holy crap!!

anonymous asked:

Can I make a fic request? I have this idea but I can write for shit and I think you're awesome so here goes: zimbits- elevator au: one person is in the elevator and is in a huge hurry and pounds the close button despite seeing the other person coming. Pettiness ensues.

Holy crap, Anon. Idk how to write this but here goes.

Jack Zimmermann did not usually forget his manners, but when he did he was in a hurry. “Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck,” he muttered as he half sprinted, half power walked through the lobby, slid into the last open elevator and hit the close button about thirty times. The big steel doors began to sigh shut.

“Oh! Hold it for me please!”

Jack glanced up in time to see a handsome blond gentlemen sprinting for his elevator, but he was all the way on the wrong side of the lobby and, well, the doors were already closed. Jack spared him an apologetic, slack-jawed look, feigning deafness as the doors squeaked shut.

Athletics Director Eric R. Bittle—Coach Bittle to the Samwell Men’s Hockey Team—frowned at the closed elevator door and took a sip of his pumpkin spice latte. For a millisecond, an overwhelming inferno of hot rage swept over him.

Snubbed! In his own building! On this day! Didn’t people know any manners?

And just as quickly, the anger smoldered and died. Wrath simply wasn’t in Bitty’s nature, like buying premade pie crust or writing with his left hand. He propped his hip on the wall while he waited for the next elevator and opened Twitter.

[Got furious over something dumb lol.#extra]

Jack slowed to a normal walk and tried to control his breathing. Normally the sprint from the elevator to the conference room wouldn’t so much as wind him, but there didn’t seem to be enough air in the room and that meant he needed to Chill Out before he got into a full blown panic attack. He made himself take a few deep, slow breaths, and then he entered the room.

They were chattering. Late night research paid off; he recognized University President B. Knight at what passed as the “head” of the big, round table. On his left sat the head of the math department Dr. Adam Birkholtz, who was speaking animatedly with the head of the pre-med department, M.D. Oluransi. On Knight’s other side was the head of the arts and behavioral sciences department, Dr. Larissa Duan, engaged in what looked like a staring contest with head of humanities Dr. Derek Nurse. And there were a handful of faces he hadn’t seen on the website faculty page.

Jack’s hands sweated but he put on his most ingratiating smile. “Good morning!”

Knight’s mustache twitched and he nodded at the empty chair on the empty side of the table. “Please, have a seat. We’re still waiting on one last faculty member.”

Jack sank into the free chair, overwhelmingly grateful he wasn’t late-late. He lined up the important documents and scrubbed his palms over the seams of his pants. He touched the lucky button behind his pocket square. He needed all the luck he could get for this job interview.

He was calm. He was in control. He was going to do just fine.

“Aha! There he is!”

“Very professional, Bitts,” Knight scoffed, but his eyes twinkled. “Show up fifteen minutes late with a Starbucks.”

“I’m not fifteen minutes late,” the cute blond gentleman that Jack had very obviously, very rudely, shut the elevator doors on, said around his grin. “And I’d’ve been here even sooner if some yahoo had held the elevator for me.

Jack could feel his soul leaving his body. Oluransi and Birkholtz laughed. “Ooh! Who could deny you, Bitty?”

If someone could pointedly not look at someone, Bittle was pointedly not looking at Jack. With gusto.

This is hell, Jack realized. His anxiety finally killed him. His heart gave out in the elevator and this was his punishment for being rude. He always thought that when he died, there would be a sense of perspective, that he could finally relax because the worst had already happened.

This was not the case.

Over the course of the interview, Jack proceeded knowing he wouldn’t get the job. His hands quit shaking. The stakes, impossibly high, were shuttled off the metaphorical table and he handed his CV and a cache of his published research to the president to flip through. He answered questions carefully, methodically.

He took his time, secure in the knowledge that the worst had already happened: he wasn’t going to get the job.

He was wrong. The worst had not happened, but was yet to come. He got the job, not only as an adjunct professor of North American modern history, but as an assistant coach. Working directly under Director Bittle, the cute guy he was rude to.

This was hell.

Because it would be one thing if Coach Bittle—Bitty—called him out on it. Or if he held a grudge. But it seemed he had completely forgotten the elevator mishap, and plied Jack with more pies and tarts and coffee cakes than any one man should consume. And he was sweet, accommodating, kind. If he’d been a dick, Jack at least could have justified being a dick first. Or settled into his new position secure in the knowledge that the Elevator Incident was memorable to at least one other person.

He could feel himself making a big deal out of practically nothing. But he couldn’t make himself stop.

Bitty skated across the ice, whistle in hand, and leaned against the boards. Their players steadily streamed into the rink, two or three at a time, sleep deprived and mute. Bitty grinned. “It’s time. For Soviet Calisthenics.”

Jack had never seen a grown man burst into tears at six in the morning. By the end of the practice he could see why. “A bit grueling this early in the season, eh?”

Bitty merely raised an eyebrow as he took a plastic container from his work bag and pushed it into Jack’s hands. Some kind of egg dish, still warm. “Jack Zimmermann. We’re not here to play games. We’re here to win.” He handed him a plastic spork. “Now eat your quiche.”

