financial jargon

aquaeverything  asked:

Is it too late to ask for pizzeria!jinki? With a side of extra cheesy swoonly mvp!ho? :3

“I would like to fill out an application.”

Jinki looked up from the dough he was kneading. He blinked, looked around the empty pizzeria and then back to the man standing before him. He had on an expensive suit, a very expensive suit, Vivian Westwood or Tom Ford, something that would be very hard to clean up if Jinki were to say…spill something on it. His haircut was immaculate, not a strand out of place. He had on a pair of aviators that hid his eyes.

He looked like a walking billboard. A model. A statue chiseled out of Vves St. Laurent. So why was he…

“You want to do what?!”

The man removed his shades, folded them, and slipped them into his breast pocket. “A job application.” The man held up the “Help Wanted” sign. “You are hiring aren’t you?”

Jinki smiled weakly. “I– uh, yeah. For a waiter. “

Okay, so Jinki did need the help. His pizzeria was taking off. People liked the crazy creations he came up with and the atmosphere of the shop was cozy and cultural, paying homage to both the country pizza was born from and the people who visited the shop daily. He had two other employees–Taemin, the prep guy, who helped Jinki as much as he could in the back, and Jonghyun, the waiter, who sometimes spent more time flirting with his patrons than he did waiting on them, but they seemed to love it.

Problem was, they loved it too much and Jonghyun couldn’t keep up with the ‘handsome waiter holding a pizza’ demand.

Jinki took a good look at the man before him again. It didn’t make sense. He looked like he should be approaching Jinki to buy out the restaurant, not applying to work inside of it. He was about to turn him away, wait for some summer break college kid to walk in but the man smiled shyly and Jinki gave in. 

Hell, why not.

Jinki thrust his hand out to shake the man’s hand when he realized it was covered in sticky dough. “Oh, um.” He reached for a towel and cleaned his hand off as best as he could, but gave up when he took another look at the man’s suit. Yeah, no. 

“Ever waited on tables before?”


He’ll learn. Jinki nodded.

“You’re hired.”


“That’s the place? Minho. Please tell me you’re kidding me.”

Minho scratched the back of his neck and squinted, caught between embarrassed and desperate. They were sitting across from Onew’s, Lee Jinki’s stone oven, wood fired pizzeria right in the middle of Hongdae. They both watched as the older man prepared to open shop for the lunch rush, flying around the shop with two other people as they whipped the place into perfection.

“I’m not kidding. And I start tomorrow.”

“You know,” Kibum said as he lowered his shades and took a long sip of an Americano, “most people introduce themselves, try to find like interests, ask people out on dates. They don’t apply to their place of business just so they can be closer to them. This sounds like a blurb at the bottom of a restraining order.”

“I’ve tried that,” Minho whined.“And he never remembers! You know how many times I’ve been in that pizza place? Dozens!”

“Yeah and you keep walking in their like the vogue reincarnation of the Terminator. That’s not very…warm and memorable. Or sane,” Kibum finished under his breath.

“WELL besides that! I’ve tried everything. I’ve tried smiling that smile that made Yuri melt. I tried leaving my business card and that got put in a bowl with other business cards for a chance to win a free fucking pizza. I tried ordering pizza with the words “Will you go out with me?” spelled out in pepperoni to be delivered to Jinki personally but some smart–aleck kid said he refused to help someone so pathetic.”

Kibum laughed and held his hand up for the waiter. “Have you tried talking to him?”

“That’s ridiculous idea at this point. This is going to force him to pay just a little attention to me. And plus, and I don’t want to sound like an 80’s romcom with the whole ‘I want him to come to love me for me and not–“

“The millions your family makes annually, or your shining inheritance, or your likely position as new CEO of your father’s company or–“

“Yes,” Minho said as he put a finger to Kibum’s lips,” That.”

“Good luck with that. You’re not the best secret keeper. And didn’t that genie in Aladdin say something about ‘telling the truth?’”

