#Like. Which is it. Do I not have enough billable hours because I get through things quickly which leaves me twiddling my thumbs sometimes

[rahabs]

Toxic law culture is watching your coworker stay at the office past midnight to work on something and then get reamed out the next day because it doesn’t meet the mercurial standards of senior counsel or the “partners”.  And he wonders why I continually refuse to work past office closing hours.

[welcometololaland]

Lola, since it is not currently Saturday for me, I will be saving most of my nice ask day asks for tomorrow...but since it IS Saturday for you, I suppose it would only make sense for me to send you one now!

We both have the law in common! I have a law degree and I am technically an attorney (though I don't actually practice law but instead work as a law clerk/research assistant for judges at a courthouse). I went to law school and passed the bar in Michigan. I have no idea what that whole process is like in Australia, but I assume it's probably at least fairly similar? What was it all like for you/what made you want to get into it? (in as general terms as you want, of course, I don't mean to pry into personal stuff!)

hey anne! wow I never knew this about you! thank you for sharing 💜 I would love to hear more about your job working in the courts, that sounds very interesting and RESEARCH? my beloved. is it case law mostly?

the process for becoming an admitted solicitor (aka. a licensed attorney) in Australia is quite different to the USA. from my understanding, the US system requires a student to complete their undergraduate degree, sit the LSAT, do their law degree as a post graduate degree and then take the bar? I know there are potentially variations to this (looking at you Kim Kardashian) but if I'm wrong about this general process please let me know!

in my state in Australia (can't speak for other states!) you can do law as either a postgraduate degree OR a 4 or 5 year undergraduate degree. I did a double undergraduate degree in law and (liberal) arts (which I like to refer to as my bachelor of laws and my bachelor of fun). after you graduate law, you have to either do a 6 month (full-time) practical legal training course OR you can do 12 months of supervised legal training in a firm. it's better to do either the supervised legal training or be working in a firm that puts you through practical legal training because the course is like 10k on top of all your student debt 😂 I was lucky enough to get a graduate job so I did the supervised legal training and then, after I finished that, I was admitted to the profession.

I never set out to be a lawyer - truthfully, my parents thought I was going to fail school because I had a very tumultuous time from ages 16-18. I got involved in some shady stuff, had very poor mental health, didn't live at home for a lot of the time, and had a bad relationship with my family. I basically crammed my entire IB course into 3 months, and somehow, i got really good marks. so my parents told me to do law, since I (surprisingly) could.

truthfully I didn't like studying law much which was a bad sign...now I'm like 6 years into working in a firm and I think it's time for me to go and do something else. the culture in private practice corporate law can be really demanding on your life and damaging to your sanity. the glorification of overworking and the expectation to put everything in your life on hold to make your billable hours is next level. my firm is pretty good, but the industry in general is quite toxic sometimes. I respect anyone that can do it long term, but I don't think that person is me. I'm very much a work-to-live person and not a live-to-work person.

I've had a bit of a crisis over the past few months, trying to work out what I want to do. I'm still not sure but I hope I'll work it out soon 😂

Thanks for the ask and sorry for the essay!

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

Your talk about your eyes and not being covered kind of made me want to talk about something

I have Colorado medicaid. You know what we have covered? Dental (cause they realized it was cheaper to give dental than pay for complications) and eye exams (no glasses, but better than nothing)

People act like, and I wish I was joking, the idea with socialized medicine is to hold doctors at gunpoint (I figured we could just... pay them, but you do you rightwingers)

It's actually just really good insurance. I get into places as fast or faster than when I had actual insurance in the past (despite all the places that don't take medicaid, which might change if everyone had it). I've gotten way more care since I don't have copays. I pretty much never have had anything denied... it's like normal shitty insurance, but a bit better

Also here's a great bonus story, my mom's on disability. Had medicaid before she was able to get on disability even. Well she gets old enough to qualify for medicare. She's forced to pay like $125 a month for the privilege of worse insurance

By that I mean medicaid covered her thyroid medication. She gets medicare, they don't want to cover that med despite it being an old one and one she doesn't have a bad reaction to. Well medicaid won't cover it now cause she has other insurance. She literally pays a fee to be forced to pay out of pocket for a med that was previously covered (and as far as I know basically can't drop it now that she has it without messing things up with medicaid)

So... yeah. Just... just every time I mention like going to the dentist and having people say lucky, and me realizing oh shit I am lucky, and my luck being that I was broke enough to qualify... what the fuck?

Really really wish everyone just had at least as good as Colorado medicaid, even fucking bezos so we're not worrying about enforcement nonsense

Really wish we had universal healthcare cause... basically I just have kickass insurance, and it sucks hearing that you, someone working, are less well covered than I am

(And private insurance could still exist, it just might be forced to... you know... actually provide a benefit at a reasonable price to give people a reason to not just go with their medicaid)

Honestly the way we handle health care in this country is a goddamn nightmare, and we literally already know and have known for years that it kills people.

I will say that often even good medicaids are uhhhhhhhh not so good on the provider side. They "cover" a lot of claims that don't actually get paid, ya know? I work in healthcare, and have generally been a big fan of the medicaid in my catchment area because it actually seems to be pretty comperable to how you describe CO's. That said, as a provider, I would say a solid half of any "non-urgent" claims get denied, and at least one of the medicaid providers has denied every single claim the practice has submitted to them even though they keep telling us we're in network with them and following their instructions.

So. I do sort of get why it can seem (depending on which side of the insurance you're on) like holding providers at gunpoint. On the patient end you've got people receiving reasonably quality/comprehensive care with no fee at the point of service, which is phenomenal! On the provider side though, it often looks like losing literally thousands of dollars a month on denied claims for necessary services with little to no recourse.

We do it anyway of course, because the practice I work for is strongly oriented towards "serve the clients best needs even if it causes operating at a loss" but admittedly not every practice can survive under a premise like that for long. I think one of my biggest frustrations is that they always reject crisis care billable hours, even though they claim to cover them, and even when I am literally talking someone through a total breakdown in functionality. It's very frustrating to know that one of the most basic elements of mental health care (emergency support in crisis) will never be paid for (keep in mind that often when insurancr denies a claim, a practice won't pay a provider for that time) which neither the practice nor I can really afford.

Basically, we desperately need universal quality healthcare coverage, as well as (frankly) incentives for providers to actually register with the providers of this insurance rather than providing OOP care only. And that universal coverage needs to understand that "protecting patients from overcharging" is not mutually exclusive from "paying claims for emergency/out of norm care".

[hhappylliving]

Seems like a good time for a Laura-style post sharing too much info on my tumblr.

I’m about a month and a week out from quitting my job due to actual clinical burnout. 

I did pretty intense counseling for (just shy of) 5 years, and was seriously looking into taking a break back at the end of 2019/early 2020. I had talked to my supervisor about potentially taking a month off of work early 2020 to go to Korea for a month and take language learning courses... For whatever reason I didn’t continue my search and push forward with signing up/putting money down etc... 

New Year’s Eve I walked into a pet store with a client for part of our session and they had sugar gliders. I honestly didn’t know sugar gliders were an animal until Jin from BTS first shared his, and I thought they would be a great pet to have. I lived in housing that didn’t allow pets, so I didn’t look into having them... When I saw “Smog and Axl” and had them climb on me and immediately pee on me, I knew they were mine.

January 2020- I bought barricade tickets to see Monsta X Febuary 2020- My grandma suddenly died in a car accident- March 2020- I went to Michigan(I live in Virginia now) for my grandmothers funeral(taking my still new gliders with me, they car travel so freaking well). The world shut down. April 2020- My roommate decided she (and her boyfriend who were basically living with us) decided they were going to stay at his moms house. So I pretty much lived alone for a year until I was able to house a temporary roommate(international student). Smog and Axl definitely helped get me through covid- of which I took very, very seriously and still actively mask when I’m in public[even at the gym where I’m dyin]

Because of Covid my work moved to online for a year(should’ve been much longer but medicaid didn’t want to cover online sessions for high needs families, so of course the workers were forced back out into peoples houses). I worked with families for AT LEAST 4 hours a week due to the severity of their needs. Children who were at risk for out of home placement due to hospitalization, social services removal, or incarceration. And it was IN their home, not an office. So I worked with a pretty generalizable unwilling/unreliable population. The fact that I had maybe 10 hours of billable time definitely worked in my favor of allowing me the ability to last 5 years at this job.

Enough was enough though and I realized the health issues I was having from this job, wasn’t worth it. ESPECIALLY when the pay for said position was an absolute joke.

Did you know you can start to swallow air due to stress and anxiety? I didn’t know that either until I developed it.

So I took my 3 weeks off in February 2023 to go to Thailand/Indonesia, took a week off in March to move out of my apartment and got to New Jersey for a concert, early April I didn’t even need to take a day off to drive back from a concert in Atlanta because my caseload hadn’t been replenished, and mid April I had my last session and turned in my (super fast) work laptop and badge. 

No idea what I’m doing next. No idea where I’m going to live(International working brings it’s own level of stress and spiraling especially surrounding my pets, who are basically my kids, not being able to travel with me). Living with my sisters family for the moment trying to heal physically, mentally, and emotionally from the years of witnessing trauma/hearing about trauma/being traumatized myself from parents I was working with. It’s been... interesting. 

[sideqi]

Top 11 Business Consulting Firms in the U.S.A (Updated 2023)

The demand for business consultants is on the rise; leading to the establishment of business consulting companies all over the world.

This high demand stems from the strong desire for growth from business owners and CEOs.

Statistics show that in the United States alone, business consultants receive more than $2 billion for their services.

Although that amount is not a large enough sum given the type of services they provide. These services range from effective diagnostics and in-depth analysis to continuous improvement of business efficiency.

But a problem arises with questions like:

“Which business consulting firm should I hire?”

"How do I know this business consulting company is trustworthy?"

Take a deep breath, because you are about to get answers to these indecisive questions.

This post covers the top 10 business consulting companies to hire if you ever feel confused.

In addition, I ranked these companies on the following criteria:

. Income

. Prestige

. employee satisfaction

. for workers

. Advantage

However, let's start with the basics...

What makes the top business consulting firms rank as one?

Yes, MBB firms have the most prestige, but there may be other firms that are a better fit for your unique career path. Do you have a plan for what you want to do after a consultation? Are you going to choose the consulting organization with the most clients? If that's the case, you might be surprised to learn that neither McKinsey, BCG, nor Bain is in the top ten revenue-generating consulting firms.

Some consulting organizations require almost all of their employees to travel, while others require much less. Some charge by the hour, while others charge by the project – there is a huge cultural difference between being rewarded for completing work quickly and racking up billable hours. You may want to join a specific diversity organization or live in a specific city. All of these factors should be considered when narrowing down your list of target companies.

Top 11 Business Consulting Firms in America.

#1. Check Business Profitability

With so many years of experience, Consult Profitability provides world-class business consulting services. His expert assistance has helped thousands of companies around the world gain a competitive advantage in their market space.

Their focus is on building long-term relationships with clients, as well as being responsive and relevant to their needs through continuous development and the provision of exceptional value. Its services range from consulting to financial advice, risk management, tax, digital, and associated services.

Business Yield Consult ranks #1 in terms of employee satisfaction and prestige, making it one of the highest-rated companies in the consulting world.

#2. McKinsey and Company

McKinsey & Company is a US-based business consulting firm founded in 1926 by James O. McKinsey and Marvin Bower. Its headquarters are in New York City, with more than 27,000 employees in its network and more than 127 offices around the world.

McKinsey & Company generated a total of $10 billion in 2017 with annual revenue of $8.8 billion.

So, this would be a great place to start when you get lost in the shuffle.

#3. Boston Consulting Group, Inc.

Boston Consulting Group is a private business consulting company founded by Bruce Henderson in the year 1963. It has more than 90 offices worldwide and more than 16,000 employees worldwide.

BCG generates revenue of $6.3 billion annually and is ranked fourth on the student fortune list in the year 2018.

In addition, it ranks second in prestige and employee satisfaction.

#4. Bain & Company

Bain & Company ranks third in the world for Business Consulting. William W. Bain and Patrick F. founded it in year 3, based in Boston.

Its growth has been rapid since the 1980s, generating revenue of $3.7 to $4.5 million in 2017 and annual revenue of $3.87 million.

In addition, the company has a workforce of more than 8,000 employees in more than 59 locations around the world.

#5. Deloitte Consulting

This business consulting company has always maintained its position as the 5th most prestigious consulting firm.

Deloitte specializes in audit, financial, legal, tax, management consulting, and risk advisory with the largest operating locations.

William Welch Deloitte founded the company in 1845.

In addition, the company generates annual revenues of 13.4 million dollars, which makes it the leader in market share.

#6. PWC Consulting

Price Waterhouse Coopers is the second largest business professional services company. It provides financial advisory services, management consulting, data and analysis, strategic consulting, tax advice, tax, and legal controversy.

This business consulting company generates revenues of $12.3 billion a year, ranking as the number 6 most prestigious consulting company.

Additionally, PWC has a network of companies in 158 countries with 250,930 employees in 743 locations.

#7. Booz Allen Hamilton

Edwin G. Booz, James L. Allen, and Carl L. Hamilton founded the company in 1914. This company is an American company located in Virginia, Greater Washington.

Hamilton specializes in information technology and management consulting, generating revenues of $6.1 billion annually.

It also ranks as the number 7 most prestigious business consulting firm.

#8. Ernest & Young Consulting

EY is a business consulting firm with a primary focus on performance improvement, risk, IT risk, and assurance. It is ranked No. 8 in the consulting world and generates annual revenues of approximately $11.6 billion.

Ernest & Young was founded in the year 1989. Its headquarters are located in London, UK, with a workforce of 260,000 in 150 countries at 700 locations.

#9. Accent

Accenture is a business consulting company that specializes in providing professional services such as strategy, technology, and operations. It was founded in 1989 and was formally called Anderson Consulting.

Accenture generates revenue of $17.3 million a year with a workforce of 459,000 employees in 200 locations around the world.

It ranks as the #9 most prestigious consulting firm.

#10. KPMG

Klynveld Peat Marwick Goerdeler was founded in 1987. It offers professional services such as tax, audit, and advisory services. Its headquarters are located in Amstelveen, the Netherlands, with a network of 188,982 employees worldwide.

Additionally, KPMG ranks #10 in terms of prestige, with a whopping revenue generation of approximately $10.2 million a year.

#11. AACS Consulting

An international business development firm that specializes in using research, evaluation, & management consulting to promote more prosperous economies & more resilient societies in underdeveloped, fragile states with a particular focus on post-conflict environments.

They collaborate with governments, global aid, and development organizations, & corporations to make international development more effective, efficient, & sustainable – for the people.

[heavensigh]

Today was the first day of my 12 week program. What can I say? The whole thing was Hell.

I typically go to the gym at 5:30 am, 5x a week, for an hour. The new workout plan has added another half an hour to that. So that extra hour or so to myself in the morning before work? Gone. Chu thinks I should be less strict with the time limit but I feel like I have to fly through the workout to make it out on time to get home to shower, eat and change.

The workout itself was okay. I did 35 mins of cardio, some of it running! I hate running. Not only do my legs look like jumbled mess from behind (I saw a video of them back when I was in track) but my shin splits, endurance and stamina were all SHOT. 

I did upper body today, which is in line for my normal workout and it was good. I did more reps but kept my weight very close to what I’ve been working with. I just didn’t want to strive for something heavy until my body gets use to all the new stuff I’ve been doing to it.

The only thing that has been giving me issues is the damn meal plan! And its not because I have cravings or the food is bland but the timing of when I eat and how much. I’m suppose to have 6 meals a day, and I don’t have the timing down at all. After work I’m suppose to have an early dinner (supper?) and then dinner...again. I’m so damn tired and my body hurts and I have a headache and my tummy is achy and honestly I could crawl into bed and just...sleep...for days. I don’t even have enough energy to play games.

Tomorrow is check in and I work from home. I got a good chunk of billable hours today so if I slack tomorrow I can be covered a bit. I will take my check in pictures at home this time. I think I will have better lighting. I looked like a gosh damn prisoner in my starting pics and the lighting was awful in the gym.

See that neck folds under the mask? The lifeless eyes that make it seem that I should be holding a newspaper in a hostage photo? Even my butt looks flat!

But despite it all I’m still in love with my body and I’m excited to see the changes the next few weeks have brought on. I understand and accept that this is a process and I have to embrace it all, including my current state. I’m just amazed how much my body can do already and I’m very pleased with my dedication and healing.

