#fixed deposit documents

[fuzzyclink]

Rules and Regulations

A self indulgent one-shot Ceo!Au fic to celebrate the launch of Keir and Cirrus's second chapters tomorrow!

Tags: Cirrus/Reader, degradation, unethical office relationship, abuse of power, power dynamics, spanking, glove kink, pain and bruising, bad BDSM etiquette, gender neutral reader, reader body not described.

Link to AO3 version

You had been so desperate to find a job in your new city that you hadn’t been especially picky. You’d moved here as a last option, relocating because of the world-renowned hospitals in this area. There was an experimental study opening soon that focused on your life-threatening condition, and you knew that it might be your only option. Certainly, the bemused expression of the so-called “experts” in your hometown had discouraged you from staying. Your condition didn't even have a WebMD page. So it hadn’t mattered to you much at the time that all your funds went into renting a moving truck, paying the deposit on an apartment, and boxing up all your belongings. You had arrived, penniless, and sought jobs as quickly as possible - applying to everything and anything that you could convince a recruiter you’d be good at. You just needed some income while you waited to hear back about whether you were eligible for the medical trial.

Applying to Crescent Consulting had been surprisingly easy. You’d uploaded your resume online, answered a few questions that MAYBE were some kind of personality test (the question “What does the full moon mean to you?” had definitely seemed a little strange at the time), and were offered an interview a few days later. 

You pressed down your nerves as you approached the company. You were dressed in your least-wrinkled interview clothes, pulled out of a cardboard box the night before. There hadn’t been time to unpack everything. The exterior of the building was grand. Silvery glass extended high above you, the blue sky reflecting mirror-like off of the eighty floors of windows. The interior matched the prestigious exterior. All around you were gleaming stone floors, elevators that smelled like new carpet, well-groomed and refined staff, and chandeliers that likely cost as much as your apartment. 

Crescent Consulting was on the third and fourth floors of the building. You speak to a receptionist near the entrance and she ushers you into a small, private office to the left of the door. You smile politely as the hiring manager seated inside looks over your resume, asking about your experience, your career goals, and previous successes and difficulties. Pretty standard stuff. The pay and benefits seem good too. You try to recall the information you’d read about the company, peering down at the job description you’d printed out and brought with you. 

“From what you’ve said, I think this company would be a good fit for me,” you say, trying to infuse your words with an air of confidence you didn’t really feel. “. . . but the job listing was a little sparse on details. Would you mind going over exactly what this position would entail?”

The routine atmosphere of the interview dissipates. The interviewer grows far more serious, fixing you with a stern look over the rim of their tortoiseshell glasses. 

“This position is essential to the success of our company. Crescent Consulting is directed by Mr. Cirrus. As our CEO, he leads us, guides us, and makes decisions that keep us at the forefront of consulting in this city. He’s an exceptionally talented man.” She regards you with her steely gaze as if you would dare challenge her statement. You nod at her meekly. 

She shifts in her seat. “But he’s also exceptionally busy. Too much of his time right now is taken up by scheduling things, answering emails, filing documents…we’ve all tried to help where we can, but eventually, it became clear that it was time we hired someone to do it full-time. So, that’s where you come in. The job position is to work as his assistant. He has exacting tastes, and expects the finest work.” 

You can practically see the job opening slipping away right before your eyes. The words spring from your lips.

“I assure you, I am someone who is deliberate, detailed, and focused. Crescent Consulting is my top choice and it would be an honour to assist Mr. Cirrus as he continues to lead such amazing work.”

She nods at that, relenting a little. “We’ll hire you for a probationary period. Let’s see how you do after a week on the job. If your work is satisfactory - and Cirrus takes a liking to you, we’ll offer you a full contract.”

After that, the first week goes by in a blur. You’d seen Cirrus’s emails and calendar plenty of times, but hadn’t even met him face to face. They gave you a cubicle in the corner of one of the floors and you toil away diligently, working your way down a seemingly endless list of tasks. The hiring manager was right - there was plenty to do. You spent your time reading the employee handbook, completing new employee training, learning about the different clients, trying to remember which employee names and titles, and archiving documents that hadn’t been looked at in years. You’ve just started working on a summary of consulting projects completed in 2017 when you feel a presence just over your shoulder. 

You jump in your chair as you spin around looking up to see a man looming over you. He’s tall and lanky, even taller from your current position. Long white hair slinks down over his shoulders, stopping near the waist of his suit. His accessories stand out against his dark clothes - a gold metal snake that encircles his finger, two chain bracelets that glimmer from beneath the cuffs of his sleeves, and thin hanging earrings. A tailored waistcoat highlights the way his broad torso narrows at the waist. The man’s arm rests casually against the wall of your cubicle, a thin pen between his fingers. He's undoubtedly handsome, imposingly so. You finish taking him in and meet his gaze, an amused smirk playing at the corners of his lips. 

Hurriedly, you introduce yourself. “I'm very sorry, I didn't notice you there! I’m a new hire, I’ve only been working here for week, I don't believe we've met?” 

Surely, you'd be able to remember someone who looks like THAT. 

“I thought it was about time I came to meet you,” he says politely, watching you through nearly translucent lashes. “You've already begun to prove yourself useful to me.” 

“Oh, are you… Cirrus? I'm really thankful for this opportunity, sir, the company seems great and everyone has gone out of their way to be helpful…” flustered, you’re immediately thrown off your game. So this is the man you work for. You had to admit, you'd assumed that Cirrus was some older, stodgy executive- someone thoroughly unattractive. It was shocking to be confronted unexpectedly with someone so… well, different!

“I'm glad to hear it. It's important that Crescent Consulting cultivates a welcoming environment towards newcomers.”  He spins the pen between his fingers a little, playing with the clip on it. “How are you finding the work so far?”

“It's been easy enough,. It seems like it's just a matter of checking over everything carefully and making sure that -”

His pen falls from his hand with a clink, sharp and startling against the waxed tile floor.

You bend in your chair, leaning to pick it up without a delay. You hand it to him, reaching up. It's hard to miss the way that his eyes flick from the pen in your hand to your face, but he takes it without comment. 

“Please, reach out if you have any questions. And ask the hiring manager you met with earlier for the full employment contract. You're a good fit. I look forward to our work together.”

And just like that, you're officially hired.  ------

The next Monday, you're at your desk for only a few moments before his shadow darkens your screen. Cirrus, the same outfit as you saw before - dark and stately in the fluorescent-lit office. His placid smile is at odds with the weight of his presence, a heavy, frozen thing that spills out through the weight of his shoulders and the cant of his head. It urges you to bow to him. Or grovel, your mind unhelpfully supplies. You end up half jumping out of your chair before settling back into it and dipping your head in acknowledgement. Embarrassing.

"I emailed you a list of tasks on Sunday for you to begin this week. We're entering into our busiest quarter of the year, so I'll be depending on your work. As always, please reach out to me if you have any questions." 

"I've already skimmed through it to familiarise myself with the tasks before I arrived today." You smile up at him a little. There's no need for him to worry about your accountability. You want to do well. Especially for him.

…But only because he’s your boss, of course.

He responds with a gentle nod towards you. "Good. Eager to get started, hmm?"

“I'll send you an update on what I've accomplished by the end of the day. Let me know if there's anything else I can do to meet your needs, sir." 

His hand falls onto your shoulder for only a moment, fixing you into your chair. His golden eyes dart towards yours, serious. “Let’s start with the list for now. Don’t want to exhaust you before the end of the second week.”

With that, he leaves, returning to his office. The firm press of his hand lingers on your shoulder. You raise your own hand to it, fingers ghosting over the sensation. Would meeting his needs really be exhausting? You’re determined to dispel any doubt he may hold about your capabilities.

As you adapt to your job, your list of duties starts to expand. The hiring manager wasn't kidding. Cirrus seems to be particular about everything. He cares about the scent of the soap in his bathroom (lavender), the way he takes his tea (no sugar, one and a half creamers), and the height of the window blinds in his office before he comes in each morning (lowered to the height of your knees, raised to shoulder level after lunch). Rather than resenting the numerous rules, you find joy in the structure they give your day. 

And he certainly is gracious. He’s kind to you, thanking you for the tasks you complete. Polite, yet reserved. Always controlled  and professional. His occasional praise makes you glow a little. It's proof that he notices and cares about the effort you put into your work. It's a little addictive. It drives you to be increasingly exacting, hoping to impress him. You find yourself wondering whether there’s something hidden behind that polished facade of his. He reminds you of a Greek statue. Beautiful, unyielding, and with a smile that never quite reaches his eyes. 

You find yourself staying late at the office recently, struggling to get everything done during the day. Eight hours doesn’t seem like a lot of time when it’s stretched over so many tasks. But Cirrus stays late too. Your coworkers file out of the office one by one until it’s just you and him in the building. The light shining through the frosted glass of his office door there to keep you company. You remember the first time you stayed late. You had sat in your mesh desk chair, bones stiff and weary from their long hours of inactivity. The sound of his office door opening had been a welcomed interruption. Cirrus wore his coat, warm wool fitted closely to his body, and was in the process of pulling on leather gloves. He hesitated on his path out the door, clearly surprised to see you.  

“I hadn’t realised you were still here,” he had said, coming around to your desk. 

“Oh, I’ll be heading home soon, sir. Just finished summarising the documents I received this afternoon so you can look them over tomorrow before your morning meetings.”

“Such a devoted employee.”

His smooth, rich voice sent shivers down your spine. You laughed it off.

“It’s no trouble to me, sir, I like to be kept busy.”

“You’re not keeping anyone waiting at home…?” Sharp eyes had betrayed his interest in your response.

“I’ve just moved to the city, so no - living on my own for now. I can stay as late as I need to. Haven’t really had the time to try and meet anyone.”

“That’s a shame. We’ll just need to make the work here worth your while then, hmm?”

You nodded at him, and he had left, sliding the gloves the rest of the way on his hands.

His questions made you wonder if he cared about your dating life. That was the first personal question he’d asked of you. You’d certainly wondered about his - but no wedding band was seen on his hand, and no family pictures in his office. You kept your ears and eyes open for information after that night. You would ask a coworker but given the speed of the office rumour mill, you were sure he’d learn about your prying questions. After days pass without clues, you doubt it. After all, he spends the most time with you out of anyone. With the long hours he keeps, he’d struggle to find the time to meet a partner, just as you have. You can practically imagine his response. I’m married to my work, he’d say. That is, if he wasn’t offended by your impudence. 

As the month goes on, you shadow Cirrus more and more during his daily tasks. He started by requesting that you take the minutes for his meetings with clients. It's simple enough and you enjoy getting a better idea of the actual objectives of the company. Plus, during quiet moments, when he or the client refer to documents about their work together, you get the chance to really look at him. The slender line of his neck. The way his muscled back can be seen beneath the expensive fabric of his shirt, shifting as he leans over the table to read. The soft pink of his lips, through which you can see pointed canines flash as he speaks. You see why everyone at Crescent Consulting has such a reverence for him. It’s electrifying to be swept up in the energy and admiration that surrounds him. He's impeccably focused on his tasks and clients are thrilled with the work he does for them. Good thing that you’re kept busy. Spending so much time near him is becoming increasingly distracting. 

