#and often i’m OVERqualified for the jobs i’ve been applying for | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thetriggeredhappy · 3 years

Note

in the dadspy au, what if jeremy was just going to be an assistant/cook/janitor at the base while his dad was being the mercenary (since spy didnt want him to follow the "career" but didnt want to be separated from him), but then jeremy turned out to be even better than the hired scout so they promote him to that position and spy is not happy with this at all

ok i was gonna put this in the queue to post but im impatient because im happy with this one. only thing i didnt have was spy being upset by this development

(warnings for canon-typical violence, discussion of mercenary-type things, paranoia, alcohol, and exactly one proper fight scene. consider this pg-13)

“Would you prefer the good news first, or the bad news?” Dad asked.

Jeremy looked up at him from where he’d snatched up the sunday comics from his dad’s newspaper and was doodling little hats on the characters while they waited for their food to arrive. “Uh,” he said, “good news first.”

“Alright. The good news is, do you remember that line I’ve been tailing? The one in New Mexico?”

“Uh, yeah,” Jeremy said, then nodded a little more confidently. “Immunity, safehouse, somethin’ like that, right?”

“...Something like that,” Dad agreed carefully, and that made him raise an eyebrow. “It went well, and I think there’s the very real possibility that I’ve all but closed the deal, all they want now is an interview.”

“...Interview, singular,” Jeremy said slowly.

“That’s where the bad news begins. Unfortunately... merde, how to phrase this?” He drew a hand down his face. “They’re fully willing to hire me on, but this is a more... corporate affair than I’m used to. They have rules, stipulations. Long story short, they will not hire you as a mercenary on the basis of your age.”

Jeremy tensed. “What?” he demanded. “That’s stupid, I’m old enough to drive and buy guns and whatever the hell else.”

“But not rent a car, at least in many places in the United States.”

“But—“ he started, and remembered they were in public, and lowered his voice to a hiss, leaning in. “We’re hired killers, thieves, criminals. Do they really think we’re above having fakes? False documentation?”

“Actually, that is one of their requirements,” Dad said dryly, taking a paper from his jacket and consulting it. “I’m not happy about it either, mon lapin, but those are their rules. Already they have slightly bent them for one individual, and already I am on thin ice. But I may have a way to manage this.”

“Yeah?” Jeremy asked, nervous now.

“I know the woman responsible for new hires and managing the team I’ve applied for. She owes me a favor—a fairly hefty one. When I go in for the interview, one of my demands will include you being hired on, not as a mercenary, but for... for custodial purposes, something like that. Cook, janitor, security guard, secretary—whatever job there is that needs doing there, and I am sure that there will be one. Something to allow you to live there. Pay will likely be her stipulation, and the play I hope to make is that really, you’re overqualified for the position and she’s lucky to have someone so competent available, and in the worst case scenario, the pay is still good enough even for just one of us that we will not cut too deeply into the savings.”

The savings. That made Scout blink, because they only ever brought up the savings when—

“You think this could be it?” he asked quietly. “Like, it it?”

A hard exhale, and he leaned his cheek on his hand. “Potentially,” he finally said. “I don’t want to get your hopes up, but the job promises a variety of things. Medical attention available, extremely low levels of danger, and most of all, confidentiality. The only people who will know any name we give them would be the woman in charge of hiring us and their singular medical professional. There is no mode of communication to or from the compound outside of emergency lines to the organization and a single secure payphone located two miles away, there is no civilization within a twenty-five minute drive minimum, and this operation has been going long enough that the local authorities have long since grown used to being paid off, and likely don’t even remember what for anymore. I cash in a few valuable favors and ask this employer to turn a blind eye, we’d have somewhere remote and secure to spend our time after our deaths are faked and once the contract is over, we can start over. No ties to the past.”

“Freedom,” Jeremy marveled.

Silence for a few seconds, broken only by the quiet chatter of the rest of the diner. “I want to warn you, this work may not be glamorous. It may not even be particularly easy. I’m giving you the option of saying no,” Dad said.

“What?! Yes, hell yes, are you joking? To get us to living like normal people? Steady work? Livin’ in one place? Count me in!” he laughed.

“What if the job is something you won’t enjoy? Long hours, boring work?” Dad asked, entirely serious.

“I’m still on board.”

“What if the other people working there are rude to you? Disrespectful?”

“Well most of the people I meet through our job now try to kill us, so really it’s an upgrade.”

“What if there’s no diner nearby?” he asked, and there was a glint of humor in his eye.

“Damn, sorry, that’s the dealbreaker,” he joked right back, and that made him snort, shake his head, greet the waitress as she came back with their coffee and soda and then informed them that their food would be out shortly.

“I’ll ask,” was what Dad said once she was gone again, and that was that, and they started driving to New Mexico two nights later.

“—A warm welcome to our two newest recruits. This is the Spy, and this is the Guard.”

“Guard?” asked one of the men at the table, his accent thick and distinctly Russian. It made Jeremy tense slightly, but he didn’t let it show.

“Night Guard,” Jeremy answered, voice clipped.

“He’s not technically hired on as a mercenary like you all, he won’t be joining you on missions,” the short woman apparently named Miss Pauling (Jeremy was fairly sure it was a fake name) said, hands folded in front of her neatly. “He’s here to work security. Keep an eye out during the night, filter through the camera footage, handle the archiving, things like that.”

“We’re hiring on a civvie now?” asked another man, thick Scottish accent a little harder to digest than the eyepatch and the grenade he was in the process of fiddling with the internal mechanisms of.

“He’s combat ready, and will still be armed. His job is to essentially make sure you’re all safe enough to sleep through the night,” Miss Pauling said.

“I’m not some chump,” Jeremy agreed. “I know my stuff.”

“How old is he?” another man asked, this one in a hardhat with a heavy drawl, looking concerned.

“Twenty, for your information,” Jeremy said, a little sharply, eyes narrowed.

“If you have any other questions, there’ll be time later on. For now, I do need to show our two newest recruits where they’ll be staying,” Miss Pauling cut in.

There was an audible scoff from one of the men at the table, a dramatic rolling of eyes. Jeremy glared at him. He unfolded and refolded his extremely tattoo’d tree-trunk-like arms, tugging the visor of his hat between. “Sorry,” he said, accent thick and distinctly Californian. “I just don’t have the most trust for some scrawny kid in slacks and creep in a ski mask.”

“Scout, don’t start,” Miss Pauling warned.

“Just saying,” this man, apparently called Scout, muttered under his breath regardless.

“Don’t,” she said again, more firmly, and ignored the second eye roll she got for the trouble. “If you two would follow me.”

And they were shown around the base, and Jeremy in particular was shown into a room stuck behind three locked doors, where he found camera feeds and recording equipment. She gave him a basic overview and a thick packet of instructions and policies labelled ‘highly classified’ and a phone number to call if he had any further questions, and a set of hours that were apparently meant to become the new standard for him (with the quiet addendum that if he finished early that was alright, and that technically he could turn in early if two or more members of the team were already awake for the day and he was caught up on the archiving of old tapes).

Then he was left to “get used to the equipment”, which he assumed meant his dad was getting a similar rundown of his job, and it took a pretty quick glance through the packet to understand that clearly this place ran on an extremely secretive and closely monitored series of systems. In the packet, between the sections on camera maintenance and operation hours, were a few sheets detailing what were apparently the movement patterns of the various members of the team, including frequented locations and previously recorded large-scale infractions (mostly on the part of the Soldier, the Medic, the Scout, and one from the Demoman).

He wasn’t the one with the title Spy, but fuck, it seemed like he might as well have it. His entire job wasn’t even necessarily to keep the team safe overnight—he was just meant to watch all of them to make sure nobody was anywhere or doing anything out of the ordinary.

The next time he saw his dad, waiting outside the infirmary to get some sort of physical evaluation, his face was arranged carefully enough that he could tell he’d figured out something was up, too.

“Got your job assignments?” he asked quietly in French, glancing towards the door into the infirmary.

A nod, a glance. “I’m intrigued by the methods used in employee evaluation,” he deadpanned. “Especially the fact that apparently, they’re willing to assign employees for the explicit task of doing them.”

“How often?”

“Weekly.”

“Thorough,” Jeremy deadpanned, and glanced towards the hall at the distant sound of laughter, echoing from somewhere else on the base. “That’s basically mine too.”

There was a long silence, and when Jeremy looked back over, his dad was giving him an almost expectant look, waiting. All he had to offer him was a shrug, which was returned after a moment with a vague shake of the head. “I don’t believe it will be a problem,” his dad said simply. “Not for us, at the very least.”

Jeremy nodded. “Yeah. Uh, anyways, good luck with the… physical, or whatever,” he said, and received a pat on the shoulder before he walked back off down the hall, hoping to figure out what exactly he was supposed to do with an entire room all to himself. He’d almost never had one before.

He was used to time changes and jet lag, to needing to switch his sleep schedule on the regular, but the switch to a straight up night shift was a rough one.

His nine-to-five was actually a ten-to-six, as in 10 PM through 6 AM. This meant that, assuming he managed to get his schedule in order, he’d be able to join in on the team dinners if he woke up early and could eat breakfast with them before he went to bed.

Very quickly he realized that going to dinner and breakfast with the team was going to become a staple part of his routine, because it didn’t take long before he began to feel extremely lonely all of the time. In a dark little room, everyone else asleep, scrubbing through tapes from during the day while half keeping an eye on the live feed from around the base that never showed much of anything, it was brutal. It was suffocating.

It was easy, at least. It didn’t take long before he got efficient at it and could start zoning out, and it wasn’t like he was under much pressure. His was the only room without any cameras in it. Security risk, apparently.  And to be honest, what small amount he and Dad interacted with mercenaries and other criminal types, Jeremy didn’t really tend to like them much. A lot of them were loud and rude and had the potential to turn around and try and kill them whenever they felt like it. He didn’t expect that he’d like the team as much as he did. He especially didn’t expect to like them so much without ever really talking to them.

But watching the camera feeds from throughout the day, seeing what they were up to, they were just... nice people. Soldier out by the dumpsters practicing rocket jumps and wrangling raccoons and apparently trying to learn how to spin a rifle, Pyro’s regular minor explosions in the kitchen while cooking and the surprised and frantic way they cleaned it up every time, the Demoman’s tendency to whistle wherever he went, watching through the feed as they all played cards and argued and jostled each other. They all seemed really nice. Really cool. Really dorky, too, but mostly just really nice and really cool.

And there were a few of them he was less sure about—he couldn’t get eyes on the Medic most of the time, what with the one camera in the Medbay being tilted down at an angle that made it hard to see much of anything but the occasional bird (probably by those same birds). The Heavy tended to just sit and read, and was pretty much silent most of the time otherwise. The Scout tended to leave the base pretty often. And the Sniper didn’t even live on base, he had a van outside that he could only occasionally see movement in when he squinted at the far edge of the camera leading outside. But even then, Heavy and Sniper mostly just seemed quiet, and Medic just seemed busy, and the Scout just seemed like a little bit of a dickhead.

But then one day when Jeremy was at breakfast the Heavy caught him leaning to try to get a look at the cover of the book he was reading, and he blurted that he was just wondering what book was so great that he’d stay up until like four in the morning reading, and then the entire team was gawking at him and asking questions and insisting that it was insane that there was someone actually watching all those cameras, and he shrugged and said there was always supposed to be someone watching the tapes back it was just usually some office worker type a hundred miles away. And they seemed almost... upset with him. And maybe that was fair, it wasn’t like he ever talked to any of them much, mostly he just spent breakfast and dinner half-asleep and listening to their chatter. And Demoman admitted that he’d honestly assumed that Jeremy slept his entire shift, he just always looked so tired at breakfast. There was almost this discomfort. This distrust.

And so, now that the jig was up, he made it a point to say some things to certain members of the team. To tell the Medic that his camera was tilted down so that he couldn’t see most of the room, and to very pointedly say that it was weird how that happened and that he didn’t know why they set it up like that in the first place, but it was really none of his business. Made it a point to warn the Engineer in the morning that the previous night, Soldier had been doing something in the fridge for a while, and to maybe check the labels before he made breakfast. Made it a point to tell the Demoman that the camera in his workshop was right in plain sight, and that if he moved one of his blackboards an inch or two to the left, it would obscure the room a pretty hefty amount. Made it a point to tell the Sniper that the camera on the rooftop seemed to be glitching out, and it’d just sort of lost the tapes of the previous two nights, and that it was really unfortunate since for all he knew there might have been someone ignoring the signs about there being no personnel allowed up there.

In return, he found that Pyro would sometimes make little sparkly notes with smiley faces on them and stick them to the door to the security room. That Sniper started tipping his hat at the camera above the door into the base from the garage. That on occasional drinking nights, the team would suddenly turn and start waving at the camera, laughing the whole way. On one night in particular he could hear through the low-quality and tinny speakers that they were trying to cajole him into leaving the security room for a while to join them for cards, and god, but he wanted to.

And he noticed more things. Soldier walking with a slight limp some days when rocket jumps had rough landings. Being able to count the doves in the infirmary and even tell them apart to some extent through blurry close-ups. The Engineer making it a point to sweep really regularly regardless of what project he was working on.

And then he noticed a weird thing.

It took him a long time to get used to the patterns of hallways, the cameras not really lined up linearly after a while, too many branching paths. He learned to follow progress, to flick from one camera to the next as someone walked around corners. And for a while he thought maybe he wasn’t very good at it.

Until he realized two things. First of all, that in a hallway where he knew there were five doors, he could only see four—apparently the door to Pyro’s room was just barely out of sight of the camera. He only figured it out because one day it swung open wide enough to almost bang against the wall.

And then, when he realized there was somehow that massive blindspot, that there was a corner with a blindspot too. One where that Scout kept disappearing.

He watched a few more times to make sure, and yep. He’d see the Engineer walking around the corner, flick to the next screen, and there he was, continuing down the hallway. And then later that same day, the Scout, walking, and flick to the next camera, and he wasn’t there.

One of the worse parts of the job was that he never got to see Dad anymore, never got to just sort of hang out the way they did all the time when he was growing up, and he knew he would miss it but he didn’t know how much. And he found it was even worse when he had something important to say, doubly so when he had something important to say but no idea if it was actually important.

He tried to bring it up casually, in the like ten minutes of time he ever got alone to talk to Dad. Dad was fighting the kettle trying to make some tea and he was trying to stay awake long enough to figure out how he was going to say this.

“Uh,” he said, and Dad looked at him. “So, uh, what’s the read you’re getting on that Scout guy?”

“Lazy,” Dad shrugged, looked back at the kettle. “Arrogant. He seems to care very little about doing his job correctly and has horrible communication on the field.”

“Right, right,” he nodded, fought a yawn down. “Uh. So like, kind of a dickhead.”

“Indeed,” Dad said, nodding vaguely.

“So uhhh... not the best.”

“Where are you going with this?” Dad asked, arching an eyebrow at him.

“I, I dunno, the guy just likes hanging out in this one blindspot in the cameras, and it’s kinda freaking me out,” Jeremy said, scratching at the back of his neck.

Dad frowned. “Strange. I wasn’t aware that there were any blindspots in the cameras.”

“There’s only a few, and only for pretty small spaces I think? But apparently he just likes hanging out in one of them.” Jeremy scuffed his shoe on the ground, glancing over as voices started echoing down the hall towards them. “Just thought it was weird.”

“I’ll look into it,” Dad muttered, voice quiet, and then raised it again slightly. “I refuse to keep up with sports.”

“C’mon,” Jeremy said, knowing this game well, changing subjects into something more normal as people entered earshot. “I’m not even asking you to keep up with sports, I’m just saying, I’d kill to go to a baseball game right about now.”

“The American Pasttime!” Soldier called from the room over.

“Exactly,” Jeremy agreed, nodding at Soldier as he also entered the kitchen, a half-asleep Demoman in tow.

“Any ghosties or ghoulies on the cameras last night, lad?” Demo had enough energy to ask, blinking blearily at the contents of the fridge.

“Oh, a billion,” Jeremy said.

“Guard!” Soldier barked, the most awake person in the room. “Should these ghost-ghouls appear again, don’t be afraid to point me in their direction! I have significant experience with them already and do not fear the likes of them!”

“Yeah sure,” Jeremy shrugged.

“You’re a champion, Guard,” Demo said with what was either a really disoriented blink or a wink, slugging him on the shoulder and wandering back out into the common room with the entire carton of milk in his other hand. Jeremy gave him a mock-salute that Soldier copied with absolute conviction. He and Dad shared a glance after the two of them left, and Jeremy was the first one to break, snickering under his breath.

“I’ll look into it,” Dad said, and also left the kitchen, and Jeremy nodded and started trying to remember what else he’d been planning on doing before bed.

“So,” Dad said a few days later, materializing next to Jeremy when he was in the middle of his jog and making him almost jump out of his skin, skidding to a stop.

“You’re enjoying that new watch way too much,” Jeremy panted, out of breath and still very much startled.

“Maybe,” Dad said, and he was smiling. “But as I was saying.”

“All you said was ‘so’,” Jeremy pointed out, giving him a look.

“There’s a juvenile joke here about how I’m your father and so of course I say ‘so’, but if you wouldn’t mind it, I did have something important to say, mon lapin,” Dad replied, and Jeremy rolled his eyes hard at the horrible joke and cheesy name, fighting back a smile of his own.

