#An assistant editor speaks

[kalamity-jayne]

In case you were wondering where things are at in the film and television industry here's how post-production folks (editors, VFX, Colorists, etc) are doing. These screenshots are from The Blue Collar Post Collective's FB page (they are an International professional network for folks working in post).

This one is from a few months ago...

These are all from the past few days (from 2 separate Anon posts re "where to find jobs")...

My former post-supervisor really fucked me over and I've been unemployed for months. At this point I'm applying to jobs in grocery stores cause it's just dead dead dead out there. Winter is always the time of year you don't want to be without a film or series to work on but this just abysmal.

[batemanofficial]

ONE OF THE MANY JOBS I APPLIED TO REACHED OUT YAHOO

[welcometogrouchland]

Pacing back and forth rapidly rambling to my parents like a mad man trying to figure out whether or not I experienced sexism at film school today or if these guys are just assholes in a different way

[m0chisenpai]

Hi! Can you do a Armand x Fem!reader x Louis? She would be an assistant of Daniel’s. They have sorta a thing for her but are trying to ease up because she’s not as open to the whole camp thing or lowkey doesn’t believe them.

off the record

˚｡⋆ louis de pointe du lac x black!fem!reader x armand

in which Daniel neglected to coach you how to deal with the behind the scenes of the creative process

author note: I had too much fun writing this, I love the idea of this trio so much

There takes a certain level of thick skin to work for Daniel Molloy. He wasn't a terrible boss. Just a difficult old man with extremely particular needs and ways he worked. But when he found you, you were an intern with well regarded credentials and grades, but according to your counselor you were headstrong and outspoken.

He accepted your application instantly and by the next year you were his official, and most longstanding, assistant. You juggled his interviews and meetings with editors, and only recently have you begun to manage his doctors appointments.

You traveled with him, it was a non-negotiable that you were to come and expenses were covered, but Dubai was the last thing you'd expected. You’d been nearly to all the states, but for Daniel’s health anything out the country was once in a while and planned carefully.

The first night of the interview you aren’t present. Daniel can tell when he stops by your room, how your eyes droop. Your feet shuffle to greet him at the door and when you speak your words are mumbled.

He lets you sleep, but he won't say its out of care, that he's filled with guilt for dragging you into a penthouse of supernatural apex killers. "Get to sleep unless you wanna read through my mess of a notes kid." He raises a brow that you hum and nod at closing the door so you can return to the warm sheets of the bed. After that you are a fly on the wall just as he always instructed you to be.

Beside him, eyes down, fingers moving and taking notes when he mutters something to you.

Louis asks who you are on the third night, "I never took you for a man who needs help Daniel." You won't admit, but your heart picks up, but you keep yor eyes on the computer screen and let Daniel respond for you.

"Not an intern, she's one of the few ones who didn't run crying after a week working for me."

Your lips turn up at this, one of the few moments he would ever compliment you.

"She truly is like you." His eyes must be on you again, but a shiver washes dwn your spine. Like someones nail ghosts the skin on your back, trailing down your spine. And another hand, caresses the back of your neck.

"Stay out out my mind," you mumble.

"My apologies, just wanted to know about our surprise second guest." Now you dare to look up at him. Ghosts, goblins, vampires werewolves were for shows pandering toward a female audience that wanted to drool over men too beautiful and perfect to ever enter their mundane lives.

You scoff and return your focus to the notes in front of you. "Save the immortal hack for Daniel, Mr.Du Lac."

Your skin crawls at the way he tilts his head ever so slightly, and in that cocky drawl offers another apology.

"Mr Du Lac and his companion would like to dine with you."

You assume it's in regards to the interviews. You bring your computer and personal notepad along with Daniel's. But what you are met with are two wine glasses side by side paired with the men on the couch, one sits in front of them.

Their gazes are unblinking as you enter, setting your things and carefully crossing one leg over the other.

"I'm sorry we are meeting so late, or would it be early Mr.Du Lac."

"Call me Louis, the pleasure is mine. My companion Armand wanted to join our meeting this evening."

Armand creeps you out the moment your eyes lock, how his golden eyes stare you, analyzing you. He isn't as old as Louis. he actually seems to be the age of some of the TA's from school. Though you'd prefer it if it were just Louis and you. You can manage being alone with the latter.

"Daniel tells us you think none of this to be real." Ah, so it does speak.

"It's true. I find the supernatural charade boring," you pick up the yellow pad and pen. "But I'm not paid to to dig any deeper than he asks me to. I polish and prime what he asks, and he does all the writing."

"You weren't able to join the first interview because too were tired. I could hear your heart the entire time, you didn't sleep. Kept tossing and turning the entire night." Now you look at Louis, here he goes again.

"An easy observation, can we please focus on-"

"Thoughts were racing an awful lot too," Louis looks up in fake thought "is any of this worth it, why waste my time on a rich hack. I could be back home working on my portfolio."

Once again you cut him off. Pinching the bridge of your nose, "another keen observation please try and do better, now in session 2-"

"Your father took your mother here." Armand speaks up now and your heart stops, "those earrings she gifted you were from here. In fact in your dreams the previous evening you dreamt of taking them both here. You started planning it with the money that will come out of this interview."

Every word accelerates your heart, it makes Louis smile "Careful cher, your heart might beat out your chest."

Your hands shake as they swipe the glass of wine in front of you, you take two large gulps. Clutching it for comofrt.

"My apologies, I did not wish to cause any distress."

"I'm sorry, I need a moment." You leave your things behind and return to your room that night. You feel childish locking the door behind you and running to the bathroom where you stop for a moment closing that door behind you as well locking it and taking the hottest of showers. The next morning a letter from the two sits by breakfast along with your things in a neat pile.

Eerily it is exactly what you were thinking of yesterday morning, it is french toast made from the fluffiest brioche. With a side of bacon, turkey, you hated pork. Armand asks to speak to you while Daniel rests along with Louis.

Once you eat and shower quickly putting on a sweater to combat the chill you find him in the study.

He sits, almost like he knew you would come.

"It was not our intent to alarm you" his eyes follow you as you sit. "You did not rest last night because of us. Please use tonight to rest."

You refuse to look at him, favoring the thread on your sweaters sleeve.

"You are more than qualified to work for any other reporter on your own, yet you work for...him. Why?"

"He was the only one to look pass the observations of my advisor, I wasn't going to be just an errand girl. Not too many publishers cared for my opinions. I was too blunt and rough along the edges to be a writer."

"You didn't believe Mr.Molloy was interviewing a vampire yet you still followed him here."

"It's not my book. I'm a fly on the wall remember?"

"But if it were your story?"

You pause in thought, and now you look away into those unsettling eyes after a moment. "I would have interviewed Claudia had she survived. I feel her story needs to be heard."

You answer more of his prodding questions till you return to your room for lunch. A wrap of some sort with nuts and fruits on the side. And a pile of little girls diaries with white gloves and a note to handle with caution.

Armand won't voice his affinity for you as Louis does. You won't admit the way his eyes settle on you as you enter the room makes you preen, makes your heart fuzzy and your head feel like it wants to float away.

The interview goes on tonight with Armand joining. They once more talk about Lestat. You try and fight your eyes from rolling as you read through an email.

'If I hear his name one more time I might gouge my ears out.'

'Don't torture yourself like that cher.' Your eyes look to him, but he remains focused on Daniel, listening to Armand. How does one multitask like that? Two conversations at once must be hard.

'Years of practice.'

'And what's with all this chere nonsense?'

'Would you prefer your name instead?'

'No' your cheeks warm in embarassment "I...enjoy it."

"Get me some pictures of this theatre." Daniel's instructions get your attention, "and whatever memorabilia you can find." You nod typing that onto your list of many other things to do.

'I will help you with that tonight, after the session I've arranged for dinner tonight' Armand now stares at you and that damned feeling begins to creep back in 'no pork as per your request.' You hate how quick you are to forgive him. But he slowly is earning your trust again.

Daniel coughs obnoxiously getting the elder vampires attention. "You were saying?" This time when you look down, a smile only the pair can detect makes its way upon your lips.

They stare at you less, leave your mind alone as per your request. And indulge in your blunt questions. Each night you find yourself slowly feeling less discomfort. You almost wish you could stay, you think to yourself one night now dining with the two looking at pictures of Louis in his younger years.

He sits beside you, smiling as he watches your hands carefully hold the photos from their time in France.

"No fair, Paris is top of my bucket list."

"I'd be more than happy to take you," Louis gives you that smirk which you roll your eyes in playfulness at.

"Sure you will."

"We could take you anywhere you would like" Armand states.

"Ibizia?"

"Gladly."

"Bali."

"Sure."

Even though you still doubt their supernatural nature. You indulge them. Unknown that just as much as you have them wrapped around your finger, they have you caught in a web.

And they'll patiently wait for you to realize that there are some beings whose hearts you should never toy with. For the results afterwards, are eternal.

[kalamity-jayne]

OMG and I just realized they actually thanked the assistant editors when the gave their speech!!! That never happens (last time i recall that happening was when The Revenant won best picture).

So to further elaborate, it's really impressive EEAAO was cut on premiere and the reason they were able to make it work is because they had some damn good AEs.

Also, it's my understanding that the other reason this was possible was because they had a few Adobe engineers on the team.

the premiere pro timeline for Everything Everywhere All At Once (2022) dir. Daniels, edited by Paul Rogers.

[chandralia]

Toga saying she loves both boys and girls explicitly, that she loves differently, was ridiculed/abused for FOR loving differently, saying she wanted to be like people around her instead. Twice suggesting her villain name be Carmilla? (THE FIRST LESBIAN VAMPIRE)

Ochako calling herself strange for wanting to save Toga, reaching out and leveling, speaking in a way only Toga can understand, telling her she’s the cutest girl in the whole world, and offering to give Toga her blood for the rest of her life??

Deku saying “I’ve spent my life chasing after you,”“you’re my image of victory,” that he “can’t imagine a world in which kacchan doesn’t exist,” “kacchan and everyone else” over and over again, LOSING HIS MIND WHEN ONLY KATSUKI’S INJURED, being told to control his heart three times (COUNT THEM: THREE) over Katsuki?? Kudou having to use Katsuki to motivate Deku? “their feelings become one” just from locking eyes…???? Deku’s world shifting when Katsuki’s alive again, looking at him in awe (the way he’s only ever looked at him).

Katsuki risking his life for Deku repeatedly, thinking of only him before death, having to imagine Deku in danger to further his quirk, being targeted because he’s the closest to Deku (VERBALLY STATED BY SHIGAFO), avoiding medical care at every turn to get to Deku, always reminiscing about their past, A MISSED HANDHOLD, imagining their future together and breaking down crying in front of Deku at the possibility of that being ripped from him, saying he wanted them to keep doing this forever?

“that’s just how shonen is, everyone’s gay but no one’s canon” SHUT UP PLEASE. we quite literally do not know what Hori is or isn’t allowed to do. He’s been vocal about fighting for what he wants in his story, and even if it is an executive or editor saying “no you can’t do this” look what he’s managed to do so far.

not to mention THREE canon trans characters, toga correcting overhaul at misgendering. kendo saying “I just want to be me” when talking about gender, the entire side plot with discrimination and people fighting for acceptance, Hori reading and approving all the stuff that happens in the light novels/team up missions, AND thanking/praising those authors for knowing his characters so well.

His assistant (nstime23) openly shipping bkdk, drawing fanart of them, blatantly using their ship name, WHILE STILL BEING MUTUALS WITH HORI.

and the reception???

Hori does not live under a rock. It’s not an “oopsie he made it gay on accident” thing, and it’s not done maliciously either.

sharing what I’ve said before because I’m tired:

[justalittlelilac]

Four days.

You had four days to tell Qiu Lin you were in love with them.

Four days before Qiu would leave Golden Grove again to return to their university and leave you. Four days to somehow summon the courage to say aloud what you'd whispered only to your pillow at night. Four days to reveal what you had held close to your heart.

Four. Days.

It had felt easy at first. After all, you'd been best friends for years—what were three months apart? When they left for that out-of-state university, the goodbye had been teary, yes, but you'd reassured yourself they'd come back even if it was so far away.

Much less could be said about you. No, when you planted yourself in Golden Grove, you had been determined to put roots so deep in the ground that not even your mom could uproot you again.

You weren't like the others, ready to run off and embrace change. You had chosen this life, this town, with its familiar faces and predictable days. You chose the comfort of online schooling while the rest packed up and moved on. While they left.

And when Qiu and Tamarack no longer graced your bedroom with their laughter and light, the house felt colder and emptier, especially with your mom taking more business trips now that you were an adult.

That first week, you found yourself hiding a teary voice in a three-way call with your friends that lasted an hour. They'd promised to call every day, but the best-laid plans never consider being a new freshman in college. Very quickly, the calls devolved into sporadic spurts of text conversation, erratic like the flicker of a dying candle.

You understood. Of course, you did. They were busy, and so were you. That was what you claimed in happy texts that ended in a thumbs-up emoji.

In actuality, you found yourself staring at your phone most days, scrambling for the device whenever it lit up. You tried to occupy yourself, even taking a job as an assistant editor at the Golden Grove Gazette. However, you still felt their absence... especially Qiu's.

It was different with Qiu. Always had been. Always would be. Much like the rest of Golden Grove's student body, you'd admired and crushed on them for so long. Even when they had iced everyone else out, they had kept you close. You'd never told them how much that meant to you, but it was more precious than all the stars you'd gazed at together, lying on your backs in the damp grass of your backyard at night.

Even when you also pushed everyone away, crashed out, and earned the moniker "Golden Grove's Local Delinquent," they stayed. They didn't judge, but they were worried because they knew what it felt like to feel lost. Through their help, you righted yourself somewhat, even if much damage had already been done. You still didn't know how to thank them for that.

Loving Qiu, even quietly, was like loving the sun on a frosted morning. Its rays would somehow penetrate through the chill to warm your face, comforting and cozy. It'd been like that since you were 10.

You'd watch them from across the schoolyard, noting their every move. Noticing how they carried themselves differently from others around them, confident but kind. Taking mental note of how the wind blew their silky dark hair and how it'd catch the light in such a way that it would cause you to stare for just a few moments longer than anyone else.

And sometimes, just sometimes, you swore you caught them staring back when you weren't looking.

However, as time marched on and your crush grew into something much fonder and more profound, you resigned yourself to friendship. Everyone liked Qiu; you were not unique in that sort of way. You told yourself it was enough, thinking it better to have them as a friend than to lose them altogether if they didn't feel the same. Time hid your deeper love like seeds under snow, and you tried to forget the words you were too afraid to speak. And as time did what it does, you slowly accepted that it had been too long to utter them aloud at all.

Until they left.

Then, it was like all the years of buried longing had rushed to the surface and the forefront of your mind like roots cracking the pavement, like released hounds, barking and gnashing at your thoughts. You believed you could go the rest of your life only half loving Qiu Lin. Loving them contently from afar in a quiet part of your heart.

But the ache from the distance only revealed more and more that half loving Qiu Lin felt like a life half lived.

When they texted some obscure (but funny) anti-thanksgiving meme in the group chat stating they'd be home for the four-day break, you knew you couldn't let the time pass by without telling them.

Because you knew with even more certainty that you would likely never get another chance. The gap between you two was expanding, and if you didn't jump now, it'd become too vast for even the most skilled leap to make it across.

You had just hit 'submit' on your last online midterm test when you felt your phone buzz a couple times next to you on your bed. Closing the laptop, you grabbed it and read the text messages coming in with a growing smile:

Part 2

[hanasnx]

❝ incendium. ❞

── stephen glass x reader

MINORS DNI 18+ WORD COUNT: 3.3k SUMMARY: when a lie snowballs out of stephen's control, you swoop in for unorthodox damage control. NOTES: sorry i posted with the wrong title at first | wrote most of this over a year ago, so the style is a bit different, but stick with it trust me | if you say "part two" in the comments, you better come into my inbox with an actual plot or idea that will fit this "au" WARNINGS: f!reader | editor-in-chief!reader | suggestive content including sex and porn mentions so no minors still cos i dont want them on my page ever | deceit | inappropriate contracts.

