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inthememetime · 2 years

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Best Billionaire (Chapter 1/5)

AO3 here! Based off this post!

More under the cut! (Any resemblance of Evon Mush to actual billionaire Elon Musk is definitely not intentional. I definitely am not rooting for Bruce to punch him).

Side note: no pairings, but friendships are made.

The news was fairly normal. Tragedy here, natural disaster there, stocks were down- wait. Vlad narrowed his eyes at the newspaper in his hands, then confirmed it on the computer. Stocks fluctuated constantly, but a 3-point drop in one weekend?

He pressed a button on his landline. "Leslie? Can you get me the Finance and PR departments on the line, please?"

Best Billionaire. Seriously? "Yes sir, it's a US-based contest. Wayne Enterprises is in the lead, followed by Stark Industries, Dalv Co., and LexCorp."

"And what did Wayne and Stark do to get ahead?" He asked.

"Benefits, sir. Wayne lowered employee costs and doubled benefits, while SI kept the same packages but decreased their waiting period."

"Hmm. Get with Benefits, both of you. By Wednesday, I want an in-depth cost analysis of waving the waiting period until 30 days after training," the PR person choked on something, "and let's see what we can do for increasing benefits."

"Yes sir."

"With all due respect Mr. Masters, why even consider it? That's a good chunk of the bottom line."

He tapped the newspaper idly for a moment. "Our stocks have dropped, not because they've innovated new products or changed prices, but because they look like they care. If we don't get ahead of this now, it'll look like we're playing catch-up, and could cause further losses. Best play along, for now, we can afford it."

"Understood."

He made the announcement Thursday morning, effective immediately. Next day, stocks were normal. Next week, up by 5 points.

All was back to normal.

He got the call at 3 AM, and vowed to murder someone if it weren't serious. "Yes?"

"Stocks are down 25 points, people are talking about selling shares," his PR person snapped.

Vlad was entirely awake now. "What happened?"

"SI. All employees are now making a living wage, and employees making over that have been given $2/hr raises. Wayne matched them."

"Peanut brittle. And LexCorp?"

"Nothing yet, but they've been going down since the benefits change."

"Match them. Match them, and double tuition reimbursement. How popular is the daycare reimbursement?"

"Nobody's mentioned it, but both companies have it."

"50% reimbursement. Make the announcement, make it big, rent out ad space on every social media site you can, get billboards, whatever you have to do. Don't worry about the budget for this."

"Yes sir."

It was 4:30 when he walked into the building. "Where are we?" He called to the team in the conference room.

"10 points shy of normal, most aren't awake yet."

"Shareholders?"

"They've asked for a meeting next month, might push it up depending on how this goes."

"Good. Keep me posted. This works out, you're all looking at a very nice year-end bonus."

"Will do!"

A few hours later, stocks had returned to normal. He gave himself a little pay cut to make sure the shareholders got their pound of flesh, irritated though he knew he'd never notice the sting.

By that evening, stocks were increasing again, and the expo next week would showcase several dozen new clean energy vehicle designs.

As predicted, stocks went through the roof; finally, some success! Daniel, the little rat, didn't agree. "So, heard you're falling behind! Wayne and SI a bit too big for you?"

He barely kept himself from firing an ectoblast. They were in human forms, in a rare (somewhat) peaceable moment. A moment that he intended to pursue with lovely Maddie- before Jack lumbered back in.

"Vladdie! Those are some cool cars, man!"

"Thank you, Jack. Tell me, Maddie, how-"

He was interrupted once again, this time by Maddie knocking a glass of very hot coffee on his lap. "Oh, I'm so sorry!"

"It's fine," he said with gritted teeth.

"You know, Vladdie," Danny said once they headed to the GAV. Ancients, he hated that nickname! Curse Jack for letting it slip near impressionable children. "I know a certain lady who'd be very impressed if you managed to help with the environment."

Oh. Oh, this was a trap, he knew it! But... Maddie...

Ah hell, he needed to one-up Wayne and SI somehow.

"I'll take it into consideration."

"Today, on the heels of Dalv Co, Wayne Enterprises, and SI," ha! He was first! "LexCorp finally decided to get in the game and offers 50% tuition reimbursement. Do you think that puts Luthor in the running for Best Billionaire, Tom?"

"Thanks, Aaliyah! Most people are thinking it's ridiculous, a tactic to bump stocks and approval ratings," Vlad snorted. As if they weren't all doing that. "But SI is upping the stakes! In addition to the September Foundation, Tony Stark has vowed 2% of profits will go to 3rd world countries."

He raised an eyebrow. Interesting. Vlad picked up the phone. "Get me Sasha in Accounting and Red in Payroll."

"How would we fare if we matched Stark's donations, thrice over? 5% for the environment, and- what's a charity you like? Sure, 1% to that. Sasha, you can go. Please remember the department meeting Tuesday. We're doing something new."

Aaliyah was speaking on the news again. "DalvCo stocks are at a record high this week! Many are flocking to the conglomerate as they are choosing to benefit US environmental and health concerns. SI critics argue that 2% abroad doesn't match 6% in the states. That's 5% to environmental concerns, 1% is going to Flint, Michigan, and 1% to homeless shelters across the US."

He toasted the hijabi-wearing woman on the screen. "Have a lovely day, Ms. Aaliyah. You've certainly made mine."

Before he could turn off the TV, the other anchor spoke. "That's not all, Aaliyah! Wayne Enterprises has gotten permission from the FDA to synthesize insulin! They'll be selling for $20 per bottle, making it possible for the quality of life to increase for millions, at home and abroad."

"You're right, Tom!" Aaliyah's bubbly voice rang out, "Insulin can cost Americans anywhere from $800-2500 per month due to high markups. By selling with such a small profit margin, they are massively undercutting Big Pharma."

"Traitor," he mumbled. "What to do about this?"

"What are we doing about this?" Red demanded, striding into his office. "We have dozens of patents for medical technologies, but we're locked into contracts."

"What about the artificial organs?" He asked. He hadn't started with cloning Daniel; no, he planned on cloning Maddie, and started with small things. Skin grafts. Organs. Over the past 10 years, they've been highly successful.

"We can't exactly sell those outside of a hospital."

He nodded, then froze. "Red, what if we didn't? We could announce our prices, make the people drive it down."

"Nobody's going to haggle on an organ," they said, but he could hear the uncertainty.

"On a heart, a pancreas, a lung? Of course not! But on a kidney, liver, skin grafts? There's some time. Besides, combine it with the price listings for the dialysis machines and ventilators, and you'll have a country so angry at the healthcare and insurance industries, they won't care about anything sketchy we do for years."

They nodded, albeit nervously. "Sure."

"Thank you for agreeing to join us on air, Mr. Masters."

"Please, just call me Vlad. It's a pleasure to be here."

Sam hadn't stopped cackling since the price lists went out, and Facebook and Twitter went insane. Frankly, Danny was worried for her. Tucker just rolled his eyes and turned the TV up. "Take down the bourgeoisie!"

"Doesn't that mean taking down Vlad?" Jazz asked, sitting down on the floor of Sam's bedroom.

"Are you complaining?"

"No, but I like him a lot more all the way in New York."

"Fair."

"So Vlad," Harriet asked- a favor for something in Wisconsin. He wasn't clear, she didn't press. As long as he didn't go crazy like the Fentons, she had the interview that would bring her back to the big leagues. "Tell me, what inspired you to release those prices?"

"The news, actually. Everyone seemed so surprised by the markup on insulin. I suppose if you spend enough time in an industry, you become desensitized."

"Did you know it would cause rioting?"

Vlad raised an eyebrow- careful, it said- and replied smoothly, "I wasn't surprised when it did. As anyone from the affected companies can tell you, I've been trying to lower prices for years. I have a profit margin that covers the organ growing, transport, and faulty organs, but even if they only charged 10% above that, we're talking thousands of dollars per organ they'd be losing."