Around Halloween Jack finally cracked. He stepped into an empty elevator with Birkholtz and Oluransi, and turned to see Bitty hurrying down the corridor. “Rans! Hold the elevator!”

And then the small space was a cacophony of hooting and yelling. “Get wrecked, Bittle!” Holster bellowed while Ransom hammered on the close doors button.

The metal doors slid shut right as Bitty drew near, laughing and rolling his eyes and calling them assholes.

“What?” Jack spluttered into the sudden silence.

“Listen, bro,” Holster said, resting a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “You have not lived until you have seen Bitty’s face when he thinks he’s finally gotten into an elevator—“

“And you pick him up and put him on the wrong side of the doors—“ Ransom interjected.

“And then close them before he can get back in,” Holster finished.

Jack frowned, floored. “Why?”

“Bro. Because we’re stupid.”

The faculty Halloween party was a great deal more exciting than Jack would have expected from a university. But then, Shitty brought tub juice and Lardo brought champagne and between the two of them and Holster and Ransom starting up a beer pong tourney, the teacher’s lounge in Founder’s Hall was bound to get rowdy.

Jack wasn’t entirely sure where the cat ears he was wearing had come from, or where his tie had gone. He and Shitty staggered into the elevator—campus Papa John’s was calling, brah—when Bitty didn’t step into the elevator with them so much as tumble. His momentum pressed Jack into the wall, and there was a nice armful of coach there, yes, excellent. Jack dropped his chin onto the top of Bitty’s head like it belonged there.

“Bittle,” he murmured.


“Bittle. I am so, so sorry about the first day we met. And I was rude. You know the thing.”

“Mmm. I forgive you. Buy me pizza.”

“Bittle, I’m so sorry. But not sorry enough.” And he lifted Bitty off his feet and plopped him on the wrong side of the doors just as they started to slide closed.

“Get wrecked Bittle!” Shitty howled. Down the hall, the noise in the lounge doubled at the sound of Bitty being denied elevator access.

Jack did end up buying Bitty pizza that night.

fighting over the local pub

OK so I live in a village in the middle of nowhere so as you can image my internet connection using data is almost non existent.  Every day i liked to sit in my house using the wifi and look up to see what the local pub gym is up to. There’s a dedicated team valor and mystic squad fighting over it every day and it’s become a bit of a sport for me to watch.

well i had this weird feeling earlier to check the pub, and HOLY CRAP, TEAM INSTINCT, MY TEAM, HAS THE PUB!!!!

“Dad is it immature and irresponsible to run down to the pub to fight pokemon in a gym?”
“yes it is”
“I’ll be back in five”

So I’m sprinting down to the pub because MY BROS NEED ME as the valor squad who live IN THE PUB are already hotly fighting them. I arrive and then have to spend ten minutes FIGHTING TO CONNECT TO THE INTERNET but when i do….

there’s a bench directly outside the pub and on it is a young lad on his phone. I know what he’s doing. So I go join him. Turns out though he’s Valor, we introduce each other, talk pokemon and BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF THE MYSTIC GYM

I saw the gym turn a lovely shade of yellow with my lovely Golbat proud of place alongside fellow team mates, but immediately the pub squad starts fighting it but
we… broke the town internet

nothing would connect. checking the local wifi spots…. all …. down

so um

team instinct, by taking the pub,  broke the local wifi AND brought down the GO servers

I am so sorry

Holy crap the reception I’ve been getting at coming back is unreal! It’s nice seeing everyone again. Tbh I had half expected to be forgotten after being away for so long. To the people who IMed me, I’m on mobile with this account and can’t see them, but I’ll try my best to reply. Im looking forward to RPing with everyone again!

I just found out that @rhoneyguitars still has the all black-and-gold Lil’ Stinker for sale at 15% off the normal model, and I’m losing my mind. How is this thing still without a forever home?!! Holy crap, it’s gorgeous. Somebody needs to treat themselves, do you know what I am saying???

#guitar #Rhoney #paulrhoney #custom #handmade #lilstinker #classy #bigsby #gold #hardware #mylittlerhoney

Made with Instagram
ghoulettesinspaceandslime replied to your post: “Man, I was having such a great day and that just totally broke-a my…”:

fortunately ! every day is another opportunity to pick things up again <3

That’s right!

Remember kids, always do the best you can do. Life is too short to worry about impressing other people.

And if you get really irritated with stuff-you-have-no-control-over and you need a break, there’s always Sonic Adventure 2 speedruns on YouTube.

Like holy crap, have you SEEN those players?

anonymous asked:

Just letting you know, the nearby college where I live is entirely team mystic and there are 10 mystic gyms and it's impossible to take even 1 over by yourself if you are instinct or valor

Holy crap, i need to go there! Team Mystic!!!!

anonymous asked:

u can't spell "aplatonickylo" without "icky" ;)

i’ve been reading their url this whole time but i haven’t actually processed it and ……. kylo isn’t aplatonic he’s a fascist abusive piece of shit holy crap?

so yeah, icky :/