#whats the point of making a fucking resume when every damn online application makes you manually fill everything in anyway!!!!

[earthcookies]

the resume autofill feature for job applications is. So Useful.

#whats the point of making a fucking resume when every damn online application makes you manually fill everything in anyway!!!! #i hate job hunting so much its fucking unreal!

[ushioink]

(Part 1 of Careful,)

The world’s a little quiet today, or maybe she thinks this way because the AC is on full mode. Her earphones are pressed on her ears, and her fingers are running over the laptop keyboard in light speed. Everything she’s doing is an example of tranquility. She’s trapped in this sphere of solitude, and she loves it. The library is entirely empty, too, considering it’s early in the morning for torture. But whatever, she likes when things are clear and monotonous.

Of course, every good thing is bound to the burden of decomposition, and so her quiet is disturbed. At first, it’s just a body that’s hovering over her table. A large body. Enough to darken her desk and wide enough to block the cool air of the AC gushing over her. She’s intending to ignore it, but she’s not exactly good at that. So she takes off her earphone and pauses her monstrous clicking. She looks up, glare taking place over the dead shapes of her bitch face, ready to confront the person stripping her of her cocoon. Only, she doesn’t see a stranger.

It’s a man, and she’s not familiar with men - usually she’s just a virgin in all aspects of the opposite sex - but he’s not a face well forgotten. He’s one of the dudes that people whispered about in the hallways, and even her, an antisocial not-give-a-shit girl has heard about him. She’s a bit mortified about his sudden station over her table, but she forgets about her curiosity to resume her glaring. He winces a little because of her harsh glaring, especially when she pulls her earphones so she can hear the sound of her eyes going absolutely still in the dangerous motion. Besides him stands another man, a taller one, and he, too, sparks recognition in her well-organized mind. But she doesn’t give this other man attention; she only looks at the shorter guy.

“I have a proposition.” He says, trying to keep his voice steady. She’s a little - a lot - annoyed about his demanding tone, as if he’s used to dropping requests that take no for an answer. So, she scoffs.

“No.”

His eyes, which were narrowed down in a way to intimidate her (as if) widen a little, and he splutter. “You didn’t even hear what I have to say!”

“Don’t care, still no.” She returns back to her speedy typing, just to have something to do and to irritate the guy. God knows how well-versed she is in the effects of ignorance. She hopes he too, is immensely annoyed by it.

His narrowed eyes go a little wide, before he narrows them again. He looks down at the unoccupied chair across her chair, then at her, who’s still pretending to be immersed in her ridiculous writing, before pulling the chair out from under the table and plopping his pretty little butt over it. She doesn’t give him the attention he desires, not even when he releases a big sigh of relief. She keeps on clicking on her keyboard, completely unbothered. This makes him annoyed for some reason. No other female has ignored him like that when he graced them with his pretty, dark presence, and no other person has taken it so far to pretend he doesn’t exist, either. He’s damn well-aware of what he does to people, both genders, whatnot with his beautiful kohl-ridden eyes, his thin, pink lips that perfectly curl into a pout that’s deadly, and his killer body. What’s wrong with this woman? He actually came here by the stupid, stupid convincing tactics of his friend to beg for help, and he’s being swiped off like dirt? Ridiculous!

He curls a fist over his mouth like a fake posh man and clears his throat, making her look at him with her deadly, iridescent eyes. “What if I offered you ten thousand dollars for catching a mice trap in the Dark Dungeons?”

The Dark Dungeons is a place in the university’s library where everyone just pretends doesn’t exist for some reason - probably because of all the boring past researchers of the graduated students stacked there - and ultimately ended up being deserted. A lot of students are scared to venter there alone, recapping fake tales about pale ghosts and demons that are there to hunt them. She’s not afraid of such stupidity.

“Okay,” she shrugs casually, pausing in her rapid typing and closing her laptop. The student blinks at the quick gesture. “Pay it in cash?”

He’s dumbfounded; of course he is. He hadn’t anticipated his dumb proposition (which isn’t even real) to be met with such ease. He continues to blink, “But you just said no.”

She shrugs again, crossing her fingers over her laptop like a CEO waiting for a colleague’s destruction. The fist he’s holding against his mouth is put down on the desk. He wipes his expression clear of his flabbergast. She doesn’t allow him to say anything, though. “It depends on the proposition, really, and my capabilities in doing it. I can catch a mice trap in the presumptuous Dark Dungeons, and I will agree on it for ten thousand dollars. This is, knowing you, the only good offer you’ll be willing to give. I don’t want to hear the rest, because I know the rest, and I refuse the rest beforehand.”

“So you know who I am?” He sounds delightfully surprised. It’s the only thing he caught from her monologue, the fact she knows who he is despite only discovering about her recently.

She gives him a look as if he’s an idiot. Then, she returns to her work and opens the laptop. His cheeks flush at that look, still surprised that she’s not even remotely affected by him. He finally gives his companion, a tall guy who casually slipped on the seat beside him and practically occupying the entire space with his large body, a helpless look; and his friend merely shrugs disinterestedly.

“Hey,” he changes tactics by knocking on her desk with his knuckles, his eyebrows slightly growing narrowed as he frowns.

The man’s a little bit upturned by the mischievous twinkle that goes on like a bell on her eyes as she ignores him, a spark that would have gone unnoticed if he hadn’t been sitting close to her. But it’s strange nevertheless to see her, a woman so poised, a woman full of confidence and empathy, show such molecular emotion. Mind blowing

“Look at me. Hey!”

She looks up at him, the twinkle shifting into deep, rooted annoyance. “Yes? Is there anything of significance that you want to tell aside offering a proposition to a complete stranger?”

He’s dumbfounded yet again. “Is that a way to talk to someone? What a potty mouth you have! Do you use it to kiss people?”

She’s the one dumbfounded now, fooled at her own game of ignorance. “Excu.. excuse me! Potty mouth! Me? I’m a polite person, thank you very much. I’m just in tune with reciprocation at the moment.”

He sounds extremely frustrated when he says, “What the fuck does that even mean?”

The companion of the rotten boy clears his throat before she can retaliate, and she gives him her attention for the first time since he sat himself next to his friend. His face is long and droopy, lazy, and his eyes are squinted as if he’s trying to make sense of her tiny figure sitting across. When he speaks, his voice is husky. “Yah, don’t yell. We’re in a library.”