“This is not a Disney flick. And trust me. This will all work out.” Minho sat back in his seat. “I think.”


 Jonghyun thought Jinki couldn’t hear him creeping up behind him. The younger man never understood the concept of stealth or the fact that the fabric of his jeans zipped every time he took a step toward Jinki’s back office. He counted down the seconds before Jonghyun did something ridiculous like scream out “Boo!” or tap him on his shoulder before hiding. He did neither. A newspaper article instead was slapped down on his desk.

“Minho is an heiress.”

Jinki sighed. “An heir. The qualification for an heiress usually involves a woman.”

“Whatever, but he’s like…filthy fucking rich.” Jonghyun pouted. “He makes more money in tips than I do. He has for the last three months. That’s cosmically unfair.” Jonghyun plopped down in one of the two chairs in front of Jinki’s desk and brought his head forward until it banged against the surface. Then it sprang back up. “Wait. You knew?”

Jinki scoffed. “He walked in here wearing an outfit the cost my monthly salary. Of course I knew he was rich. I just didn’t know how rich until last night. Do you know that we are paid up on supplies until next Spring?”

“Why would I know that and what happened last night?”

Jinki grabbed a calculator and rechecked his numbers. They seemed way off. “I picked his pants up off my bathroom floor and his ID was in…the…”

He blinked as he realized what he said.

Jonghyun peered at him for a second; waiting for him to finish his sentence, then it hit him.


Jinki turned red. He grabbed his paperwork and rushed out of the office. “I’ve got to go pick up some…stuff…or yeah! Stuff! Keep up the good work! You’re an asset to this company and um! Yeah! Bu-bye!”


Jinki was halfway down the block when he finally slowed down. He was sweating, out of breath and mortified.

Yes. It was true. He was sleeping with the help.

This was NOT the way it was supposed to be! When Minho first started at the pizzeria, he needed a lot of help. He was right; he’d never waited on a table in his life. At first, Jonghyun and he would stick around after work and give him some tips–small talk (the boy was all business speak and financial jargon), how to hold the pizza tray without burning yourself, pouring drinks without spilling it…the simple stuff. But soon Jonghyun’s after work gig with his band got in the way of the training sessions and three was down to two.

At this point, Minho had caught up, learned everything he needed to know, but the two found themselves hanging around after closing hours for the hell of it. Sometimes Taemin was there, but he made it his business to not be there long, always giving Minho a look before leaving.

One night as Minho was helping him polishing silverware Jinki caught the look as Taemin made his exit.

“Are you and Taemin together or something?” he asked bluntly.

Minho dropped the fork he was shining and began to choke on air. Jinki patted him on the back until he stopped. “I take that as a yes.”

“No. You should take that as a ‘what the hell makes you think that?’” Minho wheezed.

“Oh, just the look he gives you when he leaves. It looks like…a suggestion or a hidden message or something.”


“I don’t know. Sex?”

Minho stared at Jinki and for a moment, Jinki felt the bottom of his stomach fall out because he was actually afraid of the answer. Not that he didn’t want Taemin to be happy if they were dating–he honestly didn’t know the younger man swung the same way he did, but surprises make the world go round–but Jinki…noticed Minho. The way he grinned at customers regardless of the situation, the way he handled babies–he was a natural with babies, oh my god–with such care, the way that even if Jonghyun didn’t notice, he always stuffed a dollar or two of his tips in to Jonghyun’s jar. How he was always the first to show up and the last to leave.  Minho was an even mix of humble and affluent. Plus, his face was made for worshiping.

The bottom line was…he noticed Minho in a way that he hadn’t noticed a man in a long time but what did that matter? He understood Taemin’s charm. It was bright and gravitating. They could be cute together and–

“I told Taemin I liked you and he’s been pushing me to ask you out.”

Wait. What?


“You heard me,” Minho said quietly.