I thought my IBS would be more of a problem and yeah I’m kinda feeling it now with all the changes I added to my diet. Protein powder doesn’t seem like its working out for me so far, but I’m going to experiment a little more because I know the meal plan they put me on isn’t 100% for my condition.

Day 1 of 12 weeks...complete.

[isabeljkim]

Short Story Submissions Guide for Idiots

The short fiction submissions game is confusing as hell when you first get into it…or at least, it was super confusing to me circa 2.5 years ago. I realized pretty quickly that the question wasn’t even “How do I get published?” but “Where do you go to get published?” and “How does anyone get published when the acceptance % rates are so low?” and “Where is everyone getting their information about how to do this?”

The answer is through googling. And twitter. And asking established writer friends. And guides that writers put together, like this one. There are others out there, and they’re probably better - do some searching, find out what works for you. But maybe this is a good starting point.

That’s a lot of opening to say this post is a fairly broad, hopefully comprehensive, slightly messy overview to “How to submit short stories (idiot edition),” which is hopefully helpful for people who want to break into the pro sff short story market. Skip to the end if you want tips, read from the beginning if you want a process guide.

This is not for: anyone who knows what they’re doing. This is for idiots only, guys . This is also not for people who want to submit to exclusively literary magazines, this is for genre [science fiction, fantasy, horror, speculative fiction broadly] only. Literary fiction submissions (and poetry, of any genre) aren’t something I’m well versed in.

My credentials: I girlbossed hard enough at submissions to get some pro sales (Check out my website for my three published things at Clarkesworld, Khoreo, and Sub-Q, gotta self plug, my other stuff is coming out hopefully soon at Lightspeed, Fantasy, Cast of Wonders, BCS, not to humblebrag). I started submitting seriously and actually selling stuff about in 2019ish, so I’m fairly new to the game so my process is very up to date. Also I’m a lawyer. That is irrelevant to today’s conversation but it’s new and exciting information for me and I’m very proud of myself so you get to know about that.

Disclaimers: This guide just has my submission process, and there are probably more efficient ones out there (and if you have suggestions dm me on twitter about it!). The style of this guide is going to be colloquial as fuck because if you want my good words you have to pay my billable hours (did I mention the lawyer thing). I can’t say that this is “wow! one true method for getting published!” because at the end of the day getting published is really only about the strength of your story and how much it resonates with a particular editor and market and whether Mercury is in retrograde.

But! There’s still a bunch of practical technical shit that’s helpful to know. So here’s the comprehensive, quick and dirty overview from the top:

1. Write a story

In some ways this first step is the hardest part, but not the focus of our exercise today. Good luck have fun don’t die write that funky music. Also edit that funky music. Pro tip: a “short story” is generally considered somewhere between 1k and 6k words, with anything lower than 1k generally being considered “flash fiction” and anything in the 10k and above being a novelette, novella, etc. Different markets will have different word limit restrictions - some only accept flash, some only accept short stories, some accept all of the above AND novellettes, etc. If you want to tailor your submission to a market, skip ahead to steps 3 and 6 and check out the guidelines before writing. My advice is that about 3-4k is a good, marketable length, but also, fuck marketability.

2. Format the story

Now we start caring about marketability. 99% of markets will want Shunn Manuscript Format (Modern). Format your story accordingly. This is the first pass at formatting you want to do - later you’ll want to format to the specific market you’re sending it to (Some markets want anonymity, etc.)

3. Pick the markets that you’re interested in

Maybe you have markets in mind, because you read a lot of short fiction. Maybe you have no fucking idea where to start. Well if you’re in the latter camp, you might want to join the former camp, but I’ll give you the cheat codes first: the first two places you probably want to look are a) The Submission Grinder and b) Ralan. Both websites list the currently open markets, and the Submission Grinder has a lot of really great submission tracking features. Ralan looks like it’s from the 90s but it’s regularly updated. If you have five dollars to toss every month, Duotrope has similar features to the Submission Grinder and lists literary markets and interviews with some editors as well. (Disclaimer: I pay for Duotrope, but I find the Submission Grinder far better).

Now that you have a list of all the places, you’re going to want to narrow that down.

Four considerations to make:

Prestige of the market: There are multiple tiers of market. Pro markets are those paying at least the SFWA rate, (8c a word currently) and who doesn’t like to get paid more? Furthermore, pro markets generally have larger readerships, and more eyes on your thing = better. And, a lot of the pro markets have Big Fancy Award winners in their pages, and it’d be pretty fun and sexy to share a TOC with one of them, right? In my opinion, there’s no point submitting to token or semipro markets first (unless theres a really specific market you want to get published in! follow your dreams!) - aim high bitches. (NOTE: I did this and it worked out pretty alright for me, but it took me longer to get published because of that, I think). The downside to the really prestigious markets is that they receive a lot of submissions - check on submission grinder and peep those sub 1% acceptance rates. Furthermore, there’s not a ton of pro markets. Get ready for rejections, and lots of them!

Submission opening windows If a market is open for a month once a year, you might want to prioritize it over a market that is open year round. This is the sort of thing you need to check individual markets websites for. For example - Lightspeed opens like once a year. Clarkesworld is open basically all the time.

Whether your story is a good fit for a particular market This is probably the most important point. At the highest level, don’t send horror to markets that say they don’t take horror, etc. On a lower level, you should read the magazines you’re submitting to and try and get a sense of what sort of stuff they publish, and evaluate how close your story is to what they’ve got. That being said - take a reasonable amount of stock in this, but you should send everything everywhere (within reason)…this will just help you decide order of operations. Furthermore, read the magazine’s submission guidelines, because they’ll usually list their likes, dislikes, and specific considerations.

Submission turnarounds. Some places take three months to get back to you with a rejection. Some places take two days. My best advice is to check the Submission Grinder for this, because that sure is a time difference, and that’ll change your timeline substantially.

4.Order of operations

Rank your now narrowed list of markets, based on the prior considerations or any other considerations you have. This is the point at which I recommend creating a spreadsheet to keep track of markets, submission dates, and responses. My spreadsheet is called “REJECTIONQUEST 2K20” despite it being the end of 2021 and also not made in 2020.

(If anyone wants a longer entry about my submission tetris approach, I’d be happy to write a post, but this is hella long already). Note: Let’s say you get rejected from everywhere you wanted to send it to. Just expand your list - my recommendation of curtailing the list comes from the fact that you have to start somewhere, and you might as well start at the combination of prestige and likelihood of publication - but different writers have different approaches.

5. Write a cover letter.

A cover letter is usually copy and pasted into the text entry part of the online submissions portal. Keep it short and simple, no need to get fancy. Your cover letter is the least important part of your submission. A lot of places won’t even look at it before reading your submission. It should look something like below:

[Greeting],

Body paragraph that lists a) story name, genre, and word count, b) relevant life experience (If you’re writing hard science fiction about physics and you’re a physicist… probably say that); c) relevant publications (three most relevant is a good number, if you don’t have any don’t worry, it’s not going to hurt your submission - it doesn’t matter that much.)

Thank you,

Your Name Here.

6. Submit!

BUT WAIT. First read the guidelines of the market you’re sending to, AGAIN. Then modify your formatted story to fit their guidelines. Anonymize, do specific formatting, save as a .doc rather than a .docx, then go ahead and shoot your shot.  

Nearly all markets have online submissions portals now and require digital submission. There will be a fairly obvious link on the market’s “submission” page on their website. A lot of places use Moksha, or sometimes Submittable. 

Note: Make sure the market got your submission - most places will send you an automatic notification of receipt.

Note: Let’s talk about simultaneous submissions for a bit. So, a simultaneous submission is when you send a story to multiple markets at the same time. Some markets are okay with this. Most of them aren’t. (This differs from literary markets, which are pretty much mostly simsubs). Is it worth simultaneously submitting despite the guidelines? Will doing so blacklist you? I’m going to give the controversial opinion of “It’s situational.” I think if it’s your first time submitting anything, you can probably get away with it. So if you want to roll the dice, that’s a you decision. But the minute you get anything other than a form rejection, abort mission. The real risk in simulsubs is that you damage relationships with editors by being uncool about their guidelines, and for that to be a risk, you have to be on their radar. Use your best judgement. I personally find simsubs that aren’t explicitly allowed by a market to be too stressful to do.

7. Receive feedback! Rejections, acceptances, rewrites, etc.

The feedback is going to range from form rejections to acceptances. Unless you’re fantastically talented and lucky, you’re going to be getting more of the former than the latter. Rejectomancy, or the scrutinization of rejections for signs and portents of how much an editor liked it, is a whole slightly suspect art practiced by short story writers. Jokes aside, it’s a good idea to keep track of whether you’re getting mostly form rejections, higher tier form rejections, or personal rejections. 

A “form rejection” is one that is copy and pasted to the majority of the slush pile, and usually just indicates something along the lines of “nope! not for us!” politely. A “higher tier form rejection” is one that comes from a managing/associate/etc editor or editor-in-chief and indicates that the story got closer to publication or they liked it in some way, and therefore is more in line with the work that the magazine wants to publish. A “personal rejection” is a personalized rejection that details specifically what worked and what didn’t, most of the time. Each magazine has norms for how many of each they send, or what their stock phrasing is. Rejection Wiki is somewhat out of date, but has a large database of examples. 

Some magazines only give out personals to a small fraction of the slush pile, and it’s always a lovely silver lining to receive some useful feedback or learn what worked in a story. Furthermore, keeping track of rejections can track progress, and it’s cool to see over time that youe’ve gone from all forms, to mostly higher tier forms and personals. Don’t get discouraged (yeah, easier said than done, I know. I could write a whole other post on that topic.).

Other things you might receive are “hold notices” and “rewrite requests.” Many magazines send out hold notices when the story passes the first tier of slush readers and is pushed up to the editor. This indicates that your story is a tonal fit for the magazine, and also, it’s getting closer to hypothetical publication. This also indicates usually that it will take fucking forever to get back to you if it’s a rejection or an acceptance, but that’s the price you pay. A “rewrite request” is an interesting, fairly idiosyncratic response - high level, the editor wants you to rewrite a portion and resubmit it, or they’re accepting with the caveat that you need to change something. These are varied enough from market to market that I don’t have useful info for them as a whole. 

Note: A healthy way to think about submissions is as not the definite chance to be published, but the sure outcome of receiving feedback. Treat rejections with advice in them as your own personal writer’s workshop. What I learned from my early rejections was that my endings needed a lot of work and I had a tendency to trail off, and incorporating the advice into my work led to later acceptances.

Note: DO NOT respond to a rejection letter. JUST DON’T. The ONLY exception is if you get a rewrite request.

If you do receive an acceptance, CONGRATULATIONS !! I have no advice for you now because most editors have different acceptance/contract signing/payment protocols, from here on out it gets pretty idiosyncratic.

And that’s all I’ve got, drop me a line on twitter if you want me to elaborate on any of this. And...

Good luck ! 

Grab bag advice

1. Have multiple stories out at different markets. Like. A lot of stories. Have 5+ stories out on submission at once, all at different markets. Yes that’s a lot. No not all of them will probably get published. But writing more will make you a better writer, and it effectively multiplies your chances at publication. This is why having a spreadsheet is useful, because it’ll help you track what is where, and for how long. (Or you can use the Submission Grinder for this, but I personally don’t because I’m attached to my horrible gdrive spreadsheet)

Note: I don’t always follow my own advice, I usually have 3 stories or less on submission at once, because I sure do have a day job)

2. Follow markets on twitter. Why is everyone in the writing world on twitter? I have no idea. But markets will often announce upcoming submission windows, guest editors, and similar things on twitter. Following a bunch of markets on twitter is often easier than manually checking each site.

3. The odds of publication look bad on paper, but in reality, are probably better than you think they are, as long as you can write a coherent narrative. A lot of the stuff in the slush pile is…questionable quality. Best thing you can do is focus on your writing! Sorry, that’s boring advice, I know.

[mvnvgedmischief]

unremarkable days.

summary: sirius black is trying to be a good man, a good brother, a good person. Sirius has a steady job designing book covers for a publishing house, a flat he never leaves, and a traumatized brother who was just removed from the custody of his parents. All in all, it's wildly unremarkable.

chapter:  4/?

characters: sirius black, regulus black, wolfstar, background marauders

tags: tw: canon compliant abuse, child abuse, social services, abuse

words: 3. 8 k

read it on ao3 here

read the last chapter here

Sirius knew that work was going to be high stress all day. He felt sick to his stomach, thinking about the way he would continuously have to talk to people, when all he wanted was some peace. He wanted downtime. Time when he didn’t have to think about how he needed his paycheck to put food on the table, clothes on his brother’s back, pay bills to keep his lights on, wifi for homework. Regulus occupied his thoughts at all times, protecting him was Sirius’s only priority these days. He didn’t have time for anything else. Not his friends, not his interests, not music. Nothing could come between his focus and his brother’s wellbeing, because if it did, Sirius would never forgive himself. The consequences were too dire. So instead, he just wished for downtime that wouldn’t come, and prayed for the weekend to approach even faster. 

The weekend, when he could finally sleep again, albeit not well. The weekend, when he had the time to take a breath, even if it was only brief. Because his weekends were also spent finding ways to better equip his apartment for his younger brother, going to long grocery runs so Regulus had lunch to take to school, meal prepping all of the things he couldn’t bring himself to eat for dinner. He was definitely tired of all of the ways his mind was spiraling out, he didn’t have the time. He didn’t fault Regulus for it, it wasn’t the teen's presence in his life that was causing all this stress. It really was his own fault. A bit of crying at that first hearing had given Walburga and Orion the satisfaction of a victory over him at that first hearing, and they seemed to crave more of that chaos. They wanted to watch their children suffer, and this was how they chose to do that. So instead he spiraled in the privacy of his own home, because he could practically hear the words they burned into his mind whenever he saw them, and feel the ache of old beatings. 

But it was only Thursday, and that meant he still had to do this all day, and  then get berated by the rest of the team for not attending their weekly bonding happy hour. If he was lucky,  no  one would ask him to go. He knew he should be less terrified of them asking, most of the people on his team were his friends. There was simply the question of Remus, and Sirius didn’t have the time to be thinking about him in the first place. 

He didn’t have time to think about  the way his hair curled just the right way to fall into his eyes when he slept, or the way his caramel freckles made him look sunkist. He didn’t have time to think about the  pink scars that ran down Remus’s face or how they got there. He definitely didn;’t have time to think of the comfort  of his hand combing through Sirius’s own mop of unruly curls. So instead, he needs to  put  all of that out  of his mind. It wasn’t going to help him do well at work. It wasn’t going to solve his problems. He didn’t have the  time for this, nor did he have the emotional bandwidth. Perhaps that was why Sirius was conveniently avoiding the idea that he had asked Remus on a date. With some luck, Remus would think he was just an asshole who ghosted him. That was definitely complicated by the fact that they worked together, that he couldn’t just disappear. He wanted to, he really did, because there was simply no time. 

He set up his deliverables as though he had made tons of them, because his employment in this company  rode on it. Just two months ago, he was pegged to be promoted within the next two cycles, and now he could barely hold on to his sanity enough to handle his workload. He was so fucking tired, and he had so much on his plate. He needed to mentally prepare himself for the long day of meetings ahead of him. He had no true motivation to do his job right now, all he knew was that his exhaustion was no excuse. He knew that his boss, Alice, was giving him a whole lot of leeway right now. She was probably doing more than she should to help him. Being a mentor on the senior design team didn’t mean she needed to keep tabs on his personal life and pick up his slack. 

“Sirius–” 

When Sirius focused back into the meeting he was calling into, it occurred to him that they’re talking to him. So he did what he always did, blamed it on a shoddy connection. 

“Oh, sorry, can you repeat that? My audio cut out.” 

“Remus was saying that some of  the poems could probably use illustrations, and he was wondering if you had any ideas on which ones needed it.” 

“Thanks, Peter.” Sirius was glad that he knew the people on this team, that Peter and James were as close to him as anyone could be. Because otherwise, he’d probably be fucked. 

“So I was looking through them, and I was thinking Bite, Magick, and Love I could probably use larger scale illustrations. But at the same time, we don’t want to crowd the book. How attached are you to the current order or page arrangement?” 

It felt too close, but he was lucky that he had at least read the titles of some of the poems in the first half of the book. Sirius knew Remus didn’t actually know what his level of involvement was. He thought it was just doodles, but Sirius would be responsible for presenting everything from kearning and font choice within the pages, to illustration and cover art to the design team. He was integral to the success of this book as a product, and he  needed to start acting like it. 