“Go for it,” he said, and took the opportunity to bend and tighten his shoelaces.

“So. Regarding that Scout and his habits. You mentioned he spends time in blind spots of the cameras, oui?” Dad asked.

“Yeah. Keeps, uh, I guess he keeps getting infractions for going off base too much, too. I’ve logged him leaving like three times this week already,” Jeremy nodded.

“Indeed. Well, considering how new we are to the team, I did not want to jump to conclusions, and so contacted Miss Pauling and asked on your behalf for any older records, and I found out something very... intriguing.”

Jeremy looked up at him, blinking. ‘Intriguing’, historically, had always been a very, very bad thing.

“Apparently, it has been two years since they last had a Guard situated on base. The previous one was a much older gentleman, retired from being a full member of the team due to health complications but not entirely ready to part with the company. The previous guard was somewhat strict, and the Scout—the same as we have now—very much disliked the man. He continued acquiring near-constant infractions under the man’s watch for leaving when he was not meant to, so much so that the previous Guard proposed enstating trackers on the team when they went off-base. And before this policy could take hold, the previous Guard left the base one day and did not return, and finally was found dead a state over, one month later.”

Jeremy blinked once, twice. “Holy shit,” he said, and took note of the wary look on his face. “Okay. So we’re thinkin’ the same thing, right?”

“I would assume so. And…” Dad hesitated, moved to fidget with his cufflinks. “And I would not be particularly concerned about this, as I’m confident that you wouldn’t have gotten his attention from what you’ve been up to lately, and therefore wouldn’t be in danger yet should history attempt to repeat itself, but… he’s already taken a disliking to you.”

“What?” he asked, eyebrows shooting up.

“I believe it’s something as simple as some sort of shallow jealousy. Another American on the team, also relatively young, filling the position of someone he disliked previously. He regularly complains about the fact that you don’t need to go do the same job as the rest of us.” Dad shrugged, glanced over at him. “That, combined with the fact that you have somewhat conflicting duties, well, he tends to rather tetchy. He claims that considering he’s meant to be the first line of defense, they shouldn’t also need a guard at night.”

Jeremy had a number of opinions about that, but he stuck to the most relevant ones. “I really don’t like this guy,” he said. “Might be, uh. Worth keeping an eye on.”

“Agreed.” Dad glanced back over his shoulder towards the base, then at his watch. “Enjoy the rest of your run. Don’t forget to eat.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, hit the bricks already, old man,” Jeremy scoffed, waving him off, and Dad rolled his eyes, disappearing again in a cloud of smoke. “You’re gonna be using that thing all the damn time now, aren’t you?”

“Oui,” came a voice from nowhere, and Jeremy huffed a laugh, meandering his way back into the rest of his jog.

Jeremy hummed along to the radio, flicking between cameras on autopilot and wondering when exactly to take his lunch break.

He didn’t face the clock or anything, so he wasn’t sure, but he thought he had a pretty solid rhythm at that point. Click, click, click, between the camera to the road, the camera to the main entrance, and the camera in the hall towards the middle of the building, for about one second each. At just about any time after 11 or 11:30, those were the only three in real time that he needed to keep an eye on, mostly for people coming back late from bar hopping or if Miss Pauling was rolling in on a delivery. All the other cameras he could see out of the corner of his eye, and any movement he’d pick up on pretty quick, even if it was usually just the doves fluttering on the camera to the Medbay. After he cycled through those (and there was almost never anything there) he’d cycle back through to the tape he had in, put it on high speed, and watch it for about two or three minutes, get through a chunk of that time. Mostly he’d just be making sure nobody had been in the base while the team was away ni o(which indeed there never was), so there wasn’t much of a reason to take it off high speed, and the second part of the night would be watching the tapes for the time the team was back on base.

Movement on a camera made him click the pause, and he glanced off to the side. One of the doves had shuffled to face the other direction. He rolled his eyes, looking back at the bigger monitor again and pressing play.

The second half of the night was a little more interesting. He just had to look at the tapes for the time the team was there, check for discrepancies that might point to Dad messing with the disguise technology off-the-clock or the enemy Spy having infiltrated. For the most part things were straightforward, but he at least got to see his teammates up to funny things sometimes. Pyro’s antics were usually entertaining. Soldier he only caught some of, on the basis of him often walking off out of range of the cameras when he went on his excursions. Demo was funny sometimes. Honestly, just seeing the Sniper anywhere but as a fuzzy distant shape was interesting.

Movement on a camera. Same dove. He ignored it. Click, click, click, all three cameras clear, back to the fast-forward of the same empty hallway as before.

He really needed to figure something out, for the Scout. Maybe he and Dad were just being paranoid. It would be insane for him to try to outright kill anyone who inconvenienced him, not to mention reckless, and stupid to boot. Acting like that in their line of work would make him a lot of enemies extremely quickly. It would make more sense for the old Guard disappearing to be unrelated, to be honest.

Yeah. Hell, he barely knew the guy, and here he was assuming he’d straight up whacked a guy for getting a little too on his case about something. Maybe they were wrong.

Movement on a camera. He glanced over and froze outright.

It took him five seconds to come to his senses enough to pause the playback on his screen.

Figures. Shapes. Not at the front entrance, in the hallway, there next to the back way, by the garage. At least three, moving carefully, hard to make out in the darkness.

Okay. Okay, don’t panic, focus.

Jeremy ran through a few things in his head. He’d already done a headcount, the only people he wasn’t sure about were the Sniper and the Medic, but he hadn’t seen the Medic in any of the hallways out of the infirmary. Three figures were two too many to be any of the team, and besides that, they didn’t look like the Medic. Too short to be the Sniper, moving differently. Different clothes.

Three people. He hopped up, rushed over to the wall, yanked open the panel he had there. Three buttons, which he needed to hit in order. The first would send an alert to Miss Pauling, the second to whoever was assigned to be on alert that night, the third would set off the alarm.

He hit the first, hit the second, and hesitated on the third.

Okay. Technically if he didn’t hit that third button, he’d be breaking protocol, which was, according to the manual, ‘grounds for termination’. He was pretty sure that meant a long swim with some concrete shoes. And it was apparently recorded every time he hit these buttons, so they could deduct from his pay on false alerts. So they’d know if he didn’t hit this third button. He needed to think fast.

This was a different button than the alert button. The alert was more subtle, set for just one person. The alarm was throughout the entire base, over every loudspeaker. Louder than a fire alarm. If he hit this one, these intruders would hear that there was an alarm going off. Anyone smart would book it, high tail it the hell out of there. But he still didn’t know where they came from.

There hadn’t been movement on any of the screens, and he looked at the camera feed facing the road already, a few times even. He should’ve seen them. And if they found their way in once, they could do it again.

If he didn’t hit the button, on the other hand, whoever was on alert would wake up and wonder why they’d gotten an alert but the alarm wasn’t going off. If they were clever, which they probably were if they’d lasted this long, they’d come to the security room to see what was up and they could work from there.

He closed the panel again and moved to wait.

A minute later, still no movement from the hallway where most of the rooms were. That was fine, they’d just woken up, and probably needed to get dressed and grab their guns.

Another minute later, no movement, which was fair, they just needed a second to get their bearings. The intruders, meanwhile, were just lurking, slowly making their way down the hall.

Another minute later, no movement, and he opened the panel to press the button again before he continued waiting. Maybe they didn’t hear him the first time.

Another minute later and he took to standing next to the panel, mashing the button rapidly, eyes on the screen where the intruders were passing the kitchen, starting to get pretty far into the building.

Another minute later and he stomped his way into his sneakers, grabbing his flashlight and gun and guard cap from where they were hung on the wall. “Fine, I’ll fucking do it myself,” he grumbled, and carefully shouldered open the door, taking one last glance at the camera before he shut the door behind himself.

He kept his footsteps quiet, squinting into the darkness, waiting for his eyes to finish adjusting as he crept towards where he’d last seen the figures. It was near-silent in the base at night except for the distant, quiet hum of generators and occasional shift of plumbing. It was getting more and more familiar, and he found himself able to tune it out somewhat, instead listening intently for footsteps besides his own, making sure to click the safety off his gun while he was still alone and not when he was close to whoever had decided to break in.

Okay. Dad did this all the time. He could handle this.

He slowed as he approached the corner near the kitchen, peering around as carefully as he could, tugging down the brim of his cap to try and hide any potential shine from his eyes. He caught sight of a vague shape standing near the doorway, hesitating before it crept inside, into the common area.

Not ideal, on the basis of that being their goddamn kitchen, but at least there would be cover.

By the time he managed to sneak up to the doorway, he could make out the sound of vague whispering. It was far enough that it gave him the boldness to peer into the room, and just slightly lit by the glow of the clock on the oven he could see two shapes there in the kitchen, the third lingering nearer to him, there by the table.

Jeremy was only just starting to make a plan, relieved to have the jump on them, when there was the distant sound of a generator humming to life, and all the figures stopped, paused for a moment.

“Fucking spooky here,” one whispered, barely audible.

“Calm down,” another whispered. “What, scared of ghosts?”

Jeremy inhaled, exhaled, shifted onto the balls of his feet and started creeping a little further into the room. If he could just get all three of them to one side, so he wouldn’t need to pivot so much…

“You don’t know, maybe there’s ghosts here,” the first protested, and swore quietly at what sounded like their winging their elbow against the corner of the tale, and Jeremy tried to stick near the wall, managed to creep half-behind one of the chairs, trying to keep his silhouette indistinct. “These guys kill people.”

“So do we,” the third mumbled, moving out of sight in the kitchen, and Jeremy bit down on a swear, starting to inch behind the couch. “Don’t be a coward. And stop making so much noise.”

“You can’t shoot a ghost,” the first pointed out, moving a bit closer to the kitchen, giving the table a wide berth now. “Or punch it.”

“I can try,” the second said, and stopped at the sound of a rustle.

Jeremy held his breath, weight half-balanced against where he’d tried to step, newspaper trapped beneath his foot.

“That one wasn’t me,” the first whispered. There was another, more significant rustle throughout the room, and Jeremy could see a glint as the intruders drew their weapons.

Jeremy inhaled, exhaled, and just barely managed not to swear out loud.

The first one was the closest by, lingering beside the arm of the couch Jeremy was crouched in the shadow of. “Do they have a cat here?” they asked, voice quiet.

The second was approaching into the main room more carefully. From the sound of the footsteps, trying to keep a shoulder closer to the wall, clearly paying more attention to the door. “Are you stupid or something?” was the reply, voice also quiet.

The third didn’t speak, but huffed out a laugh, which was enough to tell Jeremy that he was out of the kitchen.

Jeremy inhaled shakily, exhaled shakily, shifted his grip on his handgun and flashlight, and took a split second to think. Inhaled one more time.

He leapt to his feet, swinging his flashlight like a billy club and clobbering the first figure across the side of the head, sending them tumbling to the ground. From the sound of the impact, a dislocated jaw at the very least. One down.

A shout from the other side of the room, arms moving to try to aim, clearly struggling to see him, but that third figure was in the doorway, silhouetted against the faint light from the oven’s clock, and that was enough to figure out where the head and chest were. He aimed, fired, got what he was pretty sure was the neck considering the brief spray of blood that splattered against the oven, darkening the room completely.

A swear from the second figure, and Jeremy wanted to swear too, because he’d hoped that second figure would be stupid and try and charge him, but now he was ten steps away and didn’t have time to fiddle with and cock the gun again, other hand full with a flashlight and no way to—

Oh, duh.

“Stay where you are,” the second figure ordered, but Jeremy’s eyes were a little better adjusted and besides that, he wasn’t the one talking. He lifted his flashlight and clicked it on.

The second figure cried out, recoiling at the sudden blindingly bright light in what had been near-darkness, and Jeremy had time to finagle his thumb up to cock his gun again, now able to aim with absolute accuracy, this shot connecting with the figure’s head.

He exhaled.

It took Jeremy two minutes to remember to fire a bullet into the chest of the unconscious guy, and another minute for the other mercenaries to start showing up, half-dressed and armed. Dad, presumably to prove a point, showed up pretty close to the middle of the pack almost fully dressed. Jeremy wasn’t entirely sure how long it took before Miss Pauling showed up, but he wasn’t even halfway through their questions by that time.

“Guard, headcount?” she asked before she even bothered saying hello, still wearing her motorcycle helmet and looking more than a little bit miffed.

“Uh,” he said, eyes drawn away from where Medic was assessing the bodies on the kitchen table, “seven present and accounted for. Sniper’s probably out at his van, don’t know about the Scout.”

“Alright. Pyro,” she said, and Pyro stood at attention, bunny slippers squeaking at the movement. “go wake up Sniper and get him in here.”

Pyro nodded, handing their weird unicorn plushie thing to Jeremy as they passed by, giving him a solemn nod before hurrying away.

“Okay. Guard, hit me with a rundown, then,” she said, and shot a glance around the room. “No peanut gallery needed. And Medic, please don’t take them apart too much. I gotta get rid of those later.”

“Uh. Spotted these guys on the cameras, hit the first and second alerts,” Jeremy said.

“And not the third?” she asked pointedly.

“They were, like, right next to the door, and—here’s the thing, Miss P, is I dunno how the hell they got in here,” he said, and there was a general balk from the room. “No, seriously. They didn’t come in on the main road, they were in one of the back hallways by the garage. There’s gotta be a hole in the cameras or something, because I seriously don’t know where they came from. And if they booked it, they’d take whatever vehicle they used to get here, too, and we might not figure it out. Thought I’d just wait for whoever the hell was supposed to be on alert so we could… I dunno, at least see which way they went.”

“Guard,” she admonished, and he shrank a little bit. “That was incredibly reckless. What if nobody had shown up to help you?”

“Uh,” he said, blinked, “but… nobody did show up.”

A pause. She blinked. “What? You’re the one who did that?” she asked, entirely shocked, pointing towards the three bodies on the table.

“Uh, yeah? Isn’t that my job?” he asked carefully, shifting the stuffed animal under his arm.

“No, you’re—you’re just supposed to be the Guard, you’re supposed to watch cameras, not—“ She paused, taking a second to push up her glasses and rub at the bridge of her nose, inhaling, exhaling. “Okay. Points for… going above and beyond, here, but Guard, don’t do that again.”

“Sure thing, Miss P,” he mumbled, tugging on the brim of his guard cap, and sighed to himself as Miss Pauling moved away to try and stop Medic from attempting to covertly steal a few organs from the corpses. Dad clapped him on the shoulder supportively, and that did make him feel a little better. He wasn’t expecting a clap to the other shoulder, and looked up, surprised to see Heavy there, looking just slightly less grim than usual.

“Little Guard man is credit to team,” he said simply, solemnly.

Jeremy straightened up slightly. “Oh. Hey, thanks,” he said. Heavy nodded at him.

“It’s true,” Demo called, and he looked over, got another approving nod. “Really saved the lot of us, lad.”

“I, I mean, hey, it’s… what I’m here for. Or, uh. I thought that was it, anyways,” he shrugged, glancing away. “I mean, yeah, I’m pretty cool, though.”

Dad bumped his arm for the last part, and he snickered. “My question,” Dad continued, doing his best to ignore him, “is primarily regarding who, precisely, was supposed to be present to help Guard with this. Who is meant to be on alert?”

“It’s meant to be Scout, ain’t it?” the Engineer asked from nearby, frowning. A general murmur of agreement. “Could he have slept through it?”

“Heavy doubts this,” Heavy grumbled, looking troubled.

“Why’re we awake?” asked Sniper from the doorway, and various teammates called out a greeting. Sniper seemed half-gone, and completely grumpy, but not as grumpy as Pyro, and not nearly as gone as the man leaning heavily against Pyro’s shoulder.

“Hey,” the Scout managed, grinning, speech garbled, visibly sloppy and unbalanced. “What’s up, guys?”

Groans from parts of the room. “Drinkin’ again, Scout?” the Engineer drawled, visibly irritated.

“That’s my trademark, lad, go on,” Demo laughed, but the enthusiasm wasn’t entirely there.

“Scout,” Miss Pauling said, voice firm in a way that made Jeremy almost flinch in sympathy. “Are you aware that we’ve had a situation here while you’ve been sleeping?”

“Weren’t sleeping,” Sniper murmured, and eyes turned to him. He scratched at the back of his neck. “Came stumbling in ‘round when I was heading in. He was out for the night. Bar, looks like.”  “What?” Jeremy demanded. “Why the fuck didn’t I see him leave on the cameras?”

“Alright,” Miss Pauling said, and Jeremy looked at her. Her expression was hard to read. “It’s possible he went through the back tunnel.”

“Back tunnel?” Jeremy asked, and glanced around. Apparently he wasn’t the only one who hadn’t heard of it.

“For emergencies only. Scout’s the only one who I’ve given a key card to. I have one too. It’s supposed to be used for transporting especially sensitive information, most of the team isn’t supposed to even know it exists. If there’s a gap in the cameras around the back of the building, he might have been using it to… sneak out to go to town, even though he knows he’s already in hot water for leaving the base so much,” Miss Pauling said, glaring at Scout, who was looking increasingly annoyed.

“Whatever, it’s not a big deal,” he protested, scoffing.