You're just coming out of one of these meetings, a little breathless. The client had spoken exceptionally quickly, stuttering and prone to long tangents that left your head spinning. You’d done your best to take notes, but you’d definitely have to edit them later on in the afternoon. At times you'd just slumped over the table, desperately listening and typing as best you could as the conversation ricocheted between the two of them.

“My office, please,” Cirrus requests, as controlled and peaceful as ever. Immediately, your pulse jumps, anxiety spreading through your body. Cirrus hardly ever asks to speak with you privately - he’d email you, or casually drop by your desk to discuss business. Even confidential matters about his work were discussed between the two of you during your meeting together every morning, not off the cuff. 

You step inside after him, pulling the door shut. His office is a place you’ve grown familiar with, though never comfortable in. It was always too quiet. The decor is utilitarian and minimal. One side is entirely windows, partially covered with blinds. A coat rack near his door has a few discarded wire hangers from dry cleaning. There are etched glass awards on his mostly barren bookshelves. A whiteboard is fixed to the wall with a scribbled timeline on it. Cirrus’s desk in the middle of the room, empty except for a few folders and a chair across from it. You choose to hover awkwardly in the doorway. It feels safer, like you could escape if you needed to.

He takes a seat behind his desk, the expansive piece of dark wood now separating the two of you. 

Cirrus regards you coolly as you start to pick at your fingers. 

“I've been quite happy with your work up to this point, don't be mistaken. However, as my assistant, your conduct and decorum reflect directly upon me.” He steeples his fingers in front of him. “Clients notice if you have poor posture. Clients notice if you wander ahead of me in the hallway or speak out of turn. Clients notice-” his gaze falls to your fingers, picking nervously at the edge of a nail, “-when you fidget”. Your hands still immediately. 

You knew that he was aware of you. But you hadn't realised that he paid such close attention to the behaviours you displayed. Had you really acted so unreasonably? Had maybe a client confided in him, or expressed their displeasure with you? Your heart beats wildly in your chest. 

“I'm sorry sir, I haven't been on my best behaviour as of late. I'll work on improving my posture and habits in the office. I hope it hasn't negatively impacted your work…” 

A smile streaks across his face. Sharp, furtive, misplaced, and gone as you peer at him nervously.

“Please see to it that you do,” he replies. There's a lightness to him, an excitement that pulls at the edges of his expression. Something dangerous. “That’ll be all.” 

Your hands, sweaty with nerves, pull open his door and you exit quickly. It's the first time you've really been reprimanded by him. How could you have let yourself grow  complacent? Still, it seemed unfair. You drop down at your desk and pout a little, staring unseeingly at the backdrop of dolphins on your computer monitor. You already do so much for him and follow all his silly little rules, and now he’s getting on your case about fidgeting? What is this, finishing school? Your thoughts swirl as the day goes by. It was embarrassing to be called out on your behaviour. But moreover, it was embarrassing that you had become increasingly reliant on him and his praise. You hadn't fully realised it up until he withdrew it this afternoon. You'd become dependent on him too quickly. He’s just your boss. Nothing more beyond that. And why did his expressions in that conversation seem so… odd? It was unsettling. 

After that conversation between the two of you, Cirrus’s expectations skyrocket. Every day there are new rules.  New subcategories that emails need to be sorted into, preferences on the alert sound for his calendar notifications, the type of lightbulb for his desk lamp, the way you structure your notes for him. It feels endless. And at times, when he gives you feedback - always in that same controlled and polite tone - you catch a glimpse of that same fleeting expression you had seen earlier. You're diligent, dutifully noting down each preference as they come. You walk two paces behind him in the halls. You mind your tone, your facial expressions. You sit at meetings rigidly, still and quiet unless addressed. Your frustrations at his restrictions, once something small and easily cast aside, grows by the day. The amount of care that you direct towards your work is immense. Cirrus is polite to you. Often kind. But the structure from the rules that once felt supportive now feels like a tangled net, restricting your every move. You feel taken for granted. The majority of his requirements are silly preferences that you're sure have no influence on his (or the company’s) success. 

When he interacts with others in the office, however,  things seem easy between them. They fawn adoringly at whatever he says, and he replies to them - always calm and kind. You find yourself a little disgusted with their eagerness. And it's quite simple for them, isn't it? They do their basic job responsibilities and he praises them, values them. That same response from him requires such an extreme amount of effort from you. You scoff to yourself. They might not admire him as much if they ALSO had just gotten an email that read: “In the future, please only order Oleander Co.’s organic fair trade oat milk creamer in low fat. I prefer it over the brand you currently purchase.”

You are capable of the work he asks you to do. But your sense of justice rankles at it. It's not fair that he asks such an astronomically higher level of work from you. At times you wonder if he delights in messing with you. It seems inevitable that one day you’ll forget one of his many rules. You're not sure exactly what makes you decide to do it. The last sliver of your pride, perhaps. 

You order a different type of soap for his bathroom. Your courage wavers a little when you go to order, so you decide on lilac as a replacement. Suitably similar to lavender if you need to defend yourself. It's silly how nerve-wracking it is. You've never directly gone against anything he’s asked you to do. And it’s just soap, after all. You doubt he’ll even notice. 

—---

You place the soap in his bathroom that next Monday after it's been delivered. You look at it, where you’ve set the bottle neatly by the sink, evenly spaced from the wall. You spin the label to face away from you before you leave. Cirrus and you have your morning meeting, as usual. He’s just the same as ever and you find yourself both relieved and disappointed. You’d expected some kind of reaction from him… some reprimand maybe, or a reminder. Something to show you again that he sees you and your work. Something to break the pattern that you’re in with him. But the meeting ends quickly and everything remains as it did before. 

You’re seated at your desk, about to head to lunch, when Cirrus stops by. 

“A word, please. Now. Follow me.” 

He’s very still. Nothing about his face was kind or gentle.. A coworker at the neighbouring desk glances up at you, startled, before they catch themselves and pretend to be engrossed in their salad.

You stand abruptly, silently, fingers fumbling with the notepad on your desk for a moment before you decide to leave it. 

You follow him to his office. Two steps behind him, of course, posture, impeccable. Your hands, forbidden from fidgeting, are held stiffly at your sides. 

He shuts the door firmly behind you. The click of the lock is grimly final. The bottle of soap is on his desk. You exhale, shakily. 

Cirrus leans back against his desk, the bottle next to him. His arms are crossed. You’re not truly afraid until you see his expression. His eyes hold a wildness to them, intense and sharp. The mouth, normally in a polite smile, is stretched wider, sardonic. Your unease grows when you see there's even a light flush across his cheeks. His finger taps rhythmically where it rests along the edge of the desk. His entire appearance has an electricity to it that arcs off of him in waves. 

“Explain this to me.”

Your fear is tempered by the frustration at your mistreatment. “My apologies, sir, I seem to have made a mistake. There’s a lot of work I’m doing currently, I must have simply selected the wrong one.” Your voice is deliberately polite but you’re unable to hide your irritation.

His wicked smile grows. “You’ve never ordered the wrong one before.”

“Yes, well, I know others make mistakes here, too. I don’t see any of them called into your office over something like this, I mean, it’s, it’s - I do my best, sir, I apologise if it’s just not enough for you.” Your cheeks are hot from the defiance burning within you. 

The tapping of his finger ceases. 

“I'm quite certain it wasn't a mistake. No. Not from you, my star employee. Always obedient. Always careful. Attuned to my preferences, my rules for you. When I restricted your decorum in meetings, I wondered if I had gone too far. If maybe - you’d recoil. Hmm.. instead, you grew more pliable, eager to please. Desperate for my praise. Willing to be moulded by me. You question me, why I ask more of you than the other staff here. Well, my star. It’s because you enjoy it. And,” he draws closer to you, less than an arm’s length away, “because I can.”

All the blood in your body seems to leave you and you sag, leaning against the wall. Suddenly, everything becomes clear to you. The constant increasing requests. The minute details he requires you to remember. His attention to your posture, your every mannerism. Each of them feed into his power over you. And the part that makes your heart pound and ears ring is that he's completely correct. You crave it.

He takes in your shocked expression with something akin to glee.

"So eager for me. And now, acting out. Silly little ploy to try and catch my interest. You've already had it. Had it from the moment I met you, when you leaned down and handed me that pen. I wanted to see if you would. If you'd bend for me, right from the start. Don't I give you enough of my attention? Or would you like something more concrete - a reminder you're mine?"

It feels almost impossible to speak but you try, urging your breath back into your struggling lungs.

"Please, sir, I - I…" A reminder that you're his. You are his. The way you speak, the way you walk, every hour of every day, all in service to him. Intoxicating to learn that he's orchestrated it this way. Cirrus has seen you to your very core and it is paralysing.

He raises his hand to your throat, fingers soft, and pins you against the wall. "Don't worry, my star. I'll give you what you desire. Even if words have failed you."

His touch is nothing more than gentle pressure at the base of your neck, but the sensation makes you release a choked gasp.

"Something to remind you, hmm? I'll give you a gift then. Pretty bruises that you can take home. "

Cirrus's hand is tighter around your neck now. Your pulse hammers against his grip. All you can do is nod, the edge of his thumb sharp against your jaw. He releases you, taking a step backwards. His cunning eyes scan the room.

"Place your hands here."

He gestures to the whiteboard and you stumble after him, legs trembling. You place your hands flat on the surface, just below shoulder height, glancing at him questioningly. He traces around your fingers with a marker, outlining each hand in red. It reminded you a little of grade school art projects, and the absurdity of the situation makes your face flush. What if this was all some kind of cruel joke, just to see how much you'd agree to?

His voice breathes low in your ear. "It's in your best interest if you don't smudge any of those lines. Do so and you'll leave with more than just bruises."

Immediately, the levity drains out of you. "I'll try my best, sir."

His hand smooths down the plane of your back. "You always do."

Behind you, you hear him walk over to the coat rack by the door. You twist, your hands fixed in place, and watch as he pulls on his fine black gloves. The leather shines softly in the light of his office.

"Please attempt to be quiet. You know how much the office ladies love to gossip."

You grit your teeth and turn, facing the board once again. Watching him was too much. You close your eyes and exhale a long, shuddering breath.

He brings his hand down swiftly, your clothes and the gloves muffling the sound where he strikes your behind. It's ferociously hard. The force of the impact rocks you forward on your toes and your eyes fly open, checking the lines around your fingers anxiously. A dull ache answers the sting that spreads through you. Your desire spreads too, burning. You'd known he was strong, assumed it from the way he fills out his impeccably tailored dress shirts, but the power behind the slap surprises you. Your breath hisses through your teeth.

