Killing a toxic co-workers hopes, dreams, and future.
Names changed for anonymity, happened a few years back. This is a long one so TL;DR at the bottom.
Background: I got a job working for a small hardware company. 4 people in the office, a few in the warehouse, and a delivery driver. Nothing fancy, but it got me off the night shift and onto a desk. The owner was a pretty nice guy, let’s call him Ray. Ray took over the family business in the early 2000s. Like most small business owners he was pretty frugal. The job came with absolutely zero perks. 10 vacation days that doubled as sick days, no insurance, everyone was hourly and Ray hated paying OT. He had one large customer that accounted for about half his business and everything after that was profit. He had gotten to the point where the business was doing well enough to support his comfortable life (10-3 schedule, 4 weeks vacation, season baseball tickets) and had zero interest in growing it beyond that point. But my problem was not with Ray, it was with the absolute b*tch in the purchasing department.
The players: Four people in the office meant that every part of this business fell to one of us. Ray was the owner, he negotiated large scale orders both with customers and suppliers. Sarah was our admin/receptionist, sweet as pie. I was in charge of order processing and logistics, and I did quite a bit of work revamping the company website. Ingrid (aka B*tch Supreme) handled small scale purchasing and most of the other customers.
How Until My Feet Bleed by @kazliin Should Have Ended
Part of him still couldn’t believe that Yuuri was finally here with him, that this was real and not just another dream….
Digging one of his hands into the skin of Viktor’s back… slowly taking him apart, Yuuri looked at him, face flushed and staring at Viktor with an intensity that made it impossible to look away.
“I hate you.” Yuuri breathed and his eyes held none of the warmth or joy that Viktor had been feeling just seconds before. “Now fuck me.”
The words hit him like a punch to the gut and Viktor felt his fingers still in shock, the words so unexpected and unexpectedly painful that every muscle in his body froze and locked in place….
Victor snapped back, the rush hitting him like he was slamming back down on the ice again. To hear those words spoken outloud was a slap to the face and a plunge off a cliff, straight down the sheer rock face of confusion. Because the last time he was in a hotel room with Yuuri, he had been hearing softly muttered confessions imitating affection, and the sharp twist of reality was too much to ignore.
The chill in Yuuri’s eyes melted at Victor’s outburst, honey brown widening in betrayal of his shock. Whatever haze of lust and alcohol fleeted from them in stark reaction, and Yuuri seemed as frozen as Victor, except for his fingers trembling, curled into the bedsheets.
One breath take in an attempt to calm the mix of emotions threatening to spill forth, and Victor permitted it all burst forward despite himself. “Why are you even here then?”
Just like that, Victor saw all the confidence drain from Yuuri’s face, leaving him pale and then scrambling for shoved aside bedding to cover himself. Victor didn’t bother.
“Yuuri, I don’t-…” Years of questions leapt through every part of his mind, brawling to be the first to fall from his tongue just so he could finally hope to grasp at a single note of understanding. The most and least simple being, “why?”
If emotions and confusion, insistent need to understand were at battle inside himself, it looked like a war was raging through Yuuri. His gaze locked with Victor’s and yet he still looked torn between wanting to cling to it and to flee, clutching at the bedsheets which he brought up to cover himself, suddenly modest. “Why what?”
The tremor in his voice was all that Victor needed. “Why do you… I don’t get you, Yuuri! What the hell did I do to merit you dancing with me one moment and telling me you hate me as you try to sleep with me the next?”
A heartbeat passed. Then two.
Yuuri opened his mouth, no words coming forth, and then shut it. His eyebrows arched high into bangs messed from the heated lead up, and then his expression fell. And hardened. His red, swollen lips pursed into a thin line, and those gorgeous eyes narrowed. It almost startled Victor, to recognize in that moment the contempt he had often seen directed at him when on the podium.
“This! Exactly this!” Yuuri snapped, dropping the bedsheet as he leaned forward, closing the distance Victor placed between them. “The fact that you don’t even care enough to remember!”