"Are these FDA approved?"

"Yes. In fact, we started producing them a decade ago, and they're far safer than an organ donated by someone else."

"And how does that work?" She asked, and he nodded, pleased to be back in safer topics.

"For one, the rejection risk is lowered from upwards of 60% down to just 3%, 1% with the anti-rejection medicines required for all traditional transplants, because they're made with the owner's DNA. These medications, by the way, frequently cause cancer or other unintended harm. For another, a traditional transplant requires two people to be cut open; a donor who may or may not be dead, and the one receiving the organ. That confers certain risks of..."

"Are you seeing this?" Pepper demanded, turning up the TV.

"What? I'm working on-"

"Sir, you may want to see this," JARVIS insisted.

Tony popped a blueberry in his mouth and looked up. "Wait, he's been cloning people?!"

"That's what you're focused on? Tony, Wayne Enterprises releases dirt cheap insulin, DalvCo and Vlad Masters are overthrowing the US healthcare system, and we're still getting flack for donating abroad instead of locally!"

"We can't do much about that. Maybe release a new phone?"

"A new phone?! They are improving or saving lives out there! A new phone will have us laughed out into bankruptcy. What about the hearing aids you made for Clint, that new screen reader for Daredevil, or the prosthetic arms, or the braces- any of that?"

"They're not perfect," he argued.

She stared at him and sighed. "If I could turn back time, I'd beat your father to death." Pepper inhaled sharply, then continued in a milder tone. "The hearing impaired person who hears for the first time in years will not care if it isn't perfect. The visually impaired person who has a screen reader miles ahead of the market won't care if the battery needs to be replaced once every 2 years instead of 5. And I promise you, when somebody bed-bound gets braces or a chair that lets them move around of their own free will, they will not care if it requires additional padding."

"But it's not-"

"Quality of Life now? Or perfection when it's too late?"

"Sir, if I may suggest- Ms. Potts is correct. You may also benefit from a larger testing pool."

"I mean, if you think they won't mind the glitches, sure. Go for it."

"Good."

"Mobility aids?!" He snapped.

Danny yawned and rubbed his eyes. "Dude, it's 4 am here."

The fruitloop didn't care. "First insulin, now mobility aids- mark my words, Daniel Fenton, I will win!"

Daniel didn't reply.

"Daniel?"

The sounds of snoring reached his ears. "Little wretch," he snapped half-heartedly and hung up.

#inthememetime #vlad masters #danny phantom au #wayne enterprises #stark industries #lexcorp #Best Billionaire

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roguerogerss · 4 years

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Safe Haven

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Plot: You can’t sleep, Bucky helps.

Warnings: none apart from Bucky being cute.

W.C: 1.5k

(A/N: This is super short, terribly cliche, and probably really bad - I wrote it at two in the morning - but I thought the idea was cute! Like and reblog pls bbys! Feedback is also greatly appreciated!)

————

The light in the kitchen was on, but she had dimmed it to the lowest setting so that she wouldn’t wake anyone else. She hated being awake at night, holed up in her room with the possibility of looking at anything but her four walls looking slim, unless she had the balls to venture out in the dark, lonely hallways of the tower.

Some nights - most nights - she decided that it was best for her to stay in her room. She decided that, not only did she have all that she really needed there, she also really didn’t want to have to make the (at least 5 minute) journey to the communal area of the avengers tower alone.

However, tonight was not most nights. They’d been on a hard mission, one that required her to go back to her roots, back to the Hydra base where they’d given her the powers that gave her the right to join the avengers, back to where she was tortured and treated as a lab rat while scientists took notes of her behaviours and added them to their sick collections of research.

Tonight was one of those nights. The ones where you feel like, even though you’re awake, you’re not really. The ones where you wish that you could just forget about your feelings and go to sleep, and you think that you might be able to, but when you’re laying in bed you can’t get your brain to shut off. Yes, Y/N was having one of those nights.

She’d tried to go to sleep, really, she had, but the memories of metal beds and leather straps and night after night in that god-awful cell kept flooding to mind, and the prospect of taking a walk through the tower no longer seemed fearful, but rather the opposite. Comforting. And so, without much thought because - really - she had no space to put any thought into it, she pulled on a robe and pushed open her door, stepping out into the dark hallway that was illuminated only by the little green lights that indicated where the fire exits were.

She’d meant to take a walk to clear her head, she’d only be gone ten minutes at most, but somehow she now found herself in the kitchen, and it was four in the morning - which was two hours after she’d left her room - and she was watching as the sun rose through the floor-to-ceiling windows that gave her a view of the city.

“What are you doing down here?” The voice was calm, kind, but it broke her from her thoughts and made her jolt slightly in her position, curled in the corner of the sofa with a glass of water in one hand.

It was Bucky. He was standing in the doorway, a crooked smile on his face and a blanket tucked under his arm. She recognised it as being the one that she always left draped over the bottom of her bed, and figured that Bucky had probably woken up and gone to her room, before realising that she wasn’t there. She felt a pang of guilt upon looking at him, hair dishevelled, shirtless and sweatpants thrown lazily on to lay low on his hips, the remnants of sleep still prominent in his eyes and the sullen look that adorned him whenever he’d just woken up.

He hadn’t gone with them on the mission, thank god, and had probably fallen asleep with ease but had been plagued by nightmares. Y/N knew that they woke him up at all hours on most nights, that he’d tap on her door lightly and wake her by crawling into her bed and giving her an apologetic smile. Sometimes he wanted to talk about them, and she never minded when he did, listened patiently and stroked his hair and didn’t flinch if he cried. Other times, he’d simply caress her cheek and let her go back to sleep, or trace patterns on her forearm or back until he fell asleep himself. He went to her to ground himself, to remind himself that he wasn’t with Hydra anymore, that the dreams weren’t real, that he had someone in his corner. She was his support system, and he was hers.

“Watching the sunrise, of course.” She joked. She could feel her eyelids drooping and she set her water down on the coffee table. “Haven’t I told you, it’s a pastime of mine.”

She flicked her bleary eyes from the window, to Bucky, who was now walking towards her. He chuckled lightly, fiddling with the blanket, then sitting down next to her and pulling it over the pair of them. “You should sleep.”

She shook her head and let him drape an arm over her shoulders, eyelids getting heavier by the second. “Can’t.” Was her simple reply. Bucky pressed a soft kiss to her temple, smoothing down her hair, and she found herself leaning into him.

“Tell me about it.” He waited expectantly for her to explain herself, tell him what was going on in her brain that made her unable to close her eyes and let slumber overtake her body, and so she did.

“The mission, today.” Bucky’s face dropped, because he knew what was coming next. Memories of her past, things that hurt her and scared her, the things that she only told him, no one else. Everyone got the general gist of where she’d come from, what had happened to her, but Bucky knew the details. The heart-wrenching, horrible details that both angered and broke him. “We went back there. The same place that they...you know, hurt me.”

He let her continue, “It was hard. Scary, seeing it again. It looked the same as it did the last time, before I got out. I keep having this same memory come to mind, when they chained me to my bed and didn’t feed me for a week, all so that they could ‘observe’ how my powers worked when I was low on energy. It’s worse, because I’d almost forgotten everything. I was moving on, and, yes, the thought of the place scared me, but it didn’t send shivers down my spine like it used to.”

“I thought I was finally getting better, you know? Thought I was finally handling it.” Her voice broke halfway through her last sentence and a tear rolled down her cheek, but Bucky’s thumb had swiped it away before it could get too far. He was kissing her face, light, feathery kisses from her hairline to her jaw, comforting her without speaking. He knew that she hated when he gave her sympathy, when he spoke at all when she was upset, really. She’d always just wanted to let it out and move on, and he understood and had never questioned it.