“I’m pretty attached.” Remus sounded cold to Sirius, and he wondered what exactly he had done wrong in this meeting. And yet, he didn’t have time to think on it. He needed to keep things moving, keep getting valuable information out of the author. Hook up be damned, Sirius needed this book to actually get off the ground. 

 “Okay, well we should get a meeting on the calender to discuss. What poems and what scale of illustrations you want–” 

“Shouldn’t you be deciding what the illustrations look like and the logistics of those. Isn’t that what you  get paid for?” Remus really wasn’t making this easy on Sirius. But he had dealt with bigger demons and divas then whatever this attitude was. So he put on a light and airy smile, one they’d never know didn’t reach his eyes over the low quality webcam and nodded. 

“If you’d like to take a hands off approach with the design work, that can absolutely be arranged. But in the case of a fledgling project with a new author, the design team, myself included, really hope to prioritize your artistic license so that we can get a better sense of your vision for your literature, should Quill move forward with other publications in the future.  We can provide a completely in-house service, with as much input as you feel necessary during the design process, and deliver collateral towards the end of the project when final edits are done, if you would prefer, Mister Lupin.” 

Sirius practically wanted to scream. He needed Remus to stop fucking with his job, with his livelihood. He couldn’t lose this project. He needed all of the billable hours he could get if he was going to justify the overtime he needed in order to provide for his brother. This was ridiculous. But his clinical and polite answer must have thrown Remus, because he didn’t get much more attitude out of him. The back and forth had ended. So instead, Sirius pulled up his deliverables for the week, which included new iterations for the covers, and twelve illustrations for the three poems he had mentioned. 

He noticed the way Remus looked at his drawings, like he was pained by whatever his thoughts were, and Sirius wants to scream that he’s under no obligation to think that they’re good. But then he remembers that Remus seemed to be nitpicking on purpose, based on his critique of the design system itself. Sirius didn’t have the time to deal with that level of petty, just because he hadn’t been answering. He was too busy. He had too much on his plate. So instead he continues his presentation. 

“I don’t like any of these. Maybe you should start over.” Remus sounded vindictive, even mean. Like he was doing this out of spite.  Sirius could feel his heart drop in that moment. He didn’t want to start over. He didn’t have the time. 

“What do you not like about them?” Sirius is trying to salvage his work while he can. 

“The vibe is off.”

“Oh, is there something specific that throws it off or...” Sirius trailed off, wondering what exactly he needed to change. 

“No, it’s the whole thing. All of them are just off.” 

Sirius needed to think quick on his feet. He didn’t have the time to start from scratch, so he pulled up his original thumbnails that he had discussed with Remus. 

“These are the original sketches we discussed. I moved forward with the ones we talked about. I’m happy to rework those sketches,” no, he wasn’t. “But if there’s another sketch that you think would fit your vision better, please let me know.” He felt like he was pleading with Remus not to hate his artwork. He’d be a liar if he said it wasn’t a blow to his self esteem to hear that everything that he did was bad. 

“No, I would suggest you start over.” 

Sirius nodded, his mind immediately whirring with ways he could start over and re-design this project. He really didn’t want to do it. He didn’t want to do hundreds of thumbnails to get set on thirty, only to be destroyed in a meeting again. Especially when Remus seemed so excited about all of his illustrations before the meetings. It felt like too much. He didn’t have the energy for this kind of behavior. 

Luckily, Marlene directed the conversation away from Sirius’s work. The rest of the call went on without a hitch, like the only person who’s work Remus had a problem with was Sirius’s. He knew that it was more likely for Remus to have a problem with him, because design work was usually something an artist thought of as easy; however, this felt calculated and cold. If Sirius had been avoiding Remus before, it definitely wasn’t about to get better. So instead, he listened to the end of the meeting, and started the project all over again. He could do this. It was an unremarkable critique. It didn’t matter.

[kisskissbanggang]

it was jeno in the office with the belt

[OOOOOOH I like the way you think anon. Squint and you might recognize something 👀]

[sub!idol, dom!reader, femdom, elements of hate sex, high heels, spanking, humiliation, degradation, puppy play, footjobs, cum eating]

Jeno was a terrible boss.

Not because he was mean or rude to you. Really, he didn’t seem to need your assistance — which defeated the whole point of you being his assistant. Sure, he was young, and still fairly new at this. He was an assistant himself not that long ago occupying the desk a few down from your own just last year, so perhaps he was used to simply getting everything done on his own. However, this was exhausting, waiting for Jeno to suddenly need you.

That’s why it was so exciting that Jeno was buzzing you into his office for once. You peered into the young junior manager’s office, notepad in hand and ready to go, when you noticed that Jeno was only mostly dressed, his suit jacket haphazardly thrown over the back of his chair and his shirt tails untucked as he frantically searched his office.

“Oh, thank god you’re here,” Jeno sighed in relief. “I picked up my suit from the dry cleaners after I went to the gym on my lunch, and I can’t find my belt anywhere. I have a meeting in an hour that I can’t be late for, please help me find it.”

You were stunned. Of course, you were only called in here to help your boss find a belt. 

Jeno didn’t even notice as you approached his desk and opened the filing cabinet placed behind him. He did notice, though, as you drew out a belt and held it up for him. “You found my—?”

“No, Jeno,” you shook your head impatiently. “I took the liberty of storing some emergency items in your office since I know this isn’t exactly a rare occasion.”

“You did? That’s amazing,” Jeno gushed.

“Not really,” you shrugged. “I just have so much free time since you barely need my help.”

Jeno’s winning smile faltered. “Is that bad? I thought you would appreciate not having to do every piece of grunt work I have.”

You stared in disbelief before you regained your composure. “I work billable hours, Jeno. You’re salary now. I’m giving myself busy work just to get a full day.”

“God, you always were way better at this than I was,” Jeno sighed, his smile almost painfully wistful. You honestly probably would’ve hated it more if he weren’t so obnoxiously handsome.

“Right,” you nodded sarcastically, “that’s why you got the promotion over me, right?”

“Hey, I was surprised I got the promotion over you,” Jeno innocently defended, “my application was a Hail Mary for a higher paycheck and I thought I was a goner when I saw you outside the conference room for our interviews.”

You didn’t have to bother playing coy, you knew exactly why Jeno got the promotion over you. The manager in the office down the hall was gorgeous and capable, but she worked her ass off to get there, more than any of the boys ever did. The way she looked killer in suits and heels probably helped her case, and you’d taken note, making sure not to upstage upper management but still dressing up as much as you could.

However, Jeno was a hound, even if he didn’t want to admit it. He saw an opportunity to get ahead and he did. That pretty manager down the hall told you as much, when she murmured to you after your interview that you had to tread carefully, that Jeno nonchalantly mentioned you were considering prospects outside of the firm to the senior staff. Now, he tried to remain looking confident as you strode over, the click of your high heels caculated as you went to give him the belt in your hands.

“What is this really about, Jeno?” You grinned flatly. Jeno tried to look flippant turning his nose up at you so he could scoff. “You can just admit you’re sore that I turned you down.”

“Excuse me?” Jeno sputtered, aghast that you’d make such a claim.

You simply shrugged as you stepped forward, your chest pressing into his. “It’s fine. I know I was real sweet to you before I figured out who you really are.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Jeno shook his head defiantly as he tried to tug the belt out of your hands. When you wouldn’t let up, he settled to brazenly wrap an arm around your waist, much to your surprise. “All I know is you had no reason to turn me down.”

“No reason?!” It was your turn to be offended as you grabbed Jeno’s wrist to twist him down onto the desk, his chest shoved against the fine wood as he wriggled. “I had just found out you threw me under the bus at our interviews and suddenly you wanted to go out with me? So what, I could be your trophy? That’s hardly no reason.”

Jeno shuddered as you caressed his ass with the belt in your hand. It was sorely tempting to finally get some payback. “What’re you going to do about it?” He asked, quietly but confidently.

“Tell me to stop or ask me to forgive you,” you laid out, the only two options he needed or that you cared about. Jeno considered this.

“... Please forgive me.”

The only problem was that was not the answer you were expecting. But now you had the opportunity to follow through. You squared your shoulders back, allowing yourself to finally see your handsome boss pay for sabotaging you. “Perfectly good choice, Jeno. We’ll start easy. Count five for me. Ready?”

Jeno swallowed in preparation, a small but steady yes falling from his lips as he gripped the desk. When you landed the first crack of the belt on his ass, he groaned deep before he counted.

“Good boy,” you praised, loving having this little hound at your disposal to play with. You continued, each spank and each groaned count met with praise and making your panties damp under your skirt. Jeno was breathing hard as he clutched onto the desk before you finally pulled him back up straight. “You want to be forgiven, puppy?” You cooed. Jeno nodded dazedly. He watched as you took the belt and looped it around his neck, careful not to pull too hard when you tied a loose knot so your impromptu leash hung low around his throat. You sat yourself down in his plush chair at his desk and spread your knees, pulling Jeno down to kneel as you got comfortable, but you pressed the toe of your high heel to his chest as he immediately leaned down between your legs.

“Something wrong?” He asked, almost desperately eager.

“Touch yourself,” you commanded, your toe now prodding into his arm as he reached for his zipper, “over your clothes, puppy.”

“What? I can’t—“

“Trust me,” you smiled reassuringly. “You said I’m better at this, didn’t you?”

Jeno gulped down a trepidatious breath, giving in to his temptation to trust you as you tugged on his improvised leash now to lead him closer. His palm drifted down over his clothed erection, now straining against his suit pants, and he keened into his own touch as he tentatively lapped at you over your panties.

“Good boy,” you praised, “make it count.”

Your boss whined around his tongue tickling your most sensitive parts while his hands were preoccupied. It felt incredible, but even then Jeno impressed you further. He nosed and tongued your panties aside to finally taste you in full, and his eager licking made you arch your hips into him. Jeno used his free hand to hook your thighs over his shoulders and spreading you open so he could lick you deep while he desperately jerked himself off. You threaded your fingers into his perfectly styled hair and pulled, tugging on his makeshift leash as you did so and trying not to give him the satisfaction of a moan, even as you were getting dangerously close and surprisingly fast. In fact, try as you might to slow it down, your orgasm still tore through you almost unexpectedly and making your thighs clamp tight around Jeno, who was still fervently licking into you well after your climax began to wane. You melted into his chair as you caught your breath, but Jeno held your gaze. His lips, still slicked with your orgasm, were parted like he was dying to say something. You raised a tired eyebrow.

“Such a good boy,” you praised, “You want to cum now?”

“Yes,” Jeno ardently nodded.

“Alright. Be a good pup.” Your smile was devilish, pure hellfire as you reached down and finally yanked down his zipper to fish out his blushing erection. Jeno looked on expectantly as he almost expected you to pull him up so he could fuck you, but he only found that you crossed your legs and thrust your raised foot towards him. He got the idea, regrettably enough, his cheeks flushing hard as the humiliation coursed through him and he went to slip off your high heel before you jerked your foot back. “Leave it,” you grinned, loving that he actually stopped immediately and apparently knew more tricks than sit and stay.

Jeno fought through his embarrassment, desperate enough to clutch his leaking cock to the top of your foot still in nested in your high heel and thrust against it, close enough to cumming that the sheer humiliation burning at him was only making things worse for him as he whined and whimpered against you. He was the cutest, maybe now more than ever as he squeezed his eyes shut in concentration, or maybe to shut out the realization that he was doing what he was, and you tugged on the belt around his neck to get his attention.

It seemed, amazingly, that it was being forced to lock eyes with you that finally made your handsome boss cum, the slick streaks of mess landing as high as your raised knee and pooling at your ankle as Jeno gasped and panted through his orgasm. You were able to rouse him from his haze, though, stroking your fingers through his hair to make sure he still looked at you. “Almost done, puppy,” you said softly, gently. “Gotta clean up your mess first.”

Jeno sighed, more from tiredness than defiance, before he grinned and leaned down, beginning with your ankle and licking up his mess and working his way up your leg. You could have sworn you felt his lips brush against your skin, purely for fun rather than function, and you felt pushed, emboldened, to return the favor. Jeno’s eyelids were still heavy as you tucked a finger under his chin to lift his face closer to yours, allowing him a sweet kiss on his lips that he somehow wasn’t expecting, and even tasting his warm cum still coating his tongue. His groan was deeper, almost considering what this could mean, what everything that just happened would do for your working relationship as you finally leaned back to ease the belt off from around his neck. He was bashfully grateful as he took it from you, but was surprised as you stopped him. You arose from his chair, gentler now while you helped fix him back up and even patted his hair back into place.

“So,” he smirked, the rise and fall of his chest still a bit heavy. “What now?”

“Now,” you pondered aloud as you fixed his tie and leaned up to kiss his brow. “Well, now that you have no reason to underestimate me, and now that I’ve forgiven you, I think I have some reason to consider your original proposition.”

“That’s good enough for me,” Jeno smiled, his eyes just as warm as before as he held the door open for you to walk you out. That pretty manager from down the hall was just now heading out of her office as well, assumingly to the same meeting. Her own assistant held the door open for her and followed faithfully behind, and you wondered if you could attain and maintain that same command that she did. At the very least, you figured, Jeno was a terrific start. You would find out what other tricks this hound could learn.

[heartbeatan]

Damned Royalty (Chapter 6)

Return to Chapter 5.

Return to Table of Contents.

Return to Desperado Series.

Return to Jimin Fanfictions.

Return to Masterlist.

Chapter 6

Your mouth fell open and your eyes widened. You were caught. Jimin looked back at you, a salacious heat and mockery behind his glare.

“I… excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“Are you having me followed?!” you shrieked at him.

“You took my car to that guy’s house. I didn’t need to follow you,” he took a casual sip of his wine. “If you didn’t want me to know, then perhaps next time you should be a little more fucking discrete.”

You were shocked to say the least and weren’t sure what to say to him. You felt a sense of guilt, but also a sense of defensiveness. Who did this guy think he was?

“So… did you?” Jimin asked again.

“That is none of your business!”

“No? You’re kissing me and running back to him – I’d say that’s my business.”

“It’s not,” you stood up from the island and grabbed a hold of your purse.

“Where are you going?”

“I should have never kissed you. I shouldn’t even be here with you now.”

“But you are here. Why?”

“I don’t know, Jimin. I guess I wanted to see you and talk to you about that night.”

“And to be sure I don’t tell your boyfriend that you kissed me?” he seethed. “Make sure that your plaything doesn’t ruin your perfect little world and your perfect little reputation?”

An unrivaled anger swept over you. How dare he accuse you of such things? He had you all wrong.

“Plaything? Are you serious? You’ve been toying with me since the moment we met. In a week my entire life has been turned upside down because of you and now you accuse me of using you? Fuck you!”

You often didn’t swear out loud but the words spilling from your lips felt remarkably good. You turned from him and stomped out of the kitchen as you tried to find your way towards the exit.

“Hey, hey,” Jimin abandoned the food and chased you out of the kitchen. He caught up to you quickly and grabbed a hold of your elbow to stop you, but you shook him off. He jumped in front of you, blocking your path, and raised his hands in the air in surrender. “Hey, stop. Please.”

“What?!”

“Don’t go.”

“I have no reason to stay.”

“Then stay because I want you to stay.”

"Well, I don't care what you want," you ducked around him and moved down the hall. He let you pass but followed behind you as you made your way towards the door. When you reached it, you were at a loss. Somewhere along the way you had hoped he would have stopped you again, apologized, and said the right thing, convinced you to stay. But he didn't.

Your hand reached for the handle and you flung open the door.

"Y/N," he finally called to you. You swung around to look at him.

"What?"

He stood stoic, calm. His hands dipped into his pockets and his nose pointed upwards in arrogance. The scene pissed you off even more.

"If you walk out that door… you won't be coming back here. Do you understand?"

"Ha!" you scoffed, now angrier than ever. "Get over yourself, Jimin."

With that, you stepped into the hall and turned to slam the door behind you. But before you did, you looked up to him one more time.

“By the way… he’s not my boyfriend anymore.”

 

A week passed, and then another. In that time, you worked diligently on the Park's file, but you had managed to avoid Park Jimin entirely. There were no phone calls, no late-night meetings. It was as if you two hadn’t met at all.

Good riddance, you told yourself often, whenever he crept back into your mind. But the distance was soon to be over. You couldn’t avoid him forever, and today was the day you were to meet – formally – to discuss the progress of the club and the restaurant, and to make a plan for next steps. It was just business meeting… but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t anxious about seeing him – dare you confess, excited.

