behind my desk

Have You Seen This Painting of A Hallway?

I got this package in the mail from my dad: brown paper wrapping, large but flat, with the word “FRAGILE” written on it in black ink. When I unwrapped it, it was this big, acrylic painting, framed in some sort of bronze-gilded plaster.

The painting itself was of this long hallway full of doors, kind of like you’d see in a fancy hotel. The walls had edging about halfway up, the upper part was painted sort of an off white while the lower half was a crimson red that blended into the carpeting. Between each door was an up-turned light, as well as on the far wall at the end, where the corridor seemed to connect to another hallway running perpendicular to it, disappearing around a corner.

It was really amazing detail, though I wouldn’t call it life-like by any means. Just the sheer amount of intricate pieces to each aspect of the scene showed that the artist really paid attention to every little thing, like somewhere in the world was this hallway, and you could stand in it and hold the painting up in front of you and if it weren’t for the border and the clearly stylized art, you wouldn’t be able to tell where the canvas ended and the real world began.

I called him up and thanked him immediately.

“But where’d you find this?”

“I got it at an auction.”

I kinda figured as much.

So I hung up the painting in my office, just behind my desk, which I realized later wasn’t the best place for it because in order to actually look at it, I had to swivel completely around, but there wasn’t anywhere better really, and once I’d gotten it hung up, I felt less willing to take it back down, so I just left it there. It kind of hung out over my shoulder and watched me work, and every now and then I’d turn around and stare at it and get entranced by it, feeling like I could get up and put my hands in the frame and climb into the painting as if the frame were a window.

Of course, I wouldn’t be writing this if something weird didn’t happen as a result of the painting.

We had a couple friends over, Marc and Sabina, and Marc and I went into my office when the women-folk started talking about knitting, which has become my wife’s new favorite hobby. I went and sat down at my laptop to find a video I had been telling Marc about, and Marc wandered over and started admiring the painting.

“Where’d you get that?”

“My dad bought it at an auction and gave it to me.”

“It’s creepy.”

“It’s not that creepy. It’s kind of… I don’t know.”

“Hypnotic?”

“Yeah.”

I turned around to look at it with him while the video loaded. He got up close and was running his finger over the canvas, feeling the raised acrylic, and I just let my gaze wander over all the details again.

“Huh, I didn’t notice that before.”

“What?”

“At the end of the hall, there’s some sort of light coming from around the corner, and it’s casting a shadow on the floor.”

I got up and looked closer, because I really hadn’t spent a lot of time studying the far end of the hallway. There was definitely some yellow and some darker colors making what looked like the shadow of a person coming from around the corner. I even reached out and touched it to make sure it wasn’t some trick of the light in the study making it just look like there was this shadow in the painting, but I felt the paint and sure enough it was actually there in the painting.

“See what I mean?” Marc said, “Creepy.”

I genuinely felt weirded out by it. It was one of those moments where you start thinking, Why didn’t I notice this earlier? Was it there to notice?

A couple days later, I was working on a project in my study, and it was like 9:30 at night, and I just couldn’t focus, so I spun around in my chair to look at the painting and I felt this sudden vertigo effect, like the ground wasn’t there and I had to grab my chair to keep from tumbling into emptiness.

You wouldn’t have noticed it if you hadn’t looked at the painting a hundred times like I had. The hallway was long, with exactly six doors. I remember, because I counted them the first day. three on the left, three on the right, each with a little shiny, metal doorknob.

Only now there were seven doors. Three on the left, four on the right. It didn’t make sense. Everything looked proportionally exactly the same, and the far end of the corridor was just as far away, and yet there was a fourth door in the right side of the hallway, with its little metal doorknob. I don’t even know which door was the fourth door, that’s how well it blended in, I just know that there were four doors where once there were three.

“What the hell is going on?”

I turned away in my chair and back to check several times and make sure my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me, but the number of doors remained constant.

I called my dad again and I asked him, “Is this a trick painting you sent me?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean it keeps changing. I can see it changing.”

“Not as far I know. It was just one in a bunch I picked up all at the same auction.”

After I got off the phone I took the painting down and checked the back for some some of mechanical or digital hocus pocus, but it was all soft canvas so I left it on the floor behind my office chair with the painting facing the wall because the thought of it was freaking me out.

The next day I pulled my wife into my office and held the painting up so she could see it because she hadn’t had a chance to before.

“How many doors are there?” I asked.

She looked it over for a moment. “Seven.”

“When I first got this, there were six.”

She just looked at me like I was being a goofball. “Okay, so which one wasn’t there before?”

“I have no idea.”

“You don’t know which door magically appeared?” and she laughed and gave me a kiss and went back into the other room.

It gets worse.

The next time I chatted with Marc, I told him about the extra door in the painting.

“Are you sure there weren’t seven doors to begin with?”

“Well, I would swear I counted six.”

“Well, if another one shows up, at least Melissa counted seven, and can confirm it then. You know what you should do? You should take a photo of the painting so you can prove it if anything else changes.”

What a great idea, so I got my phone and took a photo of the painting.

Two days went by. Nothing.

On the third day, I walked into my office and there was a man staring at me. Well, I mean… it wasn’t… I can’t say that it was a man or a woman. Hell, I can’t say that it was human. There was a shape at the end of the hallway in my painting. It was oddly lacking in the detail that the rest of the painting had, like someone had hurriedly painted it on. I even ran my hand over it to make sure it wasn’t fresh, that someone hadn’t actually come in and painted over my painting to drive me crazy.

It was really there.

And the look of it scared me more than anything else, changing painting included. I wish I could do it justice with words, but the best I can describe it is that it was human-ish, with legs and arms, but it seemed squat, or hunched, and lopsided, like someone had slapped a blurry Quasimodo onto an otherwise beautiful painting. You couldn’t see the details of its face, but you could see shading on it, defining really warped features. I was almost glad that there wasn’t more detail to it, except that it left just enough to the imagination to give one nightmares.

But I had proof! Here was proof that the painting was changing. So I brought up the file on my laptop to show my wife for comparison, only when I did, the figure was in the photo I took too!

At no point did I start questioning my sanity about all this. Something unnatural and terrifying was going on, so I took the painting out of the house and set it on the curb where we put our trash for pickup. I was so done with that painting.

Or so I thought.

The next evening, when I got home from work, it was gone from the curb. I figured someone had seen it and taken it home, and I waved my hands and said, “Good, now it’s someone else’s problem.” I went in, played with daughter, had dinner, put them to bed, and after watching a show with my wife, went into my office to check my email.