“Oh. Um.”  The room suddenly felt like the inside of Jinki’s ovens. “That’s–“

“I understand if you don’t feel the same way. I just wanted to clear that up. There is no me and Taemin. You’re the reason I’m here. You’re the reason I started working here in the first place.”

Jinki had listed in his head, the reasons why an obviously wealthy man such as Minho would want to work for him. Rebellion or that sickly feeling rich people get in their chest when they realize that they want to for once in their lives feel like the everyday man. Or maybe he was just bored. Minho’s real reason made absolutely no sense.

“For me? But–but why?” he asked incredulous.

“I told you. I like you.”

Jinki blinked again before tipping his head back in laughter. “So you start working here?! You understand thats crazy right?”

Minho pouted.

“Look at you! Have you seen your face?  I would have talked to you if you’d said something. I’m not stupid.”

“I want to say I’ve tried that before but you wouldn’t remember.”

“Wait. When?”

“I’ve been by here a million times! You never…looked at me. Not in the way I wanted.”

Jinki blinked, his mouth hanging open. Minho’s pout deepened and Jinki pinched the bridge of his noise. He laid the last of the polished silverware in a grey tub and slid it onto the counter. “Let’s get out of here. If I see another fork tonight I’m going to scream.”

Minho’s pout was still there but he obeyed and reached for his jacket. “Yeah…that sounds like a good idea.” Slipping it on, he grabbed his cellphone and began for the door. “Night, hyung.”

Jinki looked down at his feet. “Night, Minh–would you like to come to my place for a cup of coffee? Like…right now?”

Minho stopped mid step. He turned around slowly, a look of disbelief written on his face. “Right now?”


Minho’s face brightened like a puppy in a tennis ball factory. “Absolutely.”


“So that’s how you got in his pants? Over a lousy cup of decaf store bought coffee? Ridiculous.”

“Don’t say got in his pants like that.” Minho scrunched up his nose.  “But, yeah I did. And then I did again…and again…”

“God. Please. Spare me the details such as time and date and orgasm count,” Kibum said, disgusted. “And he hasn’t figured you out by now? Your entire face is on the entire front-page of the newspaper last week.”

“It was WHAT?!”

“Have you been sniffing dough? Did you not think that there wouldn’t be picture? You’re not that stupid.”

“Yeah but I–but not the front page!” Minho groaned and carded his hands through his hair, yanking on the ends.

There was a knock on the door and Minho wanted to ignore it. He just wanted to pound his head on wall until he passed out or he came up with a way to break the news to his sorta-kinda boyfriend of one month. He began to do just that and Kibum, again, disgusted by his general lack of sense, shook his head and wandered towards Minho’s condo door.

“It’s amazing that they are going to give you complete control of a company when you–oh hello.”

“Hi, is Minho here?”

Minho stopped banging mid…bang, and looked up, recognizing the voice.

How did he…

“Yeah, he’s here. All six foot of idiot, right around that corner.”

Moments later, Kibum was guiding Jinki into the living room and he almost swallowed his gum.

He knew the man wasn’t an idiot. There was no way around not knowing that Minho was well off. He looked around his lavish condo dripping in mahogany and wood grain and groaned. He just didn’t want him to know he was this well off, not yet.

Too bad.

Jinki walked up to him silently before holding up a newspaper article.

“Heir to FlameCo attends charity banquet” plastered across the front with a big huge stupid large picture of him.


“Minho,” Jinki began but Minho raced to interrupt him.

“I’m so sorry, Jinki. I mean, I was going to tell you and it just got away from me, and I don’t want you to think I lied so I could sleep with you because I didn’t! I really like you and please don’t be mad with me. And I’ll quit. I quit right now! I just don’t want you to stop seeing me.”

Jinki’s lip hitched up. “Why would I stop seeing you? That makes the absolute opposite of sense. So you’re a little bit weird, you use weird tactics to hit on someone, but you’ve never said you weren’t an heir so I mean…what are you freaking out about? This isn’t Clambake. I’m not going to faint.”