A second strike comes, placed right where your butt meets your thigh. It's harder than the last. It forces a gasping yelp out of you, barely stifled through your gritted teeth. Your hands curl just the slightest bit on the board. Your breath comes faster now, panicked. Legs twist where they stand, shying away from him, unable to fully move with your hands pinned.

"Excellent. You're doing well."

He has said that to you so many times before. When you’ve finished your work early, when you've taken minutes for meetings, when you've reminded him of some small important detail. You'll never hear it the same again.

Cirrus waits to deliver the third strike and you try to anticipate it, flinching at every small sound he makes from behind you. He laughs at that, watching you closely.

"Patience."

When he hits you, it spreads across your skin, burning where it lands. You bow forwards, leaning away desperately. The sensation after the strike is just as bad - a second wave of pain that makes sweat prickle at your forehead and brings tears springing to your eyes.

"In my haste, I forgot myself," he muses, stilling behind you. "How can I see when I've fulfilled my promise?"

He slides your clothes off your waist, the air of his office cool on your skin. They bunch tightly around your thighs. You hunch forwards between your arms, humiliated. You're sure that your behind is just as flushed as your face. One gloved hand traces over the reddened skin, the leather like a soothing balm.

The next strike is more targeted, hitting right where your skin is the reddest. The sweat on your hands causes them to slip just the slightest bit on the board and you rock back towards him, trying to lift the weight off your unreliable arms. The outlines remain complete for now. You throb, each heartbeat bringing with it another crashing wave of pain.

"Fuck."

"You know better than to curse around me. Haven't I made my expectations for your etiquette clear?"

He smooths one hand over you, just below the small of your back. Your skin sings at his touch. You feel the weight of him follow, the hard plane of his body pressed up against you. His hands grip your hips. One slides up the front of your chest, pausing for a moment at your throat. It continues, gloved fingers finding their way into your mouth. The bitter taste of leather follows. His other hand grips your hip tightly. He presses down on your tongue, making you gag. Your saliva slicks the material. Cirrus's breath is hot against your ear.

"I'll help you behave yourself."

He withdraws his fingers from your mouth, smearing the wetness across your face. When he moves to the side, you catch the first glimpse of him since you placed your hands on the board. His flushed cheeks are the only sign of his exertion. Not a hair is out of place. You watch through teary eyes as he bites the tip of his gloved hand, pulling the leather from his skin. The glint of his sharp teeth shine from between pink lips. Glove off, he presses his fingers cruelly into your cheeks, prying your lips open once again. His removed glove is pressed between your teeth, silencing you. The material is thick, forces your jaw to spread.

He hits you again before you're really ready, ungloved hand anchored on your hip. The force of the blow shoves you forwards while Cirrus's nails dig into your hip bone, leaving deep grooves. A muffled sob breaks free. Your hand slides down the board, erasing the lines surrounding it. You stumble forward, gasping. His hand creeps under your bent waist, supporting your weight.

Cirrus lays into you without any reservations. He spanks you, hand crashing down again and again. You thrash, hands clutching desperately at his supporting arm where it lays steel-like against your stomach. Twisting, flailing, as he brings you back in line. Drool spills down out of your mouth from around the fingers of the glove. He kicks your legs apart when they clench together before beginning again. The blow blend together. You are ablaze. Writhing in his arms. Needy with desire and aching all over. Your eyes are a mess of tears and you gasp desperately around the glove, nose running. Both of you breathing hard, he takes a moment to examine you before pulling the glove out of your mouth.

"I think you'll be pleased, my star. Once you've come back to yourself. Proof of my ownership pressed into your skin. You won't be able to sit without remembering whom you belong to."

Every part of you throbs. Pain, pleasure, and obedience all searing through your veins in equal measure. You're limp, resting nearly your full weight against him.. You cry softly, stuffy and worn out.

"Come here," he tells you, as he hefts you towards the chair behind his desk. As if you'd have the strength to deny him. He sits and reclines the chair fully, laying back. He holds you against his chest. A moment for you to calm down. You press your damp face into the safety of his shirt while his arms rest softly around your shoulders.

"You shine in your obedience to me." 

His voice is quiet against your hair. You lay there, boneless, listening to the gentle thump of his heart. Feeling the solid ridge of the button of his vest imprint itself on your cheek. Gradually, you come back to yourself. Breathing in his scent as he continues to hold you. You test your limbs, achingly shifting them. Wipe your eyes softly against the back of your hand. A sharp cry springs from your mouth as your raw skin scrapes against the material of his pants. If the way you feel is any indication, you’re probably covered in speckled bruises, soon to shift into blooms of blue and purple. You flinch as you feel a scarlet bead of blood inch down your inner thigh. He shushes you, hand coming up to card through your hair. 

“Does this mean things have changed between us?” Your plaintive question hangs in the air. 

Cirrus’s hand stills. “It doesn’t have to. Continue to serve me. I won't mark you where others will see.”

You nod at that, accepting it without complaint. He was to remain your boss. At least for now, you find yourself thinking. You long for something more. And you suspect he might feel the same, though he’s reluctant to admit it. His rules, so many designed to constrain and rankle. The attention he pays to you. His satisfaction from putting you in your place. Those fleeting moments of tenderness. Nothing about it was casual. Perhaps, with time - and enough tactical disobedience - his commitment to professionalism will crumble. It’s a challenge. Rules and regulations then. A path to something more.

[aaronstveit]

hi there! you said in your tags that the latest chapter of deep end contains the two scenes you built the entire fic on. i hope i'm not too nosy but i was wondering if you could tell us more about those two scenes? <3

omg hi anon!! yes i would LOVE to tell you more about those two scenes 🫡 gonna put this beneath the cut because i am a certified yapper and this WILL be longer than i intend it to be

the scenes in question are the two arguments with cosette and grantaire at the end. the cosette argument in particular is the basis of so much of this fic — the line "The dutiful martyr Enjolras, who has a flag where he should have a heart." was one of the very first things i wrote for deep end. not a very charitable place to begin from when it comes to enjolras' characterization, but even when i first wrote it, it was less about who enjolras was and more about how he was perceived.

okay i just scrolled allllllllll the way back to the very beginning of the edit history in my original deep end document (still titled "enjolsette siblings?" btw) and first of all i started writing this in MARCH which is wild to me. that was the month i finished reading les mis. wow. anyway apparently i wrote the first drafts of both these scenes in the same evening, and i'm honestly surprised by how much of them remained unchanged in the final version. at the time that i wrote them, they both occurred in chapter 8 of what i PLANNED to be 10 chapters. that's also extremely funny to me. there was really a time when i thought i could contain this story to 10 chapters...

when i wrote these chapters, i hadn't even written enjolras and cosette meeting yet. the original draft of the grantaire argument didn't have enjolras realizing he was in love with grantaire then. i was still in the first 10k of writing deep end when i wrote them. all that existed before these arguments were the original draft of chapter 1, half of the original draft of chapter 2, and the conversation with combeferre in chapter 5 that begins with combeferre saying "You've been spending a lot of time with Grantaire lately." so when i say these scenes are the basis of the entire fic, i really mean it. the whole time i was writing, i was pushing enjolras toward this point.

from the moment that i began writing deep end, it was intended to be an exploration of enjolras & his ideas of duty and justice. it has spiraled into being a story about a lot of other things, but in the kitchen with cosette, it comes down to this again. it comes down to: enjolras, and what he thinks his duty is, and just how wrong he is.

because he is wrong. money, whether she wants it or not, isn't going to "fix" cosette. there is no "fixing" cosette, because she's not broken. has she been hurt? yes. did their father fail her? undeniably. but depositing a check into her bank account isn't the answer to this. enjolras wants to heal her in some material sort of way, and that just isn't possible. all he can do is be her brother.

so, i had to take enjolras to that place. i had to make him obsess over "paying for his father's sins." i had to make him stressing himself out over the money. i had to make him love cosette without understanding it. and i had to make him terrible.

i love making enjolras terrible, i won't lie. a lot of the time when i'm writing, i like to see how terrible i can make him without alienating him completely from the reader. when i was trying to decide what line from this chapter to use as the summary, i sent a few options to my friend cossette, who read an earlier draft of this fic. she chose the line about him being "capable of being truly terrible" for me, because she said that was kind of the whole thing i was going for.

and it was! for him to be able to say the things he says in this chapter — from telling cosette "Look what he did to you!" to him saying to grantaire "Your chest is even emptier than mine. All you have is an empty bottle and a half-assed joke." he HAS to be terrible. these are terrible things to say!

unfortunately, i think they're also very human things to say. i joke a lot about how much i enjoy making characters say the worst possible things to each other, but it's true. i love doing it. because i think it's so tragically human. especially when you're saying these things to a person that you love. it's easy to hurt the people we love, because we know them well enough to know just where to hit them.

when enjolras hurts cosette, it's mostly by accident. he is coming from a good place, but going all about it wrong. when he hurts grantaire, it is with intent. he and grantaire have spent years hurting each other. when enjolras finds himself falling after fighting with cosette, it's too easy for him to cling to the closest familiar thing: fighting with grantaire.

building up to the fight with grantaire was a different beast. whereas the argument with cosette is borne from misguided ideas of justice, the fight with grantaire is entirely personal. as i was writing deep end, i had to write an enjolras and a grantaire who could come to this place, in very different ways. enjolras had to find himself leaning on grantaire; he had to be in more pain than anyone realized, including himself; he had to be terrible. grantaire, in contrast, had to have some amount of self control; he had to be someone who could be leaned on; he had to be able to walk away. the grantaire we meet in chapter 1 meets very little of these requirements. his development is just as important as enjolras', even if he isn't the main focus.

this answer is, as predicted, much much longer than i intended so i will wrap things up. when writing longform fic, i tend to start with the worst thing and work my way outwards from there. these two scenes are the worst things. because i knew where he was going, i knew while i was writing that i had to shape and enjolras who would find himself saying and doing the worst things he could. that's why he's cruel to grantaire in the first few chapters, why he finds himself arguing with grantaire despite knowing better, why he constantly finds himself self-destructing. i always tell everyone that deep end is about enjolras beating the marble statue allegations, and that's never truer than it is in chapter 18.

for the record, you are always welcome to stop by and ask me about deep end! i have soooooo much director's commentary and i love to yap. i could talk all day about what happened in the original draft, what was added later, ideas i toyed with, why i made the decisions i did, etc. thank you so much for this ask <333 i had lots and lots of fun answering it even if my answer is pretty much as long as deep end herself.

[queersatanic]

What John Oliver gets wrong about The Satanic Temple and abortion rights

In the most recent episode of HBO's "Last Week Tonight with John Oliver", he made a mention of a particular publicity stunt by a certain satanic for-profit business-cum-church.

In so doing, he demonstrated perfectly the way The Satanic Temple's grift works, and the limitations of "Last Week Tonight" as an actual news program rather than what it is: a popularizer and disseminator of the work done by others.