They glare at him, their eyes holding icicles. He huffs. “The last time I’ve been here, the librarian kicked me out for knocking one of his shelves. If he knows that I’m here again, which he will by your loud voices, I’m going to be staked. I don’t know about you guys, but I’ve seen a lot of vampire movies. Staking seems really hurtful.”

They shoot him disbelieved eyes. He puts a hand over his chest. “I have a sensitive heart. A wooden stake will make my delicate organ scar. That’s not good on my resumé.”

The first guy gapes at his friend, whereas she shakes her head in disappointment of being a part of this conversation. She goes back to her work while poking her tongue on the insides of her cheek, trying to restrain her growing fury.

“What?” The tall companion looks at his friend weirdly, “You haven’t seen the resumés I’ve seen online. They have applications out of this world. What if my beautifully intricate heart is required? Don’t want it marred!”

“Why the fuck would anyone ask for an image of your heart, Yeol? What job even requires the internal lookout of your organs?” His friend rebuts.

“How’d I know? I’m not logged in to alljobs.com!”

“Maybe you should, so you’ll be prepared to have a reasonable answer to your dumb shenanigans!”

“Will you both just shut up!” She snaps, smashing her laptop closed (again). They turn to her, blinking. “Why the fuck you’d even sit in front of a person you don’t know and have this conversation while they’re listening?”

They look scorned, cheeks going red. They regretfully look down at their laps, fiddling with their fingers.

“Now,” she exhales from her nose angrily, resembling a red-faced dragon (she doesn’t actually blush, but the running fury that’s gobbling her up leaves her face looking like a swollen tomato). “What the fuck do you want?”

The smaller man opens his mouth to say his demands once again, but she rudely raises an open palm up, squinting. “Speak gently. And slowly. And politely.”

He glares but complies. “I have something to ask of you, a proposition. Actually, you’re not a stranger, at least not as if now. I know who you are.”

She quirks a sharp eyebrow up, unrelentingly and very judgmentally. She’s not the type of person to be swayed over anything, definitely not over this man, too.

He rolls his eyes. “You’re one of the smartest students in our batch, and I kinda have been going through a lot with one of my assignments, so this idiot here told me to ask you for help.” He points to his companion, who salutes mockingly using two of his fingers. “It’s about the aftermath of war, and the effects it leaves on the intermingled classes of eighteenth century China. I’m very bad at writing shit. I confuse my statements; I fail at rearranging my paragraphs; I suck at choosing intellectual perspectives; and I most definitely can’t be on the neutral side to the point of sounding extremely radical. Would you help me write my research? It’s worth a bit of my marks considering I didn’t take the midterm for, ahem, certain reasons,” there’s a soft hue of red that glows in his cheeks, and feeling his blush, he scratches them with his long nails awkwardly.

“No.” The cute color doesn’t deter her at all, and she begins to collect her laptop and books to leave. Or, pretending to. She does not have any thought about leaving, not even when there’s a handsome stranger trying to invade her tranquil space. But, regardless of her wants, such gesture made the man nervous. He snaps his head up, eyes wide, and pushes himself to his feet quickly to stop her from leaving.

“Why not?” He begins to be angry. “Is this because you know who I am? Does my... Does our reputation precedes us?”

She gives him a cooly leveled look. “I only give favors to friends. You’re not a friend. Very simply. I couldn’t care less about your reputation, which does in fact precedes you. People tend to talk about things they don’t understand. The juiciest the gossip, the more people want to talk about it.” She pauses a little, confusedly staring at them. “Don’t you guys know that? When you wear these clothes, pierce all parts of your body, flash all of your tattoos, and walk around intimidating people, they will talk badly about you. Huh, I thought you guys are smart enough to discover this much about the nature of people.”

Whereas he looks startled out of his way with the sincerity in her words, It’s the companion who takes the time to speak. He asks her, his eyebrow raised. “Why’d you think we’re smart?”

She smirks at him, and he’s surprised that it’s actually playful, not malicious. “It’s only those that rebel the constant demands of society that have their heads teetered towards either intelligence, or insanity.” She slings her bag on her shoulder, her face going back to its previous expressionless slate. “Bye now.”

She doesn’t leave. She merely just stands and watches them watching her. It takes the two university boys a second to understand the implications behind her words, and when they do, they groan. They stand up, albeit slowly, and the shorter one dares to shoot her a grumpy, malicious glare, before walking away. The taller one simply tilts his head downwards in a respectable nod before following his friend.

Once they leave, she smiles, and the curl of her lips makes her face radiant, a whole lot flowery than the actual blanket of monochromatic nothingness that usually sticks on her all the time. She sits back down on her seat, opens her laptop, and begins to type again.

-

Oh the long road. Oh the long road. She sighs in her head, her legs heavy and unbalanced, almost sending her to the ground with how weak they feel. After almost six hours in university, with three classes and breaks in between, she’s finally done with all the nonsense that she, daily, has to face. Actually, university hasn’t been on her mind before in high school when she was in her senior year for this exact reason. She is too lazy for something overloaded like university. But, if she is being honest with herself, she doesn’t see herself in any place besides university, especially if she wants to have a ‘decent’ job. So, she tries to succumb to the voice compelling her to move forward, and ignoring the one that tells her to fuck everything and flop on the ground, dead.

A sound calling her name stops her in her long, angry strides, and she turns to the back to see her friend, Sami, waving for her, smiling so preciously that actual stars appear on her eyes. She’s not oblivious to the crowd gathering behind Sami, all males (and some females) staring at her with eyes twinkling with hearts. She reluctantly wave back, and Sami comes running towards her, beaming once she’s standing in front of her.

“You’re heading home?” Her friend asks.

She hums without a verbal consent. Her friend beams again.

“Great!” Sami loops their arms together. “Lets go together, and while we’re on the way, buy me a cocktail.”

“Alcohol this early? And why should I buy you one?” She raises an eyebrow up in ridicule, even though she already knows the answer to her rather dumb question.

Sami rolls her eyes. “No, an actual cocktail, with fruits and all. And you should buy me one because I’m your humble friend who asks nothing of you at all.”

“You ask for things all the time,” she narrows her eyes, and points at Sami’s earrings. “I bought you those earrings,” she points at her bag. “And I bought you this bag. And those shoes. I might as well buy you a house to live in if I’m already this much husband material.”