When you’re the Editor-in-Chief for the biggest magazine of the year, you’ll have a couple thousand rumors spread about you. You wouldn’t pretend that its source wasn’t jealousy that drove poor opinions of you to circle the sandbox. It’s child’s play really, the way sparks of lies catch ablaze to spread like a dry forest’s fire. You’ve always imagined the end of the world to begin and end with a great flood— it was a blue planet after all. With that comforting metaphor, a measly incendium left you unbothered. 

You didn’t have a free moment in your schedule, and it had been like that for months. Being in charge meant shouldering the work of the workers underneath you, and it often meant taking some home with you— work, not workers. Speaking of which, you’d wish you’d find somebody decent to take home. Unfortunately, a relationship really didn’t fit into your hectic calendar. 

It was nice to have a personal assistant. She took care of the unimportant things for you, while you got to work on time and started on your bulleted list in order of priority. Said assistant, Maddy, sat at a desk outside your office, and when she entered to drop off your coffee she picked up, you seized the opportunity to inquire her knowledge on number one on your list. 

Maddy hummed questioningly as you waited, blinking at her over your reading glasses. “Oh!” She clapped her hands together once her memory was jogged. “The New Republic ran something a little detrimental to our brand. Our CEO’s legal team reached out to me to ask you to handle it before they had to step in. The last thing they want is a lawsuit—“ she rambled on and you held up your hand, quieting her. Upturning your palm to invite her to hand you TNR’s piece that supposedly mentioned this company. 

Maddy read your mind, spryly collecting the paper to place in your possession. 

It took seconds for you to scan it, creasing your brows in response to its misinformation. Maddy studied your reaction to its error. For you, this was not a matter of opinion, it was a matter of fact, and required your addressment. 

“Get Chuck on the phone, I want his earliest appointment.”

STEPHEN GLASS moistened his lips as he furiously typed up his latest story, anxious to meet the deadline with a particularly difficult article. His coworker Caitlyn swung in by his door frame. “Yo, Steve, Amy and I wanted to head to the bar after work today. You free?” Caitlyn had figured out the best way to ask him if he wanted to hang out was to put as little pressure on it as possible. He reminded her of a chihuahua…consistently shaken. 

Stephen glanced her way but continued typing. “Yeah? Got it… maybe…” he drawled dreamily, and she concluded he wasn’t entirely listening. 

Inviting herself inside, she slumped into one of his cold, blue, faux leather chairs. “What are you working on anyway?” 

“The Gainsmen piece. I was supposed to have it done already but it got buried.” he responded, eyes glued to the screen as if hypnotized. His hand blindly fumbled for his pen off to the side, like a good friend Caitlyn leaned over to slide the utensil into his fingertips. He banged the end of it against the meat of his thigh, revealing the ink tip so he could scribble some sort of note on his pad, all without ripping his pupils off the growing lines on the monitor. His coworker had never seen him so… intense. To free up his other hand for efficient typing he tucked the staff of the pen in between his lips. 

Stephen had the power to make her worry for him. From what she observed, he was overworked, and spent more time here than he ever did at home when he should be resting. That reasoning eased her into her next question, “You want me to help?” 

A sudden shift in his demeanor, his full attention on her for the first time since she entered his office, raising his brows with a hopeful glint in his dilated pupils. He pinched the pen in his knuckles, balancing the end of it against the corner of his mouth. “Would you?” His disbelief was adorably naive, as if surprised he’d ever receive help… if he deserved it. A smile tugged at Cait’s lips when she nodded, parting them to respond when a slam of a door tore both of their attentions away. 

It was you, the notorious editor of their largest competitor. It had silenced the entire floor, quiet enough to hear your heels click on the thin carpet, and Stephen’s pen drop onto his keyboard. Cait glanced at him as he scrambled to catch it in a failed attempt to prevent its further clattering against the keys. 

Every pair of eyes was on you as you cut through the stations. Your mere presence froze those around you, as if afraid to do something wrong and offend you in some way. At least, some of them anyway. Stephen always thought it was because of how stunning you were. Bone-chillingly authoritative in stockings and a pencil skirt. Behind his glasses his pupils dilated as they scanned from bottom to top, watching you walk further from him through the glass of his office. He gulped, thoughtlessly leaning in his seat to consume every angle of you his limited view from his desk would allow. Caitlyn had faced him again just in time to catch him in the act, and he settled back into his chair as if he hadn’t moved at all. She resisted the urge to flash him a quizzical look as he sheepishly watched himself fiddle with his pen in his lap. 

You did not waver your gaze from your goal, and Chuck had been expecting you. He wore the warmest smile he could muster as he opened his door for you, a headache having come on from the call he received earlier, announcing your scheduled arrival. “Miss (l/n),” he greeted with a nod, and you returned the greeting as he closed the door behind you. The frosted windows left a lot to the imagination of the employees on this floor. Everyone wordlessly agreed to remain reticent in order to eavesdrop on any juicy tidbit they could claw their sleep-deprived hands onto. Not only that, but as if enslaved to their subconscious desires, they shifted closer, gravitating towards Chuck’s office, crudely concealing the way they inclined their ears. 

Stephen’s hands clammed up, and he dropped the pen in between his legs so he could wipe his palms on his pants. He had a feeling he knew what you were here for. 

The conversation inside was indecipherable to the surrounding throng, except for one fragment at the resolution, resounding through the room, causing prying eyes to desperately study your blurred figures in hopes to interpret what kind of violent gestures you punctuated your threat with. 

“I will not be trifled with. My magazine did not tank my first year, it was the year before I was brought on board.” Able to see your arm raise, clutching a fluttering page, and slam it down onto Chuck’s desk. “When I came on I saved that establishment. I’m sick of reading about how the last Editor’s fault was mine! I expected more from The New Republic.” You had straightened. “Let a simple fact like this go unchecked in the future and I’ll poach you. Understand?” 

It was impossible to tell whether or not you waited for Chuck’s response before storming out. Stephen still thought you were as elegant as ever, observing you as you strode to the exit. He had suspected why you were here, and what you said at Chuck’s had confirmed it. You had nipped Chuck for signing off on Stephen’s piece. His mouth ran dry when your gaze landed on him. You didn’t recognize him as the man who wrote what you had come to pontificate on. Instead, you saw a boy in glasses, gawking at you from the seat of his desk as you happened to face him and accidentally make eye contact. 

Stephen had no idea you didn’t know who he was, and that assumption caused him to raise his hand at you to offer you a polite smile and a wave. You acknowledged it to be proper, unfaltering in your traipse. Just as soon as you’d left, the floor reignited, bustling and trucking through paperwork as if you’d never appeared. 

Caitlyn, unaware of Stephen’s current situation, had stood from the chair, and leaned against the back of it as she collected her thoughts, narrowing her eyes at Stephen. “What was that?” she inquired slyly, curious as to why Stephen had greeted you so familiarly. According to Cait’s knowledge, you and Stephen have never formally met, and you weren’t exactly the most accessible person to befriend. Casually greeting you was simply not done, unless it was a peer like Chuck. 

Stephen had returned to his monitor, nervously tapping the pen against the desk surface as the gears in his head turned. “What? You mean the wave?” he affirmed with a smile tugging at his lips, about to tell her the truth of why he did it. 

When you re-entered his mind, he idled, reminiscing on your outfit today. How your hips swayed in your smart pencil skirt, the lines of your stockings at the backs of your legs, the tasteful blouse and how it accentuated your exquisite outline. As a writer, Stephen admired your professional work. As an artist, he agonizingly wished he knew you— inside and out. When Caitlyn demanded an answer, Stephen looked up at her with a bashful snicker. “I mean… okay, alright,” He clasped his hands together, reminding himself how sweaty they were. 

“Go on, Steph, I’m waiting,” Cait said in a playful tone, eager to hear the gossip she knew he would inevitably spill. Her favorite source of entertainment was Stephen: the human embodiment of the overflowing cup. 

He longed to do just that, hanging his head briefly before feigning defeat. “We kissed.” he conceded as if it was reluctantly drawn from him rather than readily supplied as soon as it was conjured. He didn’t know why he said that, it just slipped out.

“Hey, Stephen,” Amy peeked her head in, seemingly oblivious of the nature of the conversation he and Caitlyn just shared, evidenced by Amy’s immediate interest in Cait’s gaping mouth, readjusting against the door frame. “Wait, wait, what did you say? What did I miss?” 

Cait flashed a look at Stephen as if to ask permission to repeat what he’d just spread. Stephen merely smiled childishly, and pinched his fingers together at the corner of his mouth, running across his lips pretending to zip them. Caitlyn got the message, nodding, and mimicking him. 

Amy sighed in playful annoyance, which only caused the other two to grin knowingly. “Whatever. Stephen, Chuck wants to see you in his office.” 

One more quizzical look from Cait, and he reassured her, “It’s probably nothing,” He met Amy’s gaze, “Tell him I’ll be right there, Ames.” 

We kissed. He’d said. We kissed. A lie he couldn’t stop pondering, and it snowballed into expansion. At first it was an innocent kiss, as virtuous as a young white flower. When it was received with such shock and entertainment, Stephen couldn’t help himself. A kiss became a heated make-out session at a company Christmas party he snuck into. A make-out became a regular occurrence when you just couldn’t stay away from him. A regular occurrence became seeing each other. Became experimental oral. 

All until it became dirty fucking on the side using your power as an Editor over him. “What am I gonna do? Say ‘no’ to her? No,” Stephen shook his head and sipped his Colombian coffee from the slit in its lid. “No,” he swallowed, “not to an Editor-in-Chief.” His regaling earned him pats on the back and laughter from those taking it as a joke. No one thought he was in any real danger. It’s not like he worked underneath her— in an employment stance. 

He couldn’t give it up. Cooking was one thing, but earning the respect of those around all because a woman made of ice was supposedly wrapped around his finger was another high entirely. One he couldn’t give up, no matter how immoral. He admired you— immeasurably— and still he let those words run out of his mouth faster than he could stuff them back in. Filthy secrets about what you’re like in bed, how rough you like it, what position is your favorite. It’s not like he could reveal those details without unveiling a little of himself and his fantasies as well. 

He never expected that it’d turn out like this. 

Never expected he’d be summoned to your office. 

“Miss—“ Maddy’s clear voice rings in your ear, interrupting you during your process of scratching your notes into the margin of the text. 

You sigh. “Madeline, if you’re here about Frank’s paternal leave again I’ll be forced to fire that baby myself.” 

She stutters, caught off guard by your sour attitude and poorly-timed joke. “No, Miss, I’m here to announce Mr. Glass’s arrival. I made him wait a few minutes- like you asked.” 

You peer up from your work at Maddy who’s in a straight-and-narrow posture by the door as you gesture incredulously with your hand. “Go ahead, send him in.” She nods, and hastily abides by your notion, fetching him. 

This time you don’t redirect your eyes from your thick pile of papers as you annotate, the nervous footsteps of your anticipated company echoing through your cavernous office. He follows the rug across the long pathway to the chair in front of your desk, taking a seat, and the leather creaks against itself. 

He takes notice of your strategic reticence. “Hi.” his wavering voice is a near whisper. Your script comes to a screeching halt. 

“Mr. Glass,” you reply, “you are a man-in-demand, aren’t you?” You swipe a page to the left, noting at the top right to bookmark it. 

Sheepish, Stephen stutters in his response, lips curled politely up, “I- I suppose so. I suppose I wouldn’t know.” To keep him nervous, you hum, and he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Every movement, no matter how minute, creates the leather din that damn-near echoes in your resonate office-space. He waits for you to speak, and when it becomes unbearable he fills the silence. “Is this about your talk with Chuck– er, Charles Lane? Because- about that, if you just listen–” 

At that, your eyes finally flicker up to meet his. “No, Mr. Glass, it is not.” He swallows. It’s becoming increasingly clear why you’re known as cold. It’s an unforgivable atmosphere, and a shiver runs up his spine powerful enough that he takes his hand to rub his own arm to generate warmth. You stand, and he presses his lips into a thin line, watching your every move as you gracefully close the script on your desk with a rare finesse. “You’ve brought a lot of attention to my door, you know that?” Strategically, Stephen remains silent as you leisurely round your desk. His hands begin to clam up again, and he rubs them on his thighs as he stares hard at his lap. A whole new level of intimidation has been reached being this close to you at the center of your focus. He’s unsure how to play this right now, and he finally registers your proximity when out of the corner of his eye he sees you sit on the edge of your desk adjacent to him. Your smooth legs are crossed within arm’s length of him. You fold your arms over your chest, your unwavering gaze making him feel smaller and smaller. Regardless of that, you can tell he’s not going to break. So you increase the pressure. “Have we met before?”

Big, innocent eyes peer up at you, hesitant to face you as he shakes his head marginally. The instinct to question if you’re mad at him dies in his throat. “No, ma’am.” The panic rises in his chest now that he’s denied having met you aloud, but you can’t possibly know about the lies he’s told, can’t prove he told them. Yet when he meets that piercing gaze, there’s a part of him that wants to come clean to you about everything if it means pleasing you. Though there is his job to think about, what would people say about a writer who lies about sexual encounters with the company’s competitor? It can’t be good.

“Is that a fact?” You raise your brows at him, and he nods slowly. “So, can you tell me why others have a different perception on that?”

He shakes his head.

“Mr. Glass, as frustrating as this all has become, you’re not here so I can berate you.” you concede, and at those words he visibly perks up. You reach over, plucking a folder from across your desk that stretches your body out in a specific way that rides your skirt up. Before he knows it, he’s sneaking a glance at the exposed skin of your thigh, how the flesh pushes together. The promiscuous rumors he’s spread about you and his own animal attraction to you has gone to his head because in that very moment he considers how warm and tepid your thighs must be against his ears. His salivating tongue rolls between his lips. He morphs into the posture of a goddamn saint as soon as you slam the folder onto the surface in front of him, he jolts right into it from the sudden noise, as if a chastising ruler had just struck his naughty hands. “I’m prepared to make you an offer.”

“What is this?” The shiny material of the folder falls open, and he inclines forward to read the cover of the thick stack of papers within it.

“An NDR.”

“An NDR? For what?” Stephen plays dumb, but you naturally would assume he’d know nothing about what this deal entails. You give him a silent moment to scan it. Uneasily, as if he’s reading it wrong, he relays the synopsis of one of the passages. “You want… you want to have…”

“Sex.” you reply casually. “You have heard of it?” you joke. “You paint our encounters so colorfully in your little stories, I assumed you were far from a virgin. Or at least well-versed in porn.”

Stephen can feel his throat closing up, shifting in his seat as he engages with you, his mouth in a permanent gaping position, looking for an opportunity to get a word in. “No, no.” He shakes his head, gesturing to himself at his chest. “You don’t understand, I don’t know what you’re talking about- honest!”

“Mr. Glass.” you chide with a playful curl to your lips. Your hands grip the edges of the wood, leaning towards him as if you’re exchanging coy secrets. “Don’t be modest, you’d make a killing in the fictional industry. Whatever are you doing at The New Republic?”

He rallies, sharply inhaling through his nose. “Let me just get out of your hair, and we can forget this whole thing happened—” he pleads, and in an effort to remove himself from the confrontation, he rises from his seat. Your hand gives him a firm push at his chest, planting his ass right back where it belongs.

“Mr. Glass, by all means I’m not keeping you here against your will, but need I remind you: I am not to be trifled with. Forgive me for being indelicate, but why not have the real thing?”

A second of silence passes, and Stephen gulps. You stand, and return to your chair behind your desk. “Think about it.” you tell him, and he takes it as his cue to leave, hastily gathering himself to stride towards the exit. 