If the show had done a proper investigation, they would have immediately found huge red flags involving the Temple's clinic that call into question its legitimacy entirely. Since they did not, we'll show you what so many have missed despite being out in the open.

JOHN OLIVER: But also, note that we can still act here. Some have taken some small steps in the last year that are, if nothing else, immensely satisfying. Like this one that was covered by a Catholic news network. > TRACY SABOL: An international group named after Satan will soon open its first abortion business in the United States. > > The Satanic Temple, which claims to not believe in a literal Satan, will provide telehealth screenings and prescribe abortion pills for patients in New Mexico. The name of the soon-to-be facility? The Samuel Alito's Mom's Satanic Abortion Clinic. (AUDIENCE CHEERS) JOHN OLIVER: Incredible. Very well played. Now, is that gonna fix everything? No, of course it isn't. But when it comes to responding to such wide spreading devastation, you could do a lot worse than the single best "your mom" joke of all time. Especially when you add in that one of the group's co-founders even said, "In 1950, Samuel Alito's mother did not have options, and look what happened."

That seems like pretty high praise, and the show moves on without further comment on it.

From this, you would not know that The Satanic Temple fundamentally jeopardized the legitimacy of this telehealth clinic by utilizing fake names on government documents for its New Mexico corporations registry.

"Malcolm Jarry" is the pseudonym of TST co-owner Cevin Soling; despite listing two different addresses and listing him twice, "Lucien Greaves" is the same person as Douglas Misicko.

Doing this is almost certainly literally perjury, as has come up in court for them before.

Actually, several times.

To repeat: You do not get to lie and use a fake name for yourself on government documents, particularly documents establishing legal ownership of your corporation.

In any proper legal challenge to The Satanic Temple's clinic, including anyone who treats TST's marketing as credible and wants to use it as a shield against abortion bans, this would be found out and it would absolutely put the entire endeavor in jeopardy.

Of course, it gets worse.

Here's what the Temple says on its website about this clinic, emphasis added:

Q: Abortion is illegal where I live. Can I still get an abortion with TST Health? A: Abortion is legal in New Mexico. Regardless of where you live, if you are in the state of New Mexico during your video consultation and when you perform your abortion ritual, you will have abided by the law. However, if you travel to a state where abortion is illegal and need follow-up care, there may be some risks. Unfortunately, we don’t have enough information to know how state laws will be enforced. We believe that the religious nature of our care neutralizes this risk, but state courts must affirm this, and we are working toward attaining that confirmation.

And here are the kinds of billboards TST has run around the country and in its Facebook ads in bids for attention and while soliciting money:

“Our religious Abortion Ritual Averts Many State Restrictions”.

Yet, when The Satanic Temple sued a billboard company that was unwilling to run that demonstrably false advertisement, TST owner Cevin Soling had to admit in his deposition that he was not aware of any examples where Satanism had been successfully used to avert a state restriction on abortion, including their own previous attempts:

As of November 2023, The Satanic Temple has lost six (6) abortion-ban challenges, lost them in state and in federal court, lost them at the district court, appellate court, and supreme courts.

TST has never helped someone avert a state law restricting abortion. But they have fundraised heavily off of the idea that they can.

How much? It's very tough to say because "The Satanic Temple, Inc." d/b/a "TST Health Inc." and "Sam Alito's Mom's Satanic Abortion Clinic Inc." is not a regular nonprofit: it's a tax-exempt church. And as a tax-exempt church, it is under no legal requirement to report its finances.

John Oliver famously created "Our Lady of Perpetual Exemption" in 2015 to highlight the problems inherent with this, so you might argue that TST is just doing the same thing and attempting to bring awareness to a problem with the U.S. tax code.

Except that Oliver shut his corporation down after a month and reported its finances, meanwhile "The Satanic Temple Inc." chugs along year after year soliciting money and providing no financial transparency about how much money is coming in or where it's being spent. (Say, pursuing various SLAPP actions against ex-members; again, Oliver would know something about being on the receiving end of one of those.)

Of course it gets even more complicated.

The Satanic Temple's owners registered their tax-exempt church "The Satanic Temple Inc." in New Mexico as, among other things, "TST Health Inc." and have been promoting merchandise for it as well.

But the merch lacks the "tax-deductible" notification, which is the only way on TST's website to distinguish purchases benefitting the for-profit "United Federation of Churches LLC d/b/a 'The Satanic Temple' " from its nonprofit "The Satanic Temple (Inc.)".

How much money did The Satanic Temple bring in specifically for this telehealth clinic based on its fundraising campaigns? We don't know, and TST's owners won't tell you.

How many people did The Satanic Temple actually help with its telehealth clinic? We don't know — although we did get some idea from TST's failed Indiana abortion-ban lawsuit where TST indicated "over two dozen" people in a state with existing abortion clinics where abortion was legal had been able to be helped between February and June 2023.

Now, as part of the same proceedings, The Satanic Temple claims that it spent "over $75,000 to establish and maintain an abortion clinic" but that number is rather suspiciously the exact number TST needed to claim for damages in order to meet federal jurisdictional requirements, and it's exactly the sort of thing you'd want to see broken down in an audit because it claims it spent this in March 2023, prior to operating expenses actually kicking in.

So if that were true, and again, there's no reason to think it is, it would mean that The Satanic Temple is one of the most inefficient ways for anyone to get fund abortions. This is the sort of thing the group Indigenous Women Rising pointed out at the time in response to TST's announcement.

Even if The Satanic Temple were actually doing this with the best of intentions, and there's no reason to think they are, it would be a bad idea to try to come in from Massachusetts and re-invent the wheel rather than support any of the established organizations operating in New Mexico who have local connections and experience with the challenges of funding abortions for people.

None of this is especially hidden information, you know. Even the court proceedings are out for the public to examine, especially for lawsuits that have gotten so much attention when they were announced, thanks to a TST press release, and at their close, thanks to the Indiana Attorney General's press release.

But they do require doing work, asking follow up questions, and expecting more evidence in response to those questions than, "Just trust me, bro."

So how did the "Last Week Tonight" segment happen? Well, going back to the video, have two news outlets here: the first is EWTN, and the second is the Albuquerque Journal.

The EWTN "News Nightly" segment comes from Feb. 3, 2023, the Albuquerque Journal article from Feb. 6, 2023.

If you look at both, the way they're structured is taking a press release from The Satanic Temple and quoting from it and TST's website. EWTN is a straightforwardly Catholic news agency, so it just talks to Father Steve Grunow, CEO of Word on Fire Ministries for his take on the situation; the Albuquerque Journal is a mainstream, "objective" newspaper, so it quotes Elisa Martinez, founder and executive director of the New Mexico Alliance for Life; and it quotes Joan Lamunyon Sanford, executive director of the New Mexico Religious Coalition for Reproductive Choice, while adding in some more details about "The Satanic Temple Inc." being an IRS-recognized 501(c)(3) nonprofit.

Note that no one has yet done actual journalism here. The Catholic news agency has a bogeyman to beat up on and connect to abortion rights more generally, such as Ruth Bader Ginsberg getting a statue. The "straight news" outlet quotes from a press release then plays stenographer for the views of "both sides"; the deepest anyone goes is confirming that TST has an entity that can accept tax-deductible donations.

Sympathetic outlets like Hemant Mehta of "The Friendly Atheist", meanwhile, offer no pushback and just look for more quotes from TST to dutifully transcribe with no pushback or further investigation.

The Satanic Temple's press release and additional quotations from "pro" and/or "anti" abortion rights figures who are basically unconcerned with any particular facts of the situation, just taking TST's framing and reacting to it. When "Last Week Tonight" does a short segment about it, it leans on the work of others who upon deeper examination are actually doing very little work.

Larger media outlets like Jezebel and smaller, local ones like the Riverfront Times, on the other hand, have done in-depth looks at the Temple more generally and discovered that underneath the marketing there is not much of anything.

Prior to this clinic's announcement, we did our own in-depth roundup of abortion access orgs, journalists, legal experts, and actual court outcomes. Again: when abortion rights folks are actually familiar with the specifics of The Satanic Temple and TST's activities, the opinion is skeptical to outright hostile.

It would be really nice if John Oliver and his team were willing to apply the same level of skepticism to glorified press releases about The Satanic Temple that they do to many other topics.

But that takes work, and if local and partisan sources aren't doing the yeoman's work for them, even with HBO's budget, "Last Week Tonight" is like to skip it and make mistakes.

We've been willing to do the work, to be deservedly skeptical, and to compare the claims The Satanic Temple has made in one place versus ones they've made other places. We have limited resources and time as well, and we're not professionals. Unfortunately, it often seems like we're the only ones doing this.

But you can, too. You can watch yourself when a piece of news comes in that tickles your fancy, like someone being rude to an odious Supreme Court justice, and ask yourself a few more questions about what claims are actually being made and whether you ought to have some follow-up questions about it.

For us the most important one remains, "Why doesn't The Satanic Temple have any financial transparency or accountability for what it does with its donations, and why is it not more clear what is a for-profit sale benefiting the owners and what is a nonprofit donation?"

[pianokantzart]

A Picture of Wealth

A quick oneshot for a possible beginning of a Luigi's Mansion movie. Not particularly exciting, but if you like quiet Mario and Luigi slice of life stuff you'll probably like this. I started writing this a while ago, but this post by @theangelofangst inspired me to finish it. AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49496971

_____________________________​​

After waving ‘goodbye’ to the Mail Toad, Luigi popped open the mailbox and pulled out a stack of envelopes. He scanned them for a moment, loosely sorting them in his mind. It was easy to tell what came from The Mushroom Kingdom and what came from Brooklyn; bright, pastel colored envelopes and fountain pen clashing against cold copy-pasted text on plain white. There was a ‘thank you’ card from a neighboring toad whose sink they had fixed free of charge, a little flier advertising a free upcoming performance in the square, and a pretty, pink envelope embossed with a crown, whose handiwork was easy to recognize. Even the bills were friendly and personable, though they formed as much of a pit in his stomach as the cold typeface from Brooklyn.

For Mario and Luigi, living on their own had been an adjustment, and having an actual income was a serious learning curve. There was an initial high of having money in their pockets, which led to a spending spree to replace much of their oldest tools and equipment before independent living’s new stack of expenses hit them like a train. Still, they had been fairly cautious. Despite a few poor initial decisions they would’ve had enough money to stay out of the red… had it not been for one giant curveball that had been thrown at them.

Luigi stepped back through the front door into the kitchen where Mario sat at the table, hatless and disheveled, hunched over a computer and a stack of papers where he’d been since sunrise. One hand tapped a pencil against a notepad, the other pressed their shared cellphone to his ear.