Sami grins, beaming, and her grip over her arm tightens. “It’d be so great if my future husband actually pays for all of my things. I’ll be a pretty, studious, working housewife that do things for him and accommodate all of his precious needs. Aw, I miss him already.”

“You should be careful not to say this in front of another woman that isn’t me.”

Sami blinks cluelessly. “Why? I didn’t say anything infuriating, did I?”

She pats her head sympathetically, her hand calloused despite the gentle, sardonic gesture. “Not at all. Not at all.”

They walk out of the university’s large grounds with Sami the one doing most of the talking, the bouncing, and the gleeful intervals; her grip tight around her arm, and her soft laughter surrounding them whole. She wouldn’t say that she was entirely comfortable about the concept of having a friend, but it has been two years now since she knew Sami, and she began to understand that in order to enjoy something beautiful, you have to watch it burn first, which’s why she, despite not liking it, disposed herself of her antisocial behavior, and stuck around with Sami.

Upon the huge gates of the university, she catches sight of the two students who had interrupted her morning study with their obnoxious presence. They’re standing in front, one of them - the tall one - is leaning against the large beige wall beside the gates, and the nuisance - the one requesting - is crouching on the floor right beside him, a fake cigar made of paper in between his fingers. They’re already staring at her, anticipating her exit. When her eyes meet the dark ones of the crouching guy, he smirks, his pink lips thin and inviting. He puts the fake paper in his mouth, pretending to inhale, and then pulls it off to exhale loudly, his eyes suddenly half lidded. He’s staring at her. She stares back, then she narrows her eyes, ticking her chin to the side in a silent request for him to look away. His smirk widens, and he doesn’t look away; his eyes invading her soul to the point she feels something scratch at the surface of her skin, begging to be released.

She scoffs. And almost as if he’s hearing her, he waggles his eyebrows teasingly. She blanches, disgusted, and her facial expression catches Sami’s attention.

“Who’re you looking at?” Sami turns to follow her friend’s eyes before she can look away, furrowing her eyes upon seeing the two boys. She turns to her friend curiously; nervously. “Do you... do you know them?”

She’s quick to shake her head, “Nah, I don’t know them outside the rumors that I heard circulating about them. I think one of their names starts with a B? Or an H? Anyhow, I don’t know who they are.”

“Why are they looking at you?”

She shrugs. “Beats me. Probably think I’m a visible, touchable time loop or something. That’d be cool. Have you ever seen Doctor Strange?”

Sami stares at her as if she’s an alien. “What on earth are you talking about?”

She shakes her head. “Never mind. Let’s quicken our pace. Maybe we’ll lose them in the crowd.”

As if hearing their words, the two boys jump to their feet (the one standing merely bouncing around) and they follow after them like two little creeps. They don’t say anything for a while, like announce their already large presence, and she ticks her head backwards with raised eyebrows, meeting their amused - yet frustrated - faces. She tilts her head, silently asking them about what the fuck they’re doing, and the shorter one of the two shrugs, the taller one smirking a little, the cigarette roll that was wrapped around the other’s mouth now in his. She looks away.

Sami notices her friend’s head going forward and backward, and turn around to give them a funny look, a little nervous for some reason. She looks back at her friend and pulls at her sleeve, a frozen smile on her face. “They’re following us.”

“If there’s an ice cube, large enough to have legs and is following me, and the world is so flabbergasted by it’s appearance, but you’re only concerned about taking your way home without interruptions. Would something happen if I gave it attention? No, you know why?“ she leans closer to Sami and with her big, wide eyes, she whispers. “Because it’ll melt away.”

Sami shakes her head in exasperation. Even after two years of being friends with her; she’s never getting used to her random thought processes. Either-way, Sami doesn’t feel entitled enough to say anything against that, and although she releases a little grumble from her chest in irritation at the skin contact, she doesn’t remove her arm away. Smiling, she leans her head on her shoulder.

“Yah. You can’t just pretend we don’t exist.” The shorter one says, or yells really.

His friend scoffs, and it’s strangely shudder-inducing because of his low grating voice. “We’ll follow you home if destiny calls.”

Sami lifts her head to peek at them, then quickly looks at her calm, astute friend. “Are you not going to answer?”

“A bird could constantly peck on my window and I wouldn’t shoo it away. I’m too lazy.”

Sami’s eyes mellow down, and her lips smile. “But that’s exactly what you do, sweetie. You can’t handle disturbances, especially when it affects your general surroundings.”

“You’re right. I’m going to kick their ass.” She stops in her gait, turns around, and glares; Sami stopping next to her. The two university boys pause in their strides, blinking.

“Question, exactly why was I chosen among the high grades receiving bastards in our class?” She raises her eyebrows up. “Is it because you think I’m easy? Or I’m a woman? Is it because you think I’m nice?” She says nice as if it’s a heinous word created for her personal offense.

The boys share a confused look. Then, the tall one clears his throat, readying himself for the paragraph he’s about to spout. “I’ve never once thought you’re easy, and neither have Baekhyun. We’ve seen the way you talked back to the teachers, and man, do you have a temper. I’m actually a bit shaky right now because I’m asking this favor of you. I’m not a misogynist, man. Why’d you make me something I’m not. love women. I love all wonen. Perhaps a little too much,” Baekhyun, the short guy beside him, is nodding his head sadly, “I’d have told Baekhyun to choose Dahyeon if I thought she was as responsible as you are. But the girl’s a klutz. She ruined a paper of mine once. Won’t let her do it again,” he then tilts his head, his confused face getting graver. “I’m sure as fuck you’re not kind, or nice. I wouldn’t have already been going through emotional trauma just by the thought of approaching you, yet, here we are.”

“Here we are.” Baekhyun spreads his arm with a surrendering look flashing on his handsome face.

Sami turns to her friend and analyzes the stone cold expression on her face. She hesitates, for a second, before she says. “They do have a point. You’ve traumatized half of the population in this university.”

“We still have two more years for you to traumatize the rest.” Baekhyun comments cheekily. When she shoots him a glare, he winks. She’s a little surprised. She hadn’t met anyone who winked at her deadly stare-offs. People are terrified of her, not amused of her.

“How many pages do you want your assignment to be? Mine’s going to be a minimum of eight, considering it’s only a meager homework, so I’ll try to shove your own pages between my breaks to save time.”