“That tunnel is for emergencies only,” Miss Pauling stressed. “I trusted you with the privilege of knowing about it account of having worked here for so long, and you’re using that privilege and key card to mess around?”

“He was coming back from around the front of the building, at least,” Sniper chimed in, and Pyro nodded. “Not that I’d understand the point of sneaking out if he’s going to just walk back in the front door.”

“Key card?” Medic repeated from near the table, eyebrows furrowed.

“Yeah, it’s, it’s a magnetized card, that can be read by a card reader, used like a key,” Miss Pauling explained, deflating a little bit.

His eyebrows furrowed further. “Would it happen to look anything like this?” he asked, picking up a lanyard from the table and holding it up, showing the room the card clipped onto the end of it.

Two beats of silence. “Spy, would you mind?” Miss Pauling asked politely, nodding towards the Scout, who had gone pale.

“Not at all,” Dad said just as politely, and walked over towards the Scout and Pyro, then circled around behind them, and sank a blade into the Scout’s spine. He promptly crumbled to the floor, dead.

“Well. At least that’s that mystery solved,” Miss Pauling sighed, and rubbed at the bridge of her nose again. “Now I’ve gotta block off time tomorrow to get rid of three bodies, and then hopefully that’s the last we’re gonna hear of this or else the Administrator is gonna kill me.”

“What about the Scout?” Heavy rumbled.

“…Scratch that. Four bodies,” she mumbled, face dropping into her hands. “And then I need to find his replacement. Ugh.”

“Can’t imagine you’d need to go far,” Demo said, and Jeremy looked up, and Demo was very obviously tilting a thumb in his direction.

“He’s proven himself to be better at this job,” Dad agreed, shrugging. “And I would say on a bad day he’s still a better runner than the previous Scout on a good one.”

“He can clearly handle a firearm well,” the Engineer noted, looking over one of the bodies.

“And a blunt object,” Medic chimed, just a bit too pleased. “This jaw is almost completely shattered!”

“Okay, okay, fine, sure,” Miss Pauling waved off, one hand still pressed to her face, clearly overwhelmed and tired. “We’ll get his paperwork in tomorrow. Congratulations, you’re the new Scout, any questions? Can the questions wait until morning? Great, thank you. Good night, everyone. Medic, have the bodies in bags for me at least, okay?”

A distracted thumbs up from Medic, and Miss Pauling was groaning, wandering back out of the room, and most of the team followed, yawning amongst themselves. Sniper half-attempted to ask again why the hell any of them were awake, but gave up halfway through. Pyro, for one, made sure to at least retrieve the plushie from Scout’s arms before wandering off, giving him an appreciative pat on the shoulder.

“So,” Dad said, and when he looked over, he was smiling. “A promotion, mon lapin. Congratulations, new Scout.”

“Do I gotta wear that stupid outfit he always wears?” Jeremy asked, entirely serious. His reply was a laugh and a pat on the shoulder before he disappeared in a puff of smoke. “Pops, I’m serious. Do I? Dad!?”

“—So that’s why I figured, y’know, might as well tell you guys,” Jeremy finished rambling, hands in his pockets, continuing down the hallway. “Because… I dunno. I could tell Miss P, but it’s nice having secret stuff, y’know?”

“You think this is how they actually got in?” Demo asked, looking dubious. “Little blind spot in the cameras?”

“Only a couple feet wide, you said?” Sniper grumbled.

“Sounds possible,” Heavy said hesitantly.

“I dunno. Maybe. But if I tell Miss P about it, they’re gonna fix it,” Jeremy shrugged, turning the corner and stopping. “There. I knew it.”

They stopped with him, following his line of sight. “You’re takin’ the piss, mate,” Sniper deadpanned. “You want to tell me he’d been climbing out a window like a teenager?”

Jeremy shrugged, moving to open the window in question. It swung open easily, just large enough to push through with only a little bit of a problem, barely needing to turn his shoulders. “He’s not much bigger than me, and what the hell else would he be doing here?” he pointed out.

“Heavy cannot fit through that window,” Heavy deadpanned.

“Yeah. Sorry, big guy,” Jeremy apologized, leaning back inside and closing it again. “But hey, mystery solved, right?”

“Well, if I ever need windows to climb out of, now I know just the lad for the job,” Demo said, nudging him. “Thanks, Guard. Or, er, Scout. Och, now that’s going to take getting used to, aye? Might just stick to calling you ‘laddie’, laddie.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he laughed, nudging him right back. And as much as they ribbed him for it, he did see a kind of appreciation there. Just like he’d figured, they seemed to take note of him taking their side and not just Miss Pauling’s.

Now he just needed to switch back over to the day shift.

#father-son bonding au #dad!spy #tf2 #team fortress 2 #shut up me #my fanfiction #everybody talks #really happy with this one even if it took Way Too Fucking Long

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mrsimoshen · 5 years

Text

Marked In White

Title: Marked In White

Link: Marked In White

Kink Bingo square filled: Come play

Rare Pair Bingo square filled: Gadreel

Ship: Michael/Gadreel

Rating: Explicit

Tags: FBI Agent!Gadreel, mob boss!Michael, undercover agent, non-descriptive murder, dubious morals, Gadreel has them, come play, hand jobs, anal sex, Come Marking, two idiots in love, slight D/s, top Michael, bottom Gadreel, slight topping from the bottom

Summary: FBI Agent Gadreel Penikett is undercover in Michael Alighieri's company to find evidence against the suspected mob boss.Gadreel also ends up under covers in Michael's bed. No one involved has any complaints with that.

Word count: 3603

created for @spnkinkbingo and @spnrareshipbingo

tagging:

@lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell, @silvaxus, @blakechaos08, @princerusso, @masterpieceofturkeycleverness @ajcza, @buggre-alle-thisss-ineffability, @brieflymaximumprincess, @captain-winchester-27

Fic beneath the cut:

FBI Special Agent Gadreel Penikett knows full well he’s more than just skirting the line of unprofessional behavior. In fact, that line is somewhere back in New York… probably in the building at Federal Plaza, neatly stuffed into a desk drawer somewhere.

Gadreel himself is in Los Angeles, has been for the past eleven months. His mission was supposed to be easy and straightforward: infiltrate Michael Alighieri’s business conglomerate, confirm the smooth businessman is, in fact, deeply entrenched in the organized crime, gather as much evidence as possible, and get out alive.

His two predecessors hadn’t found any clear evidence, and both had died in convenient accidents not too long after being pulled from the job – both of them on the opposite end of the country as Michael Alighieri himself, but Gadreel knows that doesn’t mean the man didn’t order those accidents to happen.

seven months ago

Gadreel takes a deep breath, glancing down to make sure his suit is still neat, and no strange stains have showed up in the ten minutes sine his phone rang.

He’s nervous, which isn’t good when one is doing undercover work.

He’s good at it usually, which is why his superiors decided to set him on the task. The cover is well-thought out, too, and Gadreel finds he actually likes working as a security advisor to Alighieri Enterprises. People listen to what he has to say, and more often than not, his advice is taken seriously. He doesn’t get shot at quite that often, either, and the lack of new bruises and pulled muscles certainly is refreshing, as is the guaranteed weekend except the two days of the month where he’s on call. (Another advantage is that he can use the position to give himself opportunities to sneak around gather evidence, and he’s not sure if this was on purpose or a lucky coincidence. Knowing the FBI, it’s the second option.)

The part that decidedly wasn’t planned is that he’s risen fast in the ranks, until Michael Alighieri himself noticed him – and apparently took an interest.

Since you don’t say “No thank you,” to an invitation to Michael Alighieri’s private office, Gadreel didn’t even try. He also didn’t dare wearing any kind of wire for this meeting. He’s seen other men leave the office looking a little disheveled and rather sated after a private late evening meeting with Mr. Alighieri, and undercover ops have been blown by stupider mistakes than not taking into account the possibility of sex.

(Gadreel tells the part of himself that has been fantasizing about Michael Alighieri since he first saw the man very firmly to shut the fuck up when it immediately supplies several positions that wouldn’t ruffle their suits too much.)

The mansion – and there is no other word for the house Michael Alighieri lives in, this is old money, clearly – sits just a short walk away from the sleek modern building in which Alighieri Enterprises has its headquarters and where Gadreel works. He doesn’t even have to leave the grounds, just pass through a series of high-security doors and walk a short underground passage. He didn’t know this even existed before he was entrusted with the position he currently holds, and isn’t quite sure the passage was built legally, either, but he has to admit it’s really convenient to not have to step out into the rain that’s been coming down the whole day.

Gadreel steps through the last door (heavy, bullet-proof glass all of them, and he doesn’t want to know how expensive this was) and pockets his key card again, offering a smile at the security guard awaiting him.

“Mr. Alighieri demanded my presence,” he tells the man, who nods and points.

“Down the corridor, last door on the left.”

Gadreel thanks him and follows directions, discreetly looking around as he walks down the corridor. The art on these walls probably costs more apiece than Gadreel makes in a whole year. Some of it is really pretty, some of it makes Gadreel wonder if the artist was on some kind of drug while creating it.

The door to Michael Alighieri’s office is heavy, dark wood, and when Gadreel knocks, he immediately gets an answer in the form of a deep voice calling for him to come in. He suppresses a shiver and opens the door, stepping into an office that doesn’t fit the old-world theme of the part of the house he’s seen up until now at all.

The entire wall opposite the door is glass. Floor-to-ceiling windows provide a great view over the garden below and further out, the city of Los Angeles. They also make the room seem light and airy, aided by the pale wallpaper and light furniture. Mr. Alighieri seems to have a fondness for glass, because the desk he’s sitting behind is made of the stuff, too, and it’s the neatest desk Gadreel has ever seen.

“Mr. Tahmoh, so good of you to come here on such short notice.”

Mr. Alighieri’s voice has Gadreel suppress another shiver as he walks further into the room, the door closing behind him silently. “I’m honored you wanted to see me,” he replies, taking the outstretched hand. Michael Alighieri’s handshake is firm and cool, hints at carefully moderated strength, and Gadreel very sternly tells his libido to shut the fuck up before you kill us both, goddamnit.

His employer smiles at him and gestures. “Please, have a seat.”

Gadreel complies, slowly sitting down in one of the comfortable chairs in front of Mr. Alighieri’s desk. They’re real, soft leather, and more comfortable than the bed he’s been sleeping in since he came to L.A.

His employer sits down again, too, leaning back into his own chair with a smile. “How do you like L.A., Mr. Tahmoh?”

“It certainly is a lot nicer than Chicago, as far as the weather is concerned.” Gadreel smiles. “Warmer, and I like the ocean nearby.”

Mr. Alighieri’s smile widens. Those long fingers are playing with a pen, and Gadreel’s gaze keeps drifting to it. “And how do you like working for me, Mr. Tahmoh?”

Gadreel very carefully doesn’t tense. Does the man across from him suspect something?

“I like it a lot,” he replies. “It’s interesting work, and I like to think I am doing a good job on it, as well.”

“Oh, you are.” The possible mafia don across the glass desk sits up, still smiling, and rests his arms on the glass surface. The pen gets stroked slowly, up and down. “I’ve heard several department heads sing your praise, Mr. Tahmoh. Quick on the uptake, dedicated to the job, intelligent and polite… there is a reason you rose to your current position this fast, and it’s not just the fact you are easy on the eye.”

Gadreel blinks. “Thank you. I think.”

Mr. Alighieri laughs quietly, his expression truly amused. “Oh, yes, please take that as a compliment. Considering the many praises I just repeated to you, I think you will already have noticed that my taste in partners is… not quite heterosexual.”

Gadreel blinks again and nods. “I noticed who… came late and left early, let’s say.”

“So polite,” his employer grins. “Well, Mr. Tahmoh… I have two proposals for you, and I would like to make it very clear beforehand that neither your job nor the first proposal depends on your answer to the second.”

Gadreel can feel himself flush a little, because he can guess what one of those proposals will include. He noticed Mr. Alighieri’s eyes didn’t leave him the entire time he’s been in here, and those green eyes are just a little hungry. Add in the way the man plays with that damn pen… yeah, that’s flirting. Low-key, but flirting.

“Understood,” he says, holding that gaze. Mr. Alighieri’s smile widens.

“The first proposal is this,” he begins. “My Chief of Security told me this morning that she is pregnant – this is strictly confidential for now, of course – and obviously, I need someone to take her place. A mother needs to have less stress in her life than that position brings with it. I made discreet inquiries, and everyone I spoke to mentioned you as a perfect candidate. It is fast, I realize that – you have worked for me for less than a year. Four months is a very short amount of time, but I took a look at your application myself and noticed you are overqualified for the position you applied for in the first place.”

Gadreel blinks again – and he really needs to stop that, that is a tell and he really doesn’t need one of those – and leans back a little.

“I’m flattered,” he begins, “but are you sure I am the best candidate? I don’t want anyone harboring a grudge because I’m taking a job they wanted and have more rights to.”

“That is a commendable attitude, Mr. Tahmoh, but in my company, the work someone does speaks louder than the amount of years someone has worked here. You are the best person for the job – aside from the fact you’ve been with us very shortly. I would be keeping a closer eye on your decisions than I usually do for the first few months.” Mr. Alighieri smiles a little bashfully. “I’m sure you understand that’s nothing personal, just a precaution.”

“Of course,” Gadreel agrees, and doesn’t curse inwardly even though he wants to. Sneaking around while Michael Alighieri himself keeps a closer eye on him is going to be a truly idiotic thing to do. “And… the second proposal?”

“Forward, I like that, too.” Mr. Alighieri smiles. “The second proposal is of a more personal nature. As I said before, perhaps not quite this clearly, I find you attractive, Mr. Tahmoh. I’d like you to spend a night in my bed – with the option for more if we both find each other agreeable.”

A part of Gadreel – a part he hates, at that moment – considers the proposal with the eye of the agent who wonders just how much intel he could get if he secured himself a spot in Michael Alighieri’s bed on top of the Chief of Security position. He really doesn’t like that thought, because it makes him feel cheap – and because he knows his superiors would tell him “Well, lie back and think of Amerika, Penikett.”

A much louder part of him considers both proposals with the eye of a man who likes the work he’s doing right now, and the eye of a man who thinks his employer is fucking hot, and that part silences the other quickly.

“Yes,” he murmurs, and watches that verdant gaze darken, “to both. I’ll take the position you’re offering me, and I’d very much like to spend a night or more in your bed, Mr. Alighieri.”

“Michael,” his employer purrs, his smile growing. “I’m not quite into being called by my last name in bed. Or on the way there.” He gets up and slowly walks around his desk, and Gadreel breathes in sharply when he’s suddenly got a lapful of potential mafia boss who’s intent on kissing him.

And damn, Michael Alighieri can kiss, which Gadreel discovers seconds later and immediately decides he wants to have more of. A lot more.

Michael pulls back what feels like hours later, breathing quickly. His eyes are dark and hungry, his lips just a bit swollen from their kisses, and Gadreel makes a low noise in his throat at the sight and notices he’s gripping Michael’s hips in both hands. When did that happen?

“I want you in my bed,” Michael tells him, licking his lips. “Say yes, Garrett.”

The wrong name is jarring, and Gadreel suddenly hates that, too, but he’s got very limited choices regarding that.

“Yes,” he murmurs.

That first night he spends in Michael’s bed, Gadreel gets caught up in the wild storm that is Michael Alighieri, unleashed. His lover is gentle, but demanding and thorough, and Gadreel ends up pleasantly sore when he leaves in the morning with a kiss and a promise to return soon.

He very carefully leaves that part out in the report to his superiors, just informs them of his soon to change position within the company. They go nuts enough over that, and Gadreel doesn’t feel like a whore quite as much.

He slips into his new position with surprising little trouble, the team he now leads more than supportive. Naomi is thorough in her explanations and training and lets him fly solo soon enough – which brings him into closer contact with Michael far more regularly than he thought.

That relationship progresses, too, until Gadreel places those meets for last on his agenda and discusses whatever came up with Michael during dinner, or over a glass of wine. His own apartment slowly becomes a place where he stores his clothes, as he spends more and more nights in Michael’s comfortable bed, and in his lover’s arms. Michael is affectionate when they are alone, and Gadreel is drawn in like a moth to the flame. He could probably help it by reminding himself this isn’t real – but he comes to realize, as the weeks progress and turn into months, that he wants it to be.

Here, his coworkers’ support isn’t just for show, and no one is looking to stab him in the back and rise on his downfall. If he makes mistakes, or anyone has doubts about a decision, they come to the rescue or inform him of their thoughts.

Gadreel liked working for the FBI, he enjoyed the challenges of being a Special Agent – but this is challenging him, too, and he finally has to admit the truth, at least to himself: he doesn’t want to leave. Ever. (He can’t admit that to anyone else, because his superiors and his handler would make him disappear in a dark cell somewhere, and Michael… Michael still hasn’t given any indication he suspects “Garrett” isn’t who he says he is. He’d probably shoot him on principle.)

And then comes the night where Gadreel gets definite proof of Michael’s status in the world of organized crime. His lover calls him just as he’s intending to leave his office, simply telling him, “I need you to accompany me to something.”

That ‘something’ turns out to be the interrogation and subsequent execution of someone who tried stealing from Michael – and apparently, Michael Alighieri has very little patience for that. Gadreel doesn’t flinch as his lover puts three bullets into the man, doesn’t evade the touch when Michael leans into him as they drive back to his home.