“They’re here,” your assistant knocked on your office door. You checked your watch – he was twenty minutes early. “Oh, you look nice today!” your assistant gushed.

“Oh? Thank-you,” you tried to wave off the compliment – but you knew you looked good in your tight, black dress and gold belted waist – it was a choice you made days ago. “Send them in.”

Moments later, through the heavy glass wall of your office, you saw him. He rounded the corner and made his way down the hall towards you, following your secretary and being followed by his security. He looked just as he ever did… debonair; confident; intimidating. You watched him for only a moment, then turned your eyes to the pages before you, being sure he never caught your gaze on him.

With another small knock to your door, you looked up, smiled and thanked your secretary.

“Come in, please,” you put on the most professional greeting you could muster as you stood up and stuck out your hand to shake Jimin’s. He crooked his head slightly at the gesture but took your hand anyway. It was like being connected to the wrong end of a battery. Electricity shot up your arm as his palm met yours. It seemed he felt it too… the way he looked down at your locked hands, then rolled his gaze up to your face. But you didn’t waiver. You didn’t let him know that his touch still affected you. You didn’t want him to know at all that you were still thinking about him. You wanted him to think himself a bug in your presence. “Have a seat.”

Jimin took his seat, undoing the button of his jacket, hoisting one ankle over one knee and smoothing out his tie as he sank himself into the seat. He reached back towards one of his security men and snapped his fingers. Immediately, the man pulled out a file from a suitcase and handed it to Jimin.

“You can leave now,” Jimin spoke, and promptly, both security exited the room.

“Let’s begin,” you said as you folded your hands and leaned against your desk – not entirely unaware that it would amplify the deep neck of your dress. “We’ve already secured two permits for two possible locations of the new strip club.”

“Already?” Jimin seemed impressed. “Typically, it takes me months and a few bribes to pull that sort of thing off.”

“I’m good at what I do, Mr. Park.” His eyes flashed as you said it, but you ignored it. “We just need you to make a decision as to which place you prefer before we go any further.”

“Great. When do we go?”

“I can have one of my team escort you there after this along with a contractor so you can have a better idea of what work needs to be done.”

“I don’t want one of your team. I want you.”

You crossed your arms in front of your chest and leaned back into your chair, swiveling it enough to be sure Jimin could get a nice long look at your legs. He certainly did, and you pressed your lips into a mild smirk as you watched him.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Park,” you spoke softly. “But I’m meeting someone else after this.”

You watched as he inhaled deeply, and his eyes darkened. He didn’t like that answer, and he knew that you were patronizing him.

“I asked for you to head this project.”

“And I’m doing just that. I promise you, Mr. Park., you’ll get everything you want.”

“We’ll see about that.”

You grinned smugly back at him. Then pulled yourself back to your desk and flipped through to the next page of your file.

“Let’s discuss contracts for the restaurant.”

When he wasn’t trying to get under your skin – or when you were able to prevent him from getting under your skin – Jimin was impressively easy to work with. He knew his stuff. He knew his numbers. He knew what he wanted. But he was also willing and ready to consider many of your suggestions and input. This was another side of him you hadn’t seen before. Up to now, he spent your billable hours either pursuing you or avoiding the subject of business entirely. But today was different. His hand moved fluidly across the pages strung about his lap as he took notes and managed figures. He responded assertively when he was sold on his choices. Overall, you found his work persona to be not only convenient, but incredibly sexy.

“Is there anything else?” he asked when you both had struck all your discussion items off your list.

“I have nothing else,” you closed your file. “Unless there’s something else you wanted to discuss?”

“There is,” he closed his file and set it aside, then leaned forward, balancing his elbows over his knees. “Come over to my place tonight.”

You looked up to him. His eyes had changed again. He had abandoned business and was now back to looking at you like you were the prey to his predator – the way he looked at you weeks ago.

“I thought I wasn’t to ever come back to your place again,” you threw his words back at him.

“It was a lie. I didn’t want you to leave that night.”

“Well, you sure have a way of showing it,” you scoffed.

“I know,” he sighed. “I know. I’m… I don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Jealousy. I’m not used to not getting what I want. I’m not used to not being in control.”

“I’m not yours to control, Jimin.”

“I know,” he sighed again. He was struggling with whatever he was trying to say. “What do I need to do to change your mind?”

“Apologize, Jimin,” you cocked your eyebrow at him in near disbelief. He didn’t seem to get it – perhaps he had never apologized for anything in his life.

“That’s it.”

“Yes.”

He shuffled a bit in his chair and looked uncomfortably away from you. When it seemed he found his way, he let out a small cough then looked back to you.

“I’m sorry,” he said. You almost laughed. It really was difficult for him. “Is that good enough.”

“Yes. I forgive you.”

Your office then became quiet – neither of you knowing quite what to do next. When it became to much, you sighed and with and “ok,” you began packing up your things.

“So, you’ll come over tonight?” Jimin asked hesitantly.

“I don’t know, Jimin,” you sighed again.

“I thought you forgave me.”

“I do, but… I just don’t know where we go from here.”

“Can’t we just start over?”

“I don’t know exactly what it was we were starting,” you confessed.

“Come over tonight and we’ll figure it out,” he spoke softly. Not at all the commanding, smug way he normally spoke to you. You took a long breath in through your nose as you looked him over from top to bottom. His shoulders were tensed, and his face was for the first time ever, cautious. You should’ve said “no.” You knew that. Even with Jinhyun out of the picture, Jimin was dangerous. Volatile. No good for you. How would spending time with him at all be a good idea? But the butterflies in your gut told you to say “yes.” Your beating heart told you to say “yes.” Your humming body told you to say “yes.”

“Fine,” you replied curtly. “I’ll come.”

“Good,” Jimin’s soften face curved into something more sadistic. Then he was sure to rake your body from toes to neck before he said, “Make sure you wear that God damned dress.”

 

That was how you found yourself seated at Jimin’s island once again, watching him cook while you sipped on a glass of wine in your tight black dress. Just before you left the office, you accessorized it with a little extra jewelry and a little extra lipstick.

“Are you sure I can’t help you?” you asked him for the third time.

“You really want to help?” he chuckled. “Alright. C’mon over here.”

You slipped yourself from the chair and walked over to his side of the counter. “What can I do?”

“Do you know how to baste a steak?”

“No,” you pouted a little and he laughed at you again.

“Here,” he said as his hands landed on your hips and he guided you to stand in front of the searing pan. It was the simplest of touches, but his hand felt like fire over your skin and shot a wave of excitement through your body. “Put your hand here,” he took your left hand in his and brought it to the pan handle. “Tilt the pan a little, and with your other hand,” he reached over and placed a spoon in your free hand, then enclosed his fingers around yours, “scoop the butter like this and drizzle it over top.” His chin grazed your bare shoulder, and you could feel the heat radiating off his chest against your back. You were sure your insides were becoming hotter than the stove top pan you had in your clutches.

“That’s it,” Jimin whispered in your ear. He dropped his hand you’re your and slid them down your sides to your hips once again. You pursed your lips. Your body began to sway like a magnet desperate to pull him into you. Soon enough, he figured it out, and you felt his hips press against your backside as he stepped in closer to you. You kept at your task, but before long, your hips began to swivel ever so slightly against his.

“Mmm,” you heard a small groan from the back of his throat. The corner of your mouth curved up in a smug satisfaction.

“How am I doing?” you whispered back to him.

“Fucking amazing,” he said back.

 

Hot. Wet. Heavy. Hands. Tongues. You grabbed at each other as you made your way down the hall – presumably - towards Jimin’s bedroom. You weren’t even sure how you made it this far.

You remember how he had you - pressed into the counter. Your hands on the cool marble, his hips rocking slowly against your ass. You remember thinking “this is how he’d fuck me.” You remember how he snapped them harder, and how it stole your breath – and how it stole your cry. You remember how his hands made their way up to your breasts, and how he kneaded them roughly as he mouthed at your neck. You remember how you leaned into it, leaned into him as you threaded your fingers through his hair.

Somewhere, you must’ve abandoned the food. Somewhere, he must’ve told you had badly he wanted you. Somewhere, you must’ve told him how badly you wanted him. Somewhere, he must’ve took you by the hand and led you towards his bedroom, but somewhere along the way, you must’ve needed his lips, needed his body, needed him again.

“Jimin,” you panted.

“Yes, princess,” he whispered against your lips.

“Please,” you whined.

“Please what?”

“I want…”

“Say it, princess. Tell me what you want,” he dipped his head and licked a line across your collarbone. “Tell me you want me to fuck you.”

“Ugh!” you moaned as he pressed his leg in between your thighs.

“Tell me,” he commanded.

“I want you to fuck me,” you whispered.

“I can’t hear you.” He could – you knew that – but he wanted you to demand it.

“Please, Jimin, I… oh! I want you to fuck me!”

“That’s my girl,” you could hear his cocky smile behind his words. “I’m gonna take such good care of you.”

“Ugh!” you whined again as he kicked his knee harder into you.

When you finally made it to the bedroom, your body was shaking. This was it - you were really going to go through with it - with him. It was terrifying – but you couldn’t stop yourself. You began to claw at him, just like you did your last night with Jinhyun when you needed him to make you feel good. But Jimin wasn’t Jinhyun, and he had other plans. You felt his hand wrap itself behind your neck. He then dug his finger into your jaw, forcing you to look up at him as he pulled you roughly apart. He looked down at you, his eyes ablaze with desire and dominance. It sent a shiver down your spine as it pinned you in place.

“Don’t think for a second that this is going to be over quickly,” he graveled. “And don’t think for a second that I’m not gonna make you pay for leaving me that night.”

[domesticadventures]

i think there’s a distinct possibility that i might be fired soon.

or “let go,” i guess, which sounds softer, like less of an accusation. like something that isn’t my fault. and the thing is, i really don’t think it would be, in this instance. i’m good at my job, which is a thing i know because i’ve done it for nearly a decade now and have received enough positive feedback from people who didn’t stand much to gain by lying to me. some of it has even been from my current firm, in the short time i’ve been here.

the problem is that in this industry, none of that matters. or if it does matter, it’s not even close to the most important thing. my work product could be the best they’d ever seen but what will always matter more is how many times my initials appear on the invoices we send out to the clients. the firm is selling my time, they have a line item on a budget for how many hours per year i’m supposed to bill, how many dollars in revenue i’ll generate, because i need to be able to cover the cost of my salary, my benefits, plus my share of the overhead and profits for the firm and its shareholders. usually, firms want to make something like three times as much off of me as they pay me.

my requirement right now is 1600 hours per year. when you divide that up across all the working days, taking into account holidays and pto, it comes to around 6.6 hours per day that you need to be able to account for, to say what you did and for which file and to phrase it in a way that will make the clients agree that your time is worth paying for instead of disputing. so in our 7.5 hour work day, i have 54 minutes in which i can get up, stretch my legs, use the bathroom, spend time on non-billable things like firm-wide emails and zoom meetings and being unable to focus because there’s a pandemic on and over 1000 people per day still dying in the us alone and not all of us see that as a business opportunity.

it’s an industry that punishes efficiency, that incentivizes the opposite. if you do things well and quickly, your reward is more work to fill the empty hours left when you don’t waste other people’s time or your own. even when your own conscience won’t let you take advantage, in the back of your mind you always wonder things like why spend 2 hours on a project when i know i can get away with spending 4? it passes the time. it gets you closer to your 6.6 hours per day.

for 8 years this wasn’t a problem because i worked in an office where i always had more work than i could ever hope to complete. we used to joke that our to do lists would never end, that someone else would just inherit them when we died. and now i’m here, at this job of 4 months, and i have nothing left to do. i am told my work is good, but there isn’t 6.6 hours of it per day. and at some point, that will be all that matters -- that i’m not living up to my budget.

i’ve spent the last couple days documenting what i could, because working in this field has taught me not to trust anyone or anything, to put things in writing but also to be careful what i put in writing. if i have to file an unemployment claim, i don’t want them to be able to fight me on it. i want to be able to prove that i did everything i could. i want to be able to say, look, i’ve been asking for more work since practically the time i started, here are all the emails. i knew what i had wasn’t enough to last. so i did it for as long as i could, i met your quota for me for 4 months and now i can’t. the work isn’t there, and i can’t just make it up, i can’t make myself look busy. that’s not how this works, you know it isn’t.

i don’t even know what i’m afraid of. i don’t know that it’s even fair to call what i’m feeling fear. it feels dishonest, because even in the worst case scenario, which is a thing i am always thinking about and trying to plan for, i don’t think anything truly bad would happen to us. i could lose my job and not get another and burn through our savings and at the end of it, what? i call my parents and i do something i haven’t done in any serious capacity since i moved out of their home over a decade ago and i say, i need help. we don’t go hungry, we don’t wind up without a place to live, our privilege insulates us from any of the very real harm that so many are facing.

i think it’s just a matter of pride. i hate the thought of having to make that call. and, before that, i hate the idea that it’s out of my control, that i might be fired for the first time in my life and it won’t even be for something i did or didn’t do.

it feels stupid to even worry about, under the circumstances. right now, i’m lucky to have a job, to have insurance. maybe the exhaustion and the frustration don’t really have anything to do with work at all, or at least not just to do with work. maybe everything is just bad and scary. i don’t know. but, ugh. if quarantine has taught me anything, it’s how ready i am to be done with this industry.

[florrickandassociates]

TGF Thoughts: 4x07-- The Gang Discovers Who Killed Jeffrey Epstein

What a weird episode. 

This episode is something else. The writers REALLY overestimated how much the audience (or at least the fandom) liked the pee tape and Melania divorce episodes if they thought this was a good idea.

My recollection of those episodes is that because everything was fake-but-real, the stakes wound up feeling lower and I stopped caring, and when I’m not on board with the plot, the surreal shit and the whimsy feel more annoying than innovative. This episode might fare slightly better in my opinion than the other two because of its central device (more on that later) but it’s (somehow!!!) even more audacious and wild than the episodes that came before. Not my favorite look for the show. 

I DO like the tributes to musicians we’ve lost to COVID-19 that play over the credits.My one quibble is that they could’ve used a little card to inform viewers what’s going on and why. Last week I caught the artist in the captions but this week I missed it (or it wasn’t there), though I figured out pretty quickly it was John Prine.

Starting off an episode with Liz is always a good choice. 

Liz and Marissa are, for reasons we’ll discover later, in New York and investigating Jeffrey Epstein’s “suicide.” 

It drives me INSANE that Marissa consistently has the sound on her phone on. I think we’d know she was taking pictures without it. 

Liz’s old boss, Wilbur Dincon, has tasked Liz to independently investigate what happened. If this case goes well, RBL will get more business from the DOJ.

I’m sorry, did you just say “S-H-U” instead of pronouncing it like “shoe”? I mean, I’m an expert on prisons because I watched Orange is the New Black so I know it should be said like “shoe.” (tbh i have no idea if one is more correct than the other)

This case has lots of details but it’s really only the thematic points that matter, so I likely won’t discuss any plot points… just what they’re going for. 

Good to know Liz was ahead of the curve on knowing Epstein was a dangerous creep. 

Liz is promised she can investigate anyone she wants and think outside the box. Sure. I believe this as much as I believe Diane is in charge of pro-bono stuff because STR Laurie has great intentions.

“Synergy” is such a great bullshit word. Has everyone ever said it for a reason other than the following three: (1) To mock the word synergy (2) as a euphemism for cost-cutting measures that will fuck over employees (3) because they think it sounds professional and want to cover up the fact they don’t know what they’re talking about?

In this case, “synergy” means that RBL needs to cut their payroll by 20%. Fun times.

Diane and Adrian (Liz is downstairs) are not happy about this, even when Mr. Firth reminds them it’s more money for them. They’d rather have less money personally but happier employees since they’re not soulless.

Mr. Firth says they have to do the layoffs. But if it’s any consolation, they get to hand pick who to lay off!

The dogs are still being walked through RBL, in case it wasn’t clear enough that STRL sucks.

The whole firm gets to work on sorting through the Epstein evidence. Liz tries to keep things organized-- murder evidence on one side, suicide evidence on the other.

Associates, however, immediately begin interpreting the word “evidence” loosely. Is there a photo of Epstein with someone they’d like to suspect of murder? Then it’s “evidence of murder”. Ok, Leah. 

As expected, this immediately turns into bickering over politics. Sorry Liz-- it’s going to be tough to keep your staff on target with this one. 