“C’mere.” He said simply, wrapping his metal arm around her back and pulling her close to his chest. She sighed into his bare skin, his arms felt strong around her, like a fortress that no one could compromise, and she felt safe. He felt safe. From his scent of musk and mint to the feeling of the scars on his shoulder under her fingertips, he felt safe.

“You should sleep.” Bucky repeated after a few minutes of rubbing over her back soothingly with his calloused thumb and twisting a lock of her hair around his metal pointer finger.

“I told you, I can’t.” But she knew that she was already drifting off. She couldn’t help it, there was just something about the way that he held her, the way that his body fit around hers and his head nuzzled at her neck while he placed the occasional kiss there. He was intoxicating, and she loved it.

He chuckled lowly and released his grip on her, laying down on the sofa and motioning for her to do the same. “I know, angel, but I’m here now. Nothin’s gonna hurt you.” He cradled her face with one hand and touched his nose to hers. “You know I’d never let anything touch you, princess.”

She smiled weakly and he kissed her, a fleeting kiss, but it was enough to convince her to lay her head against his chest while he pulled the blanket up to her chin. There’d be questions from the rest of the team the next day, but neither of the pair minded. “I love you, darlin’. You’re safe.”

Y/N knew that she didn’t know much, that she wasn’t a genius like Tony or Bruce, that she wasn’t a saint like Steve or a god like Thor, but she knew that she’d never felt bliss like she did when she lay with Bucky - her home, her safe-haven - listening to his heart beat.

“Sweet dreams.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #captain america #fanfic #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #steve rogers #mcu fic #marvel fanfiction #new writers corner #new writers on tumblr #new writers society #rogue writes #rogue does marvel

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writerwrites · 4 years

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Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Protégé to Bruce Banner, Rosemarie finds herself working closely with and befriending the Avengers. Friendship, lust, heartbreak, and so much more find her along this heartbreaking journey into new adulthood. Rosemarie discovers her self-worth and that home is where the heart is… she’ll just have to figure out what her heart is saying first.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Smut 18+, language, angst, fluff, language, ye ole slow burn, and eventually death, pregnancy, love triangle… or love adjacent to a triangle? It’s complicated.

playlist . masterlist

A/N: This WIP is intentionally made to ruin all of our lives with feels. You were warned. It’s just my writing style, but I use a name for the reader, in this case Rosemarie, so adjust your imaginations as you read, fam. Also, I do what I want, so don’t come at me for MCU canon timelines. The most notable YOLO in this series is that Bucky/Winter Soldier is an Avenger pre-Blip, Banner isn’t in space, and though there’s tension between the Tony and Cap ‘sides’ of the Sokovia Accords they’re all trying to work together. Avenging is not a main point to this story, but that’s the clarification I will give you. I hope you enjoy my first posted fic, leave a comment, review, message, etc.

Introduction: October 2016

--- BANNER SCIENCE TECHNOLOGIES (BST); MIDTOWN MANHATTAN, NY ---

“Anything? Anything at all? Bueller?” Rosemarie looked at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, trying to spot some sort of subtle difference in her appearance. Though she had been searching for a job in her field for months, the ‘spooky’ elevator music chirping through the bathroom was an indication that she was just shy of that November 1st tuition payment start up. Her May graduation felt like a distant memory and all the years of hard work and applications to various schools, and even scholarships for being gifted and a minority hardly made a dent in the mountain of debt that came with attaining a doctoral degree. So, the prodigy looked, hoping for even a crinkle in the corner of your twenty-two year old eyes or a crease in her forehead. A little guilty knot formed in her stomach, as she thought no one ever wanted to ‘grow up’ faster than she did.

Rosemarie had been an intern for Stark Industries during her undergrad and worked a part-time research position for Stark while she looked for the right fit. It had been the CEO and his wife, Pepper, who had tipped you off about Dr. Banner’s small new company, Banner Science Technologies. No amount of ass kissing or overtime seemed to get the young woman a chat with Tony Stark, who was providing significant financial support to his friend and her boss’ endeavor, and she had all but given up until three weeks ago. That fateful email felt more like an unexpected termination. The fear of going ‘upstairs’ for that meeting amused Tony, he’d told her so much when he cackled that he had watched her self-talking on the journey up.

Now at BST, Rosemarie was leading a medical research team that rivaled Elon Musk and every major university in neuroscience. But there she was, leaning into the mirror on Day One, wishing she felt like she knew what she was doing, like she didn’t look like a dork in your square black rimmed glasses, or that she would look older than she was because she wanted to be taken seriously. The young doctor hadn’t realized that her accomplishments had already done that for her because almost no one ever blew through a public education, let alone Yale, like she had. The emotions tied to repeated social rejection; however, began to bubble in her chest like poison before her badge glimmered on her hip and snapped her out of the trance.

Oddly, in that interview for BST, Banner didn’t ask the doctor about her research. He asked Rosemarie about her mental health, how she balanced work and life, and what her definition of world peace was. It had somehow never occurred to her that both Banner and Stark shared the unnatural gift of intellect since they were young too and that, at least to some degree, could relate to her experiences. There was a steady and natural intimidation that came with working for an Avenger like Bruce, but seeing the rest of them in passing at the lab in Stark Industry’s famous tower made the young woman slowly catch glimpses of their humanity, taking off the rose colored glasses placed on every stranger’s face by the media’s interpretation of them. Nevertheless, Rosemarie was a nobody, a lab rat, scientist, doctor, dork, and perpetually invisible to everyone at work. In fact, she had been her whole life, special but not special enough to warrant connecting with on a personal level. She told herself you’ll learn to appreciate the anonymity, but after being an academic shining star in college and spending a half a year looking for a job in the field, any semblance of confidence left in her small frame had certainly faltered.

Before Rosemarie could hit the ‘wallow in self pity’ button on her emotional circuit board, the bathroom door opened. Quickly straightening up and without looking at who came, she turned on the water to wash her hands and only upon reaching for the air dryer did she realize that the woman was the curvy redhead Avenger known for her skills in espionage, linguistics, weaponry, and combat; Black Widow. Rosemarie blinked, making a mental note to not call her that if she managed to speak at all. She looked at the young doctor curiously, her eyebrows slowly drawing together in confusion. “Are you really going to the party dressed up as Bruce? We try not to do ‘the Avengers’ at this thing every year.”

Whether it was from Agent Romanoff’s use of air quotes or the fact that she was speaking to a person that saw themselves as invisible, Rosemarie’s mouth bobbed open and closed, head tilting to the side like a confused puppy. “Party? Bruce?” Please, Rosemarie, save yourself from chronic rambling, she mentally monologued, only showing she was in her head through the pursing of her lips and a fleeting nod of acknowledgement; both of which hadn’t gone unnoticed by the spy.

“Bruce really forgot to invite his top dog? Typical. I swear I told him three times this week alone.” She walked around toward Rosemarie with speed and grace. Her gaze was analytical of the body in front of her, despite the majority of it being tucked underneath a pristine new lab coat, as she kept talking, “The annual Halloween costume party is tonight and you and the other two department leads…” she waved her hand when she realized she’d forgotten their names. “Anyways, it’s a party Tony throws every year and it’s always been Stark Industries, Rand Corp., and some other companies in Stark’s pocket that get all the big faces together for a few drinks, laughs, and a good time. Banner Sci. Tech. has Tony at the table and Bruce in bright lights. You’ve got to be there,” Just as a protest was about to pass the girl’s lips a finger went to them, “No excuses, Rosemarie. Consider it a part of the ‘other duties as assigned’ clause on your employment agreement.” She wiggled her fingers dramatically, but there the lab rat stood, utterly dumbfounded. A new question was on her mind: What could she possibly add to a conversation with a bunch of brilliant wealthy CEOs and superheroes? “Soooo, naturally, the people that are the glue of this place should come and rub shoulders. You know, show ‘em why you’re so fantastic. Get to know the people your tech will likely be used by, little like that.”