He’s got proof.

He doesn’t care.

Michael looks at him that night, perched on his hips, with a curious expression. His dark hair is a mess already from Gadreel’s hands, his lips are red and full from the kisses they exchanged. Gadreel looks up at the half-naked man on top of him and bites down hard on the words that want to spill.

Michael slowly looks him up and down, still with that curious expression, before leaning down for a slow kiss.

“I want you to fuck me,” he breathes, and Gadreel’s breath hitches.

“Yes,” he murmurs, and Michael moans and kisses him again.

Michael rides him, easily pinning Gadreel in place beneath him. It’s slow and soft and hard at the same time, and Gadreel begs for Michael’s kisses as he writhes beneath his lover, utterly caught in his spell.

Michael holds him close, later when they’ve cleaned up and are cuddled up beneath warm blankets. Gadreel usually isn’t the size to be the little spoon, but with Michael, it’s easy to slip into that role, and he’s happy to let his lover hold him. Ironically, even after today, he feels safe when he’s held like this.

He’s almost asleep when Michael finally speaks, close to Gadreel’s ear.

“So, should I expect the FBI to come calling tomorrow morning?”

Gadreel freezes. He can’t help it, even if it’s probably the best way to confirm Michael’s silent accusation.

“No,” he finally breathes.

“Do not lie to me, Gadreel,” Michael murmurs, voice quietly intense. “I’ve known for a while you weren’t who you said you were. I just didn’t want to believe you’d go this far for a job.”

Michael’s hand slides up to rest at Gadreel’s throat, quietly threatening, and Gadreel closes his eyes and relaxes into his lover’s – ex-over’s? no, please no – hold.

“I didn’t,” he murmurs, covering Michael’s hand with his own. “I haven’t given them anything in months, Michael.”

The hand around his neck tightens. “They would have pulled you by now if that was true, Gadreel. How much did you give them?”

“Lies,” Gadreel breathes, eyes still closed. “All hearsay and rumors I will never find evidence for because I don’t want to.”

“They’ll demand that evidence at some point,” Michael informs him, but there’s a new tone in his voice. Gadreel is reluctant to call it hope, but nothing else fits.

“They might,” he agrees. “They won’t get it from me. I haven’t witnessed anything that might point to you doing anything unlawful.”

Michael freezes behind him. “And what would you call this evening?”

“My beautiful lover being sexy as fuck,” Gadreel grins. Then he yelps when he’s suddenly on his back, Michael wild-eyed above him.

“Be very clear, Gadreel,” Michael breathes, his usually dark green eyes almost fever-bright. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that no matter if the name is Garrett Tahmoh or Gadreel Penikett, I am yours,” Gadreel tells him, shivering at the thrill of saying his true name out loud to this man for the first time.

Michael’s eyes go dark again, but it’s a hungry dark this time.

“Are you, now,” the (Gadreel thinks) most powerful man this side of the Rocky Mountains murmurs. “That’s a dangerous thing to say to a man like me, Gadreel.”

Gadreel laughs and shivers again. “I know.”

Michael growls and leans down to kiss him, and they don’t speak again for quite a while.

Now…

“Mine,” Michael murmurs, smirking. “Aren’t you pretty, Gadreel?”

Gadreel moans helplessly. He’s stretched out on his back, tied spread-eagle to their bed. Michael’s hand is wrapped around his cock, stroking and teasing just the way Gadreel loves it.

Michael’s hand moves faster. “Come for me, baby,” he demands, twisting and squeezing perfectly, and Gadreel moans and arches up as much as he can and covers his lover’s hand in his release. Michael purrs, and then that come-drenched hand slips down between his legs, and Gadreel’s breath hitches as Michael uses his come to slide one long finger into him. (He got fucked the night before, so he’s still a little open, a little wet from the lube Michael used last night. His lover is feeling possessive, always does whenever Gadreel goes to tell his handler some more bullshit. Gadreel very much enjoys it.)

“Like that, do we?” Michael murmurs, working him open slowly. Gadreel moans in confirmation, writhing as much as his bonds allow. Michael smirks and adds another come-slicked finger.

His lover is relentless, fucking him slow and hard until Gadreel is hard again and begging to be allowed to come, and when he pulls out, Gadreel nearly screams his frustration.

“You’ll get to come, baby, don’t worry,” Michael purrs, straddling him and jerking his own cock fast and hard. Gadreel eyes it hungrily. “But I am going to mark you as mine before you do.”

Gadreel moans and lets his head fall back, baring his throat, and this time, it’s Michael who moans and curses.

The first hot splash of come across his neck has Gadreel whine, the second makes him moan. He can feel the come dripping down his neck towards the bed, warm, sticky lines that mark him as Michael’s, and he moans and arches as Michael pants above him, another hot streak spurting over his collar bones as his lover wrings the most out of his orgasm.

“Please,” Gadreel breathes, shivering as Michael reaches out to swirl his fingers through his own release on Gadreel’s skin. “Please, Michael.”

“Hush, darling.” Michael’s voice is hoarse, wrecked as it only gets when he’s really aroused. “I’ve got you.”

Fingers slick with come wrap around Gadreel’s cock, and the thought of that, knowing it’s his lover’s release that eases the strokes, has Gadreel mewl in desperation. “Please!”

Michael laughs. “Come for me, then, my pretty darling,” he orders, and permission given, Gadreel nearly screams as he covers his lover’s hand in more sticky come. “Open your eyes,” comes the next quiet order, and Gadreel complies even as his body shivers and trembles and more come spurts out of his dick.

“Fuck,” he breathes. Michael laughs again, finally removing his hand from Gadreel’s twitching cock. Those same fingers, dripping with Gadreel’s come this time, lightly drag over his chest, and the pattern is familiar. Gadreel desperately scrambles for his still blissed-out brain cells.

“There we are,” Michael murmurs, raising his hand to his mouth to delicately lap at the come still remaining. “All mine.”

Something clicks. “You signed your name on me,” Gadreel breathes, and fuck, if he could get hard again that fast, that would be enough.

“Mhmm.” Michael grins at him, reaching to the side, and then Gadreel mewls as cool glass is nudged against his hole and slid in. “We’re not done yet, darling.”

Gadreel moans and sinks back into the mattress, willingly accepting the soft, slightly come-flavored kiss. Today’s going to be fun.

Yes, Gadreel is more than skirting the line of unprofessional behavior. But honestly? He doesn’t give a fuck.

#spnkinkbingo #spnrareshipbingo #mrsimoshen writes #gadreel/michael

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ganymedesclock · 6 years

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I don't understand the permanent lion switch theory. Why do the characters need to grow into roles other teammates can already fullfill perfectly? and why are Pidge and Hunk excluded from such "important development"?

Honestly I’m not surprised Pidge and Hunk are left out?

Again, I feel like it’s less a support of the first switch formation and more this sort of… elevating Shiro’s importance to the team, but also not accepting that Shiro is also if anything ludicrously overqualified to be Black Paladin.

With regards to Keith: people want him to be black paladin because they want to view him as “the main hero”, and the idea is that Black is the “most special”

I feel like there’s some irony to the mentality because it basically frames Shiro and Black the same way- their actual qualities don’t matter. What matters is that Keith (or Lance) are good, have good qualities, and deserve recognition, and that recognition should be given to them no matter how Black or Shiro would feel about it, or even what Keith / Lance are shown in-universe to want.

With Lance, and Blue, there’s a particular angle to it that tangles in with Blue’s role as the Heart. Even within Voltron itself as a franchise, most continuities put Allura in the Blue Lion. And as much as I’ve heard many people complain that Lance “deserves better” than the Blue Lion, it’s comparatively almost unheard of for people to gripe about Allura being “shackled” to the Blue Lion even though they frame Lance deserving better as Blue being dead-end worthless drudgery.

Because the Heart- characters similar to VLD Lance- are often sorted into two categories. Both are looked down upon- emotional labor, empathy, and supporting the team are not seen as valuable heroic exertions, and they’re virtually always framed as coming at the cost of the person themselves- because obviously you’d never want to support other people if you could put your all-important self first, even when that self is being adequately tended to.

A female character in the role of the Heart is just seen as this is where she ought to be. It’s effectively considered a pink-collar job, and you can look at in the real world what’s considered “women’s work”. Of course she’s tirelessly going to tend to her team, of course she’s never going to pursue anything important for herself (when that sacrifice of self is not actually remotely necessary) of course she’s going to be the doe-eyed loving supportive figure, she’s a girl, that’s what girls do, live for all of the men around them, right?

Conversely a male character in the role of the Heart? Is seen as an absolute joke for the most part. Isn’t it funny he’s so weak-willed and sympathetic, isn’t it funny he’s not aggressive and macho, god he’s so pathetic. But don’t worry, though, since he’s supposed to want better than this lame old Heart job, he’ll inevitably “grow up” to be tough in a stereotypically macho way, even if this character development is completely at odds with everything else about who he is as a person.

At best, getting the character development that actually befits him as the Heart, you can count on him to be unaccepted until he proves he gained something from it in a sufficiently “manly” proactive manner.

The thing is, a lot of the tropes around the Heart aren’t remotely actually necessary to the role, and a well-written Heart character either deconstructs them or simply does entirely without them. There is no rule that emotional labor is the level that people stoop to when they aren’t man enough to chase their personal objectives. The role of the Heart is where we, as a society, dump our garbage- all of the hangups about this womanish kind of heroism- and the misogyny that says “well if WOMEN do it, it can’t be valuable!” and “real men don’t cry, what are you, a GIRL?”

It’s worth noting that the cry to take Lance away from the Blue Lion is probably the loudest and most passionate- Shiro, Pidge and Hunk are completely ignored for this (there’s basically no discussion where Shiro should go except “not in the Black Lion, because we need that for Lance!”) because their roles are very standard.

Here’s the brainy one, here’s the brawny one, here’s the Leader, and there’s his Right Hand, we don’t complain about these things. Because we’ve already been conditioned through just about any five-man team show to consider those four the important ones, and Shiro the most important of all. When canon already can be viewed as “tempting” us with the possibility of Keith “surpassing” Shiro and stealing his important leader spotlight, it’s just understandable people salivate over that possibility- because we all know only the Leader will actually get the biggest slice of heroism at the end.

But the heart? There’s a reason TVTropes dismissively calls that role “The Chick”. Just look at that name for it- “oh, the designated girl, they threw her in there just because they had to have a girl so people wouldn’t complain about their sexism, so she can, y’know, stand out of the way and look pretty. Maybe we can give her a dainty little weapon and let her do some fighting but not that much. When the Leader is having his real, manly problems she’ll drop all of her petty girl issues to run over and support him.”

This is not what’s in VLD. But it’s in the cultural lens that we’ve been led to look to these kind of shows. It’s why, even in absence of canon support, people assume Shiro asserts so much more control and influence over the team- to the point of how many fanfics assume if Shiro disliked Lance, that Shiro could turn the whole team against Lance rather than the team would kick him to the curb, as we literally saw happen in motion with our secondary Voltron team, Sincline, and how Lotor vs. Narti ultimately ended. The generals gathered around the fallen Narti, and Lotor was simply cut from the team, without particular effort or fanfare. The hardest thing for the generals was feeling bad about it.

But Shiro and Lotor, they’re Leaders, so they have to be inherently stronger than their whole team, inherently in charge- except they aren’t.

People likewise assume that just pointing out Keith’s strength and intelligence mean that he should be the Leader- the idea is that he’s too competent to be a Right Hand, because every position besides the head is perceived as settling for less. (And Hunk- a fat black man, and Pidge- a young quite-possibly-written-as-trans girl with choppy hair, outside of occasional token “no, THEY should be the special one! I’m so revolutionary in praising them without thinking about them instead of insulting them without thinking about them!” largely are simply accepted that of course they’re settling, they’re lesser people)

Here’s the thing about Lance in VLD. None of that applies to him.

Lance has never been characterized as a weak-willed doormat. Nor has he been characterized as settling for less, or less thought of than his peers.

In fact, the roles that are shown to diminish Lance and leave him unhappy… are the stereotypically “manly” roles people would logically propose as a “fix” for Lance being “stuck” as the Heart.

Lance’s attempted James Bond impression is what makes Allura frustrated at him- while in s3, when, with growing confidence, Lance is his sincere, sweet self- that’s when Allura starts responding positively, starts telling him that he has “greatness” within him. That’s when he unlocks the Altean sword (sword from a planet of diplomats, awakened in a flare of blue light)

Lance taking Keith’s position at the Garrison features him being reminded he’s only here because Keith couldn’t be, and him blowing off the importance of the job, him acting at his pettiest. In contrast, in the same episode with no time for character development, Blue is framed as, from the start, choosing him first, ignoring everyone else there to stare only at Lance when nobody else is “taken” much less knowing there’s a Lion fitting for them… and Lance immediately settles comfortably into place.

Lance’s response to being chosen for Red is to first refuse it, try to pass it off to someone else, and then, when he does go for it, he comes back to grieve his connection with Blue. And Black? We see Lance uncomfortable and stiff in Black’s cockpit, trying to tell himself to feel good, because isn’t this what he wanted? Isn’t it?

People who are fitting where they were always meant to be don’t respond to it by grieving their previous niche, usually. Especially not there’s no particular ‘sweetness’ of “but I have Red now” or “but I wanted Red.” Lance wanted to give up the Red Lion back to Keith with no guarantee Blue would even be waiting for him. That’s a hell of a contrast to Lance yelling at Keith in s2e4 because Keith even said something about the Blue Lion.

Yeah, the wrong-colored armors is a continuity joke, but I can’t believe it’s just a mythology joke. VLD made a genuine commitment to base the characters off of specific colors, meaning that Lance in Red looks awkward. Our inner kindergartener goes “ha ha, no VLD, blue guy doesn’t go in red cat! Blue guy goes in BLUE cat!”

And proponents of Lance in somewhere else are aware of this- they’re very quick to change that armor color. Except canon has in every conceivable way tried to show us that’s not the case. They keep setting up material to frame it, more and more and more, as Lance belongs to Blue. Allura doesn’t have much in common with Blaytz or Ezor… but both of them have an awful lot in common with Lance.

And what are Lance’s good qualities, the things he really excels in?

Lance understands the team, and several times he’s singlehandedly pulled them back from disaster by his ability to read people’s emotions. Kuron? Going to be solved by Lance, is the framing we’ve gotten here. Team needs to connect emotionally? Everybody follow Lance’s lead. Shiro as Black Paladin? Acknowledged first by Lance before they even knew Black existed. Team needs to act out roles that aren’t theirs? Gape in awe of Lance’s absolute mastery of emotions. His nature is putty in his hands.

Compared to other incarnations of Lance that genuinely did write this character as Red Paladin, VLD Lance is noticeably more sober-minded, clearheaded and perceptive. He’ll never actually sacrifice something important for the benefit of a petty grudge. If anything, this is what we see framed as an absolutely jawdropping tactical asset for Lance- VLD is the first one to actually make Lance a sniper, with the clarity and precision of intent that make that useful. He can sweep an entire battlefield, check on all his friends, pick off targets and bottleneck enemies as needed.

Even his success with the Red Lion frames his Blue Paladin cooperation and malleability. Because Lance in Red isn’t driven really by ironclad loyalty the way Keith, Acxa, and Sendak are- Lance hooks onto Keith with “Right now, I’m in your corner, and that means I’m gonna be what you need me. If you need loyal support, I’m there, but if what you actually need is someone loudly reminding you that you left Allura behind, I’m doing that too.”

On the one hand, I’m touched by how much VLD really adores Lance, and loves depicting him as the Heart, and loves emphasizing the Heart’s importance to the team. On the other? I am frankly beyond pissed that I have to aggressively defend Lance in the Blue Lion by emphasizing that he can still do violence onto things in a fight. Yeah, it’s important to let all your characters have a piece of the pie and if your series is an action series that’s gonna mean action scenes, but rather than examine some of our deeply flawed relationship with gender and how much that serves as background radiation to anything we see as “womanish” and why, exactly, do we see Lance’s job as less valuable if it “seems feminine”, it feels too much like we’re wasting time trying to prove Lance is enough of a real man he can rock this “girly” job.

I think the whole “Lion swap should stick / they should push it further and never go back to original formation” if anything sets itself up to be breathtakingly meta because I feel like it’s ultimately rooted in not thinking through any of the roles very much. Because if you just look at them shallowly, Blue and Yellow sound the least “Cool” the way our culture frames things (again, the whole devaluing of support / prioritizing individual victory- if you’re not actively selfishly taking for yourself, you must not be doing anything for yourself).

Green sounds a little better, and Red sounds cooler (“Right Hand!” plus the self-satisfying narrative of “well, when Zarkon went bad, Alfor was the one who Defied Him” ignoring that all four paladins did, and Alfor was merely the more visible thanks to his connection with Allura and with Voltron- ignoring that it was almost definitely one of the other three, and likely Blaytz, that gave Zarkon that scar), but Black Lion, oh, that’s the best one, right?

So just grab whatever character you like best and stuff them into the Black Lion. This is how you appreciate a character! You want best character to get best lion. Now nobody can question how much you love them, even if you would be hard-pressed to actively identify what are their good qualities and how they align with Black’s explicitly stated qualities.

