#I have to do the stupidest fucking corporate training at work

[hmslusitania]

See I think when corporatebusinessspeak people refer to “company culture” they think they’re talking about culture in the sense of social customs and the ties that bind a people together

But what they’re actually talking about is the bacterial growth you get in a lab setting when you’re trying to diagnose an infection to make sure you get the right antibiotic to kill it dead

#I have to do the stupidest fucking corporate training at work #its very flames on the side of my face from clue gif #the ghost ship babbles to herself in the night

[bunnyqueengrace]

Vent post below the cut.

The past week and a half has been fucked. I am so tempted to just call the fuck out of work tomorrow. I am just so damn tired.

The customers are constantly trashing the store and letting their kids run wild. They're screaming at us, the staff, over the stupidest fucking things. No, Karen, you cannot get full price back for this item you bought four years ago and are now returning, that's not how it fucking works, and you know it, no amount of tantrums will change this. They then bitch us out on social media for their own bad behavior.

(Not to mention all the abandoned cars that get strewn about the store that we then have to clean up)

Making things even more frustrating is that corporate literally will not let us schedule enough people to Actually Run The Store. We literally get two or three cashiers for most of the day, and two or three floor staff to cover The Entire Store, and one of the floor staff HAS TO BE covering the fitting room or we can't have the fitting room open. BUT. We have been getting massive, rush-hour type lines at times that were not considered rush hour pre-pandemic, and the two or three cashiers are not enough. The majority of the time, someone from the floor staff have to get on register to help get the line steady at the very least, cleared out at best. And when that happens, that's one or two less people covering the floor and cleaning up after the gods-damned customers who keep trashing the place and letting their kids be holy terrors. Which, in turn, means the store is almost never clean. We have enough people on payroll, we could easily have enough people scheduled to cover the registers and keep the store tidy, not this everyone-has-to-be-doing-three-jobs-at-once bullshit. But gods forbid the corporate fuckos give us the hours, since that would require them spending money on their workforce and they haven't made their fifteen unused yachts a month quota.

(There's always enough people scheduled for out back, but they're usually all done and out the door by noon, and half of them aren't cashier-trained.)

Not to mention we keep losing people about as fast as we hire them. One would think after all the shenanigans the pandemic put us all through, corporate would at least TRY to offer (and Actually Give) better benefits like more paid sick leave, etc. But no. Apparently we're all supposed to just accept the old bullshit treatment of the past, even though we know better can be done. I don't blame the youngsters who leave after a week, whether I like them or not, they know what they're worth and I hope they're all doing well. But the constant turnover because corporate can't treat us with basic respect and decency is Not Good For Anyone.

And that's just the work side of things.

Two of my family members have had major surgeries. They're both okay, but one is elderly, and as tough as she is, this was an extremely stressful time and we have no idea how well she's going to handle her physical therapy.

A few other family members don't seem to be talking right now, and the rest of us are trying so hard to awkwardly navigate around them. I'd honestly rather one of them just outright say they don't want the others in their life anymore, at least that way I could have some idea of how to proceed.

And on top of all that, I've been having flashbacks to high school when my mother was at her worst with everything from privacy to grades and plenty beyond.

I am just so fucking tired. I don't want to die, but I just want everything to fucking stop.

#vent post #i dont know if any of this needs a trigger warning but do what you need to take care of yourself if any of this affects you

[incandescent-eden]

Stay (A Medb Story)

Desc: “Can I convince you to stay?” It wasn’t supposed to be this way. They were supposed to go together, away from the citadel. Medb wishes more than anything she could change things when her siblings are torn from her one by one.

Word Count: 3596

TW/CW: Lots of mentions of war

Additional Notes: The character of Warren Sutherland belongs to my amazing friend @boffinsandbeasties, who has so graciously allowed me to co-opt and butcher her truthful, angry boy!  Alternately titled, “The passage of time f*cking sucks”, possible prologue for All The Kingdom For A Song (working concept title), RAW/UNEDITED  

----

It had started with a game.

There was a tree on the inside of the gate that separated their state home from the road into town. Virgil had been the first to climb it, but then Virgil was always the most courageous. Maybe they were just the most daring. Or the stupidest. The most reckless.

Warren had climbed up after, feigning rivalry with Virgil, but he could never quite hide the adoring tone of his voice. Then, after much teasing, Chrissy followed them up, crying all the while because the squirrels wouldn’t come near, and she wanted to pet them.

Medb would have been content with sitting at the base of the tree. It was cool underneath the tree’s branches, and the day was hot. She was wearing a new dress, and she would hate to ruin it already. There were creatures that called the tree their home, and she didn’t want to bother them. Her friends’ whooping and hollering was simply too annoying and immature, and at fourteen, Medb was too old to climb trees anyway, thank you very much.

But Virgil insisted. “There’s a cool breeze up here,” they said. “The sun on your face is different when you’re high above. The view -”

Medb groaned.

“Sorry,” Virgil said sheepishly. “I can guide you up! Come up! Chrissy’s eight, and she came up. You’re not more chicken than an eight year old, are you?”

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response,” Medb huffed.

“Please?” Virgil’s voice squeaked. As of late, Virgil’s voice was changing, trapped somewhere in between that scraping squeal of a fork dragged across a fine plate and the deep roar of the river crashing against the rocks.

Medb fiddled with her dress, smoothing it over her knees. “Okay.”

She got up slowly, placing her palm against the tree. The bark was warm and rough under her hand. “Do I just? Jump? Or what?”

“Jump and then tuck the tree between your knees!” Virgil called down.

“Right,” Medb muttered. Because hugging a tree with your knees is so easy when you’re wearing a new dress.

It took several failed attempts, and a bit of bruising, and a lot of shouted encouragement, before Medb managed to catch hold of the tree and shimmy her way up.

“Reach out to your left!” Virgil called down, though their voice was closer now. “No, my left! Wait, no, yours!” A beat later. “Your other left!”

Medb grimaced. “I’m not sure I trust you to guide me up!”

“You’re doing fine, I can take over if Virgil sucks at giving directions,” came the response. It was Warren’s voice.

“Neither are you!” Virgil replied in indignation.

“Guys.” Medb’s arms were cramped up. Her fingers shook as the ridges of the bark dug into her skin.

“Reach out to your right,” was Warren’s answer. “No, a bit higher!”