No, the painting wasn’t back on the wall. I made sure of that the moment I walked in the door.

But I got a message from Marc, asking if the painting had changed anymore, and I told him about the creepy new addition and also how I had gotten rid of the painting.

“Oh man, that sounds cool. I wish I’d gotten a chance to see it.”

“Well, I can send you the photo I took of it.”

“Cool.”

So I opened the image file.

The thing in the painting had raised its arms.

Before, you could only barely make out the arms hanging at its sides, but now both arms were raised up over its head, and its fingers were spread apart like it was waving hello at me. I think it was waving hello at me.

I zoomed in, as best as I could without pixelating the image, and the shaded contours of the face seemed stretched into a grin.

Oh Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

I sent Marc the file, but the connection kept fucking up, so I put it in a folder on my dropbox account and gave him access to it.

“The file’s corrupted.” He texted me.

I tried to open it as well, but he was right. Every time I copied the image file, somehow it got corrupted.

“It must be the spooky magic.” Marc joked.

“This is no joke. I’m freaking out here.”

“Delete the file if it’s scaring you so bad.”

So I deleted the file.

But it gnawed at me, you know? The painting was still changing, in horrible, terrifying ways, seemingly acknowledging my observation of it, and now it was gone. But if it was gone, why should it matter? If something unholy happens, it’s the problem of whoever has the painting now, right? And they’ll see it changing too, won’t they?

“Oh shit.”

It was two days later, and I was organizing a folder of documents and had accidentally deleted a couple I hadn’t meant to. I went into the Windows recycling bin and –you guessed it– there was the image file along with the documents.

I had to look. I was trembling with dread at the thought of it, but when something so surreal happens to you, you have to witness it and see it through to the end.

I recovered the file and opened it.

The walls of the hallway seemed to be melting. The partition separating the red from the off-white was lower than it had been before, and drooped in places. The ridge on the lights looked like they were peeling off. The carpet seemed less crimson and more reddish brown.

And the figure had taken several steps down the corridor toward the viewer’s perspective. More details had become defined: hair hanging off its head, long and black like it had been painted with a fine-tipped brush, the eyes were little more than dull black points under the shading of the brow. The grin came with teeth, uneven and fat, like those of a child more than an adult. Its arms were extended out on either side of it, touching both walls. One foot was ahead of the other, as if I had caught it mid-step in a game of red light/green light.

I realized I was panting and shaking as I looked at it. It was really hard to breathe, an anxiety attack. The painting was going to make me pass out, just from looking at a digital photo of it.

Quickly, I closed the image to calm myself down, but that suddenly brought forth the thought, What if it progresses every time I look away? The only way to stop it is to keep looking! and I opened the file again.

No change. Oh– no, wait, that wasn’t a new change, I had noticed it before, but it hadn’t dawned on me. One of the doors was open. There was a dim blue light coming from the room inside, moonlight I thought. And just outside the threshold of the door, there was an object lying on the floor.

I zoomed in for better detail.

It was a little, yellow, stuffed lion with a scraggly, orange mane. A child’s toy. Of all the details, the melting hallway, the grinning fiend with arms wide open, the blue light from the open doorway, it was the innocent nature of that little toy lion that filled me with the most dread.

My wife came into the office.

“Come kiss Gabby goodnight.”

I went into her darkened room, where she was wrapped up in blankets in her bed, hugging a half dozen stuffed animals and looking cute as could be. My little darling. I love her so much.

I kissed my daughter goodnight. She kissed me back and hugged her little pillowpet with the built in night light. It glowed through a variety of colors.

“I love you, baby.” I told her.

“Can you get my Simba?”

I looked around. “Where’d you leave it?”

“Over there.” She pointed to the closet. The door was open, and her toy lay on the floor just inside.

Simba, her little, yellow, stuffed lion with the scraggly, orange mane.

Seeing it lying there, just past the threshold of the closet door, while the dim glow of my daughter’s night light faded from red to purple to blue, I felt my heart rise up in my chest. The closet was just a closet. I could see it was just a closet. There were clothes on hangers and bags with toys and blocks in them. They were right there. And yet, as I looked at the stuffed lion lying on the floor, waiting for me, I felt as if I could see carpeting on the floor inside the closet, even though there was none. Carpeting, not in my vision, but in my imagination. And maybe if I went in and shut the door, I’d find that the walls beyond those clothes had a wooden partition, red below, off-white above.

And maybe there was something hunched and terrible shambling its way toward us even as I stood there staring at that toy.

I walked, briskly, trying not to look half as frightened as I was, snatched up Simba and shut the closet door. My breathing was heavy, like I’d just run a mile, and I struggled to avoid gasping for breath as I tried to calm myself down.

“Hey, did that poster fall down?” I asked nobody in particular, then pretended I was trying to adjust a cat poster that had been on the floor by her dresser for months, and shoved the heavy dresser over so that it partially blocked the closet door.

“Here’s Simba, sweety.” I handed the lion to Gabby, gave her a quick hug and kiss, and wished her goodnight before rushing back to my office.

The painting had changed, as I knew it would. The open door was closed, the toy gone from the floor, the hallway was dimly lit with yellow light from the melting lights again. But the thing, that not-quite-human fiend, was standing right outside the now shut door, its body turned to face it with both hands pressed up against the door itself like it was running its hands down it, caressing it, and its head turned toward me, still grinning that awful, frightening grin full of gnashed, crooked teeth.

Oh God how close had it been? No, it’s just a closet! The hallway is not there. It’s not real. None of this is real.

I’ve put up signs around the neighborhood, knocked on doors, asked everyone I know and many I don’t if they know who took the painting. I need to find it and get it back. I want to tear it, shred it in my hands, throw it in a fire and watch it burn to ashes. Jesus God in Heaven, I hope it didn’t end up in some landfill.

I’ve learned the awful truth… All Doors Lead To The Hallway

Messages I (an INTP) have sent to people
  • “This is a weird request but can I borrow your kitchen tap? There’s nothing wrong with mine but it’s quite urgent I’m dying.”

  • “I need you to do me a favour. In my room on the side of my desk behind the wooden writing thingy there is a shiny white purse with butterflies on it. I need you to snapchat me the coins that are in there.”