[alannawrites]

Hello! My name's Alanna and I'm the lead editor of LOVE UNLIMITED, Marvel Unlimited's romance comic line. This week we finished a story about Gwendolyn Poole, AKA Gwenpool, coming to the realization that she's aromantic and asexual--and though I usually prefer to let the stories speak for themselves, I wanted to talk a bit about this one.

There was basically no awareness of the asexual spectrum when I was growing up--I went through both high school and college secretly feeling like I was some kind of alien in a world that made no sense to me. Finding out that other people experienced the same thing, and that I wasn't weird or broken, was a big moment in my life.

I know how much it would have meant to me to see a character grappling with the same questions I was. I searched desperately for myself in stories as a kid even though I couldn't quite define what I was looking for yet. I'm so glad that there are more ace stories now, and honored that we were able to bring one more into the world.

I was inspired and emboldened to pitch this story by the work my friends Andrea Shea, Ro Stein and Ted Brandt did on Connor Hawke's story at DC, by Latoya Raveneau's ace advocacy within Disney, and by my erstwhile assistant editor and co-conspiritor Kaitlyn Lindtvedt, who, I discovered after a few months of working together, was also ace! We were helped and supported at every step by other aces at Marvel as well--there are more of us than you might think! It's also amazing that our EIC and Marvel greenlit this story and gave us the freedom to tell it the way we wanted.

I'm so grateful to @jeremywhitley, @bailiesartblog and Kelly Fitzpatrick for bringing this story to life. Working with an all-ace team has been so special--there's just something magic about knowing that even though our individual experiences differed, we had something fundamental and formative in common. There are pieces of all of us in this story, if you know where to look.

Anyway! Like many aces, this is something I get shy talking about, haha--so that's all I've got for you! (Unless you want to read more here!) Thank you all for reading and loving the story, and congrats to aroace icon Gwenpool!

[kalamity-jayne]

Seriously, I love John Wick so freaking much. Like, the plot is incredibly dumb and kind of silly but the plot is very much besides the point; the point of the film is the exquisitely choreographed fight scenes and expert stuntwork, playing out on stunning set pieces and executed with impeccable cinematography.

It's the kind of traditional blockbuster that no one really makes anymore. There's no confusing fights scenes composed of messy CGI and VFX, it doesn't look like a video game, it's long but doesn't feeeeel long, there's no quipy bullshit making my eyes roll out of my skull, and just doesn't have that artificial, screen tested to death feel that other blockbusters just ooze these days. Like, the only cgi I really noticed was during certain scenes with the dog, which is for obvious reasons (I'm sure there was some other cgi when it came to the people but there's just a whole lot more you're not allowed to do with animal actors).

Like, it's a movie that doesn't try to please everyone and yet with a fairly restrained budget manages to deliver a level of entertainment that none of the really big tent poles could even hope of achieving, even with their bloated budgets.

[charmandabear]

Office Hours: you can rent the space inside my mind (1/16)

Pairing: Astarion/named f!Tav Rating: explicit Word Count: 4k Chapter tags/warnings: vaginal masturbation, imagined face sitting, pegging, vague femdom (full list on ao3)

Summary:

After bickering with her about Shakespeare's better plays and rudely interrupting her meeting with her student, Rosalind can't get that stupid Ancunín out of her head.

She's hereeeeeeeee!!!!!! A several months long project, but she's all done, which means that (hopefully) I'll be regularly releasing chapters once a week. I received so much direct and indirect support on this, but I want to give a special shout out to Nyx ( @editing-by-night ) for being such a patient and dedicated editor.

Next chapter ~ Read it on AO3 ~ Masterlist Office Hours playlist on Spotify

There’s something about him that rubs Rosalind the wrong way. It could be his arrogance, or the condescending way he peers over his glasses. It might be the overpriced cashmere turtlenecks that hug his figure perfectly or the stupid silver earrings adorning his stupid pointy ears. But every time he opens his pretty little mouth, she can feel a snarl growing deep in her throat.

When she first started her position as the Classical Acting professor at Baldur’s Gate University, Rosalind was shocked to learn that the English and Theatre departments share a main office. She’s heard of Theatre and Music departments sharing an office, or even universities where Theatre and Dance have merged into a single department. But Theatre and English? It feels insulting, honestly. English PhDs are some of the snobbiest people she’s ever met, and they always speak to her like she’s a child. Is it because they’re unimpressed by her MFA, as though it makes her less deserving of her position? Who knows. But Astarion Ancunín is no different.

“Hope, would you mind making twelve copies of pages 219-255 when you get a chance?” Rosalind hands the administrative assistant the heavy book. “You can leave them in my mailbox, I’ll pick them up later.” Hope opens the book to the instructed page.

“Oh, Much Ado About Nothing! I love that one!” she squeals with delight. “That Beatrice and Benedick are so perfect for one another,” she sighs, stroking the Complete Works lovingly. Her almost childlike joy at the play makes Rosalind smile.

“They are, they’re just a strict upgrade from Kate and Petruchio,” she agrees, leaning forward on the counter in front of Hope’s desk.

“How tragic that his writing in Taming is better.” Rosalind snaps her eyes to where Ancunín is walking in checking something on his phone. He doesn’t even look up as he inserts himself into their conversation. Rosalind grits her teeth to stop a snide remark from weaseling its way out. He slides his phone back into the pocket of his well-tailored emerald green trousers and looks up at Hope, bypassing Rosalind completely.

“Good morning, Hope darling, how are you today?” He sweeps over to her and takes her hand in his, planting a kiss on her knuckles. Gods he’s fucking insufferable. Not to mention unprofessional. Hope, however, blushes and giggles like a schoolgirl.

“I’m very well, Dr. Ancunín, and yourself?” Her voice jumps up several pitches.

“Leagues better now that I’ve been blessed with your presence,” he coos at her, voice positively saccharine. It takes every ounce of Rosalind’s patience to keep from rolling her eyes.

“Dr. Ancunín, you silly little mouse, you can’t say that!” A bright flush crosses Hope’s freckled cheeks. She closes the Complete Works and starts playing with her red braid nervously. “Tell me, then, why is the writing in Taming of the Shrew better?”

“Well the dialogue is sharper, for one. The banter between Kate and Petruchio in Act II scene i may be some of his cleverest.” He takes a cloth out of his shirt pocket and uses it to clean his glasses. “But moreover Shakespeare was at the very start of his career when he wrote it. A budding young writer at the height of the English Renaissance, he had some awfully big shoes to fill: Christopher Marlowe, John Lyly, and the like.” His gaze briefly touches on Rosalind while he puts his glasses on. Then he looks back at Hope as he continues, “Much Ado, however, he wrote more towards the middle of his career. Still brilliant, of course, but he had much less to prove.”

Rosalind bristles as she tries to not audibly groan at his pretentiousness. “He had strengths as a writer other than just his wit, though,” she interjects. “The characterization of Beatrice and Benedick is significantly stronger than Kate and Petruchio. Not to mention it’s, you know, not an abusive relationship.” She bites her tongue to keep herself from getting too heated. She’s gotten into far too many arguments with male academics on this exact subject and she doesn’t have time to get into another one.

Ancunín moves his gaze over to Rosalind — for an instant she thinks he steals a quick glance at her chest and she stands abruptly. Fucking pig. A smug smile touches his lips before morphing into something more cordial. “That is correct, yes. Are you starting your study of the play with your students?”

Rosalind shifts uncomfortably under his piercing red gaze. “Yes, it’s a great way for them to practice switching between verse and prose,” she responds coolly, as though she’s bracing herself for an attack.

“Well of course, some of the best prose of his career.” He glances down at the volume on Hope’s desk and his eyebrows raise, peering over the top of his round glasses. “Going with the Bevington, hmm? Interesting. I’m more of a Norton man, myself.” He runs a manicured finger along the binding as Rosalind bites her tongue so hard she can taste blood. Is he really patronizing her over her choice of edition of Shakespeare’s Complete Works? Of course he is, he’s an English scholar.

“The Norton is a great tool dramaturgically, but the Bevington is a much better resource for actors, so, yes.” Her voice is steady but there’s an undeniable venom in it. Can he tell how much he’s bothering her? Probably, he’s almost certainly getting enjoyment out of riling her up. His little smirk would seem to suggest it, at least.

“Well certainly, and who knows acting resources better than our resident classical acting expert?” he intones, voice still dripping with honey. Rosalind narrows her eyes at him, unsure if he’s taking another jab at her degree. Hope hides a giggle behind her hand.

“Look at you two, practically a real life Beatrice and Benedick,” she sings, and this time Rosalind can’t hide her grimace.

“Well, as much as I enjoy standing around and debating the merit of various editions of the Complete Works, I’m about to be late for a meeting. Hope, thank you so much, I’ll be back later to pick up those copies. Dr. Ancunín,” she turns towards him with a snide smile and he looks back at her innocently. “A pleasure, as always.” She grabs her papers and walks out of the office, feeling the heat of his gaze boring into the back of her head as she leaves.

***

There was a time when Rosalind enjoyed season selection. But now it’s just a tedious process where no one can agree and everyone somehow ends up with shows they hate. To make it worse, the department chair tries to turn it into a fun little game every year.

“Now then, I want everyone to take a stack of index cards and write down your suggested plays and/or musicals. Be sure to include the name, playwright or playwrights, and a short summary.” Volo enthusiastically hands out stacks of colorful index cards to everyone on the season selection committee. Everyone begins to write down their suggestions, but Rosalind can’t keep her mind from wandering.

Something about Hope comparing her and Ancunín to Beatrice and Benedick is really getting under her skin. Maybe because if he wasn’t such a pretentious asshole, she feels like they might get along fairly well. His assessment that Shakespeare was trying to prove himself at the beginning of his career is brilliant, but why did he need to say it in the most obnoxious way possible?

She thinks back on the first time she met him. She had just started working at BGU and was in the middle of teaching a Beginner Acting class. The students were circled up playing Zip Zap Zop and suddenly there was a knock on the studio door. Rosalind stepped out of the circle and opened the door and the sight of him knocked the wind out of her. A tall, lithe, handsome elf with perfectly windswept silver hair, a baby blue button down with the first few buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up, and tight navy blue trousers.

She could immediately feel the blood rushing to her face.

“Dr. Geddarm told me he hired a new professor of Shakespeare, so I thought it fitting to introduce myself.” He flashed a devastating smile and stuck out his hand. Rosalind shook it in a daze. “Astarion Ancunín, professor of Renaissance Literature.”

“Oh, hi, nice to meet you,” she squeaked out, embarrassed by the way her voice cracked. “I’m, um, Rosalind Tavlin,” she adds quickly, then curses internally — he already knows that, clearly.

“I believe my office is just down the corridor from yours, so please don’t hesitate to stop by if you have any questions, whether about the university or, well, Renaissance Literature.” And then he giggled, an oddly whimsical sound for someone who otherwise seemed so refined. Rosalind blinked, trying to figure out if he had just insulted her or not.

“I will, thanks,” she responded, trying to scramble out of the stupor he left her in. She closed the door and turned back to her students, feeling incredibly self-conscious about how bright red her cheeks were. She stepped off to the side to take a deep sip from her water bottle before re-entering the circle. “Alright, let’s do a quick shake down and then we’ll start.”

“Rosalind?” Volo’s voice breaks through her memory and she blinks to bring herself back to the stuffy classroom. He’s collecting everyone’s index cards and she realizes that she hasn’t written down a single suggestion.

“Oh, sorry, I’m just a little out of it today,” she excuses lamely. “I’ll have more ideas next time, I promise.” He raises his eyebrow suspiciously but moves on to collect the rest of the index cards.

***

Rosalind returns to her office to see one of her sophomore students hovering outside the closed door.

“I’m so sorry, Thaniel, I had a meeting that ran long. Come on in,” she says hurriedly, unlocking the door and quickly setting her things down. He sits in the teal club chair across from her desk, dropping his overfull backpack onto the floor beside it. “So, Hamlet, that’s ambitious! I think it’s a good choice for you, but it’ll be a lot of work. Do you have your copy with the scansion?”

He nods and unzips his backpack, rifling through an absurd number of papers. He pulls out a well worn single sheet of paper with printed lines of the monologue and his pencil scratches above each line indicating stressed and unstressed syllables.

“Yeah, this is good, it looks like you’ve gotten most of it,” she says as she looks over the marks. “So what is it you’re having an issue with?”

“I still don’t think I fully understand what he’s saying, and I know you said how important that is,” he says nervously.

“For sure, I can guarantee all of the bad Shakespeare you’ve seen has been because the actors had no idea what they were saying. Have you used the Lexicon?” Thaniel looks off to the side, embarrassed.

“No, I don’t really get how that works either,” he says, an air of chagrin creeping into his voice.

“No worries, it takes practice. Here, we’ll do a few lines together. So first off, ‘To be or not to be,’ that’s a line we hear a lot in pop culture, but do you know what he’s actually contemplating?” Thaniel shakes his head. “He’s trying to figure out if it’s worth it for him to continue being, or you know, living.” Rosalind hands him his paper back and pulls a copy of Hamlet off her bookshelf, quickly flipping it open to Act III Scene 1.

“So when he says, ‘To take arms against a sea of troubles/And by opposing, end them,’ What’s ‘them’ referring to?”

“The sea of troubles?”

“Right, and what does he mean by that?” Rosalind waits patiently while the gears in Thaniel’s head turn.

“Is it like… the sea of troubles, like everything going on? And he wants to end them, by… taking arms? What does that mean?”

“To take arms, like armory, so to fight.”

“Oh! He’s thinking about killing himself?” Thaniel’s eyes light up, a stark contrast to the dark material they’re discussing.

“Precisely. So even though you might know what each of these words mean individually, you should look all of them up in the Lexicon to get a better understanding of their context. But you’re right, he’s trying to figure out if it’s better to suffer through all of the things that make life shitty, or to take his fate into his own hands and, well, end them.” Rosalind stands to grab the Lexicon off her bookshelf when a voice pipes up from the doorway.

“That’s not exactly what he’s saying, you know.”

She grabs the shelf to keep herself from tearing the book in half. She plasters a strained smile on her face as she turns around to face him. “Dr. Ancunín, thank you for gracing us with your presence. Care to elaborate?”

He’s leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, face in shadows. Rosalind’s office is unusually dark because of the storm outside, and so the bright fluorescents in the hallway give him an almost ethereal halo effect.

“It’s a common misconception that Hamlet is contemplating suicide here. Life and death, sure, but ‘to take arms’ isn’t metaphorical, it’s literal. He’s contemplating dying as a result of killing Claudius, not taking his own life,” he says, almost sounding bored. Rosalind slams the Lexicon down on her desk, causing Thaniel to jump slightly.

“How can that possibly be true?” she spits, trying desperately to keep her voice from shaking. “He says ‘to take arms against a sea of troubles.’ He’s using the active voice, deciding whether or not to continue his life or end it. To be or not to be. It’s the first line in the monologue. He’s not talking about the consequences of killing Claudius.” She knows that she doesn’t sound nearly as eloquent as him, and it’s pissing her off. He shrugs nonchalantly.

“You’re oversimplifying it, it’s exceedingly more complicated than that. The whole soliloquy is filled with war imagery. He’s at war with himself, the part of him that wants to kill Claudius and the part of him that is afraid to die.” He pushes himself off the door frame and steps back into the hallway. “But apologies, please don’t let me interrupt your instruction.” And like that he’s off, leaving Rosalind to stew in silence. Thaniel looks up at her and looks back at the doorway where he stood.

“Should I…” he starts, but she cuts him off with a wave of her hand, sighing heavily before answering.

“Dr. Ancunín comes at analysis from a very different angle as an English academic. He’s more interested in the words on the page and gives little to no consideration as to how they might translate to performance. But,” she sighs again, loath to give him any credit, “it’s a valid interpretation. We can go down that route, if you want, or we can look at it through this lens.” Thaniel chews his lip while he considers his options.

“I think what you said makes more sense, the suicide bit,” he finally decides.