Medb’s fingers grazed against a branch. She leaned further until she could wrap her hand on the corner where the branch met the tree and hoisted herself up from there.

The quartet stayed in the tree for a while, Medb comforting the crying Chrissy about squirrels and heights and getting in trouble from her branch far below the others’, and Virgil and Warren laughing and joking and trying to outclimb each other.

“I can see the whole world from here!” Virgil exclaimed, their voice faint so high up in the tree that Medb wondered whether they had flown instead of climbing. “I can see past the gate and past the river, even! I can see above No Man’s Land!”

Medb chuckled as Warren boasted of seeing past No Man’s Land, seeing the ocean, seeing the edge of the sky. As they called each other liars, braggarts, losers. She leaned against the trunk of the tree, letting the soft sunlight tickle her cheeks.

At last, however, she shivered. It was getting colder.

“What color is the sky right now?” Medb called upward.

“The taste of berries and cream and the way oranges explode in your mouth!” Warren called back.

“We better get back down, then,” Medb reminded the kids. “We’ve been out all day, and supper will be soon. We have to freshen up.”

There was some grumbling, but even Virgil was getting tired and hungry, and they eagerly leapt from branch to branch to get back to the ground, followed by Warren, then Chrissy until Medb was the only one left in the tree.

“Jump, Maevie!” Virgil said excitedly. “We’ll catch you!”

But Medb laughed and shimmied down the way she came, carefully. The tree bark was cool now, and her palms felt cakey from dirt. She didn’t want to think how badly her dress was ruined.

“Don’t you trust us?” Virgil asked when Medb rejoined the group. Their voice was heavy and small at the same time, dense with disappointment.

“Of course I do, Virgil,” Medb replied, patting them gently on the shoulder. “But I don’t trust myself.”

Virgil shrugged, placated. They broke into a sprint back toward the dorms. “Last one back is a rotten egg!”

And another day ended like that.

  Warren was the first one to go. For once, for maybe the first time, it was Warren who came in first.

They didn’t want Virgil. The war had gone on for years, but the war needed more soldiers, and good soldiers follow orders and obey without question, and Virgil never could.

Medb heard them arguing from the other side of the wall.

“You don’t have to go! Damn it, Warren! You don’t have to do anything that they tell you to do!” The wall was thin, but it muffled their voice. Medb turned over in her bed, tucking her pillow above her ear. She could still hear them.

“You know, not all of us have the advantage of being you, Virgil. You’ll wake Medb up, please shut up.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means that you can do whatever the fuck you want, you can go rogue all you want, you can always run ahead and be the best at fighting games and athletics and battle strategy and not have a single care for what anyone around you thinks, and you can get in so much fucking trouble that you get your head chopped off, and you still wouldn’t care.” A pause and a sigh. “But I care. It’s my responsibility. It’s what we’ve trained for.”

“Warren, you can’t just feed into the corporate war machine! No one from the citadel or from the dorms has ever come back from No Man’s Land. And they’re recruiting younger and younger. It’s not right!” The room shook as a thud came from Virgil’s side of the wall. They must have punched it. Medb pushed the pillow against her ear harder.

“Is it more right to let other people die in the war in my place while I run away and hide?”

“Yes,” Virgil answered without hesitation. “Listen to me, Warren. People die all the time. People get killed all the time. And that’s on them and on fate. But they don’t choose to die. Don’t be a fucking martyr just because some man in a uniform came in and told you to.”

A long silence. Medb held her breath. It was a tense silence.

“That’s horrible.” And then, louder, and with horror, “That’s horrible! How can you say that? How can you say someone else’s life is worth less because they go to war? They died for a cause!”

“What’s the cause, Warren?” Virgil screamed.

Medb shut her eyes tighter.

No answer.

“I set out at dawn tomorrow. Good night, Virgil.” There was a slam, as of a door. Warren’s suitcase, perhaps.

“I thought we were brothers.” Warren Sutherland. Virgil Sunderland. Even their names sounded similar. It was what brought them together when Warren came to the dorms, a year after Virgil and Medb arrived.

But now Warren was leaving them.

“And I thought you’d be proud of me. You’re always going on about glory, the glory of war, how you’ll bring glory to your patron and to the citadel.” Every single glory out of his mouth was a sword strike, quick and stinging and forceful. “Is it too much when I get to be first?”

“It’s too much when you might die,” Virgil snarled. The thuds falling against Medb’s wall came more frequently now, erratic and desperate as the heartbeat of a frightened rabbit. Surely, it could not have mirrored Virgil’s heartbeat, because when was Virgil ever frightened?

Medb tucked her knees up to her chest, one hand still holding the pillow in place over her head.

“Good night, Virgil.” And no more talking came after, only Virgil’s frustrated cry, and a loud crash, like glass breaking. Warren’s exasperated “By the gods, Virgil!”

The next morning at breakfast, Warren was gone, and Chrissy asked Virgil what happened to their hand.

  Virgil was much more composed when Chris left. Maybe it was that she wasn’t going to war. She was going to find her way home, she said.

She went to find Medb before she left. Medb could hear her fidgeting at the doorway to the kitchen where she was kneading dough. “If you have something to say, Chris, you should say it before you go.”

“I wasn’t…” Chris’s voice cracked. She sniffled. Medb wiped a spot of flour off her cheek.

“Is it Virgil?”

“Yeah.”

“What did they say?”

Chris paused. “They um, they said I should just go. Like Warren did. Not make it hard for everyone else.” She sniffled again. “I… this is my home. I don’t want to leave it, but… I was contacted.”

Medb carefully wiped her hands on her apron, gesturing in the direction of the doorway for Chris to come over. She heard the shuffling of well broken in shoes across the kitchen tiles.

“But your patron contacted you, didn’t they? To have the blessing of a patron, isn’t that all we’ve dreamed about since we arrived?” Medb asked when Chris stopped a little away from her. She held out her arm, inviting the younger girl to come closer still, to stand shoulder to shoulder. Chris did as she was bade, and rested her head against Medb’s, shaking slightly. Medb squeezed her shoulder. “When did you get taller than me, Chris? I still think you’re eight years old and crying because the squirrels in the tree won’t play with you sometimes.”

Medb realized with uneasiness that she couldn’t remember the last time she had held Chris or dried her tears or told her a story. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had referred to Chris as Chrissy, and though it was Chris’s preference to be called thus, it made Medb think back.