  • “Can we open a cat sanctuary but like not let anyone else in”

  • “I’ve decided I’m going to marry the CEO of Pandora please help me plan his murder”

  • “In my defence I did not foresee having this much of a social life”

  • “I have a very serious task for you involving fire”


PSA:
No one and nothing was harmed as a result of these messages

God Fuck

Anonymous said:

Smut where Ashton finds you touching yourself and he gets mad. Daddy kink pls. Make it fairly long. Thx 

I gotchu and don’t mind the title, its a thing w me and Maddi

~

Ashton’s POV:

“Mmm,” I hear, dropping my bag.  I check my watch and it’s about nine thirty. My little girl is usually asleep by eight thirty. “Daddy!” I hear her moan. I’m a little confused as to why I hear the moans coming from my office and not upstairs where her room is.

“Mmh, Daddy,” I hear. I finally reach my office door. “Daddy, please,” she squeaks. I walk in and see my little girl sat in the big brown chair behind my desk. Her knees were pushed up as she held a vibrator in her panties against her pussy.

“Please, Daddy,” she moans again, her head thrown back as she pushes the toy against her pussy, applying more pressure. “Please what, baby?” I ask. I could have just watched her get off, but joining in would be much more fun. Y/N gasps, the vibrator falling to the floor as her eyes dart up to me.

“Daddy-” “It seems like I have a naughty little girl.” I cut her off. She knew very well she wasn’t allowed in my office when I wasn’t there, she especially wasn’t allowed to go in there to get her toy.

She was supposed to be punished for a week. No vibrator or touching herself was her punishment for teasing me at a pool party we had attended Friday.

It’s now Wednesday and it looks like she couldn’t resist. This is the second time this week she’s been caught playing with herself. “You’ve been a horny little girl this week, haven’t you?” I say as and walk closer to her.

“Here, you dropped your toy, princess.” I bend down to pick up the vibrator. “Put it back baby.” She gives me a questioning look. “Go ahead baby, it feels good for your little pussy?” I ask and she nods in response.

“Then go ahead.” I say softly. She reluctantly pushes the vibrator back into her underwear. I begin to pepper kisses all over her thighs, as I did I moved her hand from the handle of the vibrator replacing it with mine.

“Daddy doesn’t like bad girls.” I mumble as I pushed the vibrator against her pussy. “ ’M sorry, Daddy.” Y/N more so moans. “You’re sorry?” I remove the vibrator to where it’s not against her but still in her little underwear.

She nods.

“But honey, this is the second time in a matter of three days.” I push it back. “You’re a very, very bad girl and I know exactly what I’m going to do to you.” I spoke, rubbing her thigh as I watched her face scrunch up with pleasure from the vibrator being against her for so long.

“Daddy,” she moans quietly. “Mmh, you love that, don’t you? Daddy putting a vibrator against that lil’ cunt? Against your cute little clit, baby? That’s what you like?” “Mhmm,” she moans, her body starting to squirm.

“Like that princess? Hm?” I put the vibrator against her for a second, only to move it away the next. “Yeah, baby? Are you a good girl, hm?” “Yes,” she moans. “Don’t lie to me.” I say sternly, pulling the vibrator out of Y/N’s underwear.

“Take these off.” I pull at the top of her underwear.  “On the desk, now.” She sits on his desk, her legs crossed. “Baby,” I move my lips to her ear. “I haven’t got time for you to act like I’m not going to play with your cunt until you cry. Now uncross these legs so Daddy can punish his dirty little girl.”

She lets out a small sigh, opening her legs and scooting a little further on the cold desk. “Daddy, it’s cold.” She says quietly. “Ohh, really?” I pout in mocking her sadness as I bring my thumb to her clit to rub small circles.

“I was going to sit in my chair,” i say as I reach for the vibrator again, holding it against her clit. “Daddy,” she squeaks as her whole body jerks. “I don’t wanna hear anything out of that mouth.”

“Like I was saying.” I say, watching her pussy casually as I spoke. Watching the way she kept clenching, watching how swollen her little pussy got, how wet she was. “Fuck, you’re drenched. Too bad you won’t be able to cum.” I say sadly.

Barely paying attention to what I’m saying as I was so absorbed in watching the way her pussy moved under the vibrator. “But I have the real prize right here.” I applied more pressure. “Daddy!” She screams.

In one swift movement I removed the vibrator and slaped her pussy, hard. The slap was heard and so was her little squeak before her legs tried to close. “What did I say about that mouth?” “I’m sorry, Daddy,” she moans, only to receive another slap. She whines as she closes her legs, I let her.

“What’s wrong, baby?” “Daddy, please,” she whines as he opened her legs back up. “Please, what?” I ask as I unbuckled my belt, letting it fall to the floor as I pulled my pants and underwear down.

“Let me cum. Please Daddy, it hurts.” “Shhhh,” I hold her legs open as I rub my cock against her pussy. “F-” she stops herself from swearing. “Daddy! Daddy, please! No! Daddy, I can’t, please let me cum.” She says, knowing she wouldn’t be able to handle being fucked without cumming. She moans after, not being able to hold it in.

“Dadddyy,” she moans in pleasure, tears pricking at her eyes. “Mmh, you like Daddy’s cock, baby? Hm? You like when I rub your pussy with it?” “Mhmmm,” she moans, her hips thrashing around as her cheeks turned a darker shade of red, tears falling from her eyes. Tears of pleasure. Too much pleasure.

“I want you to bend over now princess.” She does as she’s told, turning around and bending over the desk. “Why aren’t your legs open?” I ask and in less than a second her legs are spread as far as they could go. “Good girl.” I kiss her head.

I thrust into her, not giving any sort of warning. “You thought you wouldn’t be caught? Moaning so loud while in Daddy’s office,” I spank her ass. “You’re such a bad girl.” I spread her ass cheeks as I slowed my fast thrusts, “Y/N, honey, I want to hear you say it. What are you, hm?”

“A-a bad girl.” She cries. “Daddy,” she nearly whispers. “I’m going to cum.” I slap her ass, “I said no.” “Mh,” she cries. “Please, Daddy.” Finally I pull out. “Honey, I know you love being teased.” She shakes her head no.

“But you’re pussy is dripping. All over Daddy’s floor, too.” She grips the desk, trying to rub her legs together to make some sort of friction. Only resulting in another slap to her ass. “Stop that!”

“Now, you’re going to stop being a bad girl. Do you understand?” “Y-yes.” Another spank. “Daddy! Yes, Daddy. I’m sorry.” She moans. “You’re such a difficult little girl. You could have just been good, and waited for Daddy. Surely I would of helped you.”