I’m not saying nobody who supports Black Paladin Lance thinks about it that much, but that the premise feels so congratulatory when it’s actually quite patronizing (it basically hinges on the idea that the Blue Lion can’t have recognized and mirrored any of Lance’s good qualities and the Lion that chose him first was basically putting up with him because he wasn’t her best fit and if Lance really belonged to Blue that’d make him a total loser) can help explain why its appeal is so widespread.

Especially when it feels like every time Lance says something in an authoritative tone people go “oh my gosh, Black Paladin Lance!” like… I was not aware that being Black Paladin hinged on only one virtue and that was your ability to angrily yell things. Last time I checked fandom was quite cross with Shiro’s authoritative yelling.

#voltron legendary defender #vld #Lance #Keith #Shiro #readmore #Anonymous

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frederator-studios · 6 years

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Amanda McCann: The Frederator Interview

You can tell by talking with her that Amanda McCann is good at her job. ‘Cause it feels good to talk with her! And in a big way, Amanda’s job involves a lot of making people feel good: about the work they’re doing; the show they're making; and themselves. As Line Producer on Costume Quest, Amanda is a leader among the unspoken heroes of any animated TV show: the production crew. She gives awesome insight here, for anyone interested in producing, voice acting, writing... actually, as it turns out, Amanda’s good at A LOT of jobs.

Did you always want to work in animation?

I wanted to be an actress! Starting in high school, I studied improv comedy at ComedySportz. I joined their college team and eventually their main stage. After graduating with a degree in Theater, I performed and taught high schoolers there. And I was working at a restaurant - as you do in LA. Finally I had a heart to heart with myself, like “Do I really want to act?” It’s so competitive, and like having a job interview every day. I had friends 10 years older still working it, working hard at it. And I didn’t know if it was for me, because I value stability - a paycheck, insurance, benefits. It was hard to picture myself not having that.

The grips of an existential crisis. What’d you do?

I asked myself, if not acting, what do I want to do? What makes me happy? And that’s cartoons! I’ve always loved cartoons. And yes, as an actor, ideally I wanted to do voice over. But I knew how competitive that was. I also had a writing background - I wrote for The Simpsons comic books for a while - but writing: same deal. So I was looking for the way that people got into animation when they weren’t artists and didn’t have an “in” as an actor or writer - and I discovered production. This whole other side to cartoon-making, and the path to producing. That’s where I wanted to be: making cartoons for a living.

That’s awesome. So you found a job in the industry?

Yup, about 9 years ago I put it out into the universe. I asked if anyone had a connection to an animation studio, and luckily a family friend did. I got a job as a receptionist at WildBrain; at the time they were moving studios from San Francisco to LA. Yo Gabba Gabba! for Nickelodeon was the big property they owned, and they were working on a number of projects for Mattel, as well as producing an animated podcast, The Ricky Gervais Show, for HBO. So I started there and made it very known that I was interested in moving up—I was a bit older than most receptionists (laughs). I put that out there, and within 2 months I was a PA on The Ricky Gervais Show. I’ve been bouncing from job to job in production ever since.

What a journey! And animation was the right fit like you thought?

It immediately felt like a good fit. Animation people are my people. The animation and comedy worlds are very similar and there’s a lot of crossover, so it was a natural transition for me. I love being on a crew. Working with people, and artists - I admire artists so much, because I’m not one, at least in terms of drawing. So people with artistic talents are incredible to me - they’re like unicorns. And actually, by way of working in production, I’ve gotten to live my other dreams! I’ve been doing professional voice-over, for Costume Quest, The Loud House and others. I was just forced to join SAG-AFTRA. I booked enough jobs that I became a ‘must-join’! And I’ve gotten to write for animation too; I wrote a few episodes of Monster High for Mattel and an episode of Ask the Storybots for Jib Jab and Netflix.

(Amanda and her pooch Dobby, by storyboard revisionist Serena Wu)

Wow - so ‘taking a day job’ brought you all these creative opportunities?

Yeah! Sort of through the backdoor, I was able to put it out there that I had these other talents, and get hired for them. I get to tackle it all, which I’ve always loved—being a renaissance woman. Especially since working in production is creative solutions, but it’s not exactly creative. It’s paperwork and hiring and pipelines and schedules and budgets. So being around the creative is really exciting for me, and then also being able to participate through VO and writing at certain points.

That’s amazing. So would your advice to people be, ‘just get in the door?’

Just be there! If you’re at the right place, you’re more likely to be there at the right time. To people looking to break into animation, I always say, “Take anything”. Any opportunity that comes your way, jump in and do your best. I was overqualified to be a receptionist, but I knew that was the step I had to take to launch my career in animation. I know people who started at Nickelodeon in the mailroom and became writers on Spongebob. Stuff like that happens all the time! It’s all about timing. But you also have to hustle in your own way. You have to make people aware of what your interests and goals are.

How do you recommend people put themselves out there? It’s really hard for a lot of people! Especially of the introverted variety.

It is! But I think just doing your best, working hard, and proving that you’re capable is huge. As well as treating everyone equally and with kindness, regardless of their position. You want to be the person that you would want to work with, and people will want to work with you! So start by focusing on the job at hand and executing it as well as you can. At the same time, be vocal about your goals. There’s a finesse to it. You don’t walk around with a sign around your neck that says, “I actually want to be a writer”. Just when an opportunity arises, put yourself up for it. And it’s okay to ask people in the job you want out to lunch or coffee, to pick their brains! I find that people are pretty receptive when you put yourself out there. The last thing that I always say: find your people. This is a big industry, and you can always find people you’ll gel with better. The people you gel with best will be the best advocates for you, propelling you forward. So if you feel unsupported where you are, then move, move on, keep going! I think people get stuck in a rut, or feel obligated to one place. But trust your instincts - if it doesn’t feel right then it’s not. If you move on, you might shine. I’ve seen that happen so many times, where someone makes a lateral move and finds their niche of support. When people become too complacent, I think it stifles them.

What was your path after WildBrain?

I’ve worked with 7 studios: WildBrain, Hasbro, Mattel, Oddbot, Jib Jab, Nickelodeon, and Frederator. Which is great because I have connections at all these places - and people move all the time, or companies get absorbed, so your connection at one studio might move to another. I’ve also been lucky to have pretty long stints at places - jobs that have lasted a lot longer than most production gigs do. Because being tied to a production, whenever the season ends, you’re done. The production crew, though, is the first on and the last off.

How about responsibilities in production - what’s different between being a line producer vs. a production manager, say?

It’s crazy, because every studio’s pipeline is different. Every production’s pipeline is different! But the biggest differences are in level of responsibility over the production overall. As a manager, you don’t have as much say over final decisions; whereas being a producer, you’re often giving the stamp of approval. I once had it broken down really well for me: PA is day to day; coordinator is week to week; manager is month to month; producer is year to year. And that’s how the tasks are viewed. PAs do a lot of daily tasks: copying, scanning, stamping, filing. Coordinators do a lot of shipments that are over a week. Managers look at schedules ahead of time to plan out needs along the way. And producers lay it out as a whole, to see where start to finish lies. The roles blend, a lot of the time, especially manager and producer. The production crew adapts to the needs of each show.

What are the most important qualities of those who do well in production?

Communication skills. That sounds basic, but really - if artists were able to organize all of their stuff and communicate effectively to everybody, we wouldn’t have jobs! Being personable - we’re the deadline keepers, the schedule pushers. It’s like trying to be the cool dungeon master. We have to pull things away from artists who just want to make them beautiful! So I like hiring people for production who have creative backgrounds, because I think they empathize better with artists. It is a lot to ask someone to produce something beautiful and artistic and creative within THIS strict timeline. Taking initiative; I’m not a micro-manager. If I hire you and tell you the things I want you to take care of, I won’t check up on you—I’ll assume you’re doing your job. On top of that, people who collaborate. Voice concerns; pitch me solutions to problems. I’m looking down the road, so I can’t see everything on the day to day. I need people who take the initiative and tell me what’s up. You have to be organized; basic, again, but crucial. We’re working on a bunch of episodes at all different stages: animatic, storyboard, designs, shipping. Your head will explode if you’re not a little OCD about how things are organized and prioritized - and labelled! Asking questions is important: I’d rather you ask me than do it wrong and make things harder for you. There’s no shame in getting help and being mentored! But there’s also no shame in failing. I learn so much from messing up, because it’s like, “Welp! I don’t want to do that ever again.” And coming from the comedy world, especially improv, you fail a ton. I grew up learning how to fail, and I think it’s been critical in letting me progress and grow as a leader and person.

Do you still do improv and comedy?

I do! I’m still with ComedySportz, but I’m not as active. Mostly, I’m applying those improv skills to voice over. I’m auditioning a bunch, and I did some voices on Costume Quest. I was production manager on an upcoming Nickelodeon show, Glitchtechs, and I also have a voice in that when it comes out!

(Denise, one of Amanda’s voices on Costume Quest!)

That’s so cool. What's your advice to people who want to get into VO?

Classes, classes, classes. You get to know your tool and what you’re capable of. There are resources online, some YouTube channels about VO. But classes are where you really grow, because like anything, it’s about repetition. It is very competitive, but I really believe that there’s a part for everyone.

What do you love most about Costume Quest?

I love the collaborative nature of this production. Frederator bought the series to make it, but its original visionary - Tasha Harris, who wrote the Double Fine game - isn’t involved. I’ve never worked on a show before where it wasn’t someone in particular’s baby. Instead, we’ve all adopted it as our baby. And really, we all get a say! As a line producer, generally I wouldn’t get to give comments on material: it’s all about paperwork, pipeline and budget. But the showrunners, Will McRobb, Bryan Caselli, and Nick Bachman have been so gracious in letting me give notes on storyboards and animatics. I go to every voice recording session and get to try my hand at that stuff. Partly because it’s a Frederator show - a little smaller crew, a more independent company - the show’s been able to give a lot of opportunities to talented, deserving people. For so many of the artists, this is their first show ever, and that’s just so cool. And the show looks incredible. We have an amazing voice cast. Some of the most talented people, between the four kids and all of the adults we’ve peppered in. Of course we’re biased here, but we do think it’s going to be something that kids really enjoy, and hopefully adults too. Plus: I’m a huge Halloween nerd. I always had homemade costumes as a kid because my dad is an artist. He would get really creative.

What was your favorite costume he made you?

One time I was Phantom of the Opera. None of the other kids knew who I was. But I knew.

Do you have a favorite character from Costume Quest?

They’re all really great. But of the four kids, I always go back to Reynold. He’s the voice of reason, and the scaredy cat, which I could relate to as a little kid. I was always the youngest cousin, the one who’d be like, “Maybe we shouldn’t throw rocks at this window? Maybe? No? Ok”. So his sweet-natured cautiousness I relate to. But it’s a package deal, and his sister Wren too… I relate a lot to her determinedness and her no-nonsense attitude. That’s something I admire.

What are your favorite cartoons?

I was a Nickelodeon kid, so I grew up on all those series. Rocko’s Modern Life was one of my favorites. Also The Simpsons, The Critic, and Home Movies. For features, Little Mermaid was my jam - and Lilo & Stitch. And Ranma ½ is an anime that I love. Those are some favorites, but I have so many, it’s hard to keep track!

What are your biggest aspirations, or your biggest dream?

I would love to work in animation features someday. I have a ton of experience in TV, and just to see the other side of it - in voice over and producing - would be great. It’s not like a tomorrow thing, but if an opportunity came down the road, that’d be really cool.

Thanks for the interview Amanda! I’m so excited to see all of your creative paths unfurl. And can’t wait to hear your voice in the ‘toons! ❀

- Cooper

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violetsystems · 3 years

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#personal

The mood indoors lately is a lot more calming than it was maybe a year ago. A lot of that has to do with me growing through all of this. I’ve been left to myself for the most part which I think is for the best. I haven’t really had anyone to brag about the positives to other than writing here. I’ve been working on setting up the apartment to be a little more energy efficient. This sometimes has adverse reactions like when I fuck up and shut off processor game boost on my computer and try to do a stream. I’m pretty sure the BIOS reset itself. If there’s one thing I’ve become more conscious of the last year it’s how much I use of everything. Last summer I dived head into a catastrophic situation by ruthlessly creating normality for myself. I made a monthly budget. I kept myself cash forward and away from credit. I analyzed what I spent and why. I navigated an unprecedented situation almost effortlessly according to some people. But I can assure you with great confidence a lot of people in real life weren’t actually there. Which is why I’m extremely skeptical when people from your past magically show up at your doorstep. Whatever the reason. However believable or wishful thinking it is in these times that we can just pick up where we left off. I have the unfortunate habit of keeping tabs on everything. It’s what got me through a year of total uncertainty. And one thing for me is certain. Serendipity and synchronicity may exist in my life still. But for the most part I’ve seen the same old tricks evolve slowly over time. Last Saturday I went out to check the mail. Coincidence or not, someone I knew from years ago was fixing my neighbor’s bike. Within the first seconds of saying hi, the person was already hurling stuff at me that they shouldn’t have known about. How I lost my job at the school he attended a year ago. A job he kept mentioning I applied for at a video game company where his friend works last November. How he’s been buddy buddy with the neighbor who just moved in. How serendipitous for this all to happen in America after a year of what I’ve been through? It’s been more than a year if you want my post mortem on a dead issue. I projected as best as I could. That I had applied for the company but was focusing on other opportunities outside the city. I had an envelope in my hand the entire time I had been waiting for. Information about my health insurance from my old employer. I went in and set it on the table and remembered a book on the shelf I had on loan from the very same person out front. I grabbed it instinctively as if to settle all debt and contact. Went back out front and returned it to him with out much commentary. The next day I blocked that person following me on twitch. Insane I know. I only have two or three followers. Most bots. It’s like I’m shooting myself in the foot in the face of opportunity. I also reported it. Which makes me the asshole for shutting people out of my life who were never invited back into it in the first place. I know how all this works by now and I will be gaslighted into the stage of history. I think our confidence gets tricked often when we refuse to accept a sinking status quo. We’re made to feel guilty through isolation. Why am I so mean? I brought this all on myself. The last year. I reached out to an entire network of those people I worked with and serviced on LinkedIn a year ago. That network of people fell silent apparently scared to go on record talking to me on a digitally monitored platform. Why now? The shitty irony of the situation was the mail in my hand. I opened the envelope after I returned the book I never read. Something about ayahuasca and a cosmic serpent. The envelope was more revealing. My health insurance was officially covered for the next three months due to a subsidy. There were also three months from April to June I had been paying where I owed nothing. So it’s pretty much covered through the end of the year. That is if I don’t find a job immediately like the video game company everybody from the past I keep holding at bay just happens to be friends with. The same token I post an article about led wireless light security on a professional website and people from Shenzhen I don't even know visit my profile. Which do I really want to connect to at this point? The past or the future.

That past largely has gotten it all wrong. If it got it right I would not be sitting here bathed in crimson light at my kitchen table listening to 0pn at six thirty in the morning. It wouldn’t show up to my doorstep unannounced leaving me to question the motives after a year of exile. I get that it is the summer. This city can be a blessing or a curse. It’s an easy city to disappear in. Affordable at times but often extremely bitter towards people who go their own way. It judges everything around it based on a meat and potatoes Midwestern mentality. Sophistication and creativity is stifled unless it’s part of a broader narrative that the city and the rich people who own it can leverage. There really isn’t a place for you unless someone has their say and can roast you. The negging is tribal and it punishes people who don’t offer up their entire life story for public record. When you do offer up your side of events, it’s buried. Like a zombie I rise from the grave to remind people weekly that I have no power in changing any of this. I’m stuck in between the worst of everything and the best right around the corner. I’ve been around the world and yet nobody wants to hear about it unless they can explain it for you. People take words out of your mouth and insert themselves back into your life without any thought. It’s like the city, state and communal shit pile of neighbors and acquaintances owns your future. If you try to do it alone, they’ll let you know. Societal pressure is on all sides. If they can’t corral you in with politics, they’ll isolate you until you break down and plead for help. A year later, the only real help I focus on is monetary. I shudder to think staying another year here alone and yet it seems completely hopeless and futile to hope for anything else. A large reason I want to put the past behind me is how utterly fucking irresponsible and worthless it is. People think they know who you are because they spoke to you when you were drunk. And since you don’t drink or get invited to anything social, people feel the need to engineer entrapment on your doorstep when you are beholden to the importance of the mail. It’s not like my mail ever comes on time. I’m looking at the fourth package in a few month that needs to be redelivered because it never made it to my doorstep. I have not just given up on things getting better here. I have taken evasive action and shut down pretty much everyone and everything that savored the opportunity to ghost me. There is no excuse. Not even a pandemic. No real alibi to leave someone to rot after twenty years of service. They forgot. I don’t forget. I’m constantly reminded that I’m lucky to even have a resume that points to how overqualified I am for everything. Apparently getting a job isn’t about skill or experience. It’s about who you know. And I’m supposed to throw my arms open to the universe and thank the heavens that some pseudo commie spy has an in for me at the video game company for less than I’m worth. That’s the real story. I’m worth more than that. You don’t just spend a year ignoring me and suddenly create a situation where my confidence is pressured into letting these people back in. That is the very definition of entrapment to me. So much so that it hurts to think about how close to home I feel unsafe. I literally walk out my door and I cannot avoid people trying to crowbar their way back into my good graces. That’s not normal. None of this has been normal. And so I react the way I do. I block people. I say no. I isolate what’s working and what isn’t. And it sucks. The feelings of guilt that were orchestrated for the very purpose of sowing doubt in yourself and your decisions. Men mostly trying to assert their authority and their freedom to dictate and pick apart your life. It’s fucking foul what happened on Saturday. And the foulest part of it is that I would be gaslighted for even questioning the timing.