“But, I’m… me?” The words were quiet, disjointed, and felt like you had more confidence giving your first valedictorian speech to a crowd of Seniors that had bullied you for walking with them at the age of twelve.

“Exactly, Dr. Smarypants. You’re you, which is why we’re going to mine and getting you some costume that doesn’t make you the laughing stock of introductions. How old are you, anyway?” Natasha opened the bathroom door and the doctor walked out feeling like she was about to get the Princess Diaries treatment with some sort of Nightmare on Elm Street plot twist.

“I turned twenty-two last February.” The answer was offered up in the tone of an apology but she disregarded the awkward timbre and stuck to the facts, making Rosemarie’s shoulders relax just a little.

“Well thank God for that,” The Avenger’s laugh echoed through the hall. “I was half worried you wouldn’t be able to drink and then you’d be both bored and silent at the party.”

With a finger up she skipped over to the main lab’s window where Bruce was squinting at four screens and banging on a tablet. When he finally looked over at the redhead, everyone in the vicinity noticed his expression quickly melting, something Rosemarie had certainly never seen. Natasha pointed to her watch, to Rosemarie, and gestured little walking legs with her fingers. Dr. Banner acknowledged her with what looked like a mouthed ‘I love you’ but before Rosemarie could even smile at the site he offered her an apologetic nod, unnerving her once more. In the blink of an eye, Natasha was dragging her out of the office, arm in arm, and out of midtown Manhattan.

--- BRUCE AND NATASHA’S LIMESTONE; UPPER EAST SIDE, MANHATTAN, NY ---

Despite asking a few times over what she had in store, Nat, as she asked to be called, gave her little to go on. Sitting on a bench at the foot of her boss’ California King bed, she watched Natasha rummaging through the walk-in closet. “Clint’s daughter dragged me to Disney a few months back. She insisted we go ‘Disneybounding’ and I have more wigs than I’ll ever need.” She was processing her choices and more than once Rosemarie picked up something that flew out of the walk-in closet at her head. A shimmering ruby red dress landed to the left and her mouth fell open in horror at the plunging neckline and thigh extra-high slit. Nat came out with a few things on her arm and laughed at the look of pure exasperation, “Don’t worry, babe, that’s mine… and this,” She plopped the garments into her victim’s arms, “Is your get up. There’s a bathroom down the hall, the only door on the left. I’ll be over in a bit to help with your makeup.”

Rosemarie wasn’t sure if she should take offense to the fact that it wasn’t a question, but remained too intimidated to say anything. Once in the bathroom with her back to the mirror she took off her white lab coat and untucked the seafoam green tie-neck satin blouse and skinny black slacks. As she folded the discarded clothes, she sighed at how proud of the outfit she’d been just this morning and how it now felt like a bland choice by the time she saw half of the spy’s closet. Like the pang of emotions set off a bomb, Rosemarie was self-talking about how nice Nat was being to her and to see this as a professional opportunity rather than a terrifying obligation. The mental chatter was enough to get her into the outfit which, surprisingly, required no sucking in, tucking, or wiggling to get on. It wasn’t until she turned to the mirror that Rosemarie registered what ‘Disney bounding’ was, immediately placing the character the ensemble was meant to resemble.

The high-waisted yellow shorts with their two panels of brassy buttons hugged Rosemarie's hips and made her see the curves of a defined hourglass frame for the first time in clothing other than yoga pants. The off the shoulder royal blue crop top had enough draping and a built-in bra to make her comfortable about wearing this around other professionals, just the tiniest hint of the tan skin of her upper stomach when she raised her hands or posed, neither of which she planned to do tonight. The red bow against black hair was the perfect final touch to make it obvious the outfit was a modern Snow White. Before Rosemarie could overanalyze going to a work event in the getup, there was a rhythmic knock on the door and, even though she thought she’d locked it, Nat was walking in, items in hand. At first she whistled, taking Rosemarie’s hand in hers and spinning her around. Nat smiled when she saw the heat rise up the bashful doctor’s neck and color flooded her cheeks. “I have one last thing.”

Until Nat pulled black heels from behind her back Rosemarie hadn’t even noticed Natasha had changed, but when she did her mouth went dry. “You look…” With a knowing smirk, she put her hands on Rosemarie’s hips and spun her back toward the mirror, her chest pressed to the doctor’s back as she studied her features, the pouted lips and high cheekbones, the long eyelashes underneath the ridiculously hipster glasses. Rosemarie felt naked in front of her, no one having ever really looked at her that way before and her body naturally reacted with a shiver that caused her hips to roll back into her host. As Rosemarie was about to apologize, Nat simply smiled and shook her head no, getting to work on their makeup with both expertise and speed.

Rosemarie thought she had gotten away with the embarrassing and obvious moment of unrequited attraction when the Avenger popped the lipstick into a wristlet purse that looked like an apple. Then she leaned in like a panther pouncing on her prey and, somehow, the doctor didn’t cower back. Nat was intrigued by that, a little curve found its way to the corner of her crimson lips, two shades darker and glossed compared to Rosemarie’s, “Let’s have a good time tonight, Snow. Something tells me it’s going to get very interesting.” She bit her lip, noticing that Rosemarie was holding your breath and assumed that it was a combination of her looking great and being the girlfriend of the girl’s boss, she wasn’t wrong. Nat still dipped down between her legs and slipped the heels onto the young woman’s feet, letting her fingertips tickle her ankle before they were holding hands and heading to the party.

--- STARK INDUSTRIES: THE TOWER; MIDTOWN MANHATTAN, NY ---

The closer they got to Tony Stark’s ‘Tower’ the more Rosemarie wanted the stroke of midnight to hit so she could get out of dodge. Nat worried, even if she hid it well. She’d playfully asked her a few casual questions about her time at Yale, what the parties were like, and what the doctor liked to do for fun. She quickly and accurately surmised that the twenty two year old had been in love once and upon some bad sex and the dropping of the ‘L’ word, she’d been dropped like a fly. The pity never reached Natasha’s face, but it was there. It reminded her of more than one person that would be at the Tower tonight, and as she cooed compliments to the anxious new girl in town, she hoped that offering the invitation was the right thing. Rosemarie nodded and blushed, hoping accepting was the right choice too, though she didn’t hide it well at all.

As Natasha entertained that young woman with pleasant little stories about how harmless everyone was, she couldn’t help but think that, with the tension of the Sokovia Accords, you might not be up for the mental olympics the attendees would undoubtedly be going through. As the elevator doors closed behind them, Rosemarie didn’t notice how worried Nat was and instead tried to calm herself down in the bustling room. Her matte dusty rose lips pressed into a closed mouth smile as she tried to remember little details about the people in front of her, people that she had only heard about on television or seen through a lab window. “Here we go,” Nat spoke with surprising pep and with a sigh, Rosemarie followed. She was glad Natasha let her walk down the stairs behind her as the crowd funneled in both in front and behind them. You can do this. You’re smart, a good person, you can do this. This is totally normal. Just smile and nod, fake it to the bar, fake it ‘til you make it. The doctor’s gaze brushed across the room after Natasha moved away toward Bruce. Immediately Rosemarie froze, a few heads that had turned to greet Nat now turned toward her. Well, shit.

CHAPTER 1

Taglist: @caplanbuckybarnes

#bucky x reader #steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #fic: bucky barnes #fic: steve rogers #writer: writerwrites #bucky barnes x reader

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dreamsinlilac · 6 years

Text

No Way Out

Based on the cuddle prompt requests “With a First Kiss” and “Out of Necessity” that came from the lovely people that are @laviedeviv @cassiopeiasara and @missy-poppins91

“She can’t keep us in here.” Hecate pushed at the door again. “There has to be a way out.”

