, he finally came back, showing off his amazing body and baby face. I was so excited to take his body that he couldn't wait any longer.

Joseph walked over to his suitcase, picked me up and put me in it. The rest is history. The transfer was successful. My soul took control of his body while receiving a slight electric shock. After a while I was able to open my eyes and see my new figure.

I finally had the body of my dreams, now I really was a man in every sense of the word.

I couldn't resist the temptation to see myself in front of the mirror, to see my reflection, to see that this whole body belongs to me. Now I'm a hot guy who won't waste time.

Take several photos to remember the moment

Instantly I felt how my member got hard just by looking at myself in the mirror, so I decided to take it out and see how it was.

And boy is it not at all negligible, 18 cm of hard and hot meat, I slipped my hands to meet my big cock, ohhhh yes Joseph!! It's what I expected, I keep caressing and pulling, my legs tense up, my stomach tightens to show the abdomen that I have, and at that moment I shoot my load of semen all over the bathroom, ahhh!!! the pleasure runs through my agitated body, I want to taste my new semen, with my fingers I take a little of what was left on my penis, and pass them through my lips: it tastes good 😋 and I smile at the mirror.

Well they say that the exercise is useless if you don't upload photos, it's a good time I take out my phone and go to their social networks, I looked at myself in the mirror and I take a photo still with my naked torso.

I get notifications and messages right away, I think I really turn them on but now I'm not interested in girls, Joseph will be gay at the moment, maybe I should go out with a friend or teacher? Haha I don't know, I better download that gay dating app.

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strangelittlestories · 1 year

Text

When Alex realised their home was not a place they could go back to, they offered up a silent prayer to whatever gods were listening.

They knew, deep down, that prayers like this could be dangerous. There were so many gods out there listening, both old and new, big and small, benevolent and wicked. If a god with a twist of mischief in their smile answered your prayer, there would be a sting in the tail that could make your life a misery.

Or worse: it could make your life a *story*.

But Alex was tired. Exhausted. They were the kind of weary that turns your thoughts to stones sinking in deep and murky water, and turns feelings into the distant sound of rushing waves.

So, when the thought that warned them about inviting such ‘interesting times’ entered their brain, they simply noticed it but let it sink unheard into the depths of Not Right Now. And they prayed their prayer.

A short while later, they were walking through the streets of the city when the street lamps flickered. No … it was too regular and defined to be called a flicker, this felt more like the city had *winked* at them.

Their phone vibrated in their pocket. This was odd, as they were sure the battery had died. They checked it and found it resurrected, at 3% power. The vibration was a text from a friend, offering them a sofa to sleep on - it included a link to a mapping app called Mercury. Alex didn’t recognise the app, but their phone seemed to already have it installed. They opened it and a glowing thread unfolded on their phone.

The UI was elegant and gorgeous, made up of simple silver lines that spread out like paint brush strokes over the night grey of the cityscape.

They followed the quicksilver path it laid out and as they walked the city sang them a comforting wordless song of distant trains and electric hums.

When they arrived at their friend’s flat, Alex took a bottle of water and a granola bar from their bag. Without really thinking about why, they poured a mouthful of water out on the porch. They then broke off a small chunk of granola and laid it carefully down too.

Alex knocked on the door. Their friend was surprised to see them and didn’t recall sending Alex any texts that evening, but did still offer Alex a couch to sleep on. The friend asked no questions, but offered many hugs, and Alex even accepted one (they felt like more than a single gentle embrace might break their paper-thin bones).

That night, Alex went to the bathroom to wash before bed and was surprised to find a new toothbrush waiting for them on the sink. It was one of those cheap plastic ones you might find in a hostel - barely better than scrubbing your teeth with your finger. But, for a moment, Alex was sure that the bristles glowed a soft gold.

There was the gentle sound of a throat clearing. Alex’s eyes whipped up, scanning for danger, to find a warm and friendly face staring back at them from the mirror with a lopsided smile.

He was not one of Alex’s gods, but Alex still knew him.

“Hey kid.” Said Hephaestus. “I know it’s not much, but I made it for you.”

Alex picked up the toothbrush and smiled cautiously back.

“Thanks. I, uh, don’t mean to sound ungrateful…but I didn’t think looking after waifs and strays was your jam.”

“Oh, it’s not what I’m best known for.” He spoke with the steady cadence of a hammer ringing out on hot metal. “But I have a fondness for those who find themselves lost. If you have no hearth to call your own, sometimes a forge will do the job for a while.”

“Um. Thanks.” Alex felt something catch in their throat. “For this. The directions, the words, and the … the toothbrush.”

“Well, thank *you* for the drink and the snack. Such a kind offering definitely buys you clean teeth, at least.” He winked and, as he did, the light in the bathroom flickered. “And besides, creating things that are dearly needed … that *is* what I’m known for. You take care now.”

With that, the face in the mirror dissolved into a shower of fiery sparks.

Alex paused for a while - brain blank, tears beginning to well in their eyes.

Then, remembering the toothbrush was still in their hand, they began to clean their teeth. And for the first time that night, Alex began to feel human again.

#mythology #modern gods #greek myth #hephaestus #because the best gift you'll ever get is the one you get when you REALLY need it #writing #microfiction #flash fiction

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mytheoristavenue · 1 year

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Unconventional Pt. 3 - Alternate Ending

Summary: This is an alternate ending to my Unconventional mini-series! It will pick up around the middle of the story, so if you want the rest, you can read the first ending here!

Warnings: Much more angst than the other version, no happy ending.

Dread filled Leo's body, palms becoming clammy and heart sinking so deep in his stomach, he swore his heart strings would snap. Though he longed to step forward and confront what you were doing, his ankles weighed as much as they would have incased in cement, and he was powerless to do much, other than watch you quietly- and hastily pack your things and walk out of his life. "Where are you going?" he called, all too late. It was as if his motor functions had delayed until you were well beyond earshot.

Finally free of his paralysis, he followed you through the tunnels of the defunct subway system stealthily. On occasion, you'd glance behind your shoulder, swearing up and down you'd heard something, only to quickly shrug it off, gripping the handle of your steamer trunk with more urgency. It pained him to see how desperate you were to be away from him.

He stalked you as you bustled through the dead, neon streets of New York City, ultimately ending your journey at a seedy motel. Leo scrunched his nose at the place, noting the cracks in the plaster siding and foundation, and barred windows. How could you possibly feel safer here then in his home? He and his kin knew all too well the type of underbelly the city had, and so did you. He couldn't wrap his head around your allure.

He watched you enter the lobby, catching a small glimpse at the number on the key tag in your hand as you chatted away with the receptionist. He took it upon himself to inspect room nineteen, to ensure that it was at the very least, up to safety code, and minimize the risk of you getting robbed- or worse.

Picking the lock, and refastening it behind him, he slid into the room, turning his nose up at the smell of what most likely a mildewing carpet. It had the basics- a mini fridge, a microwave, a T.V., and of course, a queen sized bed. Lifting the quilt, he noticed that the was no fitted sheet present, simply a flat halfheartedly tucked to disguise itself. The mattress was stained with something he'd decided he wasn't curious enough to inspect further, and the bed frame was cheap and well worn.

As he slipped into the bathroom, he froze, hearing a click at the door- a key busting a lock. You strolled into your room, with a refreshed smile. Something about the musty smell felt so homey, not because it was a smell you were used to, but because this space belonged to you, for the night at least. You'd decided not to waste any time on showering, you'd do that in the morning. For now, you were just excited to sleep in a real bed, not on a couch in a home you couldn't feel secure in.

You wasted no time in to dressing down and sliding into under the barely washed quilt, scooping up the remote control and flipping through the few satellite channels the T.V. offered. Leo, still hiding in the bathtub kept his hand bolted to his lips as he listened to you chipperly laugh at whatever you'd been watching. At some point, you'd fallen silent for an ample amount of time, and if he was sneaky, he could escape without detection.

Taking a sharp breath for courage, he peaked around the corner, just outside the bathroom door. The sight of you nearly brought joyful tears to his eyes. You passed out sitting up, back resting against the headboard, and legs outstretched under the covers. You were snoring peacefully with the most serene smile of your face. With a heavy sigh, he crept up to you, gingerly prying your cell phone from you hand. He found a home market place app open, with a listing saved. It seemed you'd been looking it over. It was a quaint little flat across town, a very 'you' place to live.

Plugging your phone into it's charger, which you'd set up earlier, he locked it and set it down with a trembling lip. He and his brothers, Casey, and April, they were all so selfish, he decided. what right did they have to force themselves back into your life when you were so happy without them? It was almost disturbing how your demeanor had changed in just a few hours. While in his home, you get anxious and rigid, irritable even- but here, you were silly, and loose, and joyful, just as he'd remember you. You were going to college and starting your new independent life, and you didn't need him around to complicate things. Honestly, as long as you were happy and safe, Leo could live with that.

Cautiously, he laid you to rest in a position that wouldn't result in pain the next morning, and covered you fully. Balling his fists as he gazed on you, he slowly lent down, giving in to the urge to plant a first and only kiss on your forehead. Suddenly, he stopped short and withdrew, before quickly leaving the motel room, and then the establishment entirely. Following through would surely only make things worse, potentially for the both of you.

-----

Months came and went and Leo never left your side. He would check on you multiple times a week, tracing you as you walked home, to and from school and work. Currently, he sat atop a building, peering down at you as you sat at the park with another person. This was your boyfriend. You two had only been dating a few weeks, but the way you acted around him made Leo's heart swell, not with envy, but with overwhelming pride. He sometimes had to keep himself from imagining himself in (B/F/N)'s shoes when he watched him push you on the swings, only to stop you suddenly, lean over you and give you and upside down kiss. At some point, seeing you happy without him stopped hurting, during which times, he'd agreed to make his check ins shorter, less frequent.