Their eyes go wide. Baekhyun actually gulps, unprepared for the challenge. “You write eight pages for an assignment worth ten marks?”

She raises her eyebrows. “You’re here begging for help for this stupid assignment, so I guess we’re both pulling up our shits, right?”

He shuts up.

It’s the tall one that answers. “Any page number is fine. Take your pick.”

She nods, “You’ll have five pages, then. I take breaks in between my classes. I have two-to-three classes for five days aside Saturdays and Tuesdays, so we’ll write two pages every week until its due date in three weeks’ time,” she takes her phone and shoves it in the chest of the short guy. “Give me your number so I text you the hours I’m free on. I don’t give a shit if our schedules overlap. When I tell you to come, you come, with your laptop and all of your writing necessities with you. One mistake and you’re out, get it?”

Baekhyun sweats, especially since her expression is deadly serious and her hand, which is still clutching her phone on his chest is cold, deadly so. He gulps anyway and nods. “Thank you, really. Appreciate it. Is there anything I can do for you to repay the favor?”

She smirks, and pulls her hand off of his chest after he accepts the phone. “A bad boy who knows how to say thank you? That’s a new one. And keep the favor until after you deliver your assignment. I’m not sure you’ll wanna give me any favors after I’m done with you. Say, are you willing to pay money?”

He pales. “I’m poor as fuck, ma’am, expected of a university student, right? Please say yes.”

She smirks again, amused of the panic in his eyes. “Relax, idiot. Just wanna check something.” She turns to the tall one. He’s staring right back at her, eyes wide and brown hair fluffy. For a bit, she’s taken aback by the actual fact of how gorgeous he is. Wide, almond eyes, soft hair, tall girth like a skyscraper, and she fucking loves skyscrapers, the taller, the better. He’s wearing a weird mesh of jeans, a t-shirt, and a jacket, but he’s also wearing a sweater on top. He must be sweating in there. His wide eyes turn a little confused when she merely gapes at him, and she notices. She clears her throat, and rolls her eyes so the spectators don’t notice she’s a weird bitch.

“What’s your name?” She asks coldly. There’s a strange warmth circulating her body, but of course, she ignores that.

“Sorry?” He splutters.

She lifts a sleek eyebrow up, holding herself from smirking widely. “Your name,” she points at Baekhyun, who’s blinking down at her phone like it’s a foreign industrial scam. “This moron’s Baekhyun. Kinda noticed you mention his name. What’s your name? I’m a bit curious to know about the chaperone’s name, considering they’re always so ignored and unappreciated in movies.”

He looks a bit flustered, as if he hasn’t noticed he has been a chaperone all this time. He wipes the slight vulnerability that flashed earlier, twirls the paper stick in his mouth, and gives her a mock salute. “Chanyeol, ma’am, but don’t bother memorizing it. We wouldn’t be seeing each other enough for the need of that.”

She doesn’t comment on his words even though she’s curious. She merely tells herself he’s as weird as she is, probably a little arrogant, but of course not as her. No one’s as arrogant as her. She sits on the throne of arrogance. Her parents once thought she had narcissistic syndrome, those assholes, but dismissed it later on when she gave them enough evidence she wasn’t. She pays attention to Baekhyun, coughing to alert him of the actual fact he has been taking too much time typing gibberish on her phone, and not his phone number. She swears to God he probably failed to reach her contacts. He looked like a dumb loser up close like that, but she didn’t want to judge him so severely. A guy who winks at her instead of shit his pants must be a dumbass, but again, she doesn’t want to judge.

Baekhyun looks up from her phone upon her cough, smirks his annoyingly attractive smirk, and juggle the phone towards her (after locking it, for some reason) she tries catching her phone, and thankfully she succeeds. She glares, about to scold him about the degrading act of her precious gadget, when he all but announces.

“We’ll go see our own way now. Thank you for such precious moment. Perhaps we’ll be able to create more while avoiding chopped heads, from your part, of course. May the grounds open up to present you with a fortunate gift,” he does a whole theatrics of bowing, while simultaneously taking a step back, bumping into an unamused Chanyeol. “Adios, my lady.”

He turns around to Chanyeol, who whispers something to him. They begin to walk away, and Baekhyun says something to the taller guy, in retaliation, which earns him an eye roll. Not taking this lightly, Baekhyun jumps - to reach the tall giant - so he can wrap his arm around his neck, and pulls him into a headlock. Chanyeol doesn’t fight. He lets himself be dragged like a deadweight doll, like he’s used to such abuse, and she shakes her head. Chanyeol seemed cool with his indifference, but perhaps he isn’t the one in total control here.

Sami calls her softly, and forgetting her only friend for a bit - the two boys have extremely large presence - she turns to her. She offers a small smile, showing a dimple to her left side, and Sami beams.

“I’m not even going to ask what the heck just happened,” she offers her a hand, Sami; and she looks at it weirdly. “Ready to go home?”

Sighing, she accepts the hand, and agrees to be dragged home. Sami looks down at their hands; and thinks a little, her brows going all intersected. She shrugs, cooly intertwining their fingers together. She doesn’t even blink at the gesture, having been used to it. Out of character, the only thing on her mind at the moment is those two, strange university men.

-

Author Note:

So?

We haven’t got anything grounded yet. We still have a lot to cover! The personality of ChanBaek is beautiful, stick to see our dumb yet gorgeous boys.

Also, if you haven’t noticed already, our OC is freaking DANGEROUS! Chanbaek are in for a ride!

#chanyeolxreader #chanbaekxoc #chanyeolxoc #baekhyunxoc #baekhyunxreader #baekhyun #chanyeol #exo #fluff #comedy #romance #love #passion #poly #polyandry #reverseharem #fluuuuuufffff

[drosophilase]

fic: Yoda, Yuletide, and You

Title: Yoda, Yuletide, and You

Author: @drosophilase

Gifted to: @djchika as part of the @crisscolfergiftexchange 2017

Original prompt: “We made the mutual decision to go to this party separately and when I arrived there was this asshole flirting with you and I’m trying not to make it obvious that I’m seething with jealousy but it’s really difficult”

Ratings/Warning: Teen; allusions to sex (non-explicit), boss/employee relationship

Read on AO3!