Chris laughed, the back end of a sob caught on. “I think I’ve been taller than you since I was fourteen, Medb.”

“Well,” Medb said in mock indignation, “I cannot believe not a one of you told me!” She smiled, hugging Chris. “But… you’ve really grown, haven’t you? I’m sure your patron will be pleased when they meet you at last. Write often, will you?”

“Can you read my writing, Medb?” Chris asked teasingly, her voice thick from holding back tears, no doubt.

“I’ll have Virgil read it to me.”

“Can Virgil read?”

Medb laughed, shoving Chris away playfully. Chris giggled as Medb returned to her dough on the countertop. “Of course, they can, they’re not a complete twit. But I expect you to tell me everything, do you understand? Tell me of everyone you meet, your living conditions, the cadence of your patron’s voice, every song you play and hear and sing, the color of the sky each day. Every person you fall even a little bit in love with, and the color of their eyes. I want to know it all.”

“I wish you could go with me, Maevie,” Chris said quietly, taking Medb’s hands.

Medb reached her hand upward, felt Chris place her cheek in Medb’s palm. “That’s why you need to write me. So I can be with you, too.”

Chris shook her head, throwing off Medb’s hand. She drew back. “It’s not the same. Maybe I should just leave. Maybe I really am a coward for… for wanting to,” she hiccuped, “for, to, to stay.”

Medb reached out again, beckoning for Chris to return. “You’re not a coward for not wanting to leave home,” she promised. “Who knows what’s beyond the gate, after all?” When Chris complied and put her cheek, Medb felt wetness on her thumb. “When do you leave?”

“Tonight at sundown.”

Medb balked. “But, well, sundown? Are you sure?”

“Yes. My patron will send a shining golden stag, and I am to follow until I reach the end of the world.”

Medb’s stomach lurched. The room was cold, as if night had fallen suddenly, and she was caught outside. “The end of the…? You don’t mean to say - ?”

“I’m sorry, Medb,” Chris whispered. Her voice was high. “They say no one shall harm me in No Man’s Land, so long as I follow the stag.”

First Warren two years ago, and now Chris. No Man’s Land seemed to follow Medb, hanging around her like a bad omen. A curse upon her. “And you will write to me? When you are out?”

Not if, she forced herself to remember, when. When Chris had passed through safely, she would write a letter, and all would be well.

“Yes,” Chris promised, but she hesitated before she did so. Then, “The sky is the color of tart tangerines exploding in your mouth as you bite into them in the summer. I have to go. Tell Virgil I said goodbye?”

Medb’s voice caught in her throat. “I will.”

“Goodbye, Maevie. Until I arrive,” said Chris softly as she walked away, the shuffling of her worn shoes moving away from Medb.

And then only Virgil and Medb remained.

Chris’s letter never arrived.

  “No,” Medb said hurriedly, panic rising in her throat. She pushed it down, steeled herself against Virgil’s dresser, the worn wood smooth under her fingertips from years of Medb’s anxious rubbing against it.

“It’ll only be for a few weeks. The war’s gone on for years now. They’re running out of options.”

“You hate the war,” Medb said plainly. “They didn’t want you four years ago, why should they want you now? In fact, why should you want to go now? It’s not like you.”

“I want to bring glory to the citadel.” It was a standard Virgil answer. But that wasn’t the truth.

“It’s Warren and Chris, isn’t it?”

Virgil’s silence was enough to answer. “You can’t go, Virgil. They’ll never let you out to look for them. And what if you get lost in No Man’s Land?” I can’t lose you, too.

“I’ll be fine,” they replied, brushing off her concern. Medb heard the soft thumping of clothing hitting the bottom of a suitcase as Virgil haphazardly threw their spare clothes in.

“Don’t go.”

“Maevie, I’ll be back in a year or so. I’ll write you letters whenever I can. But I have to go; can’t you hear the call?”

Medb shook her head. “What do you mean, the call?”

“There’s something pulsing, Medb. Something coming from No Man’s Land, and it keeps calling me. I thought at first, maybe I could ignore it.” They paused, and their suitcase creaked and thudded shut. “But nothing to do about it now. When your patron makes contact, you have to.” They breathed shakily. “They promised… Warren.”

“Can I convince you to stay?” the indent in the top of the dresser was tiny, it just barely fit the tip of her pinky. She used to put her thumb over it, letting the little indent suck in the plump pads. It felt like there was a hole in her thumb, and she would imagine herself a little doll made of sand and burlap slowly draining out onto Virgil’s dresser. She used to wonder if she might drain out completely, and no one would notice until she was gone, and it was too late to restuff her.

It was only she who remained now. She could hear it in the way Virgil drummed their fingers against the top of their suitcase, the agitated da-dum like horses galloping away from her, carrying Virgil with them.

“I don’t know,” they said at last, so softly that Medb’s heart shattered.

She crossed the room, the room she had crossed a million times before, and sat down quickly on the bed, her hip colliding with the heavy suitcase. Virgil had always kept a space for her before.

“Sorry,” they mumbled, but Medb heard the guilt in their voice, and she knew they knew what she was thinking. The bed beside Medb sprang up as the suitcase was removed.

“It’s alright. Come sit with me,” she patted the bed. Virgil’s bed, she reminded herself.

They hesitated, but soon Medb felt the dip in the mattress to her side. “Remember when we used to hide out here? You and me and Warren and Chris? You used to put on play fights with Warren. Chris loved them.”

“They always turned into real fights,” Virgil chuckled. “I always said I’d be like an older sibling to Warren, but some sibling I was, huh?” their voice got quiet again at the end of the sentence. Warren’s absence hung in the room even after four years. It was like he was a ghost, hanging around and haunting them, begging them not to forget him.

Medb shook her head. She couldn’t think things like that. No use thinking the worst. “Siblings fight,” she reassured Virgil. “It’s what they do.”

“Yeah,” they said softly. “You and Chris never fought the way sisters do.”

Medb laughed. “Over what? Which boys are cute?” She waved her hand over her eyes. “I would have to just defer to her opinion. Besides, Chris was six years younger than me, worlds apart as kids, what was there to fight about?”

Virgil laughed raucously, and Medb was pleased, until she realized she referred to Chris in the past tense.

“Maevie. Don’t.” Virgil took her hand, squeezing it gently. “It’s been two years. That’s not so long.”