So I don’t. That’s the biggest trap of all this. Me reacting. Me getting even outside of writing. I don’t really want to connect to my past at all. I know how much baggage it is. I know how much of my life got thrown away because I didn’t turn out as weak as people thought I’d be. I know that moving forward is painful because letting go is hard. And yet I don’t really have much information that would lead me to trust the people who have been absent from my life. It’s bullshit. And it’s harder still to realize that I have to feel awkward because I feel unsafe. I’m the one who has had to tiptoe around all of this. I do it well. Obviously there’s things in my life that are welcome. Things that inspire me without being overbearing. Friends that keep in touch without any sinister connections or agendas. People who keep tabs on me without acting like the secret police. It’s such a tumultuous and unprecedented time! Let’s celebrate it by reconnecting to the same old bullshit. Let’s all make the same fucking mistakes. Let’s pretend it never happened. I’m fine with that. Just leave me alone. There is nothing worth reconnecting at this point that isn’t already strapped in for the ride. There is nothing really for me to become other than gainfully employed in a job that I like. At current that is working for myself. I wish it were more lucrative and sustainable. But folding back into the fray after being left alone for so long is a dead end. I’ve pushed myself further than I ever would have in the past. I’ve become another person entirely. I know when I’m off putting. I know when I have no reason to smile it away. And I know I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with this much vitriol for a city that just wants to pretend it’s my own problem. You get burnt by these slime for years and people don’t want to believe it’s true. It couldn’t happen here. It couldn’t be that bad. That guy is just blowing it all out of proportion. Forget the fact he’s travelled half the world alone. Forget all the things we ignore that he’s done while we weren’t watching. We know him best. We’ve watched him his entire life. If that were really true, what has anyone really learned? I’m in pain? Yes. I hurt so deeply from all of this that I’d rather just forget it and move on. But there is nowhere to go. Everyone has their say or I stay invisible. And what is there to offer? In this city apparently nothing. I can’t find a job unless I go get drunk with the bros at the bar or the noise show? I’m supposed to take a pay cut when I already worked for a non profit. If you ask me I want none of this. I want better things for myself. And I’m not going to sell myself short because I’m scared it will pass me by. Look at the last year. How much shit just pretended I was dead to the world? That was apparently my fault. Every time I’m faced with that accusation by the peanut gallery on the street causes me emotional pain. The real truth is that it was never worth my time. And I learned that a long time ago. A year ago to be exact. I was meant for better things. And unfortunately the way things are, you have to take charge. Of your life and your destiny. Sometimes you have to say no. Sometimes saying nothing at all is the biggest fuck you. I know how it feels. Nobody said anything substantial to me for about a year now. Maybe that’s why a simple like in my dash means far more to me than a fake setup and an offer I can’t refuse. This isn’t The Godfather. This is the departed. And I’m already far removed from what this city thought it could trick me back into. That’s the baggage that doesn’t deserve to be brought into the future. So don’t worry about me holding up the flight. All I have is my carry on and a clean slate. We can fly anywhere. If I stay around here alone they’re going to clip my wings for good eventually. It’ll be made to look like an accident. Just like the entire last year. And they’ll keep doing it because nobody calls them out for being wrong. <3 Tim

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iessos · 7 years

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Just a bit of a rant under the cut

While I try not to let anonymous users bug me in my inbox (even though I’m fairly certain the messages in question are from really shitty people in my past) I think I have to respond to it here.

I got like one or two messages complaining about my donation posts that I frequently blog onto MY own blog, which is often times full of content I spend time on making for your enjoyment without a cost. Tumblr content creators keep the website relevant. Artists, video makers, gif makers, edits, those Relatable Text Post and graphics keep this website afloat, and none of the content creators are paid for the stuff they create. Other social media platforms incorporate a way to pay their content creators (with the exception of like... twitter? but twitter is more or less used to advertise content created elsewhere).

That being said, there’s a lot of creativity that goes around this website that keeps it going. People reblog, like or steal the content without thinking that someone put time into creating it constantly. I don’t think asking for donations is a bad thing for the work that a content creator does.

Personally, I’ve been asking (and have been attacked) for asking for donations because of the oppression that trans women face. The type of people who have sent me the message are the type of people who claim to support LGBTQ+ rights, but turn their head when a trans woman asks for money because she struggles in a society that hates people like her. That type of hate, whether you like it not, is created by cis people. The oppression is created by cis people. When a trans woman, such as myself, who is overqualified for her job and is unable to find another job or two, doesn’t get an opportunity to move up at her job but another cis person is hired instead of moving her up, that’s a form of oppression. And yes, I looked up the person who took the position and he’s cis and has had less previous experience than me on top of being an external hire. When I’m unabled to be hired by another job because the hiring manager see my dead name then sees my preferred name is “Chloe” or “Jordynne” and some cis dude named Bob gets a call, that’s oppression. I know when I’ve been discriminated against and it’s been really often this last year when I’ve been job searching. To put into perspective, I’ve applied to at last 20+ companies and multiple positions with only ONE call back which, for some odd reason, didn’t work out despite how well I thought everything went. I’m pretty sure I lost the opportunity to another cis person. This type of oppression is caused by cis people. So when a trans person asks for money, think for a second if you’re cis and wanna send a nasty message. Don’t claim to support LGBTQ+ rights then shit on a trans person when they ask for money because they can’t seem to catch a break. Help her, support her, send her nice messages.

Another message I got about me actually “suffering.”

“You’re obviously doing fine because you got destiny a month ago.” Hmm... I must have forgotten people who are poor are unable to treat themselves when they are able. I bought two video games this year: Nier because I had a PSN giftcard and it was on sale, and Destiny 2 because I was able to save 10 dollars a month over the course of 6-7 months.

“You aren’t starving”

I’ve been skipping breakfast and sometimes dinner. Two weeks ago I went about a week without a proper meal and ate food from people at work or snacked on like... some chips and water and sometimes some bread. I’ve had a follower buy me a pizza the week before which I was able to stretch to about a week. If I’m lucky, I’m able to spend about 30-40 dollars a month on food.

“If you were a decent person you could live with friends”

I’m a decent person. My friends that i have in person help me when they can. I won’t take advantage of my friends and live with them until I get another job to pay rent.

I don’t talk about the extent of my money issues. But yeah, since you’re going to be a fucking asshole about it, here you go. (all these are in USD).

My average paycheck is 500 dollars, which about 1000 a month. Sometime I’ll make 1400 a month.

Medication and doctor visits, uninsured because my job doesn’t offer insurance to part time employees: $75 for my medication, 125 for a doctor visit. I have other health problems and mental illnesses I’d like to be treated and medicated for, but but I’m unable to afford an additional 200 a month plus 100 for a therapist appointment a month.

Student loans: $600 a month, 300 per paycheck. I get paid twice a month. I owe 30k still. Earlier this year I owed 36k.

Car payment: $200 a month. Lets just tack on some gas for this, it’s about 240 a month for my car. I live in Oklahoma and my job is half an hour drive away. Yeah, I need my car.

Rent: I live with my parents but my relationship with them has diminished greatly since coming out as trans.I typically try to pay about 100 to help out with bills.

Medical bills: I tried to kill myself 2 years ago. I survived, but owe a lot of money for my hospital bills. It’s typically paid for by my parents monthly. They won’t disclose the amount to me. I know it’s a lot.

If I’m lucky I’m able to get some extra money from other sources, either my NSFW blog, donations from amazing tumblr users, my friends, and I sell a lot of my stuff when I’m able to afford shipping supplies to send them. This money also goes to my funding to see my partner who lives a bit from me, but they also help pay when they can. I work a lot at work to the point where I get 40 hours of vacation and it goes away every 6 months so I have to use it.

I know a lot of these issues aren’t a cause because I’m trans, but due to the fact that I’m trans, I’ve been unable to put my degree to use to be able to get a better paying job with more hours.

If you don’t like my donation posts, unfollow me. I don’t care about you if you’re going to be an asshole about it.

If you wanna donate, my paypal is paypal.me/marasov

thanks

#personal #ok ot reblog I guess if you want?

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doramaticbites · 7 years

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Staving off Bitterness as an aspiring ESL teacher

When you are a so-called “non-native” speaker of English applying for an English teaching job anywhere in the world, Japan included, I think it’s very important to have realistic expectations. You need to know the industry which you are getting yourself into, and don’t expect the industry to change for you. I have seen too many ranty posts by people on the internet, blaming prejudice in the industry for them not getting a job in the country that they want. Oftentimes these are justified, sometimes not.

With both in mind, I’m writing this to help you to not become bitter because I’ve been there. And I’ve had to tell myself – breathe, take it easy, keep trying.

The ESL industry is driven largely by profit. While Japan offers ALT jobs, the bulk of the jobs out there are Eikawas, private language schools and so forth. Just like how people’s first instinct when learning Japanese is to find a teacher, for people in Asia, when they think of learning English, their first instinct is to go for teachers from the big 5 countries. Often times, white faces are marketed, followed by black, and you’ll be really lucky if your Asian face gets you credibility points. So I see the grievances of a lot of non-native teachers as completely valid.

However, I think that it’s important to not always blame racism or prejudice in the industry. Consider these few points first.

*Note that I am writing from my experience as a Singaporean Chinese applying for teaching jobs in Japan. But hopefully you’ll find this helpful wherever you’re from.

1. Flying someone in from ANY country is a risk for the company

When competition is so fierce for ESL jobs, especially in a popular country like Japan, why would a school or company want to look outward? And if they do look outward, why would they look towards a small country? Be prepared that applying for a job from outside of Japan is going to be a soul-crushing process, but if you persist, given the right timing, and if you present yourself well, I believe that you will be able to find a job.

2. Many Singaporeans DO have an accent that can be hard for people to understand (also most employers probably don’t have the term ‘code switching ability’ on their minds)

“ENGLISH IS OUR FIRST LANGUAGE” – You and I both know that, and boy, have I been indignant about this. Singlish is something I’m fiercely proud off, and I like the Singaporean accent. I use it with friends because it feels comfortable.

Growing up I learnt how to codeswitch, and in doing so I won speech contests, I was handpicked by teachers to host school events, I was also hosting events and radio programmes in university. It was difficult to accept that people would automatically assume that I didn’t speak ‘standard English’ just because I was from Singapore. When I was employed to my position in the Japanese School in Singapore, my British HOD liked the way I enunciated words, so I know I can speak decently.

In fact even if I spoke with a ‘Singaporean accent’, I am a firm believer in accents not being a hindrance to becoming a good English teacher. Unfortunately, many people don’t subscribe to that belief. However, I tried to put myself in the shoes of the employers, and I always made a voice recording an option when applying for jobs. This is something that costs literally nothing, but could turn out to be an asset.

3. Ask yourself how many RELEVANT certifications you have

Just to give you some perspective: I have a JLPT N2, an English B.A., an M.A. from an Ivy League university, a CELTA Pass B, and when I started applying I was already one year into teaching in a Japanese school, on top of a previous year of teaching. And yet I applied to tons of jobs to no avail. It’s not that I think I’m great. It’s just that I’ve seen people out there that don’t even have a relevant degree, no CELTA or TEFL rant on the internet, and I can’t help but think – Is it really racism, or is it just that you aren’t qualified for the job?

4. Are you putting your best foot forward in the application process?

Are you writing personalised cover letters? Have you gotten good references? I was very fortunate to have supportive employers who were willing to write good references for me. Have you updated your resume? Did you get someone to check your resume for you? These are all things to check and recheck.

Have you gotten enough experience? Have you planned lesson plans properly and taken advice from fellow people in the industry? All these will help you in the process.

If you’ve fulfilled all four points, listen. Take heart, if you’re from Singapore, it seems that Singapore has quite a good reputation among the Japanese. I know that from speaking to Japanese friends, but then again, the voices of a few may not be reflective of the whole. Still, people are coming around to hiring more people from Singapore. The expat community in Singapore is huge and should provide you with many opportunities to hopefully gain some private/private institution teaching experience. In Japan, I’m told that people are slowly but surely coming around to the fact that capability is more important than race and nationality.

Also, I’d like to encourage those of you who know that you are qualified, maybe even overqualified but yet are facing rejection after rejection. You know for sure that your race/nationality is the issue even though it’s not explicitly stated. Tell yourself - If they are the sort of discriminatory place, then YOU DESERVE BETTER ANYWAY. BE CONFIDENT IN YOUR WORTH.

#*personal #esl #teaching #japan #i had this written on another blog #i think there might be a couple of people on the interwebs facing similar things #so here's some uncalled for advice and encouragement lol

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rposervices · 4 years

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It’s Time to Widen the Top of Your Recruiting Funnel

“I’m suggesting that you widen the top of your recruiting funnel” Are you still chasing your “purple squirrel” – that one candidate who meets every requirement and qualification listed in your job ad? I hate to break it to you, but like a purple squirrel, the perfect candidate doesn’t exist… well, at least in the way you have envisioned. That’s not to say there aren’t highly skilled and experienced applicants out there, aptly qualified for your role. However, holding out for the picture-perfect hire isn’t bringing you any closer to winning the talent war, especially in a labor market where open positions outnumber people to fill them. Not only might you overlook a great potential employee, but you’ll also incur costs for every day a position remains vacant. I’m not suggesting rushing your hiring decision or tossing prerequisites out the window. Rather, I’m suggesting that you widen the top of your recruiting funnel just enough to increase your chances of finding the right talent in a timely, cost-effective manner. The first step involves shifting your focus from hiring solely based on qualifications to hiring for attributes. Qualifications vs. Attributes “There aren’t enough qualified applicants in my talent pool. Everyone who applies for my job is underqualified!” Sound familiar? Without a doubt, finding qualified talent is one of today’s top recruiting challenges, but are hiring professionals being overly picky? If your job ad contains all “must-haves” – nonnegotiable skillsets, certifications, years of experience, and more – you’re in trouble. Instead of automatically disqualifying anyone who doesn’t meet every single one of your prerequisites, stop for a moment and think about attributes. Which qualities and characteristics does your candidate have that would make them an excellent fit for the role? Perhaps the applicant has transferable skills that lend themselves well to the position, filling in gaps. A few months ago, we were hiring a client relationship manager. While our job ad specified that the ideal candidate should have five years of experience in sales or account management, we ended up hiring a former school principal. Although she had no direct sales experience, her attributes lined up perfectly with what we were looking for in this role: exceptional relationship building and communication skills, outstanding attention to detail, and a strong work ethic (to name a few). While our hire was not necessarily our “ideal candidate” on paper, we recognized the characteristics and transferable skills that would make her our ideal employee. Everything else – the day-to-day workflows, tools, and technologies – can be taught quickly when you have the right person with the right attributes aboard. What about overqualification? Given the battle for qualified talent, rejecting overqualified talent seems counterintuitive. Yet overqualification has become a common reason for eliminating applicants from talent pools, especially as older adults delay retirement and experienced individuals return to work after a career hiatus. While some employers argue that a seasoned employee comes at a higher price point, claim that an older worker wouldn’t mesh well with their “hip” young, startup-like culture, or worry that the employee will work for a few years then retire, let me ask you this: what’s the cost of not filling that open position? If you are hesitant to hire an “overqualified” candidate, consider how you can leverage their experience to help younger employees grow and learn. Or, if they’ve been out of the workforce for a while, train or “reskill” them (have you heard of “returnships?”). In such situations, gauge their appetite for learning. If they have a desire to continually learn and improve, then you may have found a home run of a hire. In short, don’t let overqualification prevent you from hiring the best possible candidate. Rethink Culture Fit My final suggestion for widening your recruiting funnel entails hiring for culture fit. Even the most experienced, qualified candidate can be the wrong hire if they don’t blend well with your company’s culture and align with your values. But too often, employers equate hiring for culture fit as hiring people who are just like everyone else. For example, I’ve heard employers say, “We all have such bubbly personalities here, this candidate will fit right in!” That’s not hiring for culture fit. For a thriving workplace, you need individuals with different personalities and points of view; a workforce that acts, thinks, and talks alike don’t make for a strong company culture, nor does it help with innovation and growth. Yes, you should still hire for culture fit (you want your new employee to be happy and avoid costly turnover), but rethink what you mean by “culture fit” before you disqualify an otherwise viable candidate from your pool. Widen Your Funnel If you’re struggling to find qualified talent, it’s an opportune time to experiment with a wider recruiting funnel. Take a step back and define what you mean by “qualified” – is there room for you to loosen your requirements and focus on candidate attributes? Do applicants in your talent pool have transferable skills that make up for any shortcomings? Also, rethink your sentiments about overqualified applicants and reconsider how you hire for culture fit. If you’re concerned about making your funnel too wide (no hiring manager has time to sift through hundreds and hundreds of irrelevant applicants), consider quality over quantity approach to talent acquisition. For example, leverage referrals from current employees or try an industry-focused job board (and, if the candidate doesn’t have the precise skillset you seek, their knowledge of a specific industry is a “plus”). Even if your purple squirrel doesn’t exist, your next great hire is out there somewhere. You just need to best position yourself to find them – before your competitor does. Read the full article

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zitavoros · 5 years

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rejection & why it’s good for you

There are probably a hundred blogs written about this, but students usually don't get a chance to celebrate rejection, so I'll do it for them. I'll do it for all of us!