“I know.” She says sadly. “Why’d you do it?” I peck the bottom of her ass, close to her pussy. “Hm?” “I-I just, I couldn’t wait.” “Oh, so you were being greedy.”
“I’m sorry,” she says and he can hear the tears in her voice.

“Don’t cry, princess. I know it feels funny, but this is what bad girls get.” I say, bending over her and wiping her tears. “Are you ready?” I ask softly. She reluctantly nods. I slowly enter her again, this time making sure he gets off. My thrusts were slow, and my grip was tight.  “You’re so tight, princess. Fuck,” I moan.

“So wet too. Fuck, Daddy’s cock slips right in.” I thrust for a while more. “Daddy,” Y/N moans quietly.  “Fuck,” I squeeze her ass as I cum inside of her, riding out my orgasm.

“Fuck, baby,” I groan as I pull out slowly, watching my cum leak from her pussy. “Good girl.” I breath.  “Turn around for me, let me see that precious face.”
She turns around, still sitting on the desk.

“Why were you crying?” I ask softly, kissing her temple. “Because my pussy hurts Daddy, I need to cum.” “I know you need to, princess, but you can’t.” I says sympathetically, my hand holding her jaw softly. “You know what being a bad girl gets you.” I rub her cheek with my thumb.

“I know.” Y/N looks down sadly. “C'mon baby, let’s go sleep now, yeah?” She nods her head. “Wait, my panties, Daddy.” She says as I pick her up and begins walking out of the room.

“You are going to have a shower, those ones are all messed up.” I say, picking her up. “Alright Daddy.” She says. “Let’s wash you up.” I says as my soapy hand comes in contact with her hip, making her jerk away.

I furrow my brows in confusion. “I don’t think you should touch me, Daddy.” She says. “I’m very sensitive right now.” “Oh baby girl, are you sure you don’t want Daddy to wash you?”

She nods. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I love you.” She kisses my cheek. “I love you too, princess. I’ll wait for you in the room.” When Y/N was finished she went into the room, and I helped her change into her pajamas. “Go to sleep, baby.” I kiss her lips before we cuddle.

“Daddy,” she asks after a while. “Yes?” “Am I really a bad girl?” “No, sweetie. You’re a good girl, you just misbehave sometimes.” “Can I be your good little girl again?” She turns around to face me. “Of course you can, baby. You’ll always be my good little girl.” I kiss her sweet lips once more before we both drift off into a deep sleep.

Just a Secretary Tommy x Reader

Here’s my Tommy fic that I’ve made all of you wonderful people wait too long for.

Request: OK so here it is: Tommy being in love with a younger reader and being like super protective/jealous of her around Finn and Michael and smut happening cause she’s a teaser

Hope this is OK anon. I changed it a bit unknowingly.

Warnings: Cursing, terribly written smut

Walking into Shelby Brother Limited, I took off my hat, shaking the drops of rain off my shoulders before hanging my coat up on the hook.

“Good morning boys.” Finn was sitting on Michaels desk, talking in hushed whispers. They both turned towards me, smiles stretching across their faces.

Keep reading

My Past, Present, and Future (Baekhyun)

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader

Words: 5004

Request:  Can you please do a scenario where you and baekhyun are best friends,(but you have a secret crush on him) and you two became stranger after his debut. After 3 years, you two meet again as you got a job at SM. But for your bad fate he’s in love with someone. (at last he realiazed it was you he love).. I need a happy ending.. sorry for my bad english…

A/N: I’ve been sitting on this for the longest time, but I finally managed to get it done. There are some parts that I’m a little annoyed with, but it can’t be helped. I hope you enjoy.

Keep reading

Reassurance~s.m.

Just a cute little (unedited) blurb for my lovelies, hope you enjoy :)


~~~~~~~~~


Her nightmares had been becoming more and more frequent.


It had been two weeks of shaking her awake recklessly as she thrashed around and yelled my name unconsciously, along with “Don’t go!” and “Stop!”.


I felt like I was to blame sometimes for these continuous dreams. I was gone so many times out of the year, and she kept psyching herself out, thinking that one day I would leave and not come back.


Hard as I tried to convince her that no matter what, no matter if I was being held down by all the weight in the world, I would always find my way back to her, the nightmares wouldn’t cease. I would awake to her harsh lamentations in the night as terrified as her, because we had grown so close that whatever pained her pained me as well. I needed to find a way to give her a release from it.


“Babe, you sure you’re gonna go up to bed without me?” I had asked her one night. It was around 11:34, earlier than both of us were used to going to bed. We were both always up due to work load- I was always writing a song or trying to perfect a guitar solo, and she was always prepping for an interview for her next superstar spread or writing an article. Put apparently, that night was different.


“Shawn, I’m not a baby,” she jokingly scowled. “I just wanna get a head start on sleep. I read online that sometimes…. nightmares can be due to lack of proper rest,” she said hesitantly, and I cocked a brow at her.


“Darling, you know fully well that’s not-”


She held a hand up. “Shawn, stop, I know. But what off it’s a group effort between those two?”


I sucked in a breath, and nodded. She was probably tired, and it was best I didn’t argue. If she woke up, I’d be there to hold her. Our joint office had a door to our bedroom, so I’d hear her whimpers, no doubt. “Alright, baby. I’ll be right here, don’t worry,” I told her.


“Yeah, I know. Goodnight,” she mumbled. She reached up and pecked me on the lips, and I pulled her in and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, squeezing her body tight against mine-almost molding them into one.


By the tone of her voice, I could tell she was fed up, and possibly dreading what was to come that night. It made me so angry that I couldn’t stop those nightmares from plaguing her.


“Goodnight, darling. I love you,” I said, missing her once more and releasing her.


“I love you too,” she said, already on her way out the door.


I watched her strip down to her underwear and toss on one of my button ups that laid in a heap at the edge of the king sized bed. She buttoned it halfway, and crawled on top of the white sheets, pulling the fleece blanket I had bought for her in Moscow over her body. Her head laid against the pillow, and, within seconds, she seemed out cold.


I had about an hour before she would awake, sweating, calling for me, petrified


This had to have been my fault. I was gone more than I was there for her. But how could I reassure her that I would never, ever leave her? Simply saying so could only do so much.


However, that night, I would try a new method. The dreams were always about me leaving. If I could find a way to get into her head while the dream was still going on and change it somehow, then that one nightmare turned good would affect the rest of them.


Reassurance. She loved it, and I would make it save her.


I ran a hand across my face before taking it through my curly brown hair, still a bit damp from my shower a half hour prior. I sat back down behind my desk and picked my guitar back up. I positioned it accordingly and began to strum the chords to a new song I had been writing. I started it a few days ago, but for some reason, I couldn’t seem to find the right was to finish. Y/N, the only muse I knew of at that moment, was asleep, and therefore couldn’t really help me. But sometimes, with a simple glance, I was able to write a whole song about her in my head.


Somewhere along the course of that night, I got so lost in the strumming, and the thoughts in my head, that I almost didn’t hear Y/N’s calls.


Dropping my guitar haphazardly, I shot up from the rolling chair and ran into our bedroom, to find her shaking lightly in out bed, blanket discarded on the floor by her movements.


Waking her up wouldn’t work. I had to attack those dreams head on.


Slowly, I crept up to her, not making any sudden noises to wake her up. I wanted her asleep. As I reached her, I knelt down at her side and touched my hand to her cheek, brushing the hair away from her ear. With my touch, her movements subsided, but her small calls for me still continued.


“Shawn, Sh-Shawn…..don’t go,” she whimpered, eyebrows drawn together.


Breathing out, I placed my lips near her ear and began to whisper softly. “It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m right here,”


“Shawn….please, please don’t go,”


“I’m here, baby, I’m here,”


“Shawn….”


“I’m right here darling, I’ll never leave you. I’ll always be right here,” my words flowed into her ear as I continued to speak into her ear, giving her reassurances for as long as I could.


Eventually, her body was still and her calls had ceased. The only movement she made, was her lips, comforting into a small, serene smile, while her head lolled lazily against her pillow.


I stood up slowly, keeping an eye on her just in case she started again. But no, the smile on her face didn’t fade one bit, and her chest lifted up and down slowly, indicating steady, calm, unbothered breaths.


If she ever got another nightmare, I knew what to do.


I picked her blanket up, the soft material tickling my rough fingers as I placed it over her. I smiled down at her and stroked her head, tangling my fingers in her hair. I kissed her temply firmly before standing straight, turning to the closet with the intent of getting ready to join my darling in bed, and hold her all through the night.