She took her hand away, patting Virgil on the back of their hand. “Silly Virgil, I know that. Come, stay with me. Reminisce with me, so I might convince you not to go.”

“There is no convincing me.”

Medb clicked her tongue, tutting disapprovingly. “You were always so stubborn, Virgil. But I’m stubborner still, you know. Stay with me.” She laid back in the bed, letting Virgil’s bunched up blankets nestle under her neck. “It will be too lonely without you here.”

“The children adore you. You’re going to become a matron at the citadel one day, it’s what all the authorities are saying.”

Medb snorted. “I will do no such thing. I’m simply waiting for Warren and Chris to return, and then we will leave, the four of us together, off for a new adventure. Still,” she continued, sighing. “I will miss the citadel.”

“Good riddance to this place,” Virgil harrumphed. Medb felt them shift beside her. Their elbow grazed her ear as they lay down as well. “But I’ll miss climbing the big tree out by the gate.”

Medb nodded sagely. At some point, the tree had become so familiar to even her that she could climb it in seconds. “We haven’t climbed the tree in a long time.”

“We got too big for it.”

“We got too big for a lot of things, didn’t we?”

Virgil breathed steadily, their chest moving the bed with them. Everything Virgil touched got infected with, well, Virgil-ness. Medb held her breath, letting Virgil breathe for the both of them. She pretended, at least, that she was letting them breathe for both of them, as though hearing the ups and downs of their chest might trick her own lungs into breathing and her heart’s aching into dulling. “I think you’ve grown too big for me, Medb.”

Medb exhaled, shocked. She turned to the direction of Virgil’s voice on their bed. “Nonsense. You could never outgrow me. Don’t say unreasonable things.”

She felt a hand briefly brush against her cheek. Not a hand, she realized. Virgil’s lips. So tenderly she thought instantly of a butterfly that landed on her last summer. Virgil was never so tender.

“I’m sorry, Maevie,” they whispered.

She didn’t have time to react. A cool breeze blew in.

The window.

Seconds later, she heard a low grunt and the soft thump of something heavy hitting grass.

She ran to the window. “Virgil!”

“It’s not that I’ve outgrown you,” they called back, their voice getting fainter by the second. Virgil and Warren and Chris and Medb, and Virgil was always the fastest, running and whooping alongside the wind on a fall morning, racing to reach the biggest piles of leaves under the big tree by the gate before the others could. “It’s that you’ve outgrown me.”

“Virgil!”

But it was too late. She sat down, her back against the wall, her knees to her chin. A few minutes later, and she heard the creak of the big iron gate at the front of the citadel opening. She wondered if Virgil would look back. Not that she could see them. Not that she would even stand so they could see her. But she wondered nonetheless.

The sound of wind rustling through tall grasses in the afternoon, she realized, was the loneliest sound in the world.

#writeblr #creative writing #writing #angst #childhood blues #original fiction #original story #vbp_medb #vbp_virgil #vbp_chris_archer #friends ocs #all the kingdom for a song

[bbhyuckie]

Crossed Wires - 1

The Doyoung office fic nobody asked for.

Genre: Slowburn office romance.

Words: 5.5k

Warnings: Exposition.

When you were younger, you never really envisioned yourself working in an office. Like all the other kids, you wanted to be an astronaut, or a doctor, or an actor. You suppose, no one ever really dreamt of working in an office, but there you were. A twenty-something in a corporate building, working a solid nine-to-five.

As far as office work goes, you actually had it really, really good. You had applied to SM right out of highschool with very minimal background experience. Honestly, you hadn’t really expected anything from putting in your resume, but by the grace of god, you landed the summer secretary position. The job was easy enough to do and complex enough to keep you focused for an eight hour work day. When August rolled around and you were called back to your manager's office, you were sure that it was the end of the line for you; end of summer, end of job. But to your surprise, you were offered a job outside of the lobby and into the office blocks.

Which is how you ended up here: the marketing department. The sudden shift away from greeting guests at the front desk and setting up appointments for people on the way out was jarring. Work suddenly had weight to it. If it hadn’t been for the considerable upgrade in your check every month, you probably would have lost your mind. Marketing wasn’t necessarily hard . It was just a lot more than what you were used to. Micro to macro, so to speak. The job outline wasn’t single people anymore. You were connecting with hundreds of thousands of people behind the guise of company-community involvement, media planning, and advertisement. Luckily, you didn’t have to do it alone.

Your immediate team consisted of three charismatic young men that fit the forward thinking, strikingly attractive, deceptively smart and strategic outline your department demanded. It was hard to picture yourself fitting in with them most of the time, but from your first day forward they all welcomed you in like you had been there since the  dawn of time. It seemed the thoughts of not quite being up to par during brainstorming sessions, and feeling slightly out of place when someone walked in to your department passed with time.

The eldest in your team was named Chittaphon, but the other boys called him Ten because of [insert inside office joke that you weren’t there to learn here]. He was eccentric and stellar at his job. Since he worked there the longest, he helped you through your marketing training and made you nifty little cheat sheets with frequent call numbers and contact names. You got close with Ten first because of how closely you worked in your training period, and he was a gateway to the other two boys in your department. He was always either complimenting your work attire or praising your work ethic.

After finally being released from training, you got your own desk right next to the second oldest member of your department. Jaehyun was a great desk neighbor, all things considered. Sure, he had a stressfully cluttered desk and never put his phone on silent, but somehow he still got all of his work done and even managed to help you with yours. Jae was so handsome that it was hard not to fall head over heels for him. And maybe, you would have if it wasn’t for the fact that you had seen how he danced while he was heavily intoxicated at a department night out… It was an ugly sight. So instead, you settled for going to company dinners together and ultimately you became Jaehyun’s wingwoman.

The last member of your team was Mark, who seemed to be perpetually waiting for everyone else to catch up. He was a touch younger than you, but the two of you got along pretty well. That is, after the two of you started speaking. For how quirky and talkative he was with the other two boys, he seemed to keep his guard up around you for the first few months. Jae teased that it was because Mark had never had to talk to girls before and he didn’t know how, to which Ten scoffed and Mark slumped further down in to his chair. You and Mark finally hit it off when Jaehyun had called out sick. Without your trusty companion to ask for help, you decided to take the leap and roll your chair over to Mark’s desk. At first, he was surprised that you would even consider coming to him for help, considering Ten was in the same room as the two of you.