“Dad, it’s alright. You need it more than we do,” Mario said, “No, forget it, I- no, it’s not a loan.” Luigi couldn’t help but smile as he peeked around the doorway and listened in. It sounded like their father had discovered the check they sent them, and was reacting about as expected. He at least sounded lively from what he could overhear… when they first got the news that he was staying in the hospital for a few days, Mario and Luigi feared the worst. Luckily, it seemed their dad had the family’s hereditary trait of being able to bounce back from just about anything, the bad news was that despite twenty five straight years of company loyalty, getting the help owed to him by the insurance was like pulling teeth.

“Look, I’m a little busy. We’ll talk about it at Sunday lunch, okay?” Mario sighed, “Yeah. Okay. You too. Bye, Dad.” With that he hung up, and set the phone to the side.

“Sounds like he’s feeling better” Luigi laughed, finally stepping into the kitchen to deliver the mail to the table. “Yep.” Mario replied with a tired chuckle, barely even glancing up from his work. “Not well enough to work yet though, as much as he wants to.” “Did the check get deposited?” “Mom managed it under his nose, but it might be the only check that goes through for us this month if I don’t figure something out.” Mario sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, “Ugh, why did I replace our van’s entire engine. All it needed was a few new spark plugs!” “The Garrisons still owe us for rerouting their fountain." Luigi assured, "I’ll send them an invoice.” He stopped for a moment and looked over Mario’s workspace: every possible refund for unnecessary expenses noted and listed, every document scattered about like the stress of the room had caused a miniature explosion on the kitchen table, a mustard-stained receipt for a strap wrench having made it all the way to the empty dishes from lunchtime. Luigi reached over his brother’s shoulder to retrieve the dishes and arrange some of the papers into neat little piles. Mario leaned to the side to give him room.

“You know,” Luigi began hesitantly, “maybe we should ask Princess Peach if-” “We are not asking the princess for money.” Mario interrupted. “No no… I mean, maybe she can void our water bill or something?” “She gave us a free house Luigi! You really think it’s right to ask her for more.” “Maybe?" Luigi shrugged, "I mean, protecting the kingdom has kind of interfered with our work schedule.” “We do that because it’s right, Luigi, not for a paycheck.” “I know!” Luigi raised his voice a little in frustration. He stepped away from the table to deliver the empty plate and glass to the sink, rinsing them off and scrubbing them a little too aggressively to let off steam, “But I’m sure if we explain our situation, she can do something.” “I told you, the answer is no. We’re not bumming off of anyone, especially not Princess Peach.” “It’s not bumming, it’s asking for help! There’s no shame in asking for help. When you need help, you need help!”

Mario didn’t answer, he just grumbled quietly to himself and returned to the bills. Luigi rolled his eyes, scrubbing clean a few extra dishes and placing them in the drying rack before he returned to where his brother sat. He leaned against him, resting his forearm on his shoulder in a purposefully obnoxious way. “You’re as bad as Dad is.” “I am not.” “Are so.” Luigi smiled mischievously, “You look like him too. I’m probably gonna start calling you ‘Dad’ on accident when you start losing your hair.” Luigi tussled his brother’s auburn locks. Mario pulled away, unable to help but laugh as he grabbed one of the pieces of junk mail on the table, crumpled it up, and threw it at Luigi in retaliation. “Will you get out of here?”

Luigi blocked the missile with his hand. He attempted to catch it, but it tumbled out of his slippery grip and landed on the floor. Luigi intended to take it directly in the garbage, but leaning down to pick it up the colors caught his eye… and he realized he did not quite notice this particular piece of mail when he initially emptied the mailbox. Interest piqued, he uncrumpled the paper and read it. His brow raised and his heart skipped a beat. “Mario!” he declared, the sudden exclamation making his brother jump, “We’ve got a free mansion!” Mario let out a loud groan, turning around in his chair. “Oh come on Weegee! It’s an obvious scam!”

Luigi shook his head. “No no, they’ve got a map and an address and everything!” He turned the pamphlet over in his hands in order to reexamine the large block of text on the back, “It says ‘only a select few who apply for noble titles, such as those who are known locally for their heroism’ … that's us!... ‘ are receiving this limited time offer’!” Luigi looked up from his reading to grin excitedly at Mario, who looked back at him with a bored expression. Luigi, undeterred, returned his eyes the advertisement. “There’s a place called Evershade Valley with a big, beautiful mansion in the center of it. Look!” Luigi held the picture out to his big brother, shoving it a little too close to his face in his excitement. “Neo-Gothic architecture!”

Mario took the flier from Luigi’s hands to scrutinize it more closely. The cover image seemed sketchy. The coloration was off, the greenery in the lawn looked doctored, and the giant, garish rainbow plastered into the background reeked of overcompensation. “Sounds like just the kind of padding they’d add to a scam to make it seem like a little less of a scam,” he mumbled, eyes trailing down to the map beneath the image of the mansion. “Evershade Valley… looks like it’s not too far from The Dark Lands. Are you sure about this?” Hearing ‘Dark Lands’ Luigi stiffened a bit, bringing his hands close to his chest as he reconsidered for a few seconds. “It’s near The Darklands, not in The Darklands.” He decided after a moment, “Maybe we can flip this place!: reinstall some plumbing, fix up the wiring, add a fresh coat of paint… boom! Money in our pockets!”

Mario gripped his chin, running a thumb over his mustache thoughtfully. No way it was that easy. If this was really a free mansion like the advertisement said, it couldn’t be anything other than a dilapidated shell that wasn’t worth the investment. If not that, there was no doubt something wrong with the location… nobody simply gave away free mansions. 

On the other hand, Mario was impressed that Luigi maintained interest despite its close proximity to The Darklands. Given his past experiences, Mario expected him to back down at the mere mention of that place. The fact that some old building was enough to overshadow those fears made his desire hard to ignore. That, and Luigi was giving him that stupid sad-eyed pleading face that Mario could never say no to. He let out a heavy sigh, smoothed out the pamphlet a bit with his fingers, and handed it back to his brother. “Fine. On one condition.”

“Really!?” Luigi cheered. He threw out his arms to pluck his brother up into a hug, when Mario extended a hand to stave him off a moment.

“On one condition.” He repeated, “You stay here and run the business while I’m away. We can’t afford to miss any clients.”

Luigi deflated. He withdrew his arms and anxiously rubbed the tops of his hands. “Run the business… alone? Just me?” “If I take a warp pipe I shouldn’t be gone longer than a day. You’ll be fine.”

“No I won’t.” Mario cocked his head. He was startled by the terseness of the reply, upsettingly certain in its pessimism. “What do you mean? Of course you will! You just got a few leaky sinks and a running toilet. Nothin’ major.”

“Mario, name one time I did something completely on my own that didn’t turn out a disaster.” Mario opened his mouth to respond, but stopped. He thought things over a bit longer, opened his mouth again, then shut it again to think some more. It was difficult enough recalling a time that Luigi was on his own to begin with– they worked together at every opportunity– but when circumstances drove them apart, even for the briefest of moments, Luigi seemed to always end up in some kind of trouble. Mario’s eyes brightened as one instance popped into his mind. He smiled and snapped his fingers. “Aha! seventh grade! You made it into the Wizard of Oz musical! Played a really good Tinman!” Luigi smiled despondently, crossing his arms. “Mario, I vomited on stage.” “Only during the final bow. The final bow doesn’t count.” Luigi’s expression only grew more troubled as his arms tightened against his chest, and his eyes remained fixed to the ground. Mario stood up from his chair. He walked up to his brother, and took his face in his hands. “Hey, c’mon, don’t look like that,” he said, lifting his Luigi's head to meet his gaze. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, you just need a bit more confidence.” Mario’s grip fell from Luigi's face to his shoulders, giving them an endearing squeeze. “Maybe it’ll be good for you to give it a shot on your own. Your luck can’t be all bad, can it?” Neither of them quite knew the answer to that. Both of them stood silent for a moment as Luigi looked at his brother, then down at the pamphlet in his hand, and the big, beautiful mansion on the front. He couldn’t quite figure it out, but something about the place resonated with him. It made him remember being a kid, reading through his mom’s interior design magazines– the sense of wonder and possibility they incited, and the quiet longing to have such a place of his own to wander and explore. He folded the flier, placed it in his pocket, took a deep breath, and sighed. “I’ll do it.”

“Ha ha! That’s my bro.” Mario released his brother’s shoulders to give him a friendly jab with his elbow. “Maybe it’ll be good for you to try to work the business on your own! Just… make sure that clients put their dogs away before you set foot anywhere.”

Luigi grimaced. A small shudder ran up his back as he remembered the incident with Francis The Dog at their first job. Wondering what might have happened to him if Mario hadn’t been there to come to his rescue, second thoughts quickly began to creep in. “Maybe it is a scam–” “Nope! Too late. We’re doing this.” Mario had a fresh determination in his voice as he pulled out his chair and sat back down at the kitchen table. “I’ll finish balancing the checkbook tonight, then leave in the morning– 8 a.m sharp. If I hurry, I might be able to get home in time to help you with the last few jobs.”

Luigi knew that tone. No matter how much his brother initially hated the idea, once he started talking like that there was no stopping him from following through. Luigi had dug his grave, it was time to lie in it. Trying– and failing– not to think about everything that could go wrong in a single work day, Luigi began looking around for something to occupy his mind. The dishes were done, the garden was weeded, and he didn’t need to start dinner for another few hours, so he went to the broom closet and pulled out his vacuum. Plugging it in and unwinding the cord he went to work, allowing himself to get lost in the satisfying rattle of dirt being sucked away as he meticulously went over the carpet and wooden floor bit by bit, until every square inch of the house was clean and tidy.

[halfbit]

cool words i encountered today (vol.1)

cryptomeria - a genus of conifer tree, as in cryptomeria japonica (japanese cedar or 杉) also that's the only one in the genus. its just that one.

pater familias - the oldest male in a household, a roman term that was also used in legal documents as "estate owner"

locus - a specific, fixed location where something occurs

alluvium - loose clay and sediment deposited by running water, esp. of flood plains, beaches, and stream beds

Provençal - a person from Provence, as well as the dialect of Occitan spoken in Provence, there have been efforts to recognize Provençal as a distinct language too

[subiysu-chan]

Draft

Curtesy of Google Translate (original is in French, I'm not showing it to you) :

The three of them took the door, crossed the courtyard, then went through the carriage entrance to go to Rue Poissonnière. "Well… I have a plan. What if we start by going all three to the Conciergerie, passing by Les Halles. I'll go back there on the way back to buy the brandy. You're not going to get lost?" Renée suggested. It was a good idea, especially since the work in the question room could take a long time. All three of them went to the Conciergerie, introduced themselves to the various ticket clerks as discreetly as possible, and they were all at the door of the question room, at the foot of the Beaubec Tower. The door opened and… Clack! A whip crack resounded on the floor with a metallic clink. "The nasty crayfish!" said a familiar voice. Before them stood young Soubise, Jules Tronson's young assistant. He bent low, at Jean-Baptiste's feet, to pick up the crayfish he had just killed with his scorpion. "They're even more vicious than mice, these creatures," said Soubise, his big green eyes fixed on his prey. "They usually swarm in the summer, but I think the rains have encouraged a larger generation of these pests." He placed it in a cauldron. In the distance, could be heard: "These CRAYFISH bitches HAVE ATE MY STRAW!" "Yes, this is the third straw mattress these beasts have eaten." explained Soubise, before letting them in. That was only the beginning of the problems. The entire torture room was half flooded. The coquemars normally intended for questioning by water were deposited a little everywhere where water flowed. All possible documents had been saved by depositing them on the desk, and by coats placed delicately over them to protect them as much as possible. However, the part where the trestle was usually placed had been a little flooded, which Prudhomme and Tronson held at arm's length. Rozenn, Jules' wife, was in the process of protecting the hearth, while cooking the crayfish which had made the fatal mistake of taking the armchair intended for the torture of the boots for a bridal chamber.