“No! No conspiracy theories. No insane charges. Everything we do, we need evidence, so let’s start here.” Ah, if only everyone could think like Liz.

The room focuses on evidence for about two minutes. Then they find a way to make it about conspiracies again. Go team! 

Also everyone at RBL thinks they have better knowledge than professional medical examiners of the marks left on someone’s neck after they hang themselves. They also all believe that pretending to strangle themselves is the best way to prove their point. It’s a hilarious sight for Diane and Adrian to happen upon.

Adrian and Diane immediately start seeing their employees as numbers and imagining the cost savings of laying them off. Marissa is making $89,000 a year with three years of experience. Jay is making $89,000/year with eight years. Damn, that is so unfair to Jay. (I could see it if Marissa is more vocal about wanting higher pay or if they’re more concerned with losing her… but being vocal about money is probably closely related to Marissa’s privilege and there is zero evidence Marissa is any better, more efficient, or more hardworking than Jay!)  I can’t remember how this plot ended last year, but I thought Jay ended up making more than Marissa after he complained?

Adrian seems to see Jay as the more disposable of the investigators, which is quite sad, especially since from what we see, Marissa and Jay seem to be equally skilled. 

I wish we got to see the salaries, rather than just billable hours, of the other associates. But I’m glad they finally get last names! 

Kevin Walker has been at the firm 7 years and has 2643 billable hours.

Diane imagines the red X over Marissa. I can’t tell if the Xs are to demonstrate who they think they should cut or just to show deliberations. 

Lucca has been at the firm for 4 years and has 2788. Her title is “associate” but shouldn’t it be “Head of Family Law”? 

Leah Davis has been at the firm for 3 years and has 2657 billable hours.

Jancie Muncy has been at the firm 11 years with 2456 hours; Micah Carroll has been there 5 with 2582 hours. John Danzette with 6 years and 2074 hours; Rosalyn Brock with 4 years and 1991 hours (we learn later she was on medical leave for part of the year). Josh Withers with 11 years and 2162. Linda Keller with 2 years and 2389; Mike Roberts with 3 years and 2147. So what I’m getting is that Lucca has the most billable hours of everyone? 

I wish it told us their salaries. How much do the billable hours matter if we don’t know how much $ each hour is worth?

I really like this device. It’s a good way of showing how tough this decision is and how dehumanizing the process becomes. 

Adrian jumps into the conversation and tries to convince everyone Epstein’s suicide isn’t a conspiracy-- it’s just incompetence. Apparently he has a sink that breaks every week and no plumber can fix it because they are all incompetent. I understand this analogy-- no one does their job perfectly 100% of the time-- but I am really concerned about Adrian’s sink. This sounds like a bigger issue than incompetence.

“People do just enough work to get by,” is a very true statement though. I have often thought that it’s kind of incredible the world is as functional as it is. 

If you have 4 or 5 conveniently incompetent breakdowns at once, though, I’m not sure I believe it’s purely incompetence. Feels a bit convenient. 

Diane jumps in and makes a case for why the conspiracy is also likely. This strikes me as counterproductive since what REALLY needs to happen here is for the associates to dig through the evidence. Why not go back to Liz’s original system where they look through the evidence and see where it leads them? 

Lots of news footage and photographs in this one.

Diane’s larger point seems to tie back into Memo 618: “We all have to obey the law. I mean, if we’re told we have to check into with the police every 90 days, we do it. But certain people don’t have to. They’re given special treatment.” Diane claims this is America-- “a special fucking off-ramp for the well-connected.” 

Isn’t it possible both are true? That there’s a lot of incompetence and also systems in place that protect the rich and powerful? Also none of this is evidence!!! 

(I do like this scene for showing Adrian’s POV (cynical about human nature) vs Diane’s (fed up with the government and the treatment of the ultra wealthy). And the show can’t really dig into evidence they don’t actually possess. But evidence-free speeches don’t seem productive!)

Liz is like, okay then… and splits the room into three groups to look at evidence. I am glad Diane and Adrian helped her so much.

Liz is NOT happy about the layoffs when Diane and Adrian loop her in. She’s opposed to cutting anyone. Diane says she could lose Kevin, but Liz sees Kevin as someone newer employees look up to. Adrian suggests Lucy (who?) and Liz says that Lucy actually should get a raise. Diane points out this will look bad to the clients. All good points. This seems like an impossible decision.

Case stuff happens. Lucca knows a “hairdresser to the stars” through Bianca.

And now for some scenes where Diane and Julius try to report Memo 618 to the government and do the right thing! The Kings have said these were intended for episode 8, and while they don’t really feel that out of place since there’s clearly a thematic link between 618 and Epstein’s connections, this bit of info explains two things: (1) Why this ep is 53 minutes long when it feels like it could make its point in less time and (2) why the Julius stuff that happens later in the episode feels a bit anticlimactic because so much else is also happening. My guess is in an episode where it’s more of the focal point it would feel like a much bigger deal.

Do you ever just see a shot of Diane and think, “Damn, Taylor Swift does really look like a young Diane?” Because I do. All the time.

Lucca visits the famous hairdresser and he makes time for her right away. And he gives her a letter from Epstein that he (a) has in his possession and (b) has in an unlocked drawer in his salon. Whatever. 

Lucca convinces him to let her have it, and RBL makes a video to establish chain of custody. I’m shocked we’ve never seen them do this before.

“It is Thursday, May 21st, 2020” Liz says. Nah. You’re in an office. It is not. 

The envelope contains a key, a secret code, and a letter that says “If I’m dead, watch out for BUD”. Welp, there goes any hope of this not turning into RBL chasing conspiracies! 

Rumors about layoffs (40%! Just paralegals! Everyone!) have spread, in case there wasn’t enough chaos. 

The partners are indeed discussing who to fire, and they can’t decide on anyone. So they decide it’s time to get out from under STRL and buy themselves out. It’ll take 20 million, but they can pull that together. 

This would play better if we knew why they decided to sell to STRL in the first place. Who WOULDN’T have seen this coming? 

Liz tells Adrian not to make any promises he can’t keep and he is like, this is like our marriage. Diane is still in the room which is awkward and funny.

Marissa finds “BUD” on a blueprint. A clue! Meanwhile, Lucca and Jay (really, Jay) figure out the code. 

This is the portion of the episode where I can leave the show playing on my phone and go check Twitter instead of writing any commentary. 

Julius gets arrested for speaking out about Memo 618! It feels less impactful than it should when it’s sandwiched between a bunch of scenes following the conspiracy. (Also I am a little surprised they didn’t have Julius and Diane go to the press before the government.)

The conference room squabbles again and Liz asks, again, to tone down the conspiracy theories. They instead begin fighting about even more conspiracy theories.

Unless there’s another conference room scene later, I think this was the moment I understood what the Kings were doing and started to like the episode more. As soon as I realized “BUD” was a Citizen Kane reference, I burst out laughing. This episode plays way better when you know the point they’re trying to make is that this is a lot of fuss that will ultimately be futile (though Marissa and Jay DO come close to finding BUD) than when you’re supposed to be riveted by watching people debate fake evidence. 

Why does Eli Gold have a cheerleader friend? Who knows! Who cares! 

Adrian suggests that he, Diane, and Liz involve their own homes in the scheme to getting 20 million dollars. Liz objects since she’s a single mom-- very fair. Adrian argues that they’ve done well in the past so they’ll get it back. Liz and Diane attack that idea before I can-- if that were really true, they never would have sold to STRL. 

Liz mentions losing ChumHum and the fallout from her dad’s scandal and then says “let us not forget why we joined STRL in the first place.” I feel like that line would work better if the “let us not forget…” came before the “we lost ChumHum”. Because we don’t actually KNOW why they joined STRL. And, as I said in a previous recap, I can roll with it for the sake of plot, but I can’t take lines like “let us not forget why we joined STRL” seriously when there was LITERALLY NO ON SCREEN DELIBERATION about it. 

Adrian says STRL doesn’t value them, their employees, their history, or their culture. To which I say, DUH. Why would you think they did?  

The only important thing about this cheerleader is that she’s played by the amazing Donna Lynne Champlin. Kind of sad she’s in this silly, non-recurring role. She’s so good. (Also she was totally on TGW playing a different role, shhhh). (Go watch Crazy Ex-Girlfriend, everyone!)

CONSPIRACY THEORIES! It’s another conference room scene. Maybe this is where I realized it was a Citizen Kane reference? But I think it was the earlier one.

Hey, it’s another Julius scene. Watching these and knowing they were meant for a different episode, I can’t help but notice that they do feel like pieces of the A plot of a different episode. The whole system is rigged, Julius and Diane realize.

Adrian, Liz, and Diane tell Mr. Firth they want out. Mr. Firth tells them they need to cobble together an impossible 80 million, not 20 million, because not all of the partners have been bringing in more revenue more than they used to. You see, Diane hasn’t been bringing in any money because she’s been in charge of the pro bono department. Ah.There’s the catch. 

I’m shocked they went up to Mr. Firth without reading every inch of that contract. Aren’t you guys partners at a law firm? I’m shocked Diane went ahead with taking charge of pro bono without looking for a catch. This sucks for the character and all, but how are these name partners at a liberal firm that’s seen more than its fair share of drama this naive about big corporations!? This plot twist is devastating… until I start to think about all the things they had to believe to get to this point. 

Still, it’s satisfying to hear Diane hiss “you fucker!” at Mr. Firth. 

Mr. Firth turns into a villain quite nicely. I wonder if we’ll see more of him next year. My guess is the remaining three episodes were going to tie together the corporate overlords plot and Memo 618 and wrap everything up more or less with a bow so they could do a new concept next year. I feel like they’ll either move on completely and tell us what happened, or do an episode like 2x02 (the one that wraps up all the Maia/Rindell Fund stuff in one go so it doesn’t hang over s2).

Dincon drops by unexpectedly and isn’t impressed with what Liz and the team have done, since all they’ve done is collect conspiracy theories (and possibly travel all over the country? Jay and Marissa go to the Virgin Islands; it is unclear if the architect and key maker and lawyer and everyone else were in Chicago…

In Dincon’s defense these conspiracy theories sound like complete nonsense. 

Dincon shuts the RBL team down, but Marissa and Jay are still off adventuring.

Diane asks Dincon what Memo 618 is because Epstein’s life was built on it. “Then you have your answer,” Dincon replies. This scene is another tell that those Julius scenes weren’t meant for 4x07. 

Aaaaand now we get the direct parallels to Citizen Kane, with some shot-for-shot remakes and even a sled (ha!).

There’s a secret door! Marissa and Jay are excited to investigate! Marissa references Parasite, which I haven’t seen yet because I’m awful at watching movies.

Marissa and Jay find nothing and leave. “I think we lost track of the real story: the underage girls,” Marissa realizes. Yup. That is the takeaway. Looking at all these conspiracies is fun but useless, and the most important truth has already been uncovered. 

After Marissa and Jay leave, we get to see what was in the secret room… BUD is Epstein’s penis. And… that’s a wrap on season 4? What a fucking weird way to end a season. 

[iris-somnia]

Catch Up Tag 🌸

Tagged by beautiful angels @yeoldontknow​ to do this catch up tag. Thank you, dear!

1. What do you prefer to be called name-wise?

I use Iris here, but I have other pseudonyms on other profiles in order to protect myself. I never use my real name online.

2. When is your birthday?

Late February.

3. Where do you live?

I’m currently living in a hotel I can’t afford long term. I hope to find permanent shelter soon but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t hard as hell.

4. Three things you are doing right now?

I’m AFK fishing on Black Desert Online because they’re doing the fishing event that gives free money and if I can’t be rich irl, I can at least be the big cheese with an avatar that looks like an eight-year old forest nymph. I’m also listening to WayV because they’ve consistently held up as a good choice no matter what mood I’m in this year. In about 15 minutes, I’ll resume watching the Crown and doing my sticker book (my guilty pleasure during homelessness).

5. Four fandoms that have peaked your interest?

Honestly, I’ve avoided fandoms this year because people really don’t know how to take a breath and enjoy shit. Most kpop fandoms have a subset of older fans who I enjoy interacting with because they only talk about the music and performances, but there are other wings of fans who are so obsessed with winning and being all-powerful that I don’t even want to listen to the music anymore because it’ll feed the monster.

The accounts/mutuals who I’ve enjoyed the most this year have been Starlights, Insomnia, Sirens (Chloe x Halle), and Warriors & Weirdos (Aurora). I’m seeing some promising reasons to get back into video game fandoms but lord, there’s so much drama in most of the companies that I am holding back.

6. How has the pandemic been treating you?

No one in my immediate family has gotten sick, but I did have to bury my grandmother this spring and many family couldn’t come to her service because of the restrictions. Some of my colleagues have COVID. Many more lost their jobs because of it and most of them who were laid off were done so under false pretenses and I’m still mad.

I’m working remotely, but a budget scare earlier in the year motivated my employer to announce a furlough for many of us, only to rescind it a couple of days before it went live. By then, I had already lost my apartment and had packed all my shit in storage. I’ve been couch surfing and living in hotels since August and it’s cost me thousands of dollars. I’ve learned that when you don’t have a permanent address, people assume you’re a junkie even when you wash your ass. I’ve had a lot of disappointments this year in terms of human behavior, but vices like alcohol and beautiful women keep me level enough to stay out of the deep end. That, and I meditate a lot. 

I have lost all my patience with assholes though, especially ones who puff up at me in public like I’ll be intimidated and fold. Confrontation and avoidance are two sides of the same coin and I keep flipping it like a gambler. I’m either pretending they’re dead or I’m ripping a new asshole in a way that makes those eyes pop like “oh shitttttt.” When I’m no longer in survival mode with my housing, I hope to go back to understanding the nuances of lived experience. Until then, it’s eat or be eaten and I absolutely hate living black & white like that.

7. A song you can’t stop listening to?

Megan Thee Stallion - Realer. 

8. Recommend a movie?

1917 (2019) - It’s a British war film that has some of the best cinematography I’ve seen in many years. I was on the edge of my seat with chest pains but wow.

9. How old are you?

32

10. School, university, occupation, other?

Employed at a non-profit that profits off human suffering. I work there as a form of prostitution because of my student loans but I’m considering going into a different training program so I can leave and work for myself. It’ll take a couple years to save up.

11. Do you prefer heat or cold?

I refer 70 degrees F because my winter coat’s in storage.

12. Name one fact others may not know about you?

I have two history degrees and used to teach civics, U.S. history, and world history for a living. That’s why I’ve taken this year’s politics harder than your average citizen and it’s why my Twitter account is raging against elected officials half the time. Historians don’t shut off.

13. Are you shy?

Eh, not really anymore. I trained out of it because shyness kept me from earning money. Now I’m selectively withdrawn because I understand that the more people I interact with, the more likely I’ll need a nap. 

14. Preferred pronouns?

She/her

15. Biggest pet peeves?

1 - People not wearing masks when my region has run out of hospital beds.  2 - Ghosting with no explanation. I would rather be told, “I lied, I hate you,” because it gives closure. Ghosting always means billable therapy hours as I revisit why I’m preparing for a life alone. 3 - Not tipping food service staff. If you don’t tip food service workers, fuck you.

16. What is your favorite ‘dere’ type?

In anime/manga, I enjoy goudere characters for comic relief. 17. How would you rate your life from 1-10, 1 being crappy and 10 being the best it could be?

A solid 5 which will jump to a 7 when I have permanent shelter.

18. What is your main blog?

It’s a reblog of my non-kpop interests: @my-astral-wanderlust​

19. Is there something people need to know about you before they become friends?

Honestly, I probably should consider myself anti-friend or at least perpetually unlucky with my track record.

I go through periods of time where I can’t communicate well for medical reasons and it’s not a reflection on that friend as a person, but rather a challenge I’ve lived with since childhood. It could be walls of text or radio silence depending on how much I trust someone and that’s always to my own peril. Withdrawal from socializing is common during time periods when I know I’m likely to hurt someone’s feelings, especially if I love them and care about their emotional safety. I struggle a lot sharing vulnerabilities and true feelings to friends because I have many memories and experiences of people telling me they loved me and then using those vulnerabilities as ammunition to hurt me later. I’ve had many ex-friends lie about the kind of person I am when talking to friends/family, on everything from sexuality to appearance to interests to how we know each other. That, and many who claim to be my friend ditch me the moment I call out shitty behavior like lying to me or not keeping promises. 

With that kind of track record, I’ll take a nice dog. Trusting people is almost unattainable and while it’s a sad state of affairs, I’d rather not get actively hurt constantly.

tagging: ...I think a lot of my mutuals have already been tagged here but my memory isn’t good right now. Sooo if you want to be tagged, consider yourself tagged!