That was a promise he never would be able to keep.

Note: I cried while writing this, I hope you do too.

Taglist:

@sunshinesdaydream @helpyaw @thelaundrybitch @momii @camillahorne26 @turtle-babe83 @fyreball66 @sharpwindow @roseygardenfan @witchofthenorthstar @pheradream15 @post-apocalyptic-daydream

#tmnt #leo tmnt #tmnt 2012 #tmnt leo 2012 #leo x reader #leonardo hamato #leonardo x reader #tmnt x reader #tmnt angst #leo angst

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year

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The "small nonprofit school" saved in the SVB bailout charges more than Harvard

There are no libertarians in a bank run. No sooner had venture capitalists whipped each other into a terrified Twitter frenzy at the imminent collapse of Silicon Valley Bank — a collapse caused by that selfsame frenzy — than the Ayn Rand-poisoned elite of Sand Hill Road started begging for Uncle Sucker to open the sluicegates:

https://twitter.com/EricNewcomer/status/1634300928621793283

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/23/small-nonprofit-school/#north-country-school

Now, on the one hand, it’s easy to dismiss these guys as very, very, very stupid. After all, they played a game of prisoner’s dilemma in which they were allowed to talk to each other as much as they wanted — and they still sold each other out:

https://newsletter.mollywhite.net/p/the-venture-capitalists-dilemma

But they still have the commonsense to realize that an America where $10k in student debt cancellation, school lunches for hungry children, and library budgets are out of reach, handing billions to a bank rescue a balance sheet overwhelmingly made up the investments of “high net worth” investors wouldn’t be popular.

After all, these guys have been crying about incipient guillotinism for years:

https://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2015-06-08/billionaire-cartier-owner-sees-wealth-gap-fueling-social-unrest

Sure, they don’t compare small rises in the top marginal tax-rate to Kristallnacht anymore:

https://www.npr.org/sections/alltechconsidered/2014/01/26/266685819/billionaire-compares-outrage-over-rich-in-s-f-to-kristallnacht

But they are locked and loaded for The Event, feathering elaborate subterranean, antipodean nests in the most luxurious bunkers New Zealand has to offer, against the day that the poors come to eat them:

https://www.cnn.com/2020/07/15/business/bunkers-new-zealand-intl-hnk/index.html

So amid the clamor for socialism-for-the-rich, these billionaires went on the hunt for average joes who could serve as the face of the bailout. Like the “Ohio mom with 4 kids and a husband who works in manufacturing, who owns a small business:”

https://www.businessinsider.com/mother-small-startup-ceo-fall-svb-not-1-problem-2023-3

She’s ex-McKinsey and raised $4m in VC for a $600/month life-planning app; her husband, another McKinsey alum, is a senior manager at a steel company (that is, he “works in manufacturing”).

Clearly, the ex-libertarian 0.01 percenters begging for relief needed to find someone else. Enter David Sacks, a billionaire Paypal mafiosi who waded into the debate with screenshots of an email from a “small, non-profit school” that would miss payroll if the bailout was not forthcoming:

https://twitter.com/DavidSacks/status/1636054055121453057

Sacks held this up as evidence that SVB’s depositors were “more diversified than the media narrative has allowed.” Sacks went on to claim that the bailout saved “innocent bystanders” like “teachers” from being “laid off.”

What is this small, nonprofit school? Writing in The American Prospect, Luke Goldstein sleuths it out: the “small, nonprofit school” is North Country School, an upstate New York boarding school where tuition runs $62k/year — more than Harvard or Yale:

https://prospect.org/economy/2023-03-22-david-sacks-bank-bailout/

North Country sounds like a great place to get an education. It’s got its own private ski-slope. The local city raised a $7m municipal bond on its behalf. There’s a rock-climbing range and horseback riding. The school emphasizes unstructured, outdoor education, with “farming, wilderness trips…even maple sugaring”:

https://northcountryschool.org/

Let’s be honest, this is the kind of education a lot of us dream of our kids having. No wonder that the alumna include numerous Rockefellers, and a scion of the Aga Khan family — claimed lineal descendants of the Prophet Muhammad.

As illustrious as the student body is, the trustees are even more gilt-edged. There’s a former Jpmorgan managing director, a former Google exec, Austrian nobility, the Welch’s grape heir and even JD Salinger’s kid. The chair ran a booze delivery company that sold to Uber. Together, they manage $30m in assets and raise $3m/year in donations, on top of $9m/year in revenues.

As Goldstein points out, it might be a lot to ask of the median small, nonprofit school trustee to investigate the soundness of the school’s bank. But these aren’t the median trustees of the median school. They’re raising millions from Vanguard and Fidelity and the JM Kaplan Fund. Perhaps it’s not asking too much that high-flying financiers craft a risk management plan for their deposits — or, you know, just have the nous not to stash all their money in a single bank account, diversifying their risk the way that any financial planner would tell them to do.

According to Sacks, if the FDIC had frozen SVB withdrawals, or imposed a 10 percent haircut on depositors with more than $250k in the bank, the “modestly paid workers who tend not to have a lot of savings to fall back on” who worked at the school would have been out in the cold. But with donors on tap who give $50,000 at a pop, it seems likely that the trustees could have tapped someone for a bridge loan.

It’s doubtless true that there are low-waged, precarious workers who would have been out in the cold if the FDIC hadn’t stepped in, but the wealthy “investors” who clamored for the bailout spent the last several years consistently, brutally, loudly calling for an end to covid relief, no student debt cancellation, and cuts to public services. The idea that they were worried about saving the janitors and receptionists of Silicon Valley strains credulity:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/18/2-billion-here-2-billion-there/#socialism-for-the-rich

You can’t be on record calling for tech billionaires to “Sharpen your blades boys 🔪” ahead of mass layoffs and also claim to be a champion of the middle-class:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/21/tech-workers/#sharpen-your-blades-boys

As Goldstein writes, “David Sacks couldn’t find a mom-and-pop institution to justify his cockeyed version of reality without turning to a VC colleague’s ultra-rich boarding school.” There might be mom-and-pop institutions on the SVB balance-sheet, but David Sacks evidently doesn’t know any of them.

New York State is a good place to be a Silicon Valley banker. For one thing, the Southern District of New York is an exceptionally nice place to be a bankrupt billionaire, which is why SVB’s investors now claim that their headquarters are at 387 Park Ave, 2,951 miles from the Santa Clara HQ the company listed on all its filings:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/18/2-billion-here-2-billion-there/#socialism-for-the-rich

In New York, elite boarding schools get federal rescues, so long as they can claim some nexus with SVB. But, as Goldstein writes, NY city and state schools are in outright financial crisis, with no aid in sight. The State University of New York system is drowning in debt. NYC schools are about to bring down massive layoffs, having lost $469m out of their budgets:

https://comptroller.nyc.gov/newsroom/testimony-of-new-york-city-comptroller-brad-lander-to-the-new-york-city-council-committee-on-education-on-resolution-283-2022-to-immediately-reverse-doe-reductions-to-school-budgets-for-fy-2023/

The FDIC stepped in to rescue SVB, claiming that it wouldn’t cost the public anything — instead, the money would come from increases in the entire bank system’s insurance premiums. But as Adam Levitin writes for Credit Slips, banks “will pass those premiums through to customers because the market for banking services is less competitive than the market for capital…higher costs for increased insurance premiums are likely to flow to the least price-sensitive and most ‘sticky’ customers: less wealthy individuals”

“So average Joes are going to be facing things like higher account fees or lower APYs, without gaining any benefit. Instead, the benefit of removing the cap would flow entirely to wealthy individuals and businesses. This is one massive, regressive cross-subsidy.”

https://www.creditslips.org/creditslips/2023/03/the-regressive-cross-subsidy-of-uncapping-deposit-insurance.html

Nothing about this bailout intrinsically protects anyone’s job. Yes, if the companies that banked with SVB went under, they’d have fired everyone. But tech companies are firing everyone anyway, 280,000 and counting, in profitable companies where they do stock-buybacks big enough to pay every worker’s salary for the next quarter-century:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/21/tech-workers/#sharpen-your-blades-boys

I’m kickstarting the audiobook for my next novel, a post-cyberpunk anti-finance finance thriller about Silicon Valley scams called Red Team Blues. Amazon’s Audible refuses to carry my audiobooks because they’re DRM free, but crowdfunding makes them possible

[Image ID: A vast castle surrounded by a stately brick wall bearing an ornate gilt-framed sign reading 'Small, non-profit school,' in gothic lettering. Atop the wall is a caricature of Humpty Dumpty, looking distressed. He has a SVB logo over his chest. He is being restrained by tiny, top-hatted bankers.]

#pluralistic #bank run #venture capitalists dilemma #prisoners dilemma #north country school #david sacks #svb #silicon valley bank #bailouts

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la-bruja · 9 months

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Fanfiction Recommendations

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hello y’all! still insane and i have even more fics for you!

today i am serving you a twenty (20) course meal featuring Batman, Good Omens, Boku No Hero Academia, White Collar, and their crossovers!

thanks for checking out my fic recs!! <3

(if the formatting is ugly, know that i did this on the app)

»»———-Batman-———-««

Gotham’s Biggest Ship by chamsie

based on a tweet (suggestive)

Complete. One-Shot. 1k+ Words. 1k+ Kudos. Bruce Wayne/Batman. Crack Treated Seriously.

There was one persistent open secret that had never before reached the ears of the BatCave, and it had existed for much longer than one would have realized.