Rejection may sting, but it's actually great for you! I find that I don't feel horrible when I get rejected nowadays. Why is that, you may ask? Isn't it counterproductive and backwards to feel alright when I'm not offered a job or internship?

Of course it's not necessarily a great feeling, but imagine being handed everything to you your whole life. I feel like that a lot of times. Some of it may be because I worked hard, but sometimes it's simply due to the advantage I have as a female-born white person.

I have seldom been denied a job so far, and in high school I got mostly straight A's, and was a part of the IB program. I got into almost all the schools I applied to. Over the years, I have gotten some merit scholarships as well. I've had an amazing time working for iD Tech almost every summer, and have gotten on-campus jobs as well as an internship, and was the class leader for numerous projects. I think I've done pretty well so far, and most of it has been due to the fact that a lot of things I often just take for granted, like getting good grades, getting good jobs, etc.

The first time I felt like a failure was actually entering college, where I had to learn that a C was not the end of the world. I cried the first time I got my grades back, since I had been used to getting A's across the board.

The second time I felt like a true failure was last year, when I was denied a job opportunity I had really wanted. Since then, I felt the stubborn need to hold off on applying until I had the perfect resume, perfect cover letter, and all the experience that made me over-qualified for a job, so I'm guaranteed to get it no matter what.

The thing is, though, that you don't want to work a job that you're overqualified for. You're likely to be paid less for doing exemplary work. You won't grow into the role, you'll just feel like you're being held back, and likely worsen with time. You want a job where you'll feel like you have to work hard, to earn your money, to be challenged everyday mentally and learn. You want a job that'll lift you up, not drag you down.

Getting these 'easy' jobs always made me feel worse. I know these offers were nice, but I was never satisfied with the way I felt like I could be doing more with my skillset.

So why is rejection good, then?

You wouldn't fit into the company culture

Let's be real, here. If you're rejected, you likely wouldn't have been a good fit for the company anyways. If they don't think you'll fit in, be it their values, skill sets, culture, etc., no matter how much you wanted to be there they denied you for a reason. Sometimes that may be based on skill, but sometimes it's your personality during an interview. If they didn't like you, or judge people based on surface-level things, it's probably better that you got rejected. Of course, you'll never know this, but sometimes rejection can save you from a job you would've been miserable at.

It's better to put yourself out there than not try at all

Getting rejected means working harder to find a job, and working harder means putting yourself out there to more places. Applying and writing that many cover letters gets you used to the process, and soon it'll be a piece of cake to write passionately and learn the company's values before you hit send. You will get used to the feeling of fear I, for example, initially got when hitting "submit" on an application. This feeling of anxiety goes away after a while, and your bravery skyrockets once you get past that hump of fear of hitting "submit" and letting your application be in the hands of a hiring manager. Plus, I'd much rather try and get rejected than wonder what could've happened without ever applying.

Sometimes, you'll be like me and live cautiously, which can be akin to not living at all. If you're just living on the edge of actually doing something, you're essentially doing nothing but waiting. Waiting will make opportunities you could've gotten pass by in an instant.

You get used to it

Getting rejected a lot means getting used to it! You'll do a lot better, be less anxious, and start putting yourself out in a braver fashion when you're used to, even expecting rejection. With every rejection, I learn from what I think I did wrong and use that knowledge and apply it to my next submission. I switch things up to see what works and what doesn't, and it helps me gain insight for what seems to work.

This process takes some getting used to, but if you're rejected from more than one job and get used to "failure," it doesn't mean you've actually failed: it just means you have to look elsewhere. And you will, with more insight, once you're used to the feeling of being let down.

You celebrate the victories

We're talking about the small wins compared to the large amount of denied applications. You may send a hundred out and only hear back or get an interview from ten, but boy do those feel amazing when you do get an offer! Even if it's not a job you were hoping to get, at least you have something on the table to fall back on if something else doesn't work out. If it's an easy job or one you're overqualified for, I'd strongly suggest looking elsewhere if you think you won't be satisfied, but otherwise the job offers usually feel amazing when they're great. You did it! You got an offer!

Rejection allows growth

We all learn from our mistakes and grow from our failures, and getting rejected from a position is no different. This growth may be the push needed to find new opportunities, change your line of work to something a little different, look elsewhere, or just do more work to up your portfolio, practice your skills, and do better at your own work. Rejection is key to growth, and I think that it really helps change us as people. It reminds us we're human, and we can fail, but we can get better from it as well.

The bottom line is, rejection shouldn't be something you fear and shy away from. Every rejection, and every victory changes you for the better as long as you learn and grow from those experiences, and negative experiences in particular can increase confidence through continued bravery in putting yourself out there.

#musings #zita voros #zitavoros #blog #rejection

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neetu-uplifts · 5 years

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The Bravery Deficit

I’ve been a fan of Reshma Saujani for a while now. I see her as an intelligent, accomplished and inspiring South Asian female role model. She’s a lawyer, a politician and an entrepreneur, driven to make a positive impact for girls. In her powerful TED Talk, Saujani speaks about one of the biggest issues facing our economy, our families and our communities - the bravery deficit. Saujani explains how we are “socializing girls to be perfect - to smile pretty, [ensure their hair is in place], [be friendly], play it safe and get all A’s”. Boys on the other hand, are socialized to play rough, jump off the monkey bars and take risks, which teaches them to be brave and bold. This gender gap in bravery socialization carries forward in which career path is chosen and the confidence with which that path is pursued. Despite her incredible accomplishments as a Harvard and Yale graduate; successful attorney, politician, entrepreneur; and wife and mother, Saujani reflects on how long it took her to be brave - when she made the decision to run for Congress. “I was 33 years old and it was the first time I had done something really brave, where I didn’t worry about being perfect.”

Coincidentally, as I was exploring Saujani’s TED Talk, I happened to come across a NY Times article on the same topic. The article, written by psychologist Lisa Damour, examines how (in general, not in all cases) school teaches girls to be overly prepared, conscientious and perfect, which leaves them feeling confident only when they’re 150% ready. Meanwhile, school teaches boys to be strategic, to fly by the seat of their pants, and be comfortable with not knowing it all, which builds their confidence and appetite for risk. According to Damour: “From elementary school through college, girls are more disciplined about their schoolwork than boys; they study harder and get better grades. Girls consistently outperform boys academically. And yet, men nonetheless hold a staggering 95 percent of the top positions in the largest public companies.” Damour explains that “when it comes to work-related confidence...men are far ahead”. She reinforces this by sharing research from Kay and Shipman, which finds: “Underqualified and underprepared men don’t think twice about leaning in, [whereas] overqualified and overprepared women still hold back. Women feel confident only when they are perfect.” A man will apply for a position even if he only meets 20%-60% of the listed qualifications but a woman won’t apply unless she meets 80%-100% of the listed qualifications.

In the work my team and colleagues do to support entrepreneurs, we often see how a female entrepreneur will need to have everything perfectly researched, analyzed and thought through before she makes a decision to grow her business or take on financing. Whereas male entrepreneurs, not nearly as well prepared, generally just dive-in, with loads of confidence, head first. And we know that with greater risk comes great reward. According to a Fast Company article, that digs into why women-run businesses aren’t making millions, women take on significantly less debt or equity (Venture Capital or Angel investment) funding to grow their businesses, which tend to be in lower-growth retail and service sectors. “Women start businesses at nearly twice the rate of men, but far fewer of them actually scale”. Motherhood, the bravery deficit, systemic discrimination and access to social capital are all contributing factors. My question is: what can we do about the bravery deficit? Let’s start somewhere. Why are women so afraid to take a leap, screw up or go for something that perhaps we’re not entirely qualified or prepared for? Why do we fear looking bad? How do we undo and unlearn the obsession with “preparedness” and “diligence” that is holding us back? Ladies, it’s time to embrace ambiguity, accept “half-baked-ness” and to get messy, slippery and risky. And we need to seed this much earlier in life, starting with children.

We need to raise our boys but especially our girls to believe that starting something that’s tricky or going for an opportunity that’s hard is okay. Let’s stop applauding and solely focusing on the areas that our girls excel in so that they don’t internalize and cling to perfection and show up only when they know they will win. Teach them that falling on your face and not winning is 100% okay - in fact it’s good for them. To develop the bravery gene, we need to encourage them to prematurely put themselves out there, time and again, so they can cement that behaviour pattern throughout their lives. I love the saying that if you’re not failing at least once a day, you’re not trying hard enough. As Saujani insists, “we need to socialize girls to be BRAVE not perfect”. So, how might we teach girls to embrace imperfection? How can we push them to be okay with being afraid, to navigate and become friends with the unknown and to stay the course and keep trying, even in the face of failure? I feel like the answer lies in helping them develop a growth mindset. A growth mindset is excited by a challenge and resilient in the face of ambiguity and discomfort. We need more girls (and women) adopting the growth mindset so their confidence can finally catch-up with their high levels of competence. In addition to fostering a growth mindset, we also need to “show girls they will be loved and accepted not for being perfect but for being courageous” says Saujani. For far too long we have socialized girls to think they will be loved, valued and accepted if they are pretty, kind, thin and cooperative and we’ve punished them for being loud, chubby, disruptive, competitive and messy. Fuck that shit. It’s screwing them up and the impacts are screwing up our economy.

Saujani sees the bravery deficit as being a significant contributing factor to why women are underrepresented in STEM fields and in C-suites, boardrooms and politics. “Women have been socialized to aspire to perfection and they’re overly cautious. And even if we’re ambitious and we’re leaning in, that socialization of perfection has caused us to take less risks in our careers”. Saujani points to the vast computing and tech jobs not filled by women, resulting in the lucrative and innovative tech industry being a male-dominated arena. Her organization, Girls Who Code, is working to actively expose and educate young girls in computer science, robotics and other tech related fields and help them to pursue careers in these areas. Coding requires a growth mindset because it entails a lot of trial and error, which teaches perseverance and imperfection. This is Saujani’s way of socializing girls to be brave and take risks. And it’s working. Girls Who Code alumni are going on to pursue STEM-related degrees at a rate of 15X the US national average. Women make-up less than 25% of total STEM jobs in Canada - we have a lot of work to do here at home! I’m hoping we can grow that 25% to 50% in not only STEM but STEAM (science, technology, engineering, arts and math).

Helping girls and women rise up to our fullest potential is something I’m deeply passionate about. I consider myself to be a pretty courageous and brave woman. I was built like that by a very bold and courageous Mother (LOVVVE YOU MOM!). BUT, of course, that doesn’t mean I don’t have insecurities. I haven’t always felt brave. As I read Damour’s NY Times article, the phrase “she never felt “safe” enough to ever put in less than maximum effort” hit home for me. I feel myself so much in that sentiment. For much of my life, I’ve been extremely focused on school, being the top of my class and having a perfect GPA. I endured painful experiences with anxiety and insomnia throughout high school and University as a result of being sickly obsessed with academic perfection, preparation and knowing everything. Where did this stem from? Internal drive and interest - yes. Parental pressure around academic achievement - yes. But also (I now realize) from the broader sociological conditioning of striving for perfection - because as a female, anything less wouldn’t be okay. I was the girl who guys were friends with - the one who gave them pointers on and connected them to the pretty, thin girls they wanted to date. School and academics was my passion and it’s where I belonged so if I didn’t win in that arena, then who was I? What was my worth? I wish I could go back and tell my 16-year old self that she is incredible, she is beautiful, she is enough and that she is going to live an epic life - regardless of her GPA or anything else. Because who she is, at the core, is SO much bigger than any of this. And that all the things that make her uniquely Neetu (her quirks, her awkwardness, her frizzy hair and her fierce and assertive ability to use her voice and tell someone what’s up) are the things that she will one day love the most about herself.

I grew up surrounded by entrepreneurial parents who were very brave in navigating an unknown, racist climate, hustling to survive and taking several real risks everyday. They definitely inspired (and continue to inspire) me. This inspiration ultimately led me to address the bravery deficit in my own life - and doing so, saved me. Courage is a muscle and the more I flex it, the stronger is has become. Standing up to racism on the school playground (with fierce words and fists even though it resulted in nearly getting expelled), competing in the science fair against the smartest kid in my school (a white boy - who later wanted to be my study buddy), moving halfway across the world several times to pursue my dreams, choosing an unconventional and highly ambiguous Masters degree program, not playing it safe by starting a business in the midst of real debt, falling deeply in love and then growing the courage to walk away, traveling solo in random parts of the world, moving back home and starting over, and more recently, asking for a raise, and calling out girl-on-girl-crime even though my voice shook and my job might’ve been on the line. I’ve gotten into a habitual pattern where being brave makes it easier to then take a few more more brave and courageous steps. Each risk I take catapults me into the next opportunity to be brave, and over time, this has given me a healthy-sized courage muscle. Courage does not mean one is immune to fear but rather that one is not debilitated or paralyzed by fear. The curiosity, interest or passion for what could result overrides the fear of what might go wrong. You become bold enough to go for it. And why not? Life is so damn short - let’s have some fun! It’s all going to end anyway. Might as well enjoy it. Find ways - big or small - to be brave everyday. Speak up in a meeting. Apply for that crazy job that no one understands. Ask that person out on a date. Leave that person, job or habit that depletes your soul. Stand up for someone who is being judged, bullied or disrespected. Put yourself first. Nothing bad will come from being brave (don’t go up to a bear and say what’s up or anything - bravery is not synonymous with stupidity).

Writing this post has ignited an accountability in me to do whatever I can to continue to address the bravery deficit in my life and in the lives of other girls and women. I hope reading this inspires you to see the role that we all play, as parents, siblings, aunts, uncles, grandparents, friends, spouses, educators and leaders, in developing bravery in women and girls. The risk of not doing so is too high. Just think of all the untapped potential we’ll never realize or benefit from, otherwise. And for the guys out there, this doesn’t mean you’re always beating your chests with endless confidence and that you’re not impacted by the bravery deficit. We know you are. While the research speaks to the lived experience of most females (as that is where it’s most pronounced), this issue is not exclusive to just girls and women. Boys and men also struggle with being courageous and bold so let’s ensure that doesn’t get overlooked.

#bebrave #girls #women #riseup #halfbaked #jump #embraceimperfection

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supergirl-imagines · 7 years

Note

One shot prompt contest idea: The reader was hired to seduce/get close to Lena by Lex/Cadmus but ended up genuinely falling in love with her

“Lena, I can’t lie to you anymore.”

Your voice trembled as you locked eyes with the woman you had been deceiving for two months. When you had come to National City with a newly revived bank account and a pile of documents about the Luthor heiress, you had told yourself that business was business and the $200,000 Mrs. Luthor had wired to you would justify whatever you had to do from here on out.

Lena didn’t say anything, but set her pen down on her desk and waited for you to explain yourself. You shut the door to her office, feeling her eyes on you the entire time, and remained standing at the far end of the room.

“I didn’t come to this city with good intentions. I came here and applied at L Corp because I was hired to by your mother to get close to you.”

The words tasted badly in your mouth and sweat coated your palms. You felt sick.

“Why are you telling me?”

Her voice was emotionless and Lena’s gaze hardened on you. You could see anything she had ever felt towards you dissipating. Your chest ached.

“Because I can’t lie to you anymore, Lena. I care about you and this is the first time I haven’t been able to complete a job.” You walked towards her desk swiftly and sat down in the chair across from her. As soon as you did, she rose and went to her window.

“Am I supposed to feel sorry that you couldn’t go through with lying to me?”

“No, but you need to know that I’m not lying now. Lena, your mother wants you dead and I’ve been feeding her fake intel for a while now, but you have to get out of this city now.”

“I don’t hide from my mother and I’m not about to start now.”

“This isn’t about your pride!” You stood up from the chair and went to the window despite knowing that she wouldn’t want to be near you. “Lena, she’s already sent someone. I was dismissed today, which means she thinks that she isn’t going to need information on you anymore.”

“Then I suppose you should be on your way.”

“I’m not leaving National City without you.” You hesitated before putting your hand on her arm. She flinched away from your touch. “I love you, Lena. Please, give me a chance to make this right.”

Silence fills the lavish office and you felt panic start to rush through your bloodstream.

“I won’t leave without you, Lena,” you repeated softly. She finally turned towards you and you feel an invisible punch to the stomach when you see the way her eyes are watering. You’ve done a lot in your life, but nothing had ever hurt you like this.

“Fine, but don’t you dare think that I trust you.”

“That’s fair,” you nodded; voice thick with emotion. “Can you be ready at the piers by five?”

Lena nodded and you took it as your cue to leave. Even leaving her alone for a few hours terrified you. Intel was always your specialty and right now, you had none. As you walked out of the office, you found yourself wondering whether or not Lena would even show up. She had no reason to take your word for anything. All you could do was pray that she would at least hold some faith in you as you packed your limited belongings into the black Audi you had purchased that afternoon. You weren’t taking any chances about not having enough power or speed to escape a threat in the event that someone caught onto Lena’s departure. The other thing that you purchased was a 9mm with the serial number sanded off.