[starkerforlife6969]

Secretary Peter, Boss Tony. With a twist ;)

Tony’s the best goddamn salesman in the office. Hell, in Wallstreet. He can move stocks, he can sell stocks, he can throw a life raft to the drowning man or sink the ship himself. 

He’s charismatic, handsome, and about as in style as his tailored three piece suits, which is to say- very and always in style. He’d graduated from desk jockey to cubicle drone to glass corner office in three short years and he has a floor full of people desperately in awe of him, vying for scraps of attention or pieces of wisdom. 

And Tony loves his job. He loves talking to people, he loves working his charm, he loves winning and he loves money and he loves not having to answer to anyone. 

And he doesn’t answer to anyone, except from- aside from that one pesky exception- in Nick Fury. 

He owns the whole company, so technically Tony reports to him, but Nick’s practically never here so Tony’s the one in charge. 

Apart from this week, apparently, because when he walks in on Monday morning it’s to see Nick in his office, that trademark furious glare that’s really poorly concealed behind what Tony supposes is meant to be a welcoming smile. He doesn’t break stride though, just saunters into his desk and grins. “I see you helped yourself into my office.” He says cheerily. 

“It’s not your office, Tony.” Nick growls, closing the door and standing in front of it like he thinks Tony might run out. “They’re all my offices. Every thing in this building is mine, do you understand that? Even those ugly ass lion statues in the lobby, they’re mine.” 

Tony sighs and eases into his leather desk chair. “That’s unfortunate. Maybe give ‘em to charity or something.” 

“Stark.” Nick’s tone is flat, unamused, and Tony looks up at him with his best ‘I’m listening’ face. “I was able to just waltz into your office because I notice- you don’t have a PA.” 

Tony’s eyes flicker to the desk just outside his office. Sure enough, it’s empty. “I wondered why I wasn’t getting any messages.” 

Nick is, again, unimpressed. 

“Pepper’s off on maternity leave,” Tony shrugs, tossing his stress ball into the air and catching it again. “I can go without a PA for a year, Nicky.” 

“Don’t you ever call me that again, and no, you can’t. Do you know why I’m here-” 

“-I’m sure you’re about to enlighten me-”

“I’m here because none of your sales have been recorded and stored, none of your hours, none of your billables. I haven’t had a hard copy receipt of any of your transactions and that makes you liable, Tony. And you may be one of my best workers, but I do not give a shit about you. But you being liable, makes me liable, which makes my company liable. And we wanna work as a team, don’t we?” 

“That seems like a rhetorical question.” 

“You are so backed up and you don’t even have a clue.” Nick growls, massaging his temples like he’d very much like to annihilate Tony right on the spot. 

Tony feels a little bit bad. He may have forgotten about those pesky little paper trails. “It’s not like I’m breaking the law, Fury, c’mon-”

“Oh, I’ll just tell the bank that you’re not breaking the law and send them on their merry fucking way, shall i? Or, should you get a secretary?” 

“Hire me one, then,” Tony rolls his eyes, bored with the conversation and reaching forward to grab a random sheet of paper off his desk. He peruses it idly. It’s a shopping list, and scanning the items, he’s not entirely sure what for. A baby shower? There’s too much alcohol for that- someone’s birthday? Whose list even is this? Is it in here by mistake?

“Do you know how many secretaries you went through before Pepper, Tony? Over a hundred. You have to hire one yourself. I do not want to be sued for abusive language again-”

Tony looks up sharply. “She was being an imbecile, Fury, and I stand by what I said-”

Nick lifts a hand to cut him off. “Hire a secretary before the week is out, Stark, or it won’t be such a friendly visit next time.” 

He leaves in a whirlwind of leather and disapproval and Tony stares bemusedly. 

He doesn’t even have to touch his phone before it buzzes and he sees the text from Pepper. Heard someone got a nasty visit. I’ll have someone for you before Friday. 

Tony smiles softly. He misses her, he should buy her something- 

suddenly, he remembers what the shopping list is for.  

When Tony gets into the office on Friday morning, he’s riding on a bit of a high. Everything’s been going so well recently. He’s signed more clients than ever in a three day span, one of his biggest competitors missed a big meeting and Fury hasn’t left any menacing phone calls. Pepper had liked her presents, people still stare after him, and- life all around is good. 

He’s in his office, just taking a moment to savour how triumphant and successful he is, when he reaches out for a sip of his coffee. 

It’s a fucking delicious blend. Expensive and Italian and the stuff that you can only get from a very pretentious cafe on the other side of New York and-

He pauses in his drinking. 

He never got himself coffee. 

He looks at the cup in his hand and lowers it marginally. It’s hot and just the way he likes it. He looks around his office then too, and suddenly all the differences appear and slap him in the face. His desk is clear- not just clear, clean, and his laptop keys are shiny and polished like new. His papers are organised and there are highlights and annotations and his certificates are hanging on the wall and not crammed into a box in the bottom drawer of his filing cabinet where he left them. In fact, his whole fucking office looks professional and goddamn nice. 

His dry cleaning is hanging neatly in the corner too. He gets up, and looks at the desk outside his office. 

Sure enough, there’s someone sitting there. 

A male from what Tony can see, with short brown hair and a headset on. He's typing into the computer and diligently scribbling onto a notepad. He looks like he knows what he’s doing. 

Who the hell is he?

Tony’s laptop pings and he looks down to see a new email from Fury. 

Well done, Stark. Everything looks to be in order. I knew you could be reasonable. 

He clicks on the attachments, already knowing what he’s going to see. All his backlogs, all his logged hours, all his receipts, ordered and neatly filed and chronologically placed and there are even little notes underneath each one with extra details and- how the fuck does his new secretary know that yes, actually, the Milton case had required an extra emergency meeting when they’d discovered a conflict- Tony hadn’t made a note of it anywhere. 

Curiosity truly peaked now, he takes his perfect coffee and saunters out, walking around the front of the desk. 

His new secretary looks up and Tony’s penis twitches a little. Okay, yes, Tony Jr approves. He’s young, maybe twenty, with brown hair and big brown eyes, cream skin and a delicate nose. He’s slender, but in shape, in a white shirt with the top few buttons undone, giving a lovely view of those sharp collarbones. He’s wearing black trousers and the the microphone wire against his cheek and in his hair contrasts nicely with his pale skin. 

He looks up at Tony and smiles pleasantly. “Mr Stark, is there something I can help you with?”

Tony spots a calendar on the corner of the desk. He picks it up and flips through it. His meetings and deadlines for the next six months are all neatly pencilled in. The most important ones are starred with a red pen. He sets it down carelessly and watches as the young man straightens it without a word. “So, how long have you been here, Mr...” 

“Peter Potts, Sir.” Peter says, and ah, this makes sense. The only way Peter could be so clever was if he had the Potts gene. “I started on Tuesday.” 

Tuesday, fuck. No wonder things have been going so well. “Pepper’s little brother?” 

“Half brother,” Peter corrects, “and soon to be uncle.” 

Tony can see the resemblance. The soft skin, the sweet eyes. “Well, Peter and Pepper. That’s cute.” 

Peter doesn’t say anything to that, but his pretty pink lips twitch in amusement. 

But Tony doesn’t have any qualms. Peter is quite clearly capable, he’s related to Pepper, he’s eye-candy, and he’s gotten Tony his favourite coffee. So, the older man simply tips his head and goes back into his office. But as soon as he’s sitting down, his curiosity flares up again. He presses the button on his intercom and clears his throat. “You go to college, Peter?” 

He watches through the glass as Peter’s chair swivels around, and the boy talks into the microphone with an intrigued smile. “Yes, Mr Stark. Top of my class at Harvard.” 

“What did you study?” 

“I majored in Engineering with a minor in Journalism. Graduated last year.” 

An early bird then, Tony can relate. That Potts gene really is something else. “And what have you been doing for the past year?” 

“Odd jobs,” Peter says evasively. “But when Pepper said she needed my help, I was all too happy to oblige. I’m a very big fan of yours, Mr Stark. There’s no bigger name in Wallstreet.” The phone rings and Peter shoots Tony an apologetic, but polite smile, as he picks up the phone. “Tony Stark’s office.” He nods, turning to the computer as the person talks. “Yes, I can see that here. No problem. Thank you. Yes, yes, Mr Butler, I will let him know.” Peter chuckles and Tony stares: amazed. “Alright. Thank you, goodbye.” 

“Mr Butler?” Tony shakes his head, “That was Jerry on the phone?” 

“Yes, Mr Stark. Would you like me to get him back on the line for you?” 

Jerry Butler is the coldest man in the world. He doesn’t laugh with secretaries. He’s no reason for any smile ever. But Peter had chuckled like he was talking to an old friend. Not even Pepper had achieved that. “No, no.” Tony frowns, “you carry on.” He clicks off the intercom and strums his fingers against his desk thoughtfully. Something doesn’t feel quite right- if something seems too good to be true...his mind warns. 

Maybe the catch is that he can’t sleep with Peter and the more he talks to the boy, the more he wants to. 

He does his best to ignore it for now. 

Things continue to go brilliantly. Life is even more effortlessly amazing than it was before. Nick even drops the hints of a promotion in the future if things keep going like this. When Tony gets to work, his favourite coffee is waiting, sometimes even a bagel or a croissant like Peter magically knows when Tony hasn’t had breakfast. He eats or drinks in his office as he checks emails, before Peter comes in with a notebook and a rundown of the days events, and then Tony gets to work. Peter comes in throughout the day, silent and unobtrusive and sets down water or coffee or occasionally- an apple- and sets it by Tony’s elbow and leaves again. 

When Tony steps out to meet a client for lunch, he sees Peter taking his lunch break at his desk- his headset is still on, and he’s still scribbling away, but it’s into an old worn science textbook. In his other hand is a sandwich he’s nibbling on. 

Tony prods at the book as he pulls on his coat. Peter had it dry cleaned specially and waiting in his office before Tony even knew he'd be out for lunch. There’s probably already a cab waiting downstairs. “What’s this?” Tony asks, trying to peek at the cover. 

Peter lets him easily. “It’s a bio-chemistry textbook. I’m thinking about taking some night classes. Work towards a masters, or if I don’t qualify- a second degree.” 

Tony may not have much pull in the science world, but his father sure did. He knows that name and money can go a long way, and Peter’s been exceptional. “I can get you in for a Masters anywhere you wanna go.” He assures, and Peter looks up at him with wide eyes. 

“Mr Stark-”

“It’s not a problem. Now, who am I meeting?” 

“Mrs Aberelle. She loves shrimp and it was her granddaughter’s birthday last week.” 

Tony’s not sure whether he wants to ruffle Peter’s hair or give him a filthy kiss on the mouth. He settles for neither. 

Mrs Aberelle practically gushes and swoons in her seat when Tony orders her the shrimp platter and asks how her granddaughter’s birthday was. She makes a higher bid than Tony even asked for. Peter’s a godsend. 

The next day, the CEO of of another major competitor comes down with the flu, and Tony’s pitch goes down brilliantly. 

He’s on cloud nine. 

Careful, a voice warns, when you’re this high, there’s only one way to go. 

It sounds suspiciously like his father, but he listens to it. “Hey, Peter,” he greets one morning as he strolls in. Peter’s in his office, just setting down his coffee and a- fuck, a danish pastry. He might be in love. “I got you a little something.” 

Peter blinks in surprise, but smiles sweetly, and crosses his hands in front of him as he waits. Tony sets his briefcase down and clips open the gold clasps and lifts out a brand new, just released bio-chemistry textbook. Peter takes it with wide, disbelieving eyes. “Mr Stark...” he whispers, shaking his head, “this was- I know for a fact that this was over a $100. I can’t accept this-”

“Kid,” Tony chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s pocket change. Besides, I’m not giving it to you for nothing.” 

Peter’s eyes flash to his and Tony’s a little surprised by what he sees. Peter looks almost-fuck, almost dangerous- but it’s gone in a flash, replaced with that sweetness and hardworking, subtle smugness that’s usually there. 

“I want you to attend the meeting with Lawson tomorrow. As a sit in, alright?” 

Peter nods immediately, but frowns. “Is there any particular reason why, Mr Stark?” He’s clutching the book to his chest almost reverently. 

“Not really,” Tony admits, rubbing his chin, “just wary. You up for it?” 

“Always.” Peter murmurs, and Tony thinks he must be imagining the demure little almost-wink he gets. 

It doesn’t stop him from thinking about it again that night. 

He shakes Lawson’s hand in the morning as the man and his associates sit opposite him at the large oakwood table. Tony and Peter on one side, Lawson and his men on the other. Peter has his notebook out and is writing away- he always seems to be writing, Tony has no idea what- and then they start talking. 

Tony’s not sure what he was worried about. The contract is brilliant, more lenient than expected and has nothing but benefits for both sides. He’s giving Lawson a hard time, but that’s just part of the game, and he’s about to seal the deal when-

Peter slides a piece of paper over to him without looking up. Tony frowns at him, but Peter doesn’t make eye-contact, continuing to write, and Tony looks down. 

He’s lying. Don’t sign. 

Well fuck, that’s a fucking thing to write. What is Tony supposed to do with that? He sets it down and tries to look unaffected as they keep talking but when Lawson’s side slide over the contract, Tony pauses with the pen in his hand. Peter isn’t making a sound. 

“Let me just talk to my secretary real quick,” Tony grins, wearing his best winning smile, “why don’t you fine gentlemen wait outside, take five, catch a breather, and then we can come back and sort this out.” 

They look a little confused, but they leave and then Peter and Tony are alone. 

“What the hell is this, Peter?” 

Peter looks up bravely, his jaw locked. “I don’t trust him, Mr Stark. There’s something not right-”

“I’m gonna need a little more than your hunch, kid. No offence, but I’ve been in this game a lot longer than you. You don’t know the contract, it’s a good deal-”

“It’s too good a deal,” Peter insists, lifting the thick contract up. “I’ve read through it, Mr Stark. I read through all the contracts you’re about to sign and there’s something about this that doesn’t add up. Why would they offer such a beneficial claim with us? Why not one of your competitors?” 

Tony shrugs a little smugly. “My competitors haven’t been stepping up to bat, lately.” 

Peter shakes his head. “I’m serious, Mr Stark. When things or people are too good to be true, they usually are.”

There’s something in his tone. Something...something Tony’s unsure of. 

“Did you see anything in the small print that can back up- what is at the moment- just a feeling?” 

Peter’s shoulders slump in defeat, and he shakes his head. “No, Sir.” He whispers. 

The older man sighs, rubbing at his eyes. Only Pepper or Peter could ever make him feel like this- torn between the rational, sensible option, and listening to their fucking hunches-

“He knows!” A voice outside the door hisses, and both Peter and Tony look up sharply. 

“He doesn’t know, Lawson-”

“He must know! Why would he tell us to leave like that? He knows about our deal with Oscorp! I knew Norman couldn’t make this go away, the dirty son-of-a-bitch-”

“There’s no way Stark knows, just calm down-”

The voices disappear again, down the hall, and Tony stares in amazement. Peter just looks earnest. “Do you believe me now, Mr Stark?”

“How the hell did you know?” He whispers, collapsing into one of the chairs.

Peter bites his bottom lip. “Sometimes i just get these feelings,” he says, as he scribbles on the paper in front of him. 

Unfortunately, knowing that Lawson has a back door deal with Oscorp is not something that can be easily proven, and when Fury finds out that Tony blew would could be one of the biggest contracts of the year, he reacts with, what is understandably, a lot of anger. 

Tony does his best to get Peter to screen all his calls as the two of them work all night to try and find a way to prove what they heard. Tony wants to think that maybe his word will be enough, but Nick’s always been a stickler for the rules and Tony...has not. 

Even as absorbed in papers and numbers as he is, Tony can still appreciate Peter here beside him. The kid’s saved him a huge one here. And he’s still here, when he should probably be at home sleeping or watching Netflix, helping Tony try to prove the unprovable. He’s smart and quick and for someone who’s never worked with stocks like this before, he sure knows his way around it. 

“Hey,” Peter whispers when it hits three am. “I bet they keep a hard copy of all their emails in a data storage room.” 

Tony looks up and rubs the bleariness from his eyes. “Really?” 

“Yeah,” Peter breaths, getting to his feet, more energetic now, “a lot of stock companies do it. It’s an automatically backlog, it can stop you getting into a lot of trouble. All we have to go is get in.” 