“It’s too dangerous.”, Ada repeated herself for at least the third time. “The spell that Bernice used was too volatile; if we cast our own in return, including magicking ourselves out, we risk the whole ceiling coming down at least. At worst, with all the potions ingredients in here, the school could explode. The Magical Council is sending one of their engineers to come and help us until then we just have to wait it out.”

“So we sit here and wait for who knows how long until someone deigns to come and rescue us? For goodness sake, that girl is the worst witch we have ever had at this school.”

“I wish I could say you were wrong.”, Ada sighed. “But unfortunately, I think Bernice Crawford has blown her last chance with us.”

“Really?” Hecate turned around quickly, the surprise written all over her face. “You are finally going to take action because of this.”

“No.” Ada’s muted tone revealed her anger combined with extreme disappointment. “Us getting trapped in the potions storeroom is just the tip of the iceberg. She’s a bully, and I will not abide bullying in my school. Look at all the trouble she’s caused in the past year. Targeting the less confident girls, picking fights, playing pranks. She’s already frightened Davina half to death with those magical firecrackers she set off in Chanting yesterday.”

“Perhaps if Miss Bat hadn’t been asleep during her lesson she wouldn't have gotten such a fright.” Hecate couldn’t stop herself from pointing out the obvious.”

“That is not relevant. The fact is, I should have done something about this a long time ago. I was planning to after that little chanting stunt, but I wanted to let her stew a little bit. And then, well, this happened. This stunt was malicious; she would have had to research the spell she used so it couldn’t have been a prank. For goodness sake, a fourteen-year-old girl trapped us with a spell used to keep prisoners in place. Where did she even get it from?”

“I believe her father is in the Magical Security Forces”, Hecate reminded her. “And she was targeting me, not you. Bernice assumes I am picking on her because I don't like her, not that I am trying to offer her guidance on how to control her powers. She knew that I would be in here before class, she just didn’t think that you would be with, with....me.

Out of nowhere, Hecate realised that the room was seeming much smaller and breathing was getting more difficult by the second.

"Well, regardless.." Ada paused. " Hecate, Hecate, are you alright, you don’t look very well.”

“I can’t… catch my.....”, Hecate forced the words out as she tried to fill her lungs with oxygen.

Immediately Ada’s mind went to the worst possible scenario. “Has she set another spell?"

“N..No.” Hecate knew from experience exactly what the problem was. “I’m claus..cl”

“Claustrophobic? Oh, my dear. Don’t worry, someone will be here soon, and we'll get you out. In the meantime, how can I help, what if you stand up?”

Hecate shook her head, staying close to the floor was the safest option for now.

“Alright, I’m going to sit here, not too close and help you breathe. Can you do that for me? In, hold, out. That’s it. And again.” Ada wasn’t claustrophobic herself, but she had dealt with many a panic attack, something she could see Hecate was now experiencing. “Very good, let’s keep doing this for a minute. Oh, don’t cry.” Her heart broke as she saw the tears gathering.

“I’m sorry.”, Hecate mumbled while furiously wiping her eyes.

“No need.” Ada gingerly reached out and touched the pale shaking hand. “It’s a perfectly normal reaction to this type of situation. Just tell me what I can do to help you.”

“Brrr, breathe. Keep helping me to breathe .”

For several minutes, Ada did just that and guided Hecate through the simple breathing exercise. And while it wasn’t a miracle solution, it did appear to be helping. Her deputy, though still tightly wound, no longer seemed in danger of passing out and was even able to speak more clearly.

“Thank you; I’ll remember that technique in case I need it in the future.” Hecate gave a sheepish smile. “Hopefully not in these circumstances.”

“You’re welcome.”, Ada replied softly. “I find it works in many circumstances, when I’ve had a run in with a parent or a tough meeting with a student for example. And of course, when my sister is up to her usual tricks. That’s where I learned to focus on my breathing. I used to get terrible panic attacks but I went to see a healer a few years ago, and he taught me this technique to manage them.”

“It works. And you, do you still get panic attacks?”, Hecate asked quietly.

“Sometimes.”, Ada shrugged. “Again, usually when there has been an Agatha situation, but they’re not as frequent as they once were.” It was time for Ada to ask a question of her own in return. “Have you always been claustrophobic?

“No.” Hecate shook her head. “Not until I was fourteen or fifteen.”

“What happened?” Immediately Ada realised her innocent question might not be appropriate. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to tell me if you’re not comfortable.”

As always, Hecate’s natural instinct was to hold back, say it didn’t matter and to change the subject. But in that moment she found that she wanted to share her story with the person who she had come to trust most in the world.

“When I was in school Mistress Broomhead used to punish us by locking us in a disused coal bunker if we didn’t meet her standards.”

“No?” Ada's hand went to her mouth in horror.

“Yes.” Hecate closed her eyes as the nasty memories washed over her. “And as I was deemed to be the best student, I was held to higher standards than the others. As a result, I was rarely able to meet her expectations and spent at least one night a week with the spiders for company.”

“Spiders?”

Hecate shrugged. “They weren’t so bad; there were a couple of occasions when a rat got in, that was far worse.”

“Oh, Hecate.” Ada was openly crying. “I knew she was an evil old witch, my mother was always wary of her, but I had no idea things were that bad. I'm so sorry you went through that.”

“Thank you.”, Hecate whispered. “I know it was a long time ago, but when I’m in an enclosed space like this, it brings it back. That's why, although I hate that you got stuck in here as well, I'm relieved you are here with me. Otherwise, I don’t know what I would have done.”

“I am too. I hate the thought of what happened to you, but I hope you know you can talk to me about it, or anything else, whenever you want.”

“I do.”, Hecate promised.

“Good.” Suddenly Ada was hit with an overwhelming urge. One that this time, she didn’t think she could fight off as she often had in the past. “May I hug you? I”m sorry, I just, I don’t want to crowd you, I, forget I said anything.”

“You may.” Hecate was not about to miss out on an opportunity to be close to Ada. “In fact, I’d like it if you did.”

“So would I.” Ada held the other woman's hands as they stood up, then wrapped her in a loose but still tender embrace. “I think you are extraordinarily brave. No, you are.”, she insisted when she saw Hecate about to protest. “I only wish you hadn’t gone to that terrible school. I wish you had been sent here so we could have looked after you properly.”

“We?”

“You know how much Mother cares for you.” Ada breathed in the scent of Hecate’s perfume, a hint of musk mixed with jasmine and something else so unique that even blindfolded she would have known who was standing in front of her.

“That’s very kind. And I am fond of her too.” Hecate spoke into Ada’s shoulder. “The only issue would have been; if you were my teacher, we wouldn’t have been friends would we?”

“Perhaps not then.”, Ada agreed. “Though I’ll tell you a secret, you would have been my favourite student. And who knows what would have happened after you’d left. You could still have come back here to teach. In fact, I'm sure Mother would have insisted on it. Then we would unquestionably have become true friends.”

“Just friends?”

As soon as Hecate asked the question, they both became aware of a shift in the atmosphere. They were at a crossroad, one that they had avoided for some time. Now they were standing right at the centre point, and it was time to choose a direction.

“Friends at first.” Ada could barely believe what she was about to say. “Then, once we had established that relationship, I would like to think maybe something more.”

“Almost like what has happened since I did come here, albeit a few years later. Friends, then…..”

Ada was almost afraid to say the words out loud. “Do you want something more?”

“Yes.”, Hecate breathed. “I want so much more with you.”

Then, in what she personally considered a far braver move than anything she had shared that day, she pressed her mouth to Ada’s. It was soft at first then, as they realised that this was indeed happening, moved to deeper kisses with hands running through hair, along shoulders and arms, and in another brave move, over Ada’s backside.