The fact that everyone knew of the epic romance of Bruce Wayne and the Batman.

to span the tide by idontshaveforher_yesyoudo

part one (1) of the completed series outsider povs on an outsider

Complete. One-Shot. 5k Words. 5k Kudos. Autistic Bruce Wayne. Character Study. Gotham City Residents. POV Outsider.

five (plus one) times Bruce Wayne is observed as he quietly takes care of the people of Gotham City.

Candle Light and Plastic Bats by @jackdaw-kraai

Completed. 10k+ Words. 2k+ Kudos. Gotham City Residents. Minor Injuries. Accidental Deification.

The People of Gotham are well aware that there is a demon hiding in the shadows of their city. They are also well aware that unless provoked by injustice the demon, the Bat, is benevolent and aids them in their struggles when no one else can or will.

The People Of Gotham aren't without honor, they give thanks when gratitude is due.

r/onlyingotham by amurderofmagpies

Incomplete. Multi-Chaptered. 5k+ Words. Last Updated April ‘22. Residents of Gotham. Social Media. Crack Treated Seriously.

The unofficial subreddit of Gotham City.

Watch This by snackbaskets

Complete. One-Shot. 2k+ Words. 20k+ Kudos. Good Parent Bruce Wayne. Dick Grayson is Robin. Fluff and Humor.

Hal and Barry are worried about Batman's new partner. Being around the Batman all the time can't be good for a kid, right?

Robin insists otherwise, and for $15.36 of betting money, is happy to demonstrate.

Parental Woes by nazville

Complete. One-Shot. 2k+ Words. 4k+ Kudos. Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics. Omega Bruce Wayne. Humor and Fluff.

"Is it weird being the single Omega parent to a bunch of Alphas? Like what's the weirdest thing?"

"The cock-blocking," said Bruce

He's Ours Now by Lulu_Rythmea

part one (1) of series: Hood's Merry Men

Batman finally pushed him away. Marcus stumbled as he found his footing, already tensed for an attack. The other guys, so calm until now, (they’d talked about this, planned for it,) shifted away as well.

The attack never came. The Bat was gone.

Marcus glanced around, then up at the roof. He couldn’t see anything, but that meant very little in this business, so he decided to risk it. “You ever think, boss, that the kid might not wanna see you?”

A batarang sliced into the stack of crates to Marcus’ left. Welp. That was enough antagonizing for one night.

the darkness that lingers (the fate it brings us) by soyasauce

Incomplete. Two-Shot. 3k+ Words. Last Updated February ‘22. 281 Kudos. Account Locked. Good Parent Bruce Wayne. Eldtrich Bruce Wayne. Meta Bruce Wayne.

Still, these shadows are wrong in a way he can't quite describe. It is ridiculous, because shadows are just that. But they are not the shadows of Gotham, and the way they cling to him feels unsettling, odd.

Sometimes, when he looses focus, he will wake up back in his bed in Gotham. Alfred is never surprised, to see him exiting a bedroom he never entered the previous night, and only invites him to stay for breakfast before he leaves again.

farthest you've ever flown by @applejee

Complete. Three-Shot. 14k+ Words. 5k+ Kudos. Bad Parent Jack Drake. Emotional Abuse. Implied Homophobia. Good Sibling Jason Todd. Enemy to Caretaker. Accidental Brother Acquisition.

When Jack Drake kicks Tim out in a rage, Tim, not wanting to be a bother, tries to make it work without getting the Bats involved. But he can only go so long without being found out, and it’s not Batman that ends up discovering his secret; it’s the Red Hood.

»»———-Good Omens-———-««

it's the light (it's the obstacle that casts it) by @bibliocratic

Complete. One-Shot. 5k+ Words. 10k+ Kudos. Period Typical Homophobia. Queer Themes. Mutual Pining.

It's like having a curtain pulled back on something he wasn't expecting to see. A surprise punch-and-judy at an up-scale restaurant, a lobster thermidor when he's ordered an ale.

Crowley's gleefully trying to wrap his head around the fact that Aziraphale is speaking Polari. Because of course he is.

»»———-Boku No Hero Academia-———-««

Victim of Circumstance by @chalcet

Incomplete. Multi-Chaptered. 37k+ Words. Orphaned 6k+ Kudos. Dead Midoriya Inko. Vigilante Midoriya Izuku. Midoriya Izuku Does Not Have One For All. Quirkless Midoriya Izuku. Homeless Midoriya Izuku. Midoriya Izuku Does Not Go To UA. Canon Typical Violence.

So Izuku does what he does best: he helps. Sometimes that means mediating gang disputes; other times, it's something as simple as grocery shopping. It's not like anyone else will, after all. With so many hopes riding on him, there's only ever been one option. Quirk or no Quirk, UA or no UA—he's going to become a hero.

Cat Days by GriffinRose part one (1) of series: Cat Days

Completed. Multi-Chaptered. 124k+ Words. 10k+ Kudos. Account Locked. Dead Midoriya Inko. Abusive Midoriya Hisashi. Canon-Typical Violence. Parental Aizawa Shouta. Midoriya Izuku Does Not Have One for All Quirk. Quirk Shenanigans. Kid Midoriya Izuku. Implied Child Abuse. Hurt/Comfort.

Izuku has a shapeshifting quirk. He's not the best at controlling it, especially under stress. So when tragedy strikes and he gets lost in the city, he's stuck as a cat. At least he found a nice underground hero to take him in?

In Which Midoriya Confuses A Lot of People, Starts A Manhunt, and Becomes A Hero by legal_kidnapping

Completed. Multi-Chaptered. 28k+ Words. 27k+ Kudos. Quirkless Midoriya Izuku. Unhinged Midoriya Izuku. Hero Public Safety Commission Bashing. Crack Treated Seriously.

Midoriya needs a new outlet for his hero research and accidentally creates a viral YouTube channel.

You know that thing where an orchestra swaps instruments, and like, some of them get it right away, but others have no clue what they're doing? This is that but with quirks, two unwilling participants, and also Emotions by @the-final-sif part four (4) of series: Nitroglycerin's Parables

Completed. One-Shot. 13k+ Words. 10k+ Kudos. Hurt/Comfort. Emotional Hurt/Comfort. Fluff. Canon-Typical Violence. Class 1-A Shenanigans. Quirk Swap. Quirk Accident. Quirk Shenanigans. Quirk Side Effects. Yaoyorozu Momo is a Good Friend. Yaoyorozu Momo has Self-Esteem Issues. Bakugou Katsuki is a Good Friend. Deaf Bakugou Katsuki. Bakugou Katsuki Has Issues. Bakugou Katsuki Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Soft Bakugou Katsuki. Touch-Starved Bakugou Katsuki.

Momo wasn't sure why it came as such a shock to her and her classmates that nitroglycerin was not, in fact, easy to control. The chemical was defined by it's instability, it's ability to go off under near any circumstances, it's powerful blows. And yet, Katsuki had always made it look so simple. He soared through the air like it was nothing, switching between bullet-sized blasts and missile levels of firepower like most people switched channels on TV. Momo had found herself jealous of his quirk at times, unable to help wondering what it would be like to have such power at her fingertips. Good news, she didn't have to wonder anymore. Bad news, it was absolutely terrible.

Truth Effect by AnAroAceGremlin

Completed. One-Shot. 3k+ Words. 6k+ Kudos. BAMF Bakugou Katsuki. BAMF Shinsou Hitoshi. Fluff and Angst. Quirk Discrimination. Bakugou Katsuki is a Good Friend. Shinsou Hitoshi Replaces Mineta Minoru. Shinsou Hitoshi Needs a Hug. Bakugou Katsuki Needs a Hug. Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence.

Truth Effect. Definition: tendency to believe false information to be correct after repeated exposure. Katsuki and Hitoshi have a few things in common. 1) They both have no one to take of them. 2) They have very strong, unique quirks. 3) Both of the above make them prime targets for kidnappings growing up. They think this is normal.

"Average Person Gets Kidnapped 3 Times A Year" Factoid Actually Just Statistical Error by ohshiddlesticks

Completed. Two-Shot. 4k+ Words. 10k+ Kudos. Fluff and Angst. Crack Treated Seriously. Childhood Friends. Midoriya Izuku is a Good Friend.

"Midoriya Izuku just sort of assumed that everyone else got kidnapped at least once a year, and his once-or-twice-a-month ordeals were just a little bit more than normal." Bakugou gets kidnapped, and Izuku is surprised that nobody else knows what to do. It's a normal childhood occurrence, right?

and i'm nothing like you by @aloneintherain

Completed. One-Shot. 9k+ Words. 12k+ Kudos. Hurt/Comfort. Kidnapping. Mind Control. Hurt Midoriya Izuku.

Of all the people to have been kidnapped alongside, it had to be this person, this hero, the one person who would never blame him for the things he was forced to do. “Don’t cry,” Midoriya says. “Fuck you,” Hitoshi chokes out. (When Shinsou goes grocery shopping a few weeks after transferring to Class 2A, Midoriya tags along. Because he is, for some reason, determined to be Shinsou’s friend. Shinsou remains cold and withdrawn in the face of Midoriya’s friendliness—until they’re kidnapped by a woman with a brainwashing quirk who believes Shinsou doesn’t belong in the hero course.)

Izuku Knows Exactly Five Guitar Chords And Uses All Of Them To Torment Bakugou Katsuki by @speedwagons-glorious-mane

Completed. One-Shot. 2k+ Words. 3k+ Kudos. Account Locked. Crack Treated Seriously. Bakugou Katsuki & Consequences. Midoriya Izuku Is In A Shitty Pop Punk Band. Midoriya Izuku Does Not Go to U.A. High School. Quirkless Midoriya Izuku.