To say that Mark was nervous, was an astounding understatement. His hands were shaky and cautious as he reached for the stapler on the other side of the desk. However, after a few cheesy jokes on your behalf Mark was absolutely smitten with you in the most platonic sense of the word. Soon he was showing up to work with two coffees instead of one, and the middle drawer of his desk was filled with snacks just for you.

The days of learning simmered out into days of keeping your eyes open, and the longer you were there, the more second nature your position became. Nothing ever became particularly mundane, but with four of you in the office there was a lot of time to just… talk. About stupid things. Or funny things. Or kind of secret things-- like the fact that Ten was dating your department manager, and no one knew somehow. Or how Mark almost strangled the new secretary last week, because, who the fuck would hire Donghyuck oh my god . Or how Jaehyun needed you to be his fake girlfriend at the next wedding in his family. Again.

You had to pay your downtime to those in logistics. Realistically, if the logistics department didn’t exist, you probably would have quit a long time ago. Connecting with so many people called for a lot of… calls. That you didn’t necessarily want to, or know how to, make. If someone asked you who you respected, hands down you would have said your agent from logistics, Yuta.

Yuta was a great partner to work with. Typically he opened the phone calls with a warm greeting before filling you in on the latest plots of this new anime he had recently started. He then transitioned into how cute Manager Sicheng had been looking lately, and more often than not you had to remind him that the purpose of the call was to relay information. He was the person who had gotten you into watching cheesy anime and he was your go to gossip partner whenever Ten was busy with “lunch dates.”

He was the one who always had jokes to tell or advice to give, and although your departments were on opposite sides of the same floor, his friendship felt real and close. These were likely the reasons it absolutely broke your heart when Yuta informed you that a transfer hire would be taking over his spot as your go to logistics man.

“Yuta, you’ve told me a lot of stupid shit these past few months but thinking I’m going to just let a transfer hire take your place is by far the stupidest.”

“Calm down, sunshine, I won’t forget about you. I’ve just been having to juggle yours and Jaehyun’s sorry asses for the past few months. Trust me-- if I got to pick, I would take you over him in a heartbeat,” Yuta replied, clearly unbothered by the whole situation.

You huffed halfheartedly and slumped in your chair, “This sucks.”

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t cry about losing Yuta as your logistics man in the break room later on that afternoon. Mark eventually finds you with your legs huddled close to your chest as you let out quiet, pathetic sniffles. He handed you a box of tissues that had been placed on the counter, almost as if it had been left there for this exact purpose.

“I heard about the whole Yuta thing, and I kinda figured you’d be in here crying.” His voice is soft and comforting, but you’re also partially offended he assumed you would be crying in this situation.

“And how did you know that?” You quip back bitterly, and Mark chuckles at your childish antics.

“You cried for two hours when Yuta told you how Monsters Inc. ended.” Although it was meant as a lighthearted joke, a fresh wave of tears hits you and you’re crying even more now. Because god dammit now you had to think about how Boo lost Sulley on top of you losing Yuta.

Mark’s eyes are wide, like a deer in headlights. “Jaehyun! Call Yuta’s dumb ass, like, right now!”

After teasing Mark for freaking out, Jaehyun obediently dialed Yuta’s number and called him to the break room. Admittedly, crying about losing Yuta was a tad bit melodramatic. However, you felt a wave of dread wash over you at the mere thought of your friendship slowly dying off because you wouldn’t be talking half as much as you used to.

Nonetheless, your band of misfits had decided that the best way to deal with the situation at hand was to get shitfaced. After all, friends that make regrettable decisions while intoxicated together stay together, right?

For the duration of your appetizers, Yuta had been trying to get you to fess up about why you were crying about the situation. In his defense, Yuta couldn’t really understand why you had been so upset. The way he saw it, your friendship didn’t need office calls to last.

“I guess I’m just afraid that with the new transfer hire, we won’t talk anymore.” You finally confess, teary eyed. Yuta swears he tried to hold in his fit of giggles, but it was just too hard.

Laughing, he pulls you into a tight side hug and ruffles your hair with his hands. “You dumbass! You think I won’t be texting you every five minutes about what happened in my show? Working a nine to five job really has rotted your brain.”

His eyes are bright and cheery as he continues to comfort you, promising every so often that he’ll visit your apartment and watch anime with you to compensate for the lack of business calls.

Now that the mood had brightened considerably, you were able to pay attention to Mark, who was trying to prove his manliness by downing shot after shot while Jaehyun couldn’t stop teasing him for freaking out over tears. As you shifted your eyes over to them, your heart swelled with warmth. Your office friends had become like a second family to you. And you wouldn’t dare change it for the world. Resentment sank slowly into the pit of your stomach, however; not towards any of this newfound love for this gang of corporate slaves, but rather for the transfer that was seemingly trying to ruin all of it. The realization of this sudden blind hatred made you feel well and truly immature, more so than crying in the break room at work (which is a hard thing to top). You shrugged it off and ordered another round of drinks.

The next day came quickly and angrily. You blinked your eyes against the offending light that had woken you and groaned. This was a feeling you had grown to know well. A hangover.

You yanked your blanket back over your head. After blindly fumbling around for your phone on your bedside table, you managed to type in the number to your department managers office. You inhaled deeply and pressed the overly bright green button. The ringback was deafening, until finally--

“Advertising and Marketing, this is Johnny Seo,” his voice cut through the receiver like a knife. It was hard not to wince.

“Johnny,” you said, voice untested and rough, “It’s me. I can't come in today.”

You swore you heard him chuckle on the other end, knowingly. You couldn’t find the humor in this situation.

“Sure thing, want to use PTO? Or accept the consequences of a bad hangover?” he asked.

You rubbed the palm of your hand over your face, “Y’know, I’m gonna leave that up to your discretion.”

“Understood, I’ll see you nice and sober tomorrow morning.”

Begrudgingly, you slid out of bed and pressed your feet against the floor. The cool tile was grounding. You decided today was the day you would catch up on the anime Yuta had sent you, get your laundry done, and catch up on your sleep. With a newfound purpose, you trudged into the kitchen of your apartment and started a pot of coffee, before deciding, yeah, you did need to wash your hair.