~~~~~~~~~~


😊😊this was shit😊😊

Sober - Part Six (UPDATED)

Angst/Slight bit of Fluff/ but mostly angst

Characters: Kwon Jiyong a.k.a G-Dragon (BigBang), Song Mino (WINNER) 

Part One Part Five Part Seven

Originally posted by peaceminus8ne

Originally posted by mvssmedia

“Mia!” Mino shouts my name in such a high note that I think that the glass of water in his hands will burst into shards.

I smile at him as he stumbles to get up from the armchair and run towards me. There’s an expression of fear and relief in his face, accompanied by his puffy cheeks which seem to be streaked with tears. I try to sit upright but he puts a hand on my chest and gently pushes me back down. He puts his hand behind my head and places it on the plastic covered pillow.

“What- how - why am I here?” I stammer through my words and looks at the small hospital room.

“Shhh,” Mino comfortingly pushing my bangs away from my face and plants a single kiss on my cheek. “You got into a little accident and got a concussion.”

Keep reading

The Princess and The Pauper

Summary: You’re a princess who travels into the city, you ee your people struggling and you also meet Harry, a tailor who you feel a strong connection with.

Warnings: None(?)

Requested: Yes!


You pull the hood of your cloak further over your head when notice one of the cart owners staring a little too hard at your face. 

“What’s a rich woman like you doing out here?” A man sneers as he walks past looking you up and down. “Why you slummin’ it down here in your fancy dress?” 

You look up at his face, he has shocking blue eyes which are only made more prominent because of the dirt on his face. You notice how thin he is, his clothes worn loose with holes in them. 

“I-” You struggle to find the words as you look around at your people. This isn’t the city you were raised to believe you lived only a few miles from. You were always told your city was beautiful and the people loved it.

But this? This wasn’t that. These people were struggling, and you could only watch. 

“You?” The man asks, snapping you out of your thoughts. He takes a step closer to you, “You nobles all got your fancy houses and clothes. Never had to lift a finger in your life, I bet.” You back away, but he only follows. “Then you come down here and gawk at us like we’re animals in a zoo.” 

You feel your back press into a wall, “I’m sorry, sir.” You whisper as you look down at your shoes. You notice even his shoes has some holes in them. 

“Oh you’re sorry! They’re always sorry,” He turns to address the few people who have surrounded the two of you. “But they never do anything to help.” His hand grips at your waist.

“Please don’t touch me.” You push his hand away, but that does nothing to deter him. He grips your waist again, “What? Don’t want my pauper hands on you?” 

“She doesn’t want your creep hands on her, Alex.” The man, Alex’s, hand falls of your waist as someone pulls him away. Your savior takes a protective stance in front of you, “Just because she’s got money doesn’t mean you can touch her, have some respect for the lady.” 

Alex only scoffs before walking away, the crowd dispersing with him. The man turns to you, and your eyes widen. 

He’s gorgeous. Bright green eyes staring at you, a kind smile on his face as he offers you his hand. You take it and he gently pulls you towards a tailor shop. 

“Thank you, Mr….”

“Styles.” He smiles as you let go of his hand and look around the shop. “but you can call me Harry.” 

“Harry.” You turn back to him with a grateful smile. “Thank you for helping me, you have every right to be as angry as him, yet you saved me.” 

Harry shrugs, “I believe everybody deserves the same amount of respect, Ms..”

“Y/N.” You answer before thinking, 

“Like the princess?” He asks with a small laugh. 

“Yes.” You nod, “I was born only a few months after her and my parents wished to honor the family. Is this your shop?” You ask the question trying to steer the conversation away from your name.

“My parents shop.” He shrugs, “They left it to me when they passed.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” You frown, “I didn’t-”

“No need to apologize, Y/N.” He smiles, “I’ve kept up with it since. Business is tough sometimes, especially with our struggles now, but the nobles who stop in sometimes help.” Harry shrugs.

You look around the shop. There are beautiful dresses displayed and some stunning suits. All printed with gorgeous patterns and colors. 

“Are these dresses for sale?” You ask while running your hand over one of them. 

Harry comes beside you as is hand traces one of the other dresses, “No. They were my mother’s. I have them displayed in her honor. I would only sell them if I absolutely had to.”