“Miss Cackle, Miss Hardbroom. My name is Marie McDaid, I’m from the Magical Council. Are you both okay?”

“No.” Hecate, again trying to catch her breath, though this time for very different reasons, muttered against Ada’s hair.

“We’re fine.”, Ada responded for both of them, the big smile on her face confirming her words. “Can you get us out?” She leaned in to whisper to Hecate. “As soon as we’re out and have dealt with Miss Crawford we’re continuing this. In my bedroom, if that’s alright with you.”

“I have no objections.”, Hecate beamed as Ada’s hand laced with hers.

She was still smiling when once Marie deactivated the spell; they emerged with no harm done to themselves or the building.

The same couldn't be said for Bernice, who left the school later that day with a damaged school record and a furious father who promised Miss Cackle that he would never leave professional magic where a novice witch could find it again.

“Are you alright?” Despite everything, Hecate was sorry to see Bernice go. No matter what anyone may have thought she always was when they lost a student. But even before what Ada had told her that day, she'd known that it was far worse for the Headmistress,

“I will be. It was hard, but it had to happen. Bernice made her bed, and now she has to lie on it. And while I would normally dwell on this, today I find my mind filled with other, more pleasant thoughts.” Ada walked towards Hecate. “Unless you’ve changed your mind that is?”

“Never.”, Hecate murmured as she opened her arms, impatient to hold Ada again. “I will never change my mind about us.”

“Us.” Ada mulled over the word. “Yes, I like that idea very much.”

“So do I.” Hecate pulled Ada closer. “The question is, what will your mother think?”

“She will be delighted for two reasons. One I finally did what she told me to and expelled Bernice. And yes, I do still ask for her advice on school matters.

"I can understand why." Hecate agreed. "And the second reason?"

"I made my move on you.”

“I believe you’ll find that I was the one who made a move.”, Hecate sniffed.

“No.”, Ada squeaked. “I said……”

“Let's not fight just yet.” Hecate claimed Ada's lips again. “We can just say it was mutual.”

“Fair enough.”

“And by the way. I am very proud of how you handled Bernice. You were firm but fair, and I think what you said will help her in the future.”

“Thank you Hecate, I do hope so. And I think life, in general, will be better for all of us now she’s gone.”

“I agree. I also think it’s fair to say that girl was the worst Witch we have ever had in this school.”

A few years later, those words would come back to haunt Hecate. But even she had to admit, Mildred Hubble for all her clumsiness and awkwardness was nowhere near the level of the deliberately belligerent Bernice Crawford. Not that she acknowledged it too often though, and usually only to Ada. And occasionally to Alma. Apparently when it came to her mother-in-law withholding thoughts, even those around students, was impossible.

“That's my mother. When you’re in, you’re in.” Ada teased. “Even a magical engineer couldn't get you out.”

Hecate lay back against the pillow and thought about her fifteen-year-old self. What would that frightened girl have said if she had known about the unconditional love and support that would one day be part of her life?

"That suits me just fine because I would never, ever want them to."

#Hackle #TWW2017 #ada cackle #Hecate Hardbroom #Cuddle prompts

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biofunmy · 5 years

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Why Don’t Rich People Just Stop Working?

“Billionaires should not exist,” Senator Bernie Sanders said last month. And, at the Democratic presidential debate this week, he said that the wealth disparity in America is “a moral and economic outrage.”

“Senator Sanders is right,” said Tom Steyer, a businessman from California who happened to be the only billionaire onstage that night (as far as we know).

“No one on this stage wants to protect billionaires — not even the billionaire wants to protect billionaires,” noted Senator Amy Klobuchar.

It’s an idea that’s going around. Mark Zuckerberg, the Facebook founder who is worth close to $70 billion, is apparently open to it. “I don’t know that I have an exact threshold on what amount of money someone should have,” he said in live-streamed question-and-answer session with company employees in early October. “But on some level, no one deserves to have that much money.”

Yet here we are, chugging into the 10th year of an extremely top-heavy economic boom in which the 1 percenters, by all statistical measures, have won, creating the greatest wealth disparity since the Jazz Age. This era, in length and gains, dwarfs the “greed is good” 1980s, that era of yellow ties, nigiri rolls and designer espresso machines that has come to symbolize gilded excess in popular imagination.

And yet the only thing we know in this casino-like economy — a casino that may, in fact, soon be shuttered — is that for those at the top, too much is never enough.

Many normal, non-billionaire people wonder: why is that?

Studies over the years have indicated that the rich, unlike the leisured gentry of old, tend to work longer hours and spend less time socializing. Tim Cook, the chief executive of Apple, whose worth has been estimated in the hundreds of millions, has said that he wakes up at 3:45 a.m. to mount his daily assault on his corporate rivals. Elon Musk, the man behind Tesla and SpaceX, is worth some $23 billion but nevertheless considers it a victory that he dialed back his “bonkers” 120-hour workweeks to a more “manageable” 80 or 90.

And they continue to diversify. Lady Gaga makes a reported $1 million per show in her residency at the Park MGM in Las Vegas, and has evolved from pop music to conquer film — but still also recently unveiled a cosmetics venture with Amazon.

Almost everything rich people touch makes money, but this current financial inferno has meant little for the bottom 50 percent of earners in the United States, who have 32 percent less wealth than they did in 2003.

The 1 percent have, as of last decade, 85 percent of their net worth tied up in investments like stocks, bonds and private equity, where value has exploded. According to Redfin, the average sale price of properties in the top 5 percent are up 43 percent nationally over the past decade, and up even more in Los Angeles and San Francisco.

Fine vintage watches, which have become a must-have for the young male money class, are exploding in value, with prices on certain five-figure models of Rolexes doubling in just a few years.

Gold, once derided as a relic, is up 40 percent in the past few years.

What’s happening?

No One Has a Retirement Number These Days

“What’s your number?” asked anyone caught up in the dot-com boom of the 1990s.

Could you retire to Napa with $5 million? $20 million?

Some hit their number and some went bust, but Silicon Valley is more than ever a showcase for the unfettered capitalism of 2019.

Yet no one seems to talk about their number anymore, said Antonio García Martínez, who sold a start-up to Twitter and served as a Facebook product manager before publishing his memoir, “Chaos Monkeys: Obscene Fortune and Random Failure in Silicon Valley,” in 2016.

Yesterday’s big score is just seed capital for tomorrow’s bigger one.

“There’s never some omega point,” Mr. García Martínez, 43, said. “People who get to that point don’t stop once they get there.”

“People say, ‘Why don’t you develop a hobby, or do philanthropy?’” Mr. García Martínez said. “But for many, they simply can’t stop doing it. They derive transcendent meaning from capitalism. Without their money, what else would they have?”

At a time of low taxes, friendly interest rates and torrents of venture capital available to would-be moguls, it’s a historic moment in the quest for more among the entrepreneurial class.

Tim Ferriss, the life-hacking author and podcast star who was an angel investor in Silicon Valley for nearly a decade, wrote in an email that many of these people have been “navigating work and life in sixth gear for decades.”

Without Constant Work, We Must Face the Nature of Existence

“Once they have no financial need to work — are ‘post-economic,’ as some say in San Francisco — they have trouble shifting into lower gears,” Mr. Ferriss wrote. “They’re like drag racers who now have to learn to navigate the turns and intersections of neighborhoods at 30 miles per hour.”

“Without ambitious projects to fill space,” he added, “there is often a void that makes some of the bigger questions hard to avoid. The things you neglected are no longer drowned out by noise; they are the signal. It’s like facing the Ghost of Christmas Past.”