Sorry this is two days late, thank you for the gracious extension and Merry Christmas Deej!  Thank you so much for all you did to arrange this exchange <3

--

It had started, as most great love stories do, with a Yoda figurine on the corner of Chris's desk. "That green figurine, I like," croaked a terrible Yoda impersonation from the twenty-fifth (ok, just fifth) person Chris had interviewed that day. Darren Criss, his application said.

Chris raised an eyebrow. Giving interviews for a job at a nerd pop culture online news source, Chris thought he had heard it all. This guy is the first to be bold enough to do such a confident and terrible impersonation. Chris touches Yoda's pointy ear. "From my sister. She's determined to get me the entire Star Wars Funko Pop set over the next 20 Christmases and birthdays." He doesn't comment aloud on the terrible Yoda voice, but he does write a little Y in the corner of Darren's resume.

"That's so cool, man, it's awesome that your family knows what you love. I have a ton of Pops but I can't ever seem to finish a set. There's just too many other things I like. I just put my Chewie next to my Harley Quinn and go with it." There's a sort of sparkle in his eye, glowing gold in the sunlight filtering through Chris's office blinds.

Chris sets the resume aside (he'd already noted this one for the qualifications - degree in Theatre from Michigan University, four years on the Michigan Daily staff with one as senior editor. Proficiency in Final Cut and a few credits in web series and local theatre productions. Currently working in local news media and writing a blog on the Star Wars Extended Universe on the side. Even before he walked in looking like a dream, Chris was hooked). "Suicide Squad Harley or Batman: The Animated Series Harley?"

Darren scoffs, the black curls over his forehead bouncing. "Animated Series, dude. Hands fucking down. I try to forget that Suicide Squad ever existed. It's hard to be a DC boy these days."

Chris cracks a smile. "That's why the girls - well, Patty Jenkins, really - are going to save us all. Haven't you seen Wonder Woman?"

"If I've learned one thing in my time in this industry, no one ever listens to women when they should. You're right though, if they let Patty work she's going to do the whole damn thing."

"If only Ben Affleck could do his civic duty and disappear from the earth, I'd feel better about it."

Darren laughs with his whole body, his eyes crinkling in the corners. "Dude, yes. Just go softly into that dark night."

Chris cocks his head. "You didn't just make that pun, oh my god."

Darren smiles. "You didn't notice 'witty wordplay' under my skills? It's like in my top 3 best attributes."

Chris wishes he had the power to cancel the rest of his day's appointments and just end the day with Darren's interview. Instead, he takes the scant three minutes he has until the next interview to smile absently back at Yoda and make another note on the resume.

1. Wordplay

2. Smile

3. -Ass- Experience

The great thing about PopNow's building is the super cool collaborative open floor plan with lots of coworking tables, glass doors, and zero fucking privacy. Chris had always cringed sitting at the long tables, having to work face-to-face with someone else's computers and get distracted every time they got up to go to the bathroom. Honestly, half his drive to move up to staff editor was to get one of the more private (loosely) offices around the edges of the room with a single desk and a wall to stare at instead of a strange coworker.

Being promoted to division head of PopNow Nerd was Chris's ultimate dream (private office, final say on all published material, sitting in on meetings with creative directors and sometimes, investors. The control freak inside of Chris was fucking delighted). That is, until 3 months later when PopNow shifted their entire focus and all their resources to video reporting. Luckily, they weren't completely cutting out the website or articles that Chris joined the company to write. And, Chris was getting a lot more flexibility to hire new talent and explore new realms of reporting. And thank fucking god, Chris never had to be in front of the camera.

He knew he had to change with the times quick, though. He had writers - he just needed producers. And, after a quick poll of the office didn't yield many nerds willing to get in front of a camera (who would’ve thought), some on-air personalities.

Enter: Darren Criss.

The first day Darren’s new hosted series “Heroes and Zeroes” went live with an episode rating Disney villains on some complicated ranking system based on hotness, degree of evil, and personal style, the PopNow Nerd Facebook page gained like 5,000 followers.  Darren’s video instantly became their most watched.

And the comments, well—Chris’s cheeks reddened just thinking about them. A bashful Darren appeared at Chris’s door two hours after the video went live, one hand buried in the shorter hair at the base of his neck. “So… I think people like it?”

Chris raised his eyebrows, looking over his glasses where he had the comments section open on his own computer. Girls and guys alike were tagging their friends just to point out how hot Darren is. With him there draped casually in his door frame, Chris would have to agree. “I would say yes, they do.”

Darren laughs an embarrassed sort of huff, looks down at his feet. Chris can tell that though he might be humbled by the success of the video, Darren is definitely feeling proud of himself.

“Actually,” Chris continued, “maybe you should reply to a few of them. Start building some rapport with the fans.  Couldn’t hurt, and the higher-ups really want to see viewer engagement.”

The next day the Facebook page following had grown again by the thousands.  Suspicious, Chris scrolled to Darren’s video again. The views just kept going up.  And Darren himself was in the comments section, cheekily replying to a few of them.

Brittany Smith Oh my god, @Ashley did you watch this? I don’t even know what he said, I just keep staring at his hands for some reason

Darren Criss Next time pay attention to my face, we pay the makeup department a lot to cover up my lizard skin! ;)

Chris had one hand over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud.  Darren was fucking funny. As if Chris didn’t have enough problems drooling over him already in production meetings, writing pitches, and the million times a day he stops by Chris’s office with just “one quick question.”

Chris glanced out his glass office doors to Darren’s desk (the one he has a perfect view of if he just pretends to work at his computer but instead looks right past his monitor out to the main office, no Chris didn’t put him there on purpose the desk was just open). And Darren’s comically large hot pink headphones, and Darren’s brow furrowed as he works hard at something on his computer, and Darren himself chewing on his lip and tugging on a curl and oh, god—

Chris has got it so bad.

“Fuck,” Chris says quietly, taking off his glasses to rub his tired eyes. He should have known better.

--

The crush stays mostly on lock down for almost two weeks.  Chris is like, acutely aware every time Darren walks near his office door (inconvenient, since he has to walk that way for the bathroom, the breakroom, and pretty much everything else) and he gets flustered during staff meetings when Darren starts smiling at him.

And then, of fucking course, there’s Lea.

“Who is this Darren again? You’ve said his name like ten times in the last five minutes.”