“I agree, especially since that was your first instinct, and it’s important to listen to those,” she smiles at her student, swallowing the burning hatred for Ancunín threatening to bubble over. “Let’s go over how to use the Lexicon again.” She opens the book and flips through it, looking for the entry for ‘slings.’

***

Rosalind drops off her bag and tosses her keys into a bowl on the counter. This day has been fucking exhausting. She unzips her boots and places them neatly atop the shoe rack, stretching and curling her toes for relief. She hangs up her wet coat and shakes rain from her blue and purple hair, silently cursing the need to restyle it. Her eyes dart between the refrigerator, wherein resides a bottle of white wine, and the bathroom door, contemplating how good a hot bath would feel. Both? Both is good.

She pours herself a generous glass of Riesling, taking a gulp before heading to the bathroom to undress. She peels off her sweater followed by her tights and skirt, shivering as goosebumps traverse her skin in a wave. It’s one of those late-Hammer storms where everything is just slush and ice, and the damp cold penetrates Rosalind’s bones. She unhooks her bra and her breasts fall free, her nipples almost painfully hard. She hangs up her clothes to dry and sits naked on the edge of the tub, sipping her wine as the bath fills.

Fucking Ancunín.

She’s a little alarmed by how much he got under her skin today. Normally she doesn’t think twice about him, save maybe the one or two times she has the misfortune of passing him in the hallway.

Why did Hope have to compare them to Beatrice and Benedick? If anything they’re much more like Kate and Petruchio, and Rosalind refuses to let that asshole break her.

And ugh all that nonsense about “To be or not to be.” Rosalind doesn’t even particularly like Hamlet that much, so she’s mostly annoyed that his interpretation is, well, good. His read actually makes Hamlet an interesting character instead of just a cowardly incel romanticizing suicide.

She turns off the faucet and slides into the bath, hissing slightly as the hot water flows over her chilled skin. She leans back and settles herself comfortably in an attempt to relax. Without prompting, Ancunín worms his way back into her thoughts. Hmmph. She takes a gulp of wine to try to wash away the taste of the unpleasant image.

Well… not entirely unpleasant. He’s a good looking man, she’d be a fool to deny it. But gods he’s so smug. She thinks about the way he caressed the Complete Works with his red painted nails. As though he thinks he’s making some sort of bold feminist statement being a man who paints his nails. Ugh. Rosalind leans her head against the edge of the tub, trying to focus her thoughts elsewhere. He’s not about to monopolize her precious time again, and when he’s not even present, no less.

But there he is, in her mind, crimson eyes looking over the top of those metal frame glasses that she’s, like, 99% sure he doesn’t actually need to see. She takes another swig of wine to drown out his stupid face. With his stupid cheekbones. And his dumb fucking earrings that she wants to take between her teeth and—

Nine hells, what is wrong with you? It’s the wine, clearly, she’s been drinking too quickly and isn’t thinking straight. She grabs her phone and opens Spotify, letting her daily mix play through the bluetooth speaker on the counter.

Now Playing: Hatefuck by The Bravery.

If I put my hands around your wrists, would you fight them? If I put my fingers in your mouth, would you bite them?

By all of the fucking gods, seriously? She growls at the growing heat between her legs. Between putting off dinner and chugging her wine, her head is swimming. She groans audibly; she might be better off getting it out of her system if it’s going to be this pervasive. The wine glass hits the tub edge with a clank as she angrily puts it down and sinks into the water up to her chin. She’s satiating a purely physical need, nothing else.

Nevertheless, Rosalind still shivers as she slips her hand between her legs, lightly running her finger up her slit. She can picture his face, looking down at her through those glasses — those infuriating glasses — and her lips flutter. She wonders what he looks like under those sweaters. He’s so thin, but his clothes fit incredibly well. It’s not hard to imagine a chiseled body underneath. She spreads her legs further to let the warm water tickle her folds.

His silvery curls would look so good between her legs, slender fingers wrapped around her thick thighs while he laps her up. At least then he’d shut up. A gentle moan escapes her throat as she runs her middle finger along her inner lips, pretending it’s his tongue. He could look up at her, those red eyes boring into her while sucks on her clit. She imagines herself grabbing hold of those perfect locks, yanking on them to control where he goes, fucking his face while he groans into her pussy, happy to just be along for the ride.

She moves her other hand up to her breast and starts teasing her already hard nipple. She massages around its peak, pulling it under the water and feeling his soft lips around it. She gives it a gentle tug and groans as though he gave it a little nip.

She imagines sitting on his pretty face, his pointed ears flushed and hair a mess. Her hips buck into her hand as they might on top of him and her toes curl. She makes gentle circles around her clit, thinking of all the other uses for his silver tongue. She whines and squirms at the sensations of heat radiating through her body. She slips a finger inside and hisses as she can see those pale digits entering her cunt. She gyrates on her hand, curling her finger upwards and gasping, his imaginary eyes looking up at her through those long lashes and a smirk playing across his imaginary lips.

“Are you ready for more of me, darling?” She can hear his velvety purr in her ear.

“Yes, gods yes,” she replies breathlessly into the cold bathroom air. She slides another finger in and feels that delicious stretch. The ghost of him moans, coming undone at the sight of her. She delights in the prospect of leaving him speechless, for once. She whimpers under her own touch, wanting more, wanting to feel him fuck her.

She reaches over the edge of the tub and grabs her box of waterproof toys. She frantically sifts through the collection of dildos, trying to find the right one. Here. It’s long and svelte like the rest of him, but bright shimmery purple. She suctions it to the bottom of the tub and hovers above it on her knees. It sways lightly in the water, tip of it teasing her pussy just like she’d love to do to him.

Gods, what she wouldn’t do to see him beg for her cunt. To reduce him to a babbling mess, pleading to let him inside her. Her breath quickens at the mental image of him whining needily beneath her as she teases his cock mercilessly. He’d still wait patiently, of course, he wouldn’t dare disobey, but oh he’d be so desperate for her to satisfy him. She sinks down onto the dildo and her groan of pleasure mirrors what she wants to hear from him.

She begins to slide herself on the purple dick, feeling its ridges glide against the walls of her cunt as she continues to finger her clit. She imagines her hand splayed across his chest, her black nails standing in contrast against his pale skin. She claws at the bottom of the tub as she increases her pace, desperate to see the raised pink skin that her nails leave behind. The fingers on her clit speed up as well, and she can feel herself getting close.

“Oh gods, Astarion, don’t stop,” the words tumble from her mouth unbidden. She will absolutely hate herself for that later, but right now all that matters is her ecstasy. She bounces atop the dildo, disregarding the water that splashes over the side of the tub as she chases her finish. Her moans increase in pitch and fervor as the various images of him in all sorts of positions flash through her mind. Between her thighs, sitting on his face, riding his dick, even fucking pegging him from behind while she milks his cock in her hand, his cum dribbling down her wrist.

“Fuck, Astarion!” She cries out his name as she crashes over the edge, her walls clenching around the dildo and her vision growing starry. Her orgasm reverberates throughout her whole body as she rides it out, legs shaking and pussy pulsing. Eventually, her movement slows and the water gently sways around her. She looks down at her hand, milky juices swirling in the now tepid tub water.

Shit.

[averytallproblem]

Statement about Shavs Media Productions

AVTP v1 began as a @shavs-media-productions project. We experienced the same professional and personal failures described by Dott, up to the point that AVTP v1 was essentially dead and the thought of continuing it only brought our team members stress and pain.

We are disheartened to see that years afterward, the same patterns are continuing on SMP and no lessons have been learned. Everyone makes mistakes, especially when someone starts something with little experience, as Shavs did with a project of AVTP’s size and scope. Mistakes should generally be forgiven…however when those “mistakes” are handled with stubbornness/deception and continue despite repeated and constant opposition from everyone else involved…those mistakes stop being mistakes and become testaments to the person’s character. At that point, they are much less forgivable.

Plenty could be written about our experiences working with Shavs, but we’ll leave that to the individuals who wish to speak up. All we will say is that many people here and elsewhere were drastically hurt by Shav’s complete lack of consideration, empathy, and regard for the wellbeing of others. When push came to shove, Shavs looked out only for herself. Our artists felt abused and our writers felt ignored. Our leads were put in extremely compromising positions where, unless proven otherwise, they were assumed to be part of the problem by the team, even if they were trying harder than anyone to be a part of the solution. Everyone was hurt and saddened to various degrees, depending on the amount of involvement and emotional investment they had in the project and with Shavs as a friend. They were very rough times and this project was almost lost because of it.

This is not a hit piece or a bandwagon to jump on for others to “cancel the new villain on the block.” This is both a call to action for Shavs and an attempt to raise awareness to anyone who may find themselves working with or connecting with her. After abusing and hurting many of us deeply, she thankfully mutually agreed to leave AVTP because she was worried that the failures of AVTP would tarnish SMP’s “good” reputation…but SMP is something more than AVTP is and needs to be handled with even more care. SMP is a paid project. People rely on SMP for their financial well-being. Dott left her job and education for SMP. Artists are inspired to grow alongside SMP and hope to flourish with the budding studio Shavs pitches SMP to be, with her “connections to Netflix” and whatnot. When most/all of that turns out to be untrue and the cracks begin to show beneath the surface of all that hype and excitement she brings…it’s heartbreaking. Livelihoods are at risk. Creative futures have to be replanned. SMP is so much more than just Shavs and her “replaceable” assistants. Hopefully Shavs can come to realize that before anyone else has to go through what Dott and some of us went through.

SMP is going through some rough times right now at the hands of its producer, but what they have there is something truly special - a beautiful collection of artists, writers, editors, musicians, and actors who are passionate about their craft and the characters they bring to life. We don’t wish for their failure. They deserve for SMP to succeed and provide them what they were promised. We hope that SMP can provide that for them someday. As Shavs has been told many times behind closed doors in AVTP v1…this is not HER project…this is THE ENTIRE TEAM’S project, and she needs to treat it accordingly if she wishes to have a loyal, passionate, consistent, and reliable team. While part of her job is to fund, write, and edit; her most important job as producer is to manage the experiences and enjoyment of her team members. She is not the most important member of her team. She is not SMP. She is just as “replaceable” as anyone else on the team is. Anyone and everyone there can (and often does) leave to greener pastures any time they wish. The solution to this problem is not to just scout out more artists who have never worked on projects before and thus do not know to look out for these issues. We hope she can learn that someday and adjust accordingly.

As for anyone else working with and relying on her…please be aware and protect yourself. Hold her accountable. Do not take placating phrases at face value. Go through contracts with a fine toothed comb and remove any room for loopholes or misunderstandings no matter how “common sense” they may seem. Maintain your boundaries. These are good practices in general, but please don’t be lulled into putting your guard down no matter how friendly or engaging it may feel.

Thankfully, despite all odds, AVTP v2 is alive and well again. We have a healthy mix of AVTP v1 members and excited new members, ready to make something amazing together. It took years of pain and struggle to rebuild, replan, mend bridges, and get to the point where this project can be enjoyable again. Thanks to the incredible resilience and passion of our artists, writers, and voice actors; we’re able to give this another shot. Our new workflow prioritizes organization, transparency, and team member enjoyment - all things that were previously lacking. Our goal is to help provide what our team members wish to achieve here; whether it’s a growing portfolio, exposure to bigger studios, or just making friends and celebrating successes together. All profits from this project are transparently reported on our team discord server for all team members to see and will be allocated to the charities of the team’s collective choosing. As much as we would love to pay our members, it simply isn’t possible with a fan project using existing IP’s like Invader Zim…but hey, if AVTP works out well, who’s to say we can’t move on to something original someday? That sure would be neat. We have ideas. Until then, perhaps we can benefit the world a little bit.

Fortunately, since the reboot began roughly a year ago, AVTP v2 had and has already taken every step possible to correct mistakes from our past experiences with SMP. Every bit of advice and accountability we previously presented to Shavs on AVTP v1 has been the basis of our vision for AVTP v2. A vision that is currently being carried out. We understand that there has been trauma attached to the name of AVTP, and we also understand that we are new to this, thus we will make other mistakes in the future…but we want to be held accountable for those mistakes and make any changes necessary to ensure the happiness of our team. With a happy team, our viewers can also expect much more inspired content as well. We understand that a few remain suspicious due to past events and lack of knowledge or proof about how everything went down on AVTP v1…and honestly, that’s good! That is exactly the kind of accountability we need! We expect that in due time; testimony from our incredible artists, writers, actors, etc about their time on AVTP v2 will put those concerns to rest. Things will finally be as they were always meant to be.

………

Thank you for listening 👽 Now, prepare for invasion, filthy Urthens. See you very soon.

[sanjoongie]

I can see you through a window (and tears stream down my face)

🏰title exchange collab, title given by @daemour (she wanted to know if I wanted an Ao3 type title and i thought why not meet a challenge 🤣)

↝Topaz to Flurry↝ Lace and Chains

↝Flurry to Isa↝ A Hundred No's

↝Isa to Dae↝ I wish you Roses

🏰Pairing: { Savior! Knight! Jeong Yunho x Cursed! Princess! Reader (f) } Editor! Yunho x Author! Reader ft {Bunny/Noble! Seonghwa and Dog/Guard! Yeosang} Publicist! Seonghwa and Agent! Yeosang ft ft Editor's Assistant! Wooyoung and Romance Novel Model! Hongjoong

🏰Au: Fantasy, Fairytale, Office, Publishing Company, Non-idol

🏰Trope: destined lovers, one-sided love, office romance

🏰Genre: fluff, romance, ANGST

🏰Warnings: mental cheating, betrayal, mentions of killing/murder

🏰Rating: 18+, MDNI (this piece has no smut or described violence)

🏰Word Count: 7,553 (apologies the fairy tale got away from me)

🏰Summary: You're in love with your editor, who is a married man and entertains, if not encourages, your adoration. But your heart can only take so much pining. So you decide your next book would help you work through some of your current to-date issues. Are you strong enough to break away or will your editor continue to lead you by your nose?

🏰Author's Note: this story is told by a back and forth method. The author and the editor are the real life part and the author is coming to terms with her situation and feelings through her writing. I hope I made it easy to follow 💞

🏰Beta readers: @downtoamagicalland

🏰divider by @cafekitsune

𝔒𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔘𝔭𝔬𝔫 𝔄 𝔗𝔦𝔪𝔢…

…there was a princess. She wasn't spoiled or rotten to the core. Bad things simply happen to good people. So she was cursed; cursed to live in a villa, away from her family and kingdom, away from everyone.

The princess didn't see it as a curse, however. She had her books and her loyal servants who raised her. She had a loyal hound and gentle bunny to keep her company.

But best of all, she had her imagination.

The bunny was her gentile courtier companion who danced with her and scolded her when she didn’t sit properly in her dress. Her hound was her steadfast knight who protected her while awake or sleeping. There were no bounds to her endless stories. She was content.

That was, until, an actual hero showed up.

🏰🏰🏰

“Princess!” One of the maid’s yelled, her skirts pulled high so she could run. “There is a visitor!”

Your head snapped upwards, in the middle of penning one of your daydreams. “What did you say?”

“A visitor!” The maid collapsed, hands braced on knees.

You eyed her suspiciously. “You can’t be serious.”

The maid gulped in air and sent you an incredulous look. “Do you really think… I’d run like that… for make believe?!”

She had a point.

You stood up and smoothed your skirts over your stomach subconsciously. You had never had to dress or prepare for a visitor before because there were never supposed to be any visitors.

“Does Cook know?” You asked.

The maid shook her head. “No, I came straight to you.”

You stepped quickly, gripping the maid’s arm. “Speak to cook. If it’s a visitor and from what I’ve learned about the lands around this villa, they’ll need good, hearty food. None of those frou-frou cucumber sandwiches she serves for late tea.”

The maid moved to run to the cook but you stopped her. “Then prepare the Ariel room to receive him. I’ll be there post-haste.”

The maid paused her panting, eying you up. “Where are you off to?”

“To appear as a princess,” You replied solidly.