Kacchan's mom has got it going on Katsuki goes ramrod straight as the vocals start. Ears and Shitty Hair are grinning at him but Katsuki is too busy staring at the speaker in disbelief. He'd know that voice anywhere. Bakugou Katsuki listens to the hit new single 'Kacchan's Mom' by Feeling Green for the first time and he is not a fan.

»»———-Crossovers-———-««

emergency exit by @rae-tnub Batman x BNHA.

Incomplete. Multi-Chaptered. 4k+ Words. Last Updated January ‘22. Bakugou Katsuki Centric. Post Sports Festival Arc.

The two thousand, three hundred and sixteenth offer gives him pause.

The seal on the top of the paper is the Justice League’s symbol. Joining the Justice League is the highest honor a hero can receive. Only the best of the best heroes ever get an invite. Those are the heroes called for the biggest things, like alien invasions and major disasters. They’re the representatives of the worldwide hero community to the rest of the world.

He scans the details of the cover letter. It’s as generic and bland as the rest of them—still written in perfect Japanese, though—and it’s from Batman.

memory loss by elijay White Collar x Batman part one (1) of series: because there really isn't enough of Neal Caffrey being one of the Robins in our lives

Incomplete. Multi-Chaptered. 7k+ Words. Last Updated January '21. 2k+ Kudos. Tim Drake-Centric. Tim Drake is Red Robin. Tim Drake is Neal Caffrey. Tim Drake has Amnesia. Tim Drake has Chronic Pain. Jason Todd is Red Hood. Dick Grayson is Nightwing. Neal Caffrey-centric. BAMF Tim Drake. BAMF Neal Caffrey. Identity Reveal.

“And he is Peter…?” “Burke,” Jones fills in. “Peter Burke, white collar crimes unit. Your handler. You… don’t remember, do you?” Neal snorts. “How astute of you, Jones. And I am?” Concern flickers through Diana. “You don’t know?” Neal looks at her and raises an eyebrow. “I know who I am, I want to know who you think I am.” “Neal Caffrey,” she replies confidently. “Con man, forger, world-class thief, now a criminal consultant for the white collar crimes unit of the FBI.” She’s expecting Neal to nod and agree in some way, but instead he snorts again. “What an alias - Neal Caffrey. Tell me, how long has he been with you? And how old is he, again?”

thanks for getting this far!! enjoy the fics :]

#batman #boku no hero acedamia #fanfiction #fic rec #batman fic #bnha fic #good omens fic #white collar fanfic #fanfic rec #fic rec list #fanfiction recommendation #fic reccomendations #thinking thoughts #Yeah i have no life and nothing to say for myself #tumblr just told me this is my 100th post and idk how to feel about that

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mariacallous · 6 months

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At around 8 am local time the morning of October 7, Haaretz’s cyber and disinformation reporter, Omer Benjakob, was woken by his wife at their home in the historic port city of Jaffa. Something was happening in southern Israel, she said, but Benjakob shrugged it off, presuming “another round of the same shit.” Flare-ups between the Israel Defense Forces (IDF) and militants in southern Israel are not uncommon. “No, no,” Benjakob’s wife insisted. “It’s more serious.”

There was nothing yet on television or state media except unverified reports of casualties. The authorities were silent. In response to requests from Haaretz, the IDF said the situation was “under review.” On social media, a different story was unfolding. There were clips of dead IDF soldiers. Paragliders descending on a rave in the Negev desert, 3 miles from the $1.1 billion militarized Gaza-Israel Barrier. Militants commandeering IDF military vehicles. “You’re seeing videos of kidnapping. Hamas guys going over the border, and then like shoot-’em-up-style videos going in kibbutz houses,” Benjakob says, still sounding stunned. Like many other Israelis that morning, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

Telegram was already familiar to many Israelis, who, among other things, often procure cannabis through the app. Sustained government pressure on the country’s press had also driven people in search of alternative news sources, Benjakob says. Previous escalations of violence tended to coincide with an uptick of activity on Telegram. Now the Hamas attacks brought a surge of users. “Hundreds of thousands are signing up for Telegram from Israel and the Palestinian Territories,” Pavel Durov, Telegram’s Russian founder, posted on his public channel on October 8, adding that the company was bringing support for Hebrew and Arabic to the app. “Everyone affected should have reliable access to news and private communication in these dire times,” Durov said.

Maria Rashed, a longtime resident of Tel Aviv who recently moved to London, had flown home to Nazareth for her sister’s engagement party the night before the October 7 attacks. “It was overwhelming to wake up facing war,” she tells WIRED. A Palestinian who grew up in a Christian family, Rashed is now an independent journalist. The morning of October 7, she scoured mainstream platforms, especially Instagram. But in the absence of official information, she wanted to see for herself how Hamas fighters had entered Israel. “The only way for me to do that was to go on Telegram, enter the channel related to Hamas’ press team,” she says. “And there you could see unfiltered videos of the attack.”

During the course of the day, Telegram, which has 800 million users worldwide, became the main source of videos and information spreading to other social media platforms, including X, Instagram, and TikTok, where content was being reposted with little to no verification.

In one open source intelligence war-watching group on Telegram, Benjakob saw videos of IDF forces being humbled—basic quad drones dropping grenades on Israel’s state-of-the-art Mark IV Merkava tanks, followed by footage of soldiers fleeing their vehicles and being captured by Hamas fighters. But Benjakob couldn’t be sure if the videos were real. “All the [official] Israeli groups are silent. The official government groups are silent,” he says. “Fucking crazy.”

Five hours after the attacks started, Israeli prime minister Benjamin Netanyahu declared that his country was at war. With little to no official information, many desperate Israelis were not just watching violent videos released by Hamas; they were also getting caught up in a mess of conspiracy theories. In some groups, the attacks were already being blamed on the IDF for having betrayed Netanyahu. Other conspiracy theory groups on Telegram and X claimed it was all a false-flag operation by the Israeli prime minister. “One of the biggest fronts Israel failed on, and one of the biggest things that helped create panic in Israeli society, was mis- and disinformation during the first 72 hours of this thing,” Benjakob says.

While videos and images of victims were soon going viral on major social networks, the most extreme content can all be traced back to Telegram. Benjakob describes Hamas’ real-time broadcasting of its attack on Israel as “psychological warfare.”

“As [Hamas] entered Israel, there was a digital onslaught launched as well,” says Benjakob. It was “insane” to see militants jumping the border fence, old women being taken away, people being murdered in their beds. “It’s honestly beyond anything the Israeli psyche has experienced, at least in my lifetime.”

The weaponization of Telegram played a key role in this psychological attack, sources argue. The platform’s lack of robust content moderation, alongside its sprawling honeycomb of public channels and groups, enabled content to rapidly reach millions of people.

Although Apple and Google, which host Telegram in their app stores, have now begun asking the company to ban Hamas’ main channels, Telegram has otherwise declined to block channels disseminating extreme content. In a post on his public channel on October 13, Durov alluded to the difficulty of policing speech in a conflict, and cited a Hamas warning before a strike on the Israeli city of Ashkelon as a reason not to act: “Would shutting down their channel help save lives—or would it endanger more lives?”

As with Russia's invasion of Ukraine, Telegram, which is headquartered in Dubai, has once again found itself at the center of a complex geopolitical and humanitarian crisis. How this happened—not once, but twice—reveals the outsize power of one of the world's most tight-lipped technology companies. More than a dozen interviews with sources on the ground, analysts, and former Telegram employees reveal the power of the platform to quickly spread unfiltered content ahead of traditional media, as well as the true extent of Hamas’ weaponization of the app—and what seems to be an ideological aversion to interfere at the upper echelons of Telegram.

The Weaponization of Telegram

Hamas accounts have been banned from most social media platforms for years. But, when it launched its attack on Israel on October 7, Hamas had a huge presence on Telegram. The platform’s potential to rapidly disseminate easily downloadable and sharable content made it a crucial weapon. Hamas’ Telegram channels grew rapidly in the first five days of the conflict. Qassam Brigades, the channel dedicated to the organization’s military wing, tripled in size from 205,000 to nearly 620,000 subscribers, alongside a tenfold increase in the number of views per post, according to analysis by the Atlantic Council’s Digital Forensic Research Lab (DFRLab). In the year prior to the attacks, the channel had only grown by 20,000 followers. Before the takedown requests from Google and Apple, the Qassam Brigades channel was nearing 800,000 subscribers. It is currently down to roughly 670,000 subscribers.

DFRLab analyst Layla Mashkoor followed the October 7 attacks in real-time on Telegram. One of the most-viewed videos she saw featured professionally filmed and edited footage of armed paragliders landing on sandy terrain and storming buildings. It isn’t clear from when or where the video was filmed. Other footage, seemingly recorded on body cameras and phones, shows fighters crossing the Gaza-Israel Barrier and exchanging fire. There are also scenes of Hamas fighters dragging bloodied IDF soldiers from burning tanks. Cameras pan over slain Israeli soldiers in the aftermath of an attack. This video, and others like it, have received more than 700,000 views apiece on Telegram.

“On the actual day of the attack, Hamas was very prepared to spread their message,” says Mashkoor. “We saw highly produced content and there was a more sophisticated media strategy than we've previously seen from them. They definitely had content ready to go, and then their ability to post and upload in real time as the attack was unfolding also shows there was a degree of media strategy,” she adds.

Mashkoor argues that the vacuum left by Israeli authorities let Hamas take control of the narrative in those first few hours. The delay in any official response from Israel meant that Hamas could effectively shape the conversation. By the evening of October 7, the IDF, which had been concentrating on X, began posting more regularly on Telegram. By then Mashkoor was already observing a “very clear pipeline” of images and videos from Telegram to X.