“Remember what?!” Every memory of his interaction with Yuuri flashed by, but none of them could account for hate, at least not in Victor’s mind. “What I said to you in the bathroom that one time? That was–”
“No! Before that! You were my idol, Victor, and you broke my heart!”
Before that… Desperately, Victor searched every shred of memory, every hint of an interaction with Yuuri that he had treasured no matter how tense or distant, but there was nothing. “What, Yuuri, I would never–”
“You did!” Yuuri’s words cut in and Victor let him, watching the flush of arousal on Yuuri’s skin turn to one of anger and irritation instead. “I worshipped you and you insulted me. You belittled me. I was just a kid…” Yuuri inhaled a shaky breath and the dam broke. “I went to see you, when you skated your last Junior season. I got tickets as a birthday present, because I wanted nothing more than to see you skate. And after you won, I… I waited outside for you, to get your autograph. And I met you.”
It wasn’t ice in Yuuri’s eyes anymore. It wasn’t fire. It was what Victor had felt so close to, so many times himself, could recognize instantly. Defeat.
“You… you broke my heart, Victor, when I met you…”
Broken did not seem to be enough. Victor shattered, cascading into shards that littered the cold floor beside them. “I… I don’t remember.”
“Of course you don’t. I was just one fan. And you have so many. Why should you?”
He should have. Why didn’t he. “But Yuuri, it’s you. How could I not remember you?” Why would he though. Yuuri was right. He would have just been another face in the crowd. Yet Victor felt like he should. Of all the faces, of people, he should have remembered Yuuri. What had he even said.
“You didn’t. You… I just-… how many other hearts did you break, Victor? How many other dreams did you step on? Or did you forget all of those too?”
The shards fragmented. Stepped on and crushed by each syllable being confessed. He had met Yuuri, broken his heart, and couldn’t even recall how. Couldn’t even begin to guess. “Yuuri, I’m sorry-”
“Whatever,” Yuuri sighed, then shoved off the bed, but Victor reached over and grabbed his hand before Yuuri could grab his clothes off the floor, grateful for when Yuuri stopped and did not jerk away.
“Yuuri, don’t please…” He needed to understand. He would not be content to leave it at that. “You… at the Olympics, you got drunk… you told me that you liked me. Or that you liked my hair, and my eyes. So I know you can’t hate me. Not completely. And Yuuri, I don’t hate you. Please, I just need to understand, so that if I need to spend the rest of my life apologizing to you, I can mean it. So please tell me. Help me remember. Or at least, help me understand.”
Conflict writ itself in bold across Yuuri’s face, but the tension in his shoulders softened and the pull of his wrist in Victor’s hand ebbed away. The digital clock display on the hotel bedstand switched minutes, and Yuuri pulled at his lower lip with his teeth, then nodded. “Okay but… let me put something on first?”
There was a blush tinting Yuuri’s cheeks, softening him into a vision Victor had only seen in Phichit’s photos before, of a delicate Yuuri that Victor had never been permitted to see in the flesh before now. His chest felt too small for his heart as it swelled with the affection Victor had already been so bad at containing.
Without the briefest moment of hesitation, Victor rushed to the corner of the room, grabbing one of his shirts from closet since he had now regrettably torn Yuuri’s. He draped it across Yuuri’s shoulders with a gentleness that Yuuri did not seem to believe.
“I think we probably have a lot to talk about.” Victor tried to smile and felt it bloom into a real one when Yuuri scoffed, a thread of amusement and understatement so clearly wrapped around it.
“Yeah… I think… we really do.”
(The moral of the story: communication can happen, if you behave like a good person and put your dick away for just a hot second)
Heads up to anyone on the blog who may need this service. I had no idea ScotRail offered this, if you are struggling to attend job interviews/social security interviews due to finances then ScotRail offers up to 2 free tickets per month and offers 1 free monthly season ticket when you gain employment.