Tony shakes his head, but gets to his feet, knees groaning. “How? I’m the most recognisable face in Wallstreet.”

“But I’m not.” Peter insists, already heading for the door. Tony’s hot on his heels. “I can talk my way in.” 

“Not that I doubt your ability, because you’re a Potts, but do you really think you can just waltz in and-”

Yes, as it turns out. Tony just stares in awe as Peter plays the apologetic, desperate intern who just has to get this work done for his brutal boss Norman Osborn. Tony’s hiding behind a potted plant as he watches Peter’s performance. “I’m so sorry,” Peter weeps, eyes shining with tears as the large, female security guard clutches at her heart through her shirt. “I’m such an idiot, and it’s only my first week and I forgot my keycard and- I’m gonna get fired and I deserve it and-”

“Oh, no, honey,” the security guard croons, already unlocking the barrier for him. “No, baby, it is not your fault, okay?” 

Peter sniffles, eyes red and smile grateful. “Thank you so much, I-you have no idea what this means to me and-”

She blows him a kiss. “Go, honey. Go.” Peter waves at her, and jogs around the corner. 

They have to wait about fifteen minutes till she goes to the bathroom, before Tony runs out and Peter lets him through. “How did you- wait- how did you even unlock the door-”

“I pickpocketed her,” Peter whispers, as they get into the elevator. Tony stares at Peter in shock. 

“Shit, kid. Where’d you learn to do that?”

Peter gives him a look. “We’re breaking into one of the most famous companies in the world, Mr Stark. I don’t think now’s the time.”

“Sure- I guess-” Peter grabs his hand and tugs him out of the metal doors as soon as they get to the right floor and shit- how did Peter even know what floor- before Tony knows it, Peter is picking the lock of a storage room and- seriously, what the hell-

and then he’s hacking into a computer and downloading a memory stick onto it. 

Tony is staring in slack-jawed awe. “Seriously, Peter.” He whispers, as Peter scans through emails. “What the fuck?” 

“Tony,” Peter murmurs, a little irritated, as his eyes flicker across the screen as he scrolls rapidly. “Not the time.” 

“Not the time? You- you cried on cue. You knew all this stuff about me, you pick-pocketed her- you got into that locked room, you just hacked into a computer and a memory stick, are you- were you a criminal or something? Like a tech-whiz kid? You can tell me, I won’t judge-”

“I know you won’t,” Peter says softly, and suddenly there’s that doe-eyed, cocky secretary who smirks whenever Tony ends up liking whatever weird type of sushi Peter brings him when he’d insisted he wouldn’t. “But not right now. Later, I promise- ah! Look!” 

There’s the email. It’s not explicit, but it’s interaction between Norman and Lawson which can’t easily be dismissed. Peter sends it to the printer and the two of them are waiting for the damn thing to connect, when footsteps sound along the carpeted floor around the corner. 

Peter shoves Tony into a stationary closet and Tony watches through the crack as a middle-aged man comes around with a stack of papers to photocopy. The man blinks at the sight of Peter, surprised, and Peter half smiles. “Hey,” he greets casually, and Tony is seriously in awe of this kid’s acting. “All nighter for you too, huh? Osborn’s a real dick.”

The man chuckles, nodding, and comes to join Peter by the printer. “Yeah, I know. I’m Barney,” 

Peter takes his hand. “Lucas,” he says easily, “It’s nice to meet you. You couldn’t help, could you? The damn thing’s not working.”

Lucas peers at the printer, and smiles good-naturedly. “You have to enter your user access code.”

Tony pales and if Peter panics at all, he doesn’t show it. “Fuck,” he sighs, smacking his forehead, “I forgot mine. I keep it written down on this post it- shit, I’ll have to run downstairs, unless-” he looks up at Barney hopefully, “I could use yours? Save me the run.” 

Barney looks torn. “We’re not supposed to...”

For a second, Tony thinks Peter might pull the same crying act he used with the security guard, but he doesn’t. 

Instead, Peter steps forward, lifts his chin and catches his plush bottom lip between his teeth. 

Shit. Shit. Tony and Barney are both hypnotised. “Maybe we could forget the printer altogether,” Peter murmurs, his hands drifting to Barney’s belt as he fiddles with the loop. “Working for Norman gets me so stressed, you know? Sometimes you just want some-” he sighs a little, and the sound goes straight to Tony’s dick. “-some stress relief. You ever feel like that, Barney?” 

Barney looks utterly besotted, and he doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. 

Peter pushes impossibly closer, tilting his head up more. “You can touch me, if you want,” he says, barely above a whisper, “I want you to. Right here.” He grabs one of Barney’s hands and places it on his perfect ass. 

Tony’s leaking in his pants. 

Barney grunts with desire, grabbing at Peter’s ass gracelessly, his other hand coming to do the same as Peter presses their groins together. “What’s your access code?” He whispers into Barney’s ear, palming at his crotch. 

Barney looks like he might cum any second. He’s probably a virgin, Tony thinks. Or maybe Peter is just that hot. Either one is plausible. “A-ah, it-it’s 4598-”

Tony lets out a cry of surprise when Barney falls heavily to the floor. 

Peter turns and taps in the code to the printer as Tony bursts out of the closet. “Holy shit,” he whispers, staring at the man. There’s no blood which is...a relief? “Is he dead?”

Peter rolls his eyes as the printer starts chugging out paper. He grins victoriously. “No, Tony, he’s not dead. I don’t kill people. He’s just unconscious.” He gives Tony a look like the older man is acting a bit slow. 

There’s a wet spot on Barney’s pants, Tony feels for the guy, but there’s more pressing matters. “Peter, what the fuck, seriously-”

“Oh, come on, Tony.” Peter snaps, whirling on him with righteous indignation. His pupils are blown wide and Tony wants him so bad it hurts, but he’s also- he’s also confused out of his mind. “You’ve known this whole time. What- you think it’s coincidence that all your competitors have been missing meetings? Falling sick? You think these new clients are just falling into your lap? I’ve been doing all of this for you. You know that.” 

Jesus Christ. Tony stares. “I-I don’t- how-”

“I like seeing you succeed. It gets me even hotter for you than I already am.” 

Tony can’t form words. 

“I know you like me too. I’d have to be blind not to- aha!” He lifts the papers happily, all printed and sorted. “As much as I’d love to have you fuck me right here on this printer, we need to leave.” 

Tony’s pretty sure he’s forgotten how to form words, but fucking Peter is something he’d very much like to do. 

“We’re gonna go back to your office, and you can do me right up against the glass, okay?” 

Tony has to pinch his arm to not cum right then and there. Peter notices, and smirks, tiptoeing to kiss him lightly. 

“Come on, Mr Stark,” he grins, his eyes twinkling with a satisfying mixture of innocence and mischief, as he guides them towards the door. “You have work to do.” 

[prorevenge]

Two Malicious Compliances Equals One Pro Revenge

very long story. tl:dr at the end.

Several years ago, Barry, my boss, did a job for BigDaddy Construction, and got screwed. It wasn’t a huge amount of money, a couple of thousand dollars, but screwed is screwed. Basically, he accepted BigDaddy’s word on something that they denied later. Barry consulted his lawyer, and was told that since the issue was not in writing, that any legal action was likely to fail, and even if he won, that the legal costs would exceed any settlement. And BigDaddy basically said, “My lawyer can beat up your lawyer.”

Barry then asked what every lawyer likes to hear, “What should I have done differently?”

Fast forward to 2017. BigDaddy is soliciting bids for a new restaurant called FancyAss. Barry submits a bid for supplying and installing door hardware, things like doorknobs, emergency exit bars, door closers that pull the doors shut…and 3 Automatic Door Operators (ADO’s). An ADO is something you have seen before, it has a metal plate with a wheelchair logo mounted on the wall, when you press it, a motor opens the door. It’s designed to allow people with limited mobility to pass through a doorway.

Barry wins the bid, and calls a meeting. He is handling this job personally. All communication with BigDaddy is to go through Barry, and ONLY Barry. If someone from BigDaddy calls and says, “Nice weather, isn’t it?” we are to reply, “I wouldn’t know anything about that, let me transfer you to Barry’s line.” Under no circumstances is anyone from BigDaddy to be given Barry’s cell number. And the after-hours on-call techs are only to return the call and say that Barry will be in touch in the morning. Violation of any of this will be grounds for immediate dismissal for cause, is this perfectly clear?

A few weeks go by, and we get a call from “GC”, who not only is running the job for BigDaddy, but is BigDaddy’s son. He’s an entitled shitball of a tyrant, with anger issues and a vocabulary that relies heavily on profanity. I’m calling him “GC” because that’s his job title, General Contractor.

For those who don’t know, a GC is responsible for ensuring that everything gets done on a construction site in the correct order. For example, if you are building a bathroom, first you put up the wall studs, then the electrical is run and the plumbing supply lines are roughed in. next the drywall goes up, then the tile, and the baseboards. The walls, ceiling, and trim get painted, then the cabinets, light fixtures and switches are installed. Lastly the plumbing fixtures go in. So you can see, a GC has to deal with several different subcontractors and co-ordinate their efforts. It’s a stressful job, and you need the co-operation of the various people….and it’s hard to get people to work with you if you’re screaming swear words at them, something GC never figured out.

There are 3 ADO’s to be installed, 2 on the entrance and one on the handicapped washroom. The conventional washrooms are down a set of stairs on the right, and by law, there has to be a washroom available for people using wheelchairs, marked as HC on the drawing. This is on a bit of a corridor of sorts used by the servers to bring food in and dishes out. The partitions separating the corridor are about shoulder-high, separating the corridor from the seating area, which is what the circles with 4 chairs represent. These are tables, booths, etc., with a smattering of service stands for order entry, and bits and pieces like extra cutlery.

The décor was fancy, and meant to resemble a Victorian Gentlemen’s Club, with oak throughout, and thick carpets on the floors. Worthy of mention is the feature wall at the front, with alcoves for displaying sculptures, and places to hang paintings.

So GC calls us, and they are ready for the ADO’s.

We arrive, and install. By the terms of the bid, it’s BigDaddy’s responsibility to supply dedicated 120v electricity for the ADOs and to run the 12v wires from the activation plates to the top of the doorway so they can be connected to the circuit board for the ADO. This wasn’t present at the time of the install, so he ran an extension cord to power the ADO, and used a wireless transmitter and receiver to trigger it. All of this was specified in the bid, which said that we could install, and then return to hook up the wires once they get run. Barry came and supervised the tech installing the ADOs personally. When GC signed off, buried in the description was a line or two referencing the relevant sections of the bid.

When GC signed off on the handicap washroom install there was a line noting that BigDaddy assumes all responsibility for compliance with the relevant building code section.

GC didn’t bother to read what he was signing, just scribbled a signature and took his copy. Barry made certain the tech was right beside him when GC signed off.

Malicious Compliance #1

It’s about 2 weeks before opening, and they are in the finishing stages. Barry gets a frantic call from GC that none of the ADO’s are working, and they need these to be functional, or they won’t get their occupancy permit. Barry heads down the next day with the tech.

Barry: “Well, I found the problem.” GC: “So fix the fucking problem” Barry: “There’s no 120v run to the doors, and there’s no 12v wires to hook up the buttons.” GC: “You didn’t run the power? Why didn’t you run the power?” Barry: “It’s not in the scope of work in the bid. You’re supposed to do it.” GC: “Why didn’t you tell me that when you were here the first time.” Barry: “I did, and you signed off on it.” GC: “Where’s the fucking electrician? Electrician, get your ass over here.” Electrician: “What’s up?” GC: “Why isn’t there any power for these door operators?” Electrician: “It’s not part of my scope of work.” Barry: “There’s some good news…” GC: “What?” Barry: “If we use wireless for the buttons, we won’t need 12v wires. I’ll have to bill you for it as an add-on, but once you get me 120v, these ADO’s will be working.”

NOW GC realizes how fucked he is. The interior of the restaurant is 90% complete, and there is no power to a critical part of the building. Without it, no permit. BigDaddy has fucked up big time, assuming that either Barry or the Electrician would run the wires, and not putting it into the scope of either bid. The electrical panel is in the back of the kitchen, and there’s no way to bring 120v to the front entrance, except across the ceiling, which would be nearly impossible. All of the lighting and the ornate false ceiling was already in. Even if he was able to magically do that, he would either have to run a metal conduit down the surface of the feature wall, or rip out a good chunk of it, run the wires, and reinstall it. The handicap washroom ADO wasn’t as much of a problem, since it was closer and the wires could be run through the false ceiling. The section that contained the handicap washroom also had offices and storage with a t-bar ceiling, unlike the main room, that had 20 foot ceilings. The electrician charged GC big dollars for the extra work.

Malicious Compliance #2

Remember the handicap washroom? When the building inspector came to do a pre-check, they discovered that the square footage of the washroom, minus the area taken up by the in-swinging door, was less than the required minimum. They needed a quick fix, as dismantling the washroom, moving a wall, and relocating the plumbing fixtures would be too expensive, and would take too long. So GC decided to reverse the swing of the door, and have it swing into the corridor, rather than into the washroom. This had a really bad effect on the operation of FancyAss once it opened, as any time someone wanted to use the washroom, the door blocked the flow of servers in and out of the kitchen. And people are lazy…even able bodied people were prone to using this washroom as it was closest. I don’t know what the conversations between FancyAss and BigDaddy were like, but I imagine they were pretty intense….but who gives a fuck. GC signed off on that, too.

And Barry got to invoice for a whole new ADO, as the original was a “pull” style, and reversing the swing meant that a “push” style was required.

Pro Revenge

GC called a few days after discovering that the entrance doors needed 120v, to tell Barry that the 120v was available. Barry heads down with the tech to check it out.

In the vestibule was a heater known as an “air curtain”. It’s a big heater, designed to push a high volume of warmed air into the vestibule, to mitigate cold outside air entering the restaurant. It pulls a significant amount of electricity every time it kicks on, and GC had tied the 120v for the entrance door ADO’s into the same circuit.

Barry explains that the bid specified that the ADO’s require their own dedicated circuits, one for each. GC responds that he doesn’t give a shit, hook the goddamn things up, so Barry does, and has GC sign off again. Only this time buried in the sign off sheet is an acknowledgement that by not providing dedicated circuits, all warranties are void, and subsequent service would be billable. Just like usual, GC scribbles his signature and takes his copy without reading it.

These ADO’s are finicky about power. There’s a motor (obviously) controlled by a circuit board that determines how fast the door opens, how long it stays open, how fast it closes, how much force is used, that sort of thing. If it takes a spike in power it fails, and the ADO no longer functions.

A power spike blows a fuse and damages one of the components of the control board. This is replaceable, and the part is worth about 30 bucks. The control board can be fixed in about half an hour, with another half hour on a scope to make certain everything is good. Barry had sent one of the techs to the manufacturer to be certified in rebuilding the board, even though our standard was to just ship them back to the manufacturer and get a replacement.

Sure enough, a couple of days later GC calls in a panic. They have the final occupancy inspection scheduled for the next day, and one of the ADO’s at the entrance is down.

GC: “Your fucking ADO isn’t working. Get down here and fix it.” Barry: “Okay, but this isn’t covered under warranty. It’s billable.” GC: “What the fuck are you talking about? It’s not even been a week and it’s broken. It’s warranty.” Barry: “No, warranties were all voided when you didn’t provide clean power.” GC: “Fuck that. Get down here and put in a new ADO.” Barry: “It doesn’t need a new ADO. It needs a new control board. And I can get a new control board from the manufacturer in 4 to 6 weeks.”

GC loses his mind. There’s no way he can delay the opening of FancyAss for 6 weeks waiting for a part. He calls Barry every name in the book, threatens legal action, etc.

Barry responds, “Look GC, I have a control board on the shelf that was rebuilt by a factory certified technician. I can let you have it at 80% of the list price of a new one, and I can have it installed by noon tomorrow. Do you want the rebuilt, or the new part, and do you agree that this is billable as per the terms of the bid?”

GC: “Yes! Just get the fucking thing fixed by tomorrow!”

Now Barry knows that GC and BigDaddy were going to fuck him just like they did years ago. That ended up being a “I never said that” dispute. What GC didn’t know was every time he called Barry, the call was recorded. You know the “This call may recorded for quality assurance purposes” that you get when you dial in? Well Barry never used his cell phone, never initiated a call, and every time GC called in it was recorded and archived. Every. Single. Time.

Sure enough, another couple of days go by, and an ADO goes down again. Barry asks if GC is good with the rebuild, gets confirmation, removes the blown part, installs the rebuild, then takes the blown control board back to the shop and rebuilds it.