In a sense, it has been going on in this country for two and a half centuries. “We are a nation founded on the overthrow of kings and the idle rich, so the hustle is deeply baked into mainstream notions of what it means to be American,” said Margaret O’Mara, a history professor at the University of Washington who is a New York Times opinion contributor.

And today’s competitive personality types are unable to slow down, in part because they fear slipping from their lofty perches.

“Driven people are just driven,” said Maria Bartiromo, the Fox Business anchor. “They want to stay fresh and relevant, and to do that, it requires consistent practice. If you want to win, you need to be all in.” And winning can be collecting the most cash — pressing the excitement pedal over and over again, like so many exhausted rats in a cage.

Rich People Know Too Many Rich People

With the number of Americans making $1 million or more spiking by 40 percent between 2010 and 2016, according to the Internal Revenue Service, you may think that the rich are finally feeling flush enough to ease up, kick back, chill out.

They are not.

One recent Harvard survey of 4,000 millionaires found that people worth $8 million or more were scarcely happier than those worth $1 million.

In a widely cited 2006 study, rich people reported that they spend more time doing things they were required to do.

Why do they want to do this to themselves?

The fact that there are more rich people who are, in fact, richer than ever may be part of the reason.

Sociologists have long talked about “relative income hypothesis.” We tend to measure material satisfaction by those around us — not in absolute terms.

“For most people, enough is enough,” said Robert Frank, the wealth editor for CNBC and the author of the 2007 book “Richistan: A Journey Through the American Wealth Boom and the Lives of the New Rich,” who has interviewed many plutocrats. “But there is another group of people, no matter what they have, they have to keep going. I call them ‘scorekeepers.’ They’re truly driven by competitive zeal.”

Take Larry Ellison, the billionaire co-founder of Oracle. Mr. Ellison always felt competitive with Bill Gates and Paul Allen of Microsoft, Mr. Frank said. “So when Paul Allen built his 400-foot boat, Larry Ellison waited until it was done and built a 450-foot boat. Larry Ellison would never be happy until he was No. 1.”

Among the very rich, it does not matter that all imaginable material needs have been met, said Edward Wolff, a professor of economics at New York University who studies wealth and disparity.

“Among the rarefied group of the extreme rich, social status depends on net worth,” Dr. Wolff wrote in an email. “Their enhanced wealth allows them to make substantial charitable contributions to institutions like museums and concert halls, that may lead to having a building or the like named after them. Think of the Koch brothers and the New York City Ballet. This is only possible if they can stay ahead of the pack and out-contribute their peers.”

Social sampling leads the rich toward a blinkered view that society as a whole is more well-off than it is, feeding their unending need — particularly as wealth becomes geographically dense. Nearly 20 percent of the world’s ultra-high-net-worth individuals — with assets of $30 million or more — live in just 10 cities around the globe, by one tally. Six of those cities are in the United States.

Money Is Like Alcohol but for Money

Living inside bubbles, the rich need greater excess just to feel the same high, said Steven Berglas, a psychologist, executive coach and author.

“If you’re an alcoholic,” he said, “you’re going to take one drink, two drinks, five drinks, six drinks to feel the buzz. Well, when you get a million dollars, you need 10 million dollars to feel like a king. Money is an addictive substance.”

Feeding the addiction becomes even more challenging in a top-heavy economy where the price tags of the status symbols keep adding zeros.

For the superrich looking to buy their way in to professional sports, it’s no longer enough to have courtside seats or a luxury box. You need a team. They’re pricey.

The Golden State Warriors, for example, sold in 2010 for an N.B.A. record $450 million to an ownership group headed by Joe Lacob, a Silicon Valley venture capitalist. The team is now valued at $3.5 billion.

Even that is not enough. Now you have to build the biggest, flashiest arena. The Warriors owners recently put the finishing touches on a gleaming new waterfront arena in San Francisco called the Chase Center. It was financed largely by themselves for $1.4 billion.

Not to be left behind, Steve Ballmer, the former Microsoft chief and owner of the rival Los Angeles Clippers, is seeking to build a $1 billion pleasure dome of his own in Inglewood, Calif.

Clustered courtside together at the sporting palaces, the celebrities, naturally, begin to envy the fortunes of the moguls near them.

Even at the pinnacle of success, entertainers like Mark Wahlberg and Lady Gaga find themselves “suddenly in the same world with billionaires and financiers who own private jets and have their own boats,” Mr. Frank said. “There’s only so much you can make in entertainment, so they look around and decide that they need to get to the next level that they’re encountering socially at the Met Ball and at charity functions.”

The opportunity appears endless. But what if it’s not?

The Rich Suspect the Roller Coaster Is About to Crash

As a hedge fund veteran, precious metals adviser and financial author, James Rickards is a rich guy who talks to a lot of other rich guys. They don’t always like what he has to say.

He believes that the current debt-fueled recovery may be a prelude for an economic collapse to dwarf the Great Recession. Until recently, he said, such theories were met with polite lack of interest by many wealthy people. Lately, something has changed.

“Literally, in a matter of weeks, certainly a couple of months, the phone calls have had a different tone to them,” Mr. Rickards said. “What I’m hearing is, ‘I’ve got the money. How do I hang on to it?’ ‘Are gold futures going to hold up or should I have bullion?’ ‘If I have bullion, should I put it in a bag in a private vault?’”

“It’s a level of concern that I’ve never heard from the superrich,” he said. “The tone of voice is, ‘I need an answer now!’”

It is not just the rockiness of the stock market. The fears of the wealthy seem to be of a more existential nature.

It is as if the very people who have profited most from these good times cannot believe that times are good — or that they will stay good, in the event of, say, a Bernie Sanders presidency.

Paul Singer, who oversees the behemoth Elliot Management fund, is reportedly tapping investors for billions as a war chest for a possible market implosion.

Among the tech zillionaire classes, a place to bug out in the event of an economic collapse, environmental disaster or violent uprising became the thing to have.

After he left Facebook, Mr. García Martínez himself bought five wooded acres on an island in the Pacific Northwest equipped with generators and solar panels, as The New Yorker reported in 2017.

When any part of the denial of rich people gets punctured, the boom reveals itself to be a very weird boom. The profits themselves are confusing. Even some who have ridden the wave to outsize fortunes see something amiss.

Marc Benioff, a chief executive of Salesforce.com, recently declared that “capitalism as we know it is dead.” Corporate earnings are often tepid, yet stocks in those same companies are soaring, thanks in part to stock buybacks that fatten executive compensation but do little to help the business.

Some even notice the rest of us out here. Ray Dalio, the hedge fund billionaire, recently wrote an essay on LinkedIn that capitalism “is not working well for the majority of Americans because it’s producing self-reinforcing spirals up for the haves and down for the have-nots.”

And for those who amass fortunes, the money is the only measure of success they have, said Jordan Belfort, the real-life inspiration for “The Wolf of Wall Street.”

As opposed to people who build businesses that make actual products, “a lot of Wall Street traders didn’t create anything — all they did was trade on the value and ingenuity of what other people created, so at the end of the day, what can they point to that’s tangible?” Mr. Belfort said. (He disavowed his former excess after a prison stint and became a motivational speaker.)

“All they have is money,” he said. “So they go out and buy a house and a fancy car, and that feels good for a short while, then they buy a second house and a fancier car. Because all they have is what they earn. They’re defined by it.”

The newly rich from normal backgrounds are the most anxious of all, said Jennifer Streaks, a personal finance commentator and CNBC contributor.

“Imagine growing up middle class or even poor and then amassing millions,” Ms. Streaks said. “This sounds like the American dream, but suddenly you have a $5 million apartment, a $200,000 car and a family that has these expectations.”

A panic ensues when those people believe “that they are one bad investment away from being broke.”

And the Rich Become Anxious and Isolated

It’s not like Jeff Bezos, the $110 billion man, is going to have to auction off his $65 million Gulfstream jet if he makes a bad bet on Amazon delivery drones (or goes through a $36 billion divorce).