AU where Bitty is a makeup/beauty guru (this boys eyebrows are always on fucking fleek, like how?) and in a Q&A someone asked who his celebrity crush was, to which he replied, “Have you seen Jack Zimmerman’s butt? Lord have mercy, what I wouldn’t do to even see it in person.” The next day Jack’s Twitter mentions are filled with links to said video and WOWZA he is very flattered and sorta (very) attracted to this beautiful boy with the perfect brows. Needless to say, within the next week Bitty has season tickets to the falconers games, a custom Zimmerman jersey and a new boyfriend with a gorgeous ass.
Okay so, I tried to keep this private last night, because I know that in no way this represents the whole of DEH stans, but I need to say this.
Last night I had the honor of seeing Dave Malloy as Pierre in Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812. Personally, it is my favorite show of the season, and the ticket was an end of term present to myself. (If you want a review of the show message me it was fantastic.)
Now, Dear Evan Hansen is in the theatre directly next to TGC. Normally that wouldn’t be an issue, but when I came out to the stage door last night, there was a handful of DEH fans who were being extremely rude and pushy to those of us standing in line for TGC. One girl wouldn’t stop getting in peoples faces talking about how TGC was going to lose, and the whole group (around 5 people from what I could see) was yelling and shouting for the 15 minutes I stood in line (I had paintings to drop off with the doorman.)
This is not what love of theatre is about. Tearing down another show, or even fans of other shows, is not the spirit of theatre. DEH is ABOUT the perils of bullying and ostracization, and to see this group of people acting so horribly made me incredibly angry.
Theatre is supposed to be a family, this is a small community, and if you are going to thrive off of being hurtful, hateful, and cruel, you don’t belong anywhere near it.
I know this is technically a day late, but let’s pretend I totally posted this yesterday…
Neil starts outlining a plan in his head as he ducks between
students and buildings. Group projects are the bane of his existence, but he
has to do them if he wants to pass, and he has to pass if he wants to be
eligible to keep playing Exy. At least this time Joseph Peters isn’t in his
group, but he still prefers individual assignments. The faster he gets his five
slides done, the less he has to interact with the group.
Neil cuts across the Green because it’s faster, but he has
to weave through a sea of bodies. The warmer weather of spring has drawn out
many students from their hoards in the library. From sunbathers to studiers,
the grass is now marred by waves and waves of bright colors and tanned skin.
The combination of laughter and the singing of nearby birds tangle together in
the air like a tangible cacophony, and the rays of the sun lick down along the
ground, creating a blissful atmosphere.
Neil sidesteps around a group of sorority girls and ducks to
avoid getting in the middle of an ultimate frisbee game. By the time he makes
it Perimeter Road, the crowds have thinned out, and it’s easy to cross the road
and head up towards Fox Tower.
His dorm is dark when Neil unlocks the door. For some reason
all of the lights have been turned off, and it instantly strikes Neil as odd.
He knows he can double check the schedule taped to the fridge, but he
distinctly remembers Nicky’s class getting out earlier than his. Even stranger
still is the fact that someone has blocked out the windows, so only a few
straggling bands of light seep in. The stark darkness puts Neil on edge,
settling deep in his chest and making waves of anxiety begin to churn. He knows
it’s been three years, that there’s no need to run anymore, but that doesn’t
stop the disquiet in his bones or ease the itch now sparking in his muscles. He’s
considering heading up to the roof and texting Andrew when the lights flick on.
using the sex tropes list, “anything involving the secretive brushing of fingertips against inner thighs in public spaces"
Swoops is a goddamn public menace.
This is a charity dinner. Kent’s pants are tailored. A man can’t hide a stiffy in pants that are tailored.
That isn’t stopping Swoops from feeling Kent up under the table.
And he’s good at it, is the thing. Kent should have called him out hours ago, when they were mingling with the donors and he felt a hand on his ass for the fifth time that night. He doesn’t know how Swoops has been getting way with it, but he has, right in front of their coach and teammates and season-ticket-holders who payed several hundred bucks a plate just to be here.