———————————————————————————————————

The sun was starting to set by the time you parked along the pier and you leaned against the hood of the sleek black car with your back towards the water. Your pistol rests against your torso from its spot in the waist of your jeans.

By 5:07, a taxi rolled up and you straightened your posture when it stopped in front of you. Your heart hammered in your chest as Lena stepped out of the backseat and you waived the driver off when he went to get out. The dark haired woman got into the passenger seat of your car without a word as you pulled her single black suitcase out of the cab’s trunk and handed the driver a handsome tip. You waited until his vehicle disappeared down the street before looking away and putting Lena’s luggage into your trunk. For all you know, someone could already be tailing her.

“You didn’t notice anything suspicious?” You asked upon reentering the Audi and starting it’s engine. The machine roared to life and you threw it into drive before heading towards the street. Your knuckles were turning white from the force with which you gripped the leather steering wheel.

“No,” Lena answered curtly.

That was the only bit of dialogue between the two of you for the duration of the drive. You wanted to say something; anything to make the tension lessen or make her hate you less. But, you knew that no combination of words will make things better so soon, so you turned on the radio and took the first exit ramp you saw out of the city.

——————————————————————————————

“Lena?” You cautiously touched the sleeping woman’s shoulder, not wanting to scare her, and drew back when she jolted awake.

“Where are we?” She asked.

“About an hour outside of Metropolis,” you replied. Undoing your seatbelt, you opened your door and popped the drunk open to retrieve your things. Lena rose from the car and you scanned the dark parking lot warily; still unsure of whether or not you were being followed.

“I know it’s not the Hilton, but we’re pretty far from any main roads,” you nodded towards the dingy motel and pulled your bag and her suitcase out. Lena didn’t respond and you lowered your gaze as you closed the trunk and sighed.

After checking in under a fake name with one of the IDs in your wallet, you took the key for your room from the disinterested woman behind the front desk and walked to the end of the hall, where your room was. You had requested one close to an exit, which wasn’t an uncommon demand in motels like this.

As soon as you unlocked the door, Lena slipped past you and quickly shut herself in the bathroom. The CEO gripped the edge of the cheap ceramic sink and stared at herself in the mirror; willing herself not to cry. Nevertheless, her breath hitched in her throat and she quickly turned on the faucet to mask the sounds of her losing it.

It took a lot for Lena to let someone in. Growing up in the family that she had been adopted into left little room for affection or trust. She was a rich, powerful CEO and that meant everyone who put themselves in their circle probably had an incentive for doing so.

When you had come in for your interview, Lena had realized three things; that you were intelligent, overqualified for the position you had applied for, and that you knew both of those things. Nevertheless, you had shook her hand and assured her that you were very excited about the possibility of working for her company and that you looked forward to hearing from her.

When you had come into your first day as her new assistant the next week, she tried to keep the usual distance she had with her employees. But, you were charming and pretty and pretty insistent when you told her that it really wasn’t a bother for you to stay late so often and when you started bringing her dinner she found that she really enjoyed spending time with you after-hours.

One evening, you had just pulled your jacket on to leave when Lena summoned you over the intercom to come to her office. When you let yourself in, the CEO offered you a glass of bourbon and that glass quickly turned to several between the two of you. She had insisted upon you calling her by her first name and you found yourself focusing less and less on getting information out of her as the two of you spoke.

By midnight, the two of you were still drinking and moved to the balcony outside of her office. Most of what you told her about your past was truthful; how you spent your entire adolescence in the foster system and did several stints in a juvenile detention center before you turned 18 and got a full ride to Cornell because of your remarkably high SAT scores. You found yourself respecting your real employer less and less as Lena revealed parts of her childhood.

It had never been clear to Lena whether it was the alcohol or the sudden vulnerability she felt opening up to you that made her press her lips against yours that night. The two of you had shed your clothes right there on the floor of her balcony with the sounds of the city below. Guilt flooded your system and mixed with the lust you felt as her nails dug into your flesh, but you didn’t stop what happened that night and you let it continue happening for there on out.

—————————————————————————————————————

After a while, you heard Lena turn on the shower and decided to open one of the bottles of liquor you had thrown in your duffel bag. Giving up your sobriety while potentially having an assassin on your trail wasn’t the best idea, but your conscience was eating you alive at this point and you needed a drink.

Choosing vodka so that the burn would at least serve as some kind of punishment, you opened the bottle and took a long swig from it. Desperate for some sort of noise to fill the silence that had followed you since Lena’s office, you turned on the TV and paced back and forth with the vodka bottle in hand.

Lena exited the bathroom nearly 40 minutes later, wrapped in a towel and stripped of her make-up. Her eyes were red and you took another drink, knowing that she had cried because of you. Out of respect, you turned away so that she could get dressed and continued to sip from the bottle as you stared at the closed blinds covering the window. For good measure, you had also propped a chair up against the door handle in case the deadbolt and chain lock failed you.

“So, how much did my mother pay you?”

“Is knowing gonna make you feel better?” You turned around and held out your bottle. After a few seconds and a steely glare, she walked over and took it from you.

“No,” she grimaced after a long drink, “but tell me anyway.”

“$200,000.”

“Wow,” Lena’s eyebrows rose and she smiled wryly. “That’s all it took?”

“I’ve done a lot more for a lot less.”

The alcohol was making you more transparent than usual, but what was the harm in that now?

“So, was fucking me part of the deal too or just a bonus?”

Lena sat on the end of the bed nearest the window and took another drink. Your hands clenched at your sides.

“It wasn’t like that,” you practically whispered. Lena scoffed and you heard the vodka slosh around against the glass sides of the bottle. You began to feel lightheaded.

“How am I supposed to believe anything you tell me?”

“I don’t know!”

Your voice cracked and your eyes stung with the threat of tears. How in the name of God could you have let this happen?

“But, I love you, Lena. I’ve never lied to a client before, but I started feeding your mother false information the morning after…after we got together. I’ve never bailed on a job before. I’ve never felt the way I feel about you before.”

Tears streamed down your face and you hurried to wipe them away. Lena was finally looking at you again and while you wanted to say something else, you were at a loss for words. Her eyes searched yours for what felt like minutes.

“What’s going to happen after tonight?”

“I call the prison your mother is at and leave an anonymous tip about her hidden cellphone. She’ll get put into solitary for at least three months for having that kind of contraband and…and if you want I can have a hit placed on her for when she gets put back into general population. Whoever she hired to hurt you will take off with the money sooner or later after they can’t get in contact with her, and then…things should go back to normal.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll do whatever you ask me to…even if that means leaving you alone,” you admitted quietly. As much as the idea of never seeing her again made you feel like you couldn’t breathe, you owed her that much. Mattress springs creaked as Lena stood up, booze still in hand, and walked over to you. Your pulse sped up.

“I should hate you,” she murmured. You nodded in acceptance. “But, I can’t.”

#lena luthor #lena luthor imagine #one shot #supergirl #supergirl imagine #lena fic

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kryssieness · 7 years

Text

[TW: Depression]

Went from excited about cleaning and decorating my house to depressed and crying in 60 seconds.

I applied for a position that I 100% know I’m qualified for because I’ve spent the last 7 years preparing myself for the position through education and real-world situations. But, for whatever reason (probably because I will be a PhD holder by the end of the year), companies are rejecting me straight out without even talking to me.

I haven’t been able to get a job I’m actually qualified for since...I moved to CA. I’ve had to take positions for which I am supremely overqualified so that I can pay my bills and such. I can say with authority and honest I am worth more than $9/hr. Hell, I’m worth more than $29/hr., and not just because I’m going to have crippling student loan debt. I know my work ethic. I know my brain. I know what I’m capable of doing. And I know that my Total Package(TM) is well worth upwards of $40/hr.

...but, I’ve never held a job that paid me that much because I had a B.S. in education and, as the recruiters told me, “You can’t do anything with that....”

...but, what’s the excuse now that I have an MA in Business Communication and Leadership Development and a PhD in Inudstrial/Organizational Psychology?

I guess maybe I’m over-valuing myself. Maybe I really am worth-less. Maybe what I thought was stellar, unique, and groundbreaking in my research is just old hat and nothing new, everyone else already has the answers I seek... Maybe I don’t deserve to be happy in a job. Maybe I don’t deserve to be paid what I think I should be paid (and to be honest, I’m probably underselling myself at $40/hr.). I feel like just giving up on everything.... because, what’s the point?

There’s only so many times you can get kicked to the curb before you start to realize, maybe you’re just trash.... and that’s where all the horrible memories come flooding back to me... like the fact I’m the youngest by 8 years because I wasn’t wanted (Dad had a vasectomy 6 years prior)... the fact I was often forgotten (...Valentine’s Day... at stores... at church... even my birthday which is Christmas day)... No matter how good I am, there’s always someone better and everyone loves to tell me about it. Seriously. What’s the point. Why am I wasting my time and everyone else’s time with this stupid dissertation? Sure, it’s a cool idea, but, there again, I’ve been told about all these other places that are successfully doing what I’m trying to prove is actually a thing (see, they’re all anecdotal stories, which are awesome, but I need scientific evidence...)

I dunno. Pity party, I guess. I’m just so tired of feeling impotent in my life. I work really hard and I try even harder and it’s just like, “That’s nice. See this person here? They’re SO MUCH BETTER because ... (fill in the blank).” Half the time, I’m the person they come to for advice to do their job...the one I was NOT as qualified for.... There was one place I was even told, point blank, they would never hire me and to stop applying (didn’t even interview me....and I was MORE than qualified for the position).

I don’t even understand how people can decide to do a career change and get into the positions they want when I can’t even get interviews for positions for which I’m ideally qualified. Change careers? I just want a career...

#depression #jobs #career

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mrsteveecook · 5 years

Text

I replied-all with an adversarial email, my boss and I dress alike, and more

It’s five answers to five questions. Here we go…

1. I sent an adversarial email — and replied-all

I’ve seen plenty of articles about how to resond to someone who is unprofessional, but what do I do if I was the one who was unprofessional?

I am a supervisor who often interfaces with management and sometimes takes on a management role. Recently, I was working with leadership to transition an employee into a new role on my team. I offered to work with management to support whatever transition plan they needed but, since the employee will earn more in the new position, asked that she be transitioned to the new pay scale ASAP. We were all set to transition her when our admin person cancelled the action at management’s direction. I responded to everyone on one of the emails, basically going on a rant about how we were doing a disservice to the employee and I didn’t understand why when the pay could be separated from the transition of duties.

The email wasn’t received well, to say the least. I got an email from one manager directing me to conduct any further discussion with him in person, another email from a senior manager to the entire group telling me I was being unprofessional and to start being professional, and an email from my second level manager after my response was forwarded to him by the senior manager telling me to give him a call. He then told me that my response was inflammatory, accusatory, not productive, and an exhibition of poor leadership and that I needed to change my communication methods. He brought up a similar type of response I had with a peer (so this isn’t the first time).

I responded to the senior manager’s email by apologizing for my lack of professionallism and expressing that they deserved — and I would give them — better. I want to work on my email communications with a goal of being objective and concise and making sure I *don’t* use email when I feel impassioned about the subject being discussed … which mostly centers around standing up for my employees when I feel like they’re being short-changed. What should I do to recover from this, if recovery is even possible?

Recovery is indeed possible.

Effective immediately, stop using email for anything that you feel heated or impassioned about. From here on out, you need to see email as being only for relatively dry information exchange. Anything that’s stirring up emotions in you needs to be addressed through another means — ideally in-person, but over the phone can work too, depending on the context. I’d tell you to also banish your reply-all button (because that was a big part of where you went wrong), but that shouldn’t be necessary if you follow the first rule.

Also, it’s great that you want to stand up for your employees. But your job is also to work with management above you to understand their priorities and carry them out as best as you can, while giving them information that will help them make good decisions, and ultimately recognizing they have the final call. That doesn’t mean “blindly do what higher-ups tell you.” It means “if you have information that might change their perspective, share it.” But you also have to recognize that they have priorities that might rightly trump yours at times, and they may know things about the bigger picture that you’re not privy to. If your first instinct is to go on a rant about how they’re getting it wrong rather than to seek more information and to offer input like “my concern about X is Y — would Z be an option instead?” then you’re going to make yourself far less effective (and annoy people around you in the process). Right now you’re coming across as adversarial, when you need to be coming across as collaborative.

You can’t effectively stand up for your employees if everyone thinks you’re a hothead.

2. I left qualification off my resume to get my job and I now I’m regretting it

About five years ago, I was out of work and having a hard time finding a job. I saw a job posting that looked very interesting at an exciting organization, but I was clearly overqualified for it. Since that had kept me from getting interviews or job offers in the past, I dumbed down some of the titles, experience, and accomplishments on my resume before I sent it in. I wound up getting the job, and have done very well at it, getting above-average raises and bonuses every year.

My direct supervisor has just announced she is leaving, and I know that I am very qualified to take her place. However, they have just posted the job, and they are listing requirements that I have, but left off or minimized on the resume that is in my personnel file. How do I handle this? Do I come clean?

Well, first, know that your resume is a marketing document; there’s no requirement that you list everything you’ve ever done on it. You’re allowed to tailor it to the job you’re applying for (assuming you don’t lie, of course).

If you left out a ton of stuff, then yes, this might be a little strange. But they know you, they know you do good work, and they’re extremely unlikely to penalize you for the omissions now. (If they would have rejected you if you’d submitted a more complete resume, it would have been because they assumed you would get bored of the job or left as soon as something better came along. You’ve been there five years now, so they clearly don’t need to worry about that now.)

So don’t think of this as “coming clean,” which implies you did something wrong that you need to confess. Just be matter-of-fact about it: “I didn’t include this on my resume when I applied five years ago because it wasn’t relevant to this role, but I actually have a ton of experience doing X and Y. I’d like to apply for this position, and here’s a more comprehensive version of my resume that includes the work experience I didn’t think was relevant for my current role.”

3. My boss and I keep accidentally wearing the same thing

I work in a very small office — just my boss, me, and the maintenance guy who pops in occasionally. I adore my boss, but lately I’ve noticed that we tend to wear the same style of outfits. Like we’ll both have on a blue shirt with black pants and a black cardigan. Yesterday we both wore pink shirts with jeans and grey cardigan, etc. I’m fairly new to office environments, so I’m not sure if this is super weird or if I’m just overthinking it. We don’t wear identical outfits, but they are pretty similar in style and color. Should I go shopping or should I just chill out?

Nah, you’re fine. Sometimes this happens in offices (it’s like the clothes version of women’s menstrual cycles syncing up) and you can make a joke about it! You definitely don’t need to buy new clothes.

Related: is it weird to start dressing like my boss?

4. Should I let a client know I’m struggling with mental health issues?

I recently left my job and am working as a freelance marketing consultant while I look for my next role. One of my clients has expressed interest in hiring me when her budget permits later this year. That’s great news, so I’m doing my best to continue to impress her with my work in the meantime.

My problem is that my quality of work has been suffering lately because of my mental health. Being a freelancer means I do not have health insurance, so my diagnosed anxiety and ADHD are currently going untreated. Without medication, I am finding it extremely challenging to meet deadlines and generally put out the quality of work I want to.

I recently submitted a project over a week past the deadline, and my client expressed some serious frustration. I want to tell her that I’m struggling with my mental health, and that this is not my normal MO. I am also restructuring my budget to find ways to afford my medication so that this will not happen in the future. What do you think about this approach? And what’s your advice for disclosing mental health struggles after they cause an issue? Especially since I’m a freelancer and do not have the same protections that a traditional employee would.

It’s too much information. You don’t need to specify that it’s mental health any more than you would need to specify that it’s colon health. Just go with “health issues.”

There’s still a stigma around mental health (which sucks, but is the reality), and ultimately she doesn’t need to know the details of what happened, just that you’ve been dealing with some health issues that you’re working on getting under control.

Go with something like this: “I’m so sorry I missed the deadline for this. I’ve had a flare-up of a medical issue that I’m working on getting under control, and it led to delays with this work. I know this put you in a bind, and I want you to know that I take that really seriously and am taking steps to ensure it won’t happen again.”

5. How to turn down recruiters who are head-hunting you

Is there a good way to turn down recruiters who are head-hunting you? I didn’t respond to one recently until I realized I was potentially damaging a future relationship, even though I know that the company was in no way right for me. How specific do you need to be, while still seeming open to the company in general?

It depends on the context. If we’re just talking about an email from an external recruiter (meaning one who doesn’t work for the company you’d be hired by, but has many companies as clients) who you’ve never worked with, proposing a job that’s entirely wrong for you, you can just ignore that email. They send out hundreds of those a day and are used to being ignored.

But if it’s an internal recruiter (meaning employed by the company you’d be working for) at a company you might be interested in some day, or if it’s a recruiter who you’ve previously had useful-feeling interactions with, it’s helpful to respond and briefly explain why it’s not the right match for you. That doesn’t need to be anything lengthy — just something like, “Thanks so much for thinking of me for this! I’m looking for roles that focus on X rather than Y so this isn’t the right match for me, but I’d welcome hearing about any X-focused positions in the future.”