You put on your dress that screamed princess to you. It was a lovely pastel color against your skin. It flowed around your hand-sewn pearl slippers. You felt… pretty. Isn’t that what the story books said all princesses were?

The visitor was sitting at one of the tables set by the tall windows in the Ariel room. One foot was cast outwards, as if he was lounging for a brief respite. The ray of sun hit him just perfectly so that you felt like you were the one stumbling upon the sleeping princess, instead of him.

“Sir…?” You coughed politely in order to draw his attention to yourself.

The visitor stood up. He was taller than his lanky form appeared sitting down. You curtsied nonetheless and he bowed deeply, sweeping an arm around his stomach. “Princess?”

You wanted to maintain decorum but your inquisitive mind got the better of you. “How did you get here? Is there an evil vine forest surrounding the grounds? Did you have to fight any goblins and/or ogres?”

The knight laughed, brightening up his face. “I can tell you all of my adventures. But first!” He stood up and shook his hair out of his face. “I need to do one thing.”

The visitor's long legs brought him quickly to your side and your heart picked up speed. “Kisses usually break the curse do they not?” He said in a low tone that made you feel light and heavy at the same time.

His hands crept along your jaw and cheeks, looking to hold you in place as his eyes became hooded. “May I bestow a kiss upon thy lips?” The knight asked.

“Should I not know your name first, kind knight?” You squeaked.

“Jeong Yunho, at your service, Princess.”

You swallowed loudly. Why did his polite words sound like there was another meaning under them?

“You may proceed,” You said with as much neutrality as you could muster.

You closed your eyes and parted your lips. How would your first kiss--

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

The knight looked around, annoyed at the interruption. You stomped your foot in annoyance as well. “What is it, goddamn, how am I supposed to finish this book if I cannot have a moment's peace?!”

The beautiful scene from the lovely Ariel room melted away and you were back in your office. You slammed your laptop down in frustration.

“What is it, goddamn, how am I supposed to finish this book if I cannot have a moment's peace?!” You demanded.

The same face that the prince in your novel wore stuck itself between the door and the door frame. “It's just me, checking to see how you're doing.”

Having Yunho as your editor was a pain in your behind. Not only was he extremely attractive, his work ethic was only outshined by his kind heart. He was the epitome of lead by example. In a word: he was perfect.

And perfectly off the market too.

“I am fine. I'm in the middle of the prince about to sweep the princess in the curse breaking kiss,” You grumbled.

Yunho pushed his way into your office and sat down on the chair across from you. Just like the prince, his lanky form could barely fit in the cramped place. He picked up a book you had for research. “The round table huh?” He began to rifle through the pages. “I don't suppose there's any good smut in here, huh?”

“Yunho, you know how much I love you, but that's not helping,” You sighed.

“Oh, I know,” Yunho winked.

An ugly feeling in the pit of your stomach threatened to burst. He didn't really mean that. He was referring to how you were famously a prickly author and only Yunho had managed to soothe down your hissy cat mood swings and get you to write best sellers.

“Are you sure starting with a kiss straight out the gate is a good idea?” You ventured for a moment. “Don't people usually want a slow burn or a build up?”

Yunho pretended to think about it, putting your King Arthur book right where he had plucked it from your mess of a desk. “I think that it's a hook that will surprise people and leave them wanting more.”

You let out a sigh of relief and then made a shooing motion. “I'm in the zone. Get out of here so I can continue my money making work.”

“I was just about to head out with Ella for dinner. I just wanted to check in and make sure you were good for the night. Did you want me to get--”

You pasted on a tight smile. Perhaps if Mr. Perfect stopped acting like the nation's boyfriend, you could kill this crush and stop writing him as the main romance lead in all your books. “No more interruptions, please.”

Yunho sent you a jaunty salute and then stood up. “Remember to eat before it gets too late.”

When he was gone, you threw a pen across the room in a temporary tantrum. This was a nightmare. Sure, it fueled you creatively but you weren’t entirely sure how much longer you could do this mentally.

You turned your head so you could crack your neck and then you opened your laptop. Your book wasn’t going to write itself. Perhaps you could finish it and then consider your contract with Aurora Publishing.

Your office misted away until in your mind’s eye you pictured the Ariel room once more. The sun shined through and Yunho was cupping your face once again.

Except you couldn't deny the pang of one-sided love that echoed in your heart at that moment. You put a hand on Yunho’s chest and gently pushed him away. “No, sir knight, I’ve changed my mind. A kiss must always be earned. A pointless one with no meaning would simply be just a kiss.”

Yunho let go of you and scratched the back of his head. The tips of his ears became pink. “How right you are, Princess.”

You moved gracefully to the table where Yunho had previously been sitting and patted the chair beside you. “Would you still tell me of your travels? How did you come to hear of my curse in the first place? Why are you even here?!”

Yunho ducked his head graciously and sat back at the table beside you. “Your sister hired me. Everyone seems to have forgotten about you except for her. Even I must admit, I thought I was chasing a wild goose. I’m just as surprised as you are to be here.”

“My sister?” You brightened up.

Your younger sister had been the one companion you could never replace. You missed spinning tales for her to sigh happily about.

Yunho nodded eagerly. “She’s quite the sorceress now. Secretly, of course, considering magic is the reason you’re here now.”

The knight reached into a pouch at his waist and pulled out a ring, a lilac colored stone cut into the shape of a heart. “She gave me this. If you put it on, you should be able to follow me out of the villa.”

Your eyes widened and you reached out for the ring hesitantly. Leave behind your life behind these walls and go back to your old life? But what about the servants who had dedicated their lives to your wellbeing? Would they be stuck here no without a purpose?

“I…” You dropped your hand into your lap before you could touch the ring.

Yunho quickly tucked it back into the pouch he had pulled it from. “You need some time to think about changing your life. I understand completely.”

“Could you…” You hesitated but you couldn't deny what else your heart wanted. “Could you tell me about my home?”

Yunho nodded. “Of course, Your Highness.”

🏰🏰🏰

“I don’t know why you don’t just fuck someone else and get it out of your system,” One of your friends shrugged, popping a piece of donut in their mouth.

“I don’t want to fuck someone else,” You grumbled under your breath.

“Well maybe you should,” Your friend pushed. “What if it helps you see that you don’t really want Yunho, you’ve just allowed yourself to obsess over him?”

Your friend wasn’t exactly talking shit, even though on a surface level it sounded like she just wanted you to hook up and get over it.

You took a sip of your coffee and contemplated it. On the one hand, you appreciated Yunho being so hands on with you. It really showed that he gave a crap, and that was your problem with your last publishing house. But on the other hand, you had not drawn a line so you and Yunho were stuck in some kind of weird quicksand of grey area that sucked you in.

You sighed and slumped onto the table. “Maybe I should just leave. Cut ties from him completely.”

“Uhhh, maybe--”

“No, I think you’re right,” You cut your friend off. “I need to stop allowing myself to obsess over him. I’ve taken it too far. He can’t be blamed for just being himself. Maybe I’ll go back to being a freelancer. I’m popular enough I’d probably get a following publishing digitally on my own. Less stress, keep my own schedule--”

Your friend grabbed your shoulder and shook you aggressively. “Now is really not the time,” they hissed at you.

“Why not?” You shouted, sitting up and then it hit you.

There was Yunho, a tray of coffees in one hand and a handful of bags in another. With him was his assistant, Wooyoung. Yunho had a hesitant and awkward smile on his face. If looks could kill, the one Wooyoung was sending you right now would have lasered a hole in your head. Shit.

“Take this back to the office,” Yunho said resolutely, pushing everything into Wooyoung’s hands, despite the assistant opening and closing his mouth in protest.

“I’ll talk to you later.” Your friend stood up and dashed out of the coffee shop pretty quickly.

Wooyoung sent a hand gesture and mouthed “I’m watching you” but left with everything Yunho had handed you.

Yunho sat down, hands in his pockets casually. “Why didn’t you say something about wanting to leave?”

“I was just… thinking out loud.” You waved your hand in front of you like you were dismissing the words from the air. “It didn’t mean anything.”

Yunho pursed his lips to one side. “Also, who are you obsessed with that makes you want to leave?”

You shut down immediately. “None of your fucking business, Yunho.”

Yunho sat back as if you had physically slapped him. “Seriously? We’ve been friends for years. I’m more than your editor!” he protested.

“Maybe that’s a problem,” You grumbled under your breath.

Yunho pulled his hands from his pockets and shot across the table, taking yours into his own. “What’s wrong with you? Is it the book? I thought you were excited to start it? Do you need a break? I can pull up the contract, see what I can do before we get too far down the pipeline.”

You stared down at the hands that encompassed yours. There he was, doing it again. Were you making things to be more than they were because you felt some kind of way for Yunho? Or was he seriously acting more than just a friend?

You gently pulled your hands out of Yunho’s. “It's not the book,” and you left it at that.

Yunho still wasn’t going to give up, however. He moved his chair until he was beside you and not across from you. “Then how can I help?”

“I don’t--” You let out a little noise of frustration. “Yunho, I was just venting to a friend. If you had left with Wooyoung, that would have been amazing help.”

Yunho frowned at you. “I don’t understand.”

You began to rub your eyebrow, a tick of yours that you couldn't seem to ditch. “How about we just forget this whole thing happened. How about that?”

Yunho wiped a hand over his face. A very large hand. One that you had used in your stories time and time again-- you shook your head. This madness had to stop.

“Let's just go back to the office, yeah? Did you buy everyone drinks and snacks? What a nice man in power,” You simpered.

Yunho sent you a look that spoke of how he didn't believe your change of attitude but he was a good man--so he'd follow your lead.

Yunho got up from his chair and waved his arm out towards the door. “After you.”

🏰🏰🏰

“Oh, Your Highness.”

The maid you were speaking with had tears filling up her eyes. “We are here to serve you. If you have the chance to be free of this place, then you must take it. We are here because the crown has directed us to take care of you. But we are not trapped. You know this, otherwise how else would we be able to supply you with your clothes as you grew or baked cakes with sugar that we can’t grow here.”

You felt your own eyes fill with tears in response. You had accepted your curse long ago, when you had let go of any hope as a child of breaking it upon turning into an adult. The fact that this opportunity had stumbled its way into your life was beyond your wildest dreams. And it came with a knight to boot.

So you gathered your hound, and held your bunny on your lap and called Yunho to the Rapunzel room. You were ready to start your own adventure.

“Now, who are these fine fellows?” Yunho inquired, lifting his hand to pet your hound.

The dog raised his hackles, growling softly. He’d never snap but he was sure letting Yunho know that the pet was not appreciated.

You laughed softly. “His name is Yeosang. He is my fiercest protector. He’s not a lapdog like I have read other princesses are gifted with.”

You lifted up your bunny from under his front legs. “And this is Seonghwa. He is a noble within my court.”

Yunho bowed at the waist, acknowledging both of your companions. “Do you intend to take them both with us?”

“They would never forgive me if I let the servants take them,” You admitted.

Yunho nodded as if he completely understood. “Of course. I will look over them as if they were my own page and charge.”

Yunho explained to you about the perilous journey you two were about to make in order to get you home. He spoke of forests dark and deep, stretches of sands and dunes, and icy tundras. How were you supposed to pack for all of those climates? And what about food?

“It’s going to be hard, Princess,” Yunho admitted. “But if your heart is true, then, I believe we can make it. Together.”

Your heart fluttered and you pressed a hand to your chest. This was silly. You couldn't just fall in love with the first man you came across in your long, cursed life. You’d have a silly little crush and then you’d move on. You were a princess, after all! You were destined for someone of royal nature.

You bid all the staff farewell and made them promise to find you once they returned to the castle--to your home--and then began the trek with the knight, the bunny and the hound. Or rather, that’s what you imagined.

The second you passed through a door that was covered with vines, Seonghwa hopped out of the pouch you had wrapped him in. Yeosang began to bark and dove into a bush as well. You cried out in alarm, terrified that your only constant companions were fleeing you. But to your complete astonishment, they transformed into men.

“Good Morning, Princess,” a man with red-brown hair bowed to you. He had a sword strapped to his side.

You studied him, perplexed, sure that you didn’t have any guards in the villa because no one could actually come and go with the exception of the staff. But then you spotted a mark by his left eye, one that you used to kiss softly every night.

“Yeosang?!” You gasped.

“At your service,” He smiled serenely, standing up.

Another man, with long black hair, brushed leaves from his suit. “That’s my least favorite part,” he frowned.

“Seonghwa!” Yeosang scolded the other man. “Address the princess properly before you start pampering yourself.”

“Ah!” Seonghwa closed his eyes, making them scrunch up in embarrassment. “Your highness, my most humble apologies. Did you sleep well? You appear as a vision this fine morning.”

Your jaw dropped. Your hound and your bunny were actually… men!?

“What is going on here?” Yunho demanded, twisting in his horse's saddle to glare down at your comrades.

You slipped off your horse and bounded towards the two men, throwing an arm around each of them for a group hug. After you squealed in excitement, you pulled back, feeling tears in your eyes and your throat tightening. “How is this possible?”

Seonghwa teared up as well and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. “Please, Princess, don’t cry. Once you start I won’t be able to stop.”

Yeosang’s voice sounded gruff. “We were sent by a good sorceress who heard of your plight. We had to go undercover as animals of course, but did you really think that you would be banished without protectors?”

“Although I’m very happy to be accompanying you back to the castle, I will miss our make believe tea parties,” Seonghwa touched his handkerchief to his eyes, dabbing the tears away.

Yeosang laughed. “Don’t mind Seonghwa. He always gets emotional at the slightest things.”

Yunho was off his horse too now and coming closer with his face full of anger. “We did not plan for this! You’ll slow us down without horses, not to mention dwindle our small supplies!”

Seonghwa stood his full height, which wasn’t as tall as Yunho, but almost. “We can change back into our forms willingly now that we are outside of the villa’s magic. And you won’t be going anywhere with the princess without us.”

You put a hand on Yunho’s arm. “Yunho, remember your vow? You said you’d look over them.”

Yunho relented slowly, breathing in and out deeply. “I did. And I’m a man of my word. Very well. We shouldn’t let our first day be slow, however. Back to your other forms then.”

Seonghwa lifted his hand as if he was going to hit Yunho behind his back and you couldn't help but giggle. He was very much the sassy bunny you grew up with.

“I’ll maintain the rear. Nothing shall get past me, Princess,” Yeosang proclaimed, pulling at the ends of his gloves.

“Careful of my ears,” Seonghwa pouted slightly. “They’re very sensitive this time of year.”

“Oh, Seonghwa,” You smiled, happy to finally be able to speak with your friends.

🏰🏰🏰

“Ugh, I’m exhausted!” Seonghwa announced, falling over your desk and interrupting your writing.

“Awe, did your yapping zap all your energy?” You cooed mockingly at your publicist.

Seonghwa sat up, lips pressed into a thin line, clearly unimpressed by your response. “A thank you would be nice.”

You rolled your eyes. “What did you get done today?”

Seonghwa brightened, happy to be able to chatter away about his job. He was one of the two people you had taken over with you when you left your last publishing house and signed a contract with Yunho’s. He could be a pain in your butt sometimes but Seonghwa really knew how to sell your books.

“You’ll never guess who I convinced to be the model for the cover of this book!” Yeosang bursted into your office.

“Jesus, Yeosang,” You held your hand against your chest.

“Knocking would be a lot less heart-pumping!” Seonghwa scolded Yeosang as well.

Your publicist and your agent were long time friends, your power team who always supported you. They bickered but mostly they were joined together in supporting you.

“Guess!” Yeosang pushed, sweeping around your desk and crouched beside you, phone at the ready.

You blinked blankly and then it came to you. “No fucking way.”

“That’s right.” Yeosang stood up, unlocked his phone and showed you his email. “Kim fucking Hongjoong.”

“What?!” Seonghwa looked from you to Yeosang, eyes darting quickly. “How did that happen?”

“Well, our friend here said she wanted something different for this book…” Yeosang and Seonghwa exchanged a look of understanding. “So I thought, why not the biggest model for romance novels right now?”