A new control board is $750.00. The rebuild he’s charging $600.00, for a part that maybe costs $75 to get back into shape. The bid specified that non-warranty service was $125/hr minimum 4 hours, so tack on another $500.00 for labour, and it takes maybe 45 minutes to install a new control board and dial it in. So every control board replacement was generating $1,100.00.

There were 27 blown control board swaps in the first 2 months. GC called in every one of them, and Barry got his verbal approval. If someone from FancyAss called in, we gave them GC’s number, and said that we could only come and fix it if GC was the one to call it in.

Then Barry gets a call from Daddy of BigDaddy wanting to know what this invoice for almost 30 grand is for. Barry explains, and a meeting is called, Barry brings his lawyer, and all copies of the sign-off sheets, as well as transcripts of every conversation he had with GC. It becomes very apparent that GC fucked up large, and that Barry had every “I” dotted and every “T” crossed.

BigDaddy is glaring daggers at GC, and basically tells Barry that if he wants to get paid, he’s going to have to sue for the money.

Barry smiles, and slides his ace across the table. It’s a Contractor’s Lien against BigDaddy, FancyAss Restaurant, and Massive Realty Company, the owners of the building.

Here’s the thing. FancyAss was owned by Internationally Famous Chef (IFC), who makes his living getting Very Important People to invest in opening a new restaurant. This is a place where they go to be Very Important, and bring their business contacts with them. After a short time, when the restaurant is the happening place in town, the investors sell the place, and cash out large. IFC sticks around, helps with the transition, and makes a percentage of the restaurant’s profits for the use of his name. He’s built an income stream with the investor’s money, and the investors make a nice return.

Only now they can’t sell, with a lien on the place. And these investors have rabid fucking pitbulls as lawyers. Hell, some of them ARE lawyers.

See you in court, BigDaddy. Only you’re not facing Barry’s lawyer, you’re facing a whole new level of legal expertise. Have fun with that.

Barry got his revenge, and then withdrew service based on the disputed invoice. He’s the only company allowed to service and install this brand of ADO as he has a protected territory from the manufacturer, and does seven figures worth of business with them a year. The only other companies anywhere nearby were warned off by the manufacturer, who even relayed the fact that BigDaddy had called them directly looking for service, and they referred BigDaddy to Barry.

Barry will definitely get paid, as it’s a standard to hold back 10% of the payment to a construction company for a year, and the holdback will definitely cover the invoice. So FancyAss will pay Barry and then take it out of BigDaddy’s holdback. Either that, or they will sue BigDaddy into dust, and force BigDaddy to cough up and settle the lien.

Who knows what company BigDaddy picked up to cover the ADO’s. Barry has friends in the industry and warned them all off, but there are asshole competitors, and Barry didn’t say a thing to them. Maybe BigDaddy is screwing over one of the competition, and what hurts his competition, helps Barry.

What makes this deliciously Pro? You think maybe, just maybe, Barry, who has decades of experience in the industry, might have had an Electrician friend that could show him the Electrical bid? And that maybe Barry knew from the beginning that there was no provision for 120v in either package? Or that the washroom was too small? Or that GC, a corner cutter, would take the easy way out and hook the ADO’s into the air curtain?

Way to go, Barry. Nicely played.

TL;DR A subcontractor complies with a bid, to the letter, and covers his ass in all correspondence, General Contractor ends up paying big dollars for their error, allowing subcontractor to recover money he was screwed out of years ago.

(source) (story by balles_de_acier)

[theliterateape]

Hope Idiotic | Part V

By David Himmel

 Hope Idiotic is a serialized novel. Catch each new part every week on Monday and Thursday.

LOU HIT THE SAN FRANCISCO CITY LIMITS JUST AS NIGHT WAS COMING DOWN. He used the hostel book as promised to find a well-rated spot with a good view of the city. He’d never stayed in hostels before and was curious. He’d hoped to meet a few strangers he could make friends with for the night and explore the city with, but the place was pretty empty. It was too early in the summer for college students or Europeans to be backpacking their way through the country.

Lou was sent to a room with four bunk beds. Two bunks — top and bottom — were occupied with sleeping bags, clothes and shredded bags of potato chips. Lou claimed the top bunk closest to the door. He tossed his stuff onto the mattress and quickly returned to the front desk.

“Where’s the best place to go for a few drinks?” he asked the grimy grunge-brat wearing flannel and a Sonic Youth T-shirt. “Maybe a place with good live music.”  He was directed to a place called, Shattered Glass. He was able to walk there from the hostel, which sat at the top of a hill and owned a perfect view of the Golden Gate Bridge. Like every other place he had encountered in California so far, this bar was mostly empty. On the small stage at the back end of the joint, a weathered man, who looked like he may have been part of the West Coast punk movement in the 1970s, played a banged-up acoustic guitar and sang cover songs of everything from Iggy Pop to Lisa Loeb. Miller Lites were six bucks a bottle, but hell, that was San Francisco.

Lou tried to engage the bartender in some friendly conversation about the town, where to go, what to do and where the hell everyone was that night. But the bartender, a bored, sad-looking man of about thirty-five, wanted nothing to do with it. And after six bottles of beer and an hour of the aged, never-was rockstar, Lou paid his thirty-six-dollar tab and took off.

He wandered the streets searching for a little action, but found nothing worth getting into. So, he headed back up the hill to the hostel, where he figured he’d tuck himself in and wake up early. Get a head start on the day. Grab breakfast. Visit the bridge then continue north into Oregon.

When he left the hostel, he remembered leaving his room’s door open just as he’d found it. When he returned, it was closed. He put his ear to the door to inspect any potential sounds. When he didn’t hear anything, he slowly turned the handle and opened the door. It was pitch black in the windowless room. He pulled out his cell phone as he closed the door behind him. He flipped the phone open to light the few steps to his bunk. He climbed up and carefully took his shoes and socks off, then slid into his sleeping bag. Lou had a near-perfect internal clock and rarely used an alarm. As he closed his eyes, he said in a whisper, “Wake up at seven a.m. Wake up in seven hours.”

Just as he began to fall asleep, he was startled by noises coming from within the room. He hadn’t scanned the place with the light of his phone before going to bed; he had just assumed he was alone. The noises were coming from one of the bunks that earlier he’d seen loaded with someone’s belongings. His cell phone was resting on his chest, and for a moment, he considered flipping it open and seeing who or what was in the room with him.

Now he was going to bear witness to alien robot sex and perhaps become a post-coitus sacrifice. Fuck Michelle. Fuck hostels. Fuck robots. Fuck San Francisco.

There were rustling sounds and what he thought were voices being muffled by blankets and pillows. He heard music being played. Not songs: more like ring tones from a cell phone or video game soundtracks from a handheld game system. The bunk squeaked in rhythm as it tapped the cement wall. He looked over and saw blue and green and red lights glowing, flickering intermittently from under blankets. It was like robots having sex.

 Lou was scared. This sort of thing would never happen under the parking lot light of a hotel. Why did he make that promise to Michelle to stay in hostels? Why did he keep that promise? He had a perfectly workable system when on the road, and she fucked it all up with her law school arguments and girlfriend charm. Now he was going to bear witness to alien robot sex and perhaps become a post-coitus sacrifice. Fuck Michelle. Fuck hostels. Fuck robots. Fuck San Francisco.

He debated making an escape, but figured he couldn’t collect his stuff fast enough in the dark without disturbing the alien robots that would probably kill him. So he slouched down farther into his sleeping bag, pulled his pillow tightly over his head and the opening of the bag around the pillow so he was entirely encased and protected, like a caterpillar in a cocoon. He forced himself to think about anything else: Chicago; Michelle; his career in twenty years; Chuck; his house in Las Vegas; the family dog Max greeting him at his dad’s house; Crater Lake; the price of gas; his pending empty bank account; his résumé; where he would live… More and more, he was less afraid of the increasingly loud and strange sounds coming from the adjacent bunk, and starting to fear what was waiting for him outside of that dark hostel room.

Panic finally put him to sleep. And when his eyes popped open at 7 a.m., he was still stuffed down in his sleeping bag and drenched in sweat. Slowly, he peeked his head out of the bag, but couldn’t see a thing because even during the morning, the room allowed no light to come in. He didn’t hear anything, so he flipped his phone open and aimed it across the room. It didn’t illuminate much, but from what he could see, the coast was clear. He swung his legs over the edge of the bunk and hopped down. He reached the light switch and turned it on, ready for the alien robots to spring to life and attack him. But he was alone. No one, nothing, was in the room with him. The things he had seen on the bunks when he checked in were gone. Other than his own stuff and the beds, the room was bare.

He wondered if he had imagined the noises and lights. Was the anxiety of the move playing tricks with his brain? Was he going crazy, or were there really alien robots having sex a few feet from him last night? It didn’t matter. It was over. The day was anew.

He put on some fresh clothes, brushed his teeth in the communal bathroom, paid his bill and took off toward the Golden Gate Bridge. It was early and traffic was light. It was just Lou and a European couple on the pedestrian part of the bridge. He could tell they were European by the formfitting brightly colored jeans and vinyl windbreakers that looked like they were stolen off the set of a 1980s Wham! video. The air was cool and salty. There wasn’t much fog like expected, so he was able to grab a few good photos of the bridge and some grainy, but mostly decent, shots of the Alcatraz rock. The majesty of the Golden Gate Bridge was one thing. But what really grabbed his attention were the emergency telephone boxes secured to the bridge every couple of yards. They had signs above them that read:

CRISIS COUNSELING THERE IS HOPE MAKE THE CALL THE CONSEQUENCES OF JUMPING OFF THIS BRIDGE ARE FATAL AND TRAGIC.

He looked over the railing into the San Francisco Bay. He knew how it worked. A sad, troubled life. A moment of uncertainty — then certainty. A little leap. This was America’s hot spot for suicide aficionados. It was either the impact with the water or the greedy undertow of the bay that would kill a person. Lou wondered for a second what part would kill him. If it wasn’t the fall, could he survive? He was a strong swimmer. It was a rhetorical question; actually killing himself was not on his mind.

Still, he wondered about those emergency phones and about the operators on the other end of them. How many lives were saved by the telephone? How many operators heard last words? He considered picking one up and telling the operator that he would kill himself unless someone in Chicago would have a job waiting for him when he arrived in two weeks. But then he figured that probably wouldn’t work. No one would want to hire a demanding suicidal maniac.

He used his cell phone to call Michelle from the bridge. He hated the idea of bothering her at work, but she assured him that a phone call from him was never a bother but a blessing.

“Michelle Kaminski’s office,” her secretary said.

“May I please speak with Ms. Kaminski,” Lou asked.

“Ms. Kaminski is in a meeting at the moment. May I take a message for her?”

“Thank you. Please tell her that Lou Bergman called. She has my number.”

“Will she know what this is in reference to?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’ll have her return your call at her earliest convenience, Mr. Bergman. Have a wonderful day.”

He meandered along the bridge for a few more minutes until Michelle called back. “You called?” She did not sound happy.

“Hi, baby. That was a quick meeting.”

“It was three hours long — just finished.”

“Brutal. Guess where I am?”

“I don’t know… Moon Lake or wherever.”

“Moon Lake? You mean, Crater Lake. No. I’m standing on the Golden Gate Bridge. God, Michelle, you should see it. It’s beautiful.”

“I’d love to be there with you. But I have a job to do. I’d love to be able to take two weeks off to do whatever I wanted and go wherever I wanted, but I have responsibilities. People depend on me. I have billable hour quotas I need to hit. But you go ahead and enjoy the view from the bridge, Lou.”

“Whoa. I’m sorry that upset you. You sound busy. I’ll let you go.”

“I am busy, Lou. I’m always busy. This is my job. I think you need to hurry home.”

“I know, baby. I’m on my way to you. Just 12 more days. It’s nothing.”

“I mean it. This road trip, I get it. I know you like driving all over with no direction, like its your last hurrah or something, but you need to consider me, Lou.”

“I have direction. I know exactly where I’m going.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Then what are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about me slipping away. You’re losing me.”

“What?”

“I know you’re moving here to finally start your life, but mine has been happening, and you can’t expect me to just wait around for you to show up whenever you please. It’s not fair to me. I love you, Lou. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you. But I can’t promise you I’ll be here when you finally show up. I hope I’ll still be waiting for you, but I don’t know. I have to go. I’ll talk to you later.”

What the hell just happened? She’s raving like a madwoman, he thought. He’d been through this with her before, however. In moments of personal stress, Michelle had a tendency to overreact and lash out at anyone within striking distance. There was one week during her freshman year in high school when her best friend Jen was too busy to hang out with her. As retaliation, during a soccer practice warm-up exercise, Michelle kicked a ball has hard as she possibly could at Jen, hitting her square in the gut, knocking her on her feet and forcing the air right out of her lungs. Jen had a soccer-ball–sized bruise for several days and was benched for that weekend’s game because of the injury.

When Michelle told this story in her maid-of-honor speech at Jen’s wedding, she didn’t understand why no one laughed at it. “Because it’s just mean,” Lou told her. But Michelle disagreed and stood by her case that Jen had it coming and that it was a funny story. Besides, they were still friends after all, she argued.

Maybe Michelle was freaking out on him because she’d just emerged from a painful three-hour meeting. She was just stressed at work and jealous that he was out having fun. Envy. That’s what it was. He wasn’t losing her. She was just kicking the soccer ball in his gut.

 ✶

HE DROVE INTO TOWN AND FOUND A PLACE TO GRAB A BAGEL AND COFFEE, and read one of the scummy alternative papers in the wire basket by the door. As he was biting into the bagel, he received a text from Michelle:

I’m sorry I barked at u. But hurry. I won’t wait forevr. Stop wasting ur life.

“I really don’t have time for this right now, Lou,” Michelle said when he again called her. He couldn’t let a text like that go without further explanation. Clearly, she was not just lashing out. She was giving him an ultimatum: Stop having fun or she was leaving.

“You’re not being fair,” he told her.

“No. You’re not being fair to me or your career. You know what the right thing to do is. So do it.”

He drove a little farther north but pulled into a gas station just before leaving the San Francisco limits. While the car fueled up, he called Chuck.

“She’s right. What am I doing out here? I’m wasting all of this money that I don’t really have, when I could be in Chicago looking for a job. And now what? Now she’s going to break up with me when I get there? All broke and unemployed but with some photos of the town where Hemingway shot himself? What the fuck am I doing?”

Chuck was at the hospital in Indiana where his mother was recovering from her second heart surgery. “First of all, calm down. Just breathe,” he told Lou. “She’s not going to break up with you. You’ll find a job. Just relax.”

“I can’t! I’m telling you, I’ve got a bad feeling about all of this. I’m freaking out. I swear there were robots fucking in my room last night. I gotta get to Chicago. I gotta get my life going. I know! I’ll call a shipping company, have them pick up my car from this gas station. I’ll call Southwest and get a plane ticket, and I can be home by tonight.”

“You’re fucking crazy,” Chuck said. “Now, shut up and listen to me. You’ll end up spending more money on shipping and flying than you will driving. If it’ll keep you from going insane, cancel the adventure. You can try it again another time. I’ll do it with you. So calm down, drive back into the city and find I-80. It starts there. Just take that straight across into Chicago. You’ll be there in three days.”

✶

WHEN LOU PULLED UP TO MICHELLE’S HIGH-RISE on Lake Shore Drive, he was covered in a layer of highway dust, beef jerky crumbs and sweat. His breath reeked of Red Bull, dehydrated meat and a tired piece of chewing gum. His hair was oily, but he thought it looked pretty good for having spent the last seven days windblown in the driver’s seat of his Volkswagen. If only it could look that good after a shower.

As he looked at himself in the rearview mirror, he closed his eyes and sighed. He told himself out loud, “All right, asshole. Don’t fuck anything up.”

When Michelle answered the door of her pricey northside one-bedroom apartment and saw Lou standing there, her face exploded into a smile. She grabbed his hand and pulled him inside, where she kissed him long and perfectly. Then she drew all the blinds down on the large windows that presented a picturesque Chicago — the peaks of downtown buildings, Belmont Harbor and Lake Michigan’s expanse out east, and the garden rooftops of Wrigleyville to the west. Again, their mouths met, and they fell into a rabidly intense lovemaking session.

“Welcome home,” Michelle said once she caught her breath, both of their naked bodies sweaty and shaking with pleasure.

“I can get used to this,” he said.

Part I Part II Part III Part IV