[ultimateaclrecovery]

Trying to start my new year off right by doing all the things but really I just put all the things on my to do list and now I already feel behind. But! I did still do lots of things this weekend

-grocery shopped and meal prepped

-laundry (did not fold but that’s a next Sunday task)

- cleaned out and deep cleaned the freezer and fixed the pullout drawer so the freezer can close all the way again

- cleaned the microwave

- replaced the broken bulb in my basement

- worked on organizing photos. Both for social media posts/documenting and for general storage with my new 1tb external memory bank thing from my dad (and like three google photo accounts 😂)

- picked out and ordered a new smartwatch because after getting a new Fitbit band it has stopped charging. I got the Garmin instinct 2 because it had most of the things I wanted and came it purple. I’m actually really excited that it’s button operated and not touchscreen because I often use it while riding and wearing gloves

-ordered socks and underwear. One of New Years goal is to stop wearing socks and underwear with holes

-ordered a bunch cruppers and crupper accessories to support mission keep pony saddle from slipping forward so she’s not ouchy and doesn’t buck me off. Once I figure out what size she needs and if it works for her, I can custom order a purple gemstone crupper to match her bridle.

-wrote thank you card

-cleared out my to-do papers (mostly sorting into folders or recycling or depositing checks (thank god for mobile deposit)

And now it’s Monday and I have to work and I still should clean out and organize my fridge and pantry, and nail polishes, and shirt drawer, and probably whole closet. I need to get a new air filter for my furnace, still need to actually figure out budget stuff now that mint died, and various crafting tasks. Including cutting out more t-shirt napkins and finally donating my old clothes box that’s been sitting for over a year.

[bangkoklawyr]

Thai Retirement Visa

Thailand, with its captivating culture, stunning beaches, and affordable living, beckons retirees worldwide. If you dream of spending your golden years in the Land of Smiles, the Thailand Retirement Visa might be your perfect gateway. Let's explore the eligibility requirements, application process, and benefits of this visa option.

Who Qualifies for a Thai Retirement Visa?

The Thailand Retirement Visa is open to foreigners aged 50 and above who meet specific financial requirements. Here are the main criteria:

Age: You must be at least 50 years old at the time of application.

Financial Requirements: You can demonstrate financial stability through one of the following options:

Minimum Deposit: Maintain a fixed deposit of at least ฿800,000 (Thai Baht) in a Thai bank account for at least three months before applying.

Monthly Pension: Prove a monthly pension income of at least ฿65,000 (subject to change) through a verifiable source, such as a bank statement or pension certificate.

Combination: Maintain a deposit of at least ฿3,000,000 and show a yearly income of at least ฿1,200,000.

What are the Benefits of a Thai Retirement Visa?

The Thailand Retirement Visa offers a plethora of benefits for retirees, including:

Long-Term Stay: Unlike tourist visas, the Retirement Visa grants you a one-year stay in Thailand, with the possibility of annual renewals as long as you meet the financial requirements.

Multiple Entries: You can freely leave and re-enter Thailand during the validity period of your visa, making it ideal for exploring the country or visiting neighboring destinations.

Relocation Benefits: You can bring your spouse and dependent children under certain conditions, easing the transition to your new life in Thailand.

Lifestyle Advantage: Enjoy a lower cost of living compared to many Western countries, with access to excellent healthcare and a vibrant retiree community.

Understanding the Application Process

The application process for the Thailand Retirement Visa involves several steps:

Gather Required Documents: Prepare documents like your passport, proof of financial stability, medical certificate, and health insurance documentation.

Non-Immigrant Visa Application: Apply for a non-immigrant visa at your local Thai embassy or consulate in your home country.

Convert to Retirement Visa: Once you enter Thailand with the non-immigrant visa, you can convert it to a Retirement Visa at a Thai immigration office.

Important Considerations

Restrictions: Working for Thai companies or receiving local salaries is strictly prohibited under the Retirement Visa.

Reporting Requirements: You'll need to report your address to the immigration office every 90 days.

Renewal Process: Plan to renew your visa annually to maintain your residency status in Thailand.

Embark on Your Thai Retirement

With careful planning and the Thailand Retirement Visa, you can turn your dream of retiring in Thailand into a reality. This visa option offers a smooth path to enjoying the beauty, affordability, and relaxed lifestyle that Thailand has to offer. So, research thoroughly, consult with an immigration specialist if needed, and get ready to embrace your golden years in the Land of Smiles.

[pbandjesse]

I didn't think I was going to be so tired tonight. But man I am very tired. Only a few hours left of work here at the museum. But it has been a pretty good day. Just busy.

I wish I slept more. I struggled to fall asleep. To find a comfortable way to lay. My back was hurting and it was a struggle.

I work up at 6 but mostly just dozed for the next hour. James came and laid with me and a little after 7 we got up. I was sad that my phone hadn't been charging but it would be okay. I would charge it at least a bit while I was getting dressed.

I didn't want to leave though. I was just not feeling it. But I would gather myself and my things and after a few hugs I headed out.

The drive in wasn't terrible. It wasnt terrible but it was fine. I would get to camp right after 8 and stopped at the dumpsters to drop off our big recycling that has been in the basement for a while. It was really nice to get rid of it. Though I was super surprised at how much stuff was around the dumpsters?? I knew we had a rental this passed weekend but it just seemed like a lot of stuff spilling everywhere. Plus it had rained yesterday so it was also wet. Gross. I hope the trash people come soon. I also really hope Joe didn't have to deal with it because it was real gross.

We had a field trip on the schedule but Elizabeth hasn't said anything to me through text so I wast sure when they were coming or if they were coming or what they would be doing if they were coming. So I hung out in the office and worked on my knitting. Doing this double layer system is more time consuming and this loom has a tight weave so it's not as quick as some of my other looms. But that's okay. I would work until 9, when a plumber showed up. I would text Joe to let him know and he told me to direct them to the pool house. Excellent.

Elizabeth would text me soon to let me know that the group did in fact cancel. I asked what I should do for the next few hours. And I suggested that I would just work on lessons and research. She said that was fine and so I spent the next two hours doing that.

It's hard to figure out how to balance the horsemanship program. How much is riding, how much is learning, how many horses that can be available. So I tried my best to to balance that but also I was mostly just giving suggestions and building on the document Chloe is working on. I hope it was helpful and not annoying. But I will need to sit down with her and Rachel to really understand what the campers can actually do. It's an ongoing conversation.

Around 1130 I started to run out of focus. I would go to the attic to clean up some games that has been left out from when me and Sarah were organizing up there months ago. But then I just felt like I was out of things to do that could be done in the next hour. So I decided to go home.

I had a pretty easy drive home. And was just so happy to be back. Even if it was just a short time.

James was happy when I came in. Sweetp seemed happy to have me there. I would go and take a shower and got changed into my new spikey collar dress. I noticed that there was a part of the seam I had missed when I was adding the panels the other day. So I would go downstairs to fix that before James helped zipped up the back for me. They did startle me really bad because they had come upstairs and I didn't know!! Scared me so bad! Very unexpected.

I would have a little lunch. But soon someone was knocking on our door. It was the appointment in with the man who was coming to measure our backdoor and give us an estimate.

He was very nice but as soon as I saw he had a straight up door to door sales man briefcase with samples in it I knew this was going to be expensive. And in the end it was was way more then I was planning for. I would have to head to the museum and James took over decisions. And would put down a lot as a deposit but we are going to claw that back and find somewhere more reasonable then $8k. For a door. Ridiculous.

I have had a really nice night at the museum but also I am so tired. I do t k ow why I was particularly tired tonight but around 5 it hit me hard. Me and Meril were hungry and tired and they had set up all the desserts and they looked so good. I was trying to remain positive but I was flagging really hard.

The event was lovely though. A charity event for a group/center that supports disabled children and teens. I think they also work with adults but that was less clear.

They were super nice though. And the event would be very fun. Once everything was set and going I would have fun listening to people and talking to the catering and learning about AV stuff. It was fun

I would be in charge of the string quartet. But even though I walked them through how to leave the front to be nondisruptive, they still went rouge and tried to walk through the presentations. Silly behavior but not the worst thing. I wasn't even involved when that happened because my feet hurt real bad and I was sitting at the front with Mark the security guard. Meril texted me "Marco" asking where I was. So I went to find them.

There would be some really lovely speeches. Including from one of our senators. Who turns out is one of my co-workers at the museum, Deborah, Dad. And he was lovely. And gave a beautiful speech. Turns out he is never once lost an election. In his entire 60-year career. So that's wild. And after their last speeches and awards it was just party dessert and a really easy getting everyone out.

Honestly they were a great work group to work with and I would love for them to come back because they were just super sweet and like made the night really easy and when we thought they were going to be done which was 9:30 they were actually more out of there about 9:00. The caterers cleaned up without any fuss. And again what I've said before you get what you pay for and this was a very nice cater and they were really funny and really sweet and there were no real complaints about cleaning up everything the way that it needed to be cleaned up. Honestly I really like when they're there because they're funny but they're also really nice to me and they were like teasing me and I was teasing them and we were just having a good time.

I would slowly go through turning off lights and I still don't feel like I have a 100% of the light switches memorized but I'm feeling more comfortable. I definitely need to consider my shoes a little bit better. I wore my new little sandal shoes which are super cute but halfway through the night they had torn up the tops of my toes and I was in a lot of pain. Once I put Band-Aids on my feet I was fine mostly. But I'm definitely going to do what Jesse does and have a pair of shoes to switch into for that last hour during clean up. Just something softer. And once we were done cleaning up we were basically ready to go.

Jesse Maryland and me were all at the front desk resetting it and making it look nice for James in the morning. I had wrapped up my plate of desserts to bring home. Taped a paper towel over top of it so that I wouldn't lose anything. The party also let us keep their flowers so all of us got to bring home a little vase with some beautiful orange and purple flowers. And then we were just being goofy and having a nice time and talking and it was just a really lovely evening. I really like this job and I think it will become so much easier when I don't have to do two jobs in one day because it's not even like tomorrow I'm going to be exhausted and tired. I'm going to do that anyway. But working all morning and then coming and doing a second event is pretty tough.