Even so, the isolation that often accompanies extreme wealth can provide an emotional impulse to keep on earning, long after material comforts have been met, said T. Byram Karasu, an emeritus professor of psychiatry at the Albert Einstein College of Medicine in the Bronx who said he has worked with numerous high earners in his private practice.

Apex entrepreneurs and financiers, after all, are often “adrenaline-fueled, transgressive people,” Dr. Karasu said. “They tend to have laser-focused digital brains, are always in transactional mode, and the bigger they get, the lonelier they are, because they do not belong.”

Dr. Berglas, a onetime member of the Harvard Medical School faculty in psychology, said: “If you can’t relate to people, you presume that the failure to have rewarding relationships is because of jealousy — your house is three-X your neighbors’, and they look at your brand-new Corvette and drool. It’s a compensatory mechanism — ‘I might not have a ton of friends, but I can do anything I want and I’m the most powerful S.O.B. there is.”

Limitless opportunity, extreme isolation. They already own the present. What else is left to buy but tomorrow, and the tomorrow after that? Suddenly, the fetish of the superrich for space tourism starts to make sense.

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be21zh · 5 years

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Dec 15, 2018

dreamt my passed mom rescue my education again. she visited my enhancement class and entrusted me not gave up. my sinful cousin, ie first grandson of my grandpa, also appeared among parents of high education seekers. my mother prayed for my higher education so hard that I touched and started focusing, standing firm among those preparing university entrance exam national wide. later I haunted zoo where I returned with missing. I queried the attenders for some animal, say dolphin, the crew told me I should visit next area in the zoo. I retreated. yesterday I first time gave up gazing my favorite woman dancer in open space of QRRS plaza. one of the dancer among the public exercising team shew contempt last dusk and let me wonder consequence of local mafia's interference, including the world largest mafia, CCP. when I passed them before the music whipping the dance, I heard some of them laughed loudly, apparently tried to attract me. when I returned my dorm, the facing room again half open their door, indicating their threat of break-in of my dorm under PRC surveillance cooperation. in the night the surveillance desperately booted up to interact with me, meddling my episode watching and youtube night news stream. in boring of the total control of my web traffic through China telecom gateway, I tried to reach out my contacts on my mobile, till sms one of my Univ. alumni with good wish. near bedtime ie. soon after 10pm, the state agent on upper floor again gathered to gabble, their noise likely amplified to echo in my room, desperately aiming to intercept my routine and mindset. they are rats lair before flood, cling anything might evade ruin or elimination. like dying CCP or the tyrant in nowadays PRC, their race before fate wipes them from their root timed and doomed, since their improper disability and hatred toward people of China, the peaceful tribe. God dad, rip me sooner poisoned PRC surveillance against my sanity. secure my work space in brilliant sunrise. if it means killing, let me annihilate enemies of my Empire of China from my ancestor, let me cleanse the lice of bloodsucking, thief of intelligence, hooligan of mob and violence in gracious blessing Christian universe. save my world before ruin, survive my people in global food crisis. grant us happy weekend tomorrow, grant me another meal daily. thx dad God, in this anxious free December morning.

Dec 8, 2018

dreamt a guy likely my once colleague, Xu, accompanied me to tour his campus. it's likely a privileged university, say Peking Univ. or Tsinghua Univ. he then showered in a jammed basement spa, where a sophomore just locked in mistakenly a night. after shower he let barber there to haircut but the latter refused, for his hair style always short and straight like me, and lately refurbished so no need to do it again. then they two rode bike through the hill roads in the campus, trying joining a volleyball team there playing. the guy's girlfriend ran into and stayed awhile with the guy. yesterday meant much for me, for my first Japanese sabot arrived. PRC surveillance obviously meddled, first delayed logistics several days after the taobao vendor handover. when I buzzed the vendor, she checked it and claimed the goods ran short and asked my permission for a replacement. she replied lately and trying avoid my contacting. after second deliver, it costs a week to fulfill, much longer than usual. even arrived Harbin, our provincial capital, it took more than 2 days to reach me when should in day. but after all, it satisfies me. I put on as soon as unbox, and ditched PRC plastic product I bought online several months ago and wrecked recent weeks. the toilet room near my dorm frequently heavily messed by blue collar workers around, and heavy dirt on ground with dirty water, now I wouldn't afraid it, for the sabot has less contacting surface on its bottom, less likely got stained in the tentatively hate drove fouled open space, likes total PRC under hooligan CCP monopoly. my socks didn't have 2 toes, so I ordered a new set from taobao.com copes it. seemingly the wooden sabot not so cold indoor and hopefully new socks will put my feet in comfort. last dusk also rewarding me. I found spices coupon dispatched by my once employer, QRRS, due to expired next Monday, I launched at once to shift it to my son. I met him when he leaving his middle school. I handover coupon, pocket money, OS patch on portable storage, kissed his cheek and left. in the night after contacted him I booked 2 dining out for coming seasonal holiday, a buffet and a Japanese cuisine. I also settled monthly cinema next next weekend. on night before yesterday I buzzed my hometown nephew and his dad, exchanged view and briefed recent changes, urged the young man to seek learning in cyberspace. the kindness driven by gratefulness my concerned women left me around. I appreciate so much for fullness in my life entering late half. they left my waist painful in the night and I pray cure in thanksgiving. God dad, my new socks arrive hours later. grant us financial Independence. grant me another meal daily, or complementary some bread daily. bring me sooner my Royal China, my Crown Queen from Japan, Asoh Yukiko. in these 2 one meal a day weeks, thx for hunger didn't pester me. grant me meanings in my starvation. survive me and my world in the global crisis of food shortage.

Nov 29, 2018

dreamt first at hometown where a wedding ceremony underwent. then found it was my marriage. there are many traditional protocol in ceremony. the cousin, ie. the first son of my dad's elder brother, and his mom, who long time envied my family's luck, meddled in traditional practices with their evil intention. in the end, our tribe entrusted to train ourselves for ethnic war and fatal adversity. then dreamt Elon Musk, with his father, both successful entrepreneur. I wondered why them driven to be so diligent even overactive. then lengthily a dream about family affair at hometown but I forgot it now after late sleep. QRRS, my once long time employer, dispatching its annual rice coupon, I was informed by departmental cashier last dusk to fetch this morning. so I at once went over to fetch it. the refurbished HQ of the SOE has a gorgeous ground hall in which sunny and spacious. with this coupon my weekend reunion with my son will be glorified. I just broke contract with dorm canteen after its operative family shown despise. I now will hunt for meal everyday and risk penniless every living. I buzzed my younger brother who had been supporting my dorm canteen boarding for 3 years or so, monthly ¥700, about the change, but he yet not offer the aid direct to me after the cancelled mid deal. last night I thought of my financial hardness, my pinched purse which only left less than dozen bucks, and I recognized my support to my son's pocket money in a season, ¥800 remit to his alipay account boosted by last month's exceptional strong salary, near 6000 CNY around thanksgiving holiday, no optional but crisis adopts. my dearest son cares indeed about my empty promise to prepare his monthly pocket money ¥250, but in last year it constantly shift to other usage, say recent 2 purchases of computer. this poor niche now again confronted with premature requisite, left the year-end pale however our web asset renewed with the weighted salary. God dad, bring me sooner my Royal China, bring me my Crown Queen from Japan, Asoh Yukiko, for coming glory. grant us independent finance. rid me sooner off PRC merciless surveillance, insane cheap barking dog around with 24*7 espionage, esp on upper floor where they relentlessly made noise to notify their meddling coincidentally. grant us happy weekend with dine out Mcdonald. thx God in this sunny winter morning when I freed from routine canteen breakfast hussle and totol free agenda like a hunting bee.

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