You winced. This book was so fucking firmly Yunho in your mind, now that you’re halfway done, that you almost feel like you couldn't be happy that Yeosang had managed to snag you something so good.

But you pasted on a happy grin and hugged Yeosang. “You always fight hardest for me,” Your muffled thanks came out gruffly.

Seonghwa protested immediately. “Hey! I’m the one that’s made sure we have all the proper social media in place, including grabbing some big booktokers, but okay, let’s thank Yeosang with a hug because he got you a hot man on the front of your cover.”

You and Yeosang laughed under your breath but you released Yeosang and came over to hug Seonghwa. “Thank you, Hwa, you’re a lifesaver.”

Seonghwa’s eyes widened and then he embraced you. “I just want this to be the book that gets you over him.”

You jumped out of Seonghwa’s hug immediately. “The walls have ears, Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa blinked and when he looked at Yeosang for a clue, your agent shrugged his shoulders. You sighed, rubbing your eyebrow again. “Let’s just pretend that HE is always in the room and you can’t speak about him out loud, or he’ll hear.”

“Do I hear celebrating in here?” Yunho appeared in the open doorway, an inquiring smile on his lips.

“Ahhhhh,” Yeosang and Seonghwa chorused.

You put an arm around each of your team’s shoulders. “Seonghwa secured some big booktokers to review my book and Yeosang got Kim Hongjoong to model for the book cover.”

Yunho covered his mouth in shock. “Oh my god?”

If only he knew that he was the main character.

“I gotta text Ella, she’ll freak out!” Yunho shouted and then he was gone.

“Does he have your office bugged?” Yeosang said, eyes wide as he peered around said office.

“No, otherwise, he’d know everything by now,” You grumbled under your breath.

“So, how is it going?” Seonghwa inquired.

“Hmm, the book?” You tried to scrub the image of a happy Yunho from your mind. “The princess is starting to fall in love and her companions are trying to tell her that there’s something off about the knight.”

“Let me guess,” Yeosang’s tone got serious. “They’re going to tell her she needs to be careful and she’s going to tell them that they’re just jealous.”

“No.” You looked Yeosang right in the eye. “This princess is more perceptive than that. She also feels that there’s some darkness to the knight. She’s not a dumb-dumb princess. She’s read books all her life and has learned.”

“Not like some people,” Seonghwa muttered under his breath.

“There’s no saving me,” You whispered. “At least I can save her.”

🏰🏰🏰

“We’re almost there in your kingdom!” Yunho exclaimed.

The four of you stood on a high cliff that overlooked some rolling hills. Yunho pointed to the distance, where the horizon smudged into a bruised plum color.

A little thrill went through you. Would your parents cry when you returned? Would your sister still adore you as much as she had when she was a child? Would the kingdom throw a fete in your honor, that the cursed princess was back?

“You know,” Yunho pulled you in by the waist. “There’s still a chance that I could break your curse. The kiss has more meaning now.”

You pursed your lips. Yunho had been the very epitome of a gentleman. That was the problem. You may have lived a sheltered life but you knew that nothing was ever as cut and dry as a book. That’s why you liked to escape to them. There you couldn't get hurt. But here, with your life at stake! There was a huge chance that giving your heart to the knight that had rescued you could be the wrong choice.

You placed a hand on his chest and smiled. “Perhaps this fairy tale ends with the princess finally kissing her knight in shining armor,” you said instead.

Something flashed in Yunho’s eyes and it was something you had never seen there before, despite battling monsters and getting lost in the dunes. Yunho was afraid. But afraid of what? “That might be too late for you, Princess.”

Yeosang and Seonghwa interrupted with their bickering. They had been sent to get water. But they came back with a handful of flowers and berries instead.

“Really gentlemen,” You scoffed, breaking Yunho’s hold on you. “What happened to the water?”

Seonghwa smiled painfully. “We ran into some water sprites.”

Yeosang folded his arms across his chest. “Correction: YOU got distracted by a few water spirits, started flirting with them, and I had to save you.”

“Potato, potahto,” Seonghwa waved one of his hands. “We do have these though. You could make tea!”

“With what water, Seonghwa?” Yeosang deadpanned.

You fell into a fit of giggles. It was just like the time bunny Seonghwa had gotten scared of a bird landing on the iron table during a tea party, knocked over the hot tea pot, which scalded your lap, and Yeosang barked and chased Seonghwa around the garden until they both collapsed into an exhausted pile and you forgot about your pains.

“I will go and fetch us water,” Yunho grumbled, clearly unimpressed by your two favorite people in the world. “You two watch the princess, for what you’re worth.”

Seonghwa glared and Yeosang commented, “We’ve done a good job so far.”

“Yeah, behind a magical wall,” Yunho shot back, disappearing into the foliage.

“Princess,” Seonghwa began, rubbing his hands together anxiously.

“Don’t start, Seonghwa.” You put a hand up to halt whatever he was going to say. “We do need him to guide us back home. There’s nothing for you to worry about.”

Yeosang’s face was grim. “I’m worried he’s leading us to a trap. He’s got my hackles raised.”

You felt a shiver travel along your spine in response to Yeosang’s words. “Me too, Yeosang, me too.”

“Well.” Seonghwa busied himself with attempting to start a fire. “We do need Yunho to guide us back to the kingdom and we need to be on our guard against any trickery. What’s left to do but get ready for some tea?”

Later, when the four of you were around the fire, you brought up your family.

“Can you tell me a little bit about my sister?” You asked eagerly.

Yunho flinched and dropped the tin cup he had been drinking out of. “Huh? Your sister? Why do you want to hear about her?”

“Well, she was so young when I left. Is she still into stories? No, she’s a grown woman now, perhaps she’s heir to the throne since I was cursed?” You wondered.

“Always with the questions,” Yunho smiled, but this was tight and withheld. “Your sister was devastated when you were cursed and set away. She’s become a strong capable woman but she will be more than delighted to find that you’re back amongst us once again,” Yunho provided.

Your heart hurt a little hearing that your sister was so cut up about your banishment but that only made you more eager to get home and fix everything.

“Once I get home, it’ll be better,” You announced.

“Yes,” Yunho said, licking his lips. “I’m sure it will.”

🏰🏰🏰

The launch party for your finished book was an extravagant affair. It was a black tie dress code. Aurora Publishing booked the ballroom of a fancy hotel and had an open bar. Champagne was flowing and everyone who was anyone in the industry was there.

This book was sold, thanks to Seonghwa, as your best book yet. A shift in tone, but a delight nonetheless. Everyone wanted to laud you with congratulations and hear what you had to say about the book from your mouth. You were spinning with the amount of conversations you had had and hadn't had a moment to yourself.

“There you are!” Yunho’s voice cut through the crowd.

Your editor was dressed in a tuxedo with a cute little bowtie. He looked dashing and the cut of his suit only emphasized his broad shoulders and long form. By the time he stood toe to toe with you, you had to crane your neck to keep eye contact with him.

“Here I am,” You said sarcastically.

“You look amazing,” Yunho said, his voice quiet in awe.

You sent him a warning look. “Careful.”

A small, teasing smile pulled at Yunho’s lips. “Or?”

“Or a girl would think you’re hitting on her,” You said sourly, downing a gulp of your champagne.

“I’m simply giving credit where credit is due,” Yunho denied.

Then he took a step even closer. He leaned into you, so that his lips were level with your ear. “Did I tell you that this might be some of your best work yet?”

You felt your face and neck warm up at the compliment. Why did he have to say it like that? “Thank you, Yunho.”

Yunho leaned back, a shit-eating grin on his face full blown. “I was hoping now that you’re done with your frantic writer moment that you’d let me book you a vacation. I was thinking somewhere warm, maybe southern France?”

You sent him an odd look. There he was again, taking care of you, thinking about your needs. Your heart burst but you attempted to suffocate it anyways. “I feel like I’m gaining momentum. Maybe an anthology of books that follow the same theme as the first. Fairy tales that aren’t happy endings.”

Yunho’s hand went up, almost boxing you into the wall of the ballroom. “Tahiti then? Maybe you could do a mix up of Ariel and Moana this time. The Sleeping Beauty and Beauty and the Beast mixture was oddly compelling.”

“Yunho…” You could feel the man’s heat emanating off of him, that’s how close he was.

“I could visit you, you know? Check in on you, make sure you’ve got plenty of inspiration.” Yunho’s voice was getting deeper and more intimate.

What the hell was going on right now?

“Yunho!” Wooyoung’s screech managed to jolt Yunho out of whatever he was attempting at this very moment. “Your wife is looking for you. The company’s newsletter wants a photo op.”

Yunho smiled boyishly. “Think about it.”

You wanted to collapse to the floor but you managed to simply let out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding. The look on Wooyoung’s face basically screamed that you were a homewrecker. You needed some cold air.

In your rush to get outside, you passed where Yunho and his wife Ella were posing for photos. It was like staring at a car crash; you couldn't help yourself. Yunho was staring down at Ella like she was his whole world. They slowly waltzed, to seem as if they were dancing, and in their own world. His wife beamed up at him like Yunho made her unbelievably happy.

Your crush shattered into a million pieces.

You raised your skirts and began to run for the doors. Shameful tears made rivulets run down your face. You felt disgust at yourself. No matter what feelings you had for Yunho, he was married. He wasn’t yours. He could never be yours. You had deluded yourself for too long. And you let Yunho feed into those delusions. You were a fool.

It was time for you to take a page out of your own book and save yourself.

🏰🏰🏰

“The prodigal princess of Aurora returns,” Your sister announced with grandeur.

She threw open her arms wide above her head. Ella was at the top of the steps before the throne. You looked around, confused. There was no court. Your parent’s were nowhere to be seen. What was going on here?

“Ella?” You took a cautious step forward.

“Yes, it's your baby sister,” Ella smiled but it had a cruel edge to it. “Do you not recognize me? Do I seem different?” She casted her head back and cackled.

The air shimmered around her and her dress and image changed. Her entire wardrobe was black as night, with her hair twisted into two horns. She held a staff with a gem at the tip. “Take a guess as to what's different.”

You gasped, covering your mouth with both your hands. “You’re a sorceress now?”

Your sister smiled like she was the cat with the cream. “I’ve made a greater name for myself than my poor cursed sister. The entire kingdom fears me.”

You whipped around to look at Yunho. “Did you know about this?”

Ella made a happy, pleased noise. “Yes, Yunho, tell my dear sister what’s surpassed.”

Yunho’s face was cold and stoic. “Your sister sent me to get you.”

“I’m so confused,” You admitted.

Your thumb fiddled with the ring that kept your curse under wraps and had allowed you to leave the villa you were trapped in. You had to think quickly. Seonghwa and Yeosang were outside of the throne room, and had been ordered to remain there because this was family business. What could you do? You had no power or weapons. You had only your knowledge that you had absorbed while spending your life behind sheltered walls.

“Let me paint you a pretty picture,” Your sister said. “You see, when you were banished to the villa because you were cursed, I was so sad. So, secretly I found all the books I could on curses and magic. I was determined to break your curse and free you. But the more time I spent learning, the more I realized that I didn’t need you. I could amass enough power for myself and I could be the ruler. I found myself a prince charming to trick our parents into thinking i was being a filial daughter.”

Ella descended the stairs and started to curl her arms and body around Yunho like he was her possession. “Yunho’s a second son, just like I am a second daughter. We’re expendable and only there as a back up if the heir’s get killed. He decided to join my quest. I killed our parents once they realized I was planning all this treachery behind their backs. But then when the nobles wouldn’t recognize me as the true ruler, I realized I would have to kill you.”

Yunho took Ella’s hand and kissed the back. You felt a chill run down your spine. Everything Yunho had shown to you was a lie. He wasn’t the golden knight in shining armor, here to save you and steal your heart. He was a black piece on the board, meant to lure you from your safe space so that your sister could attain her dark ambitions. You felt betrayed, utterly and completely.

“I, of course, could not go myself. The villa is made to contain your blood curse, so that’s why our parents could never visit you, and I was sure it would trap me in there too. So I sent my prince charming to retrieve you. I wanted to kill you with my own hands of course. What better way to show the kingdom that I’m the queen they were meant to have than by killing you? The one that didn’t deserve her curse, the princess everyone always talked about.”

It was at that moment that you saw your little sister. The love of adoration had twisted into hatred because no one ever recognized her. You felt sadness seep through your heart. You never wanted anything but good things for your sister, no matter the fact that you were the one trapped and cursed.

Your sister saw your sadness and immediately boiled over like an angry cauldron. “Don't you dare pity me!” She screamed, pointing a finger at you. “I will kill you and be done with you.”

You sent one more look at Yunho, wondering if there was any truth to the good man who you had traveled with for weeks. Yunho couldn't meet your gaze. The coward.

It was in that moment that you decided that there was only one decision that you could make to finally be in control of your own destiny. You grabbed the ring that held back your curse and pulled it off.

“No, what are you doing?” Your sister shrieked. “Yunho, take your sword and kill her!”

The world seemed to freeze. Yunho was partway drawing his sword, your sister’s face red with anger and spewing spit. If she was so powerful, why would she be angry about you removing your ring? And why ordered Yunho to kill you when she was so excited to kill you herself?

Then it hit you.

Your curse was that you were magical. Magic was seen as a dark, twisted element in your kingdom. You had been sent to that villa because no one could bear to execute the beloved princess. You lived a normal life because magic was null on those grounds. The ring that Yunho had given you had suppressed your powers, because that was the only way your little sister could kill you. All the pieces fell into place.

You snapped your fingers and suddenly Yeosang and Seonghwa were there. The world around you three still moved slowly, simply because you wished it. Magic was evil, it was the people and their intent that dictated if it was good or evil. And you intended to do some good.

“You were my protectors from the beginning, weren’t you?”

Seonghwa’s eyes began to tear up. “Princess, you figured it out.”

“We were forced to take animal forms because of the enchantment around the villa. But we were placed in this kingdom to be your companions through your journey. You are the goddess reincarnate. Your parents feared the world would corrupt you and you would bring the end of the world. While being confined to the villa, you encountered nothing but love and you had all the time to learn and absorb stories and tales about good rulers,” Yeosang unloaded everything to you.

“You were never cursed, Princess,” Seonghwa took your hand and kissed the back of it, much like how Yunho did to your sister, but his was complete trust in that you were the right, good person in this world. “You were blessed.”

The world sped up suddenly. Your sister sent a wicked bolt of black energy at you but it glanced off a purple shield that came up in your defense. It covered both you and your companions. Yunho completed unsheathing his sword but looked hesitant. “Princess?”

You held up a hand and it began to glow with pure, golden light. “I banish thee, Ella the sorceress, and thee, Yunho the betrayer, to the villa where I grew up. No light will ever reach there, in a reflection of your dark hearts. You two deserve each other.”

“No!” screeched Ella but it was too late.

A popping noise echoed through the throne room and then they were gone.

“Now what?” Seonghwa blinked at you.

You breathed in and deeply sighed the air out. “First, see if any of my citizen’s are in the dungeons. I’m sure Ella took great pleasure in torturing the people that used to be in power. She wouldn’t have killed everyone, otherwise she wouldn’t have an audience.”

“At once, Your Majesty,” Yeosang saluted smartly, fist thumping against his chest and then he left the throne room.

“And what should I do, oh wise and beautiful Queen,” Seonghwa said with grandeur, falling to one knee.

You couldn't help but laugh through your new broken heart. Even in a serious setting, that one always found a way to make you laugh. “Why, Duke Park, I believe I need a coronation ceremony. Do you think you could find ways to get out a message that the cursed princess has reclaimed her queendom?”

Seonghwa cocked his head, a crooked smile pulling at his lips. “I can plan a coronation ceremony, but you are the goddess reincarnate; whatever you think can be made real.”

You closed your eyes and imagined a glorious flowing dress of gold and a crown of flowers on your head. You connected with anyone who had ever prayed for the world to get better while being under Ella’s rule and then you were.