I'm on my way home now. And I'm hoping to get back in the house and wash my hair and get cozy. And then hopefully fall asleep easier than I did last night. Tomorrow I have a field trip but it should be fairly easy. I'm just helping with harnesses at the zip line. And then I'm hoping for a quiet night. I think it will be a good day. I have high hopes.

I hope that you all have a safe and good evening. I hope you sleep well. I hope tomorrow you have a fun and productive day. Sleep well my friends. Until next time.

[paydayquid]

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[lazydoodlesandfanfic]

I never knew it was that easy to get one... well, theoretically anyway lol. If you explain, could it maybe get fixed - especially cause the other person got it. It definitely sucks that you didnt, and I hope its easily remedied for you; although good that it hasnt stopped you from moving forward, as that would just be massively unfair given it's not even your fault

Yeah, I imagine that my mentor will go back down to the council and ask for them to print off the documents again and physically give him the copy so he can make sure it gets to me, but since he can see there's a digital footprint of it existing, and I have a license number now, I'm good. The only problem that could come up is if someone from the council (the very people who were meant to sort this out) shows up to check the place out and asks where my license is, but I can probably give them my license number and they can verify I do technically have a license, just not one hung up at the studio.

On a better note- I've got two clients already, tattooing one this week, the other's paid her deposit and I'll be tattooing her next month, and I'm looking forward to getting more clients :) Also I'll probably post a tattoo I did on myself 2 weeks ago after it's finished healing and peeling to show how my work looks and heals and I'm super proud of it

[tastesoftamriel]

Hope this is alright to ask: how to you determine your writing commission rates? I'm in a tight situation right now myself (not as bad as yours though from the sound of it, hope things are getting better) and have been considering doing that but have no idea how to start.

Hiya! The prices I've advertised are per hour, but I adjust them according to the length and complexity of the projects I'm working on. On average I smash out anywhere between 6-10 full pages of editing per hour, depending on how much needs to be fixed.

For longer pieces like novels, I divide the number of pages I'm given by ten and multiply that by my hourly rate. Depending on the complexity, I adjust that rate (for example I might charge more for academic or historical fiction work as I have to do research too) and negotiate that with the client. As a result, a 60-page story will set you back about £300-350, while a whole novel will be anywhere between £800-£1000.

What I would recommend to anyone starting out is taking your base hourly salary (or goal hourly salary) as a starting point. Don't undersell yourself, but at the same time be reasonable and don't overcharge because you're not the one writing anything original, just editing or proofreading. Negotiate with your clients and be fully transparent about your work process; I use Google Docs as it timestamps all my work, which enables me to keep track of my hours and lets the client see what work I've been putting in when.

Lastly, I charge a 50% deposit on my work, with the remaining half paid after I have handed in the final document. I also do not charge for any further advice or clarification that my clients need after the final document is handed in! Always be willing to go that extra mile, because while money is important, what really matters to me is that my clients feel like they've benefitted from my services and have learned something new about how to improve their writing. Always be honest and open with them every step of the way and you'll be golden. Good luck! ~Tal

[houseofbrat]

Andrew, his lawyers, and his publicists really trying to work the refs in the UK press via Camilla Tominey in The Telegraph ten days ago:

There is also hope that any unsealing of court papers in the Dershowitz case may clear up an ongoing confusion over Ms Giuffre’s place of residence.

Mr Brettler initially tried to halt the US civil case against the Duke by claiming that the federal court in New York did not have jurisdiction over the matter because Ms Giuffre is domiciled in Australia, not Colorado as she alleged.

Arguing the case should be halted until the “issue of subject matter jurisdiction is adjudicated”, he wrote to the court in December 2021: “In her complaint Ms Giuffre alleges she is a citizen of the state of Colorado; the evidence demonstrates that she is actually domiciled in Australia, where she has lived for all but two of the past 19 years.

“It is undisputed that at the time she filed this action Ms Giuffre had an Australian driver’s licence and was living in a $A1.9 million [about £1.1 million] home in Perth, Western Australia, where she and her husband have been raising their three children.

“In reality, Ms Giuffre’s ties to Colorado are very limited. She has not lived there since at least 2019 – approximately two years before she filed this lawsuit against Prince Andrew – and potentially, according to her own deposition testimony, not since October 2015.”

Ms Brettler said Ms Giuffre only recently registered to vote in Colorado using her mother and stepfather’s mailing address there.

Yet the court rejected this argument, along with Mr Brettler’s plea for the case to be thrown out because Ms Giuffre had a “tortured interpretation” of the law she was relying on. He said some of the alleged offences were said to have happened outside New York state and beyond the jurisdiction of the New York Child Victims Act (CVA) that she was using.

Because this is what the US FEDERAL JUDGE had to say about it:

LEWIS A. KAPLAN, District Judge.

Defendant moves for an order compelling plaintiff to respond to“targeted” but as yet unspecified “written discovery requests pertaining to her domicile,” requiring her “to submit to a two-hour remote deposition limited to the issue of her domicile,” and staying all other discovery until the Court determines whether subject matter exists, lack of which would be a potential defense that the defendant refers to as “anticipated” and that he concededly has not actually raised.

The motion (Dkt 58) is denied, substantially for the reasons set forth in the plaintiff's opposition to defendant’s motion. Among other relevant points, it appears that the defendant previously served on the plaintiff extensive discovery, including at least one comprehensive request for documents relating to her domicile, to which responses are due, and have been promised, by January 14. See Dkt. 58-2, at 2.

This ruling is without prejudice to any defense of lack of subject matter jurisdiction that defendant may raise by motion or by answer. It likewise is made without determining the merit, or lack of merit, in plaintiff's assertion that defendant’s motion is “a transparent attempt to delay discovery into his own documents and testimony.” Dkt. 60, at 2.

SO ORDERED.

Dated: December 31, 2021

What were some of the reasons set forth in the plaintiff’s opposition? Consider this portion: 

First, Prince Andrew has not made a strong showing that any forthcoming motion he may file will have merit. Defendant repeatedly states that Plaintiff resides in Australia, but where she resides is not the question—it is her domicile, and domicile and residence are distinct legal concepts. See GTG Holdings, Inc. v. Amvensys Cap. Grp., LLC, 2016 WL 931215, at *1 (N.D. Tex. Mar. 11, 2016). “Domicile has been described as the place where a person has his true fixed home and principal establishment, and to which, whenever he is absent, he has the intention of returning.” Linardos v. Fortuna, 157 F.3d 945, 948 (2d Cir. 1998) (internal quotation marks and citation omitted). Accordingly, Plaintiff’s domicile is (and was at all relevant times) Colorado.

Defendant’s selective excerpts of Plaintiff’s prior depositions omit testimony that demonstrates her intent to return to Colorado. For example, Plaintiff testified that she and her husband left Colorado because his elderly father needed their imminent care in Australia after multiple surgeries.(2) As Defendant himself points out, Plaintiff is registered to vote in Colorado, where her mother currently resides. See Dkt. 58-9. 3 These facts, and additional evidence for which Defendant has already sought discovery, establish Plaintiff’s Colorado citizenship. See, e.g., King v. Cessna Aircraft Co., 505 F.3d 1160, 1171 (11th Cir. 2007) (domicile in California where parents testified that, prior to plaintiff’s dying while living abroad, she intended to return home).

Defendant mischaracterizes Plaintiff’s pleadings in the Dershowitz case to suggest, for example, that an allegation in a proposed amended complaint that she “was a citizen of the State of Colorado” is an admission that she was no longer a citizen of Colorado at the time of amendment. Mot at 4. Plaintiff worded the allegation in that way, however, because diversity jurisdiction over her second amended complaint depended on the court having jurisdiction at the time of filing the action. See, e.g., Coury v. Prot, 85 F.3d 244, 248 (5th Cir. 1996) (“diversity of citizenship must exist at the time the action is commenced”).

There we have it. Domicile and residence are different legal concepts in the USA. 

Andrew’s “friend” who talked to Tominey is really dumb. 

“He settled without admitting any guilt and has always resolutely insisted that he has been falsely accused. He’s been utterly consistent about that for more than a decade.

“But when he settled, it didn’t clear his name. So there is a legal resolution, but this was always a three-stage process: legal resolution, followed by clearing his name, followed by whatever it is he wants to do next.

“You can’t expect the Duke to live permanently in this no man’s land with a legal resolution of a civil case, no investigation by any legal authority, let alone any charges. He’s not been found guilty of anything in a court of law, yet in the court of public opinion, his name remains sullied because people think there is no smoke without fire.

“No investigation”? 

You refused to talk to the US DOJ, remember Andrew? Because believe me, everyone at the prosecutor’s office at SDNY remembers. And your Mummy isn’t around to protect you any longer. 

Keep your “sources” talking in the UK press, Andrew. People who work at the US Department of Justice can read articles on the internets just like everyone else. They can see you sending out that bimbo, aka Lady Victoria Hervey, and doing yourself no favors. 

Keep it up Andrew and the US DOJ will grant your wish for an official and very PUBLIC acknowledgement that they’ve been investigating you! 

[60b3r]

Catching up with life.

It's been over five years since I graduated from university, and here I am, once again, applying for jobs like a robot. I have sent over 4 to 5 job applications per week, tweaked my CV individually once a month, and hand-crafted my cover letter uniquely for each jobs I applied to. To top it off, I have been doing this for 2 years combined. Assuming that is not an overstatement, I have been sending over 300 job applications to different schools, universities, and even across other industries. With this overkill—yet seems to useless—Masters degree, it does not serve as a selling point, since it is being considered inconsistent with the common practice prevalently found in Indonesian universities, that one's Masters degree should be linear in order to work in academia as a lecturer. I even had to consider dropping my Graduate degree and went with my Bachelors degree to apply for jobs. People kept saying that biotech is the future, that the sciences are dawning all over, technology grows at light-speed, but all I experience is frustration and anguish. People kept telling that I am overqualified, that there's no way I am always between jobs with such emotive motivation and carefully curated skills and my beautifully AI-tweaked resume. I’m seriously starting to consider giving up this life and trekking into the wild to make my new life, Randall Clark-style. Here I want to reflect back on my past few years' endeavor and remind myself that job-seeking is such a dehumanizing process and something must be done to fix this. But before that, a quick background on my life so far. Consider this as a short, catching-up telltale.