Chris swallows hard and tries to keep his tone casual. “Just one of the on-air personalities we hired.  He’s a good writer too, when we can keep him focused.  The best idea man we have, after me of course.  He’s been working here for like three months.  I swear I told you about him. Curly black hair, stupidly big brown eyes?”

Lea gasps. “Christopher Fucking Colfer. Do you have a crush?”

Chris instantly feels his face burning.  “You know Karyn Colfer would never give me such an unsightly middle name.  Jesus, Lea, I don’t know… He’s just a great guy. We get along well.  He’s my employee, for fuck’s sake.”

Lea scoffs. “That’s the highest praise I’ve heard you give another human in the entire time I’ve known you. You definitely like him.”

She’s always so infuriatingly good at pointing out the one thing Chris is trying to pretend doesn’t exist. “Yeah I… guess I do.”

She hums, sympathetic.  “It’s been a long time since you’ve embraced another human being, Christopher.  Maybe try leaning in this time instead of running away. It might do you some good.”

Eager to not hear yet another long-spun tail about her and her fiancé’s meet-cute, recent cohabitation, or extensive wedding planning, Chris says quickly, “Okay, yeah. Lean in. I’ll try that.”

“Just talk to him! You’re very charming, in your own way. He willingly works at PopNow Nerd, for Christ’s sake, just talk about your elaborate Halloween costume for next week, he’ll love that.”

Chris can’t argue with that.

--

“Lean in,” Chris murmurs to himself as he sees Darren get up for his second coffee and first trip to Chris’s desk right around the usual time, 9:20.

“Hey Chris,” Darren says, rapping on the open glass door twice.  Chris looks up from pretending he’s engrossed in end-of-year reports and not sweating into his hoodie.  “Quick question, to settle a debate: Richard Harris or Michael Gambon as Dumbledore? Must cite sources.”

Chris smiles. “Michael Gambon, without a doubt.  I loved the look of Richard Harris, don’t get me wrong, but Order of the Phoenix Dumbledore, tracking down horcruxes Dumbledore, was not frail. Richard Harris could have never pulled off standing up to the Ministry and escaping with Fawkes, no way.”

Darren cocked his head.  “So not what I would have thought you would say.  And honestly, you’ve almost sold me on Gambon.  I’m one of those who can’t overlook the didjupuyurnameinthegobletofire debacle but you have excellent points. Always surprising me, Chris.”

Was that… flirting? It was so hard to tell because Darren was so easily entrancing like this just all the time, but something about the way he said Chris’s name made him think it was different.

Darren had already half-turned to go but Chris calls him back, saying his name.  Darren turns around, eyebrows quirked.  This was deviating from their normal routine, Chris knew.  He tries to calm his pounding heart.  Lean in.

“You know, the real casting tragedy in the Potter series was how old James and Lilly were. Like, alright yes, the ‘mother’s eyes’ thing was absolutely shot to hell. But how are they going to tell us James and Lilly died at literally 21 years old and cast middle-aged actors?”

Darren smiles.  “Dude, yes. They fucked up the ages of everyone in the Order of the Phoenix except for like, Tonks. And maybe they got away with Lupin since he would be more weathered. But casting mid-50s actors for characters barely pushing 35? It totally takes away the resonance of these young people fighting for the future of the world.”

He sits in one of the chairs Chris has arranged along the side of the wall (PopNow has a thing about the formality of sitting with a desk between them) and Chris should move to go sit next to him but it feels like this new thing is a bubble that he might burst at any second if he moved the wrong way.

Darren leaves twenty minutes later to go back to his desk, his empty coffee-stained Vader mug forgotten on the floor.

Chris smiles as he catches Darren eye through the glass.  He’ll be back in an hour or two.

--

By the time mid-November rolls around, it seems that Chris and Darren’s quick coffee run questions have turned into thrice-daily chats have turned into… something.  It’s started to become a running joke at staff meetings, that Chris and Darren are usually more ChrisandDarren these days.  Chris ran into Darren once at his favorite lunch Chinese spot, and then he suggested another lunch spot for tacos and Darren suggested they go together, and now lunch is just always assumed to be theirs.  Even when Chris had to work three days straight through lunch to meet the deadline on proposals for the next quarter, Darren showed up every day with cashew chicken, disappearing when Chris was stressed or offering alien conspiracy theories when Chris needed a break.

That was the thing about Darren, he was always just there. As soon as Chris opened the figurative door by starting a conversation, Darren blew the whole fucking thing open and made himself at home.  It was hard to remember work before Darren.

It doesn’t dawn on Chris that they really haven’t seen each other outside of work until he overhears a few other producers and writers making plans to get drinks after work the Wednesday before Thanksgiving.  Chris doesn’t think anything of it—he never wanted to get drinks with anyone in the office before, and he figured no one wanted to drink with their boss anyway.

So he’s pretty floored when he clearly hears Darren (speaking in his still-loud “low voice”) ask Denise if Chris is invited.

Chris doesn’t even try to hear the answer (it’s no, Chris knows) as he reels.  He can see Darren outside of work.  Darren maybe wants to see Chris outside of work.  Chris would have a reason to go somewhere other than home to his cat.  He had never thought of it before but now Chris really, really wanted to be invited out to drinks. By Darren, that is.

Darren stops by his office (fifth time that day) with his coat over his arm and bag slung over his shoulder on his way out.  “Happy Thanksgiving, Chris.”

“Happy Thanksgiving, he automatically replies.  “Headed down to Republic with Denise and Lars and everyone?”  Chris says it just to see how Darren will react.

Darren winces and looks sheepish.  “You heard about that, huh? Yeah it seems like it’s just a writers’ thing, sorry about that, I didn’t decide that it would be exclusive.”

“No, yeah, it’s totally okay,” Chris says, waving his hand.  “I wouldn’t want to like, intrude on the group anyways.  Frankly, there’s few people in this office I’d want to see outside of these stupid glass walls.”

Darren pouts, put-upon. “I hope I made your short list.”

Chris knows his ears are red-tipped but he swallows and forces himself to say, “Duh. You’re like, the whole list.”

Something comes over Darren’s face.  He’s more beautiful than Chris has ever seen.  “Yeah? You’re at the top of mine. Maybe after the holiday we can compare lists.  Have a good Thanksgiving, Chris.”

“Y-yeah, you too,” Chris manages to say, half-strangled, awkwardly waving as Darren turns and leaves.