“Then I guess I must commission you to make one for me.” You turn to him with a smile. 

Harry laughs, “Ma’am if you feel like you need to repay me, don’t worry. I can make do without-”

“I think your dresses here are beautiful, and if you’ve got even half the talent your mother had I will have a stunning dress.” You cut Harry off as you walk around his shop. 

There’s fabrics hung on the wall and thread kits spread across two desks, “Does another person work here?” You ask sitting on one of the stools behind the desk. 

“My sister. Although, she married a few months ago so she only works a few days a month.” Harry frowns looking down at his table. 

“Oh, that must make the work so much harder for you.” You frown as you notice a list of names on his desk.

“It makes the wait time a little longer, but not many people are buying dresses or suits these days so I don’t worry too much.” 

“How long has the city been struggling like this?” You ask wondering if people like Harry been struggling for long and why your mother hadn’t told you anything about this.

Harry gives you a strange look, “Have you never visited before? The city has been like this since I was a child.” 

“A child?” You yell, your hand goes to your chest. Your people had been struggling so long, and you had done nothing about it. A wave of guilt washed over you. “My mother had me live a very sheltered life after my father died. I’ve never left our estate.” 

“And she let you visit now?” Harry asks with a raised eyebrow.

You shake your head shyly, “No. I snuck out, she’s not a clue that I’m here.” 

Harry laughs as he takes a seat on the stool beside you, “What made you want to come out today?” 

“I’ve always wondered what the city was like, if it was truly as beautiful as stories have described.” Harry’s watching you with curious eyes, like he’d never seen somebody so naive before. You frown, “I can’t believe my mother never told me what was happening. I feel so helpless.” 

“It’s not your fault.” Harry begins to fiddle with the ring on his hand, “Our country has been losing money for years now. Ever since we lost the king. It’s rumored we’re going to be bankrupt if the queen doesn’t marry off her daughter.” 

You sigh, your mother had mentioned suitors visiting within the week to speak of taking your hand. You had never wanted to marry for your royal duties, you had always wished to marry for love. But after seeing your city, you might just need to give up on that dream. 

Maybe you would learn to love whoever you married.

“Yes, I’ve rumors of wealthy suitors for the princess coming soon.” You whisper to Harry, who nods solemnly. 

“Why the sad face? If she marries the kingdom may be saved.” You place your hand on top of Harry’s sending him a soft smile when he looks up. 

“She will marry for money, not love.” Harry stands up. He dusts himself off and offers you a hand. You give him a confused look but take it, letting him pull you up. “I was always taught to marry for love, my parents loved each other and they didn’t care if they had no money.” 

You hear music playing from outside the shop, a violin playing a class harmony. You laugh when you realize Harry has pulled you up to dance with him. 

“Well, it must be different when the fate of your kingdom lies on your shoulders.” You say softly as Harry twirls you around the empty shop.

He shrugs and he pulls you closer, “Everybody deserves love.”

“The people would hate her.” You sigh, thinking of the man who hated you just because of the noble clothes. You couldn’t imagine how angry they would be if you married somebody who couldn’t help the kingdom. 

Harry gives you an odd look, “I wouldn’t.” 

“Well you’re only one person.” You snap, pulling yourself from his grasp. “You’re too kind. You can’t speak for how an entire city on the verge of bankruptcy would feel.” 

Harry places a hand on your cheek, “You’re not just a noblewoman, are you?” You close your eyes, imaging how it would feel to do this everyday. Wake up to somebody who makes you feel the way Harry has today. 

You shake your head and his eyes go soft, “I have to go.” You pull away. “The guards will realize I’m gone soon.”

“Y/N.” Harry murmurs, following after you. You turn to look at him and he grabs your hand, “Will I see you again?” 

You shake your head, “I don’t know.”


You wander out to the garden after you meeting with King Julian and his advisers. It had been decided the two of you would be married within the month. 

King Julian was kind and handsome, everything a princess could wish for in a suitor, but you couldn’t help and want more. 

You wanted a spark. You wanted the feel what you had felt with Harry earlier dancing around his shop. You wanted Harry. 

You run your hands over bush you were walking next to. 

“Darling, you know I hate when you wander.” You jump at the sound of your mother’s voice behind you. “The garden strays so far from the palace, it’s unsafe.” 

“I know, mother.” You sigh as she comes to a stop next to you. “It has a nice view of this city though.”

She shakes her head, pulling you back towards the palace. “King Julian was lovely, wasn’t he?” 

“I don’t wish to marry him, mother.” You say quietly, deciding it was best to tell her now before any wedding plans were set in stone. “I don’t love him, I don’t feel anything with him. No spark or connection.” 

You mother stops walking and turns to you, “All my life I have only wished for your happiness, but you can’t refuse this marriage.” She places a gentle hand on your cheek, “We must think of our people, not ourselves.” 

You feel tears gather in your eyes, but push them away. “I know you’re right.”

She smiles sadly, “I grew very fond of your father once we were married even though I had previously thought I wouldn’t like him.” You knew she was trying to make you feel better, but growing fond of your husband sounded so sad. 

“Can I call for a certain tailor from the city? I saw one of his dresses on a guest of ours a few weeks ago and adored his work.” 

“Of course, what’s his name? I’ll send for him tomorrow morning.” 

You smile, feeling a little excited. 

“Harry Styles.” 


You toy with the fabric on your dress as you wait for Harry to step through your door. One of the maids had informed you he had just arrived and was going through proper security checks.

“Your Highness.” You look up at the deep voice and smile. Harry was standing in your doorway, he held a bag of supplies in his hand and papers in the other. 

“Leave us, please.” You turn to the maid who was organizing paper on your desk. She looks up shocked, “Madam, I am not-”

“Please?” You plead and her eyes soften, looking between you and Harry, before she nods and scurries out of the room. 

As soon as Harry puts his stuff on the ground you give him a hug, he holds you close for a moment before pulling away. He looks at you with gentle eyes, “It’s good to see you again.”

You step onto the podium in the center of your room as Harry pulls out measuring tape, “I only wish I was not measuring you for your wedding to another.” 

“If my people were not suffering the way they were, you would not have to.” You run your hands over the skirt of your dress as Harry measures from your hip to your ankle.

“Have you met him?” You nod as he moves onto measuring your arms, “Is he kind?” 

“And handsome.” You sigh, “He’s the perfect suitor. I’m lucky he’s not double my age and creepy.” 