Before you knew it, your impromptu day off was coming to a close. You were clean, caught up on laundry and anime, and more broke than that morning. Online shopping really was a trap. With a full wasted day under your belt, you fell back into bed and turned the lights off.

As you laid there, waiting to fall asleep, your mind wandered idly to what happened at work while you were away. You were almost positive Mark called out too. If anyone was more of a certified lightweight than you, it was him. Jaehyun probably had a wonderful day, you thought, with Yuta all to himself. You found yourself then wondering about this nameless company transfer. Would he be nice? Would he get your jokes? Would he have an annoying voice? Would he know how to do his job? Stress prickled in your chest and you took a deep breath to choke it down. You could deal with that tomorrow.

Feeling as refreshed as you possibly could after dealing with such a horrendous hangover, you pushed yourself to get ready for the day. Your heart was pounding at an alarming rate when you realized it was time for you to leave for work. You had even considered calling in again and telling Johnny that maybe you weren’t hungover, maybe it was alcohol poisoning or maybe you were on the brink of death.

But you knew Johnny would tear you to pieces if you called in with such a lame and poorly thought out excuse. So instead, you begrudgingly grabbed your work bag and headed out the front door.

On your way in to the office, you caught Mark at the front door. He was, unsurprisingly, harassing the secretary. Donghyuck looked positively pleased with himself as he swiveled on his rolly chair, an angry Mark saying something about eating the rest of the leftovers.

“Oh, Mark,” you said, throwing an arm around the boys shoulders. His tray of coffee for your department teetered dangerously in his hands. “Leave the poor boy alone, I wouldn’t want to have to call HR on you.”

Mark shot you a look as he steadied the coffee in his hand, opening his mouth to say something. He was cut off by Donghyuck.

“Thank you! I’m just here, trying to do my humble job, and I’m being brutalised by this man! ” Hyuck clasped a hand over his heart and puffed out his lower lip.

“By god Mark, stop making a scene, let’s go,” you faked chastised as you pulled him down the hall towards your offices.

“Har har,” Mark made a poor attempt at fake laughing and shoved a coffee in your direction, “Very funny. G’morning to you too.”

You bumped your head against his shoulder in apology as you walked side by side, “Sorry, Marky-baby,” you saw him flush at the name, “You know I’m just teasing.”

Mark visibly relaxed and his stern look softened, “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

“So how was yesterday?” You poked your straw into the top of your iced coffee.

“I was about to ask you the same, but I take it you called out, too.” You smiled up at him sheepishly. He knocked shoulders with you and you both giggled at your notably low alcohol tolerance.

“I was hoping to get some intel on my new guy,” you paused for a second and sighed, “I would like to reiterate the fact that this… sucks.”

“Oh, c’mon. It can’t be that bad.”

You tried not to bristle at the dismissal, “That’s awfully easy for you to say, not having to get used to someone other than Taeyong, and all.”

“That’s-- That’s not what I meant. Just give him a chance, I guess.” You rolled your eyes at his comment before shooting him a devious smirk.

“Maybe you should give Hyuck a chance.” You were answered with an elbow in the ribs.

You pushed the door to your department open and held it for Mark before you walked your opposite directions to your desks.  As you sat down next to Jaehyun, you rolled your chair suspiciously closer to the side of your desk furthest away from him. Jae immediately noticed and shot you a look somewhere between confused and wounded.

Ten piped up from behind you both, “Uh oh. Mommy and daddy are fighting again.”

“Who’s who?” Mark asked with a snicker.

“Are you actually upset with me over this?” Jae asked quietly, disregarding the other two.

You glanced over to him and immediately felt bad. “No,” you said apologetically, “I’m not mad. Really, Jae. This is just weird, and I don’t want to talk to the new guy.”

Jaehyun’s brow squished together in the middle, clearly confused. “But he’s so nice?”

“Oh yeah,” Ten swiveled around in his chair, “He came in and introduced himself yesterday, wanted to get to meet who he was gonna be running logistics for before he got locked upstairs.” Ten paused and smirked wickedly, “Probably not the best first impression.”

You groaned helplessly and melted into the leather of your chair. A wave of humility washed over you in thinking that, shit, he was probably nervous too. You had all of your friends around to support you and only one part of your daily routine was changing, but this guy was coming from out of the city and didn’t know anyone . Jae looked at you pitifully, which arguably made the whole situation worse.

“Don’t worry about it. He seemed genuinely nice, if not just a little quiet. I’m sure he understood.”

“Jae, stop,” you whined, “That definitely makes this worse!”

You looked around to see three sets of eyes on you with varying expressions. Ten looked unimpressed, Mark looked confused, and Jae maintained an unwavering look of pity.

“Alright, sweetheart,” Ten said slowly, “I’m going to need you to get this--” he gestured vaguely at your current state, “--figured out. It is far too early in the morning for a mental collapse. And while I would love to watch this unfold, we unfortunately do not get paid for that.”

Ten turned his chair back to his desk with an air of finality.

With a huff, you heaved yourself back up into a proper sitting position. You organized your papers that you had left on your desk from the prior work day and tapped them into line with each other. You smoothed them against the faux wood of your desk with a hand and took a breath to calm yourself. Jae’s hand found itself over top of yours. He caught your eye before he smiled reassuringly, and squeezed your hand before letting go.

You stalled for as long as you could with paperwork from the day you missed, but damn it, you were a touch too good at your job and finished everything you could do by yourself within the morning. You took lunch with Mark and watched vine compilations together in the break room. As your half hour of freedom drew to a close, you came to terms with the fact that you had to swallow your pride and call down to logistics.

You cozied back into your office chair and tucked your feet underneath you. There was no more procrastinating to be done. You fiddled with a ring on one of your fingers before finally biting the bullet and dialing in the extension to logistics.

The line rang three times, and with every buzz of the callback, you felt your stomach do a flip. Equal parts of you wanted the ringing to end and go on forever all at the same time.

“Logistics, this is Doyoung,” a clear voice broke through the line.

“I--,” you started before your brain could keep up, “Sorry, what was it again?” You smushed your palm against your forehead, because you idiot , you heard exactly what he said! “Can you spell that for me, I mean?”

“Uh-- Ah, yeah, it’s D-O-Y-O-U-N-G. From, uh. From logistics.”

“Right, Doyoung” you repeated, scribbling down his name on a sticky note before peeling it off the pad and pressing it onto the receiver of your phone. “I’m Y/N. From marketing. But I’m sure you already knew that.”