Holy shit, Darren may have just asked him on a date.

--

There are three things Chris learns on the Friday a week after Thanksgiving weekend.

It is most definitely a date, Darren’s preferred drink is a whiskey sour, and he is the best kisser Chris has ever known.

“I thought maybe you only wanted to hear more on my nuanced analysis of Star Trek captains,” Chris teases after they break apart just inside his front door.

“Oh don’t get me wrong, I love your analysis,” Darren says breathily from where he’s kissing Chris’s jaw.  “It’s just that I also love the way your arms look in your tee shirts and your butt looks in your jeans and that your lips are so damn kissable.”

Chris thrills as Darren stretches up to kiss him again, basically on his tiptoes.  How is someone who appreciates all those things even real?  Chris runs his hands along Darren’s shoulders, grips his elbows, squeezes his waist.  Darren slips his tongue into Chris’s mouth and Chris reflexively grabs Darren’s perfect ass.  Oh, he’s real all right.

“That’s awfully fresh, Mr. Colfer,” Darren says breathily even as he pulls Chris in, walking backwards.  “Don’t you think that’s better suited for the bedroom?”

Later, Chris’s best shirt is maybe ruined and Darren is sleepy and soft and come-dumb, draped across Chris’s chest (he’s a cuddler, as Chris should have guessed).

“Give me five minutes and I’ll get up I promise,” Darren mostly mumbles as he rubs his face into Chris’s belly.

“Mmhmm,” Chris replies skeptically, sinking a hand into Darren’s curls and tracing his thumb over the sweat gathered at his temples.  “I really don’t mind.”

Darren groans, low and long.  “I have like, a thing about my hair being played with, dude. Once you start I’m always going to beg you to keep going.”

Chris smiles wickedly, pulling his fingers slowly through the soft strands and listening to Darren’s responses.  “I could be okay with that.”

--

Chris thinks they’re totally rocking the first day back at work giving off very “we definitely didn’t have sex last night, no way, thanks for asking” vibes. Until a very concerned Eileen stops by his office after their afternoon meeting.

“This is definitely not my business Chris, but you know I care deeply about the balance of the workplace ecosystem, so I’m going to meddle just this once.  Are you and Darren—”

Chris immediately opens his mouth, panicked, “Oh uh, no, I—”

“—Mad at each other?”

Chris stops mid-sentence.  “Wait, what?”

Eileen is unfazed, as usual. “You definitely snubbed him during that planning meeting and he’s only stopped by your office once today instead of the usual six.  I count on you two to keep meetings fun and productive. He makes you less cranky. I don’t know what you did, but fix it.”

She leaves before Chris can put words together.  Well, that wasn’t what he expected.

Eileen apparently thinks we’re fighting.

Maybe we went too hard in the other direction.

O M G. She’s so nosy. Our coworkers are way too perceptive.

There’s only one way I want you hard. This ain’t it

Fuck. Why are my office walls made of glass?

That’s hot, Colfer. Feed your cat and come by my place tonight.

…Was that a euphemism?

--

Pre-Darren, holiday parties at the office were to be endured and survived.  Chris would show up for the shortest time he could, drink two vodka sodas, talk to ten people, and get the fuck out. Now in the Age of Darren, Chris is actually brushing his hair and putting thought into his outfit and humming Christmas carols on the train.

Almost one month into their relationship feels way too new to tell all of PopNow, let alone just their department. (Chris had gone to HR with the intent to file their relationship but his hypothetical questions were met with vehemence that superiors could not date subordinates. So Chris had slunk out of there and didn’t mention it to Darren in case ignoring it meant it wouldn’t exist.) They’re arriving to the company holiday party separately and meeting oh-so-casually by the Christmas tree, avoiding all mistletoe and any game that might lead to awkward kissing with anyone.  They are totally (almost) masters of acting totally normal at work, they can handle this.

What Chris can’t handle is the blonde with godawful dark roots and nose ring practically pushing her breasts into Darren’s face.  At 20 freaking degrees outside there’s no need to wear a sweater that low-cut.  Darren, Chris begrudgingly credits, is looking unwaveringly at her face.  But this girl is hardcore flirting, hip cocked and chewing on the stirrer in her pink drink.

Chris knows he’s being ridiculous but at the same time, he can’t stop. She touches his shoulder for a second and Chris downs a shot.  She laughs way too loudly and Chris crushes a cookie into crumbs.  He tunes out the droning anecdote from some guy in accounting and instead vividly daydreams, replaying in his mind the past weekend spending a full 48 hours locked in Chris’s apartment.

Chris was so wrong to think that he could keep it together for this entire party. Darren is just so damn charming and every single person who works at PopNow is gravitating towards him. Chris understands the feeling, but the possessive jealous lizard brain just wants to take.

He spots an opening as Darren is trying to physically move away from a man who is whispering in Darren’s ear every other sentence.  Hell no.

Chris steps between them deftly, delighting at the way Darren’s face absolutely lights up. “Chris, hi. Thank god.”

“So sorry to steal him away, but Darren there’s someone I want you to meet,” Chris apologizes to the guy in a rush, grabbing Darren by the elbow and leading him away.

“Thank god,” Darren says again from behind him as Chris weaves through the crowds. “That guy was like a level 5 creeper. I’ve been looking for you for half an hour and just couldn’t disentangle myself from these people who all want to talk about my videos.  Which is flattering, I guess? But they’re like, strangers. I’m just trying to get buzzed and play that piano in the corner and start a Christmas carol sing-along.  Wait, this is the bathroom…”

“Yes, it is,” Chris says, leading Darren into the single room family bathroom and following quickly, locking the door.

He presses Darren against the door and kisses him hard, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt.  “That was torture,” Chris whispers, tugging on Darren’s earlobe with his teeth.

“Colfer, were you j-jealous?” Darren chokes out, head lolling back as Chris moves down to kiss his neck.  He wants to leave a visible mark. He settles for one right below Darren’s collar, right in the hollow of his shoulder. Darren moans, cradling Chris’s head. “Fuck.”

“Maybe I was,” Chris admits, pulling back and pushing stray hairs off his forehead.  “That one girl was just so blatant, it was awful. And I couldn’t do or say anything! Maybe I should ask for a department transfer. Or find another job, I…”

Darren is wide-eyed. “Are you trying to abandon me?”