Harry watches you for a moment before coming to stand in front of you, “But?” 

“But… I don’t have a connection with him. I don’t wish to dance around a dress shop with him.” You let out a small laugh, “My mother told me she grew fond of my father, but I don’t want to grow fond of my husband.”

“You want to love him.” Harry offers you his hand, helping you step down podium. 

You nod as he pulls you closer to him, “There’s no music.” You point out as he begins to sway. Harry only hums a melody in response as he begins to twirl you around the room. 

The two of you come to a stop in the center of your room, “Your bedroom is bigger than my entire shop.” He murmurs looking down at you.

“Hmm.” You stare at him for a moment, taking in his features. 

“I wish I could-” You cut him off, pressing your lips against his. He stands stiff for a moment before responding to your kiss. His hands travel down your back as one of yours rests on his cheek. 

He pulls away after a few moments, “That was lovely.”

“Lovely?” You laugh as he pulls you closer, your chests pressing against each other’s. 

He presses a kiss to your forehead, “Lovely, but not allowed.” 

“Oh, I’ve been following rules my whole life. If I wish to kiss you, I will.” You shake your head as he pulls away. “As long as you want the same?”

“I want nothing more.” Harry laughs as he takes your face in his hands, “But you were right, it would not be fair to the people.”

“I know.” You step back from him, “Maybe if we met in a different time.” Harry nods as you step back on the podium. He pulls out an ivory colored fabric and holds it up to you neck, “Beautiful.” 


The dress Harry makes is beautiful. You smile as your run your hands over the soft, ivory fabric. It fits you perfectly and compliments your body shape in the best way.

“You look absolutely stunning.” You mother wraps her arms around you from behind and rests her chin on your shoulder. 

You smile a little tearfully, “Thank you.” 

Your mother presses a kiss to your cheek before stepping back and turning you around to face her, “Don’t cry, Lady Mary worked so hard on your makeup.” 

You shake your head, trying to stop the tears so you’re not left with tear streaks in your foundation. The wedding had come up on you so fast, with almost no time to see Harry. 

After the initial meeting he had only come by to do the fitting and the two of you were supervised by your mother the entire time. He still managed to slip you a little love note that was now tucked away in one of your desk drawers. 

“I-”

“I know.” Your mother whispers, placing her hands on both of your cheeks. She gives you a sympathetic look, “How long have you known the tailor?” 

You stand still in shock at her question before glancing away, “Only a few weeks.” 

“You met him when you snuck into the city?”

“How did you know?” You look at her shyly as she laughs softly. 

“Darling, you think you got away with sneaking out on your first try?” She shakes her head, “You’ve always wanted to travel, I thought you deserved to see the city once before royal duties truly fall upon you.” 

“Or you knew if I saw the city I wouldn’t refuse a marriage to save it.” You pull away from her. You turn and look at yourself in the mirror again, “Harry is kind and I felt a connection with him that I haven’t felt with any suitors.” 

She shakes her head, “Yes. I knew if you saw our state you would feel more inclined to help.” She looks at you guiltily, “I didn’t think you’d meet somebody you would care for like this.”

“Mother, isn’t there another way?” You plead grabbing her hand, “Must I get married?” 

She nods, “Things are different when you’re royal. We have people to take care of, so we don’t always get to choose happiness.” 

You knew that was the answer you would get. Your mother had married your father for an alliance, this wasn’t too far off.  A part of you had hoped she would never want you to have to do the same she did. 

She always said she had grown fond of your father, maybe you would grow fond of Julian. Maybe that would be enough. 

“I know.” You whisper as somebody knocks on the door. “Your Highness, it’s time to get into position.” You and your mother nod as a few hand maidens come scurrying in. They lift the train of your dress to keep it from dragging as you walk from your room to the gardens. 

“I’ll meet you down there.” Your mother travels ahead of you to presumably speak to the royal adviser about any plans still up in air. You don’t respond, only stare straight ahead as you think. 

“Madam.” One of the women, Jane, comes up to you with a note in her hand. She offers it to you shyly, “This was in the box with your gown.” 

You smile thankfully before looking down at the envelope. Your name is written in script on the front and the back has a stamp of Harry’s initials to seal the envelope shut. 

You open it as you walk, crumbling the envelope in your hand before reading the letter enclosed. 

Y/N, 

I bet you look absolutely stunning in the gown. I knew that style would make you look even more beautiful. 

I can only hope it remains on you for the entire day, but I know that couldn’t be. We know the rules of wedding nights. I only wish that you remember my hands on you and your lips against mine. 

I can only hope that you remember me and how much I care for you. 

I’m writing this as some handlers pack up your dress, so I don’t have much time. I just want you to know I’m so glad you snuck into the city, even if seeing it persuaded you into this marriage, it brought you to me. I will cherish the memory of you as long as I have it.

Yours, Harry.

You feel tears gather in your eyes as you read the note. You bring it to your chest, pressing the paper against your heart as you stop walking. 

“Madam?” Jane taps you on the shoulder and regards you with soft eyes. You shake your head, stuffing the note into your undergarment before continuing on towards the gardens. 

Nobody says anything as you make your way towards the there. Your mother offers you her arm when you meet her. Music starts playing softly and you take a deep breath. 

This was it. 

You look up when you reach the beginning of the isle. Julian is standing in place with a kind smile on his face, but you can tell it wasn’t a look of love. He was doing this simply because he would need a wife to produce an heir and your family needed help.

You look down at the ground, the isle is a white carpet with white rose petals spread across it. Just as you’re about to reach Julian the music stops. 

“Wait.” There’s panting, like whoever the voice belonged to had been running. You see Julian’s eyes widen before you and your mother spin around. 

Harry is standing at the end of the isle, there’s an odd rock in his hand and his hair is messy from running, but you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face when you see him. 

“You don’t have to do this.” He begins walking towards your mother and you. “I know-”

“You don’t know anything.” Your mother’s adviser snaps, coming to step in front of the two of you. “Guards-”

“Let him speak.” Your mother puts her hand up to silence him before turning back to Harry. “What else do you propose?” 

Harry looks at you before turning back to your mother, “The mines. They’ve been running out of resources since I was a child. They’re close to closing down, but my sister’s husband brought me this earlier today.” He offers the rock to your mother, who takes it with a slightly unimpressed look. 

“A rock?”

“Look inside.” Harry smiles widely, “It’s jewels. The mines are filled with these. This could bring prosperity back to our kingdom, not marrying off the princess.” Your mother looks inside the cracked rock, and sure enough, it’s all a shining jewel. 