Doyoung mumbled a non committal noise on the other end of the line, “What can I do for you?”

You closed your eyes and breathed in through your nose, “I was wondering if I could get some documents faxed over from accounting, actually. Uh, stocks, to be specific. For our upcoming ad campaign, I need to see affiliate ownership growth between January of this year and now. Yuta has been keeping a file for the dates that we’ve been doing growth research on and--”

“Yeah, I’ve got the folder. I’ll send the forms down. Anything else?”

“Um,” you said, taken slightly aback by Doyoung cutting into you speaking, “No, that’s it I think. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

The line went dead.

Slowly you put the phone back on the receiver. A series of emotions flashed through your head.  You took a moment to try and process exactly what went down but also if you didn’t swallow the lump that was beginning to form in your throat you were afraid you’d start crying again. You were a grown woman and knew how to keep your emotions under control, but the amount of frustration that washed over you was infuriating. You mentally kicked yourself for even trying to  be nice to this guy when he was going to treat you like an inconvenience. This was his job! He was, quite literally, paid to help you!

As you were finally getting your breathing back under control, a knock came from the glass door. You glanced over your shoulder to see one of the interns smiling at you. You pulled a smile on and waved at him. His smile only widened and he waved frantically, calling you out into the hall. You suppress the urge to complain solely because this was your favorite intern.

“Na Jaemin,” you smiled, closing the glass door to your department behind you.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite marketing expert,” the younger boy winked at you.

“Flattery,” you said as you pulled his glasses off the bridge of his nose to clean them. He had a bad habit of staring through smudge marks that didn’t seem to bother him, but drove you insane.

“Maybe,” he smiled, rubbing over where the feet of his glasses were previously sat on his nose, “But only because you deserve it.”

You smiled at that, and it wasn’t forced. You remembered why he was your favorite.

“What can I do for you, kid?” you slid his glasses back onto his face.

“More of what I--” he waved a manilla folder in front of you, “--can do for you.”

You laughed at that, because, “Please don’t ever do that again.”

He laughed with you before finally handing you the file. You both stood there for a moment before he asked, “So do you like the new guy you’re working with? I just picked these up from him and he seemed pretty nice, I think.”

Right. The new guy. Doyoung.

“Jesus, the other Jae told me he’s great too, but the only conversation I’ve had with him was short and decidedly unpleasant.”

Jaemin exhaled pointedly and looked at you with sympathy. “That sucks. I won’t bring him up then.”

“No, it’s okay. I just have to get over it.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Jaemin leaned forward like he was letting you in on a secret, “I have to deal with the rest of the interns.”

You found yourself smiling again, despite yourself. Somehow, this high school intern had a way of leaving you in a better mood than he found you. “God help you,” you chuckled.

You and Jaemin parted ways shortly thereafter. You slipped back into marketing and to your desk. You took a moment to get situated and take a sip of your then watery coffee. Eventually, you convinced yourself to open your files back up on your computer and get the numbers put together. You flipped the front of the manila folder over and were met first with a jumble of numbers on the right side of the folder. On the left side was something you weren’t expecting. A small note on nice paper, taped parallel with the top of the folder. The handwriting was reminiscent of a font, in neat, narrow letters.

Y/N,

Sorry for rushing off of the phone earlier.

Management called on the other line. I hope

you understand. If you need anything, feel more

than welcome to call me. You have my number

and I work the same hours that you do.

-DY

You read over the note a few times before it finally sank in what it was saying. A pang of guilt thumped you in the chest as you traced your fingertip over the note again. Maybe you were too quick to judge on him, you thought to yourself. You tried not to slump in your chair.

You tore your brain away from being an overly-sensitive, hyper-judgemental individual long enough to put a decent dent on your ownership trend report. The numbers were cleaner than you remember them being organized before, and the spreadsheets had rows in alternating colors that made it easier on the eyes. You noticed somewhere along your productivity streak that there were now tabs separating affiliate from corporate ownership, and there were certain forms that you hadn’t requested but had helped your report.

By the time five rolled around, you felt like you had gotten an unusually large amount of work done despite bitching and moaning the entire morning. Only as Mark tapped on your shoulder with his backpack slung over his back did you realise it was already time to go home. Your face flushed at the uncharacteristic loss of time; you were typically the one counting down the minutes until the day was over.

As you walked out of the office with Mark, you came to two conclusions: the first was that this was one of the most emotionally confusing days of your life, and the second was that Doyoung must have been a robot. Everything he did seemed so critically calculated and practiced. You didn’t want to say that he was better than Yuta, but after going through the revised file he sent you… he was definitely more efficient. Even as you waved goodbye to Mark in the parking garage, you were stuck on your new partner.

By the time you got home and collapsed onto the couch with a box of takeout, you were finally not thinking exclusively of Doyoung. You managed to watch a few episodes of yours and Yuta’s anime, take a shower, and fold an entire load of laundry before crawling up into bed. You pulled the duvet up to your chin. You clicked open your phone to find a clean screen and let out a breath of relief. Sometimes, silence after a long day like the one you had was welcome. You watched the drizzle of rain start to come down outside your window and pulled your blankets up tighter. As the chill of early fall crept into the glass of your window, your mind crept into sleep.

Over the next few weeks, you found that Doyoung was not, in fact, a robot. Shockingly, he was just really good at his job.

Calls with Doyoung became significantly less stressful as time went on, but it was nothing like what you and Yuta had before. Despite being considerably more productive and organized, the phone calls weren’t as memorable. Doyoung seemed to have a strictly business sort of take on things, but he was human.

His humanity came through subtly. It started with you sending Jaemin up to logistics with the completed ownership trend report in a new manilla folder. You decided, after a bit too much thought, that you would attach a note of your own for Doyoung. Peacemaking, your brain supplied.

doyoung,

thanks for the files! no hard feelings.

if you could organize everything like

you did with those documents, my life

would be considerably easier. thanks

a million!

-Y/N

You looked down at your note, on your cheap sticky note with your far from perfect handwriting and wondered if you should just send the file by itself. You shook your head and pressed the piece of paper on the folder before closing it with a decisive snap.

Later that day, you called up to logistics to check on the file you sent.

“Logistics, this is Doyoung,” you swore his voice could be on a recorded line from how similar to the previous day that sounded.