They’re halfway through dinner now and Swoops has somehow been eating and talking while simultaneously teasing the seams of Kent’s pants since the second course.
If Swoops moves his hand any higher, he’s going to be palming Kent’s dick. Kent shifts his knees apart. He shouldn’t encourage this, but fuck, he’s so turned on that his clothes feel like sandpaper on his skin.
Swoops slides his fingers down to Kent’s knee. Kent nearly groans with frustration.
By dessert, Kent’s legs are spread so wide he’s nearly straddling the chair, and Swoops’ hand is massaging his hip.
When they finally finish eating and everyone gets up to leave, Kent quickly pulls off his jacket and lets it hang off his arm in front of his crotch.
Swoops doesn’t comment. He acts like he doesn’t even notice. Kent feels like he’s burning alive.
They head out together to reclaim their separate cars from valet parking.
Swoops’ car arrives first. He takes the keys, then leans in murmur in Kent’s ear. “My place. I’m going to blow you in the entryway with your shoes and tie still on.”
“Fuck,” Kent manages.
Swoops grins, smacks his ass, and gets in his car.
Request: Will you write a Willy Nylander one? Maybe a hot, jealous willy cus wow I need that in my life
A/N: Leafs won. My boys were on point. (Also, I hope this is close to what you wanted. IDK, I was hella distracted by the game.) I could probably write another one of these jealous Nylander ones, I feel like he’s probably very territorial.
Word Count: 1641
Warnings: Language, mentions of sex.
Up Next: Demers, Matthews, Alex Nylander
William is always so happy. He really gives Mitch a run for who smiles the most. It was probably what drew you to him a little over a year ago. What most people don’t get to see is the other side. The jealous side. This was a side you’d only heard about. Mitch and Auston mentioned it a couple months after William asked you to be official. You’d almost forgotten about.
Opening night. You weren’t sure who was more excited for hockey to be back, you or Will. You spent a crazy amount of money to have glass seats. Something you didn’t tell Will about. He would have insisted on paying for the ticket, and you didn’t want him to. So instead you let him believe you would be sitting in the seat provided by the Jet’s for the visiting teams’ significant others.
Summary: Dean x Reader - Neighbours AU - Dean and the reader live next door to each other and can’t stand each other. Will things change once circumstances bring this bartender and business man duo closer together?
Triggers: Stalking/followed by a stalker (Not Dean), fear
Y/N = Your name ¦ Y/L/N = Your last name
Y/E/C = Your eye colour ¦ Y/H/C = Your hair colour
Note: Ok, so I know I haven’t finished The Charity Heist yet, but I’m stuck on a part in chapter 4. This one however is pouring out of me. If you guys like it I might write a part 2 later this coming week!
“(Y/N), you are amazing,”
Chris Pine’s voice was warm and hot against your neck as he held you close
after the two of you saved the world. He moved his mouth from your neck and
leaned in, inches from your lips as you wrapped your hands around his neck and
moved in to kiss him. Your lips were just about to touch when the background
music swelled and…
Living easy! Living free!
Season ticket on a one way ride!
Damn it! Your damned neighbour’s near routine music marathon forcefully pulled
you out of your dream as you sat up with a gasp. Highway to Hell wasn’t your
idea of a good wake-up call. Every. Damned. Morning. Almost at least.
Dean Winchester, the man in
apartment 43, was on a completely different schedule from you and every day
once he sat down to work on whatever business he did from his apartment he’d
turn the volume up on his ridiculously massive speaker system. Sure, it was around
10 am and he was technically allowed to blare his music between 8 am and 11 pm
based on apartment rules. But that sure as hell didn’t make it any more right
in your mind.
You worked till 5 am
basically every night of the week in the local hole in the wall bar, and you
needed your beauty sleep to deal with the local drunkards without punching
someone or something. Which was hard as hell when you were constantly awoken by
classic rock songs after only four to five hours of sleep.