“Ella the Sorceress has been banished, never to return. The cursed princess is now the Queen of Aurora. You need not bend the knee to her but she would enjoy your presence for her coronation. All are welcome, poor or noble blood. I wish to simply bask in the presence of my citizens that I have missed.”

You disconnected from all those consciences but you felt your heart fill with hope. The people had hope once again in their lives and that was because of you. You hadn't needed a knight in shining armor to save you. You had saved yourself.

🏰🏰🏰

“The view is wonderful!” Seonghwa said, hands on his hips and staring out through the ceiling to floor windows.

Yeosang sent a look of disgust at Seonghwa. “Of course it’s wonderful. She needed a new start and I found the best of the best for her.”

Seonghwa turned around and he looked unsure. “Is this really what’s best for you?”

You put down a box and dusted your clothes off. “Yes. I needed a clean cut from Yunho. I appreciate everything he’s done for me but that place was not what I needed.”

Yeosang grinned. “The royalties from The Cursed Princess are rolling in and it doesn’t look to be halting anytime soon.”

Seonghwa puffed out his chest. “I told you, I worked hard for this novel. The booktokers love it.”

Yeosang rolled his eyes. “They love it because of the esteemed author in the room, Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa pouted. “Yes, but I guided them to the great book. Come on, Yeosang, give me this at least.”

“I’ll give you something,” Yeosang grumbled and put Seonghwa in a headlock.

You could hear grunts under Yeosang’s breath about ‘entitled shit’ and Seonghwa whining about unfair arm strength advantage and you started to laugh.

Maybe you didn’t need a grand life to keep you inspired. Maybe you simply needed to live your life, free of anything holding you down or keeping you in one lane. Sure, having Seonghwa and Yeosang as your support was going to help, but at the end of the day, it was up to you to save yourself.

And you had managed just that. Everything was going just fine. You only had to put your mind to the task and it would get done.

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕰𝖓𝖉

[purplecherries]

Things that Happen in my Mystreet Rewrite that just make sense…✨

First of all, Laurance did not discover where Aphmau lived and decided they should move in across the street (bc holy shit that’s creepy). They had already lived across the street and told Aphmau, Katelyn, and Nana about the listing. They agreed bc it was closer to wear they all worked.

Nana DOES NOT HAVE A SHIPPING SHRINE.

Aphmau works as an editor at a publishing company, Katelyn is a teaching assistant going back to college, and Nana is a waitress/baker at a popular bistro in the city.

Garroth and Laurance are very much still in love with her but Aphmau really just doesn’t notice.

Aphmau is an aspiring author writing a fantasy novel. She will get anyone and everyone to look over chapters and read them (Nana is a current victim of this)

Speaking of Nana I’d like to start her backstory early. We’d meet some of her siblings and we’ll see her ignoring calls from her parents. The secret is that the Ashida’s are a crazy rich family and Nana wanted to make a name for herself without the Ashida name. So much so that she started going by K.C. instead of the matriarch grandmother’s name she shares with her.

Nana is a chronic overworker, she’s so sweet but she does not know how to take a break.

Katelyn is the pseudo mother to her 3 brothers (Kacey, Kaden, and Kenneth.) She will call them to make sure they are alright as well as her father, who assures her that she can live her life without worrying about them so much.

Since there are a LOT of love potion hijinks in the series, the neighborhood play they put on will be A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

In that arc, the relationships of Garroth, Laurance, and Aphmau will be explored, but also the drama of Nicole, Dante, and Nana.

Zane is more of a businessman with the whole suit and everything. He can talk great business but never make him form actual connections with people bc he has no clue how to do that.

Aphmau and him do still become very good friends and they stay like that for the rest of the series.

Travis is just some very awkward guy who makes up for it with a lot of confidence. If someone flirts back he starts to silently panic.

Most of the relationships like Garlaurmau/Zana/Travlyn will be slow burns in their own way. At the end of the first “season” Aphmau will open up to the idea of dating them both.

Man I didn’t realize how much I rewrote until I typed this out lol

[moominbuge]

27 Dresses

⋆⭒˚.⋆always the bridesmaid, never the bride...⋆⭒˚.⋆

In which you're a chronic bridesmaid and a lover of weddings, and Ellie is a love-repulsed wedding reporter who works for a newspaper.

a/n- hiii guys i wrote up this first part today, i honestly don't know how long it will take me to write more oops but trust i want to! lowkey my first post on tumblr so if this flops </3 this part is around 700 words and is mainly just intro...actual interaction soon to come! love u mean it

You were running so, so late.

On most days, your agenda was booked and followed down to the very seconds of the day.

7AM- wake up

7:05AM- get in shower

7:20AM- exit shower, brush teeth

7:22AM- get dressed

7:27AM- start coffee maker

7:30AM- drink coffee and try not to regret your decisions thus far

You get the idea.

Today, however, you were running late. Your alarm failed to sound at 7, so you were late to the shower, which made you late to have your coffee, and so on.

On top of that, your heavenly, brown-leather-bound agenda was nowhere to be found. It wasn’t the absolute end of the world, since you basically have your schedule memorized for the next year and a half, but it was like losing your security blanket. You felt exposed. Empty, almost.

After throwing on a somewhat-acceptable outfit for your office assistant job, you swallowed your last sip of coffee before bolting out the wooden door of your apartment and down the street towards the bus stop. If you could run fast enough, you would make it just in time-

The bus closes its doors and departs, with you still standing outside.

Fuck.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

Ellie woke up on the right side of the bed. Her morning meeting with the editor of her newspaper column was cancelled, allowing her to get an extra 30 minutes of sleep. When she visited her usual coffee shop to get her iced chai, they gave her a croissant on the house. She had not felt this refreshed and energized in years!

And, best of all, she felt the weight of a little leather-bound agenda in her work bag.

The night before, she was attending a friend from college’s wedding. She was surprised when the wedding invite arrived in her mailbox, since she hadn’t spoken to this girl since undergrad, but she RSVP’d nonetheless. What, who was she to turn down an open bar and the opportunity to watch a potential bridezilla/bridesmaid meltdown?

Anyways, she showed up in a nice, collared shirt and some black dress pants that were in the back of her closet. As she sipped on her whiskey and waved at some old friends, she saw something that caught her eye.

Or, rather, someone.

You, in a god-awful bridesmaid dress (seriously, what happened to neutral tones and simple silhouettes? Are bridesmaid dresses that bad to ensure that the bride looks the best?), rushing towards the exit, nearly tripping in your heels. Intrigued, she sets her glass down, and begins to sneak away outside behind you.

 “Ok, here is the deal. I’ll pay you $300 to drive me around all night, but if you peak into the backseat, I’ll drop it by $20-“ she overheard you talking to a taxi driver, reaching down to rip off your heels. The driver nods, begins to speak, but you cut him off- “Nope, I’m not changing that rule. I just need you to take me back and forth between these venues.”

You throw yourself into the backseat when the cabbie nods, and Ellie watches, amused. Who is this girl? Aren’t you the maid of honor?

You, in the backseat of the cab, begin pulling out another brightly-colored dress as the cab peels off. Ellie scoffs as she watches, before heading back inside.

You make your return just in time for your maid of honor speech that follows cocktail hour. Ellie, still stanced near the bar, watches you smooth down your dress and take the mic, gushing about how much you love the bride, how you grew up together, how you were so proud to see the woman she had become…it was so perfect, so textbook. You were either extremely genuine in your praises, or you were an amazing actress.

Following the speech, Ellie eyes you as you once again rush outside, back to the cabbie who was waiting. As you run, however, something falls out of your bag…

Squatting, Ellie grabs it from the ground. A small, yet extensively used planner.

Bingo.

[jeonqkooks]

isn't it romantic? | myg (01)

ENTRY ONE: Me Before You

⟶ SERIES MASTERPOST

Many things in life have a polar opposite: left and right, night and day, yin and yang, you and Min Yoongi... Hopeless romantic meets gloomy cynic. The only thing you seem to share is a magazine column but even then, you still can’t seem to understand how Yoongi can be called ‘The Love Doctor’ when he is the antithesis of everything love represents.

pairing: yoongi x f!reader; side/past taehyung x f!reader

rating: 18+ (minors dni)

genre/warnings: coworkers to lovers, magazine writers au, fluff, angst, eventual smut; central themes of cheating (not between yoongi and oc), swearing (a staple in this household 😗), one bit is a lilllll suggestive?, mentions of drinking, i think that's it hmmm, barely edited bc u know how we do

word count: 5.1k

note: this is the yoongi brainrot speaking !!! the banner for this entry is one of my all time favorite pics of him and i will find a way to use it in everything !!! but erhm yeah iir is officially starting and i'm very curious to see what y'all think about it 😗 please like it haha jk no i'm serious please like it it's my baby

— as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

I waste my breath on a prayer, you don't care, I was never a part of your plan, You can't make a God of somebody, Who's not even half of a half-decent man.

I Burned LA Down - Noah Cyrus

Half your life, you hated blue.

You often associated it with so many bad things - loss, betrayal, loneliness. The great big storm. The end of life.

Most of the pigtails-wearing girls in your class disliked it because it was often a boy’s color. You hated it because of a stranger on a beach.

Then you discovered Blue Side (as ironic as the name was), the magazine that everybody and their mother was reading. There was this column - the Love Maze (as corny as it sounded) - that had your 15-year-old self hooked from the first article you read, “Flirty Pickup Lines to Text Your Crush”. It gave you a nice little distraction from the reality of your fucked up family.

You’d get home from school and dive right into it. You could count on the maze for a new article every day, covering all kinds of things - cute little quizzes, daily love horoscopes, relationship tidbits…

You started reading it religiously because it was stupid, and fun, but it was more than that too. They covered real-life stories of actual people, which you’d never really thought about. For the most part, it was tedious. Rekindling with an old flame whilst grocery shopping, accidentally spilling coffee on a stranger who then asked you out on the spot, etc. Things like that. You found them so… unremarkable. 

But then it went beyond that, when they told their stories looking back on years and years after that first happenstance. How there was love in the mundane. How there was love every single day, even on the bad ones. How there was a spark that two people cared for and nurtured into a warm fire that never burnt out.

How there was love.

How there was always love.

To you, that was magical. It was something you’d only ever heard about in fairytales when you were a kid.

You still remember the exact moment when it all changed for you.

You met Kim Taehyung during your third week at Blue Side, where you were a wide-eyed assistant editor who somehow wiggled her way into a position there, and he was an effortlessly charming graphic designer.

Admittedly, the first time that you two had ever talked, wasn’t under ideal circumstances. You were tucked away behind the office building, nails digging into your palms at 3PM on a sunny but freezing afternoon, willing your tears to stay where they belonged. You’d felt severely underqualified, like you were only flailing about, trying to keep your head above water but something kept pulling at your feet, not stopping until you were at the very bottom. People always talked about how your early 20s were the most beautiful and freeing years, when you could truly live and feel your youth blossom all around you. But that just wasn’t true. Those were the loneliest years of your life.

Taehyung had found you then, while he was out for a quick smoke break. He could’ve made a lame excuse and left, or simply pretended to not notice you were even there, but he stayed. He approached you and asked what was wrong. He offered you words of reassurance and encouragement even though you were nothing but a stranger to him.

You were touched by his simple act of kindness and his endearing smile. Maybe it’s because you’d never been offered much kindness throughout your life that his small gesture seemed like everything. In a way, it was everything. He looked like the kind of fairytale love that you’d only seen in movies, only read about in Love Maze. To this day, a part of you still thinks that you fell in love with him the very second he asked, “Are you okay?”

The timing felt right.

Taehyung felt right.

He, too, was like the sun in the middle of a cold and isolating winter.

You remember the color of his sweater, and it was then that you realized blue didn’t have to be so bad after all.

[15:39] You: what r u doing tonight?

[15:45] Tae ♡: probably just head home after the gym. play a couple matches with Jungkook. hope i don’t die boiling water for ramen and hit the hay early

[15:46] Tae ♡: miss you :(

[15:49] You: thanks

[15:52] Tae ♡: mean

[15:53] You: lol 😇

[15:54] You: i miss you too <3

[15:56] Tae ♡: can’t you come back earlier?

[15:58] You: there’s only a week left. you’re a big boy, u can handle it :)

That was a lie. You were already on the train when you sent him that text, bouncing your leg all the way back to the city at the mere thought of surprising him with your early return. You’d taken a leave from work to visit your family, spent some time somewhere quieter, away from the hustle and bustle of the big city.

You watch as the scenery passes by, fast-paced like you’re in a montage. The rest of forever is right around the corner. You wish you could skip to your happily ever after and not have to rewind the tape ever again.

When the diamond on your ring finger catches the sunlight coming from outside the window, you allow yourself a blissful sigh as you gaze at the jewelry adorning your hand. But if you’re being honest, it doesn’t fit anymore, at least that’s what you’ve noticed over the past month. It’s a little loose now, not quite noticeable but you can still make out the slight difference if you concentrate hard enough. You should get it resized soon, maybe later this week now that your schedule has cleared up earlier than expected.

Three weeks is a lot of time to spend around only your family, you realize. You thought you could do it - seeing that you hadn’t been back in a while - but the second you stepped foot into your childhood home, you remembered what a dysfunctional household you had.

It was nice while it lasted, which wasn’t very long. You did all you could, bit your tongue and tried to suppress that unresolved anger until it eventually became too much to handle. Your mom has always been a complainer. Nobody likes talking about it, but she’d bring up the same old shit almost every day even though you all know what happened. Your dad would just sit there and listen as she berates him in front of you and your sister, and you suppose he keeps quiet because there’s really nothing to be said in his defense. It was his crime, and this is his punishment.

Sometimes, you wonder why dad still stays. Sometimes, you wonder why mom still lets him.

You just wanted to go, even though this was supposed to be home. You want to leave every time you visit, and it’s a haunting feeling that keeps following you around your whole life. Why is home always a place you want to leave?

When you arrived back in the city, the first place you went to was Taehyung’s apartment. You lounged about, enjoying the much needed silence after two whole weeks with your family, killing time as you waited for your fiance to return from work.

You thought about you and Taehyung, and how your wedding was only months away but this was still his place. You wondered why you hadn’t moved in yet, though it wasn’t for a lack of trying on his part. Even though you spent most days of the week at Taehyung’s, you still had your own place.

Twenty minutes before he was usually supposed to come home, you ordered from his favorite restaurant, so he would have a proper meal once he was back, instead of half-assing his dinner with flavorless ramen like he’d planned. 

But Taehyung didn’t come back, and the food has been cold for hours now.

You glance at your phone again.

11:02 PM.

No new notifications.

The last message you sent him was around 8:30 - just a simple Whatcha doing? - but he hasn’t replied. 

There’s a small part of you that goes into a dark place, and you physically have to shake off the thoughts. Taehyung has never given you a reason not to trust him, but still, the wandering thoughts can’t help themselves. Is it insecurity, or paranoia? Or have you been programmed to be skeptical after everything that’s happened?

Maybe he’s just caught up with work. Maybe the guys at the office had last minute plans. Maybe Jungkook showed up unannounced and dragged Taehyung into one of his shenanigans again. There’s a lot of reasons to explain why he isn’t home when he said he would be.

You wait for him. Sometimes, waiting is all you can do.

You don’t get any indication of life until some time after midnight, when the door opens and you hear him stumble into the hallway. The first thing that escapes you is a sigh of relief - relieved that he’s home, safe and sound, and not out there somewhere doing things you would really not even let yourself imagine. You sit there on the couch, shrouded by darkness, now even more committed to making him squeal out of his skin after (unintentionally) making you wait for hours like that.

You carefully listen to the sounds coming from down the hall, trying to time when you’ll jump up and shock him.

There’s his shoes dropping to the floor carelessly. There’s some shuffling as he moves about, navigating his way through the dark. There’s a light thud, the sound of something hitting the wall softly.

A sharp intake of breath. His familiar groan, muffled. A whimper, feminine.