“Hey Doyoung, I just wanted to make sure you got the report I sent up earlier.”

“Oh--,” There was a muffled rustling sound, like he was sorting through papers, “Yeah. Yeah I did.”

“Okay! Just let me know if my numbers don’t check out or something, yeah?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line followed by a slight huff that loosely resembled a laugh, “Yeah, of course.”

After you thanked him and hung up the phone, you wondered if he thought your note was amusing or if the two events were completely isolated. The socialite portion of your personality hoped it was because of you, but the realistic portion of you recognized it could have been because of anything. Hell, it could have not been a laugh at all.

About five minutes later, your email pinged with a new message in the inbox. Your eyebrows knit together in confusion; most people didn’t email you directly unless you messaged them first. You pulled up the portal and saw one (1) new email from a Kim Doyoung. A tiny paperclip icon next to the email envelope told you that there was something attached to the message. You opened the attachment to find a spreadsheet with clean lines and alternating color blocks. The font was simplistic and streamline, and despite it just being a spreadsheet, it brought a smile to your face. This felt like the first step towards something manageable.

In the following days and documents, the two of you kept phone calls short, but often left notes in files that were dropped off to each other. Doyoungs’ were always short and concise, written with a painfully steady hand on paper that was too nice to justify writing a note on. Yours, on the other hand, were on various pieces of parchment you found in your department, handwriting fluctuating with how busy the office was. There was a consistency in the pattern the two of you had that you could almost appreciate; the two of you were hardly acquaintances, even farther from friends, but the routine gave you a new normal.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

#text #doyound #nct #nct u #nct 127 #nct imagines #nct doyoung #doyoung fic #nct fic #kim doyoung #supporting cast: #mark lee #na jaemin #nakamoto yuta #jung jaehyun #nct ten #nct chittaphon #theres more #lee donghyuck #haechan #fic #imagines

[anonymoussharing]

SMH

So I’m taking a short hiatus from sexcapades. Mostly because I haven’t had a whole lot of sex in the past few weeks. I’ve been pretty MEH about it. Stress and betrayal and not knowing what the fuck is going on will do that to ya.

So I came to the end of my money. I spent it all. Bills, living, gas, food, cat food. $10,000. It lasted me about 15 months, with occasional contributions from the credit card. I haven’t lived like a monk, I haven’t lived like a king, somewhere in between. There’s a lot I should have done differently, but I’ll get into that some other time. This is not a time for regret about time and money and energy wasted. That’s come some other time when I’m feeling more pathetic.

I started working at O’Malley’s, thanks (I think) to Josh. He had offered me a position there a couple of times before, just letting me know that if I wanted it, I could work there. I finally took him up on it.

First off, what a fucking disaster. O’Malley’s is literally an alley between two buildings that was roofed over and turned into a bar. It’s long and skinny...well, I’ll get into the physical description some other time. You just need to know that each service area, the kitchens, the storage, are cramped and tiny and filled to the hilt with super necessary things for day to day operations. And the thing you need right now is almost always behind nine other things. It’s insane.

But the storage is only the smallest issue at this bar. The biggest issue, at least to me, is the complete and utter lack of any training whatsoever.

I come from a corporate environment, that is manufacturing high quality products that need to have reliability and traceability and every hand that lays on it is organized and skilled and records are kept...Yeah. This is a bar.

My job is “security” (I’ll get to that in a minute) and kitchen. This bar offers sandwiches and quesadillas and chips and salsa and hot dogs and patty melts, typical stuff. The menu lists exactly what goes on each sandwich, which has been my only saving grace, since I was not trained on how to make any of these sandwiches. I was thrown to the wolves with everybody too busy or too apathetic to be able to answer questions or help in any way.

The way it works is, a customer will order food from the bartender, who hoofs it over to me to prepare. Joe hates me. He’s an entitled prick, and his hating me doesn’t bother me in the least. I want to slap him down and tell him to knock it off with the attitude, because no, I DID NOT receive any training.

He orders a chips and salsa. I put the chips on a rimmed plate, get the salsa into a bowl. He catches it and tells me that the chips go into one of the big wooden bowls. Great, thanks for telling me. But keep the attitude to yourself. “Didn’t Camma train you?” “NOPE”. He’s helped me a couple of times, grabbing something I couldn’t find, and made it seem like I was just the stupidest person on the planet because I couldn’t find it. Hmm, you’ve been here how long? Much much longer than me. I’ve been here...a few weeks. I need to figure out my start date. The week before Light up? I will be more than happy to search for what I need, but it’s going to take time, time that you’ll be unhappy about that I’m taking. Pick your poison, fuckface.

Now that I’ve done a few shifts, (and earned a LITTLE money)($367.45 so far) I feel more confident about being able to get shit out. I’m not longer holding my breath and keening that I don’t fuck up. Camma actually complimented me the other night, so I must be doing something right. Fuck you, Joe.

Ok, so tonight. I’m still laughing about this, because it is the EPITOME of male laziness. Somebody puked outside the men’s room. Covered most of the hallway alcove floor, even got it up on the wall at chest height. Mark was the first to notice it, and told me about it. As the next ten or fifteen minutes passed, four? other men, the barback, security, manager etc, all went over to look at it and apparently glory at it. None of them made any move to clean it or to find a sign to place over it so it didn’t get tracked around. Eventually, the manager came over to ME, and told me to mop it up. Honey, I would have done that ALREADY IF I KNEW WHERE THE MOP AND BUCKET WHERE AND IF THERE WAS A SINK AND CLEANSER HANDY etc. They all just had to check it out, and then made me do it, the person who doesn’t know where any of the stuff is. Thank gawd for Deandre. He brought me to where the bucket and mop etc is, put some water in the bucket with some cleanser, and I was able to mop it, like a boss. You know, like someone who actually fucking works. Every single one of those men had the ability and knowledge to take control of the situation, and every one of them passed it off.

I don’t expect much from men. The older and more experienced I get with how men’s minds work, the less I respect them and the less I expect from them. I wish I’d seen the signs a few decades ago, but live and learn. Tonight was just yet another example of how men are the laziest fucks ever. Oh, they’ll go gawk at the puke, marvel at how he got it up the wall, but won’t lift a finger to clean it up, and instead pass it off to the girl. WOW. Just WOW.

Ok, I think this rant is over for now. I’ve got a couple more rants, but that’ll be another post.