“It’s a movie, you uncultured peon,” Kibum supplied.

Minho shot him a glare and Kibum just smiled back.

 “Anyways,” Jinki said, rolling the newspaper up and tossing it into a trashcan. “You are no longer an employee of Onew’s. You are still, however, my boyfriend.“

Minho frowned. “Okay but–“

“Oh, yeah. And stop paying my suppliers. And my rent. And I don’t need a new sign so I cancelled the order.”

“How did you–“

“I’ll see you at eight, then?” Jinki turned to Kibum. “It was nice meeting you!”

And then Jinki was gone.

“Wow. That just happened.”

“It did.” Minho glanced at the article in the trashcan. “It did.”


Um. I don’t think this is what you asked for but the point is I TRIED. Right? 

The Monster: the fraud and depraved indifference that caused the subprime meltdown

Michael W Hudson’s book-length investigative journalism piece on the subprime meltdown, The Monster, is both a brilliant example of skeptical business journalism done right, and a brilliant example of the storyteller’s art. Hudson combines his meticulous, exhaustively documented research with a novelistic approach to telling the story that strips away all the financial jargon and the cosy justifications and rationalizations and lays bare the heart of the story: greed, depraved indifference, fraud, and a howling moral vacuum that swallowed up people at all levels of finance and financial regulation.

The Monster starts with the S&L crisis, and the fraudsters who destroyed the finances of the ordinary people who’d trusted them, and shows how the worst of the S&L conmen moved on to subprime, founding companies like Ameriquest and FAMCO. People like Richard Arnall, who became a billionaire, was the prime financier behind George W Bush’s 2004 presidential bid, and actually served as the US ambassador to the Netherlands, even as he built an empire built on outright, deliberate swindling.

And swindling it was. Hudson leaves no room for doubt here. You may have heard that the subprime collapse was caused by greedy homeowners fudging the facts about their income in order to secure easy credit, but Hudson shows that in the vast majority of cases, the “liar” in the “liar loan” was usually a banker, a mortgage broker, an underwriter, a bond-rater, an appraiser. These are the people who went into poor neighborhoods where vulnerable, poorly educated people had scrimped and saved all their lives to buy their homes and conned them into taking out brutal, lopsided second mortgages, lying to them, bilking them out of 20% (or more!) in upfront fees, lying some more, forging documents, and then handing off the mortgages to Wall Street to launder out as toxic bonds.

The depravity is bottomless. From small lies to big lies, from hiding documents to robbing developmentally disabled seniors. Stealing from widows by slipping in extra documents after their reading glasses were off. Using sexual harassment and even hired thugs to drive away anyone in the company with a shred of decency, anyone who raised the smallest objection. Coked up millionaires in SUVs, gouging good working people out of everything with a con designed and refined so ensnare people with so much debt that their houses were inevitably forfeit. The subprime outfits literally used the movie Boiler Room as a training film, requiring new hires to watch it in order to learn how to conduct their working lives.

But lest you think that the problem was just the con-artists at the bottom, Hudson shows you how regulators (all the way up to Alan Greenspan), Lehman and the other big Street firms, and politicians all the way up to the President of the United States were all in on it, that there was no way they couldn’t have known that they were participating in a once-in-a-century scam that was destroyed millions of good peoples’ lives as well as the planet’s economy, and how they all sat idly by and collected their share of the wealth rather than speak up. From lobbyists to campaign contributions, dirty tricks and massive media campaigns, bribery and intimidation, the men behind the subprime crisis were not merely expressing some historical abstraction, playing a part in a nebulous “business cycle.” They were deliberately, personally participating in something that they had to know would result in terrible consequences for innocents all around them.

Hudson’s book is a model for excellent investigative journalism. It’s a book that should be required reading for anyone who says that the economic crisis was caused by greedy mortgage-takers who spent too loosely with their credit cards.

The Monster: How a Gang of Predatory Lenders and Wall Street Bankers Fleeced America–and Spawned a Global Crisis