Groaning you let your head
hit the pillow again, almost feeling the vibrations of the bass through your
pillow due to the stupid, awful fact that your bedroom was wall-to-wall with
his… Office? You didn’t really know. From what you understood the apartments
were mirrored so his bedroom should be on the other side of the wall. But from
the loud noise levels of music you heard almost every morning it almost seemed
like you were wall to wall with a damned rock concert instead.
bc she’s so much older than holster she’s like a really weird sister/aunt/mom hybrid and adam LOVES HER.
simultaneously So Cool and A Giant Nerd
saw holster’s snaps of getting high watching the golden girls and was like “ADAM >:(”
adam: “LEAH U BOUGHT ME MY FIRST BOWL CHILL”
their parents are real :/// because leah never really dated and she ~should be thinking of settling down~ and then the other birkholtz children will be like: “hey ur kid is literally a brain surgeon could u maybe not??”
(leah is gay? maybe? but she’s focusing on her career and can’t really be fucked abt it tbh)
(leah’s siblings watch A LOT of grey’s anatomy. they call her mcdreamy and she HATES it and they will NEVER KNOW that christina yang made her decide to go to med school)
leah hears adam’s stories about ‘his bro ransom’ and just kind of sideeyes her phone.
“adam. adam honey. that’s gay”
“my friend shitty says i gotta let u come out at your own pace but is there somethin u wanna tell me?”
DELIA, age 29, resident nurse
she and leah are best fucking friends ever
(delia is the only one who knows abt leah’s monster crush on christina yang and she knows this bc they watched her last episode together and cried)
they work at the same hospital. the patients love them but they get REALLY CONFUSED bc someone will tell them “dr. birkholtz” is gonna treat them and they’ll be like “wait u mean delia? she was just in here she brought me this afghan?”
delia crochets like a motherfucking boss. she makes sweaters appear the way bitty cranks out pies. eric bittle, from GEORGIA, thanks god every day for delia’s blankets that are just everywhere in the haus
holster just casually gives people his scarf/hat and will be like “keep it dude. i have five more at home and i’m expecting a care package next month”
delia has been dating the same guy since high school and they’re engaged. holster gave this dude the shovel speech ten years ago. he still had fucking braces and delia can’t wait for leah to tell the story at the wedding.
holster and delia aren’t actually that close but they have an unspoken ‘i would absolutely die for you’ bond.
when holster’s home, they watch bad sitcoms together. specifically, ones cancelled in their first or second seasons. they compare notes re: whether or not they deserved to be canceled and how they might have been saved
MURIEL, age 26, personal trainer and professional hockey
muriel and holster are tight. it’s 50% a being-the-closest-in-age thing and 50% a diehard bond of hockey love.
the family joke is that it’s a good thing holster’s a boy bc obviously their parents were scraping the bottom of the barrel of girls’ names
(insert trans holster hc here)
muriel took ice skating lessons from ages 4-6, and when holster turned 4 and started learning baby hockey basics, muriel defected
muriel is a goalie. muriel is six feet tall and 190 pounds. muriel could end your life and you would thank her.
she left for college the same year holster left home to play in juniors. it was fucking awful and she transferred her sophomore year to be closer to his billet family.
she may or may not be a Jack Zimmermann Puck Bunny tm
(when holster told her abt samwell, she was like !!!!!!!. holster was NOT HAPPY.)
she helped him move into the haus and met jack for the first time and her entire brain stopped working.
literally she was carrying a giant tub of holster’s whey protein and she just. stood there staring at jack. like a NERD.
“UM???? HI. CAN YO U PLEASE. COULD YOU SIGN. UM…. COULD YOU SIGN THIS PROTEIN POWDER PLS I WILL BUY ADAM MORE LATER”
holster and shitty were there. a smh tradition was born.
MURIEL PLAYS FOR THE BOSTON PRIDE OKAY?????
her teammates call her murray because they love her
shitty has season tickets. he skypes holster from every single game. they cry a lot.
after she won the isobel cup she brought it down to samwell and was like ‘,:) are u intimidated gentlemen?
(she immediately became a fucking nerd again bc jack was there and asked for her autograph)