Mashkoor watched as content first uploaded to the Qassam Brigades Telegram channel was reshared by supporters and news outlets, before proliferating all over Telegram and spreading to other social platforms. This pipeline meant that facts were distorted and events were exaggerated or misinterpreted. “A lot of the content is also obviously in Arabic, which adds to some of the confusion when people might be using machine translation while trying to share real-time updates,” says Mashkoor.

Other channels became popular, too. Gaza Now, which the DFRLab describes as “Hamas aligned,” doubled its 350,000 subscribers in the first 24 hours of the crisis, while the average number of views in the first five days increased tenfold. The channel currently has more than 1.9 million subscribers and consistently reposts Hamas content.

Hamas’ own channels still played the commanding role. Analysts at SITE Intelligence Group, a consultancy which monitors the Qassam Brigades channel, claim that Hamas’ Telegram strategy totally changed on October 7. Whereas before it was somewhat dated, now it was specifically designed for “2023 virality,” SITE says. Livestreams were accompanied by a deluge of short, branded clips that could easily be shared. “I couldn’t believe what Hamas was posting,” says Rita Katz, SITE’s executive director and founder. She believes the group’s strategy was partly inspired by the Islamic State’s playbook.

Katz alleges that Hamas’ social media activity has been effective in cultivating rare support across disparate radical Islamist groups around the world, whether Sunni or Shia. “It’s the first time anything like this has happened,” she claims.

Without Telegram, this would have been impossible, argues Katz. “What you can do on Telegram, you can’t do anywhere else. It allows for quick uploads and sharing, to utilize automated bots, to stay anonymous. No other platform comes close.” Katz points to what she claims is an alleged inconsistency in Telegram’s actions given Durov’s stated refusal to move against Hamas’ channels despite the platform removing other groups.

Telegram used to be the app of choice for Islamic State (IS) and other jihadist groups. When asked about this in an interview in 2015, Durov replied that IS would simply find another app if kicked off his. “I don’t think we should feel guilty about this,” he said. “I still think we’re doing the right thing—protecting our users’ privacy.” Shortly afterward, the Islamic State carried out a series of attacks in Paris, killing 130 people, earning Telegram widespread criticism. Telegram subsequently banned 78 IS channels, created a bot to track and eliminate new IS channels, and cooperated with Europol.

This didn’t stop Durov from indulging in a spot of shitposting when, in 2017, he shared a photo of himself on Twitter with the caption “My new passport photo is strangely suitable for media articles about terrorists using Telegram 🤔”, and followed a few days later by changing his profile picture on VK, the Russian social network he ran from 2006 to 2014, to a photoshopped amalgam of his face and the body of an armed IS suicide bomber. That image is still the background image for what appears to be Durov’s YouTube channel.

Only yesterday, October 30, Durov posted a meme of the same image to his Russian-language Telegram channel with the words “Persecuting people on the basis of nationality or religion is unacceptable,” in reaction to Telegram’s blocking of a channel linked to the mob that surrounded a plane arriving in Russia’s mostly Muslim region of Dagestan from Israel. “Channels calling for violence (as in the screenshot above) will be blocked for violating the rules of Telegram, Google, Apple and the entire civilized world,” Durov wrote. While human rights defenders will welcome this rare intervention from Durov and Telegram, the choice to use his IS militant meme may raise eyebrows.

Ruslan Trad, a researcher at the Atlantic Council's DFRLab, argues that IS has had a major influence on how other militant Islamist groups use social media. “IS has shown how to reach a wider audience and how to process content in such a way that it evokes both fear and admiration, and also reaches users who have not been relevant before.” But, he adds, Hamas, unlike IS, maintains international contacts, and many governments don’t regard it as a terrorist group, particularly in Asia and Latin America. “Hamas is also an enemy of the Islamic State,” Trad says.

Even so, Hamas’ ability to widely share images and videos of its attacks have the potential to inspire further violence, Katz argues. “Unless Telegram immediately takes action,” she says, “this is going to escalate and be a much bigger problem. Because this will lead to more violence around the world.” And for that, Katz claims, Telegram will be in no small part responsible.

Inside Telegram

In a bid to understand how Telegram is handling its role in the crisis, WIRED contacted three senior employees: founder and CEO Pavel Durov, vice president Ilya Perekopsky, and head of communications, Mike Ravdonikas. None responded. Neither did Telegram’s press spokesperson. All anyone outside Telegram has to go on is Durov’s public channel, where he has posted twice about the crisis: first on October 8, when he announced large numbers of new signups in Israel and the occupied Palestinian territories by people in search of “reliable access to news,” then on October 13, when he claimed that Telegram’s moderators and unspecified “AI tools” were removing “millions of obviously harmful content.”

But, he went on, “tackling war-related coverage is seldom obvious,” highlighting Hamas’ warning to civilians prior to air strikes. “It’s always tempting to act on emotional impulses. But such complex situations require thorough consideration that should also take into account the differences between social platforms.” Durov argued that Telegram users only received the content they have specifically subscribed to—unlike other apps that “algorithmically promote shocking content to unsuspecting people.” As such, he concluded, it was “unlikely” that Telegram channels could be used to “significantly amplify propaganda.”

WIRED spoke to four ex-Telegram employees to try and understand what’s going on inside the company. A former developer agreed with Durov about algorithmic amplification, arguing that “if there are no algorithms to recommend content, then the platform has no responsibility for what the users post because they themselves choose to expose themselves to that content.” The former employee also suggested why Durov may be treading a careful line: “Let’s not forget that Telegram is headquartered in a mostly neutral Arab country that is friends with its less neutral neighbors.” A location tag on an Instagram post dated October 19 shows Durov was recently in Saudi Arabia, as was Perekopsky, according to a photo of Riyadh he posted to Telegram Stories.

When asked how staff would feel about the extreme content on the platform and Telegram’s role in the current crisis, the developer responded: “I don't care about this organizational boringness. I write code. That's what I do. I don't moderate content and I don't solve human problems, I only solve technical ones.”

Elies Campo, who directed Telegram’s growth, business, and partnerships from 2015 to 2021, argues that Durov has chosen to “maximize” amplification of content on his platform. Public channels, for example, can have an unlimited number of subscribers while private groups can reach 200,000 people, far more than WhatsApp’s 1,024-member limit.

Telegram also has built-in tools for spreading content to other platforms: “Being able to upload any type of file of up to 2 GB enables Telegram to become a bridge for content between social networks and other platforms, and we've seen this in recent events,” Campo says. “These features are fantastic in a healthy society with no bad actors, but in today's world, any good product with such a large audience will have a complete representation of the good and the bad in humanity.”

Axel Neff, who helped cofound Telegram and worked at VK, the Russian social network Durov used to run, believes that Durov sees Telegram as an almost neutral, public utility: “He very much views it as a tool of the people.” Neff claims his old boss accepts there will always be both good users and bad users—but that Durov believes good people will prevail against bad people. “They use Telegram to communicate safely, and reliably. And in situations like the [current conflict in the] Middle East, they ideally warn each other of danger which might hopefully save some lives,” Neff says.

Ultimately, Telegram’s employees are “stretched very thin and not positioned to handle situations like this,” Neff says. (As of February 2023, there were only 60 employees.) “The almost nonexistent trust and safety team in no way can keep up with the daily global chaos they are now faced with at the scale they’ve become,” Neff adds.

Unlike other platforms, Telegram does not appear to have a codified process for dealing with crises like this, instead tending to make changes under intense legal or media pressure. Anton Rozenberg—who worked with Durov from the early days of VK in 2007, before, he says, becoming director of special areas, which involved anti-spam work, at Telegram from 2016 to 2017—is clear about who makes the decisions at Telegram. “Moderation rules, especially in high-profile cases, are set by Pavel himself,” Rozenberg claims.

Based on prior examples, Durov appears to have an aversion to interfering or taking sides in political and international crises, based more on pragmatism than principle. “First of all, he’s worried about the size of the audience. And if he started blocking channels or content with pro-Palestine and/or pro-Israel positions, he would be blamed by huge parts of Telegram's audience in a lot of countries, that he supported another side of the conflict,” Rozenberg claims. “So, it’s just business.”

Finding a Balance

As Meta’s Mark Zuckerberg might attest, the leader of a major social media platform is often damned if they do, damned if they don’t. Many people who are distrustful of official narratives in the Israel-Hamas crisis are depending on Telegram for unfiltered information. It’s also a free space compared to other major platforms. Maria Rashed says that many believe Instagram has been censoring and shadow-banning pro-Palestinian accounts, some of which had resorted to burying the #IStandWithIsrael hashtag in posts to get seen. Meta, which owns Instagram, said it had fixed a number of bugs that may have been causing such issues.

Nadim Nashif, a Palestinian digital rights activist, wasn’t just thinking about Hamas when he read Durov’s October 13 post about not blocking channels. “That means that Telegram is also not going to shut Israeli channels inciting [violence],” Nashif tells me via video call from his home in the northern Israeli city of Haifa. Nashif and 7amleh, the civil rights organization he leads, have been documenting cases of Palestinians being threatened by Israeli channels and groups on Telegram since the conflict began. Doxing is rife, and attacks, arrests, and threats against their jobs are increasing. Nashif has also seen Israeli channels mocking murdered Palestinians. “Horrible videos you don’t want to see,” Nashif says, grimacing. “People abusing the [dead] bodies, making jokes …”

Back in May 2021, when there was an outbreak of violence in Israel and the Palestinian territories, Nashif recalls that activists were able to persuade some social media platforms to remove racist comments and hate speech, especially against Palestinians living in Israel. “But the feeling now is that [Telegram is] not closing anything,” Nashif says. He’s conferred with other digital activist colleagues from organizations like Access Now, who have been escalating cases with contacts at Telegram. “But nobody’s answering,” he says.