Your mind instantly blanks, and that nervous breath from before has suddenly found its way back into your lungs, growing in size until you stand up and say, “Tae?”

Somebody shrieks, and it’s neither you nor Taehyung.

When he switches on the lights, you don’t know what to focus on first - your fiance with his shirt unbuttoned, red lipstick smudged around the corners of his mouth; or the woman next to him with her back against the wall, hair disheveled, one strap of her pretty blue dress pulled down.

Huh.

If this was what you wanted, then you suppose you succeeded.

Taehyung stares at you, eyes blown wide, mouth opening and closing dumbly as he searches for words. “Y/N, I-” he stutters, “w-what are you doing here?”

You’ve seen this exact moment in movies, read it in books and online posts on the Blue Side forum from people seeking advice. You witnessed your own mother go through it when you had just learned how to read. 

Your nails dig into the palm of your hands as you steady yourself. You’re not sure what your face is showing, if it’s even showing anything at all. You’re being pulled apart in every direction. Things that you felt as a child are things you never wanted to feel as an adult. It’s not until now that you finally understand why mom hasn’t gotten over it, even though it’s been decades. This is the kind of hurt that chases you wherever you go, never relenting until it makes sure it has a home deep within your bones.

You inhale a shaky breath, and take a step back when Taehyung starts approaching you. “Y/N, I’m so sorry,” he says, his voice cracking on the apology. 

You don’t want to hear any of it. You don’t want to be here anymore. For the second time today, you’re leaving home. For the second time in your life, home is being taken away again.

Somewhere in the back of your head, a tiny voice echoes, There it is.

You run out of there, feeling like the ceiling is going to collapse on you. You hear him call out your name, but his voice drifts further and further away as you move. Taehyung isn’t even following you. The faint scent of whiskey on his breath follows you out, but not him.

You keep moving until you’re out on the street, until you can’t even see the building anymore. You shiver from the chilly air, and the influx of emotions that threatens to make you burst. Lightning cuts across the night sky, flashing bright for a split second before everything dulls into darkness again. The forecast said it was going to rain tonight, you recall. Your phone in your bag vibrates the whole time, but still, no one follows you.

Your feet slow to a halt when the first drop of rain hits the ground. You’re not even sure how long you were walking, but now that you’ve stopped, you notice the shiver is gone. You’re standing completely still, and that those seismic waves in the center of your chest from earlier are nowhere to be found.

Oh. You’re doing it again.

Heavier drops start to dampen the earth.

You don’t know where else to go.

Not your own apartment. Not now. No, it’s too empty there.

Maybe it’s a sign from the universe, that you’re just undeserving of a place to belong.

You open your phone to find his name on your screen, next to the words (7) missed calls. You ring up the only person you can, and when she finally picks up, you say, “Can I come over?”

Even when your voice cracks, you don’t cry. The earthquake never comes.

Sohee takes you in like the good friend she is. You’re grateful that she was someone you could count on to always have your back at work, who then turned into one of your best friends outside of the office too.

She gives you some clothes to change into, and doesn’t question anything when you ask if you could spend the night. Though, you have a feeling that she knows who this is about. She leaves you alone to get some rest, but it’s probably because she has work in the morning too, and it was already 1:30AM when you interrupted her peace and quiet with the call.

You don’t sleep a wink that night.

Instead, you think about your mom, and how she must have felt when she found out about your dad’s infidelity, time and time again. It’s true what they say, children really don’t know a lot about their parents. 

How did she feel when she first found out? You can’t imagine what it must have been like, going through all of that while having two kids to think about too.

You feel bad that just yesterday, you’d been so annoyed with her that you cut your trip short.

Outside Sohee’s windows, the sky cries, like it’s grieving in place of you, its tears drowning the earth in waves of sorrow. For a moment, you consider stepping out there, to feel the rain on your face and in your hair. But in the end, you stay inside, where you’re sheltered and dry.

You don’t realize that the sun has risen until Sohee knocks on your - well, her - door. 

She cracks it open gently. “Babe?” she asks, tentative like you’re a cornered animal, ready to bolt at any given moment. “Are you up?”

You lie in her bed, feeling so foreign in your own skin. You reckon your eyes must be bloodshot from the lack of sleep. You haven’t even cried once.

“I’m alive,” you tell her, as you stare up at the ceiling. There are no stars here, just plain cream-colored paint.

“Okay,” you hear her say, then she pauses for a moment, clearly not knowing how to proceed. 

Sohee approaches you, sits on the bed, and gives you a smile. She pats your hair, and it reminds you of your sister. “You wanna tell me what’s wrong? I have some time before I meet Namjoon for breakfast.”

You sit up, reaching for your phone on the bedside table. It’s been switched off since you got here, and when you turn it back on, a flurry of texts light up the device until the screen lags. Messages from Taehyung, asking where you were, begging you to tell him if you were safe.

You open the texts to show him that you’ve read them. That should be enough of an answer.

You test the words in your mouth for a moment. “Taehyung cheated on me,” you say, thinking that if you verbalize it, it would be real and you would finally feel bad. That it was just a delayed reaction, that you were just too in shock to process anything. You want to feel bad, but it doesn’t work.

Sohee’s eyes widen almost comically. “Are you fucking serious?” she asks in disbelief, half because of the nature of the news itself, and half because of how calm you are.

“He cheated on me,” you repeat and still, nothing surfaces. If anything, it backfires. You can physically feel yourself doing it again - shutting down. “I caught him last night.”

You’re not sure what’s wrong with you. This isn’t a normal person’s reaction after they found out their fiance was cheating on them.

But.

It is a you reaction. 

You keep doing this, even when you don’t mean to. You ran away last night, and you’re running away now. Your body shuts out every negative emotion until you feel nothing at all. It’s stupid that you do this, and it’s stupid that you don’t know how to stop doing it.

Fight or flight, and you choose flight every time. Every single fucking time.

You wish you could give Sohee something, anything would do. Scream, cry, go back to your apartment to set fire to all of Taehyung’s belongings. Anything would be better than this complete lack of emotions you’re showing. 

You watch her face as it happens, things that you should be feeling but aren’t. She’s mostly shocked, angry, but not hurt. How could she? She wasn’t the one being played for a fool. You wish you could ask her to give you some of that anger, even if it’s only a fraction.

You don’t see Taehyung again until two days later, when he shows up at your door. Even when he’s standing in front of you, words spilling from his lips like prayers instead of apologies, you just feel… empty.

You let him inside, and the second that the door closes behind him, you fill up with unease. All your walls are up again, your system on high alert. Everything in your body is telling you that there’s an intruder in your space. Your feet are ready to bolt, just itching to get out of there Go, your head says, you’re not safe here.

Taehyung approaches you, tries to hold your hand, but you just shrug him off. The man in front of you visibly deflates, and despite the way his face falls, you don’t soften. 

The first thing he asks you is, “Why didn’t you cry?”

“What?”

“You don’t look like you’ve been crying,” he points out. “Did you cry?”

Reluctantly, you admit, “No.”

Then he just stares at you. When his judgmental gaze holds yours, you feel guilty. Guilty that you’re not mourning the death of this relationship. Guilty that you’re just letting it go, but the truth is you don’t have any fight in you. You don’t see the point in trying to salvage what’s no longer alive.

“Do you even love me?” His voice is hard when he asks this, like he’s trying to keep his anger at bay.

“Of course I love you,” you say, but it lacks conviction. You both know it. The words sound so flaccid coming out of your mouth.

But you love him.

You do.

Did?

“Then why didn’t you cry?”

How do you tell him that you can’t? That you don’t know how?

How do you tell him that if you could, you would reach inside and claw out your feelings like digging for water in a desert. 

What the hell is wrong with you? This isn’t a high school crush, or a casual summer fling.

You two were supposed to get married, for fuck’s sake. You were supposed to spend the rest of your life with him. If there’s anything that could make you break through those godforsaken defense mechanisms to let the hurt in, it should be this.

“Did you kiss someone else just to see if I would cry?” you ask. Your voice is even, and you can see that it makes Taehyung more frustrated than he already is.

He grits his teeth, exhaling. You notice his blue sweater, and you stop him before he can say anything else. Obviously, it looks a lot more worn than it did back then, but over the years you’ve always found it endearing. It’s the first memory that you have of him. It was always something you could cherish.

Now, you can’t even bear to look at it.

It’s then that you realize it doesn’t matter what answer he gives you. Yes? No? It genuinely doesn’t matter. There is nothing that can make you see him the same way ever again.

You run your thumb over the ring on your finger, twisting it for a moment to memorize the feel of it. It’s the last thing that ties you to him. “You can have this back,” you say, handing the piece of jewelry back to him.

When a relationship ends, especially for a reason like this, people tend to think it’ll go down in a kdrama-esque fashion - crying, slapping, throwing water in the other person’s face. But that’s not what this is. It’s not cathartic; sometimes the end of a relationship is just a fizzle, doesn’t even make it to a fullburn. It might be unsatisfying, but it happens every day. It’s not always a pivotal point; sometimes it’s just a point.

Taehyung stares at the object in his palm. “That’s it?” he asks in disbelief. “We’re breaking up?”

“What else is there to do?”

“You’re not even gonna ask me anything? Who she was, how it started, how long it’s been going on?”

The other morning, Sohee had asked you to elaborate after you told her what happened, but there was just not that much to tell. You were there. He brought someone else home. End of story.

It was enough for Sohee to call him every name in the book and curse his entire bloodline though.

You suppose that’s a reasonable reaction. Taehyung cheated. You never thought he was a person capable of doing that. Three years of your life, down the drain. There’s nothing left to save.

“Okay,” you shrug tiredly, like you’re just having a casual and dull conversation about the weather. “Who was she? How did it start? How long has it been going on?”

Your name comes out of his mouth, sounding like a scoff. “Ask it like you mean it.”

“But I don’t mean it,” you say. “What difference does it make? Knowing doesn’t change the fact that you still cheated on me. You know what I’ve been through and you still fucked it up. You did the worst thing you could ever do to me.”

“Fuck, I know that!” he groans, throwing his hands up. “I messed up badly, and I’m sorry. Y/N, I’m so fucking sorry. I will never deny that what I did wasn’t wrong. But have you ever stopped to think that maybe you’re to blame for this too? You never want to admit that it could be your fault too.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You tell me. I keep having to put up with your baggage.” Then he shuts right up, barely even makes it through the last syllable before he’s squeezing his eyes shut for a second, clearly realizing that out of all the things he could’ve said, that was grossly out of line. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean th-”

And now you’re getting angry for the wrong reasons.

“You cheated but somehow it’s my fault, right?” you snap. “Boohoo. Sorry that you’ve had to put up with me all these years. I’m such a burden, right? Fuck you, Taehyung.”

“Y/N, I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“I think you should leave.”

You think it’s the steel in your voice as you say this that makes him stop arguing. 

He holds your gaze for a moment longer. You’re someone who tears up when you see stray dogs, who cries alongside the fictional characters in your favorite show. And yet, as you watch your own fiance leave…

The door clicks shut as he exits your life, but everything he said stays behind, clings to your walls and festers like mold.

The second you step onto the floor, everyone grows quiet. Lively chatter turns into hushed whispers. People go back to making their morning coffee, side-eyeing each other in a way that’s not meant to be very subtle.

You quietly make your way to your desk, all the while feeling the nosy pairs of eyes on you as you walk. You don’t know how word got out, but you were sure that everyone would know eventually. You just didn’t expect it’d be this soon. Sohee would never do that to you, and you highly doubt that Taehyung would go around broadcasting his infidelity. 

As you set your stuff down, you make eye contact with the new intern who sits a few spots away from you. You haven’t had the chance to talk to her much, but she’s a nice girl. She gives you a small smile in greeting, and even though you know she doesn’t mean to pity you, you can still see it in her eyes.

A minute later, Sohee comes up to you. “Hey, babe,” she says, leaning on your desk with two plastic cups in her hands. One iced latte and one mango smoothie. She puts the yellow-colored beverage down and nudges it toward you, a little lackluster and unlike her usual playful self.

“Thanks,” you say, taking the smoothie with a smile, commenting, “Interesting morning so far. Never thought I’d ever be the subject of office gossip.”

“Yeah, about that. Do you know who was Taehyung’s… uhm… y’know?”

It’s okay. She can say it. You can handle it.

You already feel nothing, and there’s nothing you can even do to rectify it. Might as well lean into it, right?

Or maybe you should just go to therapy.

“No,” you tell her. “I didn’t want to know.”

“Well, uhm, now that the whole office knows, I think you should hear this from me first…” Sohee bites her bottom lip as she gauges your reaction. When you only sigh and give her the go-ahead, she continues, “It was Yura from Marketing.”

“What?”

“Yura from Marketing. You know the one. Brought muffins for the whole office on her first day? A little too bubbly for my taste. But yeah, she was at work the other day and suddenly burst into tears at, like, 10AM, and that’s how everybody found out.”

Of course. Even though people here are surrounded by celebrity gossip on the daily, nothing beats the good old-fashioned office affair. Why bother with celebrity gossip when you have front row seats to live drama unfolding ten feet away?

You take a sip of your smoothie, swallowing down the inkling of irritation that tickles the back of your throat. “Well,” you say, “I’m glad the downfall of my relationship is like a circus animal for them to gawk at. Can’t wait until they move onto the next big thing.”

“Honestly, it might blow over sooner than you think. The Love Doctor is back today.”

“What?” Your ears perk up at the mention of his name, glancing up at her in surprise as you put your drink down. “Doesn’t he work at the Paris office?”

“He used to work here. We joined around the same time. Then he transferred to Paris a few years ago. Nobody even knows why. One day he just upped and left.”

“Why didn’t you tell me he’d be here? I didn’t have time t-”

“Calm down, sweetcheeks, I only just found out,” Sohee chuckles, holding a finger against your mouth to shush you. “We all know you used to have a major lady boner for him.”

“I do not.” You don’t even know what he looks like, just his name when it appears in the byline of an article. “I admire him.”

Which is true, you do admire him. He’s your own version of a freaking rockstar. Though, you have to admit that Love Doctor is a huge cliche of a nickname, and significantly reduces the scope of his brilliance. The way that man writes makes it seem like he’s experienced lifetimes and is now here to pass on his wisdom. 

He doesn’t feel like a mere magazine writer like yourself. There’s something in his words that turns you inside out, makes you experience things that you’ve never even gone through. He flows like poetry, and leaves you stunned every time.

Okay, maybe you do have a lady boner, but for his brain.

Which… is probably something you should never say out loud.

Someone walks in then, a man you’ve never seen before. He looks around your age, if not a couple of years older. He bypasses all of the other desks without saying anything, not a single Hi or Good morning. He doesn’t look like the type to speak if not spoken to.

Then he walks over to where you and Sohee sit, and sets his bag on the empty desk next to yours.

You look at Sohee, and she just shrugs.

It can’t be him. Surely, it’s not…?

“Min Yoongi,” she says in greeting.

Oh, it is.

He spares her a nod before he looks away again. “Sohee.”

Is that the Parisian way? Is that how people normally greet someone they haven’t seen in years? Sohee and him were only colleagues, but still, the least you could do is pretend.

You’re not one to judge a book by its cover, but c’mon, seriously? Were you wrong for expecting the person who writes about love in its most raw and beautiful form to look… not like Grumpy Cat personified? It makes you even more fucking intimidated. And he’s going to be sitting next to you? The fuck?

As he sits down, you blink, still a bit dazed, not sure how to process this. Sohee gently pushes you forward, which makes you nearly stumble right into him. You turn to her with a glare, but she just motions to him, mouthing ‘Go on.’

You clear your throat, wiping your hand on your pants before you hold it out. “Hi, I’m Y/N. It’s so nice to finally meet you,” you say, trying to sound as professional as you can. “I’m really looking forward to working with you.”

He glances at you, and reaches out to meet your outstretched hand in a barely-there handshake. “Yoongi.”

— all rights reserved © jeonqkooks. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 07.05.2023]