“Oh my god.” You whisper as her adviser comes over to look at the rock in her hands. You look at Harry, who’s staring at you with excited eyes then you turn back to Julian. He nods his head, like he understands why you’re staring. 

You smile in thanks before turning and walking towards Harry. The walk turns in a jog as you lift your dress up and meet him halfway down the isle. He pulls you into a hug when you reach each other, leaning down to whisper in your ear. 

“If we weren’t surrounded by people I would kiss you right now.” 


I started this then I remembered Barbie’s Princess and the Pauper and it strayed into being similar to the ending of that. I used to love that movie so much when I was younger. 

Anyways, here is something that’s not Little Lion because I got this request and loved it.

As always, thank you for reading and I hope you all have a good day!!

Clear My Schedule

Anon asked: Hi I really love the writing you two do! AU: How about Kylo Ren as a arrogant CEO trying to seduce his new secretary.

Author: Zoe

(A/N: I apologize for taking so long! I’ve had so much to do lately, I’ve barely had time to write!)

Modern AU: Kylo Ren x Reader

Plot Summary: It’s been a few years since you accepted a job to be a personal secretary for the First Order’s CEO, Kylo Ren. It paid well, it was in the city, and you were personally satisfied with the job you had accepted. Though, it does tend to be kind of strange when one of the most successful men in the corporate world is in love with his own simple, yet enchanting secretary.

Originally posted by knights-of-kylo-ren

The tall, dark building loomed over you as you walked to work, wearing a silk blouse and business skirt, heels softly clacking against the pavement as you strode into the building, pushing up your glasses as you hugged a small stack of files to your chest.

“Nice to see you today, Y/N.” Phasma spoke, straightening a stack of papers as you waved to her.

“You too, Phasma. Are you still coming by for our daily coffee?” You asked, stopping in front of the elevator and pressing a button, turning your head to the side at her reception.

“Of course. The coffee’s the only thing that keeps me sane in this job.” She replied as you laughed, the elevator dinging and opening as the two of you waved, before you made your travels up to Kylo’s floor.

Keep reading

Professor Winchester (Dean Winchester x Reader AU) Chap. 6

Professor Winchester Masterlist

Word Count: 3,201

Professor!Dean Winchester x Reader AU

Warnings: Student/teacher relationships, language, smut (oral, bent over the desk and fucked thing everyone has asked for, unprotected sex, slight professor kink), fluff, mentions of alcohol

*gif not mine*

Originally posted by alldeanneedsissamandpie

Your eyes flutter open as you snuggle deeper into the blankets, the curtains of the room not doing much to hide the morning sunlight. You look around for a moment, forgetting where you are until the events of last night sink into your memory. Oh, right. You stayed overnight at Dean’s house.

You and Dean had a…eventful night, to say the least. You two had opted to cuddle while falling asleep after you had sex, thinking how cute and romantic it would be, but after a few minutes of laying bed, you realized that you both could probably use a shower. The both of you had things to do the next day and showing up smelling like sex was probably not the best idea. Dean had picked you up bridal style as took you over to his shower; long story short, the two of you barely made it into the bathroom before a round two (and three) came along.

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Method to the Madness ~ Part One

Originally posted by chimcheroo

Fairy-tale & AU Series Index

Previous Part || Next Part

Word Count: 2.5K

Genre: Mafia!au & Demon!au

Please excuse any errors! It’s a bit short, but it’ll get longer as time goes on!


Y/N:

I started at the schedule book, trying to understand where these words came from. I don’t remember writing this! But it looks like it’s written with my pen, and it’s my handwriting. I glared at the book, letting out a sigh of confusion. I closed the book before turning around in my spinning chair to my computer. I began to look through some files, doing the work which was set for me.

“Y/N.”

I looked up to see Bora approaching me. Her eyes were wandering around as if she was looking for something. I also looked around, curious as to what was going on.

“What is it?” I asked, looking at her for answers. It’s gonna be something stupid, I know it is. Bora works in the marketing department of the company. She only sees values in looks and money. She comes to visit when Mr. Kwon’s handsome and successful nephew comes to visit.

Though I’ve been here for a short time, I’ve figured out how things work. She must want someone’s attention.

“I heard from Yeji that some very handsome gentlemen came to visit Mr. Kwon.” She muttered. I stopped for a moment, also confused as to what she was saying.

“Ah! Yes, they said they had some business with Mr. Kwon.” I answered, trying to turn my attention back to the computer.

“Are they really that good looking? Yeji tends to exaggerate.”

I kept my eyes on the computer screen as I nodded, “Yes. They’re very good looking.”

A smirk pulled at lips, and she flipped her long black hair, pushing some behind her ear. I was expecting her to leave when another voice soon joined in.

“Are they still here?” This time softer. I inwardly groaned knowing that Yeji has now joined. They always gather around like this.

“Are you here to gawk over some men? Don’t you have things to do?” I muttered.

Keep reading

This is a fuck coworkers story

I work at a hotel, and lately the breakfast attendant keeps going behind my desk and getting on my computer.

This is pissing me off because all front desk staff have their own logins, and she does not have one. So if she makes an error, guess whose name it goes under? Mine!

Also, as a breakfast attendant she should NEVER be behind my desk. Ever.

Continuing though, she works breakfast for 3 of my 5 shifts, and she keeps doing my job as of late.

I’m on the phone making a reservation with a guest? She jumps on my computer and starts offering to help anyone who walks by (stop!?). I’m helping one guest and another pops up behind them? Bam! There she is again. I’m folding laundry and the bell is rung? Before I can even drop the towels, she is already behind my desk.

And when I try to take over, she says “oh I’ve got it don’t worry”.

Now, I appreciate help, I’m not a jerk, and all this would be fine… IF she wasn’t complaining to guests and my bosses that she has to do my job for me!!! That’s right. This lady is fucking stealing my work from under me then telling people that I’m not doing my work and she has to do it for me.

So imagine how pissed off I was yesterday when my replacement didn’t show up and my bosses told me to ask her to run my desk so I could go home, since I was sliding towards having been there 10hrs… of course the moment I asked her, she made a snide comment to me about how she might as well be the front desk attendant since she’s always doing my job anyways.

Lady… the front desk only runs because I spend 9hrs every night fixing everyone’s mistakes. Thankfully my work shows and it’s evident to everyone that she is lying.