“I think that the owner and leadership of the company are very aware that this is bringing to them millions of people and subscribers,” Nashif alleges. “I think it's part of the business model.” The leaders of companies like Telegram are not stupid, Nashif adds: “They have reached this decision that maybe it's better to have a controversial platform where more people keep joining and engaging with what's happening there.”

It remains to be seen whether Hamas’ channels will stay up on Telegram. On Android, people now see a message telling them that two of the main Hamas-run channels, including Qassam Brigades, cannot be displayed on “Telegram apps downloaded from the Google Play Store.” Hamas-run channels are also now blocked on iOS. Such blocks can be circumvented, however. Telegram instructs Android users who want “fewer restrictions'' to download the app directly from its website. People wanting to get around restrictions and view blocked Hamas channels can also purchase anonymous Telegram numbers at auction using a Telegram-approved cryptocurrency called Toncoin; download the messenger via Telegram’s website and then log in via anonymous numbers.

In the European Union, regulators have warned social media platforms against content that contravenes its Digital Services Act. A spokesman for the European Commission told WIRED that they are in contact with Telegram, without offering details. After a recent meeting of the European Union Internet Forum and pressure from Germany, Hamas’ Telegram channels are now blocked in a number of EU member states.

Even if Hamas is definitively removed from Telegram, it will find other ways to share its message. The group is trialing a rudimentary app for keeping people updated on the latest news and announcements from the Qassam Brigades—another example of its expanded technical capabilities. “Hamas seems to be preparing for their communications to be disrupted in the event that Telegram does remove the group,” says Mashkoor.

Whatever happens, as Telegram continues to develop into the de facto platform for witnessing war in real-time, unfiltered and unmoderated, it is changing the way the world experiences violent conflict.

As October 7 ended, Maria Rashed cried herself to sleep. “Because you’re receiving so much information at once and you don’t know what to feel,” she says. “I’m seeing my Israeli friends struggling and they’re losing people that they love. But I’m a Palestinian at the same time.” She fears how Israel will respond and the repercussions for friends in the West Bank and Gaza.

Benjakob, who viewed scores of violent videos released by Hamas on Telegram on October 7, spent the rest of the morning trying to ground himself in his local community. Accompanied by his wife, he went to their favorite café in Jaffa: “The Palestinians from Jaffa who are my neighbors made a massive effort to talk to us,” he says. “We ended up sitting for three hours with Palestinian people we’d never spoken to before.” It was a very Tel Aviv–Yafo type of statement, he says, one that declared: “We refuse to be enemies.”

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fearsmagazine · 7 months

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DREAMS OF DRACULA: AN IMMERSIVE VAMPIRE MASQUERADE Debuts This October in New York City

Prepare to experience the legendary tale of Dracula like never before! This Halloween, Never More Immersive (the innovative theatrical experience production company), Bucket Listers (the popular media experience brand behind the New York Bucket List) and Musica, the largest nightclub in New York City have joined forces to recreate the storied Dracula universe as a brand new vampire theatrical.

Dreams of Dracula: An Immersive Masquerade Experience will feature two floors and six rooms across 25,000 square feet, a choose-your-own adventure journey through history’s most famous vampire. This innovative production of the beloved Bram Stoker classic will begin previews September 22nd and open October 4th in Hell’s Kitchen (Musica NYC: 637 W 50th Street, New York, NY 10019) and play through November 11th.

Guests are invited to step into the dreamtime, the shadow world between sleep, nightmares, and ecstasy. Bear witness to a secret society of the dark arts and explore a world beyond the borders of conscious reality: terror, forbidden desires, and hypnotic dreams await. Expect an evening that not only retells the gothic Dracula story, but encases it amongst the very Dark Romantic literary traditions that inspired Stoker himself. Walk through the darkness and come face to face with the likes of the Brides Of Dracula, or maybe even Mary Shelley and Lord Byron. Or take in the entrancing seductions of Dracula’s ballet as it unfolds around you.

Dreams of Dracula is a heady mix of immersive theater, dance, and decadent masquerade. With the language and symbols of dreams woven throughout the show, guests might encounter having their own dreams analyzed, lend their hand in co-writing a gothic ghost story, or have a poem composed in tribute to their beauty. Guests 21+ will also be granted access into the Oscar Wilde Salon to imbibe in a variety of decadent themed cocktails where they will be entertained by Oscar and his very wilde friends! A custom Dreams of Dracula app built by Shivoo Studios will allow guests to further interact with their dreams as an augmented reality post experience after the show.

Friday and Saturday nights are Black Tie affairs. For all other performances, basic black will be required for admission. Fabulous gothic or Victorian costumes are also very much encouraged. All guests will be provided with their own mask based on their ticket level. Black masks for GA tickets, gold for VIP, and platinum for very special guests who purchase one of two private boxes available. Private boxes feature a luxurious private room graced with two way mirrors, so our box guests can watch the story unfolding, but remain unseen, in their own private space. The box also features bottle service, a dedicated attendant, and exclusive interactions with the cast. Tickets will be available exclusively through Bucket Listers. Join the waitlist now and be first to receive notification of on sale. Full ticket and show run details available here.

WHAT: Dreams of Dracula: An Immersive Masquerade Experience Written and Directed by Jonathan Albert and Nicole Coady Choreography by Arianne Meneses General Management by Mott/Fischer Productions WHERE: Musica NYC 637 W 50th Street, New York, NY 10019 WHEN: Previews begin: September 22nd Open: October 4th - November 11th DETAILS: Must be 18+ to enter. All sales are final. No refunds or exchanges. Be Warned: Hypnosis, tarot readings, scary tales, darkness, flashing lights, thunder, lightning, and blood will be a part of the experience

#theater news #immersive theatre #DREAMS OF DRACULA: AN IMMERSIVE VAMPIRE MASQUERADE #Never more Immersive #Bucket Listers #Arianne Meneses #Musica NYC #horror #dracula

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akihabara-division03 · 2 years

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What if... The leaders of each division suddenly swapped between teams? What would become of them?

Anika, a young hypnotherapist from the bustling, busy city of Akihabara, has become the temporary leader of @tokyo-division. Let’s find out what kind of new mischief she and her new team will get into.

Waiting for a text from Makina was like being stuck in some serious traffic. Every single time, just waiting for a text back brought up an impatience within her she forgot she had.

Anika checked her messages again, the most recent one being:

‘Are you streaming right now? Can I come in?’

Well, no reply from Makina was more than enough of a reply.

Anika opened the door and entered.

Had the flashing warfare on the desktop computer not been happening, she never would’ve been able to tell someone was in the room at the moment— the bedroom truly looked like it had been ransacked. Cans of emptied energy drinks littered the room and there was a cartoonishly large bottle of water on top of the desk, placed away from all the gadgets.

Anika headed straight for the computer and peered over the desk chair that was more than half her height.

Makina had one ear of her headset off and was fully seated in her chair, her legs hugging to her chest while her eyes were dead-set on the screen in front of her. On another computer screen was an online messaging app that took up the entire screen.

Anika found it cute that Makina was so small that the desk chair completely shielded her.

Makina’s small hand moved away from the mouse and began to hastily and clumsily type away on the white keyboard, her eyes never leaving the battlefield in front of her.

‘hurry up and leave’

Oh, it was to her and not to her groupchat.

“I’m waiting for a text from the new team,” Anika chuckled. “They didn’t exactly tell me where to meet them.”

Red filled Makina’s main desktop screen and both of their heads whipped to the computer, where large red letters spelled out, ‘YOU DIED’.

Makina’s eyes widened and she grabbed the mic to her headset and began hollering into her mic. Anika watched as Makina waited for a reply from the other line before slamming her fist on her desk in anger.

While Makina’s childish tantrums weren’t exactly pleasant, Anika always found them humorous and entertaining. The shortest person she knew was screaming a string of profanities to whom she assumed to be her own teammates. She could barely stifle a laugh.

Anika’s silent laugh had reached Makina’s ears and she released a low growl.

Anika’s phone vibrated in her pocket. Finally, her new teammates decided on a meeting place.

She sighed in relief upon reading the location listed on the text message. A smile formed on her face and stroked Makina’s head. “I’ll see you at the TV station in a few days, then. Be good to your new leader, okay? Also, try not to die in the next round.”

She ducked when a flying water bottle came her way.

#hypnosis mic #hypnosis mic oc #hypmic #hypmic oc #tokyo division #d0berm4n$#akihabara division #pixel syndicate #shuffle division #mixed division

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bennieperez · 11 months

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(( hello all , i am brie and i am soooooo beyond excited for this !! i loved putting bennie together and i absolutely cannoooooot wait to start interacting with yall !! this here is the bare bones of bennie , and i will be eventually making her a carrd with all her juicy info hehe . for now here are some basic facts along with some info from my app, so you can hopefully get a lil gist of this gal !! also pleeeeeease feel free to message , im , or hit me up on discord (brie#5129) to do some plotting !!!! i dont have any maaaajor wc yet (im sure i will) , but if you have any gaps you’d think bennie might be a good fit in , please send them right on my way !!! okay ahhh hehe without further adooooooo...))