Chris shakes his head. “God, no, it’s just some ban on superiors dating their employees, I didn’t want to tell you before….”

“What about superiors dating their equals?  Would that be okay?” Darren asks, a mischievous smile curling the corner of his mouth.

“Uh yeah, I think so,” Chris says, confused.  “I don’t see why not?”

“Good,” Darren says, full-out grinning now.  “Because Rebecca called me into her office today. Honestly I thought I had to be getting reprimanded or something, but she promoted me. Well it’s not totally official yet, but next week they’re creating new Video Editor-in-Chief positions in some departments. Equal with the department head. A new team-leading thing to further focus on video content.  And the job in Nerd is mine.  She said she heard I work great with my department head and I had to agree.”

Chris reels.  “Holy shit. I knew Rebecca had asked me about you, but I didn’t know why. Holy shit!  Darren, that is amazing.  You are amazing.  I am so proud of you.”

Darren’s eyes practically disappear, he’s smiling so hard.  “Thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you.  I guess we don’t have to hide in this bathroom anymore…?” Even as he says it, Darren rubs a hand right over Chris’s crotch. Chris sucks in a loud breath.

“We don’t have to, but maybe we should for this part.”

--

Three whiskey sours in and with no prodding, Darren hops behind the piano and leads a rousing chorus of the promised Christmas carols, Broadway songs, and Disney hits.  Four vodka sodas in and Chris is pulled into a clumsy duet of Baby It’s Cold Outside after he makes everyone in the area hold both hands up so he knows no one is recording.  There’s no way this won’t end up in the Monday morning email thread, but tipsy, warm and fuzzy Chris is okay with that.

It’s the best company holiday party he’s ever been to. Which on the surface makes no sense—it’s in the same venue, with the same cheesy decorations, the same too-strong drinks and the same terrible ornament exchange.  But this year, the Christmas tree seems taller and fuller and more beautiful than ever. And this year, the bartender is wearing a Santa hat and smiling and singing along.  And even though an ornament exchange game with no stealing or trading allowed is a totally lame game, Chris somehow gets a Yoda ornament. He gasps, looking up at Darren, who is just across from him.  Darren has that shit-eating grin, toasting his glass to Chris as he takes another sip. He remembered.

And then Chris realizes that it wasn’t the party that had changed, it was him. And it was Darren. Because of Darren.  Even the most dreaded event of the year has Chris laughing, smiling, relaxing, even feeling the joy of the Christmas spirit.

He blames Darren and his magic that when someone comes up to them shrieking mistletoe! and dangling a bunch over their heads, Chris doesn’t laugh it off.  He looks at Darren, closer than the careful distance they’ve been keeping all night, and is hit with the full force of his sparkling brown eyes. You’re beautiful, Chris thinks, and grabs Darren’s lapel before he can think too hard.

Darren is dazed when they pull apart, the mistletoe bearer long-gone.  “Merry Christmas,” Chris says so fondly, brushing his thumb over the spot hidden under Darren’s shirt.

“Merry Christmas,” Darren says, taking Chris’s hand and holding it tight, laced with his.

#djchika #crisscolfer #crisscolfer fic #crisscolfergiftexchange #cc gift exchange 2017 #bee writes fic #NOW i can go read all the rest of the fic yessssss

[deadeyestudio]

RANT ABOUT ENTRY LEVEL JOB HUNTING - JD rant time

Hello ladies and fuckwads, JD here. :} Can I ask you a question?

Q: You know what's a real punch to the FUCKIN’ BALLS?                                   

A: Looking for an entry level job, mother fucker!

It seems that every single employer nowadays demands that you have experience, no matter what kind of bullshit job it is.  For example, being a cashier. Like....wuuuuuut? WTF? WHY???? I'm not joking, some employers want you to have experience for a job like that. WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON THERE? Why would you need experience for a job like that?! Dude!

No, ya jolly ass, friggin’  cumfartin’ facefuckin’ jackwagons, how about you actually train your god damn workers to use a fucking cash register and how to do customer service right? Come on, dude. 

Every job employer ever: Oh, b-b-but, you see, JD, you gotta use money to train people! Why waste our money and time when we can just find some overqualified dick stain of a person instead? 

Things like this really piss me off, because I, and many other people like myself, can't get a fucking job because to get a job, you need some experience, but you can't get any experience cuz You need a god damn job to get that experience....Anyone seeing the problem here? IT’S AN ENDLESS LOOP OF ASS FUCKAGE!

And even if they happen to actually be looking for inexperienced people, guess what? Most of them won't bother looking over your cover letter, no they only spend about 8 seconds or so reading the rest of your resume [source: http://cdn.theladders.net/static/images/basicSite/pdfs/TheLadders-EyeTracking-StudyC2.pdf ], which is reeeeeal cool by the way. I'm so glad that I do these applications just so you could skim through a few parts of it. No really, that's just awesome.Thanks.Thanks so much.

Something that really bothers me about entry level job applications is...how are you suppose to differentiate yourself from the HUNDREDS of other ass kissers out there? Remember you're entry level, meaning you have little to no job experience. That's not too helpful when trying to get a job. The only thing I can think of to differentiate yourself from everyone else is that some companies put those dumb ass surveys out after you’re done with the application, to find out more about your personality and work ethic. But, that's kinda pointless, too, cuz you know everyone is lying on those surveys to make themselves look good.

One thing that makes me want to rip my hair out is that every online application wants you to make a dumb ass account with some online job hunting service before you even start the  application, like gee, could all of you jackass employers maybe just run through like one specific job service or better yet, just not have the stupid job service at all? I don't want to sign up every time I do an application, so suck my dick and lick my fucking balls! Just let me do the god damn application, please. Yeah, that'd be fantastic. Fucking ass munchers. Ugh.                    

Another thing that really grinds my ball hairs is that I notice that a lot of companies give you an option to send them an online resume...yet, you still have to fill out their application with information you already had in your resume. UHMMMM....OK...SO.... What's the point? is it some kind of test to see if you'll mindlessly do the same shit over and over again or what? And if that’s the case, why the hell is no one hiring my fat ass? 

So, in conclusion, all you employer mother fuckers can eat the shit stain off my asshole, k?  Bye.

#angry rant #rant #job rant #ranting #angry #entry level jobs #annoyed #comedy #pissed #WTF #wtffffff #The Truth