Right after graduating in 2018, I was so motivated to fix the education system. I applied to teaching jobs and got myself a first formal job teaching Biology and caring for a dormant Science Club back in my alma mater. Why not apply for the industry sector, you ask? There's not enough room for Biotech graduates in Indonesia, and despite what people say about the unique nature of the niche, most of the positions can either be filled with Chemical Engineering graduates, or just General Biology graduates. There's not enough value created by pursuing Biotech degree, apart from continuing in academia as a researcher. After one year, I didn't renew my contract and decided to pursue for higher education, which I thought it was necessary to create a bigger impact. I thought back then, "Here I am, teaching young generation Biology and the art of life, some of them might be doctors or environmental engineers, yes, but majority of them won't even need these stuff." I said that to myself, exactly like I was thinking back then when I was their age and learning mathematics. it was 2019 when I decided to pursue MSc/PhD Biotechnology abroad, to allow myself to engage with wider masses upon completion. This time, high-schoolers, next up, college students, or so I thought. But life is a bitch, and then we all gonna die anyway.

Luckily at that time, right after my resignation was granted, I got myself three Letters of Admission: from two different universities in The Netherlands and one from Sweden. I'd then applied for several scholarships program, one of them being the notorious LPDP. The task of simply qualifying for the first round of paperwork selection was very tedious and stressful. It was my first time dealing with a plethora of documents to prepare, and I could say the tears and blood was even worse than the process of getting an LoA from the three campuses. After two more selection stages, long story short, I didn't qualify after the interview process, and I plunged myself in depression. A month later, I collected myself to start over, and this time, applied for jobs in the edtech startups. My thoughts were somehow I could work for a while, save enough money while still creating impact, and fund my Masters off my own deposits. Well again, fortunately I told myself at that time, some unicorn companies contacted me, and somewhat early that year, precisely February 2020, I was called into one of the big edtech company to attend an interview. I scrambled to book a ticket and a homestay for 2 days and... Oh boy. Three days before my departure, Jakarta shut down the borders and Covid ruined my lifelong dream of studying abroad. Interview cancelled, plane ticket burnt, and that hotel bed never touched my back. No job, no credit, eat shit. All 2020 I cried myself to sleep.

The anxiety caused by the uncertainties was so dreadful, I fantasized going for a program—the one in the Netherlands—anyway. Talk about coping using unrealistic expectation. So I emailed the admissions office and requested to postpone my first semester to October 2020 or March 2021 (they granted the former but refused the latter). I even paid for the dorm room in the Netherlands, when I was very certain that this was just another viral outbreak that's gonna resolve on its own after several months (that was also a false hope). Then, my family business took a major hit due to lockdowns imposed by the local government, and everyone went nuts. All plans go bust, and out of nowhere, suddenly, all homeschool students I have been teaching stopped responding to my calls. All types of businesses from across all sectors took a hit. Purchasing power bottomed out. Monetary circulation grounded to a halt. In the midst of all this blazing hellfire that is a financial crisis, it was in the middle of 2020 when I applied for student loan to get myself into a campus in Jogja. I thought "Well, it can't be that bad, right, I can still go to Jogja and pursue another Masters here, domestically, without going abroad and waste lots of money." So did everybody else thought, when we all first had our online classes in October 2020. But fast forward to early 2022, It's like everyone skipped two years of their life, staring at the screen for several hours drying out eyeballs and get nothing from classes other than just one or two classes that are actually elective subjects, not among the core courses.

I greeted 2021 with much hope, a hope that someday I will be able to meet my classmates and hunt for Jogja food later in the day after classes. I would have scoured through the libraries of the renown, and I would have also joined several student councils during my studies. But no. Not even once we got a call from campus saying our classes would go from distanced learning to on-site learning. I spent 2021 lurking around Malang trying to find a closure, visiting many natural places where I used to enjoy, gulping so many unhealthy foods down my throat to ease the numbing pain, even engaged in some risky behavior of ████████████. The year ended with more student debt, an unfinished thesis proposal, a broken heart, and still, no single job interview landed. Yes, I even went through Masters fully online (including all of the phases of research). I spent all 2021 mourning the hundreds if not thousands of what-ifs while drafting my thesis proposal. A small ember light up in the darkness, I got myself a job replacing a science teacher in Surabaya during her maternity leave. I got the contract extended just before I finished my thesis defense, and I am stuck in Surabaya for another year of inconsecutive work experience. Not even a single time I ever stepped my soles on campus grounds in Jogja during my enrollment there. The only chance I got to be closer than ever to my supposed campus building is during my awards ceremony where I returned my graduation robes.

I got paid three times the amount I got when I was working in my alma mater. I got myself a small room not too far away, and after selling my family's car, I even got a small discount since I am not using the provided parking space anymore. Plus, after over half a year, I can save more than I could usually save because there are no more gas-hungry beast that is my 1.5L turbocharged CVT Medium SUV. The school itself was decent, I got mediocre lunch everyday and to be honest there are less paperwork than the previous jobs I had been working on, but oooh the lab equipment and the learning materials are very lacking. I requested for some upgrades here and there, and they didn't even bat an eye. I have to struggle and come up with weird hyper-crearive plans to deliver the lesson, which by the way are not just biology, but also physics, chemistry, and geography. I enjoyed most of my time teaching, but considering a majority of students would leave the school and continue somewhere else, the school management decided to cut over half of the staff earlier this year. By the time of writing, I still need to finish my contract, though. Fortunately, I got some leeway since there are less classes to teach now after Cambridge exams has passed. This is where the fun begins. Not another job hunting. So, wish me luck friends.

[blaiddydbrokeit]

Journal, as always. TW for the usual ED related topics + calorie estimates used for evaluation and adjustments, and TW for discussion of menstrual nonsense.

Today was not a good day. I'd somehow not only managed to lose my house keys, but it seems I'll also need to work harder on my health. For breakfast I had some roti jari - basically breadstick biscuits, and some cereal with my protein milk. My aunt visited today, and had me help her with some documents.

She also cooked, but it... er. Slipped my mind that I hadn't had lunch when I was trying to rest off the odd fatigue. Being on birth control pills meant I wasn't supposed to be having periods, much less heavy enough bleeding to cause period fatigue, but here we are. This is the third pill that has done such things, and the gynae is getting concerned - three consecutive instances of breakthrough bleeds and two decidual casts has apparently escalated the case to one of the more senior doctors.

I did get hungry early, since I missed lunch, so I had dinner early to compensate - my aunt fried some prawns and an egg for me, and I cooked rice. It was paired with pork organ soup. Afterward, I had a mixed berry yoghurt before I found a spare key, and I headed out to have a walk. I walked to the mall the next town over, and stopped at the post office to buy some cartons and to ask about postage rates. My mental state was poor, and I was suffering transient psychotic symptoms again. It made me terribly jumpy and hypervigilant to the point I was becoming anxious. So I decided to go home to deposit my cartons, and retraced my route after, but only clocked 8,000 steps at that point.

I decided to go out again, this time by train to a different mall further out for a change of environment. I wandered around the different stores, and briefly considered picking up some budget store curtains to use as fabric for a sewing project, but didn't end up buying any. I kept wandering until stores started to close, before I returned home, with a little over 15,000 steps clocked for the day.

I took a shower, and had a few biscuits before I realized I was quite hungry. It had been nearly 5 hours since I ate dinner, so I fixed myself some cereal with low fat milk - it was all we had in the fridge at this point. I presently lie in bed.

It seems I've been underestimating my TDEE, and accidentally still putting myself in a bit of a deficit rather than a surplus. While I've improved a fair bit on consistency and a focus on healthy whole foods first, I still have to eat more, especially for protein and iron. I've found that my nails are extremely brittle with some having small dents or dips in them, and that it seems another two toenails are threatening to fall out entirely again. My hair is still getting finer and finer, and it's starting to become a little noticeable in plain sight, and its color is paler than before. Though thankfully, if I take photos in certain ways, and arrange my hair carefully, it can still hide it while I'm trying to pull up my nutrition.

I'll have to put in effort to eat even more - the math suggests that I need to be eating about 2,500 calories a day if I'm trying to pull my weight up since my average burned per day is just a hair over 2,000. And right now I'm only eating about 1,700 to 1,800 a day most days - I do tend to vaguely count in my head, but I do also have a bad habit of frequently overestimating by double or more for my portion sizes, so take these numbers with a grain of salt. My energy has taken a bad dip due to my period abnormalities, but I don't think my intake is quite helping my case, so I'll keep reporting on it in these journals in hopes of tracing a positive trend.

[tuliptiger]

I'm going to bitch about landlords and my particular place I live in. 3...2...1...go

All Landlords are bastards btwww I'm really grateful I went through a property manager and not the actual landlord for the place I live in. When I first got here all the other tenants were like "oh yeah hes pretty nice he used to be a teacher and rents out to people who need it" HAHA

It isn't funny that they had trust and believed he was a good or nice person because they will never stay that way towards their tenants. It's just unfortunate that they didn't connect the dots that hes a bad business man and a poor property manager of this rental property because if it was inspected it would be condemned. He's done no maintenance, it was built 160 years ago and the only new construction was when they split the house into as many apartments as possible for the couple days or weeks railroad workers would stop by and rest years ago.

I like my particular apartment but I know for a fact 2 of the apartments have black mold in them, there was a fucking propane leak (A BAD ONE) that I told another tenant about and had someone come out and fix it. Her heating bill is now 30 dollars cheaper in winter than it was in fucking summer.

He stopped by recently (thank god I missed him) and he chewed out the back neighbor for leaving pots of plants BY A TREE instead of the garden area, which is fucking a couple feet away. He also expects all the tenants to upkeep the property "because we live here" while this sucker has never sat down with any of us and discussed that in a professional way he just gets angry because it isn't done.

1.) Not in any of our rental agreements

2.) He doesn't give us a credit on our rent to do free labor for him

3.) If we did maintenance and damaged the property in any way we'd be charged for it, lose our deposits, or be evicted.

AND I GUESS the neighbor downstairs paid 4 months in advance and the neighbor UPSTAIRS complained about the big beautiful maple outside her window scraping it and she couldn't sleep. SO HE USED THEIR ADVANCE MONEY TO PAY ARBORISTS TO CUT IT DOWN INSTEAD of just fucking ooooh instead of trimming it im so mad about that.

So suddenly he is not the nice teacher who is so generous (he never was) and he wants to charge 950 plus first and last months rent for the fucking BASEMENTTTTTTT its so shit down there every has a key to that place and it sucks ass. It probably has so much must and mold and shit down there and if any of the pipes break that shit is done for.

Anyway anyway yeah I just dont want to live under someone else I hate it i hate the power imbalance he could be a normal fucking human being and get us all together to talk and help him maintain and fix the property but instead hes a freak and royalty about it. My walls have lead in them and I know this because i signed an agreement that said "they didn't KNOW if there is lead in the paint but we wont test for it either so acknowledge the potential threat" but if I repaint the apartment i lose my deposit sooooo. Fuck em :)

I want to rent half my house out when it's built but I want to spend money on a lawyer to write out a legal document that protects me AND the tenant. I also want to get good at balancing the house finances to keep the place well kept and not put the burden on the tenant. I want this shit to be mutually beneficial.

I think the place i live in now is his only "income" or something and he doesn't work right now which is fucked up. anywayyyy all landlords are bastard :)