Full Name: Beatrice Rosalia Perez

Nickname(s): exclusively goes by bennie

Age: 26

Date of Birth: dec. 15th

Gender: cisfem

Pronouns:she/her

Orientation: bisexual

Occupation: works at family business “best stitch”

Positive Traits: gregarious, forthcoming, dependable

Negative Traits: indecisive , scatterbrained , obtuse

Goals/Desires: secretly wishes to own her own restaurant/bakery

Fears: afraid of failing (duh) , heights (even tho she loves rollercoasters) , and insects (all of them)

Hobbies: baking , video games, photography, and it’s not a hobby but bennie loveeees babies

Season: spring

Color: lavender

Music: throwbacks

Movies: animated

Sport: basketball

Beverage: shirley temple

Food: french fries

Animal: kangaroo

Father: her closest confidant

Mother: strained but loving

Sibling(s): (will add if siblings show up)

Children: none

Pet(s): two dachshunds

Beatrice Perez was born just as Breanna’s career was exploding in New York City. The nickname “Bennie” came from her older sibling being unable to pronounce her name when she was born, and it just stuck around until it became the norm. Beatrice rarely ever hears her full name these days.

The family moved back to Fairford when Bennie was 10 , as her mother had built her career big enough to at least start to settle down , though she was often in and out of the house for business throughout Bennie’s childhood which led to her having an extremely close relationship to her father who fostered her love for cooking at a young age. She baked her first cake at 11 and has been the go to baker for the events in their family ever since.

Bennie often felt like she was competing for her mother’s eyes, whether it be from her other siblings , or fashion; it felt like short glimpses whenever she had her mother’s full attention.

She went away to college for culinary arts when she was 20 , much to the chagrin of her mother who all but bribed her to stay home and work for her. Bennie needed the separation though, and was unconvinced. At school she thought she met “the one,” he was studying business and on their first date they made jokes about opening a bakery together one day. They went through all the motions, were engaged on their second anniversary, and everything seemed perfect. Bennie was preparing to graduate college when she had found out her fiancé had been cheating on her for “over a year” and wanted to come clean now that they were about to “enter adulthood.” Bennie left their apartment, her friends worked together to completely empty their place of her things, and she never spoke to him again. She graduated, came home, and has told few about the details. Most people (even those in her own family) know the story as they amicably broke up and she came home to resume partaking in the family business.

She now works at Best Stich a little begrudgingly, though she does take pride in her family history and isn’t completely closed off on the idea of keeping the legacy alive. Her biggest fear is never leaving her mother’s shadow, and always being “Beatrice (né Bennie) Perez... Breanna’s daughter.”

Bennie is pretty close with her siblings , though some more than others.

Still loves to cook, though doing it comes with the painful reminder of the life she left behind that she’s desperately trying to let go of. Excels at baking and enjoys doing it in her free time. Her love language is still baking cakes.

#fairfordintro #ahhhhh omgggggg #im so excitedddddddd #hi hehe

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kyndaris · 1 year

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Humdrum Blues

A couple of days after what felt like an excellent and fun date with Shrek, I had a meet-up with another of the hopefuls. His codename? Honestly, it’s pretty hard to come up with these. And there wasn’t anything about him that really jumped out. So, for now, let’s simply call him ‘Spring.’ The other ones I thought of using would only serve to be insulting for a group of individuals that I somewhat connect with but don’t delve as deeply with.

What to say about Spring? Well, initially, he initially portrayed himself as a worldly individual. After all, with borders lifted and international travel reinstated, he was enjoying a quick holiday in London (of all places)! In the land of Harry Potter and mythical legends, he was enjoying the sights and sounds of a proper autumn.

To be frank, I was perfectly jealous. After all, I had wanted to visit the UK again back in 2020. Of course, those dreams were summarily dashed with the coming of COVID-19.

So, after a few chats - where I complimented his cosplay game (although he didn’t actually make them himself), he was eager for a meet-up in person. Consequently, he set up a date a few days after his return to Sydney. That day, of course, being a Monday. For him, it was fine. He was, after all, still on leave and could enjoy a workday outing without the pressure of work the next day. Unfortunately, he didn’t quite take into account my own circumstances: a working woman that had a job in the new central business district (CBD) in the heart of Western Sydney. But hey, I’m a flexible lady. So, I accepted going on a date. On a Monday.

When we first started chatting, Spring was eager to show me around the city and talked about all the Japanese food in and around the Galeries (which, honestly, I could have also told him about), but then he forwent all our previous discussions and asked if I liked Italian. Blindsided a little and a bit miffed that I wouldn’t be enjoying sushi or a nice bento set, I told him that Italian was fine. Armed with that knowledge, he made arrangements for a meet up outside an Italian restaurant near the Apple Store on George Street in the heart of the city.

Little did I know that he hadn’t actually booked anything. He was hoping to wing it because it was a Monday night and there wasn’t that many people out and about.

If I could shake him, I would. Who flip flops this much in life? Still, at this stage, I didn’t quite know about his tendency to posit suggestions before changing his mind abruptly. Forget women, Spring is the very epitome of Katy Perry’s Hot N Cold.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

After arriving at the city a bit earlier than the designated meeting time, I made a pitstop at Kinokuniya to take a look through the new released at Kinokuniya. Even then, I arrived at the restaurant with minutes to spare. Spring was already there, though, staring at his phone as he waited.

Introductions were then properly made before we entered the establishment. Seated at our table, we made our own separate orders on our phone and then chatted as we waited for the food to arrive.

So far, so good.

And yet, to be perfectly honest, dear readers, after what felt like a great date with Shrek, I was already highly resistant to the idea of this one going anywhere. Which, I realise now, was very unfair to Spring. Maybe if I had given him more of a chance at the start? Or been more open?

Alas, I was already pinning my hopes on Shrek.

Despite starting at a disadvantage, Spring was still able to draw me into a proper conversation. At least for a while. We chatted about his recent trip overseas and the flaws of the London Underground. We even talked about how odd it was that they had commercialised their transit system. There was also some chatter about hobbies and interests. As well as our approaches to finding love on the dating app.

Spring was very adamant about the fact that he only had the capacity to chat with one person at a time. Whereas I’d opened up my options by playing the field a little by chatting to multiple people and then comparing each individual I did meet (either in real life or online) to see what it was that I wanted out of a relationship and whether or not we might be compatible. After all, there was no guarantee of anything in life and it seemed foolish to waste time and energy by investing into the wrong person. Especially if I wasn’t very interested in them as a life partner. Something it seems Spring knew about intimately for, shortly afterwards, he told me that he had dated two women previously. Both relationships had lasted about a year before he broke up with them. Why? Because he hadn’t grown feelings for them and felt that they weren’t as invested in his interests as he was. This was, also, despite them trying to learn more about his hobbies and actively trying to make the relationship work.

Never once, during our chat, did he ever mention if he bothered to learn what his previous girlfriends liked. Or being invested in their hobbies or interests. Initially, during the date, I thought little of this fact, and was actually trying to advise him that many of my married friends didn’t always share the exact same passion for every little thing. Nor were they joined at the hip. For that kind of codependency and devotion was nigh impossible. I told him that as long as the couple share a certain outlook on life and have similar values, there is a strong chance that love can eventuate. Spring didn’t seem convinced and I walked away from the date knowing that I certainly didn’t feel like I was up to ‘loving’ everything that he did and eschewing my own likes.

Of course, by the time I had given it some thought and was telling my work colleagues about the sordid details of my date the next day, I began to realise how problematic Spring’s wants in a relationship were. And yet, pressured after having a belly full of pasta, I’d agreed to a second date! Curse my luck!

After all, when it comes to most fandoms, I skirt across the surface. In all honesty, it’s best to describe me as a jack of all interests and master of none. And perhaps that’s a good thing. Because I certainly don’t want my personality to just be defined by a single label: weeb, gamer, writer, reader, etc. I indulge in a lot of different shows, exposing myself to a variety of genres. I like dabbling in different side projects when I have time and mixing it up on the odd occasion (or as my routine allows). True, I have a few favourites but I like to keep my mind open to new things.

Spring, on the other hand, seemed very focused and intense on what he liked. The feeling I got was that he wasn’t one that would expand much of his horizons. And so, what he wanted from a relationship was basically a social media echo chamber. His future partner had to share the same interests. No doubt, they also had the share the same ships. The same opinions. And literally be a female clone of him.

That, to me, was not something that I wanted to be a part of. It spoke of a very self-centred viewpoint. Relationships, based on the things I’ve read and witnessed are about compromise and open communication.

And, maybe it’s an idealistic viewpoint, but I don’t want to feel beholden to someone else’s view. I am independent. i am woman. And to quote Katy Perry once again: Hear me roar!

There are multiple facets to who I am. Watch as I troll my friends about male representing nipples and in the next second, see me flop on the couch, controller in hand as I game. I am unapologetic in what I like and I am blunt in my assessments of others. And yet, if we are good friends, though I might tease and talk shit to get a laugh, I like to think that I’m also a good listener. A shoulder to cry on when the going gets tough. And also readily available to provide acts of service to those in need without thought of reward or recompense.

Fortunately for you, dear readers, I was unable to close the chapter on Spring at the end of the first meetup. And so, of course, there’s a part two to this tale. I hope you enjoy my poor decision-making skills!

#personal blog #dating #italian #clone #weeaboo

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bvnnetts · 2 years

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INTRODUCING

✿ * · ( danny griffin , cis man , he / him ) a little birdy told me BENNETT GRAYSON just moved to sunset hills . have you met them yet ? they look somewhere around TWENTY-TWO, if i had to guess ! pretty sure i heard them driving down the street playing ‘ TAKE A CHANCE ON ME ‘ by ABBA , they sounded a little pitchy but they had the spirit ! must be their favorite or something . hey … it looks like they just moved into MIDNIGHT PARK ROOM 205 . have you heard about what they do for a living ? someone told me they’re a BIOLOGY MAJOR , but who knows if that’s even true . guess we’re just gonna have to wait and see . nervous ? oh shit , maybe you should be . sunset speaks just posted about them … apparently they're RESIDENT 023 ? between you and me , i think that might spark some things in the community … but what do i know ! you guys might get along just fine ! ( ck , they / them , 21+ , est . ) — full app !

HIGHLIGHTS

a small-town boy who embraces that boy next door vibe ; plays defense for the mens hockey team & despite his tendency and preference to slip under the radar with not-flashy play ( very similar to how he is off the ice too ), he has a future in the nhl when he finishes his current and last year of college ; noted horse-lover ( & animal lover in general ), and if the nhl doesn’t work out, maybe vet school will ; generally good-natured & protective of those he loves, humble but private about most details in his life — not because he has something to hide, but because he doesn’t like to share ; can be hard on himself at times when he feels the pressure in spit of trying to take everything in stride, and unfortunately that manifests in not to tending the relationships in his life ( for better or worse ).

THE STORY

— born and raised in the state of CHEESE ( aka. wisconsin ). very much a small town boy, spending the majority of his life in fox lake, wisconsin on his parents’ horse ranch & rescue. didn’t have a lavish life, but had a good upbringing — albeit a little hard at times. super active childhood, horseback riding and lots of sports considering he had a lot of energy to spend. winter brought a ton of pond hockey with other local kids and that’s where his love for the sport first began.

— turned out pretty good at it. his growth spurt seemed more a hindrance than anything but eventually he grew into his new long limbs and was stronger for it. eventually become a us national team development boy, moved away at sixteen to play with the team in michigan. it was a very eye opening experience for him considering he’d barely left his small cheese town.

— playing hockey at wisc.onsin-madison was always a dream of his, but sunset hills men’s ice hockey team came along with an offer he couldn’t refuse and he ended up signing a commitment to play there. he was drafted in the second round of the nhl draft to the minnesota wi.ld not long after his eighteenth birthday, but sometimes life takes you in a different direction and part of growing up is accepting that.

— it wasn’t long after that bennett realized things were moving at a whirlwind pace and he needed to orient and ground himself. he ended up deferring his attendance at sunset hills and accepting another offer from the ushl ( city tbd ), spending a year playing in amateur junior instead. it ultimately was the right thing for him at the time and by the time the season concluded --- and he was also mentally in the right place to accept his attendance at sunset hills.

— he was offered his elc at the conclusion of his junior year, but he felt it was important to take that last year of college to finish his degree & be the best prepared he could be for the big leagues. bennett is now entering his final year at sunset hills and is very happy with his decision. he plays defense for the men’s ice hockey team and is definitely just making the best of his final year.

PRESENT DAY

— part of bennett just wants to make his last year at sunset hills the best it can be : just a normal year with no looming deadline at the end of it. but the more he pretends not to see it, the more the opposite happens. he wants to play in the nhl, of course, but there’s something to be said of hanging onto the last bits of normalcy. he likes his life now —even if schoolwork can be a bit overwhelming at times— and perhaps, this unknown scares him more than he’d like to let on.

— he lives in midnight park though he probably could have afforded a nicer place with his pay raise coming soon, but it’s all in the name of normalcy. it’s familiar and comfortable — and his roommate is pretty nice too he supposes. the apartment is the same one he lived in his junior year as well.

— you can often find bennett at the animal shelter in his little free time. he doesn’t really have the steady time to volunteer regularly, but he walks the dogs and plays with the cats.

— he misses horseback riding a lot. so if he spends some of that money he’s saving by staying in midnight park with a roommate at the stables taking one of their beauties out for a ride — you can’t blame him for that either.

— not inherently an early riser, but bennett does get up early. it makes him feel much more productive and it’s important to use every hour of the day.

— studies more than people give him credit for, but that’s okay, bennett’s always enjoyed slipping under the radar.

— hang outs : the gym, the rink, various coffee shops trying to get work done, plant shops & nurseries always looking but rarely buying, animal shelters, petting random dogs at the beach if their owners say it’s okay

— hobbies : hockey, yoga, horseback riding, cheese tasting ( unironically ), long walks on the beach ( unironically ), looking for the best pizza joint, making omelets, bouldering,

PERSONALITY

— private : bennett isn’t one to share details of his life that he deems private. perhaps it’s in part due to his upbringing and his parents’ values, but he’s often believed that live is meant to be lived, not broadcasted. it’s not so much that he looks down on those that do, but he does expect his privacy to be respected. he enjoys slipping under the radar, always one to deflect praise and let someone else shine in the spotlight. said things are reflective in his style of hockey play as well. however, said things shouldn’t be confused with being naive or a pushover either.

— self - analytical : love for a sport has meant facing a great deal of critique. bennett has long learned to take such things in stride --- and at times, perhaps takes things too far. it’s less that he things so little of himself, and rather he always believes in constant improvement, and that extends to beyond the rink as well. he was naive when he first left home, there’s no denying it, and perhaps the experiences he faced then and the re-calibration of his world had left a great impression on him. even know, bennett doesn’t doubt he still has a lot to learn about himself.

— humble : perhaps this ties into both of the traits above. bennett isn’t one to brag or to think too highly of himself. he just is and he’s not one to broadcast his accomplishments. he’s notably inactive on socal media, though he is on the main platforms... with mostly blank accounts. he’s quick to deflect praise to others, and one to embrace the team mentality.

— protective : anyone who’s seen bennett play or has played with him would know this. he looks out for the team, always one to butt in with things get a little to physical. he wouldn’t consider himself a fighter, but given the right reasons and provocation, he would.

— bennett is very much the boy next door, someone people trust and want to trust. gives a helping hand when necessary without overstepping and is a good person to hug when things go wrong. he is very much what people need him to be and that has at times caused him to question his own self-identity. hockey has helped him, especially as his play has evolved and more or less settled, giving him something tangible to hold onto.

— not surprisingly though, his on-ice style of play doesn’t often match his off-ice one. he’s not a physical person, not one to make his presence known. make no mistake, he is very much the same person, but the ice allows for certain things to be presented more. his on-ice physicality shouldn’t be confused with some hidden aggression, it’s simply his preferred style of play : he’s rather level-headed, both on and off the ice.

APPEARANCE

— 6′1″, 189 lbs

— blond hair that tries to be styled but is prone to getting tousled. blue eyes, deep blue not electric.

— style trends toward non-descript. mostly plain t-shirts and pants, but they’re often slim fit and fit very well, helped by the muscle he continues to put on. sneakers always, slides sometimes. doesn’t lean to much into stereotypical “athlete” unless he’s going to practice / the gym. practical clothing in general. on occasion, he does love a good playful printed button down shirt.

MISC HEADCANONS

— biology major : if the nhl wasn’t in the cards for his future, perhaps vet school was. of course, the nhl has worked out for bennett so far, but he still harbors a deep love for animals. summers are often spent helping animal shelters or on his parents’ ranch.

— can’t focus when it’s dead quiet. bennett is someone who always need ambient noise, hence his penchant for studying in cafes ( that and the lattes ). when he’s in his apartment, diners drive-in and dives is usually on in the background while he’s studying.

— only know english ( also speaks hockey though ). took a fair number of german courses through high school and college, but his language skills with it remain between elementary and conversational.

— capable but average in the kitchen. has the basic needs to survive fine, but isn’t a chef by any means. enjoys baking, but only simple & straight forward recipes ( eg. chocolate chip cookies, brownies, banana bread, etc ). loves cheese a bit too much.

— genuinely likes green smoothies

— packers’ fan i guess

— a mix of skill, demeanor, and yes, looks, have endeared him with fans

— takes notes by hand when possible and while they’re certainly not an aesthetic thing to behold, they are neater than expected.

— bisexual and you can thank the usnt.dp for that.

— a stripe of rainbow tape lives permanently at the bottom of the handle of all his sticks

HOCKEY NOTES

— a right-handed d-man, leans toward the classic style of defense with an emphasis on shutdown capabilities. the person who’s on the ice protecting a one goal lead with forty seconds left and the other team’s goalie pulled. kills penalties, stay at home tendencies but with a vision, hockey iq, and passing skills that still makes him compatible with the rising “offensive defenseman” breakout model. plays a physical but clean game. pairs best with more offensive minded defenseman, can be trusted to fall back and has the wheels to get back to protect the net after a rush. from the state of cheese but absolutely not a rat. you wouldn’t try to stop a freight train would you

— comparables : jacob trou.ba, ryan mc.donagh, charlie mc.avoy

— accolades : team usa iihf 2020 world juni.ors championship ( gold )

TIMELINE

FALL 2022 - PRESENT : senior, age 22 ( sunset hills university ) FALL 2021 - SPRING 2022 : junior, age 21 ( sunset hills university ) DECEMBER 2020 : world juniors championship FALL 2020 - SPRING 2021 : sophomore, age 20 ( sunset hills university ) FALL 2019 - SPRING 2020 : freshman, age 19 ( sunset hills university ) FALL 2018 - SPRING 2019 : age 18 ( ushl, chicago or green bay ) JUNE 2018 : nhl draft, age 18 FALL 2017 - SPRING 2018 : high school senior, age 17 ( usnt.dp, plymouth, mi ) FALL 2016 - SPRING 2017 : high school junior, age 16 ( usnt.dp, plymouth, mi ) FALL 2015 - SPRING 2016 : high school sophomore, age 15 ( fox lake, wi ) FALL 2014 - SPRING 2017 : high school freshman, age 14 ( fox lake, wi )

** you can more or less assume his summers were spend back in wisconsin !!

OOC

hello everyone !! i’m ck ( est, 21+, they / them ) and i’m very excited to bring you bennett here <3

over here you can find some general connection ideas. they are... very general, but i definitely love to see where things take us in both dm discussions and interactions with our muses. please don’t hesitate to reach out if you have any ideas or concepts !!

potentially filling resident 30 ?? read here !!

#sunsetintro

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